#and I like seeing him so happy with his body and comfortable in it

[simonbrain]

cw omegaverse, noncon touching, neglected!reader

you're slowly convincing yourself that your pack is trying to get rid of you. they've been acting off around you for weeks, and you aren't sure why you've been pushed to the side.

john snaps at you more often now, even during downtime when you're seeking comfort from your head alpha. the soft look he usually directs at you has been replaced by a scowl, and you're not sure if it's from the tedious amount of work and stress that weighs on his shoulders or if it's because you pop into his office every few hours to check on him. maybe you're just making it worse for him—you don't miss the way his face scrunches up whenever you appear in his doorway—so you visit him less often. hopefully he'll appreciate it if you take your sad, sour scent somewhere else.

which leads you to simon, who doesn't seem to notice you at all, not until you approach him first, and then you regret your actions when he greets you with nothing more than a grunt. there's that distant, eerie look in his eyes as he impatiently stares down at you, cocking his head to the side as your words get caught up in your throat. he's been easier to aggravate lately, and unfortunately his irritation doesn't evade you. you can't remember the last time you saw him this guarded around you—maybe when you first joined, although it wasn't this bad—but it still stings nonetheless.

"spit it out, peanut. i don't 'ave all day." your silly callsign rolls off his tongue less affectionately than usual, and you try to scrape up a reason to talk to him, as if being his mate isn't enough. when you finally ask if he's seen the other sergeants, he only scoffs and shakes his head, stalking right past you.

the blatant disregard from both your alphas has your chest aching uncomfortably and your throat winding up tight, but you walk off to somewhere else, wanting to find some dark corner so you can cry all of your frustration out.

you know you should be happy when you bump into your other two mates, grateful even. johnny crowds your front while kyle embraces you from behind, the two of them cooing at your weepy state and promising to make it all better.

but their touches are rougher than you want them to be, and kyle's grinding on you with more hunger than you can handle right now, and johnny's nosing down your neck, whispering promises of turning you pliant and brainless in a second, and you're growing more stressed each time they paw at your body as if you're just their little fuck doll—

you wrestle out of their grip and shove them both away before storming off to your room, leaving the two of them to simmer in the remnants of your stressed and upset scent, the sourness of it hitting them both at the same time. whatever heat they were feeling before is replaced with alarm, and when they try to follow you, you slam the door in their faces, choked-up sobs leaving your mouth as you slump down on your bed.

no one checks up on you that evening—not to apologise, not to see if you're okay, not even to ask if you're hungry. the smell of a distressed omega seeps out of the cracks of your door and wafts around your room, but no one comes. they must really not want you, then.

you tell yourself you're too needy. you're a strain on your alphas, always demanding their attention. you feel like an embarrassment compared to kyle, who, despite being another young omega, can get by with a simple pat on the shoulder, purring away in satisfaction. even johnny isn't as desperate for attention as you, you think bitterly.

the nasty thoughts haunt your mind until you're quietly getting out of bed and walking down to john's office. you know you smell pathetic, but you keep your head down as you walk past other soldiers, who are no doubt pitying you right now.

still, you keep on walking. you need to tell john to break the bond, to rid the pack of you. it needs to be done, even as your heart squeezes painfully and you're close to letting out a sob.

you don't bother knocking, but when you walk in to the sight of kyle sitting on john's lap while simon and johnny stand on either side of their captain as they converse among themselves, you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you up already.

john notices you first, but you don't catch the way his gaze softens at the sight of your weak state. you know that they all can smell the distress on you, but you try to steady your voice and wipe the tears that are beginning to form again.

"i want to break the bond."

four pairs of eyes zero in on you, and despite the tension in the room and the seriousness of your words, despite your anger and hurt, you can't help but relax slightly as the anxiety gradually melts away. finally, they're paying attention to you.

[lovebugism]

smutty requests you say... maybe eddie x reader fooling around secretly, while wayne's home? so like a little exhibitionism kink?

i'm just now realizing i totally misread the prompt so pls forgive me anon, i'll happily write a part 2 to this if u want!! — the first time uncle wayne catches you and eddie in the act™ (established relationship, inspired by this universe, smut 18+ | 1.3k)

“Alright. I’m headed out,” Wayne announces in a gravelly drawl, huffing as he rises from his creaking recliner. His work boots sound heavy on the worn carpet as he trudges towards the front door, closer to a wretched and unavoidable graveyard shift. His old bones are weighed down by a preemptive dread and a homemade meal you cooked with him in mind.

Eddie feels bad for being so happy to see him leave.

“Have fun,” the boy lilts playfully from where he’s sprawled along the couch, smiling wide with his head tilted to his shoulder.

Wayne grumbles vaguely in response.

“Bye, Mr. Munson,” you grin more sincerely than the boy beside you.

The man flashes you a mere hint of a grin, which is a whole lot more than most people get these days. He pulls a worn baseball cap over his balding head and nods once in your direction. “Bye, sweetpea,” he responds in his usual gritty and melodic Southern cadence.

The rusted hinges of the screen door squeal open and shut behind him. A wintery breeze billows in, briefly piercing the heated trailer and biting at Eddie’s burning skin. 

You idle on the other side of the couch, with your eyes drawn to the sitcom playing in static colors ahead of you — unaware of your boy’s building desire and far too distant for his liking. Eddie marvels at your profile, unabashed and boyish, and waits for the perfect moment to strike.

He hears Wayne’s truck door close with a muffled thud. The ignition rattles for a moment, then roars when amber headlights shine suddenly through the sheer curtains. Eddie waits until he hears the tires crunch against the gravel drive before he pounces on you, like unsuspecting prey to a predator of unbridled longing.

You squeal when his mouth locks suddenly with your pulse, warm and wet on your unkissed skin. He wraps you in his arms like he intends to smother you against him. You swear you can feel his heart racing against your shoulder. His tongue darts along the most sensitive spot on your neck, and your head tips back with an airy laugh.

“What?” Eddie mumbles, muffled into your skin.

“Nothing,” you giggle. “Just thought you’d last longer than that.”

“Hm. Feel like I’ve heard that one before.”

“Shut up,” you gripe, but pull him impossibly closer just the same.

You bury your nose in his wild curls, inhaling the sweet scent of his conditioner and the subtle skunky smell of weed. He mouths at your neck with an intentional sloppiness that makes your eyes flutter.

Eddie grumbles a moan against your skin, which you feel in little tingles in the pit of your stomach. “You taste good,” the boy observes mindlessly into your pulse.

“I taste like sweat,” you scoff against his temple. “I still need to shower.”

“What’s the point? You’re just gonna get dirty again.”

Eddie pulls away with a soft smack. His lips are rosy and softly swollen as they curl into a grin. His chocolate eyes swim with mischief as yours narrow into a squint. “You’re such a boy,” you deadpan.

“Just love you,” the boy shrugs. “That’s all.”

You’re grateful when his lips finally meet yours. You’re only able to breathe when he’s kissing you, in a heavy exhale through your nose that fans along his cupid’s bow. He licks into your mouth tasting like a homecooked meal and nicotine and boy. Something foreign and nostalgic and tender. You melt into him accordingly. 

When he urges you to lay back against the couch, you let him. You cradle his face in your hands to keep him close as he props himself on his forearms, careful not to crush you despite his efforts to kiss the breath from your lungs. His weight is a comforting one anyway — body warm and lean and pleasantly heavy on top of yours.

You forget to take another breath until Eddie pulls away. You inhale deeply, lungs grateful for air, as the boy’s mouth treks down your jaw.

He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your neck and collarbone, spit cooling and drying again on your skin. Goosebumps pebble in their wake, while his hand slides down your stomach.

His fingertips creep into the waistline of your pajama pants, perhaps a fruitless distraction from the lovebite he sucks just below your jaw. It’s a burning sensation of his teeth, followed by a warmer, more pleasant one as his tongue smooths over the bite.

“What are you? A vampire?” you giggle, fingers twisting in his hair.

You feel his smile curl into your neck. “Maybe,” he quips.

“I have to go leave eventually. You know that, right? And my roommates will freak if they see a hickey.”

Eddie whines between his kisses. “No, you don’t,” he insists with an audible frown. “Why can’t you just stay here forever?”

“Even if I wanted to, Wayne would still see. And that would be equally as horrifying.”

“He won’t be back until morning,” Eddie argues, punctuated by his teeth scraping your pulse. “It’ll be faded by then. Probably.” He licks over the bite and pulls away, peering down at you with a mischievous leer. “Unless… You want me to stop?” he offers in a sarcastic lilt.

You squirm under his gaze. “No…” you answer sheepishly.

He grins. “Then stop complaining, sweet thing.”

“Eddie,” you scold when the boy ducks down again, continuing his assault on your delicate skin, though you make no further attempt to stop him.

His kisses grow wetter and warmer and more languid as his hand travels down down down. A breathy moan catches in your throat when his calloused palm cups your bare pussy.

The damp, velvet feeling of you makes Eddie’s eyes widen. He didn’t know you’d be naked down there. He might’ve been more careful about it if he had.

“Shit,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you squeak, face swirled apologetically.

Eddie pulls away again, head spinning as he stares down at you with heavy eyes. “No— Don’t— Don’t apologize for that shit, are you kidding?” he stammers, then laughs at how sorrowful you look. Like this could ever be a bad thing. “It’s hot.”

You smile sheepishly. “I’m just running out of clean clothes. That’s why I had to do the laundry today.”

“Well, next time, I’m just gonna lock the door to the washer,” Eddie retorts playfully. “So then you have to walk around naked.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a boy,” you repeat, right before you drag him down by his shoulders to swallow him in another kiss.

You lick into his mouth only to find that his hand had never wavered. He cups you delicately there still, and creeps his middle finger between your satiny folds. 

Your hips buck on instinct. His palm bumps your clit. Your moans entwine in a kiss.

The screen door opens again with another grating screech. You and Eddie part instantly, swollen mouths smacking as your heads turn in sync.

Wayne stills in the doorway, weathered face swirled in horror. Neither of you move for several long moments — like, if you stay still, you’ll turn invisible somehow.

“Really?” Wayne huffs. “On the couch?”

Eddie’s wide eyes dart awkwardly. “What are you doing here?” he wonders breathlessly, still on top of you and still with his hand down your pants.

“Forgot my damn wallet.” Wayne keeps his gaze averted as he trudges to the tiny, square dining table by the window. He tucks the leather billfold into the pocket of his navy jumpsuit and promptly returns the way he came.

You and Eddie spare a wordless look of horror between you in the meanwhile.

“Do it in a bed next time, alright?” Wayne advises from the doorway with his back facing you. The rusted door creaks open and, just before it shuts behind him, you hear him shout. “And use protection!”

[goldfades]

LATE-NIGHT CALLS ─── JOE BURROW

request: "I feel like Joe would always insist on calling you after every game even the late ones. Even if it’s just a sleepy, half-coherent conversation he refuses to go to bed without hearing your voice"

Joe's post-game ritual has always been the same: shake hands, hit the showers, face the press, and head home. But since the two of you started dating, he added a new step—one he never skips. No matter the hour, no matter how late the game runs or how exhausted he is from the rush of adrenaline and the strain of the field, he calls. Even if it’s the kind of late that makes your voice thick with sleep and your words slur together, he’ll still dial your number, waiting for the soft click of your sleepy “Hello?” on the other end.

You used to worry about his exhaustion, insisting he could wait until morning, but Joe’s stubbornness won out. It’s his way of winding down, he says, the easiest way to let the adrenaline taper off—to hear you, half-awake and warm under your blankets, murmuring about your day or teasing him for that one pass he wishes he’d thrown differently.

Tonight, the call comes later than usual, your phone buzzing on the nightstand as you squint at the clock—well past midnight. You know the routine by now, though. His name glows on the screen, and you don’t hesitate to answer, even if you’re barely awake yourself. Because somehow, even in those moments of barely-there conversation, there’s something grounding, something steady in the sound of his voice—low and sleepy and comfortable.

The phone buzzes again, and you let out a small sigh, rolling over in the sheets that are tangled around your legs. It’s late—way too late for anyone but him. You fumble for the phone, knocking your book off the nightstand in the process, and finally manage to answer on the last ring.

“Hey,” you say, voice thick with sleep, barely more than a mumble. Your eyes are still closed, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice before he even speaks.

“Hey,” he says, sounding tired but happy. There’s a warmth in his voice that makes you want to sink deeper into the blankets, your body relaxing even as you struggle to stay awake. You hear a faint rustling on his end of the line, the sound of him settling into whatever hotel bed or quiet corner he’s managed to find for this call.

“How’d it go?” you ask, even though you watched the whole game with half your attention, laptop open on your lap as you listened to the announcers shout his name. You already know he won. You can tell just by the way he’s breathing—steady and content, like the weight of the world isn’t pressing on his shoulders anymore.

“We got the win,” he says, and you can practically picture the satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “Defense pulled through. Felt good. Tired, though.” There’s a pause, just long enough for you to hear the creak of the bed as he stretches out, and you imagine him there, hair still damp from the shower, pillow propped against the headboard, eyes half-lidded and heavy.

“You sound tired,” you say, letting your own eyes drift shut again, his voice washing over you like a lullaby. He always sounds different after a game—softer, looser, the careful edges he keeps in place during the day falling away in the quiet of the night.

“Yeah,” he admits, a low chuckle humming in his throat. “Long night. But I’m good. Needed to call you first.” He says it like a fact, like calling you is as essential as breathing, and it makes something warm settle in your chest, even as you struggle to fight off sleep.

