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vanteguccir · 17 days ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: BOSTON'S ENGAGEMENT PROPOSAL * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where, at the Boston show of the Surprise Party Tour, Matt finally reveals his first solo surprise of the tour: proposing to Y/N.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt felt like a complete idiot.

Which was honestly fine.

Normal, even.

Because what else are you supposed to feel when you walk into Tiffany & Co alone, camera in one hand, jacket half-zipped, and the literal knowledge in your brain that today’s the day you buy your engagement ring?

The second the glass doors swished shut behind him, he instantly felt underdressed. The place was too clean. Too bright. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where even your footsteps sound loud, and you’re 90% sure the floor costs more than your car.

"Okay." He muttered, clicking on the small camera in his hand, flipping the screen so he could see himself, waving with his free hand. His messy strands were doing their own thing, and his voice cracked a little. "Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

The Tiffany logo glimmered in the reflection behind him, all silver and serious. He turned the lens toward the inside of the store, slowly panning across the display cases that sparkled so hard it hurt to look at them.

Everything was white and silver and pale blue. Velvet chairs. Smooth marble counters. Employees moving around like they were floating, all super polished and weirdly calm, which was the opposite of how he felt.

He found a small table in the center of the room with a modern glass vase on it and propped his camera there using the tiny tripod suction he’d brought.

"I sent an entire email explaining this to the brand and asking for permission to record it. They gave me it. I even brought it printed." He laughed breathlessly, angling the lens to frame the table and the chairs across from it.

Matt sat down and let out a quiet breath, tapping his fingers anxiously on the edge of the table.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting walking in here. Like maybe it would hit him differently, feel more real. But all he felt was this warm weight in his chest and the nonstop loop in his head.

Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up.

A woman appeared after a few moments, dressed in sleek black with a small Tiffany-blue badge on her chest. Her heels clicked quietly as she walked toward him, her smile calm and super professional but not cold.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She said warmly.

"Yeah, hey." He stood up awkwardly, then realized she didn’t expect that and just kind of hovered in a weird half-stand before sitting back down.

She smiled kindly.

"I’m Elena. Thank you for coming in today. I've been informed of your plans."

He nodded.

"That's great! Thank you."

Elena let out a soft laugh at how stiff he looked and pulled up a chair across from him.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The words still made his brain stutter. But he nodded.

"Okay, then let's start." She said, already opening a small black folder in front of her.

Matt sat back and rubbed his beard covered jaw. The room felt big. And small. And too real.

"Alright." Elena said, flipping open a tray of sample bands, all lined in rows with tiny cards that probably had words like platinum and cushion cut on them. "Let’s talk about her. What does she like?"

Matt blinked at the rings for a second, overwhelmed by sparkle. Then he focused.

"She actually wears a lot of jewelry." He started, voice calmer now that they were actually talking logistics. "She wears gold more than silver, but like both. And she hates anything super chunky or loud. She's more into the delicate, kinda simple stuff. Like she has these tiny gold hoops she wears almost every day and these little rings that look like... minimalist or whatever."

Elena nodded, already pulling a few bands from the tray and setting them aside.

"This gives us a lot to play with, actually."

"Good." Matt said, nodding. "She also... okay, I don’t know if this helps, but she likes stuff that’s classic but not boring, y’know? She’s not trendy. That sounds kinda corny, but..."

"No, that’s perfect." Elena said, already unlocking another small drawer in the case nearby.

Matt glanced down at all the million options, fingers drumming a quiet beat against the edge as his brain tried to concentrate.

Fuck, he wished his brothers were there.

Chris would’ve made him laugh to calm him down while Nick would’ve asked twenty questions about resale value and the clarity of the stone or whatever.

It was weird doing something this big without them next to him. Like losing your phone and realizing how much you depended on it. He was so used to them being right there in every step.

But not this time.

This was just him.

"Here." Elena said gently, breaking the spiral as she placed a new tray in front of him. "I think we’re getting close."

Matt leaned in, eyes scanning the rings. One stood out immediately.

It was delicate, so thin he almost missed the band entirely. A single oval-cut diamond sat in the middle with six claws holding it in place, no extra flash, no weird shapes, just clean and clear and... her.

He pointed to it, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"That one’s really nice."

Elena smiled like she’d been waiting for him to say that.

"That’s one of our most classic solitaire styles. Platinum band. Oval diamond."

He tilted his head.

"Yeah... she’d actually wear that. Like she’d live in that."

"Exactly." Elena said. "You want something she’ll love now and thirty years from now."

They added a curved matching band that hugged the engagement ring perfectly. It looked like the two rings were designed to never be apart.

Matt stared at them for a second too long.

"Can I- uh... get a second to record this?" He asked, already reaching for his camera and bringing it closer.

He lifted the box gently, showing the rings to the lens and whispering.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

The big screen flicked for a millisecond before showing the banner with 'SURPRISE' written in big white letters.

The noise was immediate, and it only seemed to increase when the countdown appeared seconds after, huge and bold across the giant screen. The numbers started ticking down from 5, all in that signature grainy style.

The theater echoed with voices. People clutched their phones tighter. Someone behind Y/N whispered a breathless "Oh my god, it has to be Matt", but she didn’t even register it at first, her eyes glued to the screen.

And then, there he was.

Matt.

Standing in front of a camera, looking directly into it while adjusting his tie.

The crowd lost it.

They weren’t even at fault for their reaction. Six shows had passed through, and Matt wasn't the one bringing a solo surprise in none of them.

Matt smiled at the screams. He stood up from the orange couch on the left, where he’d been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Chris, and grabbed his mic.

The crowd didn’t calm down. If anything, they screamed harder, but there was something about his nervous little laugh that softened everything around it.

He walked to the side of the stage, shoes scuffing the dark wood, and turned toward one of the wooden shelves that were part of the set.

"Okay, okay." Matt said into the mic, voice shaking slightly but still him. "I’m gonna need you guys to chill a little, like, just enough for me to hear myself, alright?"

The crowd laughed but actually obeyed. Kind of.

"I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time." He admitted, glancing out at the audience like they were all his best friends and not strangers in a dark room. "And I’ve honestly never been this nervous before."

He paused.

Looked down.

And without needing to search, his eyes dropped straight to the middle seat in the front row.

Y/N.

There she was, sitting all cute and clueless, smiling so big it almost hurt him. She had that gentle sparkle in her eyes that only came out when she was happy in quiet ways.

She had no idea. Not even close. And God, she was going to freak out.

Matt felt his heart full-on trip over itself.

She was wearing the red and black Ralph Lauren jacket he had used on Philadelphia, and her hands were folded over her legs. She was watching him like she was proud just to see him standing there. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And that made it worse.

And better.

And way harder not to cry.

Chris and Nick were now on the left couch, explaining the dynamics of the live broadcast channel and the hint Matt was going to show to the public.

"Matt." Chris called, adjusting his mic. "We’re gonna be here all night if you don’t open that damn shelf."

The crowd cracked up.

Matt rolled his eyes dramatically to the audience, grinning as he turned back toward the cabinet door.

"Okay." He said, laughing through his nose. He reached out, fingers gripping the cool handle. "Let’s see what the hint is."

He pulled it open.

A ring.

Not the ring.

Just a ring.

It was chunky and bold and totally not bridal. Something from Paula, their stylist. Gold with a flat top, engraved with something random that didn’t matter.

Matt grabbed it and shut the cabinet again, turning around. He made his way back to the couch, but instead of sitting down, he stood in front of his brothers and held up the ring for them to see.

Nick leaned forward.

"What is that? A mafia ring?"

Chris squinted.

"Wait, wait- is your surprise a jewelry line? Are you releasing jewelry for Yesterday's Problem now?"

The mention of Matt's mystery brand made a crazy effect over the crowd, who screamed and begged for it to be about Yesterday's Problem.

Matt raised his eyebrows at the youngest.

"No, of course not." He pressed his lips together in a smug kind of way, then looked over his shoulder to the crowd. "Y’all are so off." He laughed under his breath.

Nick sat back with his arms crossed.

"This is too vague."

Matt ignored him. He tucked the fake ring in his jacket right pocket, feeling it clinking against the hidden velvet box, and finally walked over to the opposite couch.

He sat down slowly, smoothing his jeans and adjusting his mic. And for the first time, he looked up, not at the crowd, not at his brothers, but to the grandstand section near the side stage.

He found them instantly.

His parents. Nate. Mikayla. Sam.

All there. All watching.

Their expressions were... hard to read. Focused. Neutral, but expectant. His mom had her hands clasped near her chin, her brows slightly knit. His dad was still.

Matt swallowed. Looked back to the screen.

"Well, let's see what I did."

And then the video started.

It didn’t come with any fanfare or intro, which already made it so different from the slow builds Chris and Nick did for theirs.

"Okay."

Video-Matt’s voice crackled through the speakers, low and kind of nervous. On screen, the camera shook slightly as he clicked on it and flipped the screen to face him. He waved awkwardly with his free hand, his expression caught between a smile and full-on panic.

"Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

A wave of laughter rippled across the theater at how awkwardly he opened the video.

On stage, Chris squinted at the screen, tilting his head.

"Wait, where even is he?"

Matt hadn’t said it, but the massive, gleaming Tiffany & Co. logo was reflected behind him in the video - polished silver letters on a blue-tinted wall.

The moment the logo came into focus, Nick let out a confused noise beside Chris, practically leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Is that-"

"Bro, is he in Tiffany’s?" Chris finished, brows furrowed.

Even Y/N blinked in quiet surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she watched Matt on the screen set the camera down on a sleek little table inside the boutique. She’d never seen him even mention Tiffany jewelry. Vivienne Westwood was his thing, silver chains, edgy rings.

But she still smiled wide because he looked nervous as hell.

Matt, onscreen, muttered something about having emailed the brand beforehand to ask for permission to film, even flashing a crumpled printout of the email at the camera.

"I even brought it printed." He chuckled under his breath, clearly trying not to combust from stress as he fixed the frame.

Back on stage, Chris snorted.

"Why does he look like he’s about to commit a crime?"

Nick leaned toward the mic.

"Your surprise is that you stole some expensive jewelry, Matt?"

The crowd laughed again, some people clapping, some just wheezing into their hands.

Y/N was frowning now, eyes glued to the screen. Matt hadn’t looked that nervous since- well, since he asked her to move in with him from Boston to LA years ago.

On screen, Matt sat down at the table, his fingers tapping a beat on the edge like he couldn’t stop moving.

Moments later, a woman walked into frame - sleek black outfit, small Tiffany-blue name tag pinned to her chest.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She asked with a kind smile.

Matt stood up too fast and then kind of froze mid-stand like he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. He hovered awkwardly for a moment before sitting back down with a stiff, nervous nod.

Y/N laughed quietly, leaning forward in her seat.

"Oh, baby..." She mumbled, her heart just full.

"I’m Elena." The woman said, settling into the chair across from him. "Thanks for coming in today. I’ve been informed of your plans."

On the couch, Nick let out a quiet, "What plans?"

Chris nudged him but was just as confused.

"That’s great! Thank you." Matt said in the video, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Elena smiled, clearly used to this kind of energy.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The theater went silent.

Chris blinked.

Nick sat all the way back into the couch like the air had been punched out of him.

The crowd gasped.

And Y/N... Y/N froze entirely.

Her jaw went slack. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, twitched.

Did she hear that right?

Chris was the first to react.

"Wait- WHAT?" He half-shouted into his mic.

Nick was still staring at the screen, eyebrows drawn so hard together that they were practically touching.

"She just said- she said engagement- he- what?"

The audience exploded in a mix of laughter, shocked screams, and collective gasping.

Y/N covered her mouth, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding in her chest so loud it drowned everything else out.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t breathe.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the boy on the screen, the boy she’d loved quietly, gently, patiently, for what felt like forever, who was sitting inside Tiffany & Co., looking like he was going to throw up from nerves, and apparently about to buy a ring.

For her.

Matt had been planning this.

He had planned this entire thing.

"Oh my god." She whispered behind her hand, her voice shaking with shock and joy and every emotion crashing together in her chest.

Chris turned slowly to look at her from the stage, his mouth slightly open like he was seeing the twist in a movie.

"You knew about this?" He asked, pointing to the screen.

Y/N shook her head so fast it almost made her dizzy.

"How could I know this, Chris?!" She squeaked, the words barely coming out.

Nick blinked rapidly, rubbing his forehead.

"Chris, a wedding propose is supposed to be a secret to the one being proposed."

But Chris still hadn’t recovered.

"A ring, dude. Like... for real. We’re on stage, and he’s proposing?"

Y/N sat back slowly, staring up at the screen like it was made of stars. Her lips trembled, not from sadness or fear or anything close to hesitation, but just from the way her entire soul felt like it was floating.

This wasn’t just a surprise.

This was Matt.

Her Matt.

And somehow, he’d managed to turn an ordinary night into the most extraordinary moment of her life.

The video continued playing, but no one really moved.

The entire theater was still.

Hearts pounding.

Eyes wide.

Waiting for the big moment.

The last frame of the surprise video froze on the big screen, the tiny velvet box open in Matt’s hand, his voice low and trembling, whispering like a private secret.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

And then... nothing. The screen went black.

For a second - two, maybe three - the entire venue was suspended in absolute silence. No screams, no gasps, no whispers. Just air. Thick and vibrating with a kind of collective disbelief that made everything feel just a little unreal, like the world had glitched and was still buffering.

Then someone - probably a fan in the front row - gasped out loud.

