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cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 days ago

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To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and ��angel”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning, description of violence including murder.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Toji has entered the chat. I wonder who else will make an appearance. Hey, so this part is pretty short. I’m sorry. I just need to find my groove again.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Part five.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

The sound of the gunshot rung in your ears.

The restaurant was painfully quiet. Before the gunshot, you hadn’t even realized that it was nearing closing time. Almost all of the patrons had left besides the man who your future husband just murdered.

“Get over here,” Sukuna ordered lowly over the phone. He pulled the cellular device away from his ear, and he tapped the end call button.

His eyes slid over towards your trembling form, and he raised an eyebrow as if to challenge you to say something.

Your throat was painfully dry as you looked up at him. Why did you actually believe he’d keep you out of his business?

With another snap from his fingers, the waiter reappeared at his side. His face paled as his took in the grizzly scene at the booth right behind you.

Sukuna handed over the gun to the waiter. “Get rid of it.”

“Yes boss,” the waiter responded mechanically with a small bow. He then scurried off to god only knows where.

This had to be a nightmare. Surely, he didn’t just kill someone right in front of you.

Your body was still shaking, but the adrenaline was slowly tapering down, being replaced with anger. “How could you? We just made a deal, signed a contract, everything!”

Sukuna looked over at you, and he scoffed a small laugh. “I believe I remember telling you that I would keep you out of my life as much as possible. This was non-negotiable.”

“You killed a man right in front of me! I’m an accessory to murder, dammit.” Tears brimmed in your waterline.

“Technically, I killed a man behind your back, kitten. You never actually saw me pull the trigger, now did you? Who’s to say I was even the one who killed him?”

Your eyes widened in horror as he was playing semantics with you. He just put this permanent necklace collar around your throat and immediately went back on his promise.

You looked away from him, unable to truly deal with him right now.

Footsteps emerged from the open part of the restaurant, and you glanced over nervously. What if it was a cop? Surely, the authorities have been alerted? All of the kitchen staff can’t be in on this.

Instead of an officer, a tall beefy man with muscles bigger than your head, black hair, and green eyes walked up. He had a scar on the corner of his lip and a lazy smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough, Zenin,” Sukuna quipped as he pulled out his phone.

“Calling me a Zenin is about as accurate as calling you an Itadori.” The man had a raspy voice and a nonchalant attitude as he casually strolled into the restaurant. Your eyebrows furrowed, contemplating the name he had mentioned. Itadori. Where have you heard that name before? “What do we have here?”

“He’s a grunt of the Gojo Clan. I’m honestly disgusted that he sent someone as incompetent as him to tail me.”

“I was talking about the pretty one who’s still alive,” the man said, slowly eyeing you up and down. “What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?”

Your jaw slightly dropped as he casually flirted with you as if there wasn’t a dead man behind you. Before you could even think of a response, your future husband decided to speak up.

“You’re gonna end up like the bastard with a bullet hole in his head if you keep flirting with my wife, Zenin.” His jaw hardened, staring down at the other man.

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” he asked, not losing the smirk. “My mistake then, Misses Sukuna.”

You thought better than to respond based off the look Sukuna gave you.

The Zenin man strolled closer towards the lifeless body with an air of aloofness about him. He looked down at the bloody scene before shrugging. “What do you want?”

Your future husband fixed one of his cuff links on his shirt before sparring the grunt a passing glance. “Mail his head directly to that imbecile’s doorstep with the exception of the eyes. Send one to the Geto man he seems enthralled with, and send the other eye to Hiromi Higuruma.”

“You can’t—!” you blurted without thought. You couldn’t believe he was actually planning on mailing your professor an eyeball.

Both Sukuna and the Zenin man looked at you with amused looks.

The yakuza lord took three calculated steps towards you. He watched you shrink back away from him with reserved pain. He had been building your trust slowly, but it had all withered away with a simple action.

Still, he reached out to you, a curl of your hair around his finger. Your teeth were practically chattering in fear while he was so close. Was he going to punish you for your outburst?

“You’re very naive. It’s rather alluring, but let me educate you anyway.” He slid his palm over your cheek, gently coaxing you to tilt your head up at him. “The man that’s dead on the floor? He had been tailing us for most of the evening. While he could’ve been just gathering intel, he also could’ve been waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

You swallowed thickly. “That’s not enough for a death sentence,” you whispered quietly, carefully. You didn’t want to piss him off, but you also wanted to make it very clear that you were against this. You wouldn’t just acclimate to this type of life, and you weren’t just going to sit quietly while he did whatever he wanted.

His red eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you fucked up. “When I’m with my wife, it is. Make no mistake, kitten. I’m very serious about your protection. No one is going to get the jump on me while you’re on my arm.”

He continued, “As for mailing an eyeball to your professor, that’s just a warning. He’s the only person I suspect that would tip Gojo off about our location.”

Immediate disbelief filled you. “You’re simply paranoid if you think a lawyer like Hiromi Higuruma is in the Yakuza’s pocket.”

Sukuna gave you a feline grin. His fingers pinched your cheek in a teasing manner. “Your naivety is showing again, kitten. I have you in my pocket, don’t I?”

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and you mentally scolded yourself for feeling butterflies dance around your stomach. This man is a cold blooded killer. He just showed you what he’s capable of. How could you feel this way from some meaningless words?

“Send me receipts once it’s done, Toji.” Sukuna ordered before he nodded his head towards the door, signaling for you to follow him. His slid his hand down to your arm. He didn’t grab you, but it was enough to show that he wasn’t leaving without you.

What other choice did you have? You were stranded in the middle of the entertainment district without him. Hesitantly, you followed him out of the restaurant, keeping your head tilted down as you mulled over your life choices.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s body felt… heavy. He didn’t expect disappointing you to have this much of an effect on him. He had played by the rules, hadn’t he? Was he supposed to just allow lowlife thugs to disrespect him in his own territory? Was he suppose to risk your safety and just hope that the Gojo clan wouldn’t strike?

Unfathomable, he thought. You didn’t understand the dangers of being with him just yet. He wasn’t going to risk your safety simply because you were naive to believe you’re untouchable.

Sukuna knew the moment the Gojo clan found out that he had a weakness now they would stop at nothing to use it against him. He would do the same to him, which is why he mailed his “presents” to Suguru Geto. As far as Sukuna could tell, the young man with long dark hair wasn’t in on the Gojo empire, but it sent a message to Gojo that Sukuna knew how to strike where it hurt.

If he took his wife from him, Sukuna would take his beloved too. Both of them would forever be alone, playing this cat and mouse game.

He glanced down at you again and tightened his jaw. You looked like some sort of kicked puppy, believing he had truly betrayed you and found some loophole in the contract to exploit.

His chest burned with barely contained anger. If he planned on dragging you into his lifestyle, he would’ve just said it. He had been very clear and upfront about his intentions, and yet you still believed him to be some sort of conniving snake.

Once you two were at the car, he opened up the door for you and let you get. You flinched as he shut the door a little too hard before climbing in on the driver’s side.

The ride was silent and tense. You felt every single second of it, and it was excruciatingly painful.

The sky had fallen dark, showing off the bright colorful lights of the entertainment district. You stared out the window at the hordes of people club hopping and visiting street vendors.

“How much of this do you own?” Your question surprised Sukuna. He had expected the silent treatment to last much longer.

“My name is on majority of the deeds. If my name isn’t on the deed, I own a good portion of equity in the business,” he answered carefully.

You kept your gaze out the window. The thought of looking at Sukuna made your chest feel tight. “Even the small street vendors?”

Sukuna tapped his finger against the steering wheel. He wasn’t a fan of dancing around the conversation like you weren’t upset with him. “They own most of their business. I merely make a small margin of profit off sales and such. I have no interest in micromanaging properties.”

You hummed thoughtfully, finally sitting back in your seat. You folded your hands in your lap. “How did you know that guy was from the Gojo clan?”

There it was. “I could tell. He was sloppy while trying to take pictures of us for confirmation. The waiter had also confirmed it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Thinking back, you tried to pinpoint when the waiter had said anything about the gentleman behind you.

“Don’t stress yourself thinking too hard kitten. It was a signal you wouldn’t have noticed anyway.”

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs up with oxygen as you tried to settle the waging war inside of you. On one hand, he had done it to protect you. On another hand, he took a life right in front of you.

“It was jarring,” you muttered, allowing for a moment of vulnerability seep through. “I didn’t like being in that position.”

Sukuna quickly looked over at you. He could mark this down as yet another time you managed to catch him off guard. As much as Sukuna didn’t want to admit it, he hadn’t thought about how you must’ve been scared. Your body had been trapped in a fight of flight mode.

He had been raised around death his entire life. His family had been in this business for generations. It was ingrained in him. Everyone he worked with was used to it, or he didn’t give a damn about them to notice if it bothered them.

You were different — not a co-conspirator, not a business partner. You weren’t raised in this life, and while it was Sukuna’s duty as your husband to protect you from it, it was also his duty to make you feel safe.

You didn’t feel safe when he shot and killed that man. It was too sudden. He hadn’t properly explained or given you any sort of warning. He had gotten tunnel vision.

“That’s a fault on my end. I will not put you in that position again, angel.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was all he knew how to do: be better moving forward.

You stared at him in slight disbelief. Admitting he was wrong was something you hadn’t expected from a yakuza lord.

Feeling your stare, he grunted in response, causing you to shift your gaze elsewhere. He took accountability. He gave you his word he wouldn’t do it again, yet you found difficulty believing his word after such an incident.

You shifted your gaze out the window, deciding that you’d just need time to think. You needed to gather yourself, but it appeared as though Sukuna wasn’t going to afford you the opportunity.

“Where are we going..?” you questioned, shooting a look of confusion and slight fear towards him. He hadn’t taken the turn to head back to the student housing. Is this when he offs you?

Any look of guilt or concern had vacated Sukuna’s sharp features. He turned his head to give you a one-over, and a predatory grin curled on his face. “Home.”

“My student housing is…” your voice trailed as you pointed a finger back towards the exit he should’ve taken.

“Oh doll, are you still in shock?” he asked with a twinge of mockery in his tone. “Do you not remember agreeing to stay in the guest room until we are officially married?”

Fuck. You had completely forgotten about the clause. “I didn’t think that was effective immediately. I don’t have any of my things. I need clothes and hygiene products—“

“I can assure you, angel.” His fingers gently cascaded over your thigh until he cupped your flesh with such care that all your senses melted into him. “Despite your incessant worrying and forgetfulness, I have things under control. All you need to do is sit there and indulge me, yes?”

Your body felt warm, and you couldn’t decipher whether it was from his caressing touch or from how he took charge of the situation. Slowly, you eased back into your seat. What else were you to do? Jump out of his moving car on the freeway?

“Good girl,” he praised, giving your thigh a delicate squeeze. Your breath lightly hitched in your throat from the sensation, and your core involuntarily clenched around nothing. His touch felt like flames licking at your thighs.

You tried to will your heart to stop racing, but you subconsciously knew you were willingly going into the lion’s den.

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withwritersblock · 1 month ago

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More Hearts Than Mine-Their First Real Argument

~More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress~

Author's Note: so sorry (not really) for ruining the perfect couple image but I fear I needed some angst... ;) Summary: Luke makes a financial decision without Y/N and several arguments spiral out of it Warnings: raised voices, brief description of childhoods Word Count: 1,683 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

She’s been panicking since her last class ended. The entire drive home took nearly forty minutes for three different accidents on all three different routes back to their apartment. The rent was due today and at every hour on the hour, her half of the rent had yet to leave her account.

She thought that maybe her card was declining and that the money in her account was too low. She had a two hundred dollar buffer for the rent, she was fine. But somehow the money has yet to leave her account. She’s been living in that apartment complex since she started college; not once has she missed rent.

But now she has and she was on the verge of crying and having a panic attack over the money that should have left her account. She flew into the apartment, her breathing was heavy. Luke was eating a bowl of cereal when she walked in. His eyes widened as he instantly stood up from the barstool chair that was with their kitchen island.

“Hey baby, are you okay?” he asked as his mouth was still full.

“Did the rent come out of your account today?” she asked breathlessly. Quickly, swallowing his food he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay–”

“The whole thing? My half didn’t come out of the account,” she took a deep breath as she scanned his features.

“Yeah, you were talking about how you worried about buying coffee before class and how you didn’t want to waste money. So I thought you could use that half and save up some fun money or whatever,” Luke explained nonchalantly. Y/N nodded and blinked slowly as she delicately dropped her bag by the door. Carefully and silently, she took off her shoes and rested them beside the shoe rack.

“You did that without talking to me? Luke, I’ve been freaking out all day about thi–”

“Okay, yes, I probably should’ve said something first–”

“Probably? Luke, it’s eight hundred dollars! You can’t make decisions like that without me,”

“Well, I was trying to be nice, Y/N,”

“Luke, I appreciate that but you seriously cannot just assume that I would be okay with this,” she said while shaking her head. She tugged the jacket from her frame in the process. “When it comes to money, you cannot keep me out of the decisions. This is our life together,”

“Okay but Baby, you’ve been stressing yourself out with work and school and money. You deserve to treat yourself to coffee everyday. I have the money, so I wanted to give you a break. I just thought that if you cut back a little then maybe–” he trailed off as he met her gaze and noticed the furrowing of her eyebrows.

“What do you mean cut back, Luke?” She rested her hands on her hips. He took a deep breath as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Okay, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to have this conversation but–uhm. I was thinking that maybe I would handle all of the bills we have and you would just focus on school.” he offered to avoid her gaze for a few seconds.

“Sounds like you’ve already made that decision for me, honey,” she scoffed as she walked past him and faced away from him.

“No,” he drew out the word as he took a few steps towards her. “I am trying to have the conversation with you right now,”

“It shouldn’t be a conversation, Luke. Has the thought ever cross your mind that maybe that I like working, that maybe I like making my own money,”

“I understand, baby, I’m not saying never work again but maybe give yourself some time to have a life,” he explained as he rested his hand against the countertop.

She spun around quickly on her heels, a frown on her lips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Luke dragged his tongue across his bottom lip as he took a hesitant breath. “Before I moved in, you were working almost full time and going to school full time. You were miserable, baby, so moving in helped but I hate seeing you push yourself so hard when you don’t need to. I have more than enough money to handle the bills and you could just focus on your classes,”

She nodded slowly while her bottom lip quivered. “Thank you, I’m so glad to hear that moving in together was out of convenience instead of starting our life together. That’s very reassuring, Luke,” she explained sarcastically.

“That’s not what I said, Y/N, and you know it,” he let out with a dry laugh leaving his lips.

“No, Luke, but that’s how you sounded.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Y/N!” he let out while shaking his head.

“I am not going to stop working.”

“Why is that such an awful idea?” Luke let out with an exasperated sigh. Y/N walked away from him again.

“Because I don’t want to depend on you! I am not going to be one of those WAGS that stay at home and cooks and cleans and just waits for you to come home. I am not going to be one of those girls, Luke. I’m just not,”

“I’m not asking you to do that! I’m saying that you slow down for a few months. Then when you're done with school. We’ll revisit this conversation.” he said as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“There is nothing to revisit. I am not going to stop working. I like being busy. I like having a job. I am going to start a career after I graduate. Luke, I am not going to change that,”

He shook his head, “Yeah, like teaching will be a huge pay increase,” he mumbled under his breath.

Her eyes widened as her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. “Oh, I’m sorry that I wasn’t handed my career by being born with the last name Hughes,” she shot back, not afraid to say it with her chest.

“Y/N, what is that supposed to mean?” he stepped towards her as he looked deeply into her eyes.

She took a deep breath as she raised her hand up and wiped a small tear that started to fall onto her cheek. “I’m sorry, Luke, that was out of line, I’m sorry,”

“It was but you said it anyway, so what is that supposed to mean?” Luke said while running his fingers through his hair.

“You were lucky to have parents that were able to give you every resource you could ever dream of. Luke, you didn’t have to think about money until you signed an NHL contract. You didn’t have to think about food on the table when you were eleven years old. You didn’t have to hear your parents worry about the heater turning off for missing one too many bills. You are so lucky not to have to get a job at fourteen to help your parents pay the bills.” she explained, pointing her fingers towards him.

“You are so lucky, so yes I like going to school and working. I like it because I earned it. I worked my ass off to get my career. I know it is a small fraction of what you’ll make. But I deserve to be happy about getting a degree and having a job. I deserve to be happy about what I have earned! I’m not saying you didn’t work hard because I know you did. You worked so hard to get where you are. I am so proud of you for that. But you don’t get to degrade what I want to do with my life because it barely pays the bills,”

Luke got his gaze low as he tilted his head to the side. Their eyes connected and Luke took a deep breath. “Y/N,” he let out barely above a whisper.

She took a step towards him while their eyes remained connected. “I am sorry that I implied that you didn’t deserve to be where you are. You and your brothers worked so fucking hard to get into the league. You deserve everything that is coming your way,” she rested her hand onto his chest. He looked down towards her, the corner of her lips curling upward.

“You should go sleep at Jack’s tonight,” she finished as she walked past him towards the kitchen. She took a bowl of the half eaten cereal and began draining the milk into the sink.

“What?” he let out harshly as he spun on his heel watching her movements.

She lifted her gaze resting the bowl onto the counter, their eyes connected again. “I never thought that you would belittle my future plans by saying such a thing. So I do not want you here tonight,” she explained through a teary expression.

“I wasn’t–”

“You haven’t apologized for a single thing that you have said in the last–half an hour. Which tells me that you don’t see a single thing wrong with what you’ve said or done. So please, pack a bag and go stay at Jack’s.”

“Y/N, I’m not going to stay at–”

“Your old bedroom still has a mattress, right?” she asked as she dumped the cereal into the trash before she placed it into the sink.

“Y/N,”

“Go use it, Luke,” she said as a sob rose in her throat.

“Y/N, please,” he let out as he walked towards her.

“I never thought that you would say anything like that to me. So please, I do not want you here tonight,” she let out as their eyes remained connected. She sniffled another sob as she walked towards their bathroom.

Luke stood in front of the kitchen island as he watched her walk away from him. He tilted his gaze towards the ceiling. He squinted his eyes harshly as he ran his hand across his eyes. He shook his head as he stared towards the hallway that she walked through. So much for being the perfect couple that never argues.

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hongjoongspoetry · 3 months ago

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Just Another Night, Until You | Choi San

❤️‍🔥 Summary: Hectic nights at work is nothing out of the ordinary for you, but when a man is wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit with second degree burns all over his body and in the need of immediate medical attention, your life takes a turn as his body heals on his own by the mere presence of you. Shocked by the discovery, you stay by his side as he recovers and together you come to terms with your unexpected connection.

❤️‍🔥 Pairing(s): Firefighter!San x Emergency physician!Reader

❤️‍🔥 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, best friend's brother, oldest daughter and youngest son, slice of life, fluff

❤️‍🔥 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), brief description of burn injuries, medical setting, san is living up to his romance-cat title, pet names (darling, my love, love, honey), MC is a Jeong, a lot of physical intimacy, kisses gallore, san is down bad for the MC, brief description of motorcycle accident and fractured bones (not explicit), the fear of losing loved ones, emotional exhaustion, a few swear words, not beta read!

❤️‍🔥 Wordcount: 7.5K

❤️‍🔥 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). Wihooo! And there goes the second to last instalment of the March Event ;-; im lowkey sad it's ending soon although it gives me more time to work on other stuff!! anyhow, this one was really fun to write and I hope you'll enjoy it, be prepared for a lot of love sick sannie 🥹 Btw I'm not a nurse/doctor or have any "proper" knowledge regarding how things go down in the E.R or hospital for that matter either, so this is all based on excessive research. Thank you for your understanding!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes such as descriptions of serious injuries, medical procedures as well as adult language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

It was an exceptionally calm hour in Seoul National University Hospital. Most nights were bustling with life, whether it’d be residential patients abusing the call button, relatives refusing to leave after visiting hours were over or an incoming emergency putting the whole hospital in a fit. But not tonight. The clock hanging on the wall opposite of the nurse’s station in the emergency department recently struck midnight. You slumped down by your desk as Haneul, your roommate, best friend and fellow colleague, dragged her legs behind her and nearly toppled over her seat. You finished off the last rounds of checking in on the inpatients on your floor, yet your social batteries were already drained and the nightshift had just started.

Haneul blew a raspberry before her head dropped onto the desk with a soft thud. She groaned and threw herself back on the chair, her arms extended and legs elevated. Her slip-on shoes barely hung onto her feet and she wasn’t faring any better.

“I’m so tired,” she complained and went limp in her seat. “I can’t wait to clock out and return to my boyfriend.”

You let out an amused huff, the pencil twirling in your fingers coming to a stop as you caught it mid air. “You mean your bed?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ha-ha, really funny Haneul.”

“It’s a bit funny, admit it!”

You rolled your eyes at her, but couldn’t fight off the smile that spread across your face. It was never a dull moment when in Haneul’s company. You were certain that even if death were around the corner, she’d still find a way to make the situation feel light. That was probably why you two had hit it off at university. She was mostly, if not always, in a cheerful mood, while you walked around with a dark cloud over your head. Had it not been for Haneul approaching you solely because your shirt was similar to one of her favorite character’s outfits in a drama, you probably would never have become friends. A decade later and you were tighter than two peas in a pod, and even decided — after your first semester — to move into a flat together which was still your current home.

“Whatever… I can’t complain as it’s at least a quiet night.”

The unspoken rule of never mentioning the obvious flashed before your eyes and you cowered from the blazing look Haneul shot your way. The air was caught in your throats and neither dared to move an inch from your places. You slowly turned your head sideways, waiting for a patient to peek their head out or scream that their pillow needed puffing up. As the empty hallway continued staying silent and the motion sensor lights didn’t turn on, you exhaled in relief.

“You got lucky there,” she said and logged into her computer.

As you parted your mouth to answer, a voice broke through from the radio placed on the wall-mounted brackets. A report concerning a handful of people who were hurt in a fire set loose in an apartment came through and everyone ditched their tasks to get ready for the newcomers. You and Haneul, along with other nurses, ran to the trauma bay and occupied a room each where you, hopefully not, would get a patient each. The sound of multiple sirens grew louder the faster the ambulances sped toward the hospital and didn’t stop until the flashes of red and blue colored the building. Despite being employed for two years and counting, you never got accustomed to the ear piercing noise or blinding lights.

“Nurse Kim, could you prepare the wound care kit? Nurse Hwang, bring the respiratory support system. We don’t know what we’re dealing with so we need to expect the worst!”

The commotion from the triage area reached your room as the patients were being rolled into the hospital and underwent the initial assessment of their conditions. The code red patients would fall into your hands and you, together with your team, would do your utmost to lessen their injuries. You put the other glove on and waited by the door of your room. The sight before you was jarring to say the least. The victims of the fire were all in different conditions. Some crying and wincing from the burnmarks while others lay completely still as if the burned skin wasn’t a painful inconvenience. The wonders of falling unconscious. An elderly nurse with a couple of years beneath her belt pushed a stretcher toward you and you hastily moved out of the way.

Nurse Yeon quickly spewed the little information she knew of the unconscious patient, but you couldn’t focus on her words. Your entire attention was given to the man before you. He looked peaceful despite the soot smudged across his face and several burn marks littering the majority of his body. He was also handsome — very handsome. That, you couldn’t deny. His black strands fell over his closed eyes and brows. Most of his features were sharp and defined, red heart-shaped lips in a slight pout, a long nose with a prominent bridge, high cheekbones and a few beauty marks peeking out from beneath the smeared ash. But you knew that, out of everything, his most alluring feature was his eyes — even when closed. You could see the feline-like shape that reminded you of a panther in the wild and you found yourself wondering what color they were. A tingle erupted along the pads of your fingers, almost begging you to move his hair out of the way.

“...He was found unconscious in the building after being caught in the fire. Red category. He has second-degree burns on twenty percent of his body, severe smoke inhalation and is currently in respiratory distress. We’ve initiated oxygen therapy. BP is low and bolus fluids were administered to stabilize circulation. He is unresponsive, likely due to hypoxia.”

Nurse Yeon brought you back to the present and you ignored the highly unprofessional thought. With the help of Nurse Kim, you connected him to a monitoring machine and proceeded with the remaining steps of the protocol drilled into your spine. You administered high-flow oxygen via a non-rebreather mask to address the smoke inhalation and to prevent breathing issues later on.

Facing away from the patient to grab a scalpel in order to cut his already torn shirt, you just about turned your head and called out, “Nurse Kim, give him an IV fluid with saline to prevent shock and maintain blood pressure as well as a light dose of morphine to relieve him of pain. Nurse Hwang, hand me the scalpel, please.”

The nurses wasted no time following your orders. While Nurse Kim stabilized the patient’s blood pressure, you drove the sharp end of the scalpel through the center of his shirt to expose the injured area and assess what else you had to work with. As expected, there were blotches of irritated, red skin all over his upper body. It didn’t look too bad but would scar if left untreated. Your main concern was the smoke inhalation, but the high-flow oxygen proved effective, as the pulse oximeter showed that the oxygen saturation in his blood was slowly improving and you could swiftly move on to treat his wounds.

“Nurse Hwang, hand me the antiseptic soluti–”

A horrified gasp cut you off mid sentence and your head flung to the doorway where a nurse — a trainee at that — stood with her wide eyes and mouth hanging open behind her health mask. The interruption crawled beneath your skin like electricity. You glanced down at her nametag.

“Trainee Park?”

The student didn’t budge nor make a noise of acknowledgement and you had half a mind to terminate the established contract between the hospital and nursing school. You understood the weight of students gaining hands-on experience in a hospital setting, but it was beyond the agreement for a student to interrupt a life alternating moment for the patient.

“Trainee Park I won’t ask you a second time, what is it?!”

Antiseptic solution in hand, you faced the student again, though her focus wasn’t on you but on something behind you. A line formed between your brows as you followed her gaze, leading to what she was staring at. Your patient still lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in rhythmic motion, but you weren’t caught off guard by his regulated breathing. The patches of glaring red skin that previously looked painful to the eye were replaced with a lighter hue as if his body was recovering on its own. It was inhumane and in all your years as both a student and a licensed doctor, you had never seen anything like it. However, everyone in the room knew exactly what it meant.

“Fuck…”

One of the male nurses found the patient’s ID-card in the cardholder neatly tucked in the pocket of his pants while changing him into a hospital gown, but it was the teary look on Haneul after seeing the man’s face that everything clicked in place. Choi San, the little brother of your best friend, was your soulmate.

The realization didn’t hit you while standing in the center of the trauma room or when his injuries healed more quickly beneath the touch of your finger. The fact that you had found your soulmate dawned on you early one morning, as you were making rounds between the remaining victims of the apartment fire and came across his room — the last patient to be checked on. The thought of finding your soulmate hadn’t crossed your mind in years. It was locked away in your old high school classroom, along with your youth, when you used to fret over who your soulmate might be. Would they be a foreigner? A celebrity? A boy or a girl? Rich, kind, or rude? The possibilities seemed endless, and you often spent more time daydreaming about the different outcomes than focusing on your studies. It was a miracle you didn’t fail most of your classes.