You know what he looks like right now—can see him so clearly it’s almost like you’re there. His face is flushed from the game, the last traces of exertion still lingering in his expression, and he’s got that soft, worn-out smile you only see when he’s alone with you. He’s probably half-reclined on some too-firm hotel bed, still wearing sweats and the hoodie he threw on over his jersey. You can picture the way his hand would brush over his face, rubbing at tired eyes, his fingers trailing down to the scruff along his jaw. He’s handsome in a way that doesn’t need effort, like he forgets sometimes that anyone’s looking.

“What’d you eat?” you ask, knowing he probably hasn’t had a proper meal yet. There’s a muffled sound, and you can almost see him shrug.

“Grabbed a sandwich at the stadium,” he says. “You know, the usual. But I’m not really hungry.” His voice is softer now, like he’s already sinking into the comfort of the call, the post-game rush fading away. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you say anything, just the quiet hum of the line connecting you, stretching across the miles.

His breathing evens out, and you know he’s lying back now, probably letting his eyes drift shut the way you are, letting the night pull him under. This is the quietest part of the day, the only time where everything seems to slow down, where it’s just you and him, your voices mingling in the spaces between words.

“Did you see the game?” he asks suddenly, and there’s a hint of teasing there, like he already knows the answer. He’s always known when you’re watching—can sense it in some unspoken way, even when you’re not at the stadium, cheering him on in person. You hum, the sound halfway between agreement and a sleepy sigh.

“Of course I did,” you say. “Saw that touchdown, too. You looked good out there.”

He chuckles, the sound low and deep, a bit self-conscious but pleased. “You think so?” he asks, his tone playful but with that slight, genuine curiosity you’ve come to love—like he still isn’t sure how you see him, even after all this time.

“Always,” you reply, and it’s true. Even when he’s a mess, jersey streaked with mud, hair wild from the helmet, he’s yours. There’s something honest about him on the field, something raw that you can’t help but admire. He doesn’t play with swagger—he plays with determination, with a kind of quiet, relentless grit that makes your chest tighten with pride.

“Wish you were here,” he murmurs, and there’s a softness to the words, a longing that cuts through the distance between you. You can hear the weight of it, the way he doesn’t mean for it to sound so heavy, but it does anyway.

“Me too,” you admit, turning onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You know he’s in some hotel room halfway across the country, the curtains drawn against the city lights, the room probably too cold for comfort.

And you’re here, in your own bed, miles apart but tethered by this line, by his voice, by the quiet spaces between breaths that are filled with the things neither of you say out loud.

It’s moments like this that make the distance feel bearable, moments where the miles don’t matter because it’s just you and him, lingering in the quiet of the night, holding on to the sound of each other’s voice like a promise.

“Get some sleep, Joey,” you say softly, knowing he won’t listen, that he’ll keep talking until he’s sure you’re drifting off, that he won’t hang up until he’s heard you yawn, heard the way your voice gets softer and softer until you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

“Not yet,” he says, voice a bit firmer now, a smile tugging at the edges. “Just a few more minutes.”

You don’t argue, just let him fill the silence with the sound of his breath, the occasional murmur about a play or a moment you’d already forgotten, listening to the way his voice dips and slows, lulling you back to the edge of sleep. It’s the sound of home, you think, this quiet, late-night ritual that belongs only to the two of you—a secret shared in the dark, a comfort that’s become as essential as the game itself.

He keeps talking, his voice a low, steady hum, and you let yourself drift, knowing he’ll be there, knowing he won’t let you go until you’ve slipped back into the warmth of your dreams, his voice still echoing in the back of your mind long after you’ve hung up.

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[moonchild9350]

Always

summary: you and Hyunjin have a peculiar relationship with your roommate Felix

pairing: est. relationship Hyunjin x fab!reader x roommate Felix

genre: sprinkle of fluff, smut-18+MDNI

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cockwarming, spanking, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, partner sharing, unprotected sex (don't), multiple creampies, squirting, nipply play, dirty talk, use of term slut

notes: short, sweet, and filthy lol I just love hyunjin and felix omg

If you enjoyed, consider a reblog, comment, or like as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

It’s the end of the day, the part where you start to wind down, your mind exhausted from the day’s activities. You’re sitting on your bed holding your penguin plushie as you scroll through your phone when you notice the time.

Seeing that it is almost seven, you sit up as excitement courses through you, your core clenching in anticipation for the evening that’s in store.

Hyunjin will be home soon after a long day at work. You miss your boyfriend dearly, the hours long without him.

At the thought of seeing him soon, you get up out of bed and shimmy out of your sweatpants and panties, leaving yourself in only his oversized shirt, the hem barely grazing your thighs.

You pad to the door and open it, making your way to the living room where a certain blond is sitting, his eyes trained on the tv…that is until you walk in.

At your entrance, Felix looks up and flashes the smile you have grown to love, all teeth and dimples, as he sets his phone down. He beckons you over, his tiny finger making a come hither motion as he invites you to sit on his lap.

You stand there for a moment, gazing at the beautiful man, your hands behind your back. You take him in, how the bulge within his grey sweats is ever enlarging, his cock twitching as you take one step forward.

“That’s it, come here sweetheart,” Felix purrs as he pushes his hair out of his freckled face.

You’re wet, incredibly so, as your body is trained almost like Pavlov’s dog. At the stroke of seven, you become horny, the thought of cock filling you up making the feeling almost unbearable.

You arrive in front of Felix and giggle, as your cheeks flush at the sight of the blond.

“Ready sweetheart?” Felix asks, his hands reaching into his sweats to pull his cock out, giving it a few strokes as he spreads the precum that’s leaking from the tip around.

You nod as you take in his hard cock, perfect and chubby, all ready for you.

He holds it steady as you straddle his legs and bring your core to his length. Felix helps you line his cock with your entrance as you experimentally lower yourself, sighing at the stretch his tip provides.

You left your hips up before bringing them down once more, this time taking all of him. You let out a whimper at feeling full, your pussy keeping his member nice and snug within your wet walls.

You wrap your arms around Felix and nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck as he holds you close. You just sit there, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath, reveling in the comfort of being in Felix’s arms.

You relax further as his hands sneak beneath your shirt, his fingers gently trailing your back as he continues to watch the show on the tv screen.

And so it goes. You and your boyfriend have a particular arrangement with Felix, your roommate. He joined your little abode around a year ago, all sunshine and happiness, and thankful for you both taking him in.

As time went on and you three became closer, feelings of friendship turning into something a little more with each passing day. You were already dating Hyunjin, and Felix knew that, but he couldn’t let his feelings go to waste, confessing one day while at movie night.

You remember looking at Hyunjin, a smirk forming on your face at the confession. Little did Felix know that you both liked Felix too and were more than willing to open up your relationship to include him.

Felix was delighted, as the best case scenario played out. However, before he could get too excited, Hyunjin laid down some ground rules.

The first rule he imposed was you were his at the end of the day and only his, but Felix can enjoy the perks of having you close by, whatever those perks may be. He also demanded that Felix prep you and get you ready for him before he got home.

Felix readily agreed, as he got to be with you, feel you, and that was more than he had bargained for.

So here he was, “prepping” you by having you warm his cock. He loved how you felt around him, your pussy always warm and wet, your slick dripping down onto his pants, forming a constantly enlarging wet spot.

You both sat there for a while, waiting for the door to open and for Hyunjin to walk in. However, you were starting to feel needy, Felix’s cock feeling too good within you. You knew you were playing with fire, but decided to proceed, needing some type of relief as you waited for your love.

Smirking against Felix’s neck, you clenched down on his length while pressing wet kisses to his neck, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

Felix’s breath hitched for a moment before he recovered, lightly tapping your ass and gripping the flesh tight. You grinned before repeating the motion, this time feeling his cock twitch within you as he let out a low groan at the sensation. Felix gently rocked your hips over his cock, his length dragging deliciously against your walls.

You gripped his neck tighter as you breath caught, hoping he would do it again. However, Felix recovered, remembering that Hyunjin gets to have you first.

“Behave,” he said, his deep voice rumbling deep within his chest and flowing to your ears.

You let out a sigh, as you lightly nipped his skin, Felix jumping at the slight pain. You’re not sure how much longer you could wait, needing to move, to gain any type of friction to ease your aching pussy.

As you thought of moving again, the door opened and in walked Hyunjin. You watched as he dropped his bags and kicked off his shoes before walking over to the living area. He smiled at seeing the two of you, wrapped in an intimate embrace, as you warmed Felix’s cock.

“You two are adorable,” Hyunjin cooed, taking out his phone to snap a picture, wanting to add it to his ever growing collection of his two favorite people.

Hyunjin continued to gaze at you two, the blood flowing to his cock as he took in your flushed cheeks, your disheveled hair as you continued to nuzzle your head in the crook of Felix’s neck. He took in Felix, his eyes dilated and veins prominent on his hands as he gripped your ass tighter. He knew how Felix felt, your pussy too warm, wet, and just perfect.

“Ready love?” Hyunjin asked, walking closer to you.

You nodded your head, keeping your face tucked into Felix’s neck as Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist. You let out a moan as Hyunjin lifted you off of Felix’s cock, the sudden emptiness making your walls contract as he carried you bridle style to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the soft sheets and began stripping his clothes off, his eyes on you the whole time. You watched as his cock sprang free, as he dragged his sweats down his thick thighs, licking your lips at the sight.

“Take your shirt off love, you know the drill,” Hyunjin commanded as he stood before you in all his glory.

You shuffled to take the garment off, your tits now on display for your lover. You leaned back and fondled the flesh, watching as Hyunjin stroked his length.

“Mm spread your legs love, show me your pussy,” Hyunjin said, as he bit his plush lips.

He let out a moan as you spread your legs, your folds parting and displaying your wet entrance and puffy clit. You whimpered as you swiveled your hips, wanting to touch yourself to ease the ache. However, you didn’t dare touch what was his, wanting him to have his fill first.

“That’s it love, such a pretty pussy just for me.”

Hyunjin approached you, as he slotted himself between your legs. He leaned over you, his body hovering over yours as caged you in, his lips finding purchase against yours. He kissed you passionately as he brought his cock to your entrance, pushing the tip in with a swift motion.

You moaned loudly against his mouth as his cock speared you open, your pussy welcoming him in with no hesitation. Hyunjin smirked at your reaction as he snapped his hips into yours once, twice, as he pushed your body up against the bed with the force each thrust. He set a fast pace, as he pounded into you, his hips withdrawing until his cock was almost out of your pussy before slamming back in.

Loud moans rang through the room, as Hyunjin fucked you, so loud you’re sure Felix could hear you from the living room. However, that was part of the thrill, the thought of Felix with his cock out, his hands stroking his length, the thought of fucking you at the forefront of his mind.

You squealed as Hyunjin adjusted his hips, the new angle causing his cock to brush against your sweet spot with each thrust, the drag sending little shockwaves through your core.

You tried to say his name, but nothing came out, your mouth left wide open as Hyunjin brought you closer to your orgasm.

Hyunjin could tell you were close, as your walls clenched around him, attempting to keep him deep inside you. He listened intently as you mumbled words, the syllables barely audible as you became cock drunk, chanting that you need his cock and don’t stop.

He could never get used to your pussy, how wet you get as he fucks you, as Felix teases you as you cockwarm him every night. Your pussy was made for him, stretching perfectly to accommodate him.

“Cum in me,” you whimpered, hoping he would not pull out like he usually does.

You wanted to be filled, to have his cum stuffed within you, so much so that it leaks out and doesn’t stop.

Hyunjin was shocked at first, but quickly recovered, grinning at your words, more than happy to oblige.

“My love wants me to fill her up, breed her good hmm?” Hyunjin asked as he swiveled his hips against yours.

“Yes, baby please, breed me,” you whined as you locked your legs around his ass pulling him as close as you could.

Hyunjin sought out your lips, pressing sloppy kisses to them as he continued to grind into you, the neatly trimmed hairs rubbing against your clit with each thrust. He felt like he would go insane as your walls clamped around him, urging him to cum, your tits rubbing against his chest perfectly, adding extra stimulation to his sensitive nipples. He placed his lips right at your ear as he continued to whisper dirty words to you.

“Fuck this pussy, love. Gonna cum, breed this pussy so good that it’ll stick and make you a mommy.”

At that you let out a loud cry, the thought of carrying Hyunjin’s child causing you let go, your orgasm wrecking through your body. You clutched onto him as he continued to fuck you through your high, his pace never faltering.

You whispered in his ear, your litany of his name causing him to moan as he came, spurt after spurt of his cum painting your walls white.

You rocked your hips against his thrusts, holding him close as he finished emptying himself within you. With a shaky breath he stilled, collapsing gently on top of you.

You laid there for a while, your breathing slowly going back to normal as Hyunjin pressed lazy kisses to your neck.

“We’re not done yet love,” Hyunjin finally whispered in a sultry voice.

He got up, withdrawing his now softened cock from your core. You could feel his cum slowly seep out, the trickle forming a sticky path down your ass. Hyunjin tutted at the sight, his finger gathering his cum before stuffing it back inside of you.

“Need that to stick don’t we? Keep it in love.” Hyunjin warned as he gave you a stern look.

You nodded in agreement, as he maneuvered behind you. He brought you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you snuggly. He pressed a kiss to your hair whispering sweet nothings as you both rested in the moment as two.