And the silence cracked.

A mix of choked sobs, happy cries, shocked laughter, and chaotic squeals broke like a wave through the audience.

Mary Lou covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide and glossy. Mikayla had literal tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching the side of Nate's hoodie. Even the tour crew was caught off guard, one of the lighting guys had his jaw dropped like he was about to cry.

Nick blinked rapidly and turned toward Chris, totally stunned.

And then there was Y/N.

She was still seated, her mouth parted just slightly, her eyes wide and blinking slow, like she was trying to make sense of gravity again. Her entire body felt... floaty. Like she wasn’t quite in the room anymore. Like she was watching someone else live her life and was just now realizing that someone else was... her.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. She couldn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

And then Matt stood up.

Still on stage, in front of the giant screen, with tears in his eyes and his heart practically written all over his face.

He looked at her.

Just her.

And the noise around them blurred into something distant and unimportant. He brought the mic up to his lips, eyes momentarily running from hers.

"Can- uh, can one of you help her up here?" He asked, nodding toward the security guard on the right side of the stage, voice trembling through the speakers.

The crowd seemed to become louder.

Screams. Cries. People clapping and jumping. Y/N could barely process the guard gently approaching her, a soft smile on his face, as he reached out a hand.

She blinked at him.

Then blinked again.

"Come on, sweetheart." Matt said into the mic, his voice cracking. His smile was soft and a little wobbly. "It’s okay."

That’s when her legs finally moved. Barely. But they moved.

The crowd cheered louder as she slowly stood up, holding her shaky hands to her chest, fingers scratching against the glitter of her shirt - the same one that Nick was using.

She followed the security guard to the edge of the stage, the warm lights making everything feel more surreal, more floaty. Like a fever dream she didn’t want to wake up from.

And then, she was there.

Up on stage.

Everything around her was blurry except for him.

Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt.

Standing there, eyes glassy, hands twitching like he didn’t know where to put them. He looked like he was holding back a loud cry.

"Come here, angel." He said again, softer this time. Just for her.

She walked toward him slowly. Feet barely touching the stage, everything trembling. The lights, the crowd, the sound, it all disappeared as she reached him and stopped a foot away.

His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. But when he looked at her, it was solid. Sure. Like there was nothing else he believed in more than her.

"Okay." Matt started, laughing nervously and brushing his fingers under his eye. "Uhm... wow. Okay. So... I had this whole thing in my head. Like, how I was gonna say it. But now I’m just... losing it."

She let out a teary laugh. So did the crowd.

Matt looked down for a second, then back up, voice steadier this time.

"I love you." He said first, like he had to just get that out before anything else. "I love you so much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath. Her hands came up to her mouth, eyes already overflowing.

"You’ve been with me through everything. Everything, Y/N. When I was nobody. When we were filming in our parents' kitchen and only getting a hundred views. When I had zero dollars to my name. When I moved to LA with my brothers and literally lived on hope. You were there."

He sniffled.

"You’ve always been there."

Her whole body was trembling now. She could barely stand straight.

Matt stepped a little closer, reaching out with one shaky hand to hold hers, gripping tight like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I’m not good with words. You know that." He said, voice wobbling but warm. "But you- you’re everything to me. You’re the reason I’m even here. Not just like, here here." He gestured around at the stage. "But like- here."

Her lips quivered as she sobbed softly, squeezing his hand.

"I wake up every day, and I can’t believe I get to love you. That you love me back. That I get to see you reading on the couch or ranting about your series or dancing while you brush your teeth. You’re the best part of my day, every day." Another laugh cracked in his throat, wet and breathless. "I brought your perfume with me to Vegas so my shirts smelled like you. That’s where I’m at. That’s how far gone I am."

Y/N let out a choked laugh through her tears, wiping at her eyes, her fingertips coming out black with mascara. Matt laughed too, even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

And then he reached into the right pocket of his jacket.

The room seemed to still again.

He pulled out the small velvet box. Hands trembling.

She bit her lip. A hand flew to her chest.

And then Matt was getting down.

On one knee.

His knee hit the stage softly. He opened the box again, showing two beautiful rings sparkling under the lights, and tried to hold it up while still holding the mic. But his hands were too full.

Chris was already moving before Matt could even think of asking for help. He ran up to them, gently taking Matt’s mic right out of his hand, and held it up close to Matt’s mouth for him.

Matt looked up at his brother, breathless and laughing softly through the emotion.

"Thanks." He whispered, voice cracking.

Chris just smiled his widest smile, his eyes shining with tears, and nodded.

Matt turned back to Y/N, holding up the box in his shaking hands.

"Y/N." He said. "Please, allow me to spend the rest of my life by your side. Will you marry me?"

And it was like the world held its breath.

All she could do was nod at first, crying and covering her face. Then she laughed through her tears and choked out.

"Yes. Yes. Oh my god- yes!"

The crowd exploded. Screams. Cries. Phones held high. Some people literally jumped. Nick tackled Chris in a hug. Their mom sobbed against Jimmy.

Matt stood up and pulled her into his arms so fast the empty box slipped, and they both stumbled a bit, laughing and crying and shaking.

And when he kissed her, right there in front of everyone, it wasn’t polished or pretty. It was messy. And emotional. And real.

"I love you so much." He whispered in her ear.

And she whispered back.

"I can’t believe you’re mine."

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other.

Two people on a stage. In front of thousands.

"The 'getting down on one knee' thing was successfully approved, Matt." Nick's voice echoed around the room from the speakers before two more bodies collapsed around them, holding them close.

They were the only ones in the world.

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missdynamighttt · 21 days ago

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teehee, shopping with bf! katsuki for the first time is a whole new experience.

you dragged him to the mall under the pretense of just browsing. katsuki grumbles, complains the whole car ride, mutters something about how he'd rather "eat glass" than spend a weekend in a fluorescent-lit hellscape.

but the second you tug on his wrist and smile up at him, he shuts up and follows. what you don’t expect?

how much of a problem he becomes the second you enter the fitting room.

you're barely five minutes into trying on outfits when it starts. you step out, smoothing down a dress, turning side to side in the mirror.

you barely manage a “what do you think?” before he drops the phone he wasn’t even looking at and sits up straighter.

“turn around.”

you blink. “huh?”

“lemme see the back.”

you do. he whistles low, then squints. “try that in the other color.”

you raise a brow. “oh, so now you care?”

“tch. i care when it looks like that on you.”

from then on, it’s over. every. single. outfit. he's like that.

“yeah, do a little spin.”

��too tight in the chest. not that i’m complaining.”

“damn, sweets. you tryna kill me or sumthin'?”

he lounges on the little bench like he owns the place—legs spread, arms crossed, eyes locked on you like you’re center stage and he’s the only judge that matters. the store’s mirror might show you the front, but he’s giving full commentary on the back. and the sides. and the neckline.

he’s unreasonably hot while doing it too. hood half-up, jaw sharp, legs spread like he’s got thoughts about every skirt you shimmy into.

and the worst part? you start playing it up.

slipping out of the fitting room with a little strut. spinning slow just to watch his jaw tighten. running your hands down your sides, real innocent, then pretending not to notice the way he swears under his breath.

“you’re lucky we’re in public,” he grits when you try on a slinky little number that hugs way too close.

you blink. “so you like it?”

he growls. “i like it on the floor of our bedroom.”

you nearly explode.

one outfit later, you try something on that you already know is ridiculous—fluffy, sparkly, way too over-the-top—but you step out just to mess with him.

you expect him to laugh. maybe tease. instead?

he blinks once. then shrugs. “buy it.”

you pause. “wait… really?”

he smirks. “you look happy in it. that’s all i care about.”

by the time you're done, you're practically floating out of the store—arms light, mood lighter, cheeks a little sore from how much you've been grinning.

katsuki?

katsuki is not floating. katsuki is lugging six bags in one hand, two on the other, and somehow managing to balance the weirdly long one that holds the dress bag across his broad shoulders like a damn pack mule.

and the whole time? he looks pissed. jaw tight, bags slapping against his thighs as he stomps beside you.

you peek over at him, smiling sweetly. “you’re the one who said to buy everything, suki.”

“tch. only ‘cause you looked hot in it, dumbass.”

you giggle. “so it’s your fault?”

he stops walking. and glares. hard.

“i swear to god, if you say that again, i’m droppin’ all these bags and draggin’ you into the back of that h&m.”

you blink innocently. “so romantic.”

“try me, sweetheart.”

despite all his complaining, he doesn’t put a single bag down. not when you stop for a smoothie. not when you see a cute little accessory stand. not even when you wander over to look at shoes you’re not even planning on buying.

he just stands there, one foot tapping, arms full of pink and glitter and tissue paper, looking like a man who’s fought gods and monsters and still wasn’t prepared for the chaos that is dating you.

at one point, you lean up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek.

“thanks for carrying everything,” you murmur.

he huffs. “yeah, yeah.”

you kiss him again, this time slower, lingering by the edge of his jaw. “you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

and that does get a response. his ears go a little red. his mouth twitches like he wants to smile but is physically restraining it.

“hmph. i better be,” he mutters, looking away like a child, shifting all the bags in one hand just so he can wrap the other arm around your shoulders.

still grumbling.

still red.

still the best, grumpiest mall boyfriend in existence.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ bc i love procrastinating and dont write the shit i should write lmao💜 hope you guys enjoyed!!

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piroulinewafers · 18 days ago

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𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: colonel not-so-boyfriend-yet gets dragged through a kbeauty store by his childhood friend and realizes that watching her swatch lip tints is way more dangerous than any sort of mission he's been on.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: caleb x fem! reader

the city was noisier than caleb remembered—streetcars rolling by with that grating mechanical whine, shop signs buzzing faintly under the midday sun, the idle chatter of shoppers drifting through open-air cafés and storefronts. he should’ve been overwhelmed. too bright, too many voices, too much movement for someone fresh off the vacuum-quiet corridors of a farspace fleet cruiser.

but he wasn’t watching the city. he was watching her.

she walked half a step ahead of him, tugging him through the crowded sidewalk with the easy confidence of someone who knew where every cute corner shop and discount sticker was hidden. her cardigan had slipped off, revealing her bare shoulder beneath the tank top she wore. she paused in front of a storefront that glowed soft pink through frosted glass and turned to him, her expression hopeful.

“can we go in, gege?” he didn’t respond.

“it’s just a quick stop,” she said, already reaching for the door. she already knew his answer.

caleb lifted the strap of her frilly pink tote a little higher on his shoulder, the my melody charm bouncing cheerfully against his brass-plated rank pin. He didn’t say a word. just nodded and followed her in.

the inside was a pastel wonderland—shelves lined with color-correcting primers and bunny-shaped hand creams, rows of lip tints in neat, candy-colored arrangements. she made a beeline for the display near the center, already reaching for a tester with the kind of care he usually reserved for handling orbital detonation triggers or his gun.

caleb leaned his weight subtly against the edge of the display as she reached for tester after tester, and he let his eyes wander—not across the room, but to the tiny tubes scattered across her palm.

he watched her quietly, one gloved hand resting on the edge of the display as the other held the soft bag by its tiny satin handles. her fingers—smudged faintly with colour from earlier swatches—curved delicately as she unscrewed a rose-toned lip tint. it was a warm, dusky shade, with just enough red in it to remind him of how her cheeks looked when she got worked up over one of his teases.

she swatched it gently across the inside of her wrist, brows pinching in focus, then dabbed a bit with her fingertip and patted it onto her lower lip. the motion was unhurried, thoughtful—like she was trying to be precise, even though she probably didn’t realize how her bottom lip jutted out slightly in concentration. caleb couldn’t look away.

she was everything.

she always gravitated to the same shades, though she liked to pretend she was exploring something new. bare grape, custard mauve, peony ballet… he knew them all. not because she told him—though she sometimes muttered the names under her breath like they were secrets—but because he remembered.

he noticed. and now, watching her dab a warm rosey tone onto the curve of her lip with the tip of her pinky, he added this one to the mental list, too. he’d never forget it. just like he couldn’t forget the way she glowed under the soft store lights, like her whole world had been made of pastels and perfume and she’d still managed to drag him into it, heart and all.

the plush cardigan, the soft pout, the cinnamon-sweet scent that lingered in the air around her—every part of her was stitched into his life in a way he didn’t know how to unpick. she had always been there. and now, more than ever, he wanted to stay in her orbit.

he beckoned her closer, voice low. “come here.”

she blinked up at him, hesitant, swiping at her lip like she thought she’d smudged it. “what?”

“just testing something,” caleb said, his tone deceptively serious. “i need to know the wear-power. longevity. field test, if you will.”

she narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. “what sort of field test?”

he tapped the side of his cheek, expression maddeningly neutral. “riiiiight here.”

her mouth parted in the tiniest gasp, colour flooding her cheeks. “y-you’re joking.”

“i’m in full uniform, baby apple,” he said, leaning in just slightly. “i never joke.”

she stood there frozen for a second, cheeks burning, then made an exasperated little noise in her throat.

“you're the worst,” she muttered again—then very quickly, very lightly, leaned in and pressed the barest kiss to his cheek.

he didn’t move. didn’t flinch. but his entire heart stuttered in his chest like someone had cut the oxygen flow. it wasn’t even that she’d done it. it was how she’d done it. shy. soft. sweet. and still pouting, like he’d tricked her into surrendering some part of herself she wasn’t ready to admit was his.

“you’re blushing,” she whispered accusingly, looking anywhere but his face. and she was right, a faint, peachy flush had settled upon his faintly freckled cheeks.