It was only when you set a goal that you lost interest in who your soulmate was and dedicated more of your time to studying. Little by little, as assignments piled up, you pushed the thought of your other half to the back of your mind and forgot about it. Of course, there were instances when the topic would come up every now and then — meeting distant relatives for the first time in forever and having them ask about your partner, or going out to dinner with Haneul and watching her get so drunk she forgets her own name, but still manages to make bets. Looks like you’d be treating her to that BBQ after all.

You entered the room and stopped at the end of the patient bed staring at San’s sleeping form. The harmless jealousy seeped into your bones as he lay there oblivious to the turmoil wrecking havoc inside of you and you wondered if, despite his unconscious state, he could feel even a glimpse of your emotions. Because you could feel him throughout your entire shift. The change in breathing, eyes fluttering, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as if he was right there with you.

The joke you once cracked to Haneul when you first started working there, something along the lines of finding your soulmate while tending to their wounds, wasn’t funny anymore and left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. You sighed and glanced down at the patient chart hanging off the bedside. His vitals were good. More than good considering he was being driven straight from a burning building. Doctor Jung ran some tests on him during the night and they confirmed that San suffered greatly until he arrived at the hospital, until he reached you.

The doors of the room were violently pushed open and the eldest Choi entered as if her brother wasn’t lying there unconscious. Her unexpected arrival stopped your thoughts from spiraling further and your heart from racing into palpitations. It was weird to see her lips pressed into a thin line and eyes void of light, replacing her usual dimpled smile that would brighten your day.

“How is he?” She eventually asked and buried her hands in the pockets of her white coat.

You cleared your throat and mimicked her stance, both of you focused on the resting man. “He’s healthier than a newborn baby.”

Five hours of constantly being on your feet, moving around and not having the chance to take a five minute toilet break put you in a hazy mist. It wasn’t until now that you felt the weight of the situation sink in. Who would’ve thought your best friend’s brother was your soulmate?

“You know,” Haneul started and broke you out of your thoughts. “I’m happy it’s you. Someone I know and trust as much as I trust myself.”

The words were oddly warm and spread a branch of hope through you. While you were too caught up with your work and then your own feelings, you didn’t stop to think what Haneul thought of everything. Her two worlds were colliding and it could either be good or bad.

“Is it weird?”

“Not at all… It’s the best thing I could ask for. That my best friend and brother get along… Just…” Haneul gnawed on the side of her bottom lip and turned to you, “Just don’t hurt him, Jeong. San is a tough cookie, but he has a fragile heart and I really don’t want to ever choose between you. You are both very dear to me.”

“You won’t have to. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t hurt him even if I tried.”

Haneul chuckled despite the tears making their escape down her cheeks. “Is it really like how they say? Are you already… affected by him?”

You breathed out a laugh at that. The countless nights spent talking and making fun of other couples who had already found their happily ever after were sure biting you in the ass, because it was, in fact, exactly how they said it would be. The unexplainable pull drawing you toward him, the yearning to be by his side and feeling him everywhere. Every skip of his heart, harsh intake of air and twitch of his fingers were all transferred to you

“Yeah, it’s exactly how they say it is.”

Haneul eventually left to do her last rounds and finish writing reports until the sun peeked over the horizon, signaling the end of your second night shift that week. San didn’t wake up until a few hours later and despite being hooked to a monitor regulating his state and showing nothing out of the ordinary, you didn’t leave his side for even a second. The dread of another emergency report coming through squeezed your abdomen until you were on the verge of puking. Just the thought of parting from him almost sent you hurling your insides in the guest bathroom. You were lucky to have wonderful colleagues who understood the circumstances and reassured you multiple times not to worry about finishing your reports or doing rounds. Nurse Hwang and Kim even passed by with snacks and water before returning to work.

The clock struck early morning when your chin slid off your knuckles and you were unpleasantly awoken from your slumber. The fear of falling to your death had you jumping out of your seat and taking in your surroundings. The sun gently shone through the windows occupying the entire left side of the room and filled the space with auburn streaks kissing your face. The warm rays seeped through the cherry blossom trees planted along the outskirts of the hospital. You found the view to be exceptionally beautiful during the early mornings when the pink petals detached from the branches, swirling in the air like snowflakes and covering the boring cement pavement..

A laser like heat bored into the side of your head and you scanned the room to find the source, only to get lost in the eyes of your soulmate. A wide smile stretched across his face and you realized the dimple gene ran deep in the Choi family as an identical pair to Haneul’s popped on San’s cheeks. You couldn’t shake away the image of a content and well fed cat at the sight of him.

San immediately shifted the blanket to the side and had one bare foot planted on the floor, ready to leap out of bed and wrap you in his arms. The man just about managed to stand on both legs when you rushed from your seat and gently pushed him back down.

“No, no, please, sit!”

San fell back on the mattress without much of a fight. The moment your hand made contact with his shoulder, an explosion of tingles erupted along your palm, spreading like wildfire through your arm and out to the rest of your limbs, reaching the tips of your toes and fingers. The air caught in your throat and, like magnets forced together, your eyes found his again. Neither of you had to vocalize the question balancing on the tip of your tongues, asking if the other felt that crackling fire. San sensed the twinge of worry squeezing at your heart and hummed in content, he reached out and grabbed one of your hands in his to ease the burden atop your shoulders. He smiled so hard his eyes turned into crescent moons and hadn’t you known better, you’d think he’d start purring like a cat receiving ear scratches.

“I’m fine. I don’t need rest because you are here.”

You ignored the heat pooling beneath your cheeks at his rather flamboyant response and steered the conversation elsewhere. “What were you thinking running into a burning building?”

The words came out effortlessly, as if you had known him since your youth.

“I didn’t do it on purpose…” He began and jutted out his bottom lip. “My feet just moved on their own, call it an instinct. Besides, I couldn’t just leave everyone inside. I’d put shame on the entire fire department!”

“Curse you for being reckless and kind hearted, San.”

“Yet thanks to my recklessness, I landed in the hospital and found you.”

The cheeky reply nearly made you pop a blood vessel. You didn’t understand how he could be so calm after facing death less than eight hours ago. The monitor attached to him shouldn’t have been stable. Based on your past experience with burn victims, San should’ve been startled and shaken up, and in some uncomfortable pain. Instead, he remained unnervingly composed, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you question your own knowledge. His calmness felt unnatural, given the circumstances. The heart rate monitor, which should’ve shown elevated readings due to stress, stayed oddly steady and only spiked up when you spoke, moved or looked at him for too long.

“San… we are soulmates. We would’ve met eventually,” you hissed, trying to mask the look of realization on your face. The soulmate bond explained his calm demeanor. As he said, he was fine now that you were there, while you just wanted to cover him in bubble wrap and not let him out of your sight.

“Yes, but not soon enough.”

You abandoned the conversation for now as it wouldn’t lead anywhere. San was deadset on his decision being correct even though it was a foolish one and you still had a job to do. Ignoring the way he followed your every movement, a polite smile and creased eyes never leaving your form, you adjusted his pillows and checked the IV attached to his forearm.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Hmmm, just you.”

Had you met under different circumstances, perhaps in a grocery store where you'd bump carts together or on a packed bus where he’d give up his seat for you and stand by your side to shield you from the other commuters, his charms would’ve worked. But you didn’t. Instead San decided to search the burning building for others with no gear, just his strong will and hope clinging onto his back, and all his attempts at flirting were futile as you couldn’t get the image of his unconscious body out of your head.

“Too bad,” you settle on saying. “You can’t have me before twelve PM.”

The pout intensified and he even crossed his arms in retaliation. Seeing a man in his late twenties throw a silent tantrum wasn’t something you thought you’d ever find endearing, but there you were, suppressing a laugh and yearning to smooth out the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Do you have to go?” He whispered and looked up at you through his lashes.

“Yes, unless you want me to be fired?”

“Fine! But the second that clock hits twelve, you and I are both getting out of here.”

“You can’t just leave, San, they have to run tests and–”

“I’ve never felt better and I think every doctor in the building can agree with me. What I will be if I don’t get to spend time with you is sick, and sad, and heartbroken and–”

“I get it, I get it!”

San lived up to his promise of spending time with you. In fact, he wasted no time running down the hallway the moment the minute hand switched to twelve, asking everyone dressed in white cloaks where Doctor Jeong was. The question left his mouth for the tenth time that minute just as you rounded the corner, ready to check out. San gave you all of three seconds to bid your colleagues goodbye before whisking you away. His plan of getting to know you consisted of lying tangled up on his sofa with a meaningless movie playing in the background, while his fingers caressed your back and his eyes shifted back to you every other second, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You weren’t faring any better. Your head was neatly tucked beneath his chin, and your hand was splayed over his right pectoral, the tips of your fingers gently rubbing soothing motions beneath the curve of his collarbone. Had you known your soulmate would be a kitten with separation anxiety, you’d have stalled on meeting him for a little while longer. Although, deep down, you knew that was a lie. San was everything you needed him to be and more: attentive, gentle, sweet, kind, caring — the list was truly endless.

The days spent cocooned together — San on sick leave to recover from the accident and you having the next two days off from work — made up for the thirty-something years you hadn’t been in each other’s lives. In just forty-eight hours, you created a bond that most lifelong best friends would envy. He shared embarrassing stories from his and Haneul’s childhood days — sweet memories of how his mother dressed him in Haneul’s hand-me-downs, despite her closet mainly consisting of flower dresses and cute skirts. In return, you told him about that one time you accidentally locked your parents out on the balcony and then hurled your breakfast back out from the anxiety and fear of never seeing them again. If only little you could have understood the wonders of spare keys and that your grandmother was already on her way to solve the issue.

The first night was spent staying up late, talking about heartfelt stories and niche interests to the point where you both passed out and didn’t wake up until late afternoon the next day. Who knew your hunk of a fireman liked collecting sweet plushies and was adamant on learning how to crochet?

That wasn’t everything though. A week into your freshly established relationship and San hadn’t missed to stop by your workplace once to give you lunch, coffee, midnight snacks or a quick peck on the cheek. It was easy in the beginning when San didn’t return to work for an entire week. The soulmate bond proved that he wasn’t in need of resting as much as his company thought and he eventually had to return earlier than expected. It was weird to be glued to each other for hours on end to then not be able to see each other because of your hectic schedules that never seemed to align. When you’d return home from a long night shift, he was dressed and ready to leave.

You voiced your worries to Haneul during a lunch break, saying how you were afraid of moving too fast, but now that you barely got to spend time together, it felt like you were moving at a snail’s pace. She mildly reassured you that it craved more than some social distance for your soulmate bond to break and that it would take some time for you to find your footing in the relationship.

However, working multiple shifts a week while running on little to no sleep left you too exhausted to plan an outing whenever an opportunity for the two of you to spend time together appeared. Date-night looked different in the Choi-and-Jeong books. Instead of glamming up and booking a reservation at a fancy restaurant, you decided to stay in and watch a movie that would sooner or later be forgotten as you’d be too enamoured with each other. Haneul walked in on one too many make-out sessions, and thus, you came to the decision to host movie nights strictly at San’s apartment.

Like many times before, you lay atop San, his legs parted, giving you the option to cage his left one between yours. One of his arms was bent and propped behind his head to act as a cushion, while the other was curled around you, his hand pressing against the small of your back in a comforting embrace. Your cheek was mushed against his chest and your hand limply rested on his bicep. A movie played on the big screen and a plethora of snacks were strewn out on the coffee table but left untouched. You joked about how, ever since San entered your life, your sugar cravings had dramatically decreased because he was bringing too much sweetness into it.

“Honey?” San broke the comfortable silence and spoke over the characters on the TV. You hummed in reply and he continued. “I want to ask you something.”

As you shifted to get a better look at him, he pulled you in a tight embrace and you immediately stopped moving. “Don't look at me, just… listen? Please?”

“Okay, Sannie, what is it?”

“How do you feel about… moving in… with me? Or me with you!” You could hear the blush attacking his cheeks and embarrassment clinging onto his voice as it grew higher in the end and the words came out in a rush.

Joy tugged at your lips and you couldn’t stop the light hearted chuckle from slipping out in the room. You broke out of his gentle hold and grabbed his hand in yours, and planted a chaste kiss on it.

“I think I’d love that.”

Without warning, he squeezed your cheeks between his palms and captured your lips in a tender kiss, leaving your insides warm and mushy. Despite having muscles the size of a watermelon and broad shoulders that could carry the entirety of Noah’s ark, San was a real softie. He had the habit of holding you as if you were the most valuable possession on the earth, a feather which could crumble at contact or a cube of sugar that would melt beneath the rain. The shared kisses were brief but left a tingle on your lips that you couldn't get enough of and nearly whined in retaliation as San withdrew to catch his breath.

“I adore you, like really, really much,” he confessed and kissed you again, and again, and again. The peppered kisses were planted all over your face — nose, cheeks, mouth, chin, eyes, forehead. The endearing act of love pulled a string of giggles straight out of your tummy, cursing you with an ache that your grandmother would call remedy for the soul.

One moment he was on you and the next, he turned you over to lay against the couch while he scrambled to his bedroom on the other side of the apartment. You pushed yourself up on your forearms with only your upper body lifted as you curiously watched San runoff as if his rear caught on fire.

“Sannie?”

“Just a second, honey!”

Rough shuffling reached the living room, but it was the loud crash of objects clattering on the ground that you almost headed to see the commotion yourself. San’s reassuring voice telling you everything was okay didn’t help you relax, but you trusted his judgement and remained seated. The eager wait was short lived as San returned with something tightly clutched in his right hand and stopped by the end of the couch, back uncomfortably straight and face pinched into a serious expression. Hadn’t you known him for a little shorter than a month, you’d assume he was about to get down on one knee and ask you to live the rest of your life by his side.

San cleared his throat and extended his arm low enough for you to see his well manicured fingernails. You shuffled over closer to the end of the sofa and sat up on your knees. His fingers unfolded and exposed the trinket laying in the center of his palm. An apartment key. The spare key to his apartment to be precise.

“I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I’ve never been sure of anything more than this and I really want to take this next step with you.”

“Are you asking me to marry you or move in with you?”

Red dusted his cheeks and he had to look away. Your own lips curved up as his eyes creased into crescent moons, a telltale of his dimpled smile making an appearance. San covered his mouth as if it would make his smile disappear. Testing the waters, he asked, “Would you say yes?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”

San was sure he could pass out right then and there. His cheeks hurt from smiling too much, but it was the only pain he would ever welcome with open arms. You climbed onto the couch and jumped into San's arms and he effortlessly caught you, his hands finding their designated place on your hips and thighs while your arms slid around his neck like a koala. Your fronts were pressed against each other, but you continued pulling him toward you, as if the chance of becoming one entity was higher than inventing flying cars. San dipped you down princess-style and stole a long kiss, one that you were more than eager to reciprocate. Your fingers tangled in his black hair, nails soothingly scratching his scalp, and your heart swelled with so much love and happiness it felt like it could explode and fill the living room with colorful confetti.

It was a shame the human needed air every few minutes because all you wanted to do in that moment was feel him everywhere. Breaking apart, you rested your forehead against his, hot breaths fanning across each other’s lower faces, chests rising with fervor as your bodies desperately tried to reclaim the lost oxygen."

“I’d say yes a hundred times over,” you breathed out, “but let’s save that for after we meet the in-laws.”

“My parents have already scheduled a day for when we can go to Namhae,” he eagerly replied to which you hastily leaned back, nearly sending you both tumbling over.

“San! I swear you’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you.”

Lips swollen, eyes welling with joy and hearts beating erratically, the world paused as you looked at each other. The diploma neatly placed on your desk and the knowledge you had collected over the years seemed insignificant when the love you harbored for San could regrow burned forests, mend broken bridges and heal even the most shattered of hearts.

Living with San was nothing out of the ordinary, except that you saw each other more now that you lived under the same roof. Considering your shared apartment with Haneul was bigger than San’s, it only made sense for the Choi siblings to switch places. That way you kept your room and San took Haneul’s. You quickly realized you could’ve just moved into San’s apartment instead as neither ever went to sleep alone. More often than not, San would crawl into your bed, claiming it was cozier than his, but you knew even the ground would be a great sleeping place as long as you were in his arms. That was precisely what you wanted — to be in San’s arms. Instead you were working another night shift, the most hectic one since the fire incident a couple of weeks ago.

A young man, no older than twenty, had been in a motorcycle crash, leaving him with severe pain and swelling in his right leg, which was pushed into an unnatural position. The skin was entirely torn off, exposing blood and muscle tissue. You had a suspicion about how severe the situation was, but it still called for an X-ray examination. As expected, the results confirmed multiple fractures of the femur and tibia, requiring surgery the next day at the latest. Changmin, as his driver’s license indicated, was in immense pain and even struggled with breathing difficulties into the night. This left you and your co-workers with no choice but to monitor him closely throughout the remainder of your shift. To say it was tiring would be an understatement. Your feet were so sore it felt like walking on a rug of medical needles and your back ached, begging you to lie in bed and not get up until the birds returned from Southeast Asia.

The only thing pushing you through the long day was the fact that you knew San was waiting on you at home. It didn’t matter if he was awake or not. Your tense muscles relaxed by the thought of burying your face in his chest and forget the world until your batteries were restored again. It became a routine for the both of you. When one had a more physically draining day at work, the other was ready to pamper them and make them feel completely taken care of.

After a few failed attempts to insert the key into the door, you finally managed to unlock it. A stream of blue light illuminated the otherwise dark apartment and was accompanied by muffled voices coming from the living room. You haphazardly threw your shoes off, not bothering to neatly place them next to one of San’s hundred pairs of sneakers, and instinctively followed the animated sounds that belonged in a cartoon.

The scene you were met with nearly brought you to tears. San was seated in the middle of the sofa, a fuzzy blanket thrown over his head and shoulders, with two mugs of hot cocoa steaming on the table in front of him. The bag slung over your shoulder slipped off and fell to the floor with a gentle thud. Your jacket — a gift from San’s closet — was at least two sizes too big, making you look like a bear ready to hibernate. The colorful scarf you had been wearing since your teenage years reached up to your nose. San whipped his head in your direction and his stoic expression softened into one of understanding at the sight of fresh tears coating your waterline. His lips curled into a small, reassuring smile that spoke more of compassion than words ever could.

He quickly lifted one side of the blanket and beckoned you over with a gentle command. “C’mere honey.”

That was the last straw for your tears to start rolling. You wasted no time shedding your outer layers of clothing and curling into San’s side. A sob that you had been holding in throughout the entire car ride home vibrated against his chest. San ran his hand up and down your back while whispered praises tickled your ear. He planted a kiss on your crown and pulled you over him as he fell back against the couch. You adjusted yourself more comfortably, both legs falling on either side of his hips so as not to fall, and he swiftly maneuvered the blanket to shield you from the chilly atmosphere. The minutes ticked by and you had no perception of how long you stayed in that position, but your sobs eventually subdued to soft sniffling.

“How did you know?” You whispered, a tremble hanging onto your vocal chords, and sat up.

San’s hands travelled to rest on your waist, thumbs rubbing circular motions into your flesh. “I just… felt you.”

“Felt me?”

He hummed, “I still do. Happiness, sadness, fear, anger — everything, right here.” His hand hovered over your heart and you understood. You really did.

There was no scientific explanation for the emotional connection that kept you in tune with each other’s feelings. The unexpected pressure weighing down on your lungs at even the slightest discomfort or worry he experienced, like when he stumbled upon a video of a duckling being separated from its mother. It was uncanny how your heart soared hours before he came home with good news about a promotion, or the unexplainable sense of pride you had been carrying all day — only to discover it was coming from San, who had helped a kitten down from a tree. You’d never forget the day the bitter taste of dandelion greens spread across your tongue, only to find San lying in bed, caving under the weight of his blue emotions. The best part of the connection, though, would be the buckets of love pouring into your bucket as he hugged, kissed and worshipped you. However, there was one emotion you hadn’t received any signs of.

Your fingers found purchase on the hem of his shirt that rode up his stomach and revealed a sliver of the toned skin beneath. “I don’t feel… your anger.”

San flashed you a blinding smile and spurts of daffodils curved around your heart. “That’s because nothing makes me angry, love.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

A beat passed and you sighed, “I’m always angry.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re angry, just… frustrated.”

“It’s practically the same thing,” you argued and continued fiddling with his shirt. He captured your hands in his and halted your anxious picking.

“It isn’t, not by definition. We feel frustrated when we are unable to progress, while anger is the response to something we perceive as wrong or harmful… You’re not angry, my love, you’re frustrated and probably overworked too.”

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you mulled over his words. It made sense, and you didn’t need to voice the comfort it brought you; he felt it. The unruly waves quieted to a steady push-and-pull, letting you breathe as the knot of emotions slowly untangled to nothing.

“You know, I’m supposed to be the older one out of the two of us.”

A hearty laugh filled the previously gloomy room, immediately illuminating the four cold walls, and San caught your waist again as he shifted, the echoes of his laughter filling the space.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. It'd be my honor to make you feel like a teenage girl again.”

That he did. It was almost embarrassing how his sweet gestures had you leaping face first into your pillows and rapidly firing your feet against the comforter. One would believe you were closer to being fifteen than thirty, and while you had a mild crisis, you were still grateful San brought that youthfulness out of you again.

“Was it a rough day?”

The sentimental moment burst like a fragile soap bubble at the slightest of touches. You took a breath of air and San slid his hand further up your wrists, placing his thumbs in the center of your palms while the remainder of his fingers wrapped around the back of your hand. It was grounding and kept you from re-visiting the gut wrenching thoughts that plagued your mind while tending to the young patient.

“A young guy was rushed to the ER… He got into a motorcycle accident and flew maybe a good ten meters from the crash place, and totally fucked up his leg. It was by sheer luck he didn’t suffer head injuries, let alone injuries to the rest of his body.”

You still saw the image of his bloodied body and torn clothes, a sight that would leave you with nightmares for days.

“He was in really critical condition, San. We couldn’t leave him alone for even one second. I’m talking about twenty four-hour care… He’s going into surgery tomorrow. He’ll survive, but it’s just... He reminded me of you. How you’re literally in danger every time you go to work and– and how easily I could lose– lose– lose–”

The words caught in your throat as your voice grew higher in pitch. San gave your hands another squeeze and pulled you back down onto him. You wasted no time burying your face in his neck and his arms automatically wrapped around you — one finding purchase at the back of your head while the other securely encircled your back.

“I don’t want to lose you, San.”

“You won’t lose me, love.”

“You don’t know that!”

“What I know is that I always do my best to come back to you in one piece. To my home, no?” The hand that had been placed against your head wrapped around the back of your neck and gently massaged it.

Like a flower opening up to catch the first few sun rays of the day, you put your heart out and allowed San a glimpse of what was inside.

“It just scared me,” you said between shuddering breaths. “Anything could happen, San, and I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you–”

“Honey.” His voice wasn’t stern, but it held a certain finality to it. As gentle as a newborn kitten, he carefully eased you back, pulling you away from where your face had been pressed against his neck. With a soft motion, he tilted your head slightly, getting a better look at your face.“Thinking of the what ifs isn’t good for anyone.”

You wanted to reply with an ‘I know’, but you knew better than to lie to him.

He wiped a stray tear off your cheek and you nuzzled against his palm. “Look, I love that you think you need me, but it’s not true. We managed more than fine on our own and just because we’ve found each other doesn’t mean we can’t function alone anymore… I love that you feel comfortable enough to lean on me, darling, but at the end of the day, you’re strong because of who you are and not because I’m here.

“And if, but just if, anything were to happen to me, I need you to know that you aren’t alone. You’d still have Haneul there. My parents. Your parents. Nurse Kim and Nurse Hwang too. That’s eight more people than me.”

Your hand enveloped his cradling your cheek. “I don’t want to think of a life without you in it.”

“Good because you’re stuck with me forever and ever and ever and ever!”

A wet giggle sounded through the living room and San’s rough chuckle blended perfectly with your sweet hiccups. Overwhelmed by the affection filling your humble abode, successfully warming every corner of the apartment, you intertwined your fingers behind San’s neck and determinedly pulled him into a heart-searing kiss. Your mouths molded together in a perfect fit, much like the famous art piece by Auguste Rodin. The sculpture representing a pair of lovers destined to remain together forever, until parted by death.

San breathed life into you with simple gestures that could restore chivalry. His eyes finding yours in a crowded room, silently checking up on you as you were both tugged in opposite directions by your mutual friends. Walking the empty streets after a successful date night, the gentle brush of his fingers skimming over yours before slipping between the gaps and pulling your hand into the pocket of his coat with the excuse of keeping you warm. Slothing his front to your back in the solitude of your home as you’d be too busy for a long cuddle session on the couch. Not to mention the kisses spread throughout the day—morning, noon, and night. He’d see you off with a peck and welcome you with the same sentiment, wishing you a good night or day before taking off.

The memories you collected during your still-new relationship pushed you forward, giving you hope and belief that you were going to get through this. San’s promise of never leaving — intentionally or unintentionally — comforted you and the dreadful thoughts hadn't returned, and hopefully, they wouldn’t ever. But if they ever did reoccur, you knew San would be there to chase them away.

#[🌸] cherry blossom march event #cromernet #choi san x reader #choi san #ateez x reader #ateez #soulmate #soulmate oneshot #soulmate au #firefighter san #oneshot #fanfiction #fluff #romance #drabble #firefighter au #hospital au #a bit of angst #angst

498 notes · View notes

feyburner · 1 year ago

Text

This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.

EDIT: This has been posted on AO3.

[Unknown] »

Hey. This is Jason.

I have a favor to ask. You can say no.

« tim

1. i’m aware of how favors work

2. what is it?

« tim

hey are you like. good

J »

Yeah fine

Sry. Rethinking this maybe

« tim

what, do you need a kidney or something?

i can’t give you a kidney.

i don’t have any organs to spare.

J »

What ?

« tim

what’s the favor?

J »

I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important

I’d ask Roy but hes in star city

or Kori but shes off world

I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight

« tim

yeah jason i get it lol

J »

So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht

« tim

what >?

J »

We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing.

« tim

are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there

J »

So I dont think I can get back t

No its on purpose

« tim

hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?

jason this storm is really bad.

it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina

J »

I dont think I can get back totown toni

Christ you type fast

Shut up for a sec. Clam down

Clam*

*Calm fuck me

Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.

Can you feed my sourdough starter

« tim

what

J »

4511 overhill apt 6D

Key under the neighbors mat. 6H

« tim

hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean

J »

Starter is on counter. in glass jar

Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending

« tim

on???

J »

On wwhen I get back?

« tim

so you do plan on coming back

J »

Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom

« tim

yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine?

J »

Did you

jst say Vader

As in Darth

« tim

???

J »

Oh my god

« tim

jason are you in peril or what.

J »

No im not in “peril” lol.

Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter

It needs to be fed

« tim

wtf is a sourdough starter

nvm i googled it

J »

Its a live bacteria colony you use to m

Oh ok

Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour

Theres a scale next to the jar

Stir until it looks like hummus

Put lid back on

The end

« tim

the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings

J »

Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule

« tim

your bread schedule

J »

Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else

« tim

im already en route.

J »

Thank you.

Wtf dont text and motorbike

« tim

how about you dont text and Sinking Boat

J »

Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash

« tim

i was stopped at a red light 😐

anwyay i’m at your place.

1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking.

2. how warm is lukewarm

J »

1. I’m the security system

« tim

just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt

J »

God youre annoying

2. ? Its lukewarm

« tim

ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :)

J »

Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in

Can you fucking

I TYPE SLOW.

