#HAS ALWAYS HAD more planned for him than this.

[cuteandhughesy]

Shatter Me With Your Touch | Anthony Stolarz

summary: your older brother mitch marner has only ever asked for one thing: never, under any circumstances, hook up with one of his teammates. and you're going strong....right until anthony stolarz shows up. (the 3 times you and anthony push the limits of your secret relationship, and the 1 time it bites you in the ass).

[word count] 4.7k

warnings: NSFW! slight age gap | marner!reader | secret relationship | brothers teammate | drinking | swearing | kissing | sexual acts | smut | p in v intercourse | getting caught | mature themes and dialogue | view at your own discretion

a/n: this is purely stemmed of this blurb—and you will be seeing the same scene in this story. I just knew I had to further explore this story line and share this cute and love story! plus there’s never enough stoly!

see my other brothers teammate 3 + 1 series here

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one

your brother mitch marner has always been protective. like the kind of stereotypical protective that makes you want to rip your hair right out of your scalp, and gauge your eyes out anytime you're at the family dinner table and he starts asking your boyfriend a million questions—questions that are nothing but patronizing. honestly, protective doesn't do it justice, unreasonably overprotective is a much better fit.

you're his younger sister, two years younger than him to be exact, and because of that age gap, mitch has always felt the need to look out for you and your feelings—especially when it comes to dating.

and it's not for no reason, because you? you've always been the kind of person who would give the shirt off your back if someone else was cold, and the kind of girl who would think bare minimum behaviour was god sent. you are almost too kind and forgiving. maybe even a little naive.

from a young age, mitch saw the way people took advantage of you and your kindness, and felt that it was his responsibility to keep you safe and out of harms way. when you started highschool—and begun dating and going out—mitch's protectiveness only got worse. no boy was good enough, even when they were. your brother would drive boys away with menacing looks, and what he called 'stern talkings'—which are also known as straight up threats.

high on changing hormones and left feeling trapped, it didn't take long into your junior year of highschool for you to break. you sat both your brothers down—because yes, they were both ridiculously protective—and begged for them to chill the fuck out. you yelled and cried and practically shook their shoulders until they agreed to relax.

christopher was never really the problem, so he backed off instantly. mitch though? he took a little bit of extra convincing. after you got to your knees and pleaded, he had sighed lowly, meeting your eyes before reluctantly nodding. but before you got too excited, mitch had said—"under one circumstance."

and that circumstance? you will never, under any circumstance, date his friends, and you certainly will never date his teammates. obviously, with this new found feeling of freedom and independence that came with mitch’s compliance, told your brother that he'd never have to worry about that.

and for years, everything was going according to plan. your and mitch's relationship grew into a friendship now that he felt he no longer needed to constantly hover over you, and you kept your dating pool out of mitch's circle of friends. it wasn't difficult considering most of mitch's friends where your friends, and you didn't see them in that way. and then when mitch started getting more serious about hockey, he barley went out or had his teammates over at the house—so you never had the chance to met them, never mind get to know them.

you can remember steph, all bleach blonde hair and bubbly grin, would beg for you to join her at the games. small hands pulling and tugging at your arm like an over excited kid in a toy store. but you weren't really interested at that point in your life. you were still a few years younger than them and with your last year of high school being so busy, frankly, you didn't the have time to sit at a cold arena for three hours.

"maybe you'll find a guy," steph used to tease, winking at you discreetly in the dim light of the family living room.

you always responded the same way, "im not into hockey players."

when mitch made it to the nhl, that's when you started going to games more often. your schedule was less hectic and more open, and you always jumped at the chance to spend time away from dorm rooms and frat guys. plus, you got to drink beers that mitch was paying for, and chat with steph about school and boys without the prying ears of your brothers or your parents.

as the years passed, and you and mitch got older, his dating rule or protectiveness over you never wavered. sure, he wasn't as intense as he once was—keeping his cool like you asked him too—but mitch never truly changed. he just became better at hiding it. and now with his life in the spotlight, your brother truly just wanted to keep you safe. from the media of course, but especially from the new group of sleazy guys that are coming in and out of toronto.

much to his relief, you never planned on rebuking mitch's dating rule. you had a job, and aspirations and went out with your own friends and found guys on your own accord. hockey players were long gone in your mind.

but then, anthony stolarz waltzed into toronto with a summer tan and a perfect smile and completely turned your world inside out. anthony is older than you, 6 years older than you to be precise—he's mature, but doesn't take himself too seriously. he's outgoing and sweet and fucking huge. seriously, he could crush your head with his bicep. anthony had introduced himself to you with a playful and intriguing gleam, and it instantly had you feeling…things.

anytime after that, if you were in anthony's presence, you automatically became flustered. it doesn't help that he always chose to sit next to you, and talk lowly to you, and smile at you from across the room. anthony's had all those new faces and teammates to spend time with, and yet he only seemed interested in spending time with you.

and steph? she knew you like him. your sister-in-law is your number one supporter but also your biggest enemy, you swear. anytime mitch or someone else in a room would mention anthony's name, or she would spot you and the net-minder within five feet of one other, steph was wiggling her brows at you and grinning like the devil.

and it's fine, you thought. it's just a stupid crush on a new, older man. you'd get over it. it's not reciprocated. that flurry of feelings you grew for anthony would soon blow over and you won't have to walk on eggshells around mitch anymore—too afraid that if you breathed the wrong way, your brother would find out about your embarrassing crush.

expect it was totally reciprocated, and after too many glasses of wine and access to a private bathroom at some fancy toronto bar after an important win, you and anthony snuck off—giggling like tipsy kids in between kisses and breathless moans as anthony's length slide through your gummy, arousal coated walls.

just when you thought it would be a one time thing—a one night stand that helped get your feelings for anthony out of your system—it happened again in a supply closet during a marner foundation event. and then again in anthony's car after you two went to dinner as 'just friends'. and then again in your apartment, and then his and before you realize it, you are having sex every other night.

and kissing and laughing and ordering in your favourite take out and watching movies together.

in the blink of an eye, anthony stolarz is your secret, older boyfriend.

in the first few months, you're both really good at keeping your relationship under wraps. you set struck rules for yourselves—like standing at separate ends of rooms, no longing stares in each others direction, no dates in public, and certainly no sneaky displays of affection in places where someone could see.

but as you fall more and more in love, it's harder to hold back, resulting in more than risky situations that might as well have you begging to get caught.

—

the chatter flows around you, warm and breezy, the contagious laughter of william nylander and rumbling voice of john tavares familiar sounds where they cut through the chimes of utensils on plates.

your dinner sits in front of you, mostly untouched, but not for a lack of hunger. in fact—you're starving, maybe just not for food. because with anthony beside you, looking extra large and delicious in comparison to the dining room chair he's sitting on—a dining room chair that isn't that small...he's just that big—it’s hard to focus on anything but him.

casually, you stab some of the mini roasted potato's with your fork, keeping your eyes trained on aryne tavares and jake mccabe’s wife on the other side of the table—the latter of the two women talking about some new palates class she's started.

everyone is either listening to her, and if not her, a different conversation that’s happening along the stretch of the tavares’ dining room table. without looking away from the girls, your free hand leaves your own lap, and ever so gentley—as if not to startle him— it finds anthony's knee.

you scratch along the taut muscles underneath his jeans soothingly. teasingly. each pass of your fingers climbing higher up his leg.

and anthony knows what you're doing. he's all too familiar with it. he fights off a smirk and the urge to look over at you, clearing his throat quietly before taking a large gulp of water. you’ve got him all hot and bothered and he’s definitely getting hard in his pants.

you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye and a grin grows across your face. flattening your hand on the top of his thigh, you let your pinky finger brush over his bulge like the little shit you are.

that makes anthony choke on his gulp of water, which gathers the attention of a few of the guys and their significant others around you.

quickly, before you get caught feeling up the newest leaf goal tender under the table, you bring your hand back to your lap—playful smirk never wavering.

"you good stoly?" max domi asks curiously, eyes squinted in a mixture of concern and humour. anthony can only hum while wiping the dribble of water from his chin with the back of his hand.

casually, you rest your chin on your palm—the same palm that was just on anthony's leg. your eyes flicker with something teasing, "yeah, everything okay?"

anthony lets out a short laugh, shooting you a look—a look that others may just think is friendly, but you recognize it as a warning. a wordless demand to behave. it only sends your stomach into a twirling thrill.

"yeah, just swallowed down the wrong hole."

but even still, anthony can't resist teasing you back once all eyes are once again distracted, ring finger slipping under your skirt and passing over your lacy underwear until you're biting down on your knuckles to ensure no sighs slip out.

steph shoots you a look, which makes anthony pull away—sporting a smug grin on his face as he chews the piece of asparagus he pushes past his upturned lips.

two

it's not very often you get tipsy at leaf games. usually you're too busy hiding your face behind your hands in a stressful manner, or entertaining the gangle of children running around the suite. but today, for some reason—and that reason being $1 beer night—you're not just tipsy, you're borderline hammered.

it takes steph a whole 10 minutes to get you out of the suite and down to the tunnel—coaxing you out of there with reassuring words and an amused glint in her eye. because yeah, drunk people are annoying—especially when the other party is sober—but you're so funny and floppy right now that it makes up for the amount of alcohol you consumed.

and when steph manages to finally get you down to the tunnel, and you lean you against the wall, and you stay there...she considers it a small victory. but that all changes when anthony makes his way out of the locker room, looking divine in his dark suit and hair damp from a shower—smile wide and high off a win.

you sigh dreamily, head rolling back against the concrete wall as you watch his movements. anthony hasn't spotted you yet—which is probably a good thing for your sake, because the sight of his eyes right now would send you into cardiac arrest. but then a frown is pulling at your lips. because pontus holmberg pulls his girl into his arms and kisses her, and you just want to act normal and be able to go up to your boyfriend. kiss him silly in front of everyone.

it wasn't uncommon for you to wait in the tunnels with steph after games, especially when you've driven to the rink together. which is the case nine times out of ten. typically after a win, steph would want to see mitch before heading home, especially because mitch likes to go out for dinner after good games.

so everytime you'd be waiting in the tunnels, you'd have to physically restrain yourself from runnning towards anthony. he will always smile at you when your eyes catch—definitely a little too sexy of a smile for trying to be discrete. but that was always it. besides some eye playful eye tag, neither of you ever pushed those boundaries.

not when your brother could walk out at any moment and catch you.

but once again, you're well passed tipsy, and you just want to love up on your man like all the other wags get to do. so before you can even think logically about your actions, your feet are moving, and moving in anthony's direction, heels clicking on the floor as you make your way through the lingering crowd.

and steph doesn't try and stop you. she just covers her eyes with an exhausted hand, blowing a quiet raspberry to herself as she represses a laugh. you told her about your secret relationship with the newest leaf goaltender 4 hours after that team dinner. because like usual, your sister in law read you like a book and had in incline before you even said anything.

anthony's in a casual conversation with morgan, completely unaware of the way your striding towards him—not until you're right in front of him and the defence man.

you wrap your hand around anthony's bicep, blinking up at him with glassy eyes just as you stumble on your own feet. if it wasn't for your hold on your boyfriends arm, you'd be halfway to the floor by now.

"hi," you beam unashamedly, glossy lips tempting him in ways you'll never understand.

anthony swallows, his bright eyes squinting down at you with amusement. he shoots a tentative glance at morgan, who is just stifling laughter like he knows—which, god damn it tessa, because obviously you had to tell her too and clearly she’s told her husband. "hi," anthony parrots after a beat.

"missed you," you slur, pushing up onto the toes of your heeled boots and puckering your lips expectantly, "can I have a kiss?" you hum, body swaying.

anthony laughs shortly, rubbing the back of his neck while he subtly scanning the room—checking to see if anyone is watching. more specifically, anybody who definitely shouldn't be watching. also known as mitch marner, who is one of the many people who still don't know about your relationship.

and for now, you'd like to keep it that way. not that drunk you cares though.

morgan has slipped away from you both now, and there's only a few lingering bodies left in the tunnel. anthony spots steph, now eyeing you sneakily. which means your brother is still here. in the locker room, yeah, but still here.

"we really shouldn't." anthony mumbles, eyes finding your glossy ones again. despite his words, anthony lets his hand wrap around your waist, keeping you against his chest to steady the drunk sway you have going on. slowly, he licks along his bottom lip, words no louder than a whisper, "your brother could catch us."

"so?" you huff, pushing even further up his body. clearly, you don’t give a damn. "just a quick kiss." you say, hands flat against his chest, still searching for a smooch. you're too happy on beer and in love to think about your brothers stupid rule right now. you couldn't care less about anything besides your gigantic, sexy boyfriend—who is grinning down at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to him.

and you are. more than the nhl. more than the stanley cup. more than breathing.

so quickly, anthony leans down, free hand enclosing on the side of your face as he tilts your head up, and connects your lips together. he's just a man after all, and with a pretty girl like you begging and blinking up at him, who's he to say no?

the kiss doesn't last nearly as long as you need it to, and you whine pathetically when anthony pulls away from your mouth. you're not caught, thankfully, and that only makes you want to kiss him over and over again.

"i'll see you later, kay?" anthony whispers softly, talking his hand off your hips once you drop back down to your heels.

you nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, "love you." you sing song dreamily.

he smirks, "love you too."

three

to say you and anthony became comfortable in the secrecy of your relationship was an understatement. you were really pushing your limits now, making out in the guest bathroom of auston's matthew's condo like a pair of porn stars—slow, syrupy and messy.

once you told steph and tessa about anthony, it wasn't soon after that the rest of the wags found out—all of them sworn to the upmost secrecy—and in turn, a lot of their men found out as well. which wasn't your most ideal situation, but after threatening to cut their balls off, they seemed to be able to keep their lips zipped.

that knowledge amongst the majority of the leafs roster definitely contributes to the more relaxed approach you and anthony find yourselves in, in regards to your relationship. you tell yourself that's the reason you decided to sneak off to the bathroom today—even though you would've ended up here regardless. anthony is looking way to sexy today to just ignore.

and you? you've been driving him insane all evening with your pretty skirt and top and the perfume clinging to your soft skin—perfume that smells like sex. anthony can't help but trail his lips down your taut neck, inhaling the smell like it's his own personal drug.

the sound of your breathless gasps and mewls quickly has anthony returning his mouth back to yours though. because you're truly irresistible to him. always have been. as soon as your lips are back in their familiar dance, everything else fades away. the distant chatter and rapid heart beats between you—none of that exists anymore.

anthony's large hand slides up the side of your bare thigh, lifting your skirt higher and higher up your leg, while his tongue prods the plump skin of your bottom lip. you allow him the entrance he's seeking instantly, which makes anthony smirk into the kiss.

the counter top is cool under your skin where you sit on top, making your arch away and further into anthony's hold. but he doesn't mind one bit—grabbing at your skin and pulling you even closer, your barley covered core rubbing against his and creating delicious friction.

it's erotic and dangerous and you really should've double checked that the door was locked. because the feeling of dread and anxiety that surges through your boood stream when that bathroom door is thrown open is other worldy.

anthony pulls off of your mouth just as you let out a breathless gasp, both of your heads turning towards the entry way.

"holy fuck—sorry." auston matthews familiar voice has turned high pitched, which can only be a result of embarrassment and surprise as he registers the scene in front of him. and just as quick as he opened the door, the captain is slamming it closed.

silence envelopes the bathroom once again—but you can't hear anything over the blood pumping in your ears. you're both frozen in place—you, on the bathroom counter, legs still spread and lips glistening with a mixture of your and anthony's saliva. and anthony, 5 steps away from you, shirt wrinkled, hair tousled and chest heaving.

once your brain catches up to what the fuck just happened, your quickly slipping off the counter. you stumble briefly, but that doesn't slow you down as you practically run after auston matthews.

you could try and deny it, but your actions speak for themselves. and what auston just saw? there's nothing in the world that you could say that would make it innocent. so that only leaves you with one other option: begging.

thankfully, auston didn't get far, and you catch him easily, fingers enclosing around his thick wrist to halt him. he spins around to face you, dark eyes still wide with disbelief and...maybe a little bit of amusement? it's hard to tell when you're so panicked.

"auston," you start, gaze all but frantic, "please please please, don't say anything about what you just saw to anyone. especially mitch. he doesn't know yet, and if this is how he finds out—"

"hey," auston interrupts with a short laugh. "calm down, you're stressing me out."

you blink what feels like a hundred times and you drop his arm. auston's gaze flickers over your shoulder briefly, eyes glimmering with something unknown. curious, you find the subject of his attention.

anthony is behind you, lips slightly parted as his gaze narrows in on the goal scorer. it's then you understand that look in auston's eyes—it's understanding. it's a promise to anthony's wordless plea.

"don't worry kid," auston says once you turn back towards him, "your secret is safe with me."

+one

the leafs have a rare off day today—only two days before their two week long road trip over on the west coast—which means that anthony had no other plans but to be with you. more specifically, in bed, taking turns with either licking into your pussy until you're making a mess on his tongue, or pounding into you until the headboard is smacking against the wall.

it's very rare that the two of you get to have alone time, never mind getting to have proper sex. so when this kind of opportunity arises, both of you are taking it without a second thought.

you can't complain really. not when your legs are over your boyfriends thick shoulders, his cock perfectly massaging your gummy walls as he thrusts into you. the sounds between you are lewd—slapping and squealing and desperate, needy pants and grunts.

you've gone dumb on anthony's cock as he splits you in two, your jaw slack and eyes glazed as you peer up at him. and anthony fucking loves it. his hand grips your jaw firmly, keeping your eyes trained on him. the pad of his thumb pulls down your bottom lip, slowly, as a smirk grows on his face.

