#Besides a little reminder that between this chapter and the next there is also the tiny thing I wrote for a Vierapril prompt
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avirael · 8 months ago
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Shattered
The sound of a light chuckle brought A’viloh back to to his senses from the brink of sleep.
With heavy eyelids he blinked and realised that he had almost fallen asleep in one of the armchairs in front of the roaring fireplace of the living room of Fortemps Manor.
Beside the fireplace stood Haurchefant with two cups in his hands and continued to laugh as the Miqo’te looked at him with drowsy confusion.
“I am barely gone for five minutes and you already fall asleep? It must have been quite a day, huh?”
Without really being able to recall why he was so exhausted, A’viloh agreed, “It was…”
“Here!”, the Elezen said and pressed one of the warm cups into A’viloh’s hands. “I’ll keep you company for a few more minutes but then you should get some rest. Tomorrow everything will look brighter again.”
“Thank you.”, a honest smile appeared on the Miqo’te’s face. Haurchefants optimism never failed to cheer him up.
“It’s no wonder though that you’ve almost fell asleep. It’s quite comfortable here, isn’t it?”, Haurchefant pondered in regards of the always burning faceplace and richly cushioned furniture. “But your sweater also seems very soft and cozy. I like the color too, it looks very nice on you.”
“Oh! Thank you…”, A’viloh murmured a little embarrassed. He had made this sweater with Tataru’s help from some wool he had bought at Camp Cloudtop. “I made it myself. It’s really nothing special though…”
“Nothing special? I don’t know, I think such a talent is quite admirable! I for my part would not be able to make something like this.”, the Elezen laughed and wasn’t going to let A’viloh belittle his own skills. “Besides, Alphinaud told me you are quite talented at all kinds of crafts, even at forging weapons and armour. Is that really true?”
“Sort of.”, A’viloh admitted. “But Rael and I work together on things most of the time, so it’s not just my skills really…”
“Ah, you two are such a wonderful team! Together you can probaby do anything! Besides, I find such craftsmanship very impressive!”, Haurchefant praised. “Do you think you could forge something for me sometime? I would feel very honored! Maybe a new chain mail or a better shield!”
Still a little embarrased A’viloh shrugged. “Sure, why not? I would be happy to…”
The Elezen grinned bright and friendly as he nonchalantly said, “Maybe if you had done so sooner, I would still be alive…”
For a second he was simply confused. Then an uneasy feeling unfurled in A’viloh’s chest as he realised that something was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
Suddenly the cup in Haurchefant’s hands slipped through his fingers. Loudly it crashed to the floor, bursting into myriads of unfixable pieces and spilling the hot liquid across the carpet.
Alarmed A‘viloh looked back up only to find the Elezen raise a hand to his chest and stare down in shock as it was immediately stained red with blood.
Gasping for air Haurchefant sank to his knees and clawed his hands into the fabric of A’viloh’s sweater, trying to steady himself. Helplessly he stared as Haurchefant coughed and gasped, slowly suffocating on his own blood, while little splatters of it landed on the Miqo’te’s face.
Finally his grip loosened and as if in slow motion Haurchefants sank to the floor of the living room at A’viloh’s feet, lying motionless, while the carpet was slowly stained red by a puddle of blood that grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
With dead eyes the Elezen stared up to him and through red lips and teeth he murmured in a ghostly echoing voice, “I wish I never met you. I wish I let you die in that blizzard. I saved your life and offered you all my love. And as reward you killed me. You killed me. You killed me…”
A’viloh woke up screaming.
With a jolt he sat up and buried his face in his hands as he realised it had just been a nightmare. He shivered and looked through the unfamiliar, sparsely furnished inn room. The flames in the fire place had long died and left the room to a cold, dark atmosphere, barely illuminated by the moon shining in through the window.
Right, he remembered. He had fled here after… Oh, if only all of this had just been a nightmare too.
Unsuccessfully he tried to suppress the memory that flared up in his mind again.
After the incident it had taken Rael and Alphinaud quite a bit of persuasion to make A’viloh leave the side of their fallen friend and steer the Miqo’te’s dazed body back to Fortemps Manor. Once there he had barely dared to look Lord Fortemps or Artoirel and Emmanellain in the eyes, yet alone say anything.
And as he had watched Haurchefant’s father crumble and fall to his knees in grief, something had simply shattered inside of A’viloh. Then and there he had whirled around and ran. How insolent his presence there must have been, offering nothing more than empty excuses while their son and brother lay dead because of him.
After aimlessly walking the city until it was dark and his body began to feel numb from the cold, A’viloh had decided to seek refuge at the Forgotten Knight. He would not return to Fortemps Manor, so Haurchefant’s family would not have to tolerate seeing his face ever again. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see their’s.
Gibrillont had looked at the Miqo’te’s distressed appearance with worry but had gladly not asked any questions and just given him a room where he could stay and rest.
Still he shivered, only partially because of the cold, and tried to push the nightmare and the memories away. Tried to convince himself that Haurchefant would never say something like this. Nonetheless he could not help but think that the words had only been the truth.
As the shock about the nightmare finally faded, miserable sobs began to echo through the silence. Like a puppet with their strings cut he fell back onto the mattress and curled up, tightly wrapping his arms around his own body, as he shook violently and cried until there were no tears left.
Maybe at some point he would finally fall asleep again, not that his dreams would grant him much rest.
If only he would simply never wake up again.
If only he had never been born.
15 notes · View notes
writesvani · 16 days ago
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dear me | 11
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lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader
SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.
The end. Except it isn't.
One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.
But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?
estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?
TRIGGER WARNINGS: emotional repression, jealousy, passive aggression, emotional conflict, secrecy, pregnancy mention, guilt, self-deprecation, avoidance, emotionally unavailable relationships
comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;
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SERIES M.LIST;
— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)
wc: 5,1k // date: 22nd of June 2025
CHAPTER ELEVEN — THE SECRET happy reading my gummies...
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AN: hi there my babes. guess who's back. mhm that's me. here's dear me 11. are we excited or what (i know fully well i am). ugh guys, this chapter is actually one of the most important chapters in season one of dear me (even though it doesn't seem like it), because we're slowly going to be unlocking past and present character arcs and i’m so excited (and scared) about it. did you like it? what do you think? i can't wait to read your comments and theories ugh.
also let’s be honest, this chapter is unhinged in the most emotionally constipated way possible. people be fighting, lying, cracking under pressure, and someone is being the hot nuisance he always is. a full-course meal.
now for the note goal—note goal for this chapter is 500 notes. let’s see if we can still do it or if we’ve collectively died from the angst. love you always mwah.
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“Jesus, come back to bed, why are you up so early?” Taehyung groans from the tangle of your sheets, voice still thick with sleep.
The morning sun breaks through the blinds and slides across his bare chest like it’s trying to seduce you too. His dark hair is a mess, sticking out in different directions, pillow-creased and annoyingly perfect. He throws one arm over his eyes, the other lazily patting the space beside him.
“Because some of us have actual lives,” you mutter, knotting your robe and trying not to look at how the sheet’s dangerously low on his hips. Taehyung in your bed is already dangerous enough. Taehyung all golden and sleepy? That’s a war crime.
“Boo,” he yawns. “So no morning sex?”
You grab your phone off the nightstand. “Wasn’t last night enough for you?”
“Enough?” He lifts his head, giving you a grin that is absolutely going to get him smacked one day. “I’m never full when it comes to you. You're like—dessert. Irresistible, kinda bad for me, but still... I keep going.”
You throw a sock at him. “Gross.”
“True.”
You laugh anyway, tossing your charger into your tote. “I have to go see my parents. And then clean, grocery shop, return that thing that’s been sitting in my bag for three weeks, try not to spiral into a panic attack—just Saturday things.”
“Wow,” he says, voice flat. “Sexy.”
“Don’t pretend like my crippling to-do list doesn’t turn you on.”
“Oh, it does,” he groans. “You scribbling little notes in that scary planner? That’s peak hot girl behavior.”
You roll your eyes, walking toward the kitchen for coffee. “You know this isn’t a sleepover, right? You don’t actually live here.”
“I’m aware,” he calls after you, voice sing-song. “But you let me stay the night, so by the rules of fuckbuddy law, I get coffee privileges.”
“Who made those rules?”
“Me. I’m the mayor of casual hookups. Respect my office.”
You return with your mug, taking a long sip. “You’re lucky I don’t charge you rent.”
“I’d pay in very creative ways,” he says, stretching his arms above his head in a way that absolutely should not be legal. “Very. Creative. Ways.”
You glance at the time on your phone. “Well, unfortunately for you and your creative payment plans, I’ve got to go.”
He pouts like a child being told recess is over. “So that’s it? I get kicked out into the cruel world with nothing but last night’s memories and a boner?”
“You’ll live.”
“Barely.”
You head to the door with your bag, pausing before you open it. “Lock up behind you.”
Taehyung salutes you from the bed. “Yes, captain. Until next time, my cruel queen.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t eat all my cereal.”
“No promises!”
Taehyung keeps spamming you with messages until you pull into your parents’ driveway, phone lighting up like it’s possessed.
[11:36 AM] Tae: where’s the coffee. be honest.
[11:36 AM] Tae: also why do you have like… seven bags of quinoa??
[11:37 AM] Tae: are you okay
[11:38 AM] Tae: help me
[11:38 AM] Tae: if i die in your apartment, it’s your fault
[11:39 AM] Tae: okay nvm found the coffee i love you
[11:39 AM] Tae: wait no i don’t that was the caffeine talking
[11:40 AM] Tae: also the sugar was in the fridge?? are you a serial killer
You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you as you scroll, thumb tapping a quick reply.
[11:40] You: stop touching my stuff or i will block you.
[11:40] Tae: kinky
You ignore that.
Kim Taehyung makes everything so damn complicated and yet so stupidly easy at the same time. Like, he’s the human equivalent of throwing glitter in the air—chaotic, unnecessary, but admittedly very pretty. He talks too much. Sends too many selfies. Wears your robe like he owns it. But he also listens when you rant, hugs you like you’re breakable, and makes your coffee just how you like it—when he actually finds the ingredients.
He’s also extremely good in bed. Like, top-tier, Olympic-gold-medal-in-thrusting good. You’d give him a solid 11/10 if it didn’t feel like stroking his already inflated ego.
You have thought about it before—what being with him would look like. But every time the fantasy starts to form, it fizzles out just as fast. Because Taehyung? He’s a walking red flag with mood swings and a god complex. He’s emotionally unavailable, possibly allergic to commitment, and once said “monogamy is a social construct” while eating cereal shirtless.
So yeah. He’s hot. He’s fun. He’s probably texting you right now asking if he can borrow a pair of your socks. But he’s not boyfriend material.
Clingy fuck buddy it is.
You put your phone on Do Not Disturb just as you climb out of your car. The second your foot hits the pavement, you hear your mom yelling from the front porch.
“There she is! Finally! You said eleven! It’s basically noon!”
You sigh, slipping into your practiced smile. “Traffic.”
“Sure. Come kiss your father.”
Your dad’s in his usual spot on the porch, coffee in hand, pretending he’s not amused by your mom’s dramatics.
You wave. “Hi, dad.”
“Morning,” he grunts. “You look tired.”
You want to say well I didn’t sleep much because I was too busy getting railed by a man who thinks air fryers are sentient, but instead you just smile and say, “Didn’t get much sleep.”
Your mom tuts and ushers you inside with a fuss. “You young people and your strange schedules.”
You shoot her a grin. “You’d be surprised.”
Vicky gently grabs you by the wrist, pulling you to the side as you enter the house.
“Heard Jungkook played a few days ago,” she says casually, as if even bringing up Jungkook’s name doesn’t flare her up with irritation.
You hum, noncommittal, mostly because you don’t feel like unpacking that whole situation with Vicky before you’ve had any sugar in your system. “Yeah. He did.”
“That’s all?” She raises a brow.
“That’s all,” you say, brushing past her.
You don’t have the energy to explain the layers of tension and warmth and unresolved mess between you and Jungkook—not to Vicky, who has her own (unsolicited) commentary on your friendship with him. Besides, you’re still piecing it together yourself.
You head into the kitchen where Leah is already sitting like a little gremlin, legs folded up on the stool, waiting for you.
“There she is,” she grins, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Girl, I made crème brulée. You gotta give me a taste test.”
“Bring it out,” you say, finally smiling as you drop your bag and lean your hip against the counter. “Let’s see what all the hype is about.”
Leah stands up dramatically, like she’s about to present a Michelin-starred dish on MasterChef. Vicky follows behind, arms still crossed like she’s itching to circle back to the Jungkook thing, but stays quiet—for now.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” Leah says sing-song as she grabs the ramekin from the fridge. “Which makes me think either you’ve been in a depressive spiral… or you’re hooking up with someone you’re not telling us about.”
Vicky snorts. “Honestly, could be both.”
You roll your eyes. “I’ve just been busy. I have a life, you know.”
“Suuure,” Leah says, placing the ramekin in front of you. “But your life doesn’t make crème brulée and ignore group texts for 48 hours straight.”
You grin despite yourself. “Okay, this looks kinda insane, not gonna lie.”
“Tap it,” she says, holding her breath.
You grab a spoon and give it a gentle smack—the sugar top cracks perfectly.
Leah gasps like she just won a medal. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?! I told you I got it right.”
You take a bite. “Leah… this is stupid good.”
“She’s been unbearable all morning,” Vicky mutters, sipping her lukewarm coffee. “She forced me to do a blind taste test at eight a.m.”
“Because I’m a culinary icon,” Leah says, beaming.
“You’re a menace,” Vicky deadpans.
“Soooo,” Leah says, dragging the word until it becomes a warning, “are you hooking up with someone?”
You lean back in your seat, one hand ruffling your hair. “Maybe I am.”
“Knew it,” Vicky mutters, smug like she just cracked a case. “You’ve had that freshly-fucked glow for weeks.”
Leah gasps. “I told you it wasn’t just new moisturizer!”
“Okay, first of all, rude. Second, I’m literally just… chilling. No big deal.”
“Uh huh,” Vicky deadpans. “Just chilling. Meanwhile someone’s breaking your back on the regular.”
You grin. “Someone’s helping me with my stress management, let’s say that.”
Leah squints at you. “Do we know him?”
“No.”
“Do you like him?”
You pause, blink. “I like that he leaves when I tell him to... Sometimes... and brings snacks.”
Vicky claps. “That’s growth.”
“He talks too much after sex though,” you say, grabbing a cookie off the counter. “Thinks I wanna discuss jazz theory while I’m still catching my breath.”
Leah laughs. “Wait. Is this the guy who got lost in your kitchen trying to find coffee the other day?”
You smirk. “The very same.”
“Oh my God,” Vicky says. “He texted you, didn’t he?”
You wordlessly flash your phone screen with six unread texts from Taehyung. One of them just says:
“where’s the fucking sugar i’m begging u i’m eating cereal like a prisoner”
They both burst out laughing.
“This man,” Leah says between wheezes, “is your reward for getting your life together?”
“I never said I was doing great. I said I was managing.”
“Are you gonna keep seeing him?” Vicky asks, still giggling.
You shrug. “Probably. He’s fun. Keeps things light. Doesn’t ask dumb questions like ‘what are we?’ or ‘have you eaten today?’”
Leah grins. “So you’re thriving.”
“Obviously.”
Leah moves around the kitchen with the kind of grace that only comes from familiarity, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs she’s had since high school. The smell is rich, warm — a little stronger than you’d make it yourself, but comforting all the same. The three of you shuffle into the living room like it’s muscle memory, each one naturally taking the spot you’ve claimed a hundred times before. It’s easy, effortless. The kind of comfort only years can bring.
You curl up on the couch, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of your cup. The cushions dip just the way you remember them — this couch has survived a lot of heartbreaks and way too many spilled drinks.
“Where’s Nick?” you ask, not really thinking much of it. It’s just something you say when someone’s missing.
Leah leans back into the loveseat, tucking a blanket around her legs. “He’s at the Jeons’,” she says, completely unbothered.
You nod, already knowing she means Jungwoo’s place. Nick’s been best friends with Jungkook’s younger brother since forever — they’ve been inseparable since middle school, and by now he basically lives over there. The Jeon house is his second home, just like it used to be yours.
“I’ll give him a call,” Vicky says, already unlocking her phone with a dramatic sigh. “We barely get time like this anymore. He should come hang out with us.”
You hum in agreement, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “He probably thinks we’re gonna start trauma-dumping the second he walks in,” you joke.
“Honestly, he’s not wrong,” Leah adds, grinning as she pulls her hair up into a messy bun. “But he can survive a little emotional depth.”
Vicky rolls her eyes as she puts the phone to her ear. “If he picks up on the first try, I’m buying a lottery ticket.”
You glance around the room while she waits — the soft ticking of the wall clock, the slight creak of the ceiling fan above, a framed photo of the four of you at Leah’s high school graduation still hanging a little crooked on the wall. You didn’t realize how much you missed this — not the house, not even the coffee, but the quiet sense of belonging that comes with being around people who get you.
“It’s so weird that this used to be, like, every day,” Leah says, eyes scanning the ceiling like she’s watching a memory float by. “Now we need to schedule hangouts like we’re CEOs or something.”
“Yeah,” you say, your voice quieter than you expect. “I miss this.”
Vicky groans, “Ugh, he sent me to voicemail. Whatever, he’ll show up. Eventually.”
You all laugh, because that’s just so Nick. Always the last to arrive, always the one who makes an entrance.
The moment isn’t flashy, or even all that eventful. But it feels like something you’ll remember. A lazy Sunday afternoon and some coffee that’s too strong but made with love. No pressure to talk about anything heavy, no expectations — just a soft space to exist in for a while.
And honestly, that’s enough.
Just as Vicky pulls the phone away from her ear with an annoyed sigh, it starts ringing — his name lighting up the screen like a miracle.
She stares at it, stunned. “Okay, what the hell?”
You and Leah both lean in to look at the screen like it’s a rare artifact.
“No way,” you say, laughing. “Nick’s actually calling you back? Right now?”
Vicky answers dramatically, “This must be a sign of the end times.”
“Hello?” she says into the phone, already sounding skeptical. “Oh now you wanna pick up?”
You can only hear her half of the conversation, but you can imagine Nick on the other end — probably sprawled out on the Jeons’ beanbag, gaming controller in one hand, phone pressed to his cheek.
“No, we’re not dying, idiot,” she continues, exasperated but fond. “But we’re all here — me, Leah, and our lazy-ass sister — and you should be too.”
You sip your coffee as Vicky rolls her eyes dramatically again, clearly being fed some kind of excuse.
“Well put down the controller or say goodbye to your dignity, because I’m putting you on speaker.”
She taps her screen and tosses the phone onto the couch between all of you. “Say hi, loser.”
Nick’s voice comes through, slightly crackly but clear. “Yo! Okay, okay, chill. I’m coming, alright? I just gotta finish this round.”
“Told you,” Leah smirks.
“Finish it fast or I’m eating everything without you,” you snark.
There’s a pause. Then Nick goes, “You guys suck,” before hanging up.
The three of you burst out laughing.
“God, I missed this,” Vicky says, letting her head fall back against the cushions.
You don’t say it out loud, but you did too. It’s rare now — the ease, the messiness, the way you all still slip back into each other like puzzle pieces that still fit, even after years of growing up.
You glance toward the door like you can already hear his footsteps on the porch.
“He’ll probably show up in, what, an hour?” Leah teases.
“Or fifteen minutes,” you say, smiling. “If he thinks I really am eating his food.”
“Yoooo,” Nick yells as he bursts into the house exactly twenty minutes later, arms open like he’s walking into a sitcom set. He immediately goes for everyone’s cheeks, pinching each of you with dramatic enthusiasm like he’s not the literal youngest here. “Missed me?”
“Unfortunately,” Vicky says dryly, slapping his hand away.
“Your energy is so loud,” Leah mutters, even as she’s smiling, trying to avoid his fingers. He gets to you last, practically squishing your face in his palms. “Ugh, you’re all so weird,” he teases before dropping into the armchair like a king returning from war.
Right behind him, like an awkward little shadow, comes Jungwoo. He looks up with a shy smile, offering a timid “Hey,” and you instantly brighten.
“Jungwoo!” you say, pulling him into a warm, quick hug. He lets out a quiet laugh, and you pat the seat next to you, already scooting over to make room.
“Thanks,” he says, settling down carefully, like he doesn’t want to take up too much space. His presence is comforting though — calm and familiar in a way that never demands anything.
But then—
You hear the casual thump of sneakers on the hallway tiles and, a beat later, him.
Jungkook walks into the room like he owns the lease, all lazy posture and understated confidence. His hair’s a little messy, like he didn’t bother checking it before leaving the house — or maybe because he doesn’t have to. His hands are in his pockets, and his eyes scan the room like he’s just checking in on what’s his.
You don’t notice him right away, not until his presence actually reaches you — like the heat of a flame you didn’t realize was too close.
Your eyes flick toward Vicky before anything else, and sure enough, she’s already rolling hers, the irritation practically humming off her. Classic.
Jungkook doesn’t seem fazed. He leans down and presses a casual kiss to your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world — and maybe it is, maybe it’s just who he is, but the air still shifts slightly around the room, and you’re hyper-aware of it.
“Hey,” he murmurs, and it’s so brief, so soft, it’s almost a whisper.
You hum back already feeling the subtle undercurrent vibrating beneath what was just a chill hangout moment ago.
Nick, of course, is oblivious, already asking if there’s food in the kitchen. Leah’s staring between you and Jungkook like she’s trying to connect invisible strings. Jungwoo politely sips on some soda, and Vicky... Vicky looks like she’s trying not to throw something.
“Jungkook,” Vicky says with a dry cough, her voice laced in sugar-coated sarcasm as she shoots him a smile that feels more like a threat than a greeting.
Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. He plasters on a polite grin, the kind that says I see you, but I’m not giving you the satisfaction, and replies, “Hey, Vicky.” His voice is casual, as he lowers himself into the open seat beside you. His knees knock yours lightly as he settles in, spreading his legs like he owns the damn couch.
You can practically hear the smugness in the shift of his body.
He leans back into the cushions like he’s been part of this family hangout every Sunday for the past ten years.
“So glad you two made it,” Leah says, eyes warm as they flick between Jungkook and Jungwoo. She’s the only one in the room who actually seems excited, cradling her mug like it’s a shield against the inevitable chaos.
“What, no love for me?” Nick gasps, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “I walk in here after being ignored in the chat all week and you’re acting like I’m invisible?”
Leah rolls her eyes without looking at him. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, little bro.”
“You wound me,” Nick mutters, falling into the armchair like he’s been personally attacked.
You snort into your coffee. “What were you guys even doing before you came here?” you ask, turning your head just slightly toward Jungkook. He’s too close. His cologne smells like cedar and leather and something vaguely sweet, and it’s driving you crazy.
Jungkook stretches his arms over the back of the couch and shrugs. “Just gaming. Got sucked into a ten-round match. Jungwoo was rage quitting every five minutes.”
Jungwoo, still looking slightly nervous to be around this much estrogen, huffs from the corner. “Only because you kept stealing my kills.”
“I call that teamwork,” Jungkook says smugly.
“Amazing,” Vicky cuts in, her voice a touch too bright. She leans forward like she’s part of the conversation, even though she clearly wants to be anywhere else. “A group of full-grown men, spending their precious free time playing make-believe war on a flat screen. So inspiring. Truly peak masculinity.”
There’s a second of silence.
Jungkook just raises a brow. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried the high of landing a perfect sniper shot.”
“Right,” Vicky deadpans. “Because that’s what’s missing from my life. Digital murder.”
You hide your smirk behind your mug. Nick snorts out loud.
“Don’t take it personally, Kook,” you whisper under your breath, your lips brushing the rim of your cup. “She’s just mad because no one ever carried her to victory in Mario Kart.”
Jungkook chuckles low under his breath, and that stupid little sound warms the side of your neck.
“Please,” Vicky says, crossing her arms. “If I wanted to waste hours of my life, I’d re-download Tinder. At least that has real people.”
“Debatable,” Jungkook mutters, and even Leah lets out a laugh at that.
“Besides,” Vicky sing-songs, stretching her arms over the back of the chair like she owns the entire damn living room, “if I wanted to, just hypothetically speaking, spend my time engaging in murder…” —her gaze drifts pointedly toward Jungkook, slow and deliberate— “it sure as hell wouldn’t be the digital kind.”
A beat.
Jungkook blinks once, then exhales like she’s personally exhausted him. “Damn, Vick. I barely stepped into the house and you’re already out here threatening my life?”
“Who says I’m talking about you?” she snaps, lips curling into a sweet, venom-laced smile. “But I mean… if the shoe fits.”
Leah snorts from the couch, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Size ten in petty.”
Nick, spoon halfway to his mouth, glances between the two of them like he’s watching a tennis match. “You realize he’s a lawyer, right?” he says, around a mouthful of Leah’s crème brûlée. “He could probably put you in jail for, like, intent to commit murder. Or… psychological intimidation. That’s a thing, right?”
“Wow. Thank you, Nicholas,” Jungkook says, lifting his hand to his chest in mock appreciation. “Glad someone here respects the law.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” Vicky sighs, tossing her hand dramatically. “I’m so scared. What are you gonna do? Sue me for having bad vibes?”
Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “Don’t tempt me. I bill by the hour.”
Leah nearly chokes on her tea, covering her mouth to keep from laughing. “God, this feels like a deleted scene from Legally Blonde."
Vicky eyes Jungkook one last time before shifting her focus to her nails like he’s not even worth the continued energy. “Whatever. I’d win in court anyway.”
“You’d win by sheer volume of attitude,” Jungkook mutters.
“You’re damn right.”
“Anyways,” you say, drawing out the word like a life raft tossed into rising tension, “Where’s Nina? How is she?”
“Uhh…” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, a little too slowly. “She’s sick, so she’s resting a bit.”
“Again?” you ask, brows knitting, concern slipping into your voice before you can curb it. “She was feeling off the night you played too. Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook shifts in his seat, a bit too quickly. “It’s probably just the weather changing, I'm not sure. But it's nothing serious.”
“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Vicky mutters under her breath, swirling her tea like it wronged her. “What is she, pregnant or something?” She lets out a short laugh, but no one joins in.
In fact, the air shifts—just slightly, but unmistakably.
You feel it first. Jungwoo straightens his shoulders like someone pressed a nerve in his spine. Nick stops mid-bite, his spoon hovering somewhere between the table and his mouth before he quickly lowers it like the dessert is suddenly too rich to swallow. He stares at his plate like it might hold the answer to why this room just dropped ten degrees.
And Jungkook?
Jungkook doesn’t laugh. Not really. He lets out a single, clipped chuckle that dies as quickly as it’s born. His jaw tightens—once, twice—his fingers twitch subtly at his knee. His breath comes shallow. Controlled.
“Of course not,” he says, voice just a tad too light, too quick. “Just a little cold. Happens.”
But his eyes don’t meet yours.
Vicky blinks, her expression faltering as she scans the room, the energy clearly not matching her intent. “I was just joking, guys,” she says slowly, like she’s unsure whether she should be apologizing or doubling down.
You offer her a small, almost sympathetic smile—because truly, you don’t think she meant it. But your stomach twists all the same. Because whatever she said hit something. Something tender. Something no one’s talking about.
And most of all, because Jungkook’s not looking at anyone anymore. Just at the edge of the coffee table. Like he’s suddenly a million miles away.
And for the life of you, you don’t know why.
The conversation trickles back after a few awkward gulps of coffee and half-hearted jokes. Leah tries her best, bless her, chattering about some new café that opened up in town. Nick throws in the occasional sarcastic comment to keep the rhythm from collapsing entirely. Jungwoo nods along like a man on autopilot.
But you can still feel the heaviness clinging to the room like smoke.
Jungkook’s unusually quiet now. He's answering questions when prompted, but his usual warmth is gone—like he packed it away with Nina’s name.
You’re not the only one who notices. Vicky’s arms are crossed tight, and her jaw ticks like she wants to say something but bites it back. Leah’s glance darts between the two of them, the peacemaker instincts activated but unsure where to step in.
Eventually, the opportunity comes when Leah gets up to take more dessert orders and Vicky follows her into the kitchen with a pointed, “We need more whipped cream,” which is clearly just code for let me vent for five minutes before I explode.
Nick and Jungwoo fall into their own small conversation—basketball, you think—something safe.
That’s when you nudge Jungkook’s leg.
He looks at you, slow. You nod toward the hallway.
“Come with me for a second?” you ask quietly.
He follows you without a word.
You stop near the coat rack in the hallway, just out of earshot. It’s dimmer here. Quieter. The hum of a refrigerator from the kitchen and soft chatter from the living room feel miles away.
“You okay?” you ask, voice gentle.
Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. I told you—she’s just sick.”
You tilt your head, squinting at him. “I didn’t ask about Nina.”
That catches him off guard. His shoulders drop slightly, like you just called him out on holding his breath.
“I’m fine,” he says, this time without the fake lightness. “I just… didn’t expect that.”
You nod, arms crossing, not in defense, but in comfort. “Is there something going on you’re not telling me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His tongue rolls over the inside of his cheek like he’s chewing on whether or not to speak. And then he exhales through his nose, sharp and quiet.
“There’s just stuff I’m… still figuring out.”
“Okay,” you say simply, not pushing.
His eyes meet yours for a second longer than necessary. There’s so much in them. Fatigue. Frustration. And something else—something you can’t name, but it makes your heart sting a little.
And then, as quickly as it cracked, the mask slides back on.
“We should go back,” he says, already stepping toward the living room.
You watch him walk off. You don’t follow right away.
There’s a weird heaviness in your chest. Not worry. Not sadness. Just this strange, frustrating itch of not knowing.
You don’t know what’s going on with him.
You don’t know what Vicky’s comment touched.
And you really don’t know why all of it is starting to matter more than you want it to.
It's past midnight when you finally get home.
The apartment is dark, your skin smells faintly of creme brulée and laundry detergent, and your phone’s been silent for the past hour.
You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. And you think about it.
About Vicky’s joke.
About the shift in Jungkook’s posture.
About how he didn’t touch his coffee after that.
About the hallway, and the way he didn’t answer your question, but his eyes did.
So, you do what you shouldn’t do.
You open your texts.
[12:27 AM] You: hey
You stare at it. Delete. Re-type.
[12:28 AM] You: i hope you're okay. you don’t have to explain anything if you’re not ready. i just wanted you to know i’m here. always.
You press send.
And then — because you can’t help yourself — you add one more.
[12:29 AM] You: also. if you ever need someone to fake a kidnapping so you can vanish for a weekend, i have a shovel and a good alibi.
You hit send.
Immediately regret it.
Immediately laugh.
Immediately wonder if he’ll reply.
You put your phone face down on your chest and close your eyes.
The kind of tired you feel isn’t physical.
It’s the kind that settles behind your ribs and waits.
You’re not expecting a reply.
Not tonight, maybe not at all. You know Jungkook — he shuts down when things get too heavy.
But your phone buzzes. Once.
[12:41 AM Kook]: you always know when to text me. it’s scary sometimes.
Then, after a beat, another one.
[12:42 AM] Kook: i’m okay. or trying to be. it doesn't matter. but thank you
Your heart tugs in a way you don’t like. A way that feels too much, too soon, too everything.
He sends one more.
[12:44 AM] Kook: also, pretty sure the shovel thing is illegal. but i’m keeping you in mind. just in case.
You laugh. You smile. You almost cry. All at once.
You set your phone down gently, like it’s carrying something fragile. Because maybe it is. Maybe it always has when it comes to Jungkook.
The room is dark except for the soft glow of the city bleeding in through your curtains, dancing shadows on your wall. You exhale, long and quiet, and sink deeper into your mattress, the weight of the day pressing against your chest.
You don’t reply to him. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t trust yourself not to say too much. Because your fingers are twitching to type "I miss you,” and your chest aches with the need to ask "What are you not telling me?” But instead, you let the silence answer for you.
You turn over, blanket pulled up to your chin, eyes open to the ceiling, and you realize something:
This is no longer simple.
It hasn’t been for a while now.
Jungkook's words echo in your head as you finally close your eyes.
“You always know when to text me.”
And yeah—
That’s exactly the problem.
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grandline-fics · 3 months ago
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Immune To Your Charms
DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.
WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Talk/threat of violence but nothing too explicit. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU
CHARACTERS: Doflamingo
WORDS: 3,350
A/N: It's been a while between being sick and trying to get more of the Valentines Event requests caught up on but I needed my Doffy fix after a draining week. I'm not too happy with the ending for this chapter but it does the job in leading us to the next part of the story. Hope you all enjoy and as always thank you for the support and response to this story.
*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*
DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen(here) | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen(coming soon)
——————
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“You’re staring.” You spoke up from your place on the sofa, your eyes reading over the morning paper leisurely. For the most part you’d ignored the feeling of Doflamingo’s stare on you but now you decided to call attention to his behaviour seeing as it was unlike him. 
“I can’t stop thinking about your face.” Immediately you turned your head to look at him peculiarly, eyebrow arching. This wasn’t his usual method of trying to get a reaction out of you. This seemed genuinely thoughtful. For a moment you observed him, watching him rest his chin on his had with his elbow propped up on the desk. Completely unmoving. With his dark glasses and relaxed breath anyone would have mistaken him for sleeping. 
“Okay, this should be good” You mused, discarding your paper now that this seemed to be the main issue of the afternoon. Turning in the seat you faced him fully. “What about my face has you so thoughtful?” 
“There’s still no mark.” He explained and you let out a loud sigh. Doflamingo couldn’t help but frown slightly at how annoyed you sounded. “What?”
“You’re still fixated on that? Have you ever considered that you might have a little bit of an obsessive personality?” You asked while getting to your feet. “It’s been days. If there was going to be a mark, it would have appeared already and like I told you the day it happened; I’m fine and it didn’t even hurt.”
“Regardless the fact is there should have been something. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Since when did anything with this whole soulmate thing make sense? Besides what would you have rather happen, Doffy?” You asked as you leant against the wall and stared blankly out the window while you listened to the Warlord turn in his chair to follow your movements. “Can’t you just be happy it happened this way? Otherwise you would have been pissed that a ‘lowly servant’ did what you haven’t been able to do yet. No mark means you can just act like it didn’t happen and we can continue as normal…or our version of normal at least.”
“That’s one way of looking at it…” Doflamingo hummed, leaning back in his seat to regard you carefully. “Still knowing what happened is a mystery. Is it possible that now being in the same room as the other makes us impervious to harm from others too?”
“Possibly.” You shrugged before letting out a small laugh. “Either that or I’m also soulmates with that servant.” At that you felt Doflamingo’s shadow looming over you and you tilted your head back to smirk at him, not surprised by his speed or sudden proximity. “Oh lighten up, I was joking. One soulmate is more than enough, especially a handful like you.”
“Handful? I’ll have you know I’ve been on my best behaviour.” Doflamingo chuckled, his previous annoyance at the reminder of the servant-who’d been smart enough to stay out of his way as well as yours- leaving swiftly the more he stared at your amused expression. He grinned as his lens-covered eyes drifted to your curved lips. “Really you should be more grateful.”
“Should I? I’ll take that into consideration but if memory serves I think I’ve been more than generous with my gratitude when you’ve actually been well behaved.” You informed him with a casual smile before looking back out the window while his grin grew. While there had been no more kisses shared between the two of you since that day, it was still fresh in both of your minds. 
Apart from a few passing remarks and subtle glances there were no deeper conversations or direct attention called to the two kisses shared, because doing so would certainly mean having to face the fact that feelings were changing and had been for while. Luckily for you both the conversation changed when you stifled a long yawn and rubbed your neck. Feeling Doflamingo’s stare again you looked to him, seeing the grin had lessened, his jaw tight. “What?”
“Are you not sleeping again?” Doflamingo reached out and tucked his finger under your chin to coax you to look at him. Not unlike when he was looking for a mark, he stared over your features with intent scrutiny only this time he wasn’t fuelled with fury that someone could have hurt you. 
“Took a little while to fall asleep.” You admitted, unbothered. “I woke up early too.” For some reason that didn’t seem to ease Doflamingo’s slight tension. Abruptly he moved his hand from your chin to lightly touch your forehead with the back of his hand. Confused, you pulled your head away from his fingers and looked at him curiously. “What’s up with you today?”
“Just checking.” Doflamingo answered, stepping away to return to his desk. Silently he was relieved to feel your temperature felt fine, the second you’d mentioned not sleeping well he couldn’t help but think of the last time you’d mentioned something similar. Try as he might, the unwanted image of your sick and weakened form lying in bed and struggling for breath still occurred in his thoughts every so often. This was the first time it’d happened while you were standing in front of him, healthy and thriving. Lifting a random missive he absently tried to focus on it but cast it aside just as fast as he’d picked it up, unwilling and unable to retain any of the words on the paper. 
With a sigh he pinching the bridge of his nose and sat back again. You moved to the back of his seat and pushed it down, forcing it to recline at the lazy pace you’d set. When Doflamingo’s face was directly under yours you lightly tapped his forehead and waited to feel his stare from behind the dark lenses. “Same question to you; are you not sleeping?” 
“Course I am.”
“Okay fine, I’ll rephrase it: have you been sleeping well?” You asked, refusing to believe his relaxed grin for a second. 
“No, but then I never do.” Doflamingo chuckled, unbothered. He was used to his unrecommended sleeping habits that he’d had for countless years. Yes he found sleep, usually a couple hours at a time throughout the night with stretches of restlessness and tossing and turning sprinkled in between. Some nights he didn’t even sleep at all, deciding to just stay awake and work. It was very rare for him to have a full and restful night of uninterrupted slumber because almost without fail if he did fall asleep fast enough, some form of nightmare of his past or unsettled dreams that would swiftly wake him.
“What about when I fell asleep on you? Or when you had to hold me to ensure I slept?” You asked, the different incidences coming to your memory. “You seemed peaceful those times when I woke and you were still sleeping.” Doflamingo considered it for a minute. When you’d fallen asleep on him right here in the office because of heavy sleep deprivation, he had fallen asleep too not long after and awoken only when you did. Thinking back he had slept soundly then, just as he had when he’d held you to stop you feeling pain. Yes, he woke up throughout the night when the doctors came in to do their checks and apart from his vigilance on your changing condition he could silently admit in the sleep he had felt rested all the same. Doflamingo gave a small thoughtful hum and you smirked. “Regardless, your biggest issue is you’re too tense which is strange given how much you smile.”
“I’m not ‘too tense’ you’re imagining things.” Doflamingo chuckled, making a point to kick his feet up onto the desk and tuck his hands behind his head in a show of perfect ease. Still you stared at him expectantly and unconvinced. 
“I felt your neck the day the door hit me-”
“-by the servant-” Doflamingo tried to interject but you continued over him.
“-and you were tense. Bet the rest of your back is just as bad if not worse.”
“I’m fine, I’m in perfect shape and able to rule the country and command my subordinates as effectively as I always have.” Doflamingo dismissed your words while you took a breath and stepped away from the back of his chair.
“Okay. Understood.” You said with a little too much sweetness and acceptance in your tone. Before you moved too far, Doflamingo’s hand caught your wrist, immediately suspicious. His distrust only grew when you looked down to smile at him innocently. “Yes?”
“What? Why’re you dropping it so easily?”
“Because unlike you I’m not obsessive?” You asked calmly, your smile unmoving. “I just know not to push these types of topics. Especially for fragile egos that don’t want to admit they were wrong. You say you’re not tense? Then you’re not tense.” Doflamingo bit back the urge to snap that he didn’t have a fragile ego. He saw the bait being dangled in front of him, he saw the dangerous but playful challenge in your stare. You wanted to play? Fine. 
“I have no issue admitting I’m wrong when it actually happens, it’s just never happened of course but I welcome the opportunity.” He began smoothly, standing from his seat and releasing your wrist. “Go on then. Prove I’m too tense to sleep properly but even just trying is going to cost you.”
“What’s the price?” You asked warily, eyes narrowing at how smug he now seemed. 
“You have to spend more time with the family for a whole week; at least one meal a day. Oh and you have to talk, no sitting in silence.” Immediately your expression tensed. Doflamingo was truly a bastard when he wanted to be and setting the cost this high for just an attempt was proof of that. Still if you could prove you were right and he was wrong that meant you got gloating rights for life. That would make enduring the company of his ‘family’ worth it. Resolve steeling you adopted your sweet smile once more and held out your hand to shake it. Doflamingo paused for the smallest moment, pleasantly surprised at your dedication and willingness to do what was necessary. Grinning he took your hand into his and shook it firmly. 
————
You allowed Doflamingo time to see to his urgent matters of the day before working on proving your point. By midday he’d finished and found you in your room softly playing the violin to pass the time. At the sound of the door opening and closing behind him you played the last note and jerked your head towards the bed. “Lie down.”
“Someone’s eager.” Doflamingo chuckled and did as you said, not fully lying down until you sat down on the mattress beside him. Lightly you pushed his shoulder and made him settle onto his stomach. He folded his arms under one of the pillows and turned his head to the side to watch you. 
Without hesitating you reached out, fingers moving against his neck and applying decent pressure against the knots you were right to assume were there. Slowly massaging and taking your time to work away the tension before moving on to his shoulders. Your lips quirked slightly when you felt Doflamingo sink a little more into the comfort of the mattress and heard his breathing shift into one of genuine calm. The tiny smile grew into a fully vindicated grin when you moved to the centre of his back where the largest knot of tensed muscle you’d felt yet was. Under your careful and diligent movements you heard a low, satisfied groan escape when it practically melted away. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were falling asleep…”
“So smug…annoying.” You couldn’t help but laugh at how his deep voice was now thick with grogginess. In a matter of seconds you removed the final point of tightness in his back and felt the subtle change and then heard the deep relaxed breaths as he fell over to sleep.
For hours there was no sign of Doflamingo in the palace. The servants and lower rank subordinates had initially been worried that their ruler was in his office, growing more and more uneasy that he could appear at any moment in a foul and murderous mood. If anything the silence was more stressful for them to contend with because they just had no way of knowing if Doflamingo was planning something and their imaginations immediately went to the most terrifying thoughts their creativity could conjure. It didn’t matter that you’d told them almost immediately that Doflamingo was just sleeping, they just couldn’t believe you and any that did at first, became distrustful when his rest stretched beyond the typical half hour he would normally have. It just seemed so unnatural to them.
When Doflamingo finally stirred he opened his eyes to the darkness of your room. Taking a long breath he rolled onto his back and slowly moved to sit up while his mind caught up to the current situation. This was the first time in a long time he’d actually slept for so long and so deeply. There had been no fitful dreams or nightmares, no slight disturbance or noise that would break through his subconscious and wake him. He felt rested and honestly he felt disgruntled because you were right. Looking around the room he saw you weren’t there and with a sigh he rose from the comfort of the bed and stepped out into the corridor, taking long casual strides towards the drawing room his family usually spent their time in before dinner. 
Entering the room he surveyed the scene of his family interacting. Everything looked the same as he always found except for the unexpected sight of you sitting opposite Diamanté with a chess board between you both. Trebol stood oppressively close to his fellow elite officer, laughing at how the man hesitated to make his next move. You sat perfectly relaxed, your eyes only drifting from the board to meet Doflamingo’s gaze when he stepped into the room. Immediately the others  sensed his presence and the conversations stopped, everyone looking to Doflamingo as he walked through the room, coming to a stop at the table and inspected the board. Immediately everyone else returned to their previous conversations, knowing not to mention their King’s absence for most of the day if he wasn’t going to. Diamanté was the first to address their master. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon, Doffy.”
“Good, I’m starving.” He grinned, looking to the officer. “What’s your next move Diamanté?”
“Don’t pressure him, he’s been stuck for ten minutes.” You finally spoke up to smile at the officer who’s mood had soured the longer the game had lasted because at first he believed you knew next to nothing about how to play. Doflamingo chuckled stepping around to stand behind your seat and watch. “Maybe a nap will help sharpen your mind? What do you think, Doffy?”
“Couldn’t do any harm.” Doflamingo grinned lightly squeezing your shoulder.
As agreed you joined the family for their dinner, your seat beside Doflamingo just as it had been during the pirate’s banquet so long ago. Just as you’d done while in the drawing room before Doflamingo woke up, you talked lightly with the family, engaged in conversation politely while also not being afraid of shutting them down when they overstepped in a comment or question you weren’t going to answer. You brought no attention to it but it did surprise you when they didn’t push or pry. When you shut those topics down, they swiftly moved to different conversations. 
It wasn’t complete torture but you were still relieved when the meal was over and you were heading towards your room, hoping you got as good a night’s sleep as you’d helped Doflamingo get. A long yawn built in your chest and you covered your mouth as you reached for the door to your room, only to stop when Doflamingo spoke up. “So what meal are you going to join everyone for tomorrow?”
“Breakfast. Better to get it out of the way first.” You explained with a smile as Doflamingo laughed. You stood in the open doorway of your room but didn’t fully enter, facing the man with an expectant look. “I’m still waiting to hear something from you.”
“And that would be?” Doflamingo stared at you, head tilted slightly in curiosity.
“You said you had no issue admitting you were wrong when it happened. Come on then.” Doflamingo let out a small huff and you smirked knowing he needed a little push. “No, you’re right we shouldn’t keep this between us. Let’s save your declaration for tomorrow at breakfast with the rest of the family present? Good idea. Night, Doffy.” You stepped inside and prepared to close the door only to blink in mild surprise when Doflamingo had already stepped inside and braced his hand against the wood to prevent it from closing you off from him. His free hand slipped around your waist and pulled you forward. 
“Fine.” Doflamingo uttered, a reluctant sigh building in his chest as he leant in. “You might have had a point and helped me sleep after all.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a better way to phrase that sentiment.”
“So high maintenance…” Doflamingo tutted under his breath. “Fine. I was a little bit wrong.”
“So humble.” You smirked. “You’re welcome by the way.”
“You really are annoying when you’re smug. You know that?” Doflamingo chuckled, pressing a quick and unexpected kiss against your forehead before letting you go. “Go on, get to bed.”
————
Doflamingo was pleasantly surprised to find that you kept up your side of the deal without complaint for the full week. You interacted with the family as he’d requested you would and had at least one meal a day with the full family. The family itself never drew any attention to the development even when some did cast you a curious look when you entered the dining room for the chosen meal you’d attend for the day. 
When the week was over he walked down the corridor and entered your room expecting to see you sitting at your table by the window. Instead he looked to see you still in bed, curled up against the covers and sleeping deeply. At the soft click of the door shutting he watched your eyes slowly crack open. Blearily you blinked and focused your gaze on his face. Yawning, you stretched out and pushed yourself to sit up in the bed. “Everyone missing me already?” You asked before stopping to yawn again. “Can’t they wait until lunchtime?”
“You’re going to continue dining with them?” Doflamingo asked as you relaxed against the pillows. He wasn’t expecting that.
“Seeing them try to work out why I’m there is entertaining. Might as well make the most out of their confusion while it lasts.” You shrugged lightly. Stretching one last time you reluctantly dragged yourself out of the bed, knowing that if you didn’t move now you would have probably risked falling to sleep again. Sitting down in your seat by the window, you said nothing as Doflamingo took his seat but you turned your head when he set a small envelope in front of you. You cast him a brief glance before lifting the envelope and opening it. 
You pulled out the thick and expensive card and read it over with a confused frown. “What’s this?”
“My invite to another pointless gathering of the Grand Line’s rich and powerful. Want to go?”
“You said you hated these kinds of things. Pointless and boring, remember?”
“Yes, I did say that and I stand by it.” Doflamingo nodded. “However you said you’ve never gotten to experience this kind of thing as a guest. So, what do you say?”
You looked down at the invitation once more. It was tempting, you weren’t going to lie. Silently you chewed your lower lip for a moment as you considered it. 
“When do we go?”  
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jinniejjam · 7 months ago
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Lonely Wine
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✎ Mean Neighbor!Lee Know x Lonely Afab!Reader
✎ Christmas AU, Emotional, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, 18+ MDNI! NSFW, Mutual Pining, Smut, Mistletoe Trope, Romantic Ending.
✎ 3.4k
✎ Synopsis: you find yourself feeling alone and distant, lost in your own thoughts. Your annoying neighbor, Lee Minho, crosses your path, and the exchange between you is far from pleasant. But then, to your surprise, he apologizes. As the holiday season continues, the walls between you begin to crumble, and you start to realize that even the most unexpected neighbors can bring warmth and connection when you least expect it.
A/n : hii y'all! I bring the christmas fanfic for today, hope you enjoy the story and also Merry Christmas! I hope warmth found u^^
—Bae
The air was cold, sharp against your skin as you leaned on the edge of your window, a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. Christmas Eve had always been a hollow affair for you, a reminder of what you didn’t have.
Your family wasn’t just complicated—it was fractured, splintered beyond repair. Your parents had divorced years ago, both quickly moving on to build new families, leaving you somewhere in the middle. No one outright abandoned you, but no one fought for you either. Holidays became a game of polite invitations and shallow smiles, and eventually, you stopped trying to belong anywhere.