« tim

ok.

[Image Attached]

he is fed

J »

Thanks man.

Sincerely.

« tim

so hows the cargo hold going

still intact i assume?

J »

Mostly ya

« tim

pardon?

J »

Slight leakage. Nothing major

« tim

oh? are you a boatologist now?

i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?

J »

Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.

Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar

Hm.

« tim

did an alarm just start going off

J »

Dont worry about it

« tim

im not.

did it though

also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase

blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one

« tim

jason?

« tim

if this is a joke it’s not funny

oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.

hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi

« tim

ugh.

J »

Hey

Thanks again for the

I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.

But thanks for the backup.

Lmk when youre home

Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.

Night.

« tim

home

J »

Also I just saw your messaages from

Ah. 👍

From earlier.

« tim

you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages?

J »

Those were not my exact words.

« tim

right. your exact words contained somehow even less information

J »

Shut up

I just wanted to

You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it

The only one in the family I mean

your family, I mean

The bats.

« tim

the only one who jokes about what

J »

Me being dead

« tim

oh.

ok. well

its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess

J »

No thats not

Tim. Shut up.

I dont mind. I like that one of you does.

Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.

One of many

If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face

the :~{ face

« tim

wow its uncanny

uh. for the record.

i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it

if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can”

J »

Yeah well

I just

Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.

Im gonna shut the fuck up I think.

Goodnight.

« tim

oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me?

and failed btw :/

J »

Tim

Not to be so unchill

But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you

« tim

…got it. sorry

J »

No. don’t apologize to me

Ever

I’m serious

« tim

like for anything?

what if i killed breadie mercury

J »

You didnt. He is thriving

« tim

he is?

wait. really?

you can tell?

J »

[Image Attached]

Hes doubled in size since you fed him.

« tim

whoa

J »

Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.

*that too

Its stupid but hes kinda my son.

« tim

wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons

J »

He is my 10 billion sons.

« tim

lolol

wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol

J »

Right

« tim

jeez

i was so worried about the water temp

google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe

J »

You used a thermometer?

« tim

your instructions were vague!

i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!

J »

Thanks Tim.

« tim

? you already said that lol

i gotta pass out btw

glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht

that would have been so cringe

night jason

J »

Night

J »

You up?

« tim

obviously

why

J »

Could use your eyes on something.

[Image Attached]

« tim

morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD

J »

Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl

Ok jesus christ .

30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me

Can I hire you? Jesus lol

« tim

that depends. do you pay more than batman?

J »

The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?

« tim

no.

J »

Then yes. I do pay more than batman.

« tim

how much more

J »

One coffee per codebreak?

« tim

J »

Two coffees per codebreak

Two and a loaf of sourdough

« tim

sourdough from breadie mercury?

J »

« tim

done

J »

Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards

« tim

i mean i was already gonna do it for free

now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance

im on a roll. nothing but Ws

J »

Ws?

« tim

its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️

J »

I am barely 3 years older htan you.

It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.

« tim

and yet you text like an old, old man

J »

I do not

Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”

« tim

ROFLCOPTER?

oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god

that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god

J »

Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing

« tim

oh, is it star trek?

J »

I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose

But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings

« tim

no i have not.

J »

Hm.

« tim

what

J »

Nothing.

« tim

……….what

« tim

did you NARC on me

to BRUCE

about LORD OF THE RINGS?????

J »

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

« tim

WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON?

WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?

WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”?

J »

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.

That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.

« tim

its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE

about GOBLINS

J »

I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.

« tim

if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own.

im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool

J »

What the fuck

How do you fuckig know about ?????? that????????

Not that ithahpened

What hefuckk ??

« tim

ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!

J »

Why are you?? evil??

« tim

you should have killed me when you had the chance!!

sorry.

J »

Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.

Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part

Brb

« tim

ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two……..

« tim

sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia

« tim

ugh.

« tim

you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time

luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.

J »

Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?

« tim

oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters

J »

Hey I wrapped up the russians myself

« tim

yeah?

J »

…

Yeah….

« tim

so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god?

J »

:-|

« tim

im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker

just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.

think of all the time and energy you’d save me

J »

I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.

« tim

i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app

i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance

J »

What

« tim

how hot *red hood is. to clarify

in their opinion

the people’s opinion

J »

« tim

the people of gotham city

J »

The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol

« tim

wait

i cant tell if you’re being serious

J »

Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf

Why would they think hes hot

They dont think Batman is hot

« tim

o…kay…

huh.

how to… hmm

J »

Like nightwing sure

And the girls. Bc of objectification of women

« tim

oh wow

J »

Red Robin. If i had to guess

But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol

« tim

what kind of response, exactly

J »

You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot”

« tim

oh, wow.

okay. ummm

hmm. one sec.

J »

« tim

check your email

J »

Ok…?

J »

Oh my fucking god.

« tim

yeah

J »

Oh my god?

« tim

yeah

J »

This document is fucking 45 pages long?

« tim

its everything from the past 30 days yeah

J »

The past

Whaht the fuck

Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.

This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff.

« tim

oof are you on page 14

J »

Im on page 3???

« tim

oh my god

J »

What the fuck

Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too

Tim

« tim

its not like this for batman :)

J »

Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.

« tim

its worse :)

J »

Oh what the fuck

Oh my fucking god page 14.

You get this shit TEXTED to you?????

Ohm ygod. You read this?????

« tim

i mean

i glance at it

for security purposes.

i dont like, read it read it

anyway did you seriously not know? haha

J »

No??? Again its not like people tell me

« tim

yeah but

theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here

yknow

sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately”

« tim

sorry

that was in fact awkward!

nvm

just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not

i was mostly joking about the hacking

J (From Work) »

No you weren’t.

« tim

no i wasnt

i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser

anyway im going dark for patrol, later

J (From Work) »

[Screenshot Attached]

Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog

« tim

oh my god

you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right

J (From Work) »

Figured it was only fair

[Screenshot Attached]

This persons got some mad zoom lens skills

I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you

« tim

wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass

…a stellar photo of my ass. wow.

do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph

J (From Work) »

goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3

Haha

I kinda thought you and blondie broke up

back on again?

« tim

no lol we are very much just friends

she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going

anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots

its a whole genre

they’re like trading cards

J (From Work) »

Guess everyone’s got a hobby?

« tim

the only rule is no nightwing

J (From Work) »

Do I want to know why

« tim

he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots

so its too easy

you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare.

← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman

anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.

J (From Work) »

A vote between you and Steph?

You lost a 50/50 vote?

« tim

i dont wanna talk about it.

J (From Work) »

Right.

So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.

« tim

J (From Work) »

No?

« tim

well

J (From Work) »

Yeah?

« tim

we don’t like, save them

that would be weird

we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues

and keep an ongoing points tally

thats all

so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you

J (From Work) »

How many points is my ass worth

« tim

i hate everything about this conversation

J (From Work) »

Its 100% your own fault, answer the question

« tim

if you must know.

points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.

J (From Work) »

Uh huh. Like what

« tim

technical excellence

composition. lighting and color balance.

dynamism

J (From Work) »

Dynamism…

« tim

creativity

umm

emotional impact

and

subject matter

J (From Work) »

I see.

« tim

ok i know it sounds bad

J (From Work) »

It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears

« tim

but if you think abou

okay, well, great

J (From Work) »

I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more.

Or is that cheating

« tim

its totally cheating

please do

J (From Work) »

You got it red. 👍

« tim

#jaytim #can’t emphasize enough that this is a silly thing i wrote for Me and My Friends but sharing here as well lol #my writing

2K notes · View notes

dollyswishingwell · 13 days ago

Note

Hello! What about one for mama’s prince or princess where somehow reader hurts herself? maybe needs to go to hospital or be put on bed rest.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Prince P.5

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, angst? i really had to brain storm ideas for reader to be hurt lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Mama’s hurt

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It happened fast. You were just in the middle of arranging the massive seashell chandelier in the sunroom, something you and Raf had picked out in one of his whimsically romantic moods, when your darling baby boy toddled in, calling for you in his tiny lisped voice.

“Mamaaa…”

He looked so much like Rafayel it was unfair, those soft purple curls, sleepy blue-pink eyes, and even that lazy little smirk. And like his papa, he had a knack for pulling your attention in the most inconvenient ways.

So when he clung to your leg just as you stepped off the small stool…

Crash.

You don’t remember much after that except the sound of glass, your little one’s startled cry, and pain blooming sharply in your ankle.

Now, you’re on bed rest with a splinted foot, propped up on silken pillows in the center of your marital bed, surrounded by plushies and baby boy curled tightly against your side, clinging to your arm like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth. He hasn’t let go since Raf brought you home from the hospital.

And speaking of Raf,

He’s furious at himself. Pacing the room in a loose robe, wet hair still dripping from the bath he’d barely taken before racing to your side again. His jaw is clenched, the sharp angles of his cheekbones stark in the dim lighting, but his voice is soft as sea foam when he finally settles beside you.

“You’re not supposed to get hurt, pearlie. That’s not in your job description,” he murmurs, carefully adjusting your pillows and smoothing your hair back with trembling fingers. “Your job is to be pretty and pampered. That’s it. That’s it.”

Your baby boy sniffles, his small head nudging into your side. “I sorry Mama… I didn’t mean…”

You coo and pull him into your lap with effort, kissing his curls despite the ache. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Mama just got distracted by her two cutest boys.”

Rafayel scoffs softly but leans down to press a kiss to your bandaged foot, then one to your forehead, and finally one to baby boy’s.

“You’re both grounded,” he mutters. “Indefinitely. And I’m wrapping you both in bubble wrap.”

You giggle despite the pain. “You’re the one who bought the chandelier, Raffy.”

“…Shh.” He gently tucks the blanket around you both. “We don’t talk about my bad decisions. Only yours. Like standing up when you could’ve just called me.”

And just like that, you’re back in your estate, tucked in, spoiled, and loved to the moon and back. Even with your foot wrapped up, Raf makes sure you don’t feel anything but adored.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No wild incident, no fall from heights. Just you, in the kitchen, preparing Zayne’s favorite lemon tea, because he’d been working late again, and your sweet baby boy crawling around your feet, giggling every time you turned. You were smiling too, distracted by how adorable he looked in his tiny doctor onesie, a mini Zayne clone with that serious little pout and messy black hair.

But then your foot slid. Water from the kettle you’d just filled had splashed. You didn’t even realize until the sharp pain shot through your wrist as you instinctively caught yourself on the counter.

Your baby boy blinked up at you from the floor with wide hazel-green eyes, and your heart broke, not from the pain, but from the way his lip wobbled.

Zayne had you in the hospital within minutes. He left mid-surgery prep, coat still half-buttoned, his voice calm but terrifyingly cold as he gave orders over the phone to prep imaging for your arm.

Now, you’re home, wrist in a soft cast, on strict bed rest per Doctor Husband’s orders.

And Zayne? Zayne hasn’t left your side. He’s in full overprotective mode, cool, composed, but with a gaze that keeps flickering to your arm like he’s blaming himself for everything.

Your baby boy lays quietly on your chest, fidgeting with the blanket, sniffling every now and then.

“Mama… hurt ‘cause me…” he mumbles.

“Absolutely not,” Zayne says instantly from his seat beside the bed, voice low but firm. “Mama got hurt because I wasn’t there. That’s on me.”

You reach out with your good hand and thread your fingers through his.

“Zaynie, don’t say that…”

He leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple with a tired sigh. “You’re not supposed to be doing anything. Not chores. Not making tea. Not carrying the world while I’m gone. You’re supposed to be spoiled rotten, remember?”

You smile faintly. “I was trying to be sweet.”

“You are,” he murmurs, kissing your wrist just above the cast. “But next time you want to be sweet, you’ll call me and I’ll come running. Understand?”

Your baby boy lets out a big sigh and hugs your tummy, mumbling, “Mama stay in bed forever now…”

Zayne gives a rare, soft chuckle, and shifts onto the bed to cuddle you both, cool palm resting over yours protectively.

“Not forever,” he says quietly. “Just until she’s healed. Then she’s back to being my overly pampered, dangerously distracting wife.”

He kisses your cheek again.

“And I wouldn’t have her any other way.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You weren’t even doing anything particularly wild, just reorganizing the top shelf of your shared closet, humming softly to yourself while your little boy toddled around nearby, dragging one of Xavier’s oversized sweaters like a blankie. He looked exactly like his papa. silver hair, calm blue eyes, and that distant, curious look like he was always thinking about the stars.

“Mama,” he called softly, holding the sweater up toward you. “This one smells like Daddy.”

You turned to answer, smiling, so sweet, so warm, and then your foot slipped.

A sharp thump. The world tilted. A heavy ache bloomed in your side.

The next thing you remember is your son crying, trying to pat your face with his tiny hands while you gasped from the pain, whispering, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay…”

Xavier was home within ten minutes, the entire top tier of the building in lockdown, a storm of calm silence and lethal precision. He lifted you into his arms so gently it made your eyes well up, not from pain, but from how tenderly he held you, like you were something rare, irreplaceable.

Now you’re in bed, ribs bruised and movement limited. Baby boy is curled into your side, unusually quiet, cheek pressed to your shoulder like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

Xavier sits nearby, pale hair slightly tousled, fingers steepled in front of his lips. His eyes are fixed on you both like he’s trying to memorize every breath you take.

“You should never have been standing on anything, my love,” he finally says, voice low and steady, but there’s that unmistakable tightness, his quiet, haunted guilt. “You should’ve called me. You know I would’ve come.”

“I know,” you whisper, brushing your son’s hair gently. “But I didn’t think, he just wanted to show me your sweater…”

Xavier rises slowly, moves to your side, and kneels so his face is level with yours and baby boy’s.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then gently kisses your son’s forehead too.

“It’s not your fault, little one,” he says softly to him. “It’s mine. I wasn’t here. That won’t happen again.”

“Xav…”

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking beneath your eye.

“You’re everything to me. You and him. There’s no universe where I let either of you get hurt again.”

Then, in a rare act of vulnerability, he climbs into bed with both of you, curling around your side like a protective shield, one hand lightly covering your stomach, the other stroking his son’s back.

The three of you lie there in silence, safe in your quiet cocoon, Xavier’s breath warm against your neck, baby boy’s hand curled around your shirt, and you in the middle, where you’ve always belonged.

“I’ll stay like this until you’re better,” he murmurs. “Longer, if you want.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You were trying to be good. Really, you were. Sylus had warned you, sternly, not to touch the upstairs gallery until his private curator arrived. Something about new sculptures being too heavy to move. But your inner perfectionist itched, especially with your little boy toddling around proudly in a mini black turtleneck and slacks like his papa, holding a clipboard made of cardboard and pretending to inspect the art.

“Mama,” he said, puffing his cheeks like a tiny executive, “that’s not where the flower statue goes.”

You laughed and followed his lead, adjusting one of the smaller pedestals.

Then you tried to lift the marble vase.

Crack.

Your knee gave out under the weight, sending you down hard. A sharp yelp escaped you, echoing off the vaulted ceiling, and your baby boy’s clipboard clattered as he scrambled over to you in panic.

By the time Sylus arrived, you were on the floor clutching your leg, your son sobbing into your side, and your voice strained as you tried to calm him. The expression on Sylus’s face was the kind that made grown men beg for mercy, but when he reached you, it was all wiped away, replaced by something far more dangerous:

Pure fear.

Now you’re in bed, leg elevated and wrapped, his most trusted personal doctor on standby downstairs. Your little boy lies beside you, curled up against your good leg like a baby cat, sniffling every few seconds.

Sylus stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, red eyes dark with a smoldering intensity.

“You,” he finally says, voice low and dry, “are banned from every room above the ground floor until further notice. And he, ” he points to your son, who flinches, “—is no longer allowed to give artistic direction without adult supervision.”

“S-sorry, Daddy…” the little boy mumbles tearfully.

Your hand reaches out to rub his back. “No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong, Mama just didn’t listen to Papa.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow. “Finally, some honesty.”

You pout at him. He moves closer.

The teasing tone fades as he kneels beside the bed and rests his forehead against your blanketed leg, brushing a kiss to your shin.

“I should’ve locked the damn gallery. You never listen when you get into decorating mode,” he mutters, voice almost too soft to catch.

Then his eyes flick up to you, and he reaches out to caress your cheek with a gloved hand.

“Next time you want to move something, you wait for me. Understand, kitty?”

You nod slowly. He leans in, kisses your nose, then kisses your son’s forehead.

“Daddy will fix it,” he whispers to both of you, curling onto the bed with that feline grace of his, gathering you into his arms.

“You just focus on being pretty and fragile and impossibly mine. I’ll take care of everything else.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

It was just a moment, barely a blink.

You were in the solarium, watering the wall of rare blooming vines Caleb had gifted you from his Farspace expeditions. Your little boy was nearby, dressed in his miniature Skyhaven cadet jacket, toddling after a stray butterfly that had wandered inside through the open glass doors.

“Mama! Look!”

You turned instinctively, smiling, he looked so much like Caleb it was unfair. That dark brown hair, those star-bright purple eyes, and even the same stubborn set to his jaw. But in that split-second glance, your foot twisted awkwardly on the garden step. You tried to catch yourself, but your shoulder took the full impact against the stone tile

Your baby boy was at your side in seconds, big eyes filling with tears. “Mama, Mama, owie?! Mama—!”

And then Caleb’s voice, sharp through the comm link, demanding to know why the med sensors in the solarium had activated.

He was home within ten minutes.

Now you’re tucked in bed, arm in a sling, with your little boy curled tightly into your uninjured side. He hasn’t stopped clinging to you since, little hands fisting in your robe like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

Caleb sits beside the bed, still in his uniform, gloves off, medals forgotten. He’s cleaning a tiny scrape on your knee with the same precision he’d use to defuse a bomb, jaw tight, expression unreadable, eyes darting between your face and every bandaged spot like it physically pains him to see you hurt.

“This was preventable,” he finally mutters, voice low and sharp with guilt. “I told them to install railings. Why weren’t they installed yet?”

“Caleb, baby… it’s not anyone’s fault,” you murmur. “He just got excited. I got distracted. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he snaps, then pauses, breathes, his tone softening instantly as your son sniffles into your chest.

Caleb rises, leans over the bed, and cups your cheek with a rare gentleness.

“You’re everything to me. Both of you. You’re not supposed to fall, or bleed, or even flinch. I’ll have the solarium redone. Safer. Padded if I have to.”

“Ca—”

He hushes you with a kiss to your forehead, then one to your son’s head. “No more guilt. You protect our boy. I protect you.”

Then he pulls a blanket over all three of you and slides into bed, his body curling behind yours protectively, arm wrapped around your waist.

“From now on,” he whispers, breath warm against your ear, “you don’t lift a single finger without me watching.”

And true to his word, you don’t.

He becomes your shadow, protective, possessive, and maddeningly tender, because in Caleb’s world, his wife and baby are sacred.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 month ago

Text

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (generalized canon)

—

“Marks” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

| After you and Jason’s first time together you have some suggestions.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, post sex happenings, hickies, bite marks, descriptions of naked bodies - vigilante!reader & curvy!reader

| Goddamn I love this man so fucking much. Also, the reader-insert has waist beads because the imagery came to me and it was too good to pass up.

| The pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story (Pic source: Gotham Knights video game)

| 1k+ words

A yawn cracks your already sore jaw and you let yourself relax, basking in the heat of laying with Jason. Being wrapped in his embrace with your head on his scarred chest was by far the calmest portion of y’all’s night, but definitely no less amazing.

Maybe ten minutes later you sigh before forcing yourself from his bed. The vigilante complicates your plans though, with the way his arms are locked around you.

You scowl down at him from your position halfway sat up. He’s done nothing but slip down your body, head resting closer to his arms on your stomach and the practical muscle that sat beneath.

“Ni— Boy, get off me,” you say, voice light with your mirth as you push halfheartedly at his arms.

Jason cracks one eye open with his cheek squished into your body, forehead pressing lightly into your beads.

“Nah,” his breath puffs warm on your umber skin, “I’m comfortable here.”

His deep voice peters off into a satisfied grumble towards the end and you choke on a laugh. Your stomach shakes and your core aches with the remnants of the workout he just put you through.

“Come on, where could you possibly need to go?” He murmurs the question into your skin, presses quirked lips to you to kiss your soft belly.

You huff out an amused noise, ignoring the way your stomach flutters, and run your hand through his hair. Jason sighs into the touch, melting under your fingers. It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen; you fist your hand and pull against those loose curls anyway.

You feel a little bad at the utterly miffed look he throws you and give him an apologetic smile.

“I have something to do Jason.”

“What cou—”

There’s a visible second where you watch as Jason pauses, catching himself. He pulls away and sits up till his back’s against the headboard like you just caught on fire. His hair is a mess of wild curls and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat with red kiss bitten lips, by all means the image of post orgasmic bliss. Or he would be if it wasn’t for the way his eyes have hardened and those ruddy lips have twisted into a scowl.

“I mean,” he gives you a one shouldered shrug, “if you want to leave I’m not gonna stop you.”

Your brows go up some and you slip off the bed to stand, crossing your arms in the dim light of the room from the one lamp still on.

“What?”

“You wanna go then go,” he grunts. You don’t think he means for it to sound so thin.

‘Oh,’ you mouth with a nod of your head. “Jay, who said I was leaving, period?”

“You just did.”

His face pinches while he waves a hand to indicate you and you're honestly a bit thrown. Somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that his aloofness on the field could be played up, but the reality is staring you right in the face. You sigh, arms dropping and then crawl back onto the bed.

The faint, tender redness around his eyes after you’d driven him to release made more sense now.

Jason stiffens, your dewy skin sliding up against the pallor of his inner thighs catching exactly how tense and hard his muscles get, but you push past that to peck his cheek.

His glare stutters just a little bit.

You speak slowly now that he’s willing to look at you again.

“I am going to take a piss, Jay. That’s literally it.” You nod to the singular window in the room. “Unless you bodily throw my ass out that window I’m staying until I have to go to work, okay?”

After a beat he nods, watches you hard, assesses. You stamp down your own urge to tense, making sure to stare back calmly instead. Jason’s not going to attack you out of nowhere.

It’s incredibly unlikely at least.

And he doesn’t. Only taking a few seconds in the night’s stillness to search your face then roving around to check the rest of you. You make sure to keep yourself relaxed; which isn’t a hardship since he’s not even alarming you. Hell, you just asked him to make you scream and he obliged with open enthusiasm, it’d be weird if he did.

Satisfied Jason eventually pushes further away from the headboard with another nod. To anyone else, anyone not in y’all’s line of work, his inspection might have seemed inappropriate, even threatening, but you know what he was looking for. You weren’t good enough to hide the lines of deception in your body language from him and he knew it.

Not, especially, when you were stark naked at his hand.

You hum, “We good now?”

“Peachy,” he says and you let some of your pleasure at that show on your face. Hard won progress was often the best progress after all.

He licks his lips then, a slow smile spreading across them in response. There’s a flash of teeth as he grins.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your lips quirk and you duck your head to hide the evidence threatening to bloom on your face.

“Yeah, you can see me again tomorrow,” you nod. Another thought comes to you in the next second and a grin splits across your face, your dark eyes lighting up. “Maybe I’ll even kick your ass for a second night in a row and everything.”

“You ambushed me,” Jason points out, eyes narrowing playfully.

When you lean into him more he easily welcomes your weight. With your lids low over your eyes and your lips brushing his, you meet his blue, ever calculating gaze.

“And you were impressed,” you murmur over his mouth.

When you quirk a brow, daring him to argue, Jason only chuckles and pulls you into a quick kiss. Or at least it’s supposed to be quick. Jason’s lips are soft, if you run your tongue along his bottom lip you can feel the permanent devit there from taking one hit to the face too many, his body’s warm and his hands on you are hungry. It’s tempting to go another round, it really is, but you’ve got to deal with this or it’ll be nagging at the edges of your mind the whole night.

You pull away.

“Bathroom,” you say pointedly.

Jason lets you go after one more peck on the lips, reclining so he can watch the way your ass moves as you make your way there. You add a little bounce to your step just for him.

So preoccupied with the near miss in the bedroom and how giddy Jason in general makes you feel — his eyes on you, his hands squeezing you, his voice in your ear and that gruff Bowery accent, the fact that you’d be seeing him again — you forget to do anything other than close the door to his attached bathroom before you sit on the toilet.

That oversight is pointed out instantaneously.

Your pussy queefs. There’s a beat of silence where your head snaps up and you stare in front of you wide eyed and then low raucous laughter flutters in from outside.

It barely lasts ten seconds but for the life of you you can’t stop the way your head drops into your hands and how your face heats up.

“That mean I do my job right, Gorgeous?”

Against your better judgment your own laugh bubbles past your lips.

“Oh my god,” you mumble into your palm.

You make sure you finish up there thoroughly though, because yeast infections were no laughing matter, before getting up to wash your hands.

You’re opening the door to leave when something catches your attention.

The telltale bruising of a hickey stamped onto the side of your neck. And another one a centimeter below the first. Then a trail of two more; one on the curve of your right breast and on the skin covering your sternum. Shifting a little more brings to attention a bite mark against the pouch of your stomach next. Your brows raise.

“Hmph,” you hum in mild surprise before aborting your leave to lean closer to the mirror.

About four hickeys in total. Four bruises that he managed to suck into your skin hard enough that they were fairly prominent against your brown tone. Deep in color and just a tad tender to the touch.

There’s only one bite mark though. Supple around the edges, but only a little tender to the touch. It’s clear upon closer inspection that he’d revisited the spot though, the imprint of his teeth vaguely overlapping a few times.

You snort.

“You okay?” Jason asks and your eyes immediately slide to the doorway because he sounded much too clear.

Sure enough in your exploration Jason hadn’t even bothered to slip on his boxers and traveled closer without your notice and was now doing the worst imitation of someone who couldn’t care either way what answer you gave him. Aloof your ass, you’d stalled for nary a minute and he was already by your side with a downturned quirk of his lips.

It was amazing how cute he was for being a man that the descriptor wouldn’t normally be prescribed to, who you’d monitored through coms cracking a man’s shoulder blade in one strike. It was especially difficult to ascribe the word cute to him when he was drawing closer. You’re both naked — because what are clothes when you’ve been inside of and have had someone inside of you? — but your jaw still goes slack at all not-insignificant pounds of your bed partner sidling up to you. Jason’s all thick thighs and torso, corded muscle covered by a layer of fat that’s only noticeable cause he’s not flexing; he was, in short, a sight.

You swallow.

He is a very nice to look at man, and you knew that before you got involved with him, but there was something even better about being able to see him like this; naked and not afraid of it. For your eyes only. Scars and all.

“Uh huh,” you draw out in a sigh that’s far too dreamy before clearing your throat and allowing a tiny coy smile to take over your lips. “Somebody got a little…excited.”

You shove your thumb at the mirror and give him a pointed look. He falters, brows furrowing, but braces a hand on the frame and leans enough into the bathroom that he can watch you in the reflection.

He stays momentarily transfixed. Catalogs each bruise, eyes greedily wandering over the dark newly adorned expanse of your neck and chest and stomach. A smirk plays on his lips.

“God, you look so fucking good like that,” he murmurs.

He snaps out of it when he absentmindedly makes eye contact and sends you an apologetic look.

“Shit, I mean, sorry. I should be more careful next time, huh? That’s my bad.”