"gunna miss you when i'm gone baby," he pants, movements never faltering, "i'm gunna miss your pretty pussy—fuck."

the only responses you can manage is another drawn out moan and your fingers gripping his bulging biceps even tighter.

—

mitch marner pushes the front door of your place open with his hip, too busy balancing your moms homemade casserole in his hands to open the door properly. it’s your favourite home cooked meal, ready to go in a glass dish, that bonnie marner insisted mitch drop off at yours before making his way home.

his car keys are held tightly between his lips, giving him limited opportunity to make a coherent sentence, but he calls out a muffled greeting to you regardless.

no response.

mitch's brows furrow as he puts the food dish on your kitchen island. he drops his phone and keys beside the dish before spinning on his heels, peering into the living room where you're normally hiding—tucked under some fluffy blanket with a book in your lap.

the books there, open and face down on the coffee table—blanket at the foot of the pink chair—but you're nowhere in sight. a rush of panic washes over your brother. mitch had texted you 10 minutes ago, just as he was leaving your parents, to tell you he'd be stopping by with a mountain of food, but he didn't get a response then.

and then once he got here, your front door wasn't even locked. which wouldn't of been that crazy if you knew mitch was on his way over, but your lack of response has mitch second guessing your knowledge of his arrival.

"y/n?" he calls your name again, spinning around for good measure to make sure he didn't miss you the first time.

it only then does he spot a pair of shoes next to your usual slip ons—shoes that are definitely way to big for you and definitely belong to a man. logic goes out the window in that moment because mitch hums curiously, walking down the hall towards your closed bedroom door.

mitch doesn't even hesitate before turning the handle, "y/n? who's here?—ah, what the fuck?!" your brothers words die on his tongue at the sight of you and his goaltender in bed...together...doing things that make mitch want to bleach his eyes out.

it's bad enough to walk in on a family member having sex, but when the guy pounding said family member just last night was laughing and chatting like nothing was happening, makes mitch fucking shiver. oh god, he literally congratulated anthony on his win last night. little did mitch know the real prize for anthony stolarz was getting to fuck mitch marner’s little sister.

"oh my god!" you shout, wrapping the floral bedsheet around your very naked torso. "get out!"

and mitch doesn't need to be told twice. the bedroom door slams shut—so loudly and with so much force that the pictures hanging on your wall shake. regardless of the door now being shut, mitch covers his eyes with his hand while he physically moans and cringes for extra measure.

"oh my god," his voice sounds from the hallway, all dramatic and whiny. "my eyes."

you and anthony share a look—a look that's a mixture of terror and concern. because not only does mitch now know that you’re together in this capacity, but he's also just seen his baby sister having sex. you jump out of bed, tangled in your bedding, and stomp towards the door.

you don't open it, not yet, but you smack the wood wildly. "mitchell, what are you doing here!"

"I was trying to drop off some of mom's casserole—I texted you! I can't believe what I just saw." the latter party of his scentence trails off, tone low like mitch is saying it to himself. mitch swallows dramatically, rubbing at his face. "I'm gunna puke."

you laugh in disbelief. "you're gunna puke? i'm going to die."

the springs of your mattress creak behind you as anthony gets out of bed. slipping on his boxers, he makes his way towards you—all broad and warm as anthony comes up to stand behind your bare, glistening back. he reaches for you, squeezing your bicep comfortingly.

guilt prickles at your skin, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth as a nervous habit—gnawing your plump skin until it feels sore. anthony kisses your head subconsciously, a gesture that calms you down just enough to enable you to squeak out an apology. "i'm sorry, mitchy."

emotion clogs your throat and it makes your brother sigh, hand falling from his scruff and hitting his leg with a soft thud. "don't cry, y/n."

ever so slowly, the door squeaks open—not fully though, mindful of the sheet covering you—and your head pokes out. your eyes are glassy and your lip wobbles and the protective older brother side of him wants nothing more than to fix this.

"are you mad at us?" you sniffle.

us.

through the slim space between the door and the frame, mitch has a harsh reminder that anthony stolarz is with you—his t-shirt strew across the bench at the end of your bed, his cologne clinging to the sheet around you. hell, mitch can see anthony’s fucking gigantic hand holding the back of your neck softly.

he's comforting you.

mitch sighs reluctantly. because yes, he's not thrilled with this entire situation, but clearly, anthony is a good guy—your brother has a front row seat to that—anthony is a man who clearly cares for you. "i'm more mad about you not knowing how to lock doors than anything else."

you breath hitches, a glimmer of something that feels like hope tickling your heart, "really?"

a slow nod, "yes." mitch's eyes fall over your body, or rather, your sheet, and he shivers again, turning away to give you privacy and himself some fucking peace of mind. "now just...get dressed and we can talk about it."

[alchemistc]

get by (with a little help from my friends)

Eddie's "Hey man." gets completely ignored when he answers the phone, which isn't entirely unusual, considering the man on the other end.

"I need you to talk me off a ledge."

Tommy sounds like he's gone three rounds already, and that's entirely possible. At this point, he's got the same steps as Buck does any time he feels like flying off the handle: phone a friend, and then another friend, and then talk to Buck about it. Eddie always likes it best when they just fucking talk to each other, but he can see the wisdom in asking for advice first. They're both reactive fucks who love each other way too much to be rational face to face, sometimes.

"Am I qualified to give advice on this subject, or is this gonna be another Spare Key Fiasco?"

Tommy chuffs from the other end of the phone. He still hates that Eddie had had a front row seat to that freakout.

"It wasn't a spare, Eddie, I had it specifically made for -."

"Yeah, that's my bad, dude, stop taking every opportunity to change the subject. What's up, man?"

There's a noise Eddie recognizes vaguely as the breathing exercises Buck had been explaining to him a few months ago. They both use them - Buck to prevent the leap to anger and defensiveness, Tommy to prevent... whatever his reactive habits are. The pair of them have been surprisingly light on details, since they got back together. Well. Surprising that Buck hasn't word vomited all of Tommy's idiosyncrasies, at some point.

It's going on a year since he's seen Tommy in person, but he can picture the exact curmudgeonly expression he's probably pulling right now. "I bought a ring, last week."

Only about a month behind Buck. They're getting better about the whole pacing thing. Eddie's been sworn to secrecy, so this is gonna be a fucking minefield to navigate.

"That's great, man. When are you gonna ask him?" Buck has a spreadsheet already. Two, actually, if you're counting the Worst Case Scenario tab Eddie'd caught a peek at when Buck shared his screen instead of ending the video call they'd been on.

That's going in the speech whether Buck likes it or not.

"You remember that ledge I was talking about?"

Of course. Of course that's what he's worried about. Of course Eddie's been dialed in to either talk him down or throw out a rope and wrangle his ass off a cliff side.

Man's stolen helicopters, evaded military and FBI and earned medals for his reckless bravery, and yet the idea of settling down with a man he loves more than the entire world and flying is rattling him enough to need backup.

"Who was your first call?"

Tommy's huff is fairly telling. Sal, then. Eddie's only met him once and he wasn't his biggest fan, but Buck loves the guy. Says sitting between the two old friends is better than watching a UFC match. He's got weird priorities, Buck does.

("They're so mean, Eddie, you'd think they were mortal enemies, but Deluca, like, gets Tommy. Do you think he'll help me with the contingency plan?")

From what Eddie can remember, they'd only reconnected about six months ago, but they'd fallen back into their aggressively combative friendship easily, according to Buck. Eddie's of the opinion that Tommy reached out to Sal Deluca specifically to combat Buck's intense positivity when he finally cottoned on to the fact that Buck considered himself a permanent fixture in Tommy's life.

"Sal told me to woman up. And swap the ring out for a leash."

Yeah. Eddie's not sold on Sal Deluca. Considering they're most likely gonna have to plan some sort of joint bachelor party across state lines sometime over the course of the next year, Eddie's going to have to woman up himself.

"Not to make everything even worse than Deluca, but what the hell are you hoping I can help with? My only proposal came about three days after the pee stick showed two lines."

Tommy blows out a breath. Not the breathing exercises, this time. Eddie can almost see the hand he's dragging down his face, nose folding and bouncing back when the hand gets to his mouth and hangs there, for a moment. "I've proposed before," he murmurs.

Well. There that is. Eddie had definitely forgotten about that little hiccup.

"I mean, it's not like you're gonna propose, sit on it for a few years, and then decide you actually don't like dick, right?"

"Your support is overwhelming," he deadpans, and the line goes quiet. For about forty seconds, Eddie stares at the time on the call tic up and up. "But no, that's not the issue."

"No offense, buddy, but I have no idea what the issue is. He's gonna say yes. It's gonna be great. He'll cry for like an hour and then for a few weeks he'll tell every random stranger he meets that his fiance is a pilot for the LAFD." If Tommy swears him to secrecy, too, he's gonna have to get creative. See if he can coordinate a joint proposal without either one of them cottoning on.

"You ever been gun shy before?" Tommy asks, in that roundabout way he has of trying to explain the thoughts inside his own head.

He tried. He failed. He hurt someone. He doesn't want to do it again.

"Yeah, but like - besides the fact that you're attracted to and in love with Buck, they're...very different people." He'd only met Abby once. Hadn't particularly cared for her, on account of the whole leaving his best friend in limbo for months, and the Making His Best Friend Act More Out Of Pocket Than Usual At A Scene.

"Both with amazing hair, though," Tommy jokes, and then groans. "I'm going to gouge my eyeballs out with a teaspoon."

"Yeah, don't do that. You think Evan Buckley's going to decipher that as 'Lets get hitched'?"

"I resent the idea that you think that I'd use those words."

"Apologies. You gonna quote a movie he's never seen?"

"It's easy to recycle when he thinks they're all my witty rejoinders."

"He knows when you're quoting something. Tommy, your whole body vibrates, and you get this deranged smile. You are many things, my friend, but subtle is not one of them."

Christ, Tommy has a type. Drawn to whatever asshole can slice him to the bone while keeping up with his brand of sardonic banter. Eddie doesn't enjoy the new knowledge that he's basically the Buck-adjacent version of Deluca.

How the hell had he ended up with the human equivalent of a socially anxious Great Dane?

There's an easy solution here. Is it a violation of the bro code to tell Tommy to just sit on it? Carry the ring around everywhere and wait til the time is right? That's not a hint, is it?

"You're trying to distract me," Tommy observes. "What do you know?"

"I know that despite the fact that the two of you could fill Michigan Stadium with your insecurities and diametrically opposed capital I issues, this is gonna work itself out in a really good way."

"Eddie."

"Tommy."

"He already bought the ring, didn't he?" There's his typical bemused sigh whenever Buck does something that he, personally, finds adorably annoying. Annoyingly adorable. Something. Eddie doesn't know; he still doesn't quite get them. They work, and that's all that really matters, at the end of the day.

Sometimes they work because Eddie, Maddie, and Sal Deluca, for some reason, can offer the right support and the right advice at the right time.

"For legal and personal reasons I'm invoking my right to remain silent."

"Are the personal reasons to do with wanting your ankles intact?"

"I might take a vow of silence, actually."

Tommy's quiet for a long, long time. Long enough that Eddie has to check and make sure the asshole hasn't hung up on him.

"Is his plan going to cause any permanent damage to county property? We've both got priors." Stealing government property, evading police and military, technically domestic terrorism. All wiped from their records because they both have main character syndrome, so exactly zero actual prior offenses.

"I don't recall saying anything about a plan."

"That vow sure has legs to stand on," Tommy muses, and Eddie has to fight the urge to blow a raspberry.

"You can ask one yes or no question that I retain the right to not answer. If it'll help you walk yourself back off that ledge."

Tommy takes long enough forming the question that Eddie gets through three of the syllabuses Chris' school is requiring him to confirm he's read. He hates this damn school, but Chris loves it.

"Should I start carrying the ring with me everywhere, or can I assume Evan will at least make it clear we have plans, when he decides he's ready?"

That's not a yes or no question.

"That's not a yes or no question."

"Should the ring be on my person at all times, yes or no?" Eddie can't tell if he's throwing the bitchy tone in for a laugh, or because he's actually annoyed. For all Eddie knows, he could still be a little prickly about the fact that he's having to seek out the competition for advice on his love life. Buck says they're over that, but sometimes Eddie's not sure.

Sometimes Buck still encourages him to lean into it a bit because apparently "The sex is mind-blowingly hot, Eddie."

"You'll probably be fine without it at work," Eddie hedges.

"Probably is not a yes or a no."

"I never told you how I was gonna answer."

Eddie hates that he knows Buck's gonna get laid tonight on the back of Tommy's frustration with Eddie.

"So. How's that cliff looking, from over there?"

Tommy's put-upon sigh is edging on overkill. "What cliff? It's plains and valleys from here."

Eddie's well aware that Tommy can dig himself trenches a mile deep just to have a ledge to jump from. He has a good feeling about this, though.

"Let him romance you, for once, dude."

That shouldn't be such a polarizing statement, for the man who's been desperate to be loved almost as much as Evan Buckley himself, but Tommy has a nasty fucking habit of shooting himself in the foot whenever Buck makes it a point to take care of Tommy back.

Tommy groans. "None of this makes it to the speech."

"Yeah, it's absolutely going in the speech, man."

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eleven: peonies & pilers

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, SMUT TIME

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. finally smut....hehehe

Finding time alone with Joel had proven damn near impossible.

Not because he didn’t want it, but because your life didn’t just belong to you. Ellie always came first, and you weren’t the kind of person to leave her with just anyone.

Your usual babysitter, a sweet but unreliable college girl, had slowly started phasing out of availability. Not that you blamed her—she was young, wanting to spend her nights out with friends instead of watching a seven-year-old.

You had been that young once, too. You understood, but it meant date nights were hard to come by.

You had half-expected Joel to be frustrated, maybe annoyed that the two of you couldn’t just slip away whenever you wanted. Stolen kisses and lingering touches were constantly interrupted by tiny footsteps or a small voice calling for you.

Yet, Joel never once complained.

He took it all in stride.

Whenever he asked you out, and plans changed at the last minute, he just adjusted. If Ellie had to tag along, he also ensured the night was fun for her.

Instead of a bar or a dimly lit restaurant, Joel would take you both out for burgers at the mom-and-pop diner down the street, where Ellie could get a milkshake the size of her head. Instead of a movie date with just the two of you, he’d pick a family-friendly one, whispering commentary to Ellie the whole time, and making her giggle through the previews.

On nights when neither of you wanted to go out, Joel showed up at your door with takeout and a deck of cards, playing Go Fish with Ellie on the living room floor while you curled up on the couch, watching them with a warmth in your chest you didn’t know how to name.

He was trying. Not just for you.

For Ellie.

And that… that meant everything.

One night, after Ellie had fallen asleep on the couch mid-game, you turned to Joel, watching as he carefully tucked a blanket around her. His movements were gentle and natural.

"She adores you, you know," you murmured.

Joel glanced up at you, his eyes softer than usual. He exhaled through his nose, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. She’s a good kid."

Your throat tightened.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. "Thank you. For… all of this. For trying with her."

Joel’s fingers curled around yours, rough but warm. "Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for, sweetheart."

Yet, all you wanted to do was thank Joel, not just with words but with something more.

You wanted to show him how much he meant to you, how much you appreciated every quiet sacrifice and unspoken effort he made.

So, against your better judgment, you begged Tommy to watch Ellie for at least a few hours.

And Tommy, being Tommy, did not let you off easy.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, an obnoxious smirk plastered across his face. "Alright, let me get this straight," he drawled. "You suddenly need me to watch Ellie, tonight of all nights, for a few hours."

You huffed, placing your hands on your hips. "Yes, Tommy. That’s what I said."

Tommy nodded, dragging a hand over his chin like he was deep in thought. "Uh-huh. And what exactly is so important that you need me to—"

You groaned, cutting him off with an eye roll. "Tommy—"

"Ohhhh," he grinned, realization dawning as he snapped his fingers. "This ain’t about runnin’ errands or some work thing. You just wanna get laid."

Your face burned.

"Jesus Christ, Tommy!" You swatted his arm, but that only made him laugh harder.

He clutched his chest like he was wheezing, shaking his head. "Damn, you really must be desperate if you’re comin’ to me for help."

"It’s not—" you started, but Tommy raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples. "Okay, maybe it is a little bit about that, but also—"

"Ain’t no also," Tommy snorted. "You wanna jump my brother’s bones? Just say it."

You glared. "Fine. I want to spend some alone time with my boyfriend. Happy?"

Tommy gave you a long, exaggerated look. "Alone time," he repeated, throwing up air quotes. "Yeah, alright, let’s call it that."

"You are the absolute worst," you muttered, but the corners of your mouth twitched.

Tommy just grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "I ain’t judgin’. Man’s been good to you. ‘Bout time you do somethin’ nice for him."

"Oh my God," you groaned, rubbing your face.

