#When I leave it for a while it's hard to get back into it again

[jinhyun]

—in your hands.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, best friend’s little brother au, friends to lovers

word count: 7.2k

summary: after a love confession and a few kisses took place the night before, it was finally time for you and Hyunjin to calmly talk things out and figure out where you were currently standing.

author’s note: here she is!! there is a lotttttt of talking and dialogue in this part, i feel like i should apologise lol. but anyway, the lovebirds needed to talk and, oh boy, talk they did. as always i hope you guys enjoy! if you do, please let me know by leaving an ask or a comment<3

You’d woken up next to Hyunjin once before in your life; a little over a month before, when the two of you passed out on your couch on New Year’s and ended up cuddling through the night somehow.

You remembered opening your eyes and panicking when you realised your face was resting on his chest and his arms were loosely wrapped around you.

You didn’t want to move away and wake him up back then, but, at the same time, you didn’t want him to potentially feel uncomfortable if he woke up and found out the current position you were in. So, in the end, after some careful consideration, you did what seemed like the right thing to do: pull away from him and sit up on the couch, which inevitably resulted in him waking up as well and understanding what was going on right away.

This time, it was different.

Yes, you were once again met by his chest as soon as you opened your eyes, and his arms were one more time around you — although tightly this time, keeping you from pulling away from him through the night. However, this time you didn’t panic, but smiled instead.

Managing to pull away from him just enough to be on his eye level, you stared at his relaxed, beautiful features. From his thick eyebrows and closed eyelids, to his round nose, to those plump lips of his you’d got to kiss the night before.

You felt your cheeks burn at the still fresh memory. Although flustered by it, you couldn’t help but reminisce how good his mouth felt on yours, how hard your heart was pounding against your chest, and how you wished he’d kissed you for a little longer.

Freeing one of your arms from his hold, you reached your hand up to tenderly remove a strand of hair that was covering his eyes and tickling the bridge of his nose — then just leaving your hand there for a little longer, as your fingertips faintly traced his skin while you quietly admired him.

A part of you couldn’t believe he had been there for you all this time and you were only now noticing him. He was without a doubt the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on, but you didn’t feel any sort of attraction to him up until this year. And now that you did, now that you got to feel his lips on yours and see a side of him you never thought you would, you wondered how come it took you this long to see him in a different light.

Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead —and smiling to yourself when you watched the corners of his mouth curve up at the lingering contact—, you somehow went out of your way to remove his arms from your figure without waking him up.

You weren’t expecting him to come over last night, and you most definitely weren’t expecting him to spend the night; therefore, you had not restocked your groceries and were left with nothing to offer him for breakfast.

You made sure he was truly not waking up any time soon before you got off the bed and chose a rather cozy outfit for the day, so you could go to the bathroom and get ready to go to the grocery store around the corner while he got some more sleep.

You should’ve known better than to actually believe he would get another hour or two of sleep after you left his side, because not even two minutes into the store, your phone was buzzing in your pocket and his contact was showing up on the screen.

“Hey, you’re up” you greeted sweetly after taking the call.

“I didn’t take you for the kiss and dip type” he hoarsely called you out, regardless of the smile you could hear curving up his lips.

“No hello?” You joked. “How are you?”

“You’re the one who abandoned me, you don’t get to call me out”.

You chuckled at his over dramatic ways. “You’re literally at my place, it doesn’t work like that”.

“Well, you’re not in bed with me, so…”

“I thought of staying in bed for a while, but then I realised I was out of food” you explained. “I came to the grocery store around the corner, won’t take long”.

He whined. “We could’ve gone together later”.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you up” you pouted. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d wake up before I came back. I’ll be there in ten, okay?”

“Okay…” he mumbled, and you heard him shift in your bed. “Or better yet, make it five”.

“I’m still missing half of the things I need to get” you amusedly informed him, going over to check a pack of eggs. “Is there anything you’d like for breakfast?”

“You”.

You stopped in your tracks the moment that simple yet bold answer abandoned his lips, being too stunned to come up with a witty answer like you usually would.

You were still getting used to his newfound boldness, but you would lie to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy the butterflies flying around your stomach whenever he said something like that.

A breathy laugh of his was heard on the other side of the line the next second, when you remained silent and it hit him just how flustered he’d make you.

“Are you still drunk?” You were unable to hide both your amusement and disbelief.

“No,” he chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that”.

He did.

“You didn’t now?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Can you come back already?” He changed the topic, earning a light laugh from you. “I just wanna be with you, I’m not even hungry”.

“You still need to eat something, though” you argued. “Like I said, I’ll be there in ten”.

“Too long” he let out a heavy sigh.

“You can go back to sleep in the meantime” you suggested. “Or make yourself some coffee, you know where everything is”.

“Yeah, that sounds good” he hummed. “I'll freshen up a bit first”.

“There are towels on the upper shelf of my closet, in case you’d like to take a shower” you let him know. “There should also be a spare toothbrush you can use in the second drawer of my bathroom”.

He laughed lightly, rather dreamily, but ultimately said nothing.

“What…”

“Nothing, you’re cute” he said softly. “Come back here already”.

“I would go back faster if we stopped talking, honestly” you chuckled. “You’re kinda keeping me distracted right now”.

“Okay, I’m hanging up then. Don’t take too long”.

Looking at your screen when you heard him hang up on you, you rolled your eyes in amusement, laughing to yourself over how silly he was before you shoved your phone into your pocket and focused back on the eggs you’d been previously checking out.

The faster you got everything on your list, the faster you’d be back at yours with Hyunjin.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

Being driven by seeing him again, you were entering your place again not even ten minutes later, carrying the groceries you had rushed to get.

You didn’t even have to announce that you were back, for Hyunjin came out of your bedroom right as you began to change into your slippers by the door.

You were greatly surprised by the sight of him in sweatpants and a black tank top that let you appreciate his toned arms, unlike the matching sweatshirt he’d worn last night. You guessed the tank top had been underneath it all along, and you were only now lucky enough to see it thanks to the hot shower he must’ve taken not long ago, since he was drying his hair with one of your towels right then.

“Hey…” you greeted him, feeling your cheeks burn when his eyes locked with yours; as you were once again invaded with memories of his pretty lips on yours the night before.

“Hey,” he smiled sweetly, visibly lighting up at the sight of you.

Without another word, he hung the towel on the back of your couch and went up to you, so he could pull you to his chest and feel you close like he had been craving since the moment he woke up and realised you weren’t next to him.

A loving sigh abandoned your lips when you felt his arms securely wrap around you, being hit with the realisation that you had also missed him those few minutes you’d been away from him.

Carefully dropping the bags you were holding on the floor, you wrapped your arms around him as well, feeling him relax under your touch and then lower his head so he could nuzzle the crook of your neck.

You jumped at the contact of his wet hair against your skin, earning light laughs from both of you.

“How’d you sleep?” You asked him softly.

Although you couldn’t see him, you could feel the way he smiled against you. “Better than ever”.

You chuckled, pulling him away by his shoulders and taking a careful look at him before you tenderly ran a hand through his damp locks. “No hangover?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Just thirsty”.

His remark got a laugh from you. “I figured you would be, so I brought you some isotonic water… as well as some medicine, just in case”.

He smiled brightly, not even needing to say ‘thank you’ for you to get the memo. Although he did say it anyway, in the softest of tones, that only you got to hear coming from him.

He swore to God he felt like marrying you right then and there every single time you looked after him like that.

“Are you hungry?” You interrupted his sudden fantasy, but still all he could focus on was the way your hand travelled down from his hair to his nape. “I’ll go make us some breakfast now”.

“I’ll help you” he offered, leaning down to pick up the bags you had left on the floor a minute ago.

“It’s okay, you can go rest a bit more” you followed him into your kitchen.

“No, I want to be with you” he said truthfully, placing the bags on the counter.

You let out an over dramatic sigh as you went to the cabinet to grab a pan, in order to get started with breakfast,. “I made sure to be extra quiet this morning so you’d sleep until breakfast was ready…”

He chuckled, going over to you and hugging you from behind. “If you wanted me to get some more sleep, then you shouldn’t have left me all alone to freeze in your ice cold bed”.

“My bed is not cold at all, you drama queen” you called him out.

“Okay, maybe I overdid it a little,” he admitted, resting his chin on your shoulder and looking up at you. “Next time just stay in bed with me, hm? I’ll take you out for breakfast after cuddling for a little longer”.

“Next time?” You cocked an eyebrow, looking down at him like you weren’t just melting at his way with words.

“Well, I already have my own toothbrush in your bathroom, so…”

“Oh, yeah, that certainly grants you free will to stay over whenever you want” you amusedly rolled your eyes.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind holding you all night long again”.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart squeeze in your chest and silently looking down for a moment before you turned around, having his hands go right back to your waist as your eyes locked with his.

Since he’d brought the previous night up, it felt like the opening you needed to talk about the things that were left unsaid.

“What happened last night…” you fidgeted with the paws of your sweater, catching his attention while you looked for the right words and earned enough courage to look up at him. “You meant it?”

“I meant everything I said, Y/N” he answered in a heartbeat. “I meant kissing you as well, I thought I made it very clear?”

“No, yeah, you did” you agreed, nervously looking down once again. “It’s just that you had been drinking and you did say once that you tend to get quite touchy when you’re like that, so… I guess I just wanted to hear it again now that you’re sober”.

“Well, I’m telling you again now, Y/N,” he gently tilted your head up, making you look at him again. “I love you”.

Just like the night before, your heart skipped a beat.

“I know you might not want to hear that right now, but I do. And, like I told you, kissing you meant the world to me. The alcohol only helped me to finally let out what I’d been bottling up for ages, so… I really did mean everything last night”.

You believed him when he said it the first time last night, but hearing him say that now, staring into your eyes when you knew he was in all his senses, could only make your heart hurt in the best of ways.

“Did you mean what happened last night?” It was his turn to ask.

He sounded almost scared of your possible answer, but you nodded the next second, and he felt like he could breathe again.

“I like you, Hyunjin. As in, I do feel something for you” you confessed, unaware of what your words had just done to his heart. “But, like I said, I’m not ready—I just… I only very recently realised it, so I’m still trying to figure out the extent of my feelings for you. Honestly, had it not been for Chan, I probably still wouldn’t have realised any of it until your confession”.

“Chan?” He asked.

“Mhm…” you nodded. “He kinda opened my eyes after your parents invited us for lunch the other week, I was convinced you were only being friendly until then”.

“So I really owe him a big one, huh?” He laughed under his breath, stealing a small laugh from you as well. “I was flirting so hard with you, Y/N, I still don’t get how you didn’t notice”.

“I don’t know, I just… I wasn’t looking for romance anywhere; and you have always been so lovely with me, only that now you were getting bolder, but… other than that there wasn’t much difference, I thought you were being friendly”.

“There’s a reason why I’ve always been so lovely to you, though” he pointed out. “You’re the only one I treat like that, it was never me just being friendly…”

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“You know what I mean” he smiled timidly.

You remained silent for a moment, staring at him in an attempt to confirm what you were thinking. “How long have you…”

“Over six years now?” He tilted his head, understanding what you meant even when you didn’t finish your sentence. “Going on seven”.

“Hyunie, that’s…”

“Insane?” He completed for you with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah…”

You shook your head no, having trouble taking this new bit of information in. “I was in a relationship for four of those years…”

“I know,” he nodded. “Hurt like hell”.

You fell silent, taking in this new piece of information and being hit with all the times Mingyu complained about Hyunjin and how clearly in love he was with you.

You always brushed it off and told him to open his eyes, for Hyunjin was only Yeji’s little brother and, therefore, he saw you as a sister figure as well. You were now discovering that the one who needed to open her eyes were you.

You never suspected a thing. When you recently met, you thought he was shy around everyone. Then when you were comfortable enough around each other, you thought he was that kind to everyone. You thought he cared about everyone, he wanted to help everyone, he was friendly to everyone.

Turned out neither did he treat everyone like that, nor was he being friendly with you all along. It just came off like that to you, because you never expected him to have feelings for you.

However, looking back to all those times now, you were still unable to see the signs. You were unable to pinpoint when it all had started, as the only change in his behavior —and in your relationship as a whole— you perceived had been this year. He had always acted the same around you ever since you met, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you had at some point done something for him to get the wrong idea and change the way he saw you.

“Hyunie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know” you apologised. “When did you even—Did I mislead you at some point?”

“You didn’t. It was all on me, trust me” he smiled bittersweetly.

“Honestly?” You pushed it.

“Mhm… honestly” he reassured you, holding your hands in his and rubbing his thumbs on the back of them, as if wanting to comfort you over what he was about to say. “Remember when you stayed with us that weekend when something went down at your dorm?”

“The time we met?” You asked.

He nodded. “That’s when I fell for you. I just saw you enter the room and that was it for me”.

There it was, the reason why you never felt a switch in the way he acted around you; why you couldn’t tell the difference between his kindness and his romantic interest towards you.

He had fallen for you the first time he saw you, and you had gotten that version of him since the beginning — when he was too young for you to look at him with other eyes, and even for you to ever suspect he felt anything other than simple platonic affection for you.

You hurt for him. He had loved you all these years and you had not once given the way he treated you a second thought until last month. How could you have been so blind?

“You’re serious?” You murmured.

“I’m always serious when it comes to you” he gently caressed your chin.

“I’m so sorry, Hyunie. I had no idea, I feel awful…”

“Don’t,” he stopped you. “It’s not your fault, Y/N. All you did was show up and I took it from there”.

“Still, if only I had known…”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. I was a minor back then; and when I wasn’t anymore, although we did grow closer for a while there, you fell in love with Mingyu”.

You felt like crying. You knew what it was for the person you loved to fall for someone else, and you couldn’t believe you were the one to make him experience that sort of heartbreak.

“I’m so sorry…” you apologised one more time.

No matter how many times you said it, it didn’t feel like enough.

“Baby, it wasn’t your fault” he reassured you once more — the pet name he’d called you last night slipping through his tongue yet again, and somehow managing to put your heart at ease whilst simultaneously making it go wild.

“When we got close back in your first year of uni, like you just mentioned… you were…” your sentence was left unfinished, but he nodded, understanding what you were trying to ask. You closed your eyes to compose yourself at his silent confirmation. “And then I started dating Mingyu and distanced myself from you…”

“What else were you supposed to do?” He tried to comfort you, and you couldn’t help but internally laugh at the irony of it. He was trying to comfort you over breaking his heart back then. You could truly cry right then. “You didn’t see me like that and fell for him, it wasn’t something you could control”.

“I would’ve been more lowkey about my relationship with him, though…” you mumbled. “Wouldn’t have mentioned him in your presence. Definitely wouldn’t have brought him along the times I knew you’d be there”.

“Now that would’ve brought you so much trouble with him…” he smiled softly. “He wasn’t precisely my biggest fan, was he?”

“Yeah… you’re right” you mumbled. It wouldn’t have been an easy situation to handle. “Still, I would’ve been more mindful about it”.

“You’re so cute” he appreciated the sentiment. “You wouldn’t have been able to keep it going on forever, though. I mean, it’s been over six years and I was nowhere near getting over you when you guys broke up”.

“You had two girlfriends, though…”

“And there’s a reason it didn’t work out with any of them” he shamefully pointed out.

“I don’t know what to say…” you shook your head. “I don’t wanna hurt you anymore, Hyunjin”.

“Why would you hurt me now?”

“My feelings for you are so recent, I don’t want us to… rush into something while I haven’t figured out the extent to them. Then there’s also the whole thing with Mingyu, because although I like to believe I’ve moved on, it did still sting when I saw him kiss Hayun only a couple of weeks ago… and I told you so” you suddenly felt guilty; had you known he had feelings for you back then, you would never have bothered him with your ‘ex boyfriend drama’. “I don’t know if it stung because of him or because the situation is just shitty, so I don’t know if I’m fully over him yet, and when you and I are together I want to be one hundred percent devoted to you”.

Hyunjin smiled.

‘When you and I are together’.

‘Devoted to you’.

That sentence alone was enough for him not to dwell on your residual feelings for your ex.

Even if it was unconsciously, the way you had phrased it let him know you wanted to be with him at some point.

He couldn’t wait for that day to come, when you were as devoted to him as he was to you.

“And now there’s the situation with Dahye as well…”

“I thought we cleared that up last night?” He questioningly tilted his head.

“We did, but that’s not the point…”

“What’s the point then?”

“I was left with a lot of trust issues to deal with…” you explained. “I know you’re not like him, but I can’t help but be paranoid when it comes to other girls or to you simply getting tired of me at some point”.

“Y/N, I would never do any of those things” he reassured you. “I would never do anything to hurt you”.

You smiled weakly. You believed him, you really did; but that was what he said now given what he felt for you in the present. Nothing could assure you that he would always love you, and so you would have to just take the risk and leave your heart in his hands if you wanted to be with him. That was what terrified you.

“I want to be with you, Hyunie, but I’m just too scared of love and romance right now…” you timidly admitted. “And when Dahye told me all those lies, although it did sound very off to me, a part of me couldn’t help but be scared that maybe she wasn’t lying”.

“So a part of you believed her…”

“I’m sorry…” you apologised. “The way she described you didn’t sound like you, not the way I see you, at least. And it didn’t match what you told me about your relationship with her, but I thought… we weren’t together, so you didn’t really have to tell me the truth, or even the whole story… you were free t—you are free to be with whoever you want and don’t owe me any explanations, so…”

“I only want to be with you, though” he cupped your face, telling you exactly what you needed so badly to hear. “And I guess you could say I don’t owe you explanations, but I want to give them to you. I like to believe we’d both explain something that’s bothering the other”.

You weakly nodded. “I’d like to believe that, too”.

Hyunjin smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before his hands were firmly placed on your waist and he lifted you up with ease.

“Okay now,” he sat you down on the kitchen counter, pulling you closer to the edge of it and resting his hands on your waist. “What exactly did she tell you?”

“It didn’t make much sense,” you fidgeted with the necklace falling over his chest. “But it was pretty much that I should stay away from you because you guys had this ‘fuck buddies’ relationship going on for years now, and that even if you got in a relationship with someone else, you’d go back to her every time”.

Hyunjin sighed, growing visibly angry at both Dahye and the situation itself.

He told her not to mess with you, and she did exactly that. Still, he didn’t believe she would go as far as to come up with a whole fantasy of them being sexually —and emotionally?— involved in order to keep you away from him.

He didn’t know what else she was capable of after this, and he most certainly didn’t want to find out, nor did he want to even give her the chance to mess around with your relationship one more time.

“What are you doing?” You asked when he dug his hand in his pocket and took out his phone.

“Blocking her” he simply replied as he unlocked it.

“Hyunjin, you don’t have to—”

“I told her I would block her if she messed with you,” he let you know, locking his determined eyes with yours. “And that’s what she did, so…”

Eyes going back down to his mobile, he went to their Twitter chat and then pressed on her profile — blocking her right before your eyes without even giving it a second thought.

Maybe he should’ve given her a piece of his mind before cutting her off, and a part of him really wanted to tell her a thing or two, but at this point he just couldn’t give a fuck.

He was tired.

He could’ve lost you because of her, and he was never forgiving her for it.

If hanging out with his friends became awkward after this or he straight up had to turn them down not to run into her, then so be it. They were his friends, not hers; and God knows he was tired of having to deal with her whenever he wanted to spend some time with them.

“I already told you last night, but she lied. She made it all up” he repeated what he’d already let you know. “There isn’t much more to the story than what I’ve told you. We kissed at a party like two years ago, I was drunk, didn’t remember, told her it meant nothing, and she hasn’t left me alone since. That’s literally all there is to it” his genuine words were enough to put both your heart and mind at ease. “We’re were never even friends, the only reason I put up with her for so long was not to make it awkward for my friends. We were never fuck buddies either; I’ve never had that kind of dynamic with anyone, actually. And me going back to her is ridiculous, the only person I’d keep going back to over and over is you, which is kinda what happened both times I tried to move on with someone else, as shitty of me as it was”.

With that said, he handed you his phone.

Looking down at it, you realised he had opened back his chat with Dahye, which was now showing a message at the bottom that let you know her contact had successfully been blocked.

“What is it?” You asked regardless, hesitant to take a look and let alone to hold his phone in your hands.

“Our chat. She doesn’t even have my phone number, Y/N. That’s how close we are” his sarcasm managed to get a smile out of you. “You can read our texts if you want. The last conversation is the most important one, but you can go through all of them if you want”.

Taking one look at his phone in his hand, you refused his offer. “It’s okay, Hyunie. I trust you”.

And for you to say that when you had just let him know how hard it was for you to put your trust in someone else again a minute ago, meant the world to him.

“This isn’t a matter of whether you trust me or not, though. If it helps your mind feel more at peace then I have no problem showing it to you”.

“Your chats are private, I shouldn’t—”

“There’s nothing private between me and Dahye” he clarified in a heartbeat, speaking clear enough to make sure his words got through your head. “The last time we talked she found out I was in love with you and threatened me with telling you. That’s why I misunderstood everything last night”.

“That’s why you thought I was turning you down?” Your heart hurt for him once more, as it seemed to be usual for you to unintentionally break his heart.

He nodded, leaving his phone next to you on the counter. “I thought she told you about my feelings for you, and that you were distancing yourself from me because you didn’t feel the same and were thinking of the right way to let me down easily. And then when you said you wouldn’t be able to let yourself fall for me if what she said was true, I just…”

He shrugged, looking elsewhere as he remembered how unbearable the pain in his heart had been last night.

Catching on his hurt, you pulled him to your chest, feeling him relax inside your arms before he tightly wrapped his own around you as well.

“I took some distance because I didn’t want to jump into conclusions and needed some time to think…” you clarified.

“I know that now, baby” he hummed.

You smiled softly, holding him tighter and planting a small kiss on the crown of his head.

“I’m sorry I put you through so much”.

“It’s okay” he kissed your shoulder, going back to your eye level. “Anyway, if you change your mind later on, my password is my birthday as well”.

“Oh, so you’re just as basic as me” you smiled widely, allowing a small giggle to escape your mouth when he rolled his eyes at you.

“I don’t have it as the passcode to my place though, now that’s just unsafe as hell” he taunted you, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling your neck. “Although I might change it to yesterday’s date now”.

“The day you got drunk and disrupted my very peaceful sleep?” You teased him.

“Oh, absolutely” he played along, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Which also happened to be the night we first kissed, so…”

He could feel your cheek burn against his hand, and how your eyes had naturally fixed on his mouth at the sound of that, just like his eyes had been going back to your lips throughout your entire conversation.

He was dying to kiss you again, and he could only curse the promise he made last night not to kiss you again starting this morning. At least not until you decided you were ready to kiss him without feeling like you were leading him on.

“You’re making it really hard for me not to fall for you…” you whispered against his lips, only then having him snap out of it and realise how close he had unconsciously leaned in.

Fuck, you were making it so hard for him not to kiss you.

“That’s good, because I want to make you fall for me” he smiled, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, in a poor attempt to put some distance in between your mouths. “Will you let me?”

“Let you what?”

“Make you fall for me?” He asked, locking eyes with you. “I know you need to figure things out, and I’m giving you all the time you need, but in the meantime can I just try and make you fall for me?”

You hesitated. “I don’t want to lead you on, Hyunie…”

“I wouldn’t mind it, though…”

“Hyun…” you sighed.

“We kissed last night, Y/N, and now you’re telling me you do feel something for me. How would that be considered leading me on when there is an actual chance of you falling in love with me, too?”

“I thought your feelings for me were kinda recent too, and that we were both figuring it out, but now that I know you’re in love with me it feels cruel to keep flirting with you and treating you the way I did…” you went back to fidgeting with his necklace. “We’re not on the same level yet. I’m still scared to love someone again and to be in a relationship… there’s still a mess in my head and dragging you with me while I try to figure it out is just…”

“My heart is already in your hands, Y/N. It’s up to you what you choose to do with it and I’ll respect your final decision regardless of what it is” he promised. “Whether we’re together or not, I already got dragged into this. All I’m asking for is a chance. Just one chance to show you that you can trust me and that love doesn’t always have to end in heartbreak” the softness of his voice could make you cave in right then and there. “I can love you right, Y/N. You won’t owe me anything and will have all the time you want to figure your feelings out, but please, just don’t let us lose how far we’ve come. I can’t pretend nothing happened between us and stay away from you while you figure your heart out”.

“Hyunie…”

“Please?” He whispered, resting his forehead on yours and tenderly rubbing his thumbs on your sides. “Was today supposed to be some kind of farewell to the way we’ve been acting so far then?”

You pouted, realising then how selfish you were being by acting so lovey dovey with him when you were claiming not to want to lead him on.

Truth was, you were finding it hard to control yourself around him anymore. You wanted to take it slow and make things right with him — you owed him that much. But then again, and most importantly, you wanted to be with him. Even though your feelings were recent, they were taking over your entire being faster than you’d expected.

You wanted to be with him. Whether you were a couple or not, whether you were on the same level when it came to your feelings or not, you wanted to show him how much he meant to you and you wanted to feel how much you meant to him; and it was getting harder and harder for you to hold back when you were together.

Your heart and your mind were at conflict, for the first was telling you to risk it all while the latter warned you to be careful and not to rush into anything.

And in the end, although you wished it wasn’t like that and you knew it was selfish of you, you were already in too deep to take a step back from him while you figured everything out.

When you wouldn’t reply, being too immersed in your internal conflict, Hyunjin faintly brushed his nose with yours, unable to keep his eyes from going down to your mouth before they travelled back to your eyes. “Are we really supposed not to be like this anymore?”