“so are you,” he said simply.

she whirled around and stomped toward the register, flustered, clutching the little box of lip tint like a weapon. he followed with a lazy pace, letting her get ahead. but the moment she reached into her pocket and tugged out her wallet, he acted.

a subtle flick of his fingers. a twist of the air pressure. the wallet slipped right out of her grasp and tumbled to the floor.

she blinked down at it, startled. “huh?”

“oops,” he said, already handing his credit card to the cashier.

“caleb—hey, no. please, you’re not—don’t you dare pay for—”

“it’s already done,” he said, not even turning to look at her as the scanner beeped and the receipt printed, credit card glinting mockingly between his fingers.

“besides, i’m the one doing the field test. consider it... part of my data collection, yeah? you were always so interested in this sorta stuff when you were younger.”

she let out a strangled huff, crouching to grab her wallet with a muttered curse and refusing to look at him for the next minute straight.

he watched her pout all the way to the exit, still red in the ears, still flustered, still clinging to the tiny pink bag now tucked snugly under his arm. she was ridiculous. completely unreasonable.

entirely his.

and caleb didn’t need a fleet of soldiers or the quiet stars of the vast space to tell him:

this was home.

reblogs and interactions are v appreciated ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

#caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb x you #caleb x mc #caleb x y/n #caleb x fem reader #xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #love and deepspace

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bratbby333 · 1 year ago

Text

i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it.

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again.

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be.

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her.

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area.

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit.

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love.

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to.

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine.

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get.

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away.

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you.

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you.

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf.

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month.

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening.

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well.

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease.

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love�� in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text:

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours.

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text:

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“What is it?” your coworker asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face.

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries.

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now.

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony.

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head.

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner.

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest.

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you.

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?”

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life.

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting?

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room.

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.”

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue.

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.”

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you.

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy.

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote.

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him.

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand.

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him.

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment.

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage.

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.”

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening.

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex.

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch.

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most.

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you.

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours.

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

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pandapetals · 1 month ago

Text

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eight: carnations & chisels

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

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

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. soooo sorry for the long wait but originally I had only 11 chapters planned and already wrote some of them. then decided to change things and make joel grovel/like show his feelings more.

Joel deserved this.

Hell, he deserved worse. If you had screamed at him, thrown something, cursed his name until your voice broke—maybe then, the guilt wouldn’t be sitting so heavy in his chest. But you hadn’t. You just looked at him, eyes filled with something quiet and aching, before calmly asking him to leave.

That hurt the most, how you could care so much and so little at the same time.

He left like you wanted, but that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you. In fact, he couldn’t stop. It gnawed at him, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and prevented him from eating anything more than a few bites before his stomach twisted. The memory of your face, the way your voice stayed so steady even while your eyes gave you away—it haunted him.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew why he had pushed you away. It was the same reason he always did.

Loving someone meant losing them.

Maybe not right away, but eventually. One way or another, life had a way of taking. Joel had learned that lesson the hard way, learned it the day he held Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, his skin—like if he just held on tight enough, maybe he could keep her here. Perhaps she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like everything else.

But she did, and he had never really let go of her.

Sarah had been his whole damn world. The center of everything. Sure, he had Tommy. And yeah, he loved his brother—would take a bullet for him without hesitation. But Sarah? She was different. She was his little girl, his reason for waking up every morning, the best thing he’d ever done.

Until he blinked, and she wasn’t so little anymore.

Time had slipped through his fingers too fast, moving in ways he couldn’t control. One minute, he was teaching her how to ride a bike, his hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to catch her. The next, she was sixteen, holding her brand-new driver's license with that big, proud grin, which made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

He could still hear her voice sometimes. Dad, can I drive? C’mon, you gotta let me practice. She was terrible at first, stopping too hard at red lights, overcorrecting on turns. But she got better. He always knew she would.

Now she’d never drive again.

It hit him like a punch to the gut every time he thought about the things she never got to do. The things she’d been looking forward to. The things he’d been looking forward to.

He wondered what kind of woman she would’ve become. Would she have gone off to college like she’d always talked about? Would she have stayed close to home, still calling him every day just to check in?

Would she have liked you?

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes.

Sarah would’ve liked you. Hell, she probably would’ve loved you. She would’ve teased him about how soft he’d gotten, about how much he smiled when you were around.

Maybe that’s why this all hurt so much.

Because as much as he fought it, as much as he tried to keep people at arm’s length, he had started to imagine a future again. A life that wasn’t just about surviving but living. And now, thanks to his own damn stubbornness, he was watching it slip away.

Just like he had with Sarah.

The grief sat heavy in his chest, familiar and suffocating. It never really left him. He just got better at carrying it. But right now, it was pressing down on him with full force, reminding him of everything he’d lost—and everything he was about to lose again if he didn’t do something about it.

That loss had settled into his bones, making a home inside him, whispering in the back of his mind whenever something good came into his life. It told him to keep people at a distance. It told him that caring too much, letting himself get comfortable, was just asking for it to be ripped away.

But then you came along with Ellie. Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what he always did: He pushed, built up walls, and chose the comfort of old habits over the terrifying unknown of letting himself be happy.

Now he was alone.

Joel had spent years surviving, convincing himself that was enough. But now he wasn’t so sure. Because as much as he wanted to believe that losing you would be easier than loving you, his empty bed, his sleepless nights, and the hollowness in his chest told him otherwise.

____________

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Tommy’s voice carried through the dimly lit room as he leaned back against Joel’s worn-out couch, a beer resting lazily in his grip. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was full of exasperation, like he’d finally been waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be told.

Joel didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back with some sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just sat there, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held all the answers he’d been too damn scared to find.

Tommy took a sip of his beer, watching him. When Joel still said nothing, he exhaled and shook his head. “No witty remark? Nothin’?”

Joel just gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumped, his whole damn body looking tired.

And that’s when Tommy sat up a little straighter, his teasing edge fading.

“Shit, man.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes narrowing as he studied his older brother. “I knew you liked her, but this is worse than I realized.”

Joel let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t about what I feel.”

Tommy scoffed. “Like hell it ain’t. You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here? You think I don’t know you, Joel? You’re pushin’ her away ‘cause you’re scared.”

Joel’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Man, I know you. I know how you get. You think if you keep people at arm’s length, it’ll hurt less when they leave. But you’re wrong. It just means you end up alone.”

Joel exhaled slowly, gripping his beer tighter. He hated that Tommy was right.

“I lost Sarah.” His voice was quieter now, rough, like the words were scraping his throat on their way out. “And I—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Tommy sighed, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a small thud. “I know you did, Joel.” His voice softened. “And I know that kinda loss—it doesn’t ever go away. But she’s not Sarah. Neither is Ellie. They ain’t replacin’ her.”

Joel swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

Tommy sighed again, but he wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Listen, man… You think you’re protectin’ yourself. Maybe even protectin’ them. But all you’re doin’ is makin’ everyone miserable—including yourself.” He shook his head. “She likes you, Joel. And if you don’t do somethin’ about it, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep, trying to keep himself together.

Tommy leaned back again, taking another sip of his beer before muttering under his breath, “Dumbass.”

Joel let out a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”

Tommy glanced at him. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure there was an answer.

It had been two days since you asked him to leave your shop—two days of silence, of walking around with a weight in his chest that wouldn’t let up. He’d thought giving you space was the right thing to do, but all it had done was leave him stewing in his own regrets.

What was there to do?

Showing up unannounced felt wrong. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to talk to him. Didn’t want to make you feel like he was forcing himself back into your life when you’d been so damn clear about needing him out of it.

But at the same time…

The thought of doing nothing was unbearable.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I dunno, Tommy.” His voice came out rough, tired. “She doesn’t wanna see me. Ain’t like I can just waltz in and—” He gestured vaguely. “Fix it.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Joel, I know this is hard for you, but you gotta quit makin’ excuses.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy wasn’t wrong.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “Just don’t wanna make it worse.”

Tommy scoffed. “Worse than sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Because, yeah. Maybe Tommy had a point.

Maybe he hadn’t gone to you yet because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face you. Wasn’t sure he could handle whatever look you’d give him—whether it was anger, disappointment, or worse… indifference.

He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

“Look, man.” Tommy’s voice softened. “I ain’t sayin’ you gotta show up at her door with a grand speech or some shit. But you love her, don’t you?”

Joel’s grip on his beer tightened. The word made his chest ache. Love.

Like it was something he could have again. Something he deserved.

Tommy saw the hesitation in his brother’s eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta say it. I already know. But if you sit around waitin’ for the perfect moment, you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Joel stayed quiet, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Tommy sighed again, standing up and clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Think about it, man.”

____________

Three days.

Three days since you told Joel to leave.

You had needed to do it. It was the right thing.

So why did it feel so goddamn awful?

The first day, you told yourself you were fine. You pushed through work, kept your head down, and ignored how your chest ached every time the door opened, but it wasn’t him. By the second day, Ellie had noticed something was wrong. She asked why Joel hadn’t stopped by, why you kept staring at your phone like you were expecting a message you’d never actually get. You made up an excuse about him being busy with work, but she wasn’t stupid.

By day three, the ache had settled in, deep and constant, and you hated it. Hated that despite everything, part of you missed him.

Because you shouldn’t.

Joel had spent years making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He glowered at you from across the room, spoke in clipped, dismissive sentences, and acted like your kindness was something he had to tolerate. You didn’t owe him anything.

Yet…

You curled your fingers around the counter, gripping it like it could anchor you and prevent you from sinking into this mess of feelings you didn’t want to deal with.

The truth was, you’d always liked Joel even when he was gruff, even when every conversation felt like pulling teeth. Even when you told yourself you didn’t.

There was something about him. Something steady. He had that quiet kind of strength that made people trust him without realizing they were doing it.

Joel was a good man. A good man. Even if he’d never shown you that side of himself.

Until he did.

Suddenly, he was fixing your floor without hesitation—without complaints, without a smug told-you-so attitude—until he kept finding more things to fix, as if he wanted a reason to stick around. Until he sat with Ellie, humoring her endless questions and listening as if what she said actually mattered.

And God—Ellie.

Your daughter had never warmed up to anyone so fast.

She wasn’t shy, but she was cautious. She tested people first, observed, and waited before she trusted them. But with Joel?

It was like she knew.

Like she’d been waiting for him just as long as you had.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

No.

You shut the thought down because this thing with Joel—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—was complicated. Messy.

Yet, standing there in the quiet, with the hum of the shop settling around you, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache curling deep in your chest.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe Joel hadn’t just been fixing things to make himself feel better. Perhaps he’d been trying—really trying—to make it up to you. To make room for you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter's edge like it could steady the spiral of thoughts spinning in your head.

Because the truth was, if you let yourself believe that… if you allowed yourself hope…and you were wrong? It would break something in you that might not be fixable.

But hadn’t Joel already cracked something open inside you?

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that you didn’t like him—that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter but then he started showing up. Not just in small ways, but significant ways.

Maybe, deep down, he’d always cared. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to show it.

You rubbed at your temple, frustration bubbling up because nothing was simple. Joel had spent years keeping you at a distance. Years convincing you that getting close to him wasn’t an option. That he didn’t want it.

So what changed?

What if this wasn’t real? What if he thought he wanted this, but deep down, it was just guilt or obligation?

God, you didn’t know what was worse—the possibility that you had let yourself get pulled into something doomed from the start, or the thought that maybe…Joel had finally figured out he wanted you too.

____________

You hadn’t planned on running into Tommy.

When you walked into the diner to grab lunch, you knew there was a chance. Knew this was his usual spot. Knew there was a slim possibility Joel could be here too.

But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here for them.

Yet, Tommy was sitting in his usual booth with a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him.

You tried to be subtle, to slip past before he noticed, but it was too late.

He was already sliding out of the booth, heading straight for you.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Don’t." You put up a hand before he could even open his mouth. "I don’t care what Joel told you—"

"I ain’t gonna defend him." Tommy’s voice was even, firm.

That made you blink. You had expected him to try to smooth things over, offer some kind of excuse, and “That’s just how he is” nonsense.

Instead, he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Trust me, I ain’t here to say he handled things right. He’s an idiot. Always has been."

That… surprised you. Your arms slowly lowered as you hesitated, watching him warily.

Tommy exhaled, glancing toward the window before looking back at you. "Look… Joel’s an odd one. Always has been. He’s never been good at bein’ open with how he feels, even before—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. You knew what he was going to say.

Even before Sarah.

Your stomach twisted.

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "But I know him. And I know he wouldn’t have offered to fix your shop’s floor if he didn’t want to."

That made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for because, deep down, you knew that.

Joel wasn’t the type to do anything he didn’t want to. He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent all that time fixing your shop, eating lunch with you, answering Ellie’s endless questions if he hadn’t wanted to.

But then why had he said what he said?

Why had he made it sound like your kindness was the problem?

"He didn’t just shut me out, Tommy." Your voice was quiet, but the hurt bled through. "He made me feel like I was too much. Like being nice to him was some kind of…burden."

Tommy sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know." He hesitated before continuing, his voice lower now. "Joel’s scared of shit he can’t control. And you… you make him feel things he doesn’t know what to do with."

You swallowed hard.

"That ain’t an excuse," Tommy added quickly, shaking his head. "He messed up. But I also know my brother. And if you think he ain’t been beatin’ himself up over it the last three days, you’re dead wrong."

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad for Joel after what he’d said.