Tommy leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Tell me, though—when Joel finally gets what he’s been waitin’ for, you think he’s gonna—"

"STOP TALKING."

Tommy howled with laughter, but for all his teasing, he still agreed to watch Ellie.

When you left, flustered and dying inside, he said, "Tell my brother he owes me big time."

____________

You had planned everything to a T.

It was ridiculous—planning a date with the specific intention of ending the night tangled up with Joel, finally crossing that last unspoken line between you.

You couldn’t help it. You had wanted this for months now—wanted him.

Tonight was supposed to be perfect.

You had picked the restaurant carefully—somewhere lovely but not too fancy. Somewhere quiet enough that you could just be together, focused on each other. You had even gone out of your way to wear something you knew Joel would have difficulty taking his eyes off.

It had started fine. For the first hour, things had been easy. Good.

Joel looked at you in a way that made heat curl in your stomach. His hand rested on your thigh under the table, his thumb tracing slow circles over the fabric of your dress.

You had leaned in close, murmuring something teasing in his ear, your fingers brushing over his wrist.

Joel had smirked, eyes darkening, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

It was happening, and then—it all went wrong. The restaurant got loud. A group at a nearby table was rowdy, their voices echoing through the space, drowning out the soft music.

The waiter got Joel’s order wrong. Twice.

Then your meal was overcooked, and the final blow came when the power flickered out midway through dinner.

Not long enough to cause a panic, but enough that everything stalled—orders got backed up, people started complaining, and the cozy, intimate atmosphere you had tried so hard to create was utterly ruined.

By the time you left, your stomach was twisted in knots.

Joel drove silently, his hand resting on your thigh, but you barely felt it.

You were too in your own head, too disappointed, too embarrassed.

This was supposed to be your night, yet it was ruined.

When he pulled up to your house and put the truck in park, he turned to you, brow furrowed. “You’ve been quiet.”

You forced a small smile. “Just tired.”

Joel studied you for a long moment before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey.” His voice was low, soft. “We can try again. Ain’t gotta be perfect.”

That made something inside you snap.

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling up before you could stop it. “But that’s the problem, Joel. I wanted it to be perfect.” Your voice wavered, and you hated that it did.

Joel’s expression softened. “Sweetheart—”

“No, I know it’s stupid,” you rushed out, shaking your head. “I just… I wanted one night just for us. No interruptions. No distractions. And instead, everything went wrong.”

Joel was quiet momentarily, watching you carefully before reaching for your hand.

“Doesn’t have to be perfect,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just has to be us.”

That made your chest ache more because he didn’t get it.

He wasn’t mad, wasn’t frustrated, wasn’t anything other than understanding, which just made you feel worse.

You swallowed hard, gripping his hand a little tighter. “I know. I just…” You exhaled, shaking your head. “I just wanted tonight to be different.”

Joel exhaled, shifting slightly, his fingers tightening around yours. “It still can be.”

He didn’t let go of your hand as you sat there, both of you lingering in the quiet, the tension between you thick and heavy.

The date hadn’t gone as planned. Hell, it had gone wrong in just about every way it could. But Joel was sitting beside you in his truck, his fingers still wrapped around yours like he wasn’t ready to let the night end either.

You exhaled slowly, glancing toward your house before looking back at him.

“Do you… want to come inside?”

Joel’s gaze flickered over your face, searching, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded, your heart hammering. “Yeah.”

That was all it took.

Joel let go of your hand just long enough to step out of the truck, meeting you at the front of your porch as you unlocked the door.

The moment you stepped inside, the quiet hum of the house settled around you. The air felt different—charged, expectant.

You turned to Joel, who stood just a few feet away, hands resting on his hips, his eyes dark as they swept over you.

“Want a drink?” you offered, your voice softer than you intended.

Joel smirked, stepping closer. “What you got?”

You turned toward the kitchen, already feeling the heat of him following behind you. “Whiskey. Beer. Wine. Take your pick.”

Joel hummed, leaning against the counter as you pulled down a couple of glasses. “Whiskey’s fine.”

You nodded, pouring two drinks, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, tracking you like he was waiting for something.

When you finally turned back and handed him a glass, his fingers brushed against yours slowly and deliberately.

Your breath caught.

Joel noticed. His lips tugged up at the corner as he took a slow sip, and his eyes locked onto yours over the glass rim.

You swallowed hard, mirroring him, taking a small sip, the whiskey burn barely registering over the heat curling in your stomach.

Joel set his glass down first, and its soft clink against the counter made you jump slightly.

He noticed that, too.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together before breaking the silence.

“Tonight didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

Joel’s eyes stayed on yours as he nodded slowly. “I know.”

You inhaled deeply, summoning the nerve to say what you wanted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still salvage it.”

Joel’s jaw twitched, his hands flexing against the countertop. “That right?”

You took a step closer, then another, as you set your glass down next to his. Reaching for him, your fingers slipped over the front of his shirt, tracing along the fabric.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his head tilting slightly. “You sure about this?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Joel let out a rough breath, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly, full of warning. “If I kiss you now, I ain’t gonna wanna stop.”

Your pulse pounded, your body buzzing with the weight of his words.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

He closed the space between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you against him, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was anything but soft.

It was deep, hungry, and filled with all the tension that had been building for months.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he backed you up against the counter, his body solid and insistent against yours. The edge of the countertop dug into your back, but you barely registered it—not with the way Joel was kissing you, deep and slow, like he was savoring every damn second.

"Taste so sweet, honey," Joel groaned against your lips, his tongue slipping past them to claim more, to devour you.

Your breath hitched as he kissed your jaw, his stubble scraping along your skin most deliciously. His grip on your hips tightened, rough hands digging into you as he needed you closer, needed you pressed against him in every possible way.

You let your head tip back, giving him the perfect angle to drag his lips down your neck to nip at the delicate skin before soothing it with his tongue.

"Joel," you gasped, your body trembling as he sucked at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, sending a hot, electric shiver down your spine.

"Mm." His deep, satisfied hum vibrated against your throat, and his fingers were already moving, already slipping beneath the hem of your dress, gliding up your thigh with slow, deliberate intent.

"Fuck," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "So damn soft."

His calloused fingers traced higher, brushing dangerously close to where you ached for him, the warmth of his palm searing against your bare skin.

"Joel, please," you whined, arching into him, desperate for more.

Joel tsked, his lips curving against your throat. "I know, sweetheart, I know."

His hand dipped between your thighs, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, not entirely giving you what you needed but enough to make your stomach tighten, to make your breath stutter.

"You’re so needy for me, aren’t you?" His voice was dark and teasing. "But don’t worry, darlin’." His fingers pressed, just barely, just enough to make you gasp.

"I'm gonna take real good care of you."

The words sent a sharp, searing heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly, arching into him, silently begging.

Joel groaned, shaking his head as if you were driving him crazy.

"Gotta make sure you’re all nice and ready for me, honey," he murmured, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties, his breath warm and heavy against your ear.

Your breath hitched a sharp gasp, leaving your lips as Joel’s fingers moved through your folds, teasing, exploring. His touch was slow, deliberate—like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

"Oh, Joel," you whimpered as his thumb brushed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you.

He groaned, the sound deep and satisfied, his lips grazing your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re already so damn wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with want. "So fuckin’ beautiful. Can’t even think, can you?"

You shook your head, fingers digging into his shoulders, barely holding yourself together as he dragged his thumb in slow, teasing circles over your clit, coaxing another breathy moan from your lips.

And then, his middle finger slipped inside you.

A broken gasp tore from your throat, your body arching against him, the stretch just enough to make your head spin.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Joel coaxed, his free hand gripping your waist, keeping you steady as he moved his finger inside you, slow but intentional.

Your walls clenched around him, needy, desperate, and Joel cursed under his breath.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, pressing another slow kiss against your neck before sliding another finger inside you.

Your breath shuddered, your grip tightening on his shoulders as he worked you open, pumping his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, his knuckles pressing deep.

"Joel," you moaned, your body trembling as heat coiled tighter in your belly.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his fingers curling just right, hitting the spot inside you that made your legs shake.

"Been too long for you, huh?" he rasped, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice full of heat and promise. "But look at you, takin’ me so well, honey. Just like I knew you would."

Your nails dug into his skin, a moan slipping past your lips, your body aching for more.

Joel’s fingers didn’t slow, didn’t let up, his thumb still working tight circles over your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you.

"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxed, voice low and gravelly, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you. "Let me feel you come."

With another perfect curl of his fingers, your body snapped, pleasure rolling through you in thick, heated waves. Your legs trembled, your breath hitching as you came undone, your forehead dropping against Joel’s chest as you gasped for air.

"Oh, god," you whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shirt, trying to ground yourself as the aftershocks pulsed through you.

Joel hummed low in his throat, a satisfied sound as he slowly pulled his fingers from under your dress, his other hand smoothing over your back.

You barely had time to recover before he brought his fingers to his lips, parting them deliberately as he sucked his middle and pointer finger clean. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and hungry, a low groan vibrating in his chest.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice thick with want. "Knew you’d taste so damn sweet."

Your entire body went boneless at the sight, your stomach twisting into a tight knot of anticipation.

If that alone nearly undid you, you couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when he—

Joel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and filthy. You could still taste yourself on his tongue, and the realization only made your head spin more.

Your hands snaked around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as you pulled him closer like you could melt into him, like you didn’t want even an inch of space between you.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

With effortless strength, he gripped your thighs, lifting you against him like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heels digging into his back as he carried you down the hall, never breaking the kiss.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, Joel hovering over you, his broad frame blocking out everything else.

He braced himself on his forearms, his lips trailing down your jaw, down the column of your throat, his breath hot against your skin.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" His voice was gravelly and laced with restraint.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Joel," you murmured, arching into him, your lips brushing against his ear. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

Somehow, in the haze of lips and hands, in the quiet desperation of finally having each other, you had ended up tangled together in your bed, skin on skin, warmth melting into warmth.

Joel was behind you; his chest pressed firm and solid against your back, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as he moved.

Slow. Deep. Intentional.

Every thrust sent a shudder through you, your body arching, molding against him. The intimacy of it had your mind spinning and your breath becoming uneven.

"Goddamn, darlin’," Joel gritted out, his voice rough in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "Just takin’ me so fuckin’ well."

His words sent a sharp, electric pulse through you, tightening the heat coiling low in your belly.

His pace was steady and torturous, each slow roll of his hips making you feel every inch of him, dragging pleasure through you inch by inch.

You let out a breathy moan, your fingers gripping the sheets as his hand traveled upward, cupping your breast, his calloused palm rough against your soft skin.

"You’re drivin’ me crazy," he murmured, his lips trailing up the curve of your neck, his fingers pinching at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers to hear you gasp.

"Joel," you whined, pressing back against him, your body begging for more.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothed, his free hand sliding down, gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. "I know."

Then he thrust a little deeper, pulling a shattered moan from your lips.

Joel groaned, his breath hot against your ear, his grip tightening like he was holding himself together just for you.

"Fuck, darlin’. Can’t get enough of you."

A desperate moan slipped from your lips as you tried to roll your hips, chasing the friction you needed, trying to urge Joel to move faster.

But he stilled, his grip firm on your waist, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nah, don’t do that,” he warned, voice thick with control, with restraint. “Ain’t gonna rush this.”

Before you could protest, he shifted, pressing you further into the mattress, his body covering yours, broad and unyielding. His weight, his presence, the sheer heat of him sent a fresh wave of need coursing through you.

“Wanna make you come again,” Joel murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw before he sank back inside you.

You gasped, your nails digging into the strong muscles of his shoulders as he filled you again, stretching you perfectly, dragging a slow, torturous moan from your throat.

His thrusts started deep, making you feel every inch of him, making you needier with each roll of his hips.

“Please,” you whined, your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, trying to pull him in, trying to make him move.

Joel groaned, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath ragged, hot.

His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent sharp sparks of pleasure pulsing through you.

Your back arched, a helpless whimper escaping your lips.

“Oh—right there,” you gasped, clinging to him, your body begging for more.

Joel cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening as he watched you—watched the way you trembled beneath him, watched the way you came undone for him.

"Joel, please," you panted, your voice desperate, your nails raking lightly down his back. "Faster."

Joel groaned, his fingers digging into your thigh, anchoring you beneath him as he finally gave in. “Hold on, honey,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked.

Joel’s thrusts grew rougher, his pace quickening as he drove you closer, dragging you over that edge with a relentless, perfect rhythm.

The pleasure built and built until it was too much, crashing through you in sharp, shattering waves.

You cried out, your entire body tightening as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. The sensation wrenched a deep, wrecked groan from Joel’s throat.

“Fuck," he gritted out, his grip bruising on your waist as he tried to hold on, his control slipping fast. “Look at you. So damn beautiful—makin’ a mess all over me.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight, barely recovering as you felt Joel start to pull out.

You whined, reaching for him, desperate to keep him close. "No," you gasped, fingers grasping at his arms. "Wanna feel you."

Joel groaned, shaking his head and jaw tight as if barely holding on. "Not this time, darlin’." His voice was thick, heavy with restraint. "We’ll make babies another time."

The words sent a shock straight through you, your stomach twisting, your breath catching because Joel wasn’t just saying anything to say it.

He meant it.

He wanted you. Wanted all of you. That alone nearly sent another wave of heat surging through you.

You exhaled sharply, determination flashing in your eyes as you reached down, wrapping your fingers around his thick length, still soaked from you.

Joel hissed, his body jerking at the sudden contact, his hips twitching at your touch.

"Shit, sweetheart—"

You stroked him slowly, teasing, watching the way his brows furrowed, his lips parting as he lost himself in the feeling of your hand.

"Come for me, Joel," you murmured, pressing your lips against his jaw, your voice sultry and soft. “I want to see you."

That was it.

Joel let out a deep, ragged groan, his muscles tensing as he came hard, thick ropes of warmth spilling onto your stomach.

He cursed, his breath shuddering, his hand gripping your thigh like he needed to hold onto something solid.

Joel collapsed beside you, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling sharply.

"You’re gonna kill me," he muttered, voice rough, spent.

You grinned, rolling onto your side, reaching up to trace lazy fingers along his chest.

"Would be a hell of a way to go," you teased.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, tilting his head to look at you. His hand found your waist, fingers squeezing gently.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice softer now, something warmer settling in his gaze. "It would be, staring at an angel."

The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breaths, still uneven, still coming down from the high of each other.

Joel lay beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other tracing slow, absent-minded patterns along your side. His touch wasn’t urgent—just gentle.

You exhaled deeply, stretching out against the sheets, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t think I can go for another round.”

Joel huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough with exhaustion, but still full of warmth. “Let me clean you up.”

Something in your chest fluttered at the softness and tenderness in his voice in the offer.

You almost protested—almost told him you were okay, that he didn’t have to—but when you glanced at him, you saw it.

That look. That undeniable care was written all over his face.

So, instead, you just nodded.

You sat up, moving toward the edge of the bed, but Joel scooped you into his arms with ease before your feet could even touch the floor.

"Joel!" you gasped, a surprised giggle escaping you as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

His grin was cocky, but his touch was careful. “Pretty sure your legs feel like Jell-O, honey. Let me carry you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your fingers curled against the back of his neck betrayed you.

"You just like showing off," you teased.

Joel smirked, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as he carried you toward the bathroom. "Damn right."

Steam curled into the air as he drew a bath; the water was warm, and the scent of his favorite soap filled the space.

Joel eased you into it first, the heat instantly relaxing your muscles. You sighed, leaning back against the tub, eyes fluttering shut for a moment until you felt the water shift behind you.

Joel sank in, settling in behind you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his arms circling you.

He just held you, his hands slowly gliding along your skin, washing away the remnants of the night with steady, reverent touches.

You let your head tip back against his shoulder, exhaling deeply. “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

“I want to,” Joel murmured against your hair, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

Something thick swelled in your chest, something too big, too full to contain.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I love you.”

The second they left your lips, your whole body tensed.

Your breath caught, your heart stopped, and you felt Joel still behind you. Shit. You hadn’t meant to say it. Not now. Not like this.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly. “I mean—I didn’t—”

But Joel’s arms tightened around you.

“Hey.” His voice was softer now, his lips pressing lightly against your shoulder. “Don’t take it back.”

Joel shifted slightly, his hand coming up to tilt your chin, guiding you to look at him. His gaze was steady, full of something profound and undeniable.

“I love you, too.”

The words were gruff and raw but honest.

Your chest ached, your stomach twisted, your eyes burning with something too overwhelming to name.

Joel’s hand slid along your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek, and then he kissed you, slow and deep like he was sealing those words between you.

Like he meant them. Like he always had.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, @hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock, @forpunishers, @yallgotkik, @cuteanimalmama, @worhols, @lumpatto, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @vickie5446, @its-in-the-woods, @onlythehobi, @ro-nahime-things, @ashleyfilm

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠어 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 ��� 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 널 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should’ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable. 

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.” 

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered. 

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest. 

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain. 

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

 “I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear. 

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you. 

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk. 

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy. 

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep. 

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale. 

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else. 

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. 

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

i know love // joaquin torres

Summary: Having been raised in the Red Room, people would expect you to be ruthless and cold. Your vulnerability surfaces when a conversation topic is brought up during dinner, and you need to have a difficult conversation with Joaquín.  