You finished the wine faster than you intended, the warmth in your chest doing little to ease the ache. The sound of distant laughter and carols drifted in through the window, each note a cruel reminder of what this night was supposed to be.
When you realized your stock of wine was gone, you sighed and grabbed your coat. A trip to the store would be better than sitting alone with your thoughts.
The grocery store was mostly empty, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly. You wandered the aisles, the sight of festive decorations and holiday discounts doing nothing to lift your spirits. Three bottles of wine went into your basket—too much for one night, maybe, but you didn’t care.
By the time you returned to your building, your arms were aching from the weight of the bottles. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a breath as the doors closed.
But they didn’t close fast enough.
“Hold it!” a familiar voice called, and your stomach dropped as Lee Minho slid in just before the doors shut.
Of course. Out of all the people in this building, it had to be him.
Lee Minho, your annoying salty neighbor who had been a thorn of your peacefull life in this building, you're not sure how and when it started, but every encounter with him always feels like a war somehow, well its maybe begin from the very first you moved in to this building.
Flashback
The new apartment smelled like fresh paint and floor polish. You sat on your worn couch, staring at the boxes still stacked in chaotic clusters, a sigh escaping your lips. Starting over wasn’t easy. The stress of work and the pressures of life had already begun weighing down on you, but you were determined to make this new chapter as bright as possible.
After a long debate, you decided to bake cookies for your neighbors as a peace offering—a way to establish yourself in the building. A sense of community might help ease the loneliness. Armed with a plate of warm cookies, you stepped out of your door, knocking at the unit beside yours.
It swung open sharply.
The man who stood before you was breathtakingly gorgeous, but his expression was nothing short of murderous. His dark, sharp eyes narrowed in annoyance, his jawline so sharp you could swear it could cut glass.
“Yes?” His voice was flat, unwelcoming.
“Oh, hi! I just moved in next door. I made cookies and thought I’d introduce myself!” you said, holding the plate out with a smile.
He stared at the cookies like they were contaminated.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” His tone was curt. Without another word, he shut the door.
You blinked, stunned. What the hell was that?
Or that one time when he complained, saying that you're being loud just 3 days right after you moved in.
The next few days after moving in filled with unpacking, arranging furniture, and trying to settle into your new place. It was exhausting, and by the weekend, you decided to reward yourself with a relaxing night—some wine, your favorite playlist, and a bubble bath.
The music was soft, barely above a whisper, but as you swayed along while unpacking some remaining boxes, a sudden knock startled you. It wasn’t just a polite tap; it was loud, deliberate, and aggressive.
You frowned as you opened the door, only to find yourself face-to-face with your grumpy neighbor. Lee Minho stood there, arms crossed, his dark eyes glaring down at you like you were the source of all his problems.
“Seriously?” he snapped.
“What?” you asked, taken aback.
“The music,” he said. “Some of us are trying to sleep, and your constant noise is making it impossible.”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely 9 PM.”
“And? Some people have early mornings,” he replied. “Unlike you, apparently.”
You folded your arms. “Excuse me, but I’m not exactly throwing a party over here. The music is quiet enough that I can barely hear it myself. Maybe the problem isn’t me; maybe it’s you.”
His jaw tightened. “Oh, so now I’m the problem?”
“Kind of, yeah,” you shot back. “Maybe you should consider moving to a remote cabin in the woods if you hate hearing other people so much.”
The tension between you crackled like static. He exhaled sharply, clearly deciding you weren’t worth more of his time.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just keep it down.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his apartment, leaving you fuming in the doorway.
You think that was the moment the gloves came off. From then on, the two of you clashed at every opportunity—snarky comments in the elevator, icy glares in the hallway, and a mounting frustration that turned into outright hostility.
Back to present time, he leaned casually against the cold wall of the elevator, his sharp eyes scanning the bottles in your arms. His smirk was almost immediate.
“Three bottles?” he quipped, tilting his head. “For one person? What is this, a pity party?”
You didn’t respond, staring straight ahead and hoping he’d shut up.
But Minho wasn’t done. “What? Are you that lonely? Not even a family to spend Christmas with?”
His words hit like a gut punch, sharp and uncalled for. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles as you turned to glare at him.
“Yeah, keep talking, Lee. I’m sure your perfect little life makes all of this just so much better,” you shot back, your voice trembling but laced with bitterness.
Minho blinked, taken aback. He had expected you to snap back, to fight him with the same sarcastic edge you always did. Instead, he saw the hurt in your eyes, the raw emotion you’d been trying so hard to hide. His stomach twisted in regret, realizing too late that he had pushed the wrong button this time. The smug expression he wore faltered, guilt creeping in as he watched you turn away right after the elevator door opened.
Once inside your apartment, the weight of his words finally crashed down on you. You set the bottles on the counter, your hands trembling.
Not even a family.
It wasn’t just an insult—it was the truth. Your parents had their own lives, their own families, and you were nothing more than a reminder of their failed marriage. Christmas had become a painful routine: fake smiles, awkward dinners, and feeling like an outsider in both of their homes. This year, you hadn’t even bothered to show up.
Tears welled in your eyes as you uncorked one of the bottles. The first sip burned your throat, but you didn’t stop. With each gulp, you tried to drown the ache, to silence the doubts and regrets swirling in your mind.
But the wine didn’t help. Instead, it magnified everything.
The tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as the weight of the night pressed harder on you. You sank onto the couch, clutching the bottle like it was your lifeline. The sound of distant carols and laughter seeped in through the thin walls, each note a cruel reminder of what you didn’t have.
A knock at the door made you freeze.
“Who’s there?” you called, your voice hoarse.
“It’s me.”
Minho.
Your chest tightened. The last person you wanted to see right now was him.
“Go away!” you shouted, wiping at your tear-streaked face.
But he didn’t leave.
“I need to apologize,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
You clenched your jaw, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t need your pity, Minho. Just leave me alone.”
But his voice came again, insistent. “Please. I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line.”
Something about the raw sincerity in his tone gave you pause. Slowly, you stood and walked to the door, hesitating before unlocking it.
When you opened it, Minho was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk replaced by something almost apologetic. His eyes flickered to your puffy, tear-streaked face, and his jaw tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why do you care?”
Minho hesitated, his gaze softening. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas.”
The admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.
“I’m serious,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was being an ass, and—"
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Before you knew it, you were crying again, the weight of the evening too much to hold back.
Minho stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “—Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly. The warmth of his embrace broke something inside you, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you afloat.
Minho held you close, his arms steady and sure, like he was the only anchor keeping you from falling apart. The quiet between you was heavy but not uncomfortable; his presence alone was enough to steady your trembling breaths. His hand moved gently up and down your back, offering a kind of comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, your voice muffled.
“For what?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“For being a mess.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes softened as they searched yours, and for the first time, you saw something other than irritation or smugness—something tender.
“You’re not a mess,” he murmured. “You’re human.”
The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten, and before you could think twice, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.
“Come on,” he said gently, his hands steadying you as he guided you toward the couch. “Sit down. Let me help.”
He left briefly, and you heard the soft clink of glasses. When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and a blanket, sitting beside you with a closeness that felt intentional.
“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice still fragile.
“I wanted to.” His reply was simple, but his tone carried weight.
The room was quiet as you sipped the water, his eyes never leaving you. The soft glow of the Christmas lights from your small tree cast warm shadows across his face, making him look softer, more vulnerable.
“You’re different tonight,” you said softly, daring to glance at him.
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners. “So are you.”
The silence stretched again, but this time it was charged, buzzing with something unspoken.
“Minho,” you began, your voice hesitant, but he interrupted you by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long, making heat creeping to your cheeks, redish hue appear within a second.
“You deserve better than this,” he said quietly.
You blinked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely at your apartment, the wine bottles on the counter, the loneliness hanging in the air. “Being alone on Christmas. Feeling like you don’t have anyone. You deserve someone who cares.”
The vulnerability in his voice stunned you.
“Do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Care, I mean?”
His eyes darkened slightly as they locked onto yours. “More than I should.”
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you seemed to shrink as the tension thickened. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering to your lips.
But you didn’t want him to stop.
Instead of answering, you leaned forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as you both gave in to the pull that had been simmering between you for weeks.
Minho’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as you shifted onto his lap. His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a passion that sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, eliciting a low sound from him that made your stomach flip.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.
You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yes.”
He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. He stood, carrying you effortlessly toward your bedroom, his movements careful and intentional.
Once inside, he laid you gently on the bed, his hands brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every inch of you. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious—made your chest tighten.
His touch was both tender and consuming, each kiss and caress unraveling the stress and pain that had been weighing you down for so long. The intimacy of it all made your heart ache in the best way.
It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like it was sacred, the way he made you feel seen, cherished.
His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You shivered, your body responding to his touch even before you could think. Minho’s hands caressed the curves of your body, each movement slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting something inside of you that had been dormant for far too long.
"Minho..." You whispered his name, your voice trembling as your fingers slid to the waistband of his pants, grabing his clothed cock making him groan from the contact.
"Fuck, Princess."
He kissed you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your pulse spike. You felt his body pressing against yours, his muscles flexing as he leaned into you. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer to him until you could feel the heat of his body, hands trailing to tug on your sweater, getting rid of it in a swift motion, leaving you in your black lacy bra.
When he pulled away for just a second, his dark eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "You're so beautiful” he said, his voice low and raspy, full of an almost dangerous edge.
He squeze your tits from outside of your bra, your body aching for him in a way you couldn’t deny. "Minh, please.”
With a growl, he kissed you again, his hands rough as they worked quickly to remove the last remnants of your clothes. You felt the heat of his skin against yours, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine before they slid to your hips, pulling you closer as his mouth moved over your collarbone, his kisses becoming more desperate.
Every kiss he gave, every movement of his hands, felt like it was igniting something inside of you, a need that you hadn’t realized had been building up for so long. You moaned softly, your hands running over his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips.
He responded with a groan of his own, his mouth returning to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The air between you grew thick with desire, the tension so palpable you could hardly breathe. His hands moved to your back, gently pushing you back onto the bed, his body following you, never breaking the connection.
As he hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, “I want you, all of you.”
You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as his words sank in, the meaning behind them making your heart race even faster. “Then take me,” you responded, your voice low and demanding, feeling a surge of confidence you hadn’t known you had.
Without another word, Minho moved over you, his hands and lips tracing the line of your body with a sense of urgency, like he couldn’t wait any longer. He drag his waist band You felt the pressure of his body against yours, he run his heavy cock along your folds, squelching sound coming from the contact signing how wet you are already, "Holly fuck baby, do you hear that? Mmh all wet for me" he said, still teasing your drench cunt. The heat between you both becoming almost unbearable.
Minho finally align his tip to your enterance, pushing it in to your clenching hole, earning a trail of moan from both of you.
"Ahh minhh," Your fingers dug into his back, urging him on as you kissed him with the same urgency, your body moving against his in rhythm.
His movements grew faster, more desperate, as he sought to claim you in the way that only he could. You could feel every inch of him as he slid deeper, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp with pleasure. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your body trembled beneath him.
"Minho mmh," his name slipped from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, and the sound of it seemed to drive him wild. He growled low in his throat, his hips snapping against yours with a relentless intensity. You met him with every thrust, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control, the pleasure building, escalating with each movement.
"Minho... fuckh you're gonna make me cumhh," you gasped, the heat of your bodies colliding with an intensity that took your breath away.
He groaned, his name slipping from your lips in a way that made his pulse quicken. The sound of your voice, the way you were calling out for him, drove him to the edge. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, his tongue claiming yours in a dance that matched the rhythm of your bodies.
"Cum for me kitten, cum" he said, hips pistoning to hit the certain spot that makes you see the stars.
As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you felt the tension inside of you snap, "Minhh ahh FUCK," your body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.
"Fuck, fuck fuck shit baby s'goodh mmhh" Minho followed you over the edge, his body trembling as he gave in to the moment, his own release consuming him.
You both lay there, breathless and tangled in each other's arms, your bodies still pressed together, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
Minho’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, the softness of the kiss in stark contrast to the fiery intensity of what had just happened.
“I care about you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours once more. “More than you know.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in your chest now replaced with something deeper, something stronger. You smiled softly, your hands running over his back, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.
"I care about you too," you whispered, your voice full of quiet certainty.
And as the two of you lay together, tangled in the aftermath, you realized that this wasn’t just a night of passion. It was a turning point—one that would change everything between you. It was the beginning of something real, something lasting, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.
Make a brief synopsis for this story
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leyavo · 3 months ago
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The TF141 guys when you mention you’re trying to romanticise your life:
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John’s the only one that questions it, knows he’s not in the loop with trends/slang etc. “What do you mean darling?” And he starts romanticising his own morning routine. A nice black coffee, your drink of choice too waiting for you. some music playing as he gets dressed for the day.
Planning shared time with you later, having a bath together and little candles flickering on the side. He also values his alone time and has a bubble bath, cigar and a glass of whisky. Getting himself some fancy pens, the ink smooth so it makes writing up all those reports so much easier and more fluid. He takes time to check in on your day too, a text here and there when he’s not busy or weighed down with work.
Simon’s panicking, thinking he’s been neglecting you. He’s getting you seasonal flowers, bright tulips or daffodils in spring etc. buying you your favourite chocolate. He’s doing little things like ironing your shirt for work or packing your lunch when he gets time. It’s not till you confront him about doing all these little things do you realise he took it to heart.
“Si, I meant romanticising my day, the mundane things I can do to make me feel a bit better.” After convincing him he does enough and he’s romantic in his way he begins to think. Simon then starts small by adding a hazelnut syrup to his black coffee in the morning. Washing his mask more often too, a ritual after each op where he hand washes all the sweat and dirt as if cleansing himself of the sins.
Johnny’s thinks romanticising his day is day dreaming about you and how you smell so good. How he’d like to have his way with you before you go to work. But in all seriousness, Johnny journals (like in the game). He’s got one for work and one for his home life, some pages are scribbled mess of writing and sketches, of you, of little things that catch his eye (also you).
He’s got a box full of journals under the bed, sometimes he likes to read them, connect with who he was years ago and appreciate who he’s become. Loves reading back on your first dates and what he thought you (man’s a dog). Adds some more notes in the margain “we married them.” “You did get laid this night.” Maybe he’ll even show you some of them one day.
Kyle’s knows exactly what you mean, you’re always trying to add more intention to your day and being present. Kyle understands and uses the present as an anchor to stop him spiralling with his job. He calls them glimmers, how when the sunlight steals his attention and reminds him to breathe and stop overthinking.
He makes time for himself to stretch as soon as he gets out of bed, create small moments in between his fast paced job. Loves reading fantasy books, dragons preferably and designates his time before bed to read at least one chapter (you’re normally reading beside him too). Even part of an online fanclub for said book where he talks about theories for the next book in the series. Total nerd for it there like eight books already.
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jaellyfishh · 2 months ago
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The Corner Where We Met · Part 4
trope: art teacher!azzi x PE teacher!paige
content: fluff, little jealousy. also, let’s pretend aaliyah’s birthday is not in july
word count: 7.1K
thank you for patiently waiting! i’ve drafted the storyline for the next two chapters, but i’m open to suggestions. let me know what you think of this chapter and if there are confusing elements i can address/change.
Several days later
Between free periods during school hours and late-night FaceTimes after work, Paige and Azzi’s relationship grew even closer. No one around them, not even themselves, could put a label on their current dynamic. It would likely be in a grey area of casual and committed, nothing official, yet only kept for each other.
“See? It looks prettier now, right?” Azzi beamed as she looked at a picture of Paige’s new bedsheets from her phone.
“Yeah, maybe you should redesign my entire apartment,” Paige mused, tucking her phone away in her pocket as the pair walked towards the gym.
“Maybe you should invite me sometime,” Azzi teased, earning a small chuckle from the blonde.
The pair took their seat in the back among the teachers, greeting each other with simple nods and smiles.
There was an ocean of excitement among the students during morning assembly as Principal Auriemma announced a reminder of Moore’s upcoming annual October Sports Day, which will take place in almost three weeks. Paige had curated a stacked list of activities—ball sports, track, a cheer dance competition, and other fun activities—and the students couldn’t sit still in anticipation, especially knowing the teachers would be participating as well.
Azzi gave Paige a proud look, placing her hand over hers as she mouthed ‘you did so well’. The blonde gave her a shy smile before her attention focused on the chatty students around them, squirming in their seats, talking to each other in excited whispers about the games. Nika, who sat behind them, gave Paige a surprise shoulder squeeze.
“KK and I are so gonna beat you in two-legged race,” Mühl deviously muttered in her ear, her hands pressing down on Paige’s shoulder,
“Can y’all make strides long enough, though?” Paige retorted with a smug face.
Nika squeezed a little too hard, causing Paige to wince in pain.
As the volume of the students grew, Principal Auriemma tapped on the microphone, bringing them back to reality for the rest of the morning assembly announcements, the quietness overtaking progressively. As everyone’s attention turned back to him, the blonde couldn’t help but notice Azzi’s hand still on hers, her thumb absentmindedly caressing it while she listened to the old man.
Paige’s heart almost fluttered at the small gesture, one that spoke the most volumes in the way Azzi cared for her. The blonde gave a small smile before stroking Azzi’s pinky with her thumb that was closest to it. And they stayed like that for the remainder of the assembly, unnoticed by others but highly noticeable to the pair.
After Principal Auriemma dismissed the assembly, the crowd slowly separated towards their respective quarters, while the pair still walked together in tandem, almost attached to the hip, almost always in their bubble.
As they reached Azzi’s classroom door, the curly brunette turned to Paige with a large sigh, getting herself ready for the day.
Paige smiled and gave a knowing nod. “I’ll see you at lunch”.
“Don’t miss me too much,” Azzi smiled back.
“I’ll try not to,” Paige grinned, scanning Azzi’s face as she shoved her hands into her jacket.
Suddenly, a small figure stopped beside Paige.
“Ms. Bueckers, you’re in my way,” a voice scolded, surprising the pair.
“Oh, my bad. Sorry, Li’l Leo,” Paige stepped back.
“If you keep staring at Ms. Fudd like that, it’s gonna make her uncomfortable. Right, Ms. Fudd?”
The boy folded his arms as he stood sternly in front of Azzi, raising one brow trying to assert dominance over the tall blonde. The gesture earned a light laugh from Azzi while Paige scoffed in disbelief, eyeing the boy down.
The curly brunette patted the young boy’s shoulder as she glanced at Paige.
“I appreciate the help, Leo, you learnt well. But I can handle it. Go ‘head inside,” Azzi tried to keep a straight face.
The boy gave one last look at Paige before walking inside the classroom.
Paige shook her head. “Didn’t know you had bodyguards”.
Azzi snorted. “It’s important these young boys know when someone needs help.”
“Wow,” Paige sang. “Am I a threat to you, Ms. Fudd?”
“Sometimes. When you stare at me long enough,” Azzi hummed, her eyes looking into her classroom.
“Hm, thought you liked it. Well, next time I’ll make sure when I wanna stare at you, I’ll tell you beforehand,” the blonde grinned, waiting for Azzi’s reaction.
Before the brunette could say anything, a pair of loud, fast footsteps were heard approaching their direction.
“Head back to class, Ms. Fudd. Now!” Kayla yelled just enough for the pair to hear, already walking right past them towards her clinic.
“How many bodyguards do you have, for real?” Paige joked, making the younger woman laugh.
“C’mon, Lili. We’re getting nowhere with your decision-making,” Nika whined.
The same group of teachers were having lunch together discussing plans for Aaliyah’s birthday celebration, except the celebrant herself couldn’t care less.
“Guys, things are tight and I don’t want y’all to do something you’re not comfortable with either. Maybe bowling?” Edwards shrugged.
“I got a splint on, so maybe not,” KK frowned, raising her right hand to show her finger splint, an injury she acquired from playing basketball with her cousins over the weekend.
“What about a p-“ Kayla chimed in before being interrupted by Azzi.
“If you say picnic like you always do, just remember it’s gonna be 62 degrees this weekend”
As the group grumbled while chewing on their food, Paige's ears perked up as she thought of an idea.
“What about potluck? Nothing too crazy. We can cook or buy food, enjoy each other’s company in the comfort of your own home. If we have leftovers, it would be a plus to save up on groceries for a couple days. Hm?”
The group nodded in unison as Aaliyah stared at Paige.
“Y’all better remember I’m vegetarian or else no one’s coming inside,” the tall woman reminded before the group did a small celebration on the final decision.
As the last bell of the hour rang and Moore had now been emptied out, Paige and Azzi were seen walking towards the blonde’s car.
“Thanks for offering to drop me home, you didn’t have to,” Azzi smiled before Paige opened the passenger’s door for her.
“Your house is on the way to mine. I was more than happy to, but only if you’re comfortable with it. And, honestly, I’d even be fine to do it everyday, if it’s easier for you. If anything, I should’ve done this earlier,” Paige rambled casually causing Azzi to giggle.
“Paige, I don’t want to trouble you with all that. Besides, I’ve been driving myself to school for years just fine,” Azzi lightly responded.
Paige scrunched her nose briefly. “I’m sorry. That was a bit much wasn’t it?”
Azzi stared at her momentarily before shaking her head in disagreement. “Not at all. It was… shockingly chivalrous. Thanks, though. I’ll know who to hit up if I need a ride”.
Paige laughed through her nose before staring at the ground. Azzi, who noticed the blonde being a little shaken up, gently placed her hand on her arm, causing Paige to lift her head to face her.
“Paige, you’re fine. If it’s something you did, I’ll let you know,” Azzi reassured her.
Paige could only nod before responding. “Why don’t you get inside? It’s freezing out here”.
As Azzi watched Paige settle in the driver’s seat, she couldn’t help but feel endeared by all her small gestures. Adjusting her seatbelt, checking the mirrors, taking time to pick her playlist. As soon as Paige held on the shift to reverse, it was already getting way too obvious.
“You know, I think Li’l Leo got it all wrong. Somebody else has a staring problem,” the blonde smirked as she focused on her rear view mirrors.
The curly brunette cleared her throat. “I just find it interesting to see how other people drive. And it’s my first time seeing you drive, so don’t get it twisted”.
“Right, right. How am I doing so far?” Paige played along.
“Well, you checked both sides before reversing, so you’re already better than me,” Azzi joked.
“So can you finally not get mad at me for telling you off on your driving that one time?” Paige chuckled, her eyes focused on the road, remembering the day they went out to buy Azzi’s art supplies.
“I drive with caution. I can’t afford to crash the side of my car again, okay?” Azzi groaned while the blonde surrendered.
“Alright, alright. Well, you’re the passenger princess now, so you can relax as much as you want”
“Yeah, maybe I could get used to this,” Azzi softly hummed as she relaxed back into her seat, Paige laughing through her nose.
The drive continued in comfortable silence, Paige’s old school R&B playlist resounding. The sun was almost setting, casting a tinge of orange on the pair’s face, a mix of warmth and coolness lingering in the air around them.
Paige quickly glanced at the woman beside her, who looked like she was lost in her thoughts.
“Hey,” the blonde poked at Azzi’s thigh. “About Lili’s party. Do you wanna… cook at my place before we head out?”
Azzi shuffled in her seat, straightening her position. “Honestly, when you suggested a potluck, I thought I was cooked.”
Paige laughed. “What? Why?”
“I suck at cooking. I practically know how to cook, at most, three good dishes? Otherwise, I just throw in a salad with chicken breast with the same seasoning I put on everything and call it a day”.
The blonde chuckled. “I can help you with that, if you’re down. And, hey, Caroline can come with, if you want that extra support”.
“Hmm, sounds like a good idea. Wait, are you officially inviting me to your place?” Azzi teased enthusiastically.
”Woah, excited much?” Paige snickered.
“Okay, what if I just wanted to see the rest of your poorly designed living room?” Azzi counteracted.
“Way to hurt a woman, Ms. Fudd,” Paige shook her head. The curly brunette rolled her eyes playfully before melting back into her seat.
Saturday early afternoon
Paige heard a knock on her apartment door before placing the last bit of groceries on the kitchen counter. She washed her hands before making her way towards the door, unconsciously fixing her ponytail before swinging it open.
“Hey,” Azzi’s soft voice echoed.
Paige was greeted with a refreshing, familiar smile. The woman in front of her had her hair slicked back into a clean bun, her face with little to no makeup, and her outfit something casual that was prepared to have the scent of food latched onto it.
Yet, she looked the most beautiful Paige has ever seen her yet. Natural with a charm that could turn anyone to stone if anyone stared hard enough, something the blonde was guilty of.
“Can we talk about Caroline’s divine timing because how does this happen twice?” Paige already started joking, stepping aside so Azzi can come in.
The brunette laughed. “All coincidental. If Aaliyah needed her help with cooking, I can’t blame her. It was either you or Car. And you already had plans, so…”
“Yep, so just you and me again. I’m really lucky this year, huh?” Paige smiled, causing Azzi to scoff.
As the younger woman walked further inside, she couldn’t help but look busy at her surroundings. Paige’s apartment was simple, a modern design with a chic monochromatic grey colour scheme, something like it was directly off of an IKEA showroom.
“Oh, that’s pretty. This is cute.” Azzi muttered under her breath as she slowly walked around.
Paige looked amused, her eyes following Azzi who was making herself familiar with the space.
“Need me to show you my bathroom, too?”
Azzi darted her eyes back at Paige before smiling sheepishly. “Whoops, forgot you were here”.
“How flattering,” the blonde sarcastically commented, shaking her head as she headed towards the kitchen. “You can place your stuff on the couch. Have a drink of this when you’re done”.
After Azzi dropped her bag on the grey couch, she followed to where Paige was in the kitchen, who had taken a tall glass of water and handed it to Azzi.
“Mmm! Did you infuse this with lemon?” Azzi stared animatedly at the glass after taking a sip.
“Lime,” Paige corrected. “And with mint and cucumber.”
“Okay, now you’re making me look ridiculous with the plain water I gave you at mine,” Azzi said disappointingly as she placed her glass down on the kitchen counter behind her, slightly leaning on it.
“And plain water is just fine,” Paige reassured her. ”Let’s just say I do this… occasionally. For special guests”.
The blonde’s tone was lower this time as she strategically placed her own glass beside Azzi’s before hovering over her, arms trapping Azzi on both sides.
Azzi’s head tilted, eyes partially squinting. “And how many of these special guests have you invited over?”
Paige’s face inched closer, a smirk forming on her lips. “Just one”.
Azzi bit on her inner cheeks as she analysed Paige’s expression, unsure if she was satisfied with the answer, but even more unsure as to why she was feeling dissatisfied. Paige was quick to notice how Azzi was not as receptive to her antics as usual, pulling away just slightly to have a good read on her.
“It’s just you, Azzi,” Paige reassured her, scanning her face in noticeable concern.
The brunette lowered her head before looking back up at Paige in guilt. “I’m sorry. This is sweet of you, genuinely. You sure do have a talent”.
A small upward curve formed on Paige’s lips as she completely pulled away, gesturing to the groceries and taking Azzi’s attention to it. “Well, you haven’t seen the rest of it yet. I’ll show you why I’m the best cook in all of Minnesota”.
“Is that what you tell yourself every night?” Azzi teased.
“Find out for yourself, Ms. Fudd,” Paige shrugged before handing Azzi some of the supplies to open.
For a brief moment, the pair couldn’t shake away from their recent exchanges. Paige had noticed the younger woman reacting similarly when they had sex for the first time. Giving Azzi reassurance that there was nobody else besides her. However, the blonde understood enough to not push anything until Azzi was ready to open up. After all, it wasn’t like Paige didn’t have her moments either. As they both grew closer each day, Azzi was beginning to feel a turbulence in Paige’s confidence whenever they were around each other. Being overly cautious and withdrawing her words more than when they first met.
After a quick couple hours of chopping vegetables, stuffing pasta shells, and washing dishes, the pair had finally finished cooking two separate dishes for Lili’s potluck. Paige dusted off her apron as she smiled triumphantly at her work and her ability to get Azzi involved.
“This looks so yum! Paige, you’re insane,” Azzi exclaimed as she stared at the glass containers, the blonde busy wiping the last few bits of scraps off the kitchen counter.
“Yeah? How ‘bout a final taste test?” Paige stood beside Azzi, who was nodding with excitement. “Whadyou wanna try first?”
Azzi immediately took two tortilla chips from the bag and handed one to Paige with a smile. “The one I picked out, the buffalo cauliflower dip”.
The tray was still steaming, freshly baked in the oven. The aroma of Paige’s buffalo-style hot sauce mixed with parmesan and chopped caramelized cauliflowers filled their nostrils. Paige nodded before the pair dipped the tortilla into it, taking a barely noticeable amount off before eating it.
“Damn, that’s so good. I might make these for my prep meal. You made it look so easy,” Azzi slightly leaned on Paige, earning a small chuckle from the taller woman.
“Didn’t I tell you I’m the best cook in Minnesota? Alright, now let’s try this one,” Paige handed Azzi a spoon as she pointed towards the glass container filled with pasta shells stuffed in spinach and ricotta topped with a tangy, tomato sauce that had a bit of Paige‘s special seasoning.
“Paige!” Azzi whacked the blonde’s arm after taking a bite, incredulous over the flavours in her mouth. “Thank God we made a lot because these are coming home with me”.
Paige laughed at Azzi’s reactions, feeling a sense of pride knowing her cooking skills never failed her. As she watched Azzi chew on the food, she couldn’t help but look at her fondly.
“You know, you can always come over if you wanna have a good meal,” Paige innocently nudged on Azzi’s arm, who was now washing down the food with the lemon-mint-cucumber infused water.
Azzi thought otherwise, glancing at the woman beside her with a playful smile etched on her lips.
”Yeah? What kinda meal?” The brunette tilted her head as she inched closer towards Paige, her fingers playing with the drawstring of Paige’s sweatpants.
The blonde could only clench her jaws realising what she had said, her eyes darting down to Azzi’s lips before staring back at her eyes. She could melt in the way Azzi flirted, it was way more alluring and entrancing, something that could raise the hairs of one’s skin in an instant.
“Whatever you crave”
Paige, who now played along, had her hands on Azzi‘s waist, pulling her closer towards her. Instinctively, Azzi trailed her other hand up to Paige’s jaw, dragging her face closer and connecting their lips.
It was a slow and passionate kiss that made their muscles weak with every movement. Azzi rested one hand on Paige’s shoulder while the other remained caressing her jaw. The touch made Paige’s delicate grip on Azzi’s back tighter, squeezing a fraction more as she sucked on Azzi’s lower lip.
They smiled into their kiss, their mouths moving in sync as their bodies grinded subtly onto one another, warmth radiating throughout.
Suddenly, a default iPhone alarm blared across the kitchen, causing the pair to jolt.
“We have to get ready soon,” Paige whispered as she switched off the alarm, her arms still holding onto Azzi.
“Yeah,” Azzi gave her one last look before pulling away, almost disappointed.
“Wait,” Paige leaned forward again, giving Azzi a quick peck before letting go. “Okay, I feel better now”.
“You always try to steal a kiss, it’s ridiculous,” Azzi laughed lightly.
“It’s for just in case. To seal the deal, you know,” Paige joked, causing Azzi to shake her in now proper disappointment.
“Seal the deal? You’re lucky that face of yours compensates for being so lame,” Azzi walked off towards her bag.
“I don’t know how to feel about that,” Paige furrowed her brows at the backhanded compliment.
“Happy Birthday, Lili!” The pair greeted Edwards with wide smiles, who was also beaming at excitement for the arrival of her new guests.
“Guys, this is so cute! Oh my god, you sure did make a lot. Thank God we’re all big backs,” Aaliyah laughed as she stepped back to let them in.
Paige and Azzi entered the apartment, welcomed with semi-loud 2000s recession music and colourful balloons stuck on the walls, some bouncing on the floor. There was a section of Aaliyah’s bare wall in her living room that had a ‘Happy Birthday’ banner plastered across just above ‘LILI 26’ in balloon letters.
The pair were soon approached by Kayla, Nika and Caroline, who helped take their containers away, placing them on the long dinner table filled with different containers of homemade and store bought food.
“KK’s coming soon. Here, help yourself,” Aaliyah informed them before gesturing towards the drink station with an assortment of alcoholic to non-alcoholic beverages.
As they stood by the kitchen, Caroline nudged on Azzi’s arm. “Hey babe, how’d cooking go?”
Azzi smiled at Paige before answering. “Really fun. Paige taught me a thing or two, so you might come home to better meals from me.”
“So no more of the same salt-and-pepper-old bay-cajun-whatever-the-fuck seasoning anymore? Thank God,” Caroline joked before Azzi smacked her arm, Paige laughing at the comment.
Caroline added with a smirk. “You guys happy I wasn’t there, huh?”
The pair widened their eyes, their body movements awkward as Caroline relished in the scene unfolding before her.
“It’s not like that, Car,” Azzi dismissed, her cheeks warming up while Paige shook her head.
“Whatever you say, Azzi,” Her roommate winked before resuming casual conversations.
Soon enough, the group of women settled in their seats. KK had arrived just a few minutes after Paige and Azzi did, and everyone was now looking at Aaliyah in anticipation, who stood at the end of the table with a glass of champagne raised up for a toast.
“To my new and old friends and our future moments together. To surviving my twenties and reaching financial stability. And to still be thriving and looking this good even at 40. Cheers!” Aaliyah yelled.
“Cheers!” Everyone chimed in, clinking their glasses together.
The evening went by quickly, every person full of food and alcohol as they continued to share stories and complain about adulthood, accompanied by bursts of laughter and sarcastic commentaries.
Paige was the only one completely sober, taking only small sips of her first glass while everyone was on their third, always managing to enjoy the company.
As the conversations continued naturally, the topic of love life was explored.
“And that’s why I’m so glad I’m single,” KK grimaced as Nika finished complaining about yet another incident with her boyfriend.
“So, who else here is off the market now? Oh, still just me and Nika?” Aaliyah was surprised to see Mühl’s one hand raised.
In the silence, Edwards contorted her face in confusion, her eyes darting to Paige and Azzi who were sitting next to each other.
“But I thought- nevermind,” Aaliyah shook her head as the pair shifted in their seats.
KK ‘s interest was piqued, eye’s half opened. “No, no, wait. I do apologise if I have to ask this, but is there something going on between y’all or have I been hallucinating it the past couple weeks?
Nika agreed. “I’ve been dying to know, lowkey. I mean, we’ve all had our moments and I’d like to believe we’ve outgrown judging inner circle relationships, anyways. So forgive me for being this curious, but what’s going on here?”
Paige and Azzi could only glance at each other in nervousness, pursing their lips together as they waited for each other to see who would answer first.
“Uh,” Azzi started, looking at her plate. “There’s…there’s no label”.
Paige nodded slowly, also staring at her own plate.
“Huh,” Kayla, in a half-drunken state, chimed in amusement. “That’s better than nothing.”
A chorus of agreeing hums buzzed across, the girls looking almost half dead at this point to give a much more enthusiastic response.
“The problem now is whose side we’re picking if things don’t pan out,” Nika questioned absentmindedly.
“Not you tryna instigate a civil war right now,” Caroline laughed, causing the rest to follow suit.
“I’m going with Paige. At least she can cook me a nice meal,” Aaliyah reasoned.
A mixed roar of agreements and disagreements erupted as they tried to rationalise their decisions. Then the conversation started shifting between random topics again and they suddenly landed on conspiracy theories on how the Pyramids of Giza were really built.
Amidst the chaos, the pair just exchanged quick glances at each other, sometimes sharing a small smile or a soft laugh.
It was past 2 am when the Edwards headquarters grew completely silent, except for the soft sounds of a random movie playing on the TV. Nika’s boyfriend had picked her up and KK had ubered home, Kayla and Caroline decided to stay overnight to help clean up after whatever time they wake up, leaving just Paige and Azzi as the last people to leave.
Paige decided it would be safer for Azzi to return to the blonde’s place since she’d be more familiar knowing where things are in case Azzi needed anything. Even though the curly brunette wasn’t as knocked out as the rest of her friends, she knew it’s better to be safe than sorry.
But, also, it wasn’t like she’d blatantly admit that she wanted to go back to Paige’s place knowing it’d be just the two of them alone again.
After Paige carried Azzi bridal style into her bedroom, she gently laid her on her bed before pulling the covers over her to keep her warm. Just as Paige was about to leave to the living room where she decided she’d sleep on her sofa for the night, she felt a tight grip on her wrist.
“Who said you can leave?” Azzi croaked, her voice hoarse.
“Just thought you needed your space for tonight,” Paige reasoned, looking softly at the woman below.
“You’re sleeping on your bed,” the brunette demanded, tugging her wrist towards her.
“Okay, princess,” Paige smiled as she crawled into the space next to Azzi, settling in her spot before pulling the covers over them both.
Azzi shifted her body so she could nuzzle her head into the crook of Paige’s neck, kissing it a couple times making Paige sigh from the feeling.
“You’re telling me you were sober enough to walk yourself to my apartment?” Paige teased in a whisper, poking at Azzi’s cheeks.
Azzi smiled. “I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to be carried bridal style. By you. Twice”.
A light laugh escaped through Paige’s mouth before she looked down at the sleepy woman in her arms, who was staring at her with half-opened eyes.
“So no label, huh?” Paige mumbled.
Azzi faintly smiled. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it”.
“You know, for a second, I thought you were gonna say friends with benefits”
“Oh my god. No. That sounds way too immature. Or I dunno. I panicked”
“Yeah, they put us on the spot real bad. I can’t blame them, you make it way too obvious,” Paige smirked.
“Me? Obvious? Who’s the one consistently lingering around my classroom door like a lost puppy?”
“Don’t act like you don’t get excited every time I pop up. Your kids are starting to notice, by the way”
Azzi could only groan in defeat as Paige laughed. Then they went silent again.
Paige stared down at Azzi’s lips, always drawn to them. But she didn’t move this time, just licked her own lips as her eyes darted back at Azzi’s.
“If you wanna kiss me goodnight, just do it,” Azzi whispered casually.
“I’ll kiss you, but I don’t wanna say goodnight just yet,” Paige hummed.
A small air escaped through Azzi’s nose before pushing herself up so she could hover over Paige. Straddling her hips, Azzi leaned down and gave the blonde a slow, passionate kiss under the covers.
It was another gruelling Monday, several slow and heavy steps dragged across the school hallways, the kids half awake trodding towards the gym for morning assembly.
“Man Big G makes the slowest announcements. Let’s skip, man,” a young boy whispered to his friend before tugging on his arm with an intent to sneak out from the crowd into their classroom.
But before they could move, the boy felt a strong flick on the back of his head.
“Ow, what the fu-“
“Language, James,” a stern voice warned. Bueckers was towering over them, her hands turning the two boys back to walk with the crowd as they groaned in annoyance.
Beside Paige was Azzi, who struggled to stifle a laugh, amused at how quick the blond reacted.
“The lack of discipline here, jeez,” she muttered to herself as Azzi continued to smile at her.
When the crowd took their seats, the teachers noticed a new face sitting behind Principal Auriemma. Curious, they all looked at each other before they heard that all-too-familiar voice catch their attention.
“Good morning, Moore. I’ll just start off with our only announcement for the morning before we begin our day. As you all know, Mrs. Bettencourt will be missing the remaining half of this month and the entirety of November with maternity leave. So, behind me is a new face who will be temporarily covering for your music lessons before her return. Moore is happy to welcome, Ms. Rae Burrell, as our new faculty member until December”
A chorus of quiet applause filled the gym as Ms. Burrell stood up, lifting her hand to wave while a sheepish small formed on her face.
She was quite tall, light-skinned with natural curls falling perfectly on her shoulders, her outfit nothing out of the ordinary. She looked reserved, but seemed to be friendly. One would even mistaken her for a supermodel.
In a blink of an eye, Principal Auriemma dismissed the assembly and the crowd began to disperse. As the usual duo was about to head out, they jolted after hearing the old man call out for Paige to come towards the stage. The blonde gave Azzi one last look before heading off. Azzi continued to stare curiously, putting her observation skills to use.
It looked like Principal Auriemma had introduced the blonde to Ms. Burrell, the teachers shaking hands before they focused their attention back to the old man. Azzi couldn’t make out the rest, but before the gym was out of sight, she saw the pair of teachers walk out together with a smile, already chatting about something.
Several ideas ran through Azzi’s head within the span of seeing their interaction, it was hard to pinpoint exactly one thought. As she tried to process everything, Azzi felt a nudge on her arm.
“She’s pretty,” Nika expressed.
“Yeah, she really is,” Azzi answered dryly.
As soon as lunchtime rolled in, Azzi made her way into the teacher’s lounge when she caught two figures in her peripherals sitting at the girls’ usual spot. With a quick glance, she recognised it was Paige and Ms. Burrell, who were seen talking casually, smiling at each other with a fews laughs.
As Azzi turned away to heat up her lunch, she couldn’t help but bite on her inner cheeks. If she were to admit one thing, she knew she wasn’t too keen seeing Paige chat with another woman. However, how was this any different to when Paige first talked to Nika? Or Aaliyah? Why does this make Azzi feel more unsettled? Even if she was a little jealous, she knew herself that there was nothing official between her and Paige, no labels.
While the curly brunette was gathering her thoughts, her lunch had finished heating up and the next thing she had to do was sit at the table. With no time to waste, Azzi walked cautiously towards the pair, not wanting to interrupt their deep conversation they looked fully engrossed in.
Before Azzi could sit down, Paige sensed her, turning her head with a bright smile when she realised who it was.
“Hey, Az! You won’t believe it, but Rae just told me that she’s Inês’ cousin. And that she can play the drums. You think Inês could be completely replaced?” Paige shared jokingly, the woman beside her laughing.
Azzi raised her brows in amusement. “Wow, the one instrument she’s been trying to play, yet still sucks at? Don’t tell her I said that”.
“I’ve teased her about it way more times than you’d think,” Rae laughed again before looking at Azzi. “Azzi, right? Paige showed me around your classroom this morning on your free period. You designed it so beautifully. She said I could draw inspiration from it. You just have such raw, creative talent. It’s incredible!”
Azzi felt relieved. “Aw, thanks, Rae. I haven’t heard you sing, but I’m sure you have crazy talent yourself. So, how’d your first class go? ”
Rae gave an animated expression of uncertainty accompanied by a big shrug. “They have…passion. It’ll definitely take a few more practices, but I’m determined they’ll be ready by December. Don’t worry”.
Paige laughed at her response, while Azzi chuckled.
“Thanks for showing me around, by the way. You’re actually pretty funny,” Rae turned to Paige, who smiled in appreciation.
“My pleasure. I’m surprised you were able to catch up to me at the end. I thought I could tire you out,” the blonde expressed playfully, causing the taller woman to erupt in laughter.
“Oh ye with little faith. I dunno if you haven’t noticed, but I’ve got quite long legs, so,” Rae played along making Paige chuckle.
“Aight, no need to show off,” the blonde scoffed. The taller woman noticeably leaned closer to Paige as she laughed once again, her eyes never leaving her.
Azzi could only laugh awkwardly while the pair shared the moment together.
The rest of the teachers joined in moments later, introducing themselves and giving Rae a warm welcome. While everyone was busy talking, Azzi couldn’t help but glance at Paige randomly, noticing how her attention was mostly at the new teacher, trying to talk to her when she could.
Azzi knew there was no one to blame for her suspicions but herself. Rae was new and had a bubbly aura that can intrigue people, it’s no doubt someone like Paige could be drawn to her. After all, there were no strings attached between them.
Before Azzi began to feel disappointed in herself, she felt a sensation rub against her calf. She was immediately drawn away from her thoughts as her head turned to Paige, who was giving her a small nod asking if she was okay. Azzi nodded back, giving a faint smile before immersing herself back into the teachers’ conversations.
Several periods later and the relieving sound of the final bell ringing, Fudd was left alone in her empty classroom after the last student had filed out. Busying herself with her papers, she couldn’t help but realise a particular blonde wasn’t at her usual place by the door with an eager expression ready to leave the building. Curious, Azzi left her class after organising the papers in her bag, and walked towards the gym where she would usually expect Paige to be.
Just as she was about to turn towards the entrance, she heard that same laugh from lunch again. She paused, peeking out her head by the edge of the wall to not be seen.
There stood Rae. And next to her was Paige. The pair seemed to be cleaning up some of the equipment left in the gym, sharing what seemed to be a playful conversation as Paige had a funny grin on her face.
Azzi’s heart raced, the sight before her twisting her stomach. The last time a teacher went out of their way to help Paige at the end of school was Azzi herself, to which the blonde declined later on. The reason being that she didn’t want Azzi to ‘overtire herself after a long day of work’. Which Fudd appreciated. But for some reason, the scene in front of her compelled Azzi to want to ask Paige to take her words back, to offer to spend more time together.
Before her thoughts could spiral, Azzi shook her head.
This is ridiculous. We’re not even dating, she thought.
The curly brunette turned her heel immediately, making her way out of school with a troubled feeling on her chest.
Later that night
[8:10] Paige: Hey, this yours? 😂 (Image attached)
Azzi’s phone buzzed with a message from Paige, attached to it was a picture of Azzi’s pink bonnet on her bed.
[8:11] Azzi: I knew that’s where I left it. Sorry. You mind bringing it tomorrow?
[8:11] Paige: Or I could drive to yours now?
[8:12] Azzi: But it’s easier if you bring it tomorrow
There was no response immediately after. Azzi was deflated, regretful at how bluntly she responded, acting before she could think. She had lightly flung her phone next to her face where she laid in bed, the scenes of Paige and Rae from this afternoon still replaying on her mind.
Ding
As Azzi looked at her phone screen, she could hear her own heart thudding within the quietness of her dark room.
[8:15] Paige: What if I just wanted to see you?
Azzi chewed on her lip. Usually, she could easily snap back with a flirtatious remark or lame joke, but this time her thoughts raced. Who would’ve thought one person could alter Azzi’s perception of her relationship with Paige.
In her clouded judgement, the curly brunette thought of no reason for Paige to be this committed to seeing her this late.
[8:18] Azzi: I’ll see you tomorrow
The next morning
Tranquility loomed over Azzi’s middle school classroom where she decided to stay during her free period instead of sitting at the teacher’s lounge like she usually does. Immersed in her lesson planner, she heard a faint sound on the door.
Knock, knock
The curly brunette looked up to find Paige, who was standing there with her hands behind her back. Azzi withdrew from her desk, shaking her head with a small smirk as Paige stepped towards her.
“Delivery for Miss Azeray Jazlyn Fudd?” the blonde said in a low, animated tone.
“That’s me,” she played along, standing up to face Paige who was now less than arms’ reach.
They stood there staring at each other with a playful tint in their eyes, Paige unable to control a ridiculous grin on her face. Soon enough, she lifted one of Azzi’s arms and placed her pink bonnet on her hand.
“Thanks, Paige,” Azzi responded before looking down at her bonnet and fiddling with it in silence.
“You good?” Paige rubbed on the same arm with a small concern etched on her face.
Azzi was expressionless when she lifted her head, staring momentarily to gather her thoughts before briefly smiling. “Of course”.
“You know, it’s hard to tell emotions on text sometimes. I’d rather talk to you face-to-face,” Paige smiled.
Azzi’s expression immediately turned to guilt. “I’m sorry”.
“For what?” Paige contorted her face in confusion.
“I dunno. For coming off dry. I guess it’s gotten a bit much trying to catch up with the high schoolers’ art lessons, they’ve got a ton to work on and some of them have been neglecting their assignments, so now I have to go extra hard on them,” Azzi sighed, only partially lying.
“My door is always open if you need somewhere to escape. Consider my home your third space,” Paige consoled here.
Azzi chuckled. “I appreciate that”.
“I’ll sit here with you while you do your work. Just until your period ends,” Paige suggested, already taking her seat on the small chair closest to the front.
Azzi stared in disbelief as she watched Paige already making herself feel at home. Sighing in defeat, the curly brunette sat back down, resuming her work in comfort.
A week had gone by and nothing out of the ordinary at Moore had occurred. If anything, Ms. Burrell was beginning to settle well, getting along with the teachers and finally remembering where the entrance to the teacher’s lounge was. Surprisingly, she had spent a lot more time with Paige, who always found herself drawn to the piano in Moore’s music class, but was never allowed to touch it. Now that Rae had control over the classroom, her more lenient and personable attitude didn’t scare Paige away, compared to Inês, who always scolded Paige for doing so.
Between finalising the arrangements for the Winter recital and seeing a positive progression with the kids’ vocal capabilities, Rae communicated with Azzi regarding the sets in adjunction with the songs being that Fudd was completely in charge of the background props this year.
Right after Rae’s class had ended, she heard a slight knock on her door.
“Ms. Fudd!” she beamed towards the door as a small head peeked out.
“You needed to see me?” Fudd approached the taller woman who was rearranging the chairs for her next class.
“Yes! Just about the recital. I made some changes, but hopefully it’s nothing major at all. The kids were pleading to put in a Frozen song, so I decided to swap ‘It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year’ with ‘Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?” Rae explained.
“No way. I love Frozen, but ‘It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year’ is a classic,” Azzi replied, shocked.