You inhaled deeply, staring at the floor before glancing back at Tommy. "What do you think I should do?"

Tommy just raised a brow. "Ain’t my decision to make, darlin’."

You chewed on your lip, torn, emotions warring inside you.

You could walk away. Let this go. Pretend none of it mattered.

Or—

You could find out if Joel still had anything left to say.

____________

You barely recognized yourself. You had actually done it. Asked Tommy to send Joel to the shop—had lied to get him here.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms clammy as you gripped the counter, trying—and failing—to steady your breath.

Your phone buzzed—a message from Tommy.

He’s on his way. Thinks the back door fell off the hinges. Don’t be too hard on him.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t just a lie.

It was a trap.

The bell above the shop door chimed, and your stomach twisted.

Joel stepped inside, brow furrowed, toolbox in hand. His flannel was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and dust lingering on his jeans like he’d been in the middle of another job. His sharp eyes swept the shop before landing on you.

"Where is it?" he asked gruffly, nodding toward the back, already moving like he didn’t want to waste time.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the counter. "Joel." Something in your voice made him pause.

His shoulders stiffened, his back straightening as he turned to face you fully. "There’s nothing wrong with the door, is there?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "No."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the toolbox down with a thud. His jaw tightened like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

"So why am I here?" His voice was low, guarded.

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Joel was still. Unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look—if this is about the other day—"

"Of course, it’s about the other day, Joel." You stepped around the counter, arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me."

The words hung heavy in the air between you.

Joel flinched barely, but you caught it.

"I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I was an ass. Always have been."

"I don’t need an apology, Joel. I need to understand." You swallowed, your voice softer now. "You said you didn’t like that I was kind. That it bothered you." You exhaled slowly. "Why?"

Joel dragged a hand through his hair, looking away, tension bracketing his shoulders.

You waited. You wouldn’t push him, but you wouldn’t let him run either.

After a long moment, Joel sighed. "‘Cause it made me feel somethin’ I didn’t want to feel."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Joel's fingers flexed at his sides like he was wrestling with the words before he forced them out.

"I spent years keepin’ people at arm’s length. Safer that way. Easier. And then you came along—" He huffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "All sunshine and patience and...just wouldn’t quit, no matter how much of a bastard I was to you."

Your throat felt tight. "And you hated that?"

"No." His voice cracked, and that did something to you.

His eyes met yours, and Joel Miller looked wrecked for the first time since you’d met him. "I was scared of it."

The confession sat heavy between you, raw and real.

You took a slow step closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

Joel hesitated. “Sarah.”

Your heart clenched. You’d known. Tommy had told you. But Joel had never said her name before.

His voice was rough, like it scraped against something inside him. "She was sixteen. Had just gotten her license. Was drivin’ with a friend. Some asshole ran a red light." His throat bobbed, jaw clenched. "She didn’t make it."

A breath shuddered through you.

"Joel."

He shook his head like he didn’t want sympathy. Like he couldn’t take it.

"After that, I told myself I wasn’t gonna feel that kinda loss again. So I kept my distance. Didn’t let people get too close." His voice went even lower. "Then you show up. And Ellie—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "And suddenly, I got this ache in my chest I don’t know what to do with."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for his hand.

Joel tensed at first—like the touch was foreign, like he wasn’t used to being comforted—but he didn’t pull away.

"Let me be here for you." Your voice was soft and steady. "As a friend. As someone to lean on."

Joel's gaze flickered downward, settling where your hand rested against his.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, his fingers curled around yours—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold onto anything good. But he didn’t let go.

His hand was warm and rough, with calluses, but you squeezed it anyway, offering something solid and real.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t deserve comfort."

Your chest ached at how he said it—like it was fact, like it was something he’d told himself so many times it had become a part of him.

"That’s not true."

"It is." His voice was quiet but firm. "I failed her."

"Joel." You squeezed his hand tighter, forcing him to look at you. "It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what happened."

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering with something raw—something close to breaking.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was hoarse like the words were physically painful to say. "I was her damn father."

You swallowed hard, stepping closer, letting your free hand rest lightly against his forearm.

"And you loved her," you murmured. "With everything you had. And I know she knew that."

Joel let out a slow, shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

You watched him carefully, giving him a moment, letting him process.

Then, barely above a whisper. "You remind me of her." Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, searching like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud.

"Not that you’re the same," he added quickly, shaking his head. "But the way you…care. How warm you are. How you make people feel safe just by bein’ around." He exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "It scared the hell outta me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I never wanted to scare you, Joel."

"I know." He sighed, glancing down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed absently against your skin, and you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

You gave him a small, sad smile. "I see you. And I know what it’s like to carry something heavy alone."

Joel’s throat bobbed, his grip on you steady—solid in a way that felt grounding, like he wasn’t just holding your hand but holding you there, keeping you from slipping away.

For so long, he had only seen one version of you. The warm, unwavering light, the person who always had a kind word, a soft smile, a gentle touch.

But there was more to you.

You inhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him, something fragile in your expression. "I may seem like I have it all together, but..." Your voice wavered, fingers tightening slightly around his. "I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, Joel."

His brows furrowed, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I have moments where I feel like I’m failing Ellie. Like I’m not enough."

Joel stilled. That was a side of you he had never seen before.

Not once had he heard you doubt yourself. Not once had he seen that uncertainty in your eyes. You were always sure, always certain about everything, about everyone.

He had spent years pushing you away, thinking you were too good, too bright, too much of something he couldn’t handle.

But you weren’t invincible, and that realization wrecked him.

"I don’t always know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I try my best, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If I’m enough."

Joel shook his head immediately, as if the idea alone was wrong. "You are."

You exhaled, blinking quickly. "You don’t know that."

"I do." His voice was firm, with no hesitation. "You love that girl more than anythin’. And she knows it. That’s enough."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, looking away for a second. "You sound so sure."

"‘Cause I am."

The silence stretched thick with something unspoken and tender.

"She was like you. Strong. Always put everyone else first." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I used to tell her she worried too much about other people. She’d just smile and say, ‘Somebody has to, Dad.’"

Something inside you broke at that.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Sarah?"

Joel nodded, exhaling slowly. "She would’ve liked you," Joel added, his voice quieter now.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you pushed through them, stepping a little closer. "I would’ve liked her too."

Joel swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around yours.

"Guess this makes us friends?" Your voice was light and teasing—an attempt to break the tension and bring back some of that familiar warmth between you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected some grand declaration, but that? That hurt more than it should have.

You started to pull back, put some space between you, and guard yourself the way he always had, but then Joel’s grip on your hand tightened.

"You’re more than that."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you at first, just ran a rough thumb over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, like he was still getting used to the feeling of holding on.

"I don’t do this. Don’t talk about things. Don’t let people get close." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something he didn’t quite have the words for. "But you…"

His gaze lifted, finally meeting yours.

"You got under my skin. Drove me crazy, always bein’ so damn warm. Always smilin’, always makin’ sure everyone else was all alright." He huffed, shaking his head. "I told myself I hated it. Hated you."

His thumb kept moving over your skin, slow and steady, as it grounded him.

"But I never hated you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and warm all at once.

You swallowed hard, searching his face, trying to piece together what this was, what he was saying. "What does this mean?"

Joel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours like he was afraid to let go. "It means… I wanna try. If you’ll have me."

Your breath hitched.

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly. "If you feel the same. I don’t wanna push you or—"

"Joel." You smiled—soft, reassuring.

His eyes flicked to yours, cautious, uncertain.

"I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t feel the same."

Something shifted in him, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching.

His gaze dropped briefly, like he needed a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Then let me take you out." His voice was quiet but steady, rough around the edges in that Joel way, but full of something real. "A real date. Nothin’ fancy, just… me and you. See where this goes."

Your chest ached in the best way.

"You’re really askin’ me on a date, Miller?" you teased lightly, but there was a tremor of genuine emotion beneath your words.

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Damn right, I am."

Your fingers curled around his, a warmth spreading through you.

"Okay."

Joel blinked, like maybe he hadn’t let himself believe you’d actually say yes.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a full smile, but enough to make your heart stutter.

"Okay." He echoed, his voice quieter now, as if he was letting himself have this moment.

Like he was letting himself have you.

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cameronsbabydoll · 1 month ago

Text

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — EPILOGUE PART TWO

WARNINGS — woah where do i start…. warning it’s 5k words, sexism sorta, postpartum depression, pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling, there are a lot of time skips so be ware and it’s not really proofread sorry!

You had settled into a routine by now—waking up early, making breakfast for the kids, handling the school drop-offs, and managing the house while Rafe was off handling business. It wasn’t a bad life. The house was beautiful, your children were healthy, and you never had to worry about money.

But it was lonely.

Rafe was busy—always busy. If he wasn’t in meetings, he was on the phone. If he wasn’t on the phone, he was entertaining business partners. And if he was home, he was distracted, his mind somewhere else, even when he kissed your forehead in passing.

And now, you were pregnant. Again.

It wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t even unwelcome. But it made everything feel heavier, made the loneliness settle deeper in your chest.

Rafe had been thrilled when he found out. Not in a loud, over-the-top way, but in the way that mattered to him—ordering the best doctors, ensuring you had everything you needed, making arrangements before you could even process it. You barely had a chance to blink before a baby shower was being planned for you, without you even having a say in it.

"It needs to be done right," Rafe had told you, as if that was the end of the discussion. And for him, it was.

And maybe that’s what stung the most. That he cared about making everything perfect, but he didn’t see you.

Not like others did.

It started small.

A lingering glance at school pickup, a polite smile from one of the younger dads who had just moved into the neighborhood. A stranger at the grocery store, looking a little too long at you as you maneuvered the shopping cart, your bump straining against your dress. It wasn’t blatant. It wasn’t even inappropriate.

But it was there.

You were still in your twenties, still young despite everything. And maybe, for the first time in a while, you remembered that.

But if you noticed, Rafe definitely noticed.

You caught it in the way his arm slung around your waist more often, the way his hand stayed on your stomach in public, fingers splayed wide in a silent mine. The way his blue eyes darkened if someone so much as looked your way for too long.

"Maybe I should start having someone drive you," he had murmured one night, tracing circles over your hip as you lay in bed.

You blinked, shifting against the silk sheets. "What?"

"You shouldn’t be out running errands alone. Doing drop-offs alone. You’re pregnant, baby. You don’t need the stress."

"It’s not stressful," you argued lightly, but he just looked at you.

"Still."

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a decision.

And you felt the grip tighten.

—

The house was filled with people.

The wives had outdone themselves—floral arrangements in shades of blue, an elegant dessert table, expensive gifts wrapped in ribbon. You stood at the center of it all, smiling, nodding, letting them fawn over you.

"Three kids already? And you’re still so young!"

"I can’t imagine! You must be exhausted!"

"Rafe must just worship the ground you walk on!"

You wanted to laugh. But you didn’t. You just smiled.

Rafe was across the room, deep in conversation with his business partners, glass of bourbon in hand. He wasn’t really paying attention to you, but you could feel him watching.

Then, he beckoned you over.

You swallowed back a sigh and made your way through the crowd. As soon as you were within reach, Rafe’s hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers pressing into the lace of your dress.

"Gentlemen," he drawled, tilting his head toward his colleagues, "my wife."

The men looked you over, eyes lingering on your round belly, your wedding band, the way Rafe kept you tucked under his arm like a prized possession.

"Christ, Rafe," one of them chuckled, swirling his drink. "Already on your third? You’re gonna have your hands full."

"Oh, please. Look at her," another one scoffed. "She makes it look easy."

"Bet he doesn’t let you out of his sight, huh?" the first one continued, smirking. "A wife this young, this pretty… well I wouldn’t either."

Rafe laughed like it was a joke, but you felt his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your waist.

Your stomach twisted. It was always the same. The quiet condescension, the way they spoke about you like you weren’t standing right there. Like you were a thing.

"I’m going to check on the kids," you murmured to Rafe, carefully stepping away.

Before you could, Rafe’s hand slid down, giving your ass a quick, condescending pat. "Go on, mama. Make sure they’re not wrecking the place."

Heat crept up your neck, but you didn’t say anything. You just left.

And that was that.

—

After the baby shower, the house was finally quiet.

The kids were still up, playing in their room when you turned to Rafe.

"Can you put them to bed?"

Rafe blinked, like the request was something absurd. "Your serious?"

You nodded. "I just... I just need a minute."

He let out a sharp exhale but didn’t argue, tossing his drink onto the counter before heading upstairs.

"Alright, enough," Rafe announced, stepping inside. "Bedtime."

Your son looked up, frowning. "Where’s Mama?"

"She’s busy," Rafe said shortly, nudging him toward the bed. "What, you need her to tuck you in like a baby?"

Your daughter pouted. "But Mama does the bedtime stories."

"Yeah, well, she’s not here, so get over it," Rafe said, yanking back the blankets. "I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little boy and girl who went to bed when their dad told them to. The end."

Your son giggled. "That’s not a real story!"

"It is tonight," Rafe muttered.

Your daughter tilted her head. "Daddy, is the baby gonna sleep in here too?"

"Hell no," Rafe scoffed, tucking the blankets over her. "Baby’s gonna be keeping your mama up all night, not you two."

"But I wanna sleep with Mama," she whined.

"Well, too bad," Rafe said, ruffling her hair. "She’s mine."

By the time he returned to your bedroom, you were sitting on the bed, still in your delicate nightgown, eyes rimmed red.