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Ex-Widow!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of brainwashing and killing, mentions of reader having an involuntary hysterectomy in the red room, mentions of dreykov, reader doesn't know how to deal with her emotions, mentions of adoption, angst, hurt/comfort, but a happy ending!!

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @heybaynoot for proofreading this!

This is my first time writing for Joaquín, I probably got him OOC a bit, but hope you guys like this one! Oh, and I have more in store for Joaquín & BlackWidow!Reader so stay tuned!

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

It was an offhand comment.

This wasn’t something you should be overthinking.

Any other woman in your situation would have been thrilled. And that was the problem—you weren't like other women. And no, this wasn't meant to be a compliment.

Your childhood and adolescence hadn’t been the most conventional. You knew it hadn’t been your fault; you never had a say in anything, yet it didn’t undo the knot in your stomach nor make the nightmares go away.

It had only been a few years since you'd begun to get your life back on track. Or, well, to build your own. One that actually felt like yours, where you were more than just the prisoner of a rich sadist.

When Yelena found you and freed your mind from their control, you were lost. Waking up was difficult. Facing the reality around you was puzzling, and you struggled with understanding your true identity. 

But that was ages ago. 

You have got your life on track since then.

And everything was going well. You could say you were happy for the first time in a long time. A fundamental pillar of that happiness was thanks to Joaquin.

When Sam introduced you, you never thought he would become such an important part of your life. Falling in love with him wasn't in your plans, but it had happened. And it was quite simple. That was one of the long list of special things about Joaquín—loving him was so easy.

From the first moment, you noticed the brightness he radiated. He was funny, kind, sweet, and smart. He had a charming personality, and it was literally impossible not to smile when he was around—and you weren't someone who was used to smiling, not before him at least.

He knew who you were and what you had done, and it had never been an issue for him. To be honest, his reaction when he met you was something you hadn't expected. He was thrilled and excited to officially meet an ex-widow. And, despite his obvious curiosity, he never asked anything about the Red Room. You assumed it was out of respect; perhaps he did not want you to remember Dreykov, the training, and the brainwashing.

And the killing.

And you had to admit you were delighted that the subject was never brought up.

He still complimented your fighting skills. Like, all the time. Looking like a proud boyfriend every time you kicked someone's ass. 

There was a moment, early in your relationship, when you realized it was him. You had never known love before—not that kind. And Joaquin's was the best first experience you could have asked for. You had been certain that he was going to be your first and last. You didn't want anyone else. Because no one would ever make you feel the way he did.

But now everything has crumbled.

Because of a single comment.

“We're going to have the cutest babies.”

The words had rolled off his tongue so easily.

And they had stabbed your heart in the same way.

Sarah had smiled at his words, Sam had rolled his eyes and made a witty remark, while you pressed your lips into a thin smile, and the conversation at the table just continued on.

But you couldn't shake off the feeling.

In all the time you had been dating Joaquín, the topic of having children had never been brought up. You thought it was because he knew. And he was being the considerate, thoughtful gentleman he was.

But now you were thinking that maybe Joaquín didn't know everything you went through in the Red Room.

You had the image of his happy face burned into your brain when he made the baby comment, and it only intensified the knotting in your stomach.

This happened two weeks ago, and since then, your mind has not stopped spinning in a whirlpool of thoughts and feelings. You didn't know how to deal with the situation. Well, technically, you did; you knew you had to talk to Joaquín. If the future he had planned for himself was to have a family, it was clear he was not going to have that with you.

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a grunt of resignation. You'd tried your best to leave the past behind you, just for it to come back, knocking on your door and hitting you with a harsh reminder that happiness was a luxury you couldn’t yet afford.

Something was going on.

And Joaquin had noticed this. 

You'd been acting odd, distant even, and he couldn't figure out why.

Had he done something that irked you?

Despite living together, over the past two weeks, you’ve been coming up with excuses to avoid spending time together, skipping your regular morning coffee dates, and missing movie nights. Even during your training sessions, your conversations felt minimal and strained.

But what hurt him the most was that whenever he attempted to reach out for you, you recoiled from his touch—something you never did before. 

You had always loved his clinginess. He felt the need to have a hand on you constantly. While other people had considered it annoying in the past, it never seemed to bother you. On the contrary, it seemed like you yearned for his touch just almost as he longed for yours.

When he mentioned the situation to Sam, the reaction he got was that he was reading too much into it and that maybe you just needed to have some space.

“Have you talked to her about it?”

No. He hadn’t. Because he was afraid he would get the answer his brain was already conjuring up. 

And he wasn’t ready for it.

Not that it mattered, because you started the conversation yourself that afternoon.                               

A sense of relief washed over him as he noticed you standing in the living room of your shared apartment.

Everything may be okay after all. 

Perhaps Sam was right, and you just needed space. 

However, the happiness was wiped from his face when he noticed the expression on your face, followed by the dreadful words, “We need to talk.”

Joaquín felt the air escape from his lungs. A lump formed in his throat as your words echoed in his head.  

‘We need to talk’. 

Those words almost always came before terrible news.

He searched your face for clues, any hint that this time might be different, but the seriousness in your eyes revealed everything he feared. 

“Can we sit down, please?” 

Joaquín nodded, swallowing hard as he followed you to the couch. You sat across from him, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, a subtle sign of your own unease. The cushions felt too soft, and indulgent as if mocking the tension between the two of you.

“I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks…” You began, your voice quivering slightly, and he felt a surge of fear grip his heart. “I know you had noticed that I had pushed you away, and I—”

The words sent a shiver down his spine. A flicker of emotion crossed your eyes—a mix of determination and sadness—that sent a twist through his stomach.

You'd rehearsed this conversation in your head, every word, but now that you had your boyfriend in front of you, your mind had gone completely blank. Your eyes drank in how worried he was; you hated yourself for doing this to him.

You took a deep breath, the kind that tried to draw in all the courage you could muster. “Remember two weeks ago when we had dinner with Sam and Sarah?” 

He furrowed his brow in confusion. Of all the things his mind had conjured up, you mentioning the dinner at Sarah's was not among them. However, he nodded and gestured for you to go on. 

“Sarah said something about AJ and Cass and then you mentioned that we were gonna have the cutest babies, and I—” 

God, this hurt so much.

Each word you spoke felt like a dagger piercing his chest, and made his heart sink further. The lump in his throat seemed to grow even bigger. “Is that what this is about? You don’t want to build a family with me?”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks—of course, Joaquín would assume he was the problem. You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “No, it's not that I don't want to.” You exhaled, forcing the words out, your heart racing. “It's just…”

Joaquin leaned forward, squinting in a fervent plea for clarity. The concern on his face was palpable.

“I thought you knew about this, and that’s why you never brought the subject up…” You took a deep breath and finally uttered the words weighing heavily inside you. “I can’t have kids, Joaquin.”

“In the Red Room, they had this graduation ceremony…They sterilized us. One less thing to worry about, I guess.” You grimaced, your hands fidgeting instinctively—a nervous habit you couldn't recall developing. “For Dreykov, that was what mattered even more than a mission. It made everything easier. Even the killing.”

He struggled with the truth of what you said, and the world around him dimmed for a minute. 

“I've fought to put that part of my life behind me, and I don't want to be the burden that holds you back from having the life you want.”

“You're not a burden to me.” He moved closer and took one of your hands in his own, his thumb softly stroking patterns on the back of your hand. “What I want is you—just as you are. A future without you holds no interest for me.”

Emotions you had suppressed for so long started to overwhelm you, and tears filled your eyes. “I don't want to put you in that position. I want you to be happy.”

“But I am happy with you,” he replied, with a resolute tone.

“What if one day you change your mind?”

Joaquín leaned in, his eyes blazing with a sharp intensity that sliced through the fog of doubt that shrouded you. “I swear to you, my mind is made up. And it starts and ends with you.”

He cupped your face gently, wiping away a tear. You closed your eyes in contentment, leaning into his touch. 

You had missed it so much.

You had missed him. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you murmured, gazing into his chocolate-brown eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

For the first time in two weeks, Joaquín found himself smiling—truly smiling. 

He pulled you closer, draping his arms around your shoulders. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling in his familiar scent, while he tightened his embrace around you, afraid that you would slip away.

He had missed you.

“Please, don’t push me away again,” he pleaded softly, his voice muffled as his face rested against your head. “Those were the worst two weeks of my life.”

“I’m sorry.” You pulled back slightly. “I don’t know how to deal with my emotions well, but I’m trying, I promise.”

“I know you are. And I’m here for you if you need me. We’ll work through it together. We’re a team, remember?”

As you listened to him, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. The fear that had gripped you for weeks started to fade.

“And we can always consider adoption,” he suggested, his eyes lighting up at the idea. “There are so many kids out there in need of a caring home. We can give them a shot at a better life.”

“I like that idea,” you said quietly, a timid smile emerging through the lingering traces of your tears.

“Good.” His hand found yours again, his fingers easily interlacing with yours. A wave of tranquility enveloped you, and for the first time in weeks, it felt as though you could breathe. You rested your head against his shoulder, settling into him and finding comfort in the calming thud of his heartbeat.

“Thank you for being so understanding. I don't deserve you.”

“Don't say that,” he said, lifting your chin, making you meet his eyes. “You deserve all the love and happiness in the world. And I'm not going anywhere.”

With that, he leaned into you, his lips softly brushing against yours, and in that instant, everything felt right again. The outside world faded, enveloping you in your warm little cocoon of comfort and understanding.

[quarterlifekitty]

I would imagine the reader in the Yellowjackets au serves as an emotional anchor for the boys. Even though the team is a pretty supportive friend group they're still a bunch of quite macho men who are probably not the best at being vulnerable with eachother. You're not only valuable due to your skills but also your role as a reliable shoulder to cry.

You check Johnny's wounds from the crash everyday, gently peeling back the wrappings and inspecting the raw skin. You tell him he can always come to you if the burns start acting up, even in the middle of the night. You tell him you'll sit with him through the pain. He ruffles your hair and says he's got the best nurse.

You listen and give advice during one of John's secret smoke breaks when expresses his frustrations with not being a good enough captain. He tells you he doesn't know how to lead his team through this. You tell him no one expects him to know but that you believe in him. He places a kiss on the crown of your head as thanks.

You take Kyle's hand in yours, stroking your thumb over the back of it reassuringly when he admits to you how badly he misses home. You let him tell you about his family, his hometown, the plans he has for his life. When he's done you hug him tightly and don't let go for a good minute.

You sit in silence with Simon for more than an hour, busying your hands by patching the elbow of another teammate's sweatshirt. You sit there because you can tell he needs it. You let your thigh press against his to make sure he feels your presence, lean against his shoulder when you start getting tired. He'll talk when he's ready.

See, and when you get men like that to be emotionally dependent on a single source, things get dangerous.

You start to sleep between Ghost and Soap. You’re a naturally warm person— you run hot at night in particular, and Johnny says that the warmth from your back helps soothe some of the pain and aching in his front. You don’t know if it’s true or if it’s just an excuse to keep close, but you don’t mind. Either way, it’s something he needs.

Ghost had nightmares even before all of this. It’s only gotten worse. He’s been doing things in his sleep— and not remembering. But sleeping next to you has quieted his mind and given him the most restful sleep he’s had in years.

You get called a slut for sleeping between two men every night. People stop calling you that (to your face, at least) eventually. It old takes a few black eyes and broken fingers.

[neeeooon]

when your hair is a mess and you don’t know how to take care of it and it’s always frizzy, so you ask classmate! chigiri for help, even though you’re not close to him but he has amaaazing hair and you’re just so desperate because you want your hair to look pretty and nice! ^^ (+ he helps you with your skincare as a bonus)

omg yesssss TY

hair care plan

chigiri hyoma & gn!reader. platonic! reader is a chigiri glazer

everyone in class was mesmerized by chigiri hyoma, regardless of their gender or sexuality. no one was strong enough to look away whenever the majestic student entered the classroom.

and you were no different.

it was as if doves swam from the door whenever he arrived, shrouded in a ray of golden light. sighs would stem around the classroom like a symphony of fawning, and your hands would curl under your chin as the man of the hour made his way across the room and descend into his assigned seat in front of you.

he stared out the window as you stared at him. more specifically, the perfect side of his face, the gentle slope of his nose leading down to his full lips, and that healthy mane of bright red hair.

your fingers subconsciously found the ends of your own—frizzled beyond belief and in desperate need of care. a sigh built in your chest, but you wouldn’t dare to breathe anywhere near chigiri hyoma.

“you’re staring.” you blanched at the words, head snapping up to see chigiri eyeing you without ever moving his head.

your hands started waving on their own account. “i’m sorry! i was just admiring how healthy your hair looks… mine’ll never be as nice.”

chigiri continued side eyeing you. then, he twisted in his chair until he was facing you completely. “it just needs a little hydration. hair masks, leave-in conditioners, and oils will do you good.” he tapped his chin as he went on. “i could recommend a place that sells really nice combs and silk pillowcases, too. wait until after class and i’ll give it to you.”

he turned back toward the front and you gaped at the back of his head.

never in your life had you exchanged words with chigiri hyoma, and now he was making a hair care plan for you. you silently clasped your hands together and thanked whatever gods handled hair and pretty men.

the end of class came much slower than you wanted it to, but eventually the teacher rattled off the homework due next, and chigiri’s attention was once again on you.

“okay, i put together a list for you, but it might be hard to follow as a beginner. give me your number and i’ll walk you through the process tonight after you get everything.”

you blinked. chigiri hyoma was asking you for your number. you jumped when he repeated himself and quickly scrambled to tear a page out of your notebook and write your information on it.

he took it from you before staring at you a little longer, his lips pursed to the side. “not that you need it or anything, but if you wanted to start skin care, i could hook you up with that, as well.”

oh god. chigiri hyoma wants to help me with my skin care. he’s going to make me gorgeous.

“yes! please, i mean. that would be good!”

chigiri nodded, a tiny smile gracing his perfect features, and adjusted his bag over his shoulder before walking out and leaving you wondering what the hell just happened.

i’m leaving the font big for this one. i might post other one shots like this but idk yet :)

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Flower." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif)

Summary: Daryl has been looking for ways to propose to you. However, something simple but meaningful is always best.

A/N: This is like a second part of "What it means to me" but you don't have to read it first. I stole Daryl and Carol's scene and the flower in Sophia's name, but I haven't slept in almost three days so I feel my attempt at explanation is garbage, but I tried hard, really, so here it goes. Thanks to everyone for liking and sharing my stories!

“How many times?”

“What?”

“How many times did you plan to propose to (Y/N) this week?”

“3.”

“And how many times did you waste?”

“3.” Daryl lets out a grunt of frustration, one that comes from the back of his throat, and he crosses his arms to shield himself from Carol’s words.

The music in the house shared by some family members isn’t loud for obvious reasons, but the people Daryl knew from the beginning are there, enjoying each other’s company. There are glasses and bottles, laughter and smiles you haven’t seen or heard in a long time, all of you together on a night that deserved to be celebrated after feeling fear for so long.

“How the hell ya expect me to do it if y'all are always on top of her? There’s never a moment when ya leave her alone, and when ya did, someone showed up.”

Carol finds a double meaning in a question Daryl never intended to make, so she covers her lips with the back of her hand to stifle the sound of a laugh.

“Excuse me but I assure you that you are the only one on her.”

A blank expression spreads across Daryl's face.

“Ya ain't helpin'.”

Carol shrugs apologetically, quickly silencing her laughter.

“Okay. Okay, the first one was our fault, but you had (Y/N) all to yourself out there at the lagoon twice and you didn't say anything to her. When I asked her how everything went she said you looked like you were about to pass out.”

A sharp ache grips Daryl's heart, like a reflection of the pain of a missed opportunity.

“I tried, but y'know I suck with words, an' I can't find 'em when m' with her. Everythin' disappears when m' with her—the noise, everythin'.”

Carol smiles slightly, seeing Daryl's eyes and the way he inadvertently used his words to speak about you, and she looks at him fondly like she always did.

"You're good with words, Pookie, it's just that you're so dazzled by her that it still makes you feel shy to be around her, like when you met her in the camp. Her gaze that's warm and deep when she looks at those she loves, all of it intimidates you still, even if you say it isn't. What i mean is: you’re in love, Daryl Dixon, that's why you feel that way."

Daryl swallows, stealing a glance from you sitting next to the high granite kitchen table. The wild journey outside had ended when the group found refuge within the walls of Alexandria, struggling now to adapt back to normalcy until you all finally did. Daryl Dixon had come a long way since that new, blood-stained world had risen (more than the others)—growing as a person, going from the loner, the outcast, the one who survived best alone, to one of the most fundamental pillars of the family, one who would silently give his life for someone else.

He had found a family.

But if someone had told Daryl Dixon in the past that he'd find you and have everything when he'd always had nothing (a wife if you said yes, a house if you wanted to start a family on your own with him), he probably would have sent them to hell for lying, or shot them in the face for making fun of something he thought he'd never have. A warm, real home was an inconceivable and unimaginable idea to Daryl, who always believed he was better off alone until he found you. Daryl was never one to commit to anything or anyone until you came along, and now he couldn't imagine his life any other way. Now he even wanted something that would tie you to him, something that would tie him to you.