“Felix,” Hyunjin called shortly after, his arms still wrapped around you as he cradled your body.

The blond opened the door and walked in, a smile plastered on his freckled face.

“Sounds like Hyunjin took good care of you sweetheart,” Felix cooed as he got undressed. “Think you can take me too?”

You knew it was a rhetorical question as you would take his cock regardless but you answered nonetheless, wanting to please Felix.

“Give me your cock Lix,” you said, spreading your legs wide for him. Hyunjin gripped your thighs, bringing them to your chest to keep you open for him. Felix wasted no time slotting himself between your legs, his eyes trained on your swollen pussy.

“Would you look at that, you’re dripping in cum,” he teased. “Let’s just push that back in,” Felix grunted as he slid his cock into your pussy, a loud squelch echoing throughout the room as his cock pushed Hyunjin’s cum further inside you.

“You’re so wet sweetheart, take it all yeah?” Felix grunted as he slid his cock in and out in and out, your pussy letting both men know how wet you were with each thrust.

You whimpered as Felix began to pound into you, your eyes on his beautiful face. Your walls clenched at the sight of him falling apart above you, his hair falling in his face with the exertion.

You were about to reach up and grasp his face when Hyunjin let go of your legs and pinched your nipples, the jolt of pain sending waves of pleasure straight to you core.

“Ahh!” You moaned as Hyunjin toyed with your nipples, his fingers alternating between brushing against them and pinching them.

“Is Felix fucking you good love? Keep those legs open,” Hyunjin said, his voice right at your ear.

“Mm yes!” You said as you took a shaky breath.

“Love this pussy, just taking me. Look at that, sucking me right in,” Felix groaned his eyes trained on your walls stretching over his cock.

“Not gonna last long sweetheart, gonna cum, gonna give you my cum yeah?”

Hyunjin chuckled, his breath tickling your ear. “Hear that love? Gonna let Felix breed you full too?”

You were floating at his words, wanting nothing more than Felix’s cum within you.

“Lix give me your cum,” you begged as you spread your legs even wider, keeping them open just like Hyunjin instructed.

“Damn sweetheart, Hyunjin’s cum not enough for you that you need mine too? Are you our little cum dump?” Felix teased as he smirked.

You nodded quickly, little “mmms” leaving your lips.

As Hyunjin continue to play with your tits, he said in a low voice, “my little slut, gonna let Felix breed you too. Fill you up, give you his baby hmm?”

At the thought of carrying their babies, not knowing who the father was, you let out a loud whine, as you squirted, your walls contracting rhythmically around Felix’s cock.

The feel of you clamping down on him, holding him in tipped him over the edge, his cum filling your pussy, the fluid mixing with Hyunjin’s.

You whimpered as he pulled out, a gush of fluid leaking out down your ass and onto the sheets. You preened as Hyunjin whispered praises in your ear, his hands softly stroking your sides.

You watched as Felix left to go find a towel, returning shortly after leaving. He helped clean you off, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Good night sweetheart,” Felix said as he gave you a smile. He then got up and snatched his clothes, leaving to go back to his room.

“Let’s get you ready for bed. Get under the blankets love,” Hyunjin said as he helped you maneuver under the warm fabric.

He got in next to you and pulled you close. You were on the verge of sleep when Hyunjin broke the silence.

“I hope it really did stick and you’re carrying one of our babies.”

You didn’t say anything but laid there thinking about what he said. You wouldn’t be mad but actually happy at the thought as you loved both of the boys.

And that was a thought that you knew would always remain.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground

[moosesarecute]

Song of the Wind part 2

Part 1

Masterlist

“What do you mean you met your mate?”

Azriel almost flinched at his brother’s loud voice.

“When? How? Where?” Cassian continued just as loud. “And why haven’t you told me before?”

Azriel really appreciated his brother’s excitement, but he was simply too loud for him.

“Calm down Cassian,” Rhys luckily felt similarly. “But we would like to know, if you’d like to tell us.”

Azriel was super excited that he met his mate, but he’s quite worried he scared you away.

It had been two months since the attack on Adriata, which meant that you had been on his mind for every calm moment the past two months.

But he had to control himself and stay away so that you would be safe in the war. But now that the war was over, he found it harder and harder to stay away.

“I flew her to the palace during the attack on Adriata,” Az explained.

Cassian gaped at him.

“Two months?! You have known for two months and you didn’t tell me?”

This time, both Azriel and Rhysand flinched at Cassian’s yelling. Azriel just nodded at him.

“Have you any contact with her?” Rhys asked him.

Azriel shook his head this time and let out a sigh. How he would have loved to have contact with you. To see you and your adorable face again.

“We’ll have to change that then.”

“I thought I would let her come to me. I fear I scared her away,” Azriel explained.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Cassian reassured him.

“We can send a letter to Tarquin or Varian and ask if they knows her. What’s her name?”

“Y/N,” Azriel said and he couldn’t hold back the big smile that grew on his face. Saying your name aloud was so amazing. He felt such a comforting feeling spreading through his body.

A laugh from Rhys pulled him from his thoughts. Cassian punched him in his arm.

“You were even worse when you first told us about Feyre,” he said.

“Okay okay, but I’ll send them a letter today,” Rhys said.

Azriel felt extremely excited at the thought of seeing you again.

Every time Azriel saw Rhys he wanted to ask him if his letter had been answered. However, he also tried to act stoic and neutral, so he never actually did ask him.

Then, a week after the letter was send, they had gotten an answer.

Azriel was at family dinner with his entire family when Rhys walked in with a letter in his hand.

Azriel felt his heartbeat rising, but he decided to stay calm until Rhys had given him the letter.

“Azriel, I have a letter for yo-,” Rhys stopped speaking as Azriel’s shadows ripped the letter out of his hand and dumped the letter in Azriel’s lap.

Azriel felt slightly embarrassed by his feelings, and as Cassian and Rhysand started laughing, he only felt worse.

“What’s going on?” Mor asked and Feyre looked just as confused.

Azriel felt surprised as he realized Feyre didn’t know. When he decided to tell Rhys about his mate, he sort of assumed that would be telling Feyre too.

Cass and Rhys looked at him with hopeful eyes. They wanted him to tell them, but it was his choice.

He looked once more over at Mor and Feyre.

“I found my mate,” he said and continued speaking even though both the females let out surprised gasps. “She’s from Summer, so we sent Tarquin and Varian letters to ask if they know her.”

If was a little bit of silence before Mor spoke.

“What are you waiting for? Open the letter then!”

Az let out a small smile and was about to pick up the letter when his shadows did it before him and ripped up the letter.

They pushed the letter into his face and he took the letter before he waved the shadows away from it face.

Hello, Azriel.

I’m happy to hear you’ve survived the war.

It’s nice to hear that you’re looking for me. I have to admit, I’ve been hoping to hear from the ever since we met.

I’m relieved to know that the mating bond have snapped for you to. And I have to say that I have been thinking about you, a lot.

My mother and brother wishes to meet you. I’m afraid that they’re quite conservative when it comes to dating and that they expect propper courting after Summer-standards.

I hope that you’ll come to dinner next Friday.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Azriel felt his throat dry up at your words. He also felt his heart go crazy, felt himself fall in love with your handwriting and the need to hold his shadows close so that they wouldn’t show all his emotions by going crazy swirling through the entire room.

“What did he say?” Cassian asked.

“It was from Y/N. I’m invited to dinner with her family next Friday,” he rasped. His throat was too dry to speak normally. “She also wrote that her family is quite conservative and that they expect a proper courting after Summer Court standards.”

“First of all, you’ll need a chaperone,” Varian explained. “Someone who’ll bring out your best qualities and make sure to keep a civil and respectful atmosphere.”

Civil and respectful atmosphere? Not Cassian then, not that he could have gone either way, being banned form Summer.

He couldn’t bring Mor, that was just wrong. Bringing Rhys or Amren felt to intimidating.

“Feyre?” he asked and Varian agreed.

“You’ll need to bring flowers to her mother and call her mother and brother madam and sir. You shouldn’t be in alone in the same room as her and you have too be extremely polite. Ask if you can help with anything and compliment the food.”

Azriel nodded and tried to remember every detail Varian gave him.

“And I would recommend not wearing anything black.”

“You look great, Az,” Feyre tried to comfort him.

He stood in the entrance of the River House and tried to find a way he felt comfortable in his Summer clothes.

He wore a cream colored linen shirt and blue linen pants. The lightness of his clothes made him uncomfortable, but he wanted to impress you.

Feyre wore a summer dress. She looked relaxed and happy. Azriel wished he could take some of her calmness.

“Ready to go?” She asked.

Azriel nodded, even though he felt more nervous than he had ever before.

He picked up the flowers for your mother and went over to Feyre. She winnowed them to your home. You had explained the way in your letters.

It was a small house with a big blooming garden. It was also in a very different neighborhood than where he had found yon during the attack on Adriata.

“Hallo,” a deep voice sounded from the front door of the house. Your brother, Azriel realized. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Feyre replied with a bright smile.

“I’m Mateo, Y/N’s brother,” he said. “Come in, please.”

Azriel let Feyre walk in before him. Both as a sign that he respected her, but also because he was freaking terrified and needed her to go first.

They walked inside and removed their shoes. Mateo showed the way to the dining room. That’s when he first saw you.

Last time he had seen you, your face and body was covered with fear. This time, he only saw beauty.

You glowed in a pretty light blue dress and your hair had different kinds of flowers in it. He felt his knees weaken a little and he ended up hiding his shadows completely to keep them from covering you.

You stood a few steps behind your mother. Both of you were smiling brightly.

“Good afternoon,” your mother said. “We’ve been looking forwards to your visit.”

“Thank you so much for inviting us,” Feyre said and moved slightly to the side so that Azriel could move towards you and your mother.

“We’re very grateful for your invitation, madam,” Azriel said. He got surprised by the shakiness in his voice. He tried to shake away his stress and gave your mother the flowers.

“Thank you very much, Azriel,” your mother spoke and Azriel felt so relieved.

Your mother then moved slightly to the side so that you stood right before him.

He had to hold back the urge to hug you. To feel your body against his once more.

You made a small curtesy and Azriel responded with a small bow, just as Varian had learned him.

As you stood up, he lifted his hand and you put your own upon his. He felt the warmth of your hand and he struggled to think about anything that wasn’t you and your hand.

His eyes met yours and he felt himself get lost. They looked so peaceful and bright.

Suddenly, you moved your gaze from him towards the table and then back.

Azriel’s eyes widened a little, before he sprung into action. He couldn’t fail this quickly.

He led you towards the dining table and only let go of your hand when he pulled out a chair for you to sit in. You sat down and he helped you push the chair closer to the table.

He checked the point of his mental checklist and tried to remember what he was supposed to do next. But then he smelled you.

Your scent filled his entire nose and mind. He closed his mouth that he didn’t realize was open, to prevent it from drooling. He felt his wings almost slump to the ground at the comfort he felt from your scent.

Feyre made a small sound behind him and pulled him back from his daydreaming.

Your mother! He was supposed to help your mother to the table.

He straightened his back and tightened his wings, before he made his way towards your mother.

She gave him a little smile, her eyes almost looked full of pity.

Azriel had failed, hadn’t he?

Azriel seated your mother as Mateo helped Feyre. Then, Azriel and Mateo sat down last.

The food was already at the table and Mateo and your mother filled their plates first, before Azriel and Feyre got food and lastly you. It was some sort of special tradition.

“So Azriel, what do you do?” Mateo asked you.

Azriel, who had just taken a mouthful of food, hurried to swallow before he answered. He felt his tongue and throat burn from the heat of the food.

“I’m the spymaster of the Night Court,” Azriel explained.

“That doesn’t sound safe. Are you gone often?”

“I have periods where I’m gone a lot,” he answered. His voice faltered more and more. He really wanted to impress you, even though he was sure your mother already disapproved. He picked up his cup, hoping water would help him sound less stressed.

“Will you leave less when you become a father?” Was Mateo’s next question.

Azriel chocked on his water.

“Mateo!” You exclaimed. Your eyes were wide.

Azriel drew a nervous breath.

“I would definitely give a lot of the work I do now to my spies, but I’m afraid I would still need to leave a little for the more important missions.”

Mateo nodded, he seemed almost happy with his answer.

“Would you live here or in the Night Court?”

Azriel had luckily prepared to answer that question.

“I would prepare to stay in Velaris with my family, but I would be open to live here as well.”

“Y/N?” He asked next.

“I wouldn’t mind living in the Night Court,” you said and Azriel felt himself smile. He had imagined the two of you in Velaris so many times. He loved to think it would happen eventually.

Mateo continued the questioning throughout the dinner. Some questions for him and some for Feyre.

“Thank you for a delicious meal,” Azriel said as he thought all of you had finished eating.

That’s when he saw your mother still held her fork in her hand.

He felt the need to slump his shoulders in disappointment, but he kept them up. He felt like he had failed everything this evening. He forgot to help your mother to the table, he choked and answered poorly to your brother’s questions, he didn’t call your brother sir even once and he spoke before everyone was done eating.

His heart was beating so loudly in his chest as he bowed goodbye to you. A small voice inside his head told him to look closely at you. To look at your adorable cheeks, your bright eyes and your soft hair. Because, he wasn’t sure your mother and brother would ever let him as you again.

He kissed your mother’s hand and gave your brother a solid handshake as a goodbye.