"What’s this about?" His voice was lazy, almost amused.

You swallowed hard. "Nothing."

"No, go on. Let’s hear it. You’re crying in our thousand-dollar sheets—might as well tell me why."

Your fingers curled into the fabric. "You don’t even see me anymore."

He scoffed. "Oh, here we go."

"I’m always here, Rafe. Always pregnant, always taking care of the kids, always playing the perfect wife, and you just—"

You struggled for the words, pressing a hand over your belly. "I’m still so young. But I don’t even feel like a person anymore. I feel like—like an accessory to your life."

Silence.

And then—he laughed.

"Jesus, sweetheart. You’re really getting yourself worked up over nothing, huh?"

Your throat tightened.

He kissed your forehead like it was nothing.

"Go to bed, baby. You’ll feel better in the morning."

And then he pulled away.

Like the conversation didn’t even matter.

And you just laid there. Staring at the ceiling.

Still alone.

—

You woke up to the smell of coffee.

Not the comforting, homemade kind you would’ve made for yourself—freshly brewed, warm, familiar. No, this was the kind Rafe preferred. Strong. Expensive. Bitter.

The sound of distant voices carried through the house. You recognized Rafe’s—calm, controlled, the voice of a man who always had the final say. And then there was the kids'—lighter, full of energy, peppering him with questions.

You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before pushing yourself out of bed.

By the time you made it to the kitchen, Rafe was already dressed for the day—dark slacks, a fitted button-up, Rolex gleaming in the morning light. He barely looked up from his phone as he sipped his coffee, effortlessly ignoring the chaos of breakfast around him.

Your daughter was at the table, swinging her legs as she nibbled on a piece of toast. Your son, still in his pajamas, was pushing cereal around in his bowl with his spoon, more focused on staring at his dad than eating.

"Daddy, are you coming to my soccer game today?"

Rafe exhaled through his nose, finally glancing up. "What time is it?"

"After school!" your son said eagerly.

Rafe gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "We'll see."

You saw the way your son’s shoulders sank at the answer.

It was always the same. Maybe. We’ll see. I’ll try. But he never did.

"Eat your breakfast," you said gently, running your fingers through his hair as you moved past him toward the coffee machine.

Rafe’s gaze finally flickered to you as you poured yourself a cup. He let his eyes linger, taking in the way your nightgown clung to your body, the way your hair was still slightly messy from sleep.

"You were pouting last night," he murmured, voice just low enough for only you to hear.

You swallowed, keeping your attention on your coffee. "I wasn’t pouting."

"Mhm." He set his phone down, leaning back in his chair as he studied you. "You feeling better?"

You knew what he meant. Did you get over it? Did you come to your senses?

You forced a small nod. "Yeah. I’m fine."

His lips curved, satisfied. "Good girl."

You took a sip of your coffee, barely tasting it.

Your daughter swung her legs, looking up at Rafe. "Daddy, when is the baby coming?"

He smirked. "When it’s ready."

"But when is that?"

"Couple months," he said, finishing the last of his coffee. "Until then, you and your brother better behave for your mom, alright?"

Your son perked up. "What if the baby’s a boy? Can we name him after me?"

Rafe let out a sharp laugh. "No chance, buddy."

"What if it’s a girl?" your daughter asked, voice small.

"Then she’s never leaving this house."

You shot him a look, but he only smirked.

And that was that.

Rafe’s phone buzzed. A reminder. He sighed, pushing back from the table.

"I have to head out."

Your son looked up hopefully. "But what about my game?"

"I’ll try, alright?" Rafe said, ruffling his hair before standing up.

You bit your tongue.

He wasn’t coming.

He kissed your daughter on the forehead, gave your son one last pat on the back, then turned to you.

For a moment, you thought he’d just leave. That he’d say nothing and walk out the door.

But instead, his hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the silk of your nightgown. His grip was firm, just enough to remind you of exactly where you stood.

"You know I take care of you, right?" he murmured against your temple.

You froze, the words settling heavy in your chest.

"Of course."

"Good," he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "So don’t make me regret it."

It wasn’t a threat. Not really.

But it wasn’t nothing, either.

Then, just like that, he was gone.

And you were left standing in the kitchen, holding your coffee, pretending the walls weren’t closing in on you.

—

The school drop-off was routine, mechanical. You kissed your kids goodbye, fixed your son’s collar, smoothed down your daughter’s hair, and watched them run off toward their classrooms.

But today, instead of heading straight back to your car, you had a meeting with their teachers.

Your son’s teacher—Mr. Calloway—was young, maybe mid-thirties, and the kind of man who always smiled just a little too much. He was the new hire this year, fresh to the district, and while he wasn’t overly flirty, he was friendly.

Too friendly.

"Mrs. Cameron, always a pleasure," he greeted, standing as you entered his classroom.

"Just here for the progress update," you said politely, settling into the chair across from his desk.

"Of course," he said, sitting back down. "I have to say, your son is an incredibly bright kid. Very determined, very focused—definitely a leader."

You smiled. "He gets that from his dad."

"Ah," Mr. Calloway mused. "I should’ve known. I bet you two were high school sweethearts?"

You let out a small, breathy laugh. "Not exactly."

His eyes flickered over you, lingering just a second too long. "Well, either way, he’s lucky to have a mom who’s so involved. Not everyone takes the time to come in and meet with the teachers."

You nodded, shifting slightly in your seat, feeling just a little out of place under his gaze. "I just want what’s best for them."

"I can tell." He smiled, leaning back in his chair. "You’re… very devoted."

The conversation didn’t go much further than that, but what you didn’t notice—what you couldn’t have noticed—was that your kids saw. They were at the classroom door, waiting for you to finish, peeking in just in time to see their teacher smiling at you a little too much.

And later, they’d remember.

After the school drop-off, you decided to take a rare moment for yourself.

A spa day.

Nails—perfectly polished, a soft, delicate shade that Rafe liked. Hair—blown out, glossy, falling in effortless waves down your back. Wax—because you knew Rafe would notice if you didn’t.

For a few hours, you allowed yourself to breathe. To sit back and let someone else take care of you, even if it was only surface level.

But even then, you could still hear Rafe in your head. Look good. Stay polished. Be perfect.

So, you did.

—

The receptionist at Cameron Industries greeted you with a knowing smile when you arrived. She was used to this—used to the sight of you stepping into the building, perfectly put together, the ever-dutiful wife.

"He’s in a meeting, but he should be done soon," she told you.

You nodded, settling into one of the plush chairs in the waiting area.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafe emerged from his office, speaking in hushed tones with one of his business partners. But the second he saw you, his conversation halted.

His gaze swept over you, taking in your fresh hair, the flawless polish on your nails, the way your dress hugged your body just right.

"What’s this?" he asked, his voice almost amused as he approached.

"Lunch." You smiled, lifting the bag of food you had brought.

He hummed, grabbing your waist and pulling you in close. "And you didn’t bring me anything from home?"

"You like this place," you reminded him.

"I like you bringing me lunch," he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your jaw.

His business partner cleared his throat awkwardly. "We’ll finish this later."

Rafe barely acknowledged him, too busy looking at you.

"Come on," he muttered, guiding you into his office with a hand at the small of your back.

Lunch was quiet—just the two of you, seated in his office, him stealing bites from your plate, watching you like he was waiting for something.

You pretended not to notice.

Before you left, you kissed him goodbye and said, "Pick up the kids for me later? I have a doctor’s appointment."

He frowned slightly. "What appointment?"

"Baby checkup."

He sighed but nodded. "Fine."

—

Rafe hated school pick-ups.

Too many moms, too much noise, too many people thinking they had a right to speak to him.

When he pulled up in his car, stepping out in his crisp suit, sunglasses shielding his eyes, he already felt the eyes on him.

And then came the women.

"Mr. Cameron! It’s so nice to finally see you do pick-up!"

"Your wife is just the sweetest."

"Oh, finally the famous husband makes an appearance!"

Rafe gritted his teeth, nodding politely, but when one of them—one who was far too bold—reached out to touch his arm, he immediately stepped back.

"I have a wife." His tone was flat, uninterested.

The woman flushed, stammering, "Oh, of course, I just—"

"Daddy!" His daughter’s voice cut through the conversation as she ran toward him, his son following closely behind.

Rafe crouched slightly, scooping her up with one arm while ruffling his son’s hair. "C’mon. Let’s go."

The car ride was quiet, at first.

Then, his son spoke.

"Mommy’s teacher was nice to her today."

Rafe’s hands tightened on the wheel. "What?"

"Our teacher!" his daughter chimed in. "He was so nice to Mommy. He smiled at her a lot."

Silence.

Then—Rafe let out a slow exhale, his grip on the wheel firm.

"Did he?"

His son nodded. "Yeah. He said she was real devoted."

Another long silence.

His daughter, ever the curious one, tilted her head. "Why are you mad?"

"I’m not mad," Rafe said smoothly.

"You look mad," his son pointed out.

Rafe smirked. "That’s because I’m your father."

His daughter frowned. "But Mommy doesn’t get mad like that."

His smirk deepened. "That’s because Mommy’s not in charge."

Neither of them really understood what he meant.

But soon enough, they would.

—

The day had come, quiet and steady, just like everything in your life with Rafe. The labor had started early in the morning, and, as always, Rafe was there—looming in the background, his presence as suffocating as it was constant. His hand never left yours, his voice a low, commanding whisper, reminding you that this was all part of his plan for you, for your family.

When your baby arrived, small and fragile but perfect, it was another moment marked in Rafe’s meticulous timeline of control. His eyes were on the baby, but his hand was still firmly pressed against your shoulder, as if to remind you that you were his—always.

You smiled weakly at the tiny bundle in your arms, feeling exhausted and disconnected. Rafe’s pride filled the room, but something else lingered in the air—a quiet tension that you couldn’t ignore. You had been through this before, but this time, something felt different. The fatigue weighed heavily on your shoulders, both physical and emotional.

The kids visited later that day, their excitement palpable as they gazed at their new sibling. They climbed onto the hospital bed, giggling and asking questions, completely unaware of the shifting undercurrents in your life.

“Mommy, is he gonna be just like us?” Your son asked, his innocent gaze full of curiosity.

You smiled, though it felt strained. “He’ll be his own person,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. But deep down, you wondered if Rafe would allow him to be anything but what he envisioned.

Rafe stood nearby, arms crossed, watching over you all. He answered the kids’ questions, but his tone was clipped, possessive. Even in this tender moment, he couldn’t help but assert control. His eyes never left you, never left the children. It was as if he was taking a mental tally of everything that was his.

Later that night, as the kids were tucked into bed, you lay there, exhausted, the hum of the hospital room filling the space between you and Rafe. He was beside you, his hand resting on your stomach as it had done so many times before. His lips brushed your forehead, but his words were sharp.

“You did good,” Rafe murmured, though the praise was almost patronizing, as if he were acknowledging your success in fulfilling his plan.

You barely nodded, too tired to respond, too worn down to argue. Rafe always had a way of making you feel like an extension of his control rather than someone with their own needs or desires. And tonight, it hit harder than ever.

—

The days blurred together. The exhaustion of childbirth and the endless cycle of late-night feedings, diaper changes, and caring for your two older children drained you, both physically and emotionally. Postpartum depression settled in quietly, like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was as distant as ever, caught up in his business, still dominating every part of your life. He made sure you were well taken care of—everything had a price. You didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, not with the kids to care for and a house to maintain. You were expected to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother. But you were tired—so, so tired.

You barely had time to reflect, but there were moments when you would catch yourself staring at the reflection in the mirror, wondering if this was truly all there was. Were you just a reflection of what Rafe wanted? Were your needs ever truly yours, or had they become another part of the life he controlled?

One evening, after another long day, you sat in the nursery, the quiet hum of the night surrounding you. The baby slept peacefully in his crib, your older kids long since tucked into bed. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been sitting there, the weight of it all pressing on your chest, making it harder to breathe.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. It was a text from Rafe, his usual short and demanding message: “Where are you?”

You exhaled slowly, wiping away the tear that had escaped. You didn’t answer right away. You were exhausted. You were worn out.

But then, you heard him outside the door, his footsteps heavy, steady, like they always were when he was about to remind you of your place.

He stepped in without knocking, his eyes immediately scanning the room, assessing everything. “What are you doing?” His voice was cold, calculating.

“I was just checking on the kids.” You replied quietly, though you knew it wasn’t a satisfactory answer in his eyes.

He stepped closer, his hand on your back as he looked down at the baby. His grip was possessive, like everything in your life was something he needed to control, to own. His gaze softened for just a moment, but then it hardened again. “You should be in bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar tightness in your chest. “I’m just tired, Rafe. I’m so tired,” you whispered, not looking up.

He sighed, his breath heavy with frustration. “You’ll get through it. We’ll get through it.” His words sounded more like a command than comfort.

And just like that, the moment passed. You stood up and walked out of the room, Rafe’s eyes never leaving you. There was no tenderness in his touch, no softness in his words. Only the constant weight of his control, pressing down on you like the gravity of the life he had built.

You didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending that this was enough.

But soon enough the house had returned to its usual rhythm. The kids were growing, and Rafe’s business was thriving. But the exhaustion didn’t leave. Neither did the loneliness.

You had grown quieter, more withdrawn. Your conversations with Rafe had become more strained, the distance between you two growing with each passing day. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was that he didn’t know how to show it, beyond keeping you in your place.

