#SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG CRADLE THIS WEEK WAS SO BUSY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

punkshort · 2 months ago

Text

Swept Away | Chapter 9: Sink or Swim

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You confront Joel and he struggles to tell you the truth and open up, leaving you with a broken heart.

Chapter Warnings: language, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, mountains of angst, jealousy, reader has long-ish hair, reader falls down into a shame spiral where she compares herself to a prostitute

WC: 5.9K

Series Masterlist

You had never felt more stupid or naive in your life.

How could you let this happen? How could you allow yourself to be put in this position, knowing deep down you would ultimately get hurt? And the worst part was, you had no one to blame but yourself. Joel was upfront from the very beginning. He was paying you to pretend to be his significant other and he repeatedly drew the line in the sand, refusing over and over again to take things further with you. But you just kept pushing and pushing and he eventually caved, your persistence finally wearing him down. And after everything, after he told you he had never been in love, after explaining he was only with Tammy for vengeance and then convenience, you still foolishly thought maybe you were different. That maybe you could change him. What the hell had gotten into you? Why couldn't you just do the job you were hired to do, collect your payment and go home?

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the tears back as you stood over your bed, packing the rest of your belongings before the plane took off in a couple hours. Most of your things were packed, the clothes and accessories Joel and purchased for you before the trip, but you still had to gather all your own personal items. When you pulled your bag from the closet, forgotten and untouched for weeks, you immediately spotted an old, baggy shirt and your favorite pair of jeans. Without even thinking twice, you stripped off the pajamas and underwear that were purchased for you and replaced everything with your own clothes. When you pulled your shirt over your head and looked in the mirror, you took a deep breath and gave yourself a little smile.

This was the girl you knew. This was who you really were. Not some girl who pranced around in lingerie that cost more than a month's rent or a swimsuit that could cover a car payment.

You should have known this life wasn't for you. Joel had called you a hopeless romantic that day on the beach. The same day he got you the pretty pink seashells you now cradled carefully in the palms of your hands.

Maybe he was right.

"Almost ready?"

You jumped at his deep voice in your doorway and nearly dropped the seashells. With extra care, you wrapped them in an old hoodie and buried them in your bag.

"Yeah, almost," you said over your shoulder, pausing a moment when you saw the two white, unopened envelopes filled with tip money you had completely forgotten about.

Joel's arms circled your waist from behind and you quickly closed the bag.

"Feelin' sad it's over?" he asked, lips pressed gently into the crook of your neck. And you knew he meant the trip, but your heart still wrenched in your chest, anyway.

"Uh, yeah," you said, swallowing down the dejection that threatened to crawl up your throat. You carefully pried his hands off you and slipped away to pack your toiletries, leaving him standing there with a confused look on his face.

He watched you as you busied yourself with packing, taking great care to wrap your shampoo and face wash so it wouldn't leak, and he frowned.

"Somethin's up."

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, focus still fixed on your task. "No. Just... like you said. Sad it's over."

Joel ticked his jaw to the side, still not convinced. Then it dawned on him and he slowly sat down on the edge of your bed.

"We never talked last night like I said we would," he said. "'M sorry, I was thinkin' 'bout the land and all the shit I gotta do to finalize the sale... we'll talk on the plane, alright? Promise, baby."

For some reason, hearing him call you baby made your stomach turn and you instantly bristled.

"Uh, no, it's fine," you insisted, tucking your hair behind your ear when you bent over to shove your toiletries into your bag. "Nothing to talk about, it was stupid."

And now, it really did seem stupid. Admitting you would have come there without being paid just for him to lie and break your heart hours later?

But, shit... it was still true. Even after he lied, you still didn't want any of his money. He could keep it all if it meant he would open up and let you in.

"Wasn't stupid," Joel finally said softly. He was beginning to worry now. Something wasn't right and it was making his pulse race. When you breezed past him to gather the things from your nightstand, he grabbed your wrist and spun you around. Reluctantly, you met his eye and he imploringly gazed up at you.

"Talk to me."

You inhaled a shaky breath and dropped your chin to your chest. "Joel... I still have to pack-"

"I don't care," he said sternly, "I got people to do that for us. Why ain't you lookin' at me?"

Nerves shot through your limbs, fingers beginning to shake so you curled them into fists. You had to bring it up one way or another, right?

The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"Why won't you tell me what happened with your daughter?"

Once the words left your lips, the room instantly felt colder, his grip felt tighter, and your muscles stiffened in anticipation.

"What?" he asked, his voice so low and his tone so icy that it sent a shiver down your spine. You shifted nervously from foot to foot, eyes still pinned to the floor.

"Why won't-"

"I fuckin' heard you," he snapped, dropping your wrists and standing up. "Who told you?"

You swallowed tightly and took a few steps backwards.

"Tammy."

Joel practically growled with rage as he began to pace around your room, the area that once felt so spacious and luxurious now felt so small and cold. He grumbled under his breath and dragged his hand through his hair, curls sticking up in odd directions when he turned on you with a look that could melt steel.

"The hell you talkin' to her for?"

Of all the things for him to say, you didn't expect that.

"What do you - she came at me last night! She threatened to tell Glenn about your daughter and brother and I had to pretend like I already knew!"

Tears welled up in your eyes and your hands pressed protectively against your chest.

"I was helping you, Joel. I stopped her from ruining this deal for you." And you hated the way your voice wobbled when you said, "I was doing my job."

His eyes flashed with anger when he stopped a few feet away from you with his hands propped on his hips.

"You shoulda came to get me. This didn't have anythin' to do with you," he told you. You winced and looked back down at the floor, unable to stop yourself from taking it personally.

"Why does Tammy know more about your family than I do?" you asked, your voice so small and weak it was borderline embarrassing.

"'Cause-" he cut himself off, swiping his palm over his mouth while he stared at you, wrestling with his anger and his feelings all at once.

"'Cause it ain't part of the deal?" you offered bitterly, just as surprised as him at the quick change in your tone. And because he was foolish and always quick to anger, he took the bait.

"Yeah, 'cause it ain't part of the deal," he huffed, narrowing his eyes at you.

"But it was part of her deal," you pointed out. At that, Joel rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.

"The hell you want from me?" he asked, voice rising now. "I told you 'bout her, told you what happened-"

"And you told me she was the only reason you felt you weren't a 'good man'!" you shouted with air quotes, your heartbreak bleeding into anger. "You fucking lied to me, Joel!"

"My family ain't none of your goddamn business!" he shouted back, the look in his eye and the sting of his words making you falter for a moment. "If I wanted to tell you, I woulda told you!"

"That's the problem, isn't it? You don't want to tell me anything! It's like pulling teeth with you, Joel, I swear to god..."

You pushed past him to shove the remaining items from your end table recklessly into your bag while he stalked after you.

"You wanna know 'bout my daughter? 'Bout my brother? Will that make you happy?" he yelled, his face growing hot and his eyes flickering with anger as he towered over you. You spun around with your arms crossed, refusing to let him intimidate you. But before you could shoot back an answer, he kept going.

"You wanna know how I abandoned my kid? You want me to tell you how I turned my back on my brother, let him lose his goddamn business? Huh?"

You blinked and shook your head, stunned.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, that's right," he sneered, turning away momentarily before twisting back around to face you. "This is why I don't do shit like this. 'Cause of the look you're givin' me right now."

You were speechless. You couldn't think of a single thing to say to make the situation better, so you kept your mouth shut and held back your tears while he cursed under his breath and tried not to yank his hair out at the root. When it became apparent you had no fight left in you, he twisted his wrist to look at the time with a scowl, then haphazardly picked up your bag from the bed and tossed it on the ground next to the others.

"We're leavin' in half an hour, be ready," he muttered, then slammed your door behind him after he disappeared into the hallway.

You let the tears fall, then. Only when he was gone and couldn't see. You buried your face in your hands and fell to your knees next to your things and sobbed as silently as possible, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you so hurt.

When you found a break in the sadness after taking a deep breath and drying your cheeks, you righted your bag only to hear shards of something delicate rattling inside. You frantically dug around and found the pink seashells all but destroyed and another wave of tears washed over you, only that time you didn't try to hide it. You sobbed openly while clutching the pieces to your chest, rocking back and forth, hoping to ease the pain somehow, but nothing helped.

Nothing could put the seashells or your heart back together.

Panic seized his throat approximately four minutes after he slammed his door, storming into his bedroom and muttering angrily under his breath until the clouds cleared and he realized his mistake.

His huge, fat, monstrous fucking mistake.

The hurt he carried with him about Sarah and Tommy wasn't meant to be unloaded onto you. It was something he was responsible for and something he had to deal with. It wasn't fair to snap at you the way he did just because he felt shame. He was taken off-guard, shocked that you knew anything about them in the first place, and he lashed out. Everything between you was so new, he was too scared to tell you the truth.

But it ultimately didn't matter.

He pushed you away, like he always did. He wasn't honest, you called him out on it, and he fought back like a petulant child.

And now he was going to lose you.

He whipped out his phone and typed out a quick text to his assistant, Liam.

What should I do for a girl when I've fucked things up beyond recognition?

He waited for a response and stared listlessly out the window, fingers tapping anxiously against his leg until he heard something. He rushed to his door and pressed his ear against the wood, brows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint the sound. Then his chest ached when he heard your muffled crying from across the hall.

Are we talking Chanel bag fucked up Cartier watch fucked up?

Joel frowned at his screen before replying, remembering the relaxed outfit you were wearing when he walked into your room earlier. They were definitely not clothes he bought. He already knew, but you weren't the type of person who cared about stuff like that.

I have no idea which one of those is better or worse. I fucked up big time but I don't think designer shit's the answer.

Then something sentimental. Something that means something to her. Or the both of you, if that's possible.

Joel rolled his eyes before tapping out a thanks and sliding the phone back into his pocket. Right before he was about to step out into the hall, his phone buzzed again.

And say you're sorry. Feels like that's a given but who knows with you.

Liam had been Joel's assistant for almost a decade. He knew Joel would never fire him because he was just too damn good at his job, and he loved to wield his power whenever moments arose to do so.

A simple apology wouldn't be enough. He needed to do more. But he was so fucking terrible at this, so rusty, he could hardly even remember what it was like to be in a legitimate relationship.

Was that was this was? He never had the chance to ask. And now he could feel it slipping through his fingers, just like the sand on the beach that day he kissed you in the ocean, or the powdered paint used to decorate your faces.

Joel swung his door open, ready to barge back into your room, take you into his arms and apologize until you either accepted it or screamed at him to stop. But when he stepped across the hall, your room was empty. Your bags were gone.

He hurried into the living room to find you tugging at your luggage, hair all wild and covering most of your tear soaked face as you struggled to get your bags closer to the door.

"Darlin', you don't gotta do that, the crew'll get all this shit," he reminded you, purposely softening his voice. He rubbed at his chest as he approached, ready to apologize, but the minute he got a good look at your face, he knew it was no use. Your eyes were all puffy and filled with rage when your head snapped up to look at him.

"I don't need you or your people to help me," you hissed, angrily swiping at your hair. He held out his hands in surrender, hoping you could see how sorry he was, but you just swiveled away to grab your bag and toss it over your shoulder.

"Wait, can we talk-"

"I'll be in the lobby," you said bitterly, and before he could say anything else, you disappeared out into the hall and the door had swung shut.

Admittedly, you had envisioned using the bed on Joel's private jet for something far more fun than lying there staring at the ceiling with eyes so dry and raw, they felt like sandpaper. Yet that was exactly how you found yourself three hours into the flight, unable to find peace or rest, your argument playing on a loop in your head.

Then, of course, came the intrusive thoughts.

Were you no better than a whore? Technically, you slept with a man who was paying you for your companionship. Wasn't that the very definition of a prostitute?

Joel only carried on a relationship with Tammy when it was convenient and the moment she started to develop feelings, he cut her off. You were certainly convenient, sleeping right across the hall, practically throwing yourself at him. And although he could probably sense you wanted more from him, that you were feeling something more but too afraid to admit, at least you never got to the point where you put yourself out there. At least you still had some dignity intact.

Somewhat.

You rolled over with a frustrated groan, savoring the feeling of the expensive, buttery soft sheets against your skin, knowing in a few short hours you would be back to the worn out cotton set you had bought back in college.

The luxury items were nice, but you could live without them. There was only one thing on that plane you really wanted, but your mind won the battle over your heart: you wouldn't let him hurt you again. He told you exactly who he was, and you didn't believe him.

You wouldn't make that mistake again.

But that didn't stop your heart from splintering in your chest every time you thought about the way his lips felt against your neck, or the sweet things he whispered in your ear - my girl, all fuckin' mine, you got me, or the way he took such gentle care of you after the incident with Brooks.

He was a good man, deep down.

No, he was a fucking asshole and a liar.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up in bed and fixed your hair, bending over to look in the mirror by the closet at your appearance and swiping the pad of your finger underneath both eyes, as if it made any difference, before straightening up and opening the door.

Joel sat with his head in his hands in front of his glowing laptop. He didn't hear the door open at first, so you paused, taking a rare moment to study him when his guard was down. His shoulders looked heavy, fingers curling into his hair as if he were in pain, and his leg bounced wildly underneath the table. If you didn't know any better, he looked conflicted. Like he was wrapped in guilt and self-pity.

You tossed your hair over your shoulder and lifted your chin high. It's not about you. He's working. It's probably about some bullshit with work. Don't do this to yourself again. Don't think you're something to him when you're not.

You stared at him a minute longer, anger bubbling up inside you again, but this time your anger was directed inward. Why, after he lied to you, after he said his family ain't none of your business and if I wanted to tell you, I woulda told you and it ain't part of the deal, did you stand there wishing you could climb into his lap and bury your face against his neck? Breathe him in and let him fill you? Whisper your names into each other's mouths and scrape your nails over his scalp just to hear him groan?

You must have made a noise, or maybe he was developing a sixth sense because suddenly his hands dropped, his leg froze, and his eyes snapped up to meet yours. Your gaze darted nervously around the plane, squinting out the window through the clouds as if you could tell where you were as you flew over the entire goddamn ocean, before finding his eyes again.

"Get any sleep?" he asked. His voice was raspy from disuse and you rolled your shoulders, trying to physically rid your body of the effect those three simple words had on you.

"No," you replied before slumping down into a chair on the other side of the cabin, furthest away from him. You tucked your fist under your chin and gazed tiredly out the window. Joel's eyes could have burned holes into your head from the way he was staring at you, scanning you, trying to come up with the right combination of words that would take back everything he said, until finally he cracked.

"Please talk to me."

Your eyelids fluttered closed at the soft desperation in his tone, throat feeling like someone's fingers were squeezing around it.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Joel huffed and stood, joints cracking from sitting in the same position for too long. In three long strides, he dropped himself into the seat across from you.

"You had questions. Lemme answer 'em."

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to look at him. Up close, he looked disheveled. A little rattled, maybe. But mostly determined.

"You said it yourself. If you wanted to tell me, you would've. If she never said anything to me, would you have told me you had a daughter?"

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, considering his answer.

"No," he finally replied. You rolled your eyes and turned your head away, neck straining at an impossible angle so you could stare out the window and avoid seeing him in your peripheral vision. "But not for the reasons you think."

"Yeah? You have no idea what I'm thinking," you muttered.

"What happened was... it's a long story, but-"

"But you told Tammy," you snapped, eyes still glued to the clouds.

"I've known both of 'em for years-"

"You said you didn't care for her that way, yet she knows so much about you," you rambled, too lost in your own anger and jealousy now.

"Can you let me-"

"God, I'm so fucking stupid. This was a huge mistake-"

"Will you let me fuckin' finish?" Joel asked, voice rising and purposely cutting you off before you could finish the sentence that might shatter his heart for good.

You whipped your head around, nostrils flaring and brows sewn together into a glare. Joel just stared right back, his chest rising a little faster under his button down shirt, dark eyes looking stormier than usual. When too much time had passed, you raised your eyebrows and wiggled your head from side to side expectantly. Go on, speak. He took a deep breath and pressed his back firmly into the plush leather chair before continuing.

"I've known her and Scott for a long time. They knew 'bout Sarah years ago. And, yeah, when I was younger and fuckin' stupid, I told both of 'em too much 'bout me. But I couldn't tell you, 'cause-"

He cut himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat as you stared one another down.

"'Cause I care what you think. 'Bout me. I care what you think 'bout me. Don't care what she thinks. Just you."

Sarah. Joel. Sarah and Joel, Joel and Sarah.

Just you.

Your eyes pinched shut and your shoulders sagged, the emotional whiplash finally taking its toll.

"I can tell you, if you want," Joel offered. His hands were fidgeting in his lap as he searched for any possible sign that he was breaking through.

"If I want. But you don't want to, right?"

Your voice sounded so small, you barely recognized it.

When he didn't answer, you lifted your chin and opened your eyes. You watched his throat bob and his lips purse before giving you a defeated look and slowly shook his head. At least he didn't lie again.

You bit your lower lip and nodded. You'd had enough.

"Then don't. Doesn't make a difference now, anyway," you told him. Reaching for your bag, you pulled out some earbuds and a hoodie, muttering angrily to yourself when you found it inside out.

Joel just watched, dejected and lost, too out of his element to undo the damage he caused as you yanked the hoodie over your head and popped your earbuds in. Once you reclined your chair and closed your eyes, he got the message.

He would just have to accept it was over.

When you finally fell into a restless slumber, you dreamt. You dreamt about a pair of soulful brown eyes, strong hands and a smile that made you weak in the knees.

The worst I'll ask is for you to hold my hand and the occasional kiss.

Only it wasn't just that, was it? It was secret touches that blossomed into flirty kisses when no one was around until the tension broke and he turned your world upside down with his deep laugh, sweet touch and torn knuckles.

Then you dreamt of broken seashells, salty tears, and you were hired to look pretty and act like you're in love with me. Everythin' else is none of your goddamn business.

He tried to warn you, you gave him that. He tried to push you away, but you persisted. You were foolish and had no idea what you were getting yourself into, and now you were left with a broken heart, heading back to Los Angeles to an empty apartment.

Joel was unavailable, plain and simple. He had a fortress built around himself that was impossible to tear down, and even though he offered to let you in, give you the grand tour, it wasn't genuine. He didn't offer because he wanted you in, he offered because it was what you wanted. And maybe to assuage his own guilt.