“Nah,” you shake your head. “I like the marks, Jay. Some more would’ve been even better, actually��.”

His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck prior to him giving you a lopsided grin. “Well gee,” he jokes, “I’ll have to keep that in mind then. I just didn’t want to scare you off our first time.”

You nod, “So considerate, Jay. I’m only telling you for — you know? — next time.”

“Mm,” any leftover sheepishness slips from his face, replaced by that easy smirk again as he enters the bathroom. “What I'm hearing is that you're already desperate to have my cock back inside of you. Is that it, Gorgeous?”

You tamp down the wanton sound that immediately climbs up your throat. Although by the way Jason’s looking at you your attempts at lessening its volume by biting your lip have failed.

He chuckles, eyes lighting up, and grabs hold of your waist beads to pull you towards him. You go with a surprised ‘oof’ as he manhandles you. Once you’re up against his chest he wraps his arms around your middle and shifts to kiss at the side of your neck. Right over a particularly prominent bruise.

You laugh as he noses along the brown of your skin, following the short trail of marks he left. Large hands run down your plush thighs before squeezing and pulling your bodies flush together. You moan softly, head thrown back, as your ass meets his hardening cock.

“Oh fuck…”

“Yeah,” Jason nips at your neck, thrusting into you with a groan, breath leaving goosebumps along your flesh. “Don’t worry, Gorgeous, I’ll be way more thorough this round.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!🫶🏾

Finally posting my back up fic; this one’s a cutie. Just a cozy, sexy little gal.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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ssweeterthanfiction · 2 months ago

Text

Glimpse of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

previous part | masterlist | next part

Chapter VII

They don’t bring Finnick into the War Room.

Not officially, anyway.

He isn’t invited to the briefings, or given access to intel. The door shuts before he can ask questions, the conversation ends when he walks by. Everything he hears, he hears in pieces—through murmured hallway conversations, closed doors that don’t quite latch, whispered updates passed between people who seem to forget that Finnick has ears. That Finnick has stakes.

Sometimes Plutarch catches him in the hallway, offers a vague reassurance about “progress,” or “developing stages.” Haymitch mutters things here and there, never the full picture. He always ends it with the same gruff line: “You’ll know when you need to know.”

But Finnick needs to know now. Every second he doesn’t feels like a betrayal.

Still, no one looks him in the eye for too long.

He’s not stupid. He knows what they see when they look at him: someone unraveling. A liability. A ticking bomb dressed up in Victory laurels.

Maybe they’re not wrong.

Because underneath the stillness, the silence, something inside him is splintering.

The guilt is constant. All-consuming. It burrows into the cracks of every hour he’s spent here, safe, while you’re out there—Gods know where, Gods know what’s being done to you.

And the worst part is: he left you. The wire snapped. The world exploded. And he hadn’t found you in time.

You had been right there. Somewhere just beyond the trees. Just beyond the smoke. And he’d lost you.

He’d let them take you.

And now the rebellion is moving like molasses—calculating, weighing, waiting. As if there’s time.

There isn’t.

He knows the Capitol better than anyone here. He knows how fast the pain starts. How they break you without breaking the skin. How they take what you love and twist it into something unrecognizable. They don’t need months to do damage.

Just days.

Just hours.

The first time he hears your name again, it’s from behind the glass walls of the Command room.

He isn’t meant to be there. He’s just passing by, pacing like he does now—like if he stops moving for too long, he might fall apart completely.

He catches a sentence midair, Coin’s voice clipped and cool: “She’s still being held with the others. Alive. For now.”

The words hit him like a punch to the ribs.

Alive.

His legs falter mid-step. He braces a hand against the wall, barely breathing.

Alive.

But for how long?

Is anyone asking that?

Because they talk about you like you’re a box to be recovered. An asset. A symbol. Not a person. Not his person.

That night, the silence is a scream inside his head. He thinks of what it must be like for you right now. Are you cold? Are you afraid? Is someone hurting you? Are you being told he gave up on you? That he forgot?

He presses the heel of his palm into his eyes until stars bloom against his lids. Anything to stop the images from coming—your face contorted in pain, your voice crying out for help in a place where no one is listening.

He can’t sleep.

Can’t think straight.

By the time morning comes, he feels like a shell of himself.

Haymitch finds him outside the infirmary the next evening, a bottle in his hand and circles under his eyes darker than the District tunnels.

Finnick doesn’t hesitate. His voice is hoarse but sharp. “I want in.”

Haymitch lifts a brow. “You always want in.”

“I mean it this time.”

“You meant it last time.”

Finnick’s jaw tightens. “I’m not asking to be coddled. I’m not asking for sympathy. I know how the Capitol works. I survived them. That has to count for something.”

Haymitch sighs through his nose. He looks like he’s aged five years in the last five days. “You’re not sleeping,” he says instead.

“Does it matter?”

Haymitch looks at him for a long time. “You’re slipping, kid.”

“I’ll be fine when she’s back.”

“And if she isn’t?”

Finnick doesn’t answer.

Because there is no if.

Two days later, they hand him a transcript.

No context. No warning.

Just a line of garbled Capitol communications and one clear sentence, spoken in a voice that’s raw and crackling through static.

“I’m still here.”

His knees go out from under him.

He catches himself on the edge of a table before he can collapse, his breath leaving him in a broken exhale.

It’s your voice.

Real.

Weakened, but real.

Alive.

You’re alive.

Around him, the others are talking. Plutarch is analyzing the source, Coin is giving orders, and Boggs is marking something on a map. There are plans in motion. Moving pieces.

But all Finnick can hear is you.

I’m still here.

He clutches the transcript in shaking hands, presses it to his chest like a prayer.

The next morning, they call him into the War Room.

Coin. Boggs. Haymitch. A few other officials.

He walks in with a spark of hope flaring in his chest. This is it. He’ll be a part of the extraction. He’ll get to go. He’ll bring you home.

There’s a map spread across the table, zones marked in red. Timelines. Strategized entry points. Extraction windows.

And your name—written in bold above one of the sectors.

Finnick’s eyes fly to the deployment list.

His name isn’t on it.

“I want to be there,” he says immediately.

Boggs doesn’t look surprised. “You’re not on the mission.”

“I should be.”

“You’re compromised,” Coin says, her voice clipped. “Emotionally. We need clean heads on the field.”

“I know the Capitol,” Finnick argues. “Better than anyone. I know the tunnels, the scent of the air, how they manipulate their prisoners. I should be there.”

“You’re too close,” Boggs says. His tone is gentle, but firm.

“I am the mission,” Finnick grits out. “She is everything to me.”

They don’t respond.

Haymitch shifts awkwardly in the corner but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t defend him.

And Finnick feels it then—that isolation, that frozen wall they’ve all built around him. He’s not part of the team. He’s the reminder of what could be lost.

He leaves before they dismiss him, fists clenched at his sides.

That night, he doesn’t try to sleep.

He just sits on the floor of his room, knees drawn up to his chest, the transcript of your voice folded and unfolding in his hands.

I’m still here.

He repeats the words to himself like a mantra, like a lifeline, like they can hold him together.

Because everything else is pulling him apart.

They’re going to the Capitol.

They’re going to try to bring you back.

And he’s not going with them.

He’s just supposed to wait.

Sit still while the people he loves walk into fire.

Hope that you come back.

Hope that you recognize him when you do.

Hope that some part of what they had doesn’t get lost in the dark.

Finnick bows his head and presses the paper to his lips, a prayer mouthed into the quiet, desperate and aching.

“Please hold on.”

He has nothing else left to give but that.

🌊 .·:¨🌊🐚🌊¨:·. 🌊

The knots come easily to his fingers. They always have.

Finnick sits on the edge of a bench in one of the unused prep rooms, a long coil of rope in his lap. The kind the District 13 soldiers use for field drills and training maneuvers. He doesn’t remember picking it up, just that his hands needed something to do.

Anything to drown out the thoughts.

He loops and pulls and tightens without thinking. Muscle memory. Over, under, through. A perfect square knot. A fisherman's bend. A reef knot. Over and over and over.

The rhythm soothes something in him—or maybe numbs it. He isn’t sure there’s a difference anymore.

The rebellion is in final preparations. A few more days, they say. Then the rescue teams launch. You might be back by the end of the week. Or not at all.

He swallows hard against the ache that creeps into his chest every time that second possibility tries to take root. He won’t let it.

***

You were quiet that day. The waves had stilled outside the Victor's Village, the salt-slick wind curling around the porch like it didn’t quite know what to do with itself. The ocean was waiting.

So were you.

It was only a few days after your Games, and you still flinched at loud noises. Still woke up with your fists clenched and breath caught in your throat. Still walked like the arena was stitched to your shadow.

Finnick found you on the steps that morning, curled into a knit sweater two sizes too big for you — one of Mags’s old ones, he recognized. Your eyes were fixed on the water. Like you were trying to find yourself somewhere out there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside you, dropping a thick coil of spare fishing rope between your feet.

You glanced at it. Then at him.

“What’s this for?”

Finnick didn’t answer right away. He picked up the rope and started working it between his fingers, slow and steady. “We all need something to do with our hands,” he said eventually.

You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t need to.

He offered you a strand.

You hesitated. Then took it.

“Start here,” he murmured, guiding your fingers, “and twist toward you. No—yeah, that’s it. Good. Now loop over—don’t let it tangle. Try again.”

You made a face when it slipped. “I’m bad at this.”

He smiled. It was the first time either of you had smiled in days. “You just won the Hunger Games. I think you can handle some rope.”

You looked up at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “It doesn’t feel like I won.”

“I know,” he said quietly. And you knew he meant it.

There was a long pause, filled only by the sound of the ocean below. And then, gently, he shifted a little closer, took your hands in his to show you again.

“This is how I got through it, you know,” he said. “After. I’d come down to the docks with a line of rope and tie knots for hours. My hands would cramp. I wouldn’t stop. It was something to do. Something that stayed the same, even when everything else didn’t.”

You didn’t say anything. But your eyes softened.

You tried again.

And this time, you got it.

“Hey,” he said softly, watching the knot hold. “Look at that.”

You exhaled a shaky breath and looked up at him. “Does the pain ever stop?”

He didn’t lie. He didn’t say yes.

He just held your gaze and answered honestly. “It gets quieter. Some days.”

You nodded.

And then you tied another knot.

***

He wonders where you are right now. If your hands are shaking. If you remember that afternoon at all— he way the salt air made your hair curl, the way your laugh, small as it was, had sounded like it didn’t quite know how to exist yet, but was trying anyway.

The knot slips from his fingers.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, rope pooling in his lap like it’s mocking him.

I'm still here. That’s what you said.

But for how much longer?

He presses the back of his hand to his mouth to muffle the sound building in his throat. It’s not a sob. Not really. Just a sound of something caving in.

You were trying.

And now he needs to try too.

Even if they won’t let him on the mission.

Even if all he can do is sit here and wait.

He picks up the rope again.

Pulls. Loops. Ties.

Something to hold onto.

Something that won’t fall apart.

🌊 .·:¨🌊🐚🌊¨:·. 🌊

Finnick sits beside Katniss in the stark studio of District 13, his body tight with nerves, a coil of rope in his hands that he works mindlessly into knots. Each twist, each pull of the rope feels like the only thing tethering him to reality. His hands move on instinct—loop, twist, pull—over and over again. It's a routine, a lifeline. Just like she used to be.

Across from him, Katniss stares at the camera, her features unreadable. She's trying to steady herself for what comes next.

“I can do it,” he hears himself say. The words come out thin, haunted. “If it'll help her. I’ll talk.”

Plutarch nods, stepping aside for the cameras.

When the red light glows and the signal goes live, Finnick lifts his eyes to the lens and begins to speak—not with the charm the Capitol once demanded of him, but with the weariness of a man hollowed out by truth.

"This is Finnick Odair, coming to you alive and well from District 13."

He tells them everything.

How President Snow sold him like a prized possession. How he wasn't the only one. How victors deemed desirable were paraded before the Capitol elite like toys. How they were threatened, controlled, used.

How she was one of them.

“She won her Games at sixteen. She didn’t know what was coming. None of us ever do.” His voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going, hands twisting the rope so tightly his knuckles go white. “She was a favorite. Beautiful, gentle. They said she had ‘softness’—like that was a gift, something they could harvest.”

Katniss glances at him, something shattering in her gaze.

He continues. Names, dates, horrors. The price of survival. The cruelty of silence.

“She was just a girl,” Finnick murmurs. “And they broke her anyway.”

The feed cuts eventually. The room is quiet again.

The mission is underway now. The rescue team is inside the Capitol. And all Finnick can do is wait.

He ties another knot.

Hours crawl by like years.

Katniss sits beside him, arms wrapped around herself. Neither of them speak. Finnick just keeps working the rope in his hands, tighter, tighter. It’s too quiet again—like the worst kind of storm is coming, and all they can do is brace for it.

Then the call comes through.

They’re back.

Katniss shoots to her feet, her face pale but hopeful. Finnick doesn’t even wait. The rope drops from his hands as he bolts from the room, heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of desperation.

He runs through the hallways of District 13, shoving past soldiers and medics, barely registering the people rushing the opposite direction. He rounds the corner and sees them—stretchers, gurneys, rebels swarming around figures too thin, too broken, but alive.

Alive.

His eyes scan the room frantically.

Johanna.

He stops briefly when he sees her. Her hair is gone—shaved brutally close to her skull. Her face is hollow, bruised, but her eyes are sharp. Angry. Still Johanna. She’s muttering something under her breath, spitting at a medic who tries to touch her. Still fighting.

He wants to ask if she saw you. If you were with her. But his feet are already moving again.

He hears someone say Peeta’s name.

“He tried to kill her,” someone whispers. “They hijacked him.”

Finnick’s stomach turns violently. The words barely register, swallowed by the storm brewing inside him. If they could do that to Peeta...what had they done to you?

What if you’re not the same?

What if you’re worse?

What if—

And then he sees you.

You’re standing by a doorframe, hunched in Haymitch’s coat, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Your skin is pale, lips dry, hair limp and tangled, but...

You’re breathing.

Talking to Haymitch in a soft, uncertain voice. You’re malnourished, gaunt, exhausted...but intact.

He exhales shakily and takes a step forward, then another.

And then you look up.

For a second—just one—he thinks you might run to him. That your eyes might fill with tears of recognition, relief, love.

But instead...

You flinch.

Your body stiffens and you move closer to Haymitch, almost hiding behind him, like you’re afraid. Your eyes are wide, uncertain, like a deer cornered in a snare.

Finnick’s heart shatters.

“Hey,” he says, holding his hands out gently. “It’s me. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

You don’t answer right away.

Then, your voice, smaller than he’s ever heard it, lifts into the air like a tremor.

“Who are you?”

The world tilts.

“What?” he breathes.

You stare at him blankly. Like he’s a stranger. Like none of it ever happened. The beach. The nets. The whispered secrets in the dark. The stormy nights. The love.

Gone.

“I-I don’t know you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Behind you, a medic freezes. Haymitch’s eyes widen.

Finnick’s knees nearly give out.

“No,” he says, voice cracking as he takes a step forward. “No, it’s me. It’s Finnick. You know me. You- you-”

But your eyes only fill with fear, your body curling tighter into yourself, like he might hurt you.

And that’s when everyone realizes it.

The Capitol didn’t just take your freedom.

They took him from you too.

Your memories.

Your love.

Everything you were together.

Gone.

A/N: i want you all to remember that YOU GUYS asked for this.

Taglist: @jacaeryslover @sundawn1990 @redama @noodleisodd @amara-mars @lovemyself-m-k @goosy-goose @potao-o @womenkisser05 @arsonistlizard @iguanagwen @lover-rep-fanfic@tatumrileyslover @kimarii-00 @shuri-my-love @saleyeniu @succulent-ruler6 @aphxdea @humongousrunawaytiger @herbal-tea-and-manga @1i1winter @echoingrainydays @technicallyspookymoon @smthabsolutelyunhinged @yeah-idk-either @moon-zoons @shutendoji22 @thatoneamericanblonde @syd649 @curryexpress @harrypotterlovers-things @wonubby @212-apricity

if you'd like to be included in this taglist lmk in the replies!

#isa’s thoughts #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick #hunger games finnick #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick fanfic #thg finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fanfic #mockingjay #mockingjay fanfic #sam claflin #sam claflin x reader

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starsinthesky5 · 11 months ago

Text

blondes do it better || joe burrow x reader

description: a little morning moment before the first day of training camp

a/n: look at me writing a bleach buzz joe fic LMAO. this is a little something i wrote for you all (very unplanned) inspired by today’s content and with some help from my anons and @joeys-babe! enjoy!

word count: 3.9k

warnings: language, smut (a little BJ moment, nothing crazy)

--------------------------------

July 24th, 2024

Sunlight slowly peeked through the curtains of your bedroom as you looked over at the alarm clock, the time reading 5:30 AM. Normally, you wouldn’t be up this early in the morning but considering today was the first day of Bengals Training Camp, you wanted to squeeze in some 1 on 1 time with Joe before he had to get up and leave. His alarm would go off in about half an hour, so you were determined to get in all your cuddles and kisses that you’d miss the entire day. It was amazing having Joe around more this first half of the year, even though the reason for it wasn’t particularly good.

You both made the most of the extended time you had together with various trips and vacations (joe finally getting a proper tan this year because of how much sun you both had been absorbing) and joining Joe on his new ventures such as Paris Fashion Week & speaking at events in Cannes, but now you both were ready for things to go back to normal. It was a nice few months of taking it easy and enjoying life a little more but normal for you both was football. It had been your normal since high school and you missed it.

You looked over at Joe, watching his steady breathing and listening to his soft snores for a few moments before he started to move around; his natural body clock probably began waking him up before his alarm as usual.

You moved your covers down and gently moved on top of Joe, placing one leg on either side of his hips as you moved your hair out of your face. You leaned down and started pressing lazy kisses along his jawline before you felt two hands grab your waist and pull you back up.

“My favorite way of being woken up,” he said, giving you a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Quarterback,” you said as you rubbed the skin under his eyes.

“Morning, Y/N,” he mumbled, his sleepiness evident by his tone. “Any particular reason why you woke me up half an hour before my alarm?” he said, his eyebrow shooting up out of suspicion.

“Well, today’s the first day of camp and I won’t really get to see you a lot these next few days since you’re going to be locked in,” you said, your smile dropping. “I just wanted some ‘us’ time before you left,”.’

“Aw, is someone going to miss me,” Joe teased as he ran his hands up and down your sides.

Joe was expecting you to reply with some witty response, but all he got from you was silence and the image of your eyes getting glossy.

“Hey, Hey. I’m just joking,” he said as his tone switched to concern.

“No, I know,” you said as you dropped your shoulders. “I don’t know why I’m being a baby about this since I practically shoved you out the door on the first day of OTA’s,” you laughed, your smile coming back at the memory.

“OTA’s were the tip of the iceberg to be fair. Training Camp, then Pre-Season, and before you know it you’re out on the field week 1,” he sighed. “Really gotta focus now,”.

“It all happens so fast,” you nodded. “But that’s good since we thrive when there’s football consistently in our lives,”.

“Are you excited though?” you asked as you rubbed his chest with your palms.

“Absolutely. I feel really good and I can’t wait to see how it translates to the field. And I’m really looking forward to working with the younger guys,” he said.

“I just know they’re going to be so excited to get out there with you. You’ve always made everyone feel welcomed and seen, even in high school you did the same,” you smiled.

Joe bit his lip and said, “I still can’t believe you’re not sick of this life. I mean you’ve been a football player’s girlfriend since high school and have dealt with so much shit over the years,”.

“I have no idea how or why you do it,” he said as he shook his head. Joe knew how much his life affected yours and he oftentimes felt bad with how much stuff you’ve had to deal with since you were teenagers. Even though he physically couldn’t live without you, he sometimes thought that you’d be better off without him for your own sake as your life would be drama-free with him out of the picture.

Since you and Joe had been together since High School, you had quite literally been a part of his football journey since Day 1. As his popularity increased once he came into the NFL, the amount of things you dealt with increased too. Before the only football-related concerns you had were if Joe had eaten something after practice, did his homework, or studied for his tests so that he wouldn’t fall behind in school, and that your Friday nights were cleared so you could sit in the bleachers and watch him play.

Now your football-related concerns were making sure Joe wasn’t pushing himself too hard at the risk of injury, making sure that he wasn’t hurt (even a bruise or bump) after a game, dealing with a plethora of comments and negativity about Joe (sometimes even yourself), and making sure that everything was good at home since that was the only place he could relax. It was a lot for you to deal with, mentally and physically, and sometimes you even wondered if it was all worth it. Football life was like a rollercoaster, really high moments that made everything so much more exciting and really low moments that made you feel like you hit a brick wall.

But when you looked at Joe, you remembered why you did it and what all this was truly worth. It was worth it because you had the best possible person by your side and you two had built a life together which was a little chaotic, but incredibly fulfilling and filled with a kind of love you couldn’t put into words. You wouldn’t trade anything for this, no matter how rough it got. You’d never give this up.

“You,” you smiled. “You’re the reason I do it. Because you are the single most important person in my life and I love you,” you add as you lean down to kiss him, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek as he melts against your soft lips.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he grinned as he pulled away from your lips.

“And you won’t have to know since I’m not going anywhere,” you smiled as you moved your left hand to his view, showing off the very beautiful and very new engagement ring he put on your ring finger.

“I love you,” he said as he pecked your lips a few times.

You smiled against his lips before coming back up, one of his hands settling on your hips again while the other moved to the top of his head, a laugh escaping your lips as you watched him attempt to run his fingers through his hair.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked with a little laugh.

“Your hair,” you laughed, this time even harder as you had a funny thought pop up in your head. “I still cannot believe you did that,”.

Flashback to a few days ago

You were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your favorite shopping app as you were doing some retail therapy to brighten your mood after having an awful migraine earlier, and were waiting for Joe to get home after his routine hair trim.

You heard the garage door open, not bothering to turn around since you knew it was Joe. You listened to him move around the kitchen, probably trying to see what was for dinner before you heard his footsteps getting closer to the couch.

You put your iPad to the side, closed your eyes, and tilted your head up, anticipating a kiss from Joe.

“Hey,” he said, bending over against the back of the couch to kiss you.

“Hi,” you smiled, your eyes still closed as you were anticipating one more kiss, which you anticipated correctly. You then opened your eyes, expecting to be met with a freshly trimmed Joe, but instead, your eyes widened and your mouth fell open.

“AHH!” you screamed as you jumped off the couch, your blanket flying off your body at your jumbled movement.

“What?” Joe asked, his eyes widening and feeling incredibly confused.

“Your HAIR,” you screamed as you ran back over to the couch, kneeling on it and grabbing his head. “What the fuck happened to your hair,” you said as you brushed your hands over the spikey buzzcut that was bleached platinum blonde.

“Surprise,” he laughed as he grabbed your wrists and lowered them. “You like it? I got bored and felt like changing it up,”.

“Changing it up is getting a different kind of fade on the sides or something. Your hair is gone,” you laughed in amusement, your brain not registering the fact that his hair was practically gone and whatever was left was the color of a snowball. “And you didn’t even tell me,” you scoffed.

“Gotta keep everyone on their toes. Even my beautiful fiancee,” he winked. “Besides, it feels kind of symbolic in a way? Like letting go of everything that happened last season and turning a new page,”.

“See that’s the reasoning I can get behind, not the ‘I was Bored’ excuse,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“But do you like it?” he asked again.

You looked at him carefully for a few seconds, assessing the new look he had. Well, it wasn’t all new. “I’m getting major deja vu right now from the blonde even though this is a bit more platinum than high school,” recalling his original blonde look during your high school days.

“Yeah?” he laughed.

“Blondes definitely do it better from what I can recall from our adolescence,” you winked, remembering all those times you’d sneak away with Joe for a quick moment before he had practice or after a game. Even back then you couldn’t contain yourself around each other, just one flash of those signature bedroom eyes and you were both sneaking back to his car.

“God, do you remember all those times we’d sneak away during practice? I’m surprised we never got caught,” he laughed.

“That blonde hair woke something up inside of me,” you sighed. “I remember coming home after one of the games with a limp and my parents thought I fell or something,” you said as you covered your face with your hands to hide the embarrassment.

“Damn, we really haven’t changed since high school have we?” he said, biting his lip.

“Not one bit,” you shook your head. “I do like that you’re channeling some of that Athens luck for this season since you dyed it when we won the district championship. This is def a manifestation tactic,” you said as you cupped his face and turned his head to the side to get a good look at the hair again.

“Keep talking,” he said as he leaned in more, a sheepish grin on his face.

“The buzzcut may take a bit of getting used to,” you say as he nods in agreement.

“The blonde does help make it not look super ‘fresh out of jail-y’ though,” you chuckle as you watch him eagerly waiting for your opinion, an adorable smile on his face as he looks at you with all the love in the world.

“But, I will say,” you say as you give him a slow once-over, the increased muscle on his body, his tan skin, and now this bleached buzzcut which you were honestly loving, was making him even hotter than he was ever before which you thought was impossible. “You still look as hot as ever and I would still drop to my knees at any given moment,” you said, leaning in even closer so that you were just inches from his lips.

“Really?” he smirked.

“Mhmmm. Welcome back Slim Shady, I’ve missed you,” you said as you felt Joe reach out and grab you, easily throwing you over his shoulders.

“Joe,” you laughed, not even a single bit surprised since he manhandled you like this quite often. “Put me downnnn,”.

“Nope,” he said as he walked over to the stairs leading upstairs. “We gotta make sure that blondes still do it better. The last time I was blonde was over 5 years ago,” he said as he patted your ass.

“And what if they don’t?” you grin. “You gonna wash it out?”.

“Hmm, I think I’ll try Orange hair if that’s the case,” he joked while he walked up the stairs with you hanging off his shoulder. “It fits the team aesthetic too and gingers are known to be wild and crazy. One can only imagine how that translates to the bedroom”.

Your mouth fell open, “Um, absolutely not!” you yelled as he walked into the bedroom, his laughter filling the room as you went on about how you forbid him from doing anything else to his hair as it was sad enough that you couldn’t pull on the strands or twirl your fingers through them during the activity that was about to happen once he laid you down on the bed.

End of Flashback

“You look like an egg,” you added as you continued to laugh at him, his smile turning into a grimace.

“An egg? Wow,” he scoffed as he pretended to be offended by the comment.

“A very hot, sexy, delicious egg,” you said as you leaned down again and started pressing kisses to his neck, his frown slowly turning back into a smile as you showered him with kisses, unknowingly grinding against his crotch while you were at it and you didn’t notice until you felt him grip your waist tighter and a hardness prodding underneath you.

You immediately pulled away, trying to prevent that from happening because you knew that today was a big day for him and this was not the way to start it off.

“Y/N, come on,” he sighed. “A quickie won’t hurt,”.

“Absolutely not. It’s the first day of camp, I can’t send you out there already tired and slightly worked out,” you said as you crossed your arms.

“Please,” he pleaded with that adorable pout that always made you cave. “You can be on top,”.

“Nope,” you shook your head. “You always say that I can do all the work but you end up doing most of it anyway,”.

“I won’t this time, I swear,” he blinked.

You bit your lip as you thought about it for a few moments. You felt bad about leaving him hanging but you also didn’t want to make him use his energy on this when he could be using it on the field.