“Now how can’t I give in when you look at me like that and say all those things?” You spoke quietly, sounding almost ashamed you’d given in that easily — and, to some extent, you were.

His lips parted into a beaming smile that turned his eyes into crescent moons. “Is that a yes then?”

“Yes,” you smiled as well, faintly tilting your head to lovingly bump his nose with yours. “We can take it slow, maybe? If you’re up for it…”

“We can take it however you want,” he was quick to reply, earning a light laugh from you. “Although I would appreciate a definition of ‘taking it slow’, so I know what I can and can’t do…”

“I don’t know, I feel like we could keep being the way we were before this whole misunderstanding? You know, test the waters… see what works the best for us and take it from there?”

“Sounds good enough for me” he agreed with a smile. “Can I keep shamelessly flirting with you then?”

You chuckled. “Yes”.

“Can I come over whenever I feel like seeing you?”

“You did that before as well, so yes”.

“Hold your hand? Send you your coffee order and pick you up from work? Cuddle you?” He asked all in a row, and this time you threw your head back as you laughed loudly at his silly antics.

“Yes, Hyunjin. Those were all things you used to do before as well”.

“So what I’m hearing is the only things I can’t do from now on are kissing you and getting too handsy”.

“Yah, Hwang Hyunjin…” you called him out with burning cheeks.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Where did the ‘getting too handsy’ part even come from?”

“Well, I probably would’ve at some point last night if you didn’t stop me…”

Too stunned to speak as you felt some kind of electricity run through your body, you fixed your eyes on the door to your right, avoiding his amused eyes while you miserably tried your best to hold back the smile that was already curving up the corners of your mouth.

With a small chuckle, he cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him. “Have I told you before that you’re adorable?”

“Shut up” you playfully pushed his hand away.

Hyunjin laughed loudly, going right back to hold your face, only now with both hands. “So those are the conditions then?”

“I think?”

“Can I take you out on dates?” He asked one last time.

Now, that was kind of a grey zone, for it depended on whether you considered your previous outings and hangouts as dates, so the new ones he was proposing wouldn’t go against the boundaries you had just set when it came to taking it slow.

Nevertheless, even if it meant breaking your own rules, you couldn’t deny that you would die to go on a proper date with him.

“We’ll see” you smiled sweetly, making him smile as well while he tenderly caressed your cheeks. “Since we won’t be taking any distance, though, and we already had a misunderstanding that left us both hurting because of someone else, maybe we could…”

“Not go out with anyone else?” He quietly finished your sentence, when you struggled to come up with the right words.

“Is that too selfish of me to ask?” You asked with a tilt of your head. “I know I’m the one asking for time here, but…”

“No, no. I was going to ask for the same if you didn’t mention it, I’m glad you brought it up” a shy chuckle escaped his lips. “I’m probably the selfish one here because I wasn’t going to anyone else anyway, but I really needed to know you wouldn’t either”.

“You’re quite literally the only guy I’ve looked at with other eyes since I went back to being single, Hyunjin” you confessed, oblivious to how bad his heartbeat was racing because of you. “You really made me go against my wishes to stay away from romance for a good while; I wasn’t going to anyone else anyway either”.

“You mean that?” He mumbled, eyes sparkling as he looked for any sort of amusement in yours.

“Of course I mean it,” you cupped his face with one of your hands, tenderly running your thumb up and down his cheek.

He let out a heavy sigh, letting his face fall to your shoulder. “God, I would’ve died if you fell for someone else”.

“I won’t, Hyunie” you reassured him, running your fingertips up and down his back. “So there’s nothing for you to worry about”.

Choosing to say nothing, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you so close to him you could feel the way his body was faintly trembling.

“You’re shaking…” you whispered in concern, tightening your arms around him and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I can’t believ—I was so scared you’d push me away for good” his voice was muffled against your skin.

“You’re really underestimating how fast you’ve made your way up in my heart” you said softly, making him go back to your eye level and look at you. “I’ll do my best to work on myself so I can give you the love you deserve, hm?”

Hearing you say those words to him so genuinely, left him speechless.

Hearing it coming from your very lips that you wanted to love him right, he could only feel on Cloud Nine, as he was now the closest he’d ever been to being with you the way he had always dreamed of.

All he could do right then was to press a loving kiss to your forehead and then pull you to his chest, securely wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head as he whispered how much he loved you.

He knew you weren’t able to say it back just yet, at least not the way he meant it, but he didn’t mind saying it out loud for you to know. He didn’t mind loving you for longer, and he definitely didn’t mind loving you more. You wanted to get there at some point, and as long as you loved him back in the end, he could take being the one who loved harder in your relationship.

After all, he had left his heart in your hands and had you welcomed it, with the promise to do your best to return the same kind of love he felt for you once you were able to overcome your current fears.

Even if it meant he would have to wait a little longer, the way you smiled against his chest right then, along with the way you held him closer to you as well and ran your fingers up and down his back in the loveliest of ways, were enough to make his heart feel at ease, as he could tell right then that you would be gentle with it and wouldn’t let it break again now that you knew how much love it held for you.

tag list: @jehhskz @iknowyouknowminho @doohnut @saintcosette @lailac13 @kayleefriedchicken @rikibun @yongbokkiesworld @seungzsmin @beautifulcolorgarden @hyunetopia @velvetmoonlght @automaticpersonabatpaper @httpdwaekki @brinnalaine @wondering-out-loud @feelikecinderella @nujeskz @amarecerasus @liknws @nhyunn @midsoulz @tirena1 @tinyelfperson @thatonexcgirl @iovecb97 @hynier @phenomenalgirl9 @your-favorite-pirate @jin-from-the-block @yearofthetiger25 @quokkacidal @stayconnecteed @kwanisms @yoonguurt @143hyunes @iiriam @cookielixie @hyunlvrs @allyrarara @machaandlofi @mehli-00 @justiceforvillains @minhosprettywife @whats-my-question @armystay89 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hyeon-yi @skzstannie @onlyhyunjin

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself��some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[4linos]

they call you clingy pt. 2

ot8 x fem!reader

genre: slight angst. hurt/comfort. fluff. (mostly) happy endings.

wc: 8916

(read they call you clingy pt. 1 first)

bang chan

When Chan returned home later that night, he was overwhelmed with guilt. He expected to be greeted with a warm embrace, maybe even a soft joke about how awkward he had been earlier. But when he entered your shared bedroom, he was greeted with silence. The lights were dark, and you sat on the edge of the bed, back to him. "Y/N?" He called out quietly, almost pleading.

You did not respond.

Chan's heart fell as he got closer, but you flinched when you felt him behind you. He stood there for a while, unsure of what to do, before finally speaking, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I said. It was a terrible joke. Please… please look at me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes were red and swollen, and your expression was tight, like you were holding everything in. The sight broke him, and he stepped forward, kneeling in front of you, trying to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was frustrated, and I let it all out in the worst way. I’m so sorry, I should’ve never said that. You’re not clingy. I don’t think that at all. I was wrong. I never should’ve made you feel that way.”

You shook your head slowly, your voice cold. “No, you meant it. I heard the way you said it. You don’t want me around. You think I’m suffocating you.”

“I don’t,” Chan whispered urgently, his hands reaching out to touch yours, but you pulled them away. “I don’t think that. I swear. I don’t want you to think that at all. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to believe him, but the words still stung too much. The way he had looked at you with indifference, how he dismissed your presence like it was something burdensome. It wasn’t just the words it was the way it made you feel so small, like you weren’t wanted.

You stood up suddenly, avoiding his touch. “I just need some space, Chan. Please. Just leave me alone tonight.”

Chan flinched, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, his heart breaking as he quietly walked out of the room. He knew he had crossed a line, and the weight of that reality hit him hard. He didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning on the couch, feeling the distance between you both like a wall that couldn’t be scaled.

The next morning, Chan woke up early, with his mind still filled with guilt. He'd apologized the night before, but he knew it wasn't enough. He needed to express how sorry he was and how much he cared. He crept quietly into the kitchen and began preparing breakfast, hoping to get it right for once. When the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the apartment, he returned to your bedroom, gently knocked on the door before opening it slightly.

You sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window. Your back was still turned to him, but when you heard him enter, you had stayed still.

Chan took a deep breath, his voice soft. “I made breakfast… for us. Please, can we just eat together? I want to talk.”

You didn't say anything at first, but eventually nodded and stood up, following him into the kitchen. You both sat silently, the tension hanging between you like a cloud. Chan pushed the dish of pancakes toward you, his hands shaking slightly. He took a breath and spoke again, his voice full of earnestness.

"You were not clinging, Y/N. I was wrong. You aren't suffocating me. I adore having you around; I always do. I… I'm not sure why I said that. My frustration clouded my judgment, and I hurt you. I'm really sorry."

You didn’t answer right away, but the tightness in your chest slowly loosened. You looked up at him, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You sighed softly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “It just hurt, Chan. I… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re never a burden,” he said quietly. “You’re my partner. I want you to be with me. Always. You nodded, the words finally sinking in. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “No, I deserve it. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you both ate in silence, the unspoken understanding between you filling the room with a quiet comfort. The hurt was still there, but you knew you could heal it together.

lee know

The warmth from the burns on your leg persisted, but the coldness in your chest stung the most. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully placing a cold compress against your skin, hoping that the discomfort sting would ease.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what had just transpired in the kitchen. Minho, your Minho, had yelled at you, and the words cut worse than anything physical could. You couldn't understand how it had come to this.

You had tried so hard to help, to lighten his burden, but instead you had made matters worse. The kitchen was a wreck, your leg was on fire, and your heart felt like it had been ripped open by the very person who had always made you feel safe. You wanted to believe it was just a moment of frustration, something that could be forgiven, but the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

When Minho’s voice called from the living room, it felt like the world’s weight pressed on your chest. “Hey... can we talk?" He sounded tired, but there was an undertone of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen.

You didn’t respond, hoping the silence would send the message you weren’t ready to face him just yet. But moments later, the sound of his footsteps in the hall brought you back to reality, and before you could register, he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

His expression shifted from confusion to panic when he saw you sitting there, the cold compress against your leg, and your tear-streaked face. His eyes widened, a rush of guilt flooding over him.

"What... what happened?" His voice was quieter and more uncertain now. He took a step forward, peering down at the reddening skin on your leg. "I—oh God, did you burn yourself?" His eyes scanned yours for a response, his hand quivering slightly as he reached out to touch your leg. You didn't say anything. You couldn’t find the words. The burn hurt badly, but the heaviness of his words in the kitchen made it intolerable.

Minho's hands shook as he gently led you to lie down on the bed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice cracked slightly as he rubbed a cool cloth on the burns, the chill alleviating the sting slightly.

You finally let yourself to cry, tears rocking your chest and the emotional weight coming down on you. You didn't understand how much you were holding back until the tears started pouring freely. "I-I'm sorry for the soup," you said through sobbing. "I didn't mean to ruin everything. "I just... wanted to help."

Minho's face softened, expressing regret and disbelief. He wiped your tears away with his thumb, his voice barely audible. "Stop. I don't care about the soup. Not when you're hurt. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

His words felt like a balm to your wounded heart, but they didn’t erase the ache. You buried your face in his chest as he leaned down to kiss your forehead gently, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You don’t deserve that... you never deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten even more. You clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, needing his warmth, his presence. “Minho... I just—everything went wrong today. And then you... you made me feel like I was a burden.” Your voice trembled, and the weight of your emotions finally broke free.

Minho’s arms tightened around you as he whispered into your hair, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. But you are not a burden. You never will be. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You could feel his hands softly comb through your hair, comforting you as you kept crying into him. The tears weren't simply over the soup, the burn, or the day's failures. It was all about trying to keep things together, to be strong, and not show how overwhelmed you were. And everything came tumbling down in his arms. "I should have been there for you today." "I should have seen how much you were struggling," Minho said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm not upset at you. I should never have said that. I'm so sorry."

You nodded into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding as his comforting words washed over you. Despite everything, despite the mess and the hurt, there was still love between you two, even if it was lost in the chaos for a moment.

“I love you,” Minho whispered, his hand gently wiping away the last of your tears. “Please, forgive me.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but tenderness there now, no trace of the frustration that had clouded his expression before. “I love you too,” you said, your voice still shaky, but steadying. “I know you didn’t mean it. I just... I just had such a bad day. Everything went wrong, and I was just trying to fix it... and I ended up making it worse.”

Minho kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Let me help you.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief settle over you as his arms wrapped around you again. “I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “I just... I wanted to help you. To make it better. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“I know,” Minho whispered back. “And you didn’t make it worse. I promise.”

As the silence between you two grew, the storm within you began to calm. It wasn't entirely mended yet, but for the first time that day, you felt like you weren't going through it alone. You felt at ease in his embrace, and you gradually began to hope that things can get better again.

changbin

Changbin's breath came out in weak, raspy gasps as he stood there watching you walk away. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to go after you, to draw you back and explain himself, but something in the air held him still. The severity of his own words resonated in his thoughts, a jarring reminder of the damage he had just done. You were hurt. And now, so was he.

He watched as your form disappeared through the exit, the door closing softly behind you. The gym suddenly felt suffocating. The weight of his own anger and frustration, which he had not yet fully comprehended, seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He turned over, and his face flushed, his head dizzy with regret. He never wanted to make you feel like this, never wanted you to feel like a burden. His mind was spinning with confusion, but one thing was painfully clear: he had messed up. Badly.

He stood there for a long time, eyes fixed on the door, as if begging you to return, but he knew it was pointless. He had said too much. The damage was done.

You'd never felt smaller than you did at that time. Changbin's words felt like a hefty blow to the chest, knocking the air out of you. You weren't expecting him to snap. Sure, he'd been distant before, but this was different. The sharpness in his voice, the way he stared at you with irritation and anger, hurt in ways you couldn't articulate.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking for when you found yourself in the parking lot, your car now looming in front of you like a silent reminder of what had just transpired. You stood there for a moment, your hands trembling as you fumbled to unlock the door. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the chill in your chest felt much worse.

Why was he so angry?

You understood that sometimes people needed space, but you had no idea that your presence, which you expected to bring you closer, would make him feel overwhelmed. The realization hit you hard: He had been letting you to follow him about because he didn't know how to express his need for space. And, in the end, when he exploded, it broke the fragile link you had formed with him.

Your eyes stung with the promise of tears, but you pushed them away. You weren't sure if you were ready to let them fall yet.

You got in the car and drove aimlessly at first, wanting to get away and clear your mind. The drive seemed to go on forever, but you couldn't escape the agony in your chest. You eventually pulled over onto a quiet street and parked. You allowed the silence to settle in, the only sound being the faint hum of your car's engine.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked at it nervously. It was a message from Changbin. Your finger hovered over the screen, unsure whether to open it or not. But the yearning for an explanation, some attempt to make sense of it all, was overwhelming. So you opened it.

Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. Can we please talk?

You bit your lip, your eyes scanning the words over and over. His apology felt sincere, but it didn’t erase the sting of what he had said. How could it? And yet, a part of you still wanted to hear him out, to understand where he was coming from, even if it hurt.

You debated texting him back. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to hold onto the distance you felt was needed right now. Another part wanted to reach out, to explain that you weren’t trying to smother him, that you just wanted to be close.

Instead of responding, you did the one thing you never thought you’d do: you called him.

The phone rang a few times before he answered. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost nervous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Can we talk?”

A long silence passed. You could hear him take a deep breath on the other end. “Yeah. I think we need to.”

-

Back at the gym, Changbin had barely managed to collect himself before his phone buzzed in his hand. When he saw your name on the screen, he almost couldn’t believe it. He had messed up so badly, and yet, you were still willing to talk to him. His heart beat faster as he swiped to answer, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

“Y/N?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t imagining this.

“I… I’m still upset, Bin,” you said, your voice shaky. “I don’t know what to think. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was invading your space. I just… I wanted to be close to you.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt flooding his chest. “I should’ve told you sooner. It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to feel like that… like I’m pushing you away. But I just… the gym was the one place where I could just be by myself, clear my head. And when I didn’t have that anymore… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know. I thought… I thought you’d like it. That maybe it would be something we could do together.”

“I do like spending time with you,” he said, his voice steady now, more sincere. “I really do. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking it out on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry for how I said it. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the last person I want to hurt.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “I just wanted to be close to you. I didn’t realize I was making you feel suffocated.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I know. And I should’ve communicated better. I just didn’t know how.”

“I understand,” you replied softly. “I just… I need a little time. To process this.”

Changbin’s heart sank, but he understood. “Yeah. I get that. Take the time you need. But please know I’m here. I don’t want to lose you over something that should’ve been a misunderstanding.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t fixed, not yet, but you could feel the tension easing a little, the sharp edges of the pain starting to soften.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “We’ll talk more when I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Changbin replied, his voice full of warmth despite the distance between you. “I’ll be here.”

The call ended, leaving a quiet, uneasy space between you two. You were unsure where this would lead or what would happen next. But perhaps, just maybe, you can find your way back together.

hyunjin

The next morning, you woke to a cloud of confusion still hanging over you. Hyunjin's remark from last night, as well as the way he pushed you away, played on an unending loop in your memory. The hurt was still fresh, but you were beginning to wonder why. Why had everything changed so dramatically? Why had Hyunjin, who you had always trusted, suddenly become distant?

You'd barely slept, your mind knotted in a web of despair, confusion, and betrayal. Everything seemed odd as you tried to get through the day. The calm hum of your daily routine had been replaced by a heavy silence in your chest. Your phone remained silent, and you weren't sure if that was a relief or something else entirely. You couldn’t decide whether to hope Hyunjin would reach out to explain himself or whether it was better to just forget it all.

But then, in the late afternoon, your phone buzzed. It was a text from him.

Hyunjin: Can we talk? I need to explain.

Your stomach twisted, both nervous and cautious. You stared at the message, weighing the possibility of opening the door to this conversation. You didn’t know if you were ready to hear whatever he had to say. Still, part of you needed answers, even if they were painful.

After a few moments of hesitation, you typed back.

You: Where?

Hyunjin: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Please.

You took a deep breath and, despite everything, found yourself getting ready to meet him. Part of you was angry, but there was another part, the part that still missed him, that needed to understand. You had always believed in the strength of your friendship. You didn’t want to just throw that away without knowing what had really happened.

When you arrived at the park, the air felt cool against your skin, and the trees around you swayed gently in the breeze. The park was quiet, mostly empty, with only a few scattered joggers. You found him near a bench, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his posture tense. He stood as soon as he saw you, but neither of you moved closer at first. There was an awkwardness between you two that felt thick enough to cut.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice almost faltering. "You wanted to talk?"

He nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, staring at you as if he wasn’t sure how to start. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice low and unsure. "I know I hurt you last night, and I—I need you to know that wasn’t my intention. I’ve been… I’ve been a mess, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings.”

You furrowed your brows, the confusion growing. “Feelings? What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin seemed to hesitate, as if he was unsure whether to voice the words out. But after a moment, he added, his voice breaking slightly: "I—I like you. More than just a friend. I had for a while, but I wasn't sure how to deal with it. So I tried pushing you away. I figured if I detached myself from you, it would go away. That I could let go of these feelings."

The words struck you like a thunderclap. For a while, you just stood there, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of what he had just revealed. Hyunjin... liked you? Was it why he had been so distant? All the time you'd spent wondering what had changed, what had gone wrong… it was this?

He looked at you, his eyes full of vulnerability, guilt, and something else that you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I thought… if I pushed you away, I could just forget. But the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. And last night, I just… I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. So I lashed out. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stood there, silently absorbing his words. The knot in your chest relaxed, but it was replaced by something else: a rush of feelings you couldn't quite describe.

You had no idea how to handle this revelation. You had been wondering what had happened to your friendship, why things seemed so tense, and now it all made sense. But it was overwhelming. You never saw it coming.

"I don't know what to say," you confessed gently. "I did not..." I didn't realize you felt that way. All I saw was you slipping away, and I wondered if I had done something wrong. I didn't realize it was about this."

“I should have told you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I was so afraid of ruining everything, of losing our friendship. But instead, I ended up pushing you away. I thought if I could stop being close to you, I could stop feeling this way. I was wrong."

You felt a mixture of emotions rise up relief, anger, sadness, confusion. But beneath it all, there was something else: you understood now. He had been trying to protect himself, even if it meant hurting you in the process. It didn’t make his actions right, but it made them a little easier to comprehend.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

Hyunjin took a step closer, his gaze intense. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were immediately. I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to try. I want to be honest with you now. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t let you think you didn’t matter."

You paused for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you still felt hurt, but another part of you your heart, maybe was softening. You had always cared about him. The idea of more than just friendship… it was a lot to process, but you realized that in some way, you were willing to listen, to figure out what this meant for the two of you.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care. I do. I care a lot. We just need time. To figure this out.”

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet hope. “I’ll give you time. I won’t push you. I just needed to say it. To be honest.”

The two of you stood there for a while, neither of you moving, but there was a shift a change in the air. For the first time in weeks, it felt like there might be a way forward. Maybe it wasn’t simple, maybe it wasn’t easy, but at least you had the truth. And that, you realized, was enough to begin again.

HAN

The silence lingered for what seemed like hours, the kind of silence that enveloped you both like a thick cloud. You hadn't moved, still curled on the bed, eyes locked on the wall, as if it might give some answers. You couldn't get the idea that something inside of him had permanently shifted, that whatever had cracked tonight had been building up for a time and was now beyond your control.

Jisung said nothing, did not try to pull you closer, nor did he give his usual soothing words of regret. But he had not left either. His presence next to you, despite its normal comfort, suddenly felt like a distant recollection, a piece of him that had vanished.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him shift on the bed beside you. His voice was barely a whisper, but you could tell he was struggling, his words thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the weight of the apology, like he had been holding it back for so long it had become a raw, painful thing.

You stayed silent, not sure what to say. He had hurt you, and though you wanted to forgive him, you couldn’t shake the sting of his words. His harshness had cut deeper than anything he’d said before, and you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion of the day, or something more, something that had been building up between you two for a while.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N,” he continued, his voice shaky, as if the apology itself had become difficult to express. “I’m just… I’m just tired. I don’t know how to deal with everything. But that doesn’t excuse how I snapped at you. You don’t deserve that. You never do.”

You eventually allowed yourself to turn towards him, your gaze scanning his face, and you saw the weakness there, the same vulnerability you had always seen beneath his normal confidence. His fists were clasped in his lap, and his shoulders bowed, as if he were bracing for the impending storm.

"You are not a burden, Y/N." "You're not clingy," he continued quietly, his voice much lower now, as if the apology was gradually peeling away the layers of irritation and hurt. "I just.. I'm not always sure how to let you in. I am so overwhelmed that instead of accepting your help, I push you away."

Your heart squeezed. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was battling with himself, trying to figure out how to make it right without knowing how.

“I’ve been so used to dealing with everything on my own,” he continued, looking at the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems. I didn’t want you to see me as weak. But instead, I ended up hurting you.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and it took everything in you not to reach out and wrap your arms around him. You knew he had been struggling, you knew it. But hearing him admit that he had been keeping things from you, afraid of showing his true self, only made the ache in your chest grow.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I think you're strong. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Jisung. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

He shook his head, eventually meeting your eyes. His eyes were filled with sadness, but there was also a quiet desperation in them, as if he didn't know how to mend the rift between you two.

“I just... I'm so sorry. I don't know how to ask for help," he said, his voice full with sorrow. "But when you try to help me, I... I push you away because I'm not sure how to let you in. But you aren't a burden, Y/N. You have never been one. I just didn't know how to handle anything on my own, so I ended up pushing you away when all you wanted was to be there for me."

The honesty in his words was almost too much to bear. You had always known Jisung to be someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, someone who could make light of even the darkest situations. But now, seeing him like this, so raw and open, made your chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to push me away anymore,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out.”

Jisung's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't find the right words. Instead, he simply nodded, the impact of his quiet screaming loudly. He didn't need to say anything else because you could feel the pain in his chest and all the frustration he'd been carrying around for too long.

For a long time, the two of you merely sat there, your quiet now distinct. It wasn't the crushing stillness of earlier, but one filled with empathy, even if neither of you understood exactly how to mend anything.

After a while, Jisung reached out, his hand hesitating before softly stroking your arm. The warmth of his fingers across your skin brought back memories of how simple things had been between you two. He didn't say anything unnecessary, but you could sense his apology in the way he held his hand there, letting you know he was sincerely sorry.

"I'll try to do better," he answered simply and softly. "I will try to let you in more. I do not want to push you away anymore."

You nodded, your heart still heavy but not as broken as it had been moments ago. “I just want to be there for you, Jisung,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to have to go through everything alone.”

The quiet stretched again, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a beginning. Neither of you knew how to fix everything right away, but you both knew that you wanted to try. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jisung shifted closer, his hand still resting on your arm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so distant from each other. There were still things left unsaid, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to try again.

felix

The hours passed by in agonizing silence, the kind that made everything seem more impossible than it actually was and stretched and clawed at your thoughts. Nothing could take away the icy emptiness that had descended between you and Felix, even as you lay there, wrapped up inside yourself, listening to the gentle buzz of the night.

When the world got too much, he would wrap up with you and reassure you with soft touches and quiet words. You recalled the warmth you had previously enjoyed. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago. His distance was more than just physical; it was something that made your chest hurt since you didn't know how to make it better.