The flight crew woke you up when dinner was ready. You groggily sat up and tried to force feed yourself some chicken, something you assumed Joel had ordered for you, but you hardly made it halfway through before giving up.

He glanced at you occasionally but he kept to himself. He focused intently on his laptop or phone while you tried to find something to distract yourself with on TV.

When the flight crew announced you'd be landing in half an hour, Joel straightened up and began to look a little panicked, like maybe he had been expecting you to cave, trapped on his private jet with him, and you never did. And now you'd be landing soon, his chances dwindling.

"I ain't good at this," he said out of the blue. You just shrugged and kept your gaze fixed on the television.

"I noticed."

His fingers rapped impatiently on the table.

"What if we started over?"

Curiosity got the best of you and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a raised eyebrow, which he took that as an invitation to keep talking.

"We didn't meet on the right terms. This wasn't -"

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I don't do relationships," he began again, and at that you scoffed.

"I'm very aware of that, too."

He narrowed his eyes at your dry tone. "But you do."

You frowned and turned back to gaze blankly at the TV. "Yes, Joel. Like most normal people, I have relationships."

"Alright. What if I'd be willin' to try somethin' like that? For you? Start over and do it right?" he asked hopefully.

"Then I would say twenty four hours ago, that was exactly what I wanted to hear," you said coldly. You saw him stand out of the corner of your eye and find a swivel chair closer to where you sat on the couch.

"And now?"

The deep timber of his voice had you taking a moment to breathe deep and collect yourself. You could smell his cologne, the one you never got the name of but would spend two hours one day in the near future trying to find it in a department store just so you could smell him again.

"And now..." you echoed, your brain tossing around various replies until you settled on, "I don't know."

He inched forward on the chair and glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were alone before saying, "Listen, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so unbelievably fuckin' sorry that it makes me want to pluck by goddamn eyes out. I wanna make this right. Just tell me what to do."

The pilot announced your decent and you sat up to buckle yourself in.

"I'm not going to force you into opening up for me, Joel," you said, clicking your seatbelt loudly before meeting his eye. "You can tell me everything about you. Every ugly, horrible, nasty little thing. But unless you really want to tell me, unless you trust me and care for me enough to not judge you for it, I don't want to hear it."

His eyes dropped sadly to the floor and he nodded. He lied to you already, and he wasn't going to sit there and lie again. But maybe one day he would grow into a better person, someone who would want to share the terrible things they've done with someone they care for and trust they wouldn't think any less of him.

But today was not the day.

He sat back in his chair and you kept your focus on the television as the plane landed and began to screech to a halt. When it slowed, you leaned forward to put your earbuds and book away, then frowned when you saw the pieces of pink seashells still scattered around the bottom of your bag.

You began to scoop them up and Joel watched you curiously, ignoring the flight crew flitting around and doing all their checks.

When your hands emerged from the bag holding the broken pink pieces, he found himself lurching forward.

"They broke?" he asked, feeling far more sentimental about it than he ever expected.

You nodded and dumped them into a small trash can within reach. "When you threw my bag on the floor earlier."

Joel froze and scanned his memory. When did he throw your bag? Then he remembered angrily storming out of your room and haphazardly tossing your bag off your bed to join the rest by the door, not thinking anything of it at the time.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging his palms roughly over his face. Yet another mistake. "Darlin', I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," you told him, cutting him off when you unbuckled your seatbelt to stand. You caught the look he gave you and you shrugged. "Really, it's fine. I'm over it."

You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the exit. Joel stood to follow you, glancing forlornly at the garbage one more time before swiping his wallet and phone from the table next to his laptop.

He nodded to his driver, who stood obediently next to the open car door where you had disappeared inside.

"Richie," Joel greeted him with a firm handshake. Richie smiled before holding out his arm and stepping to the side.

"Congratulations, sir. You must be thrilled."

Joel gave him a curt nod and ducked inside the backseat of the car. Thrilled? No, he was hardly thrilled. A day ago he was thrilled. A day ago he had it all. But now? He had the land, sure. He was bound to make a mountain of money off the new hotel, his business would thrive and his hotel would become a household name.

But it didn't make him happy. Not the way it used to.

"Here," you said after ten minutes of driving in silence. He turned and felt his heart skip a beat when you held out your ring. Slowly, he unfurled his fist to open his palm so you could drop it in his hand. Joel gazed down at it, the gold still warm, and wondered how long it would take for the tightness in his chest to ease.

"I'll have someone drop the clothes and stuff off sometime next week," he murmured, sliding the ring into his inside jacket pocket. It felt like a goddamn weight pressing into chest.

"Keep them," you replied, still facing away from him so you could stare out the window at the quiet, dark streets.

"Part of the contract. They're yours," he reminded you.

"I don't care. I don't have the room for them. Besides, where the hell am I going to wear a designer dress? To the grocery store?"

Joel dropped his gaze to the seat, staring at the space between you. It was only a handful of inches but it felt like miles.

"The money'll be wired tomorrow," he said, clenching his teeth when Richie turned onto your street.

"Keep that, too."

His head whipped around, eyes narrowing into a glare. "No."

"I don't want it, Joel," you insisted as you unbuckled your seatbelt. The car came to a stop and Joel shot his arm out to stop you.

"Richie, give us a second."

The driver immediately stepped out of the car and leaned against the hood to light a cigarette. You fixated on the bright orange glow so you didn't have to look at Joel.

"You're takin' the money," he told you firmly. "You ain't got a job and we signed a goddamn contract. Quit bein' so stubborn."

You sniffled and gathered your bag.

"If you send it, I'm asking my bank to reject it," you replied. Joel groaned and twisted to the side to face you.

"Why? Why are you fightin' me on this?"

"Because!" you exclaimed, emotions getting the best of you. Finally, your watery eyes found his. "Because I can't take it! Not after everything -"

Your voice caught in your throat and your lower lip trembled. Joel's eyebrows pulled together, stomach feeling like it was filled with cement as he fought the urge to cup your face and pull you into his chest.

You took a deep, steadying breath and then temporarily collected yourself.

"I signed that contract before I knew you," you said quietly. "But now... I ... I just can't." I don't want your money, I just want you.

You reached for the door handle, hellbent on leaving before he could see you cry, but his voice stopped you.

"The money's goin' in tomorrow. If you feel that strongly 'bout it, give it to charity or somethin'. But you're gettin' that money."

Before you could respond, you heard him shuffle in his seat and open his door, telling you to stay put, that he would walk you up. And in the brief few seconds it took him to round the car and shoo Richie away from your door, you tossed the two unopened envelopes onto his seat.

The door opened and you hurried out, clutching your bag tightly against your side and jogging up the few stairs to your building.

With shaky hands, you unlocked the door and took a step inside. You weren't sure what made you do it, but before you let go of the door, you turned to look at him one last time.

He stood at the bottom of your steps, staring up at you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored pants. It took him no time at all to lose the casual attire and slip back into suits that probably cost thousands. Even after everything, part of you still wanted him. The pieces of you he did allow you to see were good and fun and sweet.

But just pieces wouldn't do.

"Goodbye, Joel," you said, pretending that your voice didn't crack or that a tear didn't sneak down your cheek. He didn't reply. He just continued to watch you from the sidewalk until you turned and disappeared inside, into an elevator and back into your tiny apartment to cry yourself to sleep.

He didn't say goodbye because he wasn't done. He had already decided hours ago.

He was going to do whatever he had to do to win you back.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us au #swept away fic

810 notes · View notes

help-i-cant-think-of-a-nickname · 11 months ago

Text

Hydro Dragon

Neuvillette is a type of man (or dragon) that barely shows emotion. If he does, well damn, your heart can't take it.

Neuvillette has this smile that can melt your heart, a smile that makes you want to squish his cheeks together, a smile that you want to cherish forever.

When he's mad? He's scarier than the archons. But thankfully, he rarely gets mad (at you). Thus, not having you witnessing his wrath, since the two of you rarely fight.

Having Neuvillette as a lover is fun and all until he confessed to you that he's the Hydro Dragon, the same dragon you always sang to whenever it rains so that the dragon won't be sad.

Therefore, it is your mission to be sunny every day in Fontaine. But right now, it's stormy and raining as hell.

You and Neuvillette had an argument. It's the usual argument about him overworking himself. But instead of you guys talking about it and cuddling in bed (even giving him back massages), he shouted at you and said things he didn't actually mean.

You knocked on the door that leads to his office. When you hear a small "Enter." you opened the door and entered.

"Neuvillette? It's already late. Come and cuddle with me."

Neuvillette's body is stiff from all the paperwork that seems to be endless. The dragon sighed and shook his head.

"As much as I wanted to feel your body, I have important things to do."

You frowned at his words. You're not clingy per se, but seeing your dear dragon's slumped shoulders in a mountain of paperwork makes you want to cradle and massage him.

"But love, the sun has already set, the stars and moon has long made it way to the sky. Come and sleep with me, fi—"

You didn't get to finish your words when Neuvillette interrupted you in an unpleasant way.

"CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR ONCE?! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M BUSY AND DON'T NEED YOUR PAMPERING?!"

Now, that's the outburst you didn't expect. Right, he's exhausted and tired. You get that. But, really? Pouring his frustration out to you is just petty.

You stared at Neuvillette and left his office, not slamming the door, closing it softly like he didn't just shouted at you. Neuvillette, who still hasn't registered what he did continued to do his work.

It's been two days, and it's been raining cats and dogs ever since. You see, you've been avoiding him since he lashed out on you. Sleeping in a different room, making breakfast, lunch, and dinner early, and not visiting him at work. All the things he has been so used to do, like sleeping on the same bed, eating together, you sitting on his lap while he works, and you two cuddling together.

Neuvillette can't deny the fact that he missed those things. Yes, it's only been two days, but those two days have been torture to him. Without your sweet kisses and hugs, his work has been ten times harder for him.

Neuvillette is now walking in the streets of Fontaine, soaked in his own emotions as the heavy raindrops landed on him.

In the past, the chanting of children Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry, used to cheer him up, but now? It's all useless. He didn't feel the same warmth as it used to have. The only warmth he can feel is through you. The sun and fire can't compare to the warmth you give to the love he received from you. He's been so used to receiving it that it feels so weird not to have it.

Neuvillette continued his aimless walk, and raindrops continued to pour on him until an umbrella was placed above his head.

"I was worried. You weren't at your office or at home."

Neuvillette turned his body around, and he saw your figure, holding up an umbrella at his soaked form.

The rain suddenly got heavier.

You panicked as the rain poured with more vigour.

"H-Hey! W-Why are you even sa—"

For the second time this week, you had been cut off, but this time, in a way you love.

Neuvillette immediately hugged you as soon as he saw your figure, burying his face in your neck, hugging you tightly.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry, punish me all you want, but, please, don't leave me."

The rain got heavier, you sighed as you guessed that he's imagining you leaving him forever.

Holding the umbrella with one hand and other is hugging him back.

"Neuvillette, the time that you told me that you were the Hydro Dragon, the time that you put your trust in me. I already set my mind to never leave you ever since."

You look up at the rainy sky.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry."

You whispered softly at him. There it was, the warmth he had been craving for. The warmth he can only feel around you.

You hugged him tighter to comfort him. Slowly, the rain started to calm down until the sky I now clear and bright.

"Thank you, I'm really sorry."

Neuvillette kept apologizing and you shutted him up by kissing him.

"Just don't do it again, okay?"

You caressed his face as he slowly nodded. You smiled and pat his cheek softly.

"Now, come on. Let's take a bath, you're soaked, we don't want you to have a fever do we?"

Neuvillette chuckled and nodded. Holding your hand tightly as he followed you home like a lost puppy.

Having a dragon as your lover is certainly hard, but worth it.

#chubby reader #genshin x reader #x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x chubby reader #gn reader #female reader #genshin impact x chubby reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

1K notes · View notes

soft-girl-musings · 10 months ago

Text

Salt & Pepper

Moon Knight System x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N

wc: 1,078

fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

A/N: i might have a problem lol

_____________________

“Put. It. Down.”

Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.

Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.

“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?"

"What? Nothing, I'm-"

"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"

“Ha-ha.”

You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”

“... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”

You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”

You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.

“Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.”

He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”

“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.

“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.

_____________________

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”

You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.

“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”

Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.

“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.

Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.

“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”

There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”

He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.

“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”

“Oh my days–”

You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.

_____________________

The time apart has been agony.

You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.

You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).

The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.

“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.

You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.

“What, no hello?”

You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”

“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.

“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”

He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.

“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ��please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”

“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.

“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.

Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

_____________________

A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight

ty for reading <3

event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

1K notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 1 month ago

Text

Fictober Day 16: Touch-starved

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Touch-starved (🌼)

Summary: After weeks of being incredibly busy, you are starved for Matt's touch, so you seek it out. Of course, he’s eager to take care of his girl.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst

Word Count: ~960

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

The blue light of his computer screen illuminates his face in a soft white glow.

His glasses lay discarded next to the stack of court papers Matt is sifting through, weeks worth of work that has kept you apart from him. The wrinkles on his forehead are deeper, and the bags under his eyes are a little more swollen. Though even as he sits there, beyond exhausted and worked to the bone, you can’t help but think that he has never looked more breathtaking.

His arms flex as he types. He hasn’t held you in so long. Do you even remember what it feels like? You’ve both been stressed, but every time you get a minute, the city calls for him, and he has to go. He always has to go.

Matt is starving you of his affection, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t realize how badly you miss him, or how long your days have been, too. He’s so caught up in this case that you are a mere afterthought, but you can’t blame him. He’s not always like this. You know he loves you, and you know he will make up for it when he’s done, but your brain is far from rational when you just need him to hold you.

When you need to feel loved.

You get up from the couch, your slippers dragging over the floorboards as you make your way over to him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “How’s it going?” you ask.

He exhales heavily. “It’s… not,” he says, leaning his head against yours.

You kiss his temple. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m so tired.” He leans back against you, and it’s like your skin is set on fire. You want to bury yourself in him. He squeezes your hand, once, twice, even a third time—I love you, but then he pulls away. “But I need to get this done.”

A whimper escapes you. “No.”

“I’m sorry. You know I–”

“No.” You shove his laptop aside. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I need you.”

You are not the kind of girl who begs. You are not the kind of girl who would force a man to pay attention to her, but you’re lonely. You are so lonely.

Matt tilts his head in your direction. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“Please,” you beg again.

For him, you would get on your knees and pray. You would pray to a God you don’t believe in because you miss him, and you would do anything to be held by him.

He hears the ache in the way your heart hammers against your ribcage. He hears the sad undertone in your voice, the desperation and the starvation from weeks without him. Matt realizes then that he neglected you. He neglected you, and you are begging for him to stop. You are begging for him to take care of you because you may need him, but he also needs you. You are both on the verge of falling apart.

He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your body tightly to his chest. He pulls you close enough for you to melt together like iron.

You almost start crying. He holds you, and you almost start crying like a baby. It’s pathetic, really, and it hurts, but it hurts so good.

You don’t ever want him to stop. You don’t ever want to feel like this again. Missing him when he is right there is most debilitating.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into the crown of your head, cradling you like a fragile porcelain doll. “I’ve got you.”

Your nails dig into the fabric of his wrinkled dress shirt. His scent fills your nostrils, and it seeps into your wounded soul like a healing balm of solace.

“I miss you,” you confess.

“I know.”

You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. “Can you just… take me to bed and cuddle me? Just until I fall asleep.”

Matt seems torn between you and his laptop for a moment, unfocused eyes darting around as the crease between his brows deepens, but then the feeling of you creeps into the forefront of his consciousness, and he succumbs to his heart’s desire.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you from the living room to your shared bedroom. His work lies long forgotten on the messy dining table. You are where he needs to be, not in court, not out on the streets, and certainly not in a virtual Word document.

His work will still be there tomorrow; if he doesn’t take care of you like he is supposed to, you might not be, and he can’t, for the love of God, lose you. You are the reason for his every breath. Without you, he is nothing, and so he lies you down on the mattress, takes off his shoes, and climbs in beside you.

He sustains you.

Your breathing slows. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Matt shushes you. “I’m sorry.”

There it is again, the guilt he carries like a shield. You squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault. I just need to have you close. I need to fall asleep with you,” you say, “because I can’t fall asleep without you. I can’t…”

A tear rolls down your cheek. He reaches up to wipe it away. The last thing he wanted was to cause you such pain.

“Okay,” he says, tightening his hold around you. “Okay. I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

You listen to the steady thumping of his heart, the way it slows down with every breath you take.

He’s here; Matt is here, and he’s not going anywhere. A whispered ‘I love you’ from his lips is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep, safe and sound in his arms.