There, an idea of ​​how to ask you appears in his mind, with a light so blinding it dazzles even him.

"Fuck it. Wish me luck." Daryl whispers before leaving his place in the living room, with Carol smiling at him.

It's a nice party, and he doesn't want to be out of place in the conversation so Daryl stands next to you, his side pressed so naturally against yours that, while sitting away in a corner, no one notices that he hasn't stopped caressing your skin under your shirt since he arrived (with you feeling the warmth of his calloused fingers) while Rick tells you all a story from his past, finally without a trace of sadness in his voice. And it's endearing for you to hear him speak, imitating his smile like Rosita and Glenn.

"Meet me at the picnic table outside in 5." He whispers, before walking away again.

Confused, you do so. With a minute to 5, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, walking straight toward the back door of the kitchen, the one that connects to the backyard. Amidst the green grass still holding a few drops of dew, the wooden table has two rectangular chairs on either side, but there's something about Daryl's deep gaze as he watches you the whole way over there, sitting with each leg on either side, too.

Like a hammer hitting the head of a nail, your heartbeat seems to pick up that intensity when Daryl slides down the wood just a little, so that his knees and yours touch.

"You're scaring me." You laugh nervously, tugging slightly at the collar of your t–shirt that seems to stick to your skin until it suffocates you. "Are you okay, love?"

Love. That blessed word that always came after your honest concern for him, way back when it all began and when the others were always tempted to get rid of the burden he seemed to represent.

“I am, Peach, s' just…” Daryl swallows, still holding your gaze, but he hates that is happening again, the way he chokes on his own words, like a barrier blocking his ability to speak. “Shit.”

“Do you… want to break up?”

There's no emotion in your voice, just a weighty question that makes his body shrink back a millimeter.

“What?” Now his heart gives him no respite or warning, and it starts pounding like Daryl’s on a marathon toward the end of the earth. “Y–ya wanna break up?”

The one second–fear is painful, more than the bullet when he was shot.

“No, of course not.” Even through his long hair, the strands covering part of his eyebrows, and the dimly glowing nightlight, you can see his brow furrow in worry, fear. “It’s just, you’ve been on edge this week, and every time we’re alone, it seems like you want to say something, but you don’t dare, and that’s not promising, you know?”

Daryl starts to shake his head, his eyebrows trying to knit together in an expression of real pain.

“Peach, no, shit, m' sorry. I never meant to worry ya or make ya feel like I didn’ want ya anymore 'cause s' the complete opposite.” He takes a silent but deep breath, allowing the air to find places to fill them and to continue living for a moment, or maybe a lifetime to spend with you. “I wanna tell ya a story, but please listen to it 'til the end an' then give me an answer, okay?"

You nod at the unknown even if it makes you feel you are walking blindly; at the overwhelming feelings this evokes in you.

Daryl reaches into his front pants pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper the size of his palm, only to place it between you two of you, on the wood: there's a flower drawn with a pen in messy lines.

“S’ Cherokee rose.” Daryl clears his throat, his gaze fixed solely on the image, but his voice deepens slightly in the night and with the weight of his words. “The story is that… when american soldiers were movin’ Indians off their land on the trail of tears… the Cherokee mothers were grievin’ and cryin’ so much cause they were losin’ their lil’ ones along the way to the exposure, disease, starvation. A lot of ‘em jus’ disappeared, so the elders… they said a prayer, asked for a sign to uplift the mother’s spirits, givin’ ‘em strength, hope. An’ the next day this rose started to grow right where the mother’s tears fell… an' I wanna believe that somewhere… one grew when I met ya.” When Daryl raises his head and his gaze catches yours, the intensity forces you to hold your breath for a moment, as if with a quick, sharp breath, the air could also carry away the overflowing emotions too fast. “What m' tryin' to say is… ma mom used to say this flower grows after someone’s pain an' s' funny to think how ya appeared jus' when I couldn't bear any more pain.”

Daryl smiles softly, and his gaze softens too even through the past he still feels, but even in his own darkness that blends with the night, there’s still beauty to be seen in the dim light.

“Does it still hurt?”

Your question glimmers with your own pain, causing your voice to crack slightly, but that little spark of concern is extinguished when Daryl shakes his head.

“Nah. The scars will always be there, but it all stopped hurtin' a long time ago.”

You nod, but the pain in response to his abuse reached you at a supersonic level, so fast it violently settled inside you.

“I’m glad. Honestly.” You laugh embarrassedly as you feel tears welling up in your eyes, so you slide your fingers from the edges outward in a failed attempt to keep them in line. “I’m sorry.”

“Shit. No, m' sorry, Peach.” Daryl leans forward until his fingers can cup the soft skin of your face and his thumbs can wipe away the first tear that falls from either side. “Didn't mean to make ya cry, I jus' want ya to understand that yer the reason m' here. Ya saved me from myself. Ya always felt like the home I never had, an' I wanted to keep that with me almost selfishly an' all the time. Why ya think I followed ya everywhere?” Daryl lets out a short but heartfelt laugh, and you manage to imitate it with less intensity. “Yer ma home, Peach, yer everythin’ to me, that's why right now I jus' need ya to be honest with me, okay?”

He pulls away, and the wind brushes and chills the skin where his warm fingers had been, but you nod, watching as Daryl reaches into his pants again, making a fist to hide whatever he's holding, until he places a ring over the drawing. Like lead, you feel a weight on your heart trying to drag it down with the sudden nervousness, perhaps heavy with all the emotions that have gathered there.

When you look up again, Daryl smiles sideways, a little with his own nerves.

"Would ya let me be yer husband?"

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any recs for angsty sterek fics? The angstier the better!

and anon asked:

Hii. Do you have any angst fics that you could recommend? I mean like some heartbreaking , tear jerking, soul crushing angst. Of course with a happy ending if you know of any?

I have an angst fic recs here, but let's make a part two!

It's All I Can Do by Vanyela

This is what happened the night the Kanima struck at the pool. This is why Stiles really held Derek up and this is what happened when Scott got there two minutes later than a good friend should have. Based off the prompt: "Stiles shoves Derek to the top of the pool even as he’s drowning because Derek is worth so much more than Stiles could ever be."

Optional by Cheshyr

Stiles is acutely aware of the fact that no one really chooses him. They just get stuck with him.

Holy Injuries, Batman! by LadyDrace

Stiles gets hurt. Badly. Getting better turns out to be more of a process than anyone expected, and there are a few surprises along the way.

Empty by modestfuckup

Stiles stops listening to the words the doctor is saying, a stream of tears rolling down his face. His training taught him he has to remain calm. He uses a tissue to blot at the tears as his mind already turns to what is going to happen now. The doctor is talking about his options, and treatments he could undergo, but Stiles knows none of that will work. He’s infertile. With no way to supply his alpha with an heir, he is practically useless. Or the one where Stiles is an infertile omega, and society dictates that if an omega is unable to carry on the alpha's lineage, an alpha is allowed to take another omega. Stiles hides his condition from Derek while he copes and starts the process of finding a new omega for him.

The Mating Privilege by Kikileduc

Stiles and Derek have been happily mated. The pack is doing well, but in hopes of creating alliances for it to do better, Derek accepts a neighboring pack's request to allow two wolves to join the Hale-McCall pack for a full moon cycle. They hope to form a blood-tie, or at least a long term friendship between the two packs. The issue is Kohona, the tribal leader's daughter, has her eyes set on an unavailable alpha wolf. This could have drastic consequences for their young emissary, however…

Abiding By Pack Law by neil4god

Traditionally the Alpha mate must meet certain requirements, however there are always certain exceptions. For every rule there is someone who has broken it, well almost every rule. There is one rule that no-one has ever broken. The alpha's pack must approve the match, if they don't, well a new mate is required. Unfortunately Stiles know he doesn't fit the requirements, the pack hate him, Derek just hasn't realised it yet.

I Shouldn't Love you Anymore by wulfarchival (wyrmwolf)

After Stiles divorces Derek under mysterious reasons, Derek moves out into the middle of nowhere loosing himself to the wolf after the ache in his chest becomes too much. But after weeks of being lost to an animal someone he thought he'd never see again returns in his life. This time to stay forever.

All Derek Ever Wanted by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Stiles knew Derek always wanted a big family. And, for the longest time, he thought he'd be the one to give it to him. Life, devastatingly, has other plans. Prompt: "I've been thinking about omega stiles n alpha derek. They're trying to hav a baby. But one day stiles go to the doc, n he imply that stiles can't get pregnant. Stiles keep it secret and try to make derek divorce him."

This Quiet Torment

Derek has had a crush on Stiles, a young omega who goes to his school since he first laid eyes on him. He has watched him continually come to school with bruises and flesh wounds delivered by his abusive father and all he’s ever wanted to do was help but Stiles never let him get close enough. Until, one night, Stiles ends up at Derek’s house, with more than a flesh wound and Derek will do everything in his power to protect him.

Stay with me by Beautiful_noise

Derek gets a glimpse of the future in which Stiles has two biological daughters and that's how he knows he and Stiles are going to break up.

Leave It All Behind by asarcasticwitch

A coil of panic tightens in his chest as, after just three short rings, Derek’s voice—raspy as if barely awake—echoes through the speaker. “Do you know what time it is?” he grumbles, and at any other time, Stiles would’ve made a joke or retorted with something so sarcastic it would’ve undoubtedly earned him a huff in return. But right now, he can’t think of anything to say.

This Can of Worms by LadyDrace

Derek knows Stiles has been crying, and he's the alpha, dammit, he's supposed to be able to help his pack members. But what is he supposed to do when Stiles won't let him?

all stories deserve an end by bleep0bleep

No one hardly ever comes up to this area of the forest, especially with the rumors of the “mad wizard.” Stiles encourages the rumor, because it means people leave him alone. It’s a good, solitary existence as long as Stiles pretends the aching loneliness in his heart isn’t there.

I Just Need You by beckybrit

“Derek?” He’s surprised at how steady his voice is, considering he’s absolutely terrified. It’s been a long time since he’s been afraid of Derek, but the eyes looking back at him now are full of hate and the promise of death. Stiles shudders but steadfastly refuses to look away. “Derek, I know it doesn’t look like it, but it’s me… Stiles.”

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles + pt2 | oblivious!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles | alive Hales | spanking | royal abo au | longfic | void!Stiles | sheriff dissaproves | Stiles doesn't know about werewolves

[ramp-it-up]

Captain. My Captain.

Mood

Summary: Steve has a kink. And you have the key.

Word count: 3.3 K

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

A/N: This is a fic related to Call Me Captain When I... and comes right after Mood. It is also for @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Sir/Daddy Kink This is also part of @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grabby, Stabby, Oh My Challenge. Prompt: “just the tip I promise" *holds me down and fucks me full of cum.*” I'm deep in love with Steve and Libby. Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! This Steve curses, and he is also grumpy. Steve is weak for you but a bit of a control freak. Dominate Steve, Semi-public sex act, fingering, lots of dirty talk and verbal edging, literal edging, orgasm denial, Captain and Sir kink, size kink, praise oral (m receiving), raw p in v, creampie, aftercare, soft Steve after he cums. 😜

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

It started at the briefing.

Steve sat at the head of the table, full Captain mode. The stealth suit fit him like a second skin and you’d had to will your eyes forward more than once. His jaw was set, his focus sharp. Everyone else, Sam and a few others, listened while he laid out the plan to hunt the organization behind the ambush on your training op.

The bastards who hit you were already “neutralized,” though you had yet to learn what Steve meant by that. This mission was about the ones who’d sent them. 

The ones who thought they could touch you.

It was the first time you’d worked directly with him in the field.

You were paying attention. To the plan. To him. To the way his fingers curled tight around the table’s edge. The sharp crease between his brows. The way he looked at everyone else like their Captain, and looked at you like a man who’d memorized the sound you made when you broke.

Steve’s reactions to you had always been inconvenient, but they were especially volatile now, on a mission, in uniform, with your professionalism at risk. Hundreds of people called him Captain and Sir every day, but when you said them, it short-circuited something primal inside him.

You weren’t supposed to be under his command outside of the bedroom. But this time, you were. And he was doing everything in his power to keep his shit together.

That meant no time alone. No slipping. No touching. No relief. He even insisted that you get yourself off every night to counter the maddening effects of no contact between you, but you defied him.

“Respectfully, Sir, I don’t want to.”

He’d nearly broken then, but understood. Nothing felt better than you two together. He’d decided the same. Two weeks of self-control would be hell. But he’d endured worse.

You weren’t so sure you would last.

When he asked the room, “Any questions before we move?” his gaze locked on you, unflinching.

You tilted your head innocently.

“No, Sir.”

His breath hitched. Just enough that you noticed.

Sam started talking, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too busy watching Steve’s knuckles strain, his jaw tick, and the storm brewing behind his ice-blue eyes.

He was daring you to say it again.

You straightened, hands folded neatly, waiting for him to look away.

He didn’t.

After the briefing, you didn’t even make it three steps down the hall before his hand circled your arm, pulling you into the breakroom. Not rough, but firm enough that your heart stuttered.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sweetness.

“What was what?”

“You know damn well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sir.” You leaned in, breath warm against his ear. 

“Didn’t mean to distract you, Captain.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was the sound of a man fraying at the seams.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over the nearest tactical table.”

Your pulse fluttered. “Is that a threat or a promise, Sir?”

His hand drifted, barely brushing the curve of your ass and it was subtle, calculated, and electric enough to buckle your knees.

“You’re walking the line, Lieutenant.”

You lowered your gaze, fighting for control you didn’t want. 

“Apologies…”

He nodded, sharp and curt. Turned to go and you watched America’s Ass. You waited just long enough, then let the last word fall like a stone in water.

“…Captain.”

He froze. Just for a second. Shook his head and walked away.

But it didn’t end there.

On the jet, the tension only sharpened. You sat across from him, knees brushing, the hum of the engines a thin veil over the silence between you. The rest of the team prepped and chatted, oblivious.

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just watched you watch him. Your eyes dropped to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock beneath the suit. You licked your lips deliberately, remembering the weight and stretch of him.

You leaned forward, passing him a file, fingers brushing his on purpose.

“Here you go, Sir.”

Your voice was husky and he knew you were wet, and probably desperate for any contact with him. So he didn’t take the file from you.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at you, like he was one slip away from throwing you over his knee in front of God, country, and S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice dark and tight.

You smiled, all sugar. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve’s jaw flexed as he turned to Sam, locking the need away with brutal discipline. You swallowed, steadying yourself. The mission came first.

It always did.

The mission’s success only sharpened the edge. By the time the gala rolled around, neither of you had cooled off, not even close. You’d basically begged him before the event. Your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips bruising his, your body pressed tight against his in the darkened corner of your quarters.

“Please,” you whispered. “Just the tip.”

Steve laughed against your mouth, but he’d pulled back, steady even with his pulse racing wild beneath your fingers. His hands cupped your face, thumbs sweeping over your swollen lips.

“We both know that just the tip would end up with me holding you down and fucking you full of cum, Libby.”

Your eyes rolled. “Please…”

Your wanton moan had him a hair’s breath from giving in. But you both still had a job to do.

“I want to take my time with you.” His voice was all gravel, thick with promise. “You’ll get all of me. But not now. Not like this.”

So you dressed for the gala, the ache between your thighs a constant reminder that Captain Rogers was still calling the shots. And you let him think he’d won right up until the Senator asked that question.

The man had the nerve to sidle up to you, drink in hand, charm dripping off him like oil, and ask what it was like to serve under Captain Rogers.

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, I always follow orders,” you said, slow and sweet. “Isn’t that right, Sir?”

You saw it, the way Steve’s glass froze halfway to his lips, the flicker of fire in his eyes, the sharp clench of his jaw as he forced down a cough to cover the sound of his own restraint breaking.

Five minutes later, he excused himself. You followed.

The hallway was empty. His hand caught your wrist the second you were close enough, pulling you flush against him, pressing your back to the wall. You were so wet.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. 

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

His breath ghosted your lips. 

“You think it’s funny? Teasing me like that. In front of him.”

You smiled angelically. 

“I think it’s hot. Watching you try to keep control when all you want to do is take me apart.”

His hands tightened against the wall.

“You know what happens when I lose control, Libby.”

You smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling tight around your wrist as he dragged you into the nearest supply closet. The door clicked shut, the air was charged, and you could barely breathe.

“You wanted this,” he growled pinning you back against the shelves. His hands roamed, hiking your dress higher and higher until his fingers brushed bare skin. 

“You’ve been begging for it since the damn briefing.”

Your breath hitched, but your voice stayed steady. 

“Still am.”

The second the word Captain left your mouth, his control shattered and he was on you.

His hand covered your mouth to muffle the sounds, the other sliding between your thighs, fingers slipping deep, parting your folds roughly, desperate to feel you. He swallowed every broken noise you couldn’t hold back, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, your breast. His teeth grazing, his tongue soothing, and his lips branding you.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking open at the edges.

You moaned, helpless against the waves of pleasure.

His fingers pumped harder, faster. His control slipping with every stroke. His fingers worked you harder, faster, until your legs trembled and your world seemed to bend around you.

Then, right before you came, he stopped.

“You wanna play games, Sweetheart?” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You better be ready for the consequences.”