You took a deep breath and said, “Okay, we can compromise,”.

“I’m listening,” he said as he moved his hands to your thighs.

“I’ll give you some super sloppy world-class head and then we can finish this after practice if you’re not too tired,” you offered.

He stared into your beautiful eyes for a few seconds before smiling, “Deal,”.

You immediately leaned down and captured his lips in a messy kiss before moving down his body, kissing his chest through his t-shirt as you got a glimpse of the clock, noticing that you didn’t have a lot of time before his alarm went off.

“Shit, gotta make this quick,” you mumbled as you moved further down his body.

You quickly pulled his shorts down and then his boxers, allowing his erect cock to spring out, precum pooling at the tip. You grabbed his erection, giving him a few pumps before sliding your tongue down the side, Joe’s hips jerking at the contact.

“Settle down,” you softly reminded him as you looked up.

Your lips parted around his cock as you slowly twirled your tongue around the tip, moving down the length of his shaft inch by inch. You heard Joe groan before feeling his hand on the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair as he struggled to hold in his moans.

“F-Fuck,” he moaned as you slid all the way down, his tip hitting the back of your throat which made you shudder.

You then released him from your mouth, pumping his cock a few more times before leaning down again, sucking and licking your way down his shaft. You began to bob your head up and down his length, sounds of pleasure leaving his lips as you started to send him to heaven.

“Jesus, Baby, You feel so good,” he groaned as he gently pushed your head further down. You wrapped one of your hands around him, jerking him off with your hand as you continued to suck him off, your eyes watering at the pressure you were feeling but also the pleasure.

You looked up at him, making direct eye contact as you continued to suck him off which you knew drove him crazy. You watched as he threw his head back against the pillow as a result of your fingers gently playing with his balls, his grip on your hair getting tighter as the sounds coming from his lips got louder. You could tell that he was inching closer to his release by the way his cock was twitching in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned as he jerked his hips again, which made you stop.

“Baby, please,” he panted as he watched you come back up.

“Stop moving your hips so much,” you laughed you went back to pumping his cock with your hand, once again leaning down and twirling your tongue around the head before taking him in your mouth, this time setting a hungry pace as you knew he was close. Your manicured nails dug into his thighs as you tried to keep yourself together, the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat sending you to the point of tears.

A few moments later, you felt him twitch inside your mouth again, this time feeling hot spurts of his cum fill your mouth as you slowed down your movements, whimpers and moans leaving Joe’s lips as you looked up and watched his heaving chest, and closed eyes.

“Y/N..” he whispered.

You released him from your mouth, swallowing every last bit of his cum and lapping at his dick to make sure you did, before moving off of him and pulling his boxers and shorts back up. You wiped your chin and mouth with the back of your hand before lying back down next to him, pressing a few gentle kisses to his cheek as he came down from his high.

“Better now?” you asked him when he turned his head to meet your eyes.

“You’re the best,” he said, giving you a lazy smile. “I feel bad for leaving you hanging though,”.

“It’s okay,” you sighed. “I can have some solo fun with the shower head when you’re gone,” you teased, his mouth dropping at the words you just said.

“Kiddinggg,” you laughed as you stuffed your head into the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait for you to come back; if you’re not too tired obviously,”.

He moved his hand to the back of your head, playing with your hair before gently sliding it down to your neck as he pressed a few kisses to your forehead. “I’ll make sure to save some energy for you,”.

“Thanks, Slim Shiesty,” you teased.

“W- What did you just call me?” Joe asked as he pulled your head from his neck.

“Slim Shiesty,” you smiled. “It’s only fitting after you did this,” you chuckled as you rubbed the top of his blonde head.

“I forgot how many Eminem references I’ll be getting from now on,” he whined.

“I cannot wait to see the internet write think pieces about your new hair,” you giggled.

“God, and I forgot that I owe the entire world an explanation for every move I make,” he groaned.

“Just tell them what you told me,” you smiled. “You needed a fresh start and you got bored,”.

“They’re still going to be writing think pieces even if I say that,” he said, pursing his lips.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “Then tell them you did it because your fiancee said blondes do it better and that you wanted to please me,” you joked.

“You know, I just might,” he laughed.

“This time I won’t even mind getting hate comments from some of your fans. Blonde Buzz Burrow is def something else and I’m going to enjoy every single moment I have with him even if some girls on the internet say they hate it,” you said before you leaned in for another kiss.

“The only opinion I care about is yours,” he said before pecking your soft lips again.

“And I love it, even if you sometimes look like an egg or a snowball,” you teased. “You’re still the same panty-dropping, sex-on-legs, gorgeous man that I fell in love with when I was 16,”.

“I love you,” he grinned again before closing in on your lips for another kiss, his hand cupping your jaw as you threw your leg over his and moved closer to him, only for the sound of his alarm to interrupt you both.

He pulled away and turned it off, a sigh leaving his lips as he knew he had to get up. “As much as I’d love to keep this going..”.

“I know, I know. Football time,” you grinned as you sat up, Joe doing the same while he rubbed his eyes. “Before you get up to shower, I wanted to tell you something,” you said to him, grabbing his hand and entwining your fingers.

“What?” he asked you.

“I wanted to tell you that I am so beyond proud of how far you’ve come since last November. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy and definitely wasn’t going to be enjoyable, but you really pushed through even though everything was stacked against you. Not many people are capable of doing all of this while the entire world is practically screaming ‘you suck and are overrated’ in their faces and the fact that you recovered from the wrist injury so well and are on track to coming out the other side better than how you went in is insane. And the fact that while recovering you did all this new stuff like fashion week which you'd never thought you'd ever do before is crazy and you killed that too even though it's not your thing. You truly are one of a kind,” you said to him. "Oh my god, and this," you said as you picked up your left hand and motioned at the ring. "You knew that I didn't care when this happened but the fact that you did this whole thing at the same time while dealing with all this shit should be enough to hand you the MVP award,".

“You always kill anything and everything you put your mind to. Whether it be football, your career outside of football, or our relationship, you always do so good at everything. I can’t wait to see you tear it up out there and start the next chapter of your story,” you added.

Joe’s heart fluttered at your feelings; a big part of why he was able to push through was you. You were like a storm shelter for him in the hurricane that was his life. You kept him comfortable, and safe from his own negative thoughts and made sure that he didn’t drown.

He pulls you in for a hug, stuffing his face in your neck as you can feel his rapid heartbeat against your chest. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything on this earth,” he said in your ear. “Thank you for sticking by my side,”.

“I love you too, forever and always,” you said as held onto him for a few heartbeats, not wanting to let go, but eventually doing so since he couldn’t be late.

“Now, go knock ‘em dead and give them something to talk about Slim Shiesty,” you smiled as you pulled away.

“You got it,” he kissed your cheek and got up from the bed, a bounce in his step as he walked into the bathroom.

“Blondes may do it better, but he does everything better regardless,” you smile to yourself.

–The End–

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine

685 notes · View notes

mssalo · 9 months ago

Text

safety - Part: IV

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Emotional manipulation, Power dynamics, Noncon/dubcon elements, Unstable mental state, Reader feeling conflicted, Explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions of sex, oral (both giving and receiving), rough sex, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, Dom/sub dynamics, Joel’s possessiveness, Breeding kink, refusal to pull out, Overstimulation. Joel shall get therapy soon.

11k, Smut.

Enjoy!

Part I Part II Part III Part V

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel’s truck rumbled to a stop in front of his house, the engine cutting out abruptly. His grip on the steering wheel remained tight, knuckles white with tension.

His eyes scanned the perimeter, darting from the treeline to the empty yard, searching for any sign of danger.

They were still out there.

They had to be. He’d seen them—felt them lurking, waiting.

“They’re here for you,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky.

His mind raced, replaying every shadow, every phantom figure he’d seen darting between the trees back at camp. The thought made his chest tighten, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He couldn’t let them take you.

Not now. Not ever.

“Joel,” your soft voice broke through the fog, but it didn’t ground him like it normally would.

He turned to you, eyes wide and wild, still scanning the darkness around them. He was sure they were close.

Too close.

“We need to get inside,” he rasped, gripping your arm a little too tightly. “They’re still out there.”

Without waiting for your reply, he stepped out of the truck and moved to your side, yanking the door open and pulling you out with a desperate grip.

His hand never left your arm as he ushered you up the steps and into the house, his eyes still flicking over his shoulder, double-checking that you're aren't being followed.

Once inside, he slammed the door shut and bolted it, his chest heaving as he stood there, back pressed against the door like it was the only thing holding him upright.

“Joel…” you began, your voice gentle, as if speaking too loudly might set him off. “There’s no one out there.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes still wide and searching, scanning the dark corners of the room, still expecting the worst.

His breath came out in heavy, uneven bursts, his body still coiled tight with fear.

“I’m okay,” you said again, this time placing your hand gently on his chest, trying to pull him back to you.

“You saved me, Joel. You got me out. I’m safe now.”

But he couldn’t hear you. His mind was still trapped in the nightmare, the vivid images of shadows lurking, of something coming for you.

It was like he was back in the thick of it—in the chaos, where he couldn’t control anything.

“They’ll come back,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “They always come back.”

You shook your head, moving closer to him, your hand still pressed against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath.

“No one’s coming for me, Joel. It’s just us. We’re safe now.”

He turned to you, finally meeting your eyes, but his face was still tight with panic. “You don’t know that,” he said, his voice cracking. “You don’t understand… what’s out there.”

His grip on your arm tightened again, his fear morphing into something darker, something possessive.

He pulled you closer, his hand slipping to the small of your back, holding you against him as if the proximity alone could keep you safe.

“I’m not letting them take you,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear.

Your heart ached at the desperation in his voice, at the raw terror he was fighting to keep at bay. He wasn’t just afraid for you—he was afraid of failing you, of losing you to something he couldn’t stop.

His trauma had wrapped itself around him, choking him, blinding him to the fact that you were alone. That there was no danger but the one inside his mind.

“I’m okay,” you repeated softly, your arms slowly wrapping around him in return. “You did it, Joel. You saved me. We’re safe.”

He was trembling now, his body pressed against yours in a way that felt more desperate than protective. He buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged, like he was trying to hold back a flood of emotion.

He tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer, as if he needed to feel every inch of your body against his to believe that you were still there, that you were real. “I wasn’t fast enough… last time.”

You stroked the back of his neck gently, your own heart pounding, trying to steady him, to bring him back to you. “You were fast enough this time. You got me out. You saved me.”

Joel’s breathing was uneven as he held you close, his face buried against the crook of your neck.

The scent of you—soft and sweet—seeped into his senses, grounding him in a way that nothing else had in years.

His chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, but the panic slowly started to ebb, replaced by something darker, something far more possessive. He inhaled deeply, letting your scent fill his lungs, chasing away the chaos in his mind.

You murmured softly, your voice a gentle lull in the storm. “You got me out. You saved me.”

Your words washed over him like a balm, but they weren’t enough. Not this time. He needed more than words. He needed to feel you—to hold onto something real, something tangible that would keep him from slipping back into the dark.

His lips brushed against your neck, a desperate, aching need driving him. "I need to feel something real."

You stiffened slightly in his arms, your breath catching as his mouth moved along your skin, soft at first but growing more insistent. Your heart pounded, torn between fear and something you couldn't quite place.

His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips continued to travel down your neck, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

He pressed harder, kissing your neck with a hunger that bordered on desperation. His teeth grazed your skin, and a shiver ran through you, a strange mix of fear and guilt knotting in your stomach.

"Joel…" you whispered, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure how to stop him without setting him off again.

But he didn’t stop.

His hands roamed over your back, gripping you tighter, as if he was terrified you would slip away.

"I need this," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I need you."

Your pulse quickened, the tension between you thick and suffocating.

You should pull away, you knew that.

Something about this didn’t feel right. But you didn’t move. You stayed there, your breath shaky as his lips continued to trace over your neck, his hands pressing you closer still.

You felt bad for wanting to pull away. He was hurting, and you could feel it in the way he clung to you. He needed something from you—something real to hold onto. But the weight of his desire was overwhelming, pressing down on you, making your heart race with something that wasn’t entirely fear… but wasn’t entirely comfort, either.

“Joel, I—” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he silenced you with a soft growl, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice dark, heavy with emotion. "Don't say anything. Just… let me feel you."

His breath was hot against your skin, and you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted, a shiver running down your spine. Part of you was scared—scared of how far this might go, scared of how much control he was losing. But part of you felt something else.

Something that made you stay rooted to the spot, letting him take what he needed, even though you weren’t sure you should.

And Joel… Joel wasn’t letting go. He needed you more than ever now, and that desperate, consuming need was spiraling out of control.

A shiver ran through you, and you couldn’t help the way your body tensed under his hold. You had liked him before—all those glances, those quiet moments between you in the store. But this?

This was different. This wasn’t the Joel you’d seen before. He was someone else now, lost in whatever darkness had taken over.

"Joel," you whispered, trying to ground him, trying to bring him back. "… I’m okay."

But as the words left your mouth, you knew he wasn’t fully hearing you. Maybe this was what he needed to calm down, to feel like he was back in control.

Joel held you tight, his mind a tangled mess of emotions. You were speaking softly, trying to soothe him, telling him that you were okay, that he’d saved you. But the words barely made it through the fog in his head. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed you—that somehow, the danger wasn’t over yet.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered against your skin, his voice raw and broken. “You don’t understand how close I came to losing you. How close they were.”

You were the only thing that kept the demons at bay, and he needed you to stay. Needed you to hold onto him, to tell him he wasn’t losing his grip.

“Joel,” you whispered again, your voice trembling. “I’m okay. You don’t have to—”

But his grip only tightened, his breath coming out in heavy, ragged bursts. “Just let me touch you,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

He wasn’t going to stop.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want him to.

His hands roamed your back, sliding up under your shirt, his touch possessive, desperate. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, his breath hot and uneven as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“You’re mine to protect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Mine to keep safe.”

Your mind raced, torn between the fear of his intensity and the way your body responded to his touch.

You knew he wasn’t himself, that the trauma was pulling him under, but the heat of his body, the roughness of his hands, made it hard to think.

“I couldn’t save them,” he whispered, his voice cracking as his hands roamed over your body. “But I’ll save you. I swear it.”

He needed this—needed you—like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

His grip was firm, almost desperate, as though he was afraid that if he let you go, you would vanish into the dark corners of his mind, swallowed by the dangers he imagined lurking just out of sight.

Then you tilted your chin up, your lips brushing lightly against his, and that soft contact undid him.

The second he kissed you, he felt the world steady beneath his feet. Your lips were soft, pliant, and the warmth of your mouth was a balm to the cold storm that raged inside him.

He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring everything into the kiss—the fear, the hunger, the overwhelming need to protect you, to claim you, to keep you close. His hands slid up, cradling your face gently as though you might slip away if he didn’t hold you just right.

The softness of your skin under his fingertips made him feel more human, more in control. His thumb brushed over the curve of your jaw, savoring how delicate you felt against his roughness.

You tasted like something familiar, something he didn’t realize he’d craved until now, and each press of your lips seemed to bring him closer to you, tethering him to something real, something that wasn’t his own spiraling thoughts.

He kissed you again, deeper, more insistent, needing to feel your softness against him, needing to lose himself in the comfort you provided. His mind raced, caught between the desire to protect and the hunger to possess, but as your lips moved with his, it all blurred together.

Protect. Keep. Claim. It didn’t matter.

You were soft, pliant, and here. You were real. And that, more than anything, made him feel like he could breathe again.

His breath grew ragged as his hands continued their journey over your body, each soft curve beneath his palms pulling him deeper into his need for you. You were everything he craved.

His lips pressed harder against yours, his mind clouded by the hunger building inside him.

He groaned softly as your body shifted against him, your hips brushing his, and he felt his cock throb, hard and insistent, pressed against you. The sensation sent a rush of heat through him, overwhelming the last of his restraint.

His grip on you tightened slightly, pulling you even closer as though he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance between you.

His hand slipped to the small of your back, pressing you against his hard cock growing between you.

His hands trembled slightly as he began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his breath uneven as his lips hovered close to yours. Joel’s fingers were rough against the soft fabric, but every movement was slow, deliberate.

Each button he undid revealed more of your skin, more of the warmth that anchored him. His hands moved to your shoulders, slipping the fabric of your shirt down your arms, exposing more of you to him.

His eyes darkened with hunger, but also with a fear that hadn’t quite faded.

“I need to see you,” he murmured, his voice thick, hoarse.

His lips found your collarbone, kissing the bare skin as his hands moved to the waistband of your jeans.

You exhaled softly, your hand moving to his chest as if to steady him, trying to reach him through the haze of his obsession.

His fingers fumbled with the button of your jeans, his need overwhelming his coordination, but you didn’t stop him.

He couldn’t stop himself.

His cock throbbed as he worked the fabric down your hips, revealing more of your softness, more of the body he needed to feel, to protect, to claim.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice almost a growl as he pulled you closer, pressing your bare skin against him.

Joel’s lips found yours again, demanding, needy, while his hands roamed your body. His desire remained, cock throbbing with each touch, a reminder of how much he needed you—how much he needed to make sure you were his.

As Joel stepped back just enough to take you in, his breath caught in his throat.

You stood before him in nothing but your underwear, and it was like you’d stepped out of one of his dreams, a vision so perfect it almost didn’t seem real.

Your body—every curve, every soft line—drew his eyes with an almost painful intensity. Your breasts, full and round, strained against the lace of your bra, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring, his mouth dry at the sight.

The way your waist dipped beneath the fabric only accentuated the fullness of your hips, your ass curved and firm, begging to be touched. You were the embodiment of everything he’d ever desired, every fantasy he’d ever had, standing there, soft and vulnerable, but so utterly tempting it made his chest tighten with need.

You were both angelic and sensual, an impossible combination of sweet and sinful. Everything about you pulled at him—your softness, your curves, the way you seemed to fit so perfectly against him.

And as he looked at you, standing there in your delicate underwear, all he could think was how much he wanted you, needed you.

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out any remaining slivers of rational thought. You were right there—so soft, so perfect, standing before him like you were made just for him.

And for the first time in so long, he felt the rush of control, the heady sense of finally being able to hold something real, something that wouldn’t slip away or explode in chaos like everything else in his life.

In the war, everything had been chaos, spiraling out of control no matter how much he fought it.

The blood, the noise, the way every second could change in an instant.But this moment, with you in front of him, was something he could hold onto, something he could control.

Without a word, his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Your soft gasp against his neck sent a shockwave through his body as he held you up, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

The feel of you, warm and pliant against him, made the tension in his chest ease just enough to remind him how much he craved this—how much he needed this.

With you in his arms, he carried you toward the bedroom, his steps steady but filled with urgency.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your soft breaths hot against his ear, and every sound you made, every movement, only drove him closer to the edge.

The door to the bedroom came too slowly, his body buzzing with a need so intense he could barely think.

No one else. No chaos, no uncertainty—just you.

With a gentle but insistent movement, he laid you down on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

You looked up at him, soft and breathless, and he felt the rush of power, of control, surge through him. Joel’s breath caught as he hovered over you, his hands roaming your body with reverence, as if he couldn’t believe you were really there beneath him, all softness and warmth.

He kissed your shoulder first, slow and deliberate, letting his lips linger on your skin before trailing down to the curve of your collarbone. The taste of you, the way your body reacted to each kiss, was intoxicating.

“So damn pretty,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. His breath was hot against your skin, and you felt every word like a promise.

He pressed his lips to your neck, feeling your pulse quicken beneath his mouth, the heat rising between you. “You have no idea, do you? What you do to me…”

He kissed you again, lower this time, letting his mouth explore the hollow of your throat, his hands tracing the curves of your hips. You let out a soft gasp, your fingers clutching the sheets as you arched slightly under his touch.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured, his voice a little more hoarse. “I wanna hear you. Let me hear every damn sound you make.”

Your reaction only made him crave more, made him want to pull you further into this, to hear every gasp, every moan.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his lips trailing lower, skimming the swell of your breasts, his hands sliding up your sides, feeling every inch of you. “Every part of you, just… perfect.”

You blushed deeply, the color rising in your cheeks, and Joel felt his chest tighten at the sight. That blush—it reminded him of the first time he saw you, when you’d looked at him with those big eyes, your cheeks flushing the same way. You’d been nervous then, shy and unsure. But now? Now, you were his, and that blush only made him want you more.

He loved how the pink in your cheeks spread down your neck, how you couldn’t hide your reactions from him. You turned your head slightly, trying to hide the embarrassment that came with his compliments, but he wasn’t having it.

“Don’t hide from me,” he growled softly, his fingers tipping your chin back toward him, forcing you to look at him. “I wanna see every damn reaction.”

He kissed your lips gently, then moved back to your skin, his breath heavy as he pressed his mouth to your throat. “So beautiful. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this. To have you. All of you.”

His mouth continued its slow exploration, pressing kisses to your hips, your thighs, every part of you that he could reach. Your body responded to every touch, every kiss, your breath coming quicker, your fingers tightening in the sheets as you bit your lip.

“I can feel how much you want this,” he whispered, his voice dark and full of intent. “Don’t hold back. I want it all, I need it all.”

You let out a soft whimper, your eyes fluttering closed, and he couldn’t help but grin at your reaction.

“That’s it, baby… let go. Let me take care of you.”

His hand slid back up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin, that familiar blush that he loved so much.

Your breath hitched as Joel’s lips continued their slow journey down your body, each kiss more deliberate than the last. Your mind was spinning, and you knew you had to say something, even though your body responded instinctively to every touch, every kiss.

“Joel… maybe we should stop,” you murmured, your voice soft and uncertain, though your hands stayed tangled in his hair.

You bit your lip, trying to find the words as his kisses trailed lower, along your stomach, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’ve just… you’ve been stuck in an episode.”

Joel paused for a moment, his lips resting against your skin just above the waistband of your panties. His hands gripped your thighs gently, but firmly, holding you in place. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, dark with desire, and the way he looked at you sent a wave of heat rushing through you.

“I ain’t stuck,” he said softly, his voice husky and full of need. “This ain’t an episode. I know exactly what I’m doin’.”

His lips pressed another kiss, lower now, right at the edge of your underwear, his fingers tracing the fabric, teasing you. “And I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this for too long to stop now.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as your hips instinctively shifted toward him, despite the doubt swirling in your mind. “Joel…”

But he was already moving, his lips brushing softly over your clothed pussy, the sensation both maddening and electrifying.

“I can see how much you want this too,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy as he pressed another kiss. “Don’t try to hide it.”

His breath was hot against you, and you could feel the gentle pressure as he kissed you through the thin fabric of your panties, a slow, deliberate motion that made you gasp.

“Shhh,” he soothed, his voice a low, possessive rumble as he pressed his mouth to you again, lingering a little longer this time. “You don’t need to say anything. Just let me make you feel good.”

“I need this… I need you.” His tongue flicked out, barely a hint, tracing the edge of you through the lace, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you arch slightly.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, your hands tightening in the sheets now as you tried to fight the pull of his touch. “That’s it, let me hear you.”

“Joel… maybe—” you started again, but your words trailed off as he kissed you again, more firmly this time, his tongue pressing slowly against the damp fabric, teasing you, tasting you.

His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he whispered against you, his voice dark with need. “Not when you taste this good. Not when I’ve been waitin’ this long.”

His tongue dragged over you again, slow and purposeful, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he tasted you.

“Been wantin’ this for so long… you have no idea.”

Every kiss, every lick made you forget the hesitation, made you want more. The way his mouth moved against you, the way he talked, his words low and rough with hunger, made your mind clouded with need.

“You’re all I need,” he murmured, pressing another kiss, his tongue flicking out again as he licked you through the panties, savoring the taste of you. “Let me take care of you. Just you and me, baby.”

Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as Joel continued his slow, deliberate attention on your body. Every kiss, every flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure rolling through you, making you tremble beneath his touch.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moans that kept slipping out, but the way he worked his mouth against your panties, teasing you relentlessly, made it impossible to stay quiet.

“Joel…” you moaned softly, your fingers tightening in the sheets, your body arching toward him as if you couldn’t stop yourself. “Oh god…”

Your hips bucked slightly as he applied more pressure, his mouth hot and persistent, licking you slowly through the lace, savoring every reaction you gave him.

The fabric was soaked now, your body betraying your desire, and you whimpered, the sound low and breathy, unable to stop the way you responded to him.

Then, suddenly, Joel pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering right over your heat.

For a moment, you thought he was going to stop, your body left aching for more, but instead, you felt him press his face against you, inhaling deeply, groaning as he took in your scent.

The sound he made was primal, raw, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck,” he growled against you, his voice thick with need and satisfaction. “Just like I remember.”

Your mind was still clouded by the intense pleasure, your breath coming in short bursts when his words broke through.

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze, and managed a weak, breathless, “Huh?”

Joel’s lips curled into a dark grin as he glanced up at you, his eyes filled with hunger and intent.

You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a soft moan as he pressed his face into you again, groaning against you as if he couldn’t get enough.

Your body responded instinctively, your legs trembling, your hips pushing up toward him as your mind spun with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

“Joel…” you whimpered again, your voice barely a whisper, your body betraying you as it gave in completely to the sensations he was pulling from you.

Joel’s fingers moved with a slow, deliberate pace as he hooked them into the sides of your panties, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath caught, your body trembling beneath him, anticipation and uncertainty warring in your gaze.

But you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t.

Joel's breath grew heavier as his fingers slowly slid beneath the waistband of your panties, his touch deliberate, savoring every moment. You couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips as he tugged them down, his eyes dark and hungry as he peeled the fabric away from your skin, inch by inch.

His lips followed the motion, kissing your thighs as he uncovered you, groaning deep in his throat when the lace finally slipped past your knees.

He paused for a moment, taking you in, his eyes raking over you - seeing you for the first time.

His breath was shaky, his fingers gripping your thighs tightly, holding you open for him. A deep, guttural sound escaped him, full of desire and need.

"Goddamn," he growled, his voice thick with hunger. "Look at you. So fuckin' beautiful. So perfect."

His eyes were glued to you, dark and primal, like he couldn’t get enough.

He leaned down, his breath warm against you as he inhaled deeply, groaning with satisfaction, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Fuckin’ heaven,” he muttered, the sound low and filled with filthy need. “You’re mine now, and I’m never lettin’ go.”

Then he dove in, his mouth pressing firmly against you, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that made you gasp out loud, your hips bucking toward him instinctively.

He groaned against you, the sound muffled by the way his tongue worked, feasting on you like a man starved, like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.

He didn’t hold back, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face deeper, his tongue circling and tasting you with relentless hunger.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned between breaths, his voice vibrating through your core. “Been waitin’ for this, darlin’, waitin’ to taste every inch of you.”

Your moans filled the room as his tongue worked you over, his lips sucking and licking with desperate need. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your hands gripping his hair as you arched against him, lost in the sensation of his mouth on you.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, devouring you with an intensity that made your toes curl, every filthy word he muttered against you sending you spiraling higher.

"You're mine," he rasped, his voice barely audible between licks, but the possessive tone was clear. "Only mine."

“Please…,” you whimpered, barely able to form the words between your gasps, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Joel’s hunger for you only seemed to grow the longer he tasted you, his need for you overwhelming any shred of restraint he had left.