But as much as you wanted to lie there, to let the hurt consume you, you couldn't. You couldn't just wait and wonder if things would somehow improve on their own. You were the kind of person who needed closure, who needed to understand what was happening. And right now, Felix was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You sat up, wiping at your tear-streaked face, and glanced towards the living room. The faint glow from the TV still flickered through the hallway, casting a cold light on the darkness of the apartment. You could feel the weight of the choice pressing down on you: Should you leave him be, give him the space he seemed to want, or should you push through, confront him, and demand answers?

You hesitated for quite some time. But then you made a decision. You needed answers. You needed to understand why the person you loved had abruptly shifted into someone you didn't recognize. You moved along the hallway, the apartment's silence more oppressive than before.

Felix kept his position on the couch, his eyes looking blankly at the TV, his posture tight and walled off. You stayed there for a moment, studying him, trying to determine whether he noticed your presence.

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. His face remained unreadable.

"Felix," you said again, your voice steady but laced with emotion. This time, there was no hesitation in your tone, no softness. You needed him to hear you.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in the room shift slightly, as if he knew you were waiting for him to say something. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter than before.

“I told you I don’t want to talk,” he said, almost in a whisper. But this time, the words weren’t as sharp. There was something else in his voice, something you hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t anger, but a deep exhaustion, a weariness that seemed to go beyond just physical fatigue.

You didn’t take a step back this time. Instead, you closed the distance between you, sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was small, a gesture that once would have meant nothing, but now it felt like everything. You needed him to know you were still here, that you hadn’t given up.

“Felix,” you repeated, softer this time, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “I know something’s bothering you. And I get it. You don’t have to talk right now, if you’re not ready. But I need to know—am I the problem?”

When you asked the question, his head snapped towards you, his eyes wide with amazement, as if he had never considered it before. For a brief moment, his gaze softened, and you thought you caught a glimpse of the old Felix, the one who used to share everything with you, the one who would always turn to you when the world got too much.

"Of course not," he said gently, his voice husky. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his palms before running them through his hair. "You aren't the problem. "I just...I’m a mess right now, okay? I did not mean to push you away. I didn't know how to deal with it, and I thought if I could draw back, maybe it would get better.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in what felt like days, you understood. Felix had always been the strong one, the person who seemed so capable of handling everything on his own. But now you saw how much he was struggling beneath the surface, how much he had been hiding.

"You don’t have to carry it all alone," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Felix, we’ve always been a team. You can lean on me. You don’t have to push me away just because you’re having a hard time."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze flickering to the floor, then back up to you. The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to ease, and he let out a long breath. It was as though a weight was slowly lifting, and for the first time in days, you saw a glimpse of the Felix you had known and loved.

“I’m scared,” he admitted softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m scared of being a burden. I’m scared that if I show you how much I’m struggling, you’ll leave. I’m scared you won’t love me if I’m not always the one who has everything together.”

The rawness of his confession hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you just sat there, your heart aching for him. You had always known Felix to be strong, but in this moment, you realized just how vulnerable he was beneath it all, and how much he had been carrying alone.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me, Felix,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I love you, all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Felix finally looked at you, his eyes wide, his expression almost disbelieving. The walls that had been built up around him seemed to crack ever so slightly, and you could see the relief in his eyes. He swallowed hard, then reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his grip tightening around your fingers. “I’ve been pushing you away for no reason. I was just so scared.”

You shook your head gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, Felix. You don’t have to be scared. We’ll get through this together.”

For a minute, you just stood there, the two of you having an unsaid understanding. There was still a lot to sort out, and the path ahead would be difficult, but you knew that if you were both ready to try, you could do it.

As Felix drew in closer, resting his forehead against yours, you felt the warmth of his presence return, as well as the relief that you hadn't lost him despite everything. Not yet.

And for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that things could be better.

seungmin

The morning light filtered softly through the kitchen windows, casting a dull glow over the room. Seungmin walked in, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind still half-occupied by the rehearsals and everything waiting for him outside the walls of this apartment. But as he sat down at the breakfast table, he was immediately hit with an unexpected shift in the air.

There was no cheerful greeting from you, no attempt to share a quiet moment together before the day began. Instead, you sat across from him, silently eating your breakfast, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. Usually, you’d be making something small, even if it was just a quick toast or coffee, a gesture that made mornings feel connected. But today, the stillness felt suffocating.

Seungmin frowned, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t quite understand why you weren’t speaking, but he knew something wasn’t right. He set his cup down, meeting your eyes for the briefest of moments before his voice broke through the quiet.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone a bit strained, not sure if he was even ready to hear the answer.

You did not respond immediately away, keeping your gaze fixed on your food and your jaw tight as if the words you wanted to say were locked between your teeth. But they didn't come, and your silence spoke louder than any argument. Seungmin waited, his patience dwindling as time passed.

Finally, you scoffed, making a little but harsh sound that seemed to cut through the air, and you stood up from the table, pushing your chair back with an audible scrape.

"I don’t know, Seungmin," you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration, barely holding back the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I don’t matter to you."

He blinked, taken aback by the intensity of your words. Before he could respond, you stormed off, the door to the bedroom slamming shut behind you with a force that rattled the still air. Seungmin sat there, the taste of the bitter coffee suddenly unfamiliar in his mouth, his mind spinning. He hadn’t expected this. Not after everything that had happened last night.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. He went through the motions work, meetings, rehearsals but your words lingered in his mind, a constant hum of unease. By the time he returned home that evening, the tension was unbearable. He hesitated by the front door, unsure of what to expect. Normally, he would have found you sitting on the couch, or you would have greeted him with a small smile, asking about his day. But tonight, there was only silence.

He walked into the apartment, his footsteps faltering slightly as he noticed you in the corner of the living room, avoiding his gaze completely. You sat curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the television but not really seeing anything at all. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and the hollow feeling in his chest deepened.

"Can we talk?" he asked carefully, his voice laced with concern. His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were ready to listen.

You didn't respond immediately, your body rigid and remote. His heart fell as he saw the look on your face, as if a part of you had closed off, trapped behind a door he couldn't open. "Please," he said, getting closer. "I don't know what's going on, but..." "I can't fix this unless you tell me."

You snapped your head up, your eyes burning with a mix of pain and frustration. Your voice was more emotional than usual. "You don't get it, do you, Seungmin?" You stood up abruptly, raising your voice with each word. "I have tried. I've been trying for days to get you to come see me and realize that something is wrong! But all you have done is brush me off, make me feel like I’m too much for you, like I’m just… clingy."

His eyes widened in realization, the words you had uttered earlier in the morning returning to him with a crushing force. He had no idea it had gotten this bad, nor did he realize how much his words had hurt you until now. And it stung when the weight of his own stupidity fell on him. You carried on, your voice cracking as you talked.

"You've been really distant, Seungmin. And when I try to talk to you or look for your attention, you just push me away. You make me feel as though I am a burden. And I can't keep pretending that I don't feel it.”

Seungmin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stood there, completely stunned, his chest tightening with regret. He had been so wrapped up in his own stress and exhaustion, so focused on his own battles, that he hadn’t realized how far apart you had grown, how much pain you had been quietly carrying.

He swallowed hard, stepping closer, his voice small now, barely a whisper. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I… I didn’t realize how much my actions were hurting you."

But your anger had already started to bubble back up. You shook your head, arms crossed tightly against your chest. "How could you not realize, Seungmin? How could you not see how much I’m struggling with this? I needed you, but you’ve been so… so cold." You paused, your breath shallow. "I needed you to care. To see me."

The words stung like salt in an open wound, but Seungmin couldn’t deny the truth in them. His heart clenched, and without thinking, he moved toward you, pulling you into his arms before you could step away.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible, or like you were too much. I’ve been so caught up in everything that I forgot to see you, to notice what I was doing to us." He held you tighter, his grip desperate now, like he was trying to hold onto something he feared was slipping away. "Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you."

Your body trembled against him, but for the first time in what felt like ages, you didn’t pull away. You rested your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath, your emotions swirling but slowly softening under his touch.

"I just need you to be present, Seungmin," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. "I need to know that you’re here with me. That I matter to you."

"I hear you," he whispered softly, gently touching your face and lifting your head to meet his gaze. His embrace was raw and vulnerable in a way you had not seen before. "I hear you, and I promise to do better." I will make you feel seen. I will make sure you understand how much you mean to me."

You nodded softly, your heart aching but glad for his genuine remarks. The path to healing would take time, but for the first time in a long time, you felt confident that he would accompany you on it.

I.N

The next day, Jeongin arrived at your apartment, his normal bright smile on his face as he walked through the door. It was as if yesterday had never happened. His aura was light and carefree, as if he hadn't just disrupted the peace you had previously enjoyed in your relationship.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from his cold demeanor the night before. The hurt persisted, and you couldn't shake the weight of his words. Stop being so clingy. It wasn't the first time someone had made you feel small, but it hurt more than you expected, especially coming from him.

You didn't answer as usual, and you didn't greet him with the warmth he had grown to expect. Instead, you kept your distance by giving him short, clipped answers. You preoccupied yourself with little things in the apartment, refusing to make eye contact in the hopes that the stillness would bridge the gap between you. The tension in the room, however, was palpable.

Jeongin didn't seem to notice right away. He went about his usual business, jokingly discussing his day and laughing as if everything was alright. When he reached for your hand, you automatically pushed it away, indicating that something was wrong. His smile faltered, and the warmth in his eyes was gradually replaced by confusion.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, the smile still not fully gone but now laced with a hint of concern. "What's wrong?"

You looked up at him, saw the real confusion in his eyes, and almost let it go. Almost let go of your pain for his smile, for the Jeongin you adored. But the words you'd been keeping in all day sprang to the surface. "What was that yesterday?" You snapped, your voice filled with emotion. The anger, hurt, and confusion you'd been harboring all night had finally bubbled over. "You were an entirely different person. One minute you were fine the next you were pushing me away, telling me I was too clingy. What was that?"

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your strong tone, his eyes wide as if he had not expected such an outburst. His posture tensed, and for a brief period, you could see the walls he had built to protect himself from whatever discomfort was brewing inside. But that didn't erase the fact that his actions had harmed you more than he knew.

"If you want to act like that, maybe we should just break up," you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, a mix of hurt and frustration in your voice. "I don't want to be with someone who suddenly treats me like I'm a burden just because they're worried about what others think.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Jeongin’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as if the idea of you breaking up was the last thing he expected. His eyes softened slightly, and his voice became almost breathless as he spoke, not quite believing what you’d just said.

“Wait… what?” His voice wavered, the hurt in his eyes clear now. "No, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

You crossed your arms, feeling the burn of frustration building again. You needed answers. “Then what was it, Jeongin? Why did you act like that? I thought we were fine, but now… now I don’t know where I stand with you.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands running through his hair as he paced for a moment, clearly struggling to find the right words. After a beat of silence, he stopped in front of you, meeting your eyes, this time with a vulnerability that was both unexpected and painfully familiar.

“I… I love you," he began, his voice steady but filled with an edge of fear. "I love you so much, but I was afraid… I was afraid that if we showed too much PDA, the members would tease me relentlessly. They’re always joking about stuff like that, and I didn’t want them to make fun of me, of us."

The explanation hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Was this actually the reason? Was he so concerned about what his members thought that he distanced himself from you, his girlfriend, in front of them? You struggled to wrap your head around it.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" The question fell out of your mouth before you could think. The thought of it twisted something inside you, the possibility that he might consider you as something to hide rather than something to be proud of.

Jeongin’s face immediately morphed into one of panic, as if the very suggestion cut him deeper than anything you could have said. “No! God, no. I would never—” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you instinctively took a small step back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides, the hurt in his eyes obvious now.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his confession hanging between you two. "I never meant for you to feel like that. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want the members to think I was soft or that I couldn’t keep my cool. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry for pushing you away, for making you feel like I didn’t care about you."

His words were a mix of regret and sincerity, and as he spoke, you could feel the depth of his struggle, the dread of being judged and ridiculed that kept him from completely being himself with you. It wasn't that he didn't love you; it was just that he hadn't understood how to balance his feelings with the demands of his life.

You stood there, silent for a moment, contemplating what he had just said. Your heart was still raw, but you could see remorse in his eyes and feel it in the way he stood, as if he was waiting for you to decide what to do next.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before, but the hurt remained beneath the surface. "I don't care what others say, Jeongin. I care about us. I want to be able to express my love for you without having to worry about what others might say."

He nodded quickly, his stare focused, and took a slight step toward you. "I promise I won't do it again. I will never make you feel that you are too much, or that I am embarrassed by you. You are more than just someone I care about; you are someone I am proud of. And I will do better. I will."

You held onto his gaze, seeing the honesty in his eyes and sensing the truth in his words. It was not a simple fix. There was work to be done and trust to be rebuilt, but you could tell right away that he was eager to give it his all.

"I just need you to be honest with me," you muttered, feeling the tension between you begin to ease. "That's all I want."

Jeongin's expression softened as he made one final step forward, closing the gap between you. His hands met yours, and his contact was warm and grounded. "I'm here. I'm actually here. And I will make sure you never feel that way again."

//

(❌ proofread)

masterlist.

[tookishcombeferre]

I'm a 30 year old transmasc non-binary person. I saw the movie Atlantis: The Lost Empire when I was 7 in the theater. My dad's dad had just died, and we weren't all that close. But, it really helped me to see Milo process the death of his own grandfather at the time. I think Atlantis came out about a year(?) after my dad's dad died? Anyway, I really always related to Milo even if I couldn't understand why at the time. (Now I get it.) I just watched the movie again because I wanted to, and my toddler watched bits and pieces with me while we shared some tea. They watched me *bawl.* My mom's dad, though we never got to talk about the fullness of my experience before he died a little less than two years ago, was the only family member who just understood me with no words. He never knew my name or pronouns - so he never used them. But, he got *me.* His yard was where I could climb trees, feed birds, roughhouse, and do all the "forbidden boyish" stuff. I watched Robin Hood and The Sorcerer's Stone in his living room. I built towers up to the ceiling. I got to read Frankenstein on his porch when I was in the seventh grade. I'm pretty sure my first unabridged copy of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries was purchased for me by him. He was basically my dad or second-dad. Later, he would listen to me talk about my papers, my poems, and my stories and, in turn, I'd listen to the latest of his research in biophysics, when he was still a researcher, or I'd listen to him explain, in layman's terms, the newest experiments he would read about after he stopped doing his own stuff. These were our lost civilizations and genuine arrowheads. When Mr. Whitmore handed Milo the Shepherd's Journal and said the line "Our lives are marked by the gifts we leave our children, and this is your grandfather's gift to you." My own kid was pillowed on my shoulder. I heard that line at 7. I cried in the theater because it's sad. You don't have to have lived the line for it be sad. I needed to learn loss young so I could feel loss better older. Because, now? That line collapsed on me like a ton of bricks, but I didn't get crushed by those bricks. I had a hard hat and padding to protect me. Like I said, my grandfather was like my dad. He's not coming back. But, he has given me so much. He has left me so much, and I get to decide what I want to leave to my own kid someday. I get to decide what world, what legacy, and what I leave for my own child. Because, it wasn't just the journal that Thaddeus left for Milo. It was the values that allowed Milo to remain steadfast when standing up to people physically stronger than him. I remember that right now. Especially right now. It's not just the intellectual gifts my grandfather left me. It's the tenacity. It's the love. It's protectiveness. It's the gentleness. It's the grace. It's the desire to be curious. It's the *need* to know. It's quiet faith. It's the desire to do justice. It's the desire to see peace for the next generation. It's the desire to listen to all sides of an argument before saying my own piece while also knowing when things have gone way too far and need to be shut down. It's knowing when and how to give people space to grow in their own way and time. Because, while everyone else in my family was forcing me into dresses, my grandfather was letting me climb trees in jeans and sneakers. He also didn't bat an eyelash when I cut my hair off my junior year of high school. So, he may not be here. But, he lives in the gifts he left me. So, while, I got my vaccine at 7, it didn't take effect until 28. Even then, I'm only just starting to feel like I'm actually inoculated at 30.

We can't be afraid to keep inoculating the youth. Kids need to see death, loss, and such like in their media. Withholding it from them just makes them less equipped for these exact moments when they're older. I firmly believe that.

Dear, sweet, Littlefoot, do you remember the way to the Great Valley?  I guess so. But why do I have to know if you’re going to be with me? I’ll be with you. Even if you can’t see me. What do you mean I can’t see you? I can always see you.

The Land Before Time(1988) dir. Don Bluth

[aerynwrites]

Cravings

John Price x Pregnant!Reader

A/N: Based on THIS idea that came to me. This is most likely going to be an on going little interconnected one shot series as I already have other ideas for John and his cute lil' pregnant neighbor. Hope you all enjoy this one! Word Count: 3k Warnings: mentions of pregnancy/being pregnant, fluff, soft john price. Next Part

The ceramic plate feels unusually heavy in your hands, but so does your fist as you bring it up to knock on the door in front of you before dropping it again, internally battling with yourself. 

What the fuck are you doing?

That’s the first thought that runs through your head as you stand stupidly in front of your neighbors door, the smell of…something so tantalizing wafting through from the other side making your mouth water. 

Ah, right - silly pregnancy brain basically forced you from your apartment with a plate in your hand because while you don’t know what your neighbor is cooking it smells so fucking good that you fear you might die if you don’t have some of it. 

It’s silly, you know it is, it’s outrageous really - what were you planning to do? Waltz up to this man's door, knock, and then hold out your plate - “alms for the poor pregnant lady please?”

You sigh, dropping the plate by your side as the thought runs through your mind. You almost turn to walk back to your apartment empty handed, but then a faint memory surfaces for just a moment. Your neighbor isn’t a stranger, and while he isn't quite a friend, either - he’s been kind enough. You actually hadn’t run into him all that often, your first interaction with him being a couple months into your pregnancy actually. 

You’d been grappling with a large box, trying and ultimately failing to get it up the stairs to your second floor apartment, stranding you on the landing between the stairs as you stared up at the last flight. You were leaning against the wall, hand on your slightly rounded belly when you heard John’s door open and close, him appearing around the corner shortly after, surprise coloring his features at the scene before him. 

“Need some help with that?” He asked, a bemused smile on his lips. 

You huffed out a small laugh, giving him a smile of your own. “Only if you’re offering.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to let you do it by yourself, not in your condition.”

You let out a soft ‘hmph’ at that - hating when people refer to your predicament as a condition. You’re pregnant, not bedridden. 

“Where is your better half anyways?” He’d asked, picking up the box with such little effort it made you jealous, “I outta teach him a thing or two about manners-”

You wave him off, the mention of your baby's father leaving a sour taste in your mouth. 

“Not in the picture,” you say simply, quickly putting an end to the line of questioning.

Your neighbor paused at that, but decided not to push it, staying silent until you reached your door. You unlocked it and told him he could leave the box at the door but he’d insisted on at least putting it inside the apartment. 

“Do you…” he paused for a moment, rubbing his beard chin in thought. “You need help getting it put together?” 

You glance down at the box, it’s just a crib, it’ can’t be that hard.

You give him a warm smile, shaking your head. “You’ve been plenty of help, I should be able to get it from here.”

He nods, turning back towards the door before stopping just past the threshold and holding his hand out towards you. “John Price. I’m over in 2C if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

You shake his hand, and smile before he heads back down the stairs. 

John Price…

Your interactions past that had been spread thin - although you did end up asking for his help with the crib - it was in no way a one person job. But other than that…it was just friendly conversations or waves as you passed one another in the hallway or stairs. 

But as you stand here, the smell of food getting stronger and more inviting, his words replay again. 

“Don’t hesitate to ask…”

Fuck it. 

You reach up and knock on his door before you can stop yourself, clutching the plate against your chest as you hear a faint call from inside, and then the smell of whatever the hell he’s cooking is hitting you full force as the door swings open. 

Your name falls from his lips as he looks at you, that slight look of surprise on his face once again as he takes you in on his doorstep. You probably are a sight - leggings, oversized sweatshirt, only in your fuzzy socks and a plate in your hand. 

“Look, I know this is going to sound so stupid,” you begin, rushing to explain yourself. “But I was in my apartment and I started to smell whatever it is that you’re cooking and it just smells so good, and I tried to just make something else but it didn’t seem nearly as appetizing and I just-”

You let out a frustrated huff, holding out your plate in shameful defeat, “Can I just…Can I just have a little of whatever it is that you’re making? because now I’m craving it and I don’t think I will be able to stop thinking about it.”

The silence that follows your request makes you want to shrivel up in embarrassment, but it’s soon washed away as gentle laughter meets your ears. You watch as John has to almost physically support himself on the doorframe as he tries and fails to contain his laughter. Heat rushes to your cheeks, but before you can protest or bite back, he’s stepping back into his apartment, opening the door a bit wider. 

“Why don’t I do you one better and invite you in for dinner?” He says, eyes bright with amusement.

Pulling the plate back to your chest in a mock hug, suddenly unsure. “Are you sure?” You ask, voice small, “I don’t want to intrude.”

He shakes his head, reaching an arm out to guide you inside, “Nonsense, I made too much for one person anyways,” he says, closing the door behind you once you enter. 

“I hope you like Indian food,” he says, moving to slip past you towards the kitchen, “Does spicy food bother you?”

At the mention of Indian food, you can feel yourself practically drooling. You’ve had an affinity for spicy foods as of late, and curry has been your go to. 

“God no,” you practically groan, moving to follow him into the small apartment kitchen, “Spicy food is the one thing I can’t get enough of as of late.”

The kitchen in this apartment is identical to your own. It’s attached right to the living room, separated only by a half wall breakfast bar type set up, so you’re able to watch as John turns his back to you to tend to the food still on the stove. 

There’s a small empty space off to the side of the kitchen and living room - clearly meant to be a small dining area of sorts but John has turned it into a makeshift office. A small desk littered with papers and folders haphazardly stacked together and an open laptop, screensaver up on display. 

“Make yourself at home,” John calls over his shoulder, the soft clinking of dishes accompanying his words, “food’ll be done in a moment.”

Put slightly more at ease by his words, you finally set your plate down on the breakfast bar top, taking a moment to look around the space. 

The living room is sparsely decorated, clearly a man’s apartment - but it’s more than that. It’s utilitarian, almost…cold. You’ve started to notice that John is sometimes gone for long stints of time, maybe that’s why it’s so impersonal, he doesn’t spend much time here. Yet, despite the lack of decor or personal touches, you do notice small things that just scream John - at least from what you know of him. 

The fancy crystal ashtray on the coffee table, half smoked cigar sitting unlit in the well. The half empty glass of dark amber liquid sitting right next to it, condensation pooling on the coaster beneath it. There is a simple leather couch up against the back wall of the living room right across from an entertainment center and TV. Two small bookshelves bracket the entertainment center, and without thinking, your feet carry you over to them. 

They’re filled with books of all sorts - mostly nonfiction - but you catch some classics among the plethora of autobiographies and self-help books. Catcher in The Rye, The Nickel Boys, and Moby Dick, to name a few. But the one that draws your attention the most is one book sitting on the shelf closest to the door, lying face down as if he had been in the middle of reading when he was interrupted by something. 

The Hobbit. 

You smile, turning from the book as you turn to walk back towards his makeshift office space and thus, the kitchen. 

“Didn’t take you as a Tolkien fan, John.”

He turns to look at you as you come to the entrance to the kitchen, giving you a small smile, and a sheepish shrug before turning back to stir the pot.

“One of my coworkers recommended it to me,” he defends, before adding, “although I’ll admit it’s growing on me.”

As he was speaking you turned and took a few more steps into his office space, eyes drawn to the screensaver on the laptop. It’s four men in military gear, arms around each other’s shoulders, and it only takes you a moment to spot John among the bodies. He’s smiling wide in the photo, arm wrapping affectionately around the neck of a dark skinned man to his left, while his other arm is wrapped more casually around another man to his right. This man is also smiling wide, piercing blue eyes crinkled in delight as he seems to be laughing, the sides of his head are shaved and he has a short mohawk. Your eyes finally trail to the last member of the group, who’s one arm is around the man with the mohawk, while his other arm is rested casually atop the rifle hanging around him. But what stands out the most is the stark white skull mask on his face, hiding everything but his dark eyes. 

“You’re in the military?” You ask, moving to stand up straight once more, wincing at the slight twinge in your back as you do so. 

You hear John approach from behind you, footsteps muffled by the carpet as he comes to stand next to you. 

“That I am,” he says, and you don’t miss the way he tucks some papers beneath other folders. Not for your eyes apparently. 

You smile when you look at the picture, “You look happy here,” you say, pointing to the screen.

John nods beside you, smiling fondly again. “It was a good day,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders, “mission went well for once.”

He reaches out and points to the man on his left, “That’s Gaz,” he moves to the one to his right, “Soap,” he finally moves to the man with the skull mask, “and that’s Ghost.”

You hum, slightly confused by the names, but recalling a faint knowledge of military personnel getting nicknames sometimes. You choose not to question it, instead giving in to your teasing nature as you point to John in the picture. 

“You skipped over the handsome one,” you say, voice teasing. 

You watch in silent triumph as John clears his throat, and if it weren't for his beard, you’re sure you’d see red adorning his cheeks. He waves his hand at you, shaking his head as he chuckles. 

“Oh, come off it,” he chastises lightly, “Dinner’s ready.”

You turn and move towards the kitchen where John already has two plates of butter chicken and rice plated up and ready for you both. You move to help him but he brushes you off with a small ‘tsk’ sound before sliding past you and leading you back into the living room. 

“I hope you’re alright eating at the coffee table,” he says sheepishly, setting the plates down, “Never got around to getting a proper dining room table.”

You smile at him, trying to be reassuring as you take a seat on the couch, “perfectly fine with me. It’s where I eat most of my meals too.”