You are right where you belong.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #daredevil #daredevil x reader #lizzi’s fictober 2024 #charlie cox

254 notes · View notes

thesilentsongbirds · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere men the first time you return their affections

Characters: Xiao, Diluc, Zhongli, Ayato, Childe

TW: mentions of sex, captivity, general yandere content, isolation and manipulation, drugs with Childe

~~~~~~~

Diluc

Oh Diluc would be a mess. The first time you hand brushes his cheek? He completely freezes, standing stiff as a board and wondering if it actually happened.

He'd blush, turning his gaze away even as he steps closer to you. You thought his clinginess was bad before? It's worse now.

He's a starving man who's been given just a sip of water

Now he wants the rest. He almost needs to have your loving touch

And he'll do anything to get it

Xiao

Doesn't react, doesn't even seem to notice. You get a blink, maybe. But other than that he doesn't react.

He will admit the hug feels nice but he doesn't get human interaction. He's seen other humans hug, but he's never had one.

It's not like he left you alone for long! What's a few weeks in the span of a lifetime. You have everything you need in the teapot.

When you finally pull back, not completely letting him go, you see the lightest blush in his cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears.

Doesn't understand it, but definitely wants another one once he has time to process.

Also will not hesitate to leave you alone for a couple more weeks in the hopes that you might give him another hug.

Zhongli

Oh boy.

It's in your contract to be affectionate. As husband and wife would be. But willingly? You've always kept that from him.

His breath hitches the first time you willingly lean against him or cuddle him.

He's like someone who has a cat unexpectedly sit on them. Nope. Sorry. Can't do his archon duties today. He can't move.

But then his arm is around your waist and something breaks in you, a little bit of that iron will that attracted the archon of stone to you in the first place.

It's fine. Don't think about that right now. His hand is so warm and soft, rubbing up and down your back.

After all, you have a contract for eternity. And Zhongli is nothing but patient waiting for you to break down even more.

Ayato

This prideful man. Absolutely no shame in him.

Becoming the mistress to the Kamisato clan was already hard for you. Ayato tried to make it better, but he was busy. There's a lot of work to be done.

He often works late, and by extension so do you. He doesn't want to put a lot of work on you, but it's healthy to share the burden, isn't it?

He doesn't realize how late it is until your head falls against his shoulder, breathing soft and even. Ayato freezes, glancing at the clock from the corner of his eye. It is rather late.

You hardly shift as he picks you up, cradling you in his arms. A small murmur leaves your lips, gentle and soft.

Your eyes barely open through the haze of sleep. Ayato nuzzles your head, and without thinking of the consequences you lean into the touch, nuzzling back and burying your face into the crook of his neck. You're asleep before you can think about it.

Ayato almost preens. He's waited too long for you to return his affections. You've opened a door you can't close.

Give this man an inch and he'll take several. Or rather you will later.

Childe

Childe just has one thought the first time you touch him

Finally

It took long enough for it to kick in. He'll have to up the dose next time, but for now your movements are uncoordinated and sloppy

But that just makes you cute. The glazed over eyes are so cute. You really are perfect.

Sure, he likes it when you fight back, but sometimes he'd also like you to want to touch him.

Or to get down on your knees for him. After all, he provides and protects you, the least you could do was worship him a bit.

He should have done this ages ago.

#xiao #xiao x reader #yandere xiao #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #ayato #ayato x reader #yandere ayato #diluc #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli #childe x reader #childe

2K notes · View notes

fadingdaggerr · 5 months ago

Note

omfggg I just finished reading truth be told and it was so amazing and good and wonderful and wow wow wow you're so talented!!! can you please please consider writing a part 2 where r and Mel slowly start dating and Mel starts bringing them back around her family and introducing them to the Abbott crew and everyone is like 👀👀 and then Mel asks them to marry her and everyone is Mel's family is like FINALLY.

truth be lived

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: part two of truth be told, based on request above | 9.6k

includes: useless lesbian disease, fluff, more fluff bc the last part didn't have enough

warnings: they/them pronouns used for r, slight insecurity, kissing/making out

translation: peluche (italian - teddy bear)

italics are flashbacks

note: god this took me so long i’m sorry. my brain is an evil being. but N E ways how shocked are we that this is way fucking longer than part one? we aren’t? that’s what i thought. swear my dumbass can't make it easy on myself, but i just really wanted to grow the relationship and not just throw it out there yk?? excuses excuses, i know

It’s almost worse than when Barbara made her go a month without caffeine. Scratch that. It’s fifty times worse. It’s been a week that Melissa has gone without getting to see you. The week that will finally come to a close once the clock strikes seven and you show up at her door.

Saturdays, as of late, the two of you spent nearly three hours in a coffee shop, talking endlessly until your macchiatos went cold. Catching up on over a decade apart was slowly patching the dam that gave out all those years ago. A month of this gravitated to getting lunch together during the week, sitting together on a bench in the halfway point between your jobs. A couple more weeks, and you started going to the bar on Fridays to get your whiskey sours to celebrate the end of a hard week.

It was over stealing a cherry from your drink that Melissa got brave enough to ask you what had been on her mind since she saw you again. She knew it had to be her move, after all that had happened before.

“Next Friday night, you busy?” Melissa asks as she picks the stem off.

Your tongue ghosts over your lips, “not at all. And for you, I’m always free.”

“Would you wanna go out? With me?” An exhale rattles her chest, “Like a- like a date?”

Scanning her face, all you can see is sincerity in her question, and not a touch of restraint. The corners of your lips fly up, creases around your eyes deepening as you take in the sight of a nervous, but hopeful, Melissa. What you wouldn’t give to cradle those flushed, pink cheeks and kiss her right now.

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you answer, “name the time and place, and I’m there.”

A grin that’s equally dorky as yours appears on Melissa's face, her smile prevalent in her voice, “you worry about nothing. I’ll pick you up.”

Green eyes flick from the Tucci mug in front of her to the clock over the door. Only eleven hours and forty minutes, not that she’s counting. A sigh passes her lips at her own desperation. She went nearly a decade without you, half a week shouldn’t be this hard. By God, though, it is.

By lunch, it feels like another week passed her by. A sense of freedom fills Melissa, finally able to dig her phone out of the bottom drawer of her desk where she previously jailed it, too tempted to check for texts from you or send her own. For added proof of her restraint, she doesn’t allow herself to look at the screen until she sits at the table next to Barb.

The moment leather pants meet the hard plastic chair, her phone is ripped from her pocket, glasses perched on her nose. Glossy lips stretch into a smile immediately.

Peluche: any idea how to make 6.5 hours into 0?

Peluche: asking for a friend

Tell your ‘friend’ if I knew, I would have done it.

The little smirk on her face does not go unnoticed by the others in the room, though none are brave enough to ask about it. Jacob eyes his roommate from across the room. He’s seen the weight on her shoulders fly off within the last few weeks, the oven door hasn’t slammed once, she didn’t even make fun of his new kombucha. Early excuses to retire to her bedroom were becoming more frequent, and after a very brave snooping session, Jacob heard tiny bits of a phone call. Breathy giggles coming from his roommate made him step away, an act to save not only his room, but also his life.

The little grin that would appear on her face, before she scurried upstairs, was the same one that she wears at this very moment. It takes the willpower of a thousand Ava’s in a hookah bar to not jump up and down at the thought that Melissa may be seeing someone again, someone clearly better for her. With all of his self-control, held together with sheer desperation, he glances at Barbara. God’s number one soldier is smiling to herself, giving a little nod as she feels his gaze on her. Confirmation.

There’s a certain pep in her step the rest of the day. Not one eye roll as Janine breathlessly recounted her walk back from the deli, no pinching the bridge of her nose when a student asked a question she’d answered seven times already today, not even one occurrence of biting her tongue to save herself an elbow from Barbara. Blissfully happy Melissa is almost more terrifying than angry Melissa, her stiff walk replaced with a certain bounce that didn’t diminish.

“Alright, little eagles, it is go-time! Move it, move it! If you’re not out the door in ten seconds, you’re spending the night with the Abbott ghosts!” The kids all run past Melissa in a flock of giggles as she mentally counts each one, making sure everyone is accounted for before locking up her room. Giddiness grows in her chest, T-minus four hours, and she finds herself just as motivated as the children to run out the doors. Uncharacteristically, she tries to avoid Barbara on her way out, trying to get home as fast as humanly possible, knowing she would be in a frenzied overdrive once she starts getting ready to see you.

“Melissa!” She cringes as she hears her name at the end of the hall, stalling her in her place. Turning on her heel, the redhead faces the floor to hide the pained expression she wears, before looking back up. “Girl, where are you going in such a hurry? You’re moving like the devil is on your heels.”

“The devil couldn’t catch me if he tried,” Melissa snorts, “and I’m just tryna get home, I got plans tonight.”

Barbara raises a brow, “plans, you say? With whom?”

“No one,” she replies, but the sly grin and pink cheeks give her away.

The kindergarten teacher hums, “well, you have fun with no one. I expect a debrief Monday morning, maybe Saturday if you find some free time.” Pink cheeks go as red as Melissa’s hair at the insinuation, only managing a little huff and nod as a response before slinking off to her car.

—☽—

Melissa had given you only one direction for tonight, being that you should dress warm. As much as she knew the limited information would bother you, she hoped you trusted her enough to go along with it, and you did without question, but not without a half-second of hesitation. She could already picture the game of eenie-meenie you would likely play when you went to pick out a sweater or sweatshirt.

And she would be right. With an hour left before Melissa was to arrive, you stood half-naked in front of the closet on your fifth round of the game in trying to choose what to wear. Though every time you reject an option, you’d manage to find a potential reason to go with it, and the cycle keeps going. Deciding to let fate take its chance, you throw an arm over your eyes and blindly swing the other to randomly grab something to wear, at this point you don’t even care if it’s the matching Bluey sweatshirt you share with your nephew.

Fate is on your side it seems, the blind reach procuring a loose fitting, dark grey sweater, one you’d owned over half your life. One that Melissa had stolen many times before, that you had to steal back from her. Without a second thought, you put a longsleeve on before the sweater, just in case it finds a way to pass ownership.

Similarly to last week, you find yourself tense and jittery, waiting on the edge of your seat for the text that tells you that you’ll be able to see her again. Bosco nudges at your hands to be pet, clearly noticing your nerves, attempting to snuggle them away. He’s an expert, your shaky hands stilling as you scratch gently around his neck, dodging his wet nose before it meets your eye. Utterly in the zone petting the spaniel, your phone pinging pulls you from your trance.

pretty girl: Ready when you are.

i’ll be right down, just a sec

pretty girl: Take your time hon.

You, in fact, do not take your time, but what Melissa doesn’t see, she can’t possibly know. Panting at the bottom of the stairs, you take a spare few seconds to catch your breath before walking towards the only car in the lot with its lights on. Leaning against it was Melissa, picking at her nails with pursed lips, a tell-tale sign of her nerves. The closer you get, the more clearly you can see her. Her bright pink hoodie is clearer now, contrasting against a pair of leather pants that almost rip the air from your lungs.

The words leave your lips before you can really stop them, “you’re beautiful.”

Bright eyes look up from the pavement, wide with surprise from your seemingly sudden appearance in front of her. Heat spreads from down her face to her chest at the compliment, feeling every bit of it from head to toe, reveling in the warmth of your attention. It’s been years since you’ve looked at her like this, much less spoken.

“You-” she breathes, “you’re wow.” A second wave hits her when she sees what you’re wearing, that fucking sweater. She’d stolen it more times than she can count, straight from the closet or even directly off of your body, and now it was within arms reach again.

“Should’ve asked first, wearing your sweater and all,” you say lightheartedly, hoping that it will calm the nerves between you both.

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” Melissa chuckles, looking down bashfully. “You ready to get going?”

All you manage is a nod, far too excited to be in her presence to get anymore words out. Ever the gentlewoman, Melissa slides in front of you to open your door, closing it once you’ve slid into your seat. You knew better than to ask where you were going, the redhead already told you three times that she wasn’t spoiling anything for you.

The entirety of the twenty minute drive, it takes a god-like amount of effort to keep from staring at Melissa’s hand on the gear shift. Shimmering rings just beg to be fiddled with, hand asking to be held, but you refrain from crossing the line. The late time keeps the road relatively empty, though Philly streets are never silent, a cacophony of horns and yelling seems to linger regardless of the sun’s presence.

The car pulls into a lot of a building, only a small deli on the first level, the rest appears to be utterly vacant. Slowly, you turn to face Melissa, looking at her with pure confusion and a need for an answer.

She peeks over, sensing your gaze on her. Putting the car in park she simply says, “just trust me.”

“I do,” you reply without hesitation.

It takes very little persuading for you to begin following Melissa, in through the deli where she greeted the man at the front desk. From the little Italian you still remember from being around her family, you pick up something about a door and the two of you being allowed to do something. All the fishing for translation in your mind halts when a hand goes to the small of your back, guiding you to the back of the shop towards the stairs. At the top floor, Melissa reaches around you to put the code into the door, opening the roof access. Three thick blankets stacked on top of one another, with a cooler holding them down, greet you when you turn after watching the redhead prop the door open with a brick.

A sort of wonder takes over, just following her movements as she sits on the blankets, patting the spot next to her. Taking residence next to her, you scoot closer without even an attempt of subtlety. Glossy lips curve into a smile at your action, Melissa immediately trying to hide it by reaching into the orange cooler.

From the cooler, she pulls out a shaker and a bottle of whiskey, peeking at you with a mischievous look in her eye. Without breaking eye contact, she lifts out simple syrup and lemon juice. Simultaneously, both your noses scrunch, leaning into each other slightly as you snicker, feeling juvenile in the excitement of it all.

Despite taking the time to garnish both your drinks with maraschinos, you pretend to not notice the sly reaches to pull them out of your drink. As far as you’re concerned, she can have whatever she wants if you get to hear that quiet, satisfied giggle.

Reaching into the cooler again, Melissa pulls out a small radio, checking her watch as she fiddles with the dials. After a few moments, you hear what sounds like the opening credits of a movie. Knocking her knee with your own to get your attention, she points to a screen a little ways away, a small drive-in theater that you didn’t even know was in the city. Squinting a little to see the title from the distance, you see that it’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, one of her father’s favorites. The thought alone makes you smile, he’d gotten you both into westerns once you were ‘old enough to appreciate them,’ meaning when you were well into your twenties.

It takes little time for the two of you to end up pressed against each other, everything packed away and forgotten off to the side. The two of you stay quiet as you listen to the movie, both mouthing lines you remember. Your eyes long to look at her, so you look down to grab your drink, shifting your eyes to look at Melissa.

Once you do, all you can do is watch her, her hands, her eyes, her lips, how content she is written on her face. It’s hard to take your eyes off her, it always has been, but right now it feels more difficult than ever. Yellow street lights barely illuminate her, everything you can see is because of the sheer closeness of your bodies. The warmth radiating off of her is grounding, the chill around you nonexistent.

Feeling your attention on her quickly has Melissa turning towards you. She’s met with a nose brushing against hers, both of your eyes widening at the newfound closeness. Neither of you even attempt to move away, completely engrossed in each other’s gaze; the closest you two had been in a decade, here and now.

“Can I-” She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence.

“Please.”

Lips rush to press against yours, moving quickly, but so carefully that you can’t help the whine that crawls out of your throat. It takes even less time for your hands to slide up to her face, holding her close as her own hands wander to hold your sides. Needy fingers weave into her hair, tugging lightly at soft copper. Melissa groans into your mouth, tongue swiping against your lips, being met with instant entry and a cross between a sigh and moan.

Any remaining gloss that wasn’t sticking to the plastic cups was spread across your lips, giving you a taste of cherry and lemon, whiskey shared between you. The feeling of her tongue is intoxicating, and all you can manage is to haul her closer, wanting her entirely against you. Catching on, Melissa pushes further into you, leaning you down onto the blankets. The change in position seems to bring a moment of pause to both of you, parting for a moment to catch your breaths.

Slowly, you open your eyes, meeting jade eyes with blown out pupils. Detangling your hands from her hair, you bring them back to hold her face. Stroking your thumb over her cheek, her eyes flutter shut as a deep breath leaves her chest. You gently pass over her cheekbone, following the slope to her lips, kiss-swollen and lovely. Brushing against her lips, you see her eyes open again, watching your attention on her skin. You can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her.

Tugging her down gently, you press a soft kiss to her lips, easy and slow. A silent reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere, that you want this just as much as she does.

The entire drive back to your building, Melissa keeps her hand in yours, enjoying the feeling of your grip tightening around hers every now and then. Uncharacteristically, she drives the speed limit through the streets, wanting to prolong her time with you as much as she can. Pulling into the lot, she lifts your hand to press a kiss to it before hopping out, rounding the car to open your door.

“What a charmer,” you joke, voice bubbly and light from pure adoration for the woman. Humming, Melissa’s fingers tangle with yours as she walks you to the door. Leaning against the cold brick of the building, you pull her in closer, wanting her in your orbit a little longer.

Her thumb glides over your knuckles, “thank you, for tonight.”

“Thank you. Next time, though, I’m planning everything,” an easy smile crosses your face as you fiddle with her rings. You watch a barely suppressed excitement cross her features, feeling your heart swell at the sight.

Subconsciously, you both lean into each other, no words spoken between you. Your eyes flick to her licks, catching her attention. With a barely there touch, Melissa presses a kiss to your lips, lingering as you just barely keen into her. As she pulls away, she forces herself to take a step back, knowing if she stays close that she’ll never leave.

“Can’t wait,” she says, a smile on her lips that never fades when she’s around you.

“Text me when you get home?” You have to keep a hand on the wall behind to keep you in place, too drawn to Melissa for your own good.

She chuckles, taking a step back, “it’s a five minute drive.”

“Just text me, please,” your head drops to the side, looking at her through your lashes.

The only you get is a little nod, reveling in her little smirk as she turns away. Your eyes stay on her, intent on seeing her safely to her car, but she seems to have other ideas. Before she even reaches the fence, Melissa turns on her heel and quickly walks back up to you. Without so much as a warning, she holds your face in her hands and plants one more solid kiss to your lips.

When she pulls away she sees your brows raised and a dumbfounded look on your face, it leaves her with a little spark of pride in her chest. Her thumb passes over your lip before she steps back, slowly walking backwards, “I’ll text you.”

—☽—

The trudging of Jacob coming upstairs shakes Melissa from her last minute indecisiveness about her choice of shirt, registering her open door, throwing the green shirt over her bra-clad form. Quick feet land her in front of her vanity, plopping in the seat to seem busy instead of fretful. Silent prayers that he leaves her alone go unanswered, peeking in as she unscrews the wand of her mascara.

“What’re you up to tonight?” Jacob asks, practically hopping up to her.

She purposely avoids looking at him, “noneya.”

“Oooh, come on Mel-Mel! Spill!”

“Stop calling me that,” she lets out shortly, carefully blinking on mascara. “I’m just going out, that’s all.” Melissa promised herself the second you came back into her life, she wouldn’t refer to you as just a friend. Not until you told her that’s all you want from her, she couldn’t blame you for that choice after all of her own.

You are beginning to run out of things to fill the time until Melissa arrives. The kitchen was wiped down and swept, the living room vacuumed, shit, you even wiped down the blinds. A nagging part of your mind keeps ringing that maybe you should change the blanket over the back of the couch, but the others don’t match the pillows and that will only make your skin crawl more.

A slammed door in the hall makes you startle out of the near catatonic state you’re in, eyes glazed over as they stare unfocused at the coffee table. Your eyes jump to the clock, the little hand getting closer and closer to the seven, only twenty minutes until she’s here. You let out a deep breath before it hits you, only twenty minutes.

Nearly crashing to the floor as your socks glide on the carpet, you rip the top drawer of your dresser open, brain rushing to figure out if the fluffy socks are a bad look or not. Eyes clenching, you sigh at the immaturity of your own thoughts, feeling like a middle schooler trying to get their crush to like them. It’s all frivolous, really. But, God, you want her to like you.

With five minutes left to wait, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen as your leg bounces hard enough to cause a six-point magnitude earthquake.

Unbeknownst to you, Melissa has been sitting in the lot of your building for ten minutes, working up the courage to walk in. If she didn’t get here early, she is sure she would’ve been late walking inside. Melissa stretches out her hand from the tight clenched fists they had been, crescents in her palm from her pink acrylics. She has to reread her text about a million times before sending it.

Just pulled in.

Peluche: i’ll be right down, give me 30 seconds

Creaking of a heavy metal door takes Melissa out of her thoughts where she stands on the steps, turning to see your head just barely popping out of the door. Neither of you can help the little grins that come to your face, both of your attempts to hide them being useless against the other. Wordlessly, you wave her in, and Melissa is quick to obey. It’s quiet as you both climb the stairs, until you arrive at your front door.

The moment you press one number on the keypad, Bosco is barking up a storm on the other side of the door. When the door opens, he is just as quick to start jumping on Melissa, clearly remembering his friend that he hasn’t seen in almost three months.

“Bobo, dude,” you almost whine, trying to tug him away despite his excited hopping, “alright, enough. Bed, now, little freak.”

When you turn back to Melissa, her face is pink from laughter, the lines around her eyes deeper from the smile on her face. Slipping her jacket off her arms, she asks, “is he like that with everyone?”

“No, not everyone,” you answer, stepping forward to grab her jacket from her to hang up, “he’s usually only that excited when I get home or when my neighbor stops by, but he never jumps on him since the man’s like eight thousand years old.”

Melissa tries to ignore the shivers up her spine, “probably just remembers me, or I’m just that special.”

“Two things can be true at once,” you say sincerely, taking the bottle of wine with you as you search for the corkscrew. “I’ve only got stemless glasses, that okay?”

“Blasphemous,” she jokes, leaning against the counter, resting her weight on her elbows.

Lightheartedly, you roll your eyes, pouring her glass first. Melissa’s eyes light up as you swirl the wine in the glass before handing it to her, something she does before she starts any glass. It’s a pointless little thing she has done since Nonna began allowing her a small cup of wine at dinner when she was fifteen, she never thought you would remember something so miniscule.

It takes less than two minutes of sitting on the couch for Melissa to realize that she had made the biggest mistake telling you that she didn’t care what you watched tonight, that you had full reign of choosing. The Conjuring pops up on the screen, the ominous tree makes her groan. Dropping her chin to her shoulder, she stares at you. The pursing of your lips and strict avoidance of her eyes makes the stare turn to a glare.

“You’re fucking kidding,” she says with a facetious anger, “you’re fucking with me.”

Turning slowly, you put on a failing face of innocence, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Melissa laughs through her words, “you’re trying to get me to walk outta here.”

“No! You said I could pick whatever I want,” you gesture towards the TV.

Melissa heads tilts down, but her eyes stay on you, lips turning up, “you tryna get me all scared like a cliche little movie date? Real sly.”

“So what if I am?” Your expression is playful, but there’s something in your voice that makes Melissa feel warm.

A deep breath leaves her lungs, “if this jump scares me, I’m hitting you with a pillow.”

“Thankfully, I have several,” you mumble, a sated smile on your lips as you press play.

Two glasses of wine later, you find yourself relaxed into the arm of the couch, while Melissa sits curled into a ball, fully leaned into the back of the couch. For someone so confident and brave, it has always humored you that she was so easily scared of horror films. She nearly suffocated you when she came over one night all those years ago, Candyman left you with the redhead clinging to you like a baby koala.

A pitchy squeak pulls you from the reminiscing you can’t seem to escape, eyes scanning the screen, seeing the exorcism scene, before looking towards Melissa. With her hands over your eyes, you can see her mouth moving, quiet mutters of God dammit and mother fucker leaving glossy lips. It’s impossible to suppress the little chuckle that bubbles in your throat, and squinted green eyes stare you down.