The kids, now more aware, had started to ask questions. They could see the difference between how Rafe was with them and how he was with you. Your son once asked, “Why does Daddy talk to you like that? Why does he get so mad when you’re just trying to help?” You didn’t have an answer for him.

—

The sun hung low over the country club, bathing everything in a warm, golden hue. The sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air, echoing the vibrant energy of the place. It felt like it had been a lifetime since that first day you had met Rafe here. So much had changed, yet in some ways, it still felt like you had never left.

You stood at the same table where it all began, your newborn securely nestled in your arms, the familiar weight of motherhood grounding you. Dressed in an elegant dress that accentuated your figure, you sparkled with diamonds that had become as much a part of you as the life you’d built with Rafe. Your two older children played nearby, their giggles lifting your spirits even higher. You couldn’t help but marvel at how far you had come—three kids, a diamond-studded life, and a man whose presence still anchored you in ways you never thought possible.

Rafe stood next to you, his presence as commanding as ever. His eyes scanned the room with that same sharp, calculating gaze. He was still the man you had met all those years ago, but somehow, now there was a sense of permanence, like the world had shifted to accommodate him—and you.

But then, a voice cut through the air, familiar and bittersweet.

“Is this really you?” Your old best friend stood before you, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of you—the diamonds, the children, the whole picture. It was as if she had stepped into a dream, but not a dream she was part of.

You turned and smiled, but it wasn’t the same easy grin you would have given her years ago. Things had changed between you. Things had changed because of Rafe.

“It’s really me,” you said, your smile still warm, but a little guarded. You motioned to the children, to Rafe. “And it’s really this.”

Your old best friend didn’t try to hide the surprise in her eyes. She took a long, lingering look at Rafe, her gaze unreadable. Her lips tightened slightly as she glanced back at you.

“You’re really... here. With him.” Her words weren’t filled with malice, but there was an edge to them—something that hadn’t been there before.

Rafe, who had been half-paying attention to the exchange, finally stepped in, his gaze shifting briefly to your friend. His presence seemed to cast a shadow over the conversation, the dominance he exuded undeniable.

“She’s mine,” he said coldly, his voice carrying a sharp finality. “And everything you see here is because of that.”

Your old best friend raised an eyebrow at him, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she turned back to you, her eyes softening, though the skepticism never fully left them.

“I always wondered if you’d end up like this,” she said quietly, as if thinking aloud. “Three kids. A diamond ring. In your twenties. Still here, living this life. You always had it in you. But not like this. Not because of him.”

You felt a pang in your chest. She had always seen through Rafe, always known the side of him you tried so hard to ignore. But she had also never fully understood what you had with him—what it meant, the cost of it all.

“I made my choice,” you said, the words almost to yourself. “You saw the side of him I couldn’t deny. But I... I don’t know. Maybe it was always meant to be like this.”

Your friend’s eyes flickered to Rafe again, a flicker of disdain there, but she said nothing. It wasn’t her place to comment on how your life had turned out, even if she didn’t agree with it. She glanced down at your newborn, her expression softening, but then she straightened, taking a step back, clearly uncomfortable.

“I just... I never thought it would be this way,” she admitted, the bitterness mixing with something like sadness in her voice. “But I guess it is.”

You nodded, a silent understanding passing between you. You didn’t need her approval. You had come to terms with everything Rafe had made you into, even if that meant alienating the people you once cared for.

The kids came running over, breathless and excited, pulling you from the weight of the conversation. “Mom! Look, we found a fountain!” your son exclaimed, tugging at your sleeve. Your daughter grinned, her eyes sparkling with joy.

You smiled at them, but then turned to your friend, who was watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and something darker. “Be careful, you don’t want to fall in,” you teased, reaching down to pull your son away from the water’s edge.

As the children ran off again, you felt Rafe’s presence next to you, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was keeping an eye on the situation, his mind already working through what was said, what had happened. His hand tightened on you briefly, a reminder of who you belonged to.

“You’re mine,” he murmured into your ear, a soft growl in his voice. “I don’t share. Not with anyone.”

You could hear the possessiveness in his tone, the way he made it clear to your best friend—and to the world—that you were his and no one else’s. And you couldn’t deny it. You weren’t just his wife. You were everything he had made you. A trophy. A possession. A woman defined by the choices you’d made and the life he had created for you.

Your old friend gave a small, almost pitying smile, but didn’t say anything else. She watched as you turned your attention back to the children, back to the life that was yours now.

Rafe’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his eyes hardening as he observed the rest of the world.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice low, his possessiveness ever-present. “We don’t need to linger here.”

The sun was setting, the golden light casting long shadows over the country club. It was picturesque, everything perfect in its place. And as you stood there, surrounded by your children, your diamond-studded life, and the man who had made it all possible, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of something deep inside.

This was your life. And while it hadn’t been easy, and maybe not everything was what it seemed, you couldn’t deny the power of the life Rafe had given you. And as you looked back at your best friend, still standing there watching from a distance, you realized that this was the life you’d chosen.

And maybe that was enough.

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dntaed · 2 months ago

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﹅ 𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙎 ◞ j. todd & d. grayson.

SYNOPSIS: How do the batboys show their love to you?

A/N: If you recognise this type of series it's because I already posted this series before and I've just brought it back to life. It was one of my favourites!

✹ ꕀ M.LIST ; AO3!

@ 𝘿𝙄𝘾𝙆 𝙂𝙍𝘼𝙔𝙎𝙊𝙉

WONDERWALL: Dick is utterly captivated by you, unable to escape the gentle pull you have on him. His thoughts naturally wander back to you, no matter where he is or what he’s doing. The flower shop across the street from his apartment reminds him of the way you smile when you see fresh blooms. The warm cup of coffee in his hand brings to mind your laugh shared over countless café visits. Even the melodic song playing on the radio seems to echo your voice, leaving him lost in the memories of moments spent together. Every part of his day feels touched by you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

BUTTERFLIES: For a man as confident and experienced as Dick, his reaction to you is a mystery even to himself. Why does he suddenly lose his words when you're around? Why does his heart race, his breath hitch, and his usually steady voice falter? He’s never understood the cliché of “butterflies in the stomach” until now, but with you, it’s as if they’ve taken permanent residence. And strangely, he doesn’t fear them. On the contrary, he treasures the fluttering chaos you bring into his life, embracing the vulnerability you stir within him.

TO THE WORLD: While he might be bashful in your presence, Dick’s shyness vanishes when it comes to showing you off. He takes pride in being with you, in letting the world know that he’s yours and you’re his. His touch is constant—an arm resting around your shoulder, fingers threaded through yours, a warm hand resting lightly on your waist. In his eyes, you’re a treasure he’s lucky to have, and he makes sure everyone knows just how grateful he is to be with you. His actions are both a promise and a declaration: you’re the center of his world.

SACCHARINE: Dick’s love is a sugary-sweet devotion that knows no bounds. It’s in the gentle kiss on your forehead that wakes you in the morning, the perfectly prepared breakfast waiting for you—your favorite, of course. He anticipates your every need, from packing your lunch to knowing your schedule better than you do. His phone lights up with a special ringtone just for you, and his heart skips a beat every time it does. Throughout the day, he sends you little messages, checking in and reminding you how much he adores you. And when the day is done, he’s there, waiting with open arms to welcome you back home, where you belong.

♥︎

♥︎ ♥︎

@ 𝙅𝘼𝙎𝙊𝙉 𝙏𝙊𝘿𝘿

PROCESS: Jason’s love is a journey—slow, steady, and deliberate. It unfolds one step at a time, built on the foundation of mutual trust and understanding. At the start, he wrestles with unfamiliar feelings, trying to push past his instinct to hold back. But you teach him patience, reminding him that boundaries are just as vital as vulnerability. With every shared moment, every quiet conversation, he learns to open up, to let you in. The path may be long and winding, but the bond you create is worth every effort, a reward neither of you takes for granted.

REVERY: Jason’s life is a constant storm, weighted by responsibilities and the ghosts of his past. Crime Alley, his vigilante work, and the fragile threads of family ties often leave him tense and restless. But with you, he finds something rare: peace. In your presence, his defenses soften, his shoulders lose their rigidity, and his gaze takes on a gentleness that’s reserved for you alone. Your touch steadies him, your voice soothes the chaos in his mind. You are his haven, his reprieve from a world that rarely gives him rest.

THE ONE: For Jason, you aren’t just someone he loves—you’re his everything. In a crowded room, his eyes find yours first. His hands instinctively reach for you, seeking the comfort only you can provide. Your name is always on his lips, whether he’s asking for you, talking about you, or just thinking aloud. No matter who else vies for his attention, you remain his first choice. From mundane errands to quiet nights at home, he wants you by his side, sharing in every moment, big or small.

NOT ONLY LOVERS: With Jason, your relationship goes beyond romance—you’re his best friend, his confidant, his partner in every sense of the word. Before love blossomed, your bond was built on trust and camaraderie. You’re the one he can laugh with until his stomach hurts, the one he can stay up all night talking to about everything and nothing. Inside jokes, shared secrets, and endless conversations are the foundation of your connection. Together, you’ve created a love that’s as deep as it is unshakable, one rooted in friendship and nurtured by unwavering loyalty.

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novvabee · 2 months ago

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Birthday Present

Summary: poly!marauders x reader, you give Sirius a cute gift

cw: suggestiveness if you squint, general fluff

word count: 1K

“Ok now open your eyes!” You said excitedly to your boyfriend.

He was covering his eyes with his hands, being led by James and Remus on either side.

This elaborate surprise all started about a month ago. Sirius’s birthday was quickly approaching, the first birthday out of all of you. You knew that you wanted to do something special for him. You knew that he was almost impossible to shop for, he has everything he needs or wants, he is terrible at saving his money and impulsively buys whatever he wants when he sees it.

The few things you knew you could buy for him, James and Remus had already got for him. Remus a few new vinyl records and James a pair of brand new black Converse.

It was you who brainstormed those ideas up and your boyfriends took them right out from under you before you got the chance to go out and buy them yourself. Those assholes. Those absolutely lovely, kind, and caring assholes.

You knew that you had to go in a different direction, then. You also wanted to upstage the two idea thieves slightly, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud.

You then remembered a charm that you could try and teach yourself. You didn’t have long to learn and practice it, especially when all three of your boyfriends were attached at the hip, attached at your hip. You weren’t exactly complaining, you loved them, but you couldn’t exactly practice your surprise in front of the birthday boy and you didn’t trust James and Remus to not ruin the surprise for Sirius.

So that meant sneaking off in the middle of the night most nights, slipping out of the comfort of your boyfriends warm embraces and the soft cozy bed. But you would do it if it meant you could see a smile on Sirius’s face.

So you practiced and practiced all those late nights for this exact moment.

Sirius dropped his hands and opened his eyes. He blinked at you standing in the middle of your shared bedroom. He looked slightly confused.

“Are you my present, love?” he said in a suggestive tone.

You giggled in reply before muttering the complex incantation. Once the last syllable left your lips, the room became lit in a magical glow. The roof appearing to fall away and a universe of stars and planets taking its place.

All three of your boyfriends looked up in awe.

Sirius was the first to step forward, still entranced in the charm. His eyes scanned from point to point, from star to magic star. He smiled, face glowing from the blues and purples being reflected on him by your little trick.

You thought for a moment that maybe you should have gotten him something. This wasn’t a tangible or memorable object that he could have. You waited for a moment before explaining yourself. “Look, I know its not much,” you started, “I just- I thought that I could-”

“This is amazing!” Sirius exclaimed. “I- how did you…” Sirius seemed to be at a loss for words, stepping under the small universe you created.

“This is beautiful,” James spoke up.

“It's incredible,” Remus agreed.

You felt better about the charm now. You thought that maybe your present wasn’t enough, that maybe you could just say this was what you could come up with as a sort of place holder until you could get a real gift. But their reactions, Sirius’s reaction in particular, set your mind at ease.

“Look!” Sirius said joyfully, grabbing Remus’s hand and pulling him to the center of the room. “It's all of us.”

“All of us?” James asked, amused and confused.

Sirius motioned up at the magic ceiling, ponting at the moon “Well, here’s Moony of course,” He pointed out the brightest shining star in the corner of the room, hanging above the bed, “That’s me, the Sirius star,” he then made his way to drag James under the glowing sun. “And here you are.”

You smiled ear to ear. “Yeah, I guess that is all of you.” you said, admiring your work.

“And you.” Sirius said from across the room, still holding James’s hand.

“And me?” you repeated to him, confused.

He crossed the room to where you had planted yourself since the big reveal. He closed the gap and cupped your face in both hands, tilting your head up to look at him. You were met with the glow of his eyes, both from the magic ceiling you had created and from the look of pure love and joy he was giving you. He looked so beautiful.

“You are the galaxy that holds us all together, without you, there would be no reason for us to shine now would there?” You weren’t too sure about his logic, but it was sweet nonetheless. You turned your face to kiss the inside of his palm and smiled at the feeling of his warmth.

Later that night, once all the gifts were given, when you were through with your fancy dinner date, after you all sang happy birthday and sat in your living room to eat the cupcakes you made for Sirius, when you all crawled into bed, Sirius nuzzled closer to you.

His head on your chest, his body almost fully encapsulating your own. You played lightly with the ends of his hair, twirling them softly between your fingers. You heard James and Remus sleeping, breathing long and deep, cozied up with one another.

“Love,” Sirius said softly, as not to wake the other two.

You hummed a response.

“That spell,” He started, “Is it… difficult?”

“Not at all.” you answered him. You had practiced it over and over to the point where you could probably do it in your sleep.