He seems to relax at that before disappearing back into the kitchen and returning shortly with two glasses of water, setting one in front of you and then his own plate before taking a seat next to you. You wait, not all that patiently for him to get comfortable before you finally dig into the food that started this whole silly debacle, and the moment you do, you can’t stop the groan that slips past your closed lips as you chew. 

It’s fucking amazing.

Better than the Indian restaurant you frequent, and much better than anything you’ve ever tried to cook. The seasoning is perfect, the curry is the right consistency too and it’s just-

“Holy shit, John,” you manage after swallowing another bite of food, taking a sip of your water as he laughs around his own bite. 

“I take it you approve then?” He asks, blue shimmering with amusement. 

You hum happily, taking another bite before replying. “More than approve, this is phenomenal, better than any indian take away I’ve had.”

He smiles at that, “I’ll take the compliment then.”

You nod, now trying to force yourself to slow down and savor the dish in front of you. “As you should.”

It’s quiet for a moment before John reaches for the remote laying on the table. “Fancy anything in particular?”

You think for a moment before shaking your head, “whatever you usually watch is fine.”

He nods, turning the TV on and switching to a streaming service before flicking through the various ‘recently watched’ shows. You can’t stop the way your brow raises when you see The Great British Baking Show among the list. 

“You watch baking shows?” You ask, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. 

John chuckles, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “call it a guilty pleasure,” he jokes before clicking on the most recent episode. 

The rest of the meal passes in an air of comfort, the only sounds at first being the scrape of utensils against plates and the show playing on the TV. Neither of you really notice when you both finish eating and lean back into the couch, eyes glued to the screen and critiques falling from both your mouths. 

“She forgot the fucking eggs!” You cry at the TV, incredulous that one of the contestants forgot a key ingredient in their cake. 

John practically groans beside you, “it’s probably for the best,” he says, cringing slightly as it switches to another baker whose cake is crumbling apart as they try to decorate it. “She tried to pair pickles with a chocolate mousse last episode-”

“She what?” You look at him surprised for a moment before sinking back into the couch. “Wait…that actually might not be that bad-”

This gets another laugh out of the man beside you and you hear him mumble something about ‘weird pregnancy cravings’ before you both go back to watching the show. 

The evening passes much like this, both of you watching a few more episodes before your eyes fall to the clock on your phone, eyes widening at the time. 

“Oh my gosh it’s late,” you say, sitting up straighter, hand falling to your belly when the movement causes a twinge. 

You must make a face because, John is sitting up now too, eyes falling down to where your hand lays. “No need to rush,” he assures you, moving to stand and offer you his hand. “I’m not kicking you out.”

You smile up at him as you take his hand, fighting the heat that rushes to your cheeks, “Well you could have,” you say softly, “I definitely overstayed my welcome.”

The man before you just shakes his head, “none of that now,” he assures you, “If I’d wanted you gone, I would’ve said something. I..” He trails off, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “I liked having the company.”

Now you really blush, ducking your head as your hand rubs absentmindedly over your stomach. “I..I liked it too. Nice change of pace. Thank you for inviting me in,” you tug your lip between your teeth before continuing. “I know it was a weird request and you could have turned me away - should have probably but…Thank you.”

You look up then only to see John giving you that warm smile you’ve come to be familiar with, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Anytime,” he says softly, before he shifts, as if remembering something. “Almost forgot-”

He hurries back to the kitchen, pulling something from the fridge before returning to you. He holds out a Tupperware container, obviously filled with leftovers from dinner. 

“Saved some for you,” he says, urging the container into your hands when you don’t take it immediately.

“John I-” you shake your head, looking down at the container, “You already fed me, I don’t want to take your leftovers too-”

He waves his hand sharply, cutting you off. “I made plenty,” he promises, “I still have some. There was plenty left to give you.”

A small silence falls over you, gratitude and warmth filling your chest with a fuzziness you haven’t felt in a long time. Not since your last relationship, not since you got pregnant. It’s been too long since someone cared for you instead of the other way around, and the simple gesture makes your eyes burn with the threat of tears. 

Not now, pregnancy hormones!

You smile, clothing the container tightly to you before looking up at John again. He still has that soft look on his face, and before you can think better of it, you lean up on your tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you, John.”

And then you turn and exit his apartment before either of you can find time to feel embarrassed about your actions. 

But, you left so quickly you missed the blush on John’s cheeks, and the way he brought one hand up to touch the spot you kissed. 

Fuck.

He’s a goner. 

[starzify]

brat *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | p in v | brat!sub!reader | dom!dean

MASTERLIST

"Why you gotta be so damn mean, huh?" Dean grunted, one hand on the headboard to steady himself, the other tangled in your hair, yanking until your scalp screamed.

"Just gotta run that mouth, huh? That's all you do? Just run that fuckin’ mouth?” A particularly hard thrust annunciated his irritation, leaving you gasping, a gut punch of a feeling to your cervix that had you breathless.

He was being mean, so mean, you'd made a point to tell him that too. You supposed you deserved it, for how mean you'd been earlier.

"What? You got nothin' to say now? No rude comments? C'mon, baby, let me hear you. You were so loud and obnoxious earlier." Dean sneered, pulling back on your hair so you whined, pulling you into his chest. His hips didn't stop, hands moving to hold you lightly by your neck, just enough pressure to have you clenching and whimpering.

"You gonna say you're sorry to me?" Dean rasped, nose pressed to your temple, hands snaking up your throat to grab your jaw, pull your face towards his. "Say you're sorry."

“I’m n- not sorry." You whined, legs wobbling when his hips snapped into you, sending you reeling all over again. "You were the one ignoring me-oh!"

“I was working, you little brat." Dean sneered, fingers curling and pressing into your jaw. "How about I come to your fuckin' job and start actin' all horny and desperate? See how you like it, huh?"

You pouted, satisfied that you'd gotten him so flustered and furious. "You'd like that though. I know you would. You'd like it if I came in and-and distracted you like this? Desperate." Dean growled.

"N-No, 'm not." You whined, your voice lilting and nasally, that pitch that had his abs clenching, waves of pleasure shooting through his own body.

"You are." Dean huffed, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, the ghosting of a whine trailing. "Say you are."

"No." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, desperate for friction. You were already so close.

"Say it, or you don't get to cum." Dean commanded, yanking your jaw towards him so you faced him, noses brushing. "Say you were actin' desperate or I stop. I'll cum either way, but you... fuck, you won't get to cum."

You knew he was being serious. He'd jack himself in front of you, probably tie you up and make you watch while he told you what a bad girl you were. You huffed, bratty and petulant, making Dean suck his teeth.

"I-I was..." You leaned against his chest, head lolling back in pleasure when his free hand rolled your nipples. "I was desperate." You muttered, eyes closed, refusing to look at him when you grumbled the phrase.

"Look at me." Dean growled. "You know better, look at me."

You blinked, looking at him through hazy, blurred vision, lust drunk and so close to your own orgasm that it was painful. "I-I was desperate, Dean, please." You whined, lip jutting out in the perfect pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lip, teeth baring and resisting the urge to bite your lip. Roll it between his teeth, pull it so he could hear you whine and cry. His cock twitched at the thought, hammering into you.

"Say you were a bad girl." Dean commanded, his free hand gliding down to your mound, fingers ghosting over your puffy lips, purposely avoiding your clit when he knew you were so desperate for him to touch you there- knew it would send you over the edge. "Say it."

"I-I was...a bad girl.” You sobbed, his pointer finger pressing on your clit, rubbing just enough to have you bucking in his arms, legs shaking and flooding his cock, overtook by your own orgasm.

Dean held you while you shook, slow rocks of his hips until your eyes were glassy, body still shuddering with aftershocks. "There she is. There's my bad fuckin' girl." Dean grinned, lying you against the pillows, sprawled out and whimpering.

His hips ground slow against you, feeling your spasming clenches, hearing the wet squelch that filled the room. "Can you be good for me?” Dean tilted his head to the side, tapping your cheek lightly to look at him, hovered above you with piercing eyes and flushed cheeks.

You nodded like you were high on drugs, muttering some sort of agreed nonsense. Dean snorted lightly. "My sweet girl…” He mumbled softly, looking down at you with loving eyes as all of his frustration cleared away.

tags: @urloveada @floralscented @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @ultravi0lence14 @beausling @figthoughts @deansbeer @deanangel @titsout4jackles @bluemerakis @haunteres @vampteeths @rafespreciosa @frosttbitessam @drewstarkeyzwhore @inspiredangel @pointocean

[oldsoul007]

crawling back to you

joel miller x reader

summary: you haven’t seen joel since he let you leave boston with tommy, until…

a/n: grumpy joel, angsty and fluffy

joel miller masterlist

The last thing I remember was the blinding midday sun and the crackling of the dried leaves beneath my boots. I’d been walking for hours—too many hours—with no food, no water, and no sign of a single soul. The world was too quiet, and when the dizziness hit, I knew I’d pushed too far.

I hadn’t seen the raiders coming. Not until it was too late. They burst out from the tree line, shouting, armed, and I’d tried to run. But my body betrayed me. My knees gave out before I could process what was happening, and the hard, cracked asphalt of the road rushed up to meet me as they closed in.

Then darkness.

For a while, there was nothing but a foggy void, until I felt something. A jolt of awareness. The weight of the world slowly pressed back on me: the ache in my limbs, the sting in my throat, and the cold chill of shade falling over my skin.

Voices.

“You think she’s alive?”

The words floated into my consciousness, sharp and clear. My heart raced. The raiders—had they caught me? I wanted to open my eyes, but my body wasn’t listening.

“How the hell should I know, Ellie?”

That voice was rough and edged like the bark of an old tree. Deep. Grumpy. Close. Familiar.

“She looks alive. Kinda.”

“Kinda doesn’t cut it, kid.” A sigh, heavy and annoyed. “She’s breathing, so that’s a good sign. Or bad, depending on how you wanna look at it.”

The ground beneath me was rough gravel digging into my side. Someone must’ve moved me. My knife. My hands twitched instinctively for it, but I didn’t feel the familiar weight at my belt.

“She’s got a backpack,” the girl—Ellie—said. “Maybe she’s got something useful on her.”

“Don’t even think about it,” the man snapped.

“Relax, I was just saying!”

They didn’t sound like raiders. But I wasn’t taking chances. Slowly, I forced my eyelids to lift, but it was like peeling back layers of lead. The light stung, and all I could make out at first was a blurred silhouette looming above me.

“She’s moving!” Ellie’s voice jumped an octave.

“Yeah, I can see that,” the man grumbled.

The shapes above me sharpened: a man with graying hair and a perpetual scowl crouched close, while a girl with curious, wide eyes hovered just behind him. Bottoms of their faces covered with a bandana. My muscles tensed, and instinct screamed one thing: fight.

I surged up, lashing out before I could think. My body felt sluggish, weak, but adrenaline drove me forward.

“Whoa!” Ellie yelped, stumbling back.

He moved faster than I expected. In one fluid motion, he grabbed both of my wrists and shoved me back down onto the ground, pinning me there with a strength I had no hope of matching.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His face was inches from mine, his grip like iron.

“Get off me!” I spat, twisting against him, but it was useless.

“You wanna try that again?” he snapped, glaring down at me. “Because I guarantee it won’t go how you think.”

“Joel, should I—” Ellie’s voice cut through the wind, and I glanced up to see her pointing a gun at me.

“Hold on,” the man—Joel—said. His voice made something in my chest clench, though I couldn’t place why.

He shifted, one hand leaving my wrist to yank the bandana down from my face. The cold stung my skin as it was exposed to the biting wind, but all I could focus on was his face.

Joel froze. His eyes widened as he stared down at me, his grip slackening just enough for me to shove at his chest.

“Y/n?”

Hearing my name in that voice—his voice—hit me like a gut punch. I blinked up at him, snowflakes catching on my lashes as my brain struggled to catch up.

“Joel?” I rasped, disbelief and anger warring inside me.

He let go of my wrists, sitting back slightly, but I wasn’t done. With a grunt, I shoved him hard enough to make him stumble.

“Get off me, asshole!” I snapped, scrambling to my feet.

Ellie lowered her gun, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you know her?”

Joel stood slowly, brushing snow off his jacket, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah… I know her.”

“Know me?” I barked, crossing my arms against the cold. “That’s all you’ve got to say after years?”

“Not now,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We need to move. It’s not safe out here.”

“Oh, now you care about safety,” I shot back, but the storm was picking up again, and as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t stay out here alone.

Ellie glanced between us, still holding the gun loosely. “So… are we just letting her come with us?”

“She’s coming with us,” Joel said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I snorted, pulling my scarf back up. “Like hell I am.”

“Fine,” Joel said, stepping closer until he was towering over me. “Then freeze out here on your own.”

We locked eyes, the familiar stubbornness in his gaze making my blood boil. Finally, I sighed, muttering under my breath. “Fine. But if you pull something like that again, I’m putting a bullet in your knee.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Joel smirked—barely, but I caught it. “Good to see you haven’t changed.”

I looked around us.

“Where—” My voice cracked, my throat dry. “Where are they?”

“The raiders?” Joel asked, his tone clipped. “Dead. You’re welcome.”

Ellie shot him a look. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

Joel ignored her, turning to scan the horizon like he was already regretting stopping to help.

Ellie turned back to me, her tone gentler. “You need water? Food? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

I swallowed hard, forcing out a hoarse whisper. “Water…”

Ellie looked at Joel expectantly. “She needs water.”

Joel sighed heavily, like this was the biggest inconvenience in the world, and dug a bottle out of his pack. He shoved it toward me without a word, his scowl deepening.

“Don’t drink too fast,” he muttered. “You’ll puke.”

I took the bottle with shaking hands, sipping carefully.

Ellie gave me a small smile. “See? He’s grumpy, but he’s not so bad., but i’m guessing you knew that already. I’m Ellie, by the way. What’s your name again?”

“Y/n,” I croaked.

“Well, y/n,” she said, leaning back on her heels. “Looks like you’re stuck with us for now.”

Joel shot her a glare, but she just smiled sweetly at him.

As I sipped the water, trying not to choke, I couldn’t help but wonder why Ellie seemed so eager to help me—and why Joel seemed so reluctant to.

The pain in my thigh hit me like a freight train the moment I tried to stand. It was sharp and hot, radiating up my leg with every twitch of movement. I glanced down and saw the blood, dark and sticky, soaking through a jagged tear in my jeans. My stomach turned.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, dropping back to the ground.

Joel and Ellie were still nearby, Joel pacing with his rifle slung low, Ellie crouched by the fire, poking at it absentmindedly. I pressed my hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t doing much good.

“You okay?” Ellie asked, looking up.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice tight.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Joel muttered without even glancing my way.

I glared at him but focused back on my leg. I needed to stop the bleeding, clean it—do something before it got worse. My hands fumbled as I tried to tear a strip from the already-ruined part of my jeans, but my fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip.

“Dammit,” I hissed, tugging harder.

Joel finally turned, watching me struggle with an expression that screamed irritation. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can handle it,” I snapped, not looking at him.

“Yeah, sure looks like it,” he said dryly, crossing the distance in a few long strides. Before I could protest, he crouched down in front of me and grabbed my leg.

“Hey!” I yelped, jerking back.

“Hold still,” he growled, yanking my jeans up over the wound to get a better look.

“What are you—”

“Helping,” he said sharply, cutting me off. “Because you clearly can’t do this yourself.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you bleeding out and slowing us down,” he shot back, his hands already pulling a small bottle of alcohol from his pack.

I froze when I saw it. “Wait—wait.”

He didn’t stop, just uncapped the bottle and dumped it onto the wound in one swift motion.

Pain exploded through my thigh, white-hot and searing. I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped out of me, my whole body jerking away from him.

“Goddammit!” I shouted, clutching at my leg. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Stop moving,” Joel barked, his hand clamping down on my leg to keep it still. “You’re just making it worse.”

“You could’ve warned me!”

“I did,” he said flatly, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it firmly against the cut.

“Yeah, great warning!” I hissed, still trying to recover from the burn.

Ellie was sitting nearby, watching the whole thing with wide eyes. “Uh, yeah, he’s not exactly the most… delicate, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Joel ignored her, wrapping the bandage tightly around my thigh with the kind of practiced efficiency that made me wonder how many times he’d done this before.

“Can you walk?” he asked once he was done, standing and offering me a hand.

I stared at it for a second, then grudgingly took it. He hauled me up, steadying me when my leg wobbled.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, even though I wasn’t.

“Sure you are,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t believe me.

Later that night, we camped near a small fire Joel had built, the warmth of the flames doing little to ease the tension between us. Ellie sat across from me, poking at the fire with a stick, while Joel leaned against a nearby tree, his arms crossed and his rifle within easy reach.

“So,” I said after a long silence, my voice cutting through the crackle of the fire. “Where are you two headed?”

Ellie perked up immediately, her mouth opening before she could stop herself. “We’re going to—”

“We’re going to the Fireflies,” Joel interrupted, his voice steady and sure.

Ellie froze, her eyes darting between the two of us. “Joel!?” she hissed, clearly caught off guard by his honesty.

I frowned, looking between them. “The Fireflies? Why?” I could tell there was something they weren’t saying, something important.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Because Ellie’s immune,” he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of what those words meant. “And they’re working on a cure.”

I blinked, my mind racing to catch up. “Immune?” I repeated, glancing at Ellie.

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to someone new knowing. “Yeah,” she mumbled, shrugging. “I got bit. Didn’t turn. That was, like, forever ago.”

I stared at her, processing what Joel had just admitted. “And you’re taking her to the Fireflies,” I said slowly. “Because they think they can use her immunity to make a cure.”

“That’s the idea,” Joel said, his tone neutral. “Whether it’ll work or not, that’s anyone’s guess.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms as I studied him. Joel wasn’t the type to trust anyone with this kind of information lightly. The fact that he was telling me now said a lot.

“And you’re okay with me knowing all this?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

Joel held my gaze, his expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t’ve said anything if I didn’t trust you.”

That hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I couldn’t find the words. Joel and I had history—messy, complicated history—but this… this was something else.

After a long pause, I finally spoke. “Where are the Fireflies at?” I glanced at Joel, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Salt Lake City,” he replied, his tone flat, as if that was the only answer he had to offer.

I nodded, thinking for a moment. “That’s a hell of a trip.”

Joel didn’t respond to that, so I let the silence stretch a bit longer, watching the flickering flames. The crackle of the fire was the only thing filling the space between us.

I shifted slightly, the weight of the night starting to press on me. “I was with a group,” I said after a beat, keeping my voice low, like the words might break something if I said them too loud. “Good people. Or… they were. Got separated after some raiders hit us a couple days back. Didn’t have much of a choice but to run.” I paused, my gaze flicking to Ellie, who was staring at the fire, her expression unreadable. “I wasn’t planning on being out here alone.”

Joel watched me for a long time, and I could tell he was taking in every word, sizing up what I said, probably weighing if it added up. “You got a place to go?” he asked.

I swallowed, hesitant. I hadn’t told him much about Jackson yet. The thought of it felt like a fleeting memory, a piece of the past I wasn’t sure I could go back to. But the truth was, it might be the safest place for all of us, at least for a while.

“Yeah,” I finally said, my voice steady. “I got a home back in Jackson. It’s… safe there. Got supplies, people. It’s not perfect, but it’s the closest thing to normal I’ve seen in years.”

Ellie looked up then, her brow furrowed. “Jackson? You mean, like, an actual town?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Walled-in, secure. We’ve got farms, housing, everything you’d need. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than out here.”

Joel’s face darkened slightly, though I couldn’t tell if it was from hope or suspicion. I felt the weight of the unspoken questions hanging in the air between us. I had to bite back the words that wanted to spill out—about Tommy, about how he was safe and well in Jackson. But I stopped myself. Ellie was sitting there, and I didn’t know how she’d react if Joel found out his brother was there.

Instead, I kept my tone even. “If you’re heading to Salt Lake City, we can stop there first. Restock on supplies, maybe grab a decent meal. Then you can keep moving.”

Joel turned his gaze toward me, his eyes narrowing a little, his jaw clenched. “You sure it’s safe?”

I nodded, my voice firm. “It is. Safer than out here, anyway.”

Ellie, still quiet, looked from Joel to me. After a moment, she shrugged, but her gaze lingered on me for a second too long. “I mean… doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Joel looked at her, then back at me. He hesitated for a moment, and I saw the conflict flicker in his eyes. Finally, he gave a small nod. “All right. We’ll stop there. But just for supplies. Ain’t got time to waste.”

I nodded, a small relief washing over me. We’d do this. I’d help them, guide them, and maybe even find a moment to tell Joel about Tommy—if I could. The fire crackled between us, the sounds of the night closing in as we all settled back into the quiet.

Joel leaned back against a log, his eyes flicking upward to the stars, while Ellie poked the fire again, lost in her own thoughts. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, feeling the weight of the journey ahead pressing down.

I wasn’t sure what would come next, but I was going to get them to Jackson first. Maybe, after that, I could finally tell Joel the truth.

Joel didn’t say anything else, just turned his attention back to the fire. But the tension between us felt lighter now, the weight of unspoken things settling into something almost comfortable.

Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for sure: Joel trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that, in this world, meant everything.

The three of us sat around the small campfire, its glow casting flickering light onto the trees surrounding us. The temperature had dropped as the sun set, and I was grateful for the warmth of the flames and the smell of something vaguely edible Joel was cooking over them.

Ellie sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, fiddling with the pages of her battered joke book. She had already gone through a handful of them today, and each time Joel looked like he was about ready to roll his eyes out of his head.

“Okay, okay,” Ellie announced, holding up a hand as though commanding our attention. “This one’s a classic. You ready?” She cleared her throat dramatically, glancing between me and Joel. “What do you call an alligator in a vest?”

I stifled a laugh already, knowing she was probably more excited about the punchline than the joke itself.

Joel, stirring the pan of food, gave her a sideways look. “Do I even wanna know?”

“An investigator!” Ellie exclaimed, cackling as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

I couldn’t help but chuckle along with her, more at her reaction than the joke. Joel just shook his head and sighed heavily, setting the pan down on a flat rock by the fire.

“She’s been doin’ this since we left Boston,” he muttered, as though he were lamenting some great burden he’d been forced to bear.

“Damn right I have!” Ellie said, puffing out her chest with mock pride. “You know you love it, Joel.”

He gave her a look that was somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, kid.”

Ellie smirked, flipping through the pages of the book again. “Oh, I’m not done. I’ve got more where that came from.”

“God help us,” Joel said under his breath, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face.

I leaned back, my hands stretched out toward the fire, watching the two of them. “You know,” I said, grinning, “I think it’s impressive she’s been carrying that book all this way. Priorities.”

Ellie nodded vigorously, pointing at me. “Exactly! See, y/n gets it. I’m spreading joy in the apocalypse. That’s a valuable service.”

Joel snorted. “Sure. That’s what it is.”

Ellie stuck her tongue out at him before turning to me. “Okay, y/n, this one’s for you: Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?”

I thought for a second, but before I could even guess, she blurted out, “Because it was two tired!”

Her laughter was contagious, and I found myself laughing right along with her. Even Joel let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe this was his life now.

“Two tired,” I repeated, grinning. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Thank you!” Ellie said, pretending to tip an invisible hat. “I’ll be here all week. Or, you know, as long as it takes us to get to Jackson.”

Joel let out a long sigh, but there was no missing the warmth in his expression as he looked at her. “You’re somethin’ else, kid.”

Ellie beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Damn right I am.”

And in that moment, as the fire crackled and Ellie started flipping through her book for another gem, I couldn’t help but think that even in a world like this, there was still room for laughter. And that was worth holding onto.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth flickering in the cool night air. Ellie was asleep, her body curled up tightly in her sleeping bag, breathing steady and slow. Joel sat across from me, his figure dark against the firelight, eyes distant as usual. There was a heaviness in the air, a silence that weighed on both of us.

I’d been toying with whether or not to tell him, but after today, I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It was something Joel needed to know, something that would either ease his mind or make the road ahead even harder.

“Joel,” I said softly, not wanting to disturb Ellie’s sleep.

His head turned slightly, his eyes catching mine in the dim firelight. He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about Jackson,” I began, feeling the weight of the words before they even left my mouth. “And… there’s something you need to know.”

Joel gave a slight nod, signaling me to go on. I hesitated for a moment, gathering the courage.

“Tommy’s there,” I said, keeping my voice low but steady.

The moment the words left my lips, I saw the shift in him. His face didn’t betray much, but his posture stiffened. He didn’t react right away, though I could feel the tension building in his body. His jaw tightened, and for a long beat, he was silent, staring into the fire.

I let the words settle in the air. I could see him thinking, piecing together the years of separation, the anger, the hurt.

“You didn’t know, did you?” I asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, the weight of his past with Tommy hanging between us. “No,” he said, his voice rough, like the realization had hit him harder than he expected. “I thought… I thought he was dead.”

I swallowed, knowing how much those words meant. Joel had carried the guilt of losing Tommy for so long, thinking the worst, even when he didn’t want to believe it. I hadn’t expected the reaction I got—gratitude in his eyes, mixed with that edge of disbelief.

“Tommy’s alive, Joel,” I repeated, my voice softer now. “And he’s at Jackson. He’s been there, rebuilding, trying to make a life. I thought you should know.”

For a long moment, Joel didn’t speak. He just stared at the fire, his brow furrowed, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes.

Finally, he exhaled a long, steady breath, as if the news had knocked the wind out of him. “I thought… I thought I’d lost him for good,” he said, almost to himself.