“Shut up,” Melissa mumbles, looking at you rather than back at the movie.

“I didn’t say anything,” you can’t even say it with a straight face, “you’re the one that said I could pick the movie.”

Melissa throws the pillow in her lap at you with a weak arm, “you know I don’t like this scary shit. I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll put Fox and the Hound on after,” you offer. Olive eyes give you an unimpressed look, but the corners of her lips turn up before she gives a little nod in silent thanks.

Her eyes don’t leave you as your attention falls back on the screen, watching as you become fully engrossed in the happenings she refuses to acknowledge. Melissa’s mind churns over your earlier statement, how you might’ve just chosen this for her to get closer to you, and she wishes she could say your not-so-subtle plan wasn’t working. Yet, here she is, thinking that if you were holding her, this would feel like a Pixar film.

Slowly, as if you were the spooked one, she slowly shifts closer. After scanning for discomfort that she doesn’t find, Melissa leans closer, praying you’ll catch on.

“Get over here,” you mumble through a huffed laugh, shifting to rest your back against the arm, putting a leg down on the floor to open up space. Not wasting a second, Melissa lays down on top of you, tucking into you enough that only one eye is able to see the TV, but only if she strains to look up.

It takes zero time for your fingers to find the ends of her hair, the feeling only making Melissa settle in further. Your free hand gets a hold of the remote, turning off the movie before it’s even ended. While you’re looking for the cartoon, Melissa fishes her phone from her back pocket, not bothering to move as she checks her messages.

Jacob: sooo am i leaving the porchlight on or are u coming back in the morning

Put the light on, please.

Jacob: am i allowed to ask questions????

The redhead feels your laugh more than she hears it, peeking up she sees your smirking face. You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, “you’re right, he’s nosy.”

“Told you. If we were at my place right now, we’d be getting interviewed until next week,” Melissa grumbles. Your only answer is a hum, attention moving to the annoying task of typing out the name of the movie.

You just did.

Your chest rumbles with silent laughter at her response, only holding her tighter when her phone drops on the table and her nose bumps against your neck. The meandering fingers that twirl loose curls around them are a constant distraction for Melissa, the voices of Copper and Tod not even reaching her ears as she settles into a comfort she’s been longing for for years. Nothing will ever quite match the feeling of your lips pressing to her temple.

—☽—

Melissa Schemmenti is picky. Name a topic, she’s got a steadfast opinion on it. The Seahawks? Wanna-be Eagles. Mashed potatoes? Better when a little lumpy. Sleeping? Her bed is the only place she can feel rested. She’d grown all too used to sleeping in her own bed alone, it feels foreign to wake up with someone beside her.Well, her opinion may have changed on that last one.

Curled under a thin blanket, Melissa wakes slowly as the little rays of sun work their way under the curtains. Attempting to stretch her legs, she tries to turn on her back, but is met with resistance. Her movement makes the arm around her tighten, a head nudging into her shoulder blades. Her fingers run up and down the expanse of your arm, quietly asking for you to loosen up. With newfound freedom, she turns to face you, meeting half open eyes and a dopey grin. Tucking yourself into her, you press a lingering kiss to the junction of her neck, mumbling into warm skin.

“What was that, baby?” Melissa rasps out.

“Phone went off,” you grumble a little louder, shuffling closer to her.

Blindly, the redhead reaches around for her phone. Huffing, she forces her eyes open enough to catch face unlock, but they immediately bulge out of her head.

Jacob: hey u coming home tonight?

Jacob: mel mel?

Jacob: barbs said u were fine but can u just answer

Jacob: melissa?

Melissa flies up, your arm dropping limply beside her. A high pitched whine climbs out of your throat as you sit up, leaning against her side with your head on her shoulder. Glancing at her screen, your eyes go as wide as hers.

“If you need to call him, go for it,” you say quietly.

She sighs, “I don’t like lying to him. I’m just…”

“I know,” you reach to hold her hand, “just do whatever feels right for now. We’ll figure everything out later.”

Melissa only gives a nod in response, clearly still in her head. Giving her space, you press a kiss to her shoulder before climbing out of bed. Green eyes follow as you walk out of the room, nearly stumbling into the door as you go. She gives herself another moment to watch you by the coffeemaker before glancing back down at her phone.

Once you’ve taste tested the coffee you made for Melissa, you carefully walk back into your room, trying to not spill a single drop. Glancing up from the mugs, you see that Melissa’s eyes are scrunched, clearly hating the conversation that was happening, but accepting the consequences. Opening one eye and seeing you, she presses a finger to her lips as she puts the call on speaker.

“-ad me worried! You could’ve been dead in a ditch, or worse! I’m happy that you’re happy and having a good time, but you need to be safe! Wait- that sounded weird, I meant physically safe. But that kinda safe too!” Her roommate’s, well warranted, rant continues, leaving you both struggling to breathe from the laughter you try to hide.

Melissa takes a deep breath to compose herself, “Jacob, again, I’m sorry. Wasn’t looking at my phone, but I’ll be better about it.”

“Cross your heart!” The sixth grade teacher was clearly not playing games.

Despite him not being able to see her, Melissa actually draws an X on her chest, “cross my heart.”

Laughing inwardly, you leave Melissa to speak with Jacob as you pad around the room, grabbing your clothes for the day. You feel eyes on you as you move, chest warming under her affection. Peeking over your shoulder as you go down the hall to the bathroom, you send her a wink that makes her grin.

When she finally hangs up with Jacob, Melissa flops back onto the bed, mulling things over in her mind. Telling her friends about you couldn’t be so bad, could it? Starting slow could help, but that means starting at home, and Jacob’s mouth is far too big to keep anything to himself. Telling Barbara will be easy, she already knows about you, just not current events.

She knows that Barbara will love you, that you will love Barbara. Deep down she knows the two of you would be two peas in a pod, and the thought of that alone makes Melissa want to throw caution to the wind. As much as she hates to admit it, acceptance of you from Jacob is something that weighs on her. He’ll probably be obsessed with you, and you don’t even have to say how much you want to meet him, she already knows. It could be so easy.

The spiral in her mind comes to a halt when she hears the bathroom door open. Suddenly feeling full of energy, a giddiness in her bones, she jumps out of bed to find you. Finding you in front of the microwave, reheating your coffee, she wraps her arms around your waist. The light squeeze you receive makes you smile, turning in her grasp to face her, arms encircling her neck.

“Hey, you,” you say, fingers twirling her hair.

“Hey, yourself,” she doesn’t even try to hide the lovesick look on her face, “I’ve got a proposition for ya.”

You snort, “you’re propositioning me?”

“Don’t even,” a hand playfully pinches your side, “it’s a serious question.” The little grin on your face drops, and Melissa can feel your hands freeze where they play with her curls. “Not super serious… just wondering if you’d wanna meet them? Barb, Jacob, maybe the others?

“You want that?” She nods immediately. “Are you sure?” She nods again. “Then, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

—☽—

How on Earth was she ever nervous about this? Seriously, how?

Janine had invited most of Abbott to her shoebox of an apartment for an end of year party, cleverly inviting Melissa and Barbara over early to get them in a cleaning mood. Everyone else wasn’t supposed to arrive for another half hour, you included. Melissa asked you to come later, hoping that there was less of a chance you’d be grilled if you arrived when the party was more full.

Forty sardines with master’s degrees fill the apartment, and Melissa is still finding little things around the place that need to be dusted and wiped down, but her momentum entirely ends when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Nearly dropping the vase in her hands, she fishes her phone out.

Peluche: i think i’m here

Peluche: the bouncer?? won’t let me in

An amused sigh passes her lips as she swerves through the sea of bodies to get to the front door, seeing Mr. Johnson with his arm barring the door.

“Mr. J, let them in,” Melissa laughs out, patting the man’s shoulder. He turns to look at her with scrutinizing eyes, but lowers his arm to allow space for you.

An arm wraps itself around your waist, immediately pulling you into her space, filling your senses with honey and the distinct smell of foundation on her skin. Guiding you carefully, trying to keep anyone from getting too close to you, she brings you over to where Barbara is fussing over a bookshelf. With a tap on the shoulder, the kindergarten teacher turns to Melissa before brown eyes land on you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone so excited to see you in your entire life, and you don’t even know this woman.

“By the good lord’s graces,” she gasps at her own outburst, thrusting out her hand for you. “I’m sorry dear, it is lovely to meet you. I’m Barbara.”

Shaking her hand, you reply, “lovely to meet you, too. I’m-”

“Oh, I know exac-”

“Barb!” Melissa cuts in, pinching the bridge of her nose. Your hand rubs her arm, trying to keep her from blowing a gasket, even if you’re fighting giggles next to her. Her attention falls back on you, all annoyance fading, “you want a drink?”

You nod, feeling her already beginning to tug you away. Rushing your words, you speak to Barbara, “it was nice meeting you!”

“You too, sweetheart. I’ll see you at brunch next week, I’m sure,” Barbara chuckles warmly. Accepting that this was the closest thing she’ll get to an introduction with Melissa.

Staying behind you with hands on your hips to guide you, Melissa leads you towards the kitchen. Everything feels like it’s underwater, with her hands on you, protective and, dare you say, possessive. For someone who had been nervous for days about you meeting everyone, she sure had no care in the world now. Quietly, next to your ear, you hear her counting down from five. Just as she hits one, a squeal pierces your eardrums.

“Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh!” The voice is immediately recognizable to the one that had been lecturing the redhead over the phone in your bedroom only a few weeks ago. “Hi, hi, I’m Jacob, I work with Melissa at Abbott.”

“Also lecture her, from what I heard,” you joke, making Jacob pause.

Without a chance to blink, Jacob jumps up and down, “so you’re where she’s been lately!” Both you and Melissa wince and the sheer volume of it, but recover quickly when he calms, suddenly quiet and scanning you over, “you better be careful, not for her sake, but yours.”

There’s no malice in his words, it’s a pure warning. From the look on his face, it’s entirely about what he’ll do if she gets hurt, not what Melissa would do to you. From behind you, the redhead’s brows scrunch, mostly out of confusion, ready to tell Jacob off for talking to you like that. She feels guilty, she’s the one who messed everything up before, she deserves the questioning of her worthiness.

You take Jacob’s words in stride, “I’m counting on you to set me straight then, if I ever dare to step out of line.”

Jacob’s entire demeanor goes back to normal at your words, looking at Melissa excitedly, “I like them.”

“Yeah, me too. You ain’t special,” she chuckles, hand on your hip tightening, pulling you imperceptibly closer.

Within an hour, most of the partygoers are on the dancefloor, the two of you included. Cups with rum and whatever chaser Janine had left were teetering on spilling, holding your weight against her is all that keeps you from teetering as well. Sea Barbara stays happily to herself with her cardboard cutout dance partner, content to slow dance to the fast paced music. Singing and cheering around you feels far away as your drunken attention refuses to stray from Melissa, her attention staying on you.

It’s increasingly more difficult to not kiss you when you’re this close, but with warm bodies against her at every side, it’s less than ideal. If it were, it would just be the two of you. She’s so close to just asking if you want to get out of here, but she’s interrupted just as she ducks to speak in your ear.

“Melissa! Barbara! You’re supposed to be cleaning!” Janine yells, hands on her hips. You can feel Melissa groan more than you can hear it, loud music almost deafening you in the small apartment. Barbara tries to shoo the shorter woman away, but her drunk state doesn’t hold the same level of authority that it typically does.

“Janine, it’s a party. We’re partying,” Melissa says dismissively. Not once does her hand leave your waist, keeping you from being jostled by other people.

Her speaking up has Janine’s attention back on her, who quickly recognizes your presence. Brown eyes go from your face, to the hands on you, and back to Melissa’s face. Realization and excitement washes over her face, and the chattering that comes from her is hardly heard or understood from the bass boosts and liquor. Flapping hands keep moving as you try your best to gather her words, but she’s running off excitedly before you can even introduce yourself. You watch Janine bounce towards a lanky man, pointing in your direction, clearly telling him that Melissa brought someone.

Chuckling to yourself, you look back to Melissa, whose eyes are already one you. The universe seems to be both with and against her, because just as she tries to speak, the lights go out and the music stops. Warm hands pull you closer in surprise, and you can’t even be upset about your almost empty cup dropping to the floor. Murmurs around you get louder as everyone sits in equal confusion, but Melissa feels her opportunity.

Feeling lips brush your ear, heat rises to your cheeks, “wanna get out of here?”

“God, yes,” you say, shifting your hand from her arm to her hand, interlocking your fingers. Pulling you with her, she quickly gets to Barbara to let her know you’re both leaving, sneakily passing your phone to text Gerald while she gets her friend some water.

By the end of the night, neither of you could even find the energy to change out of your clothes after walking home. Melissa’s apartment being closer was a blessing, you didn’t even register that this was the first time you’ve been there. Neither did Melissa.

Brushing her teeth next to you in the mirror, pulling back sheets on the other side of the bed, becoming your personal pillow the moment you lay on the mattress. It just felt right.

—☽—

Bobbing your head along to Deftones, you mentally map out the drawing you’re supposed to be starting. The measurements they gave you make no sense, especially with the materials they requested. It’s like they’re asking for the building to concave on itself, not to house people. You’d pressed about giving them a consultation, see the inner workings of the old medical office yourself, but they rejected it ‘for time,’ which really means money. Little do they know they’re going to end up costing themselves more.

The song switches from Shove It to Mascara as knocking raps against your door, but they go completely unnoticed to you. So does the voice trying to get your attention without having to tap your shoulder, knowing it sends ten feet in the air in surprise.

“Boss… Boss… Boss!” Terrence gets no response for the third time before looking to the woman on his left, “you’ll have to go get ‘em, I guess. Lunatic keeps the volume to ear bleeding levels so they don’t have to listen to us, I swear.”

Melissa chuckles, “well, thank you anyways, hon. I got it from here.” Moving into the room, she shuts the door behind her, leaning against it to watch you for just a moment.

What she first notices is your button up, or lack thereof, disregarded on a chair on the other side of the room. Selfishly, she lets herself look you up and down, savoring bare arms and the hard look on your face. Melissa finds herself frozen, mind racing with images of you, subconsciously biting her lip as her eyes rake over you. Only pulled out of her mind by a groan that leaves your lips, she wills herself to get closer to you.

With your back still to her, you’re unable to see her slow movements as she tries to sneak up on you. Hands trail up your sides, clutching slightly when she feels you jump at the sudden touch. Turning in her arms, your bewildered expression dies when you meet green eyes, crinkled around the edges in amusement. Catching your breath, you wrap your arms around her neck.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you say softly, “but this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Missed you. I’ve barely seen you all week,” her arms tighten around your waist.

You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy feeling in your chest that’s spreading, “I’m sorry, they’ve got me practically chained to the desk until this draft is drawn up. Fuckers think it’s easy turning procedure suites into apartments, it’s not.”

“Not your fault, sweetheart,” her lips press to your cheek as she tugs you in, missing holding you, being held by you. “I have dinner with my family tomorrow night, though, so I won’t be around. Just wanted to get my time in with you before I go into withdrawals.”

You laugh at her words, “Withdrawal? Little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Me? Never,” she tries to keep a serious face, but her smile overtakes as she watches you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

A finger twirls a copper strand around, voice weary, “tell everyone I said hi?”

“Well…” Melissa’s face drops a little, knowing she hasn’t told her family that you’re back in her life. Her eyes scan your face, seeing the smallest hint of sadness, and hurries to correct it. “You can tell them yourself, if you want.”

The twirling stops, “you mean that? Because you can’t offer that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it, I promise,” her hands sit more firmly on you now, “they miss you, they just never mention it. But they do. Especially John Anthony. And Kristin Marie, but she’ll never admit that, even to herself.”

The only answer she received is a strong kiss pressing to her lip, her eyes immediately fluttering shut at the contact. The hand in her hair tightens as your entire body pushes into her, groaning at the feeling of her on you mixing with the emotions of it all. How easily she asked you to come with her, to see her family, to be by her side for real this time. It feels too early to say what you want to at this moment, so you just kiss her harder.

Melissa spent half the day and the entire drive to the house telling you that no, her parents don’t hate you, and that yes, they will be incredibly excited to see you again. She kept the knowledge of your attendance secret, not wanting to be slammed with questions, but mostly because she wanted to see the look on her mother’s face when she saw her favorite not-her-child from all those years ago.

“Are you sure you want me to go? I don’t want to if you only offered because you felt like you had to. If I’m impos-”

“You’re not imposing,” she almost whispers as she cradles your face, “I want you there. It hasn’t felt the same since you stopped coming.”

Pressing kissing to your knuckles every now and then, Melissa manages to take some of the anxiety off your shoulders. Turning onto the familiar street, you immediately sit up straighter in your seat, checking your outfit and fiddling with everything, desperate to pick off lint that isn’t even there. Melissa lets it go, knowing there’s no stopping this. Part of her feels guilty, knowing she’s the reason that you felt they could hate you, that they wouldn’t be happy to see you. All she ever told them was you had a mutual falling out, never that it was her fault, especially not that it was yours.

Pulling up in front of the house, Melissa’s fingers tighten around yours. Looking up at her, you see the silent question in her eyes, giving her a nod that tells her you’re fine. To prove yourself, you hop out of the car to jog to her side, opening the door for her with a grin. Shaking her head with a half-hidden smile on her lips, she takes your offered hand and pulls you into her, walking with you to the door.

No knocking required, Melissa steps in first, only letting go of your hand for a brief moment to shrug off your jackets before her hand is back in yours. Chattering in the kitchen leads you to where everyone stands or sits, sipping on beers and white wine. Clearing her throat, Melissa gets the attention of the room. Silence fills the previously loud air.

“Yooooo!” You hear someone yell, a voice that you recognize all too well. Without a moment’s notice, you’re immediately tackled, hand being ripped from Melissa’s. You hug the person back, still trying to figure out exactly who it is, but the exaggerated leaning side-to-side gives you everything. Little John Anthony isn’t so little anymore, not that he ever really was.

Feeling another body against you, one arm reaches behind to give some level of contact as acknowledgement. Slowly people let go of you while others come in, and all you can feel is glad that everything is so busy, no one will see the happy tears forming in your eyes. Annette’s noodle arms let go of you, moving as she feels a tap on her back. When she moves, Melissa’s mother stands before you.

“Finally,” she says, cradling your face in her soft hands, “I knew you’d be back.” Patting your cheek, she finally moves out of the way for others to get a hold of you. Melissa can barely see you most of the night, but the warmth in her chest grows every time she sees you talking with someone new, hugging someone else as you talk. Kristin Marie hides her excitement well, but not well enough, though you let her get away with hugging you tightly without saying anything about it.

By dinner time, everyone’s been reacquainted with your presence, and Melissa can finally get her hands on you again. Scooching her chair closer, she mumbles in your ear while the conversation carries around the table.

“Told you, nothing to worry about,” her hand squeezes your thigh reassuringly.

“I missed them,” you say, running your fingers up and down her arm, “I missed this.”

Family dinner ends the way it always does, with everyone talking in the living room, sipping coffee or the remainder of their drinks. You take your place next to Melissa on the couch, leaning your head on her shoulder as she talks to Toni about something you can’t remember. You haven’t felt this at peace in so long, you missed your family. Annette and Vinny fighting, music playing from the TV, chattering around you in a mix of Italian and English, it’s comforting.

Looking up from your perch on her shoulder, you keep your eyes on Melissa. Watching her hands move as she speaks, how happy she looks, how beautiful she is. Turning slightly to put her glass on the table, she catches your gaze, the corners of her lips going up as she catches the lovesick look on your face. Fully knowing she’s being watched, fully feeling the warmth in her cheeks, she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. Careful to not linger long, she pulls away and goes back to her conversation with her sister.

No more hiding.

—☽—

“Am I buying groceries for two people or three this week?” You ask as you walk into the kitchen, fidgeting with the pen in your hand,

“Mmm… Jacob mentioned maybe stopping by tomorrow night, so probably three,” Melissa answers, looking through the pantry, “and we need potatoes, I forgot to write that down.”

“Red ones?” You joke, coming up behind her to press your lips to the junction of her neck. Leaning her head back onto your shoulder, she lets you continue your path up her neck to her jaw, nipping at her ear. “I gotta get going before they close,” Melissa whines at the loss of contact, “I’ll be quick, might not even pay.”

She chuckles warmly, scrunching her nose, “right, sure you won’t, goodie-two-shoes.”

Pulling away, you jot down russets and give her another kiss, this one to her lips. “I love you,” you mumble as you part, “see you in a bit.”

The moment the front door shuts, the once cozy and nonchalant Melissa is replaced by a frenzied and excited one. Flying around the house, she begins to put her plan in place. Tealights are placed everywhere, the lighter checked for fuel, the small box from under her socks now buried in her pocket, she just had to open the bottle of Angel’s Envy. It took an embarrassing number of different liquor stores to find, but that was months ago, and this is now.

Melissa lights the last candle just as she hears your car door slam shut, then the trunk. Staying out of direct view, she watches you come in the door, looking at your feet as you walk. You’re in your own little world, completely walking through to the kitchen, dropping the bags off. Making your way into the living room, you almost drop the bouquet in your hands.

Candles all around the room, music playing softly from the record player, Melissa wearing your sweater. Your jaw drops, eyes wide as you stare at the redhead, utterly bewildered. She takes the chance to step a little closer, watery smile stretching across her face as you shakily hold out red chrysanthemums. Taking them carefully, she sets them on the table, grabbing your hand to pull you with her. Soft eyes watch her every movement, letting her move you around until you’re where she wants you.

“I love you,” Melissa says quietly, shifting from the couch to the floor, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and I haven’t stopped once. Even when I didn’t know, I loved you. When I wouldn’t listen to my own brain, I loved you. When I thought I couldn’t, I loved you.”

“Mel…” Your voice comes out cracked, a wobbly lip stuck between smiling and sobbing.

“Let me finish, baby,” she says softly, stroking the hand she holds in her own, “you are everything to me, and it took me too long to figure that out. But now, I’m not taking a single thing for granted, not you, never you.” Melissa reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small, emerald box, “I wish I could’ve had you my whole life, but all I can ask you for is the rest of it.”

Tears spill down your cheeks at her words, fingers clinging to her hand like a life source. You so badly want to reach out, cup her face, and kiss her, her words playing the strings of your heart, but you refrain. Too much restraint goes into not pouncing on her the second she pulled out the ring box, your lips practically begging to be on hers already. You can’t help the frown on your face when Melissa’s hand leaves you, properly holding the ring to present it to you.

“Will you marry me?” The smile on her lips only grows as she asks, knowing what you’ll say just based on the look you give her.

What she doesn’t account for was that all your restraint would break, and she’s knocked to the floor as you pepper her face with kisses, lips smacking against her skin. Moving from her forehead, to her cheeks, and finally, to her lips. All love, all want, all devotion, all you.

“Yes, yes,” you answer quickly, lips barely parting from hers, “God, I love you. I love you so much.”

Chuckling at your overexcited babbling, she manages to sit you both up, keeping you in her lap. A warm hand pulls your left hand from her face, sliding the ring on without taking her eyes off of you. Your hand immediately goes back to her face, pulling her into your kiss once more.

Morning back pain be damned, neither of you leave the floor of the living room the rest of the night. Waking up with your heart beating under her ear is all the consolation she needs, your newly ringed hand in hers.

At the next family dinner, all the cousins take one peek at your hand, eyes widening. Melissa and you both brace for shouting and to be lifted in the air by one of her brothers, but you were wrong. Maria Christina groans as she passes a twenty over to Seamus, who was getting handed money by at least four other people. He peeks up to see a very shocked you and Melissa.

“What? We all saw it coming, I just picked the right week. Ma said tomorrow.”

note: time for sol’s monthly novel <3 hope you enjoyed

feedback appreciated as always

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #lgbtq #lesbian #lgbtq fanfiction

182 notes · View notes

asilentsongbird · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere men the first time you return their affections

Characters: Xiao, Diluc, Zhongli, Ayato, Childe

TW: mentions of sex, captivity, general yandere content, isolation and manipulation, drugs with Childe