When he pulled back, he held you steady, smoothing your dress back down with those same hands that had almost wrecked you. His lips ghosted over your temple, while what he did still vibrated through both of you.

“You okay?” 

You swallowed. You couldn’t even be mad at him because you knew how much you’d teased him.

“Yeah, I….you. That was…” your voice trailed off. “...Are you?”

His smirk was pure sin. “Nope.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. 

“You know it would help if you didn’t look so damn smug.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you haven’t seen smug yet. Wait until I give you at least three orgasms.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“So you keep telling me.”

—----

The second the gala ended, you’d expected him to break. To drag you into the nearest car, or corner you in some dark hallway before the flashbulbs had even cooled.

But no.

Steve kept his distance.  

All night, you’d felt his eyes track you across the room, the heat of it searing through the silk of your dress, the weight of his control stretched so tight it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped.

But he never touched you again. Never slipped. Not once.

He even sent you home in a separate car. Your heart couldn’t take it, but you knew there was more to come. And it was long past midnight when the knock came. You opened your door, heart already pounding, and there he stood.

His shirt sleeves were rolled, the tie hanging loose around his neck, his jacket nowhere to be seen. His restraint had finally cracked, written all over his face. But his voice stayed low, even.

“Pack your bag,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to. You just obeyed.

Ten minutes later, you were in his car, the city lights blurring past the windows, your thighs pressed tightly together. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you, hands flexing on the wheel like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

By the time the car stopped,  a quiet, private safehouse on the edge of the city, your skin was flushed, your pulse wild.

The door had barely shut behind you when you felt it.

His hands.

One gripping your jaw, tilting your face up, the other on your waist.

“You think you can tease me like that,” he murmured, voice like gravel, “and I’ll just sit back and let it slide?”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t teasing, Sir.”

His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth lifted. not a smile, more like a warning.

“You don’t get to play innocent. Not after two weeks of ‘Yes, Sir’ and that sweet little tilt of your head. You’ve been testing me since the briefing.” 

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You felt the heat pool low in your belly, your legs weak beneath the weight of his words, the sharpness of his stare.

“On your knees.”

The order sent a shiver through you and you dropped without hesitation, hands resting on your thighs, head tilted back to look at him, waiting.

Wanting.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, jaw tight, chest rising slowly.

“Look at you,” he muttered, shaking his head, more to himself than to you. 

“So damn pretty when you’re obedient.”

When he undid his belt, his fly, and freed his cock, you swallowed hard. The size of him, the sheer weight and length, was always a shock to your system no matter how many times you’d seen him.

You glanced up through your lashes, the shape of a question lingering in your throat.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. 

“You’ve been begging for this with every word you’ve said for the last two weeks. Work for it.”

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat, the heft, the impossible stretch of him. Your lips parted, and when you took him in, his breath hissed through his teeth, one hand threading to your scalp.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, the barest encouragement as you started to bob on his cock, lips stretched wide and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you. Captain’s perfect little mouth.”

You worked him slow at first, savoring the low growl of his approval, the way his hips flexed, controlled even now. But when you hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, wide-eyed, his control cracked.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand tightened on your head, hips pressing forward until you took him deeper, until tears dropped from your eyes. But you didn’t pull back. You wanted this, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

When he finally eased out of your mouth, his thumb wiped your lips, tracing the slick curve.

“Up,” he ordered softly, and you obeyed, rising to your feet. His hands were on you the second you stood, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest wall, his large body caging you in completely.

“You like making me lose control, don’t you?” he rasped against your ear, his hard length grinding against your ass through the thin fabric of your panties. 

“You like knowing no one else gets to see me like this.”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, Sir.”

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding you soaked and ready.

“Of course you do. You’ve been dripping for me all damn night.” 

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, voice dark and ragged. 

“And I’ve been thinking about bending you over every flat surface I could find. About splitting you open on my cock until you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, grinding back against him, desperate.

“You wanted me to break, sweetheart?” 

His hand gripped your hip, his other one sliding between your legs again, fingers skating through your slick. 

“You’ve got me. But you’re going to pay for every second you spent torturing me.”

He didn’t take you to bed. Not yet.

Instead, he lifted you, like you weighed nothing at all,  and carried you to the couch, settling you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did, your gaze locking with his as he guided you down onto him, slowly, filling you inch by impossible inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he groaned, holding you still once you’d taken all of him. 

“You feel so fucking tight. So goddamn perfect around me.”

You clung to him, barely able to breathe, stretched to the limit. It hurt so good.

“You wanted your Captain,” he whispered against your lips. “Now you’ve got him.”

And then he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts that pushed you to the edge of madness, his mouth capturing every moan, every broken plea you couldn’t hold back. And you knew, right then, there’d be no walking straight tomorrow.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—---

You lost track of how many times he made you cum. His mouth, his hands, the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every part of him wrecked you with single-minded precision.

But it wasn’t until long after your voice was hoarse from moaning his name, long after your body trembled from overstimulation, that Steve softened.

He shifted beneath you, easing out of your body with care, murmuring something low and tender against your skin. You couldn’t make out the words because your brain was a fog of pleasure and endorphins. But the gentle tone was enough to settle you.

Strong arms gathered you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carried you to the bed like you were precious. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the salt of his skin, the faintest scent of sweat and his cologne.

He laid you down carefully and climbed in beside you. His big hands smoothed over your hips, your thighs, his thumbs catching on the marks he’d left behind.

You didn’t mind them. You liked that you’d wear the shape of him tomorrow. On your skin. Between your legs. In the slight limp no one would question, but he would know.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, still dazed, sated and warm. “Yes, Sir.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled the blanket up over both of you.  

“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he murmured, brushing your curls back from your forehead. 

“Just… you get under my skin, Libby. Make me forget how to think.”

“You didn’t forget how to think,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bicep, the hard line of his chest. “You planned that.”

His answering grin pressed against your shoulder. 

“Maybe a little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he asked, “And you knew what you were doing at the gala.”

You smirked against his throat. 

“You liked it.”

Steve groaned and pulled you tighter. 

“Liked it too much. Nearly lost it when you said Sir like that in front of the Senator.”

You laughed softly. 

“You like it when I say it in private more?”

His hand slid to the base of your spine. His grip was warm. 

“I like it when you say it when you're wrecked. When you’re trying not to come and you whisper it like a prayer. That’s when it ruins me.”

The silence that followed was full of heat, but not urgency. The hunger had been sated. What remained was the closeness. The wanting still there, but quiet now. Like embers under ash.

You moved and winced, the soreness sparking up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just that you’re huge,” the words tumbled out unfiltered.

Steve stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No. Not even close. Just… I’m still adjusting. In my soul.”

He laughed then, head falling back, the sound full and rich and happy. It shook the bed, and you smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could look at you. 

“Who knew you were this much of a brat?”

You gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“Only for you, Captain. My Captain.”

His expression softened completely. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a second, there was something deeper than heat in the space between you.

Something like devotion.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Every time. Before, during, after. I love you Libby.”

You leaned into the touch. 

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Steve. I love you too.”

And with that, he kissed you, slow and lingering, nothing like the bruising hunger from earlier. This was patient. Tender. The kind of kiss that promised more.

Not just in bed, but in the quiet spaces between missions and chaos. In the in-between moments where your heartbeat slowed and the world finally held still.

Eventually, you drifted off, curled against him, your leg thrown over his thigh, his hand resting on the curve of your hip.

And even in sleep, you felt it, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Steady. Unshakable. Yours.

Captain. Sir. Steve.

All of him.

[0tivez]

and there was only one sleeping bag

synopsis: you're sent on a mission with levi. once nighttime arrives, you realize you've forgotten your sleeping bag. will you be too proud and sleep on the ground in freezing cold or accept levi's offer to share the sleeping bag?

characters: levi

warnings: afab reader, tight space, unprotected sex, handjob (giving and receiving), mdni

wc: 2k

note: yes it's been literal years, yes it's out of nowhere. but tbh i needed this more than you guys probably will enjoy it. maybe not my best work but give this hag a chance, i haven't written ANYTHING in years. also yeah sorry about that.

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you let the cold soil embrace your feet. you feel all your tiredness leave your body and flow into the ground, as the heat of the bonfire levi has set leave soft, familiar kisses on your bare face. it’s been a long day of riding around the forest for a preliminary investigation for titans before the expedition begins once more, hoping it’d decrease casualties. erwin has assigned his two best soldiers for a daytime exploration, levi and you. you should have been back to the main camp by now, but two 15 meters had other plans. if only you weren’t caught by surprise, it would be child’s play, but you were. eliminating smaller threats, you were ready to return back when two fuckers appeared out of nowhere and attacked you. thankfully, you had managed to survive with minimal damage. as much as you wished you could travel back during the night when it’s the safest, you were too worn out to continue without some rest. so, you planned to rest for a few hours before heading back while it was still dark.

levi was wandering around the forest to look for dry branches while you let the heat relax your muscles. you hear levi coming back with a bunch of wood in his arms.

“we should have been on the move. i should feed you to any titans we’ll see tomorrow.” he nags. his tone is always serious, yet so un-intimidating to you. you stop taking his threats seriously when you receive them everyday.

“aah, you probably won’t have a hard time. i probably taste better than you anyway” you respond. levi clicks his tongue in response, you can feel his face go sour without even looking at him.

“we should sleep. the fire should scare wild animals away.”

“no night shifts? i thought you weren’t tired.”

levi scrunches his nose and furrows his brows. “i’m not going to spend four hours staring into the fire. i’ll try to sleep a little too.” you shake your shoulders in response.

levi turns around and approaches his horse as you take off your jacket and lay it on the ground. levi stands above you with a shocked face.

“what the hell are you doing?”

you look at him, confused. “making my bed.” only then you see the green bag in his hands. “what’s that?”

“it’s my sleeping bag, dumbass. where’s yours?” right, sleeping bag. the warm, cozy bag you sleep in. the one that’s resting in your tent back at the main camp.

levi sighs before you can even say a word. he hands the bag to you. “what kind of a soldier are you? take mine, i’ll sleep on the ground.”

you take offence immediately at levi’s mean remark. “it was supposed to be a daytime mission! i didn’t want to carry too much weight. and i don’t want your stupid bag. i’ll sleep on the ground.”

“tch. you’ll freeze to death. stop being annoying, take the bag.”

you throw the bag at him and turn your back against the bonfire and lay on the ground. levi’s not surprised at your stubbornness, he also knew you’d be shivering before he even fell asleep.

and you did.

levi saw your body trembling on the ground, he knew you’d be too proud to admit being wrong.

“just come here. sleeping together will make us both warmer.”

you humph and get up. levi has unzipped his bag and opened it to let you in. only then you realize, he’s half naked. you only see his pale skin and chiseled abs before turning around and letting a tiny scream out in shock.

“what the hell, you perv? why the fuck are you naked?”

levi sighs. “to increase heat circulation inside. you should take off your clothes if you want to get warmer too.”

“the hell? i’m not getting undressed you freak!”

“god, i won’t look. stop being annoying and get inside or i’ll just sleep here by myself.”

you stomp your feet on the ground in annoyance and quickly unbutton your shirt and get rid of your pants. you find levi with his eyes closed waiting for you to enter his bed. so you do. you snuggle inside the bag and zip it.

your cold back gets in contact with levi’s warm, bare chest. the space is too tight for things to not be erotic. it’s just, undeniable. you can feel every curve of his abs on your back, and you can’t help but notice how perfectly your ass is positioned in front of his bulge. you’re sure levi is aware of it too, but tries not to show it.

the awkwardness only increases once you and levi realize that his arm’s stationed in a weird position. he mumbles something you can’t make out and drops his arm down. his right arm is now wrapped around your waist. the sudden touch of his skin on your waist sends shivers down your spine. all the blood rushes to your cheeks, you can’t help but feel aroused by this sudden situation.

you turn your head to glance at levi. to your surprise he’s not asleep, not even pretending to be asleep. he simply has his brows furrowed, looking directly onto your face. your eyes meet for a second, before both of you move as if on command, directly against each other.

levi’s hot lips press upon your shivering lips. levi sucks in all the coldness out of you. his kiss is enough to send shivers down your spine. you feel the heat rise from below, slowly creeping up your spine. levi’s hand that’s wrapped around your waist tightens its grip. he’s gently kneading the soft skin around your torso before crawling up on your chest. you try to breathe in between kisses. it feels like levi’s on a mission to choke you out with his lips. he shows his incredible stamina once more, he hasn’t broken the kiss for a moment, and you’re a breathless loser.

you hold levi’s hand on your body and guide it on your boobs and under your bra, allowing him inside somewhere you never thought you would. levi’s fingertips play around your nipples as he bites your lower lip, sending too many signals to your body all at once. you free your right hand and grab levi’s face, pushing it further into yours. levi’s hand explores all over your breasts; kneading them and tracing around them as if he was trying to picture it in his mind. and god, you don’t even know how much levi wishes he could bury his face on your chest right now. because he can’t suckle on your nipple, he compensates with your soft lips instead. he sucks on your lower lip that has gotten wet and slippery from his sloppy kisses. he tugs, bites, and sucks on your lips. he’s too drunk on you to realize how much your soft moans have aroused him, he’s too focused on pleasuring himself with your lips.

you can feel his erection grow bigger on your back, fighting for you to play with it. you trace your hand down his body from behind your back down to his underwear. you play around the edge of his boxers as he continues to mark your lips. it’s the first time you hear him moan once you slip your hand inside his boxers and palm his erection. you let his cock fill your cold hands. his dick pulsates on your hand with the sudden touch of coldness. you can feel his eagerness, and how much he was offended at how easily you made him moan. you got a glimpse of his sly smirk on his face before he quickly sent his hand down your underwear as well. you rub his cock up and down as he takes his slender fingers down your wet folds. he nuzzles on your neck and sucks on the soft spot right down your jaw. he puts his wet fingers on your clit and starts circling around it, teasing you to beg for more. you don’t beg nor response, only let your fingers continue rubbing his cock. except this time, you let your fingers wait a little longer on his tip, which you figured out was his sensitive spot once he moaned with your first touch. levi instinctively bites your neck in frustration, and accepts his defeat. he starts applying pressure on your clit before rubbing circles on it. you feel the numbing pleasure wash over you.

it doesn’t take longer than seconds before levi whispers “fuck it” with a raspy and furious voice. he frees his throbbing dick and quickly moves your panties to the side. his pebbled sweat drops on your naked shoulder, yet it doesn’t bother you. you were now gasping for the cold air that once almost killed you.

levi lets out a low moan as he enters his tip. the tight space gives you very little room to move around, you have nothing else to do other than take it, take him. levi slips his cock inside with a swift motion without trouble. his masterful fingers have already prepared your hole for him. levi sighs out of relief and lets your warm, wet cunt welcome him. he enjoys the sight of you squirming next to him, waiting desperately for you to move. your eyes are shut close, eyes filled with tears, forehead covered in sweat, and lips agape with lust. he takes the sight in.

he thrusts his hips in the confined space. even though his movements are limited, he hits the spot too well. you scream in pleasure, so much that levi is almost scared he hurt you. he hastily moves again before you moan “more, levi, please” that drives him mad. he pushes his hips steadily, every move so powerful and effective. he pushes his thumb on your clit and starts playing with it. bolts of shock travel through your body, the pleasure almost too unbearable. his cock stretches your walls every time he enters you. your soft skin slaps against his balls with every thrust, the mumbled slapping sound echoing through the silent forest. the only other noise that fills the void is your desperate moans that call for his name. “levi, levi, levi…” his name never sounded better.

levi once again locks his lips with yours. he’s working all around you. your body is locked with his, you are under his control fully. his unreal stamina weakens you. you grow weaker as he continues to drill into you. you make sure to stay conscious enough to savor his low moans on your lips, a mission too hard for you at this moment.

your body is at its breaking point, and levi knows it. he knows you’re close, but he won’t let you cum until he’s ready too. he can feel your body as if it was his, or at least you think. he measures every movement; it’s almost like he can also feel when you’re close because that’s when he breaks his pace. that’s when the numbing feel in your chest dies down a little, only a little before levi picks it up again. he plays around with your body. he chases after you, he tries to catch up to you.

“levi, please” you beg him, and the sight of you drives him to the edge. you lay beneath him, face turned against him, your nails digging on his biceps to control yourself, cheeks wet from tears and sweat. you almost look like a painting, so beautiful and delicate.

levi doesn’t hold himself back as he made you do. he lets you clench around his cock with all your power before breaking apart under him. he empties himself inside you with a low moan that harmonizes with yours. you both crumble under the lustful touch of the other, fingers traveling around your bodies still.

your body finally falls limp. you’re gasping for air, almost as if you had just left a battle. levi releases hot breaths on your skin as his head falls on your neck. his soft lips touch your neck as he speaks again in a low and ordering voice as usual.

“i might have to reconsider feeding you to the titans.”

i missed levi so much i love him so much aot is still the most goated anime of all time ong and levi HHRRRAGAGGGHHH WOOF WOOF BARK BARK

[torueater]

homecooked⭑.ᐟ

ᓚᘏᗢ pairing: husband!nanami x reader (master chef!)

~ synopsis: cooking for your husband as a surprise after work doesn't exactly go as planned.