His words trailed off, but the gratefulness in his voice was clear, almost as if he’d been holding onto the idea of Tommy being gone as a way to shield himself from hope. It had been easier to live with the belief that Tommy was lost than to think he might have been alive all this time, somewhere out there.

I watched him carefully, feeling the rawness of the moment between us. “Maybe he’s been waiting for you,” I said quietly, not wanting to push, but knowing the door was now open. “Maybe he’s been hoping you’d find your way back to him.”

Joel didn’t respond right away, his face unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the past catching up with him.

I could see the turmoil in him, the complex mix of emotions he’d buried deep for so long.“You don’t have to decide anything now. But I wanted you to know.”

Joel finally looked up at me, the hardness in his eyes softened by something else—relief, maybe. Or maybe just the shock of knowing his brother wasn’t lost to him after all.

“‘preciate you tellin’ me,” he said quietly, his voice rough with something I couldn’t quite name.

There was a silence, thick with all the things left unsaid. Joel turned back to the fire, but this time, I didn’t sense the same tension in him. The news had cracked something open, a small window of possibility where before there had only been despair.

And as the night stretched on, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first step in bringing Joel and Tommy back together—or if the past would remain an insurmountable wall between them. But one thing was clear: the hope he’d long buried was alive again.

The snow crunched softly beneath our boots as we trekked through the wilderness on the way to Jackson. The cold bit at my nose and cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Joel and Ellie’s banter ahead of me.

Joel led the way, his rifle slung over one shoulder, his other hand gesturing as he explained something to Ellie. She hung onto his every word as usual, peppering him with questions about the terrain and wildlife.

“Do you think we’ll see any bears?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Nope,” Joel replied gruffly. “Too cold for ‘em right now. They’re holed up for the winter.”

Ellie groaned in disappointment. “Lame. What about wolves?”

“Let’s hope not,” Joel muttered, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “You don’t wanna see wolves, trust me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ellie grumbled, kicking at a chunk of ice. “I think wolves are badass.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I brought up the rear. Ellie’s energy was infectious, even if Joel often acted like he was too old to keep up.

We rounded a bend in the trail, and that’s when we saw it.

An elk.

It stood in the middle of the clearing, its tall, proud antlers stark against the white of the snow-covered forest. Its coat gleamed in the weak winter sunlight, steam rising from its breath as it exhaled into the cold air.

Ellie gasped audibly, her mouth falling open. “Whoa. No way.”

Joel stopped in his tracks, holding out an arm to keep her from running ahead. “Stay still,” he warned softly.

Ellie ignored him completely, taking a careful step forward. “Oh my god, it’s huge. It’s so cool.”

The elk’s ears twitched, swiveling toward us, and for a moment, I thought it might bolt. But instead, it let out a low, guttural bugle—a deep sound that echoed through the trees.

Ellie froze, her eyes going even wider. “Did you hear that? Holy shit, it talked to us!”

Joel chuckled under his breath, his shoulders relaxing as he watched her excitement. “That’s not talkin’, kid. Just elk bein’ elk.”

But Ellie wasn’t listening. She took another step forward, her hands lifted slightly as if to beckon the creature closer. “Hey, buddy,” she said in a soft, awestruck voice. “You don’t have to go. We’re cool, I promise.”

The elk snorted, its breath visible in the cold air, and then—with a graceful bound—it leapt into the trees, disappearing from sight.

Ellie whirled around to face us, practically vibrating with excitement. “Did you see that? That was the most amazing thing ever! Did you hear it? That noise was insane!”

Joel shook his head, but there was a small, fond smile on his face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’m serious! That was so badass!” She turned to me, her grin so big it lit up her entire face. “Y/n, tell me you got how cool that was.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I adjusted my pack. “I got it, Ellie. You’re right—it was pretty incredible.”

Ellie groaned dramatically. “Pretty incredible? That thing was, like, majestic as hell.”

We started walking again, Ellie skipping along beside us as she reenacted the elk’s bugle. Joel shook his head at her impression, and I felt a warm glow in my chest as I watched them together.

The world outside was cold, dangerous, and unforgiving, but moments like this reminded me why we kept going. For Ellie’s wonder. For Joel’s quiet, steady presence. For the strange, beautiful family we’d become.

The cold cut deep as we trudged through the snow, the wind howling like it wanted to drive us into the ground. My leg throbbed with every step, the makeshift bandage Joel had wrapped around it holding tight but doing little to ease the pain. I wasn’t about to complain, though. Not after they saved me from those raiders.

Ellie walked beside me, her steps crunching in the snow as she glanced over. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked for the third time since we started walking.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice was tight. The truth was, I wasn’t fine. But what mattered was getting all of us somewhere safe, and Jackson was the only place I could think of.

Joel walked ahead, his rifle slung low but ready, his eyes scanning the horizon. Always the same—guarded and alert, like danger was lurking just around every corner. In this world, it usually was.

I’d agreed to help them get to Jackson. It was the least I could do after everything they’d done for me. And Jackson? It was my home now. A place that, for all its faults, still stood strong in a broken world.

“Not much farther now,” I said, though the storm had made it hard to tell. “If we keep moving, we’ll make it before dark.”

Ellie gave a tired nod, pulling her coat tighter around her. “Good, ‘cause I don’t think my toes are gonna make it.”

Joel glanced back at her, his expression softening for just a moment. “You’ll be fine. Just keep moving.”

We’d just crested a small hill when the sound of horses cut through the wind. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to see them—figures on horseback emerging from the blinding snow, their weapons drawn.

“Joel,” I hissed, grabbing his arm.

He saw them too, his posture tensing as he stepped in front of Ellie and raised his rifle. “Stay behind me,” he muttered, his voice low and firm.

The riders spread out, circling us. There were at least six of them, their horses pawing at the snow as the riders aimed shotguns and rifles in our direction. My stomach churned as I recognized one of the voices calling out through the storm.

“Drop your weapons!” Maria shouted, her voice carrying over the wind.

“Maria!” I called back, stepping forward despite Joel’s arm shooting out to stop me. “It’s me—y/n!”

The tension in the air crackled like static. For a moment, no one moved. Then Maria urged her horse forward, squinting through the snow until recognition crossed her face.

“Y/n?” she said, lowering her shotgun slightly. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, relief flooding through me. “But these two—” I motioned to Joel and Ellie, who were still frozen in place. “They’re with me. They saved my life.”

Maria’s gaze shifted to Joel, her eyes narrowing. “That him?”

I blinked, confused, until realization dawned. Of course, Tommy must’ve mentioned Joel before.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “It’s him. And this is Ellie. They’re just passing through. Please, Maria, lower the guns.”

Maria hesitated, her gaze flicking between me, Joel, and Ellie. Then she gave a sharp whistle, and the other riders lowered their weapons.

“Alright,” she said, her tone cautious but less hostile. “Let’s get back to Jackson. You look like hell.”

I almost laughed. “You have no idea.”

The ride back was quiet, the tension between Joel and Maria palpable. Ellie, for once, didn’t say much, her gaze fixed on the snowy landscape as we made our way through the storm.

When the gates of Jackson finally came into view, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The sight of the sturdy walls, the faint glow of firelight beyond—it was the first time in a long while that I felt like things might actually be okay.

The gates of Jackson creaked open as the group rode in, the heavy snowfall outside muffled by the sturdy wooden walls of the settlement. Inside, the warmth of fires and the sound of distant chatter greeted us. It was like stepping into another world—one where life hadn’t completely crumbled. The bustling streets, people moving with purpose, children playing—it was overwhelming after days of cold, silence, and death.

Joel dismounted his horse slowly, his eyes scanning the settlement as if it were a mirage. His rifle hung loosely on his shoulder, his posture stiff, as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe this place was real. Ellie stuck close to him, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the sight of people—families—living normal lives, or as close to normal as you could get these days.

Maria swung off her horse, handing the reins to a stablehand. “Y/n, go with Ethan and get checked out. You’re in no condition to be walking around on that leg,” she said, but her gaze flicked to Joel.

Then Tommy appeared.

Tommy was working on some construction, the sound of hammering and the distant clatter of tools filling the air. As we walked closer, I could see a few men working, their backs turned to us as they focused on their tasks. The moment I saw Tommy, though, my breath caught in my throat.

He was hard at work, his back bent as he nailed some boards into place, completely unaware of our approach. I could feel the tension rising in Joel beside me, the anticipation thick in the air.

And then, without warning, Joel’s voice broke through the stillness, loud and commanding:

“Tommy!”

The sound of his name cut through the air like a crack of thunder. The men working nearby stopped what they were doing, and for a brief moment, it felt like the entire world went still.

Tommy froze, his back still to us, and I watched as his shoulders stiffened. He slowly turned, his eyes scanning the area, before they landed on Joel. His face went slack for a moment—an unreadable mix of disbelief, relief, and confusion. The moment seemed to stretch on, as though neither of them quite believed what was happening.

Then, Tommy blinked, and before I knew it, he was striding across the ground, closing the distance between them. He didn’t say a word at first, just reached Joel in two quick strides and pulled him into a tight, almost desperate hug.

The sound of it—the weight of all that lost time between them—was deafening. The hard lines in Joel’s face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep breath, like something inside him had been released. They stood there for a moment, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

Tommy pulled back first, his hand gripping Joel’s arm, his voice gruff as he spoke, almost too soft for me to hear. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Joel looked at him, his eyes full of that familiar pain but also something else—something deeper. “Thought you were dead, Tommy.”

Tommy’s face softened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the brotherly bond they once shared. “Guess I got a bit tired of waitin’ around, but I’m here now, Joel.”

The silence between them spoke louder than any words could. It wasn’t just a reunion—it was a reckoning. Years of pain, of choices that had torn them apart, now coming to a head.

They pulled back, Tommy’s hands gripping Joel’s shoulders as he looked him over, his eyes scanning every line, every scar. “You look like hell,” he said with a half-smile, though his voice wavered.

Joel gave a faint huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… it’s been a long road.”

Tommy’s gaze shifted, landing on Ellie, who was standing just behind Joel, watching the reunion with quiet curiosity. “And this must be…?”

“Yeah,” Joel said, stepping slightly to the side so Ellie could step forward. “This is Ellie.”

Ellie gave a small wave, clearly unsure of what to say. “Uh, hi.”

Tommy chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, any friend of Joel’s is welcome here.”

For the first time in a long time, the weight Joel carried seemed to ease, if only slightly. It wasn’t just Jackson that felt like a safe haven—it was the connection, the bond that hadn’t been broken, even after all this time.

And for a moment, it felt like the world wasn’t so heavy after all.

Joel walked slowly down the stairs, the creaking of the wooden steps the only sound in the quiet house. The dim light of the living room pooled on the floor, where I sat curled up on the couch, my eyes fixed on him as he approached. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of everything that had just transpired. His steps faltered slightly, the heaviness of the fight with Ellie still weighing on him.

I didn’t say anything at first, just watched him with an unreadable expression, the flickering light casting shadows across her face. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. The world felt quieter in moments like this, like it was holding its breath.

“You really think that’s the answer, huh?” I said, my tone biting but not cruel.

Joel didn’t meet my gaze right away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He huffed out a bitter laugh, the kind that wasn’t funny at all. “Don’t start with me. You don’t know the half of it.”

“Don’t I?” I finally spun around to face him, my voice rising with the heat of my anger. “You think I haven’t been watching this slow-motion train wreck of yours? You think I don’t know what you’re doing—pushing her away before she can leave you?”

His face darkened, the shadows casting sharp lines across his features. “This ain’t about me and Ellie. Don’t twist it. This is about you always thinkin’ you know better.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” I stepped closer, my hands trembling with fury. “You don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the only one who’s been hurt. You let me leave, Joel! You stood there and let me walk out of Boston like I was nothing to you. You never even tried to stop me.”

His silence hit harder than his words ever could. I saw his throat work, his jaw tightening as he stared at me like he was trying to break me down with his gaze alone.

“You wanted to leave,” he finally said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Beg? You made your choice.”

“Because you didn’t give me a reason to stay!” My voice cracked, the words laced with all the pain I’d kept buried for far too long. “Do you know what it was like, leaving behind everything—leaving you—because I thought I wasn’t enough? That I’d never be enough for you?”

The firelight flickered in his eyes, and for the first time, I saw it—the guilt, the regret. He took a step closer, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken words.

“Y/n…” He said my name like it hurt to say it. “I thought I was doin’ right by you. You deserved better than what I could give you. Still do.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as tears threatened to spill. “You’re such a goddamn coward, Joel. Always thinking you know what’s best for everyone else. You don’t get to decide what I deserve. You don’t get to—”

But before I could finish, he closed the distance between us in one sudden, desperate motion. His hands came up to cup my face, rough palms trembling against my skin. His breath was warm, ragged as it ghosted over my lips.

“I ain’t a coward,” he murmured, his voice raw.

I opened my mouth to argue, to push him away like I had every right to, but the words caught in my throat. His eyes burned into mine, and in that moment, everything else—the fight, the years of distance, the pain—faded into nothing.

He kissed me like a man starved, like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. My hands found their way to his chest, gripping the worn fabric of his flannel as I kissed him back with all the anger and longing I’d been too afraid to admit.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was years of unspoken feelings, of missed chances and buried love, all colliding in one explosive moment.

When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. His hands lingered on my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For Boston. For everything.”

I closed my eyes, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Me too,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing and the crackle of the fire. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel so alone.

[laufeysvalentine]

cry.

sirius black x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ sirius x potter!reader ... sirius loves you, but he swears he's not good for you. angst, childhood friends to lovers, inspired by cry by cas, coward!sirius, ooc!sirius a little pls don't come after me love u bye

word count ༄ 2.7k

nora’s notes ༄ CAUSE I NEEEEEED TO TELLLL YOU SOMEEEEETHING! erm okay i know i said i was working on pt two of i want you but i got distracted by this instead. i haven't read it through bc if i do i won't publish it PLS don't mind how the writing quality from my last post has dramatically worsened...

you look so pretty like this. mouth drawn open, drool trickling from your soft mouth. your face, your whole body, turned towards the boy next to you. even in sleep, you’re drawn to him. so trusting, so open. 

something in his gut twists. 

—

“sirius!” a call comes from behind him, accompanied by a smattering of footsteps as he watches you approach. your lips are parted to take in more air, and he’s overcome by the urge to grab your face and absolutely kiss you silly. 

he ignores it, trying to instead focus on what you’re saying. 

“...hogsmeade tomorrow?” you ask, a twinge of hope seeping into your voice. you’re so eager, eyes wide, that he feels terrible not knowing what you said. “were you listening?” 

“sorry, darling, i was too distracted by your beauty. what was that?” he tilts his head at you, taking pride in the way the tips of your ears turn reddish. 

flicking his ear, you repeat your question. “d’you wanna have lunch at hogsmeade tomorrow? james said he was going with re–erm, lily, or something, and rem and peter are busy.” 

“uhh,” he pauses, thinking about his schedule. 

“it’s okay if you’re busy,” you tack on quickly, noting his hesitation. 

“no, no,” he frowns, upset by the way you’re tugging at your neckline, looking away from him. “i’ll go. i promise. i’ll be there. lunch, you said?” 

that smile, that beaming, beautiful smile, lights up the whole world and has him smiling along with you. you’re contagious. he wants to breathe you in and keep the disease all to himself. 

he makes a mental note to cancel all of his plans tomorrow. he wants to see you all day. 

—

you shift on the pillow, face burying further and further into the sheets, as if permanently embedding yourself onto your bed. the comforter slips from where it was from your shoulders, allowing him a good look at your bare back, the expanse of your shoulders. he wants to press kisses against them, knead his hands into a sweet massage–anything to make you feel good. 

your face is serene when you sleep. the knot between your brows, which james swore was permanent at this point, has dissolved with rest. his thumb traces your eyebrows before he can stop himself, knowing this is the last time he’ll see you this calm for a while. 

he turns away from you, trying to avoid looking at any part of you. he can already feel the guilt gnawing at his fingers, worming its way into his bones. he needs to get it out. 

before thinking too hard about it, he shuffles around, standing from your bed and grabbing his boxers from where they landed on the floor last night. he takes the rest of his clothes and slips them on as quietly as possible. but before he leaves your room, he pauses to drink you in. you, in all your drooling, snoring glory. 

you move around, a hand reaching out to your left, roaming up and down the bed as if searching for him. he’d prefer it if you sucker punched him in the stomach. 

he can’t won’t think about that look in your eyes yesterday, when you begged him to fuck you. it was devastated. especially when he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds and opened them to see you, caged under his body, just watching him. 

like you knew he couldn’t give you everything. like you knew he would be there, but he wouldn’t be there. and when he closed his eyes again, he pretended he couldn’t feel the wetness slipping from your eyelids. 

—

“he got another one,” your brother sighs as he enters the common room, only a few seconds after a red-faced sirius, who stormed through, scrubbing at his face. 

“a howler?” you ask james, sitting up straight in concern. “from… her?” 

he nods, making a move to pass you where you’re sat with your legs draped across the couch, having eaten dinner much earlier than the marauders. 

“i’ll go,” you say, stopping him from walking up the stairs. “he won’t want to see anyone who saw it happen.” 

“but i’m his best friend,” james counters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “he won’t mind.” 

“just let me.” you plead with your eyes, which makes him hesitate just enough for you to pass him and head to the dorm. “stay down there.” 

he relents, and you enter sirius’ dorm with the tiniest bit of a sashay. you know he hates feeling weak, so the best way to treat him is not like he’s delicate. even if he is. just a little bit. 

you hum a bit, making your way to james’ bed, which sits directly across from the window sirius is sat in front of. the boy is looking out the window, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, and as much as he looks devastatingly handsome, his eyes are also red with a sort of tiredness you only acquire after years of crying. 

“may i?” you reach for the cigarette, and he hands it to you with a limp hand, not even looking over. he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you. to do that would be to deny the only thing he wants right now. 

you take a long drag, purposefully blowing the smoke into his face, smiling when he gives you a reaction. “turn around?” you ask with a softness that he can’t deny. 

not when you’re just so lovable in comparison to the scarlet that still tinges his vision, the cold screech of his mother, screaming, telling him he wasn’t good enough, humiliating him in front of his friends. he slept around, he was a disgrace. she reminded him of who he was–who he’d always be: a black. 

without realizing, his fingers clench into balls, and he listens to you, letting you thread your fingers through his thick hair, shoulders relaxing with your touch. 

“talk about it?” you murmur, braiding the top of his head into a soft french braid. 

just for a second, he hesitates. then, with a sigh that echoes through his body, he shakes his head. “you.” 

you get what he means, and so, you steer the conversation into mindless blabbers about your day, what you ate, who you hung out with. the more you speak, the more you feel the tension in his body dissolve into your hands. after a bout of silence, “you’re a good person, sirius.” 

he chuckles a bit at that. “you and my mother would disagree.” 

“it’s true,” you double down. “who else would take on an illegal animal form, just to help their friend? who would pull pranks on anyone who even dared to look at any of their friends the wrong way? who would go with james to threaten all the guys who look at me funny? just kidding, you’re not off the hook for that one.”

his head lifts towards yours with a pout. “he was creepy, darling. he was staring at you like he wanted to sink his teeth into your pretty little flesh, and it creeped me out.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “ew.” 

still, something warms in him at the thought of you accepting him. of seeing him as a good person. only–he wasn’t sure if that was true. he felt terrible more often than not. always a destroyer, a nuisance. couldn’t keep a girl, couldn’t love properly. if there was anything walburga black was good at, it was getting under his skin. 

right now, it seemed like she had crawled through his bloodstream and settled into it. and it sure didn’t seem like she was going to leave anytime soon. 

—

sirius is ignoring all of the calls that come through. the second he left your house, he went to the cliffside with a pack of marlboro’s and a hair tie. after lighting one and putting his hair back, he admires the valley. it was magnificent, with sloping mountains of green sliding down both sides, kissing in the middle. flowers decorated the hills, and his breath catches. it is so beautiful. 

but he’s terrified of slipping. if he falls down into that valley, he would have no chance of coming back up. the slope is too steep. 

he stands, stepping back to watch from afar. another step, and a stumble backwards. his foot catches on a stray rock, and he lands hard on his ass. ow. 

when he grabs for his phone, a lump knocks on the walls of his stomach. he has thousands of messages from james, who has clearly been updated on the situation and is spamming him like crazy. but only one has your name on top of it, staring up at him with those teary eyes, wide, desperate: please don’t shut me out. 

—

the christmas lights that tangled themselves in your tree were the nicest, coziest light for you to read by. you had insisted on celebrating some muggle traditions that lily had taught you about, and of course, james was all onboard. the two of you convinced your parents to put up decorations around the living room, and now you spend all of your time there. after grabbing the new novel you’re reading, you curl onto the couch to read. 

will the noseless villain defeat the scrawny boy? you’re just turning the page when something–no, someone–spills out of the chimney, covered in soot, stumbling onto the carpet. some dark liquid is leaking out from his skin.  

you’d recognize that figure anywhere.

sirius. 

the book slips from your grasp and you run towards him. “james!” you holler at the top of your lungs, fingers skimming his torso. “siri, i–are you okay? that was a dumb question, of course not. what–what do you need?” 

he peers up at you, his eyes glassy. “darling, i have to tell you–i–” 

james comes running through the doorway, hearing the commotion, and yells for your parents. they take off his shirt, and you can see all of the bruises that have molded themselves onto his body. he has a large gash on his ribcage, and he looks victim to a crucio or two. 

oh god. 

before you can stop them, water collects at your lashline, cascading down your cheeks. something pushes you to sit by him, hold his hand, and when you do, he glances at you. his face is weak from the pain, but he still reaches out to wipe your tears away. 

“don’t cry for me, y/n.” he murmurs softly as your mother tends to his wounds. 

“i can’t help it,” you let out a small hiccup, your fingers tracing his. 

i’m not worth it, is what he almost says. he turns his head away from you. he can’t look at you anymore. not when you’re this distraught over him. merlin. 

he catches you crying for him again in your room, a few weeks later. you were dancing in the kitchen to whatever came on the radio, and he bumped into a stack of plates on the counter. they shattered, and he almost had a panic attack right then and there. what would he do when euphemia kicked him out? he had nowhere else to go. 

he knew you would cry when you nudged an explanation out of him. you comforted him, and it really was no big deal in the end, but something in his bones told him you would cry for him. and it made him want to claw his skin off. 

—

sirius tries to escape, but of course, you find him. of course, you always do. even when–no, especially when he tries to hide. when he hates himself so much that he wants to rip his own flesh apart, break his own bones, you see him. 

he’s not sure if he hates or loves that about you. 

you’re outside his door, distraught scribbled into the wrinkle of your eyes and the quiver of you sweet, sweet lips. “sirius?” 

maybe he can just avoid you. maybe he can just let himself absorb you forever, ignore the reality. 

“i know you’re home,” you call softly, wringing your fingers. “can we talk about last night?” 

he swallows. do what’s good for her. you have to make her happy, above all else. he opens the door. 

“hi,” you say with a shyness he hasn’t seen in years. you step forward, crossing the boundaries, letting yourself into his place. into his heart. 

— 

“darling, i…” he swallows, and something twinges in your legs, telling you to run. but you can’t tear your gaze away from his adam’s apple, which you pressed kisses to only hours earlier, when you whispered sweet words to each other, saccharine promises. 

you tilt your head at him, and bile rushes to his mouth. how could he ever do this? he is a coward. 

“we can’t be together.” he says after a minute of silence, eyes trained on your feet. “we can’t.” 

at first, you don’t even try to argue. that makes it even worse. “i’ll wait for you.” 

“no, it’s–i,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “i… i just can’t. not now, not ever. maybe, i’d change, someday. but i can’t help the way i feel.” 

“you… you don’t feel the same about me?” it comes out in a breathy whisper, and it's his turn to watch you swallow, something scratching at your eyes. 

“i wish that i could,” he responds. i wish i was good, wish that i could give you my love now. 

“oh. i… oh.” your voice is barely audible. the stumble of your feet as you race towards the door is louder. it echoes through his bare apartment, second to the pounding of his heart as you close the door gently. you were always too kind, too soft to him. 

he was always too terrible for you. 

—

the first time sirius met james potter, the boy took one look at him and said, “don’t you dare go after my sister.” 

he shrugged it off at the time–why would he care about james’ sister anyways? all he wanted were friends. real, genuine friends. maybe ones that would really piss walburga off, if he was lucky. and james potter seemed just the type. 

but when he met you, something changed. he wanted you, he knew that much. even at thirteen, fourteen, he knew he felt something different for you. a feeling he wanted to keep close to his chest and never let go. he already had a spot for you in his heart; it was probably drilled in at birth, that’s how well you fit into it. 

yet, every year, even before he said anything, james would waggle his finger. “oh, please, padfoot, not my sister. you can’t even hold down one girl, i’m never letting you near here. you’d just break her heart. besides, you don’t want her, anyways,” and that throaty laugh. he never realized how much those words had grabbed fistfuls of sirius’ guts, squeezing them until nothing came out. 

he internalized them. he was untouchable, the boy every girl wanted, that every girl could fuck, but never have. 