“That’s what I’m saying! But if it’s what the kids want, it’s what they’ll have. Spare me the trouble,” Burrell rambled.
“Good thinking,” Azzi commentated.
Rae continued. “But that would also mean swapping the jazz section with the pop section. So, what I’m trying to say is that the last two sets are swapped and we probably need a snowman prop now”.
Azzi laughed, looking at the disgruntled teacher. “Damn, I was really hoping we were successful at avoiding songs involving a snowman. Our ol’ Frosty from last year is straight beaten up.”
“I’m sorry, Azzi. I tried. Like, really tried,” Rae apologised.
“No, I get it. It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” Azzi reassured.
A brief silence filled the room before Rae fully turned to Azzi, the chair arrangements done.
“I do wanna ask one random, silly question, though,” Rae asked shyly.
Azzi slightly furrowed her brows, her head tilting as an answer.
“Do you know if Paige is single?”
Right after hearing the question, Azzi‘s breath hitched. She froze, expressionless.
“W-why ask me?” Azzi could only breathe out.
“Oh, it’s just ‘cause you guys seem really close, so I was hoping you'd be the best person to ask. U-unless I got it all wrong and you both are dating! Then, I totally respect it and won’t pay any mind to it, at all!” Rae defended, her mannerisms awkward.
Azzi shuffled slightly in her feet, her thoughts were trying to gather an answer she’d like to say before replying. When Azzi had thought about the term ‘no label’, there isn’t technically a restriction for the persons involved to see other people. It’s a no strings attached, non-committal, casual relationship. The pair aren’t officially dating, despite having a specially intimate bond the past two months, so there’s no reason for anyone to claim one another. And that is what Azzi decided.
“She’s…single,” Azzi hesitated.
“Hmm, so she’s definitely not seeing anyone?” Rae tried to confirm.
“You can ask her that,” Azzi replied, now unsure herself.
“Whew. Okay, thanks, Azzi,” the taller woman sighed a breath of relief, still shaken from her first question.
“You planning on asking her out?” Azzi asked curiously.
“Maybe? We only just met. I guess I’ll try to…suss her out or something,” Rae mumbled the last sentence, her shyness resurfacing.
Azzi took a deep breath before smiling. “All the best with that”.
Burrell gave her a sheepish smile before Azzi turned to leave the classroom.
As Azzi walked further away, her spirits were somewhat dampened and her heart grew heavier with each step.
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capuccinodoll · 2 months ago
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The boyfriend act, part 14: "The one with the nightly calls" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST
Chapter summary: With Frankie in Boston, the small phone calls at night begin to carry more weight. Meanwhile, things get harder for him. But it doesn’t take long before he’s close to you again. WC: 16k
A/N: I have nothing to say… just thank u for reading and sooo much love to all of you!! Don't forget to let me know what you think, your feedback really matters <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)
Wednesday, October 16th
Frankie called you after dinner. He’d been in Boston for almost two weeks now. He left on a Friday—the fourth Friday of the month.
The first night he called, it felt casual, like a passing thought. He told you about his day, the kinds of things he did and saw, because you hadn’t spoken at all that day. The next night, at almost the exact same hour, he called again. He didn’t seem to notice the pattern. But by the third night, you were already waiting for it, your phone close by, your chest pulling quietly toward the sound of his voice.
Tonight, you took a shower and got into bed with Mr. Darcy. You already knew your phone would ring, maybe not right away, but soon. And when it did, it would be him.
Sometimes the conversations meandered. He’d talk about Jamie, mostly—how they spent hours walking, sometimes talking, often in silence. Frankie didn’t say it outright, but you could tell he was trying to anchor Jamie to something steady, something outside of the hospital walls and the quiet fear threading its way through their days. Because Henry, his dad, was sick. Not just the kind of sick that passed with time, but the other kind—the one people didn’t like to name until they absolutely had to. They were still waiting on tests, on confirmation, but everyone knew. It hung there between them.
Luna seemed steadier with her family around. Frankie told you that most evenings they all sat together in the living room, watching movies with the lights low and the volume too high, like maybe sound could shield them from dread. Helena didn’t want to go back to Austin just yet. But Frankie wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay. Work was waiting, and so was everything else he’d pressed pause on. Still, every time he mentioned going back, Luna reminded him—gently, but firmly—that it was okay to leave when he needed to. That it didn’t make him a bad brother. That love could stretch across state lines and that being present didn’t always mean being in the same place.
With Jamie, Frankie seemed lighter somehow. He’d tell you stories every night—about the park they discovered not far from Luna’s house, where the trees were tall and gold-tipped, and how Jamie insisted on racing him from bench to bench, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. They rode bikes, Frankie jogging beside him when the hill felt too steep. He taught Jamie how to cast a fishing line, how to use his fingers to tie little knots that held. There was something grounding in it, he said, using your hands like that. Jamie clung to him with a kind of unspoken admiration that made something in Frankie’s voice catch when he talked about it. One night, Jamie asked him if he’d take him flying someday—really flying—and Frankie said he would. In Austin, he promised. When they came to visit.
Each night he’d give you pieces of his day, and you’d offer yours in return—your routines, the small details of your work hours. You told him that Santi had been trying, with the kind of stubborn optimism only he could sustain, to organize a group trip somewhere not too far, somewhere quiet, maybe on a weekend.
“When Fish gets back,” he had said, like it was obvious.
You’d seen Emma a few days ago too. She wasn't that subtle about this new thing going on with you. She never was. She tried, in her own way, to keep her thoughts to herself, but she had a certain look when she did—eyebrows tight, lips curved, like biting back smiles and words.
“I’m not going to say anything,” she told you one afternoon while you were pushing a cart through the grocery store. That night you were making pasta—she was on sauce duty, claiming it was the only white sauce worth making. “I know how you get. All bashful and avoidant every time I bring him up.”
“I know what you think,” you said, grabbing a bottle of olive oil and dropping it into the cart. “You think we’re rushing things. You don’t have to say it. I can see it in your face.”
“Rushing?” she said, eyebrows lifting. “He’s in another state. You talk once a day, maybe twice. I don’t think it’s too fast. I think you’re moving the way people move when something it's... you know.” She turned away from you, scanned the row of spices, distracted. “What I do think is that you haven’t realized that you’re probably already dating.”
You blinked. “We’re not dating.”
“Oh no?” she turned back, one brow still raised, like a challenge. “Then what exactly are you doing?”
“We’re… friends. More than friends. For now. I dunno. Don’t name it.”
Emma smiled, but not in a mocking way. It was softer than that.
“More than friends,” she echoed. “You should see the way you sound at night when you talk to him. You get this voice. All careful and… sweet. ‘When are you coming back?’ ‘How’s everything over there?’” she teased, doing a vague imitation of your voice that didn’t sound like you at all, but you let her have it.
You laughed, half-guilty, half-exposed. “I dunno. It just sounds too serious to say things like that.”
“To say what? That you miss him?”
You looked away, pretending to search the shelf behind her for something—anything—your fingers trailing along the edges of jars you didn’t need.
“I think he’d like to hear it,” she added, quieter this time.
And you didn’t say anything, but you wondered if maybe he would.
So the days passed quietly. The nights followed suit—predictable, comforting, marked now by something you hadn’t anticipated relying on. Each evening, almost without exception, his call came at the same time. Not by agreement, not because you’d asked him to. It just kept happening, like some new law of nature.
Tonight was no different. You were already in bed, the lights off, your room wrapped in the soft blue glow of the TV. Some show played faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching it.
Your eyes were half-shut, your body sinking into the warmth of your comforter, your breathing deepening without your permission. It wasn’t even that late—barely past nine—but the day had pulled at you from every direction, and you felt the weight of it in your bones.
When your phone buzzed, you didn’t startle. You simply reached for it under the covers, your fingers brushing past Mr. Darcy, curled at your side. He flicked his tail in protest.
You didn’t need to check the screen. You already knew. But you did anyway, as you always did.
[Frankie🍾 ]
The contact photo was one you had taken right after the skydive. His hair had been wild from the wind, his cheeks flushed from adrenaline. He wasn’t looking straight at the camera—his smile was off to the side, crooked in that way you had started to recognize as entirely him. He was still wearing the black jumpsuit, the straps hanging loose around his shoulders like he hadn’t had the energy to take it off yet.
You pressed accept and stretched out, your voice sleep-rough as you spoke.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Were you asleep?”
“No. Almost. I’m in bed.”
“Long day?” he asked, and then you heard it—the brief crackle of static, the soft inhale. He was smoking.
“You?”
“Not really. I’m out in the yard. Bambi’s trying to lick my face.”
You laughed, quietly. “Leave him alone. Those are dog kisses. That means he loves you.”
“Well, I hope Mr. Darcy doesn’t hold it against me when I come back. Do you think he’ll know?”
“Oh, he’ll know,” you said, smiling into the dark. “He’ll smell the betrayal. You’ll have to earn his forgiveness.”
“Mmm. You know him best. What’s the strategy?”
“The obvious one,” you murmured. “Food. Kibble and wet tuna. He’s kind of basic like that.”
“Reliable,” Frankie said. “I like that in a man.”
You didn’t say anything for a moment, just listened to the soft night sounds on his end of the call—the wind, maybe, the distant creak of something wooden, the faint thump of paws on the grass. You imagined him out there, sitting outside like the previous nights, Bambi pressed against his side. You imagined the glow of the cigarette, how it lit up his features for brief seconds at a time.
“And what about you?” he asked.
You turned slightly, shifting beneath the covers. “What about me?”
“How am I supposed to deal with you?”
For a moment, you didn’t speak.
“I think I’m easier,” you said eventually. “Just seeing you would be enough.”
There was a beat, and then you heard him exhale through his nose, amused. The kind of quiet, private laugh he gave when he didn’t want to sound too affected.
“I’ll be back this weekend. Maybe sooner.”
You smiled into the dark, instinctively, and tried to temper your voice. “Really?”
“Yeah. Mai and I. Mom’s staying a bit longer. She wants to be around to help Luna and Henry with Jamie while they take care of everything else.”
“How are they doing?” 
“Better,” he said, and you could hear the thoughtfulness in it. “Or, I don’t know—better within the context of everything. Henry’s holding up. Luna too. They took Jamie out for a walk today, just the three of them. She said it helped. Like things made sense, even if only for an hour.”
“That sounds nice,” you said. “I bet Jamie loved that.”
“He did,” Frankie said, and there was a warmth in his tone. “Then when they got home, he asked me to take him to the movies. Invited two of his friends. He planned the whole thing himself—texted their moms and everything.”
You smiled. “He really likes having you around.”
“Yeah, he does,” Frankie said, and he was laughing now, low and incredulous. “I think he thinks I’m cooler than I actually am. We saw some video game movie. The boys were hyped. I was just… lost.”
You laughed. “You’re getting old.”
“Maybe. Do you have any idea how many words I didn’t recognize tonight?”
“How many?”
“Definitely more than three. Jamie tried to explain them all, but when I tried to use one in a sentence, he told me I was ‘cringe’ and should just stop.”
You laughed again. Mr. Darcy shifted beside you, unimpressed by the noise.
“You’re officially out of touch.” 
“I think I’ve made peace with it,” he said. “If it means I get to be the uncool adult who buys popcorn and lets them talk through the previews, I’ll take it.”
“Come on, tell me one of the words.”
There was a pause. Frankie made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh.
“Please don’t make me do this.”
“Okay, I’ll wait. You can tell me when you’re back, then.”
“I’m not making any promises,” he said, amusement spilling through the line. You heard the faint inhale of a cigarette, the soft exhale that followed. “My mom says hi, by the way. Actually, they all do. But she wanted me to tell you that her hello is the most enthusiastic. Like, she made a point of that.”
You grinned. “Tell her I say hi too. To everyone. But especially her.”
“I’ll pass it on. Bambi—hey, hey, off,” he muttered, the sound of shuffling fabric and a low thud in the background. “Goddamn, I swear. He’s trying to climb on top of me. Anyway—what did you do today?”
“Nothing thrilling,” you said. “Work was the same as usual. After that I stopped by Bill’s. It’s almost finished now. It’s looking really good. Just needs the shelves filled and maybe a few more touches.”
“That sounds nice,” he said, and you could hear him settling again, like he’d shifted into a more comfortable position.
“Yeah, I think it’ll be a great space. After that Julie said she was craving burgers, so we got burgers. Then I came home. I had a headache so I took something for it and stood under the hot water for a while. That helped. And now I’m here. TV on, lights off. Mr. Darcy’s asleep at my side. Very thrilling night.”
He laughed softly. “That’s good, though. That you’re okay. God, you have no idea how much I miss my bed.”
“Are you not sleeping well?”
“Not really. Jamie wears me out in the best way—he’s got me running around after him like I’m twenty again. I forgot how much stamina kids have.” There was a pause, and a sound like he’d scratched his jaw. “But even when I’m tired, it’s hard to actually sleep. I sort of just lie there.”
You frowned a little, your voice gentler. “You should go to bed early tonight. Take a hot shower. I know I sound like one of those people who don't get it but, that helps me. Maybe it works for you too?”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. Although I need to know—how hot is this magical shower supposed to be? Because when you say hot, you mean skin-peeling, bone-melting hot.”
You laughed. “I don’t know, Francisco. Hot enough for you. Warm enough to trick your body into relaxing. And then don’t get stuck in front of the TV like you always do.”
“You’re watching TV now.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have trouble sleeping,” you countered, tugging the blanket higher over your chest. “The moment we hang up, I’m out. Like a light. I’ll sleep better than a baby.”
“Are you mocking me?” he asked, half-playful, but with just enough mock offense to make you laugh again.
“I would never.”
“Oh, I have screenshots,” he said. You could hear the grin in his voice. “You think I don’t, but I do.”
“Fake screenshots. Fabricated evidence.”
“Sure, sure. Who does nothing fears nothing—or something like that.”
You didn’t speak for a few seconds. The warmth in your chest had started to climb, spreading outward.
“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, “go try to sleep, okay? I miss you. Call me tomorrow.”
It came out faster than you intended, like the words had been waiting behind your teeth for too long.
There was a pause on the other end. Not long, but long enough to make your heart jump once, then again.
“What?” Frankie asked.
“Get some sleep,” you repeated, more carefully this time. “Call me tomorrow.”
“No.”
You blinked at the ceiling. “No? What do you mean no? You’re not going to call me?” you asked, voice light, teasing. “Or you’re not going to sleep?”
There was a pause before Frankie answered. On the other end of the line, you heard the soft rustle of wind or leaves, and then the familiar sound of him inhaling. A breath in. Then a quiet exhale of smoke.
He laughed softly. “Sure, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Ah, okay.”
“And I miss you too.”
You closed your eyes and felt the heat rush to your cheeks, your mouth curving helplessly. You were glad the lights were off, as if that could somehow protect you from how young and exposed you felt in that moment. There was something embarrassingly teenage about it—your heart beating a little too fast, your body betraying you.
You let out a soft laugh, not bothering to hide it. If he heard it, let him.
“Okay,” you murmured, “ now go to sleep.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You get really commanding sometimes,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll listen to you. Just this once, just tonight.”
“Mhm. Return to Ithaca, Odysseus.”
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Frankie smiled, the corners of his mouth pulling up almost involuntarily. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and he didn’t bother to hide it. At his feet, Bambi was curled up, eyes lifted toward him, the whites gleaming like thin crescents in the low light.
“See you soon,” he said, voice low.
“See you soon, Francisco,” you said. Then the call ended—cut clean, final.
He stared down at the screen, thumb hovering over your name. Your contact photo was still the one he’d taken the day you went skydiving—your hair a mess, the sky swallowing the plane behind you, your smile too big for the frame. He remembered the way you had turned to him, half-nervous, half-thrilled. How he hadn’t been able to look away.
“If you keep grinning like that, it’s going to get stuck,” said a voice beside him.
Frankie startled. He hadn’t heard her come out. Luna.
She laughed, full and unbothered, and he stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray before tucking his phone into the front pocket of his hoodie.
Luna sat next to him, cross-legged, her shoulders brushing his lightly. She tipped her head back and looked up, at the sky.
“Jamie passed out like a log,” she murmured. “I’m guessing you’re wiped too.”
“A bit.”
She tilted her head to look at him properly, her expression gentle.
“You’ve got shadows under your eyes. I keep hearing you come down here after midnight.”
“Not me. Maybe the house is haunted.”
That made her laugh again. She let the silence settle for a moment before asking, “Did you tell her you’re flying back tomorrow?”
He exhaled, drawing a hand over his mouth. “No. I thought maybe—”
“Frankie.” Her voice was gentle. Not scolding, not pushy. “It’s okay. You need to go home. We’re okay here. All of us.”
He hesitated. “I told Jamie I’d take him to the museum.”
“You can take him next time.” She reached out, laid a hand on his forearm. “He’ll understand. He’s a tough kid. And honestly, he’s had the best time with you here. You’ve given him something special. I should thank you for that.”
He smiled, eyes fixed on the horizon like something might move out ther.
“It’s nothing. I .. I like it here,” he said, pausing. Then, quieter: “And sometimes I miss you. A little. You know that, right?”
Luna let out a soft laugh, folding her arms across her chest. “Do you? That’s news to me. You barely even call.”
Frankie turned his head, gave her a look that hovered somewhere between amused and exasperated. “The phone works both ways, Luna.”
“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She nudged his knee with hers, a teasing gesture. “Speaking of phone calls... how’s your girl?”
“She’s okay,” he said, voice neutral, almost too casual.
“Did you tell her Mom says hi? You know she’ll ask me if you did.”
Frankie laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I passed it along.”
Luna leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her.
“Another reason you should head back. She’s waiting for you.” Her voice was light, but not unkind. She tapped him on the shoulder. “And you’re turning red, by the way. I can see it even in this light.”
“Jesus,” Frankie muttered, rubbing a hand across his face.
She ignored that. “Sofi wants to make a bet,” she said with a grin. “She says we should guess how long it’ll take before you pro—”
“Oh, my God.” He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. When he looked at her again, there was a faint plea in his eyes. “Please don’t.”
“Why not?” Luna laughed, unbothered. “We like her. That’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it? That we all like her?”
Frankie shook his head like he was trying to dislodge the whole conversation. There was something boyish in the way he looked down at the floor, something almost shy.
“Relax, I’m joking,” Luna said, her voice light, almost airy. “It just wouldn’t be as much fun teasing you if you didn’t turn that exact shade of red every single time.”
Frankie took a step back, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”
She kept looking at him, her smile lingering. Then her gaze shifted—first to Bambi, who was lying at her feet with his tail starting to sweep rhythmically across the floor, then back to Frankie.
“How are things with her?” she asked. “Is she good to you?”
Frankie laughed quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor.
He knew what she meant. Not just the words, but what lived underneath them. Is she different from Rachel? That was the real question. Of course Luna would never ask that outright—she was too tactful for that, too soft in her own way—but he could see it in the set of her mouth, in the steadiness of her stare.
“She is,” he said eventually. “She’s better than I probably deserve.”
Luna tilted her head, frowning slightly. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just looked away. “She’s… patient. With me. More than she needs to be. Sometimes I say things, or do things, and I know they don’t come out right. I confuse her. And still, she tries to understand me. Always.”
“And you don’t think you deserve that?”
“I think I can be difficult,” he admitted. “Hard to be around, sometimes.”
“Mm. That's not true.”
“I’ve been worse than usual lately,” he added. “But I can talk to her about it. She listens.”
He looked over at his sister, and she gave him this quiet, knowing smile. Frankie hesitated, the memory creeping up before he had a chance to decide whether or not to share it.
“You know,” he said, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling for a moment. “You know we didn’t get along at first. At all.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“There was this fight. Not just a little disagreement. A real argument. We were in the car. I was driving her home, and… I said things I shouldn’t have. I pushed too far. She cried. I could tell I was making it worse even while I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop. I think I felt—desperate, or something.”
He paused, shaking his head slowly, like he still couldn’t believe himself.
“We were talking about something, about her life, something that mattered to her, and I just bulldozed through it. She got out of the car and walked home in the dark. I left. I didn’t go after her. I went home and felt like absolute shit.”
Luna didn’t interrupt. She was still watching him.
He reached down, brushed his hand along Bambi’s back.
“A couple days later, I went to her place. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I had to show up. And she was upset too. Not just about the argument, but everything that came before it. She told me I’d hurt her. Not just that night—over the years. And she was right. But then she asked if I’d forgive her too. She said she wanted to start over.”
He looked at Luna then, his voice softer. “And I told her, ‘Okay. Fine. Let’s try.’ And we did. But I still don’t know what she sees in me. I don’t feel like I’ve earned it.”
He stared ahead, posture still, his breath leaving him in a quiet exhale through his nose. Not quite a sigh. Something smaller. More contained.
Luna parted her lips, about to speak, but Frankie beat her to it.
“And I don’t mean it like a rational thing,” he said. “Not like a clear thought I tell myself—‘you don’t deserve this’—it’s not that. It’s more like... even when everything’s good, when I’m with her and I actually feel happy—I... I..." He stopped abruptly, as if startled by what he had just said. “I mean... like, like there’s this feeling underneath it. Like I’m doing something wrong by being there. Like I’ve stolen someone else’s seat.” He glanced at her, but only briefly. “Like I don’t belong next to her. Like I don’t deserve her.”
Luna didn’t move for a second. Then she tilted her head, the corners of her mouth pulled down in something between sympathy and disbelief. Frankie looked away again, eyes flicking down to the dog lying at their feet.
“And so I leave,” he added, voice lower now. “I pull away. I don’t mean to. I just… I don’t know how to hold it all without feeling like I’ll break something. And she never blames me. Somehow, she gets it.”
Luna closed her eyes briefly, pressing her lips together. When she looked at him again, there was a wrinkle between her brows.
“Why wouldn’t you deserve someone who’s patient with you? Who actually listens to you?” Her hand moved to his arm, light pressure just enough to make him feel anchored. “None of what you’re telling yourself is true. You know that, right?”
Frankie wanted to nod. He wanted to meet her eyes and say yes, he knew. But instead, his head tilted a little, the motion uncertain, unfinished.
She didn’t wait. “Well, you have to start knowing. Because someone made you believe the opposite. Someone taught you not to expect anything good. They conditioned you to settle for the scraps they gave you and convinced you that was all you’d ever get. And it wasn’t just one conversation or one mistake. It was years of it. Of being made small.”
Her voice didn’t waver, even as her fingers gripped his sleeve tighter. “Of course it’s going to take time to undo that. Of course it’s hard to believe anything else. But you can. And you have to. Because this—” she gestured, vaguely—“this doesn’t get to be the end of the story.”
Frankie looked at her, his face unreadable but not closed off.
“And I know it’s not going to be easy,” Luna said. “But you have to try. Because if what you have in front of you is something good, something that makes you better, you don’t just get to let it slip through your hands.”
She paused, watching him closely, like she was trying to gauge whether the words were landing where they needed to.
“Yeah, she’s patient,” she went on. “She obviously cares about you. But people have limits. You keep handing someone your doubt over and over again, eventually they get tired of carrying it.”
She exhaled, slowly, as if remembering something. Or maybe trying to forget. “It’s awful. That feeling of being with someone but not knowing where you stand. Wondering if they love you, or if they’re just staying because it’s easier than leaving for good.” Her gaze lifted, her expression hardening just slightly. “I’ve lived it. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
She leaned in a little, her tone shifting—not cruel, but pointed. “So figure it out. Be brave about it. Don’t leave her sitting in the dark, trying to guess how you feel. If you do, you will lose her. Don't fuck it up.”
Something tightened in Frankie’s stomach. That peculiar mix of dread and longing. He wanted to explain—wanted to say, I’m not sure she’s even mine to lose. That whatever this was between you—this warm, electric, confusing thing—hadn’t been defined, hadn’t been claimed. It felt real, sure. It felt important. But you hadn’t named it. You hadn’t promised anything.
Still, he didn’t say any of that. Because the truth made the story more complicated, and right now, he needed it to stay simple. At least on the surface.
But she was right. He knew that in his bones.
“You’re flying out tomorrow,” Luna said, gently shifting the subject. “I’ll drive you to the airport. And after you’ve settled, you’ll call me. Let me know how you’re doing.”
Frankie gave a small nod, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“I will,” he said. “But answer the damn phone.”
Luna let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I always answer the phone.”
Frankie smiled—briefly, instinctively—but the expression faded almost as soon as it had appeared. A sharp, jarring sound echoed from inside the house. A thud. Deep and unmistakable, like something solid hitting the floor. Then a low groan followed, wounded and human.
Luna was on her feet in an instant. Frankie had already moved, pushing the door open, moving into the hallway with purposeful strides.
Just beyond the entrance, at the base of the staircase, Henry was slumped on the floor. His posture was hunched, arms hanging limply at his sides, one hand weakly pressing against the side of his head. There was blood—on his forehead, smeared across his cheek—but it wasn’t immediately clear where it was coming from. His eyes were wide, unfocused.
Helena knelt beside him, her voice hushed but panicked, her fingers carefully brushing hair away from his brow as she inspected the injury. From the edge of the living room doorway, Mai stood frozen, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. She looked like she wanted to move forward but couldn’t. Her skin had gone pale. She hated the sight of blood. Always had.
“Oh my God.” Luna’s voice cracked as she rushed over to Henry, already crying. “Henry—baby—what happened? Are you okay? Your head—”
Henry blinked, his mouth moving, struggling to find words. Nothing came out at first. He looked like he didn’t know where he was.
Frankie crouched down beside him, steady hands reaching to guide Henry’s chin upward, tilting his face gently into the light. His touch was careful, instinctive.
“I was coming up the stairs,” Henry said at last, voice uneven, breath catching at the end of each word. “I—I don’t know what happened. I got dizzy. Then everything just… went.”
“Okay,” Frankie said, nodding, reassuring. “You’re alright. Doesn’t look like anything’s broken. Just stay there, alright? Keep still.” He turned briefly to Luna, who was already pulling her phone from her back pocket, hands shaking.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, her eyes full of panic and tears already streaking her cheeks.
Behind them, a small voice broke through the noise.
“Dad?”
Frankie turned. At the top of the staircase, Jamie stood barefoot in his pajamas, holding onto the railing. His face was pale and rigid with fear, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Jamie,” Frankie said, standing up, moving toward him with soft, cautious steps.
He reached the boy and tried to take his hands, but Jamie pulled back, sudden and stiff, his eyes still locked on his father’s crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs.
Frankie hesitated. He didn’t know what the right move was—whether to stop him or let him come down. Jamie moved first, stepping down without a word, and Frankie followed just behind, arms half-raised in case he needed to catch him.
When Jamie reached the landing, he froze. Then, without warning, he burst into tears. His small fists clenched and unclenched in front of him, twisting into each other like he was trying to hold something in—but it was too late. The fear and confusion had cracked through.
Frankie stood near him, his chest tightening, unsure if reaching out again would help or scare him more.
Then he reached out, his hand finding Jamie’s small shoulder. The boy flinched at first—just a reflex—but then turned and collapsed into him, his face pressing hard into the front of Frankie’s shirt. His small hands clutched at the fabric, fingers tightening as the sobs overtook him. He was trying not to cry, Frankie could tell, trying to swallow the sound down into himself, but it kept escaping in short, hiccuping gasps.
Frankie wrapped his arms around him without hesitation. There was nothing precise about the way he held him—just instinct and care, the way you’d hold something fragile that you didn’t want to break. He turned and lifted him off the floor, arms anchored beneath his knees and back, careful not to jostle him too much, carrying him upstairs like he was still the five-year-old who used to fall asleep in the backseat of the car.
Inside Jamie’s bedroom, the air felt smaller, quieter. Frankie set him down gently on the bed and shut the door behind them. For a second, neither of them spoke. The sound of Jamie’s sniffling was soft now, like he was trying to push the noise down deep inside himself.
Frankie crossed the room and knelt in front of him, his knees hitting the carpet with a muted thump. He reached up, cupping Jamie’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing the boy’s flushed cheeks.
“Jamie,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”
He did. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet, mouth still trembling at the corners.
“It’s okay. Your dad’s okay.”
Jamie blinked at him, and Frankie could see the skepticism land instantly.
“That’s not true,” he whispered, voice shredded at the edges. “I know he’s sick.”
Frankie’s hands stilled. There were no words at the ready. No script. Only the sharp realization that lying wouldn't work. 
“I know.”
Jamie’s voice cracked in half. “Is he going to die?”
Frankie felt something pull tight in his chest. It was like his heart had been tied up in cloth and dipped in water—heavy, sodden, impossible to wring out. His eyes burned, and he blinked, fast and hard, willing it away.
“He...” He tried again, forcing steadiness into his tone. “He’s sick. But he’s getting help. The doctors are really good. Remember what your mom said? They're the best. She wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true.”
Jamie didn’t respond right away. He just kept crying, softer now, quieter, like his body was getting tired of holding it all up.
“But he got hurt,” he said, voice tight.
“I know. But that—” Frankie leaned in a little, pointing to his own forehead. “That was just a cut. Up here. It looked worse than it was. You remember when you fell off your bike? That scrape on your knee? All that blood? It looked huge, but it wasn’t. Just messy.”
He nodded, barely. His eyes didn’t leave Frankie’s.
“It was scary,” Frankie continued. “But it was only a scare.”
Jamie hesitated. “How do you know it’s just that?”
Frankie glanced down. The pads of his fingers were stained red. He curled them into fists and tucked his hands into his lap like they didn’t belong to him. Then he looked back up.
“Because I checked. With my own hands. It was bleeding, yeah, but it wasn’t deep. Just a surface cut.”
The boy searched his face, eyes darting between his mouth and his eyes, like trying to catch a lie midair.
There were two knocks at the door, and then it opened a beat later without waiting for an answer.
“Jamie,” Luna said softly as she stepped into the room. “Honey, are you okay?”
Jamie didn’t say anything right away. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist, his face still damp, expression uncertain. Then he gave a faint nod. Luna walked across the room and crouched beside the bed, brushing a hand through his hair.
“We’re going to the hospital, with daddy,” she said, watching his face closely, “but everything’s alright. Okay?”
Jamie looked up at her, then past her to Frankie, his mouth parting just slightly.
“Can I go?” he asked, barely above a whisper. The room fell quiet.
Luna didn’t answer right away. She glanced at Frankie—one of those looks that lasted less than a second but held a full conversation inside it—and then turned her eyes back to her son.
Frankie cleared his throat, adjusting where he knelt.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out and tapping Jamie gently on the calf. “What if we finally watch that movie you asked about yesterday? The one with the animals. Remember?”
Jamie’s eyebrows knit together, uncertain.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice thin.
Frankie shifted a little, resting one arm on the mattress.
“You know the one I mean, right?” he said, feigning confusion. “The movie with the animals and the board game... How was it called again? Tumanji?”
Jamie blinked at him for a second—then his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile appearing.
“No,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but brighter. “Jumanji.”
Frankie snapped his fingers. “Ah. That’s it. I always mix it up with that other one. You know, the one where the guy gets stuck inside a board game and becomes a tomato.”
Jamie gave a short, surprised laugh, the kind that sneaks out before you remember you’re supposed to be upset. “That’s not a movie.”
“You sure? Sounds like Oscar material to me,” Frankie said, raising an eyebrow.
Luna gave him a look—half grateful, half exasperated—and smoothed her son’s hair again. Jamie’s body had relaxed by then, shoulders dropping just slightly, a flicker of lightness beginning to return to his face.
He turned to Frankie again. “Okay,” small but clear.
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Thursday, October 17th
The morning passed quietly and the bookstore felt half-asleep. You spent most of it rearranging the same shelf three times, more for something to do than out of necessity.
Nancy stopped by before noon. She came every few weeks, always with lipstick on, her earrings matching her outfit. She was in her seventies—sharp as ever— with the kind of silver-white hair that looked like it had absorbed sunlight and kept it, somehow. You liked her. She had a warm, sturdy way of being that made you feel less alone in your skin. She always brought up Piero, her husband, who sounded like the kind of man who made tea before you asked and let you have the last cookie. They sunbathed on their patio every afternoon, she said, beneath a striped umbrella. She talked about it fondly, like sun and silence were sacred, like afternoons stretched longer when you spent them side by side with someone who knew where all your scars were and loved you anyway.
She told you she used to teach math but had always preferred stories. “Numbers are always perfect, but people are interesting,” she said once. She kept journals—dozens of them, she claimed—stacked in boxes in her attic. You told her you’d love to read one, just to see how someone like her had seen the world when they were younger.
Before she left, she narrowed her eyes at you playfully.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” she asked, leaning slightly over the counter.
“Twenty-nine,” you answered, your voice soft, the way it always was when someone surprised you with affection.
She smiled as if you’d given her the exact answer she was hoping for.
“I’ll bring you the one I wrote when I was your age. Maybe there’s something useful in it.”
Later, the stillness cracked open. A group of teenagers tumbled into the store like a wind you hadn't prepared for. They made a mess of the juvenile section, speaking too loudly, touching everything with the kind of reckless hands that had never had to shelve anything. You asked them more than once to be careful, using the voice you reserved for rules you wished didn’t need saying. One of them dropped a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower like it meant nothing at all.
They didn’t buy anything. They left the shelves in chaos. Normally, you would have accepted it as part of the rhythm of the place—books always moved, never stayed where you put them. But today it stung. There was something careless about their presence. Putting the books back felt like an apology you weren’t sure who to give to.
Later, a man came in asking for a book. He couldn’t remember the title, just that it was about a man, something existential, maybe something to do with murder, or exile, or the sea. You suggested The Stranger by Camus.
“No, no, not that one,” he insisted, shaking his head like you’d misunderstood him completely. And then he described The Stranger to you, again, nearly word for word.
You didn’t correct him. You just let him keep talking. Because some people need to arrive at the truth on their own. 
By the time the sign on the door read closed, your whole body ached with the kind of exhaustion that comes from quiet tasks performed for hours on end. You moved through the familiar routine almost without thinking—lights off, blinds drawn, register counted, the keys pressing cool and metallic into your palm as you locked up.
At home, you undressed slowly, letting your clothes fall where they wanted to, and stepped into the bath. The water climbed around you, and for a moment, everything felt still again. It was the kind of warmth that softened you, let the tension uncurl from your shoulders, made you forget how much your feet had hurt.
Afterward, wrapped in your robe and already feeling better, you padded into the kitchen with the light kind of optimism that sometimes appears when you're clean and your hair is damp and everything feels slightly reset. You opened the fridge, thinking about pasta or maybe something with melted cheese.
What you found was something closer to satire than sustenance: one pathetic lemon, the skin hardened like old leather, and a wedge of cheese in the kind of condition that made you feel vaguely judged by your own refrigerator. You laughed out loud—just once, flatly—then let the door close with a gentle thud.
You could’ve ordered in. Of course, that was always an option. But something about the quietness of the evening made you want to cook. Something comforting, something with cheese and butter or... bolognesa, but the really well done one, like the kind of meal Emma would send you videos of in the middle of the night with messages like we NEED to try this. So you got dressed, pulling on jeans and a nice shirt, trying to look like someone who might bump into someone they used to love at the grocery store, even though that wasn't true.
It was already six, the sky dipped in pale pinks and oranges, the air still a little bit thick. You moved quickly, maybe too quickly—partly because you were hungry, partly because the idea of dinner had already taken root in your mind and you wanted to see it through.
On the way back, your grocery bag hung from one shoulder, slightly digging into your skin. The sun was almost fully gone. You tilted your head back to look at the sky, letting the dark soft colors press into your mind.
You were still looking up when you reached your block. And then, without warning, your attention snapped downward. A figure. Familiar. Standing just outside your front door, hands tucked into his jean jacket pockets, head tilted slightly, like he’d been waiting a while.
You frowned, not quite alarmed but confused, and started walking faster, your footsteps picking up rhythm against the sidewalk.
He rang the doorbell just as you reached shouting distance. And then he turned.
“Frankie?”
His eyes found yours. He smiled, and something about it made you stop walking entirely, just a few feet away from him now. You adjusted the strap of the bag on your shoulder, your smile echoing his. For a second, neither of you said anything. You just looked at him. Like you were reading his face.
He looked different. That’s what struck you first. Not bad—just different. The tired kind of different. His eyes were glassy and faintly red around the rims, like he’d slept too little or thought too much. Maybe both.
You noticed it immediately.
He crossed the short distance between you and gently slid the bag from your shoulder without asking, his fingers brushing against your skin. You let him. You watched him in the soft dusk light—his profile, the quiet concentration on his face as he adjusted the weight of the bag—and something in your chest softened.
You stepped closer. Without overthinking it, your arms wrapped around his neck, your body leaning into his with a kind of quiet certainty. He held you the way he always did: arms snug around your waist, pulling you into him. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. You felt the heat of it long after his lips left your skin.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice low, your face turned slightly so you could get a clearer look at him. “I thought you weren’t coming back until the weekend.”
He smiled, barely. “Or sooner, I said.”
You opened the door and stepped aside so he could come in. The small suitcase in his hand bumped against the frame as he passed, and you watched him carry it up the narrow stairs, placing it just inside the apartment, next to the door. You realized then that he probably hadn’t even gone home. Most likely, he’d come straight from the airport.
You set the groceries on the kitchen counter, the plastic rustling against the marble. When you turned back around, he was standing beside the couch, looking at you as if he was trying to remember something important. Your smile hadn’t left yet.
“Well?” you said, stepping toward him. “How are you?”
That’s when it shifted.
His mouth twitched, a near-smile interrupted midway. His shoulders fell, not all at once, but in degrees, like gravity had started pulling harder. His eyebrows knit slowly, his whole expression beginning to slide. His eyes—always expressive, always easy to read if you knew how to look—began to shine. Not dramatically. Not enough that someone else might notice. But you did. Of course you did.
“Hey,” you whispered, reaching for him without hesitation, both hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing lightly across the skin beneath his eyes.
He didn’t answer.
He just looked at you. Close up now, you could see it more clearly—how tired he was. His eyes rimmed with red, the faint trace of tears that hadn’t yet fallen. The kind of exhaustion that lived deep in the bones, behind the eyes, beneath the skin. And something more.
Then you pulled him into your arms again, tighter this time. He dropped his face into the curve of your neck, and you felt his breath catch slightly as he exhaled. You pressed your hands into his hair, threading your fingers through the messy strands, and held him there.
At first, his breathing came in short, uneven bursts. You felt it in the way his chest rose and fell against yours, in the way his arms clung to you a little too tightly, as if you might disappear if he let go. But you didn’t move. You just held him, one hand in his hair, the other splayed across his back.
Eventually, his body began to ease. Not entirely, but enough. His breaths evened out, becoming quieter, steadier. He pulled back just slightly, enough that your faces were no longer touching, and you tilted your head to look at him properly. He did the same.
Your eyes scanned his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the subtle crease between his brows that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. You reached up and brushed your fingertips along his cheek, a gesture so gentle it barely registered.
He kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or hard, but there was urgency in it nonetheless—like he'd been waiting to do it, or needing to. His lips met yours and you responded instantly, your mouth moving with his as the space between you disappeared again. You tilted your head and the kiss deepened. But then he pulled back, leaving your lips warm and a little dazed.
You studied his face, your expression shifting into something you hadn’t planned. Tenderness, yes, but also a quiet ache for him.
You reached up and brushed your fingers through the side of his hair.
“What happened?” you asked, your voice soft, your thumb grazing the edge of his jaw.
He let out a breath through his nose.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, but then paused. “I mean… I’m just tired.”
You didn’t believe him, not fully, but you didn’t push. You let your hand rest against his cheek, tracing light, absentminded shapes along his skin.
“We can talk about it later,” you said. “If you want.”
“I’d like that.”
You smiled, small and reassuring, and nodded. “Now tell me—are you hungry?”
He squinted slightly, the ghost of a smile creeping across his lips.
“Starving.”
“Good,” you said, patting his chest before stepping back. “Now I’ve got the perfect excuse to make something that’ll impress you.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched you cross the room.
About thirty minutes later, you were standing at the stove, carefully pouring the chopped vegetables into the pot where the tomato sauce had already begun to simmer. You’d pulled up a recipe Emma had texted you weeks ago—something she’d raved about that night she sent five voice notes in a row. 
The ingredients were simple—onions, garlic, bell peppers, crushed tomatoes, some ground meat you’d picked out after asking the butcher three separate questions, and just enough red wine to make it taste richer than it actually was. Still, there was a method to getting it right. Things had to be done in order, in the right way, or it wouldn’t come together. You were focused on that now, adjusting the heat beneath the pot until the bubbles at the surface softened. You stirred gently, watching the sauce thicken, hoping the meat would turn tender enough to fall apart with a fork. The pasta would come later, once the sauce had earned it.
The smell was already blooming through the kitchen. You leaned in, eyes fluttering closed for a second, just to take it in.
Then, the sound of a door opening, then closing again. The quiet shuffle of feet along the hallway.
Frankie appeared a second later, leaning into the wall next to you, one shoulder pressed casually against it.
“That smells really good,” he said, eyes drifting toward the stove.
You looked at him and smiled. He was wearing those soft gray-and-black striped pajama pants you’d seen once, paired with a plain white T-shirt that clung just slightly to his chest. He’d pulled them from his suitcase before heading into the shower.
“Thanks,” you said, eyes drifting to the damp patches forming on his shoulders. “Your hair’s still dripping. You’re getting your shirt all wet.”
“I can shake it out, if you want,” he offered, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Before you could stop him, he tilted his head and gave it a little shake like a dog just out of the rain, droplets scattering into the air, some landing on your cheek.
“No!” you laughed, holding your hands up in protest as he moved a step closer.
He retreated, still grinning, and reached up to push his damp curls back from his forehead.
“I’ll dry off,” he said. “I just wanted to see what you were up to.”
“So impatient,” you teased, pressing a hand lightly to his stomach as he passed behind you. “How was the shower?”
“Hot,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yeah, but don’t you feel renewed? Like your whole nervous system just reset?”
He tilted his face toward you, that crooked little smile still playing on his lips. “I’ll let you know after dinner.”
You rolled your eyes, even though he wasn’t looking. Earlier, you’d adjusted the water for his shower, turning the handle just right, testing the temperature with your wrist like you were preparing it for a toddler instead of a grown man.
“Not so hot,” he’d said, already pulling his T-shirt over his head. And then, as soon as the water hit his skin, he let out an exaggerated groan. Sure enough, seconds later came a low, satisfied sigh, like he'd just entered some kind of heaven.
You didn’t comment on it. But now, standing in front of him, you gave a soft shake of your head and said, “Come here,” brushing past him gently and catching his arm as you went.
He let himself be pulled, trailing behind you. You brought him into the bathroom and pointed to the closed toilet lid.
“Sit,” you instructed. He did.
Frankie looked at you with mock suspicion. “What are you going to do to me?”
His voice was cautious, playful, like he half-expected you to pull out a pair of scissors. You didn’t respond, just reached for a clean towel and began pressing the soft fabric into his damp hair, patting and squeezing gently, your movements steady but firm. His head dipped forward under your hands, shoulders relaxing a little as you worked.
“Look at you,” you murmured, a teasing edge in your voice, “like a child.”
He gave a snort in response, a quiet puff of breath.
“I hadn’t finished drying myself,” he said, his voice a bit muffled, like he was talking more to the floor than to you.
You didn’t answer. Just kept working. After a moment, you tossed the towel onto the edge of the sink and knelt to open the cabinet beneath it. Frankie stayed where he was, watching quietly now, as you pulled out a small hair dryer and plugged it into the socket by the mirror. You glanced back at him, holding it in your hand like a weapon.
“Bend your head a little,” you said, and he did, obedient.
The dryer clicked on with a soft hum, not too loud, and warm air began to rush over the back of his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair as you dried it, lifting and separating the strands, moving with a rhythm that felt almost instinctive. Your fingers grazed his scalp as you worked, massaging without thinking, just because it felt right to do.
After a few minutes, he exhaled slowly and said, “You’re going to put me to sleep.”
You smiled but didn’t stop. Instead, you nudged his chin up with the back of your fingers, tilting his head so you could reach the front. He opened his eyes, just barely, as if it took a real effort. You met his gaze briefly before moving your eyes again, concentrating on what you were doing.
He didn’t say anything else. He just looked at you. And you didn’t feel the need to break the silence.
After a while, you clicked off the dryer, the hum falling away like a thought slipping from your mind. The room felt quieter now, the only sound was the faint hum of the television playing in the living room. You wrapped the cord carefully around your fingers, looping it into a neat coil without rushing, then set it down on the cabinet.
You turned back to Frankie. He was still sitting, head slightly tilted, watching you in that unblinking way he had. You ran a hand through his hair.
“All done,” you said quietly, offering him a faint smile.
He stood with a soft grunt, lifting his arms above his head to stretch. The hem of his shirt shifted slightly, exposing a thin line of skin. You were just about to open the door when you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist. You turned, caught off guard, and he pulled you toward him in one fluid motion.
His hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek with a familiarity that made your breath catch. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, brief, tender, almost shy. Then, without waiting, he kissed you again, this time properly.
You smiled into it. That unconscious, reflexive smile that made your cheeks ache a little. He felt it and smiled too, the curve of his lips brushing against yours. You slid your hands up the front of his shirt, fingertips gliding over the fabric, settling on his shoulders. The cotton felt damp under your palms.
You pulled away, just enough to see his face clearly, to speak without your lips brushing.
“Your shirt’s still wet,” you murmured, your voice lighter now, teasing.
He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes but didn’t release you. His arms stayed around your waist, grounding you there. And for a moment, neither of you moved.
Apparently, you were a damn good cook. The kind that surprised even yourself. Because an hour later, Frankie was sitting across from you at the small kitchen table, setting his fork down with a soft clink against the plate. He reached for the wine glass with the same hand and took a sip, his eyes closing briefly like it really hit the spot.
The apartment was quiet, save for Al Green playing on the speaker in the living room—How Can You Mend a Broken Heart drifting across the place, soft and clear.
Dinner had been easy. No heavy conversations, nothing you had to tiptoe around. Frankie seemed lighter now, more himself, in a dry T-shirt this time. He told you stories from his days in Boston, sticking to the parts he liked, the positive ones, wich were a lot. He asked about Bill then, about how things were going at the coffee shop, and you gave him the short version. Not because you didn’t want to talk, but because there wasn’t much to say. And you didn't feel like talking about Bill.
Mr. Darcy took the dinner invitation too, hopping into the spare chair between you like he’d been formally seated. He spent half the meal squinting at the table’s edge, trying to sniff his way into a bite, before giving up and curling himself into a quiet loaf.
“This was amazing,” Frankie said finally, leaning back with a sigh, like his body needed to announce how satisfied it was.
And honestly, it had been amazing. The meat had turned out just the way you’d hoped. Tender, flavorful, melting on the tongue in a way that made you close your eyes for a second. The vegetables soaked up the wine and seasonings too. And Frankie had eaten like a really starving man, which maybe wasn’t far from the truth. You had no problem refilling his plate twice, then again when he scraped up the last of the sauce with a piece of bread.
You tilted your head and smiled. “I’ll accept that compliment. Graciously.”
He laughed, and then nudged your foot under the table with his, a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. You looked up just as a yawn slipped out of him, unfiltered.
“So, how’d you sleep last night?” you asked, raising your glass, swirling the last sip of red wine before bringing it to your lips.
Frankie paused. He didn’t answer right away.
“I didn’t,” he said eventually, with a small, apologetic smile.
You tilted your head again. “You didn’t?”
He shook his head, and his fingers began to move around the stem of the wine glass, drawing quiet circles. 
“Henry had an accident.”
You didn’t speak at first. You watched him carefully, expecting an explanation to follow, but it didn’t. He just sat there, eyes fixed somewhere near your hands.
So you shifted in your seat, and then you asked: “What happened to him?”
“He fell down the stairs,” he said. “He got dizzy.”
Your stomach turned. Frankie gave a faint nod, as if trying to convince himself more than you.
“It wasn’t terrible,” he added quickly, “just a few stitches. Nothing broken. But the fall was bad enough that they kept him at the hospital for observation. He hit his head.”
You winced, your mind catching on the small detail.
You remembered what Frankie had told you last week—about the tumor. A small mass, tucked inside Henry’s frontal lobe, as if that part of the brain had quietly betrayed him. It had started with the dizzy spells, sure, but then there was that evening—he’d gotten confused during dinner with some friends, blanked out while telling a story he’d told a dozen times before. Then the blurriness came, the sudden jolts in his chest, the racing heartbeat. Frankie had listed the symptoms without drama, just a steady recounting. The headaches had been going on for months, along with the exhaustion and his growing inability to concentrate. Tests followed, more than one. And more still to come. They hadn’t reached a decision about surgery yet. But they would soon. One way or another.
Frankie’s voice cut back in, quieter now. “Jamie saw him.”
Your gaze flicked to his face.
“On the floor,” Frankie continued, eyes fixed on the tablecloth, tracing the pattern with the edge of his finger like he needed something tactile to focus on. “Henry was just lying there, blood all over his face. And Jamie—he just cried. He asked me if his dad was going to die.”