Feyre led the way out of the house and Azriel felt himself breathing calmer in the summer air.

They stepped into the small garden and were making their way out of your home, when a voice stopped them.

“Wait!”

Azriel has never turned around faster than when he heard your voice. He, the spymaster of the Night Court, almost lost his balance from the spin.

You stopped right in front of him.

“You did really well. They’re really happy,” you said to him.

He was sure he gaped at you. How could he have done a good job when he failed so much?

“Thank you,” he said back, even though he didn’t believe you.

You then shifted your gaze and looked at Feyre. Azriel turned his head and watched as Feyre turned around.

He looked back at you and then you stood up at your toes and kissed his left cheek.

The small action made him lose all control. Suddenly his shadows got loose from his no longer strong grip and they started playing with your hair and stroking your cheeks. It was like they were kissing your cheek as well.

You laughed a little.

“I’ll se you soon, Azriel,” you said and walked back inside.

Azriel had to pull his shadows to the opposite direction to prevent them from following you

“I never knew you could be that flustered,” Feyre said.

“Shut up,” he muttered back through his giant smile.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[calliopesdiary]

i wish i were heather...

synopsis: you were under the impression that you were stable in your secret long-term relationship with three of the four marauders, until it becomes clear that you aren't the girl they want anymore. (so you think). will you lose them before its too late? or have you already?

pairings: fem!reader x poly!marauders ` poly!marauders x lily evans

warnings: NO LILY SLANDER!! SHE'S PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL AND ITS NOT HER FAULT!!, cusswords, ANGST, depressing, a blip of reader skipping meals on the radar but it's srsly nothing crazy, insecure reader, the marauders besides peter are dicks, reader is a little naive, the marauders borderline cheat on you, no happy ending, there might still be one thoughhh, possibly slytherin!reader if you squint?,

part one in the conan gray series

A/N!!: In some of the fic i use colors to represent a certain character! Orange is Lily, Red is James, and Green is Barty :3

wc; 2.4k

LIFE WAS AMAZING, which is not usually how stories begin.

You felt so safe and secure in your secret relationship with Hogwarts' once most eligible bachelors... The Marauders.

The rush of excitement that coursed through your veins every time you shared a hidden glance with Remus, or hiding in the showers of the Gryffindor boys locker room with James after his quidditch victory, and sneaking off to empty classrooms where anyone from anywhere could catch you with Sirius.

It was heavenly, these boys were all you would ever need.

until... now.

You were in Remus' sweater, he said it looked better on you than it did him. If only he knew how much you liked him...

The fireplace erupted with a citrine glow, illuminating the Gryffindor common room beautifully.

Most impactfully, it lit up Remus' scar-kissed features.

His freckles looked as if they were painted onto his face with careful hands by a renaissance painter.

His eyes half-lidded from his lack of sleep from the incoming full moon that was slowly approaching, it pained you to know how much they hurt him.

For once, Remus wasn't in a sweater. Since his was rested comfortably on your body, as your scent comforted The Wolf greatly.

And his scent comforted you, too.

Remus' book had suddenly landed on your lap, and though it startled you a bit. You didn't bother to ask why, until you sat up.

Remus was locked in a passionate conversation with Gryffindor's resident golden girl, Lily Evans.

"Evans, it's lovely to see you."

"Same to you, Lupin."

Godric, was she beautiful.

"I just stopped by to see if you had gotten any of the Defence Against The Dark Arts homework done?"

Lily Evans was as radiant as an angel who blessed anyone with her presence.

"I have; actually, I just finished my paper."

Remus seemed mesmerized by her, the golden gleam from the fire painting her features gorgeously in that same citrine glow as Remus'.

"Could I have a look of it? Not to copy it- obviously, I just want to see how others are wording the question."

You weren't even half as pretty as Lily.

"Of course, and I know you'd never cheat."

"You're the smartest witch in our year."

You tried not to mind other girls flirting with your boys.

Just because you knew that later that night they'd be back to your boys again, and only yours.

As she was about to go, she planted a soft kiss on the side of Remus' cheek, leaving him blushing softly as he bid her goodbye.

Your heart clenched, it was merely a pleasantry. You were being dramatic.

"Are you alright, dove?" Your head perked up at the sound of Remus' voice.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine." You mused, albeit a bit absentmindedly.

"Are you tired?" He asked carefully.

"I am, actually..." You forced a sweet smile onto your lips, as he leaned down to kiss them softly.

That kiss was the last one that felt anything more than a chore, an obligation.

That was also your last kiss with Remus.

Cheering James on at the quidditch pitch was just the thrill you needed after that melancholy moment with Remus.

He soared through the field like he was on top of the world, the players scattered around the pitch for one common goal: to win.

Gryffindor had won the game with 60 points, and James had caught the snitch like usual.

This game was also a rain game.

Just as you were about to head down to showers when you spotted Lily excitedly trailing after James.

You knew full well that James chased Lily tirelessly since they started school, that was also well before you came into the picture.

You also knew that she wanted nothing to do with him or the other marauders, so what was with her infatuation now?

Why your boys? She couldn't find her own boys?

But maybe she was just being friendly, right? The boys would never ever cheat on you... right?

You heard Lily giggle as James so graciously held the curtain open for her to enter the locker room, and your heart clenched.

You followed them in, jealously.

"James?" You called, as James poked his head from the changing area. Sweat glistening off his abs.

"Hi, Y/N." He shut the curtain behind him, as if he had something to hide.

Also; he barely just called you by your first name.

"You didn't come to see me after the game?" You questioned, grazing his cheek gently as he spoke."

"Sorry, Y/N. It was a long one." He excused, as he clearly looked a bit flushed.

"You look red, are you dehydrated?"

"Godric, y/n. you are hardly my mum."

You giggled as if it was a joke, yet he seemed quite stone faced.

You cleared your throat embarrassingly once you realized.

"I... just wanted to congratulate you on another win." You forcefully smiled again.

"Thank you, I really appreciate that." Then, he flashed his classic grin at you.

The grin he hadn't flashed at you since he realized he genuinely liked you.

What the fuck?

"Victory kiss?" You asked quietly, with some false hope mixed in.

"Of course." He pecked your forehead quickly, before hurrying off back to his changing area.

And with that, you had also left the steamy tent and outside into the cool, soft rain once more.

A forehead kiss? whenever he used to give you victory kisses they'd be full-on make outs in that same changing room or the showers.

James was falling out of love with you, and you knew it.

Luckily, you could easily disguise your tears with the excuse of it raining.

"Victory kiss?" Lily mewled, from her position on the stool in his changing spot.

"Just on the forehead, lovely."

You stopped showing up to breakfast, as the one time you decided to go Lily was sat in your spot next to Sirius.

Dorcas was nearly at her wits end with the boys and their antics.

The motley crew of Slytherins were the only ones who knew of your relationship, and they were pissed off.

"Treasure, surely they aren't fucked enough to know that you are the best thing they've ever had!" Barty explained, laying upside-down on his bed across from you.

"I-It's no use, Jr." You cried softly, mirroring his position yet on your bed instead. The tears (and blood) rushing to your hairline instead of your face because Dorcas said 'Your makeup is too pretty to ruin, love.' .

"There is a use, Y/L/N. we'll kill them-"

"Jr, absolutely not." Regulus chided, rubbing your shoulder. "She's clearly upset, I don't see the issue."

"Murder is never a good option, Barty." Dorcas scolded gently.

"So what are we gonna do then? My Treasure can't go on like this!"

"You said you've already talked to James and Remus? Maybe you can go talk to... eh... Sirius." Clearly, that name was hard for Regulus to get out.

"*Sniff* yeah, yeah- I'll go talk to him..." You sat up half-hazardously, and strutted out of the dorm-room to go (hopefully) save your relationship.

You still remember the third of December.

Sirius lounged on the couch while speaking with the other marauders, about some sort of prank on the other group of Slytherins.

"And then, we'll-"

"Hi, Siri." You sat next to him, beaming up at him (hopefully).

"...y/n." He greeted casually, before continuing to talk.

Your smile faded, as he continued to talk to your other boyfriends friends about this horrible prank.

Instead of leaving, you sat quietly next to them, as if you were some decoration or trophy wife.

This was truly your breaking point, as you saw Lily sit down on the couches of the common room as she caught all of their attention, you hadn't seemed to do that for ages. Though, she was wearing something familiar...

Remus'... sweater...

Remus'- YOUR Remus' sweater.

"How's it look?" Lily asked, giving them a twirl. Their eyes locked on her.

"Gorgeous, doll." Sirius flirted, shooting her a wink.

"Truly a sight for sore eyes." James grinned.

"It looks better on you than it did me." Remus took her hand and helped her sit down on the couch in between him and James.

That's exactly what he said to you...

He put his arm 'round her shoulder,

suddenly you got colder.

She's got them mesmerized... while you die.

But how could you hate her?

She's such an angel...

But then again you wished she were dead.

"Why would you ever kiss me?" You asked impulsively.

"What?" James looked up from Lily, all eyes on you.

"I mean- I'm not even half as pretty."

"Y/n, You're overthinking it-" Remus started it.

"You gave her your sweater!" You shot back.

"It's just polyester!" Remus defended.

"But you like her better." You felt the tears rush to your waterline.

"We're done." You whispered, leaving Lily looking so confused and the common room dead quiet.

"What does she mean by that...?" Lily seemed horrified.

"We... weren't really dating.." Sirius attempted to defend.

"Yes, we were, you tosser!" James shoved him.

"You said yourself that you were bored of her!" Remus stated matter-of-factly.

"Was I seriously the other woman?" Lily mewled, her hands clutching the sides of her head.

"Nonono- No, we were planning to break up with her but- because we all wanted you-" Sirius tried again.

"Then don't fuck around with her feelings just to get me!" Lily yelled, standing up quickly.

"I appreciate the admiration- but I need time to process, okay? You all were absolute... arseholes to her, I'll admit." Lily started,

"Are you saying no?" James quickly cut in.

"...No..." Lily ended.

After crying your eyes out to Barty and Regulus over your breakup, December 7th rolled around.

The day that students were meant to be studying for their OWLS and other end of term exams.

You would usually be in the library 24/7.

Lily, had finally come around and accepted the boys' proposal, and their relationship became public quickly.

Lily obviously still felt this bitter taste of guilt in her mouth, as did all of them.

So today, Lily had convinced them all to apologize to you for borderline cheating and lying and manipulating and gaslighting-.

But, you were nowhere to be found.

"Regulus! Regulus, wait up!" Lily ran through the hallways to get to her.

"Evans, Brother.. Potter... and Lupin.." She said those last three names with utter disgust.

"We're trying to find Y/n, have you seen her?" Remus asked quietly, he was definitely feeling the most guilt.

"Y/n? Well, If she was here, I think she'd completely refuse to see you lot." Regulus explained bluntly.

"W-What do you mean "If she was here"?" James questioned.

"I mean, Her, Junior., and the Rosier twins completed their OWLS early and hightailed it to Junior's holiday house for the rest of the break." He explained casually.

"What?" Sirius scowled.

"What the hell is my girl-... Y/n doing with them?" James had the same expression as Sirius.

"They are simply better friends then you were to her, hm? I don't blame her."

"When will she be back?" Lily asked breathlessly.

"End of December, If she ever returns." Regulus strolled away, potions book in hand.

"...We fucked up."

Fin.

[lichenes]

!!! SEASON 2 ACT 3 SPOILERS !!!

Could I request Silco x reader where the reader has been transported from the show’s timeline to the au episode where everyone is alive and happy and she finally gets to see her love again. Mix of fluff and angst plsss 💞

Thank you for the ask anon!! Happy Silco THE love of my life. I hope you like it!!! CW: established relationship (kinda not since hes dead... but... yk...), petnames (dove, sunray), parental!reader x jinx mentioned like once. wc: 525 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You were in the malaise of the Hexgates for what felt like centuries. Your senses - not quite with you, sudden pangs of hunger like you’ve never felt before and a constant feeling of pain circulating like blood in your veins. Then, light.

You were panting when you ‘awoke’. “You okay?” Said someone you haven’t heard in a long time. Aged, tired but you knew it was him. You were in bed with silk sheets, ones you’ve asked your husband for, once or twice, as a birthday gift. The undercity was quite hot when the summer months ruled so it was a perfect gift. A perfect gift you never got, at least- in your reality.

“Hey.” Silco said putting his hand on the small of your back, moving it up and down to comfort you. After a moment of disbelief you turned to him abruptly and launched yourself at his neck, wrapping your hands around it. Quiet comfort. 

“…” Unbridled silence.

You pulled away from him and cradled his face as if to check if it wasn’t some twisted dream the Hexgates bestowed upon you. 

“Dove, what’s wrong?” He asked, genuinely concerned. Your eyes were full of tears threatening to spill as soon as you spoke up. You were hysterical from joy. “Silco- I’ve- I’ve missed you so much.” 

“You’ve seen me not hours ago.” You were crying, the tears staining the silk sheets you’ve dreamed of for so many nights. Cold, lonely nights without him. “I can’t believe you’re actually here and… and you look so beautiful- so happy-” He cut you off. “Dove- dove.” You looked at him, your vision blurry from crying. 

“I’m here, I didn’t go anywhere. I’m here.” He assured you, trying to calm you down.”