—

sirius black had been selfish many, many times in his life. but this, this was the most selfish decision he’d ever made. it sucks that he was too drunk on cheap booze and a scary kind of lovesickness to notice. 

the only thing he can see right now–the only thing he can think about clearly–is you, in the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. when you walked in, his jaw dropped with a little whoa. 

you’re the only one for him. that’s how it’s always been. 

it’s too fucking bad that when he spun you around to love ballads on the dance floor, you let him. it’s worse that when his forehead kissed yours, you let him. you let him press his ugliness against your perfect. he took you by the waist, and you let him. 

his most selfish decision, underneath him, begging for him, tugging on his collar and smearing kisses on his jaw, his neck, his v-line. 

oh, shit. 

james came into his conscience, on his tails was walburga. you’re not good enough for her. you never have been. you’re a mistake, a disgrace. you’ll sleep around, mince her heart into chunks. run, sirius. that’s all you’ve ever done. 

seeing you in front of him, he knew. with that lovely, lovely smile and that gleam in your eyes, oh. he’d only make you cry. 

masterlist | next part

tags: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @kenjikishimotoswifey

p.s. idk if anyone from my last post wanted to be on my general taglist or js for that post so if u do lmk and i'll add youuuu (or if you want to be removed)

have a good day!! 💝

[vmlnrzmp4]

𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

no cw, just domestic bliss<3 for reference, she's making kheer: a famous south asian dessert. you can call it a pudding. this is me y'all. i think the "banned from kitchen" girlies deserve representation. without further ado, enjoy<3

itoshi sae

"it stings...!" you mumble a complain as sae applies the burn-cream to your thumb and index finger. he calls you a dumbass for even stepping into the kitchen.

"sae," you call softly trying to gain his attention. he ignores, too busy tending your wounds. "sae," you call again. and after a long pause, he hums.

"what?"

"can you atleast taste what i made?"

he looks up at you, blowing air from his mouth to your booboo, the coolness easing the pain a little. "you sure it's not poison?"

"no promises."

he stares at you for a moment. sighing, he reaches for the spoon, taking a bit—just a little bite, "what did you put in this?" he asks, "is this supposed to be salty?"

oh the horror! "what?"

"it's salty."

you take the spoon from him, tasting it too, gagging at the bitterness. "i may or may not have added salt instead of sugar."

"you," he snaps his finger at you, "stay out of the kitchen."

itoshi rin

"hot hot hot!" you say, the burning spoonful of kheer still in your mouth.

"here," rin quickly passes you a bottle of cold water as you wash it down, "don't choke on it." his brows furrow, "is this supposed to be that watery and oily?"

"it's not oil. i used ghee," you say, showing him the container, "it's butter. but fancier." he examines it in his hand, reading the label and notes. you take another gulp of the cold water, "my tongue feels numb now."

he takes a spoonful, seeing how it runs down from the sides like water, "what were you trying to do?"

you sigh. big big sigh as you ramble, "i tried making this. i know i shouldn't even step into the kitchen but, i just felt like yes i can do it like it's the easiest thing i can make cause my cousin made it back in india and she sent me a picture of it and it looked so simple and i—"

"it's fine," he cuts you off, "leave it to me next time."

isagi yoichi

"here you go," you say, placing the bowl in front of him, along with a spoon and a forced smile.

he chuckles nervously, taking the spoon from you, "is this...soup?"

"no!" you correct, "it's kheer, even fancier!"

he hums, taking in a spoonful while you wait expectantly.

he coughs. loudly.

looking up at you he sees the horror in your eyes—he feels guilty as he sees the messy apron, hair that was messily put up in a bun and a little something on your cheek too—you worked hard on it.

"it's...not bad."

you let out the most heart wrenching sigh, "it's ok yo-chan," you plop yourself beside him, your forehead bangs on the table, "you don't need to lie."

"oh y/n..." he reaches for you, soothing your forehead that you just abused on the table, "it's not bad, really. it's just...a little too sweet for my liking. maybe we can fix it together?"

you look at him with puppy-dog eyes, yet fully of hope, "together?"

"together."

michael kaiser

the first thing kaiser does is plant a sweet peck on your cheek as he enters the kitchen, pointing at the apron you wore that says kiss the chef.

"what's cooking?"

you simply point at the cook-book that was open. he raises an eyebrow, then adjusts the glasses resting on his forehead, pushing them down to eye level as he inspects the recipe.

"aaaand all done!" you say happily. but the horror in kaiser's eyes when you were pouring the kheer into a bowl—it was like you were a maniac mixing chemicals to feed the lab rats.

"here," you hand him the spoon, "mihya, i want you to be the first one to try it."

he gulps in fear, "if that's what you want angel..."

aftermath.

he wouldn't stop laughing at you and your poor attempt to stealing a chef's job.

"i'm sorry—" he laughs, "—i'm sorry," more laugher.

"i get it. i can't cook. and i apologize for even thinking i would get appreciated. even if it's a little."

his laughter dies down slowly—still smirking as he hugs you from behind, "hey, i appreciate you loads. even if you made the most disastrous dish imaginable," he pecks your temple, "it's the thought that matters."

[spokenforyou]

zayne x fem reader

ABSOLUTE ZEAL

synopsis: zayne ends up drunk and can’t keep his hands off you. notes: a continuation of Absolute Zeal ! hopefully it’s good enough for you guys. i specialize in sylus writings so it’s a bit weird writing for the other boys haha warnings: unprotected, creampie, vulgarity, nsfw, marks/biting, swearing, f receiving, wc: 1.7k

[minors don’t interact… by choosing to interact with this content, you are consenting to view something that is not appropriate and nsfw despite warnings!]

“Because of you, everything is spiraling out of control… How can you pretend you’re not affected?”

Zayne clutches your arms before quickly lifting you and pressing you against the glass. His lips lock on yours messily.

The chocolate you gave him earlier took over his senses with ease. One liquor filled chocolate was enough to push him to do what he’s always wanted. Have you.

He pulls you off the glass and carries you over to the desk he had you against earlier.

“Zayne… The desk, really?” You giggle and his eyes slam shut before he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I can wait…” Zayne mutters before his lips attack to your neck, leaving subtle bite marks.

“Zayne, I’m not doing anything when you're drunk.” You sigh and let out a quiet whimper as he bites down hard at your words.

“I’m sobering up. One chocolate wasn’t enough to keep me drunk…” He pulls away and looks at you.

“I promise.” Zayne adds before kissing you, his hands sliding up your sides as he situates himself between your spread legs.

“I can’t resist you…” His lips drag down your jaw and his hands slide under your shirt.

“Zayne…” you whine and he kneels down, his hands pushing up your shirt, hands grazing your stomach as his lips do the same.

He presses feather kisses to your soft stomach and kisses your thighs before he stands, pulling off your shirt slowly and tossing his off as well.

“I’ve been so scared of this… Maybe all I needed was a push.” Zayne whispers before pulling your hips off the desk.

His hands move to undo your belt and your shorts in a swift motion. They fall to your feet and he drools at the sight of you in your bra and panties. A black matching set, his favorite color.

A deep groan leaves his lips and his pants tighten, constricting him.

“Gotta take these off…” He mumbles and takes off his pants just as fast as he did yours.

Your eyes widen when you see the bulge in his boxers, the black lace making him harder.

Zayne gets back onto his knees and his eyes wander hungrily over your form. He bites your hips and pulls on the elastic of your panties, stretching it out around his fingers.

“How can you act so unaffected?” He mumbles against your thighs before pulling back up. He eyes you and you blush.

“I am affected… Just keeping myself under control.” You whisper and run a finger along his chest, his body tensing as he holds back a groan.

He leans forwards and undoes your bra one handed, and keeps his eyes on your breasts. God, did he love looking at you.

“Fuck…” Zayne licks his lips before moving in to your peaks. Lips instantly latching onto one while his hand massages the other.

The moans leaving your mouth are almost sinful, and he hasn’t even started.

“Zayne, please…” Your words fuel his fire and he bites down on your nipple, tugging at it before switching to the other.

He leaves obvious hickeys and kisses down your stomach to your panties once again.

“Can I?” His eyes shoot to yours as he looks up at you and you nod.

His hands move to palm himself a couple times and he groans as he licks a stripe up your panties.

Hands quickly yanking them off, he moans at the sights of your slick folds. He kisses your slit sloppily and you whine. How easily he turned you on…

His eyes clouded with a hunger for you, watching your body writhe as he continues to kiss along your skin. Your body jerks against him and he can’t help but smile.

Zayne grips on to your thighs as his kisses become more sloppy, he gets drunk on the feeling of you.

Then, without warning, he pulls your legs over his shoulders and pulls you up to the edge of his desk, his tongue going where you need it most.

His lips suck on your clit while his tongue explores you. Your hand goes to his black hair and tugs at it.

His pretty moans vibrate through your body. You’ve never heard something more beautiful. Zayne practically devours you and can feel his cock pulsing, begging for relief, but he ignores it for you.

He’s not rough with you, but he’s definitely hungry. Every part of you feels like electricity against his tongue and lips.

You’re almost overwhelmed by his presence and you’re close to the edge so soon. He can tell that you’re getting close so he’s working with a purpose, letting his tongue circle the spot you need him most before switching to kitten licks.

Zayne slides his fingers along your wetness before slipping two in, stretching you immediately.

“Zayne…” You moan his name and he nods as he pumps them. Your walls clench and he leans down to kiss you, silencing your moans.

He curves his fingers just right and you immediately finish. Your essence coats his fingers and you both moan together as he gets you through your high.

Slowly withdrawing his fingers, he smiles and brings them to your lips.

“Pretty…” He slides them between your lips and you suck your own cum off his fingers.

He watches you taste yourself and can’t help but let out a low moan as you run your tongue along his fingers, and it sounds like he nearly comes undone at the sight.

Your lust filled eyes look up at him and his knees nearly give out. He leans down and pulls down his boxers, the wet fabric bothering him.

Zayne strokes himself a few times and rubs tour sides.

“Can you turn around for me?” He mumbles and you quickly slide off the desk to lean over it.

Zayne stands between your legs once more, bringing you to meet him.

“Here?” You look back at him, his eyes fluttering as the tip of his cock teases you. Sliding it along your slit, gathering the wetness that pools there.

“I can always take you to my bedroom.” He smiles softly and runs a hand along your back, tracing your spine.

“Mmm, maybe not. Don’t think I can wait.” You giggle and he chuckles along with you.

“Ready?” Zayne whispers and kisses your back while he waits for confirmation.

“Mmm…” You nod and he pulls back enough to align himself with you.

He stands behind you and pulls your hips into him, letting you feel how hard he is and making you clench around nothing. You can feel how big he is, and it makes you whine in need.

“Shh pretty girl… I’ll give you what you need.”

Zayne can feel your anticipation as you wiggle your hips to try to get him to do something, so he gives you a sharp slap on the thigh.

You wince and snap your head back at him.

“What was that for?!” You glare and he smirks.

“Patience is a virtue.” His eyes darken, and he suddenly pushes into you, nearly taking your breath away at the stretch.

He pushes all the way in and bottoms out with a groan; you moan with him, and he sets a pace that’s slow and steady.

“Fuck…” The words that left his mouth let you know that at that moment he lost all his composure. He’s drunk off you. Maybe it wasn’t the chocolate…

He starts slowly, but then quickly picks up the pace. All you can hear is the sounds of his hips against yours, the desk creaking as it takes the weight of you two, and your soft moans as you try to keep yourself quiet.

Zayne grabs your hair to pull your head back. His sudden boldness shocking you, “Is anyone here, princess?”

You blink a few times and shake your head, “No… No one’s here.”

He pulls on your hair harder so you’re looking up at him. “Then let me hear those pretty sounds. I want to hear exactly how much you like it...”

His words sound more like a command and you obey, letting louder moans spill out of your mouth.

Zayne moans with you and moves his fingers down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. “Good…” he says between breaths. “Make a mess for me.”

Your stomach flips and tightens, his tip hitting that special spot perfectly, and his fingers toying with your clit. It’s all enough to throw you over the edge.

“Zayne, I can’t hold it…” You look back at him and take notice of his flushed face, hair sticking to his forehead. He can feel your walls clenching and it only makes him harder, close to release as well.

“Do it.” He says in a harsh whisper. “Make a mess all over me… Let me feel you.”

You hear the desperation and a whine in his voice. A few thrusts, and he undid you a second time.

Zayne can feel you flutter around him and a low growl erupts from his chest.

“Oh fu-“ He tries to catch himself but it’s too late, the pressure is too much and he comes with you. He fills your womb while his groans fill the room.

You grip the desk as he fucks you through both of your orgasms, slowly but surely. His hips stuttered until he was completely empty, and let the desk take both of your weight as he leaned down to press his cheek against your shoulder.

“I… I can’t feel my legs,” He said with a shaky laugh, still trying to catch his breath.

You laugh with him, and he gets off you, pulling out of you. You can feel your thighs, and his desk, are wet. Including the papers on his desk, unfortunately.

“I’n gonna have to drink more if this is the result.” Zayne says with a chuckle and you giggle as you stand. His hands immediately dart out to help you and you smile at him.

“You okay?” He asks, and his voice is back to that caring doctor tone that he’s known for.

“Yeah, just a bit tired Doc…” You smile warmly at him and he picks you up bridal style in a blink of an eye.

“Let’s sleep, I’m tired too…” He carries you to his room, sitting you on the bed, he quickly grabs a shirt from his drawer.

“Here, it’ll keep you warm.” Zayne hands it to you, and you slide it on. He nods at the sight before sliding on a pair of boxers himself.

You get comfortable under the covers and he turns off the table's side lamp before snuggling close to you.

You mumble and hear subtle breathing from him. He’s asleep…

“Sweet dreams, my dear, big snowman.”

[reidswrld]

me & you together song.

❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜

spencer reid x reader.

summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.

tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco

word count: 2k

notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!

When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.

However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

Well, what was there to say about him?

Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.

You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.

You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.

“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.

Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.

“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”

As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.

On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.

Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”

“I’m not asking you.”

“Hotch—”

“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”

Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”

You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”

“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.

“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”

“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”

“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”

“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.

“Good night, honey. Love you.”

You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”

“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.

“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”

“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all of this for me?”

“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.

“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”

“Unnecessary…?”

“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”

His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.

“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”

“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”

You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”

You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.

Happy Tuesday.

[megumismyhusband]

It was wrong, you knew it was. yet you can’t help but think of him that way. Michael Kaiser was gonna be your downfall.

He was here again—just like always, comfortable in your home as if it were his own. Your brother had gone to the gym, leaving you alone with the man who had unknowingly stolen your heart years ago.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Kaiser said, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth, tinged with curiosity as his sharp blue eyes flicked up to meet yours. “What’s on your mind?”

You shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant. “Nothing important.”

“Liar,” he teased, leaning his elbows on the counter, closer now. “I can see the wheels turning in your head.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, busying yourself with a non-existent speck on the counter. How could he be so casual, so effortlessly charming, while you were practically bursting at the seams?

“I just didn’t sleep well,” you mumbled. It wasn’t a complete lie; you hadn’t slept well—because of him.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Hmm. You sure that’s all?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, a little sharper than you intended.

His lips quirked into a grin, the kind that made your stomach flip. “Because I do. Is that so hard to believe?”

You froze, the air suddenly thick between you. It wasn’t what he said—it was the way he said it. Like he meant it.

“Michael…” His name felt heavy on your tongue, weighted with years of unspoken feelings.

He set his mug down and moved around the counter, closing the space between you. “You’ve been avoiding me lately,” he said softly, his voice dipping low enough to make your pulse quicken. “Why?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied.

“Liar,” he repeated, his grin softening into something gentler.

You swallowed hard as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming but intoxicating. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“This is dangerous,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Why?” His hand brushed yours, the brief contact sending sparks up your arm. “Because of your brother?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the words from tumbling out.

He let out a soft chuckle, his other hand coming up to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Your brother doesn’t get to decide how I feel about you. Or how you feel about me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of insincerity. But there was none—just raw, unfiltered emotion that matched your own.

“And how do you feel about me?” you asked, barely recognizing your own voice.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made the world feel like it was standing still. “I feel like you’ve been driving me crazy for months. And I feel like I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Before you could process his words, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft and slow and everything you’d ever dreamed it would be.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “So, what do you think?” he murmured, a hint of mischief returning to his voice.

“I think you’re going to be my downfall,” you replied, a shaky laugh escaping your lips.

He grinned, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Then let me fall with you.”

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

A Cure

Summary: very cute and very horny firefighter Harry x author wife 🥹

Warnings: unprotected sex, very horny husband and wife, humiliation, all that jazz AND slight voyeurism if you squint!

Wc: 6.4k

The sound of knuckles rapping against her office door pulls Y/n out of her trance. She blinks her eyes after minutes of them sitting unfocused on her white laptop screen full of words she's not sure make any sense to her anymore, or maybe they didn't in the first place.

After another minute she hears the knocking again, rubbing her strained eyes. “Are you in there, baby? Or am I embarrassing myself.” Her husband's voice booms from the other side of the door, he really isn't that loud at all but it's probably because the only sound she has heard for the past couple hours are the sniffles and sobs as she reads her publishers emails she's been avoiding for at least five days.

Y/n clears her throat, standing up. “Yeah, Hi, sorry.” Her voice is barely above a whisper when her husband comes into view. He stands tall above her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He looks down at her with a large smile carved into his face, pearly whites and dimples only an angel could make.

“How is writing going?” She lets out a puff of air before returning the smile

Y/n is currently working on her second novel after her debut was a big success, catching the attention of readers everywhere on social media; it soon became a number one best seller. Following the success, she's been pulled in every direction and spread too thin as her team pressures her to get this second novel out as soon as possible so she stays relevant and readers stay buzzing about her.

“It's going…” he gives her a soft frown, pressing a gentle kiss to her pouted mouth. “Well, I'm about to head out for work.” She nods, relaxing into his delicate touch as he runs his nose against her brow bone. “So soon?” He huffs a laugh, pulling his arm away from her to look at the watch on his wrist. “Well, considering I'm about to be late…” she grabs his wrist, looking at the time. 11:30, already?!

“Oh my god! I didn't even realize it, sorry I've just been knee deep in emails and I've got about twenty different documents going at a time and-” He cuts her off with a kiss, his big hands coming to cup at her cheeks. Y/n lets out a sigh of satisfaction, sinking into him deeper as her shaky hands come to clutch at his forearms, as if she's pulling him back to stay so they can spend the whole day like this.

He pulls away with reluctance, another laugh leaving his lips as her mouth follows his. “I've got to go fight fires, baby. Kinda my whole job.” She has what feels like a permanent frown on her face, but nods nonetheless. “I'll be back soon, my baby. I love you.” She smiles, watching him slowly back away while he squeezes her hand. “I love you too, H.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n sits at her desk, sipping on another random energy drink so she can keep her eyes open to write maybe one sentence that will actually make it into her book.

Her first book came easy. After over a decade of only dreaming of getting a book deal and becoming a huge author it finally came true at twenty six. She wrote the novel about her own life, swapping the names and dramatizing some situations for entertainment- but all in all it was exactly her and Harry's love story. A classic second chance romance, highschool sweethearts who break up during college because long distance is too hard, then once the male main character comes back to town they see each other after two years and instantly fall back in love. Happily ever after and all that.

It's true, for most of her life with Harry it has been a fairytale, and that's exactly why her book has been such a big success. Everyone fell in love with Brooks as she had with Harry. The cute, shy, overly kind, highschooler turned mushy, soft, sexy, firefighter husband was an easy drawn in as readers described it as the “love story of a century”.

She decided not to continue with Brooks and Summer’s love story because it had been told from start to finish, highschool to marriage. Now, she's focused on a new couple, struggling with names at first, now their story, family, their emotional backstories, everything. The only thing she was confidently writing was the cameos from Brooks and Summer since they were all friends in this series she was trying to create.

She's got the names, Ruby and Noah, but she has no clue what the fuck they are doing. She's looking forward to writing about their ski trip, where she's going to make Ruby and Noah hook up after summer's constant nagging that Ruby should give him a try. Enemies to lovers this time around.

She loves writing trips, she's not sure why. Maybe because as her characters have a get away it seems her mind does as well. She gets to pour everything into imagery while she describes the snowy trees and the beautiful big cabin they stay in for a week.

Maybe that's what she needs to crack this writer's block, a nice getaway. But unfortunately, that's not possible with Harry's job right now. They are short staffed on firefighters and even the teen volunteers aren't doing much to compensate for the lack of employment.

Y/n’s head falls back against her chair, groaning and slapping her hand on her keyboard. She looks over at her scribbled notes on the random legal pad she found in her desk drawer. As much as she had planned for this winter getaway, she couldn't find it in herself to write it. She's been painfully getting through writing the drive up to the cabin through the past couple days and she isn't even halfway done.

This particular scene is supposed to be big for Ruby and Noah, Ruby finds out more about Noah's childhood and she begins to feel differently about him. She finally makes sense of why he's so standoffish and reserved, all these years she thought he was just a selfish dick.

Y/n groans, crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room because she can't bear to look at the plans she so excitedly wrote down a few nights ago when she's now in one of her worst blocks of her writing career. It's worse than when she forgot about a five thousand word essay in college and had to hurry up and write something two hours before due.

“Maybe I'll just take a walk.” She sighs out, lifting from her numb legs and finally exiting her dark office. She pads down the stairs, sliding on shoes and pulling a light coat over her clothes.

Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the sunshine after hours of staring at the artificial blue light her computer gives off. She breathes in the crisp early afternoon air. Hopefully this works.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

The walk didn't help much, it definitely cleared her mind like walks usually do- but that worsened her case if anything because now she can't think of a single thing to write while they drive up to that stupid cabin.

Might as well get some chores out of the way, she thinks, as she fills up a water bottle after living off coffee and energy drinks. She walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs where she opens the door to her and Harry's bedroom. She opens the closet door, looking at the mound of laundry they both have piled up, better get to it. She groans as she lifts their shared laundry basket, it's overflowing and has now piled onto the floor. Harry helps out as much as he can but with his crazy work schedule and y/n being locked in her office all day they don't get as much done as they would like.

She tosses clothes into the washer, pouring detergent in and closing the lid to start the load. In the meanwhile, she goes back to their room and pulls a big load of clean laundry onto her bed.

She begins folding them and tossing them into piles, one for pajamas, bras, boxers, and so on. She walks to the big closet to grab a stack of hangers, tossing shirts and dresses and pants over the hangers and placing them on the rod one by one.

She shoves her hand onto the dwindling pile of clothes, a lace material rubbing against her finger tips. She pulls at it, revealing the tiny babydoll she had worn for Harry one long night… almost two months ago. She sighs, hanging it up on one of the nicer hangers out of the random collection of mismatched ones they've collected over the years.

She bites her lips, staring at the pretty fabric. Her and Harry both have quite high sex drives, maybe because they are still in the early years of their marriage, maybe that's just how they are despite everyone saying they would get bored of each other especially because they were each other's first everything.

But between them being short staffed and Y/n getting swept up in the marketing and press of her book, they haven't had that much time for each other. She's lucky she has a touchy feely husband, because that's what comforts her. She needs to be in her husband's arms to feel better again. And since it's been so crazy, she hasn't gotten more than a lingering kiss for weeks and weeks.

She hangs the garment back up, ignoring the nagging feeling as she continues her chores.

Once the laundry pile is all folded she switches out the now clean laundry into the dryer and starts another load, plopping on the couch until Harry gets home.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“I'm home!” Y/n hears Harry shout through the house, perking up and dusting off the t-shirt she has over her little matching bra and panties set. She closes her laptop, she was sitting on the couch, trying to write as a distraction until her husband came home. “Hi,” Harry softly sings, a big cheesy smile on his face as he finally spots his wife after hours of working. She rises, stretching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums, giving her a squeeze and rubbing up and down her back.

“I missed my baby while I was away.” He mumbles, kissing the side of her head over and over. She smiles, inhaling his smoky smell that has grown to be comforting. It's him. A deeply sweet- almost fruity scent mixed with the ash and smoke of fires. “I missed you, H.” She whispers, pulling away and leaning in to kiss him. Her hand rests on his chest, opening her mouth slightly to slide her tongue against his.

She can feel his lips curling into a grin, his hands slide down, lifting her up and into his arms. “You missed me something special, Hm?” She nods then pushes her hands into his hair. “Take me upstairs, H.” He does as told, starting to slowly and carefully walk them toward the staircase.

A ring ruins the moment, making Harry sigh, sitting her down. Y/n sighs, wiping the side of her mouth. “Fuck,” He sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. “H?” He looks back up, his heart breaking as he looks at his wife. “Baby….” she frowns, trying to push back the urge to cry. “It's work. I'm sorry. I've got to go be a firefighter.” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.

It doesn't help though. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling stupid and childish that she's so emotional over her husband having to leave her to go fight a fire and potentially save lives. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go.” His hand pulls away from her, waving before he walks out of the door.

She swallows the lump in her throat, walking up the stairs alone and straight into the bedroom. She pulls off the matching set she wore to surprise Harry, tossing it into the empty laundry basket. She pulls on normal pajamas, just a big shirt and a random pair of pajama shorts before washing her face and brushing her teeth.

She gets in bed, preparing to wait up and make sure Harry is alright before falling asleep.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Working from home is pretty lonely. Harry can be up and out of the door as early as four in the morning and sometimes gets calls all throughout the night. She got pretty used to being alone once Harry became a firefighter, and she even liked it. Being alone with her thoughts was great for her writing. She reminisced on the early days of her relationship, laughing at all the awkward stages and feeling emotional at how far they've come from the goofy teenagers they once were.

“I'm writing as fast as I can! It's not going to be good if it's not organic.” Y/n stresses over the phone, trying to push down the lump in her throat that strains her words. “Yes, Y/n, but we need to get a publish date on this book and get the ball rolling.” She groans, feeling tempted to throw her phone next to the discarded ball of paper from yesterday- but she knows that's a bit dramatic.