You inhaled sharply, instinctively. “Frankie…”
You wanted to reach across the table and touch him. You almost did. But something held you in place.
He looked up at you then, and his eyes were watery but not spilling over.
“I didn’t know what to say, I felt like an idiot. Like some useless bystander in the middle of this thing that’s eating him from the inside out.”
You said nothing.
“I couldn’t lie to him,” he went on. “He’s just a kid, but he’s not stupid. And he deserves more than some empty reassurance. I couldn’t look at him and say, No, your dad’s not going to die, because how the hell would I know that? What if I said it and I was wrong?”
His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t fall apart. He just looked at you, like he was still waiting for someone to tell him the right thing to say.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Henry had good doctors looking after him. And it’s true.” He gestured vaguely, his hand moving in the air like the thought couldn’t quite land. “But the feeling—it was awful. Just awful.”
You didn’t say anything right away. You reached across the table, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand in a soft, steady motion. He turned his palm upward, and his thumb found your fingers like it was second nature.
“He’s so little,” Frankie murmured. “Just ten. Still thinks the moon actually follows him when he walks home at night. He’s not supposed to know what it means to be scared like that. Not really. Not yet. He’s not supposed to be worried about things like this. He’s supposed to be, I don't know, riding his bike or forgetting to do his homework. Not standing over his dad wondering if he’s going to die.”
Your fingers traced over the curve of his knuckles. “I’m sure you were good with him. And I'm sure it helped him a lot to have you there with him. I don’t think that kind of presence goes unnoticed. Even at that age, kids know when someone shows up for them.” Your voice was soft, as were your fingers stroking his hand. "There are things that no one can protect him from, but you can be there for him. And I think he'll always be grateful for that, to know that his family was there. Whatever the outcome of all this."
Frankie didn’t reply at first. You saw something pass across his face—tiredness, maybe, or something more complicated. Then a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, barely there.
“We watched a movie after they left for the hospital. Luna and my mom went with Henry. So it was just the three of us. Jamie, Mai, and me. We put on Jumanji.”
“Oh yeah? Does he like Jumanji?”
“He loves it,” Frankie nodded. “Though he didn’t make it to the end. Fell asleep halfway through. Mai and I just looked at each other and decided to let him be. I stayed on the couch with him till they got home.”
He glanced down then, his eyes landing on Mr. Darcy, curled up beside the table with his head resting on one outstretched paw.
“I didn’t sleep at all,” he added quietly. “Not when they came back, not even after I got into bed. I just laid there with my eyes closed, trying to feel normal. It wasn’t until eleven in the morning that I even looked at the time.”
He sighed, not dramatically, but like something heavy was pushing out of his chest. Then his gaze returned to you.
“I needed to come back,” he added. “I wanted to stay longer too—mostly for Jamie. But Luna said she’d take care of it. She’s good like that. She drove me to the airport. And the whole time, I was just thinking... I had to see you.”
The words settled into your chest with more weight than you’d expected. You blinked once, then again.
And suddenly, guilt crept in. You thought about how much time you’d taken earlier, moving through the kitchen like you had nowhere to be. You’d cooked like it was a weekend, like this was just another evening. You’d focused on simmering and seasoning and letting the wine reduce just right, and he—he had been running on fumes. Barely holding himself up.
He’d crossed the country running on nerves and zero sleep, and you’d made him wait for dinner.
Your eyes dropped to your lap, and your voice softened. “Frankie, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted gently. “Being here feels... good. Normal. And that helps more than you think.”
“But you must be exhausted. I’m sorry.”
Frankie smiled. “No, I’m okay. Honestly. I think that shower of yours worked some kind of miracle.”
You shook your head lightly, resting your chin in your palm, elbow anchored to the table.
“Oh, so now you believe in the healing power of water,” you said, with a faint smirk.
He laughed. “Between that and three servings of your cooking, I’m practically a new man. Almost.”
“Almost?”
He shrugged, a little dramatically. “Well, I’m sort of counting on you to escort me to bed. In case that part wasn’t clear.”
The comment caught you off guard and made you laugh out loud.
“Wow. Bold of you.”
“Me?” he said, leaning forward like he had every right to be amused. “Come on, Shortcake. Don’t act innocent now. We both know you’ve been using me for my body.”
You burst into laughter again, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to suppress the grin that had already taken over your face.
“Alright,” you said, rising to your feet. “Get up, I’ll take you to bed.”
From his seat, he didn’t move, just looked at you with exaggerated offense. “So you’re not denying it?”
You turned to face him, hands finding his shoulders, your thumbs brushing over the fabric of his T-shirt. He was warm under your touch, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours.
“Something tells me that even if that were the case,” you said, voice low, “you’d be completely fine with it.”
He chuckled, head tilting toward your hand. “Ha. You're right,” he said. “Got me.”
“Such a slut,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though the smile hadn’t left your face. 
You turned toward the table, beginning to stack the plates absentmindedly. Behind you, Frankie stood up too, and without needing to say anything, he joined in, making quick work of the task. It took barely two minutes—your movements wordless but coordinated.
Then, before you could stop him, he was at the sink. You told him to leave it, that it could wait, but he shook his head, already reaching for the sponge.
“Bad manners,” he said over his shoulder. “Can’t just eat three plates of your food and leave you to clean up alone.”
So you didn’t argue again. Instead, you stayed beside him, leaning your hip against the counter, your arms crossed loosely over your chest. He told you about the day Jamie convinced him to climb a tree in the backyard, how he scraped his elbow and Jamie laughed so hard he nearly fell off the branch above him. Mr. Darcy circled your feet as he spoke, issuing small, dramatic meows, clearly under the impression that it was dinnertime for cats too.
Once the counters gleamed and the dishes were stacked neatly in the rack, the two of you drifted down the hallway in easy, familiar silence. Going to bed together didn’t feel like a decision, exactly—it felt like a continuation of the evening. Like the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask what to do or where to go. He just followed you.
In the bathroom, you watched his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, his hair soft under the light, a slight crease between his brows as he concentrated. You stood beside him and picked up your toothbrush. Washed your face. Moved around each other without bumping into one another.
Later, you opened the quilt on your bed, fluffing the pillows absently. Frankie stepped into the room carrying Darcy in his arms like a baby, muttering something about him being spoiled. He set him gently on the mattress, where the cat immediately made a low-pitched grunt of satisfaction and curled up without ceremony.
You began to undress, turning your back toward Frankie out of instinct. And it was only when you felt the cool air touch your skin that you realized your face had grown warm. You weren’t used to this part—the exposed version of yourself, no lights dimmed, no rushed urgency to distract from the fact that he was watching you.
But he didn’t say anything. He just lay back on the bed with his arms folded behind his head, his eyes resting quietly on you, steady but unintrusive. You felt them on your back like sunlight through a window. Not harsh. Just there. 
You pulled the T-shirt over your head, the fabric brushing lightly over your skin as it settled around your torso and hips in soft folds. Then the pajama shorts slid into place. The air in the room felt nice against your skin.
You climbed into bed, moving across the mattress on your hands and knees until you reached his side. Frankie was already lying down, one arm bent beneath his head, eyes watching you as if he’d been waiting for you to arrive. You asked him to switch off the lamp on the nightstand, and he reached over to do it without a word. The room shifted into semi-darkness, shadows cast against the walls.
Then he asked if you could put something on the TV—just for a while, he said—and you didn’t argue. You reached for the remote, flipping through the titles.
“See?” you said, bumping your hand gently against his stomach. “You always end up watching something before bed.”
He smiled, the corners of his mouth curving upward without effort, and didn’t deny it. You let your head rest on his chest, the weight of you melting into him like it had always belonged there, your ear tuned to the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart. You scrolled through the options until you passed You’ve Got Mail.
“That one,” he said.
You turned your head slightly, gave him a sideways look. “Tom Hanks again?”
He nodded like it was the most obvious choice in the world, and you remembered—of course—the time he confused You’ve Got Mail with When Harry Met Sally, and how he still owed you a viewing of that one. You pressed play anyway.
The remote ended up somewhere between you both, half-lost in the sheets. You adjusted your position slightly, shifting until your hand came to rest against his stomach, the warmth of his body seeping into your palm. You tilted your head to look at him, just to make sure he was okay. His smile had softened, his features quieter now, the tiredness more visible around his eyes.
You leaned up to kiss him—just a small kiss, one that lingered more in feeling than in time. Then another, closer to the corner of his mouth, which made him exhale softly. You felt his hand move across your back, not hurried. His fingers settled in the space between your ribs and your hip, that narrow, delicate stretch of skin that always seemed to hum a little under touch.
You lowered yourself back down, head on his chest again, eyes turned toward the screen. Meg Ryan was typing, oblivious to the irony of her anonymous confidant being the man she resented most in real life. The small bookstore, the way she poured herself into it, the quiet sense of being edged out by something bigger and more impersonal—you understood it. You smiled faintly at a comment made by the woman who worked with her, something dry and sweet and accurate.
After a while, you noticed Frankie’s breathing had changed. It had deepened, evened out. You felt the full rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You looked up and found him fully asleep, his face softened in that way people’s faces only do when they’re truly resting, the tension drained from his brow.
You reached for the remote again and switched off the television. Then you adjusted your position without really thinking, curling closer to him, your arm draped across his middle.
Within moments, your own body followed his into sleep.
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Friday, October 18th
You rolled onto your back, the sheets shifting beneath you, and laughter spilled from your mouth as Frankie’s teeth grazed your neck. Your hands reached for him instinctively, fingers weaving into the softness of his hair. He laughed against your throat, and the sound sent something warm crawling down your spine.
The alarm had gone off ten minutes earlier—seven a.m.—but it had hardly mattered. He’d been awake an hour before that. When you’d asked him why he hadn’t woken you, he said, simply, that you looked like you needed more sleep. So he got up, used the bathroom, then came back to lie beside you. Awake. Still. Waiting until you woke up.
Now his hands trailed across your stomach, and at first you laughed again, your body twitching under the softness of his touch. But the laughter thinned quickly into silence, replaced by something else. Something heavier, slower-burning. His mouth traveled from your neck to your jaw, the sharp little bites replaced by warm, open kisses. 
He adjusted his weight over you, settling into the space you made for him without question, your legs curling around his hips. Like your body already knew how this was supposed to go. You pulled him closer without speaking.
When he kissed you, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t something you eased into. It was immediate, almost greedy—the way someone kisses after too much waiting, too much wanting. Your hands came together at the back of his neck, fingers tightening against the heat of his skin, and his tongue brushed yours, coaxing a response that felt like surrender. You kissed him back like you needed to prove something. He moaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and the room was full of heat and breath and the wet, open sounds of two people lost in each other.
Then there was a soft thud beside you, something landing on the mattress with a little bounce. You pulled back instinctively, your lips parting from Frankie’s with a sound that felt too loud in the quiet. Both of you turned your heads at the same time.
Mr. Darcy had made himself comfortable on the bed, his front paws neatly folded like he owned the place.
You laughed under your breath, the sound caught somewhere between affection and exasperation. Frankie shifted back slightly, still close but no longer pressed against you.
“Close the door,” you murmured, your voice already taut with frustration and want.
Frankie let out a breath and peeled himself away from your body. You watched him move without meaning to, your gaze dragging to the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of his pants. He reached for the cat, pausing with his hands hovering in the air, expression torn between hesitation and amusement.
“He’s going to be mad at me,” he said, eyes flicking toward yours.
“What?”
“Darcy.”
You sat upright, your body still tingling with everything unfinished, and let out a quiet laugh. “He’s not going to be mad.”
“Cats get offended. You know that.”
You rolled your eyes and got up, the air around you cooler now without him so close. You bent to scoop Mr. Darcy into your arms, your fingers sinking into his thick, soft fur. He didn’t protest. He never really did with you.
“I know,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his little head, “but I don’t think he’s going to take this personally.”
You stepped out into the hallway and set him down gently, giving him a fond stroke between his ears before straightening. When you turned back, Frankie was already waiting. He closed the door behind you with a quiet click.
You hadn’t even finished turning when his hands were already on your hips—firm, certain, hungry—and he walked you backward without saying a word. The backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress, your balance faltering just slightly.
And then there was only him again.
You landed on the mattress with a soft bounce, sitting first and then rolling back, your hair fanning out over the sheets. Frankie followed, his body settling over yours with ease, like gravity made the decision for him. His hands bracketed your waist, grounding you there as his mouth returned to your neck—small, scattered kisses pressed into your skin.
His hands shifted, thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs before gathering the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward. You arched your back to help him, lifting your arms above your head as the fabric slipped off and disappeared somewhere behind him. His fingers moved without hesitation, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts—no pause, no teasing—and he dragged them down in one swift motion, underwear and all, until the fabric was a memory at the end of the bed.
You laughed, the sound breathy and full of something that felt like disbelief. Your whole body buzzed, cheeks flushed and chest warm as your hands roamed over him—his arms, the curve of his shoulders, the warm plane of his stomach under his shirt. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his breath uneven and catching as he pressed his body to yours. The feel of his clothes against your bare skin made you restless, every second tightening something inside you.
You broke the kiss with a smirk. “So desperate.”
Frankie tilted his head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and it hit you low in your stomach—how much you wanted him right then, how much you liked watching him like this.
One of his hands slid along your waist, then down the curve of your hip and thigh, fingers firm against the softest part of you. He squeezed gently, just enough to make you bite your lip. His eyes stayed on yours, that maddening smile still tugging at his lips as his hand moved higher. He touched you where you needed him, his fingers slipping between your folds—just enough pressure to make your breath catch, to make your teasing dissolve into something quieter and hungrier. Your legs parted instinctively, your body answering before your mind could catch up.
He laughed under his breath. “And I’m the desperate one?”
You were about to say something back—some clever response—but you didn’t get the chance. He dipped his head and kissed your collarbones, his mouth hot against your skin. The kisses trailed downward in a lazy, almost reverent pattern, until he reached your breasts. He opened his mouth over one nipple, drawing it in with soft pressure, his tongue moving in slow, careful circles that made your back lift from the mattress. A moan slipped out of you, unrestrained, and you closed your eyes, your hand tangling gently in his hair.
He released you with a quiet pop, breath warm against your chest, and didn’t pause before continuing down, mouth brushing over your stomach, your navel, lower still, until he was right there, in front of you.
And you didn’t dare breathe.
You leaned back onto your elbows, your arms trembling just slightly under your weight, trying to keep yourself upright so you could see him. Your eyelids fluttered halfway shut, lips parted as if you might say something, though the only thing leaving your mouth were uneven, stuttering breaths. You were already unraveling, and he hadn’t even really started.
And still—still—he wore that fucking smile. That smirk that tugged at one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly how this was going to end and how badly you were going to fall apart in front of him.
You shifted beneath him, restless with anticipation, your hips tilting up on their own. Frankie’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, grounding you.
“Hold still,” he murmured, the grin vanishing from his face like a curtain pulled shut, his voice edged with mock severity. Like he was scolding you. Like you were misbehaving.
You were opening your mouth to say something back—something witty or obscene or both—but then his lips met you. Right there. No warning. No space for speech. Just him.
His mouth closed over your clit, his tongue moving in steady, broad strokes, soft but focused, like he was tasting you and thinking about it, like he could memorize the shape of you with his mouth alone. The air left your lungs in jagged exhales. One of your hands found the back of his head, your fingers threading into his hair, not pulling yet, just holding. Needing to touch him, to anchor yourself to something solid while the rest of you dissolved.
He devoured you like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was nothing hesitant about it—just his tongue, his lips, the heat of his mouth, working you with a pace that sent electricity firing down your spine. He kissed you, licked into you, sucked at the most sensitive parts of you like he was possessed by the need to make you come apart. A low sound came from his throat, something close to a growl, and the vibration of it nearly undid you. You cried out and your hips bucked, but his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place, his grip unyielding but not rough.
And somehow—somehow—he still managed to be gentle. You were burning up. Every inch of your skin too hot, your thoughts too scattered to hold onto. You couldn’t take it anymore.
With a desperate sound—half-groan, half-command—you sat up and reached for him, grabbing his hair and tugging it back, not harshly, but with enough force that he lifted his head.
He released you with a slick, obscene sound. His mouth was wet, his lips flushed, and his eyes met yours—dark, gleaming, the kind of look that made your knees weak even though you were already lying down. His breath caught in his throat. His cheeks were tinted pink, heat radiating from him like a second sun.
You reached for his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric with something that felt like insistence. He didn’t resist. As you tugged it upward, he shifted easily, dropping to his knees on the mattress so you could pull it over his head. The shirt landed somewhere behind him with no ceremony. Then he placed his hands on your waist and pushed—not harshly, but with just enough force to send you tipping back against the pillows.
He stood beside the bed and undressed in one fluid movement, pants and boxers sliding down together, left pooled on the floor. Your breath caught—just for a second—and heat bloomed in your chest, rising to your face. The sight of him made your stomach tighten.
Frankie climbed back onto the bed, one hand wrapped around himself, moving with quiet pressure as his eyes drank you in. The way you lay there—waiting, open, flushed—clearly affecting him. His breathing shifted. His pupils darkened. For a moment, he just hovered there, like he was taking a mental picture.
Then he leaned down and kissed you. Not with hunger, not yet. As if he wanted to be tender before losing control.
But then he pulled back.
“Where are you going?” you asked, your hand reaching instinctively for his arm.
He glanced toward the door.
“Wallet,” he said. “I’ve got a condom in there. Just a second.”
You didn’t let go. “I’m on the pill.”
He paused. Just for a beat. His expression changed—something unreadable passed through his eyes before he gave you a half-smile, crooked and curious.
“I know. But are you sure?”
You nodded, your fingers tightening slightly on his skin.
“Yes. Unless you’ve been with someone else in the last two weeks.”
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You think I have that much game?”
“So no?” You were smiling already, because you already knew the answer.
He grinned, then settled over you again, the heat of him returning like a tide.
“What do you think?” he said, voice close to your ear. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“There hasn’t been anyone else these past two weeks?”
“No. No one.”
“Good,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re dirty, you know that?”
You let your head fall back, a breathy laugh slipping from your lips. Frankie was still looking at you and his hands shifted on your thighs, guiding your legs open. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled between them, his body warm and solid and so unbearably close.
He lined himself up with you, the pressure unmistakable, and stayed like that for a second longer than necessary. His eyes didn’t move from yours. You felt the first inch of him press in, a careful tease of sensation, then retreat. Then again. Your breathing stuttered, lips parting as he rocked forward one more time, deeper this time—until he was all the way inside you.
The stretch of him made you gasp. Your arms went around his shoulders instinctively, anchoring yourself to the firm heat of his body. He buried his face in your neck, not kissing, not speaking, just breathing against your skin like he needed that closeness just as badly as you did.
For a moment, neither of you moved. You felt him in every part of you. Your legs curled around his waist, the tension in your muscles easing as you adjusted to him.
Then he started to move. Gentle thrusts at first—unhurried, almost reverent—but they built gradually, gathering heat with every motion. You felt your breathing pick up, a soft ache forming deep inside you, the kind that was only ever satisfied by more.
Frankie pulled back just enough to look down, eyes trailing over where your bodies met. Your own gaze followed his—tracing the sweat on his chest, the flex of his arms where they braced beside your head, the slight furrow in his brow, the pink flush creeping down his neck.
Your heart thudded hard against your ribcage, a wild, fast rhythm that echoed through your whole body. The sound of his hips meeting yours—the sharp, wet cadence of it—wrapped around you like heat, made your hands tighten on his back, your legs press harder into his sides.
“Harder,” you whispered, your voice shaky, breathless. “Faster.”
His eyes met yours again, and something lit behind them—something raw and dark and beautiful. He didn’t answer, just gave you what you asked for. His pace shifted. The thrusts turned deeper, rougher. The bed hit the wall behind you in time with every movement, and your body arched up to meet him without thinking.
Little cries spilled out of you, rising and falling with each motion. Your skin felt too tight for your body, your chest too small to contain the rush of feeling inside it. Every nerve ending sparked to life under his touch, under the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.
You weren’t thinking anymore, not in words. You were all sensation and sound. The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, the heat of his breath on your neck as he sank his teeth into your skin—harder this time, almost too much.
“Don’t stop,” you said, not even sure if it came out as words or just sound. “Don’t stop, please.”
He didn’t. His rhythm didn’t falter. You felt the world tilt around you, narrowing to the shape of his body over yours, the pulse between your legs, the wild flutter of something huge and inevitable building inside your chest.
“Yes,” you breathed—maybe out loud, maybe not. It didn’t matter.
His skin was flushed and slick against yours. Your nails pressed into his back without thinking, dragging down the slope of his spine. He made a sound in response—something caught between a moan and a gasp—and then he lifted his chest from yours, just slightly, like the heat had become too much.
His hands framed your face, but his hips kept moving, pulling you with him. His eyes dragged down your body, like he needed to memorize every inch of you, and you reached for him, one hand curling around his arm, the other flattening against his stomach. The muscles jumped beneath your touch, taut and flexing with every movement.
Something was building low inside you, quiet at first. But then his hand slipped between you, his palm resting on your belly like he wanted to feel what you were feeling from the outside. And then—his fingers. His thumb circled your clit with an unsteady rhythm, the pressure sending a hot jolt through you so fast it knocked the air from your lungs.
A choked cry tore from your throat before you could hold it back. Your hands gripped his arms instinctively, like if you let go, you'd float away entirely.
Frankie thrust deeper, harder. Your body moved in sync with his, like there was no boundary anymore between where you ended and he began. The feeling in your abdomen swelled and then you were falling into it. Your mouth opened in a soundless gasp, your whole body locking around him as the orgasm ripped through you in pulses that felt too intense to contain.
“Fuck,” he groaned, and there was something raw in his voice, as if he couldn’t hold himself together either. “Where—oh, fuck—”
He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his hips still working, but messier now, rougher. His breath stuttered as he came, and you felt it—the warmth spilling into you, the throb of it, how every part of him seemed to stutter and collapse in the same breath.
You wrapped your arms around his back, your legs still spread beneath him, your chest rising and falling against his. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move for a long moment, except to breathe. You both did. And then, finally, gently, he pulled out of you.
You exhaled at the loss, an ache already beginning to take shape where he’d been. But then he kissed you. Softly, his lips brushing yours with a sweetness that made your heart clench.
Was it wrong—was it selfish—to feel this sense of quiet satisfaction? To think, even for a second, that you were glad he was back, alone, with you? That he was here, in your home, within reach, surrounded by your things. That you had him to yourself, even if just for now.
Frankie let himself fall beside you, his body heavy with leftover heat, the curve of his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. He hadn't caught his breath yet. Neither had you.
You turned toward him and propped yourself against the curve of his shoulder. Your hand found the line of his jaw, fingers skating gently across the stubble there.
“Well,” you said, “looks like you slept really well.”
A low sound caught in Frankie’s throat—half a laugh, half a hum—and he let his eyes close for a moment.
Thirty minutes later, you were both in the kitchen. You sat across from each other at the small breakfast bar, twin cups of coffee resting between your arms. Your hair was damp but not dripping, his too, curling faintly at the ends after the shower.
Darcy was chewing noisily near your feet, tail brushing across the floor every so often. Frankie was absorbed in something on his phone, his brow drawn together in focus. You sipped from your cup while scrolling the morning news, the headlines half-forgotten as soon as you read them.
Then your phone vibrated in your hand.
Santi.
You glanced up, your expression shifting. Frankie looked up too, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. You lifted a hand slightly to let him know it was fine, and picked up.
“Hey, Santi?”
The noise on the other end told you he was outside.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rushed, “how are you? Are you at the bookstore already?”
You checked the time. Almost nine. “I’m good. Not there yet, though. Why?”
“No reason. Just wondering.” A beat. “What’s going on?”
You leaned back slightly. “Not much. What’s up?”
“I talked to Frankie early yesterday. I think he got back.”
You flicked your eyes up to the man sitting across from you, who looked especially focused on not looking up just then.
“Yeah?” you said. “That right?”
“Sort of. I thought he was coming in today, but whatever.” You heard the soft thud of a door closing on his end. “We’re heading to Will’s cabin with Yov. He and Benny are going early. Since Fish is back already, I thought maybe we could head out this afternoon. Before dinner. It’s only about an hour away. What do you think?”
“Oh. Yeah? What time?” 
Across the table, Frankie raised his eyebrows in your direction and tilted his head slightly, a question embedded in the movement. You met his eyes for a second and bit down gently on the inside of your lip.
“Around six. Maybe a little after? Could be seven,” Santi said.
“Yeah, I—um—yeah.”
“If it doesn’t work for you, that’s fine. Maybe you’ve got plans or something.”
You opened your mouth, closed it, then found your voice again. It came out lighter than you intended. Too eager, maybe. “No, it’s not that. I like the idea. Six works. That way I can get a few things packed and maybe close the bookstore a little early.”
“Perfect,” he said, the smile clear in his voice. “I’ll check with Frankie just to be sure.”
You hesitated. “It’s okay. I’ll be ready then.”
“Good. That’s good.” He paused, and the background noise on his end seemed to quiet for a second. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah. Bye. Take care. Love you.”
His reply came faintly, like he wasn’t quite near the phone anymore. “Love you, too.” And then, the call ended.
You set your phone down on the counter. The screen darkened. The room filled back up with the sound of Mr. Darcy still gnawing at his breakfast and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You looked across the counter at Frankie.
“What was that about?” he asked, eyes narrowed slightly with gentle curiosity.
You opened your mouth to answer, but his phone buzzed before you could speak. It vibrated sharply against the surface, and when you both looked down, Santi’s contact photo was lit up on the screen. Determined.
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feelmyskinonyourskin · 2 months ago
Text
Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 4
(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle
previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist
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gif by me (Reminder if you repost my gifs and don't properly credit me, I will block you and report your blog. It happened with the gif I made for the last chapter and I'm not happy.)
summary: You have your first doctors appointment to check up on the baby, which prompts you and Matt to discuss how life will look for the two of you going forward.
warnings: AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Mention of pregnancy, doctor visit and blood work. Brief mention of vomiting.
w/c: 3,248
*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*
The jelly was cold on your skin and you tried not to crawl up the table as the ultrasound technician spread it around your midsection with the wand. She clearly lied to you when she said the bottle had been sitting in a warmer all morning. You also weren’t expecting it to smell, the slight tang to the goo hovered in the air and made you want to gag. You could only imagine how strong it must be for poor Matt sitting beside you.
It seemed like as soon as you discovered you were pregnant, every stereotypical symptom kicked in with a fury. Everything smelled atrocious and made you want to retch, you regularly had a dull headache, you’d spent most mornings hunched over the toilet, and your boobs barely fit in your bras and were so sore.
“Okay, so let me tell you what I’m looking at,” the sweet technician spoke with a demeanor far too cheery for this time of the morning, turning the screen towards you, “All this white area is your uterus, and this little dark spot is your baby! Right up here is the head…”
You took her word for it. To you it looked just like an indistinguishable blob.
Matt must have sensed your skepticism that you were actually looking at your baby, because his hand gave yours a little reassuring squeeze.
“How does everything look?” Matt asked
“Everything is looking perfectly healthy. Based on the size, I’d say you’re at about 8 or 9 weeks along already. Once the doctor takes a look and gets your blood results back, she’ll be able to give you a more accurate prediction on your progress and your due date.”
You grimaced, arm still sore from the blood draw they had to give you earlier. You were not looking forward to the amount of doctor’s visits, poking and prodding to your body, and general medical discomfort that would be in your future for the next 8 months. Not to mention the menacing looking wand you knew was about to get shoved up your hoo-ha.
“Okay, so let’s take a listen” she continued, still moving the device around your belly.
She pressed a button on the machine and instantly a sound came out, a kind of rhythmic whoosh whooshing that would have made a great beat if you were dancing in a nightclub.
“Is that the heartbeat?” Matt asked
“Sort of. It’s a common misconception, but the baby’s heart is not anywhere near formed this early. We call it fetal activity, but most of the noise is caused by all the tissue and such that will eventually form into a heart. But the fact that we can hear it so clearly is really good.”
Matt smiled, giving your hand a few strokes with his thumb as he listened. You were happy there was something for Matt to take in from this appointment, not able to see the little grey blob on the screen that was apparently your growing baby.
“It’s strong.”
“Yes, all is sounding good.” she confirmed
You hoped between the amount of information being thrown your way today and all your pregnancy symptoms, that Matt wasn’t tuning into how you were really feeling too much. Sure, you were listening when the doctor came in and gave you the run down of what to expect at the next few appointments, and you smiled as every nurse and phlebotomist came in to congratulate you and take yet another vital of yours. But if you thought about it too long, you were feeling a little numb. So overwhelmed by all of it and still, quite frankly, a little in shock that in just a few months, you would be a mother and your world would change.
It didn’t help that you’d also been sleeping poorly, pregnancy causing night time acid reflux to plague you. Matt had begun staying over a few nights a that week, helping you through your morning sickness like the saint he was. Though you knew it had to be extra unpleasant to deal with with his heightened sense of smell.
Before he crawled into bed beside you, he was out every night since you’d told him the news prowling the city in his suit. Not hunting down muggers and gang leaders as he usually did, but out seeking any hint of information to Frank’s whereabouts. You admired his good heart. The notion that Frank would ever be back in you or your child’s life was something you’d let go of the minute you stepped into that empty warehouse office. But Matt was too decent, too good hearted. He wanted to at least give Frank the opportunity to know. You wondered how much longer he would try to find him until he too gave up.
“Once you get dressed, you can head out into the lobby and they’ll have a print out of the ultrasound for you. And we’ll see you at your next appointment.”
“Thank you.” you replied
“You know, if you’re interested, there are services— start ups and whatnot that can do a 3D print of your ultrasound. It’s not something we offer here, but they’ve dropped off brochures. It’s pricey so you might want to wait until baby is a bit bigger, but it might be a nice way for your husband to ‘see’ the baby too.”
You winced at the way she so casually threw around the word husband, clearly not having read your paperwork closely. All the excitement of getting to this appointment had been a welcome distraction from discussing what the two of you would be moving forward. Though Matt was basically treating you like a serious relationship at this point, daily good morning texts and sexless sleepovers and all, you weren’t sure where he stood on things. Not that you were sure where you stood on things either.
If Matt sensed the way your heart stopped at the suggestion the two of you were married, he didn’t give any hint outwardly. Instead his face was lit up, pleased grin spreading across his face as his eyebrows rose at the suggestion of a 3D scan.
There were still plenty of months until the baby arrived and it felt already like there was far too much to do in the mean time. Your studio in Chelsea was completely unsuitable to raise a baby in, so you knew you needed to move. Then there was the matter of telling every one in your lives the news. You weren’t really showing yet, but felt beyond bloated and it was starting to become difficult to zip your pants. How much longer could you keep the secret from coworkers and friends?
Additionally, you never realized how many things a baby needs until you’d begun to research. A registry would need to be made and you were sure Colleen would want to throw you a shower once she heard the news. Plus setting up a nursery where ever you’d be moving. Taking prenatal classes. Finding a pediatrician. The list went on and on and made your head spin.
“Sweetheart?” Matt interrupted your dizzying spiral of thoughts as you led him down the sidewalk and away from the doctor’s office
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you were still feeling up to brunch? You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, just tired. But brunch sounds good. I’m starving.”
“Okay. Two more blocks.”
“Hopefully the scent of shitty diner coffee doesn’t make me gag. God, I don’t know how you live like this, I feel like I can smell everything.”
Matt’s shoulders shook as he chuckled.
“I’ve gotten used to it.”
The tiny diner situated on 44th and 11th buzzed as you sat in a booth by the window. The chatter of it’s patrons nearly drowned out by the whir of an espresso machine and the sound of a grill firing from behind the little pass through. It was a familiar spot, one Matt had taken you to once after waking up in his bed. The vinyl booth squeaked anytime you moved even a little and the brown plastic table painted to look like wood was sticky under your hands from years of poor cleaning of spills of syrup, coffee, and god knows what else.
“I don’t know about you, but I really liked her suggestion of getting a 3D print of the ultrasound. So I can ‘see’ the baby too.” Matt commented as he sipped on his latte
“Yeah that would be really nice. But hey, I’m glad you got to hear the baby at least today. Unless that’s something you can already hear without the machine?”
“A little, I think. I can definitely tell there’s more activity going on there, though it could also just be indigestion.” he gestured towards your stomach with a teasing grin
Matt’s entire demeanor had been particularly carefree these days, his flirtatious behavior extra charged by the joy of his impending fatherhood. A stark contrast to how you were currently feeling; a nervous wreck about the future and avoiding any celebratory moods until more things were worked out.
Still, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile at his comment, both of you knowing pregnancy and your digestive system were not currently friends at the moment. Not that you were helping things either with the enormous stack of pancakes in front of you.
“But I know it’s not.” he reassured “I can tell it’s just the baby because you smell pregnant.”
“Excuse me? Did you just say I smell pregnant?”
“Yeah.” Matt answered casually, as if he had just mentioned a commonly known fact like how geese fly in a v-shape or nobody wears white after Labor Day.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
The light huff of air he let out through his nose in a quiet snort annoyed you as you waited for him to explain this “blind guy with heightened sense of smell” quirk.
“Pregnant people just smell different. I don’t know how to describe it. If they’re early enough along that I can’t hear the baby, I usually know just by how they smell. Once nearly got tossed out of a courtroom cause I let slip the witness was pregnant before she even knew it.”
You tugged at your sleeves, suddenly very self conscious that Matt could detect whatever this mystical pregnant odor was and worried that it was anything but pleasant.
“You can smell me?! It’s bad enough you can smell my morning sickness—”
Matt reached across the table, taking your hand in his in reassurance.
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Your body is changing rapidly sweetheart; hormones and all that. It’s not bad, I promise.”
“You’re gonna be an expert at knowing when the baby needs changed.”
“Hopefully it won’t smell as bad as Funfetti pancakes.”
“Excuse me Mr. Murdock, are you making fun of a pregnant woman’s cravings?!” you teased, taking an exaggeratedly large bite of the very meal he was condemning.
“No, no sweetheart,” he replied through a hearty chuckle at your dramatics “I promise. But I have a bad history with Funfetti. The nuns used to make those cakes anytime there was a birthday at the orphanage. One year Mary Sue Poots, she was this girl a few years younger than me with a real annoying laugh, anyway she had too much and threw up in the middle of mass all over the chapel and ever since the smell has always gotten to me.”
“Ew.”
Matt shook his head as you took another bite. But behind his red glasses there was his usual air of mischief and you knew he was holding back some witty remark.
A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you continued to enjoy your meal. You stared out the large window at the flurry of New York mid-morning passersby, eager to get to work and their days ahead. Yet here you were, frozen in a content moment sitting across from Matt, despite all the chaos in your heart. Swirling around the straw of your orange juice, you couldn’t help but wonder more about all the things you’d yet to learn about Matt. Hints of a less than perfect past occasionally slipped through between his sarcastic phrases and kind gestures.
Matt was slow to open up, but at least he was letting you in at all. Unlike Frank. Anytime you had tried to get into that huge head of his, it was like pushing a thousand pound boulder up a hill using only a singular uncooked spaghetti noodle for leverage and a dream.
“Do you like living in Hell’s Kitchen?” you asked, eager to know if he chose to stay close to where he grew up out of comfort or routine.
“Yeah. Anytime I’ve moved away, it’s always like a part of me is missing. Why?”
“My apartment is a little small for raising a kid. I need to start thinking about a bigger place and I think a change of neighborhoods wouldn’t be bad for me. Raising our child somewhere that’s clearly important to you seems like a good idea. Plus, being close to you will make things easier for co-parenting.”
The easy attitude Matt had been displaying all morning instantly turned cold as he sat up, rigid in his seat across from you. Behind a straight-lined scowl, he ran his tongue along his teeth.
Finally, after a beat he spoke, nervously tapping a finger against his mug.
“Sweetheart, what did you think I meant when I said I was all in?”
“I—”
“I just assumed you’d want to move in with me. My place is plenty big for all three of us.”
Shit. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt.
A pang of sadness cut through your chest as you thought of your reply. He really meant it when he threw around the word family. You hadn’t considered that Matt would want all of that, assuming his reassurance of “all in” was in regards to the baby and not you. Especially not since Frank was always going to be a looming cloud over whatever your relationship would be and your baby’s life.
You pondered his suggestion.
Home. Family.
Could you ever deserve such comforts?
“I would like that. Very much.” you responded softly
Matt relaxed a little bit in his seat and you knew your heartbeat was letting him know that you meant it.
“Good.” his voice was gentle but with a hint of determination to it, “With that settled, when do you want to start telling people? Kirsten and Foggy can tell I’ve been acting weird lately and not my usual weird.”
“We should wait until at least the 12 week mark. It’s what all the blogs say you should wait until cause I guess most of the bad stuff could have happened by then. And if we want, we can learn the gender then too.”
“Yeah. I want to know. Do you?”
“Yes.”
The few bites left of your pancakes had since gone cold, but still you pushed them around your plate with your fork. You still weren’t sure if you were worth the assured devotion Matt was offering you. The diner was far less crowded now, breakfast and brunch crowd thinned out to just a few patrons, allowing you to hear more of the thoughts rattling around in your brain.
“Colleen’s going to flip when I tell her you’re my baby daddy.” you remarked, wanting to ease the sheepishness you felt at still not believing Matt’s certainty.
“She’d flip even more if she knew the whole story.”
There it was; the ever present ghost of Frank wedging himself into all this goodness.
“Yeah.” you agreed
“Just to be prepared, what do you want me to say? When I tell people? I’ll go with whatever you’re most comfortable with.”
“I mean we can start with most of the truth. It was casual, it happened, we decided to try to make it work.”
Matt nodded, his lawyer brain liking the straightforwardness and simplicity of the story.
“Or you can tell them your pregnant situationship was a whore and between the two of you, you were the less of a mess and decided to stay.”
Matt shook his head, agitated at how you just couldn’t help yourself from making a self disparaging remark.
“Is that what you want me to call you?” he asked, a sharpness to his voice at the mere suggestion
You weren’t sure which descriptor you just threw out he was referring to, but decided on the less offensive one.
“I prefer it to the term baby momma. Feels too 2000s.” you replied
Deflecting with sarcasm. It would be a miracle if your baby ever said a serious phrase between how good both you and Matt were at it.
“You’re gonna move in with me and have my kid, but you’re really that scared of the word girlfriend?”
“I’m not scared of it it just feels… childish. We’re both too old for that.”
A lie. You were scared of that word. But he let it go.
“Well, I can’t call you my partner like the kids do these days. I’m a lawyer. It makes it sound like you’re joining the firm.”
You didn’t know how much body language Matt’s super senses could pick up on, but you were pretty sure he could have heard your eyes roll from at least a half a block away. The satisfied smugness on his face let you know that, yeah, he knew.
“Fine I’m you’re girlfriend, which sounds so stupid and cheesy by the way.”
“Hey, I’m Catholic. Most of us in situations like this just get married right away.”
“Don’t push it.” you scolded
You liked how much Matt was laughing today and that you were the cause of it, always swooning just a little at the way his eyes crinkled anytime he was amused.
“My mom is gonna be thrilled, son of a nun having a bastard child out of wedlock.”
Once again whatever silly rapport you and Matt were building came to a screeching halt.
“Your mom is… alive?”
Matt nodded, and the way he did indicated clearly there was way more to the story than that.
“I wasn’t sure.” you continued “And she’s a nun? Is that why you moved to the orphanage after your dad died? Cause she could raise you where she worked? Or no? Since you said before she wasn’t in your life.”
“Both.”
“What do you mean both?”
“She raised me with all the other nuns. Like all the other children who lived there. And did not tell me she was my mother.”
“Jesus.” you muttered in shock
“Yeah.”
“And now?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m sorry Matt. I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.”
There were plenty of fears and trepidations in your heart about how good you would be at raising another human, but you already loved this baby more than you could ever say and couldn’t imagine putting your child through something like that. A life with you in it but without them knowing but still being right there beside them the whole time.
You already knew Matt was a good man, but his previous statement about not repeating his parent’s mistakes rang loudly in your head, weight added by this revelation about his mom. You knew he was going to be such a good father to this baby.
“Will you want her to meet the baby? And me?” you asked
“Yeah. But we can wait on that.”
As you nodded your head in agreement, Matt flagged down your waitress to pay the bill.
“So, since we both have the rest of the day off, should we get to your place and start packing?”
NEXT CHAPTER
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kisblle · 2 months ago
Text
Dark Paradise IV
Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x female reader
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five
Word Count: 7,396
Summary: You're reminded that happiness doesn't last forever, especially with Arthur Morgan.
Tags: Heavy angst, pnv, toxic relationship, smut, porn with plot, 18+, MDNI
Author's note: Sorry this took longer than usual to get out, I really wanted to perfect this one because I've had this chapter and the next in my drafts since I got on Tumblr, I just decided to merge it into this story line. Also life has just been so draining lately with my new job and all, I make a lot of money, but at what cost? I feel like I have little time for enjoyable things nowadays.
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In a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Arthur moves inside you - again and again. His sweat slicked skin sticks to yours with each powerful thrust, droplets rolling down from his forhead not only from the intensity of your bodies merging, but from the thick, humid air that laces the land of Lemoyne.
He looks down at you gorgeous, wild, and undone. Naked as the day you were born, your hair sprawling like a halo across a patch of shaded grass on the bank of Ringneck Creek. Your breasts bare to the breeze, your warmth wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. The green hues of the grass blend beautifully with the glow of your skin, your eyes telling him everything.
Just the two of you, naked and untamed, lost in the wilderness like creatures meant to mate under open skies. Feral. Primal. Right. Wild. Just animals ritualistically fucking in nothing but the bodies they were born in.
With one final thrust, his eyes lock on your lip between your teeth. “I - I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking as he reaches his climax, pulling out to spill across your soft, heavy chest. He collapses beside you moments later, the earth cool beneath his back, breath catching in his throat as he stares up at the blue sky broken up by branches swaying in the soft wind above him.
Had he really just said that?
Your stomach flips for a moment before he exhales slowly, still smiling, before turning on his side to face you. You wanted to say it back, say those three little, enchanting words as he stares at you completely spent. But something had stopped you. The nerves maybe, or the way he had said it almost too casually, like it had slipped out by accident. But soon, you're not even sure why you're arguing with yourself. The moment fades, lost in the way his lips curve into that boyish grin. He doesn’t bring it up again, and either do you. But those three little words still hang at the end of your tongue, waiting for just the right moment to say them back.
“Lucky no one saw us,” he mutters with a chuckle, breaking you out of your daze. Without thought, he lifts up his hand and scratches his day old stubble before resting his hand on your thigh.
You arch a brow with wide eyes, “You said this was some secret spot you found?”
Arthur laughs, running a hand through his messy hair as he glances toward the pond that curls off the creek. He just laughs, “It's actually a real popular fishin' spot Javier showed me some time ago."
“You bastard.” You purse your lips, pressing a hand to your chest to try and protect your non-extistant modesty as you scan the nearby grass for your discarded dress.
But Arthur only grins wider. Catching your hand before gently pulling you back onto his lap, your bare body melting into him. “C’mon,” he groans softly. “Let’s enjoy it a bit longer. Take a swim? Cool down?”
And when you look into those deep pools of blue when he smiles at you with that chipped tooth grin - it’s damn near impossible to say no.
He holds you bridal style in his broad arms, standing up as he walks to the creek bank, wading in slowly before the sting of the cold pond water hits your bottom, and in a second he drops you from his arms. The chill of water making your nipples peak, catching the attention a a certain pair of wandering blue eyes.
It felt like living inside a storybook, a fairytale you never expected to be part of.
It hadn’t been long since Clemen’s Point, maybe a month and a half, but in that short time, Arthur had done his best to keep the promises he'd made to you. He cared for you in every way he said he would. Steadily and real, like he had promised.
When Sean died, he didn’t pull away like you'd feared. He held you close instead, comforted you not just with touch, but with presence and support.
And then, as the gang's luck soured further, Shady Belle became the saving grace that everyone had needed.
For the first time in what felt like forever, life had rhythm. You were still on chore duty most days, same as always, but Jack was home and safe, and the boys were mostly just laying low. A robbery here, a stagecoach there - even a fancy party hosted by some Brönte guy you knew little about. And for once, everything felt right. Right in a way your godforsaken life rarely allowed.
Maybe it had taken Arthur nearly dying to shake something loose, to snap the both of you into reality. At first, you kept yourself guarded, unsure whether to give him all of you. But slowly, in the quietest ways, you began to trust him.
Falling asleep in his bed. Riding along on his little side quests. The way he actually looked at you like he liked you - needed you, even.
It was such a stark contrast from the months before, it almost felt like he’d turned into someone entirely new, but not new, just changed. His rough edges were still there, his sharp tongue and occasional arrogance - but all of it felt familiar now. Manageable. Nothing you hadn’t already endured.
Arthur smiles as he lowers himself into the water, vanishing beneath the surface for just a breath before rising again, water trickling down his chest and stubble. He gives himself a quick, careless rinse - splashing under his arms, through his light facial hair, and even lifting the girth of himself to splash down there too...his version a bath apparently.
You roll your eyes before dipping lower, letting the cool pond water wash his spend from your body. The tips of your long hair dance across the surface before dipping beneath the waterline, the cool sensation absolutely heavenly against the humidity. You fall into the moment, letting the cool water baptize your skin, letting each curve of your body fall to refreshing sensation.
That is until a strong, wet hand seizes your arm and yanks you up with a jolt.
“Arthur!” you snap, voice sharp with surprise.
“Shhh,” he hisses quickly. “Someone’s comin’. Go hide behind that oak, I’ll grab our stuff.”
Without a second thought, you scramble from the water, feet slipping in the grass as you make for the tree. Behind you, Arthur snatches your disgarded dress with one hand and the rest of his belongings in the other. And just as he fumbles behind the large oak, two men mosey down the creek with fishing poles resting on their shoulders.
They’re too far to see anything crude, but Arthur is still smiling like he's gotten away with murder. Which he has....several times. The cowboy lets out a soft chuckle as you rip your dress out of his hands and quickly slip it over your slicked body, the fabric catching on your curved body from the droplets of water still scattered across your frame. The dress is all that hides you - no bloomers, no chemise, just the thin cloth of light blue dress, one that nearly matches the soft glow of Arthur Morgan's delicate eyes.
“That was a close one,” he laughs, pulling his corduroys over his bare hips, reaching down his fly to adjust his member as he smiles at you with a toothy grin.
Your lips purse under a furrowed brow as he buttons his pants, his eyes not leaving you as he reaches for your hips to pull you close. In a swift motion he pins you to the tree, locking his lips to yours as you wrap your legs around his frame. Wild and free.
You swear there’s a part of him that likes being nearly caught. No matter how much he insists it’s embarrassing, there had been too many close calls for it to just be an accident. Too many actual incidents for you to know that he really doesn't care if he gets caught anyway. Sure there was the incident with Ms. Grimshaw, but that incident with Dutch....that had been too far for you. Yet here he is again, with a grin and flushed cheeks. Like he’s chasing the thrill of being seen out in the open with you, doing something utterly vulgar with two sets of unknowing eyes just a few yards away.
Still, he doesn't care.
It's several minutes before his mouth leave yours, your lips sore and red from how he curls around you. He drops you to your feet, all smiles before he places two fingers between his lips, eyes still focused on you; whistling for that damn nag of his
-
By the time you and Arthur return to Shady Belle, the sun dips low behind the moss covered trees. The air is still thick, but the worst of the heat had passed. Your heart is still heavy and your mind still swollen frome those three little words he had said to you just a few hours ago - but you try and act like you hadn’t even heard them. Arthur dismounts his nag first, then takes you by the waist and lifts you down gently - hand lingering just a second too long as he palms your ass with a firm, deliberate squeeze.
You swat at him, “Oh, stop it,” you scold with a soft laugh, stepping ahead of him with your head turned over your shoulder.
He doesn’t apologize, just watches you walk away with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly who you belong to. Like he enjoys annoying you.
But the tender moment is short lived.
“Arthur,” a familiar voice calls out.
It’s Hosea, standing at the edge of the bridge, tipping his hat as you pass. Then his eyes settle on Arthur. “Mind if we have a chat?”
Arthur’s gaze flickers to you, almost as if he's asking for your permission. You turn over your shoulder with a smile, still not used to the way he's become almost so attached he doesn't want to leave your side. But with a raised brow, you smile. “I’m gonna find Mary-Beth.” Excusing yourself into camp without another word.
Arthur watches you walk away for a few beats too long, dazy smile resting on his face. Utterly hyptonitized by the way your hips swing back and forth, turned on knowing there was nothing beneath that dress of yours.
But Hosea’s already walking, motioning with his head toward the small dock poking out near the Lannahechee River.
The gunslinger follows, completely ignorant to whatever Hosea plans to chat about - his mind still only focused on one thing; you.
“What’s this about?” Arthur asks, half paying attention, half not.
Hosea doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the river, at the soft ripples reflecting the light of the dying sun.