~~~~~~~

Diluc

Oh Diluc would be a mess. The first time you hand brushes his cheek? He completely freezes, standing stiff as a board and wondering if it actually happened.

He'd blush, turning his gaze away even as he steps closer to you. You thought his clinginess was bad before? It's worse now.

He's a starving man who's been given just a sip of water

Now he wants the rest. He almost needs to have your loving touch

And he'll do anything to get it

Xiao

Doesn't react, doesn't even seem to notice. You get a blink, maybe. But other than that he doesn't react.

He will admit the hug feels nice but he doesn't get human interaction. He's seen other humans hug, but he's never had one.

It's not like he left you alone for long! What's a few weeks in the span of a lifetime. You have everything you need in the teapot.

When you finally pull back, not completely letting him go, you see the lightest blush in his cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears.

Doesn't understand it, but definitely wants another one once he has time to process.

Also will not hesitate to leave you alone for a couple more weeks in the hopes that you might give him another hug.

Zhongli

Oh boy.

It's in your contract to be affectionate. As husband and wife would be. But willingly? You've always kept that from him.

His breath hitches the first time you willingly lean against him or cuddle him.

He's like someone who has a cat unexpectedly sit on them. Nope. Sorry. Can't do his archon duties today. He can't move.

But then his arm is around your waist and something breaks in you, a little bit of that iron will that attracted the archon of stone to you in the first place.

It's fine. Don't think about that right now. His hand is so warm and soft, rubbing up and down your back.

After all, you have a contract for eternity. And Zhongli is nothing but patient waiting for you to break down even more.

Ayato

This prideful man. Absolutely no shame in him.

Becoming the mistress to the Kamisato clan was already hard for you. Ayato tried to make it better, but he was busy. There's a lot of work to be done.

He often works late, and by extension so do you. He doesn't want to put a lot of work on you, but it's healthy to share the burden, isn't it?

He doesn't realize how late it is until your head falls against his shoulder, breathing soft and even. Ayato freezes, glancing at the clock from the corner of his eye. It is rather late.

You hardly shift as he picks you up, cradling you in his arms. A small murmur leaves your lips, gentle and soft.

Ayato almost preens. He's waited too long for you to return his affections. You've opened a door you can't close.

Give this man an inch and he'll take several. Or rather you will later.

Childe

Childe just has one thought the first time you touch him

Finally

It took long enough for it to kick in. He'll have to up the dose next time, but for now your movements are uncoordinated and sloppy

But that just makes you cute. The glazed over eyes are so cute. You really are perfect.

Sure, he likes it when you fight back, but sometimes he'd also like you to want to touch him.

Or to get down on your knees for him. After all, he provides and protects you, the least you could do was worship him a bit.

He should have done this ages ago.

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #diluc x reader #yandere xiao #yandere diluc #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere ayato #ayato x reader #yandere childe #childe x reader #xiao #diluc #childe #Zhongli #ayato

1K notes · View notes

gucciforasushirestaurant · 6 months ago

Text

Jellybean

summary: you are very pregnant and harry can't go a day without quality bump time.

word count: 1067

read time: 5 min

content warning ⚠️: pregnancy, fluffy fluff fluff

a/n: my brain is such an odd place. i saw this tik tok and my brain instantly came up with this haha because...harold absolutely would lol. Enjoy!

You’d been rolling around on your California king mattress for the better half of two hours now. You’ve rolled from your side to Harry’s rearranging the expensive pregnancy pillow that Harry had gotten you the day you found out you were pregnant, and still nothing seemed to get you comfortable.

Part of it was your bundle of joy, nestled warmly in your womb having a block party for one. But mainly you were just frustrated, and on top of that sleep deprived and, so heavily pregnant. You were about ready to pop any second, and yet your lovely, attentive husband was on the other side of the world, working. And worse of all, you hadn’t spoken to him all day, besides your daily “Good Morning, Lovie” text. In all your time together with Harry, it never bothered you. The traveling, or the fact that you’d go all day without hearing from him. He was a busy man, and a hard worker, it’s part of the reason you fell so hard for him, and married him.

But with the pregnancy hormones, and the fact that the princess treatment that you’d become accustomed to getting from your doting husband over the last few months has been missing in his absence the last few days, it was taking a bit of a toll on you.

So when your phone buzzed later that night with a text from Harry you couldn’t help the happy and frustrated tears that welled up in your eyes. And when you saw that adorable contact photo of him pop up on your screen with an incoming call, well you started bawling. You answer the phone and instantly your bad mood dissipates when you hear the smooth honey sound of Harry’s drowsy bedtime voice.

“Hey, Lovie.” Harry coos into the phone.

“Hey, you” you sigh, trying your best to put on a smile, but you’re not very convincing. It only makes Harry crack a smile. He hates how uncomfortable you’ve been the last months, but he can practically hear your adorable pout through the phone and it makes his heart go all fuzzy.

“How long have you been trying to sleep?”

“Hours!” you whine, slightly dramatic, “They really are your kid, you know? Just bouncing off the walls, when all I want to do is sleep.” You grumble and can hear him chuckle over the phone. “Harry, I’m serious! I feel like I haven't slept in days. If they’re not tap dancing on my bladder, they’re doing somersaults off my ribs.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t mean to laugh. I’m sorry you're uncomfortable, and I hate not being there to help. Do you have the pillow? Is it helping any?”

“Yeah, but everytime I think I’m comfortable, Jellybean has other plans.” you chuckle slightly, taking a breath and looking down at your bump, bottom lip going wobbly, “I just want him here, already.” You sigh, whipping a tear that slipped despite your best efforts. “And you, too. I missed you today.”

Hearing your voice crack with sadness, it was like something grabbed at his heart and twisted it. He hated, despised, being away from you. Especially now that you were so close to welcoming your first baby. But it was ‘unavoidable’ according to everyone he spoke to while he tried to keep the meetings to Zoom. So there he was, halfway across the world while his beautiful, very pregnant, and sleep deprived wife cried to him over the phone. He felt like the world's worst husband, and he hated it.

But he had to remind himself that you and your baby on the way were what he was doing all the work for in the first place. And in nearly 24 hours, he’ll be right back in your arms, cradling your bump and kissing your plump cheeks.

“Aww, baby I missed you too. But just think, this time tomorrow I’ll be right there with you. And we’ll be holding our Jellybean in just a few more weeks, yeah?” he lulled.

“I know…but you know how impatient I am.” you laugh, and he does too.

“Oh, trust me I do.” he chuckles, remembering all the subtle ‘hints’ you dropped in the years leading up to your engagement. He takes a moment and remembers that there is one person he hasn’t spoken to since he went out of town, “Do me a favor, Lovie?”

“Yeah?”

“Put me on speaker, and put me next to your belly. I wanna talk to Jellybean. Set ‘em straight so mama can get some rest.” you laugh loudly into the phone and he smiles, “I’m serious, let me speak to ‘em. They listen to me.” You can’t help but smile, because it’s very true. Your bundle of joy hasn’t even arrived yet, and it seemed the two had already formed a little alliance between them.

“Alright,” you sigh before hitting the speaker button, “there, you're on speaker.”

“Okay put me on your belly.”

“Done.” you chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, Jellybean,” Harry coos, and your heart warms at the sound. Your eyes begin to water when you feel your baby, seemingly to respond to his voice. “Your mama told me you're giving her a hard time. I thought we talked about this before I left, hm? It’s late and you both need to sleep. Okay?” Harry stops talking for a second, as if he can hear the little kicks to the speaker. “I know, you want out, but you’ve got a few more weeks. We are as excited as you are. But your mama is too pretty and needs her beauty rest, so let her sleep, and you rest too, okay bubs?” He hears you laugh, and he feels better knowing that even though you're so uncomfortable he’s able to put a smile on your face. “Now hand the phone back to your mother.”

“Thank you for that,” you chuckle, “They’ve actually calmed down a bit. May actually get a few hours in.”

“That’s good. Told you, they listen to me.”

“Yeah, something tells me that that’s going to be an issue when they’re here.” you laugh running a hand over your bump. “Just gonna be you two ganging up on me.”

“Maybe.” he chuckles, “Well, I’ll let you sleep while you can, alright?”

“Okay. I’ll try. I love you.” you yawn, already feeling sleep creep up on you.

“Love you too baby. Goodnight.”