Joel growled low in his throat as he pulled back for a moment, his breath ragged. He took a long look at you, lips glistening with your wetness, his eyes filled with a raw hunger that bordered on madness.

He couldn’t tear himself away from the sight of you, couldn’t stop himself from wanting more. You were too perfect, too soft, too sweet for him to ever get enough.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, his drawl thicker now, rough with need. His fingers slid between your soft pussy lips, spreading you open even wider. “Look at this pretty pussy… so fuckin’ perfect. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“So pretty, darlin’. Tastes so fuckin’ sweet.”

He lowered his head again, his mouth hovering just above you before he flicked his tongue out, tasting you slowly.

His groan was deep, guttural, vibrating through you as he buried his face between your legs once more.

“You taste so damn good,” he muttered between licks, his breath hot against your slick skin. “Sweetest thing I ever had.”

His lips found your clit, and he teased it with his tongue, swirling slow and deliberate, savoring your reactions. Then, without warning, he gently bit down, just enough to make you jolt.

You gasped loudly, your back arching, but the sharp sensation sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, mixing with the heat already burning between your legs.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t ya?” he growled, his voice rougher now, his breath heavy as he pulled your hips closer, holding you tightly against his mouth. “This pussy is mine… ain’t nobody ever gonna have you like this. I’ll make sure of it.”

He groaned again, licking you harder now, his tongue working over you with a maddening precision.

Every taste of you drove him wilder, his obsession growing as he lost himself completely in you. He licked you slowly, almost reverently, savoring every second before spitting on you again, watching it glisten on your wet folds.

“So wet, so ready. This pussy’s made for me. Tastes so good, darlin’, I can’t fuckin’ stop.” He leaned in again, his tongue dragging over you in long, slow strokes before diving deeper, licking you with a desperate hunger.

His mouth was relentless, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he feasted on you like a man starved. Joel groaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body, and your moans filled the room as you writhed beneath him.

“You taste like heaven,” he muttered between kisses, dripping with lust. He flicked his tongue over your clit again, biting it gently, making you gasp and tremble under his touch. “Ain’t never tasted anything this good.”

His eyes were dark, fixed on the place where his mouth had been, like he couldn’t get enough. He spread your legs wider, admiring you, completely obsessed with every inch of your body laid out before him.

“Look at this pretty cunt,” he growled, his voice thick with that southern twang, filled with raw desire. “Goddamn, darlin’, you’re perfect down here. Prettiest little pussy I ever laid eyes on.”

He spat on your clit with a roughness that made you gasp, the slick wetness mixing with what was already there. His fingers followed, spreading the spit over your folds, rubbing it with slow, deliberate strokes.

Every movement was slow and teasing, designed to drive you insane, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his fingers sliding over you, feeling how wet you were. “This pretty little clit, all swollen for me… You like it when I bite it, don’t ya? When I suck on this sweet clit?”

He groaned, the sound vibrating against you as his lips found your clit again.

This time, he sucked on it hard, his teeth grazing it just enough to send jolts of pleasure and pain through you. “Mm, yeah,” he grunted against you, his voice rough with lust. “This cunt tastes so goddamn good, baby“

He flicked his tongue over your clit, then bit down gently, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.

Your hips bucked up toward his mouth, your body responding to the way his tongue moved against you with relentless precision.

“That’s right, baby,” he drawled, his accent dripping through every word. “Let me taste all of ya. I wanna hear those pretty little moans while I eat this sweet cunt.”

He spat on you again, his hand rubbing it into your folds, his fingers working you while his mouth stayed focused on your clit.

He licked you from the bottom up, then focused on your clit again, sucking it hard, biting just enough to make you moan louder, your body trembling under his touch.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his breath hot against you as he looked up briefly, his eyes glazed with hunger. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world better than this pretty cunt.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, your voice shaking. “I’m close… I’m so close.”

At your words, he growled against you, the vibrations sending a new wave of pleasure through you. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips wet and glistening as he flashed you a wicked grin.

“Fuck yeah,” he rasped, “Cum on my tongue, baby. I wanna taste all of it.”

Without hesitation, he latched onto your clit, sucking hard, his mouth working with a brutal rhythm.

His tongue flicked over your sensitive flesh again and again, while his nose pressed against you, creating a delicious pressure that had your body trembling beneath him.

He could feel you tensing, your thighs shaking as your moans grew louder, more desperate.

“Come on, baby,” he growled, his voice muffled as he sucked harder, his lips locked around your clit. “Give it to me. Let me taste you.”

You cried out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Your entire body shuddered, your hips grinding against his mouth as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you.

Joel didn’t let up for a second—his mouth stayed on you, sucking and licking, his tongue flicking over your clit even as you writhed beneath him.

“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned against you, his voice dark and raw with hunger. “That’s it, darlin’. Cum for me. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

He kept going, his mouth relentless as he devoured you, sucking every last bit of your release, not giving you a moment to catch your breath.

His tongue was rough, greedy, lapping up everything you gave him. His fingers gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you closer to his mouth as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Gonna eat this pussy all night,” he muttered, his voice low and possessive, his mouth still working your overstimulated clit. “Ain’t no one else gets to taste you like this. Just me.”

Your legs trembled violently as another wave of pleasure surged through you, and your moans turned into soft, breathless whimpers.

But Joel didn’t stop. He was lost in you, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, the way you tasted, the way you shook and gasped beneath his touch.

He licked you again, slow and deliberate this time, savoring you as he pressed his face even deeper between your legs, his nose rubbing your sensitive clit with every movement.

“Can’t get enough of this pretty little cunt,” he murmured against you, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger. “You taste like heaven, baby. Ain’t never lettin’ you go.”

Your body trembled beneath him, the overstimulation becoming too much, every nerve ending in your body still buzzing from the intensity of your orgasm.

You gasped, your fingers clutching at his hair, trying to pull him away as his mouth continued its relentless assault on your sensitive flesh.

“Joel, please,” you whimpered, your voice breathless and shaky. “I can’t… it’s too much.”

But he didn’t stop. His lips pressed against you again, his tongue still moving, though slower now, savoring every inch of you.

He growled softly, his hands tightening around your hips as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go, his grip possessive and firm.

“You’re safe,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and filled with an intense need. “I’ll keep you safe… forever.”

His words came out in a low rasp, his lips brushing against your overstimulated clit as he spoke. It wasn’t just about pleasure for him anymore—it was about control, about grounding himself in the only thing that made sense to him now.

You were his safety, the only thing that kept the chaos in his mind at bay.

Your body flinched at the continued stimulation, but there was something in his voice, in the way he spoke to you, that made you pause. And despite the intensity, despite how overwhelmed you felt, you softened, your fingers sliding from his hair to cup his face gently.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but soft, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you looked down at him. “I’m safe. You’ve got me, Joel.”

He looked up at you, his eyes dark but filled with something deeper—something vulnerable. His grip on you loosened just a little, and he leaned up, pressing his forehead to your thigh as he let out a shaky breath.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll never let anything happen to you. I can’t… not after everything.”

You nodded, your body still sensitive, still trembling beneath him, but you understood. You knew what he was fighting, what he was trying to hold onto.

Your hands slid through his hair, soothing him, and for a moment, the intensity between you softened into something more gentle, something more real.

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible. “I’m yours, Joel. You’re keeping me safe.”

And with that, the tension in his body seemed to ease, just a little, as he pressed one last kiss to your thigh before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

He let his hands move to the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling just a little as he unhooked it, and with slow, deliberate care, he slid the straps down your shoulders. His eyes were dark, full of hunger again, as the fabric finally slipped away, revealing you fully to him.

“Gotta have every inch of you,” he rasped, his voice heavy with desire. “You’re too fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.”

His words slurring with the weight of his obsession as he dropped the bra to the floor.

Joel’s gaze locked onto your breasts, and a deep, guttural groan escaped him, his hands moving immediately to cup them, his rough, calloused fingers brushing over your soft skin like he was savoring every inch.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice low and dripping with lust. “Look at these…”

His grip tightened slightly, his hands kneading your flesh as if testing the weight, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, already hard from his touch. His gaze darkened as he stared, completely mesmerized by the sight of you.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, dipping his head down, lips brushing softly at first over your skin, kissing the tops of your breasts. He lingered there, his breath warm, and just when you thought he might hold back, he latched onto you, mouth hot and eager, sucking hard, his tongue swirling over your sensitive nipple.

Your back arched involuntarily, pushing your chest toward him, a gasp slipping from your lips. The way his mouth worked on you, the wet, sucking sound mixed with his groans, sent a rush of heat through you.

His other hand moved to squeeze your other breast, fingers teasing and pinching at your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“You like that, don’t ya?” Joel growled, his voice rough and gravelly against your skin. He sucked noisily on your breast, pulling more moans from you as his teeth grazed your nipple. “These perfect fuckin’ tits… they’re mine. All mine.”

His mouth moved from one nipple to the other, just as eager, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your flushed skin. He sucked hard, tugging gently with his teeth before biting down enough to send a sharp, pleasurable pain radiating through you. Your body jerked beneath him, but the way his lips wrapped around you, the way he sucked and licked—made it impossible to want him to stop.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his words slurring slightly, his voice drunk with lust. “You taste so fuckin’ good. So soft… everything about you.”

His mouth didn’t leave your skin, trailing lower with a messy trail of kisses, but he stayed focused on your breasts, alternating between the two like he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re all I need,” he whispered between kisses, his voice almost desperate now. “After everything… all that shit. I just need you. Nothing else.”

Your moans grew louder, your body trembling under his relentless attention. Every flick of his tongue, every bite of his teeth sent your mind spinning, your skin burning with the intensity of his need.

Joel’s breath hitched, the sound rough and needy as his hands roamed over your body, almost frantic now as if he couldn’t touch enough of you at once. His fingers trailed down, brushing over the curve of your hips, gripping tightly.

“I’m going to explode,” he growled, his voice strained with raw desire. “Can’t wait any longer. I need you now.”

His hands were rough, urgent, as they skimmed down your sides, over your hips, feeling every curve of your body. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t slow down, and it was driving him mad.

“Pull down my pants,” he ordered, his voice a low rasp, thick with need. His eyes burned into yours, the intensity of his stare sending shivers down your spine. “Do it, baby. Now.”

Your hands shook as you reached for his waistband, fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, but you could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath heavy as he waited, every second sending his body into a deeper need.

You slid his jeans down slowly, the anticipation thick between you. As his boxers followed, his cock sprang free—hard, throbbing, already dripping with precum, the tip flushed and leaking. It was thick, veins running along its length, the sheer size of him making your breath catch.

Joel stood above you, completely exposed, his chest heaving, his cock twitching with the intensity of his need.

“You’re gonna thank me,” he said, his voice dark, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. “Thankful I saved you. Now show me.”

He took your hand, guiding it to his throbbing cock, his fingers curling around yours, urging you to touch him. As your hand wrapped around him, his breath hitched, his hips jerking slightly at the contact. The heat of him was overwhelming, his skin smooth but pulsing beneath your grip.

“Give it a kiss, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Show me how thankful you are. I saved you, didn’t I? You owe me that.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his, but the hunger in his gaze—his need—was too strong to resist. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against the swollen tip of his cock. The taste of precum lingered on your tongue as a soft groan escaped Joel’s throat, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding you closer.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, his voice gravelly, dripping with lust. “That’s a good girl. Kiss it, baby. Show me how fuckin’ grateful you are.”

Your lips pressed soft kisses against him, working slowly along his length, and every touch made him groan deeper, his hips twitching as he craved more. The sight of you, your lips on him, drove him wild.

Joel’s grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with raw hunger as he gazed down at you.

“You’re thankful, aren’t you?” he rasped, his words rough and possessive. “I saved you… now make me feel it.”

Without hesitation, you let your tongue flick out, tracing the length of him, savoring the way his body reacted to every stroke, every touch. Joel’s head tipped back, his jaw clenched as a guttural groan escaped him.

“Fuck, yeah… that’s it,” he growled, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that, baby. Take your time.”

You worked him slowly, your tongue swirling over his length, feeling the heat of him pulsing beneath you. His body tensed, his grip in your hair tightening as he guided you, each movement pulling another growl from his chest.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble. “You know how to take care of me, don’t ya?”

His hips shifted, pushing slightly toward you as your mouth worked over him, your tongue teasing the underside of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through him. The roughness of his words, the filthy way he talked, only made you want to take him deeper, to make him come undone.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, his voice rough with need. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this… makin’ me lose my goddamn mind.”

Your lips moved lower, teasing his balls with soft kisses, and the second your tongue flicked over them, Joel’s body tensed, his breath catching in his throat.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the reaction immediate, his body trembling. “Goddamn, darlin’…”

You worked slowly, your tongue exploring, teasing him with soft, wet licks, savoring the way his cock twitched above you, the precum leaking steadily now. The sight of him—hard, throbbing, desperate—only fueled your desire to take him further.

Your mouth moved over his balls, sucking them gently, your tongue swirling around them, coating them with warm, slick spit. Joel could barely contain himself, his hips jerking slightly, his cock pulsing.

“you’re so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, his voice strained, thick with lust. “Look at you, takin’ care of me like this…”

The wet sounds of your mouth sent shivers down his spine as you sucked harder, teasing him with your tongue.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” Joel groaned, his breath ragged, his hand threading through your hair again. “So fuckin’ perfect…”

As you moved your mouth back up to his cock, trailing kisses along the length of him, he nearly lost it. His cock throbbed harder now, aching for more. You took the tip into your mouth, sucking softly, your lips stretching around him as you slowly took him deeper.

“Fuck, yes,” Joel growled, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Just like that… fuckin’ perfect.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, and Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening in your hair as he guided you, his body trembling with need.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “Takin’ me so perfectly… fuck, you feel so good.”

Every stroke of your mouth, every flick of your tongue over him, sent his body spiraling, the pleasure building inside him, ready to explode.

“God, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he groaned, his voice almost desperate now. “Fuck… you’re so good, baby.”

Just before he could come, he pulled you off him, his chest heaving, his body trembling with the intensity of his need.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided you back onto the bed. His eyes were dark with hunger, and the second your body hit the mattress, his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was desperate, teeth grazing against your lips, his breath heavy with need.

He hovered above you, his body tense, every movement deliberate, as if he was grounding himself in the feel of you. His lips broke from yours to trail down your jaw, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as he whispered against your skin.

“You’re safe… You’re here… You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw emotion, laced with an edge of desperation. “I’ve got you, baby. Not letting go.”

His body pressed into yours, his hard cock sliding between your slick folds, the heat of him teasing you with every slow rock of his hips. He groaned, deep and guttural, as he felt your wetness coat him, the sensation driving him to the edge.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your neck, his hips moving deliberately as he teased you, his length sliding against you, the head of his cock brushing your entrance but never fully entering.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him as his hips rocked slowly, teasing both of you.

“I need you… I need to fuckin’ feel you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with the strain of holding back. “You’re everything, baby. All I’ve got.”

He pressed the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, inching forward, the slow stretch making you both gasp. He pushed inside you, inch by inch, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep control, his body trembling with the effort.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, his breath ragged as he filled you completely. “You’re mine, darlin’. All mine.”

Joel’s breath came out in heavy, uneven gasps as he moved over you, each slow thrust deliberate, his hips rocking into you with a controlled intensity. His eyes locked onto yours, watching your every reaction, your soft moans and gasps only fueling the fire inside him.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growled, his voice low, barely able to hold himself together. His hands slid up your sides, fingers grazing over your breasts, which bounced with every thrust. “So perfect… no one else gets this. No one but me.”

Your body responded to him instinctively, arching into him, matching his rhythm as the heat between you grew. His lips trailed down your neck, tasting your skin, sucking gently before biting down, just hard enough to make you gasp.

His hips began to pick up the pace, each thrust more forceful than the last, pushing deeper inside you. His eyes never left your body, watching the way your breasts bounced with every movement, the way your back arched, the way your fingers clutched at the sheets.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice deep, primal. "Look at you… takin’ me so good. This pussy was made for me."

His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them roughly as he drove into you harder, his fingers teasing your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he groaned with pleasure.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he muttered, his voice slurred with lust, his breath hot against your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

His movements became more urgent, more desperate, each thrust harder than the last. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies colliding only driving him wilder.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you against him with every thrust, burying himself deeper inside you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he rasped, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. “This cunt… it’s mine. All mine.”

Your moans grew louder, each sound spilling from your lips driving him closer to the edge. His hips slammed into yours with brutal intensity, the force of his movements making your body tremble beneath him.

“You like that, don’t ya?” he growled, his voice rough, the filthy words dripping from his lips as he pounded into you. “You like when I fuck you like this… When I own every inch of you.”

His hands slid up your thighs, gripping them tightly as he spread your legs wider, giving him deeper access as he thrust harder, faster. His body was slick with sweat, his muscles straining as he gave you everything he had.

“Take it,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust, his eyes dark as he watched you. “Take every fuckin’ inch.”

Your body arched off the bed, your nails digging into his back as the pressure built inside you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Joel’s eyes never left yours, watching you come apart beneath him, his movements relentless as he drove you higher and higher.

“Fuck, you look so good,” he groaned, his voice barely audible between breaths. “Look at you, takin’ me so well. This fuckin’ body was made for me.”

His control was slipping, his thrusts becoming erratic, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. He could feel you tightening around him, your body shaking as you approached the edge, and it only pushed him harder, faster.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a mix of filthy promises and raw need. “I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

With a final, deep thrust, you shattered around him, a loud cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm tore through you. Your entire body trembled, your legs shaking as you came hard, clenching around him.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice raw and desperate. “I’m gonna cum… inside you.”

Your breath hitched, and through the haze of pleasure, you gasped out, “No… not inside, Joel.”

But his grip on your hips tightened, his pace only increasing as he leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear. His breath was ragged, filled with need, and his voice darkened with that raw, possessive tone that always drove you wild.

“Oh, I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled, his words thick with lust. “Gonna shoot it deep inside, baby. Feel it? Gonna pump you full of me.”

Your protest was swallowed by the intensity of his thrusts, his body moving with a relentless, animalistic rhythm as he chased his release. Every movement was deliberate, driven by the need to claim you fully, to push you past the edge where you had no control left.

“You’re mine,” he whispered harshly, his grip bruising as his hips slammed into yours with brutal force. “This pussy is mine to fill. I’ll fuckin’ shoot every drop deep inside and watch it drip out of you.”

The heat between you both was unbearable, and his cock throbbed inside you, your body wrapped around him perfectly. His breath came out in ragged bursts as he buried himself deep, holding you tight, no intention of pulling out.

His voice lowered, dark and dirty. “You’ll feel me leaking out of you for hours, baby… that’s what I do. I fuckin’ claim you from the inside out.”

And with a guttural groan, Joel lost control, his hips slamming into you one last time as he came hard, spilling into you with a force that left him trembling. His body shuddered against yours, the heat of his release filling you as his cock pulsed, shooting wave after wave of hot cum deep inside.

“Fuck, yeah,” he growled, grinding his hips against yours, making sure you felt every last drop. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect for me. I fill you up, make sure you feel me long after we’re done.”

He collapsed onto you, his breath still ragged, his body trembling as the last waves of pleasure washed over him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, holding you tight like he was never going to let you go.

“Every bit of you,” he murmured into your skin, his voice softer now, but still heavy with satisfaction. “You take all of me.”

· · ───

He didn't speak right away, but he slipped out of bed, disappearing briefly before returning with a warm towel. His movements were careful, almost methodical, as he gently cleaned you, parting your legs with slow, tender strokes.

You watched him, your heart heavy with the way he moved, so soft and deliberate, so different from the intense, possessive man from earlier. The shift unsettled you, though there was something undeniably intimate about the way he took care of you now, as if he was clinging to this moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, breaking the silence, his voice low and vulnerable, a sharp contrast to the growls and raw need he’d shown earlier.

He kissed your leg gently before setting the towel aside, pulling the covers up over both of you. "You okay?" His voice wavered, like he was afraid of your answer.

You nodded, but the weight of everything lingered between you. You like him, but the intensity of his need for you, the way he held onto control so fiercely, left you with a knot in your chest. The silence stretched on, and you knew you had to say it.

"I'm okay," you whispered, your voice soft, hesitant. But then the truth spilled out, delicate but firm. "But I… I'll need the morning-after pill. Tomorrow."

The air in the room shifted instantly. Joel froze, his hand still resting lightly on your hip, but his grip loosened. His eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing through them—disappointment, maybe even hurt.

His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, and though he nodded, the gesture felt slow, almost reluctant. "Yeah… whatever you need," he said quietly, his voice rougher now, carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll take care of it.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your heart twisted. You could see it—the subtle shift in him, the way he was trying so hard to keep it together, to be the one who could protect you from everything. But his need for control, for certainty, left him lost.

“I’ll get you some water,” he muttered, almost distracted, as if he needed something to do. He slipped out of bed again, the sound of his footsteps faint as he moved to the kitchen. You could hear the quiet clinking of glass, the faucet running, but all you could think about was the tension in his voice.

When he returned, he handed you the water, waiting for you to take a sip before placing it on the nightstand. His hand rested on your back, rubbing slow circles, but there was something off in the way he touched you—his need to care for you had become almost frantic, as if he was trying to prove something, trying to fix something he couldn’t control.

"Do you need anything else?" His voice was soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for another request, something else he could take care of. “More water? Food? Whatever you need, I’ll get it.”

You shook your head gently, but guilt gnawed at you. You hadn’t meant to unsettle him, hadn’t wanted him to feel like he wasn’t enough. You could see it in his eyes—the storm of emotions he was barely holding back, his desperate need to be there for you in every way.

“I’m good, Joel,” you whispered, offering him a small smile, but the weight of it all hung between you, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Joel’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard, struggling to keep it together. His hand lingered on your hip, his breath uneven. "I just want you safe. I’ll make sure you have what you need."

The look in his eyes tugged at something deep inside you—a mix of guilt and tenderness. You hadn’t meant to make him feel like this, hadn’t wanted to push him further into the spiral you could see in his eyes.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cheek gently, and before he could say anything, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His breath hitched, his body stiff for a moment, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease under your touch.

“Come here,” you whispered softly against his lips, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “Lay down with me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if he didn’t know what to say. But then, with a quiet sigh, he slipped back into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms as though he was afraid you might slip away.

His embrace was warm, comforting, but you could feel the vulnerability in the way he held you—the desperate need to protect you, to be everything for you, even when he was still fighting his own battles.

You kissed him again, softer this time, your lips lingering as you whispered, "I'm right here."

His breath came out in a shaky exhale, his arms tightening around you, holding you close as though it was the only way to ground himself. “I’ll always keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with emotion. “I promise.”

And though you knew there were things you couldn’t fix for him, though you couldn’t be the solution to all his pain, you let him hold you in that moment, let him believe that he could keep the chaos at bay.

Tomorrow, you’d have to face the hard conversations, the reality of what he needed. But tonight, you could be his anchor.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

whew....

Another chapter will come, comment if u want me to remind you!! (also just really love comments, they make me so motivated)

xoxo

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yandere-sins · 10 months ago

Text

A Camgirl's Happiness

a/n: To be fair, I know very little about actually streaming or cammodeling, and it's not as easy to read up on, so take my descriptions with a grain of salt. Also, I know that most people doing that job are really into it and I'm very happy for them, but I needed the drama for the story, hope you can understand! I hope you guys enjoy it regardless, it was fun to write!

Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Reader is a camgirl, mentioning of stripping, fulfilling sexual favors for viewers), Fem!Reader, Life struggles (Debts, Mental health problems), Mention of stalking, Obsessive Behavior

You knew exactly what you were doing, pulling your legs up on your chair, squeezing your breasts just a bit more prominently towards the camera.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"Hi SweetsMaster! Longtime no read! We're just talking today, but I'm so glad you made it to the stream!"

Ding! Ding!

Smiling, you watched the crushing waves of messages, your fanbase as active as ever as they flooded you with their adoration. Even when you had an image to uphold, you couldn't help but be pampered by their compliments, giggling and telling them to stop calling you adorable and their "dream girl".

Still, you played along to their fantasies, hid your face behind your palm coyly, and kept them believing that you were this cute internet star they loved so much. Life was hard, but getting an end to your means barely needed more than an hour or two talking about all the cute things you'd do if you had one of these lonely, unhappy people behind the screen as your partner. You didn't complain that they invested their savings into spending time with you instead of therapy.

Not like you ever considered going to therapy yourself, too ashamed of the truths you'd have to share.

You sighed inwardly, forcing yourself to smile a bit more convincingly at the camera as you took a sip of water, letting some drops fall into your cleavage. "Oopsie!" you giggled, forced to appear bashful, hoping no one clipped that. But what were you thinking? Of course, they did.

"Stop that, guys! How embarrassing! People will think I can't even drink!"

Sometimes you didn't recognize your own voice as you put on a show. The pitch was too high, your words made you cringe. As if you were in a sketch, rather than a life performance. You quickly wiped away the droplets sitting on top of your skin, threatening to run down the curve of your breasts as many of your viewers hoped before continuing to chat with the rapidly growing crowd. Being a camgirl had been fun once—unforced.

When you started doing it, you enjoyed the time with every new follower you got. Some were creeps, but some were genuinely nice people who paid you to do things you enjoyed. You didn't feel strange being yourself back then; people supported you just as you were. Taking off your clothes and doing favors was a fun little side hustle to get you through college. You didn't plan on doing this forever.

But even with your degree, your real job, and all the possibilities you had now, you couldn't stop streaming. You tried countless of times! But every time you said goodbye for good, your life was thrown into chaos, your bills left unpaid. You lost your job, lost your home, lost all the friends that couldn't watch your life being ruined.

And now, you were tired. So, so tired.

You got back on your feet, thanks to streaming. You found a new job, a new home. More and more people joined your shows; they bought you gifts and sent you money. Even if there was no one to share your earnings with, at least you didn't have to worry about your debts anymore. You'd stream after work, on the weekends, vacations. You organized photoshoots and sold your pictures and merch on the side, even though no one ever wanted to get hired by you to help with all the packaging and work it took.

> you're nothing like you were when you first started

Someone typed in chat, and your fake voice began to crack as you read it out loud. Quickly, you composed yourself, but it stung.

"Yeah, well, aren't we all someone different than, let's say, three years ago? I've grown a lot as a person since I first started! And thanks to you guys, I was able to afford better equipment, too!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You laughed at the incoming donations, forming a heart with your hands as you thanked your patrons. "That's going to be a new mic soon!"

> that's not what i meant

The same person from before wrote into the chat, their name—DarlingLover—highlighted in baby pink, revealing they were a superfan. You couldn't ignore them, even though you wished nothing more than for this conversation to end.

> you looked much happier back then

"That's not true!" you chimed up, using all your strength to press down the tears you felt shooting into your eyes. It was bittersweet to be seen in this industry. To not be objectified and idolized, but to have someone truly notice the person behind the on-camera persona.

"I love hanging out with you guys! I made so many new friends, and I'm grateful for all the support and love you guys have shown me! I would never have had the chance otherwise!"

Blowing some kisses towards the camera, your donations went wild, reassuring you that your cover hadn't been blown. You had to keep yourself together, you couldn't risk one perceptive fan to showcase how miserable you were. But perhaps you had to take it as a sign. A sign that it was enough for today. You needed to eat something, and the clock on your monitor—10:47 pm—reminded you that you skipped dinner long enough. And once you had some substance, you'd need the five hours of sleep before you'd have to drag yourself out of bed and to your real work.