“You remember Bessie, Arthur?” Hosea says finally, turning to the outlaw with a wise smile.
The gunslinger is taken aback, but he answers, "How could I forget?"
Hosea chuckles for a moment “Course you do.” His eyes seemingly fogging over like he's trying to recall a distant memory. "I remember when she nearly tossed your entire wardrobe into the Montana, claimed it was too smelly for her to wash."
Arthur lets out a soft humorous exhale, recalling the moment from his boy hood. "Woman knew how to make her point."
Hosea's eyes lose the memory, turning to Arthur with a stiff, serious presence. “I loved her you know." The old man waits a few long seconds before turning his gaze deep into Shady Belle. “And that girl of yours… she make you happy?”
Arthur scratches at his beard, caught off guard by the question. He might have been flaunting you around camp these past two months, sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and chat about his relationship with you, especially not with his patriarch.
Still, Arthur follows Hosea’s gaze back toward camp, where your laughter carries from the porch. You’re leaned over with Mary-Beth, face glowing, mouth wide open in pure joy as you hit her arm in amusement.
God, you’re beautiful. You were finally starting to get that glow back you once had before he took it all away from you, all those months ago.
With a soft hum and a smirk he doesn’t even realize he's staring as if he's hyptnotized by your laugh. Shaking himself out of his daze before responding, "she's a fine woman.”
Hosea’s eyes flick back to him in a matter of seconds. “But do you love her?"
Arthur’s caught off guard again, brows furrowing as he tears his gaze from you and focuses back on the older man, his voice sharp and confused. "Now why you askin' me a question like that?"
Hosea just chuckles as he notices his son's discomfort, "Cause she brings out somethin' in you that we'd all thought you lost Arthur."
A line forms between Arthur's brows before Hosea lets out a loud exhale. "You were goin' down a bad path for a while son. We all saw how you treated her back at Horshoe Overlook."
A blush of embarassment creeps onto the cowboys cheeks, knowing Hosea wasn't wrong. But even more, recalling all the unwanted chaos and hurt he'd brought you by his actions, and how embaressed he was that he was even capable of such acts.
"I know," Arthur manages to say, voice low and rough.
"She's a good girl that one. Not like you and me." Hosea goes on, his voice soft but positive. "Reminds me of my Bessie."
The cowboy looks down at the tips of his boots before shaking his head back and forth, only looking back up at Hosea as his lips part. "Now I mean no harm, Hosea," he says, squinting slightly as he hooks his thumbs into the loops of his gunbelt. "But why we talkin' bout this?"
Hosea just shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the setting sun bleeding over the river. "I went to pick up the mail yesterday, Arthur," the older man says, straightening up a bit.
Arthurs lips part, but he doesn't make a sound.
Hosea hesitates, then reaches into his satchel, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary. "Now, I know you're a grown man." he says, voice low and rough. "And you don't have to listen to an old fool like me."
Slowly, he pulls out a letter, the edges brushing against his wrinkled fingers. Hosea studies the envelope for a long moment, thumbs gently tracing the smooth paper, as he stares at the handwriting. But finally, his gaze lifts, steady and weighted with meaning. "I'm trustin' you not to hurt that girl again," Hosea says, voice stern with something between caution and warning.
The old man presses the envelope into Arthur’s hands, his touch firm, before throwing him one last hesitant look. And before Arthur could even reply, the patriarch turns and walks away, disseapearing back into the heart of Shady Belle.
Arthur’s eyes drop, shoulders stiff as he stares down at the letter in his hands. That damned pale purple envelope. He doesn’t need to open it to know who it’s from, he’d recognize that messy curl of handwriting anywhere.
Mary Linton.
He sighs, long and tired.
What the hell did she want now?
Part of him wants to rip the thing to shreds and throw it into the river without even opening it. But the other part, the bitter, bruised part of him remembers her voice too well. Remembers that last day in Valentine, the look in her eyes before she stepped onto that train like everything she'd ever gone through was his fault.
And it pisses him off.
But worse.
It makes him curious.
His thumb runs under the wax seal, opening the letter against better judgement. And then he’s reading it, eyes skimming over Mary Linton's wonderfully messy handwriting like she was writing to him like they were twenty two again.
A thanks for helping Jamie.
Blaming him, again, for not being the man she could marry.
And a new request; come see her in Saint Denis.
Of course she’s in Saint Denis.
Out of all the places a woman of her standing could be, she just had to be in the same city Arthur was no more than an hour's ride from.
Of course it had to be like that.
It didn’t matter where she went. Mary Linton could’ve written from the edge of Earth, and she knew Arthur Morgan would find a way to get to her. That was the kind of man she had made him into.
Nothing more than a pathetic dog.
But this time, something felt changed.
He’s read that damn letter four times before he lifts his head up from it, holding it tighter than he should have. And as he walks back into camp, he can't help but to feel completely conflicted.
His heart doesn’t belong to Mary anymore, not all of it at the least, Maybe half. Maybe less. The rest... that part was yours. You’d stolen it so quietly he hadn’t even noticed how far it had slipped out of his control.
Hosea had been right, he had become a miserable bastard. But with you, things felt... less so. You made him better. Or tried to. And he wanted to be that man, for you.
But still.
He felt torn in two. Like a man wrestling with a giant.
He shoves the letter into his coat pocket, muttering a curse under his breath, as he trudges towards the center of camp. The cowboy grabs a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling over the open flame, and then a bottle of warm beer from Pearson’s wagon, doing his best to try and clear his mind, and fill his stomach.
He finds the table at the center of camp, empty besides a couple scattered dishes. It only takes a handful of minutes until his spoon is scraping the bottom of the tin bowl as he takes his final bite, but his mind is still caught in the mess of the past. Confliction and guilt tearing him up inside .
But then theres you - bouncing over, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the whole damn world. You drop into his lap with a laugh, arms winding around his neck, eyes soft and wide.
Still wearing nothing underneath.
Your fingers trace his chest, up to his chin, thumb brushing against the roughness of his jaw with a smile. You hesitate for just a moment before saying the words that have been eating you up inside since the afternoon.
“I love you too.”
Four words. Light and easy. But to a man like Arthur Morgan, it was nothing but bullets raining from your mouth.
The gunslinger stiffens. His brow furrowing, nose scrunching like he’s confused, irritated even.
“Why’s you say that?” he mutters, voice low and almost offended.
Your smile instantly drops, freezing for just a moment in his arms before slipping out of his lap and standing up. Blinking at him like he's pulled out his Cattleman's Revolver and shot you straight in the gut.
“Well... this afternoon...” you swallow uncertainly as a worry line forms between your brows, thumbs tangling together in something between frustration and worry.
And then, in the midst of everything, he remembers what he said when he was inside you just hours ago. Flushed and stupid, in the heat of the moment.
He hadn’t lied.
But he also never planned on saying those words so carelessly. Forgetting that he had even admitted that so recklessly to you. The words had flowed from his mouth like instinct, yet, he hadn't thought you'd take them seriously.
For god sake's he was balls deep inside you - you should have known better.
“Yeah, I remember,” he interupts you, much colder than what he means to be. “Just... don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
Your jaw sets and something tightens behind your ribs.
Don’t wanna talk about it?
Talk about what?
Could he not even say it to you?
You fold your arms, bitter laughter bubbling in your gut before you can stop yourself.
“What? Can only say you love me when you’re eight inches deep?”
Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing as his fingers reach for his temples, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”
But you do. You do know. Because this is Arthur Morgan. And no matter how much you love him, no matter how much he'd swear he's changed. He hadn't. Wouldn't. And more than likely - couldn't change. And tonight, he makes you feel like a fool for trying to believe otherwise.
Without thinking a bitter scowl deepens on your face as you grab his beer and dump what’s left of it on his shirt, dropping the glass bottle rather dramatically on the grass next to him. The stew stained tin clatters as he pushes back from the table, arms jolting as he tries to shake off the warm beer now soaking his chest. His jaw sets like stone as his eyes cling to you with nothing but frustration. But before he can say anything, you turn around and shuffle away with tears in your eyes.
“Stupid whore!” He barks after you, the words cutting much deeper than they would have just months ago, when things weren't so serious.
And it’s not until you’re far enough away to cry without being seen, that it really sinks in.
Arthur Morgan couldn't change.
...
It feels like he’d been punched in the gut.
Arthur drags himself up the splintered, rotting staircase of Shady Belle, the weight of everything on his shoulders making him feel that with any step he could fall through. And against better judgement, halfway up the staircase he yanks the damn letter from his pocket again, eyes scanning the words he already knew by heart.
Mary Linton.
God, he was such a fool.
Why hadn’t he just said it back? Why couldn’t he have been normal for once - just said I love you, kissed you breathless, carried you upstairs and fucked you so good you’d say it again and again until he forgot anyone else ever existed?
But no.
You had to say it then, when Mary was still sitting heavy on his chest like a ghost that refused to let go. Right when his heart was stuck in a tug of war. Unsure if he was ready to let go of the past or ready to start really choosing you.
And now, with you gone and that broken look still burned in his memory, all he had was silence. And no matter what the silence meant, he knew one thing.
That his small bed would feel much bigger without you in it tonight.
Arthur tosses the letter onto the chipped old armoire in the corner his room, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He strips off his beer soaked overshirt, finding his way to his bed as his rubs at his temples. Everything from Mary Linton to you, running a marathon through his brain.
And it isn't more than a few seconds later that he leans back, trying to atleast dream to forget the day.
...
Arthur wakes up later than usual, head foggy, and eyes heavy. Light from the cracked window bleeds into dusty room like some open wound. He blinks, the slight haze from his tired eyes clearing just enough that he could sense movement.
His body stiffens.
You were there.
Standing near the armoire, you're wearing nothing but a thin, pale chemise that catches the light just right. Your nipples peak through the silky fabric in such a way that Arthur almost forgets yesterday as a whole. You look like an angel, something so pure, so opposite of the man he was.
But your eyes... your eyes were wide and wet, lip trembling as he watches you gulp in horror.
And in your hand.
That letter.
He sits up fast, breath catching in his throat. A surge of heat burning in his chest. Guilt, rage and shame. Twisting together into something dangerous.
Your eyes catch him, looking down at him as if he's shot you like some dirty O'driscoll.
“Came up here to apologize,” you gulp, voice cracking like you might break in two. “Don’t even know why" you nearly laugh as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. "Apologizin?...... Apoligizin' for tellin’ you I love you…”
You wipe several tears away with the back of your hand, trying to hide the emotion now lacing your voice. “Well now I know why.”
Arthur’s jaw ticks.
Doesn't speak.
After a nearly restless night, Arthur had decided Mary wasn’t even worth the trouble in the end. But if you were so damn hell bent on painting him as the bad guy then fine. He’d play the damn part.
He's always been good at it anyway.
He sneers as he gets up from the bed, angry that you were already throwing baseless accusations at him at the crack of dawn. But as heat stirs in his chest, he ruffles through his wardrobe anyway. Searching for some nice overshirt that he'd know Mary would at least appreciate, and maybe one that could teach you lesson.
For snooping. For touching things that weren’t yours.
It didn't take a scholar to figure out that he was pissed.
Not just at you for going through his things but at himself, for leaving the damn letter out in the first place. For getting close enough to you that stupid shit like this even mattered. It was Mary for god sake, it's not like she'd even ever want him back.
Just a game of back and forth that they'd always play, and he'd entertain.
You step toward him as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Don’t ignore me,” you snap, voice cracking under the weight of every emotion you've ever had for him.
He turns to you slowly, something hard and venomous behind his eyes and the look he gives you is poisonous.
“You had no right to go through my things,” he growls, nose flaring like a wild dog. “Ain’t your business what I do. Think just ‘cause I fuck you that means you get to own me?”
The words were sharp, cruel, meant to slice deep. And as much as every flick of his tongue stabbed you, you couldn't help but to feel that he was lying.
You had seen it for a while now, last night even, when had asked you with his eyes for permission to talk to Hosea. Deep down you knew he was just projecting.
But you still flinch, lip trembling again, eyes wide with something between disbelief and heartbreak. Mary's letter still fresh on your mind, his words still bleeding you dry.
And without another word, he brushes past you, out his bedroom door, down the creaking staircase.
You don't hesitate to chase after him. Mary’s letter still crushed in your fist, your feet pounding down the stairs after him. You loved him for god sake, you refused to believe any of his fighting words. Refused to believe that he would choose some ghost of a woman over you.
He storms through the front doors like he was being chased by something a hell of a lot worse than the woman barely stumbling behind him. But your mouth still spits hell fire. "You goin’ to see her?" you accuse him.
He doesn’t answer.
Doesn't even look at you.
You follow him into the heart of camp, the morning air cool and damp against your bare feet. Your voice raising, louder now. Angry, so that anyone could hear.
“So all of this... nothin’ to you?!” Your eyes widen in worry as you march after him like a bat out of hell. "Jus' some waste of my time?"
People turn and watch, but Arthur doesn't stop. Face laced with an etched scowl, eyes locked on his Turkoman and nothing else.
"You bastard!" you shout, grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. Stop him from leaving. "Least look at me! Say it to my face! Tell me I wasn’t enough! Tell me you don’t want me.”
He turns so fast you take a step backward on instinct. His glare vicious, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. An entirely different man than you'd come to know...come to love.
“You weren’t,” he snaps, voice low and mean, like he wantsto hurt you. “And you’ll ain’t ever be her.”
Your mouth drops open, wind knocking from you like a punch to the ribs.
Sure, you’d never be Mary. But you swore that what you and Arthur had shared was more real than the dress sitting on your damn body, then the mud stained to his boots.
You had seen it. Saw it. Nursed it back from the fucking dead.
Just to lose him to some woman that'd never let him go.
In one last act, you grab at his shoulder, letting him hear your final plea as he starts to mount his horse. You heart nearly breaking in two.
"If you ride off to see her, I'm done, Arthur," you spit, voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness. "I’m leavin'.... won't be here when you come ridin' back."
Arthur’s hand freezes on the reins.
Then, slowly, he looks down at you.
Sneering.
With a jerk of his arm, he violently pulls his arm out of your grip - hard enough to send you stumbling. You trip on a raised root, falling straight onto your behind in the overgrown grass. Legs cocked open pathetically, palms weighing heavy on the ground. Gulping like he'd shoved you down with the force of a million words.
He leans forward in the saddle, adjusting himself as his cold eyes stare at your sad excuse of a body.
“And where you gonna even go?” he asks, voice sharp and cruel, almost as a laugh because in reality he knew you had no one. He gives you one hard stare before digging his spurs into his nag. Leaving you with nothing but the echo of his departure, and the last pieces of your dignity.
For moments you sit there, on the knotting grass. Horses shuffling all around you as tears stream hot down your flushed cheeks, fists clenched in the grass, chest heaving with the reality of your situation.
Caught up in a mess of Arthur Morgan once again.
And the worst part?
He was right.
You had nowhere to go. And he knew it. Knew that you couldn’t go if you tried, no money, no family, just the familiarity of the Van Der Linde gang that was starting to eat each other from the inside.
But in a mess of feelings and tears, you feel the rush of a set of arms engulfing you into a warm hug. It’s Abigail Roberts, her frame slight but her hold firm. She sits with you, stroking your hair, whispering soft comforts even as her voice shakes with something that sounds like fury. “That no good son of a bitch,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to wipe away your tears with her thumbs.
Your eyes meet hers, they're icy and firm, telling a million stories but also a million warnings. “I love him,” you croak, barely able to get the words out.
Abigail had known that kind of heart splintering pain. She’d felt it more times than she could count with John. But you? Still young, still unshackled, no child clinging to your hip, no ring on your finger. The black haired beauty was smarter than what she gave off, she knew what had to happen.
“You gotta get out of here, darlin’,” she says, rising to her feet and offering a hand to help you up.
You sob.
That was your last promise to Arthur anyway, wasn’t it?
“He's right. Got no money. Nowhere to go,” you cry, shaking your head, voice breaking as all you wanted truly was to be gone. Forget him. Forget everything. Respect yourself enough to stop playing outlaw.
Abigail’s mouth tightens, leading you beneath the shade of her tent, easing you down on her cot. She rifles through her wardrobe as broken sobs escape your mouth. But in the midst of it all, she pulls out a thick, lumpy sock, and turns back toward you. “Was gonna use this for myself, once upon a time,” she says, tugging out a fistful of cash, slapping it on her hand a few times. “But it’s too late for me. Not for you.”
Your eyes are wide, still glistening, staring at the chunk of bills resting in her hand. Your lips parting as she attempts to slip the wad into your hand.
“I - I can’t...” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears and hesitation.
“No, you are,” she cuts in, firmer than you’ve ever heard from her. Something maternal in her tone, something resolute. “Trust me, a girl like you’s got a future. A bright one. Brighter than whatever all this is.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “And Arthur....better leave now before you wake up a few days late with a swollen stomach."
Your gaze locks with hers, wide and wordless.
Her words hit you harder than you thought they would.
And suddenly you understood.
It was time to go.
...
Twenty minutes later, you’re back in the room you’ve shared with Arthur for the past month. His clothes are still scattered around, his beer stained overshirt from last night crumpled at the foot of his bed. You wonder who’ll wash it now, it wouldn't be you this time.
You gulp and reach beneath the bed, pulling out the old suitcase you brought with you to Milwaukee all those years ago, chasing something better. It had belonged to your mother before Typhoid took her.
You pop it open. Inside: a few forgotten pieces of a past life. A locket with your parents’ faces inside. A shirt you never wore but couldn’t throw away. And a small black and white portrait from Blackwater, the one you took just hours before Arthur took your innocence.
You stare at the photo. Less than a year had passed, but you hardly recognize the girl in it. Smiling, light still untouched. So different from who you are now. Used and broken.
And before you pack the last of your things, you set the portrait on the table beside Arthur’s bed.
You wanted to forget him, forget the hurt.
But part of you, wanted him to remember.
Wanted him haunted.
...
Outside the rotting mansion, Hosea stands waiting. Pulling you into a soft, fatherly hug, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmurs.
He’d seen it all. Last night’s heartbreak, this morning’s silence. He watched Arthur ride off, watched Abigail hand you that money with trembling hands and a tight jaw. Heard her beg you to go. Guilt weighing on his shoulders as he knew the cowboy would still be here if he hadn't handed him the letter.
But Arthur was a god damn adult. And Hosea had agreed with Abigail, better to leave now before other circumstances could tie you to him.
And as much as it hurt Hosea to see you go, he couldn't help to feel relieved. To at least know someone was getting out, someone good.
You swallow hard. Tears gone, but grief remains.
You weren’t just leaving Arthur.
You were leaving the only family you’d known for years. The people that had taken you in when you had nothing to show, and no one to care for you. Family more than friends at this point.
“Say your goodbyes,” Hosea says gently, rubbing your arm with his thumb. “I’ll take you to Rhodes. Buy you a train ticket to wherever you need to go.”
...
The streets of Saint Denis buzz with life, hooves clicking on cobblestone as the sun shines high in the midst of the Lemoyne sky. Mary Linton’s delicate arm loops through Arthur’s as they step out of the Rauler Theatre, both of them smiling.
Arthur could admit it, he’d had a good time. How could he not? Mary had once been his world. Maybe part of him would always feel something for her. But as they strolled toward the trolley stop, shoulder to shoulder through the heavy air of the city, something felt utterly different.
Hollow.
There was no fire in his chest. No ache. No heat behind his eyes.
It felt less like love and more like memory, a good time with an old friend. Sonething he could cheerish, but didn't need to survive.
And that’s when he remembered you.
The way you made his pulse jump with just your smile. The way your voice sounded like angel's singing, even if you were just telling him off. He remembers the way you smiled even when he didn’t deserve it. And then, above everything, he remembers the way you looked at him the last time. Eyes full of hurt, mouth trembling as he shoved you away.
While Arthur just didn't want to feel controlled, you felt betrayed.
And now all he felt was sick.
His boots slow on the busy sidewalk. Coming to a full stop without truly realizing where he was or who he was with.
“Arthur?” Mary’s voice breaks through his deep haze.
He blinks, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had said since they left the old threatre. “Sorry,” he mutters.
She watches him for a beat, her chocolate eyes unreadable. “I said... is it too late for us?” Her voice cracking slightly, more a plea than a question as she holds his hands tighter.
Arthur inhales through his nose, heavy and ragged. He knew the answer. Had known it for a long time.
“I can’t lie, Mary. I... I got a woman back home” he says quietly, almost embaressed. Gently slipping her arm from his.
Mary’s expression falters for a brief moment, her face clearing from any found emotion. But in a few short seconds she grins with a sense of meloncholy.
“And I ain’t even really sure why I’m here,” Arthur adds, voice breaking with sudden clarity, the weight of his betrayal sinking in. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry.”
Mary nods, her composure surprisingly steady despite the slight shimmer in her eyes. “Treat her better than me,” she says simply.
And in a second, Arthur turns and leaves, heart pounding, stomach in knots.
He’d fucked up.
But more than anything did he want to fix it.
Not with words. Not with excuses. But with a promise.
By the time he reached the jeweler, his hand was already on the wad of cash. He didn’t want something stolen. Didn’t want some rag tag ring from a fence.
No, this had to be real. Something with weight. With meaning.
Something that said: I’m yours. For good.
Something with a promise.
...
Back at the train station, the sky had started to turn grey. Rain slightly drizzling over the covered platform as Hosea tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle as always.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, a small tear falling down your cheek.
“I’m scared,” you admit, glancing down at the train ticket in your hand. You hadn’t told him where you were going. You figured it was safer that way, for everyone involved. Hosea hadn’t asked either. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he just didn’t want Arthur beating it out of him in the long run.
It didn't take much for you to imagine the storm of Arthur riding back into camp. Throwing tongue every which way when he realized his bed whore had gone missing.
The twisted thought slightly comforted you. You knew Arthur well enough to atleast know he would be mad at your departure, no matter what he had told you before he left
“You can always write,” he says, voice full of hope “Don’t know how long we’ll be at Shady Belle, though. You know Dutch.”
You manage a watery laugh." Oh, I know." You falter for a few moments as you gaze into the wisdom laced eyes of Hosea, his soft look sending you into a spin of tears. “I’m just scared of being…”'
"Alone," he finishes your sentence.
He chuckles. “We can’t be such a great bunch that you think there’s no one better out there.”
You give him a humorous look, tears still staining your cheeks. A happy goodbye. “You know that ain’t what I mean.”
The train’s whistle shrieks in the distance. Passengers begining to stir from their seats, grabbing bags, shuffling to the edge of the platform.
Hosea turns to face the tracks, then glances back to you. “Promise me one thing,” he says, his voice low and firm.
You look up, eyes wide like a doe.
“Don’t come back lookin' for us. Save yourself."
...
Arthur’s horse thunders down the muddy path toward Shady Belle, his coat soaked and his wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. The gold ring in his pocket - a golden band with a pearl in the center - feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.
He imagined you wearing it. Naked on the banks of Ringneck Creek, riding him, the ring catching sunlight as your hand brushes over his hair.
Utterly his.
The camp is quiet as he gallops in. He doesn't even bother to untack his horse, too charged with excitement. He leaps off and storms through like a mad man, eyes scanning the outlaw camp for a sillouette of you.
You weren’t there.
But your strange dissapearence doesn't even register until two small fists beat into his back.
“You no good son of a...”
He spins, catching Abigail Roberts wrists mid swing. She thrashes against his grip, wild with rage.
“What the hell?” Arthur stammers, confused and surprised it wasn't you beating on him. He would understand if it was you, warranted in fact.
But Abigail?
“She’s gone, you bastard!” the black haired beauty snarls, driving her boot into his groin as hard she can.
Arthur collapses, wheezing as he drops her arms from his grip.
From across camp, John jogs over, pulling his wife's arms behind her back in anyway to control her outburst.
Arthur's painful wheezes dissapear in a moment's time, turning to an almost panic.
“What...what she mean? She's gone?” he coughs as he looks up at John for clarification, moving back to his feet.
John grimaces. “She’s gone, Arthur. She left."
Arthur froze.
Gone?
No.
You didn't know how to ride, wouldn't dare try to find your way in swamps like these. And above everything - you had said you loved him, just last night.
You wouldn't leave.
And he was ready now. Finally ready to love you back the way you deserved.
His stomach twisting, panic shifting to fury, anger.
He turned to John, eyes flashing. “Where did you take her? Couldn’t stand that I was happy for one good time in my life.”
John face drops, angry at just the accusation. "I ain't take nowhere," John sneers, continueing to hold Abigail back from trying to rip Arthur to pieces. "But I don't blame her for leavin' you either."
If John hadn't been using Abigail as if she was a human sheild, Arthur would have torn his brooding equal to shreds at that very moment. But before he could push the black haired woman away, a gentle voice cuts through the shouting.
Arthur turns, all eyes finding the small frame of Hosea Matthews. The old man sits at the dominoes table, calm as ever. Standing up and pushing his chair in without his eyes leaving the game.
"I took her to the train station in Rhodes," he speaks
Arthur’s anger breaks, replaced by something broken and raw. Lips parting.
“I told you not to hurt her,” Hosea says, eyes finally meeting the cowboys. More dissapointed than ever.
Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze. His eyes dipping to the tips of his boots. Shame rolling over him like a wave. If it had been anyone else -John, Bill, even Dutch, he’d have thrown fists.
But it was Hosea.
The one who warned him.
The only who told him to do better.
Arthur’s voice cracks as he breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Where is she?”
Hosea shakes his head.
“Gone, she's gone Arthur."
246 notes · View notes
midnightquips · 1 month ago
Text
Something Like Salvation
Owen Taylor x Reader
Summary: You visit home reluctantly, only to find Owen Taylor has returned. But some things are different now. No longer are you the obedient girl nor is Owen Taylor the pious golden boy. In quiet corners and long drives, you chase something warm and reckless. It may not be redemption... but for Owen, you felt something like salvation.
🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, religious guilt & themes, explicit sexual content, nsfw, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, semi-public sex, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay
Author's Note: Please note that this is set in a universe the Jem Starling DOES NOT exist. Owen is also NOT married here. Although I set this to be in a 2nd Person POV, my entire intention is to establish that Y/N is a full-grown adult.
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Chapter 2:  Lead Us Not
The next morning, Owen’s name lit up your screen before you were even out of bed.
OWEN TAYLOR: Hope you got some sleep.
You stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering. Then:
YOU: Barely. You?
You could practically feel the weight behind that message. You didn’t know what you were really doing either. You just knew that you weren’t ready to let this go just yet. 
Neither of you could stop replaying last night in your head — the silence in the car, the tension, the tattoo, the way he’d parked and just looked at you. He looked like he wanted to devour you and confess his sins at the same time.
You pulled the covers off and got up.
Owen sat with the message thread still open, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
What are you doing? he thought. What do you want from this?
These questions had been lingering in his mind since you came back. He hadn’t been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, it was the flash of your tattoo, the way you smiled at him like you knew how close he was to falling apart. How you wanted to witness him unravelling.
He rubbed his jaw, tossed the phone onto the bed, then picked it right back up again.
I should delete this thread. 
Instead, he typed.
OWEN TAYLOR: Not a wink.
By noon, you were sitting on a shaded bench at Oak Hollow Trail, a quiet stretch just outside town. You had been the one to suggest the location. Somewhere safe. Somewhere discreet but still public.
Some part of you hadn’t expected him to actually show up. But he did and on time. He was in a plain t-shirt and jeans, carefully neutral. Measured. As if the casualness of what he wore would reflect the conversation you were about to have.
He sat beside you carefully, not too close. Little reminders popping in his head, needing it to keep his train of thought. Don’t look at her legs. Don’t look at her mouth. Just breathe. Keep your hands to yourself. The space between your shoulders felt electric.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, looking out at the trees instead of at you.
“Surprised you even asked.” 
“I almost didn’t.”
You smiled faintly. “Yeah, I figured.”
A bird chirped overhead. The sun filtered through the canopy. Everything around you felt soft. A clear contrast to the air between you two.
“Why’d you come back?” you asked finally. “To this town. To this church.”
You had to make sense of it. If he felt so repressed by this place, why ever return to commit to it? Perhaps your questions were only derived from your own decisions to leave.
Owen exhaled slowly. “Because I thought I was supposed to.”
“Supposed to by who?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “Everyone. God. Myself. I don’t know. I thought I could help. I thought it’d feel right.”
“Does it?”
His lips pressed into a line. “It did. Until I saw you.”
That caught you off guard. You turned to face him, but he still wouldn’t look at you.
“I mean,” he continued, “I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve spent years talking about staying on the path, and now I’m not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe the reason I came back was so I could see you again.”
You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. 
“That’s a lot,” you said quietly.
He finally looked at you. His eyes held something raw. If you were anyone else, this would be easier. "Yeah. It is."
And yet, he stayed. The silence that followed was no longer awkward. Having each other’s presence became a comfort. The air was thick with things unsaid. 
His fingers flexed against his knee like they wanted to move. Yours twitched in your lap.
“I’m not here to ruin you, Owen,” you said after a beat. “But I’m not going to apologize for existing, either.”
His jaw tightened. He didn’t want you to misunderstand. Because of everything he said, not once did he ever make you want to feel he regretted you being here.
“You’re not ruining me.” he said firmly.
Then, softer: “You’re making me question everything I thought I understood.”
You didn’t mean to reach for his hand, but you did anyway.
And when he didn’t pull away, that little touch said more than either of you were ready to admit.
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Owen offered to drive you home.
You hesitated for a second, not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure how much of you would make it back in one piece.
The drive was quiet, filled with too many unsaid words. The air between you continued buzzed though, fueled by unfulfilled touches. His knuckles were tight on the wheel while you kept your gaze forward, arms crossed, trying to slow your breathing.
He didn’t park directly in front of your mom’s house, but rather just a bit down the street, tucked into the shade between two overgrown hedges. Perhaps silently agreed that it was safer that way. Less explaining. Less chance of someone watching from the window. 
Still neither of you moved.
“Do you not believe in any of it anymore?” he asked, voice low, eyes still on the windshield.
You didn’t need to ask what he meant. A need for implied reassurance that the belief and the church need not to be mutually exclusive.
“Not like I used to,” you said. “Not in the way they want me to.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
You turned toward him. “Neither is asking a question you already think you know the answer to.”
He let himself gaze at you, and there you saw fear and hunger flicker in his eyes. 
“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. “Trying not to want the wrong things.”
You leaned in just a little. “Just because something you want wasn’t dictated, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
His jaw clenched before his eyes dropped to your mouth. The mouth that’s been ever present in his mind recently.
“I scare you, don’t I?”
“Only because you make it feel good to forget where the line is.” he admits 
You reached up, your fingers barely brushing his jaw. "Then stop pretending it’s not already crossed."
He stared at you. Tense. Torn. Still holding on to the last remnants of his will power.
His hand didn’t listen though, because it already moved to cup your jaw. As if truly hypnotized, he traced his thumb softly on your lower lip. Then and there, his control snapped as he leaned forward to finally kiss you.
It was soft at first. Searching. Just the ghost of his lips on yours like he didn’t trust the moment to hold.
You kissed him back slowly, sinking into it, letting it linger. Letting it grow.
His lips moved with caution, brushing over yours. It was uncertain if he was afraid he’d break you, or maybe himself. But still, you leaned in closer, your nose brushing his, and deepened the kiss. Your hand threaded into his hair, tugging lightly. That was all it took.
He shuddered before he groaned, deep and guttural, pulled straight from somewhere he’d tried hard to bury. He kissed you harder, lips parting, tongues sliding and suddenly it wasn’t gentle at all.
His hand found your waist and pulled you across the console until your knees bumped the seat. Your thighs tensed, hips pressing closer as his other hand slid boldly up the outside of your leg, fingers splayed wide as if to memorize the shape of you. You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it like a prayer.
The air in the car went thick with heat and breath and want. You could feel it vibrating in your teeth, your chest, your fingertips.
And that’s when you moved fully into his lap, like your body had already made the decision.
There were no thoughts, only shifting to move closer, knee slipping onto the console, and then suddenly, you were climbing into his lap, dress bunching at your hips. His hands caught you as if you’ve done this in multiple lifetimes.
You straddled him fully now, breath and skin pressed tight. The windows beginning to fog.
You pulled back just long enough to whisper against his lips: “Feels too good to be wrong.”
His response was only another kiss. This time it came with no hesitation nor control.
You rocked against him, slow, deliberate, while his grip tightened, mouth dragging from your lips to your jaw to your neck.
“This is going to wreck me,” he said into your skin.
“Then let it.”
You stayed like that for a few more moments, lips touching, hand searching. Until there was nothing quiet left in the car but the sound of your breathing. And even that was shaking.
Then with what little willpower you had left, you pulled back.
You rested your forehead against his, panting softly, fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt.
"You should think about what you really want, Owen," you whispered.
His hands stilled on your waist.
"Because if you come back after this—"
You leaned in, brushing your lips lightly over his again, just once.
"—I won’t let you stop next time."
Then without letting him retaliate and while you temporarily had your senses back, you slid off his lap, back into your seat. Your hands trembled as you smoothed your dress.
He didn’t say anything, or rather couldn’t.
You opened the door, stepped out into the night, and didn’t look back.
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You didn’t sleep. Not that you expected to.
As you laid in bed with your phone beside you, the screen dark, your thoughts were louder than they had any right to be. Your skin still tingled from where Owen’s hands had held you. Your lips felt bruised in the best way. But what haunted you more than the touch was the look in his eyes, that split-second before you left.
You hadn’t looked back, but you’d felt the lingering ache and confusion. That unspoken want.
You stared at the ceiling and let yourself replay it. All of it.
The soft surrender when his breath hitched as you whispered “Feels too good to be wrong.”
God, what were you doing?
You turned onto your side and groaned, tugging the pillow over your head. You didn’t want this to be a thing. It wasn’t supposed to be. You certainly didn’t come back for him, especially not to be suppressed by the church albeit indirectly.
But now you were thinking about his voice in the dark, his mouth on your neck, the way he said “This is going to wreck me” like he was begging you to.
You picked up your phone and just as your thumb hovered over the screen, it buzzed.
OWEN TAYLOR: I can’t stop thinking about you.
Your breath caught.
YOU: You didn’t really mean what happened in the car, did you?
It took a few minutes for him to respond. Just long enough to make you second guess everything. Then—
OWEN TAYLOR: I meant every second.
YOU: Even the wreck me part?
OWEN TAYLOR: Especially that part.
You hesitated. Your heart was thudding and your skin buzzed. Unsure whether to send what you typed, you sent anyway.
YOU: I can still feel your hands on me.
OWEN TAYLOR: You think I’ve stopped imagining what you felt like in my lap?
YOU: If I’d stayed, would you have let it happen?
There was a pause again.
OWEN TAYLOR: I was already too far gone.
YOU: I’m afraid I might break you.
You stared at that message, heat crawling up your neck. And when his response came, it was slower, heavier:
OWEN TAYLOR: I want you to.
Across town, Owen sat on the floor of his bedroom, back against the wall, hands buried in his hair. He hadn’t moved for hours. 
The scent of you still clung to him, faint but unmistakable. It was like heat and skin and sin wrapped in cotton. He hated how much he noticed it, hated how it made his heart hammer against his ribs like he was still under your touch. Most of all, he hated how he truly didn’t hate it all.
He wanted to pray. For repentance. For guidance. But he couldn’t even form the words.
Everything about that night was a contradiction. You hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had he. Not really. But the way he wanted you — still wanted you — made him feel like the floor might open up and swallow him.
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and exhaled hard. Maybe what he needed was space. A little time away should provide clarity. But how could he? When scenes in the car earlier already kept replaying in his head. How your hips moved in his lap. How you looked when you pulled away. You were sure and sharp. Your confidence irresistible. 
He knew he should stay away but he also knew himself enough now to know he wouldn’t.
His hand drifted to his waistband before he could talk himself out of it. Another sin added to the piling list..
He stayed where he was on the floor, knees bent, back against the wall. He shut his eyes tight as the image of you in his lap flooded him. The way you gasped against his mouth. Your breathy whisper: “Feels too good to be wrong.”
His hand wrapped around his hard cock, moved slowly, deliberately, as if each stroke might bring clarity instead of confusion.
He imagined the drag of your body against his, your thighs tight around him, your breath hot in his ear. His name on your lips, low and broken.
He cursed softly, forehead pressing back against the wall as his rhythm quickened.
And then he was there. Shuddering hard, jaw clenched, your name caught in his throat.
The silence that followed felt louder than the act itself. 
He stayed undone in the dark.
Still wrecked. Still wanting.
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Seeing him the next day made you consider that perhaps it truly was divine intervention. Or probably, the more plausible reasoning of limited grocery options.
After the recently heated moments, you told yourself you’d keep your distance. That a little silence would do you both good. It would give him space to figure himself out. Prevent things from spinning even further out of control. It would also help you to, hopefully, decide to get back to Austin.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
The day after, your mom asked you to go into town to pick up a few things. So there you were, arms full of paper towels and lemons, when you turned the corner near the front of the store and stopped short.
Owen.
He was standing near the display of boxed tea, scanning labels like it was the most important decision of his life. His hair was a little messy. Eyebrows scrunched. His fingers tapped the edge of the box he was holding. 
He didn’t see you at first.You could’ve left. You should’ve really. 
But instead, you find yourself speaking, “Are you that stressed over chamomile?”
He was startled, then turned. For a heartbeat, he just stared at you.
He swallowed, “It’s not for me.”
“Sure.” You said passively, before stepping past him toward the checkout. “Hope it calms your nerves.”
He placed the box back on the shelf and followed. He wasn’t immediately on your trail but soon enough that you felt his presence behind you, just a little too close. Just enough to spark something under your skin.
“Can we talk?” he asked softly as you reached the self-checkout.
You paused mid-scan.
“I think we did enough of that the other night.”
He didn’t say anything until you’d finished bagging and turned toward the door.
“Just five minutes,” he said, quieter now. “Please.”
You didn’t trust yourself to look at him. So you continued walking. 
He followed.
Outside, you walked with purpose, steps clipped and fast. You didn’t head toward your car, but around the side of the building where the alley narrowed and the shadows stretched long behind the store. It was somewhere away from glass doors and wandering eyes. Somewhere quiet.
The pavement was cracked. The hum of a nearby air conditioning unit filled the silence. You turned and faced him there, back nearly to the wall.
There you get a good look at his face. He looked wrecked.
“I’m not good at this,” he said before you could speak.
“Clearly.”
He sighed. “I mean it. I thought if I just ignored it, it would go away. That I’d be able to handle it.”
“And now?”
His gaze lifted, meeting yours fully.
“Now I’m wondering what it says about me that the most clarity I’ve had in months came while I had you in my lap.”
You blinked, the words hitting harder than you expected.
“Owen—”
“I’m not really sure what I’m asking. But I just needed you to know it wasn’t a mistake. That I don’t regret it.”
He took one step closer. 
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not since the moment you walked back into that church.” His voice cracked slightly from the restraint. 
Finally, you took a step closer. So did he. And then something gave.
He reached for you, cupped the side of your face, and kissed you like he needed the confirmation that you were real. That this was happening.
Like before, you melted into him before your brain could catch up. Your back hit the wall and his body followed, pressing close. One hand on your jaw, the other braced beside your head.
The kiss deepened fast this time but still the same kind of desperation that had filled the car. All heat and hunger.
You clutched his shirt and moaned softly when he bit down gently on your bottom lip.
When he pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead dropped to yours.
“I can’t stop with you,” he whispered.
You could barely find your voice. “Then don’t.”
You swallowed. Your senses were on alert. Heightened by the intensity between you.
You didn’t kiss anymore and with hands dropped to the side, didn’t even touch.
But the space between you crackled.
And finally, you turned to leave once again with his eyes on you. 
Hopeful this time.
Taglist: @shantellorraine @slvt4her @anxious-alto @irlbaristaoc @re-permadrivercurse @lostwhitebunny @loonysbarn @msbyjackal @lewispullsman @wildflowernightmere @ae-aeitch @dontpulloutman
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lonely-ey3s · 2 months ago
Text
Heartlines | Chapter Four
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pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader
chapter summary : Your night with Harry continues at his work's masquarade ball where tension runs high and each other's feelings are put on the table.
chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), , drinking, SMUT (18+ MDNI), fingering, overstimulation, sexual tension, semi-public sexual acts, praise kink, Harry is a little dominant, flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!
word count: 10.1k
a/n: for those sweet amazing moms reading, happy mother's day -- enjoy 💗
also just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday alternating ride or die !!
your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍
Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune
Masterlist
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You remembered the first time it hit you — really hit you — that you weren’t someone Damon was proud to love.
It was his sister’s engagement party. You’d worn that soft blue dress he once said made you look “sweet.” Curled your hair the way he liked. Smiled politely, asked questions, showed up fully — present, eager, trying.
But when he introduced you, it was with a single name. No title. No warmth. Just, “This is Y/N .” Not my girlfriend, not someone special. Just… an accessory to his evening. A plus-one with no context.
When you stood by his side, waiting for his arm to slip around your waist, for his hand to find yours — it never came. He kept just enough space between you to remind everyone that you weren’t his.
At dinner, you reached for his hand beneath the table, and he didn’t even look at you. He eventually pulled his hand away to grab his drink and never returned it.
When you spoke up during the group conversation — trying to join in — he cut across you with a joke, something about how you “always had opinions,” followed by a laugh from his friends that didn’t reach their eyes.
You felt your cheeks flush, and not in the good way. Like you were being tolerated. Like love meant being quiet and grateful, not seen and celebrated.
You felt so damn small.
You tried to play it cool. Tried to lean into him later as everyone stood around chatting, hoping for a small sign of comfort, of affection. But he stepped away to join someone else’s conversation, laughing harder, smiling wider — like he was more himself without you near.
You stood there in your heels, clutching your glass, staring down at the ice melting in your drink as voices hummed around you. Alone, while standing next to the person who was supposed to make you feel most at home, supposed to make you feel seen.
That night in the car, you asked softly, “Why didn’t you tell them I was your girlfriend?”
He shrugged, eyes still on his phone. “What’s the point in putting labels on things? It’s not that serious.”
You swallowed hard, turning to look out the window, hiding the way your heart cracked a little.
After that, it became routine — how he turned into someone else around other people. More detached. More polished. He'd let you sit beside him, but never close. He'd laugh at things you said when you were alone, but then roll his eyes when you said the same things around others.
He never invited you to family dinners. Said it was "complicated." Introduced you as “a friend from work” when someone unexpected ran into you in public. He texted back late. Forgot anniversaries. Gave affection only when it benefited him — when he wanted something, or needed to prove something to someone else.
You started shrinking without realizing it. Spoke less. Laughed less. Smoothed yourself down into something more palatable. Someone easier to explain away.
But it still wasn't enough. Because he never looked at you like you were something he was lucky to have.
But with Harry — it was never a question.
From the moment he’d first pulled you into his orbit — that slow, steady charm like gravity — he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you’d said yes to even being around him.
He had introduced you to everyone tonight like you were a treasure. “This is the beautiful woman I've been telling you about,” he’d say, with that low warmth in his voice, his hand already on the small of your back, anchoring you to him. “She’s brilliant, by the way. You’ll love her.” Then smile down at you or kiss your temple — proudly.
When you laughed, he didn’t flinch or shush you — he leaned in closer, eyes crinkling like your joy lit something in him. When you had an opinion, he listened like it mattered. When you spoke up in some of the busier conversations tonight, he’d glance your way and nod subtly, as if to say I’ve got you. I’m here.
He held your hand whenever he could, at every table. Not as a statement. Not to prove something. But simply because he wanted to. Because being near you never embarrassed him — it settled him.
So when you watched Harry disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by suits and sequins — your heart soared.
You were beaming. 
The hum of music returned to your ears, warming something deep inside you. You were still floating a little — replaying that word over and over in your head.
Girlfriend.
You barely had a second to gather your thoughts before a voice slipped in beside you — cool, smooth, and just a touch too friendly.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve got to be her.”
You turned to find a tall man, all swagger and smugness, lounging with a champagne glass in hand. His hair was slicked back like he spent too long in the mirror, and his tie hung just a bit too loose — casual in that deliberate way that tried too hard not to care.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. There was something about him, you just didn't know what quite yet. 
He grinned wider at your silence. “Didn’t mean to spook you. Just… had to see what all the fuss was about. And now I get it.” He grinned. 
That voice — that condescension dressed up as charm — it tickled something in the back of your mind. 
You didn’t know his name, not exactly, but you’d heard Harry mention someone like this before – in the few times he’s spoken to you about his work. ‘The guy who made meetings drag. Always had something to say, usually wrong. Thought he was God’s gift to strategy.’
Everyone that Harry knew, or respected, had already been over to see him, or he’d already introduced you to them. With that deduction, you thought there’d be no harm — you’d play along.
“Oh,” you said lightly, lips curving into a smile. “So you’re that guy.”
His brows ticked up, caught off guard. “That guy?”
“Mm. The one Harry sighs about when he tells me about the meetings you're a part of, or I should say – ones you force your way into...” You took a flute of champagne as a waiter walked by and took a sip. 
That made him laugh, even if his eyes sharpened a bit. “Ouch. Well, I’m sure he’s just threatened. After all, it’s not every day someone like him gets someone like you.”
You tilted your head, playing along. “And what exactly is someone like me?” You took another small sip, keeping your eyes on him.
He stepped in, just a little closer than necessary. “Too bright. Too interesting. Too... alive.” He leaned in more, voice low and teasing. “You sure you’re not bored already? The man talks in spreadsheets. I can’t imagine he’s any fun when—”
“Oh, he’s plenty fun,” you cut in sweetly, letting the implication hang just long enough to watch him flinch. “Besides, I like men who know what they’re doing. Harry doesn't need to talk about it.”
His smirk faltered.
Before he could recover, a warm, familiar hand slid across your back. Harry’s hand. Claiming. Calm. Dangerous.
“Funny running into you, Dorsey,” Harry said, tone casual but tight.
Dorsey, Alex Dorsey. You filed that away — the name from a few venting sessions, the man Harry nicknamed, ‘a walking ego with Wi-Fi access.’
Alex straightened, the smirk reappearing like a reflex. “Harry,” he said smoothly. “You didn’t say she was this charming.” He took a sip of his champagne. 
“I didn’t say anything,” Harry replied, then looked down at you with a soft edge that didn’t quite reach his jawline. “At least to you.” He looked back to him and tutted. “Didn’t think I needed to.”
Alex lifted his glass in some mock-toast. “Touché Castillo.”
You leaned into Harry just slightly, eyes never leaving Dorsey’s. “Your friend was just trying to convince me I was in the wrong company. Silly, right?”
Harry’s smile was tight. “That’s one word for it.”
Dorsey chuckled, clearly not used to being so easily brushed off. “Well. Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.” He winked at you and gently touched your arm before starting to walk away. 
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Harry muttered — just low enough that only you could hear — as Dorsey melted back into the crowd.
You turned to him with a teasing smile. “Someone’s feeling possessive.”
He looked down at you, that fire still smoldering in his gaze. “You have no idea.”
“Mm,” you hummed, resting a hand on his chest. “That was fun. We should do that more often.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You want me to watch you flirt with Dorsey again?”
“Oh no,” you said with a wicked little grin. “I want you to remember how fun it is when you get a little jealous.” 
His gaze darkened instantly. “Careful.”
You leaned up on your toes, brushing your lips just beneath his jaw. “Or what?”
Harry’s breath hitched just slightly, he could feel the blood rushing downwards. “Or I remind you exactly who you belong to.”
And just like that, the air around you thickened again — but now it buzzed with a very different kind of tension.
Your lips hovered just beneath his jaw, breath warm, your fingers teasing at the lapel of his suit. 
His hand on your waist flexed, fingertips digging in slightly — like he was holding himself back.
“You want to play that game, baby?” he asked, voice like smoke.
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and God, the heat in them. Dark. Focused. Possessive in a way that made your stomach flip and heat rush down between your legs.
You shrugged one shoulder, voice soft but smug. “Remind me, then.”
Harry didn’t respond — not verbally. Just the subtle shift of his body as he guided you out of the ballroom with quiet urgency, the hand at your back never leaving your skin. You passed people without seeing them, barely aware of anything but the simmering pull between you.
‘A door. A hallway. Somewhere quiet.’ was all he could focus on right now. 
The moment the door to an empty hallway shut behind you, he had you pressed lightly to the wall, not rough, but certain.
“You liked making me jealous,” he said, a little incredulously, as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d done it.
You nodded, breathing a little harder now. “I liked what it did to you.” 
“I’ve been dying all night to get you alone,” he said, voice roughened by restraint.
You opened your mouth to say something smart — to tease him, maybe — but he was already there; already cupping your cheek to pull you close to him as he leaned in. 
His mouth met yours again, and this time, it wasn’t tentative.
It was need, slow and burning. The kind of kiss that made you clutch the lapel of his suit, the kind that felt like it had been waiting all night.
His hands were everywhere and nowhere — one moved from your cheek to brace the wall beside your head, the other at your waist, fingertips teasing the curve of your hip. Your back arched slightly into him, letting him take whatever he wanted, whatever he needed — and offering just enough to make him chase more.