✨masterlist✨ ∣ ✨yap & request box✨

255 notes · View notes

blackhairedjjun · 8 months ago

Text

let me care for you - k.th

pairing: kang taehyun x gn reader | genre / tropes: fluff, comfort, sick fic, confession, tyun taking care of reader | word count: 723 | warnings: getting sick, food, medicine mentions

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - BEDSIDE: while sitting by the sick/injured/unconscious receiver’s bedside, sender reveals that they’re in love with them, unaware that the receiver is able to hear this revelation. (requested by @ur-mother-realnotclickbait)

author's notes: hi riel! this was such a fluffy and sweet prompt, and i totally see taehyun as an acts of service guy so this was lovely to write <3 i hope you enjoy!

actions always speak louder than words when it comes to taehyun, your best friend.

not that taehyun’s words are meaningless. for example, when you texted him in the middle of the night that you were feeling awfully sick, he sent only a single message: i’m so sorry, i’ll be right there soon to check on you. but the buzzing of your doorbell twenty minutes later speaks volumes, especially when you find taehyun standing on the other side of the door, a bag full of groceries and drugstore goods in his arms.

“it’s 2am...” you barely manage to get the words out. even speaking is exhausting.

he sets the bag down and pulls you toward him by the shoulders, his hand coming up to your forehead. his eyebrows knit the moment he feels you burning. “your fever is really high... you should lie down. i’ll take care of everything.”

“taehyunie, you...”

his hand traces the outline of your face before letting you go. “get some rest, let me help you.”

he helps you back to your bed, one arm around your waist to keep you steady, then leaves the bedroom door ajar as he busies himself in the kitchen so that you can hear him. he prepares hot soup and fills a jug of water, and sets aside your medicines and a roll of bread. your senses are so stuffed that you can barely smell the chicken and ginger wafting over, nor hear the clinking of glasses and spoons. but your apartment feels warm, not from your fever but from the presence of your best friend, and it isn’t long until your consciousness starts to drift.

what you don’t see is the worry creased in taehyun’s forehead as he lets the soup simmer. he understands that you aren’t seriously ill and that your bug will clear out in a few days. still, he can’t help but feel a little sting in his heart when he recalls the heat radiating off your skin or the sunken circles under your eyes. already he misses the brightness in your eyes and the sound of your laughter, and he wants to be part of making you feel better again.

you almost don’t hear him as he enters your bedroom and sets down the tray of soup, water, and medicines on your bedside table. meanwhile you’re caught between wakefulness and sleep, your eyes closed and one arm dangling over the edge of the bed. he sits on this edge, placing your hand in his lap. your skin is still hot while he cradles your hand in his.

“you’ll get better soon,” he murmurs to himself.

silence follows, and your breathing begins to slow. taehyun still holds your hand in his like a fragile gift. he remembers the confession he planned - a confession weeks in the making, yet every time he found the opportunity to say it his throat went dry. but in the middle of the night with you in sleep, courage finds him.

“i probably shouldn’t say this right now... but when you get better, i want to keep taking care of you like this.” he intertwines his fingers with yours. “i want to cook for you and go on those arcade games that you love, and make you happy again. you’re my best friend, but the truth is i want to care for you more... more than what a friend does. i love you, y/n. just let me show my love, please...”

he doesn’t expect the gentle squeeze of your hand in his. his eyes widen in shock, the realization hitting that you probably heard his first draft of a confession. but his fears subside just as quickly when he feels your thumb caressing the back of his hand, and your body shifting closer to him.

your eyes are still closed and you’re too tired to speak, but even your illness can’t stop the smile that spreads across your cheeks. you let out a satisfied hum and squeeze his hand again.

“mmm...”

with his free hand, taehyun brushes away the hair on your face. your smile widens even further. he opens his mouth to say more but instead opts to sit in the silence to let you rest. he can talk about how much he loves you when you feel better; for now he’ll show you.

#txt x reader #taehyun x reader #txt x you #taehyun x you #kang taehyun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #taehyun imagines #txt fluff #taehyun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #bhj's 300 follower event 🖤#bhj: violet's works

316 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 27 days ago

Text

Fix You

John Price/female reader 11k words - AO3 - story is set in Through Me (The Flood) but is an AU and can be read as a standalone. Tags: 18+ major character death, heavy angst, loss of a loved one. Grief. Overconsumption of alcohol. Explicit sexual content. Emotional hurt/comfort. Complicated feelings. Angry sex. Caretaking. Trauma. Tenderness. Reader is a widow.

John Price knocks on your door in the late afternoon.

When the doorbell rings, you slip the baby into her bouncer and rub Orion’s hair affectionately at the table where he’s scribbling away with some crayons.

You’re not expecting anyone, but you guess it could be Cami. Though she usually just waltzes through the front door after using her key.

But it’s not.

It’s John.

You’re silent in front of him, eyes wide. He’s holding a bag, a black duffel, still dressed for work, for battle, face pinched in despair. Your heart lurches. “What is it?” He peeks over your shoulder to where the kids are, preoccupied, happy.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“No,” you tell him sharply. “No, I- what is it? Where is he? How bad is it?” His eyes soften, and he whispers your name. You barely notice when he reaches over to close the front door, too busy cycling through every worse case scenario. He eyes the chairs on the porch.

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.” You’re going to be sick. “Just tell me. Say it.” There’s a long moment where your life plays out in front of you. The stretch of before, and after. John takes a deep breath.

“He’s gone.” Gone. Gone as in, missing? Gone as in, on a different mission? What does gone mean? Your confusion must be blatant, because he reaches for your shoulder. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry.” You jerk away and laugh. That’s all you can do. Laugh. Laugh at the absurdity. Simon's not dead. He can't be. That makes no sense.

“No, he’s not, he can’t be. I literally just talked to him, like three days ago. He said you guys were wrapping up, that you were done.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, he’s-“

“Stop. Don’t- don’t say that. He’s coming home. You’re all supposed to be home next week, he promised, he-“ Your mind is fighting something your heart already knows. “It’s not true.”

“We ran into a situation, there was-“

“Stop!” You back away, bumping into the railing. You’re shivering, sobbing, unable to catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to guide you towards the chair, but you don’t budge. You can’t. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to accept it. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to move forward. You don’t have to live a life without him. You don’t have to walk inside and tell your son his father is dead. Your daughter won’t have to grow up without ever knowing him.

“Please.” Your voice cracks, and you stare up at him. “Please, it’s a mistake, it must be. It has to be. He can’t- He promised, he promised.”

“I know.” You shake your head.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t save him, I-“ His voice breaks, and then you do, sobbing so loud you’re sure it can be heard over the hills. A scream is building up inside you, burning and itching to get out, and he tugs you forward, cradles a hand around the back of your head and pushes your nose to his chest.

When it finally breaks free, it echoes directly over John’s heart.

You’ll never understand how people can say funeral services are beautiful.

They’re not.

They’re agonizing. Devastating. The last screw in the finality of your new reality.

It’s only you, the kids and his team. That’s all he had.

“You’re everything mama. I love you so much.”

Orion’s barely old enough to understand. He asks when he’ll see his dad again, and your answer is traumatizing for your child, at best. Daddy’s not coming home, you tell him. Daddy’s going somewhere else now, somewhere better.

He’s dead.

You black out during the entire thing. There are words being said, by a priest, by Johnny, by John, flowers being thrown. Cami stands at your side, holding your daughter, the child who will grow up never knowing her father. Barely five months old. Occasionally you look over at her, blissfully asleep, and you feel envy. Envy of your own child, who will never know this loss. Who will never feel the pain of losing Simon Riley.

Someone asks you if you want to do the honors of dumping the first shovelful of dirt onto his coffin.

You laugh out loud.

What a ridiculous custom.

Johnny and Kyle exchange a look of concern, you ignore them. You know what they think.

“Let’s get you home.” John’s eyes linger on your face, their sapphire and gunmetal shine holding you captive for a second as you grapple with what he’s said. If you were more present, more aware in this moment, you’d probably say they were akin to the palest hydrangeas, the color of the shrubs growing in your own front yard.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re not in any state at all, you’re just here, standing at the edge of the cemetery, staring at a mound of fresh dirt.

The dirt covering your husband.

Orion hugs your legs, trying to force his way between your knees. You’ve long tuned out the sound of his wails, unable to give him more, give him anything except your relentless grief.

You should be stronger, for them. Should handle this better.

There are a lot of things you should have done. Should have told him you loved him more. Should have been the one to hold his hand as he died. Should have made sure he wasn’t scared and alone at the end.

The gaping wound in your heart tears wider, and your knees buckle.

John wraps his arm around your shoulders, steadying you, shifting your weight into him, keeping you upright. Cami watches, gaze glossed over with tears, baby in her arms. Your baby. You and Simon’s baby. Orion cries louder.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, to no one, to the wind-

But it’s John who answers. “You can.”

There are voices in the kitchen.

It’s late now, long after sunset, the day you buried your husband almost over. More and more of him slips away. You get farther and farther away from the last time you saw him, spoke to him, heard his voice with every second.

It aches, so you close your eyes instead and tuck the blanket under your chin, curled up with your nose in the couch cushion.

The kids are asleep. You’re hoping you’ll follow. Soon.

“-want us to stay?” It’s Kyle. He’s trying to keep his voice down but you’re only in the other room, on the couch, staring at the wall.

“No,” John assures him. “You guys go home. I’ll be here.”

“You sure? The kids… if she’s not feeling up to it, or needs help…” Cami’s voice is wet, still heavy with sadness.

“I’m here. I promised him.” There’s a long pause, and he clears his throat. “I’ve got her.”

You can’t dwell on them for too long, exhaustion of the day finally dragging you down, slowing your breathing and cutting off your consciousness, giving you a reprieve from the grief by sealing you away from it in your sleep.

“Mama?” Orion’s little voice calls for you in the dark, and you jerk awake. The baby is crying. Someone is knocking on the door.

“Hey little man,” your throat is raw, your voice not your own. His little eyebrows crease together.

He looks so much like him.

You glance around. You’re no longer on the couch but tucked away in bed, slippers placed neatly on the carpet, phone plugged into the charger. Odd, considering you fell asleep on the couch.

“You hungry?” He nods as you sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Alright, let’s have breakfast then. What do you think sounds good?”

“Waffles?” “Okay. Go wash up while I go get Nix.” And figure out who’s at the door.

“John.” His hands are in his pockets, beanie folded up on his forehead, and you don’t miss the way he evaluates you, crying, wriggling baby in your arms, still in your pajamas, Orion hollering about breakfast in the background.

“I wanted to come by and check on you guys.” Right. Of course. Come check on the widow. What if she can’t get herself out of bed? What if she’s too sad to take care of her kids? He grimaces and clears his throat. “You’re uh… you’re wet.” He inclines his head towards Nix, who is mouthing at your chest over your t-shirt. Shit.

“Oh, crap. Uh, come in. We were about to have breakfast. Well, not just about. Ry wanted waffles and I was about to start them,” you’re babbling down the hall, glancing at Orion in his booster seat at the counter, banging around a bowl and spoon like a little king waiting impatiently for his meal.

“’cle John!” He claps, and John smiles.

“I’ll start them for you while…” He trails off and you smile awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

Phoenix is an easy baby. She latches easily, eats easily, goes down to sleep easily. She’s a breeze compared to Orion at this age.

Small blessings, you guess.

Simon said it was you earned it, after Ry. You deserved it.

What did you do to deserve this?

“Mama sad.” Orion whispers, his mournful little voice the first thing you hear when you shuffle out of your room. Nix went down after a change and a burp. Easy.

“She misses your daddy,” John answers, “like us.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip so hard it stings at the sound of his voice, dejected, depressed, palm finding the wall to stay upright.

The world tilts, falling out beneath you. For a second, you can see him. Standing on the other side of the counter, black sweatpants low on his hips, pouring some milk in Orion’s little orange cup, Nix cradled against him, stretched across his forearm. Simon laughs, licks his finger, and rubs something off the corner of Orion’s mouth.

You want to scream.

It’s a memory. Nothing else.

“.. okay?” John’s standing in front of you, head tilted, cupping your elbow. “You alright?” You raise your eyebrows, and he rolls his lips inward. “Sorry, course. You just… you looked a little sickly there for a minute.”

“Mama!” Orion yells, rocking back and forth to see you on either side of where John blocks the hallway. “Waffles!” You slide your hands down your shirt, Simon’s shirt.

“You made waffles?”

“Pre-mixed batter isn’t so hard. The lad was hungry.” Guilt simmers in the pit of your stomach, pinches your cheeks inward. “Hey, it’s okay. He was fine, jus’ a little impatient.” You nod, and he jerks his head back to the kitchen. “C’mon, I made you some too. And there’s fresh coffee.”

“Did you put me in bed last night?” You’re wiping down the countertop, some movie enrapturing your toddler in the background. He hesitates, and then nods.

“You were falling off the couch. Didn’t want you to brain yourself on the coffee table.” Your fingers curl around the mug, still warm to the touch, shoulders bunching beneath your ears before you forcibly relax them.

“Well, thanks.” I guess. An uncomfortable silence settles between you, questions evaporating on the tip of your tongue.

“I was going to head into town today for some groceries, can I get you anything?”

“Formula.” You blurt. “I can’t… we’ll need formula.” You don’t want to explain to him how it’s too much now, to breastfeed. How you won’t be able to handle it on top of everything else. How you think your milk will probably dry up anyway, bowing and breaking with the waves of your despair.

“What are you thinking about for dinner?” He scratches at the underside of his chin. The beard is overgrown, something you haven’t seen on him in a while, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He’s grieving too. You know it.

You just can’t find it in you to care.

Something is weighing on John. Something is tied around his ankles, tethered to the sea floor, waiting to drag him beneath the surface. You see it. There’s guilt in the lines of his face, tension between his brows.

You wonder if there is blood on his hands.

“Why are you here, John?” You don’t intend to ask, but the words have a mind of their own and slip free.

“Wanted to stop by.” His voice is tight, rough like yours this morning. “Check in, see if you needed anything.” There are a million things you want to say, but words fail you. You don’t know how to tell him he should just leave, because nothing will ever be okay. You’ll always need something.

Simon.

Your husband.

The father of your kids. The man whose shirts are hung up in the closet. His paperback book still sitting open on his nightstand. His toothbrush still in the cup by the sink.

The agony you’ve managed to lock away for a few brief moments breaks free again, and you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the heaving sob. John looks past you to where Orion still sits in front of the screen, mesmerized, and then takes you by the elbow to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, settling on the closed lid of the toilet, still choking on the lump in the back of your throat. “I told you, I can’t do this, I can’t. I can’t be without him, I don’t know how to be without him, I can’t-“

“Hey,” He’s crouched down, evening the height difference, looking at you with an expression so serious it quells your spiral for a fleeting moment. “You can do this. You have two beautiful kids who need you to do it for ‘em.” He hands you a square of toilet paper, and you wipe your nose.

“I want him back, John, I- I need him back.” You tuck your hands between your thighs, suddenly freezing, cold from the inside out.

“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I know you do.”

“There’s a lasagna in the fridge. Cami left it last night.” He’s tugging on his jacket, your handwritten grocery list from the fridge tucked in his pocket.

“Oh.” She’s texted you multiple times today, and all have gone unanswered. You don’t know what to say. “That was nice of her.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours after I take care of a few things and do the grocery run. You’ll be alright?” He’s treating you like glass. Like you’re a bomb primed to explode, big red letters counting down to an inevitable explosion. You manage to nod.

“Yeah.” The smile you give him is painfully fake, and you know he clocks it. “I’m going to hang out with the kids. Cuddle on the couch.” His smile is more genuine, but small.

“I’ll help you with dinner later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” He turns to leave, but you call his name before he hits the door.

“John?” His eyes meet yours. Blue. Crystalline like the sapphire on your finger. You clear your throat. “Thank you.”

He nods.

John finds you catatonic on the couch one morning. Nix in her day crib, the one that’s a permanent fixture in the living room, and Orion perched in front of an old Disney movie for the hundredth time this week.

You’re failing. Failing your kids, failing as a mother, failing to keep yourself patched together.

You thought you’d be stronger if it ever happened. You promised him you would be, but the promises have turned meaningless, your integrity torn to pieces.

You can’t remember the last time you showered or brushed your teeth. You’re sure you smell.

At least the kids are clean. Dressed. Fed. You’re not a complete disaster, you guess.

Still, when John appears in your line of sight, brows knitted together with worry, you’re caught off guard.

“Oh.” You blink, his frown deepens.

“I was calling your name. Were you somewhere else sweet?” Sweet.

“Sorry, I was… lost in thought.” He takes you in from head to toe, you in all your grimy glory.

“How about you take a break?” Irritation ignites, and you grit your teeth.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I don’t need help.” His arms cross his chest.

“It’s not a request. You’ve been wearing those sweatpants for four days. Get up, and get in the shower, or I’ll put you in myself.”

“Fuck off.” You hiss, and his eyes widen, surprised. How many people have surprised John Price? Close to none, you imagine.

“That’s enough.” He hauls you off the couch by your forearms just as Orion glances your way, little brain no doubt trying to understand the situation. “Be right back, bud.” John soothes him, and you seethe at how easily your son, Simon’s, nods and returns to his movie.

He’s gentle somehow, dragging you to the bathroom, but still forceful as he holds you by the elbow and reaches into the shower to turn the tap on.

The little fight that was inside you is gone. You wilt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to the floor, fingers knotted together.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” You’re sniffling, crying for the hundredth time in the last few days, and he rubs your upper arm.

“Nothing is going to be okay for a while,” he murmurs, “forever, even. But you’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay.”

The rest of the week goes too fast. You’re getting farther and farther away from it, from the moments when Simon was still alive in this world, when he still existed.

Desperate to slow it down, you don’t sleep. You sit in the kitchen and scroll through your phone, replaying the same videos over and over again, tears dripping down your cheeks. Grief is an emotion, but it’s a physical ailment too. It rots in your stomach and starves you. It aches between your ribs, so viscerally it’s like there is a knife twisted there, scraping against your bones, sawing between your muscle.

You take care of the kids in a daze. Feed and change Nix on autopilot. You give in to Orion’s every wish without a second thought, and he has waffles every morning. Chicken nuggets every night. Ice cream sundaes with too much chocolate syrup and a mountain of whipped cream. As much screen time as his little heart desires. You let him sleep in your bed, curled up in your arms, his little fist clinging to the neck of whichever shirt of Simon’s you’re wearing.