Your husband works too hard.

It’s a truth you’d known long before he’d put a rock on your finger, even before all his promotions. Even now in the position of VP, well on his way to becoming COO, he’s damn near a workaholic, feeding more money into an already fat bank account so you two are more than secure when you retire – hopefully earlier than the usual. It had eased up in the years that had passed but this week had been particularly busy, he couldn’t do much about it.

Attributing the random off day you’d taken to ‘needing to do self care' was an easy way to get him to not question your motives, leaving you in bed earlier in the day with a kiss to your temple to head off to work without you for the first time this week.

A lie, of course. With how hard he worked, he deserved a nice, warm meal. A warm homecooked meal from yours truly.

Meal duties were usually split between you two: You on breakfast or lunch, Nanami always on dinner, with you as his sous chef if need be. Not to toot your own horn, but you were a great cook. Nanami always seemed to die for your breakfast foods so you’d went into confident, of course.

A good ten minutes of research has you choosing a crispy sesame chicken and fried rice recipe, reviews looking promising enough. You figured being good at baking would mean that cooking would come easy, meal printed out and stuck to the nearest cabinets so you could draw reference while moving around the kitchen. How hard would it be to make your husband a simple meal?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Very hard. Stupidly hard, apparently. You’d underestimated just how hard this would be.

Underestimated may be a little bit of an understatement. You’d first washed the rice till the water ran clear, filled the cooker up using two fingers. Followed all the steps to a T, yet somehow, for whatever reason… the rice had ended up both undercooked and burnt? “Who even burns rice made in a rice cooker?” You huff to yourself, a bit flabbergasted at your clear…lack of talent in this respect.

You quirk a brow in growing frustration, leveling the kitchen with a slow look to get a read on your progress. The chicken for one was a whole other issue on its own – freestyling was so not your forte, as you’d come to find out the hard way. You’re lost on whether the extra seasoning added had fucked everything up or if taking it out to defrost only 20 minutes before cooking it had but it’s insides are somehow still pale despite leaving it on the skillet for so long, the crust barely hanging on to the outside. The veggies turned out okay, the singular saving grace – but you’re not sure that makes up for the skillet still currently smoking, frantically fanning a kitchen towel near the fire alarm in hopes of it not going off.

Your apron’s a mess and you sort of feel like crying, debating whether or not to throw this away before Nanami gets home in 20 minutes or so.

20 minutes from the time flashing red on the stove is usually when he gets home, so hearing the jingle of the keys 10 minutes early has you gut curling all weirdly, glancing between the blackened skillet and the direction of the out of sight door, praying that he’d forgotten something in the car for once. Or.. maybe the patrons in another penthouse had gotten the floors mixed up?

Nope, no mistake. None at all. The locking mechanism of the door releases with a familiar click, footsteps echoing in the foyer. “Sweetheart? I’m home.”

In other instances like this one (minus you nearly burning your shared home down trying to cook), you’d be at the door and all over him when he gets in from work so the confused call for you isn’t much surprise. You’re still fanning at the alarm, hopeful that he’d check the bedroom for you first though it doesn’t give you much time to get rid of the evidence of your failure. You pick up on his slowed footfalls, then an unmistakable sniff. Oh no. You cast a glance at the stove, then the counter, your stomach sinking. This wasn’t the welcome you’d hoped to give him after all his work this week. “...Is something burning?” he asks, getting closer and closer to the kitchen.

“No?” Too unsure sounding, you try again. “No. Everything’s great! Don’t come in the kitchen!” Before you know it, he’s past the living room and bending the corner, looking at a semi panicked you in the center of the kitchen. "...."

“Hi, baby.”

Nanami doesn’t know what to fix his eyes on first. The smoky pot that you hadn’t covered, the burnt looking bits of chicken that you’d plated or the rice cooker. Or well, you: brows furrowed and waving a cloth at the smoke detector, looking like you’re two seconds away from crying out of frustration. “What’s all this?” “Well, this..” The dishcloth shifts wildly with your gesture around the kitchen, cracking a smile, “I was trying to make you dinner,” you finally get out, letting out a too awkward laugh as you avert your eyes. “You’ve been working hard lately – like you always do and I didn’t want you to...come home needing to make dinner for the two of us. I..uh, thought it would be nice. It’s a mess in here.”

He steps further into the kitchen, gaze shifting to the mess with an expression especially calm. And a little amused -- you don’t miss that. Mess is a bit of an understatement but he doesn’t voice his thoughts. “Well…let’s,” He reaches past you to turn the heat off, next hand catching your lifted hand to lower it, “turn the heat off. The oil’s burning still because the heat is still on.”

You’re practically burning a hole into the floor now with how hard you’re staring, biting down into your lip to stop a ramble of out of nowhere, unneeded apologies. “Sorry,” you murmur bashfully, wiping your hands on your apron. “I really thought it would be easy.”

He hums lowly, hands smoothing across your shoulders gently before dipping to your lower back to undo the tie of the apron, pulling it up and over your head. “What do you have to be sorry for, angel? Trying to cook for me?”

You shake your head, becoming increasingly more frustrated with yourself, guilt in your chest feeling heavy. Burning rice? Half cooking the chicken? “I should’ve been able to make you something good. It’s literally chicken and rice and the only thing I got right were boiling the veggies.” You whine, tone heavy with embarrassment. Said embarrassment only growing with the sudden laugh from him. His arms circle your midsection, hand resting gently at the back of your head and leading it to his chest, swaying you lightly. “You’re so precious, really.” He chuckles lowly, laugh rumbling against your cheek. “I didn’t marry you for your culinary skills, you know that.”

You look up at him, face probably hotter than it should be. “Is that your way of calling me a horrible cook?”

“Of course not.” His hand smooths over your head, following up his previous words with more reassurance before you can berate yourself any further, “You don’t need to cook dinner for us baby, that’s my job. All of this,” He gestures around the kitchen, letting you lean back to see like you hadn’t done enough of that, “is appreciated. But you make amazing breakfast and lunch for us already. What more could I want, hm?”  

Good dinner from his wife, you’d guess. But his words do make you feel better about your failure. “I wanted to do something nice.” “And you did.” His fingers lace in the hair at the back of your head to angle your face out his chest, peering down at you sweetly. “You’re here waiting for me after work in a pretty dress, trying to make dinner for me for example. And even without this you do lots of nice things for me.” He wonders why you’re even worrying, he’s practically ready to kiss the floor you walked on. What's a little burnt rice compared to everything you already do for him? It means a ton even if it hadn’t turned out the way you’d wanted it to.

Plus you hadn’t even burnt the kitchen down, that’s a win in of itself. “Here’s what, we can try to fix it together. I’ll just give pointers and help in the background so it’s like you’re doing it on your own.”

You accept his offer with a nod, of course, hoping dinner could be salvaged. The rice thankfully is savable, merely tossing the burnt bits and setting the cooker up properly as per his instructions to leave fluffy piles of white.

He helps you redo the chicken completely, not trusting the half charred, half raw mess to sit well in either of your stomachs even if revamped. Rather than the crispy sesame he helps you stir up a simple teriyaki sauce to coat fried chicken in – you’d actually gotten the batter right this time, so it sticks to the chicken. Dinner takes another hour or so but by the time you’re done you’re not upset anymore, steaming food plated in front of both of you.

You eye him as he takes his first bite, your own spoon hovering near your mouth. “Is it good?”

With how slowly he’s chewing you wonder if he wants to spit it out (though from knowing him, you don’t think he’d ever), expression brightening when he nods. “Mhm. Better than any takeout.” “Ha ha, very funny.” You’re grinning despite his exaggeration, finally closing your lips around the hovering spoon to taste it yourself. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Not joking. It’s good. Barely helped, you did this all on your own.” You’d done a great job for someone who’d burnt rice and almost started an oil fire just an hour ago. The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan but you couldn’t be too upset when he was being as sweet as he is right now.

Operation make dinner for your hardworking husband: Successful (?).

You’d probably stick to letting him handle dinner, though.

[withsubsplease]

[While we all know Andrew Lincoln has on several occasions made the comment this was a sudden awareness for both characters, the show itself doesn't actually reflect that interpretation wholistically. (And neither does Andrew given he also believed they loved one another long before this moment.) So, while I usually tend to defer to actors, since they know the characters much better than we ever will, at times, you have to go with what you got.

So this is my little piece of how I've viewed that moment in the area of "knowing." ]

In “Always Accountable” [S6:6] when Abraham and Sasha are holed up in that office building waiting forDaryl, Sasha lets Abraham know a few things she’s deduced about him. And later he tells her he wants to get to know her “a whole lot better.” Sasha comes across bemused and unimpressed firing back— “That one of your plays? What makes you think I want that?”

Then Abraham steps closer, looks her directly in the eye and says— “A man can tell.”

And while I gasp a bit (baby pearl clutch) each time I see this, (at the sheer audacity of this man), I have always thought it was a line not only written for this pair but meant to apply indirectly to Rick and Michonne.

Abraham is talking about being grown and aware. Of himself; his own feelings and desires and being secure/confident enough to recognize someone else’s. For a long time, given what he’d been through, Rick wasn’t that man. But once he truly got his mind right, it was impossible for him not know Michonne felt the same way he did, even though, like Sasha, she wasn’t completely ready or open to acknowledge/admit it.

Rick could tell. But he waited. Doing what he’s done virtually from the beginning of their relationship— respect her. Knowing her well enough to know he could bide his time and be ready to “make his play” the millisecond Michonne gave him a sign.

And we also can believe “he could tell,” because he later tells Carl in “Knots Untie” [S6:11] — “I was gonna tell you about me and Michonne but it just happened. Last night.”

I always chuckle at Rick’s little sassy annoyance there. He was completely and utterly ecstatic at the outcome but his words do hint that he had plans. That he’d already thought about what and how he’d tell his kid about their relationship (when, not if, it happened) BUT life be lifing embarrassing us all 😏.

There does appear to be fleeting surprise in his reaction but I doubt it’s sudden awareness and more, “Oh, okay, now? Yeah. Cool.”

so i’m supposed to watch this and believe these are two people just realizing they have feelings for each other???? 

while Rick eyeing her down like if she make one move he leaping? while he sitting over there smirking with that ‘come-hither’ look? 

seems fake, but ok.

[karikarasuno]

part eight | part nine | part 10

you shouldn't be freaking out. except you are.

"what do you mean you don't remember if you told him you loved him?" nami asks, voice full of accusation. her and robin came over after you texted them frantically during your lunch hour asking if they could stop by to help you pick out something to wear tonight. you definitely remember making plans to meet law and his brother for drinks, but the 'i love you' memory is a bit fuzzier. it could very well have been a trick of the moon. but you can't be positive since he never said it back. at least you didn't think so.

"i was sleeping!" you complain, throwing another shirt you contemplated wearing onto your bed hopelessly. nothing looks right anymore. maybe you need to refresh your wardrobe.

"if you were sleeping, you couldn't have told him you loved him," robin replies simply. as if that answers all of your questions.

"well, i was falling asleep. more asleep than awake, but still." you make some incomprehensible motion with your hands in the hopes that you won't have to continue explaining yourself.

"so i'm gonna safely assume you can't remember if he said it back," nami says, snatching one of the shirts you threw on the bed earlier and holding it up to your body. "you're wearing this one."

you flop backwards onto your bed, your head falling into robin's lap. her hand comes up to reassuringly pat your crown as you openly sulk on her thighs.

"we'll take that as a no," robin says, looking down at you with pitiful humor in her eyes.

"i could kick myself," you whine, hands coming up to cover your face. "i mean who tells a man you love him after he declines phone sex!"

"you didn't get off before confessing you were in love?!" now nami sounds appalled and when you peek at her through the gap in your fingers she's staring down at you bug-eyed and disturbed. "have you lost your mind?"

all you can do is nod meekly. because yes, you have lost your mind. and you are sure it's somewhere between your house and law's. along with your heart because that isn't in your chest last time you checked.

"jeez," nami lifts your legs before sitting down next to you and placing your calves in her lap. "what are we gonna do about this?"

"now you see my dilemma," you sigh.

"here's a crazy idea," robin starts, dragging her hand over your hair, "you could always say it again, awake this time, and see if he says it back."

"you're right," you say, voice devoid of emotion.

"that is crazy," nami finishes.

****

jeans, boots, and a top that is arguably a little too low on your chest to be appropriate for meeting your boyfriend's brother (again) is what the three of you decided on before you left the house half an hour ago. a small gift bag dangles from your fingertips as you shuffle by the door oddly nervous. law and cora are already inside. he texted you twenty minutes ago to let you know.

you definitely are overthinking. everything between you and law has felt so natural and easy. there is an understanding between you that you've never had with anyone else. falling in love with him is quite possibly the easiest thing you've ever done in your whole life. so the idea of him potentially not returning that love is a knife to the gut. a knife that twists and twists until your intestines are spilling out of your abdomen. yes, it's genuinely that gruesome of a thought.

you swallow your anxiety, though, for the sake of cora. it is his birthday, after all. the bell above the door rings as you walk inside. since it's a friday night, the bar is busy. clusters of people are spread out among tables, lined up at the counter for drinks, and hanging out around the games you'd typically find at a bar. which is where your eyes land on law. he's standing by a pool table leaning against a stick as cora lines up for a shot.

he misses. miserably.

"and i thought i was bad," you say as you approach them.

"that was a fluke!" cora exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "and it's not polite to heckle the birthday boy."

"speaking of which," you hold up the bag towards him and it sways gently between your index finger and thumb.

"oh, you really didn't have to get him anything," law says before cora can even accept the gift. you meet his eyes over your shoulder and he winks. clearly, he's trying to get a rise out of cora. and it works.

"just because you don't like gifts doesn't mean no one deserves them," cora complains while glaring at his brother.

"i just so happen to love gifts, so thank you," he adds, turning to you with a slight bow and plucking the gift from your hand. up close cora is much taller than you remembered him to be. his shoulders have a slight hunch to them and you assume it's from all of the leaning over he has to do considering how much time he spends around children.

"i hope you like it," you say, "and happy birthday."

he carefully pulls out the tissue paper from the bag and places it on the edge of the pool table. for whatever reason, you're nervous. it's a gift that you bought last minute and really didn't put much thought into. but for some reason, in this exact moment, there are nerves fluttering around your stomach. if he hates the gift, you really hope cora's a good actor.

“oh wow,” he says, his eyes widening as he takes the gift out of the bag, “where did you even find this?”

it’s a glasses chain made up of knitted hearts. you saw it at a boutique when you were at the mall yesterday. and then you remembered how cora is a librarian, so you thought it was fitting.

“there’s a boutique in the strip mall where they sell all kinds of handmade stuff.” you try to shrug it off as a coincidence because really it was. you hadn’t searched for them. they just kinda appeared.

“these are incredible,” he says, awe dripping from each word. you start to blush. well, now you know he loves them and that somehow makes you even more nervous. you look over at law to find a response but he’s just staring at you. he’s still leaning against his pool stick but he’s much closer to you now. his eyes are soft and he wears a small smile. unlike any you’ve ever caught on him before. oh, you really do love him.

"how do i look?" cora asks after he's fitted the chain over his glasses. they fit him perfectly, actually. like they were handmade exactly for him.

"they look great," law responds.

"ok, i don't know if i believe you since you didn't even look at me."

while your eyes had shifted over to cora when he asked his question, you weren't aware that law's hadn't. they remained on you. god, is it hot in here?

"you look amazing, cora. they really suit you," you answer him. it's a touch shy. but mostly because you can feel law's eyes. you can feel where his thoughts are heading. and you can nearly feel his sheets fisted in your hands when you recall that thing he does with his fingers.

"play for me while i grab you a drink." law hands you the stick and you take it gingerly between your fingers.

"you should know i'm not very good," you say, pointing the stick at him in warning.

"there's only two solids left on the table and a shit ton of stripes," he says, leaning down to speak directly into your ear. "you could miss a dozen times and i still think i could kick cora's ass."

"again," cora says, hand sassily clutching his hip, "it's my birthday."

you laugh through your nose at their bickering. law winks before he turns away and heads to the counter to order something for you. you watch him go, your gaze very obviously lingering, and a small part of you forgot cora was even behind you.

"you two are hopeless," you hear him mutter. when you face him you except to see a look of disgust. one that is usually present on nami's face when she says things like that. except cora looks content. he looks endeared in a way.

"i guess it's my turn," you attempt shifting the conversation. your emotions are running marathons in your chest and you need to tamper them down. you bend over and lean your upper half onto the table. you try your best to line up the cue ball with the red solid that's sitting near one of the pockets. you, fortunately, have a very clear shot. so you take it. you, unfortunately, have terrible aim as well.

cora chuckles when you miss. "twins," he teases.

"hey, i'm still warming up," you argue. "i'll be much better after my drink."

"ah, some good ol' fashioned liquid courage," he nods, remembering his near empty glass of beer perched on the high top beside you and downing the rest.

after law arrives with your drink much of the evening is spent talking and laughing around the pool table. cora and law couldn't be more different, but together he brings out a side of law you don't see often. law really is quite silly. they argue over everything. law enjoys goading cora that way. cora looks to you for support. sometimes you offer it and sometimes you play devil's advocate. all of it is just so fun.

you were worried for nothing.