"Okay, guys, that's it for tonight! Thank you all for joining our talking stream! I hope you had as much fun as I did!"

Slipping your hand beneath the spaghetti strap of your tank, you pushed it off your shoulder teasingly. "And just as a little reminder," you mumbled seductively, winking at your audience. "Join us tomorrow for a very fun night!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You grinned cheekily, waving at the people and blowing them a few more kisses while the donations kept pinging in. Just two more clicks and you had closed the stream, watching it on your second monitor to see if your 'stream ended' notice got displayed properly. The animation had been damn expensive, and you wanted to use it to its fullest until it would be too outdated that you needed a new one.

Watching it for a while, you noticed that amongst the countless messages notifying you that someone left the stream, a few people still had a very eager conversation even after it ended. Immediately, the baby pink name of the superfan who had chatted with you before stood out, the user vehemently defending their standpoint against some newer fans. You clicked their names and checked them out, seeing the varying times from a few months to a few days of subscription to you, as well as the very sparse donation they made.

> i've been here longer, i'd know if she was truly happy

DarlingLover wrote, and you gulped, feeling the anxiety brewing inside your stomach. You couldn't believe they'd go out of their way to try and pull others on their side. Were they trying to ruin your career on purpose?

>> what an idiot lol >> srsly she wouldn't do it if she didn't want to >> yeah what the hell lol

A sigh of relief escaped you, seeing how the others didn't believe DarlingLover. Once again, your reputation was upheld even if it might cost you this superfan. It was expected in this industry to lose and gain followers. Some could withstand changes with their devotion, and others couldn't. You watched as the number of current visitors to your stream continued to drop relentlessly, the sight calming your mind.

You should have gotten up and made dinner, hit the hay before you could pity yourself any more than you had all evening. Your mood was already down the drain, but you were too exhausted to get up, thinking of just dropping into bed and sleeping until morning instead of doing anything else. You couldn't afford to not care for yourself, but it all felt so meaningless.

> Darling, you there?

A stray message popping up in chat caught your attention. You had three more visitors. Two must have just left it open on the side, but the third one was still chatting. With who? you wondered, waiting for someone to respond. But no one answered, DarlingLover, and a whole minute passed by.

> if you read this, can you message me privately? i want to book a private session

You inhaled deeply.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you groaned, letting your head fall back against the gaming chair you had bought for your desktop setup. Pink and cute and so expensive. Private Sessions were the only reason you could afford a 500$ chair in the first place. But you really, really didn't want to. Really didn't want to entertain someone who had ruined your evening enough.

Click.

< Hi! :) You wanted a private session? Thank you so much, I look forward to it! Do you have a date in mind? I'll check with my bookings, but I'm sure we can find some time this week!

Yes, you hated yourself. But this user was a superfan, and you never let anyone down before. For the right price, you could do anything—or so you told yourself repeatedly. Trying to make yourself believe you could do it, burned out and exhausted as you were. It was just one more private session; you'd get through it, just like you always had.

> i've noticed how unhappy you are lately. you don't smile like you used to, don't tell us about what is happening in your life. you're like a pretty doll that sits and entertains us out of habit. i hate it. i want the real you back

That again. You scowled at the screen, your stomach grumbling in agreement (and hunger). "What do you even say to that?" you mumbled into the silence surrounding you. It was pitiful that you still lived in the same two-room flat since college, all your money going into debt and equipment rather than buying nice things for yourself. It made the dark, quiet loneliness so much more derisive. It was your life, but even so you could do nothing but entertain others to live in a way you didn't want to. You were so lost, your whole life purpose seemingly meaningless as the streams and viewers demanded more and more from you.

< I'm sorry you feel that way! :( I'm always trying my best to be myself and kind. I hope it didn't seem like I'm just faking it for the others! Please give me a chance to prove that I'm still me, and I'll do my best to meet your expectations!

Tears stung in your eyes as you typed out the words. You didn't want to grovel or apologize for how the world had ruined you. You couldn't push the blame on everyone else forever, but you truly felt wronged by your own life. Apologizing for being forced into a role you didn't want to have was way worse than when you made an actual mistake, but if you wanted to keep up the image, it was what you had to do.

> it's okay. i know you work so hard, i'm so proud of you for that

Your supporter's sudden shift in attitude made you lean back in your chair, your breath escaping you as you felt the tension being lifted. Perhaps he wasn't as weird as you assumed by his insistence on ruining the little composure you had in your stream. Maybe he was truly just concerned for you.

> that's why i'm going to help you!

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but cringe. Nothing good ever came from someone saying they would "help" you. They were merely justifying themselves for wanting something unhinged from you, mostly something you weren't comfortable with. You relented to them in the past, but did you really have to put up with it still?

< Thank you so much for giving me a chance! ♥ Have you decided on a day then for our session?

> tomorrow night, 8pm, hotel loveline. i'll book the room, just mention my name to the receptionist, and they'll give you a key

You felt all goodwill shatter into a million pieces as you read the line. Bringing your hands to your face, you rubbed over the wrinkles and tension you held in the grimace of an expression you were making, wishing you could just drop the conversation and go to bed. It wasn't the first time someone asked to meet up personally. You had never done it before and wouldn't break your boundary for that guy now.

< I'm so sorry, but I don't do personal meet-ups! If you want a private cam session, please let me know, and I will arrange it! :)

"Please, god, let him get the hint," you prayed under your breath, but you should have known better. He was a persistent one.

> i'll make sure you gain thrice the followers than you do in one month just from our collaboration. surely people will send lots of donations, too. the only thing i want is you, natural, real. mine for the night

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister," you grumbled, slowly getting angry at this guy. Why did he lie through his teeth? How in the world would someone get you thrice the subscribers from a private session? Why make big promises that were impossible to keep? And he was paying for it, so there would be no donations for you. But even so, with your teeth grinding in frustration, you typed out the nicest rejection you possibly could.

< Sorry, but I'm really not comfortable with personal meet-ups! And charging you for a whole night also makes me feel bad; my rates aren't cheap, after all. It wouldn't be fair to you. Let me know if you are still interested in a cam session, I'll give you a discount since you've been a fan for so long! :) ♥

There was an eery silence in the chatroom, and you glimpsed towards the bathroom, wondering if you had time to get ready for bed until he replied. Ultimately, you decided to wait it out, just to be polite, while you scolded yourself for offering a discount. This interaction alone should have warranted an extra charge on top of your regular rates.

> you like your current day job, don't you?

This statement caught you off-guard. You hadn't spoken much about your new employment on stream, not wanting to bore your viewers with such trivial things when they were there to be entertained.

> wouldn't you be sad if you were fired again?

"What do you mean?" you typed back, the confusion growing.

> i take good care of my darling, and you'll enjoy what i have prepared for you. if you can no longer pretend to be happy, i will help you find that happiness again, help you choose the right path

< you scare me

You typed the words before thinking them through. This was the real you, not the persona he knew and wanted to see, and she just messed up big time.

< I'm sorry, I meant to say your comments can be interpreted weirdly, and it's a little scary to read them right now. I'd still be up for the cam session if you're interested, though?

Anything, you thought, anything to stop him from saying more weird shit.

Does he... does he know you? You pondered the thought for a while. Trying to find a weird interaction you might have had before in your real life. One where someone spoke to you like he did. But you couldn't recall it. How did you know about your job though? Was he perhaps a colleague? But even they knew very little of you, and definitely not about your other job.

"Do I know you?" you asked when he didn't reply anytime quick.

Immediately, you regretted showing vulnerability in front of this stranger. From the moment he joined your stream, DarlingLover had seen through your charades, the online persona you had kept up so carefully. They were laying you bare in an uncomfortable, personal way. You've always been so careful with information about your personal life, keeping all your stories vague and unidentifiable, never naming brands of the stores you visited, or talking about the companies you were part of. How did he know where you lived and about your work?

You wished he'd just stop and disappear to where he came from.

> not yet :) > but you will get to know me—all of me—when we see each other tomorrow. i'll make you smile again, i'll make you happy. you'll be my darling star again, just like before! my reason to live, my beloved. i can't wait for tomorrow, see you soon!

DarlingLover left the chat.

You stared at the message for a while, perplexed and dumbfounded as you tried to make sense of it. You replayed the interaction over and over but could find no logic or reason behind it. You didn't know this guy, he didn't know you. At least, not personally. But he did know more about you than any of your subscribers should.

Part of you hated him, but the rest of you was scared. Scared of what would happen if you scorned him, the havoc he'd unleash on your life. You were scared of the embarrassment he could cause you if he revealed your secret sidehustle to your work, feared how the opinion of you would change now that you finally found work that you liked and coworkers that you could have fun with. You were finally one leg into having a normal life, only for some stranger on the internet to come and ruin it again. It made you mad and drove you downright crazy.

Clicking his username over and over, it stated he was offline. You couldn't open a new chat again, couldn't scream at him how you weren't going to do that! How you wouldn't meet him for real because he could very well be a psycho or murderer! Surely, he'd not give you back the time you lost streaming, the friends you pushed away to earn money, or your happiness in exchange for success!

"What do I do?" you sighed, rubbing your face once more. You were so tired, you had to go to bed. Soon, you'd have to get up, get to work, and decide whether you wanted to attend the meet-up.

Wait.

Why was that even a decision?

Of course, you wouldn't go! He couldn't force you! He couldn't—

Did you really have a choice?

Flopping into your bed, you groaned. In a fit of anger, you punched your fists into the mattress a few times before the strength left you. Of course, it was your choice. You had started over before. If the worst came to fruition, you'd just do it again. Nothing was lost. You could do it! You could refuse the offer and live a happy life away from streaming and the judgment of other people! It would be hard. So very hard. But you could do it!

Sleep overtook you before you could prepare yourself for bed. You didn't hear the ping of a chat message. All your body had left in it was to sleep away the exhaustion, even if it meant knocking you out for good and without having an alarm set for the next morning. Big decisions would have to be made the next day, but you were asleep, unaware of the weight resting on your shoulders.

And you didn't notice the red light on your webcam, saying it was still on even though your screen had long closed down.

< sleep well, darling :) ♥

His lips curled into a wicked, lovestruck grin as he moved the window with the video live feed of your bedroom to the second monitor. Finally. Finally, he'd get to meet you. His idol, his darling, his beloved streamer. He adored and worshipped you since the day you started. Watched every one of your streams since the day you joined his life.

Without you, his channel wouldn't exist. People wouldn't adore him, wouldn't watch him. The masses of fans enjoying his lengthy cock-stroking sessions, buying his ASMR audios to masturbate to—they all wouldn't exist without you. Even when he was down when he just started, seeing you smile and do your best for the few followers you had was what made him continue working hard for you.

And now that he had long surpassed you, it was time he gave back the gratitude he felt towards you.

The thought alone of meeting you was getting his cock rock hard, ready to burst. He wasn't even sure if he could look into your eyes without cumming instantly like a pathetic loser. But he wouldn't mind being a loser again if it meant he got to meet you.

"I love her streams," he hummed blissfully, closing the connection to your stream as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. Thanks to your lovely end of stream announcement, showing all your best moments, no one even noticed he'd be off chatting with you. "She's my favorite streamer ever."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Donations went off as he pulled down the waistband, revealing the girthy mass that his followers loved so much. He'd been so ashamed as a teenager for having this monster of a cock, but on the internet, he found solace. People loved imagining riding him, giving him BJs, the whole nine yards, but he saved himself. For you. You'd be the first, and if he did his job well, you'd be his last.

"Before we get to the main part of tonight," he teased, gripping his length in his hand, squeezing and caressing it for the whole community to see. Head rolling back, he imagined your warmth spread around him, his cock pulsing eagerly as he wished to know what it would feel like to pop the tip into your tight pussy.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

He grinned. They loved him so much. Everyone loved the former loser now turned into a hot, sexy internet sensation. And you would, too. Very soon.

"I want to announce that we're going to have the collaboration of the year right here, on this channel, tomorrow. Starting at 8:30pm! Make sure you're here to witness it, Darling."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

#camgirl!darling #camboy!yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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avifaunaa · 23 days ago

Text

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ] [ f.a.+ r ] [ pt.4 ]

Authors Note: Hello readers both returning and new! I’m so entirely happy you guys enjoy this work so far — whether through notes / reblogs or comments. It makes my day and I cannot stress enough what those little things mean. Thank you.

• Also: if I have left anyone new out of the updated tag list, please let me know. I’m trying to keep up with it.

• I also went back and made some additions to previous chapters and changed Windweaver's public name to 'Avian' -- only the Inner Circle will call her Windweaver in private.

Please read the Content Warnings before proceeding further. Thank you!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x fem!reader x Rhysand / Platonic!Inner Circle x fem!reader

Summary: Slow. That is what you all three agreed to and neither of you appear to be in any rush at this point. You grow to understand who Feyre and Rhysand are in ways that not the entirety of the world, save their Inner Circle, is allowed to. But in the process you forget what creatures all of you are in the end — terrible beasts that sometimes can only react as sanely as your brain can which means not sanely at all.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but MAJOR MAGICAL liberties taken! Such as the primal fae thing I mentioned, Mating Bonds, discussions of bondings, magic, all the works; Court Politics, Windweaver backstory and a flashback, a slow formation of connections, attempted sexual assault but the attack is intercepted, descriptions torture [ Feyre and Rhysand giving ], angst / wump with a side of hurt / comfort.

Word Count: ~6.3k

It was busy tonight. Busier than you expected for this shift and it had you pausing to think over whether or not you’d missed an important Velaris holiday.

Between the boisterous laughter of your patrons you caught Malora by her arm and pled with her to tell you if you had, in fact, forgotten something important.

Her dimpled cheeks taunted you as she smirked, eyebrow notched.

But still the female smoothly assured you that, no, you had not missed any sort of holiday and there was no special occasion — it was just unusually busy this night despite it being out of the normal for the middle of the week.

You had released her back into the crowd and returned to your own storm to conquer, feeling like a sailor that had not boarded the proper ship for the conditions of the sea.

Tables were filled almost before you could entirely finish cleaning them from the Fae that had taken them up beforehand, the new customers allowing you to only wipe around them before setting their menus down before spiriting off to get drinks for other tables.

The tips were coming in pleasantly even if the unexpected rush had thrown you off and you had so far managed not to spill any drinks and had not messed up food orders; a win in this industry during such a chaotic night.

Between ducking under tight fits to slink through the tavern, when you had even a small moment to take a breathe and gather your thoughts between orders and music and the noise, your eyes would wander to outside the doors and windows.

Velaris was beautiful at all times and the weather changed with the seasons, unlike the “special” seasonal Courts. Even as spring threatened to creep into the starlit Court, snow still dusted the cobblestones and rooftops of buildings.

Your eyes wandered further toward where just the peaks of the House of Wind was visible through the nightlife and clouds and snow. You wondered if Feyre and Rhysand lived there -- when Amren and Mor had taken you there upon being brought into the city, you'd not seen or heard a lick of either Fae.

You hadn't been brave enough to ask about them, either.

You were more curious about them . . . about your mates . . . than you felt you could afford.

It felt surreal if you thought too deeply into that new aspect of your life. Mates — the High Lord and Lady.

Your heart leapt just at the images conjured in your head of them.

“Avian!” the barking shout of Rita ripped you from breeze-like drifting, standing behind the crowded bar with rowdy patrons chattering. “Did you get table fifteen their drinks?”

The notepad wherein your current unmade orders lay forgotten on the end of the bar right next to two chilled glasses, a reminder and a demand for your attentions. “Sorry, Rita,” you called back as you slid down to the glasses and read through the order once more to recall what you were making. “On it.”

The older Fae cocked an eyebrow at you, her unyielding features beautiful and cool but failing to reveal whether she felt angered or put off — and you took that as the blessing it was to zap through making the drinks and delivering them to their owners.

The rest of the night was a struggle within itself; you were in two places mentally and both of them were pulling your mind into a divide that kept you into two different thought processes.

No matter how you tried to make your patrons your foremost focus, Feyre and Rhysand kept returning to you. The agreement of slow and the way your stomach felt an uneasy tug when you tried to return to work at full force was a stark reminder of your life’s inability to settle and become stagnant.

Their grins and hopeful gazes.

Thirty minutes before Rita would be locking the doors, your final customer slinked into the tavern. A male with long hair pulled up away from his face and an expression as though he were a wildcat seeking out a fawn for dinner.

He eventually decided on one of your tables after he stood idly for a few moments and studied you and Malora both; the other female's sudden release of tension was not lost on you as she sent you a concerned glance.

She tilted her chin from her spot next to you at the bar where she was finishing off a Summer Court Shores for her final table, silently asking, You got him? Do you need me to handle it?

You barely allowed your gaze to scour the male who waited like a statue for you to approach, gave him no reason to lock gazes with you. To beckon you over before you were ready.

Malora and you knew what kind of male this was immediately; and neither liked him — the way he moved, the way he looked, the way he simply is. But even so you nodded once, short and sure. I got this.

You greeted him politely, spuing out the specials as you dropped a menu and a napkin in front of him while maintaining the persona that you normally only reserved for patrons that you knew weren’t going to be worth the energy you used — detached yet polite with a welcoming smile, but no offering of further conversation. Notepad out, obvious in what you wanted from him.

His whiskey eyes — you hated whiskey, whiskey was your father's drink, your father's smell, your father's gamble — was comparable to the talons he had sharpened on his fingers. He smelled like a wealthy male, covered in sickeningly sweet roll on oils and roses and you wanted to runrunrun.

You bounced off the casual greetings and attempts at further discussions, and he finally provided you with an order. Three drinks. When one was empty, bring the next. No meal despite your best efforts to sell one.

He nursed his drinks for the final thirty minutes with precise calculation, nails tapping the glass anytime you crossed his way to say your pleasantries to exiting customers or to help Malora with closing duties.

He would brush his hand along yours when he wanted a replacement rather than call your name.

"You will produce an heir to the Windweaver line. Our sorry excuse for a High Lord is running the Court to the ashen ground," your father said, tone final as his hand grasped your wrist. "Once you succeed, then perhaps we will be secure enough to return to our lands and regain our regiments."

Your father was — the look in his eye. "Father," you whispered, "Hybern is allowing Amarantha to wipe out entire Houses. We are on her direct line of sight if we show ourselves."

Nothing in your father's gaze flickered in understanding or acknowledgement. All that remained of the once noble man was a broken, lost male who only wished to keep the House and name?

You tried again.

"I do not want to take a mate. Why must I produce an heir when we are running from mass extinction?" you dared ask, lump rising in your throat as you withheld the contents of your stomach. Vomiting on your father would end poorly. "We are not safe, she will kill me. Any heir I produce."

Your father curled his lip as he stalked toward you until you were forced backward. You tried to get your mother's attention but she dipped her head downward and away from your begging gaze.

"Whatever male you take to bed matters little to me at this point," he snarled as he tightened his grip. "But you will produce results or I will deliver you to Hybern myself."

Even to this day, even after you followed his order, you never came to understand what the reasoning of a broken and crazed male could have been. He never got to meet your daughter, and after his death your family still kept running until capture.

Your mother never deigned to reveal his reasonings either. You chalked it up to instinct at its' very primal core; wherein nothing rational of your father was left behind. Nothing but the beast that everyone was, deep down.

The ending of bloodlines is a nightmare for Fae like your father — and you had wondered if he knew even before he went mad that his death was going to happen with no other way. You wondered: did he do whatever he thought he had to for his family?

In the last year your conclusion settled in your chest like a heavy set of bricks. You did not think your father thought of your future, but of that of the liquid in your veins and the power you host.

The final drink for the male was deposited and you turned on your heel, rushing to the kitchen so you could hide from him until you could bring him his bill and he would leave.

Rita was arm-deep in a sink of dishes with one of the kitchen workers and sent you a sidelong glance. "You alright?"

“Just tired,” you murmured, pressing fingertips into the junction between your nose and eye. There was a sure as Hell ache beginning to form right there — an indicator of a long night and nervous energy.

Rita pulled herself away from the sink, water dripping onto the floor as she sought a towel out. Her gaze was steady but the darkening of concern was starting to cloud. "Do you want me to hurry your last one?"

The offer was tempting, but you did not want to draw anymore attention from the male or draw ire from him. You simply shook your head. "He's on his last drink. I just needed a second before I brought him his bill."

Rita studied you but nodded once.

You had the bill ready as you returned to the floor, heading straight toward the male and grabbing his empty glass and replacing it with the sheet of paper instead.

He had the money out already — indicating he held no tab at the tavern — so you went to reach for it as you asked, "Did you enjoy the drinks?"

Only for sharp talons to lunge out to snatch your hand as it curled over the payment. You jerked in place but forced the fight or flight deep into your stomach, far away, somewhere he would never be able to find it —

“They were lovely. Almost as much as their server. Do tell me — when do you end your night?” he crooned, nails resting just above digging into your skin but putting pressure that forced you to still.

Your throat constricted as you made an attempt to gently gesture behind you. “I’m afraid I’ll be here long after we close. Sir.”

His dark eyes regard you with a look that you refuse to read. Instead you smile — the same smile you offer all overly drunk patrons who try to hit on you — and continue, “Let me get your check taken care of, alright? The last thing you want is Rita storming out of the kitchen and banning you from her tavern for loitering after closeup. I’ll bring back whatever’s leftover.”

He blinked at you as his hand released yours, nails tapping into the tabletop instead as he waved you off. “Keep it. You earned the tip, sweetheart.”

It would seem the threat of the owner was enough to have him send you away and you kept him placated with a demure smile before ushering to the bar to shakily get the payment completed so Rita could close out later.

Malora became purposefully noisy, meanwhile, slamming chairs as she put them upside down on clean tables and clanking dirty dishes as she gathered them onto a tray.

It would appear that the male got the hint and would not be welcomed to wait for the staff to leave to depart as well. He left as he came — stalking out and shifting eerie glances your way until the door closed behind him.

Malora blinked as she watched your shoulders sag considerably once he was out of sight. “He was a piece of work,” she noted, azure eyes glancing sidelong at you. “He do anything weird?”

“He’s a drunk male. Nothing that’s unusual or unmanageable,” you dismissed with as much ease as you could muster as you slapped the rag down onto the tabletop and started to clean it.

Malora made a noise of discontent but she did not push the subject matter with you.

Malora and Rita shared a drink with you as you recalled the details of your last patron. Rita’s tipped ears twitched in irritation as her lips thinned out. “If he was making you uncomfortable, Ava . . .”

“He was,” you admitted, bringing the sweet alcoholic beverage back to your lips, the cool drink having soothed your nerves a great deal, “but I handled it. I threatened him with your name.”

Rita huffed, but she loosened up and finished her drink. Malora tilted her chin at you with a grin. “Certified classic. Keeps everyone — even our non-regulars — in line. Getting banned from Rita’s is considered a taboo.”

The older Fae’s hip notched against the freshly cleaned and waxed bar. “Damn right.” She eyed you. “We all leave together, tonight. I don’t like hearing that he asked when you get off and tried to remain.”

Your relief was severe but you smiled weakly at both females. “Thanks, Rita. I know you wanted to get out of here a little early tonight . . .”

She finished her drink and shook her head, a strand of short silver hair falling over her eyes. “It’s okay. I already warned Nedryian in advance that I may be unable to make it out of here that early.”

“Tell her hi, and that I’m sorry, anyway.”

When the drinks were finished and glasses cleaned and returned under the bar, you went to take out the trash. Malora did it last night, thus it was your turn. The garbage bags were already piled next to the back door that lead out to the mysterious magical dumpster that was more alive than you liked to think about.

You hauled two bags out the door after kicking the door open and moved toward the dumpster. As if sensing the presence of trash — it’s one true beloved — the large object hummed to life as you got a few feet away.

These dumpsters were an aspect of Velaris you found to be fascinating and you’d pestered Rita about them for days. She had told you that nobody really knew when they appeared or who had given them their magic — just that they were inherently harmless and they inhaled the city’s trash like it was candy and nobody knew exactly where it went once it was consumed.

You threw the two bags into the open void of the dumpster and the shuddering of the object revealed its’ enjoyment of the night’s trash haul.

You did this three more times and once the task was completed, you took a moment to rest against the wall just outside the tavern to catch your breath and gather your wits.

Your eyes drifted out from the dark shadows of the tavern’s alley where a soft light from the city’s nighttime glow peeked through, how even as it was so late that it was early people still filtered through the streets with laughter.

You’d explored parts of Velaris with Astra: the parts that Amren and Mor had encouraged you to seek out in order to make yourself at home. And so far . . . so far not one single aspect of this place had managed to disappoint you, underwhelm you.

It was not the Spring Court, where it was always pleasantly warm and gentle or harsh in weather. It was not the Spring Court, where pastels seemed to dominate the entire Court and the overgrowth outweighed the villages.

It was not the Spring Court and that was perhaps the reason you found yourself falling deeper in love with Velaris by the day.

The starlight here outshone the stars in every other Court, though, and that was your favorite part. Each one distinctive and different from the next, twinkling against the black sky.

They looked like the freckles that dusted Feyre’s skin — you remembered how they scrunched up together like a constellation when Feyre’s facial expression warped into amusement or laughter during your first meeting.

A breath escaped your lungs. You close your eyes, locking the stars out of any visible part of you — preventing them from seeing into the depths of your soul.

You let your head drop back to the brick wall of Rita’s and you groan aloud. You’ve met them once, Windweaver, you scold yourself. And you’re already comparing the High Lady’s freckles to the stars. How typical.

A mating bond of this degree . . . it was already having your nervous system ignited in ways that you’ve long thought forever unsparked. You weren’t ready to reach into it, to tug on those threads and see if they felt you, but you knew internally:

They were yours. As much was you were theirs.

You pushed yourself off the wall and slid on your heal, beginning to grasp at the handle to the door to renter the building when the back of your neck was suddenly ripped backward and your body was jerked sideways until it slammed into the brick wall.

A pained yelp rose up in your throat but like a whip, your mouth was quickly covered and the sound was muffled as it escaped from your mouth. Sharp points of pain dug into your jaw and the shock gave way to panic as you began to realize you were being trapped between the wall and a taller, heavier form.

“Shh,” the low male voice crooned from behind you as the nails in your jawline dug in deeper. “Quiet now. I don’t want to nick an artery — that’d be a damn shame for a pretty thing such as you.”

You released a muffled noise of panic, struggling against him as his knee shoved your legs apart and his other hand pierced long nails into the middle of your back to keep you still.

It was the male you had served only an hour or two previously — it had to be — the nails, the voice. You couldn’t move your head to get a look at his face but you inhaled a gasping breath — and —

Roses and rolling oils.

The drink you had shared with Malora and Rita turned to acid in your stomach at the same time as your struggle started to grow violent. The clawed hand now felt like an execution weapon as it slid from your back and dipped lower.

A soft laugh followed his movements, mocked your attempts at wrenching free from his attack. “Fight all you want. You waste your energy and will get nowhere from it.”

Curled talons slit open the button of your pants in your thrashing, his movements calm and his hold on your face tightening as his hand sliced your pants open down the middle.

You closed your eyes and dipped down into the hibernating part of you that you’ve been trying to keep at bay. The powers that were never impressive enough to earn your father’s pride and respect, but enough to earn his demand to breed further in his line.

The air around both you and the male went still, at first.