“...” You couldn’t utter a word. You knew what happened. Jinx was inconsolable. So were you. “I didn’t… I-” She tried to explain herself. You were both suffering, her maybe more than you, maybe… It wasn’t time to compare levels of ache. “Honey.” Jinx looked at you. “We need to get rid of-” the body. You couldn’t say it but she got what you were trying to convey.

After a while of sheer uncontrolled, frenzied glee you were experiencing you calmed down. “It was just a bad dream.” He said hugging you tighter than ever. “Nothing to be scared of my sunray.” He accentuated the possessiveness of the statement.

“My condolences.” Said someone random on the street. That was why you didn’t leave your house anymore. That was why Jinx had to force food into you and why you knew this stupid fucking walk wasn’t worth shit. Sun didn’t reach Zaun- what were you saying? The only person who had any chance at making Zaun reality was d- 

Now, you were eating breakfast with Silco. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, both physical and metaphorical. “You’re staring dove.” You chuckled. “Sorry, you just look so good in your robe.” I haven’t seen you in years. He looked at you, daringly. “Is that so?” You hummed affirmatively.

“I’ll never get enough of you, dove. Never.” A smile creeped onto your face. “Oh, is that so?”

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[stardusksx]

ೀ⋆｡ ˚ ALWAYS COME HOME. aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch seems to be doing everything in his power to get hurt, and that scares you. ( takes places directly after the events of 5x02 )

not my gif! credits to creator <3

warnings: angst, fluff, bau!reader, established relationship, reader is a touch insecure in the relationship but hotch reassures, f*yet, no use of y/n, mentions of self-destructive/suicidal behaviour, arguments, happy ending because i’m not self-destructive :) ( word count: 1.85k )

You didn’t know how late it was, just that the sky had long since darkened and your body ached from the seemingly endless day. But it wasn’t the twilight hour that had drained you— it was watching your boyfriend carelessly stride into a hostage situation like he was simply going to get some groceries.

He hadn’t said anything to you about his plan. Hadn’t said anything to anyone. Instead, you had to stare at his back— devoid of a bullet vest— in disbelief as he disappeared into a house occupied by a child serial killer and his son, the unsub who had been profiled as mentally unwell and unstable. It had been too late to stop him, too late to ask him just what in the hell he was thinking.

You could ask him now. But you didn’t have the energy to argue, so instead you said nothing. You quietly shrugged off your coat as he followed you into the shared apartment, hanging it on one of the pegs.

“It’s a bit late to cook anything, do you want to order in?” he asks, lingering in the doorway.

You hummed noncommittally, placing your bag on the table and unpacking a few items you’d need to put back in the safe later.

He paused. You tried to act like there was nothing amiss. “Or we could get the lasagne out of the freezer that Jessica brought over last week?”

“Whatever you want.” You respond, and the silence lingers for a few contemplative beats. You don’t glance up at him.

“Are you angry at me?”

You inhale, hands halting in their movements. You hadn’t expect him to bring it up— he’d been one track minded lately, so consumed by foyet that you’d started to think something trivial like you giving him the cold shoulder would fly under his radar. And even if he had noticed it, you didn’t think he’d care. With losing his son, being taunted by a serial killer, you wouldn’t blame him for having little capacity for anything else.

You look at him. His brows are furrowed. You look away.

“I’m fine. ” You answer simply, going back to racking through your bag for something— what, you weren’t even sure now, but some insecure part of you didn’t want to have this conversation. Like he had bigger things to be concerned about than your feelings, and you could already see how it was going to go down. He was hard to reason with when he was like this.

But he also wasn’t one to let things go unresolved. He spoke your name pointedly. When you glanced at him, he hadn’t moved from his position near the door, briefcase discarded by his feet.

“Fine. Yes, i’m angry, Aaron.” You continue rooting around your bag, “What you did was reckless, and you could have been hurt or—” you could have been killed. It hangs in the air between you, unsaid but obvious. Over a month had elapsed since he’d been hospitalised after the foyet’s attack, and you hadn’t really had an outlet for all of the fear that had flooded you over those days. It hadn’t been about you— he was the one who needed the comfort, or, well, as close to comfort as Hotch would accept. In reality, he’d been so focused in on finding Foyet from the minute he woken up that you hadn’t even had a moment to express it to him. And that was okay. Really, it hadn’t been about you. But god, when there was a moment you didn’t know if he’d ever wake up, it was the worst you had ever felt in your life.

He was quiet for a moment before he said, in that blasé way of his, “But i wasn’t.”

The words infuriated you. A sharp burst of anger clawed it’s way through your veins, you whipped around to face him. And there he stood— arms folded, brows furrowed in that assessing way of his. Sometimes, just a little bit, you hated how stoic he could be.

“But you could have been!” You snapped, “Obviously, seeing you walk in there like you have nothing to loose is a fucking problem to me, Aaron. It's like you’re trying to get killed. So i’m not just angry, i’m terrified. As if worrying about Foyet being after you isn’t enough, you're purposely putting yourself in harm's way.”

He watched you for a moment, giving away nothing. But you’d learned him over the years, know the way that he thinks. Even when he isn’t talking, isn’t blinking, you could tell what was going on in his head. Yet, sometimes, you needed him to show you. It was exhausting always having to infer. “I made a call,” He spoke your name like he was reasoning with you, “It’s what i thought was best in the situation, and i’ll admit that the outcome wasn’t what i’d hoped for. But I stand by it— someone needed to try and get through to the unsub.”

“I don't think you gave it much thought at all, actually.” You bit back sharply, taking a step towards him, “No vest, no conferring with the team, no communication about your choice of actions. Tell me, what is best about that? Because i’m god damn sure that a couple of months ago you would have never done something so erratic.”

And there it was— the topic you’d been tiptoeing around, what this was really about. No one wanted to dictate how he was navigating everything with Foyet, but as time ticked by, his actions were starting to become more and more worrying. Of course, all of it was going to affect him. But this was a path of self destruction.

“Well a couple months ago I made calls that led to a bus full of people being murdered and Morgan knocked out cold while a psychopathic serial killer could have quite easily ended him. So, excuse me if I had to make some adjustments.”

“So that’s it? You expect me to just watch you put yourself in harm's way and pat you on the back afterwards? Great. That’s just perfect, Aaron. It’s not like I love you or anything. It’s not like it makes me physically sick at the thought of you…” Your hands fly up in exasperation. He watches and watches and watches. He’s always so, unbelievably, calm.

There’s one brief flicker, a barely noticeable swallow in his throat. But his stoicism does not fracture. “All of those lives are not worth the price of mine. If I have to put myself in harm's way, then so be it.”

You blink at him incredulously. He stares back.

“Unbelievable.” You mutter, a scoff leaving your lips. You step away, wishing to look at anything but him. “I’m going to get changed.”

You don’t wait for him to reply. He probably doesn't anyways. The bedroom door shuts behind you, frustrated tears that had been building up finally flowing freely. You kicked off shoes and items of clothing, stepping under the shower head and letting ribbons of hot water cascade down your skin. It felt, for a moment, like you could relax.

But then you remembered how he might not have come home. How he could have been in some morgue instead of the next room. The water became too hot, suffocating, and you hastily shut off the tap and stepped away from the lingering steam.

You’re exhausted, and part of you just wanted him to fold you into his arms and tell you that it would all be okay. But you couldn’t expect that of him now. It was Aaron who needed the support. And you could be that— tomorrow, when the freshness of your frustrations had time to dim and you could look at him without thinking about how close you’d been to losing him. Now, you need to sleep.

Stepping out into the bedroom, you expect it to be vacant. But instead he sits on the edge of the bed, quickly looking up when he hears the door crack open. You avoid his eyes as they watch you rummage through draws for your clothes.

He says your name. You pretend not to hear. He says it louder. You pause, but do not turn to him, and the soft sound of his feet against the carpet precedes the feeling of his presence behind you. His hands slide up your forearms, and suddenly a sob was trapping itself in your throat.

“Honey…” He whispers, willing you to face him. Reluctantly, you turn around, avoiding his gaze. His hands engulfed your face anyway and coaxed your eyes to his.

“You could be the only thing left in my life and that would be all the reasons in the world to make sure I came back home.” His thumbs wiped away tears you hadn’t realised had been shed, “I’m sorry that I scared you. If it was the other way around I'd—” He shook his head, “I don’t know what I'd do. If i’m honest, all i’ve been for the past month is afraid. Of losing Jack, of losing you. I don’t know which way is worse— that Jack is away from me and I can't be the one who protects him, or that you’re right here and I still might fail to protect you. I don’t know how to think about anything else.”

He pushed away damp strands of your hair, “I don’t want to die. I don’t. I just suppose that all I'm thinking about is catching Foyet that every second I spend away from searching for leads is another second I could be too late in saving someone I love. I think it’s why I rushed into that house, i just wanted the case over with so I could get back to Foyet. But I shouldn't have done it. You’re right.” He inhaled, “I want this all over with. I want us to be able to spend the weekend taking Jack to the park, and I want to tuck him into bed at night knowing I'll be making him pancakes in the morning. And I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life knowing that nothing could take you away.“

“I want that too,” You said softly, “And we’ll get there, I know it. But please, I need you to take care of yourself. I can’t lose you, Aaron.”

“You won’t. I promise.” He assured, conviction laced in his words. Then, “I love you.”

One hand still on your face, the other reached down to pull you into him by the small of the back. It had been so long since your kisses had been anything but fleeting that the feverishness in which he pressed his lips to yours caught you by surprise for a moment. But, god, it was everything that you needed.

Arms wrapping around his neck, you melted into him like it was the easiest thing since the beginning of time. And even if he had doubts about his ability to protect you, there would never be a place in the world where you felt more safe than in his embrace.

[leaentries]

some more nico with his pregnant wife!

➛ has a routine where every night before he sleeps he has to use one of those mini ultrasound machines to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. even if he’s in a roadie, you bet your ass he’s calling you so you can play it over the phone. he’ll just lay back in his bed, phone up to his ear or headphones on and just listen with a smile playing on his face. it comforts him hearing the strong, rhythmic beat. it’s his way of knowing you and the baby are safe.

➛ always talks to the baby! it’s one of his favorite things to do, especially when you first wake up. nine times out of ten, you’ll wake up to nico softly kissing your belly while murmuring sweet swiss-german to your unborn child. bonus, there’s often times when you’ll be reading or scrolling through your phone and nico is having his daily chats with the baby, and he just leans his cheek onto your swollen belly and gazes up at you. his big brown eyes are all full of love and adoration while he just watches your face while you read.

➛ he also is always touching your belly or body in some way when you’re pregnant. nico was very protective of you in the beginning, but now that you’re carrying his baby? dial it up about 100 notches. needs that reassurance that you’re okay and that you’re safe in his arms. very ‘caveman’ of him, but his body literally aches if he feels like he can’t be there for you. you and the baby are his lifeline, his world, and he would do anything to make sure that you’re both happy and taken care of. when you’re in public, his hand is against your back or on your hip. he’ll even keep his hand resting comfortably on your belly. it helps him feel like he’s protecting them. at home he’s much more unabashed about touching you. both his hands are splayed over your stomach almost at all times. if you’re cooking? he’s holding your bump. your cuddling on the couch? he’s holding your bump. your just standing up somewhere on your phone? you guessed it! he’s holding your bump.

➛ nico is also very in tune with your body and mind. he wants to be able to take care of you in the best way possible and make sure that you’re happy and content. don’t get me wrong, he loves making sure the baby is happy and healthy, but you’re his wife, his girl, and he’s gonna put your well being above all else. he’s the one whose texting or calling you every chance he gets when he’s not there. even if it’s just to hear your voice. nico can usually tell by your tone whether you’re feeling okay or not. if he’s at practice and he calls you during a break, he’ll know that because you answered the phone slightly different than normal that something’s off. and when he does find out you’re uncomfortable or upset about something, he’s racing to soothe your needs and fix it. nico hates seeing you unhappy and he’ll go to ends of the earth and back again if it means he gets to see you smile.

+ this turned out a lot longer than i anticipated, but i still have more thoughts if yall want more! also my inbox is open for your nico thoughts!

[quintessenceofdust88]

perfect (it's not all it's cracked up to be)

Hello everyone! I promised you guys that the sequel for this prompt would be up by the weekend, right? Turns out I only sorta lied cause it's still Monday hehe. I hope you enjoy it!

You can read it on AO3 if you'd prefer! ❤️

When Tommy wakes up, it’s like his body is on fire and freezing at the same time; half of his body feels numb, and the other half is hurting like never before. Huh, maybe his father had a point and all queer freaks end up in hell. Then again, considering one of his last deeds on Earth was walking out on sunshine itself, maybe it’s not about his queerness after all; it’s about Tommy himself. 

He hears a heart monitor at his side, and that gives him pause; he doesn’t think the afterlife bothers with medical devices, so… So maybe he’s alive? If only opening his eyes didn’t feel like it would hurt so much, Tommy could try and find out (not that he knows what hell looks like; it could be like a hospital room, for all he knows). He tries it anyway, letting out a grunt as it, indeed, hurts like a bitch. 

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” A voice says to his right side, and yeah, now Tommy’s pretty sure he’s not in hell. Evan Buckley doesn’t belong in hell, not even as part of Tommy’s eternal torture. 

As his vision clears, Tommy sees Evan is on a chair by his side, and he looks… Rough. There’s stubble covering his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’s looking at Tommy with despair clearly written in his permanently wet eyes, as if he’s afraid Tommy will disappear if he looks away. And to Tommy, it’s still instinct to comfort Evan, to try and find something to say that’ll make him feel better.