She hangs up, too frustrated to talk- or think about this goddamn book. She needs her husband, she needs his touch. A hug, a kiss, anything from him right now would ease her anxiety.

Time to start stress baking.

For as long as she can remember baking has been an outlet for Y/n- she's not sure why. Taking the horrible thoughts of the day and the physical anxiety and turning it into something yummy that puts a smile on everyone's face was fulfilling. She even put her own little recipes at the end of each chapter dependent on whatever Summer had made for Brooks- which was once again very much based on her and Harry.

White chocolate cranberry scones, chocolate cake, lavender lemon loaf, she is bound to be busy with all the different recipe cards laid out in front of her on their kitchen island.

She sifts the flour, bowls covering the table with a load of dishes already going in the dishwasher. The timer from the oven goes off, pulling her away from her distraction of yet another sweet treat. She pushes her hair out of her face, opening the oven and adding it to the collection of pastries that are making her house smell so good. Thank god she's got hungry firefighters to feed. She scribbles a note on the white board that's magnetized to the fridge to remind her to box up some of everything for Harry to bring in.

She's the fire chief's wife, she's has to keep them fed.

After what feels like days of baking, she's finally done. Two different cookies, two different loaves of bread, scones, and a cake.

Y/n flops down on the couch, turning on some trashy TV to keep her mind anywhere but that book she's supposed to be writing.

She gets about halfway through a forty five minute episode before she gets a glimpse of the time. She shoots up, starting on dinner knowing that her husband will arrive home anytime. He seems just as stressed out as she is about work, he just doesn't let it show as much, so she wants to make his life easier when she can.

Dinner didn't take long, she just whipped up something easy and quick for them. She flops back down on the couch, keeping the food on low so it will stay warm.

“Hi, baby.” Harry smiles, tossing his keys onto the table and coming to flop down next to her on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling into her. “What smells so good?” He sniffs at her neck as if she's covered in perfume, making her laugh and push away his touch even though she craves it more than anything right now. “Lots of random baked goods.” She softly laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gives her an empathetic smile. “stressed, huh?” She shrugs, sitting up and he quickly follows.

“I made dinner too.” He thanks her. Kissing the back of her hand and trailing them up her arm. “How about after dinner we finish what we started the other night… maybe it will help you unwind?” She feels her stomach tighten. She wants to say no, take me right now before you're whisked away again, but she doesn't. She nods, closing her eyes and sinking into his touch before it's taken away.

He kisses her head, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let's get you fed and ready for me, huh? Can't have you losing energy half way through.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile on her face.

They eat dinner together, sitting at the island together instead of the proper dining table. They make small talk, catching each other up about their day, Harry telling her all about two kittens that were stuck in a tree that he had to rescue bright and early this morning. “So that's why you crawled out of bed at four in the morning?” Harry nods, standing up and pushing their bowls aside. “Yeah, but now we’re going to head back to bed.” He smiles, holding a hand out for her, which she takes.

Harry leans in, slotting his lips with his wife's. Another ring sounds through the silence of their kiss. Harry groans loudly into her mouth, obviously irritated. “I swear to god-” he yanks his phone from where it was sitting on the table. “What?!” He spits to the other person on the line, obviously frustrated. “Fuck.” He nods once more to the caller before hanging up. “I'm sorry, baby. A restaurant downtown is completely engulfed in flames, I have to go now.” She nods, trying to bite back her frown.

She loves that Harry is a firefighter, it's sexy and has made him build up the strong physique that holds her and protects her. She loves that he does so much for the city and has saved so many lives and homes, but as he's out saving others' homes it feels like he's abandoning theirs. He's home basically just to sleep, and nothing else. Their relationship is still strong, and their love will never fade, but not having quality time is taking a toll on both of them mentally.

“I promise, baby. I'll be home as soon as possible.” He rushes out of the house, running towards the door.

Y/n is once again left in the house all alone.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n is woken up with a gentle shake, slowly blinking her blurry eyes open. “What time is it?” She slurs, sitting up when she knocks her open, timed out laptop off of her chest. Harry quickly catches it, softly laughing and placing it on the coffee table. “It's only been an hour since I left. You fell asleep while writing, baby.” He rubs her back, placing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Oh shit!” She shoots up, grabbing her laptop. “That is due at midnight, I need to send it to my editor!” Harry stops her from running up to her office, hooking an arm around her. “Hey, hey. Slow down, baby.” She huffs, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Are you still struggling to finish this chapter?” He kisses her head again, brushing her hair out of her face. She nods, feeling the anxiety build up in her body at the thought of not getting this chapter done in time. “Yes. It's so frustrating,I just feel defeated. Like I need… a cure?”

Harry taps on his bottom lip with his pointer finger while he's thinking. “A cure?”

Y/n nods, “a cure.”

“Well, go try to finish writing so your editor doesn't get mad at you. If you need any help or words of encouragement I'll be in our room.” She nods, rising up from the couch, collecting her laptop in her arms before kissing her husband. He smiles when she pulls away, giving her ass a small smack.

“Go get to it, baby.”

She walks up the steps, still sleepy as she sits back in her desk chair and cracks her screen back open. She gets to typing, putting any coherent thought down to try to make it make sense, she can always have her editor put it into better formed sentences that flow better with the rest of the story.

It's a little past 1:30 when she finally gets into bed, crawling in next to her shirtless husband.

Harry groans, wrapping both his arms around her while he keeps his eyes closed- too sleepy to actually open them. She cuddles into him, finally relaxing after what seems like days of tense muscles and mental gymnastics. “Did you find your cure?” She shakes her head, “no cure yet. But I got it done.”

He whispers a cheer, squeezing her. “Good job, baby. I knew you'd do it. Now go to sleep, we'll celebrate tomorrow.” She giggles into his neck, wrapping a leg around him.

“Celebrate?” He nods, basically snoring. “I'll finally fuck you, promise, baby.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“Guess what the fire chief got called in for?” Harry asks, walking into the house surprisingly early. Y/n spins around in her chair, her eyebrows shooting up. “You're home, H!” He nods, walking over to her. “What did you get called in for?” He stays silent for a beat to dramatize and leave her in suspense.

“A fourteen year old kid got his head stuck in a fence. And they called me, the fire chief, to get him out.” Y/n laughs, almost choking on her water. “So,” Harry starts, grabbing her water from her hand and taking a sip of it. “I said don't call me, don't bother me, I'm taking the day off to spend with my wife.” She smiles, scanning him up and down.

He's still in his red suspenders, fire pants, and the navy blue shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps more than should be allowed for everyday firefighting. His hair is crazy, pushed back with a strand flopping in his eyes. His skin is covered in black ash and soot, and he smells of fire but it only heats her skin.

His pointer finger curls to lift her chin up, his thumb softly resting under her bottom lip. He slots his lips with hers, making her whimper with need. Her hand clutches at the short sleeve of his shirt, feeling his toned muscles under it. “Hop up” he lifts her into his strong arms, walking them up to their bedroom.

He slams open the door, throwing her on the bed. They both laugh loudly, her arms reaching out for him again. He knees the bed, on his hands and knees while he hovers over her. Neither of them care that he's covered in black ash on their light duvet.

His hand slides up her t-shirt, smiling at the feeling of her warm skin even though he knew she was braless. “Take this fuckin’ thing off.” He half-jokes, pulling at the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. Harry pulls his suspenders down, yanking off his tight shirt. Y/n hated to see the shirt go, but she loves saying goodbye. Her hands slide down his chest and onto his chiseled abs. “Keep the rest on.” Harry's eyebrow raises, his mouth slightly popped open.

“Keep it on?” She nods, then slides a suspender back up his arm.

Harry smiles, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard cock out. It slaps against his belly, making Y/n's mouth water. He yanks at her pants, making her shuffle down the bed. They both laugh as he pulls her pants down, giggles flying through the room as her pants fly through the air.

He takes in her naked body, his eyes dragging down her almost like she's his prey. Suddenly she feels shy under her husband's heavy gaze, pulling her arms in to cover herself. “Don't. You. Fucking. Dare.” He practically growls, yanking her arms away. He opens her legs, his hand sliding over cunt.

“I'm going to absolutely devour you. I'm not going to stop until you're shaking.” She smiles, wrapping her legs around him.

Harry grabs his cock, lining it up with her. “Are you wet enough, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping down for a moment to touch her pussy. “Oh,” an evil grin forms on his face. “You're dripping, huh?” Her face heats up, looking away because she knows she'll be too embarrassed to look him in his eye.

Harry softly but quickly pulls her face back toward him, opening her jaw with his thumb and spitting into her mouth.

She pulls him in with her legs, moaning. He lines himself up with her, finally pushing it. Y/n cries out at the feeling of him finally being inside of her after so long, it only eggs Harry on.

His constant thrusting shuffles her up and down the bed, and he loves every second of watching her tits bounce while his cock is stuffed deep inside of her. “Fuck, H” she gasps, reaching out for his arm to somewhat stabilize herself. “Feels good, baby?” He slips his thumb inside of her mouth, watching her perfect pouty lips wrap around him. She frantically nods, breathless and already shaking from the feeling of her husband's big, thick, bare cock inside of her.

“H, fuck, I don't know if I'm going t-” he cuts her off, smashing his mouth into her. She can hear how wet she is as the sound of wet squelching and heavy pants fill the room. It's enough to turn her cheeks red hot again, trying to ignore it. “Do you hear how fucking wet you are?” Harry says, biting at her neck. All chances of her not being humiliated are thrown out of the door the second Harry opens his dirty mouth. She almost forgot how embarrassingly filthy he can talk.

“Tell me, baby, do you hear how wet you are? Your pussy is dripping all over the sheets, you're making an absolute mess of me.”

She ignores his mouth, trying to keep some of her dignity.

“Tell me right now, or I'll stop fucking you.” She whines, gasping as he hits her special little spot. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as he sends electricity from her head to her toes. “I'll stop right now.” His hips come to a vault, and suddenly she's sobbing out her answer. “Yes, fuck, H. I'm so wet. I'm so fucking wet and it's all for you.” She falls into a chant of “it's all for you, all for you H” until he starts fucking her again now that he's gotten exactly what he wants.

“So wet, and tight, and warm for me, baby. I think your pussy was made just for me.” She nods, she's so cock drunk she thinks she might sign all her rights away if asked. “Cause my dick fits perfectly in you, it hits all those special little spots that puts that little pout on your lips.”

She gasps, gripping his arm tighter as she gets closer. “Yeah, you're going to cum? Cum on my cock, it's okay. You can cum baby, I know it's been so long.”

She moans a mantra of his name over and over again as she finally orgasms, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her.

Harry cums shortly after her, moaning in her ear and telling her how good she makes him feel.

He flops down next to her after he carefully pulls out, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You okay? I didn't go too rough?” She shakes her head, resting it on his bicep. He presses a soft peck to her lips then gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. “No, H. It was perfect.” He smiles, glancing away like he didn't just say the dirtiest things she's ever said to her. “I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time to be together. I hate being so busy.” She nods, “it's okay, H. I know you can't help it.” He bites at the inside of his bottom lip, sighing.

He moves his head closer to hers, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against hers. “I love you.” She smiles, sliding her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “I love you too, babe.”

He sits up, on his knees. “What are you doing?” He grabs her legs, tossing them onto his shoulders. He kisses her ankle, “I didn't forget about my promise. I want your legs shaking. I'll carry you around everywhere tomorrow.” She giggles as he stretches her legs out, bending to suck and lick at her nipples.

She pushes him away, making him laugh. “Not gonna let your husband get a little frisky?” She rolls her eyes with a smile, “I've been letting you get frisky since we were sixteen, I've had enough.” He scoffs, sliding inside of her again.

He presses kisses over her leg, using his over hand to press into her lower belly. She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Am I too big?” She attempts to roll her eyes at his cockiness but is cut off with a moan when he presses into her again.

Harry starts thrusting in and out of her, painfully slow. All of his touches are amplified, she can feel every vein on him. “Fuck, babe,” she hardly manages to get a word out of her mouth as her hips wiggle. She's inconsolable as she lets out sobs, her back arching and hips rolling against his.

She clenches around him, sending a chill rolling down his back. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.” She clenched around him, spasming around him as he perfectly rolls his hips. Thank god he knows how to use all that.

She whimpers his name, begging for him to give her anything he can. A blissed out smile frames Harry's face, his pearly white teeth peaking out while he bites his lips to silence his grunts and groans. She pulls him in even closer with her legs and he bottoms out inside of her. He gasps her name, his hand clenching at her calf.

“Don't hide, H. I want to hear how good you feel.” His mouth falls open at her words, his hazy eyes falling closed in pleasure. He shudders, letting out a shaky breath. “F-fuck, baby.” She clenches around him once again, holding it as he pushes back inside of her.

“You f-feel like heaven, you're so fucking perfect. So perfect.” He moans, his mouth open while he thrusts in and out of her. He whines, making Y/n want to bite a pillow and scream into it from the noises her husband is making. “I fucking love this pussy, baby. Tell me whose it is.” Her back arches, letting out a pleasured sigh as she grips the sheets. “It's your pussy, H. You're the only one who gets to cum it in.” He smiles, nodding.

They both cum at the same time, their moans blending as they cry each other's names.

Harry finally lets his fire pants drop, kicking them off the bed once he's calmed down.

“I'm hiring more people as soon as possible. There's no way I went so long without you.” She laughs as he kisses her, both of them laying together in their post-sex bliss. She fidgets with his wedding ring, her head on his chest. “Yeah, I miss having you around the house.” Harry nods, squeezing one of her fingers. “Me too.”

They both relax into the bed, staying silent and enjoying each other's company.

“Round three in the shower?”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n looks over at her office door which is now open, her sleepy husband stands in the doorway, the only thing he's wearing is low hanging pajama pants. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, his hair going in every different direction. “Why are you awake?” She softly laughs at his question, looking at the time on her laptop. “H, it's almost 11AM.” His sleepy eyes go wide for a split second before they return to their tired half-open state.

“Well, you should be in bed with me.” He creeps over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she sits in her office chair. “I'm writing?” He dramatically gasps, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You're writing?” She nods, continuing to type even as he kisses her.

“Did inspiration strike?” She nods, smiling. “Last night kind of inspired me. I think it's exactly what I needed.” Harry raises one eyebrow, his fingertips coming to pull the laptop closer to him. “Can I read it?” She nods, letting him pull it into his arms, watching him scroll back up to the start of the chapter.

After last night she finally had the inspiration strike to write Ruby and Noah hooking up at the ski getaway. This will be the peak in her book, now that they are together the rest will be a breeze to write.

She watches as his pajama pants slowly grow, making her hands shake with anticipation. “Holy fuck. You wrote that based on last night?” She smiles, blushing and nodding.

“That was your cure, huh?”

She didn't think about it that way. “I finally got my cure.”

Harry sinks down onto his knees, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the shirt of his she was wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down. “Now I need my cure.” He whispers, sliding her panties down her legs and into the pocket of his pajama pants. “I've got a big problem,” he looks down, cupping his large bulge. “And you're the only cure for it.”

He parts her legs, smiling at the sight of her wet cunt.

“Oh god, baby. How long have you been like this?” He pouts up at her, touching her with delicate fingers. “So long, H. I've been thinking about you since I got up.” She whines, pushing her shirt back so it doesn't block his view.

He lets out a sympathetic whine for her, his eyebrows pinching together with a worried expression. “My poor girl, I've got to take care of you now. You woke up with a throbbing pussy thinking of me, Hm?” She nods, carefully watching his every move.

Her breath shudders as her eyes follow his head sinking down to between her legs. Her eyes go wide, feeling his tongue slide into her. She whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up and down her cunt.

“No, no. Go ahead and write. It's the only thing that cures your writer's block.” She gulps, her hands shaking as she goes back to writing with her husband's head between her legs. She slowly types onto her document as he licks her up and down. She tries to keep her eyes open, typing whatever comes to her mind- which she's more than sure will be a jumbled mess for her to fix later. “H, please babe.” He shakes his head. “Your publisher will be mad if you don't write it.” He licks her clit, pulling it into his mouth to suck at it.

Her hand falls to the top of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He shakes his head again, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her keys.

She moans, rolling her hips. She's fully given up on writing, her head fallen back as he continues to eat her pussy.

“Baby,” he laughs, kissing her thigh. “Well, I can't be mad. I guess you deserve it after working so hard.” He lifts up to kiss her, laughing at her failed attempt to write like he previously ordered her to.

He sinks back down between her legs, flicking his tongue against her clit. She groans, arching her back and whimpering. She throws a leg over his shoulder and he instantly wraps his arm around it. “You taste so good.” His mouth is loud against her, making lewd noises as he sucks, licks, and flicks his tongue against her skin.

“You always taste so good, baby.” He groans against her, losing himself in the smell, feeling, and taste of her. He moans against her over and over again, sliding his tongue deep in her to taste her wetness straight from the source. He loves how wet he can get her, how just the thought of him gets her so worked up she spends the whole morning with a wet, throbbing cunt until he takes matters into his own hands.

He often fantasizes about catching her touching herself- just because he knows her writing is always based on their experience and when she is writing a particularly spicy scene she tends to get worked up.

He can imagine silently creeping into her office to catch her with her legs open and her small hand down her panties trying to satisfy herself when they both know it's his hands she's craving.

She falls to pieces above him, her chest rapidly falling and rising while her mouth drops open to praise him and all the pleasure he's giving her. “You can cum, baby. It's okay.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of her on his tongue. He loves the silky feeling of her, how warm and soft she is.

“H, I'm cumming!” She moans, gripping at his hair while she rolls her hips trying to get herself there. Seconds later she cums all over his mouth, leaving him to clean her up.

He wipes his mouth, sucking his fingers off before he yanks her down to give her a messy tongue kiss to let her taste herself.

She tries to catch her breath, giggling now that she's come back down. “Do you feel better now?” She nods, kissing him again.

“Just needed your husband to take care of you, huh?” She nods once again, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he wraps his big, strong arms around her. “Now go sit back there in case I need you again.” He agrees to it with a large smile on his face, walking back to the much bigger and comfier chair she normally uses for reading.

He’s always been the cure.

A/N: WOWOWOW!! beside a small 1k word blurb this is my return to writing after almost a year and a half! I thought about making an Author y/n one random day in the shower and with a little help from my beautiful, amazing, creative best friend @ziallslvr firefighter Harry and author Y/n was born 🥹!!!!

I feel so passionate about these two! They are my sweet babies❤️ This specific Y/n is straight from my heart, and might be a little self indulgent! I hope you all love her as much as I do ❤️

PLEASEEEEEE!!! IF YOU LIKED THIS REBLOG AND SHARE YOUR THOUGHT WITH ME :D

[revelboo]

oh great and powerful revel I am here to beg of a morsel (of the jazz x reader)

🤣 Sure! 18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Over It Now Pt 20

Jazz x Reader

• Head resting on Jazz’s outstretched arm, you slide a thigh against his as his servos glide from your hip up your side. “Hi, doll,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You okay?” Is he really worried? Or just teasing, because there’s no way he doesn’t realize he’s pure sex incarnate. Or is he having second thoughts about this, what, relationship? Is this between you really a relationship? Are you together now? Friends with benefits?

• “You’re too sweet,” you tell him, fingers brushing his cheek and your expression softens when he turns his head, lips brushing against your fingertips. “When do you have to leave again?” That’s something he really doesn’t want to think about right now. Hates that he’ll need to leave you again eventually, because someone will come looking for him if he just goes missing. And if you’re found with him, you’ll lose your freedom and he won’t do that to you. Won’t see you trapped in the Ark because of him.

• “You going to miss me?” There’s that crooked grin you’re so familiar with. The grin that’s a mask to hide something real. Why does he have to do that? Teasing or joking because he doesn’t want to talk to you about something. “Be lonely while I’m gone?” Servos catching your chin, he tips your face up and leans down for a kiss.

• “Talk to me.” You’re frowning as you say it, splaying a hand on his chassis to push slightly away from him. Serious. “You know I can tell whenever something’s bothering you.” And your hurt tone spills through him as he leans his helm against your head, curling his servos against the back of your neck to keep you from trying to distance yourself. “Jazz.”

• “It’s nothing to worry yourself over, kitten,” he says, nuzzling against your face when you just keep frowning at him. “Look, my people don’t know where I’m sneaking off to. It needs to stay that way.” Like you’re a dirty, little secret. And maybe you are. Maybe he’s ashamed of what he’s doing with you. His lips brush your forehead and you try not to be upset. Sure you’re just worrying yourself over nothing.

• “Is it weird that we’re together? That I’m human?” You ask and he runs his servos through your hair. Because you’re absolutely precious. Worrying over if the other bots would have an issue with you? Like he’d care if they did? Rolling you under him, he leans over you and mouths your throat.

• “You think I care what they think? That I wouldn’t want you just because they didn’t approve of you?” He growls, lips brushing your ear. And he’s hard again, you can feel his spike pulsing against your thigh. “That you can get rid of me that easily?” Feel his servos fist in your hair to tip your head back as he rocks himself against you, spike sliding against you.

Previous

[strang3lov3]

Fever Dream

Roman takes care of you while you’re sick, and you have intense fever dreams about fucking him.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, smut, unprotected piv, fever dreams, cunnilingus, leg humping/thigh grinding, pussy job, outercourse, teasing, lowkey edging daddy. dirty talk. daddy kink. liiiitlest bit of dubcon, but everyone is into everything, i asked them myself. Fluff adjacent - daddy takes care of you while you’re sick, cleans up your mess. Typical Roman banter. Emetephobia warning - there’s descriptions of vomiting/nausea but it’s not terribly graphic (coming from a person who also has emetephobia) 4.6k words. A/N - hey hey! Been a while since we’ve seen daddy, huh? He missed you, babygirl. @beefrobeefcal and my dear L, thank you for betaing.

stepdaddy!roman masterlist

Something’s…off. 

You’ve been in bed for hours now, not sleeping. Just kind of…passing time. Watching the little red numbers of your digital clock blink, taunting you - it’s now 2:37 AM. The minutes drag like hours, and each second serves as a mocking reminder of just how awake you are. 

You scroll through your phone as you try to distract yourself from the awful, gnawing feeling in your gut, the way your body violently vacillates between hot and cold. If you focus too hard on how terrible you feel, you’ll spiral. Nothing seems to pull your attention away from it, though, and you find yourself trembling, humming rhythmically to soothe yourself. You just wanna sleep. 

Your mouth waters in that sickening, unmistakable way, a sharp twist of your gut has you sitting up straight - it takes you half a second for your brain to process what your body already knows is about to happen. 

You quickly fling your blanket off and sprint to the bathroom, but you don’t make it to the toilet in time. The first violent heave of the night overtakes you, and the sick splatters on the floor and down your front. It’s completely awful in every way, and you’re powerless to fight it. You’re just a slave to that horrible bodily function. You have just a moment to fumble with the lid of the toilet before it’s happening again, sweat dripping down the back of your neck. 

Roman’s been sleeping peacefully in his room, but the muffled sounds of your retching and gagging and sobbing wakes him up. He’s groggy and he’s confused, but his concern for you propels him to get out of bed. It’s his intrinsic sense about you, his unending worry. He paces quickly to your room and calls your name, making a beeline to your bathroom. 

“Hey - oh, fuck.”

Roman turns on the harsh, fluorescent light and the scene punches him in the gut. There you are, on your knees and clutching the toilet bowl as you puke, the acrid smell lingering in the air. You’re a mess, and so is the floor you lie on.

You turn your head just enough to see Roman standing in the doorway, his brow pinched in worry as he takes the sight in. “Get the fuck out, Roman,” you choke out through a raw throat, before it takes over again. 

“What?”

“I don’t want you to see - fuck–” The sentence dies halfway as your body betrays you once again, but Roman knows what you’re trying to say. 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, carefully tiptoeing around your mess to meet you at the toilet. He gathers your hair in one hand and holds it back as you empty your insides into the toilet, rubbing your back with the other hand. He can hear you sobbing, and it breaks his heart to know how much pain and discomfort you’re in. 

“I don’t–”

 “Shhh, you’re okay,” Roman whispers. “Just…let it happen. It’s almost over, sweetheart. You’re almost done.”

It’s almost over. His words not only comfort you, but they ring true, as well. The last of it happens, and then a little dry heaving. The hollow ache in your stomach. You flush the toilet and slam the lid shut before Roman can see your mess, then hover over the sink to rinse out your mouth and nose. When you’re done, you try to leave. 

“Hey - no. Don’t get up,” Roman tells you, grabbing you by the shoulders to gently ease you to the ground. He sits you on the plush bath mat and leans you against the wall, “Just stay right there.” 

“Roman,” you whimper, sniffling. God, you feel horrible, and you must look even worse. You’re covered in lingering sweat and tears as well as your own mess from earlier, and your head is heavy and achy. Nose and throat burning like they’ve been rubbed raw. You can’t help but to cry freely, feeling completely at the mercy of your own body. 

Roman doesn’t flinch. Instead, he turns on the bathroom fan and cracks the narrow window open, where the cool, nighttime breeze hits your flushed cheeks and soothes your hot skin. He turns around and opens the door of your bathroom closet, pulls out a couple of wash rags and some other things, you’re not sure what exactly. You’re not paying super close attention.

Roman dampens a rag before approaching you, crouching down to your level. He holds your chin between his thumb and pointer finger as he wipes your face gently, cleaning away the mess and your tears. “What the hell happened to you, huh?” he asks softly, sympathetically. “You’re a fuckin’ mess, kid.” 