It caused a pause from him as he pushed you further into the wall and pulled his body away from your back, offering your burning skin a reprieve.

You tried to keep your demeanor more or less the same, struggling.

Growing still would draw his attention back to you; he would come to realize you weren’t defenseless.

His breath inhaled as the flow of air started to drift around you — a soft breeze at first. It mixed both of your scents — his arousal and alcohol soaked malice and your fear and sweat drenched desperation — then turned violent.

His nails dug in tighter as the heavy, sudden winds picked up snow and paper and whatever trash littered the alleyway floor. His attention was now partially torn between keeping you pinned like a helpless mouse and to a larger predator that alerted his senses to danger.

You did not know how much force you could continue putting into an offensive ability without setting him off; to revealing yourself.

Still, with what remaining movement you had left you splayed your fingers against your thigh and waited as the circling winds exploded in front of the male. Not your most powerful build up, but enough to knock him to his ass.

His nails left long, stinging lines as they ripped from your jaw with the impact against his body. He slid only inches away and recovered quickly as you turned around, trembling and already forming another vortex of wind to fight him off with.

He curled his lip in sneering amusement as he crept forward, but he only stopped when the swirling winds sent a stray brick his way and crashed into the wall behind him.

“You have pretty little powers, girl, but it won’t protect you from me. It only extends the hunt.”

Blood splattered on the concrete beneath you from the opened wounds as you stared him down, the only thing between you and him being the small accumulation of wind buildup. Any stronger and you would cause damage to Rita’s or the city . . . And to the people who lived there.

You had to use what was available.

Just as he stalked forward to enter the heart of your vortex, shadows erupted from the corners of the alleyways.

They were fast and unforgiving as they locked the male in a small space that quickly grew smaller before he could understand.

His eyes flickered with something — shock, perhaps — before a cold panic seemed to reek from him in waves.

You could do nothing more than tremble in place and watch as what looked like an eternal night overtook him and snarls and enraged yelps from within had you slowly releasing the winds that angrily circled around you.

Papers and trash drifted down lazily as the air grew still, snow that was disturbed glittering as it leisurely floated about in the air around you to be carried off by the natural breeze and not by the one of your making.

A step behind you —

“It’s me. It’s us,” was announced as soon as you turned, the air already unsettled with your jumpy response.

Rhysand and Feyre stood before you, twin outfits of black dressing their forms as Rhysand’s normally bright gaze remained stony behind the dark cloud behind you.

Feyre’s silk dress swayed as she moved slowly toward you and she reached out an inked hand. “Windweaver,” she tried, voice firm and loud to try and override the now screaming male behind you. “Hey.”

You loosened yourself as soon as her greeting curled around you like a blanket. Her eyes weren’t soft and for that you were grateful — instead there was a fire within them that your frostbitten soul called for.

Your trembling fingers reached back out and curled around steady, sure ones. And then you were in her arms as the impact of what just happened and also what could have happened if you’d not pulled out your abilities and defended yourself hit you like a thousand sword pummels to the head.

She lowered herself and you into the ground. Rhysand glanced sideways and watched as the silk dress flared and danced around you like a protective shadow as his wife cradled their mate as the chemicals and emotions began to realign within your brain.

His wings itched as he forced himself to walk toward the bundle of night he had created around his prey despite the primal urge to return to both females and comfort you as well.

A male had done this to you and Feyre was the best person for your initial comedown of the shock. He would offer his comfort when you had time to settle.

Until then he reached into the darkness until he found the male’s figure. The stink of fading arousal and growing fear cocooned him as Rhysand cupped his chin and leaned close to him, knowing he had nowhere to rear back from.

“Let’s go have a chat, just you and I,” he purred, then winnowed away leaving behind only stardust.

The townhouse was located in a beautiful spot near the Sidra. Feyre told you about it in a quiet, easy tone of voice as she kept a firm but comforting grip on you and winnowed you both into the grand antechamber of the home.

She waited a few heartbeats, her eyes watchful and protective, before releasing you and pulling her grounding hand away from you. Without warning your body locked up and a painful flush raced up your spine — an unexpected rise in fear encasing you as you took on a frozen state.

Feyre’s head tilted back and met your gaze. You found concern lingering, a question waiting. Her light brown hair drifted around her shoulders as she moved with silence to peer at you. She did not touch you again yet, but an offering hand reached back out should you need it.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” the High Lady finally said, adding noise to the unsteady and heavy breaths that escaped your lungs, “because that would be opening you up to answering a question that is entirely too obvious and I —“ she tore her gaze away, “— I understand what that’s like. The pressure that three simple words can place on someone.”

Your throat tightened at the ghostly drift in her eyes; but it was gone as quick as it was there.

And then you took her hand, accepting what it meant and what it could provide for you and locking away the whispers about consequences. Your fingertips trembled against the High Lady’s palm that exposed your fear and unsure nature, but she only clasped her hand around them and turned to pull you forward.

Feyre crept toward beautiful double doors and, with her free hand, wrapped her fingers around the handle. A pause.

Her eyes drifted toward you again, and now there was kindness within them, a kindness that went beyond the sort you knew Fae nobility usually offered. It was a different breed that you didn’t want touching you — not because you didn’t want to see or feel it but because of what it meant.

A squeeze. You locked eyes with your mate.

“This is a very secure place, Windweaver,” she said, pushing the handle down until one of the doors clicked and started opening with a whisper, “Only three people can winnow here and it’s one of the safest places in Velaris.”

She released the handle and gave the door a slight push to further it open before letting her arm drop to her side. “You are safe.”

A shudder rippled through at the words in a way that you could only excuse as primal reaction. Your muscles started loosening before your brain could catch up, and you wanted to sink into the nearest piece soft furniture and sleep for hours. She has protected you, something buried deep, quiet and curious, whispered, and proven her ability to provide a safe home. Safe safe safe—

“Windweaver?”

Feyre’s call was not rushed or sharp; rather it was delicate and low. When you move your gaze to her face once more you are taken aback by what you find: something shadowing her features, a look in her normally softened eyes that was a little wilder.

Did she feel what you felt just now — except on the other end of the spectrum? Did her primal instinct urge her to protect and provide a safety net in the way yours desired it? Had your positions been switched, you wondered, would you two be facing different internal pressures?

Your gaze flickered down when her throat bobbed. She was holding back — but you weren’t entirely sure what. You could feel it though. Through your Bond.

The Bond itself was fresh and still so vulnerable — the way she ran her thumb along your knuckles with tenderness made you think that she was experiencing this very differently than her Bond with Rhysand.

A flash of guilt struck you as you realize this. Feyre was human before she was ever Fae — whenever something about her Fae body comes to light that’s new . . . Does it confuse her just as deeply as it’s confusing you, who’s been nothing but Fae your whole life, now?

“Hey.” A hand cupped your cheek but the touch was entirely too tender and with too little contact. “Are you with me?”

You sought out the words you wished to speak — how do you thank her for what she’s done? How do you express any of your emotions without breaking apart and showing her the damage to your soul?

“Yeah,” you say instead, a shaky hand you really aren’t controlling reaching up and grasping hers on your cheek. “I’m with you.”

The spike of energy that had kept you alert during your attempt at survival was wearing off, and along with it came the throbbing in your temples.

You had not used your powers in such capacity in months — mostly to keep a low profile that your bloodline hails from the Spring Court. You relied on your perfumes to keep your scent confusing enough to not draw questions.

An urge you couldn’t decipher pushed you to rest your forehead against hers, furthering the contact with Feyre. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice low and gravelly. “Thank you for being there, for bringing me here.”

The artist that was this beautiful female gave you a small smile; but it was a smile that soothed so many of your aches. “Always.”

Always.

As you both pulled back, reluctantly, from one another you finally got a chance to take in the home that she had brought you into. The doors drifted shut at some point without either of you having moved to do it, likely meaning that they close through some form of magic.

It was a beautiful place — but you supposed you shouldn’t expect anything less from Feyre and Rhysand. You wanted to focus on the interior design, but the warmth the home exuded only added to your increasing exhaustion.

Feyre didn’t drag you down deeper into the halls to explore. She instead stopped just below a staircase that led to a second floor and tilted her chin. “Would you like to get cleaned up?” she asked. “You can take a bath if you’d like.”

Gods that sounded fantastic. Your pants were in shreds and unsalvageable the wound on your face — while already starting to clot — was throbbing, and the general layer of disgust had settled over you like a second skin.

You almost said yes — but then your confirmation died in your throat. Your faculties had started returning to you and the image of Astra flashed through your mind. Panic welled up as you started,

“I—my daughter—“

“Mor got her,” Feyre responded quietly, turning back midstep down the hallway and placed a soothing hand on your shoulder. “Her and Nyx are having a sleepover. I hope that’s okay.”

The fresh wave of panic ebbed, leaving behind the notable and increasing ache your body was hosting.

“That’s fine — I — thank you,” you murmured after a moment. Anything to keep her away from seeing you — seeing you in this state of helplessness, of distress.

Feyre’s jaw tightened and for a moment you thought you saw a flash of familiarity within them. But she only nodded once. Then said, softer than her expression, “You never have to thank me for that.”

You wanted to ask if she knew what you were thanking her for — for catching you before the breakdown came, for thinking of Astra and ensuring she was fine for the night, for taking you away somewhere safe — but she simply entwined your fingers with hers again when your gaze had gone blank against her skin.

“There’s a master suite with an attached bathroom that’s all yours,” the female said, tugging you until you were at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re free to use whatever you want. What’s ours is yours, okay?”

You blinked as she dropped your fingers and watched you, expecting but kind. Your throat closed around any sort of verbal response and you nodded a bit. “Okay. I — okay.”

“Good.” Her lips twitched; just a bit. “Feel free to come down to the kitchens for food or sleep if you’d like. I need to handle some things with Rhysand, but we won’t leave you for long. Amren will be here.”

You didn’t want her to leave, but you held your tongue and gave her a quiet nod before turning your back and taking the stairs upward so she couldn’t see the expression you were unable to hide.

The stench of blood washed away the stink and filth of Hewn City’s usual rot, but as Feyre slinks through the dungeons’ entrance and stepped over a puddle of sewer water she feared it may not last.

Heavy breathing and her husbands’ soft voice greeted her as she stalked into the room where Rhysand had dragged whatever remained of the male. She had changed into her leathers once she was sure Windweaver had started a bath and had left silently.

Her rage had been well-contained and used into something protective when she drew Windweaver away from the scene that she and Rhysand had come upon.

They had panned to walk you to Iris’ together to pick their children up and then walk you and Astra home. It had meant to be sweet, a way for the three of you to bond under the guise of your children loving one another so much.

“There’s my lovely wife,” Rhysand crooned without turning away from where he was crouched down in front of the male. Said male wasn’t even tied up, just limp in a chair and breathing wetly. Blood bubbled from his nostrils.

Feyre’s nails slid through the sleek strands of Rhysand’s hair as she approached him from behind and peered down at the male, who had opened his eyes but didn’t seem to be completely present.

She felt Rhysand subtly lean into her touch as she scratched lightly. In this moment — right now — it was Feyre who stood above both males. Feyre, a female with enormous power, who leaked superiority.

She curled her blood-red lips until the tips of her fangs peeked out. “Is he giving out already? I was hoping to play.”

Rhysand moved under her nails and snagged the long, greasy strands of hair. The yelp and sharp jerk from him was satisfying for Feyre — but still not enough in terms of reparations.

He was going to destroy her in the most unforgivable way, her hindbrain nagged, angry and feral. Kill him, rip out his organs and feed them to him raw.

Feyre’s jaw clenched, unclenched. This was new, and so fucking raw. She didn’t know what to do with it other than glance down at Rhysand.

But her Illyrian mate leaned closer to the male, flattening his wings close to his back to keep them from touching any part of him.

“Look at your High Lady when she approaches you. I’m sure you’ve heard what happens to those who don’t give her the proper respects.”

His purr was deep and falsely alluring, a threat cushioned with enchantment.

His sweat was leaking from every pore in his body and his sour stench was quickly becoming fearful. It was delightfully disgusting on Feyre’s tongue, who’d never truly found enjoyment in the suffering of others.

These circumstances were different; that’s what she told herself.

She smiled sweetly as his glassy eyes eventually dragged toward where she stood above them both, casual and lazy in posture.

“I didn’t know,” he slurred without prompting, thick dark fluid dribbling from between his lips between words. “Wouldn’t . . . Wouldn’t have . . .” He gasped for air.

Feyre stepped forward, past Rhysand who silently stood and backed away so she could take his place, and caressed his chin. The blood was thick and warm as it soaked into her hand. It reminded her of her finest paints.

“Wouldn’t have what?” she urged, smiling wider at him, “Wouldn’t have tried to rape and beat the High Lord and Lady’s mate? But only if you’d known?”

His silence — the way he seemed to understand what trap he’d set up for himself and then proceeded to walk into — was telling.

Prey caught — now the hunter was ready to skin.

“You shouldn’t be touching anyone without their fucking consent no matter who they’re connected to,” the brown-haired female murmured, still holding his chin and collecting the blood in her palm like a sacrificial bowl.

A heavy inhale and wet cough. Blood went spraying across her extended arm like paint splatter on a canvas and still Feyre did not retreat.

Her eyes glittered despite the darkness of the dungeon as her nails began to make sharp indents into his skin. “We’ve done some research on you, Jarth Fermönd.”

A huff was his only reply. The only one he could provide with the blood filling his lungs faster than he could expel it.

She would paint this scene one day — if only because her rage seemed as endless as the darkness in the night.

“We’re going to play — because I want to and I always get what I want.”

Rhysand ensured his shadows silenced the screams from echoing into the city’s sewer system.

Dark Feyre I’m on my knees and I’m not ashamed.

PART FIVE

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olderwomenenthusiast · 5 months ago

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jealousy & confessions (spencer reid)

PAIRING: spencer reid & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you speak to jj about your jealousy and in return, encourages you to confront spencer CAUTION: jealousy, self-doubt WORD COUNT: 3.1k

The bullpen is buzzing with activity, and you’re trying to bury yourself in your work, hoping the overwhelming sense of insecurity and jealousy will subside. It doesn’t, though. Not when Spencer is still laughing with Julia - or Jules, as he’s started calling her now, the nickname rolling off his tongue with an ease that makes something inside of you snap. You know it’s irrational, but you can’t help it. She’s like a mirror image of him: sharp, witty, awkward in the same charming way, and she’s here, effortlessly sliding into his world. The way they talk to each other, the way he listens to her, it’s like something you’ve always wanted, but never dared to ask for.

Spencer’s eyes light up when she speaks, and you feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You can’t help but think: What does she have that I don’t?

She’s leaning in, gesturing to a case file, and Spencer’s nodding along, his gaze locked on her with that familiar intensity. You can feel your own eyes narrowing, watching them from the corner of your desk, trying not to stare too obviously. There’s something about the way she moves, the way she speaks, like she gets him. Maybe better than you ever could.

The tension in your chest grows with every passing moment, the quiet ache turning to frustration. Spencer looks up from the file for a moment, catching your eye. He offers a quick smile, polite, but distracted. The same smile he gives when he’s trying to be kind, but you know his focus is elsewhere. You don’t know why it hits you so hard. You’re just friends, right? ... Right?

Julia catches your gaze and raises an eyebrow, an almost knowing smile on her face, like she’s aware of the quiet storm brewing in you, as if she acted this way on purpose. But before you can process what that means, she turns to Spencer, nudging him lightly. “Hey, I should head out. Got an early shift at the lab tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to be late.” She laughs, and Spencer laughs with her, but there’s a sudden shift in the air; like something unspoken passes between them before she grabs her things and heads for the door.

You feel a sense of relief, almost as if you were holding your breath this whole time. But then it hits you. Now what? Now that she’s gone, you have no excuse to hide behind. Spencer turns back to his desk, his attention momentarily lost in the case files again. The knot in your chest tightens, the unease swirling in your stomach like a storm that refuses to pass.

JJ, who had been keeping a careful eye on you from across the room, notices the shift. She walks over, her expression soft but knowing. “You good?” she asks, leaning against your desk.

You try to brush it off, focusing on the paperwork in front of you. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Uh-huh,” JJ hums, crossing her arms. “I don’t think that’s it. I’ve seen that look before.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

You glance up at her, unable to keep the frustration from your face. “What look?”

“The one where you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re jealous,” she says, her voice a little teasing but full of concern. “It’s written all over your face. You know you’re allowed to feel that, right?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “It’s not that simple, JJ. It’s just… she-” You cut yourself off, not sure how to explain it, or even if you should.

JJ doesn’t let you off the hook, though. “Spencer is your friend, and he always will be. But I think you know it’s more than that, right? You’re just scared to admit it to him… or to yourself.”

You look away, avoiding her eyes, because the truth stings more than you want it to. You don’t want to deal with it. It’s easier to keep it buried, to pretend like your feelings for Spencer are just a little crush, something that’ll pass. But deep down, you know better. You know it’s not that simple.

“Why is it so hard to just tell him how I feel?” you murmur, almost to yourself.

JJ’s expression softens, and she places a hand gently on your shoulder. “Because you’re scared of what it’ll mean. Scared of what will happen if you’re honest with him. But you can’t keep hiding, not forever. If you don’t tell him, you’ll just keep torturing yourself like this. And believe me, I know how much it sucks to keep things in when you’re this close to someone.”

You want to argue, to make a joke, to pretend it doesn’t matter, but it’s impossible. The tightness in your chest, the ache of longing that you’ve pushed down for so long, can’t be ignored anymore. Spencer and the way he’s always been there for you, the way he understands things about you no one else does; it’s hard to ignore the depth of what you feel for him.

“Okay,” you finally say, the word coming out more as a whisper than you intended. “I’ll do it.”

JJ gives you a small smile, squeezing your shoulder. “You’ve got this. Just be honest with him, okay? Spencer deserves to know what’s really going on with you.”

You nod, feeling a mixture of dread and hope swirling inside you. You don’t know how Spencer will react, or even if he feels the same way, but you know one thing for sure: You can’t keep living like this, hiding behind your own feelings.

As the room settles back into its usual rhythm, you turn your attention back to Spencer, who is sitting at his desk, typing away, his back to you. You know the moment has to come soon. You just hope you can find the courage to say the words before it’s too late.

The next few hours pass in a blur. The case demands attention, but your mind is constantly circling back to Spencer. You feel like you're walking around with a thousand thoughts bouncing inside your head, none of them settled or organized. And with every minute that passes, your resolve grows weaker. You know you need to talk to him. If you don’t, you’ll just keep spinning in place, and nothing will ever change.

The team disperses for lunch, and you find yourself standing by the door of the bullpen, staring at Spencer’s desk. He’s engrossed in his work, completely unaware of the storm brewing just behind you. JJ’s words echo in your mind, giving you the push you need. You’ve got this. Just be honest with him. It’s the hardest thing in the world, but it’s also the only thing that will ever give you peace.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over to Spencer’s desk. Your heart beats faster with every step, but you can’t turn back now. When you reach him, he doesn’t notice immediately, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. You hesitate for a moment, but then you speak, your voice quieter than you want it to be.

“Spencer.”

He looks up, blinking as he adjusts his glasses. There’s that warm smile of his, the one that makes your heart stumble in your chest. “Hey. What’s up?”

For a moment, you don’t know how to begin. You feel like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at something you’ve been avoiding for so long. “I… I need to talk to you. About something.”

Spencer frowns, concern flickering in his eyes. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

You swallow hard, feeling your stomach twist. You think of Julia and how easy it was for her to slip into Spencer’s world, how she’s already got that effortless connection with him. How much it hurts. How much it makes you question everything about your own relationship with him. “It’s about… you and Julia,” you say, your voice faltering slightly.

Spencer’s brow furrows in confusion. “Julia? What about her?”

The question stirs up something hot in your chest, a mix of jealousy and frustration, and it spills out before you can stop it. “I don’t know. I guess I just… I guess I’m jealous of her.” The words feel foreign, even to your own ears, but they’re out now, and there’s no taking them back. “You two… you seem to get along so easily. You talk about everything so effortlessly, and you smile at her in a way you don’t smile at me. I just… I don’t know, it makes me feel like I don’t belong here, like I’m not enough.”

Spencer blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by the admission. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, the floodgates opening now that the words are coming. “It’s not just that. It’s… it’s more than that. I don’t even know how to explain it, but when I see you with her, it’s like I’m invisible. And I don’t even know why it hurts this much. It doesn’t make sense, Spencer. I don’t make sense.” You’re rambling now, your breath coming faster, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t know how to feel about this. I didn’t ask for these feelings, but now… now I’m just so scared that you’ll want to be friends with her, maybe something more, and it's not me.”

There’s a long pause, and you wish you could disappear, wish you could take it all back and bury it inside where it belongs. But Spencer’s gaze is soft, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he leans back in his chair, setting his pen down slowly, his eyes studying you carefully. It made you nervous.

“First of all,” he begins, his voice steady but gentle, “You’re not invisible to me. You never have been. I know I’m… not great at showing it sometimes, but I care about you. A lot.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “And I get it. I know I don’t always make things clear, and maybe I should have been more aware of how you might be feeling, but I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough.”

You swallow hard, unsure whether to look at him or not, your chest tight with a mixture of relief and anxiety. “Then why… why do you act like that with her?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “She seems to have everything you want. She’s like you, but… better, I guess.”

Spencer shifts in his seat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t know what it looks like from the outside, but I don’t want to be around someone just because they’re like me. That’s not what matters. What matters is how someone makes me feel and how I feel when I’m with them. And I feel things with you, things I’ve never been able to put into words, but they’re there. I promise you that.”

Your breath catches in your throat, his words soft but hitting you like a thunderclap. You blink, trying to steady yourself, trying to process what he’s saying. “I don’t know what to do with that,” you say, your voice trembling.

Spencer leans forward, his eyes earnest. “You don’t have to do anything with it right now. But I need you to understand that my relationship with Julia doesn’t change how I feel about you. Nothing changes that.”

You’re silent for a moment, absorbing his words, letting them wrap around you like a lifeline. The weight of your jealousy, your frustration, starts to loosen its grip on you. You’re not invisible. Spencer doesn’t want to push you aside for someone else. Maybe you’ve been afraid of your own feelings for so long that you never allowed yourself to admit how much he means to you.

“I guess I’ve just been scared,” you admit quietly, your voice small. “Scared that if I said anything, it would ruin what we have. But I don’t want to lose you, Spencer.”

You couldn't.

He gives you a small, soft smile, his eyes full of something you can’t quite name. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here.”

The words hang in the air between you, full of promise, full of things left unsaid, but for now, it’s enough. You’ve finally said what you needed to say. And Spencer? Spencer is here, his presence unwavering, offering you more than you ever thought you could have.

The silence stretches between the two of you after his reassurance, and the air feels charged in a way you don’t quite know how to handle. Spencer is still leaning forward, his gaze never wavering from yours, but there’s a certain tension in his posture now, like he’s unsure of something, something important? maybe.

You can feel your pulse quicken, the sudden awareness of him making your stomach flip. For a moment, it’s as if everything else fades away, and all that’s left is the two of you. His vulnerability, the honesty in his eyes, it’s almost too much to process.

“So…” Spencer clears his throat, shifting in his chair slightly. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, and his eyes flicker down, then back up to meet yours. “I… I guess, um, what I’m trying to say is… you know, after everything we’ve talked about… Maybe we should… do something. You know. Outside of work?”

His voice trails off, and you feel the awkwardness radiating off of him in waves. He’s still trying to find his footing, his usual calm demeanor slipping just a bit. Your heart flutters, but it’s mixed with nerves, you’ve never seen him this unsure of himself before. Not in the way that makes him stumble over his words, not like this.

“Like what?” you ask, voice almost a whisper, unsure if you’re even interpreting this right. Is he… is he asking what I think he’s asking?

Spencer hesitates, glancing away for a moment as if trying to find the right words. He shifts in his seat again, looking at the table for a moment before looking back at you, his face slightly flushed. “Like, a… a date. Maybe? If you… if you’re okay with that. I mean, I’m not... I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. But I think, after everything we’ve talked about, I… I just wanted to, you know, be honest with you. And maybe… I don’t know, it might help us… figure things out. Together.”

The words tumble out in a rush, and Spencer looks almost apologetic, his hands twitching in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with them. The awkwardness is almost endearing, but it also makes your heart swell with a mix of affection and relief. He’s not perfect, and neither are you, but maybe that’s exactly what makes this moment feel so real.

You blink a few times, processing what he just said. “A date?” you repeat, your voice sounding a little breathless.

Spencer nods, his gaze shifting to the side briefly before coming back to you. “Yeah. I mean, only if you want to. I just - I thought maybe, after everything that’s happened, we could… I don’t know, try something new. Together.” He repeats.

You feel something shift inside of you, like a weight lifting, replaced by a warmth that spreads through you, calming the nervousness that had built up in your chest. Spencer’s asking you out. For real. And despite how nervous he is, despite the awkwardness, you can feel the sincerity in his words, and that makes it all the more meaningful.

You take a deep breath, smiling a little, and you finally nod. “I’d like that,” you say softly, your voice steady but full of something deeper, something more. “I’d really like that, Spencer.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips, the kind that makes your heart skip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, your voice more confident this time.

Spencer leans back in his chair, his relief palpable. His eyes light up, and he chuckles, a nervous but happy sound. “Okay. Well, um… when would work for you?” He’s still fumbling a bit, but it’s sweet, endearing, even. “I mean, we could go somewhere low-key, like a coffee shop. Or, uh, dinner? Something not too fancy…”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound easy now. “A coffee shop sounds perfect,” you say, feeling the tension finally ease, like a dam breaking. “How about this weekend?”

Spencer’s smile widens, his eyes lighting up as his earlier nerves give way to genuine happiness. “This weekend sounds great. It’s a date, then.”

The words hit you with a rush of warmth, and for a moment, you both just stand there, taking it all in. The awkwardness is still there, lingering in the air, but now it feels different. Now, it feels like a new beginning. The tension that had built up over the past hours slowly fades, replaced with something lighter, something that makes your heart flutter in a way you’re still trying to understand.

Spencer stands up suddenly, the movement swift but almost shy, like he’s unsure of what to do next. He takes a small step toward you, and before you can even process what’s happening, he leans in just enough to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It’s soft, tentative, but the warmth of it spreads through you, making your heart race all over again.

You freeze for a second, your pulse skipping, and Spencer pulls back, his face a little flushed, his lips curling into a small but genuine smile. “I’ll see you this weekend,” he says, almost like he’s confirming it for himself.

You nod, still a little dazed, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips. “I’ll be there,” you say, your voice steady, but underneath it, there’s a nervous excitement you can’t quite hide.

As you turn to head back to your desk, trying to get your bearings, you catch sight of JJ, who’s been watching from a distance. She’s leaning against the doorframe with a knowing grin on her face. Her eyes meet yours, and she gives you a sly thumbs-up. It’s subtle, but you know exactly what she’s doing, and it makes you blush despite yourself.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile that stretches across your face. JJ’s approval is exactly what you needed to feel that much more confident about what just happened. You sit back down at your desk, your thoughts racing, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels just right. Spencer’s words linger in your mind, and the small kiss on your cheek is a promise of something more to come.

And as you glance back at him across the room, you can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation for the weekend, for what might unfold between you and Spencer, now that the walls are finally coming down.

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