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty. 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen the other guy, doc” He attempts to joke, and Evan’s scoff and the doctor’s exasperated look make it clear it wasn’t his best attempt. “So, let’s talk business, doc. Will I fly again?” Tommy asks, because that’s the question that matters the most. 

He realizes with a treacherous skip to his heart that Evan looks as interested in the answer as Tommy himself. During the whole time the doctor is talking to him about treatments and physical therapy and his perspective to get back to work, he stays by his side, nodding attentively at everything the doctor says (as if he’ll be involved in your treatment, a hopeful part of his brain that should have quieted down weeks ago supplies, and Tommy does his best not to listen to it, because it’ll hurt so bad when it’s not the case). 

When the doctor makes it clear that Tommy will not go back to the air for at least six months, Evan squeezes his hand and gives him a look of solidarity that goes a long way to make it not feel like the end of the world. And when the nurse comes to up Tommy’s dosage of morphine and redress his wounds, he doesn’t let go of his hand. Tommy wants to say something, anything, but he’s received a lot of information and the morphine running through his veins makes it difficult to put his thoughts into words. But he doesn’t want to fall asleep; he doesn’t want to let Evan go. 

“Sleep, Tommy” Evan tells him in a firm tone. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Then we’ll talk”

It sounds too good to be true; Tommy refuses to believe it. Evan would have every right to leave him to fend for himself; he wouldn’t blame him in the slightest. He closes his eyes, fully expecting to find an empty room when he wakes up.

But contrary to all expectations, when Tommy opens his eyes again, feeling slightly more like a person and less like a shapeless bruise, is to find Evan in the same chair, only with the black hoodie this time, and a cup of coffee in his hand. 

He’s impossibly handsome in black, Tommy thinks dazedly, taking advantage of the fact Evan’s looking down at his phone to take a good look at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Tommy wonders if he’s been home at all. 

His heart does another one of those treacherous leaps, and Tommy is having a hard time keeping the hope from bubbling in his chest. Because if this man saw Tommy at his worst, physically and (especially) emotionally, and was willing to stay this long by his side, who’s to say he won’t stay longer? He was willing to; Tommy was the one who fled, thinking it was about the excitement of a new relationship, but staying by his side after a helicopter crash is something entirely different. Who’s to say he won’t just… stay?

Tommy has to be brave; hell, he’s been brave before, on that glorious night where he took a leap of faith and placed a kiss to the man who had maimed his best friend for Tommy’s attention. Evan had been brave, if a little misguided, when he invited Tommy to move in with him. He owes him some bravery right now. If nothing else, he owes him some honesty after everything.

“You were right” He blurts out, and Evan looks up from his phone, staring at him with widened blue eyes. 

“H-hey, you’re up! Do… Do you need anything? I can call the nurse…” He trails off when Tommy’s hand, the one which is less covered in scrapes and bruises, reaches out to lightly touch his.

“I just need you to listen to me. You… you were right, Evan. I was a coward. I am a coward. I… I don’t know how to be loved. I never was” He admits it, and hates himself for choking up as he says it. This isn’t a pity party; he’s just stating a fact: the sky is blue, alcohol is flammable, Thomas Kinard was never loved. He hates how it makes Evan’s whole demeanor soften, because Tommy doesn’t deserve it. 

“Then let me love you” Evan whispers, taking Tommy’s hand in both of his. “Let me teach you how it feels. It’s… It’s not like I’m an expert at it, ok? I… I haven’t always been loved either. But… but I love you. You broke my fucking heart, Tommy, and I still love you. Do… do you love me?”

“With all of my heart” Tommy whispers back, and he can’t keep a tear from running down his face. Hell, he almost died, he’s allowed to be emotional. “T-that’s why I had to leave, Evan. If… If you didn’t love me back… If you found out I wasn’t perfect…”

“I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But guess what? I love you anyway, you idiot” He says, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead, another to the tip of his nose, and a very tender one to his lips. “You… You always wanted me to see you as perfect. You barely let me in all the time we were together. But I saw it anyway, Tommy, and I still wanted you. I still want you”

“I… I was so afraid of being hurt that I didn’t think I’d be hurting you” Tommy admits with a sigh. “A-actually I didn’t think you’d be hurt. I… I thought you’d be okay. I’m sorry, Evan”

“Well, I wasn’t okay. Just ask all of my friends and the thousand loaves of bread in their pantries” He says with a chuckle, and then looks Tommy deeply in the eyes. “Next time, talk to me instead of doing a dramatic exit. And don’t wait till you almost die to let me know where my Christmas presents are”

Tommy chuckles, and squeezes Evan’s hand. He wishes he could sit up and kiss him within an inch of his life, but it  sounds a little out of his physical abilities right now. He’ll content himself, with a peck on the lips before Evan sits back down, still holding Tommy’s hand in his. 

“I promise Christmas will be perfect” He says, and Evan shakes his head.

“I don’t need perfect, Tommy. I just need you”

–

And Christmas is not perfect. Tommy’s still mostly on bed rest and his leg’s still in a cast. Buck’s staying at his place for now to help him around, but they decided to leave any serious conversations about moving in to after New Year’s. They haven’t really decorated (Tommy was too depressed to bother, and Buck didn’t really have the time between his shifts and taking care of Tommy) and their plans for the day mostly consist in staying in bed and alternating between cheesy rom-coms and documentaries. 

It’s not perfect. They are not perfect. But they’re together, and Tommy finds himself thanking any deity out there for his accident. That it brought Evan back to him, and more importantly, him back to Evan. 

Buck’s wearing his new burgundy hoodie, and he gives Tommy the airplane model that he stubbornly kept in the hood of the Jeep all this time. They assemble it together, and it’s not the best, because Tommy’s hands are still a little sore and Buck’s not very good at the whole arts and crafts thing, but Tommy puts in his nightstand with adoration anyway. 

And if there’s no tree, no Christmas dinner, no cheesy sweaters, well. They can always make up for it next Christmas.

--

Tag list: (let me know if you’d like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if you'd rather only be tagged on Little Blobs' verse, also let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter  @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie  

[d1xonss]

Hi there! I was wondering if i could get some straight Daryl Dixon smut where fem!reader is asking him to choke her for the first time? If not it’s totally okay! love your writing! <3

Something New

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 2

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : ⚠️ Smut (18+)

✧ Word Count : 1.6k

AN ~ Oooh I don’t think I’ve ever done any kind of smut like this before, but I’m happy to try! And let’s preface this first before anything else; no I don’t think Daryl would realistically feel comfortable choking someone. He strikes me as the type of man that doesn’t want to harm you in any way during something so intimate, even if you asked for it. However, I think early seasons Daryl would definitely be a little rougher during sex which is why I planned for the season 2 era. But the moral of the story is this is just for fun, and I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

Hope you enjoy! xoxox

It had been a rough couple of days. Between getting stranded on the highway, losing Sophia, and Carl getting shot, it was safe to say that the group had seen better days. The recent events had taken a toll on all of you, the stress beginning to build up to the point of no return. And it was no surprise to you seeing Daryl was the one who was taking it the hardest. 

He was constantly tense and rigid, a permanent scowl on his face while nothing seemed to be going the way it was supposed to. Though luckily for him, you knew just the way to relieve some of that…tension.

Your gasps and moans could be heard by no one near as Daryl had taken it upon himself to move your shared tent far away from the others to get some distance. At first you were weary of the idea, but now you thought it just might’ve been the best one he’s ever had. Considering the filthy sounds he was pulling from you, it would be mortifying to face the others the following morning.

The small tent was pitch black, the only thing you were able to see were the soft outlines of the different shapes around you, along with feeling Daryl’s hot pants on the back of your neck as he continuously pounded into you. The sound of your wetness with every thrust filled the small space, almost suffocating as the sleeping bag beneath you was providing little to no comfort from the harsh ground beneath you. But with your legs tangled together and the feel of his dick hitting your hilt over and over again, the feel of tiny rocks below was far from your mind.

“Oh, fuck.” you whimpered, desperately grabbing and gripping at his arms that were wrapped around you as his pace was rough and determined. Your pussy was throbbing, the feel of his hips slapping against your ass was growing more urgent as you felt your wetness begin to run down your leg.

He grunted from behind you, feeling your walls clench around him, “That’s right, fuckin take it.” he growled into your ear, the next thing you felt were his teeth teasingly biting the shell.

You threw your head back in ecstasy, your toes curling all while trying to patch his pace with your own movements. But let’s face it, you were growing tired. And he had more stamina than the two of you combined. He could’ve kept this up all night if he wanted to just to torture you a bit more than he already was, having slowed down multiple times right when he felt you were about to come.

His large, rough hands then moved from your hips up to your breasts, giving them a generous squeeze before teasing your nipples just enough to get you to squirm even more. Gently pinching and pulling them to hear more of those delicious sounds. You cried out almost in agony with how much he was teasing you, the feeling both pleasurable and miserable. But Daryl couldn’t lie, he loved it. Hearing you like this, so aching and hungry for him drove him absolutely crazy.

Your bodies were sheen in a thin layer of sweat, the desire and lust growing even thicker with every plunge of his hips or bites at your skin. You wanted to feel him everywhere. Which is why your hand impulsively reached for his, tugging it toward your throat in a sex drunk kind of state. Though Daryl however quickly snapped out of it when his mind processed your actions, his movements stopping completely which only caused you to whine a bit in protest as you thought he only did it to tease you again. But what you couldn’t see was his expression was quite serious. Never in a million years had he even considered what you had silently asked him to do.

“What the hell are ya doin?” he asked, his tone rough with desire yet still somehow soft when it came to speaking to you.

His words brought you out of your daze, your eyes widening a little at what you had unconsciously done in a fit of impatience and longing. You had never outright admitted that you had a kind of kink, a fantasy perhaps of him wrapping his strong hands around your throat. But now that your secret was basically exposed, you felt extremely embarrassed, silently thankful that the tent was dark enough to where you couldn’t see his face. Although you could sense the tension resurfacing, the tension you so desperately tried to take away from him, was suddenly back within an instant.

“Sorry…” you huffed quietly as you tried to catch your breath, “Heat of the moment.”

Daryl was silent for what seemed like ages, leaving you thinking you had ruined the entire moment as you didn’t have a clue at what was going on in his head. But surprisingly enough, it wasn't what you had anticipated.

The idea of choking, spanking, or any kind of harmful thing really had never before crossed his mind despite how rough he could be at times. He never wished to intentionally hurt you, especially after the trust you had built up over the weeks of knowing one another. You were important to him, even though he had never been brave enough to admit that out loud, you were still quite literally the only person that mattered to him now. But seeing as clearly you weren’t opposed to the idea of exploring something new, he figured...maybe he could get behind it. 

His face leaned down toward your ear again from behind, “You tell me if it’s too much…ya hear me?” he said almost sternly to show you how serious he was about this.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, opening your mouth to question him, but you didn’t get the chance before his hand came up to gently squeeze at your neck. Your eyes widened, a surprised whimper escaping your lungs while his hips slowly began to buck up into you again, picking up right where he had left off.

The tightness he held around your throat immediately sent you back to that blissful haze, feeling your limbs begin to tingle as he continued to send shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. You moaned loudly when he squeezed a bit tighter, testing the waters with how much you could take. But it didn’t hurt at all surprisingly, like he somehow knew exactly what he was doing though he had never tried this before in his life. It was almost concerningly perfect, and you were in heaven.

“God, you sound so pretty.” he breathed, his pace increasing as he began to manhandle you, “You really like this, don’t you?” he asked almost teasingly.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to hear the tone of his voice, only managing to focus on how good it felt as you nodded your head frantically. Silently begging him to let you finish this time.

He choked you a bit harder when you didn’t respond, “Come on girl…tell me how good it feels.” he groaned.

You panted heavily while simultaneously swallowing to try and lubricate your dry throat, “Feels good- feels so good.” you stuttered pathetically.

Daryl hummed in approval as he heard your response, leaning his head down to kiss and lick at the skin of your shoulder while his free hand moved down to rub circles on your clit. A sharp gasp was pulled from you as you arched your back into him, your vision growing almost spotty at the amount of sensations he was giving you. Your legs began to twitch and he could feel your walls clenching around him even more intensely as you neared your orgasm again. But instead of slowing down, he finally continued to draw it out.

Your moans and whines grew louder and louder as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, his hand over your throat only making your brain feel more fuzzy. You almost couldn’t control the sounds you were making anymore as you finally came, crying out his name in the state of bliss you had craved so much. It was like for a moment you saw stars, feeling as if your soul left your body for a moment as his fingers continued to work on your sensitive clit. The feeling of your tight walls consuming him left him not far behind as he quickly managed to pull out of you, before spilling himself onto your back with a low groan of pleasure.

It took minutes for the two of you to finally come down from your high, catching your ragged breaths while your bodies felt almost too limp to even attempt to move. But eventually, his hand retracted back from your neck as he slowly sat up a bit, leaving a tender kiss on the back of your head to express what he couldn’t with words.

“We…we need to do that again.” you breathed quietly, slumping onto your back from exhaustion.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your silent request, shaking his head though you couldn’t see, “Let’s wait a few hours at least…don’t wanna kill ya.” he said lightheartedly.

You huffed softly, “I think you already did. I feel like I can’t move my legs.”

His eyes glanced down, his hand coming up to run along your hip before traveling down your thigh, “How bout a massage then, hm?”