“Just don’t feel so good,” you whisper, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Yeah, just don’t feel so good, huh? Are you sick, or what?”

You shrug weakly, lips pouting as you ignore the question. “You should go,” you tell him urgently.

“Oh, I should, should I?” Roman snorts. “Well, that sucks, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.” 

You roll your eyes and smile a little, and it makes Roman smile, too. That’s a good sign. 

“Do I smell like vomit?”

“Oh, god, yeah. Horribly,” Roman deadpans, and his honesty makes you laugh. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, still chuckling. “I’m so gross.” 

Roman pushes a bit of hair out of your eyes, his touch so profoundly tender as he notes how warm your skin is, rubbing your cheek softly with his thumb. “Yeah, you are. Just kinda disgusting, honestly. Ew.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling a little. You pause, then take the rag from his hands and move toward the mess on the floor, but Roman stops you. “Ah, no. I’m taking care of this,” he says, outstretching his arm to keep you against the wall. “Just fuckin’ sit still, will you? Will you do that for me? Jeeeesus,” he exaggerates, laying his sarcasm on thick to ease your insecurity.

Too tired to argue, you raise your palms in surrender - just a slow, weak flick of your wrists. With a soft grunt, Roman stands up then. He goes back to the closet to grab a thermometer and sits back down in front of you, his knees cracking as he bends them.

“You sound old.” 

“Ha-ha. Shut up.” Roman turns the thermometer on and puts it between your lips, wriggling the tip under your tongue. He cups your cheek and you lean into his palm, feeling relief at the way it cools your skin. He rubs your temple and watches your eyes gently close - how utterly exhausted you are. 

Finally, the thermometer beeps. Roman pulls it out of your mouth and grimaces at the big number on the tiny screen. “Oof, yeah. You’re very sick,” he grimaces, then shows you the number. “Gotta get that fever down.”  

Roman turns around and slides the shower door out of the way, drops the drain-stopper and turns on the water. He tests the temperature with his palm, frowning while adjusting it to slightly warmer than lukewarm. As the bath fills, Roman comes close to you again. He carefully helps you out of your soiled clothes, moving your heavy limbs for you. You don’t protest his help. 

He ushers you into the tub, sits you down gently. You rest the back of your head against the cool, ceramic tiles, then turn to watch Roman. He moves around the bathroom with ease, gathering soiled clothes and rags into a hamper, pulling out different cleaning supplies from the closet. “Oh,” he says, then reaches for the trash can next to the toilet. He sets it right next to the tub, “You know. If you need to puke again, or whatever. Hurl into this baby.”  

It’s quiet as you listen to Roman clean the bathroom, save for the occasional squirting of a Clorox bottle and the running water at the sink. You watch him wipe up the mess, and he does so silently. No look of disgust on his face, which surprises you. No shitty jokes or snarky comments. Just Roman, quietly taking care of the task at hand.

“You’re like, surprisingly good at this.”

“Surprisingly good at what?”

“I don’t know. Dealing with all of…this, I guess,” you murmur, gesturing to the mess. “Like, doesn’t it gross you out?”

“Sure,” Roman replies, tossing the dirty rag into the hamper before grabbing a clean one. “I mean, puke’s puke. It’s gross. But I don’t know, it doesn’t really bother me.” 

“Puke doesn’t bother you?”

“It’s not fun, if that’s what you’re asking. But it’s just different when it’s someone you l–” Roman catches himself before he can finish the thought. “I mean, don’t know. It’s just…yeah. I don’t - don’t know what I’m saying. It’s fine,” he mumbles, shaking his head a little. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I’m fuckin’ - I’m fine. You are not. How are you feeling, anyway? Better, worse?” 

You shrug. “Cold,” you tell him. “I’m cold now.”

“Well, that’d be your fever,” Roman says matter-of-factly, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. You gaze at him with big, sad, tired eyes, a pout on your lips that tugs at Roman’s heart. You’re so small, so stripped, and he’s carefully holding you in the palms of his hands. It’s not lost on him, the rawness and vulnerability of this moment. The peacefulness. You’ve been sharing more and more of these moments with him, having more good days than bad together. Leaning on him, letting him in. It could always be like this, if you wanted. It’d be a good thing, he thinks. For both of you.

Roman drains the bath and helps you out of the tub, dries you gently with a soft, clean towel. You brush your teeth and rinse with mouthwash as he picks out pajamas for you - a large t-shirt and a pair of panties - then dresses you wordlessly and tucks you into bed. You’re gone in two minutes, and Roman bends down to kiss your forehead. “Night, kid.” 

You wake up in the later morning, still feeling off, but not like you’re on the verge of vomiting. Just…a different sort of wrong. You’re sad - Roman’s not in bed with you, but then, why would he be? He’s not - you know, not really supposed to be there. 

You left your phone on the nightstand. The battery’s low, and there’s a couple notifications. Forty-seven minutes ago Roman texted you to text him when you wake up, so you do. 

A few minutes later, Roman gently nudges your door open with his foot. “Morning, sunshine.” His arms are full of different things - a plate with some toast and a banana, a large bottle of Gatorade, a large bottle of water, Tylenol, that same thermometer from last night. He sits on the edge of your bed and places everything on the nightstand, and first takes your temperature. It’s lower than it was last night, but still too high. 

Roman opens the bottle of Tylenol and rattles out two pills, then hands them to you. You place them in your mouth and reach for the Gatorade, but struggle to twist off the orange cap. 

“Oh, come on. Really?” Roman arches a brow and chuckles, taking the bottle from you. “Need a big, strong man to take care of it, huh?” 

Roman twists the small bottle, but the cap fights him too, and his bravado crumples as he strains against it. Scrunching his face a little, gritting his teeth together. It makes you laugh quietly.

“We both do, I think,” you quip. The pills taste bitter in your mouth. 

Roman scoffs. “Okay, no. You got your sweat all over it with your fuckin’ clammy hands, sickie, so fuck off. It was rigged.” He covers the cap with the blanket, then successfully twists it off. “Voíla. Little sips,” he reminds you, handing you back the bottle. Roman keeps you sipping on the Gatorade, insisting that the last thing he needs is you being dehydrated on top of everything else. 

Your tummy growls loudly, eliciting a snort from Roman. He had figured you were hungry, so he came prepared with a light snack. “Here,” he says, handing you the plate with toast. Roman takes care to peel the banana for you, then puts it next to your toast. “Brat diet. Perfect for you.” 

“Brat?”

“Yeah, it’s for spoiled brats like you, sweetheart. No, it’s uh… fuck. Bananas, rice, something with an A…I don’t fuckin’ remember. Or care. And toast,” he adds. “See? Brat diet. It’s just light shit for your delicate little stomach to have when you’re sick.”

You eye the food suspiciously. “What if I don’t keep it down?”

“Gotta try, though, right? Just a couple bites. See how you feel.”

With Roman’s encouragement, you take a small bite of your plain toast, then another. It always feels…odd, just sort of uncomfortable to eat after being sick. But the food is helping, and you can feel how badly your body needed it. 

After eating, Roman has you drink some more water. He takes your plate back to the kitchen as you use the bathroom, wash your face and freshen up a little. Just making yourself feel human again. You get back into bed and Roman comes back, takes your temperature again, and gets into bed with you. He doesn’t have to ask to know that’s what you want.

The curtains are drawn, the light in the room is low, and it looks almost black and white. You lie on Roman’s chest, drawing little patterns into his t-shirt with your fingertips as you listen to the quiet TV. 

“You know something? I should have quarantined you,” Roman mumbles softly, kissing the top of your head a couple of times. 

“Hm?”

“Should have quarantined you. Locked you up, left you to fend for yourself. But I’m the sucker who’s taking care of you, and it’s just occurred to me that I’m gonna be sick after this.”

“Maybe,” you reply quietly. You nuzzle your face into his neck, the wiry hairs of his scruff scratching your skin. Roman tightens his arm around you as you close your eyes. 

“Not maybe. It’s inevitable. Give it a day or two and I’m gonna be puking and shitting everywhere and you’ll have to deal with it,” he says. Roman rubs your back and you feel yourself drifting off, his voice sounds distant. You feel so warm, so safe in his hold. “Little taste of what’s to come when I’m senile, huh?”

“I’m not gonna take care of you.”

“No?”

“Mm-mm,” you sigh. “Gonna put you in a nursing home. One of the abusive ones.”

“Oh, that’s perfect, actually. I’ll have a pretty young thing do my sponge baths. Lift her skirt with my cane,” he jokes, smiling at your humor. “Yeah, lookin’ forward to it, sweetheart.” 

 When you don’t reply, Roman looks down at you. Your eyes are gently shut, lips all plump and pursed as you breathe rhythmically, already gone. “Going back to sleep, kid?”

On autopilot, you hum, and it makes Roman chuckle. “I’ll be here.” 

 Sensations come one at a time, and touch is first - hips are pounding against your ass, and hands on your waist, fingertips bruising you. You feel foggy, but you feel good. The next one is sight - crumpled sheets and fabric close to your face, close enough that you can see all the fibers and threads. But it’s blurry, pulsing in and out of focus. When the hands on your waist slide around your torso - one splayed between your breasts, the other on your stomach - and pull you up and back, you feel the familiar warmth of his torso, hear the broken breaths and noises of pleasure that Roman makes, and you know it’s him.

If you close your eyes, it’s only the feeling of being fucked by Roman. He’s whispering filth in your ear, kissing your neck as he pounds into you. You wrap your hands around his and tilt your head back, relishing in the intensity of it all. His arms clutching you close to him, nearly forcing the breath out of your lungs. You could suffocate like this and so be it, you decide.

But if you open your eyes, you can see it, and you can see it so fucking bv clearly. Like you’re looking in a mirror, or a movie, maybe. You can watch your bodies move from a distance, see the way you writhe and bounce with the way he fucks you. It’s dark, nothing else to look at but you and Roman. You can zoom in too, see his face next to yours. His crooked, smug smirk that you love so much and his dark, lust-blown pupils. 

You’re not sure where or how it begins, but you blink and you’re on your back. Roman’s got you folded in half, relentlessly pounding into your cunt. His neatly trimmed pubic hair grinds into your clit, the friction so deliciously pleasurable. You rock your hips to match his thrusts, moaning his name. God, he’s so utterly, completely fucking gorgeous. The perfect line between his brows. The freckles dotting his nose, freckles that you could count if you wanted to. His dark lashes, reddened cheeks, wet lips.

Roman’s rock hard and a little miserable, but he’s pleasantly amused. There’s a damp spot on his leg from where you’ve soaked him, and he feels the damp warmth radiating from your cunt. You’re gripping his torso with a bruising pressure as you grind yourself against him, whimpering his name, broken by moans. He grips his cock tightly, pressing his thumb over the weeping slit as he watches you dream of him.

He’s filling you with his come then, cock pulsing, painting your insides. It feels so warm and delicious, that lovely sensation of his spend dripping between your thighs. You’re limp as Roman pushes your thighs apart and toward your chest, your swollen, worn pussy on display for him. 

And then he’s eating you, savoring the taste of your combined arousal. The mess you made together. You’re tugging on the graying strands of his hair, tugging on his t-shirt in reality. Grinding your clit against his knee, rocking against that perfect nose of his in your mind.

It’s all shaping up to be the most intense, mind numbingly powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt. It’s a slow build, with the pleasure increasing almost exponentially. 

It’s gone like that - and it’s as elusive in its end as it was in its beginning. You come to, and you’re a little sweaty. Roman’s still underneath you, he’d held you the entire time you slept. How many hours passed? You’re not even sure. It’s still dark in the room, could be mid-afternoon, early evening, you really don’t know. You shift a little, pausing when you feel the fucking pool of arousal between your thighs, dripping through your panties and onto Roman’s leg. 

“Hey, horndog. Had a good dream there?” Roman teases, voice a little gravelly and raspy.

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, and you don’t even bother replying to Roman’s taunting, with one thing only on your mind. You just grind against him, running your palm up and down his warm torso, sliding your hand beneath the elastic waistband of his pants. The head of his cock is sticky and wet, throbbing under your touch. “Need you,” you mumble. 

“Need me, huh? Strong word.”

“Yeah.” 

You tug his sweatpants down a little, attempting to free his cock from the confines of the fabric. Roman puts his hand over yours and squeezes, “Mmm,” he hums, pulling your hands away from his body. You’re so weak and so pliant, it’s too easy.

“Please, Roman. I need you to fuck me.” 

Roman looks at you and pouts mockingly at your expression. God, how needy you are. Biting your lip, pupils darting left and right as you silently beg him to make you come. Shamelessly grinding your pussy into his leg. He inhales deeply, then wears a small smile. Roman shakes his head and oh, how he shatters your heart. Your face crumples, and you look like you’re about to cry. “Nope,” he says softly, “I am not going to fuck you, sweetheart. Sorry.” 

“Why?” you ask, voice all sad and broken. 

“Because, you fuckin’ sex addict, you’re gonna get all like, motion sick or whatever and puke on my balls or something. That’s the last thing I need,” he says, rubbing his thumbs over your hands, riding every dip and raise of your knuckles. “It’s just not happening. My condolences.”

You whine loudly, so frustrated with Roman. He’ll jump at any opportunity to fuck you and what, now he won’t? He won’t take advantage of you being all sick and fuzzy-headed? That should be right up his alley, the fucking freak. 

“Hey, I’m a victim here, too,” Roman adds. “Look - look at this, look at what you did–” Roman pulls his cock out and grips the base of his shaft, squeezing as he slides his palm up his length. “You started moaning, ‘Roman this’ and ‘Roman that’ and look, I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock, thanks to you. And I can’t do shit about it,” he grumbles. “Yeah, instead, I have to be the adult here and hold your ass while you infect me with whatever fucking virus you’re riddled with.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Woah,” Roman laughs, a little taken aback. “Fuck me?”

“Fuck you,” you repeat.

“Alright, yeah. Fuck me. You wish,” he goads.

Roman smirks at you, prompting you to glare at him and god, if looks could fucking kill.

“Tell you what,” he says. “What’s the fuckin’....temperature of a human being again? Do you know?”

“It’s 98.6,” you answer. “I think. I’m pretty sure.”

“No, yeah. That sounds right,” Roman says. “So - when you’re back back down to 98.6, I’ll fuck your brains out. Okay? Deal?” Roman holds up a thumb, turns it up and down as he waits for your answer. 

You pull his hand down. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” you mumble, once again grinding on his thigh. 

“Yeah, let me have it,” Roman says, now resting his hand on your back again. He tugs up your shirt and slides his hand down the waistband of your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass as you roll your hips against him. “Get it all out of your system.” 

“I mean it,” you say. “I hate you.”

“Yeah? You hate it when Daddy doesn’t give you his cock?” Roman mocks. “Poor thing. You’re so neglected. Abused, even. What am I gonna do with you?”

You roll your eyes, then slowly lift up. Roman watches in amusement to see what you do next - could be anything. Maybe you’ll reach into your nightstand drawer for your vibrator, maybe you’ll keep grinding on his thigh. 

You slide off your panties and take off your shirt which, honestly, Roman thinks is good for you. It’ll help you cool off a little, bring that fever the rest of the way down. You straddle Roman and reach between your bodies for his cock, then line it up with your entrance, the blunt head prodding against your dripping hole. Roman wraps his hand around yours and pulls his cock away before you can sink down on it, and you land flat on his shaft. 

“Daddy,” you whine, dragging out the last syllable. “Please.” 

“Ooh, nice try. Really - good manners, very polite. It’s still not happening, sweetheart.”

You huff and try to wriggle his cock back against your pussy, but Roman won’t let you get very far. He sighs in pleasure as you stroke him, but he stands his ground when you try again to fuck him. 

“You suck.” 

“I know, honey.” 

You sit on Roman’s lap, quietly pouting as you contemplate your situation. Nothing’s stopping you from reaching into the drawer of your nightstand and breaking out that little vibrator. Using it right next to Roman, making him suffer and grapple with the fact that he isn’t the one to bring you pleasure. Or, you could use your own fingers. Whatever pisses him off the most. 

Roman’s dick twitches then, right against your dripping seam and oh, that could work. It’d be a real tease, too. If he wants to fight dirty, then so can you. “Fine,” you say, situating yourself a little better on his lap. His cock is achingly hard and resting against his tummy, you tug his shirt up around his ribs. You slot his length snugly between your lips, clit throbbing against his leaking head. 

You clutch his shirt as you begin rolling your hips, grinding your clit against his length. You love the way that touching him feels like home, how your palms fit against his shoulders. “Fuck,” you whisper, guiding yourself up and down. Your swollen, sensitive clit catching on his tip. You roll your hips in slow circles, sway them side to side. 

“Ohhh, clever,” Roman purrs, smirking at you. Fuck, his gorgeous smile. You’d kiss him if you weren’t sick, there’s still a chance that maybe he won’t catch your stomach bug too. “This is your cheat code, huh? Your little work around to still come on your daddy’s cock?”

“Kinda,” you moan. Roman wraps holds your hips as you fuck yourself against him, holding you tighter when you lean down. You bury your face in his neck, your chest and tummy pressed against his. His slender fingers trail over your spine as he feels you move, your arousal dripping down his cock and down his balls.

“Mmm…you’re naughty, sweetheart. Very, very naughty.” 

“Help me,” you whimper. “Help me come.” 

Roman laughs. “Nope. I’m not enabling this,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your cheek. “This is aaaallllll you. You are on your own.”  

You whine in complaint, but Roman ignores that. He wonders if you notice how he is in fact helping you a little bit, thrusting his hips a little to match the way you rock yours, guiding you with his hands. His breath is hot against your skin, making it feel a little damp. 

You let out soft noises of pleasure, gripping tight the tensing muscles in Roman’s biceps and shoulders. You love the way his cock feels against you. Feeling the same veins you’ve traced with your tongue and your fingertips now with your cunt, clit pulsing against his gently throbbing length. 

Roman listens to your moans becoming louder, and how they suddenly go quiet. You must be close. “You gonna come?” he whispers, “You gonna come on Daddy? C’mon, baby girl.”

You glide yourself along his length for a couple more moments, rutting against him until you feel your orgasm begin to take over. You moan into his skin as you come, nipping at his neck as Roman coaxes along your release, rocking his hips when you no longer can. You gush on his cock as you come, and there’s no overstimulation, nothing more than him letting you come down from it gently, perfectly satisfied with what he’s given you. You gently flop down next to him, tucking yourself between his arm and his side, already shutting your eyes to drift off again and sleep off the rest of your illness. 

Roman holds his cock, tapping it impatiently against his belly. “Do I have to stay here and keep holding you? Can I go like…jerk off? You kinda left me hangin’ here, you know.” 

“Don’t care,” you murmur, reaching for one of his hands. 

“Yeah, I know you don’t. Whatever. Go back to sleep, you fuckin’...you’re already out. Cool. That’s - that’s nice.” 

Roman rolls his eyes, tucks himself away and rubs your hand with his thumb, absentmindedly spelling out the three little words he’s been itching to tell you. 

-

If you enjoyed, please lmk ♡ i love when you reblog and send me asks. It means the world to me to be able to discuss my fics with you all ♡

romey tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@perpetuallymanic @111melo @veryverycoolgirl @marisemonteiroo

@prettybpdgirl @butuhaventseenmyman

[hivemuthur]

If it’s okay to request, may I request hcs or something with Viktor where he’s dating an autisc reader?

Okay, first of - I have no idea what I have done to be granted such trust, thank you so much Anon! I have been provided amazing advice from @rennethen while writing this and done some research and I hope, I hope, I hope it meets expectations.

ViktorXAutistic!Reader HeadCannons

viktorxgn!reader mature, fluff and again: Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life men

author’s note: I have decided to not include tics, as they come in so many variations and I didn't want to impose anything upon Readers, but I can imagine Viktor being a total sweetheart about them.

word count: 1,4K

—

Since your first meeting, Viktor has been smitten with your bluntness and your ability to take his acrimonious jokes apart without a hint of incredulity in your voice. The way you keep asking subsidiary questions until you dig through the layers of his sass to the actual thing he meant to say  leaves his soul naked as day, every single time. Finally, an inquisitive mind, he thinks to himself, as you go for the killing blow:

“So, what you’ve meant to say is that you find me attractive?”

“Eh, I suppose that is what I meant,” he admits dumbly, scratching the back of his neck. “Though usually I tend to be a little bit less straight forward.”

“I prefer straight forward,” you tell him with wide eyes.

“I… I shall remember that.”

Viktor soon realises that being asked a lot of questions makes him blush in a funny way and his chest gets all fuzzy. So, he begins to share every little aspect of his work with you. The more questions you ask, the warmer his heart gets and somehow the way you get excited about his ideas is worth more than any other academical pat on the back he ever received.

Before asking you out for the first time, Viktor conducts a thorough research, not very different to the ones he conducts for the sake of a thesis. He finds out what are your favourite places and favourite spots to sit. He books two reservations, just in case.

He does the same thing when you try out a new place. Just in case. It has proven useful only once.

As a man who values routine, he finds it absolutely endearing that good things remain in your orbit for a long time and discovers that being greeted with his own name by the barista is actually a nice little feeling.

When he asked you if he could kiss you for the first time, he held his breath while you were reconsidering. He found it hard not to laugh stupidly and nod his head a couple times too many when you responded with the same question.

He cupped your face and brushed his thumb on your lip tentatively. At first, he just rubbed his nose against yours. Then, his cheek, as he pulled you closer. You decided his hair smelled nice and that he could proceed. You didn’t know what to do with your hands at first, because he was wearing an incredibly itchy jumper, so you settled on his neck, and he took it as an invitation to kiss you deeper.

When you told him about it he gave the jumper to Caitlyn, and even though the sleeves are not long enough for her, she wears it often. Gradually, Viktor is in the process of exchanging his wardrobe to touch-friendly materials, currently he is half-way through. He wears the offensive clothes to meetings with Jayce, because Jayce will hug even a hedgehog.

You teach Viktor the value of comfort, not just in the clothing department. Suddenly he finds that his blankets are softer and that his flat increased the base number of cushions.

He religiously cuts the tags out of your clothes and his work is so precise it’s as if the tag was never there in the first place.

Viktor will still periodically ask for a permission to touch you, only to hear “Yes, please.” And it still makes him blush.

He keeps two notebooks—one on your current food fixations. He writes down a start date of each and marks every little alteration. He examines the lifecycle of each dish, as you eat it every day for a month and suddenly stop, to move on to the next one. On the back of the notebook he has a list of old reliables.

The second notebook, he treats more seriously—it’s a journal of stimming. He makes a note of each gesture in order to recognize your emotions better. After a while he is able to tell if you are feeling overwhelmed, just excited or trying to concentrate.

He is completely bemused by the fact that you always know what entered the bowl first—the cereal or the milk.

When you unconsciously repeat words back at him in his accent he makes it intentionally heavier, because he finds in unbearably cute.

After some time, he’s learned to recognise when you are masking. When it happened for the first time, he allowed himself a pinch of panic. Only when you unravelled at home, he sighed, partially relieved, and made a note of it in his journal.

Viktor carries a pair of noise cancelling headphones when you go out together. He puts them on you if you get overstimulated and presents you with something else to shift your focus into—a tight hug, a smell or he presses gently on your shoulders to steady you.

If you happen to have a meltdown at either of your homes, he wordlessly prepares you your favourite food and stays close enough for you to reach. Sometimes, he does a full body scan with you, to see which part requires the most attention.

There are certain sounds that Viktor makes which you particularly like—the click of his tongue, the intercepting ‘ehs’ and ‘ahs’—and once he connects the dots between him making those and a smile that always blooms on your face, he produces as many as he can, while still sounding natural.

He enjoys just existing with you. Sitting in the same room, while he works, and you read is his definition of a happy place. Just glancing over to you, your tongue filling your cheek as you read something particularly interesting, the small sounds you make at turning points in the story make his heart flutter.

He finds himself involuntarily memorizing the lyrics of the songs you play on repeat. He has no idea who the artist are, but he knows their songs by heart now. It makes him feel old, in a funny way.

It completely disarms him, when you return his gifts. After three futile attempts to give you something of popular romantic demand, he scolded himself for not changing the method soon enough. Instead of jewellery, he encourages your special interests, through getting you books on the topics or taking you places that embody your passions.

On the other side of the coin, your gifts are deeply appreciated. Every little pebbling trinket has it’s special place in the box on his desk. He takes them out periodically and counts how many times a tiny detail in the chaos of the outside world has made you think of him.

For dates, Viktor chooses times and days in which the world is less crowded. Instead of a busy Saturday night, you go out in the middle of the week. After a particularly failed attempt of gifting you perfume, Viktor takes you to a balm perfume workshop, where you can make scents for each other that are buildable and unoffensive to sensitive skin.

He’s built an intimacy with you that is based on trust and constant checking. He takes care of the mood and gives you enough stops to reconsider on the way.

You both talk a lot during sex. A change of mind is natural and there is enough space made for it. He has learned a lot about himself, and his self-esteem strengthened, when he realised that, ‘I don’t like it,’ doesn’t mean ‘I don’t like you.’

If, for whatever reason, the communication turns nonverbal, you both have come up with a system of pats that signals where each of you should direct your attention.

Your inquisitive mind helped him find three additional positions, in which he feels comfortable and painless, and it eludes him entirely how he could have missed them.

Viktor’s favourite part of aftercare is cuddling you naked. He adores the way your warm body melts into his. If you add head scratches to it, he will fall asleep in your arms. He breaths in the smell of your hair and his heart beat evens out with yours.