He can’t sleep in his own. He wakes up crying.

Cami comes over and stocks your fridge and freezer. She refills your tea canister. She vacuums the entire house. She feeds and changes the baby. You watch, listlessly, and when she’s finished, she squeezes your hand with a promise to be over again in a few days. You don’t have the words to thank her, so you don’t try. You want to believe she knows anyway.

John is the steady presence. He’s here, doing the dishes, making sure the three of you are eating, helping with the kids. He watches you shrewdly, careful.

A ticking time bomb.

One he’s afraid to set off.

It doesn’t matter how much they try to lessen the burden of living. How much they try to support you. They can’t change anything. They can’t stem the bleeding of your broken heart.

Seven days after Simon’s funeral, you crack the bottle, the one you had shipped from the states, stupid expensive Kentucky bourbon, caramel colored gasoline.

The baby is asleep. Orion is exhausted from his day with Gaz and Cami.

You’re alone on the front porch, curled up in a blanket, the hood of Simon’s sweatshirt pulled over your head. The only light you have is the green glow of the baby monitor. Otherwise, it’s just you, the moon, and the stars.

The hoodie still smells like him. So do the pillows. His t-shirts. His side of the closet. It’s a blessing. It’s agony.

You drink directly from the bottle, though you should use a glass. Simon would chastise you for not using a glass. He would tell you to sniff it from the rim of a tumbler, and then laugh when your nose wrinkled.

You should use a glass, but you don’t. It’s easier to take big sips this way.

Truck tires crunch on gravel, and then the broad figure of John Price stands at the foot of the porch. “Hey.” You raise the bottle, expecting him to laugh. He doesn’t. The stairs creak beneath his feet.

“What do you have there?”

“Bourbon.”

“Kentucky?”

“The one and only.” You take another swig, baring your teeth when it burns. You shake it. “Want some?”

“Think you’ve had enough for both of us.” Ass. You bristle, anger boiling in your blood, but you’re too drunk to stay on track and unleash it.

“Why are you here?” It’s the same question you asked earlier this week, but you still don’t understand. He holds your gaze for a long time. The only thing you find there is devastation.

“I promised him.”

“You promised him what?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“This isn’t a good time for this conversation, let’s go inside-“ You don’t budge. You can’t.

“You promised him what, John.”

“I was there,” his voice is hoarse, and there’s a heaviness to it, an agony the two of you share. “And he knew. He knew we wouldn’t get him back in time, no matter how fast we landed a bird.” You can’t see, vision blotted out by your tears. You want to put your hands over your ears. You want to know everything single thing. The two sides battle, and your cheeks grow wet like your face is upturned in a downpour. “He made me promise to take care of you. To take care of the kids. Grabbed me by the front of my vest and asked me to swear. So I did. I swore. I swore and I’m not going back on my word to him. I never will.”

“You were with him.” You’re not sure you want to know, but you have to. You have to know every piece of him, even this. Even the end.

“Yes. I was with him at the end. He wasn’t alone.” You clutch the bottle against your chest, so tight you’re afraid it might break, shatter the glass into your fingers. It would hurt less than this.

“Was he scared?”

“No. He was only thinking about you. You and the kids. He wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, that was all he cared about. He dug the pocket square out of his vest and held it over his heart.” The sob breaks free and destroys the dam holding everything together. Your body shakes with it, the ugly noises coming from within you, the pain of losing the love of your life.

“You were supposed to keep him safe.” Your voice raises, the alcohol tainting your ability to be rational or stay quiet.

“I know-“

“Mama?” You jolt, turning to ice, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. John swears under his breath.

“Orion,” you croak. He’s stricken, holding his sippy cup, wide eyes focused on your face. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.” You try to reassure him, but his panic only increases, and you fail in the moment, unable to offer him comfort. John steps between the two of you and crouches.

“Hey bud.” He points at the sippy cup. “Need some milk in there?” Your son nods, trying to peek around him to see you. “How about,” John scoops him up, “we get you some more milk and get you back in bed okay?”

“I want mama.” His voice trembles. You feel sick and close your eyes, but the next thing you know there are little arms wrapping around your neck in a hug, your boy’s hair under your nose. You look up at John, his eyes red and his face tormented.

“Say goodnight and she’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“I love you, little man,” you kiss him once, twice, before rubbing his back. “Let Uncle John get you some milk and put you back to bed, okay? I’ll be in soon.” Their voices disappear down the hall, and you twist the cap on the bottle.

Down the hatch.

“He looks like him.” Orion is rolling around in the living room, playing with his magnatiles while Nix is on her back, feet in the air, kicking at the play arch. John hums, stroking a hand over his beard. He’s finally trimmed, looking more like himself and less like a mountain man.

It’s a strange feeling, to see him and notice it looks better. Good, even.

“He does.”

“Guess we’re lucky, in that way. Having these little pieces of him.” Orion has his eyes, his shoulders too. They have the same smile, even some of the same mannerisms, and it hurts so much to think about how it will fade over time, how Orion will no longer be able to mimic his father. John steers your mind away.

“Can I help you with dinner?” “No, I’m okay. But… if you want to stay, you can.” He should, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t admit to him or even yourself that you’ve become reliant on him, his consistency, the steadfast force in your lives. Weeks have passed, and he hasn’t given up, no matter how hard you fight and fall apart. No matter how destructive you, the maelstrom at the center of your family’s life.

“We all lost-“

“You didn’t lose anything!” You’re screaming, finger jabbed in his chest, pushing him backward. He lets you. He doesn’t flinch. “He was mine! He was mine, not yours. He was ours. Our son’s. Our daughter’s. He belonged to us.” You’re barely breathing, suffocating underneath your grief, fingers going numb. He reaches, but you step away, swaying on your feet. You whimper. “F-fuck.”

“Come here.” It’s not a request, not the gentle coaxing you’re used to from him. It’s a command from a captain. When you don’t, he strikes, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into his chest, hand at the back of your neck. “Breathe.” He rocks you side to side slowly, head down, rumble in his diaphragm soothing against your ear. “C’mon, you can do it. Big breaths.”

“I can’t.” It’s the same thing you’ve been saying over and over again. You can’t do it, you can’t do this, you can’t you can’t you can’t you-

“Yes, you can, you can. Try. I’m right here, I won’t let you fail. I promise.”

“John said you needed a break.”

“John doesn’t make decisions for me.” You snap, and Cami winces, triggering a tidal wave of guilt. “I’m sorry Cam. I… I’m having a hard time.” She rubs your shoulder.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re not going to offend me or push me away. I just want to help.” You sigh. “Let me take them for the night. You can catch up on some trash tv. Read a book. Take a bath.” She whittles you down, and you finally concede.

Except being alone is bad for you. It’s bad for your mind. It’s bad for your heart.

Hours later, John finds you in a pile of Simon’s clothes. You’re curled up, nose buried in cotton, skin swollen under your eyes. “Oh, sweet.”

“Go away.” You don’t even lift your head.

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“That may be but I’m not leaving you here by yourself like this.” There’s an empty bottle of wine buried in this pile somewhere, and he plucks it free by the neck. “Didn’t save any for me?” It’s supposed to be a joke. It falls flat.

“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to have to think.” “I know.” He pulls you into a sitting position, palm cupping your cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I can help,” he motions to the kitchen. “I know how good you are with rice.” His smile turns mischievous, bright blue irises sparkling in the low afternoon sun, and you glower.

“I’m not that bad.”

The sink gets clogged one afternoon.

You try to diagnose it yourself, scrolling through google results on how to DIY it, try standing on your own. You’ll have to get used to it; you guess. Being a widow and all.

The attempts last about thirty minutes. Just in time for your front door to swing open, little feet hauling down the hallway, your son breathless and excited to tell you all about his trip to the park with John and Gaz. John follows right behind, trying to remind him about Phoenix’s naptime.

He pulls up short at the sight of you next to the sink, a pile of tools in the bowl.

“I uh… it’s clogged.” His lips twitch into a half smile. “I tried to fix it; I thought I should try. You know since…” You still have a wrench in your hand, but Orion is tugging at your shirt.

“Here,” he takes the wrench, touch casual as two fingers of his wrap around yours. It’s innocent. It’s nothing. But here he is, fixing your problems. Selflessly again, helping you out.

You’re not sure where you’d be right now if he wasn’t around-

At the thought, guilt so violent almost makes you double over.

Cami and Gaz host a spaghetti dinner, and you leave the house for the first time in weeks, months even. Time is a thief.

There’s laughter coming from the living room when you open the door, Orion sprinting from your side to where his uncles and aunt are hanging out. When you cross the threshold, Nix cooing in your arms and a loaf of banana bread in your free hand, the voices screech to a stop.

“Hi.” Your enthusiasm is lacking, but you’re trying. You really are, even though this is all you can give. Cami smiles excitedly as John stands and crosses the room.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabs the bread, warm hand briefly settling in the middle of your back before it disappears, taking the baby bag off your shoulder. You breathe him in, cigar smoke and pine. It’s calming, somehow. Familiar. “You okay?” He knows how hard this is. Knows how you tossed the decision back and forth, unsure, uncomfortable. You did it for Orion, in the end. You can’t deprive him of his community, so you nod silently.

Cami pulls you into her arms, putting her finger in Nix’s fist and pressing her cheek to yours. “I’m so glad you came.” You manage a weak smile.

“Me too, I… it’s good to see you. And everyone. Ry was really excited.” You look past her to where Soap has him in his arms, moaning and groaning about how they’re nearly the same size.

You take a deep breath.

You can do this.

They tiptoe around you all night. It should bother you, but it doesn’t. You’re not ready for anything else. For stories, for meaningful conversation. Everyone keeps it light. They veer away from work. They treat you with kid gloves.

It’s fine, but it’s exhausting, trying to keep yourself under control. Trying to quiet the ringing in your ears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

You almost manage it. But then someone slips up.

“- an’ that piece o’ shite. Simon was so pissed; I thought he was going to rearrange his face before he let him go.” Gaz laughs, you freeze. “He won in the end though, didn’t he? Always did, until-“

“Soap.” John cuts, and the table goes dead silent, as if they forgot. There’s a warm hand on your knee, but it’s not enough. Cami is shaking her head, blinking at him in horror, and Gaz glares. You stare down at a pile of peas.

“’m sorry,” Johnny whispers, stricken. “’m so sorry. I miss ‘im too, it helps… to talk about ‘im, ye know? I-“

“That’s enough.” John’s command is scathing.

You throw a quick excuse me over your shoulder as you make your way to the bathroom by the kitchen.

You try to breathe deep, but the oxygen doesn’t come as fast as you need it. You’re falling down the dern, despair filled hole that plagues your every waking hour. The reality you try to shove away, the fact that you’re here and he’s not.

Knuckles rap against the door. You undo the lock to come face to face with John, who steps inside and closes it behind him. You keep your gaze fixed on the floor, chest heaving. “Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling you close, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, tipping your face up.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Soap is oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s not up to me to tell people how to grieve.” He wraps you in a hug.

“It’s not, but he should treat you with respect.” You nod, drifting, trying to burn the words from your brain. You’re holding onto him. Clutching at his shirt, and he rubs a hand up and down your spine. It’s good. Warm, and comforting. You sink deeper, let him hold you, seeking solace. The strength you find in John.

You rest your cheek against his chest. “I’m so tired. I want to go home.” You whisper, and he smooths a hand over the back of your head.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” There’s another knock on the door, and you grimace.

It’s Cami. She has the baby on her hip, tears in her eyes. “I’m so-“

“It’s okay. Really. I’m just tired.” You’re lying, but you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She knows anyway. You never should have come. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I figured. I packed some food to go, and Gaz has Orion at the door.” Your best friend, always so kind, so thoughtful.

“Thanks, Cami. I love you.”

“I love you too. Text me when you get home, okay?” She passes Nix into your arms, following her with a hug, and you press your face to her shoulder before pulling away.

“I will.”

It’s been three days since the dinner, despondency settling back into your routine like it never left.

The kids help, John too. They keep you focused. They keep you alive.

“An’ cookie!” John smiles. It’s the lips quirked to the side one, the gleam in his eye one, combined with his standard issue work hair and beard, thick cable knit sweater stretched across the firm weight of his shoulders. It’s navy. Complements his eyes.

A flicker of heat burns in your stomach, between your legs, taking you by surprise.

You’re staring. You’re staring and he looks away from Orion, meeting your eyes, a question forming in them until you clear your throat and glance away, focusing on the baby in your arms and the last of her bottle before trying to get Orion prepared for the end of his night.

“Come on little man, finish your dessert so we can get your pajamas on.”

“U’cle John help me.” His arms cross against his chest, and you give him a reproachful look.

“What do we say when we want to ask someone to help?”

“Please.”

“Yes, please. Good job.”

“Please ‘cle John?” John glances your way, hesitant, and you shrug.

“Sure, bud. Once you’re finished.”

The kitchen gets the final wipe down when John slinks out of Orion’s room, clicking the door shut softly behind him.

“Nix go down?”

“Easily. She’s never fussy. Sleeps like a dream. Thanks for helping with him.” There is a glass on the coffee table, and a bottle of wine. You meant to have some earlier but got distracted. “I was going to have a glass of wine and watch something, want to stay and hang out for a bit?” You love your kids, but only having a baby and a toddler to talk to all the time can get old fast, no matter how much you love them.

His fingers brush yours when he takes the second glass from your hand, and you swallow. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you shiver.

The movie is two hours long, but forty-five minutes and two glasses of wine in, your head starts to feel heavy, and your eyelids grow lazy.

“- want to go to bed?”

“No,” you sigh. Your head is quiet, and you’re curled up against something warm, drifting in the sweet space between sleep and waking, low volume of the tv murmuring in the background. “Gonna stay here.” The blanket is tucked around your shoulders, and you snuggle deeper, sagging into the cushions. You’re almost there, just on the cusp when you jerk. “Baby monitor.” You mumble, and a whisper traces an arc from your temple to jawline, touch so featherlight it’s hard to know if it was ever there at all.

“Sleep, dove. I’ll be here.”

“We were going to have another baby you know. He wanted another one so badly. Kept trying to knock me up every time he was home.” The ice rattles in your glass, and you cast a long look at the half empty bottle between the two chairs you’re in on the porch.

“He told me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. Kept talkin’ about how you turned him into a caveman all the time.” You laugh. It’s real. A real laugh, something unbidden, releasing from your chest. John raises his eyebrows, and smiles.

“That’s how it was. He was always like that.” The stars are really bright tonight. They have been, ever since you buried him. You’re not sure if there’s less light pollution lately or if you’re just paying attention more. Sometimes you want to believe it’s something else entirely. If it’s a piece of him making them glow for you. Lighting up your sky. Wrapping you in a blanket of midnights, little collections of constellations in his arms. “They’re named after the stars, you know. The babies.”

“I know.” He sips his whiskey. “Orion the giant hunter, son of Poseidon, and Phoenix, rising from ash to be reborn.”

“Yeah.” You’re crying, again, and you wipe the tears away as quickly as you can.

“They’re beautiful names.” You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say, so the two of you sit there, side by side on the porch in silence until you break it.

“I’m angry at him. I’m so mad, he broke his promises. He broke all his promises and left me here. He left me.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. He loved you so much.” You twist the ring on your left finger. It’s looser now, your inability to stomach most things starting to show. You wouldn’t have even noticed, or cared, unless John said something. ‘I promised I’d take care of you. That includes not letting you turn into a beanstalk.’

“He didn’t keep his promise.” There is the crux of it. All the promises made, only one kept. ‘Til death. Except he’s gone, and you’re still here.

Turning into a ghost.

“Can you hang out with the kids for a little bit tonight?” His brow pulls together, pinching in the middle, lines of his forehead wrinkling just bit, just enough to remind you of his age.

“Sure, everything okay?” Your eyes find your feet.

“I want to go to the cemetery.” His mouth opens, and whatever was going to come out of it disappears with his nod.

“Alright.”

You’re sick.

That’s the only way you can explain this, laying here on top of the plot, bottle of Kentucky bourbon in your hand. You’ve dumped some on the ground at the base of his stone, a toast of some kind, a sad, hopeless connection sitting one sided.

This is a special kind of agony. It’s the kind that wears you down. It makes you ill. It has you wishing you could dig up his coffin and crawl inside it. Sick. Rotting from the inside out.

“John’s kept his promise to you,” you manage another large swig, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “He’s always around. Helps with the kids a lot. Keeps us afloat. I guess he takes his pledges pretty seriously.” Another swig. This one leaks from the side of your lips. “I hate you, you know that? If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you myself. You weren’t supposed to leave us here. You were always supposed to come home. You promised.” You dig into the earth, dirt and grass compacting under your fingernails.

The night is dark and starless.

Figures.

You’d do anything to change this. Anything. You can’t carry it. You can’t bear it. It’s too heavy. Too much. For one moment, you’d like to not feel it, to not know the crushing weight of your grief. It follows your every waking minute. It follows you in your dreams.

When people die, there are always these fantastical stories floating around about their loved ones seeing a bird, or a cloud, or a rainbow. Some overwhelmingly positive sign leading them to believe the deceased is at peace.

It’s all bullshit.

There are no signs. There is no peace.

There’s only you, and the dead man you love in the ground.

It’s late when you make it home.

You probably shouldn’t have driven. It’s a short ride to and from the little graveyard on the hill, but you’re ashamed to have done it.

You know better.

“Didn’t hear you come in.” Your keys clang against the counter, forgotten as you turn to face him. The lie gives you pause. He knew you had come in. Simon never missed the sing of a door hinge, the latch of a window. You know they operate. How they function.

Still, you let it go. You don’t have the mental capacity to call him out.

He’s closer than you expected. Close enough you can smell him. It’s always the same, cigars and pine. Fresh needles fallen on the forest floor. He reminds you of it too in a way. The woods. Something about him, the way he fits into his sweater, the rough heels of his hands, like he’s felled a thousand trees and could go for a thousand more.

He’s got amber gold on the rocks in his hand, more whiskey. The ice has diluted it a bit, a thin watery film sitting on the bottom of the glass. You wrap your fingers around the rim and tip it to your lips. It burns. The clock ticks, the two of you breathe in and out. In and out.

“I can’t carry this.” You blurt, setting the glass down a little too hard. “I know you think I can… but I can’t. I’m drowning.”