He kissed down your neck, lips brushing your skin like a secret.
“I don’t like people looking at you like that, I don’t like people like fucking Dorsey touchin’ at you…” He murmured, voice barely more than a growl.
“He barely touched me.” You smiled as he came up to capture your lips with yours, kissing him deeply. 
He pulled back after a kiss or two. “He didn’t have to,” he said, quieter now, the words heavier. “You’re not his to touch.”
Your breath caught.
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes — stormy and serious and sincere all at once. His hand moved to cup your cheek, and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “You know that, don’t you?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I know.”
He kissed you again, and this time it was different — slower, more reverent, like he needed you to feel what he couldn’t say fast enough.
You let yourself fall into it, into him, the way his lips moved over yours like he had all night to learn your shape.
Then — voices.
Coming down the hallway.
Harry froze, head tilting slightly as he listened. Footsteps. Getting closer.
He let out a breath, forehead leaning against yours. “Shit.”
You stifled a laugh. “Guess scandal’s not on the schedule tonight.”
He chuckled quietly, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he scanned the hallway and nodded toward a side door. “Come on,” he whispered, tugging you gently toward it.
You slipped inside a dim storage nook barely bigger than a closet. Warm, quiet, and filled with linen-scented air and the sound of your hearts pounding.
Your back was to the door, Harry, inches from you. He rested one arm above your head, not crowding, just close — grounding.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to pull you into a closet like some hormonal idiot.”
You smiled. “You say that like I didn’t follow you in here willingly.” You teased. 
A beat passed, and then something softer settled over the moment.
“Earlier,” you said, voice quieter now, “when you said I was your girlfriend... did you mean it? Or was it jus–?”
Harry’s eyes didn’t waver as he stopped you. “I meant it.”
Your breath caught again — not from the kisses, not from the chase. From this.
“I didn’t say it on accident or to get props from my boss,” he added. “I said it because I’ve been thinking it. Because I want it to be real. I want nothing more than to be with you – to be yours.”
You looked up at him, feeling suddenly unsteady in the best possible way. “It didn’t freak me out.”
His brow lifted, hopeful. “No?”
You shook your head, smiling. “It felt… good. Like it fits.”
He exhaled like you’d knocked the wind out of him.
“Then it’s real,” he said simply. “If you want it to be.”
And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about who saw or who didn’t. It was about you. Him. This tiny pocket of space where the rest of the world didn’t matter.
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The hallway was blessedly empty when the two of you finally slipped out.
Harry checked first — cautious, but casual — before opening the door and gently tugging you behind him. His fingers laced with yours instinctively, holding on even after the thrill of hiding had passed.
You were flushed, a little breathless, still riding the high of his mouth on yours and the way he’d said It’s real. You weren’t sure how long you’d been in there, but the champagne had nothing on what you were feeling now.
“Think anyone noticed?” you whispered.
Harry glanced at you sidelong, mouth twitching into a grin. “If they didn’t, I should probably try harder.”
You laughed under your breath, giving his shoulder a playful bump. “You’re cocky all of a sudden.”
He leaned in, brushing his lips briefly by your ear. “You just agreed to become my girlfriend. That does things to a man.”
You tried to hide your smile and failed.
Back in the ballroom, the music had shifted to something slower, smoother. The crowd had thinned slightly, giving the whole room a more languid, glowing feel — like the after-hours version of the party.
You were just about to head back into it when a familiar voice cut through the air behind you. 
“Well, well. Took you long enough.”
You turned to find a man that you recognized from the wedding, one that Ben even despised. His tone was breezy, but there was a glint in his eye that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Thought you’d gone off to do something terribly professional, but you look…” he glanced at you with a pointed smirk, “…flushed, Castillo.”
Harry’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t rise to it. Instead, he stood a little closer to you, his hand slipping down to rest more deliberately at your waist.
“Rob,” he greeted coolly.
Ah. That was the name you’d caught once or twice, Robert Mangold — always accompanied by a certain tone in Harry’s voice, annoyed mostly. Some kind of work rival. Friendly, maybe. But only on the surface.
“Oh,” Rob said, his smile sharpening. “So you’re the one. The mystery girl I kept hearing about on the work trip.”
Your brows raised. “Mystery?”
“Harry talks,” he said with a wink. “Mostly when he’s had a drink. Or three.”
You could practically feel Harry’s jaw clench.
So you smiled sweetly. “All good things, I hope.”
Mangold’s gaze lingered just a beat too long. “That depends on your definition.”
Before Harry could snap — and you could tell he was close — you slipped a little closer to his side, your arm brushing his as you tilted your head.
“Funny,” you said to Rob, voice laced with feigned innocence, “he hasn’t mentioned you at all.”
Harry choked on a laugh.
Rob blinked.
You smiled wider. “Guess he’s got better things to talk about.”
Rob cleared his throat, trying to regain his grounding. His eyes flicked between the two of you. “Didn’t realize you were the one keeping our boy so distracted lately,” he said to you, his grin lazy and just a little too direct.
You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’ve been keeping him very busy. Haven’t I, baby?”
Harry let out a quiet breath — the kind that almost sounded like a laugh — but there was something undeniably pleased in his expression as he looked at you.
“More than I can handle,” he murmured.
Rob raised a brow. “Well, just make sure he shows up to the Tets meeting tomorrow morning. Preferably not hungover or covered in lipstick...” he jabbed. 
You leaned into Harry slightly, cocking your head at Rob. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s… thoroughly looked after tonight.” 
The other man gave a low chuckle, clearly caught off guard, and Harry, behind you, bit back a grin.
“Good to meet you, Rob. You have a lovely rest of your night.” You smiled tightly.
Rob’s smirk faltered just a fraction, and then he nodded and walked off, disappearing into the ballroom.
Harry turned to you with wide eyes as soon as he was gone. “Thoroughly looked after?”
You grinned. “Too much?”
“God, no. I like it when you’re like this… witty and confident.” 
“Well,” you teased, brushing a finger down the lapel of his jacket, “maybe next time he’ll think twice before trying to bait you.”
Harry gave a soft, head-shaking laugh, pulling you into him by the hips. “You might be the death of me.” He said leaning back in for your lips slowly.
You grinned and bit your bottom lip as your arms came up around his neck. “You said that already.” 
“And I meant it.” He kissed you once, slowly. “But what a way to go.”
You pulled back and combed your fingers gently through his hair. “I like when you get like this — when you pull me close when we are with others… like you’re making it well known…” You murmured as you nudged his nose.
Harry didn’t say anything at first — just tugged you a little closer. Then, softly, near your ear said:
“You keep talking like that, and I will drag you into another closet.”
You bit back a grin.
As you made your way across the ballroom, the air between you was buzzing again — not just with heat, but something sharper. A new kind of intimacy. Like a shared secret, sealed with breathless kisses and soft declarations in the dark.
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Harry was told that he needed to stay until at least 9 o’clock, and since he hadn’t heard anything about Tets signing officially, the two of you decided to sit down and rest your feet. 
The ballroom had become less busy now — soft classical music drifting from the quartet, the sparkle of chandeliers dimmed to a soft amber glow. A few servers moved through the space clearing glasses, their chatter hushed. You and Harry had reclaimed one of the tables near the edge of the room, half a bottle of champagne between you.
Harry leaned back in his chair, collar loosened and shirt rumpled in the best way, his gaze heavy on you. It wasn’t the same hungry look he’d given you in the hallway, but something softer. Surer.
You sipped your champagne and gave him a smile. “You’re staring...”
He didn’t look away. “Can’t help it.”
Your heart did that fluttering thing again, the one that had started the moment he said girlfriend like it was the only word he’d ever meant.
He reached for his drink, tilting it toward you. “You know,” he said, voice low, “I can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen when I get all to myself later tonight.”
The air went taut — the promise in his voice sending a slow burn straight down your spine along with sending a rush of blood between your thighs.
You opened your mouth to reply, to flirt, to tease — but then…
“There you are, Harry.”
You both looked up to find Mr. Clarkson sliding into the empty seat beside him. Impeccably dressed still, tie loosened just enough to suggest the after-hours for him had begun. His smile was polite, but his eyes carried the same sharp intelligence as earlier.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said with a glance at you. “Just wanted to talk through a few things about the Tets meeting tomorrow… they signed. I just want to make sure we’re aligned.”
Harry straightened a little in his chair, switching gears with impressive smoothness. “Of course, sir.”
They began to talk — something about budget allocations and pitch materials — but your focus had slipped elsewhere.
Specifically, under the table.
You had taken off your heels earlier to give your feet a rest. With that, you slid your foot slowly along the floor until it brushed Harry’s ankle. Just a little nudge. Innocent.
He didn’t react.
So, naturally, you kept going.
Up past the cuff of his trousers, slow and deliberate, circling your toes just behind his knee.
Harry’s voice faltered — just for half a second — before recovering, his posture staying perfectly polite. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.
Clarkson didn’t seem to notice a thing, gesturing toward some talking point about competitor analysis. But Harry’s hand had clenched around his glass.
You inched higher.
Your foot grazed further up the inside of his thigh, and this time, you felt the faintest jolt — his breath catching in his throat. Still, he didn’t look at you. Didn’t break. Just tightened his jaw and nodded along to Clarkson’s ramblings.
“I’ll send over the updated spreadsheet by morning,” Harry said — or tried to.
Except his voice cracked mid-sentence.
Just a small hitch. Barely there. But you heard it, and so did Mr. Clarkson, whose brow ticked up slightly in surprise.
“You alright?”
“Fine,” he said too quickly, then cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he couldn’t quite get comfortable. “Just—dry throat.”
You bit back a grin, letting your foot wander dangerously high now, pressing in just enough to make his leg tense under your touch. His breath stuttered again.
He reached under the table, fingers wrapping around your ankle in a silent warning — firm, desperate — but you only stroked your toes higher, trailing slow, featherlight circles up the inside of his thigh.
The muscle there twitched. He took a sharp breath through his nose.
Clarkson was still talking — none the wiser — but Harry had fully stopped contributing. He was nodding, answering in clipped one-word replies, completely at your mercy.
“Don’t stop,” you mouthed across the table as he turned your way, lips curling in a wicked smile.
Harry’s eyes narrowed at you, a mix of disbelief and barely-contained heat. His hand squeezed your ankle again — and lingered this time.
“I think Harry’s more than ready for tomorrow,” you said smoothly, glancing at Mr. Clarkson with a saccharine smile. “He’s been… very committed to ensure this goes smoothly.”
Harry cleared his throat again, this time slower, deeper. Like he was trying to shake it off. His face was flushed now, eyes darkened, but his voice managed something close to control as he said, “I’ll… handle it, sir.”
Clarkson gave an approving nod. “Glad to hear it. We’ll need you sharp in the morning.”
“I’ll be sharp,” Harry said tightly. “Don’t worry about that.”
Your foot stroked one last, dangerously suggestive pass up his thigh, and Harry very nearly dropped his glass.
Clarkson stood then, oblivious, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your evening. Get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
You both murmured polite farewells and watched him disappear toward the exit.
The moment he was out of earshot, Harry turned to you with fire in his eyes and a low, stunned laugh. “You’re evil.”
You leaned in, your voice sweet and just a little wicked. “What? I was just helping you practice… composure.”
Harry’s hand slipped under the table, wrapping around your knee, firm and possessive. “You wait until I get you alone.”
You smiled, slow and promising. “That was the idea.”
He grinned and held onto your leg, eyes dark, “Wanna get out of here? I know a place to...” he raised a suggestive eyebrow.
You nodded. “Please.” 
Harry stood up abruptly, smoothing his shirt and shooting you a look so hot it made your insides twist. He was just as wound up as you were. 
You rose slowly, champagne still dancing on your tongue, heart already pounding as he grabbed your hand and led you through a side hallway.
His pace was steady, restrained — but his grip on your hand said otherwise.
Past quiet corners, linen-draped tables, flickering wall sconces — until he found a door, tried the handle, and pulled you into a darkened lounge. The kind meant for executives to take private calls or host quiet VIP chats. Now dimly lit, intimate.
The door clicked shut behind you. Silence.
You turned to face him, but before you could do or say anything, Harry had you against the wall in one smooth press of his body — not rough, but solid. Intentional.
A small frame behind you fell to the floor in the heat of the moment, neither of you caring. 
His mouth met yours without a word, his hands on your waist, pulling you close like he’d waited hours and not had you in that closet less than an hour ago. 
Like every second you spent teasing him under the table had wound him tighter and tighter until now – he was unraveling.
“You knew what you were doing,” he murmured against your lips, voice a little breathless. “Nearly made me choke in front of my boss.”
You gasped a laugh, fingers slipping under his jacket to start pulling it off. “You were holding it together so well, though…” you teased.
His jacket fell to the ground. You felt his hand move down to the slit in your dress and pull your thigh up and around him, putting his hips against yours, the feeling of his erection now obvious. His lips found your throat, open-mouthed and slow. “Barely.”
“You’re not mad, are you?” you continued to tease, panting softly.
He smiled against your skin. “Mad?” His hand slid further up, tracing every line, every curve. “I’m obsessed.”
You arched into him as he whispered it, a slow drag of his body over yours sending sparks through your spine. 
You moved your hands up to undo a couple of buttons on his dress shirt, wanting more contact with his skin. 
He moved back up and with his other hand cupped your cheek and began kissing you with a deeper urgency – a need. 
He picked you up quickly, making you squeal and giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist. His grin broke through for just a second — boyish, breathless — before his mouth was on yours again. He walked you to the pool table in the center of the room, and set you down on the edge, letting your legs drape around him, your dress hiked scandalously high.
“I should be mad,” he whispered, pressing kisses along your jaw. “You tormented me out there.”
You smiled against his lips, breath hitching as his hands slid up your thighs again, purposeful. “You loved every second of it.”
He let out a soft, low laugh — the kind that vibrated in his chest and made you feel it through every inch of contact. “You're right,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “God, I did.”
Then his voice dropped — deeper, rougher, laced with something like awe.
“I need you.”
The words barely escaped before he kissed you again, deeper this time, all tongue and heat and want. You clutched at his shirt, pulling it loose from his waistband, needing more of him, needing skin. The way he responded to your touch — the hitch in his breath, the tension in his muscles — was addicting.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cradling your thighs, his gaze scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every flush of your cheeks, every flicker of your lashes.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said softly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
You cupped his jaw and smiled, just as breathless. “Then don’t stop.”
A pause, just for a heartbeat — and then he slid his hands to your hips and dragged you toward the edge of the table, pressing himself back between your thighs, his body heavy and solid against yours.
“Promise you won’t stop looking at me like that,” you murmured. “Like I’m the only one.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
That did something to you— he felt it. 
His kiss turned fevered again, hungry and reverent at the same time, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or ruin you.
You moaned softly against his mouth, and the sound made him shudder.
“Say it,” he breathed. “Say you want me.”
“I want you, Harry.” Your voice cracked a little on his name, and he groaned in response, pressing you back slightly onto the felt surface.
Then, before either of you could do anything—
A faint creak. Voices in the hallway.
You both froze.
He looked toward the door, his breathing heavy, his hand still resting dangerously high on your thigh. Then he turned back to you, eyes wide but amused. “Fuck.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Think it’s locked?”
“I hope so,” he whispered.
“Is it so hard to get a moment alone? No interruptions?” You whispered, sitting back up, half-laughing as adrenaline and desire tangled in your chest.
He chuckled and put his hand to cup your cheek, whispering, “Perhaps that’s our cue to leave?”
“Yeah?” You gently nudged your nose with his, sliding your hands slowly up from his waist to land on his chest. 
He swallowed and kept his eyes on yours, “I think it’s time for us to get some time alone, enough hiding in closets and backrooms.” He gently stroked his thumb across your cheek.  
Your gaze softened, and you nodded. “How close do you live from here?” 
He chuckled softly, “About 5 minutes. Why do you ask?”
You leaned in and pressed a slow and deep kiss to his lips before slowly pulling back, breathlessly whispering, “Because I don’t know about you, but a 20-minute drive to my place sounds agonizing…” 
He softly nudged your nose against his. “Mm. You’re right. My place it is then.” He helped you slide down from the table, both of you hurrying to gather yourselves as the voices sounded closer as you listened. 
You fixed yourself up and then a knock on the door, followed by, “Anyone in there?” 
Harry looked at you, not knowing what to say. 
You cleared your throat, “Yes! One minute, please…”
Harry mouthed oh my god at you, trying not to laugh as he grabbed his jacket off the floor, raking his hands through his hair and quickly fixing his shirt.
You turned your back to the door, slipped off your masquerade mask, and quickly gathered your hair up into hair clip you had in your clutch, hoping the change was enough to not invite suspicion.
“Okay,” you whispered, breathless. “Everyone I’ve met tonight only knows me with the mask on, right?”
Harry nodded, smiling, his shirt still half-buttoned as he fiddled doing it back up. “You’re a mastermind.”
You pulled your phone from your clutch and raised it to your ear just as a soft knock sounded again—followed by the door creaking open.
“Hello?” a voice called. A woman. Not Mr. Clarkson or anyone else of importance —thank god— but someone you’d met earlier. A junior exec or project manager… she’d introduced herself at the cocktail hour. Nice enough. Not someone who’d seen you up close without the mask.
Harry straightened and turned, calm as ever. “Sorry Mary, we just needed a quick moment to handle a call,” he said smoothly.
She blinked. “Oh… sorry, Harry. I thought this room was empty.”
You smiled apologetically, keeping your phone to your ear. “No worries. I’ll be done in just a second.” Then, into the phone, you added in your best overly professional tone, “Right. If Barbara doesn’t have the contract to Stonebridge by Monday morning, Mr. Castillo said that the deal could be off.”
Harry bit back a grin as the woman gave a polite nod. “Of course. Carry on.” 
She left, the door clicking shut behind her. You both stood still for a beat.
Then Harry leaned in and whispered, laughing quietly, “You’re wicked.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I’m efficient.”
“Barbara can’t get it together, again?” he teased, kissing the edge of your smile.
“Right? I know… I think we may have to let her go…” You whispered, giggling as you shoved your phone back in your clutch.
He cupped your cheek, eyes warm and shining. “You’re going to get us in trouble one of these days...”
You brushed your fingers down his chest, tugging gently at his jacket. “Only if we get caught,” you winked, then backed up slowly, holding your hand out for him to take. “Now come on, handsome.”
He shook his head, chuckling as he reached forward and laced his hand with yours — following you out the door. 
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The city buzzed beyond the velvet ropes and valet line, but neither of you spoke during the drive. You could feel the heat simmering — the way his fingers curled tighter around your thigh, the occasional glance that said just wait.
By the time you got to his place, you were practically vibrating. The elevator ride up with a bellboy glancing at you both — torture. 
Harry's penthouse apartment was quiet — with low light spilling from the kitchen, casting a soft glow across the hardwood floors. The moment his front door shut behind you, the air thickened.
Not with urgency, but intention.
You stepped in and were taking it all in, a part of you stunned at how big his place was. You knew he was rich, but this rich? Good god, this was filthy rich. 
He stepped behind you slowly, bringing your attention back to him — his hands brushed your waist as he leaned in. His voice was just above a whisper, rich with that velvet edge that only came out when the world fell away.
“You looked so damn good tonight…” His fingers traced the edge of your dress, featherlight. “But I must admit, all I wanted to do was get you out of this dress...”
You turned in his arms, hands sliding up his chest. “You looked good too,” you said with a teasing smile. “I still bet half the room was wondering who you were going home with.”
He leaned in closer, his lips grazing your cheek, not quite a kiss. “They knew.”
You smiled, lips moved to brush his jaw. “You sure?”
“Positive.” He backed you gently toward the bedroom, one step at a time, never breaking eye contact. “Especially after that stunt we pulled earlier in the night and then your little stunt under the table.”
You gave a playful shrug, pretending innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘stunt under the table’…”
“Oh, playing coy now, are we?” He let out a low laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth. 
You giggled as you stroked his hair back, eyes bouncing over his features, memorizing every little thing you could about him.
He pushed the bedroom door open and guided you inside with one hand at your back.
The room smelled like him — warm, woodsy, clean. 
“Me vuelves loca, nena,” (You drive me crazy, baby) he said softly.
Then he leaned in, and this time the kiss was slower. His hands didn’t rush to undress you — they explored over your clothed body instead. His mouth moved with reverence, mapping every curve like a confession.
He broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “I want to take care of you tonight….” 
Your fingers slipped into his curls, gently tugging him back in. “Then take your time,” you whispered. “I’m all yours.”
That did something to him — you saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his breath stuttered just slightly. Like your words struck a match to something already smoldering inside him.
He knelt slowly in front of you, never taking his eyes off yours as his hands slid up your thighs, bunching your dress higher until it rested around your hips. The drag of fabric across your skin felt electric — deliberate and slow. His lips brushed over your knees, then your inner thigh, until your breath hitched.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, lips warm against your skin, “how long I’ve thought about this. About tasting you. About worshiping you.”
Your hand found his shoulder for balance as he gently nudged your legs farther apart, his kisses getting closer, more urgent, but still wrapped in restraint — in care. You felt it in how he touched you like you were something rare. Precious.
One of his hands slipped your panties down and off, his other still steady on your thigh. His eyes met yours again before he leaned in, his voice a low vow against your skin:
“Let me make you forget the world.”
And then — he did.
His mouth found you with devastating softness. He took his time, savoring every flick of his tongue, every roll of your hips, every sound you made just for him. One of your hands clutched his shoulder while the other tangled tighter in his hair, and when your thighs trembled around him, he only held you firmer — grounding you, guiding you through it, like he wanted nothing more than to memorize every second of you falling apart.
When your legs started to give out, he grinned as he stood. "Sabes tan dulce, cariño." (You taste so sweet, darling)
You blushed and smiled, repeating what he said with a small giggle. "What does that mean?"
He cupped your cheek and whispered, "You taste so sweet..." then he leaned in, "Would you like a taste?"
You nodded and leaned in to meet his lips in a slow, deep kiss. The sweetness of yourself, mixed with the champagne and the sweetness of his scent, drove a deep want in you. You needed him—now.
When he pulled back, you were breathless, fingers gripping his shirt as he lowered you gently onto the bed. The air between you buzzed with anticipation, the promise of everything to come unraveling at a delicious, deliberate pace.
He hovered over you, eyes searching yours, checking — not just for permission, but for intention.
“Is this okay?” he murmured, voice husky.
You slowly pulled him down by the collar and whispered against his lips, “More than okay.”
His hands found your thighs, pushing your dress slowly higher — slow enough to feel every brush of his fingers, slow enough to make you ache.
“Good,” he breathed. “I plan to take my time.”
Harry’s lips met yours again, deeper this time — no teasing now, just a raw, unguarded need. Still soft, still gentle, but full of intent. His hand slid further up your thigh, the pads of his fingers dragging slowly along your skin, making you shiver beneath his touch.
He pulled back for just a moment to look at you — hair mussed, chest rising and falling, lips kissed pink. And God, the way he looked at you. Like you were art. Like you were something rare and precious and entirely his.
“May I take off your dress?” he asked, voice thick with restraint. His thumb traced your hip, grounding, steady.
You didn’t need words. You slowly guided his hand up to a strap and pulled it off your shoulder with him, your eyes locked on his.
He let out a breath — like he’d been holding it all night.
Then he was on you again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, reverent as he went. He took his time, undoing the back of your dress slowly, his mouth following every new inch of skin he revealed. There was no rush, no desperation — just a building intensity, like he wanted to savor every second.
Once he had you out of your dress into nothing but your lace bra, his hands roamed your body, lightly grabbing and grounding himself — like he needed to make sure you didn’t float away. 
You quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and peeled it off his body. Your hands roamed his skin, and you felt his lips discover and map over your soft skin. 
When you whispered his name, it came out a little breathless, a little needy — and it broke something in him.
His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again, slow and full of longing. “I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, lips brushing yours, “for longer than you know.”
You softly panted, confessing, “I’ve wanted the same… since the reception hall kitchen…” Your finger curled into his belt loop, pulling him down as you shifted beneath him. His weight settled over you — solid, grounding, everything you'd been craving. 
He murmured as his head dropped to your jaw and neck – making soft love marks into your skin. “That night… I wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to hold you…” 
And when his hand slipped between your legs, his touch was careful. Exploring. He moved up to the shell of your ear and lowly whispered, “…to touch you…” 
You softly gasped and threaded your fingers through the back of his head, gently holding onto him as you moaned his name. 
He enjoyed learning the way your body responded to him. He took his time — every kiss, every stroke, laced with a devotion that made your breath catch.
He had you arching up against him as he pressed small circles into your clit — praying for him not to stop. 
He moved up and began kissing your lips slowly, intentionally –  he muttered in between each kiss, 
“God, you’re so beautiful when you come undone.” 
"You're gorgeous like this… completely wrecked and mine."
¿Sabes lo hermosa que estás así? ¿Completamente deshecha, gimiendo mi nombre? ("You know how gorgeous you are like this? Completely undone, moaning my name?")
You clung to his shoulder and moved your hand down to his bicep as your legs began to tremble. 
You began panting and whimpering, whispering, repeating, “Oh fuck… oh fuck…” followed by a soft moan and your hand flying down to the silk sheets below to grip as you came. 
His name left your mouth again, soft and wanting.
You were barely coherent when he whispered against your skin, “You’re mine tonight. No more distractions.”
You were softly panting, cheeks flushed. You felt like you were floating. 
“Are you sure you don’t have a maid or butler who’s going to interrupt?” you teased as your eyes left his to look around at his bedroom. It was bigger than your living room and kitchen combined. “Jesus, Harry, I think you’re actually Bruce Wayne. Look at this bedroom!” you chuckled slightly, out of breath. 
He leaned his head down and softly kissed your neck as you spoke, your breath hitched as his hand curled around your thigh.
Harry lowly chuckled as he came back up to you and grinned — that smug, devastating smirk returning for just a flash. “No Alfred tonight… no one to interrupt us…”
You smiled up at him, heart racing. “No one...”
He leaned in and slowly kissed you again — and this time, there was no holding back. He cupped your cheek to hold you close, like he feared losing you. 
He removed his hand from between your legs and trailed it slowly up your body, landing it to lace with your fingers and softly push into the mattress as he started to grind his hips into yours. His erection was still painfully trapped in his trousers. 
You softly moaned against his lips before pulling away a fraction, leaning your forehead against his, “I need you…” you whimpered. 
He nodded and then kissed you once more, deep and with so much being said without a whisper. 
I want you.
I need you. 
This is everything I want – you are everything I want.
He then pulled back slowly, and your back arched off the mattress as his mouth traveled lower, each kiss a slow burn across your skin. He took his time like he was memorizing you — the places that made you gasp, the places that made you whimper.
The way he touched you wasn’t frantic, but it was intense — all simmering control and reverent heat. His hands slid under your thighs, spreading them open with quiet confidence, and when he looked up at you from between them, it nearly undid you.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he said softly, lips brushing your inner thigh. “I want to see you fall apart.”
And when he finally touched you — really touched you — you did.
Your fingers gripped the sheets, the back of his neck, anything you could reach. He was relentless in the way he worshipped you with his mouth, slow and purposeful, building you up with every swirl of his tongue until you were trembling beneath him.
He couldn’t get enough of you like this – on his tongue, entirely under his spell. He loved making you feel good — making you feel important. 
You gasped his name again as you quickly came to your peak — your words broken, breathless.
Once you started to come back down, he kissed his way back up your body, chest pressed to yours. 
He wasn’t done with you yet. He wanted to give you more. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of before his own selfish desires were addressed.  
He murmured as his hand slid back down between your bodies and began rubbing gentle, slow circles again, quickly building you back up. 
Your eyebrows furrowed, and your jaw slacked open — eyes-fluttering-shut type of build up. “That’s it, mi cielo. Let go for me.” he grinned.   
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. It hit you in waves — your hips arching into him, your voice a breathless plea against his shoulder as you unraveled.
He held you through it, whispering quiet praises against your skin.
“Keep making those sounds for me — I need to hear you.”
"You're trembling, baby. You're ok — I’ve got you."
After you came back down again — you melted into the sheets, panting heavily, legs shaking – he gently took you by the chin and kissed your lips slowly before softly smiling against your lips. 
“Let’s slow down for a second—look at me, you’re okay,” he said softly, gently brushing your hair back. 
You looked up at him and nodded, completely undone, leaning into his touch to calm yourself down. 
You hadn’t even had his cock yet and had cum more times than you ever had with any other man. 
He was so focused on making sure you felt good that you hadn’t even realized you hadn’t offered to do anything for him yet. 
You took a moment, taking a few deep breaths before you leaned up, brushing a light kiss against his lips before smirking and whispering, “Can I take off your trousers?” You moved your hand down his chest to pull gently on his belt loop. 
He smirked and nodded, “You can do whatever you want, baby…” 
You bit your bottom lip and looked down at his lips hungrily before starting to pull his belt undone, “I want to take care of you now…” You kissed his jawline.  
He looked down at your hands as they made swift work at getting his belt undone. His pants — along with his boxers — down and off of him. 
He eagerly kicked them off the bed, causing you both to let out an excited and lighthearted chuckle.
Once his cock sprang free and you gently wrapped your hand around it, starting to stroke him slowly. 
He grunted, and you watched his eyes flutter shut at the contact as he hovered above you. His fists clenched the sheets and your waist, letting out another groan deep in his chest, then muttering something you couldn’t quite make out in Spanish under his breath. 
“I want to taste you now…” You nudged your nose with his. 
His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and he became partially flushed, and for once — speechless. 
“I’ll be careful…” You teased your lips against his again as you whispered. 
“I won’t make you cum… at least not this time.” you taunted.
He grinned, his eyes darkened. He liked this side of you. The side where your walls were completely down and you were comfortable around him. The side of you that showed him all parts of you, your vulnerabilities and scars — the side of you that trusted him.  
His hand that was gripping your waist moved up and gripped your chin gently, “On your knees then...” he nodded to the side of the bed.  
A jolt of electricity ran through your body and your heart started to pound excitedly. You nodded and moved with him to get off the bed. You went to kneel when he stopped you by cupping your cheeks in his hands, “Wait…” 
You looked up at him and instantly melted at the look in his eyes. There was lust, but also something softer — something tender and longing that you had as well in yours. 
He leaned in and kissed your lips deeply, one hand moving to gently pull your waist close to him — the other hand supporting the back of your neck as he tilted your head up. 
You put your hands on his chest and continued to kiss him until the two of you were breathless.
You pulled back slowly and kissed down his body, taking your time as you slowly knelt in front of him — kissing his jaw to his neck to his chest then down at the inner part of his hip bones, causing him to groan softly.
You couldn’t help but grin at the power you had in this moment. You wanted to make him feel just as good – if not better – than he’s made you feel tonight. 
You gently took his cock in your hand and kissed the tip, your lips lingering for a moment as you looked up at him.  
His heart was racing as you moved your lips down his body. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last long, the sight of your lips on his cock — he knew he was in trouble.
You moved and lightly trailed your tongue up the length of him, taking your time before wrapping your lips around him and slowly taking him into the warmth of your mouth. 
“God, you look perfect like that...” he praised, groaning softly. 
You lightly moaned, slowly sliding him deeper before gradually pulling back right as he was about to reach the back of your throat. 
The breath got caught in the back of his throat, and you felt his knee give out for a moment. 
“Fuck baby…” he whimpered. 
You pulled off and hummed at the sight. Seeing his cock drenched in your spit was a sight you knew you wouldn’t get tired of, one you’d be recreating often.
“I could get used to how sweet you taste, baby…” Then you went back to wrapping your lips around him, doing the same thing, but this time bouncing your mouth up and down on him slowly. He eventually reached the back of your throat, causing you to moan at the sensation. 
He let out a few shaky breaths as you continued to suck him off, talking you through it: 
“That’s it—take it like the good girl you are.”
“God, you feel so good like this. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”
He felt a pull behind his navel, and he grunted, not being able to form a coherent sentence, “F-Fuck I’m–…” He clenched his jaw, trying to hold back. 
You pulled off slowly with a tight ‘pop’ and bit your lip as you looked up at him, “Need me to stop?” you said innocently, knowing he was close as you felt him start to throb. 
He chuckled shakily, his features flushed, but nodded.
After a second, he reached down, took your hand, and pulled you to stand. “Come ‘ere…” He growled, grinning. 
You giggled as you stood. 
He picked you up, your legs wrapping around his torso, arms around his neck as he carried you back to the bed like he couldn't stand another second without being inside you.
He laid you down gently, kissing you hungrily as your back hit the mattress. His hands roamed over your skin like he was relearning every inch, his body pressed tight against yours, his cock hard and ready.
“You know what you do to me?” he murmured against your lips, grinding his hips just enough for you to feel how much he needed you. "Me arruinas, cariño." (You ruin me, baby)
You moaned softly against his lips and pulled him closer, grinning breathlessly, “You have no idea what you’ve done to me, the things I feel for you… I–” you stopped yourself. 
You knew what you were feeling for him. You knew it was something deep, something that usually terrified you. It was a feeling you avoided feeling in the past. A feeling that always ends with you getting hurt. But right now, with Harry, it didn’t feel so scary. Why can’t you say it?
‘I’m falling in love with you…’ 
He pulled back from your lips and rested his forehead softly against yours, “…I think about you constantly,” he whispered or more so confessed, his breath warm and shaky against your mouth. “Even when I’m with you, I miss you. I crave you…”
Your chest ached in the sweetest way, his words sinking deeper than just your skin. 
You cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone as your eyes searched his, all heat and tenderness and something else — something that felt dangerously close to love.
“I’m right here,” you whispered, arching your body against his as your legs tightened around his waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Harry exhaled shakily, like your promise undid him. He leaned in and kissed you again — slower this time, deeper — like he wanted to taste every unspoken thing between you. His fingers traced reverent lines down your body, slow and soft, until he settled between your thighs, his cock slowly sliding in between your folds.
“You’re so soft,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest. “So good. I just want to make you feel everything.” He moved back up to press his forehead against yours, cupping your cheek gently. 
When he finally pushed inside you — slow, thick, filling you to the hilt — your fingers curled into his back. He stilled, keeping his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “Te sientes como en el cielo”. (You feel like heaven.)
You gasped his name, wrapping your arms around him as your bodies melted together, moving in a rhythm only the two of you could understand.
You leaned up to kiss him fiercely, rolling your hips up into his with each slow thrust, and he groaned — low and rough — before moving again.
You moaned against his lips and your back arched against his chest, goosebumps littering your skin — that tight coil moments away from snapping again.
“F-Fuck…” You gripped the hair at the back of his head as you continued to kiss him. Another hand moved to his bicep as you began to feel the wave build up to crash down. 
“Look at me,” he murmured, pulling away from your lips, voice thick with feeling. “I want to see you... I want to see you come undone on my cock..."
And when you did — trembling beneath him, whispering his name like a prayer — he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed.
He continued drawing his hips slowly and steadily back and forth. Taking his time, rooting himself in this space and time with you. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t fast. It was deeper than that — a rhythm born of connection, of all the tension and teasing that had built between you. His fingers laced with yours as he thrusted slow and deep, and when your eyes met, it felt like nothing else existed outside that room.
He whispered your name like a prayer against your lips as you fell apart again — and this time, he followed.
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The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. The city was quiet — the kind of hush that only came just before the world stirred awake. But in the warm tangle of blankets and bare skin, Harry was already awake.
He lay on his side, head propped up by one arm, the other stretched across the bed to touch you. His fingers traced slow, featherlight paths along your upper arm, his touch reverent, careful not to wake you—not yet.
You looked peaceful, curled toward him, your breathing slow and even. The soft rhythm of your breath grounded him in a way nothing else ever had.
His thumb brushed over your skin again, and he leaned in, his lips hovering just above your shoulder.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered, so quiet it almost got lost in the morning air. “This… what we have… between us… I’m all in, yeah? No games. No doubts.”
His hand wandered gently to your waist, fingers splaying there like he was memorizing the feel of you.
“I’ll give you everything,” he added, softer now — as if he was afraid to say it out loud. “Just… stay.”
You shifted slightly, not quite awake, but enough that your body moved closer to his in your sleep. It made him smile — wide and full of something warm and vulnerable. He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder.
“I want every morning to look like this.”
That was the one that did it.
Your lips curved into a sleepy smile before your eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly in the golden light. “Mmm,” you murmured, voice still thick with sleep, “You trying to make me melt before I’m even awake?”
Harry laughed quietly, brushing your hair back from your face. “Wasn’t planning to… but I’d be lying if I said I hated that smile right now.”
You stretched languidly, the covers slipping a little down your back. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”
“Long enough to know I’m in trouble,” he teased, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You looked too beautiful to wake.”
You turned toward him, your hands slipping around his neck as you pulled him down into a kiss — soft and lazy and unhurried. The kind of kiss that tasted like contentment.
“You meant all that?” you whispered against his lips. “Everything you said?”
Harry’s hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Every word. I’m yours...”
You kissed him again, this time a little deeper. “You’re mine...” you murmured. “Don’t think you’re walking away after last night.” You teased.
“Wasn’t planning to, querida...” He said softly against your lips. 
His hands slid beneath the blanket, pulling you closer, until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between you. The kiss deepened, and you felt him smile against your lips just before he rolled you gently onto your back.
“What’s this?” you murmured playfully, fingers slipping into his hair.
“Just want to start the day right,” he said, voice low and full of warmth, “by reminding you exactly what you do to me.”
You let out a small giggle, feeling his scruff tickle your neck as he leaned down to kiss your neck, “Mm, don’t you have a meeting with Clarkson?” You wrapped your leg around his waist as he moved to settle in between your legs — no intention of letting him go now. 
The covers shifted, and he smirked as he kissed your throat before moving up to your jaw, muttering sweetly, “I’ve got time, mi cielo…” 
His hand slid up your leg that was wrapped around him — slowly up your body as he began kissing your lips slowly and passionately — before he slowly buried himself inside you. 
Your breath hitched. And the morning unfolded with soft moans, slow touches, and kisses that promised more than just passion — they promised something real.
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shortnspidey · 4 months ago
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CHAPTER TWO: LINES DRAWN
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Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 4.6K
SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.
WARNINGS: Avengers level violence, cursing, talks of anxiety, minor injuries, slight fluff if you squint!
A/N: Thanks for all the love in the first part!! This chapter is crazy!! I loved writing all of the action scenes (with the help of my bestie because I would have never finished)! Hope you all enjoy!! Dividers by @sister-lucifer <3
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“So what’s the plan, Cap?” You questioned, fiddling nervously with the straps of your kevlar gear, the buckle clicking a little too loudly in the sudden quiet. You missed the questionable look you were receiving from Steve, his eyebrows slightly raised, a flicker of concern in his eyes. He’d been quieter than usual upon your arrival, a tension radiating off him that you couldn’t quite place.
"I'm not involving you in this," He shook his head, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. The words hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped up, a frown making its way onto your face. You stopped fidgeting with the straps, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "What? Why not?" You asked, the question laced with a hurt you tried to hide.
“Yeah kid," Sam chuckled from beside you. "Besides, aren't you a little young to be carrying those around?" He gestured with his chin towards the pair of hefty-looking revolvers strapped to your thighs. You sent a glare in his direction crossing your arms. "I'm twenty-four, and don’t think I don’t know you’re taking his side just because I wouldn’t upgrade Red Wing."
You huffed not giving him time to answer before turning back to Steve. "You do remember Natasha Romanoff trained me right?" You emphasized the name, hoping to remind him of your capabilities. Natasha had been more than just a mentor to you; she had been a mother figure aside from Pepper, teaching you everything she knew about combat, espionage, and survival.
You were confident in your abilities, but you also knew that this mission was different. It was a civil war, pitting friend against friend, and the stakes were higher than anything you had ever faced before. "Yes, but this is different," Steve coaxed. "I know," You insisted, your voice rising slightly. "But I can still help.” Sam raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Takes one to know one, huh?" You rolled your eyes, ignoring his teasing.
"I'm not a child," You protested. God you were so tired of men telling you what to do. "I can take care of myself." The determination in your voice was unmistakable at that point, you could have sworn you heard Scott mumble something to Clint. "I know," Steve repeated. "But I don't want to see you hurt." He sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. You hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing your face.
You knew Steve was right, but you also knew that you could make a difference. You could help fight for what you thought was right. Even if it was against your own father. "Fine," You finally conceded, your voice barely a whisper the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "We need you help starting the Quinjet," Clint stepped in pulling you into a reassuring embrace knowing it was a comprise that would prove useful and keep you out of unnecessary conflict.
Steve was already moving, nodding sharply at Sam and Bucky, who were standing a few feet away, clearly waiting for orders. "She's with you two." He instructed, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. Your mouth twitched into a small smile upon hearing Sam grumble something under his breath. "Wait," You called out, the word sharp and urgent, halting their retreat. "You should know my dad recruited someone too." You watched the gears in Steve’s head turn as his fists clenched at his sides.
"How do you know that?" He asked, his voice low, measured, his brow furrowing in disbelief and concern. "It’s not that difficult to hack into his phone," You replied, the words slipping out with a nonchalance that you didn’t feel. You shrugged, trying to mask the gnawing pit of anxiety in your stomach, but the gesture felt forced. There was nothing casual about what you had uncovered. "Especially since I’m guessing he tracked you all here." You could feel Bucky’s gaze drilling into you, his intense eyes unblinking, his expression unreadable.
His silence only amplified the tension in the air, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, the burn of embarrassment mixing with the knot of unease twisting in your gut. “Typical Stark,” Clint muttered under his breath, the words tinged with disbelief, though his voice carried a flicker of exasperation. "Always thinking two steps ahead." You glanced back at Clint, but the reassuring look you were hoping for didn’t quite settle the storm inside you. You knew the battle wasn’t over. Not even close. “Just be careful,” You warned, your voice thick with concern, anxiety creeping back into your chest.
The realization that this was happening—now—made it feel even more real, the weight of your involvement in this fight more suffocating. The momentary comfort Clint had provided seemed to dissipate, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. This wasn’t just about opposing your father anymore. Steve looked back at you one last time, the lines of his face hardening. "He's under Ross' pressure to bring us all in, he’s desperate." You nodded, but the words didn’t comfort you.
You had seen how your father worked—how relentless he could be when he believed in something. And even with all the pressure on him, he wouldn’t stop. Not for you. Not for anyone. The thought of facing him, possibly having to fight him, stirred something deep inside you. With one final look at the group, you turned away, your heart pounding as the sound of battle swelled around you, the weight of the conflict now more real than ever. "Don't beat yourself up too much," Wanda's voice came from behind you, a look of understanding on her face.
You turned to face her, offering the best smile you could muster, though it felt more like a hollow gesture than a reassurance. Her eyes flickered with understanding, and she gave a subtle nod, as if she knew the war raging inside you, even if you hadn't voiced it aloud. Easier said than done, you thought bitterly, but said nothing more. With a swift, practiced motion, everyone began to take their positions. You moved quickly, your boots clicking softly on the cold metal floor as you followed Sam and Bucky up to the upper level of the baggage claim station.
Sam was already in motion, activating Redwing with a quick flick of his wrist. The small drone hummed to life, its sleek red form darting through the air like a shadow. You watched over Sam’s shoulder as it’s cameras were scanning the expanse of the airport with an intensity that matched the urgency in the air. Sam’s face was set in a hard line as he studied the data flashing across his screen. "You know, if you upgraded it, the picture would be a lot better." Sam muttered, his voice tinged with the lightest trace of hope.
You shook your head, a half-smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but there was no real humor in it. "Not a chance, Wilson," You replied, your voice steady, but carrying that familiar edge of irritation. "You know how much I despise that thing." As the words left your lips, you could've sworn you heard a faint, almost imperceptible laugh from Bucky, though it vanished just as quickly as it came. His expression remained stoic, like a mask set in place with practiced precision.
It was unsettling. Normally, you could read anyone easily. But right now, there was nothing. He was completely unreadable, and for the first time in a long while, it threw you off balance. Before you could dwell on it further, Sam’s voice broke through, sharp and concise, the words crackling in your earpiece with urgency. “The Quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway.” His voice held the weight of finality. The tension in his tone hit you like a physical blow, the gravity of the situation sinking in. This wasn’t just a reconnaissance mission anymore; this was something that could change everything.
You could hear Steve’s voice faintly in the background through Sam’s comms, distant but unmistakably steady, his words meant to reassure. But it only made your chest grow tighter as the reality of what was coming hit you full force. The adrenaline that had been simmering in your veins since the moment you stepped onto the tarmac now surged, taking root deep in your bones. "Let’s move." Bucky grunted, snapping you out of your thoughts. Without hesitation, you sprinted after him and Sam, the feeling that all hell was about to break loose settling over you.
Then, without warning, a thud rang out from above. Your gaze shot upward just in time to catch a glimpse of movement. Someone, no something was climbing across the ceiling. Your heart skipped a beat. “Guys, we’ve got incoming!” The words barely left your mouth before the figure dropped from above, twisting in mid-air with fluid grace. With a deafening crash, the mystery figure smashed through the glass ceiling, sending shards raining down in a sparkling cascade. The momentum sent Sam flying backward, his body slamming into the ground with a sickening thud.
Bucky wasted no time. His body was a blur of motion as he swung his metal arm toward the intruder with a ferocity that would’ve torn through steel. But the figure was faster. In a split second, the person in the red and blue spandex caught the strike mid-air, gripping Bucky’s arm with one hand like it was nothing. The force of the blow barely seemed to faze him. "You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude!" The voice was youthful, filled with excitement and awe. The eyes on the figure’s mask widened comically, making it look almost cartoonish in the moment.
That brief moment of distraction was all you needed. Your body reacted before your mind could even catch up. You closed the distance in an instant your fist aimed for the masked face in front of you, but he was faster. With a flick of his wrist, a web shot out, wrapping around your arm and pulling you off-balance. Before you could recover, he yanked you toward him. But you weren’t caught off guard. Years of training with Natasha kicked in. You twisted mid-air, using the momentum to redirect your body and land gracefully on your feet.
The ground cracked beneath your boots as you skidded back, knees slightly bent, eyes never leaving your target. You lunged again, but this time, you anticipated his move. He fired a web toward your chest, but you ducked just in time, his webbing missing by inches. "Who the hell are you?" You huffed, slamming your elbow into his midsection. "Spider-Man.” He grunted, yet his reflexes were insane he backflipped, launching himself into the air. Luckily you had distracted him enough for Sam to get off the ground and fly towards him momentarily knocking off his concentration. But that moment of distraction was brief.
As quick as lightning, you watched as he shot out another web from his wrist, grabbing onto a nearby pillar and yanking himself sideways, swinging out of Sam’s range. His reflexes were faster than you could track. Sam attempted another direct strike, but you watched as he swerved in mid-air, his body spinning, narrowly avoiding the stun blast. The sheer speed and fluidity of his movements were mesmerizing, and at that moment you realized just how difficult it would be to trap him. You took a sharp breath, hands briefly resting on your knees as you caught your breath, eyes flicking over to Bucky.
A few feet away, he had already noticed the change in the fight, his eyes scanning the wreckage. Without even breaking stride, Bucky reached down, picked up a jagged piece of scrap metal that seemed to weigh nothing to him, and with a fluid motion, he hurled it toward the masked acrobat. "Hey, buddy, I think you lost this!" You heard his voice ring out, a touch of playful mockery in his tone. Spider-Man's hand shot out, and with a flick of his wrist, he caught the scrap mid-air, flipping it in his hands before tossing it back toward Bucky, grinning beneath his mask.
"Catch!" The piece of metal sliced through the air, aimed for Bucky, but he was already moving his body a blur as he leaped forward, positioning himself between you and the oncoming projectile. "Get down!" Bucky’s voice was sharp and commanding, an edge of urgency cutting through the air. Without thinking, you dropped to the ground, throwing yourself into a roll to get out of the way. Just as you hit the concrete, Bucky's broad frame shielded you, his metal arm outstretched, intercepting the scrap and absorbing the force of the blow without flinching.
Your eyes locked momentarily, an unspoken question lingering in his eyes. Are you okay? You simply nodded, feeling the weight in your chest lift, your heartbeat returning to normal. Seeing as Spider-Man's attention was on you and Bucky, Sam took his chance to fly at him once more only for him to roll out of the way and instead shoot a web at Sam's jetpack, making him collapse to the ground once again. As he attempted to get up and spring into action, Spider-Man was one step ahead. Successfully webbing both of Sam's hands to a nearby banister. “Those wings carbon fiber?” You overheard Spider-Man ask, his voice full of curiosity.
“Is this stuff coming out of you?” Sam, trying to free himself, marveled in spite of the situation. “I’d explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, but I gotta say, that’s awesome, man.” He rambled, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before, but there’s usually not this much talking,” Sam grumbled, his eyes narrowed in irritation. “Alright, alright, my bad,” Spider-Man shot back, his voice dripping with faux apology as he swung down to face them. Bucky, attempting to intercept him, was knocked down just like Sam. You watched as Spider-Man quickly shot a web at Bucky’s metal arm, trapping him as well.
“Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job today,” Spider-Man rambled with a grin, “And I gotta impress Mister Stark.” That was when it clicked. This was the kid your father had recruited. As Spider-Man aimed his web at you next, the familiar whirring of Red Wing sliced through the air. Sam, controlling the small drone, had it wrap a rope around Spider-Man’s wrist, yanking him clean out of the building and sending him crashing onto the tarmac with a loud thud.
“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” You heard Bucky grumble as he and Sam lay sprawled on the floor, both of them still trying to regain their footing. Sam, his patience clearly running thin, shot back, “I hate you.” Unable to suppress your amusement, you laughed and made your way down the escalators toward them. “Get us out of this thing, will you?” Sam urged, his tone a mix of frustration and mock pleading. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you pulled the small knife from the thigh holster and began cutting the webbing off him.
“Maybe that thing isn’t so bad after all.” You teased, gesturing toward Red Wing, which had successfully dealt with Spider-Man. “A simple thank you Sam would suffice.” Sam muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed, but you could tell he appreciated it. As you worked to pry the sticky webbing from Bucky’s metal arm, you found yourself instinctively reaching out to help him. Without thinking, you extended your hand toward him, fully aware he could easily get himself up, but you offered it anyway.
His cerulean eyes flickered from your face to your outstretched hand, hesitation lingering in his gaze for just a moment before he made his choice. Then, without saying a word, he reached out, his flesh calloused fingers brushed against yours as he took your hand. You helped him steady himself, and he quickly regained his balance, his grip firm but not too tight. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if silently thanking you, though neither of you needed the words.
"Come on! Let's go!" Steve’s voice rang out, urgent and sharp, cutting through the chaos around you. You didn't need to be told twice. Taking that as your cue, you pushed yourself forward, sprinting with everything you had. The Quinjet was just a few feet away, but every step felt like a mile. Sam and Bucky were right behind you, their footsteps almost synchronized with yours. Then, out of nowhere, a yellow beam of light sliced through the air, freezing you in place.
"Captain Rogers," Vision's voice rang out, smooth and commanding, cutting through the air like a blade. Hearing his voice made your heart plummet into your stomach. If Vision had found you, then it was only a matter of time before your father arrived. The last person you wanted to face in a moment like this. "I know you believe what you're doing is right," Vision continued, his tone unwavering, "But for the collective good, you must surrender now." The words hung in the air like a weight, suffocating you.
Just as you thought things couldn't get worse, the deep, mechanical hum of your father’s suit filled the air. It was unmistakable. Your heart lurched. Iron Man, your father, descended from the sky with an almost eerie precision, landing beside Natasha, who immediately locked eyes with you. "Y/N?" You heard your father called out. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Your throat tightened. You didn’t need to see your father’s face to know the expression he wore, the disappointment, the hurt. You could feel it in your bones, even from a distance.
And then you saw them: Rhodey, standing beside Spider-Man, as well as a man you didn’t recognize. You looked back at Steve, his jaw clenched, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. Sam’s voice broke the heavy silence, his words reflecting the tension in the air. "What do we do, Cap?" He asked, the uncertainty in his tone clear. The question lingered, hanging between you all like a cloud before a storm. Steve didn’t hesitate. His eyes locked on your father, Vision, and the others and for a moment, it felt like everything slowed.
You watched as he took a step forward, his decision made. "We fight." His voice was like a command, a declaration of defiance. There was no turning back now. "Y/N," Steve’s voice sliced through the thoughts swirling in your mind, harsh but filled with a protective edge that made you freeze mid-step. "Stay out of this." You flinched, the command feeling like a gut-punch that momentarily took the wind from your lungs.
You opened your mouth, ready to argue, to plead your case, to fight alongside him, alongside your team. But as you met Steve’s eyes, something in the quiet intensity of his stare stopped you. It wasn’t just his leadership at play. It was something else. His message was clear without a word spoken: Get to the jet. The sharp, unspoken command stung, but there was no mistaking it. You were to stay out of the fight, for now. The plan was set, but you didn’t know if you could trust it. Still, with the weight of Steve’s look and the immediate danger mounting around you, you forced yourself to nod as discretely as possible.
A subtle shift of your chin, enough for Steve to know you understood. His eyes flickered in response, once, before he squared his shoulders and began his march toward the others your father, Natasha, Rhodey, and the rest of them. His footsteps rang with purpose, and with that, you knew there was no more room for doubt. You exhaled, not realizing you were holding your breath, feeling the tension seep out of your body. The plan was set. But the moment you watched Steve walk away, the instinct to act kicked in.
Without another word, you turned on your heel, pushing your legs to move faster, faster than you thought you could. The Quinjet was close, but so was everything else. You could hear the voices behind you, but they were fading now, drowned by the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears. Every muscle in your body was screaming to go back, to fight, but you couldn’t. Not yet. Not without ensuring the escape plan was in place. You were on autopilot now, your mind focusing on the mission Steve had entrusted you with.
Your fingers flew across the console as you bypassed your father’s security protocols, already anticipating the passcodes, the encryption levels, the firewall measures. Years of working on tech with your father had given you a deep understanding of his systems, and now that knowledge was your advantage. You could feel the pulse of the Quinjet’s systems come alive under your fingertips as you worked with practiced precision, overriding the locks, enabling the flight sequence. Every second counted, every move had to be perfect. You glanced over your shoulder once, scanning for any signs of pursuit, but none came.
The others were still focused on the confrontation with Steve. Finally, the Quinjet’s systems blinked green, the controls lighting up with readiness. It was ready for takeoff. But there was no guarantee that you’d make it out in time. You bit your lip, thoughts of what was happening behind you swirling in your mind like a storm you couldn’t escape. You took a deep breath, shaking your head to clear it. There was no time for doubt. You had a job to do, and this was your part in it. Now, you just had to pray it would work.
Just then, you felt a presence behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a cold shiver running down your spine. Without thinking, your hand instinctively moved to the weapon holstered at your side. You spun on your heel, fingers tight around the grip, ready to strike, every muscle in your body primed for action. But then, as your eyes locked onto the figure in front of you, everything froze. The weapon lowered almost involuntarily as you were met with a pair of familiar green eyes.
A rollercoaster of emotions hit you all at once: relief, guilt, fear, but above all, an overwhelming sense of comfort. You quickly secured your gun back into its holster, but before you could even process your thoughts, you found yourself being pulled into her arms. The redhead’s embrace was like home. Safe. Familiar. It was the anchor you didn’t know you needed in that moment. You could have sworn your breath caught in your throat, and you almost felt like you would break down right then and there, all the pressure of the day finally catching up to you.
But you couldn’t afford that. You couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not with everything on the line. "Nat—" You started, your voice trembling as you fought to keep it together. But Natasha silenced you with a gentle, but firm grip on your shoulders. Her voice, as always, was steady, but there was a warmth to it that made your heart tighten. "I’m proud of you, дорогая, fighting for what you believe is right." Her words hit you harder than any punch could. It was more than just reassurance. It was acceptance. Understanding. And it meant more than she could ever know.
A lump formed in your throat, but you quickly pushed it down, focusing on the moment at hand. Just as you were about to speak, an explosion erupted a few feet away, a shockwave that rattled the ground beneath you and sent dust into the air. You jumped, instinctively pulling away from Natasha as both of you snapped your heads toward the source of the blast. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Steve and Bucky rushing toward you through the smoke and debris. You let out a shaky breath of relief, finally, they were here. But that relief was short-lived.
As soon as their eyes fell on Natasha standing beside you, they froze in place, exchanging a look that was almost too heavy to bear. You could feel the weight of the tension in the air between them, thick and suffocating. Natasha exhaled sharply, the sound of it betraying her frustration. "You’re not gonna stop, are you?" Steve let out a long, resigned sigh, his shoulders sagging for just a moment before he shook his head, a silent acknowledgment of what was coming. "You know I can’t." The words cut through you like a blade, but before you could process them.
Natasha’s wrist raised, and the distinct sound of the Black Widow’s Bite whirring to life echoed in the tense air. You held your breath, anticipating the next move. And then, in the blink of an eye, you saw him. The Black Panther. He appeared like a shadow, moving with a speed and grace that was almost unnatural, as he lunged toward Bucky, claws extended, his target locked. Time seemed to slow as you watched in horror, knowing Bucky wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge. But Natasha was faster. Her wrist aimed at T’Challa, and with a sharp crackle, an electric shock discharged, halting the Black Panther mid-flight.
He recoiled, clearly stunned but not incapacitated. He growled in frustration, but Natasha didn’t hesitate. With another swift motion, she shot another surge of electricity directly at him, pushing him back, buying you and the others precious moments. "Go," She urged, her voice steady, unwavering. Steve gave her a silent nod of gratitude, and without another word, he turned to you and Bucky, motioning for you to move. But before you could take another step, Natasha’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm. You glanced back at her, only to find her gazing at you with a softness that was quite rare for the widow.
"I love you, дорогая. Stay safe." The words were simple, but their weight was immeasurable. They struck you like a bullet to the chest, and without thinking, you rushed to her, wrapping your arms around her in a brief but fierce hug. "I love you too." You whispered back, the words barely audible over the noise of the battlefield. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment ended. You pulled away, your heart aching, and nodded at Natasha before following behind Steve and Bucky, making your way toward the Quinjet.
The Quinjet roared to life, thanks to Steve’s quick thinking and your help with the systems. As you climbed into the cockpit and the jet began its ascent, your eyes widened as you glanced out the window. Below, the fight raged on. You could see your teammates still engaged in combat, a blur of movements and blasts of light. On the other side, your father, Rhodey, and the others were still locked in their battle, and in that moment, the weight of it all hit you like a tidal wave.
But you couldn’t afford to think about that now. Siberia was your destination, and stopping the psycho ‘psychologist’ was the only thing that mattered. "Are you okay?" Steve’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’m fine." It was a lie. A complete lie. You felt like your chest was about to crack under the pressure, but for the first time that day, you could finally breathe, just for a fleeting second. But deep down, a gnawing feeling settled in your gut. You knew this was far from over.
It was only the beginning.
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hiramaris · 1 year ago
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I'm gonna request something for haley bc i love how you write her and not so obsessed. im not sure if you are writing for request? but im gonna give my shot
a prompt where haley as wife, and the farmer was late passed midnight because of mining shit. and almost died (lmao). she got home safely, but limping with her wounds and bruise. then there's haley, saw her wife barely walking and her reaction, just comfort, fluff, worried and taking care of the farmer.
that's all, thanks, no pressure <3
Kiss it Off Me
CHAPTER 7
Chapter Summary:
"I don't like your stupid gift!" She didn't intend for it to sound harsh, but as soon as her mouth opened, she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "I honestly thought you'd know better than to give me something like this."
Pairings: Haley x Fem!farmer
Disclaimer:  I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.
Warning: violence, blood
Notes:
thanks to anon for being the first-ever reader to request a prompt. I initially thought to make a separate fic for this one but I realized why not make it as a new chapter? There would be some adjustments to the prompt, instead of Haley being the farmer's wife, she'd be somewhere in between a friend and a woman struggling to put a name to what she's feeling with the farmer. I'm really sorry anon for not following the route you're hoping for but I do hope you'll like this one.
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Summer 9
The sound of thunder clapping from above her made it difficult for sleep to come that night. Despite the late hour, the darkness outside was illuminated intermittently by flashes of lightning, casting eerie shadows across the walls of her room.
Rain drummed steadily against the glass, a constant reminder of Yoba's fury. The room felt oppressive, suffocating almost, as if the storm had seeped its way indoors, invading her sanctuary.
She had always hated rain. Well, the main reason is it's horrible weather for a dashing photographer like her. Not only does it ruin her hair that she spent all morning fixing, but it could also ruin her equipment. Oh, did she also mention it gives an awful lighting?
She also shares the same level of dislike for storms because they destroy the calmness of rain. It's aggressive, cold, and destructive.
That's why the moment the news announced there would be a storm for the next three days, she was quick to stock every little favorite snack she could think of because there was no way she was waltzing outside in that kind of weather.
Haley popped out a tired eye as she looked at the clock beside her.
1:56 AM.
Oh, joy it's almost two in the morning. How in Yoba's name could she go outside with bags under her eyes probably heavier than all of Emily's hippie gems combined?
'I mean– there's always a concealer,' she thought but quickly dismissed the idea.
She has been minimizing her makeup since... since whatever (when you told her she looked prettier even without them) PLUS with summer's sweltering heat, layering on cosmetics seemed suffocating.
With a groan, she pushed herself up from the bed, determination flashing in her tired eyes as she made her way to the kitchen to get a glass of milk, hoping that this little solution would finally give her the sleep she'd been craving for.
But as she reached for the milk, a cacophony outside shattered the stillness of the night. Haley froze, her heart pounding in her chest. It's kind of hard to tell with the harsh rain and thunder and everything.
As if to confirm that her mind wasn't playing tricks on her, a set of audible coughs echoed just behind the door. Haley's heart thumped so loud she was afraid it might come out of her chest.
That could only be an intruder.
In Haley's sleep-deprived mind, she didn't stop to even realize that Pelican Town had never experienced a robbery in the dead of night. Instead, she quickly bolted to her room, grabbing Alex's old baseball bat he had left here one time, not even having the presence of mind to wake up Emily to face this 'intruder' together.
****
Spoiler alert, it wasn't an intruder but an idiotic farmer covered in dirt and unbelievably wet from the rain.
You were holding your rucksack close to your chest for dear life with your sword held tightly by your other hand when Haley found you slumped against the door.
"What the hell are you doing outside at this hour and in this weather?" was the first words she uttered when her eyes spotted you. She was quick to help you up and bring you inside, not even minding the mud and water accumulating from where you stood.
When you didn't respond, Haley met your eyes.
Haley's heart nearly stopped at the sight beyond her. Without being hidden by the darkness, she could finally see your whole state.
There standing is the farmer herself. Your white hoodie was tattered and looked burned. Your hoodie's sleeves are ripped too up to your upper arms, and your left arm has a cut with fresh blood still gushing out of it.
You were missing the other pair of your shoes, and your hair was disheveled and covered with slime. You even had multiple scratches and scrapes all over your body. Your right cheek has some small scratches, and blood is rushing out of the wound on your forehead.
"Yoba..." Haley's voice was barely a whisper as she gently cupped your cheeks, careful not to aggravate your wounds. Her eyes flickered to the gash on your forehead, blood still seeping from the wound. "What happened, Y/n/n? We need to get you to Harvey!"
You shook your head weakly, struggling to stand upright. "No... H-harvey," you protested, your voice strained. "H-he'll kill me."
"Y/n!" Haley's arms enveloped you in a tight embrace as you nearly stumbled over her. She wanted to reprimand you, to demand answers, but the rush of blood in her ears and the pounding of her heart against her chest prevented her from doing so.
For now, she needed to make sure you were okay.
You only grunted in response as you gave in to her, allowing her to guide you onto the cushions.
"I'm just gonna get a towel and the first aid." Her lips trembled as she said those words.
In record time, she was able to get everything she thought you'd need, afraid if she missed any more seconds you wouldn't be breathing.
When she returned to the living room, she almost went ballistic when she spotted your form unmoving from your seat.
"Y/n! Wake up, for Yoba's sake! Don't you dare die on—" Haley's words caught in her throat as you rasped out a response.
"...oh, look an angel," you managed with a small grin, your tired eyes fluttering open.
Haley couldn't help but smile softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Very funny," she replied, relief flooding through her as she saw you conscious, if only barely.
Wordlessly, she draped a towel over you, tucking it gently to ensure you stayed warm. It was the same blanket she used during storms like this when she felt cold herself.
With a purposeful stride, she made her way to the fireplace, adding more wood to the fire in hopes of warming you further.
"Keep your eyes open, please? I'm just gonna get some rags to clean up your wound," she requested gently.
She placed the first aid kit on the coffee table in front of you before heading to the kitchen to gather clean rags and a sponge.
Returning to the living room, she filled a bowl with tap water and carried it carefully as she made her way back to you.
With great tenderness, Haley cautiously wiped the blood from your body with the sponge, dampening it in the tap water she had prepared. She winced as the color of the water turned red.
"You lost too much blood," Haley commented, masking the shakiness of her voice. She wasn't a great fan of blood but she was not naive with treating minor injuries either. She silently thanked Yoba for letting Emily force her to learn a thing or two about first aid.
You only grunted in response to her observation.
"What happened, Y/n?" She couldn't hide the worry in her voice even if she dared try. "I should call Harvey and get you to the clinic."
You groaned as she accidentally applied too much pressure to your wound. "No... it's okay. It's n-nothing, I'm fine."
"These serious injuries don't shout nothing, Y/n. What the hell happened?"
"'I went to the mine..." you explained, and Haley waited expectantly for you to continue.
"It's storming."
"I know..." You couldn't look at her in the eye. "It's just that there's not much going on in the farm so I thought I should continue my expeditions in the mine. I thought it would be safe but..."
"But it wasn't." Haley couldn't helped but deadpan.
You visibly winced, unsure if it was because of your wounds, Haley's biting remark, or just both. "I heard from Marlon I could find rare items once I reached the hundredth floor, which I did," you explained, tapping your rucksack beside you. "But I should have known better that those items are rare for a reason. Not because they're hard to find, but because they're hard to acquire. Once I got hold of this baby," you gestured to your bag, "the whole cave was swarmed by slimes and shadow people."
"What?" Haley's voice sputtered with disbelief, her brows furrowing in concern. "Shadow people? I thought they were just myths!"
You tried to nod in confirmation, but Haley kept a firm hand on your cheeks, preventing the movement. "Uhuh, they're very real," you affirmed, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "And I can say they aren't really fond of us humans and, uh, dwarves I think. They're more scared of me than intimidating. I tried not to, y'know, hurt them."
"That's a stupid idea."
"I know," you admitted, your gaze dropping to the floor. "But given our history with them, I didn't want to give them any more reason to hate us. Plus, I was the one invading their homes."
Haley let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping with weariness. "Still, you should have fought back. What if they had killed you in there? How would we have known you were down there and rotting? You're the only one crazy enough to go down there anyway."
You didn't speak after that, and Haley mistook that as compliance. She was too busy fuming at your lack of self-preservation to notice the frown creasing on your features.
After managing to cleanse the visible injuries of your body, she began to grab some clean rags to apply some pressure on your forehead and your forearm to keep your bleeding to an absolute minimum.
She cursed softly under her breath, trying to think of what to do next.
"…Y/n? Y/n, wake up, stop sleeping," Haley's voice was quiet, her tone laced with urgency as she gently tapped your cheek.
Your eyes pulled themselves open and looked tiredly at her. "Hn?"
"I need you to sit up straight and pull your hoodie off. What do you have underneath?" Haley's words were gentle but firm as she carefully supported your shoulder and hip.
"…just a tank top."
Slowly, you strained to sit upright, wincing with discomfort. Haley could tell from the way your grip tightened on her wrist that you were not comfortable sitting for very long.
With Haley's assistance, you managed to pull your hoodie off, careful not to aggravate any wounds. Once the clothes were removed, Haley's eyes lingered on the minor cuts just below your chest, blood still seeping from the wounds. She grabbed the sponge again, gently brushing away the blood from your cuts.
After cleansing the wounds, Haley applied alcohol and antibiotics, causing you to grunt in discomfort. No words were exchanged as she skillfully wrapped bandages around your forehead, forearm, and abdomen. She then helped you into warmer clothes she found in her wardrobe, her movements gentle and reassuring.
"How do you feel?" Haley bit her lip, anxious. Honestly speaking, she wasn't confident in her abilities to treat injuries, so she anxiously awaited your response, hoping she hadn't made things worse.
"…I'm alright now," you rasped, your voice hoarse with exhaustion. "…thank you, Hay."
Haley felt a wave of relief wash over her at your words. Your face had regained some color compared to earlier when you looked as pale as a ghost.
"Do you want anything to eat?" she questioned tentatively. "I'll whip you up some tea and soup."
You swallowed gently and nodded your head.
"I'll be back soon then. Rest. I'll wake you when your soup is done."
****
About twenty minutes later, Haley went back into the living room, a tray in her hands. She found you sprawled on the couch (thankfully not moving too much), embracing your rucksack in your arms once again. She wanted to question what was inside and why you couldn't part with it so much but decided to make sure you were okay first.
The things she does for you.
She placed the tray of food on the coffee table and sat beside you, taking in your sleeping form.
"Y/n/n? Food's ready," Haley said softly, tapping your thigh to rouse you from your slumber.
Startled and kind of a forced of habit, you tried to sit up straight. Thankfully, Haley was fast enough to stop you.
"Don't get up. | don't want to wrap your wounds again," Haley admonished, her tone firm.
She grabbed a pillow and propped it behind your back to elevate your head slightly. As she picked up the bowl of chicken soup, she could feel your eyes on her.
"I can feed myself, Haley. Thank you," you finally spoke. Haley's eyes met yours briefly before she averted her gaze, a flicker of emotion passing over her features.
"Clearly, you aren't capable of feeding yourself. Stop being a baby and let me do this."
Your eyes settled on her for probably a full minute before you sighed in resignation. Despite the hardened gaze she probably wore on her face, Haley gently placed a spoonful of soup in your mouth.
"I know you can, Y/n," Haley spoke after a few moments. "But you lost too much blood already, I don't want you to bleed again."
"I'm sorry for causing you all this trouble," you uttered softly.
Haley paused and finally looked at you, like, really looked at you properly this time. Since you had arrived covered in mud and blood, she had been operating on autopilot, with only one mission: ensuring you were okay. It's the only thing running through her mind, leaving no room for anything else. Mainly, she hadn't thought about the impact of her words.
"Don't be ridiculous. It's no trouble. I'm just..." Haley paused, thinking about what words to use without giving away that she cared too much. "I'm just glad that you're okay."
Once you had finished eating, Haley placed the empty bowl down and reached for a damp cloth. Brushing away a stray lock of your hair, she gently wiped away a few drops of blood and dirt, her touch surprisingly gentle. She was so focused on her task that she didn't notice you watching her quietly, your expression softening as she attended to the blemish on your face.
"Haley..." you called softly, breaking the silence. Haley looked down at you, her eyes startled. A small, appreciative smile graced your lips as you continued, "Thank you."
Haley couldn't help but smile in return. Sometimes it's hard to stay mad at you. "You can thank me by resting and making sure this won't happen again."
You chuckled softly as you closed your eyes, resting your head against the pillow once more. "No promises."
Seeing that you were getting sleepy, Haley quickly gathered the empty bowl and cup and placed them in the sink. When she returned, she extended a hand to help you up, much to your confusion.
"Come, let's get you to my room."
"Haley," you protested weakly. "I couldn't possibly impose more than I already have."
"Shut up. I won't let an injured woman sleep on the couch, Y/n."
Despite your protests, Haley managed to convince you to agree with her proposed setup. While Haley wasn't entirely keen on sleeping on the couch herself, it's not like she has a choice on the matter. The cushion is uncomfortable as hell, it's like sitting on a pile of bricks. That's more than enough reason to let you sleep on her bed. Plus, with the mess and worry weighing on her mind, she doubted she'd be able to sleep anyway.
She was about to leave to clean the mess in the living room when she finally sat you down on her bed, but a hand stopped her.
"…have you seen my bag, Hay?"
"Oh, that? Do you want me to get it for you?"
"No, no. Thanks but I can get it myself." You made a move to stand but Haley kept a firm grip on your shoulder.
Haley frowned. "You can't barely even stand. Do you think I'm gonna let you walk by yourself? What's in the bag anyway? I'll get it for you."
"I'm wounded, not disabled–" you tried to say but Haley only raised an eyebrow at you, daring you to finish your sentence. You sighed when you realized that you wouldn't win against her again. "It's... it's a gift."
"For whom?" Haley couldn't help but ask. Who could you possibly want to give a gift that you almost died just to get it?
Was it for Penny? Haley heard she liked gems as well. Or was it Maru? If she could remember correctly, tomorrow's her birthday and she seemed to like everything you can find in caves. This totally makes sense.
But why did her heart clench at the thought? More importantly, how did she even remember all this information when she didn't care about them at all?
Before you could respond, Haley left the room to retrieve your rucksack. She felt like she didn't need to hear the answer to her question.
When she returned, she wordlessly handed the bag to you, prepared to leave the room once more. However, your voice stopped her in her tracks.
"It's for you."
She turned, mouth agape. "What?"
"It's for you." You smiled warmly as you held out a familiar-looking crystalline gem, about the size of a palm, emitting a dazzling array of colors.
Haley's initial surprise quickly turned to dismay as she recognized the mineral. Her frown deepened, and a flicker of discomfort passed through her eyes at the sight of it. She knew what it was, and just the thought of touching it made her feel physically ill.
"What's wrong?" you asked, concerned at her sudden change in demeanor.
"I don't like your stupid gift!" She didn't intend for it to sound harsh, but as soon as her mouth opened, she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "I honestly thought you'd know better than to give me something like this."
"I..."
"Keep it," she said with finality. "Good night, Y/n."
With a curt nod, she turned on her heel and stormed off, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in the room as she left.
****
She shouldn't have said that. She knows she shouldn't have but she was just so worried she couldn't control anything else spouting from her foul mouth.
She hated how she caused the light in your eyes to die down. Hated the way you weren't able to say anything else. Hated the way she just couldn't probably express her worries properly.
Now you probably thought she hated your guts.
Which is far from the truth. Kind of the opposite actually but she's far too tired and confused to delve into her feelings further at the moment.
It's true she doesn't share the same passion for gems and rocks as her sister Emily, and people will generally thank someone who will give them a prismatic shard because for one, they are pretty, she's not gonna lie about that. Secondly, they're super rare and by extension, expensive.
Haley just couldn't bring herself to appreciate it in the same way.
She hated them with passion. And she hated people assuming she liked shiny things because of her personality.
While it's true she's kind of materialistic, it was a trait ingrained in her from years of her parents trying to compensate for their absence by showering her with gifts.
She didn't like being materialistic, but she's so used to it that it's hard to stop.
And she hated how you seemed to think the same way about her when you thought about giving her a prismatic shard as a gift. That all she ever was were just pretty and expensive gifts.
And she hated how you let yourself get hurt just to give her this.
She hated everything about this.
****
Haley spent the majority of the night cleaning the living room, hoping to tire herself out enough to dull the heaviness and emptiness in her heart. She didn't know it was possible to feel both at the same time, but there she was, experiencing it firsthand, and she despised every moment of it.
And she hated herself more now because she found herself padding her way towards her room. Her steps faltered when she saw you peacefully sleeping on her bed. A gentle smile touched her lips at the sight of your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Unable to resist, Haley approached you quietly. She carefully tucked you in, a tenderness in her actions that betrayed the turmoil in her heart. Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss to your bandaged forehead, a gesture she had learned from her late grandmother.
"To kiss the pain away," her grandmother used to say, and Haley found solace in that belief.
With one last caress of your cheek, Haley settled onto the foot of her bed, a magazine in hand, silently hoping for the sun's rays to finally peek behind the horizon by her room's window.
****
Haley woke up surprisingly lacking any back pains. She didn't feel sleep-deprived either.
Wait—
How'd she get in her bed? You're supposed to be– Oh.
She sat up straight when she realized she was holding a letter in her hand. Straightening up the almost crumpled paper, she could recognize your handwriting immediately.
Good morning, Haley. Sorry for the disturbance last night, and thank you for taking care of me. It means a lot. I didn't want to impose more than I already have so I excused myself while you were asleep. Thank you again. — Y/n
Haley studied the letter, noting the hastily scribbled handwriting that differed from your usual neat script. She could imagine you rushing to write it just to avoid dealing with her.
It hurt more than she cared to admit. But after what she said to you, who was she to complain?
At this point, it would be a miracle if you still talked to her.
"Good morning, sis!" Emily chirped, her voice echoing through the room as Haley emerged from her room. She sat on the couch, casually knitting what appeared to be another sweatshirt.
Haley's expression was one of mild annoyance as she replied, "It's noon."
"Storm has passed but Caroline canceled, just to be safe," Emily responded, her fingers deftly working the knitting needles as she spoke. "And I know it's noon. Just wanted to emphasize you slept late, little lady."
She glanced around the living room, noting the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, indicating that the day was well underway and the storm had thankfully subsided.
"Why are you here anyway? Don't you have a yoga class to attend to?"
Haley let out a resigned groan, her movements sluggish as she made her way toward the kitchen to avoid further conversation with her sister.
"Just so you know, I saw Y/n/n come out of your room!" Emily called out from the living room, her tone playful yet teasing.
Haley froze mid-step, her grip tightening on the handle of her mug. "Wha—" Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her surprise. "Nothing happened!"
"Of course, nothing's going to happen in that state she's in," Emily retorted.
Haley couldn't ignore the sense of urgency that suddenly gripped her at the mention of your state. You're in no condition to go home all by yourself.
"Just tell me you took her home," she pleaded, her tone softening slightly as she returned to the living room.
Thankfully, Emily's too caught up with her work to notice that brief slip-up of vulnerability Haley rarely shows.
"I volunteered actually, but Penny saw us on our way and insisted she could do the job," Emily explained, her tone matter-of-fact.
"And you agreed?!" she sputtered incredulously.
"Of course, I would!" Emily readily defended. "She volunteered!"
Haley's sigh was heavy as she sank down onto the couch next to Emily. "You should have woken me up."
She could feel Emily's eyes settling on her as if trying to decipher what's got her so distressed.
"I tried, but Y/n/n won't let me. Said you needed the sleep," Emily finally answered after a few moments of silence.
"You're unbelievable." Haley couldn't help but massage the bridge of her nose at Emily's casualness about the situation as if seeing a heavily injured farmer waltz out of Haley's room was just a normal occurrence. "I suppose she told you what happened then?"
"Uh-huh. Accident in the mines, right? And she went here instead to the clinic because Harvey would kill her once he saw her state." Emily chuckled, her tone light as if discussing the weather. "He just literally told her last time to take it easy."
Haley blinked in disbelief. "And how do you know this?"
"Everyone knows this, Haley." Emily looked at her as if wondering why she didn't know this piece of information. "It's practically a common thing to see Y/n/n passed out outside in the morning."
Haley's brows furrowed in frustration, her mind racing with thoughts. Of course, she doesn't know this. If she would have known, she would have told you to take it easy. Hell, she'll help with farming if it will make things easier for you. This thing where you pass out and overwork yourself shouldn't be normalized. Actually, if anything—
She stopped herself from this line of thinking because why the hell was she even considering helping out with your farm when she, in fact, hated dirt?
"She also told me how you stepped up and helped her," Emily continued, her voice pulling Haley back to the present moment. She felt Emily's hand pat her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "I saw she's well-cleaned up. I'm proud of you, sis."
Haley forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. I'm not proud of what I did, Em.
*****
Summer 10
The sky was painted with hues of pink and orange as Haley sat alone on the shore, the gentle sound of waves lapping against the sand providing a soothing rhythm to her troubled thoughts. She had come here seeking solace, the ocean always offering her a sense of peace in times of distress.
The events yesterday had bothered her more than she had let on. She convinced herself you'd understand why she reacted the way she did but a part of herself thinks she should apologize.
But as stubborn as she is, she instead spent the whole day sulking, which is what she did.
She embraced her knees closer to her chest, fingers brushing the bracelet adorning her wrist. It was her great-grandma's, a delicate piece of jewelry passed down through generations adorned in gold and pearl on the middle part. Her grandmother has given it to her instead of her mom because she'd rather wear luxurious things than some hand-me-down jewelry. But Haley loved them, and it's probably the only piece of jewelry she'd ever wear aside from the shell necklace she was wearing now.
It was a ritual of sorts for her, wearing the bracelet whenever she felt sad and alone. It's as if wearing it made her feel like her grandma was with her at this very moment, comforting her.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realize her bracelet had slipped from her wrist. It wasn't until she reached to adjust it that she felt its absence.
"Oh, no..."
With trembling hands, she combed through the sand, her movements growing more frantic with each passing moment. Her eyes scanned the water's edge, fearing the worst as she desperately sought any glimmer of gold amidst the grains of sand.
No, no... impossible. She made sure she was far enough from the water for that specific reason.
An hour passed with no sign of the precious heirloom, and Haley felt tears welling up in her eyes as desperation threatened to consume her. She practically combed the whole beach for it and still no signs of the bracelet.
She couldn't help but slump back to the sand. She's feeling everything too much.
She's such a useless piece of shit. She couldn't even kept an important heirloom. How the hell can she even keep someone like you in her life?
Everyone's right. She's way up high in the clouds that everything she touches crumbles within her fingertips.
The tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and a sob is rising on her throat.
And just before a tear fell from her eyes, a hand shot up and grabbed her by the shoulder.
She looked up and met a pair of gray eyes staring into her own. The grayish color of your eyes is stark and deep and seemed a little bluish from the illumination of the sun. It almost looked like the sky during spring or the ocean seen from a cruising ship as a cold tundra threatened to ruin the quiet solitude of the season. Your eyes telltale thousands of untold stories with every blink, stories too ambiguous, too dark for any of them to understand. Though not dark enough to feed her thoughts of the midnight sea, of storms and drowning.
Calloused fingertips thumbed mascara stains from her cheeks with such gentleness Haley doesn't think she deserves.
"I'm here," you murmured. "What happened, Haley?"
"I l-lost it," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she struggled to hold back tears. "My bracelet... it's gone! I know I had it on when I got here... But now it's gone, Y/n and I can't find it anywhere..."
She couldn't help the sob that escaped her as she burrows closer into you. She had probably stained your shirt with expensive make-up and salty tears but she didn't care as she dug her face deeper into your collar bone further and sucks a shaky breath.
"Shh," you soothed, sturdy arms wrapped around her tightened instinctively. "I'll go find it, don't worry."
"I'll never find another one like it..."
"I'm really sorry..." she felt you murmur against her hair. "I'm sure it's just around here somewhere."
"...maybe it'll wash up on another shore," she hiccuped between sobs. "I can't bear to think of it at the bottom of the ocean."
"We'll find it, okay?" you assured her, and Haley swore her heart stopped beating when you planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "Stay here. We're not leaving until we find your bracelet."
****
And truth be told you did find it.
After what seemed like an eternity of combing through the sand, Haley's eyes lit up as she spotted the familiar-looking bracelet in your hands.
With a smile so bright it rivaled the sun, you approached her.
"You found it!" she cheered as she run towards you, hopping from the sand and straight to your arms.
You weren't deterred by this and proceeded to secure your arms around her to prevent her from falling.
"Careful there, we don't want to drop it again, do we?" You barked out a laugh but Haley was quick to recognize the grunt of pain in them.
"Yoba, I'm sorry! I forgot you're still wounded!" Haley made a move to let you go but you weren't having any of it. If anything, you hold her tighter. Haley couldn't help but let out a laugh as well as she wrapped her arms around your neck just as firmly. "Thank you so much, Y/n. You're a lifesaver."
"You're welcome," you murmured against her chest. "Here, I'll help you wear it."
You gently set her down, much to her disappointment, and began to fasten the bracelet around her wrist, your actions filled with care and tenderness.
"Thank you, Y/n. Really," she murmured softly. "You're always there whenever I needed you and all you get as a thank you is me being... a bitch to you. I'm sorry."
You frowned. "You're not a... 'b' word. Far from it."
"'B' word,"she scoffed, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips "What are you, twelve?"
"Hey!" you protested in mock indignation. "I can cuss. I just don't want to use it around you. I don't want to get used to it."
Haley's gaze softened drastically. If you keep this kind of consistency around her then Haley's bound to fall hard on her back. And since it's with you, you'd probably made your way to ensure she'll be falling in a pile of pillows and flowers. You're thoughtful like that.
"I'm sorry for giving you that gift yesterday..." you started after a moment of silence. "Let me finish first," you interrupted gently when you saw her mouth open to speak. "I just... prismatic shards are rare to find and I wanted to give it to you because I thought it's something you'd like to photograph."
You took her hand in yours, a tender gesture that made Haley's heart skip a beat, her cheeks flushing slightly at the warmth of your touch. The soft morning light bathed the shoreline in a golden hue, casting long shadows across the sand as gentle waves lapped against the shore.
"But then I realized how it may have looked like to you, and I'm sorry I made you feel that way."
"Y/n..."
"So I like to try again." Without further explanation, you strode towards the boat beside Elliot's cabin, your steps confident and purposeful, and produced a bouquet of—wait, are those sunflowers?
"No way!" she sputtered as she tried to fight the grin threatening to spill on her face. You're not supposed to look this dashing walking towards her with a bouquet in hand. It's unfair!
"Yes way." you grinned at her as you handed her the flowers, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I hope I'm forgiven."
"I'm supposed to be the one saying sorry, you dunce!" Haley playfully slapped your shoulders before accepting them. "They're beautiful, Y/n! These are my absolute favorite! Thank you."
"No worries. And if you're free you can take a look at them at my farm."
"You planted them?" Now that she had mentioned it, it sounded like a stupid question. Of course, you planted them yourself, where else can you get these flowers?
But as usual, being the kind and patient person that you are, you only beamed at her and nodded. "Yep! I planted a whole yard."
"For real?"
"For real," you affirmed, your smile widening at her incredulous expression.
"But why? I mean compared to other crops I'm sure sunflowers aren't that profitable."
You shrugged again, your expression softening. "Eh, I wasn't aiming for the profit. I was aiming for your smile."
****
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A/n: my toes are curling while I wrote this, I hope you felt the same. Anyway, the bouquet of sunflowers isn't the same bouquet that makes Haley your girlfriend. It's just a regular ol' bouquet our farmer has personally crafted because she's a simp for our queen but just too oblivious to see it. Sorry for the delay, I had just finished my clinical recently so I was busy the whole month of April. Hope y'all like this one!
P.S. comments are much appreciated!
THANK YOU FOR 2500 LIKES! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST, SERIOUSLY.
taglist:
@joordynn
@taliiiaasteria
@iluvwomen01
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eemamminy-art · 1 month ago
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wip wednesday!!!
I was tagged by @lilas !! I'm always working on a zillion things so the hardest part is picking which thing(s) to share haha
No pressure tags: @henarikat @4th-make-quail @fuerrziah @phillypumpkin @oorangesoda @gothgarbageboy @fishyfarms @theasnewgroove @benjineedssleep @usernamemybeloathed @halixius @hullygeee @starskullz -- and anyone else who sees this and wants to share something!
This is the main thing I'd really like to finish this month:
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I feel like I need to mess with the pose a little, particularly Sebastian's legs... dude is tall in my version but I fear he's displacing his hips
also some year of the otp wips for the next three months!
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And under the cut I'll post a writing snippet! It's a chapter much later in my fic, chapter 65 currently if I don't keep ADDING CHAPTERS 😩😩😩 I don't think this bit reveals anything about the plot, it's a scene where Sebastian is really fucked up and turns to Mal because he has nowhere else to go:
“Are you alone?” Sebastian asked quickly. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, it’s just me here,” Mallory admitted. “Would you like to come in?”
“No, can you just come outside?” Sebastian asked hurriedly. “I want to be able to smoke while we talk.”
“Yeah, sure,” Mallory agreed, slipping on his shoes and a light hoodie before he stepped out onto the porch to meet Sebastian.
“I don’t know who else to turn to,” Sebastian admitted bitterly as he sat down on the porch steps, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his pockets. “And even though I know I don’t deserve it, you’ve always been good to me.”
The metal flicked as he spun the wheel of the lighter, blowing away the smoke of the first hurried drag of his cigarette in the opposite direction of Mallory as he pocketed the pack and lighter once again.
Mallory sat beside him, taking care to make sure that there was still ample space between them, his back pressed into the wooden railings of the deck. His long legs cascaded down the length of the steps, while Sebastian pulled his knees close to himself, his own equally long legs kinked up like a dead spider. One knee bounced anxiously, the wood creaking beneath them.
“Where's your boyfriend anyway?” Sebastian asked suddenly, looking around nervously as if Alex were lurking nearby waiting to ambush him. “I thought for sure he would have been here, he’s always with you.”
Only the orange and pink fading light of sunset greeted him, the silhouettes of distant fruit trees and the chicken coop which had gone quiet sat on the horizon unassumingly. A few yards away, the creek trickled and splashed lightly, and insects hummed and sang their usual songs to usher in the summer evening.
“It’s Sunday,” Mallory said simply. “He’s at home, watching sports with his grandpa like always.”
“Oh. Of course,” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I wonder what it’s like to have a family who gives a shit about you.”
Mallory frowned knowingly, making Sebastian wince. How was he so good at fucking things up? It was a talent, truly.
“Sorry,” Sebastian muttered. “I know you’ve had it rough too.”
“Maru cares about you,” Mallory reminded. “She told me so. She wishes she was closer to you.”
“She does?” Sebastian croaked, compressing himself into a somehow even smaller ball of skinny limbs. “More things I just keep fucking up, I guess.”
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andvys · 1 year ago
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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.
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Chapter seven ⭐︎ Got a feeling your electric touch, could fill this ghost town up with life
Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact. mentions of sex, mentions of unrequited feelings, sexual tension, reader teasing Steve sexually, not giving away anything else
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: After you and Steve cross a line, you are the one to take things to a whole new level — driving Steve insane with your never ending teasing.
Word count: 7.4k+
Author’s note: I know you keep yelling at me but anyways -- shoutout to @hellfire--cult for helping me with this, especially the uh last part hehe.
Also, @prettyboyeddiemunson talked about a little crossover thing, and I love her girl in gods & monsters so she's making a little appearance here for Eddie hehe, all credits go to my bestie of course, the character belongs to her! If you haven't read the story yet, go check it out, it's one of my faves!
Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter
Staring up at the ceiling, Steve sinks deeper into his pillows, finding more comfort in his bed than usual, he takes a deep breath as he runs his hand over his face. He should feel content, knowing that he’s got the day off but instead he feels tense and frustrated in a way he had never felt before. 
His mind could be anywhere right now, he could think about the new tapes he stacked up at work last night, he could think about the show he watched before he went to bed, he could think about the mixtape Eddie had made for him, he could think about the girl that so obviously tried to flirt with him at work the other day, his mind could take him to any place, his imagination could be limitless but no, his mind is somewhere it shouldn’t be, his mind is with you. 
Nothing he does, nothing he tries to think about can drag his thoughts away from you. You occupy every space of his mind, reminding him of how much control you had taken over him ever since you both crossed a line that changed things between you both. 
Steve may have been the one who started it at all, but you are the one who took the game to a whole new level. 
The little accident in his kitchen that happened weeks ago, was only the start of it all. 
Steve wasn’t exactly subtle when he kept checking you out before the fiasco with the broken lever, and he wasn’t subtle with his touches either. He was treading on thin ice, he knew that, he knew that his slight teasing could have easily backfired if you reacted differently but it didn’t, and your reactions were everything that he was hoping for. You grew flustered, you started blushing, you stuttered and you looked at him the way he was hoping you would. 
But, what he didn’t expect was for you to tease him back, especially in a way that had him blushing, stuttering, and staring at you in shock. 
You were so innocent and shy at first, doing everything as subtly as possible. It started with gentle touches on his arm or his hand, soft whispers during dinner whenever he sat beside you, or long eye contact. Then, you realized just how much power you had over him and things quickly developed into something more, something so much deeper.
Your teasing was no longer innocent and your shyness seemed to have slipped away more and more, little by little. 
The look in your eyes was no longer a shy one whenever you looked at each other. There was a fire behind your eyes that he had never seen before. The smirk that tugged at your lips wasn’t the same one you usually looked at him with, it was different, mischievous, and very suggestive – a little too suggestive for someone like you because if someone else had looked at him the way you do, he’d think that they’re flirting but you don’t do that and certainly not with him. 
The only explanation for your behavior is that you are teasing him, playing with him just the way he did with you but not because you want him. He started something that night when Hopper and Joyce announced their engagement. It was harmless at first, his teasing was light and playful, he loved to see those sweet reactions of yours but Steve didn’t know that it was a dangerous game that he had started, he didn’t know that he’d be playing with fire the moment he’d touch you. 
Because you are far from harmless, and your teasing is not light and playful in the slightest. If it was, he wouldn’t be feeling like this right now; frustrated, agitated and filled with pent up emotions that he can’t even make out in his own head. 
He closes his eyes again as a groan falls from his lips, he shakes his head at himself, cursing inwardly for thinking about no one other than you. 
Has it always been that way? 
Have you always been on his mind? 
Or is it something new?
An unspoken deal was made between the both of you when you two started this. There are no rules, just a winner and a loser – whoever breaks first loses and so far, it seems like Steve won’t even get close to winning, even though he was the one to start it all so confidently. 
You clearly have taken over, because the moment you looked at him with innocent big eyes and a pout on your lips while pressing your chest against his arm when you tried to squeeze past him, your boobs nearly spilling over your cute little top, your voice sounding raspy from all the weed you had smoked that night, he was done for. 
It wasn’t the first time that a girl had done something like this to him, plenty of girls have given him those innocent eyes, have pressed their boobs against him, in much less clothing… but something about you drives him especially crazy. Maybe it’s the fact that you both hate or dislike each other or maybe it’s the fact that he is just extremely frustrated – sexually frustrated. Maybe that is the only reason why you get to him in that way… why he feels the want to continue this little game or why he feels the intense need to fuck you and get you out of his mind, once and for all. 
Another groan falls from his lips when he remembers that Robin bailed on him after she called him in the middle of the night, telling him that she wouldn’t make it to lunch today, meaning that it will be just Eddie, you and him. 
A part of him even looks forward to seeing you, the other part doesn’t because he already knows how he will feel afterwards, while you will probably go home feeling satisfied after teasing the hell out of him. 
Every time before you leave, you look at him as though you had done nothing wrong, which sometimes leads him to believe that you’re not even aware of all the teasing you torture him with and that he was the only one playing this game, all this time. 
Steve drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom, turning on the shower so the water can heat up while he brushes his teeth. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, rolling his eyes at the mess on his head, he brings his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it. 
As he thinks about what to wear, he gets lost in his thoughts, thinking about you, wondering what you will wear. Are you going to wear a dress? Another short skirt to drive him crazy with? 
He rolls his eyes, cursing inwardly at himself for thinking about you again. 
He needs to get this out of his system. 
He needs to get you out of his system. 
And there is only one way to do it and he knows it, but he’s not even sure where your feelings stand, if you’d be down for what he’s longing for or if you’d laugh in his face if he even tried to suggest something like it. – Your reaction would probably be the latter, and just the thought of it is enough to bring the grumpiness out in him. 
He begrudgingly starts getting ready, all while his mind keeps him occupied with thoughts about you. 
He doesn’t know what caused all of this, he doesn’t know how it happened, how his mind is incapable of thinking about anything or anyone but you these days. 
He feels as though he had been cursed. You are haunting him, in his mind and even in his dreams, and seeing you all the time doesn't help at all… and yet, he wouldn’t want it any other way because this little thing between you both makes him feel a thrill that has been missing in his life. 
By the time Steve pulls up into the parking lot at the diner, you and Eddie are already there.
You’re sitting on the hood of his car, hands folded in your lap, sunglasses low on your nose, a smile on your lips as you’re nodding along to whatever Eddie is telling you. You look good… too good for just a simple breakfast at the diner. 
He parks the car and after a few deep breaths, he pulls out the keys and gets out, trying not to stare at you as he walks towards the two of you. 
“Hey guys.”
Eddie turns around, a mocking smile on his face, he crosses his arms over his chest, “took you long enough, big boy.”
Steve chuckles, scratching the back of his neck as he eyes you from the side, “yeah uh, I missed my alarm this morning and Robin woke me up in the middle of the night to bail on us, took me a while to fall back asleep after that.” 
You groan at his words, sliding off the car, you smooth down your jean shorts and push your sunglasses up into your hair, “so she keeps ditching us.” 
“She’s in love, Sweetheart,” Eddie winks at you, wiggling his brows, “she’s got better things to do.” 
You roll your eyes at his words and look over Eddie’s shoulder, meeting his eyes for the first time today. You lick your lips as your eyes move down up and down his body. 
“Hey, Lego head.”
Lego head. The silly nickname doesn’t quite suit the look in your eyes. 
“Blondie,” he nods. 
Eddie chuckles, playing with the keys in his hand as he nudges his head into the direction of the diner, “let’s go eat, I’m starving.” 
“You’re always starving, Eddie,” you snort as you are the first to start walking. 
“Yeah man, you’re always eating and you’re still starving,” Steve chuckles, walking beside Eddie, “you’re like a raccoon or something.” 
You look over your shoulder, a smile on your lips, “oh he’s definitely a little raccoon.” 
Eddie’s lips part in surprise, he looks between you both, “did you just… agree on something?” 
You scoff at his words, turning back around without another word while Steve looks down, shaking his head. The weight of Eddie’s arm around his shoulder makes him look back up, though not at you, but at Eddie, whose eyes are filled with amusement. 
“You’re not trying to steal my girl are you?” 