It’s funny, you thought. One minute he was saying the dirtiest things, fucking you until you forgot your own name. And then the next, he was sweetly suggesting a massage after his own doings. But then again, you would never complain. Perhaps after this, he would be more keen to trying new things…

~ Thanks for reading!

[yougavememyopia]

Tags: Dubcon 18+, fem reader receiving, sub male yandere, kidnapping

-----------------------♡♡-------------------------

He wore you down.

You stopped pushing him and yelling almost half an hour ago. His face was buried in your neck, his nose brushing against a sensitive spot. You tried once more to push him away, but that only made him hold you tighter. One of his legs was over your waist, and one of his arms around your shoulders. He held you tightly, making sure you weren't able to escape.

It didn't matter. You couldn’t escape even if you tried, your hands and legs were tied. "Let.. go," you weakly protested, too tired to move your body.

"I told you an hour ago, I'm not letting go." He mumbled against your neck and then moved up to whisper in your ear. "I'm never letting you go. We're going to be together forever."

Shivers ran down your spine. His voice echoed in your ear. You were so tired. His hug was so comfortable.

"Augh... This can't be happening."

Your nose was invaded by the sweet smell of his cologne. His arms tightened even more, squeezing the life out of you.

"I love you.. I love you so much. Is it so bad to just let me take you? Please, let me have you. I'm tired of watching you be sad. I can make you happy. So, so happy..."

You scoffed. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No." He began kissing your neck. It felt nice. The wet feeling of his tongue made you groan. "Doesn't that feel good? Don't you want this feeling to last forever? A cute boy like me... here for whatever you need."

You could feel his grin. He was trying to use pleasure to manipulate you. His hand moved to your chest, squeezing your breast in his hand. You gasped. The thin shirt made it clear how hard your nipples were already. He rolled it between his fingers. His other hand came in to join. Both of them palming and messaged your chest. He started moaning softly in your ear.

"Mmh... This feels so much better than when you do it by yourself, right? My hands are bigger, warmer..."

He became harsher with his grip, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Mumbling about how he can be there for you, how your life will be so much better with him. You didn't protest, just enjoying the arousing feeling he was causing.

"Should I go lower? You're clenching your thighs together. Do you want me to touch you? Please, can I? Can I? Please, please, please?"

He sucked on your earlobe, not waiting for you to speak before putting his hands down the waistline of your panties.

"I'm so excited. I've been waiting for this forever. Do you know how many times I imagined this? How many times I practiced for this day? Oh, please..."

He rubbed a finger over your slit, parting your folds. Grabbing the wetness from your hole to bring up to your sensitive numb.

"Ah.. fuck..." You both said at the same time. He giggled, moving down to suck your neck.

He rubbed his finger in a circular motion, making your body shake. You bit your lip, barely containing the sounds coming from your lips.

In contrast to you, he was moaning with no shame. Rubbing your clit impatiently, but trying to be gentle. "It's so wet. Is that how it always is when you're playing with yourself? It feels so good. Do you feel good? Are you enjoying it? Please be enjoying it. Please love me."

He stopped abruptly and pushed you on your back, climbing on top of you. "I need to see your face. I need to see you when I make you feel good. Ah, fuck, I'm making you feel good. I'm making you feel good!"

He had a stupid grin on his face as he leaned down. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his hands caressing your hair and rubbing your side. You already made out for a while earlier, yet it seemed like he wasn't done with your lips.

"Ah.. I gotta stay focused. You're distracting me from you. Nngh... You taste so good. I love this. I love you. Fuck..."

He sighed, pulling down your underwear. He buried himself between your legs and started devouring you. You couldn't do anything but moan. He worked at a weird pace, going really fast but then slowing down. He couldn't keep his enthusiasm in check and clearly having no idea what he was doing. He had no patience.

"Augh.. pick a pace." You forced yourself to say between pants. "Feels weird..."

"S-sorry... Be patient with me, please. I promise I'll learn for you. We can... We can practice every night like this. Wouldn't that be nice? Wouldn't you enjoy it? Mh?"

He went back to sucking your nub, his fingers shakily pushing into you. One, then two, then three. Your body allowing him in easily.

"Nngh!" You groaned.

He chuckled, pulling them out and then back in. Slowly, and then he picked up the pace. "Ah.. you're so tight. It's soft in here. Mmh, I feel so happy. It feels so good. Please..." He continued to do that while his mouth was busy. He curled his fingers, trying to use all the knowledge he gathered. You wished you could shut him up, but you didn't have the strength.

"Mmph? You liked that? I'll do it more." He mumbled against you, picking up the speed as your thighs shook. "Nghh.. I wanna taste your release. I wanna feel you finish. You're squeezing around my fingers. You're close, right? Please come. Please, please, please.."

He moaned, continuing to beg you. You couldn't hold it back any longer. You squeezed his head with your legs and arched your back. He whined with you as you finished. He kept going gently, milking your release.

After a minute or two of licking you clean, he pulled back. He buried his head in your chest, panting. Kissed your cheek and then hugged you tightly.

"I'm all yours, y'know. You can tell me to do anything, and I'll do it. Just love me, please. Please..." He tilted his head up, making eye contact. "Did I do good? Did you like it? Hm? Was I a good boy?"

His eyes were getting glassy. You just stared back at him before nodding your head. Still fazed. "Yeah. Good... boy..."

"Mmh! I'm your good boy. Your good boy forever now. We can do this lots more, yeah? Please let me make you feel good again."

He unbuttoned your shirt. His mouth immediately went to take in your nipple in his mouth. He sucked greedily, his hand playing with your other breast.

This was going to be a long night.

[lovebugism]

id love to request a blurb with eddie and reader who has some family trauma. like parental issues 🥲 and just eddie being a sweetheart 

prompt: “what’s wrong with me? why didn’t they love me? why wasn’t i good enough for them?” 

ty for requesting!! — eddie comforts you after a fight with your dad (established relationship, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of childhood trauma | 1.5k)

“I think I’m broken.”

From where you’re laid on Eddie’s chest, you can feel the rumbling of his laughter against your cheek. The bubbly sound of his boyish chuckling almost makes you smile. Almost.

“I don’t know…” he lilts, smoothing his hand over your back, as though to check for any cracks or scrapes. “You seem pretty perfect to me.”

“Shut up,” you murmur and tuck your burning face into his chest — a desperate and feeble attempt to hide. Your nose smushes against his neck, and you take a deep breath in. The familiar scent of weed and woody cologne fills your lungs.

“You don’t feel broken either—” Eddie teases, just before jabbing your side with two fingers.

The fleeting tickling sensation makes you squeal as your hand jerks out to swat at him. The flailing limb finds purchase on his stomach, which trembles now with laughter. 

Your body, moving on its own accord in reaction to his prodding, rises from the pillow you’d made upon his body. You move to the very edge of his mattress, knees pulled up to your chest, and sit with your back facing the lazing boy.

You wince and rub at your side, though it hadn’t hurt at all.

“I’m being serious, Eds,” you whine in protest, sparing the boy a glance over your shoulder.

“Oh, right. Serious,” he responds, still joking as he clears his throat and lowers his voice a few octaves. “Very serious.”

You manage a small smile before turning away again. You focus your gaze on your lap and fidget with a loose thread hanging from the hem of your sock. It’s easier than looking back at him — at the boy who’s made a superpower out of making you laugh. Even though he’s in bed with you now, you don’t feel nearly as happy as you know you should be.

It’s not fair. Not to either of you.

“I’m just… I’m just thinking about the fight. You know. With my dad,” you confess, voice featherlight and faraway. The sock tightens around your ankle when you pull the string taut. You wrap it around the tip of your finger until it turns a shade darker. “I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s my fault…”

Eddie grows suddenly solemn.

“Hey… That’s… No,” he stammers and rises on his elbows, trying to find the right words to comfort you. “I mean, no offense, babe, but your dad’s an asshole. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“No, I know, it’s just… He’s a good guy to everyone but me, you know? Like, the whole town loves him— and he loves ‘em back, but just not… Just not me,” you say, laughing softly to yourself, still refusing to meeting Eddie’s chocolate gaze that swims now with concern. The tip of your finger starts to tingle with numbness. “And I’m just like… what’s wrong with me, you know? Why doesn’t he love me? What did I do that was so wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eddie answers for you, gentle but still stern in his way. He reaches out for you and curls his ringed fingers around the crook of your elbow — if nothing but to feel you and to keep you tethered. 

You turn to look at him then, a feeble glance from the corner of your eye. His hair is wild with sex and sleep. His cheeks are flushed and rosy. His mouth is pink and softly swollen. He’s glowing and pretty and perfect. You want to keep him forever this way, like a picture in a locket or a love letter in your wallet.

“He puts up a front with the rest of the town, so no one can see what a jerk he really is, right?” Eddie tells you. “But you know the real him. And he hates that you know the real him, so he takes it out on you.”

It’s a lot more profound than anything you could’ve expected to spill from his mouth. And it hurts even more because you know he’s right.

You were raised with your father’s urge to people-please. It didn’t matter how crazy your life got, just as long as no one else had to see it. None of the bullshit mattered if people didn’t know it was there. That was your father’s philosophy, at least. 

You become half daughter, half apology — blundering with the uncertainty of yourself and the wrong kind of love.

Eddie was the first person you ever let in. 

You showed him all your chaos, and he loved you just the same. The catastrophe of your personality was suddenly beautiful again — interesting and lovely and warm. You were perfect because you weren’t.

It’s why you run away to Eddie’s trailer so often, and why you’re here even now. Because he lets you be human — clumsy and naive and starry-eyed — and doesn’t snatch any of it away from you. He just holds you.

His warm hand squeezes your arm in reassurance. His eyes glint with sincerity. “He’s not your dad, okay? He’s just… some guy with a kid. And why should some guy get to make the best girl in the world feel so sad?”

A smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, and trembles softly as you confess: “I’m just scared that I’m unloveable.”

The heaviness of the moment and of your admission is swept aside with the stubborn shake of Eddie’s head. He dispels the thought from his own mind with enough vigor to take it from yours, too.

He rises fully and slides towards the edge of the bed so he’s behind you. One leg curls behind your back while the other sits straight out beside your own. His warmth envelops you wholly, like warm honey or a soft blanket. The hand on your arm doesn’t move. This boy and his touch are the steadiest things you’ve ever known.

“Well, that’s just not true,” he argues, lips warm on your shoulder as he presses a kiss over your t-shirt. He rests his chin there a second later.

Your face scrunches softly in discontent. You don’t like how sure he sounds, batting off your concerns with the finesse of someone who knows more than you do. 

“How would you know?”

“‘Cause I love you,” he answers like it’s obvious, chin bobbing with every word. “And so does a ton of other people. But I matter the most, so… It just can’t be true, you know? Process of elimination or whatever.”

It’s hard to see him from this angle, with his face so close to yours. You want so badly to kiss him, but you can’t look away from his chocolate button eyes and the sparkle they look at you with.

You don’t want to smile, but you can’t help it — like some kind of pouting child. The expression tugs slowly at your mouth before bursting into glittering rays of sunshine. It’s like blue skies after pouring rain, how swiftly you recover.

“There she is,” Eddie singsongs with a beaming grin of his own. He presses a kiss to your cheek, so full of intent that it smacks when he parts from you. You laugh when the edges of his curls tickle your jaw. 

“You okay now?” he asks — just measuring the temperature, not boxing you into a corner.

It’s not the ‘you have to be okay’ that you’re used to.

Instead, it’s a — ‘it’s okay if you’re not okay, I’ll just kiss you a million times until you forget why you were sad.’

You nod. “Yeah, I’m okay… Thanks, Eds”

Eddie watches you go suddenly sheepish, peering at him from beneath your lashes like you’re embarrassed to have been human in front of him.

“Don’t thank me,” he scoffs. “I just love you— You shouldn’t thank me for that.”

“Right,” you answer with a soft laugh. ‘Cause you’re still getting used to that — being loved without having to give anything in return other than your own affection. Sometimes, your heart is enough.

You settle finally in his arms, full of warmth and contentment. You wrap your arms around the ones he holds you with. Eddie lets you fall heavy on his chest — warm honey, soft blanket.

“I love you, too, by the way,” you hum after a moment of velvet silence.

Eddie presses his lips to the crown of your head and smiles. “I know.”

“Kinda makes me feel like a little carton of strawberries.”

He laughs into your hair. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” you lilt, giggling right along with him. “That’s just what it feels like… I love you so much, it’s like… Like I’m holding the sun on both sides or something.”

“Whoa. That’s a lot,” he muses, only partially playful. “Still not as much as I love you, though.”

And, for now, you don’t argue.

There isn’t a reason to, really. 

You love each other, and that’s enough.

Nothing can beat the feeling of finally being understood, of being held in the right hands. Nor is anything as liberating as the pursuit of wholeness instead of perfection. 

And in Eddie’s arms, you’re whole.

[auroracalisto]

anthony bridgerton x gn!reader, 467 words summary: short fic between anthony and a poor reader using the line: "i beg you to stay, just 'til tomorrow." from this sentence starter set. a/n: could be a set up for a multi-part fic if people are interested. >:)

The moon lay high in the sky, shining through the curtains of your bedroom. Your body lay tangled with Anthony's strong limbs, his arms carefully wrapped around your warmed body.

Every moment of his presence was like a step closer to heaven. Just being near him was just as fulfilling as actually being with him.