“No one expects you to right now…” He’s talking, reassuring, supporting you, but there’s nothing except for his eyes. They’re the color of the ocean, the one you swam in the weekend Simon put the ring on your finger.

Your ears are ringing. Your blood is hot, the alcohol rewiring your brain until it conjures wild ideas about an escape. Maybe you don’t have to carry it, for a minute. Maybe you can close your eyes and share it with someone. Share it with him. Just for a minute.

“John.” You whisper, still focused on his eyes.

“What is it?” You twist your fingers in his sweater, dirt from under your fingernails getting caught in the wool, and he tenses, confused. “Hey, maybe-“ No maybes. You swing onto your toes and drag him downward, pressing your mouth to his in a rush. He grunts, but the kiss lingers until he pulls away. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You can’t place the look he gives you, mind too far gone. If you were sober, you’d say it was significant. He cups your cheek.

“Let’s sit down and-“

“No. John. Please. Help me carry it. Please.” Electricity crackles in the air, his hand sliding to your neck where he holds it firm with two fingers.

“We can’t. Shouldn’t. It’s just the grief, it’s-“

“Please.” You raise yourself back onto your toes, and though he’s dead still, he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t stop you as you kiss the corner of his mouth, beard brushing against your chin, and he doesn’t stop you when you find his lips again, parting your own, holding onto his shoulders.

He groans, hands drifting to your hips and digging into them, gripping you so tight, a pendulum swinging, pushing you away, pulling you back, until he gives in.

You’re kissing captain Price, for fucks sake. Your husband’s boss, his friend. One of the most important men in his life.

The betrayal burns.

This is wrong. So wrong, but there’s a wild piece of you that wants it. Likes it. The pieces that have taken solace in John have now turned to something else, something stronger, more vibrant.

It’s wrong. So wrong.

But in this moment, there’s nothing else but you and him and this decision. There’s no room for the other things that plague you.

It’s rough. You’re rough. He’s rough. You pin him against the kitchen counter, fumbling with his belt and zipper, sandpapered pads of his thumbs under your shirt and rolling over your nipples. You’re clumsy, disorientated, only saved when he spins you around and folds you over the cool surface. “Alright.” He murmurs like it’s just now kicked in what you’re doing, what’s happening in this moment, this sacrilege now staining you both. He kicks your feet wide, and rips your leggings to your ankles, tracing a line back up your thigh to shove his hand inside your panties and through your folds to push his finger inside you.

“Ah, John-” You hiss, arching your back, greedy for more, desperate for something, waiting and wanting, willingly going with him as he drags you to the floor, pushes you to your knees and bends you over, too big hand between your shoulder blades.

He fills you in a single stroke and you cry out, slapping a palm over your mouth to cover your scream, stifling the moans that follow. It’s a stretch, one that burns, too much and too soon, but this isn’t meant to be slow. It’s not a treasure, a sentimental unfolding of passion. It’s grief. It’s loss. It’s nothing like love. “Christ.” He grits, pinching your ass. “You’re bloody tight, sweet.” You can’t respond, your free hand digs against the hard wood, scrambling for something to hold onto as he shoves his cock against your cervix. You’re going to come unreasonably fast, already clamping down around him, tightening with the curl of your toes. “Be nice and quiet for me now, angel.” He pulls you up by your chest, mouth hot at your ear as he reaches for your clit, pinching the swollen nub and then smacking it with an open palm, your shriek barely muffled by your hand. He’s speaking, but you’re not quite catching it, too distracted by the blinding light on the outside of your vision, sparks blooming into fireworks. “Oh dove, you’re coming,” his mouth is on your cheek, kissing, nipping, and you turn to steel, vibrating with the strength of your orgasm, pathetic whines ghosting over his neck as your head tips back. He coos, brushes a hand over your forehead. It’s comforting, sick comfort for a sick girl. “Good girl, Shh, I know, I know it’s a lot.” The peak crashes, and you twitch, pulsing around him, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He comes all over you. Puts you back on all fours and curses under his breath, holding you steady, gripping your ass cheek so hard it will be tender tomorrow. The ocean rushes in your ears and you start to drift away, post orgasm, post fuck, sweaty and sated as he paints you.

“Fuck honey-“

I’ve got a lot of cum for you, honey

Tell daddy what you’re doing, honey

Can’t get over how good you taste, honey

Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?

The tip of the knife jams between your ribs. It penetrates your heart. It shreds organ and bone until the injury is so catastrophic, the only fix is death.

The noise you make is more animal than human.

Honey, honey, honey-

You flinch and crawl away panicked. He’s calling your name but you’re deaf to it, drowning in Simon’s voice.

Simon, your husband, who was the last man inside you. Simon who called you honey, and sweetheart, and mama. Simon, who’s body is cold in the ground. Who’s ring is on your finger.

Honey, honey, honey-

You stumble to your feet and make it to the sink just before the whiskey and bourbon comes shooting out of your mouth.

Sick.

“Promise me-“

“Shut up Simon. That’s an order.” He’s got her embroidered pocket square in his fingers, stained in blood, crimson dotting out the constellations. The radio crackles, but it only confirms what they both know.

Simon has minutes. They need at least twenty.

He shakes his head. John presses harder on his abdomen, pointedly ignoring the river of red spilling out beneath his palms. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much human bodies bleed. It’s not like he’s usually sticking around to watch.

“John.” Simon’s free hand latches onto the strap of John’s vest and jerks it roughly, pulling him closer. “You swear to me, right now. Do it.”

“I won’t. There’s still time. Stop talking, you need the oxygen.” His lips crack into a smile, gaze already starting to fall away, and then snaps to, refocusing.

“Tell her I love her. And that I’m sorry.”

“You’ll tell her yourself, Lieutenant.” He shakes his head, fist tightening over that little square, dragging to his heart, the organ beneath the vest that’s beating too slowly.

“John. Swear it. Promise me you’ll take care of her. You’ll take care of them.” There’s blood trickling down his jaw now, flowing from his lips. “She’s strong, but it’s gonna be hard. She’ll need you. The kids will need you. Nix is only a baby, she can’t-“ he coughs, shudders, and then his brow furrows with determination. “They can’t grow up without a dad.” John’s stomach, already an open pit, now rips into a black hole.

“You’re their dad, Simon. You are.” His voice cracks.

“Swear.”

“No.”

“Swear to me!” Simon shouts in his face, blood spraying on his cheeks. Gaz is yelling at them from twenty-five yards away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s not enough time.

They stare at each for seconds that are really eternity. They’ve been together in this hell, in this job, for so long. Suffered and slogged and killed together for so long. Simon isn’t just his team member, he’s a part of his life.

A rabid fucking dog brutalized and beaten down, now a husband, a father, a leader in his own right.

John pushes away the memory of the day he met Orion. The pride on Simon’s face. The pure joy.

He would never deny him.

They hold on to each other’s forearms. It’s goodbye.

“I swear it, Simon. I will take care of them. I promise. On my life.”

“And you’ll tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

He should have stopped you.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe it happened, but it’s not hard to remember. Not hard to remember how you felt, scorching velvet plush around his cock, not hard to remember the sounds you make when you come, how your pussy twitches. Not hard to remember how beautiful you were in his arms, shaking and crying, holding tight to him as he fucked you as deep as he could.

And it’s hard to forget the horror on your face. The way you crawled away like a wounded animal. The hoarse sobbing that came after the vomit in the sink. The way your knees gave out. The way you told him to get the fuck out.

Help me carry it.

It’s survivor’s guilt. It must be. Or trauma bonding. He’s been here for you, for the kids. He’s held you and wiped your tears and scooped you off the floor.

Because it’s his duty.

Right?

He can’t deny there’s something wrong with him, though. There’s something wrong with the way he barked at Soap during dinner, something wrong with the way he let you curl up beside him with your head on his stomach the night you fell asleep on the couch. He just sat there, stroked your cheek, rested his hand on his shoulder.

The guilt builds. It’s compounding, and fueling the anger, the rage directed at himself.

How dare he? How dare he betray Simon like this? How dare he try to take something that’s never been his?

He walks it like a tightrope. It’s his duty. It’s a betrayal.

Duty. Deceit. Duty. Betrayal. An oath. A line crossed, again and again.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do except crush and pulverize this thing trying to bloom. He rips out it by the roots.

Though he knows as well as any, determined things always find a way.

You don’t even look at him, and it gets under his skin. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong.

“Orion is almost ready.” You say over your shoulder, already moving away from him and down the hall, running but you’re not being chased. He’s supposed to take the lad fishing today. Orion has been looking forward to it all week, and you, quite frankly, don’t have the energy.

He catches you by the elbow and you jerk away, lips pressed together and eyes down. “Look at me.” You shake your head, glisten of tears catching in the early morning light streaming through the windows. He says your name, as softly as he can manage, and you tremble.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Talk to me?” He’s pushing, and maybe he shouldn’t.

“Yes.” You hiss, venom twisting your face into a mask he’s never seen before. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk about what we did.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and it hurts in a way he didn’t expect. He wants to agree. He wants to wipe your face and tug you into his chest. He wants to bury the guilt ripping through him and turn around. Walk out the door.

He’ll do none of it. He’s a man of his word, above all else.

“When you’re ready then.” He nods as if it’s nonnegotiable, and then saved from a rebuttal when Orion runs full speed from his room. You turn on your heel and storm away.

Fine.

He’s at your door the next night for dinner.

You stand in the frame, arms crossed, anger etched into your face. “I don’t need your help tonight.”

“You going to make me a liar then?” He snaps, patience thin. The anger dissipates, and it’s replaced by that same despondent, dead look in your eyes that’s been making him sick since the day he came to the door. “Make me go back on my word to him?”

“John.” You whisper his name with shaking hands.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” There’s acid on the tip of his tongue. It’s stringent, bitter like the soap his mum washed his mouth out with. He doesn’t know why, but it stings. You look up at him, eyes so wide, so sad, so lost, he has to hold himself back from dragging you into his arms. “It didn’t mean anything, dove. It was just us. Just between us. Just grief.”

“Just grief.” You parrot, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes and down your temples. He brushes them away, and you surprise him by leaning into it. You smile weakly. “We’re having pasta bake.”

A few days later, and there are loads of laundry on your couch when he walks in. You throw him a desperate look, piles separated into toddler clothes, baby clothes and your own. They’re mountains, nearly at your chest when standing.

“Get a little behind?”

“I’ve been a little tired, I guess.”

“Can I help?” “Sure, want to fold onesies?” You laugh a little bit, enough to crack your lips into a small smile. He likes it. Likes your smile. It reminds him of the one you used to give Simon, the way it would break across your face, sunshine in a patch of clouds. He’d nuzzle your cheek, your neck, holding Orion on his hip with one arm, and you with another.

He stills, holding a small yellow piece of clothing.

Your husband. Simon was your husband.

And he’s the interloper.

Swear to me-

I swear it-

I will take care of them.

His ears ring with the bells of remorse, the song of at the beginning of a procession.

“John? You alright?” He’s been staring at you this entire time, but not seeing you, just seeing the past, seeing Simon, seeing everything that came before these moments where he’s being torn in two. He nods, not trusting his voice, his words.

“Will you be here for dinner tonight?” He usually is. It kills two birds with one stone. He makes sure you’re functioning; he makes sure you’re eating. It’s never been a question of you caring for the kids. The worry has been about you caring for yourself.

He can’t stomach sitting down for a meal with you and Orion today, so he lies. “I have to get home and get some work done.” You’re surprised, and then disappointed. He sees it so clearly and chooses not to dwell on it.

He can’t stay. He needs to work this out of his system.

You’re sad tonight.

Some days are really bad days, and then some of them are awful, like these. The ones where you move from bed to the couch, feeding and changing and dressing the kids on autopilot. He calls them your sad days, because he doesn’t want to call it what it is. Depressed days, despair days, you’ve given up days.

Some of the days are better, but these are the worst. It gets ugly at night, when the anxiety and fear becomes too much, when the loss crashes down too quickly.

The house is quiet, and you’re curled up in the middle of the bed under a heap of blankets, staring at the wall. You don’t acknowledge him when he opens the door or slips inside, you say nothing when he sits on the side of the bed. He lays a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react.

“Did you eat today?”

“A little.” He strokes your cheek, backs of his fingers gliding over soft skin, trying to rouse you a bit more, and you sigh.

“Kids go down alright?”

“Fine. Orion is upset he can’t sleep in our,” your face twists, “my bed anymore. But I placated him with too much ice cream.” You manage a smile then, and he matches it.

“That’s good. Nothing he won’t do for some chocolate yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small. “John?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think it will ever go away?” He smooths some baby hairs back from your forehead.

“I don’t know, angel. Eventually it will hurt less, I imagine. But the loss will always be there.” Your cheeks glisten in the dark, sliver of light shining through the crack in the door from the hallway.

“I’m glad you were with him.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he bleeds.

“I am too.” Your fingers curl around his.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” The ache in his heart is back, doubling the beat, blood churning all the way to his toes. “Will you stay?” He shouldn’t, but he folds himself alongside where you’re under the blankets and tucks your head into his neck.

“Yes, dove. I’ll stay.”

The next time it happens is filled with rage.

You’re a wild animal, a wolf starved, teeth bared and snapping, claws out.

But you beg him for it. You plead. You demand.

It’s just us. Just grief. Take it from me. Why should I be the only one carrying this?

It’s wrong as he takes you on the bathroom floor, cold tile under his knees, warmth of your thighs bracketed at his waist. You dig your nails into his back hard enough to break skin, and he pins them back, his forehead knocked against yours, sharing breath. Sharing grief.

He breaks you down eventually, pushing his cock so deep you wail, holding you firm with a hand on your hip. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to betray him, doesn’t want to take his place in a home that could never be his.

Still. He can’t stop. He can’t help himself. He lives for your cries, the way you tighten around him when you come, how your eyes turn into bright stars at your peak.

It angers him. He’s always been a man of control.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck, t’s not… it’s just-“ He snatches your jaw, and you look away.

“Look at me sweet. Look at me and tell this is just grief.” You can’t. You don’t. Instead, he shoves his hand between your legs and rubs your clit until you come.

When it’s over, you cry.

“Is this it?” He stares at Simon’s headstone. “Is this what you meant? Is this what I promised you?” Dead men don’t answer to anyone, ghosts don’t provide explanations. John replays those last moments in his mind, burning Simon’s face into his memory so he never forgets, so he never gets confused. He’s in another man’s place, a father and a husband’s place.

It’s been days since he’s seen you. Cami visits in his stead, which is good for you, better. You need a friend now, not him. Not whatever this is. Not whatever he’s done to you or vice versa.

He claps a hand on top of the stone, the same way he’d do it to Simon’s shoulder.

“I promised on my life, but I didn’t promise this.”

You haven’t seen or heard from John in nearly a month.

It didn’t bother you at first since they were gone for work, but when Gaz opened the front door to greet you two weeks ago, you were surprised.

They’re back and he didn’t reach out.

Why?

You miss him. It’s a shameful revelation, and a surprising one.

So much for the mourning widow.

“Mama, i’cream?” Orion is huddled between your legs, tugging on your jeans while you bounce Phoenix, trying to get her to settle before bed.

“No ice cream tonight baby.” His eyes well with tears, and the guilt hits you. Be strong. Don’t give in, you’re spoiling him too much.

“Let’s go get in bed and I’ll read to you, okay?”

“No! I’cream!” Your face crumples.

“Orion, please. I already said no. Now can you help mama and go get in your bed?” He flings his hands at your thighs, little face twisted up with rage.

Normally, you’re well equipped for the tantrums. It’s part of having a toddler, but tonight, it’s breaking your back. Wearing you down. You’re about to walk away, create some space, take a deep breath when the doorbell rings.

Literally saved by the bell.

Orion’s already running down the hall, bouncing on his toes as you open the door to see John on the other side. Weary. Weathered. “U’cle John!”

“Hey, bud.” He locks eyes with you, standing on the threshold, meeting your eyes unflinchingly. “Need some help?” You swallow.

“Come in, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your mouth is on his, or his on yours, you’re not sure how it started. All you know is his arms are warm, and strong, and a safety net at the bottom of your life now, waiting outstretched for when you lose your balance on the tightrope.

“I know.” He does that thing where he cradles your face, stares into your eyes like he’s seeing an entire universe, one he’s never been to, a planet undiscovered, stars recently born and exploded across a night sky. “I know sweet, but- I can’t-“ It’s why he stayed away, he confessed earlier. Why he disappeared. It wasn’t fair, he knew that.

The guilt is crushing him. It’s crushing you.

“What’re we doing then?” It’s not right, whatever this is.

But his body pressed against yours, his arms holding you tight, it’s impossible to run from. Hard to hide.

It’s not just grief anymore. A hydra with a head cut off, two more born again from the wound. It's a flower blooming in a forest of ash, life finding a through the gash of a wildfire. A small, tiny, flame, desperate to burn.

“Just kiss me,” you breathe, mouths now millimeters away from one another. His chest heaves beneath your fingertips. “Just kiss me, John.”

“Daddy.” Orion pats his hand on the stone, little fingers digging into the engraving.

Husband. Father.

Your thumb finds the sapphire, rubbing the stone it in practiced circles, and Phoenix coos beside you, half buried beneath the wool of John’s jacket. “Ready to go home, little man?” You’re crouched behind him, holding him, kissing his cheek. This is a weekly tradition, the visit, and even in the dead of winter when it’s too cold for the kids, you never miss it.

Your commitment never wavers, your gold band a mirror to the one buried beneath your feet, an eternal tie to your husband.

‘Til Death.

You will never not be Simon’s wife, the mother of his children, his moon. You will never marry again. You will never have another child.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a sunrise, a dawn, a new promise. An oath to John, though never formal or official in the eyes of the law, but true all the same.

The sun. The stars. The moon.

“Alright, we ready?” You press another kiss to your son’s face before scooping him up, taking one last look before nuzzling Orion’s face. “See you next week, Si.”

John lingers for a moment, a hand curled over the stone, fingers flexing into a squeeze. His eyes are distant, a world away, tangled up in the past for a long moment.

“Hey,” you call softly, extending a hand. “let’s go home.”

#peaches writes #price x reader #fix you by Coldplay #john price #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #through me (the flood)#captain price x reader

943 notes · View notes