Steve doesn’t know what is about the words ‘my girl’ but he feels himself clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth. By the tone in Eddie’s voice, he should know that he is only teasing, but apparently his mind isn’t able to comprehend that right now. 
He feels a fire in his chest that he can’t even explain, one that only grows even more intense a few moments later, when a guy who was just leaving the diner, steps aside for you after opening the door. 
Steve can’t see your face or the looks you are giving to the man who is staring you up and down with nothing but hunger in his eyes, but by the way you walk past him without even turning your head or looking back, he knows that you’re giving him nothing. And yet, it doesn’t stop his anger when the guy keeps checking you out, shamelessly, following you with his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looks at your ass. You’re not even aware of it as it seems and it wouldn’t be the first time. 
Steve saw you at Big Buy’s the other day, you were strolling around the aisles in your cute little dress, throwing food items into your basket, completely unaware of his eyes on you. He couldn’t look away from you… even when everything you did was riling him up, whether it was the way you bend down to reach for something on the lowest shelf, the way you touched your hair or the way your dress was moving by your sides as you walked. As he caught himself staring at you, at your effortless beauty, he knew that he couldn’t be the only one – and his suspicions were confirmed, when he looked into the other aisle only to see another guy, not past his 30s staring at you, something that you weren’t aware of in the slightest. He also caught himself rolling his eyes and clenching his fists… but that’s something that he easily ignored. 
Unlike today, he can’t even help it when he passes the guy who can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you with a deathly glare on his features, feeling anger for how shameless and disrespectful his ogling is, it’s disgusting. 
“Perv,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, glaring the same way Steve does. 
The guy doesn’t even spare them a single glance, moving past them after taking another long… too long look at you before he walks out of the diner. 
Steve and Eddie roll their eyes, following you to the table that you have already picked, completely unaware of what just happened. 
You sit down in the booth, sliding over to the window. You put your sunglasses down on the table and instantly reach for the menu. 
Eddie sits down beside you, while Steve takes the seat across from you. He tries not to look at you, sinking deeper into the leather seats as he reaches for the menu, as well. 
“What are you guys doing afterwards?” Eddie asks. 
“Nothing, just gonna go back home and watch movies or something,” Steve mumbles, peeking over his menu and at you, to find you looking at him already. 
“Perfect, why don’t you two have a little bonding moment and have a movie day together?” Eddie grins, wiggling his brows at the both of you. 
Steve sees the way you scrunch your nose up at his words, scoffing and shaking your head at him like it’s the most ridiculous thing that you have ever heard, like it’s something that you don’t even want to think about. 
“We’re getting along just fine, no need for bonding time.” 
Right. Steve had been so focused on all your teasing, he almost forgot about how much you two are supposed to dislike each other. 
“Exactly,” Steve winks at Eddie, “Blondie and I are doing just fine.”
He looks back at you, his eyes meet yours, you raise your brows at him, smirking as you tilt your head. 
“Are we?” You ask softly as you blink at him. 
Steve leans closer, licking his lips, he opens his mouth to speak but Eddie cuts him off, clapping his hands. 
“Yeah, you are getting along! Now shut your mouths before you start a fight.”
You both snort at the metalhead, leaning back in your seats, neither of you saying a word, you both just look back at your menu’s, focusing on that… for now. 
The busy waitress stops by your table, telling you that she will be back to take your order in a minute, seemingly catching Eddie off guard after placing her hand on his shoulder before she scurries away again. 
He no longer looks at the menu, he finds something more interesting to look at. 
Steve’s eyes flash with amusement as he looks over at his friend, whose eyes are wide and cheeks are red, an awestruck expression all over his face. He can’t help but nudge your foot under the table, tilting his head towards Eddie when you look up with a frown.
You turn to your best friend. Your features soften, eyes flashing with surprise, you bump your shoulder into his, clearing your throat, “hey Ed’s, before you fuck this up again, don’t you want to tell Lego head about what happened?” You ask, snickering. 
Eddie blinks, turning back to you, “h-huh?” 
“You have a man to give you his opinion of what you did wrong.” 
Steve furrows his brows, looking between your amused face and his confused one, when Eddie’s eyes flash with realization and he groans in annoyance. 
“Sweetheart, he’s gonna be on my side.”
“What opinion?” Steve asks. 
You turn back to your menu, scoffing at Eddie and rolling your eyes before you glance at him, “you’ll want to kill him.”
Eddie groans, shaking his head, his curls bouncing a little. 
“You’ll understand, Harrington. You’re a man. She is… looking at it from a feminine side of things.”
Steve gives you a quizzical look, almost laughing at the exasperated look on your face. 
“Alright shoot,” he says to his friend.
Eddie presses his lips together, taking a deep breath before he folds his hand on the table and looks at him with squinted eyes, “okay so, I saw this girl at the hideout yesterday, Jeff told me to go talk to her, you know… so I did. We started talking, she was funny and all that, and you know, I always like to be a little mysterious.” 
You snort, making Eddie roll his eyes again, “shut it, Sweetheart.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Anyways,” Eddie sighs, glaring at you, “so, when she asked me if I was there with a girl, I just said ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’” 
Steve draws back a little, raising his brows and pursing his lips, looking perplexed. 
“Uh huh..” You murmur, keeping your eyes on Steve. 
“Eddie,” Steve shakes his head, “just uh… did it… what happened then?”
Eddie sighs again, “well, she rolled her eyes and left, but you know, she may not have a sense of humor so… it’s whatever.” 
“Munson, that girl had a sense of humor, you just have a lack of fucking tact,” Steve says, shaking his head at his friend, in pure disbelief. 
Eddie’s jaw drops at his words, while a laugh falls from your lips as you turn to look at your best friend with nothing but satisfaction on your face. 
“Told you.”
“Seriously!?” Eddie gasps, frowning. “Harrington, you were always mean to girls in the past, and you still slept with them!” 
Steve scoffs, shaking his head. 
“That was in high school, Munson! You are a grown up now, why the hell would you do that? Just tell her you were there alone or with friends!” 
Eddie’s jaw drops again, he slumps back in his seat, throwing his hands up. 
“I just thought that a mysterious persona would work better than… you know… bubbly, happy, go lucky guy, desperate to get his dick wet persona…” He whines, “no one wants to fuck me.” 
You giggle, hiding your face behind the menu. 
Steve’s lips curl into a smile, he points a finger at you, “I’m gonna have to agree with Blondie, again, you’re a fucking idiot.” 
“Don’t worry, Eds. I’ll help you,” you say, smiling, “I’ll teach you how to flirt.” 
“How are you gonna do that, Blondie? Do you even know how to flirt?” Steve snorts. 
You may be a tease, a good one at that, but a flirt? No. You’re too rough, too mean, too harsh to be a flirtatious person, you can barely hold a conversation with someone without going off at them about something, you wouldn’t even know where to begin with, unlike him. 
He is a flirty person, he has charm, he knows how to wrap a girl around his finger with just a few simple words. 
He doesn’t know what to expect, but he surely didn’t expect for you to smile at him, to shrug and give him nothing more than a glance that tells him how wrong he is. 
After the waitress comes back to take your order, leaving Eddie a blushing mess, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, only to come back with your hair now free from the scrunchie that kept it together and another coat of gloss on your lips, something that instantly catches Steve’s eyes. 
You place your elbows on the table, putting your chin into your palm, blinking at him innocently. 
The look in your eyes tells him that you’re up to no good, but he can’t look away. He leans closer to the table, licking his lips as he raises his brows at you. Both of you are unaware of Eddie, who is basically drooling over the pretty waitress, too distracted to notice the looks you are giving to each other.
“The waitress, is she from Hawkins? Never seen her in my fucking life,” Eddie murmurs in awe. 
Steve turns his head to look at the woman, a gasp nearly tears from his lips when he feels your foot on his calf and you pull his attention back on you, he stares at you with wide eyes. 
Smirking in satisfaction, you pull your foot back and look down at your nails.
“I-I don’t know, Munson, not familiar.” He stutters without looking away. 
Steve knew that this would happen, that you would tease him in one way or another, but he didn’t know yet, just where you would take this today. 
When your milkshakes arrive at the table, both you and Steve watch Eddie with amusement as he stares up at the blonde waitress, eyes moving back and forth between her face and her chest, not knowing what to look at first. 
His eyes get stuck on the dainty cross necklace around her neck, seemingly growing more intrigued by her, his dark eyes meeting her blue ones. 
Steve narrows his eyes at you, almost laughing when you look at him, at the same time. 
Eddie’s cheeks are even more flushed than before now, his eyes wide, lips parted. The girl presses her lips together, trying not to giggle at the look on his face. 
“Your food will come right up,” she says, looking between you all before her eyes meet Eddie’s again as she takes the last milkshake off the tray, putting it on the table and sliding it towards him. 
He clears his throat, wrapping his fingers around the glass before she can even let go. 
Both you and Steve watch the way she smiles down at Eddie and at the fingers brushing against hers. 
“Thanks, Sweetheart,” he smirks at her, surprising both you and Steve with the confidence in his voice. 
The girl smiles in surprise, before she turns around, walking away from the table but not without giving Eddie another glance, his lips curl into a bigger smirk and he waves his fingers at her.
Your mouth drops and so does Steve’s, both of you, looking at each other again, with stunned and puzzled expressions on your faces.
“Dude,” Steve mumbles, slowly turning to face his friend, “tell me… how did you fuck this up again… at the hideout, I mean?” 
Eddie only looks back when the girl disappears into the kitchen, “the girl at the hideout just wasn’t the right one.”
“Oh, and this one is?” Steve chuckles, pointing his thumb to where the waitress walked off to. 
“Yeah,” Eddie says, dreamily. “She’s so…”
“Hot?” You ask as you reach for your milkshake, grabbing the red and white straw between your thumb and your pointer finger.
“Gorgeous,” he blushes. 
Your lips tug into a smile, you bring your hand up to his face, pinching his cheek, “aw, look at you.” 
He swats your hand away, snorting. 
“I thought you didn’t know how to flirt, you’re doing such a good job, keep it up, Eds.” 
“What can I say, I’m full of surprises,” Eddie winks at you before he looks away, eyes searching for the waitress again. 
“He doesn’t need your help after all,” Steve laughs, tilting his head, “not that you’d be much of a help anyways.” 
You squint your eyes at him, shrugging at his words, and you surprise him with your silence. 
He watches the way you lean forward, placing your elbow on the table as you finally wrap your lips around the straw. Your eyelashes flutter and you tap your red fingernails against the glass, a moan falling from your lips. 
“Mmmh, that’s so good.” 
Steve nearly jumps from his seat, the sound making his stomach flutter, he clenches his fists, staring at you with wide eyes. 
There’s no smirk on your lips, no mischief behind your eyes, nothing but innocence is etched into your features – you’re not even teasing him, it was nothing but a genuine reaction to the sweet drink. And it’s something that frustrates him even more. 
You reach for the maraschino cherry next, popping it into your mouth before you lick the whipped cream off your finger. 
Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, he shifts in his seat, trying to look away from your lips… that are still wrapped around your finger but he can’t, his eyes are stuck, his body is stuck, he can’t move, all that he can do is watch you.
And then, you look towards him, eyes flashing with surprise when you find him staring. He hopes to see you blushing but instead, a smirk tugs at your lips as you release your finger, scooping up some more whipped cream before you bring it up to your lips. 
And this is where the real teasing begins. 
Steve nearly gasps when you hold eye contact this time as you lick the cream off your fingers, letting out another, softer moan. 
Holy fuck. 
Steve’s eyes darken, he swallows harshly, clenching his jaw in anger. 
Eddie is too busy with his own milkshake, ogling the waitress as she talks to customers at the bar, completely unaware of how you both eyefuck each other, the way Steve can’t take his eyes off of you. 
By the look in your eyes, Steve knows how much fun you’re having with this, you know how much it frustrates him, you know what you’re doing to him. 
And as though, all of this wasn’t bad enough already. You then accidentally drop some of the whipped cream on your chest. 
“Oops,” you purr, giving him an innocent look through your lashes. 
The warmth in his chest only grows more intense, spreading across his whole body, filling him up with need and a deep hunger that keeps growing and growing, one that can only be satiated in one way – he needs you, just once, he needs to have you, he needs to taste you, he needs to fuck you, he needs you out of his system for good. 
He had enough of this, of all this teasing. 
He would fuck you right there on this table if he could.
But, despite your teasing, despite the look in your eyes, despite your little act, he is still not sure about where you stand. He knows how you react to his touches, to his teasing, but a part of him fears rejection if he does make a move. 
You are barely even friends, and the thought of making a fool of himself, in front of you, makes him want to crawl into a hole. 
You are both playing this game, but while he knows what he wants, he doesn’t know what you want. 
Maybe you just enjoy this little back and forth, waiting for him to break first before you move along and pretend like nothing ever happened. Maybe you don’t even expect anything to come out of this. Maybe you don’t even want him the way he wants you. Maybe you just like to tease him because you know that it's riling him up. 
So what is left for him to do? 
Stop this game and move on? Or… keep going and wait for something more to happen? 
He’s had enough of your teasing, but he’s far from losing, there is still some power left in him… some. 
He won’t sit here and let you get away with this. 
So despite the uncomfortable strain in his pants, despite the burning in his skin, he plasters a smirk on his blushing face and reaches forward, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he mimics you, he grabs his glass and he reaches for the cherry on his milkshake, purposely dropping some whipped cream on the table as he puts the cherry in his mouth. He chews slowly, licking his finger tips while he watches you slowly, the way your smile slowly falls, the way your eyes widen a little. 
He bites back the smirk as he scoops up the whipped cream off the table, with both his middle finger and ring finger, bringing them up to his lips, he looks back into your wide eyes as he places them into his mouth, watching the way you break eye contact to look at his lips. 
Your throat bobs as you swallow, tightening your grip on your glass as you watch the way he licks his fingers slowly. 
He can see the way you shift in your seat, the way your breathing gets heavier and your eyes darken, the way you lick your lips and how flustered you get as you look back into his eyes. 
You are pressing your thighs together, he just knows you are. 
He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, smirking at you in satisfaction while you still sit there, frozen in place. He breaks eye contact, looking down at his vanilla milkshake as though nothing happened.
“You gotta give this one a ride home, Harrington,” Eddie mumbles, pointing at you without tearing his eyes away from the bar, “I think I’m gonna stay here a little longer.”
You clear your throat. 
Steve expects you to be more… nervous, to hear your voice wavering, but instead, it sounds confident, filled with yet more teasing as you open your mouth to speak. 
“Oh, I would love a ride home with Stevie,” you smile at him innocently as your foot touches his calf again, but this time, it doesn’t just stay there, you move it up, just a little, but enough to nearly make him choke on his drink. 
“So you can keep getting on his nerves?” Eddie chuckles. 
You lick your lips, smirking as you nod your head slowly, “exactly.”
Yeah, you don’t really do this anymore, getting on each other’s nerves, you both have found something so much better and much more interesting to do to one another. 
“You know I always win, Blondie,” Steve says so very confidently, like he isn’t slowly losing his mind because his want for you is beginning to consume him entirely. 
You tilt your head at him as you bite your lip, the sleeve of your blouse slowly sliding down your shoulder, making him gulp. 
“Do you?” You ask, batting your lashes at him, provoking him with the look on your face. 
He bites the insides of his cheeks, nodding at your words, “mhmm.”
A breathy chuckle falls from your lips, you shrug and lean back, “we’ll see.”
Eddie doesn’t know that you’re talking about something entirely else now, but he couldn’t care less, when he’s got his eyes set on someone that stole his breath away. 
He uses every second he gets with the pretty waitress to flirt, whether it’s through glances when she passes by or through his charming words when she delivers the food to the table. 
He happily eats his burger and his fries, eyes following the blonde wherever she goes, completely blind to what’s happening right next to and in front of him. 
You and Steve keep staring at one another, eyes filled with intense need, hands itching to reach out to the other. 
Steve feels the longing inside his chest, intensifying as the minutes go by, driving him insane. It gets to a point where he can’t wait to get the hell out of this diner so he can go home and take care of himself. He is not sure if he had ever felt this desperate before – he surely never had to rush home to jerk off, but that’s what he feels like now, like he’s going to explode if he sits here any longer. 
The moment you decide on leaving, Steve nearly throws himself out of his seat, feeling no patience left inside of him. 
“I got this covered,” Eddie announces, pulling out his wallet as he gets out of the booth so you can get out, “you two can go.” 
You grab your sunglasses and get up, putting your hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “I see what you’re trying to do, you wanna get rid of us so you can flirt with the hot blonde.” 
He wiggles his brows, smirking at you proudly, “gotta score a date with my dream girl.” 
Steve chuckles, grabbing the car keys from his pocket, he smirks at Eddie, “just don’t mess it up again.” 
Eddie shakes his head, “nah never.” 
“Alright casanova, call me and tell me how it went.” 
“Call you?” He frowns, “I’ll be there to raid your kitchen tonight, sweets.” 
You step away from him, brushing past Steve, “alright raccoon, I’ll see you later then.” 
“See ya,” he chuckles. 
With a sigh, Steve looks at Eddie, playing with his keys and giving him a nod. 
“Good luck, man.”
“Thanks,” Eddie winks, “and don’t kill each other!” He jokes, ignoring the weird looks he’s given from an older couple two booths away. 
“Don’t worry, we’re not at that point anymore.” 
You’re at a whole different point now, one that doesn’t make him angry, not exactly, just one that drives him up the wall. 
Steve stares at your hips, at the way your shorts hug your body so nicely, the way your ass looks so good in them. He forces his eyes away, feeling a little startled when you turn around to face him before you open the door, a friendly smile appears on your face and he realizes that you aren’t looking at him, but at Eddie’s ‘dream girl’, waving goodbye at the girl before you step out. 
He feels the sudden need to talk, hoping that you won’t tease him any further in the car, because if you do, he isn’t sure if he will manage to control himself the way he did, the whole time at the diner. 
He rubs the back of his neck, walking down the steps, he clears his throat. 
“Do you think he will manage to score a date?”
You slow down as you put your sunglasses on, “yeah, I’m pretty sure he will.”
Steve chuckles, nodding. 
“She seems nice, and she’s pretty,” you say.
So are you. Steve thinks to himself. 
“She’s got the kind of blonde hair you wanted when you ruined your hair with the blonde dye, huh?”
Steve can’t see your eyes behind your sunglasses, but he can see the amused look on your features as your lips curl into a smile. 
He ignores the way it feels when you step closer to him, when your hand brushes against his knuckles, sending chills throughout his whole body. 
“Actually, I wanted it even lighter, and how would I know that the pictures on the box dye were lies, it said it lightens up any hair color to that specific color!” 
Steve laughs at you, “what color were you hoping for?” 
You shrug, stepping away from him again when you walk around his car to the passenger side. 
“I wanted like a Dolly Parton or uh… Heather Locklear kind of blonde.” 
He unlocks the car and opens his door, raising his brows at you, “wow, you should have gone to a hair salon, Blondie.”
You lift your sunglasses, rolling your eyes at him, “it was a spontaneous decision, I thought I could handle that myself, I’m definitely never touching hair dye again.”
“Just call me, next time,” he winks at you as he gets into the car, “I’m a pro at doing hair.” 
You laugh at him as you get in as well, “didn’t know you were a hairdresser, Harrington.” 
“They don’t call me ‘the hair’ for nothing.” 
“Oh wow. I wouldn’t trust you with my hair, who knows what color you’d dye my hair to.”
“Maybe I’d get it to the Dolly Parton blonde that you wanted.” 
“Yeah, right!” You scoff at him, “cause you’re such an expert!” 
A smile tugs at his lips, it almost feels normal, sitting here in his car with you, talking like this, it almost distracts him enough from the strong tension between you both, from the pull that is dragging him towards you, more and more. 
Despite the frustration that he feels from all your teasing, he cannot help but want to keep playing the little game. 
The sun is shining brightly, pulling down the sun visor won’t be enough – how convenient it is that he keeps his sunglasses in the glove compartment. He could ask you to get them but instead, he moves closer, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs before he places his hand on your knee as he reaches forward so he can get his ray-ban’s. 
Satisfaction rushes through him when he hears you sucking in a sharp breath. 
But, his longing intensifies when he gets a whiff of your perfume and feels how soft your skin actually is. 
He clearly never thinks things through, his little plans always backfire. 
The want to wrap his hand around your thigh and keep it there is so strong… so goddamn strong, but he pulls away begrudgingly, holding back the smirk when he feels your eyes on him. He puts the sunglasses on, and finally starts the car. 
Your silence surprises him, but he knows that it’s something that won’t stay for long. 
Hungry Like The Wolf by Duran Duran starts playing and Steve almost wants to laugh at the irony, this is exactly what he feels like right now, hungry like a fucking wolf, hungry for you. 
If you had been any other girl, he would’ve made a move on you, a long long time ago. He would have flirted more obviously, he would’ve taken your hand in his, he would’ve brushed your hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss you.
But you’re not just any girl, you’re… you. 
You love this little game, and no matter how flustered you get, no matter the looks you are giving him, he still struggles to read you, he still struggles to figure out whether you want what he wants or not. 
He is waiting for a sign, but it’s almost like he’s blind to anything you give to him. 
He holds the steering wheel tightly, keeping his other hand on the gearstick, dangerously close to your thigh. He keeps sneaking glances at you, at your soft skin, at the way you press your legs together, at the way your fingers play with the loose string on your shorts. 
Steve’s face grows hot, his heart beating faster in his chest. 
He almost feels relieved when your house comes into view, and he pulls up into your driveway. 
“So… what are you doing today?” You ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt, “besides having a movie day by yourself.” 
You turn your body towards him, not making any moves to get out of the car yet. 
“Uh… I don’t know,” he lies, his cheeks glowing red. 
He already knows what he’s gonna do the moment he walks through his front door. 
You take your sunglasses off, biting your lip as your eyes move up and down his body, making him shift uncomfortably, yet again. 
“Well, I’m going to lay out in the sun, in my new red bikini.” 
Steve’s eyes widen, and he almost starts drooling at the images that start forming in his mind. 
Images of you… half naked. 
“We should have a pool party at some point,” you smile, blinking at him as you start inching closer to him, looking down at his lips. 
“Uh huh…”
“But anyways, I should get going,” you sigh, catching him by surprise when you place your hand on his thigh, so dangerously close to where he needs you the most, “thanks for the ride, Stevie.” 
And as though that wasn’t bad enough. 
You almost cause his heart to stop beating, when your face is only inches away from him now, and you press your lips against his cheek, kissing him, completely shocking him, leaving him a stuttering mess. 
He lost all ability to speak, all he can do is stare at you, as his skin tingles and his heart races. 
You smirk at him, eying his red cheeks. 
“Who would’ve thought that Steve Harrington would ever blush for me,” you say smugly, before you pull away and get out of the car, giggles falling from your lips. Without another word, you close the door and walk away, looking over your shoulder one more time, still giggling. 
Fuck. 
His frustration turns into anger when the realization starts creeping in slowly. 
The smug look on your face, the smirk and your stupid giggles prove his point, that you did all of this not because you wanted him, but because you wanted to win this fucking game. 
That’s all it is, that’s all it ever was. 
A game. 
He doesn’t know what the feeling in his chest is, whether it’s the feeling of annoyance or rejection, but it only irritates him even further, especially when all he can think about is still you. 
You in your stupid red bikini, lying under the sun, looking pretty and hot… looking like someone he can never have, not even for a single night. 
He is angry, angry at himself for still wanting you, for needing you, for wishing that he could feel your bare body underneath him, for wishing to hear your moans, your voice calling out his name, your hands clinging to his body, fingers tugging at his hair. 
Despite the rejection, he feels his stupid jeans getting tighter, his dick straining against the fabric, making him feel uncomfortable and so needy to a point that the moment he gets home, he rushes upstairs and into the bathroom. 
He slams the door shut and presses his back against it, hastily unbuckling his belt, the clinking and his heavy breathing being the only sounds to fill the room… for now. He pushes down his boxers and his pants, just enough so he can pull his dick out – his tip is an angry red, already leaking with pre cum, he spits into his hand before he wraps his hand around his aching cock. 
That is all that it takes for a needy whimper to fall from his lips. 
He closes his eyes, throwing his head back against the door as he starts jerking off slowly. 
Images of you curse and bless his mind at the same time. 
He wonders what it would be like to feel your hand around his dick or what it would be like to feel your lips on his neck, your whispers in his ear as you take care of him. 
He furrows his brows, lips parting as his moans get louder and he begins to move his hand faster and faster, squeezing his eyes shut. 
He pictures you on your knees for him, your hands replaced by your lips as he shuts you up with his cock in your mouth, silencing you once and for all, while tears stream down your cheeks.
“Oh fuck…” Steve whimpers, getting lost in pleasure. 
He wanted nothing more than to bend you over the table when you started teasing him with the stupid whipped cream, but all he can think about now is you on your knees worshiping him. 
His muscles tighten as he increases the tempo, using his thumb to rub the slit as he imagines it being the tip of your tongue as you look at him with big and teary eyes. 
And he doesn’t know for how long he was imagining you like this, but it doesn’t matter because he is soon spilling in his hand, a loud groan escaping his lips as well as a shaky breath, the back of his head hitting the door as he tries to ease his breathing. 
Maybe three minutes passed, or twenty, but it didn’t matter. His cum is already on his hand and in your honor. 
But this didn’t satiate his hunger, nor his lust for you in the slightest. 
Nothing that he could possibly do will. 
He can imagine you and take care of himself all he wants, but it won’t change the way he wants you, the way he craves you. 
He knows that there is only one way to get rid of this.
Tomorrow he will put his frustration away. That’s all it is, frustration. He just needs to let it out. He needs to fucking breathe again. 
Yeah. Tomorrow. 
tagging friends and mutuals
@taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @maroon-cardigan @munson-mjstan @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles
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dumbkiri · 26 days ago
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𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 11
χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя
ησтє: apologies for the delay. next chapter will be in someone else's pov. can you guess who?
ρℓσт: you're not running away from anything anymore. you want to fight back.
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All you want to do is prepare your loved ones for your death. Leave behind a piece of you with them. The letters for Sloane and the sketches for Liam which you hid underneath his pillow for easier finding checked out for them. Regretfully a dagger for Violet Sorrengail, she earned it. You cannot find it in yourself to take away an achievement. 
For Xaden, Bodhi, Garrick and Imogen…you hope that the memories you made with them your first year was going to be enough. Second year is not worth remembering. The pain of being thrown aside sucked. Then only to be remembered because you don’t have much time left hurt. 
You looked into the sky, the sea of people washing by you in the midst of chaos soothed you into hoping. Despite your heart aching for more with your family. With Lenin. With Xaden. 
You hope that Liam will share the sketches between all of them. You did draw everyone’s dragons and you prayed Liam would cherish the hell out of the sketch of Lenin in his original form. 
You hope that Lenin will take care of himself and that he finds a new rider. Maybe a rider that will remind him of you will show up. Next year, two years or even five. It doesn’t matter how long to you, you just want him to bond to someone else. 
“You hear?”
Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked away from the clouds and at Imogen. She gave you a skeptical look and asked, “Our orders, did you catch them?” You shook your head, you didn’t hear anything besides the rush of the waves. The ocean of emotions from everyone that swayed your raft. She grabbed your hand and began dragging you back into the college. Again, this feeling…it felt like being lost out in the sea. Drifting in smooth waves with no sense of direction. 
It reminded you of deja vu. It also reminded you of how you felt in your vision, feeling everything and nothing all at the same time. 
“You’re so out of it right now. Come on!” Imogen tugged your arm and you picked up your pace to match her hurried one. 
“We’re going to Athebyne.”
Athebyne. Yes, this place fits perfectly to your end. It’s outside of the wards, no safety for anyone who dares to go beyond it. A death trap for you and your friends. 
“So start gathering your stuff for five days,” Imogen paused at her door then her eyes changed to a familiar color of purple. “Bring the daggers and the one you earned from that guy in your trials.” 
You raised an eyebrow, nonetheless you knew what she was talking about. Didn’t hurt to ask for certain though. “You mean the one from Garrick?” 
Imogen’s voice sounded different too. She nodded her head and said, “Yes, that one. It’s important that you do. Mine will give you the ability to shield and you haven’t awakened Sera’s, but it doesn’t mean it’s useless. Alani’s on the other hand is meh.”
“Rema, is that you?” Now the change in Imogen’s eyes made sense. The way she spoke to you reminded you so much of your strong headed sister of the covenant. 
“Yes, little one, now go. You don’t have enough time.” 
Then in a flash, the purple coloring in Imogen’s eyes went away and Imogen spoke to you as if nothing happened. “[Name]! Get your ass moving! Our dragons are already heading to the field!” 
Nodding your head along, you moved to run over to your room. Five days, huh? Athebyne sounds like a lot of familiar chaos. You gathered your three daggers and missed the feeling of Rema’s power. Again, earning that dagger is an achievement. Violet better treasure that weaponry. 
When you approached your door with your bag, a sudden pang stopped you. Your head hurts so damn much as you hold it with two shaky hands. It felt like something was splitting your skull open. 
“F-fuck, what’s…going o-on!” You groaned and fell to your knees with a loud thump. The sounds of boots running up and down the hall drowned out as other sounds rushed into your ears like rain falling, dragon roars and people shouting. 
It’s a vision! While you’re awake no less. 
You shut your eyes tightly and focused on the manifestation in your mind. 
..
“Stupid witch! You’re going to kill the both of us!” 
“That’s the fucking plan!”
“I’ll kill you before anything strikes me!” 
“Fuck you!”
..
As soon as the voices and vision came, it stopped immediately. Everything moved so fast, but you got the gist of the outcome. This one had been extremely different from all the rest of them. This one allowed Lenin to live for certain. But there was only one problem. 
Violet Sorrengail. 
From what you know, she cannot control her signet. And how can you even convince her to strike you and the venin with her lightning? She would never do it because of Xaden and Liam. Lenin won’t even communicate the idea to his father. 
Tairn. 
You can convince Tairn and he could make Violet do it. He will save Lenin from death if he can. You’re just a rider, riders die all the time. Dragons however should live longer than ten years. Tairn needs to chose his son over a rider. 
With a desperate hope, you pushed yourself off the floor and ran towards the flight field where multitude of dragons flew in and out. Then you spotted Tairn off to the side, no one near him just yet. Which means you have time to speak to him. 
Jogging over to him, you stopped a few feet away with your words stumbling out of your mouth. “Tairn, I come to you asking for a favor. But I’m afraid others will hear me. I apologize in advance for what I’m going to do, but I cannot wait.” 
Angling his head at you, Tairn growled at you. Although you paid no mind to his obvious threat to try anything. Then you closed your eyes and found a thread that hung from his soul. With careful hands you grabbed it and began speaking to him, like you two were bonded. 
“Pardon my-”
“You dare intrude on-” 
“This isn’t a bond, it’s only a temporary connection. I will let go as soon as I tell you what needs to be said. Lenin is in danger.” 
With the continued silence from him, you spoke on, “In a few days, your son will die if you do not heed my warning. Please, hear me out. All I want to do is save Lenin and you’re the only one who can save him.” 
You opened up your mind to the black dragon and sifted through the ten outcomes of your death. Each portraying a different end for you. Then you showed him the recent one and it brought you hope knowing that Lenin can be saved in this one. 
Tairn grumbled, “You have the ability to see the future and you want to change the course for my son. You are one brave human.” 
“A human that is going to die, no matter what. But Lenin doesn’t need to. I have seen ten outcomes and only one ensures that your son comes back to you and your mate for certain. I believe you have the ability to save him.” 
Then you showed him how. Tairn watched the flashes of pictures in his mind. He saw you fighting the wyvern with his son, saw you sacrifice yourself to save Deigh and his rider, watched you fall in the sky with a venin clinging onto you then the cause of your death. 
“No.” He growled. 
Slightly annoyed and pressed for time, you asked him, “Would you rather your son die with me? Smashing into land? Drowning in a lake being hounded by two wyvern? Torn apart by those creatures?” You showed him every death Lenin experienced with you. 
You pushed forward holding onto the thread tighter, driving the outcome of Lenin crashing into the lake with you clinging onto his wet scales. Wings thrashed against the water sending huge waves to the shore of everyone who watched in fear of the lives of you and Lenin’s. 
“We have to try!” Imogen shouted, rolling off of Glane’s back. Her orange dragon humming in agreement, her eyes watching Lenin struggle against the two wyvern that dragged him underwater. 
Soleil shook her head, “We can’t! We must wait for Xaden or Violet to finish off the last venin.”
“We won’t make it on time! She’s drowning! Lenin is drowning!” 
Then you moved on to the vision of Lenin desperately trying to shake off the wyvern on his back and wing. He climbed the sky with a mighty roar, his wings beating in a slow rhythm of two. His power held you in your seat while he spiraled into a nosedive at the peak of his ascent. 
“That’s enough, Seer.” Tairn hummed. 
“Please,” You begged, “He can live if you do this. My life means nothing if he dies. Violet has to be the one to kill me, we both know it.” 
“Why the Silver One? Why not a fire wielder or yourself?”
“Because Lenin trusts you,” You said, chewing your lip. Releasing it to say, “Your son will watch your rider raise her arm high in the air, then bring it down with a yell. A strike of lightning will hit the venin first, then straight into my heart. His dive towards me will falter, your choice to let your rider strike me will make him panic. How could his father let his rider kill his own? A moment like that will-”
“Break him,” Tairn finished. 
You smiled sadly, nodding your head along, “Being broken is better than being dead. He still gets to see the world spin. Feel the sun on his scales and experience another rider. Sgaeyl will still have her son.” 
“Uh, what’s going on?” 
You released the thread on Tairn and turned around to see Violet. You gave her a terse smile and shrugged your shoulders, “Just a bit of overthinking. I didn’t realize I was in front of your dragon. I’ll be going now.” 
You picked up your bags and looked around the field for Lenin. And the sudden humming sound rumbling in Tairn’s chest allowed you some reprieve. He’s going to do it, you know this. You didn’t dare give him another look knowing that Violet’s eyes were still on you. 
“Over here, Dagger.” 
The familiarity of Lenin’s voice made your head look to the left and standing at a good distance from almost every dragon perched Lenin with his head held high. What surprised you most was Glane right next to him. Most of the dragons have strayed away from the changing Lenin ever since you both went into a slumber. 
Yet Glane stood there with her eyes glued onto Lenin. 
“I think our dragons are going to mate soon. And I mean like mate mate.” 
Imogen stepped up from behind you shouldering her bags with a cheeky grin. “That means more fun for us, huh?” 
You chuckled and walked with her towards the dragons, “Our first time together was very…” You rolled your eyes playfully trying to come up with the word. 
“Chaotic?” Imogen tried with a smirk. 
“New.” You laughed and said, “Experiencing something like that with your dragon makes you feel somewhat intimate with them as well. Knowing what they feel as they indulge in their desires. It’s a bit awkward too.” 
Imogen laughed and shook her head, “Yeah, I get you. Anyways Glane tells me not one dragon approaches him. They see him as a bad omen, with his changing.” 
You visibly cringed and looked over at Imogen with a glare, “He changed because of me. And it won’t last long. He’ll be complete soon enough. The other dragons can go mind their own.” 
“Hey,” Imogen softly said, “I’m not disagreeing with you. It’s just what Glane tells me and I wasn’t sure if Lenin told you anything about it. You should be in the circle of knowing things. I’m kind of tired of keeping you out.” 
You shook your head and looked away from her, “I’m sorry for lashing out. I just…Lenin means a lot to me and knowing that others are still weary of him pisses me off. Because it’s my fault he’s like that. It’ll be solved soon.” 
“You keep saying soon, why? Is it your power that is acting out or something?” 
“Something like that.” You cut the conversation short and began mounting Lenin without another word uttered. As you sit on Lenin, your hands aimlessly draw weird shapes on his scales. Then from a distance, you hear Xaden in a heated argument with Dain Aetos over Violet Sorrengail. Usually you’ll have a sour taste in your mouth thinking of her, but you know it’ll be a waste of your time to hate her. You don’t want to be remembered as the cruel Mairi to anyone. 
“You have [Name] and her amazing signet to protect your riot during these games. Don’t tell me you need a first year when you have a very strong second year in your ranks already. [Name] is more capable than-” 
“I know how much my girlfriend is capable of. I don’t need you, of all people, to remind me what she can do.” Xaden interrupted Dain with quick succession. 
Girlfriend. 
An amused chuckle escaped past your lips and Lenin hummed with the same amusement. 
“Since when did Shadow ask you out again?” 
“Good question, maybe when we land at Athebyne we can question him.” 
Lenin growled out in agreement. 
“You don’t need Violet when you have [Name]. She’s the strongest in our year and possibly the only one who can take on the challenge in Athebyne. Violet has no reason to be out there and you know it.” 
We all know it. But the bond between mates is inseparable. And Dain Aetos is nothing compared to a dragon. All humans will never question or demand anything of a dragon. 
Well, except for you. 
…… 
……
……
……
……
The clearing Xaden has the riot land is not enough for Lenin to give the other dragons some space. So he directs himself a little further away making his own landing area. Glane follows him without any questions and you’re happy she’s so enamored by him. He deserves happiness for what’s to come and after it. 
“Geez, you’d think the others would warm up to him already.” Imogen dismounted Glane to join your side at the shore. You looked across to see the riot and the other riders getting some well needed rest. Getting good stretches in too. 
“Yeah, if they did we wouldn’t have to walk so far.” You joked and looked back at the two dragons, telling them, “We'll be back, get some rest and let’s hope Xaden told Violet about the others.” 
Imogen walked by your side and the two of you made bets on how Violet would react to seeing Gryphons and their Fliers. But all that mattered to you was how much you wanted to talk to Syrena. You met her for the first time during your first year when Xaden introduced you and Imogen to the secret missions. 
She said something that piqued your interest, but until now only understood what she meant by it. Syrena mentioned an awakening and you want to know how she knew. But you can conclude it’s because she is connected to gryphons, creatures that revered witches. It wouldn’t be a surprise to you if Syrena is bonded to one of the gryphons who knew the ones attached to your sisters. 
“Better start running. The Fliers have arrived and you’re missing the fun part.” 
It seemed Glane warned Imogen at the same time Lenin’s voice came in and the both of you began sprinting to the hangout. Immediately you are graced by the magnificent sight of gryphons and as you slowed down to a walk, one by one the beasts bowed their heads in greeting. 
You gave them the same respect while Imogen distanced herself away from them. They felt so familiar to you. Especially the Fliers that belong to the Cordella’s. You assume it’s because you’re a witch, and your covenant is known for bonding to Gryphons. This was supposed to be your life, be on the other side supporting them and protecting them from the venin. 
“You can still do that. I am your cloak and you are my dagger. Do not forget that.” Lenin reassured you and his presence gave you comfort. 
A gust of wind brings you back to reality and you spot Tarin landing on Violet’s right side. You glare at Xaden who clearly does not have the situation under control which means he hasn’t told her about the shipments. Well two can play at this game of showing off their strength, but you’re going to give Violet a chance. 
So you warned the gryphons, “Do not be alarmed when my dragon comes. He’s on your side.” 
Then you walked up from behind the Fliers, surprising them with your quietness. “[Name],” But Syrena is the only one who greets you with a smirk, “You look good. Have you awakened yet?” 
“No,” You sadly smiled then moved your blue eyes over to Violet. Hoping to deter her attitude. You stepped ahead of the group and addressed your fellow rider,  “Violet, can you read what it says on the purple dagger?” 
“What…what does that have to do with anything?” She questioned, glaring at you standing next to the enemies. 
“Can you?” You questioned again, “Pull it out of your sheath and read the symbol out loud. I promise this can help you answer some of the questions running through your mind.” A demand she ended up listening to because she felt like it meant something that would explain all of this. You would tell her the truth even if her mind is muddled and desperately looking for answers. 
Violet ran her finger across the heavy blade and shook her head. She couldn’t do it and she has spent many nights trying to do so. Not even Tairn could help her. Before she can tell you that, you raise your hand out, “Toss it over to me.” 
“Why?” She clutched the blade tighter in her hand while the gryphon behind us screeched out. Like it was angered by Violet’s defiance. But you knew why. The familiarity of it all. It’s starting to make sense. 
“Because my good friend here,” You gestured over to Syrena, “Might be able to help you with that rune.” 
Syrena looked back at you and tilted her head in confusion. But you kept your eyes on Violet and said, “I’ll give it back, you just have to trust me.” A beat of silence went by then Violet begrudgingly tossed the blade over to you. Without much thought, you caught the handle spinning in the air with ease and swiftly handed it over to Syrena. 
She looked down at it and squinted at the small symbol. After careful inspection of it, Syrena huffed and looked up, “I’m having no such luck with this, [Name]. It’s in the Witches’ language.”
“Ask your gryphon.” You didn’t need to meet her eyes. 
Syrena looked down at the blade again and huffed out in surprise, looking at her gryphon then over to you. “Shield. It means shield.” 
Then you pulled out Alani’s dagger and Sera’s, showing them off to everyone as they levitated over your head. “These three daggers belong to my sister witches. They were Fliers, one of them was bonded to Syrena’s gryphon which is why she can read what it means on the dagger. Every dagger is powered with a piece of their soul. Rema’s dagger, the purple one, has the ability to shield.”
You took the dagger from Syrena’s soft grip and powered it up. In a flash, a purple bubble encased your body. Then you shut it down, removing your magic from it. “Not everyone can power it, maybe Syrena can if she practices and her gryphon helps her out. But Violet, they’re not our enemies. We have-”
“Not our enemies?” Violet questioned and the sky crackled. 
“Violet!” Xaden snapped from the side. His eyes flickered from her angered expression then to your calm demeanor. 
You showed no fear or caution, just annoyance at the whole situation.  Then another gust of wind hit your back announcing Lenin’s arrival. 
“What the fuck are they feeding these dragons. It’s bigger than the other one,” Another flier commented while Syrena calmed down her comrades. Telling them that this dragon has no interest in eating them or their gryphons. Lenin growled and slithered his giant head down to hover over you protectively.
“Do you want an explanation or not?” You asked, the bitter annoyance flowing in your veins. “You know what, we’ll explain later. Syrena, what’s wrong?” You turned your attention to her and she eyes the dragon head hovering over yours with awe. You raised your arm up and slid your fingers down the curled lip of Lenin’s snarl, “Violet isn’t a threat, Lenin. We can deal with her later.” 
“She knows better to attack you, Dagger. Just reminding her of her place.” 
“We came to warn you,” Syrena immediately got down to business, yet her eyes remained glued on Lenin as he backed away from you. The snarl disappeared and his wings stretched out to them and the gryphons to show whose side he was on.  “Two days ago we lost a village to a horde of venin. You know what they can do.” 
“I’m sure the venin decimated everything, but they never come out this far west.” You looked over your shoulder and waited for Xaden to join your side. He seemed to be in a heated conversation between Imogen, Liam and Violet. Although one look from you, he told  Liam something then jogged over to you as he settled his hand on your lower back. 
“We cannot know anything more,” Xaden pitches in, he must have heard a bit of the conversation while having his own, “Any one of us can be interrogated and knowing the details can put us at  risk.” 
A different person pitched in with a roll of his eyes, “The horde is heading north whether you want to know or not. Right to our trading post on the border across from your garrison at Athebyne. Is your riot armed?” 
“We are,” You said without hesitation. 
“Then we did our due diligence. You all have been warned and we have about an hour to defend our own.” Next thing you know he says something stupid, a proposal that itches your head in a nice way. 
Violet Sorrengail held for ransom. It’s funny, but you needed her. “No, she’s not up for grabs. If it were a different Sorrengail, we’ll be sure to bargain next time.” Everyone could hear the sarcasm in your voice and Lenin chuffed at your dark humor. 
Of course, Violet didn’t like that joke. 
“Hey! That’s my family you’re talking about! How would you like it if I threatened yours?”
Everyone felt the air around you shift uncomfortably and it began to suffocate them. Like you were drawing out the oxygen around them. Syrena moved away first and instructed her comrades to do the same. They walked over to their gryphons and waited for the next event. 
Xaden was the only one who stayed by your side. Yet it came at a cost. He had to control his breathing and his hand on your lower back had pins and needles going through them. The moment Violet shouted at you, an electric shock surprised him leaving his hand unresponsive to his commands. 
“Leave,” You looked at the Drift and walked over to them with your blue eyes holding a storm, “It’s painfully obvious that Sorrengail doesn’t know about her history and you don’t need to waste more time with us. Syrena, take this with you and have your gryphon help you out.” Rema’s dagger trembled in your hand and a ghostly whisper full of panic brushed by you. 
What are you doing, little one! You need my dagger to protect you!
You ignored Rema’s call and put the dagger in Syrena’s hand as you explained to her. “Spend some time with it as you fly, and you’ll be able to protect your own. It can expand around you and your drift as you fly. Or you can push it out to the civilians.”
“Thank you and I hope to see you again, [Name].” Syrena said with a small smile. Then she and the rest of the Fliers mount in seconds and shoot up into the sky just as fast. You looked up into the sky and sighed. 
You cannot believe Violet and what she said. To threaten your remaining family left after her mom killed your parents? After her mom killed every single parental figure then she scarred Xaden 108 times for every child that remained. She wants to threaten what little you have left of your family? 
She’s just scared. Violet is surrounded by Marked Ones and they are working with Fliers. You would be questioning  a whole lot too if you were in her shoes. But to bite the hand that feeds you is dumb. 
When you turn around to give Violet some answers, Xaden is already at her side trying to calm the storm inside her. He’s using his words in soft tones and strong kind eyes that want her to believe in him. You can taste the bitter jealousy on the tip of your tongue thinking about what they could be like together. 
But you shake those thoughts away and begin mounting Lenin. 
“What took you so long to arrive, Lenin?” 
Lenin chuffed and swung his head up and down in elation, “I have a mate now. She’s beautiful.” 
“You mated Glane!” You shouted down the bond with glee and your eyes widened when another voice came back. 
“[Name], is that you?”
Oh shit. That’s Imogen’s voice. 
……
……
……
The four of you spoke down the bond the entire way to Athebyne after you and Imogen figured out how their mating bond now connects the two of you. Turns out Lenin is unopposed of speaking to Imogen as much as Glane is happy to get to know you more. 
“You two are awfully quiet,” Bodhi gives you and Imogen a smirk and he jokes, “Don’t tell me you guys had sex again.” 
“Bodhi!” Imogen shouted and a blush creeped up your cheeks. To think you almost had a thing for this man and he’s here teasing you and Imogen while you search on Xaden’s command. 
“Should we tell him?” You asked Imogen.
“So he can tell Xaden? Hell no. A jealous Xaden is worse than you being jealous.” 
A laugh escaped your lips and you looked at a confused Bodhi, “Don’t tell anyone. We’re still working out the kinks of it. Our dragons are mates now.”
“Wait, Glane likes Lenin? She’s not, you know, afraid of his change?” Bodhi’s question almost made you snap at him until Imogen popped in and said, “Hey, she liked him before the change and she says he looks magnificent, got it?” 
“Yeah, yeah,” Bodhi raised his hands in mock surrender then Lenin’s voice came to you. 
“You’re needed, Dagger. Something awaits you.” 
You look at Imogen and she nodded her head letting you know that she’s right behind you. Bodhi followed you guys with a small ‘Hey!’ and you arrived where Xaden was to see him touch Violet’s cheek, his hand sliding down to cradle the back of her neck. 
“[Name],” Garrick shoved himself between Violet and Xaden, holding out an envelope to you. “It’s for you, do you know the handwriting?” 
You took the envelope and on top of it was just your name. Not [Name] Mairi. Just [Name]. Flipping it over and opening it you are greeted with these words. 
Little One.
To think your sisters hid you among the enemies this entire time. I spent my time going from post to post, mainly the borders to catch you. When I tracked you and your covenant, they ran from their home and their foul creatures were left behind. 
But you cannot run anymore. Now that I know you’re a rider and bonded to a dragon that surpasses his parents, I’m going to catch you and question you. Just like your sisters, you will be chained to a ward powering it up to protect our citizens. It’s what you witches owe us for being on the enemy side. 
When you come back, I’ll be waiting for you. 
V.
You stared at his handwriting and a flicker of red and orange painted the letter. You watched the letter burn in your hand as you glared at it. His words disappear into ashes and you let them be carried away by the wind. 
To everyone’s surprise, they looked at you with wide eyes and Liam stepped up to make sure you were okay. “[Name], is everything okay? What did the letter say?” 
Your eyes focused on him and you told him the truth, “That I’ll be dead when I return to Basgaith. If I don’t do one thing.”
“Which is?” Xaden asked. 
“Run away.” 
Because that’s exactly what Varrish wants you to do. He knows where you’re at. He knows you were picked by Xaden Riorson. It’s why the letter was here and Varrish was hoping the letter would scare you to run away. But you know what your fate holds for you. It’s not to be chained to a ward. 
It’s to save your brother and your dragon. 
You won’t run away like your sisters. You’re going to fight back. 
....
....
ιηѕρσ ѕσηgѕ:
EGO - Qing Madi, VALORANT
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