“Well… that’s good.” He said. You got the impression that there was more he wanted to say about it, but had become shy.

“What about it, Siri? You wanna learn it?” You asked. You would gladly teach it to him if he wanted, again, you had practiced it so much you could teach it to him easily.

“No,” He said sleepily, “But could you maybe do it again? Before we go to bed?”

You smiled and whispered the spell. The room lit yet again with the stars and planets. Sirius smiled slightly, eyes taking the whole picture in. You both laid there, under the stars and watched the beautiful night sky, just holding each other and appreciating the beauty before sleep eventually took over you both.

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stellarsagittarius · 1 year ago

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✨️🪐 7H in your Birth Chart: How you will meet your Future Spouse / Soulmate 🪐✨️

[Exchange readings open! Me (Astrology) x You (Tarot)] You can message me with your offer 🫶🏼.] CLOSED

7H ruler in 1H

You will most likely meet your soulmate through a place where you are the center of attention, but this doesn't have to be something grand. Just them coming across your social media profile is a great example. You might be fairly closed off in the beginning to them, almost inaccessible. These are more informal places, where it concerns nobody but you. This is a place where you play an important role with either your looks or your thoughts. "You," are the focus.

7H ruler in 2H

You can meet them when you are shopping. Like this is THE example that came to my mind. Places could be banks, malls, stores, even restaurants. This meeting is more steady, like there is no rush, and there is a certain stability to how the meeting proceeds. Go to your favorite restaurants and coffee shops often, you can really bump into them over there. This is also a place where you get some sort of work done on your body, so consider salons, parlours, tattoo shops, etc.

7H ruler in 3H

You are supposed to be meeting them in a locality or neighborhood you visit often. This may even be your hometown. Meeting through siblings or very close cousins is a thing as well. This relationship can start off on social media as well, more on the side of common interests and communication. This can be that one thing where your person has been hidden in plain sight all along.

7H ruler in 4H

This meeting has high chances of happening through either of your parents or close family members. This is more of a traditional placement and in a sense, more slow and gradually building up. This person really is coming at your doorstep, but only when you know you aren't "closing yourself off." Their is a bit of being emotionally guarded in the initial phases of your relationship. You may quite literally meet them at your home, like a delivery person or someone from service like replace AC or fix wires.

7H ruler in 5H

You are meeting them when you are having a fun time. Partying and clubbing is one thing, and if you are into that then there is a chance this relationship can start off as a one night thingy. Otherwise consider picnics, hikes or even just going on a date by yourself. This is an activity you really enjoy and are doing it for the sake of simply doing it. There is no responsibilities or things you have to comform to. You may also meet them through a kid or around some sort of kindergarten/nursery/daycare.

7H ruler in 6H

Oh this one is like that one character which hasn't been unlocked yet, but are around you all the time. They are a part of your routined life, and you can meet them while running errands, at the gym or while on the commute. This is the hidden in plain sight type of person. Continue with your daily life, go on that walk, go to the gym, grab the lunch and they are somewhere around. The first meeting is going to be quite steady, and everything will gradually develop from there.

7H ruler in 7H

This meeting is going to very special, in a way that you won't feel like someone else has a hand here. You will feel like it's just you and your person, whatever the situation. This could start as a partnership of some sort or a friendship. You will meet them more from their efforts, they will make the first contact. There is no hidden meaning or other intentions behind them approaching you. It's very direct, mainly because they want to get to know you. You can meet them anywhere, honestly, with this placement, but it will be more one-on-one. Like believe me, you won't have any other work besides them when you meet them. It's a great thing to have the ruler of your 7H in 7H, so this explaination definitely deserved a longer explanation. You are one of those people who are actually going to be in a strong soulmate connection that will be very prominent in your life. This is magical, even I don't know how to explain this. Look for any placements in your 7H, that will tell you specific qualities about your Soulmate, and perhpas give you specific insights on the meeting!

7H ruler in 8H

You will meet them through other people or through things having to do with other people. It's like a series of events that other people have you involved in, and then you bump into them. Like your friend asked you to accompany them to a party, and then they are like, "Hey, meet this person. They are very cool!" And that person they introduced you to turns out to be your soulmate. You may meet them though after some sort of hardship or change in your life, like a transformative one.

7H ruler in 9H

You can meet them through travel or on social media. Let's just say it, there is a physical distance between you both initially, and they may even be from another culture/country. The 9H always has a foreign connection, always! You may meet them on vacation or while on a work trip. There is also going to be a very interesting few exchanges, like they are from a different place and so you are, and you will have that natural curiosity to understand each other.

7H ruler in 10H

You will meet them through work or some sort of work network. The initial meeting could be very formal and you may have this tendency to think of your "image" in front of them, like wanting to make a good impression, etc. This is not necessarily a co-worker, that's more of a 6th house thing. They are someone new you happen to connect with because of work, like someone a rank lower or high than you, or some new business partner. Common work is something connecting both of you.

7H ruler in 11H

You can meet them through mutual friends, communities or networks. This is a more relaxed scenario, like I know a lot of people aren't just out there social, but think of it as going to a college party with some of your friends and that's where you find your person. It is not "through" someone, instead you will initiate that conversation yourself because you genuinely find them interesting, and then perhaps you get to know that you have shared acquaintances. It's a social place, somewhere you are out of your shell and making other connections.

7H ruler in 12H

You can meet them through some sort of solo activity. Like it is solitude. So maybe you are in a new country and don't know anyone just yet. Some places are hospitals, retreats, meditation centers, certain places of worship, or even certain abandoned places. It is a very calming meeting, like there will be a lot of peace in this. You may even happen to dream of them before you meet. There could be a bit of mystery to the first few meetings. This is a supposed to be a connection that will help you release a lot of karma.

Check out more Astrology content on my page 🎀🫶🏼.

#astrology #natal chart reading #astrology readings #astrology husband #future spouse #astrology chart readings #natal chart

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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My Wife

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!secret wife!reader

Summary: While you're out running errands, a man takes a special interest in you. When he grabs you and thanks a police officer for finding you, his wife, he doesn't expect it to be your husband.

Warnings: angst?, stalking, non-consensual touching (not sexual), protective and angry Tim Bradford, fluff

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (the req said 😑 but this is 😐)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The small band on your left ring finger is the only evidence that you are married. Your husband doesn’t talk about you, yet it is clear that he loves you. When you wake up and find yourself alone in bed, you aren’t surprised. There’s a jewelry box on your nightstand with only one piece of jewelry in it, and you smile when you see there is a piece of paper lying across it.

Meet me at noon.

Tim Bradford is a man of few words, you know that well, but the idea of seeing him during a workday excites you. His secrecy regarding you and your relationship is understandable, but that doesn’t make it easier or help you miss him less. With the prospect of lunch with your husband to look forward to, you happily get out of your warm bed and begin getting ready for the day. You have several errands to run today, but you hope the morning goes quickly. Tim’s note is just as short as most of his speech, but you know exactly where you’re supposed to meet him.

While Tim leaves the station to go on patrol, you leave your house to go to your first stop. The store is nearly empty this early on a weekday, but you enjoy being able to browse without a rush. After finding everything you need, plus a few more items, you head toward the front of the store to pay for the items. In all the time you’ve spent moving through the store, you haven’t noticed one other customer.

From the moment you walked in, a man lurking in the center aisle took a special interest in you. He stayed back far enough that you wouldn’t get suspicious. When you pass him on your way to the checkout area, he decides that following you around the store isn’t enough, he wants to know where you go next and if the ring on your finger is worth anything. Monetary value or sentimental value, he doesn’t care, he just can’t let you out of his sight.

While loading your purchases into your car, you feel the unmistakable sensation of eyes on you. The area is growing busier, however, so you brush it off as someone trying to decide if they recognize you or are zoned out. Tim wouldn’t be happy about the lack of situational awareness, but he also knows what it is like to have people stare shamelessly at him.

The man drives his unassuming sedan two cars behind you and follows you to your next stop. It’s clear that you are shopping for a man, now, and the creep behind you is getting jealous. Your thoughts are completely consumed by Tim and what you are getting for him, so you don’t take notice of any of the men in the store. When you unlock your phone to check your list, you sigh at the time. 10:58 a.m. Noon is taking forever, and you are ready to see Tim.

With time for another stop or two, you leave, once again oblivious to the man following you. The pet store isn’t on your list, but when you see a sign for a buy one, get one sale on dog treats and toys, you make a sudden decision to get Kojo a few things as well. His dad can’t have all the attention, after all. In his car behind you, the man curses at your sudden turn and finds another entrance into the parking lot. Rather than following you in and risking losing you, he parks down the row from your car and waits for you to exit. You have two overflowing bags in your hands, and he considers for a moment jumping out and offering to help, but you stop by your car and set a bag down to open the door. It’s clear that you can take care of yourself, but you seem prone to having lapses in attention and failing to take in your surroundings, so the man decides to wait for a better opportunity to make something of you and the ring on your finger.

You are giddy with anticipation of presenting Kojo with all of his gifts. Now that you have more for him than you’ve purchased for you or Tim, you get back to your planned errands. There’s one store close to the place where you’re supposed to meet Tim, and with half an hour to spare, you decide to browse there. At ten ‘til noon, you park beside the small circle of food trucks. Living in Los Angeles has taught you never to leave anything visible in your car and the trunk liner Tim installed to hide your belongings is properly concealing your innumerable bags. Confident that everything is secure, you lock your car and walk toward Tim’s favorite truck. You’re early, so you take a seat and wait for him.

The man from the first store orders something from a food truck to blend in and sits almost directly behind you. He can tell that you are waiting for someone, but when he sees a cop approaching, he has a brilliant and devious idea. You stand as the police officer – your police officer - enters the dining area, and the man stands immediately after.

“Hey,” Tim greets with a smile. His smile drops as he watches a man move behind you, and his face remains impassive as he begins speaking.

“Officer,” the man behind you says. He releases an overly dramatic sigh as his hand wraps around your upper arm. His thumb digs into your skin, and your eyes widen slightly as you watch Tim. “Thank you for finding my wife, Officer… Bradford. She wanders off sometimes. What have I told you about paying attention, pretty girl?”

Tim’s face hasn’t changed since the man stood, and anger flares in his eyes. You watch as his jaw clenches, anticipating what he is going to do.

“Get your hand off my wife,” Tim demands lowly.

The hand around your arm tightens harshly, and he jerks you backward in his anger. He’s also confused because all of his hard work is slipping away; he doesn’t believe that a cop’s wife would be as careless as you and miss someone following her. So, he pulls you back as he moves and prepares to say more.

Tim expected a similar reaction, and the moment you step to the side to catch yourself, he surges forward and shoves the man off of you. When the creep hits the concrete, Tim rolls him onto his stomach and plants his knee directly between his kidneys. As the man groans in pain, Tim secures his handcuffs on his wrists and quickly recites his Miranda rights before calling for backup. Tim stands and you move to press a hand against his back. It’s a reminder that you are there, and that you’re safe because of him.

“Tim,” you begin quietly. “Do you want me to leave before everyone gets here? Or give them my maiden name?”

Tim shakes his head, but his eyes remain on the cuffed man writing in pain below him. “No. You’re my wife,” he answers.

You smile, and when Tim turns to check on you, some of the tension drains away. He moves a hand to your shoulder, and you know what he’s saying without speaking. You nod, a confirmation that you love him too.

“Bradford,” Nolan calls as he exits the shop. “What can we do?”

“Someone get him to booking, and we need statements,” Tim answers, effortlessly shifting into cop mode rather than husband mode. “Charge him with assault.”

“And stalking,” you add. “He’s been following me all morning.”

“You knew?” Tim and the man ask together.

“Suspected it after the second store, and I have a picture of him watching me when I left the pet store,” you explain.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tim asks.

“I was going to, but he beat me to it.”

Nolan asks you to step to the side with him and give him your statement. Tim nods to remind you that you can tell the truth. The secrecy is to keep you safe from people who would hurt you, not other cops.

“Can I get your name first? And any ID you have?” Nolan begins kindly.

You say your name and pass your driver’s license to him.

“Bradford?” Nolan asks. His shock is evident, and you press your tongue to your cheek, so you don’t laugh.

“Yes, sir. Where should I start my statement?”

“Uh, at- at the beginning. Just run me through your day.”

Nolan clearly has trouble listening, but he powers through the distraction and takes thorough notes. When Tim moves to your side and says he’ll bring you by to sign it later, Nolan wants to ask countless questions.

“So, that guy said he was your husband to your husband?” Nolan clarifies.

“Yep,” you answer.

Nolan turns to Tim and lowers his voice to ask, “You have a wife?”

“And I’m sure you will tell everyone,” Tim replies. “Just go file the report and we’ll be by in a bit.”

Nolan nods and rushes back to the shop. Tim waits until the other officers pull away to wrap his arms around you. Safe against Tim’s chest, you move your arms to circle his waist and sigh against him.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies without hesitation. “Are you okay? How’s your arm?”

“I’m okay,” you promise.

“What’d you get at the pet store?” he asks with a smile.

“Too much.”

“Kojo will be a happy boy.”

“What now?”

Tim leads you to your car and tells you to drive home. He follows you in his shop to take you back to the station. The moment you walk in with him, someone throws a handful of rice.

“Great,” Tim grumbles. “I didn’t think he’d start blabbing this soon.”

“I kinda like this,” you say. “About time I get to show you off.”