"i'll grab us one last round," you offer, hopping off the stool you're sitting on as you watch the guys throw darts. for you that game is a safety hazard and you've had two drinks too many to be any good anyway.

"i'll just do a seltzer if you don't mind," cora calls out as he holds the dart up between his fingers and closes one eye to 'better his aim.'

"that's fine. and you?" you stand next to law, wrapping your arms around one of his and resting your chin on his bicep.

"a beer, please," he answers, bending over to press a quick kiss to your forehead. you take a step back and you smile, giddy and happy and ridiculously, all the way to the bar. the bartender is busy with a few other patrons so you lean against it, careful to avoid the mysterious sticky patch by your elbow, and you wait.

"well look who we have here." the voice that sidles up behind you sends a bucket of ice cold water straight over your head and down your spine. you contemplate ignoring him. but that would be impossible. he's stubborn like that.

"hi, kid," you say dismayed. "how are you?"

this is the last thing you ever thought would happen. you aren't delusional enough to believe that you'd never run into kid again, but now? it's the worst possible time. and you were in such a good mood too.

"clearly not as good as you've been." you don't miss the condescending edge to his words. his smile says one thing but you know kid. you know this bothers him.

"oh? things didn't work out between you and that girl?" there's a venom there that you yourself aren't expecting. you're over him. that much is a fact. but his presence still irritates you. the stupid, cheating idiot.

“huh, cute,” he says snidely. he downs the rest of his beer, a bit of the liquid dribbles out of the corner of his mouth from how harshly he chugged it. another sign you've clearly gotten under his skin. but you don't relish in it the way you though you would. mostly because you don't care. and honestly you want this interaction to just be over so you can get back to law. who is currently arguing with cora over the placement of a dart when you glance their way over your shoulder. you smile a little at the sight. momentarily forgetting the fact that your ex is standing beside you burning a hole into the side of your face with his glare.

"i would've never thought you'd rebound with the lame ass neighbor," he huffs, his tone dripping with disdain. a disdain that has hot anger flaring in your chest.

"do not talk about him like that," you snap, voice hushed but very obviously offended.

"oh!" kid's head rears back, a sick sort of grin twists his features. "you have feelings for that fucking idiot."

"kid, i'm serious, shut up." your heart starts to speed up in your chest. your vision is beginning to cloud over with anger. an anger you haven't felt since that day you kicked him out. really how did you date him for so long? he's insufferable. "what, or better who i'm doing is none of your business."

"this whole thing is just so funny, y'know that?" he steps closer to you and you try hard not to recoil in his presence. you always hated when he used his size against you.

"i don't see how," you reply, propping a hand on your hip and raising your chin. you refuse to back down because kid will steamroll over anyone if you let him. "like i said, my life is none of your concern anymore."

"so what? you think he's gonna be loyal to you? you think he's gonna put up with your ass? he's not gonna stick around, but i know you're fucking crazy enough to think so."

your hand starts to shake at your side. you're trying desperately not to cause a scene. it's not fair to you or law, or even cora. it's his fucking birthday for christ's sake.

"what's your point?" you try to force space between the two of you but it's difficult considering how packed the bar is. he smiles, but really it's just a sad excuse to cover up a sneer. "have you always been this much of a dickhead?"

"you used to love me," he chuckles darkly, eating up the minimal space between you until your chests nearly touch.

"yeah used to. not anymore." keeping your voice even is becoming a challenge. it's starting to do that annoying shaking thing when your anger flares and tears prick at your eyes. you absolutely despise crying when you're angry. kid used to use it against you all the time.

you're so damn sensitive. you think tears are gonna work on me? come on, sweetheart, grow up.

memories sting at your mind. they claw at wounds that aren't quite healed over yet. wounds that bleed insecurity.

"don't say that," he patronizes. "admit it, a part of you misses me. don't you remember all the fun we used to have?"

"i'm not doing this with you." you shake your head, preparing to walk away. "i have people to get back to."

but you didn't make it two steps before kid is grabbing your wrist to stop you. you didn't want to turn around, but his grip is too strong for you to yank your arm away. and you didn't want to draw attention either.

"he's never gonna love you," kid says with enough conviction that you almost believe him. as if he knows what you said to law the other night and the fact that he may have never said it back.

"you-"

"do we have a problem here?" you almost don't recognize law's voice. it's hollow in a way you're unfamiliar with. the warmth is gone. the teasing note it always tends to carry when you're around him has disappeared. it's so cold a shiver practically runs down your spine.

kid drops your wrist and holds his hand up in surrender. he smirks at you before looking at law over your shoulder.

"nah, man," he replies, shaking his head with a dark chuckle. "we were just catching up."

he steps around you and claps you on the shoulder. "it was nice seeing you."

you don't respond. you can't because your throat is too tight.

kid squeezes between you and law. they size each other up because men are annoying. but nothing happens. kid simply leaves. stealing your pleasant mood and taking it with him.

"are you okay?" law asks tightly, but he's not looking at you. his eyes are stuck on kid's retreating figure.

"yeah," you say, clearing your throat. "sorry i haven't had a chance to order your drinks yet."

"it's fine," he says, finally looking your way. but there's something distant about his gaze that makes your chest ache. "we were about to call it a night, anyway."

****

law doesn't get angry anymore. at least not like he used to. it's a foreign feeling now. the one that swirls in his gut and pounds at his chest. it's almost nauseating. so much so as he drives your car back home, he can only sit and simmer in silence. not even the radio is on. he can tell you're off. he notices the way you curl against the window, your body facing away from him as your eyes track the familiar scenery back home.

it's unsettling to him seeing you so upset, especially after having such a fun evening before your ex showed up. the real source of his anger. he hated the way kid touched you. as if he had any right to do so after what he did. he was so comfortable doing it as well. it was disrespectful. and that's one thing law has a difficult time tolerating. disrespect.

the two of you sit in your car for a few seconds after he turns it off. both hesitant to move first.

"i had fun tonight," he says, cutting through the silence as softly as he can. careful not to nick you and cause further damage. your head falls back against the headrest as you turn your face to look at him. you smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"yeah," you nod, your fingers wringing in your lap, " i did too."

law is struggling because he wants to comfort you. but he really doesn't know what to say. you like to talk. usually telling him anything and everything without him having to ask. now the problem is, he doesn't know how or what to ask.

he wants to know what kid said to you, but that seems abrasive. he wants to know why you're so shaken up, but that seems intrusive. he just doesn't know and it's killing him. that and the fact that he wants to punch kid in the face.

"you coming in?" you ask, hand on the door handle, preparing to open it. all he can do is nod before grabbing his baggage from the backseat and following you.

even chopper, usually upbeat and frantic, seems forlorn as you two enter your home. you don't even bother to turn on the lights, instead wandering around and placing your things down guided only by the light of a candle warmer you left on in your living room. law just silently watches you go about your usual routine, helplessly wondering what he should do. until he decides to suck it up and ask. he corners you in the bathroom.

"hey," he says softly, leaning against the doorframe. you glance up at him but continue taking off your rings. "are you sure you're okay?"

"um," you pause, reaching for the back of your earring. "yeah i just-"

you sigh, shoulders sagging as your chin drops to your chest. "i just forget how much of an ass kid can be sometimes."

"what did he say?" the question that has been poised on his tongue since he interrupted your interaction at the bar slips right off of it.

"you don't have to worry about it," you dismiss, taking out your other earring and putting it on your jewelry tray. you don't want to talk about it. too bad.

"well," he starts, stepping behind you to place his hands on your shoulders. hopefully with reassurance. "you're upset, so i'm worried."

"it's not a big deal," you shrug him off. and his heart breaks at the gesture. he doesn't like it. not when he's so used to you being openly affectionate with him.

"hey," he says firmly as you start walking away. his hands reach for your hips and he spins you to face him. you don't look up at him which irritates him. he's not used to this so now he has to fix it. there must be a way he can make you feel better.

"can you please tell me what's going on?" he pleads, cradling your cheek and urging you to meet his eyes. you hesitate to, but you soften into his palm. inhaling deeply as you nose at his hand. the anxiety ebbs in his gut.

"i'm sorry," you exhale and it seems like your whole body drains of whatever energy you had left. "it's just, he's just-"

he sees how badly you want to stomp your foot as you wave your arm agitatedly. this he's used to. his mood starts to ease up. he's remembering how to breathe again.

"i shouldn't listen to him, i know," you whine, "but he knows how to get under my skin and it fucking sucks."

your eyes start to fill with tears. your bottom lip wobbles. "and that stupid son of a bitch basically said i'm crazy and unlovable. can you believe that?"

law knows he shouldn't. in fact he tries so so so hard not to. but when you look up at him with the biggest, wettest eyes and the most dumbfounded expression on your face he cannot help but laugh. it's just a chuckle. it kind of just drops from his lips.

"it's not funny, law!" you whack him in the bicep, just one tear falling from your eye, but he catches it with his thumb before it can get too far.

"it's not," he says, shaking his head amused. even though he really shouldn't be.

"then why are you laughing?" you try to squirm away from him but he's reluctant to let you go. "what's worse is he's not even wrong. especially after i tell you i love you and like an idiot i fell asleep and don't even know if you said it back!"

you throw your hands up, defeated. but he feels fine. because he knows how to fix this. this he can work with. this he has a solution to.

"i didn't say it back that night," he says it simply. and your face falls completely. "but not because i don't love you. or because you're unloveable; which is ridiculous, by the way."

you roll your eyes, causing another fat tear to fall down your cheek.

"but because i needed to see your face when i said it to you for the first time. when you told me you loved me i thought i made it up, but when i saw you tonight after being away all week i realized it didn't matter."

you settle in his arms as he speaks to you. law finally, fully, calms down when notices you returning to him. "it didn't matter because i love you."

he holds your face in his hands as he wipes tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. for whatever reason, law is enamored by you. his love for you struck him suddenly like a bolt of lightning, but its growth was also a slow burning fire.

law loves you.

"really?" your eyes are hopeful and sweet and sappy as you look up at him. he chuckles again, not quite believing how absurd you are sometimes. but either way, he nods. because yes, really.

"how much?" your hands grasp his wrists as you rise on your toes to come face to face with him. your frown tilts upwards into a smile. a honeyed one that he has to force himself not to kiss straight off of your face.

"and how do you suggest i show that to you?" he asks, leaning over until your noses brush.

"oh, i have a few ideas."

[rock-omelette]

MAFIA AU

In the light (or more precisely, the dearth) of Mafia AUs in this fandom, I have resolved to shut my trap and make my own.

BASELINE (Gerald, Ivo and the Family Business)

The founder and patriach of the Botnik Family Business is Gerald, and immediate family consists of Maria and Ivo, his surviving grandchildren.

The Family Business started off as a fairly powerful gang, due to Gerald's own efforts in commanding a good portion of DC and San Francisco. But it didn't REALLY take off until he took Ivo in as his right hand man after the deaths of Ivo's father, who had been his eldest son.

Gerald did most of the raising, in some sense of the word. He didn't like Ivo much--Ivo was a neurotic, combative, insubordinate and was even more ambitious than he was. But Ivo was a GENIUS.

Gerald paid for Ivo's education, middle school to every doctorate. He had 3 PhDs by 25. He had 5 by 30. He had 7, technically, on account of several new academic developments in medical industry, but Ivo had always regarded the last two were just "honorary."

Ivo respected Gerald, but he knew he could be better, could be greater than Gerald ever could be. He started developing weapons in high school, and it was his idea to establish a military liaison selling his inventions in college. They took off focus from crude revenues like "Protection rackets" and instead focused on global underground arms dealing, mercenary work, biochemical drug testing and organ harvesting. The Family Business exploded. They were calling it a proper "Empire." People were more scared of Ivo than they ever were of Gerald, and all these combined, Ivo and Gerald's relationship only got more tetchy as they grew.

MARIA

Gerald discovered Maria in his 90's, and Ivo's 50's. She's the daughter of an old mistress, left on his doorstep when she died of cancer. Gerald fairly adored Maria from the get go. She's sweet, charming, kind and obedient.

He doesn't say it out loud, but Ivo suspects Gerald plans to name Maria as his heir whenever he finally dies despite...everything. Ivo doesn't HATE her. He has too much affection for family, or he'd have killed off Gerald years ago. No, he wishes he could hate her, but he doesn't really. Maria thinks he does though, and is fairly confused and frustrated by Ivo's cold shoulder. She hasn't got any other family. She's 14.

SHADOW

Maria is closest with Shadow, who was a homeless orphan Gerald randomly takes a liking to when he found him in DC. Gerald liked his moxie. Up until he found Maria he treated the kid as some kind of foster son of sorts (Ivo thinks Gerald's gotten sentimental in his old age. He DOES hate Shadow.), so now he entrusts Maria to Shadow as her primary bodyguard. They have a sibling-like relationship. Shadow is 17.

STONE

Stone is Ivo's right hand man, bodyguard and assistant, and he has been so for a decade.

Stone is an ex-CIA who discovered the Robotnik through work and has, shall we say, developed an obsessive one sided crush on Ivo through the years.

Like he's heard of Ivo since his years in active military duty, and his inventions never fail to be groundbreaking. And they only grow more and more impressive over time.

He's been trying to find a way to get on Ivo's radar for years. He gotta be smart with it. He got his chance when he was deployed for a retrieval mission by a ticked off general. It's an off-the-book mission. His fascination with the Mad Doctor is an open secret among the ranks, and his perfect ops record made him the perfect agent for the job. Ivo had managed to get some dirt on him that he's threatening to use as blackmail, and he needs Stone to steal it back from him.

Stone uses the opportunity to prove his worth. He steals the data, and "slips up", getting caught. He confronts Ivo face to face, and reveals his intentions to be an interview of sorts. Proving the fact that he had succeeded in his mission nonetheless. Ivo was greatly amused (and slightly impressed) by the sheer recklessness, audacity and skill.

He tells Stone to prove himself by assassinating the General who sent him on the mission in the first place, and to do it in 5 hours. Stone succeeds in 3. Ivo hires him. The rest is history.

MISCELLANEOUS

Rouge, Omega, Cubot and Orbot and Sage are all part of the family as well! Human AU. They are all Shadow's inner circle, and are exceptionally fond of Maria.

The goons are called Badniks, which consist of both human people and mass produced drones. 90% of any added human goons are done by Gerald. Ivo works primarily with his drones, because he thinks people are too "squishy, annoying, stupid and inefficient." The divide in loyalty is clear but unspoken--the drones and tech are more loyal to Ivo, and the people (save maybe a few like Stone, Metal and Sage) are more loyal to Gerald.

Ivo usually hates like. Touch and bodily fluids. He wears long sleeves and gloves. But he DOES enjoy killing and maiming and the like. He thinks its entertaining as all get out. Nothing like a good torture session to let off some steam.

Ivo walks with a cane sometimes. Not for any specific reason he just looks hot.

[strialternatives]

You mentioned in the tags of I think your comic of Akira and Akechi traveling that Akechi is first-aid certified in multiple countries. Does this mean something to any headcanon’s you have about what his adult life would be like? I love your palace au and i’m really interested in how he recovers afterwards!!

If it was just a joke then you don’t have to answer :)

that actually wasn't a joke! :D it started off as a "taking care of akira" investment that got outta hand ya see-

some background first! in my head shuake wind up traveling after Akechi's physical therapy and Akira takes an "extended leave" from uni then just. never goes back.

they travel China, then Thailand--near all the countries in east asia. at first, its about putting some distance between themselves and tokyo and all that metaverse ptsd baggage no one wants to acknowledge or talk about-

not that they don't have talks. they talk a lot, they have a lot of hard talks in hotel rooms, during quiet moments, about everything and nothing at all. akira is devastated to learn that his future husband is a dog person.

then, literally as they're about to book the plane back to tokyo, after months and months of travels and late night talks--akira offhandedly, mentions that he's always wanted to visit paris.

there's no reason for them not to. akira has an absurd amount of metaverse money, akechi has the key to a good chunk of shido's offshore assets. akira picks up languages quickly thanks to his personas and so does akechi.

and it kinda spirals from there. after that they only drop by tokyo for holidays and planned thief get-togethers.

akira's the type of wild card that picks up confidants everywhere he goes, he likes to help the people he connects with, and sometimes that comes with dangerous situations and hospital visits.

(the two of them are nosy, reckless and don't know how to mind their own business to save their lives. and akira is so kind to others and willing to help and his and akechi loves and hates him for it so, sooo much.)

at first akechi learns how to patch (his) idiot up for his own peace of mind, its manageable, he's used to patching up real world wounds. his initial mementos explorations were full of trial and error, after all.

--then there's this awful business with the russian mob that akira's gotten involved with during that part-time bodyguard gig protecting some small time lawyer's child during a court case and, well. he's two years in, somewhere between learning how to suture a stab wound from an underground doctor and looking up tameki-san again,

akechi realizes he's in this for the long haul. that he has to--unfortunately--lock in.

and he's GOOD at it, akechi likes being good at things.

he's not planning on being a doctor or anything, can't stay in one place long enough for a degree. but, picking up certifications still scratches an itch he wasn't aware he had. to heal instead of hurt--it helps that it starts with akira.

anyway, sometimes when he's bored and they're in one place for more than two weeks he'll go hit up foreign clinics who need a temp helper.