Tim rolls his eyes but lays a gentle hand on your lower back to lead you through the station. He introduces you to several people and endures jokes and teasing from each of them. If he wasn’t so grateful that you’re safe and uninjured, he’d put an end to the comments from his fellow officers, but he’s too distracted by you at his side to care much.

“So, you’re the secret wife that got assaulted while standing with your cop husband,” Wade muses.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you ask.

He shrugs and pulls you into a quick hug. Lucy and Nolan gasp from beside him.

“You knew?” they ask loudly.

“Course I did. I was at the wedding.”

“I was too,” Angela adds from her desk. “It’s nothing personal, you know. Tim just doesn’t like you as much.”

Tim shakes his head before asking everyone to be quiet. He stays by your side until you finish signing your statement.

“I’m not end of watch yet,” he says as he returns to the shop. “But I can try to leave early.”

“It’s fine- I’m fine, Tim,” you promise. “Just be careful and come home to me when you can, okay?”

Tim promises to do just that. When he does finally get home, though, you can see that he is still tense. He pulls you into a warm hug, but his shoulders are rigid, and his grip is that of a man who is guilty of something that isn’t his fault. You slide your hands up to his shoulders and rub gently.

“Hey, do you want a fashion show?” you murmur. “I bought some clothes today.”

Tim pulls back and smiles. He kisses you deeply to show you just how glad he is to be back in your arms. Your safety is one of the most important things to Tim, and you know it.

“Wait,” Tim says against your lips.

You are breathing heavily when you pull back and look into his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim’s fingers move gently up your arm and his grip is the complete opposite of what you felt earlier. He looks at you for permission, and when you nod, he pushes your shirt out of the way to look at your upper arm. There’s a red mark surrounding it, and Tim’s brows crease when he sees it.

“I’m fine,” you promise quietly. “Thanks to you. I don’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if he’d done something sooner, but I know I’ll never have to with you around.”

Tim’s hand slides away from your arm, opting to hold your waist instead.

“You’re going to lock me in the house, now, aren’t you? Secret wife will take on a whole new meaning.”

Tim chuckles, and your eyes brighten at the sound. He kisses you again, not as slow or long, but just as impactful. You grip his shirt before leaning against him again.

“Did you give Kojo his new toys yet?” Tim asks.

“No. I was waiting for you.”

Tim rubs his hand along your back before whispering, “Was the fashion show a serious offer?”

You tilt your head back and laugh. “As if you’d sit through a fashion show, Tim Bradford.”

He leans in like he’s going to kiss you again, but instead says, “Try me.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #hanna writes✯#tim bradford fic #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader

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aphroditsdaughter · 18 days ago

Text

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS

Paige was the kind of girl who made you feel like the center of her world, only to let you slip away when you became too fragile to hold.

paige bueckers x reader

lots of angst, just sad sad sad (not proofread)

You never forgot the first time Paige looked at you

really looked at you.

It was winter, one of those moody afternoons where the sky can't decide whether to snow or just hang heavy and gray forever. You were tucked into the corner of a coffee shop, nursing a half-cold drink and pretending to read while people-watching, when she walked in. Her coat was too big for her, her hair wind-tangled, cheeks flushed. She was carrying a worn leather notebook, pressed to her chest like something sacred.

She ordered with a soft, low voice — oat milk latte, extra foam — and then turned too quickly, her elbow catching the edge of her cup. The coffee splashed across the pages of her notebook, and she froze, just staring at it. Not upset. Just… disappointed. Like she'd expected this.

You handed her a napkin. Then your pen. Then, hesitantly, your spare notebook.

She smiled. Not with her mouth, not yet but her eyes warmed, slow and molten. “Thanks,” she said, and the way the word slid off her tongue made your stomach knot.

That was it.

That was how it started.

Being with Paige was like falling asleep under stars you didn’t realize were dying. She was gentle in the way a wave is beautiful, captivating, but always pulling you somewhere deeper than you meant to go. Like a song, where the melody lured you in, and the words left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, something you couldn’t quite shake off even if you wanted to. There were days when she made you feel like art fragile, irreplaceable, but always under some kind of scrutiny. She’d trace your collarbone with her fingers like it was a sentence she was memorizing, as if the rhythm of her touch was a kind of poetry, one she couldn’t quite express fully in words. It was as if, with every stroke of her fingers, she was attempting to understand the parts of you that even you didn’t know how to explain. And in return, you tried to understand her — the pieces of her that she kept tucked behind the walls, the ones she rarely let anyone see.

She liked to talk in whispers when the world was quiet, when the space between you was small and humid, full of things neither of you knew how to say. It was as if you were both dancing around something, each touch and word a step closer to something you both feared and wanted at the same time. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full of longing, a subtle pressure that built up without release. She spoke in ways that made everything feel delicate, like even the smallest thing between you could shatter if you weren’t careful. Her words had weight, but not the kind you could easily carry. There was always a tension, like she was both drawing you in and pushing you away, creating a space where everything felt just on the edge of breaking.

She’d call you “baby” with that half-sleepy voice in the mornings, the kind that seemed to come from somewhere deep, as if she were still caught between dreams and the reality of being tangled up in you. She’d tangle her legs around yours like she couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second, holding you in a way that felt both possessive and desperate. There was something in her touch, in her need for closeness, that made you feel like you were the center of her universe. But even in those moments, you could feel the distance. It wasn’t obvious at first, but you began to sense it, the invisible walls she built, the way she let you in only as far as the version of herself she felt comfortable sharing.

The intimacy she gave was like a door that opened just enough to let you see the shape of her heart but never quite enough to step inside. After sex, she’d rest her forehead against yours, breathing you in like she needed to be anchored, as if you were the only thing in the world that made sense. But even then, you could feel the walls — the barriers she carefully constructed. There was love there, undeniable and raw, but it was tempered by something older, something unhealed, something that kept her from fully surrendering. The need to be close, to wrap herself around you, was always followed by the retreat, like she was afraid that too much closeness would make everything unravel.

You asked her once, quietly, “What are you afraid of?” You didn’t expect her to answer, not really, but it was a question that had been pressing on your chest for days. You wanted to understand the distance she kept, the way she pulled away just when you thought you were close enough to hold her. She kissed you instead of answering, her lips pressing against yours with the kind of intensity that told you everything without saying a word. It was a kiss full of contradictions deep and passionate, but with an edge of sadness, as if she was trying to say something she couldn’t quite form into words. Her kiss was a language all its own, one you knew but still couldn’t fully understand.

In those moments, it felt like love was a fragile thing, something so close and yet so unreachable. She was like someone who loved too deeply to ever let go but also feared the weight of that love, afraid it might consume her if she gave it all. She was the kind of person who only let herself get close enough to love but not enough to break, like a favorite toy that gets put back on the shelf after too many tears have been shed over it. You knew that love could never be perfect with her, that the pieces of her you wanted to hold onto might slip away before you could ever fully catch them. But that didn’t stop you from wanting her, from reaching for her, knowing you’d never get the whole of her but always hoping for a little more.

Sometimes, when you lay beside her at night, the warmth of her body against yours felt like a tether but it was a tether to something you couldn’t quite keep. There were days when you would catch her staring at you, her gaze heavy, as if she were thinking of something far away, something you couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried. The distance between you wasn’t always physical, but it was always there a soft, invisible line she couldn’t cross, no matter how much you both needed it to be crossed.

She loved you in a way that was both consuming and evasive, always giving but never fully surrendering. You could feel her love in the way she held you close, in the way her fingers lingered on your skin, in the way she kissed you with a quiet desperation, as if she feared the moment she let it go. But you knew, deep down, that her love — like her — was always on the verge of breaking. It was beautiful, fragile, and just a little out of reach. And no matter how many times you reached for her, you couldn’t stop wondering if you were just another one of the things she loved until it was too much, until it cracked and slipped through her fingers.

It didn’t happen all at once, but it felt like it was always coming. At first, the changes were small, so small that you could convince yourself they were just shadows passing in the corner of your mind. She stopped texting “good morning.” It was subtle like a song playing in the background, one that started with a soft melody but eventually turned into something more dissonant, something you couldn’t ignore anymore. When you told her “I love you,” the words used to be a rhythm between you, easy and true, but now she just smiled softly, her gaze drifting somewhere far away, almost like she was holding back something heavy.

Her kisses slowed, like she was hesitating, and for the first time, you wondered if she was thinking too hard about what they meant. Were they still the same? Or were they becoming hollow echoes of a love that was fading? You could almost hear the ticking of a clock, counting down the moments until she would slip further away from you.

Then came the nights, long and cold, like a broken lyric you couldn’t quite grasp. She stopped coming home until it was too late. Her eyes were always glassy, like she was lost in a world you didn’t understand, and the taste of her lips oh, it never tasted like her anymore. It tasted like someone else’s, someone else’s secrets, and you never asked who they were. You never had to. She didn’t offer, and you couldn’t bring yourself to demand it. After all, you were too scared to hear the truth. Sometimes you thought you could hear a familiar tune playing in the back of her mind—a rhythm that wasn’t yours, that you’d never been a part of. You thought you’d lost the song of her heart somewhere along the way, but you couldn’t find it.

It was one of those nights, lying together in bed, her body beside you but not really there, not in the way she used to be. You could feel the space between you, the absence where once there was connection. Your nose pressed to her shoulder, your heart tangled in confusion and hurt. You whispered, almost like a prayer, “You’re pulling away from me.”

She didn’t deny it. She didn’t fight it. She just whispered, “I don’t mean to,” her voice barely above a breath. It was the kind of thing that might have been said by someone who believed it someone who thought they were still holding onto you, even when they were already slipping through your fingers.

But she was. She was unraveling. Every part of her, each delicate thread that once held her close to you, was falling apart. It was like watching a poem burn, each line a little more charred than the last, until there was nothing left but smoke and ash. You tried to hold on, to remember who she used to be, to remember what love felt like, but the pieces of her scattered faster than you could gather them.

And somewhere, buried deep in the mess of it all, you realized that you were like the boy in the song, watching as the most precious parts of you crumbled in her hands. You were the one who loved too hard, and maybe that was the problem all along. You’d given her everything, all your tenderness and truth, but it wasn’t enough. She only broke the things she held most dear, the things that once meant everything to her. She only broke her favorite toys, the ones she swore she would never let go of.

And now, with the threads of everything you once had slipping away, you couldn’t help but wonder if love was always meant to be a tortured poem a melody that grew sharper with every note, a song that you couldn’t ever quite finish.

It ended in silence.

No loud arguments. No dramatic words exchanged. No grand gesture of closure. Just a quiet, drawn-out vanishing act, the kind that leaves you haunted, with no clear line to mark when everything unraveled. It was a slow fade, like a photograph being washed away by rain, and you didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late. The silence settled into your bones, a lingering hum of unanswered questions. When did the curtain fall? And how could you have missed it?

You reached out. Texted. Called. There were words you never said, confessions you buried too deep, letters you wrote but never sent. You played out every possible scenario in your mind, but the silence only deepened. It was like trying to catch the wind futile, impossible.

And then, one morning almost like a ghost who remembers what it means to breathe again, she sent a message. Simple, too simple for the weight it carried. A single line, yet it landed like a thousand unspoken regrets.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I break things I care about. You were my favorite.”

You stared at the screen, blinking as the words swam before your eyes. Favorite. The word hung there, echoing louder than it should, reverberating in your chest like a broken melody. Favorite like a toy, something you played with and loved until it cracked under pressure, left in the dark, its broken pieces scattered in the aftermath. Something that was adored and then abandoned, tossed aside with the fragile promise that it could never be fixed.

You weren’t sure which hurt more, the truth in her words or the way you still felt that raw pull toward her. Something about the way she called you favorite made everything feel broken and incomplete, a love that never quite took form, that never had the chance to be real. It was like being something cherished for a moment, only to be left in ruins when it couldn’t hold up to the weight of reality.

Now, you walk through the world with a quiet caution, a softness that wasn't there before. You’ve learned to guard your heart, to shield yourself from the things that once came so easily. There are pieces of her in you — in the way you flinch when someone says they’ll call but never do, in how the sound of a song she used to hum makes your chest tighten like you’ve been holding your breath for far too long. You wish you could hate her, but you can’t. No, that would be easier. Hate would give you closure, a clean line to draw between the past and the present.

But you can’t erase her. You can’t forget the way she made you feel like you mattered for a brief, shining moment, before everything broke. No, you still love her. Quietly. Painfully. The kind of love that doesn’t need permission, doesn’t ask for anything in return, the kind that lingers in the quiet spaces, in the places where memories go to haunt you.

It’s the kind of love that feels like being something treasured, something played with, and then discarded when it starts to show cracks. The kind that leaves you wondering if you were ever really meant to last or if you were always meant to break. There’s a cruelty in being someone’s favorite and knowing, deep down, that the love wasn’t built to endure. It was always destined to shatter, to leave you in pieces.

And then you think of the places she left behind, of all the things she took without a word, and you remember the emptiness, the feeling of being left without so much as a glance back. It’s a feeling that stays with you, like something unresolved, like a goodbye that was never said, but that you still carry with you.

You were never her toy, not in the way she made you feel. But she broke you like one. And the worst part? You let her.

Because being her favorite — even for just a little while — felt like magic. Even if it was always meant to shatter. Even if it was always going to fade. It felt like the world, for just a moment, was holding its breath. It was a spell you didn’t want to break, even if you knew how it would end.

And in the end, you realized: it was never about being her favorite. It was about feeling like you mattered. And maybe, for a while, you did.

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