And as you feel him stir from his spot, slowly sitting up, you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

"Anthony?" you softly said.

"I need to go," he simply replied. He stood from his spot in your bed, grabbing his shirt that had been haphazardly thrown onto the ground.

"Wait," you quickly said, sitting up. The sheets pool around your hips. "Anthony, don't—"

"—I need to get back before morning, darling," he softly said. "You know this."

Eyebrows furrowed, your lips part as you tried to find something more to say. You hated this moment of the night, even though you knew it came. Every. Single. Time.

"I beg you," you softly said. "I beg you to stay, just 'til tomorrow."

He looked back at you as he finished buttoning up his shirt, grabbing his trousers from the end of the bed and pulling them on rather quickly.

"Y/n, you know I can't do that," he said. "As much as I wish I could."

He crossed the threshold to be beside of you, taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I do wish I could. But it's not going to happen. Not today."

You sit there, a soft frown on your lips. This was how it always went. You would beg him to stay, but he would leave, knowing that the scandal that would haunt his family would be nothing but disastrous. Despite that, you still wished for him. His comfort.

"When will I see you again?" you asked.

He weakly smiled. "Soon. I promise."

"Truly?"

He blinked slowly. "Y/n..."

You looked away from him, a soft frown on your lips. "I wish you would just—just stay. We could be so happy, you and I."

"I do not think you would be happy with me, Y/n."

Your gaze immediately fell to his. "I beg your pardon?"

"This is not—I am not having this conversation. Not today. I must go." He cupped your face in between his hands and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "Until next time."

You deflated as you watched him leave.

"Yes," you softly whispered. "Until next time."

How cruel was the world to grant you the love of a lifetime only to pull it out from under you—for he was nobility, and you were... well, you.

The love you shared would be nothing more than frivolity in the sanctity of your bedroom.

[lemon-russ]

Look. I just........ you can't judge me. What were YOU doing at the devils sacrament?

Mortarion X F!Reader (Pt. 1?)

Next (technically prequel)

CW: imprisonment, dehumanization, human pet, oral sex, general debauchery

TAGS: @moodymisty

Look I dunno if you guys signed up for this but uhhh: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk

“Shhhh, there, there, pet.”

Mortarion reaches through the bars of your cage to stroke your hair. You blink away sleep from your eyes as you orient yourself in the plush prison. Master is home? You scramble out of your little bed- nothing more than a large dogs bed but layered in pillows and blankets- and eagerly press yourself to the bars.

You lean into his palm, grasping his wrist to urge his hand to your cheek and nuzzle into his massive hand.

The primarch chuckles a raspy sound out. “That's a good girl, so happy to see me…” he cooes, kneeling, with some effort and popping joints, to sit beside your prison.

“Now, were you a good pet today? Quiet? Played nicely with your toys?” He murmurs, running a calloused thumb over your lips. “I don’t want to have to make excuses again if you made noise and alerted my sons.”

You smile wide, nodding eagerly. You know better than to speak without being asked. Your master prefers you use your body over words to express your appreciation. You had been playing nice and quiet all day, drawing on your parchments and playing with the “toys” he leaves you for when he is gone for an extended time.

He smiles, the skin of his dry lips straining with cracks, unused to the expression. He withdraws his hand, and the comforting clammy cool with it. You resist clinging.

Your cage clicks open, and you temper your excitement. Mortarion is letting you out? That only ever means good things for his treasured pet. Is it bath time? Or does he want you to warm his bed? Will he finally take you out and show you off?

Your excitement must be showing on your face, because Mortarion lets out another weak chuckle before rasping out a few harsh coughs.

“There's a good pet, so eager to please. It's been a few days since you came out, hasn't it?” He says as he latches your favorite collar to your neck. A rich green, with his name emblazened in bronze. His fingers trace over your throat as he admires the band, sending shivers down your spine and rasing goosebumps on your skin.

He moves aside to let you crawl out. Your cage is large, but short. Not enough to stand in, so it is a special treat when you get to stretch your legs and spine out in your masters bedroom.

Your body protests the sudden change of position as you stretch. It feels more and more unnatural to stand like this, or even leave the safety of your plush cage. Soon you return to your hands and knees at the Primarch’s feet.

He reaches down to run a hand through your hair again, before clipping a matching leash to your neck. A tug tightens your collar, drawing a squeak of surprise from your throat.

“Are you going to be a good pet?” He asks, pulling you by the lead to the edge of the bed. He sits, pulling you forward with him.

You nod quickly, crawling across the hard metal floor to kneel between his knees.

He tugs your leash sharper. “Say it.” He rasps. His pale eyes grow heavy as he eyes you, in your proper place.

“I’ll be good.” You croak, voice thick with disuse.

He smiles again, reaching down to run a hand under your chin. He brings his face close enough that his breath tickles your cheeks.

“Good girl.”

He leans back, spreading his legs and tugging you forward again, your collar biting into the soft skin of your neck. You don’t need to be told twice, and start undoing the ties holding his loose pants up. There are still splatters of old blood and the remnants of harsh chemicals from the battlefield staining his clothes, and you assume he must have come straight to you after getting home from a fight. The idea makes you puff up a little with pride. Master came straight to you…

You tug apart the knots and look up at him for permission to continue. He answers by caressing a hand to your face, then snapping the leash with his other hand, making you yelp.

You quickly return to your task, releasing Mortarion’s half ready cock from his pants at last.

The sight of his pale flesh makes you stop and admire. Every time your master uses you, you’re still astounded by the sheer size of it. Mortarion chuckles at your wide eyed stare, brushing back hair from your flushed face.

“You like it, pet?” He croons, chest rattling with his deepening breaths.

You nod, fixated still on the rising organ. He smiles, running his hand behind your head to take a fistful of your hair. He pushes your head closer, pressing the head of his cock to your lips.

“Go on then, show me how much.” He demands softly, twitching his hips forward and parting your lips with the tip.

You happily comply, sucking what you can of him into your mouth. The salty taste hit your tongue, and the primearch’s grip on your head burrows him deeper into your throat.

His groaning is cut by a rattling cough, but when you try to stop to look up at him he pushes your head back down on his cock. His next moan is less labored, so you figure it best to keep trying to fit him in your mouth, stretching your aching jaw with his thrusts.

After what feels like an eternity focusing on relaxing your throat and jaw, a sharp snap of your leash snaps you back into the moment.

“That’s it, good girl-” he growls deeply, “swallow it little pet-” his voice hitches as he grabs your head and nearly gags you. He hooks a finger under your collar and yanks, briefly cutting off your already scarce air supply as he fills your throat.

With an airy, raspy whimper, you feel his cock start pumping down your throat. After a couple hitching bucks of his hips, he pulls you off of him by the hair, leaving you gasping and your jaw radiating with sore use.

He falls back onto the bed, wheezing and trembling, and pulls you up to him by your leash. You crawl up to him in a daze and collapse next to him, catching your breath as he tried to control his own.

Finally he lolled his head to look at you, cupping your chin to make you meet his cloudy eyes.

“Good pet.”

[reidmarieprentiss]

Hometown Glory

Summary: Moving back to your hometown was never your plan, and neither was running into the class clown Chip Taylor. But everything happens for a reason, right?

Pairing: Chip Taylor x nurse fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: brief domestic violence (not reader), fights, blood/cuts/gore, alcohol consumption, drunk side character, happy ending, poor sweet baby Chip going through it

Word count: 10.8k

a/n: i love chip so bad, he doesn't deserve anything bad that happened to him :( i'm really trying to get back into my writing headspace thank you all for being so patient with me <3333

main masterlist

You were finally a registered nurse, having recently finished your residency and finally securing your spot as a full-time hospital employee. After a long, grueling shift, you decide to swing by a convenience store to fill up your gas tank and treat yourself to something sweet before heading home.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly comforting as you hum a tune under your breath, scanning the aisles for the perfect snack. Your moment of quiet is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the entrance door.

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice calls out, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” comes the reply, though it’s far from convincing. The man’s voice is low and strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you, uh, have any band-aids?”

“Uh—um, yes, but... you should really see a doctor—”

“No,” the man interjects firmly, his tone impatient. “I just need band-aids. Where are they?”

The cashier hesitates before pointing him toward an aisle, still looking unsure. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you abandon your search for a snack, rounding the corner to catch a glimpse of the man in need of first aid.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Chip?” you blurt out, incredulous. You can’t believe your eyes.

The man turns to face you, and you gasp. His face is a mess—covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. His disheveled appearance sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Jesus, Chip!” you exclaim, your voice filled with both shock and concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

His brows knit together, his expression shifting from confusion to discomfort. “Who—uh, how do you know me?” he asks, his voice cautious.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, studying his battered face with worry. “Chip, it’s me—Y/N. Y/N Y/L? We went to high school together.”

Chip blinked a few times, his bloodshot eyes squinting as he tried to focus on your face. His body language, even through the fog of pain, softened just a little as he registered your name.

"Y/N? Holy shit," he repeated, his voice raspy, either from exhaustion or something worse. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stepped closer, your nurse instincts kicking into overdrive as you scanned his injuries. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, smearing down the side of his face. His knuckles were raw, and a nasty gash across his forearm oozed blood onto his torn sleeve. You could see bruising already forming along his cheekbone, and his lip was split.

"Chip, you look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?" you demanded, your voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," he muttered, brushing off your worry with a weak wave of his hand. He turned his attention to the shelf of first aid supplies, scanning for the bandaids as though they could fix everything. "I just need some bandaids, that's all."

"Bandaids? Are you serious?" You crossed your arms, a mixture of exasperation and worry bubbling in your chest. "Chip, you look like you need a hospital. Not bandaids."

He winced, his eyes darting back to you. "I don't need a hospital, okay? I just... got into a little fight. It's not a big deal."

"A little fight? Chip, you look like you lost a battle with a bear," you shot back, stepping even closer now, invading his personal space in that way only someone truly worried could get away with.

Chip’s attempt at a smirk faltered as he winced again, his injuries clearly causing him more pain than he wanted to let on. "Well, the other guy looks worse," he mumbled, his attempt at bravado falling flat under your sharp gaze.

"Great, you're still sarcastic," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, let me look at you."

"What? No. I'm fine." He started to back away, but you reached out and grabbed his uninjured arm, your grip firm but not harsh.

"Chip, I’m a nurse. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll probably pass out right here in this aisle. So unless you want the cashier to call an ambulance—which, trust me, she’s seconds away from doing—just sit down and let me take care of this."

He hesitated, glancing around the nearly empty store, clearly torn. His pride wrestled with the reality of his situation, the bruises and cuts screaming louder than his ego. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to make a scene," he mumbled, his voice low and almost pleading.

"Too late for that," you said, raising an eyebrow at the cashier who was still nervously watching the two of you.

"Please?" Chip grumbled, his tone softening just enough to sound genuine.

You sighed, relenting. "Sure, Chip. Come on." You quickly paid for your items, tossing them into a plastic bag, and led the way out to the parking lot.

Chip followed you out of the store reluctantly, his steps slow and uneven. You kept a close eye on him, glancing over your shoulder as you reached your car. His face was pale, and you could see the effort it took him to stay upright.

You glanced at him as he shuffled behind you, clearly in no condition to walk far. "Did you drive?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

As you unlocked the doors, you motioned towards the passenger seat. "Get in," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for a split second, his pride clearly still putting up a fight, but the exhaustion and pain finally won out. He slumped into the passenger seat, letting out a low groan as he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince.

You slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, casting him a sideways glance. "You really should’ve gone straight to the hospital," you said, your voice softer now that the two of you were away from prying eyes.

Chip gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing at the movement. "Yeah, well, hospitals ask a lot of questions. I wasn’t really in the mood for that."

You frowned, the wheels in your mind turning. "What kind of questions are you trying to avoid, Chip? Did you get into some kind of trouble?"

His jaw tightened, and he avoided your gaze, staring out the window instead. "It’s complicated," he muttered.

"Complicated?" You scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Chip, you’re sitting in my car, bleeding and bruised, looking like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. I think you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn’t ask for your help, Y/N."

"Too bad," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Because you’re getting it whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Chip glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. He seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay? Got into a fight with some guys who didn’t take kindly to me being there."

"Where’s 'there'?" you pressed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I'm fine. Or at least I will be."

You let out a frustrated sigh but decided not to push further. "Fine. We’ll deal with the details later. Right now, I’m taking you to my place so I can clean you up properly."

Chip’s head snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. "Your place? No, no way. That’s not happening."

"And why not?" you challenged, arching a brow at him.

"Because it’s... weird," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Weird?" You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. "Chip, you’re sitting here covered in blood, and you think going to my place to clean up is the weird part? You’re unbelievable."

He muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he slouched deeper into the seat, clearly too tired to keep up the fight.

The rest of the drive was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Chip as you hit a bump in the road.

When you finally pulled up to your apartment, you parked and turned to him. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

Chip grumbled something inaudible but followed you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. As you led him up the stairs, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"How do you always manage to get yourself into situations like this?" you muttered.

"Talent," he replied with a weak grin.

"Yeah, well, your 'talent' is going to land you in serious trouble one day," you retorted, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

Chip leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your apartment. "Nice place," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Save the commentary for when you’re not dripping blood on my floor," you shot back, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

He chuckled softly, wincing as he eased himself down. "You’ve gotten feisty, Y/N."

"And you’ve gotten dumber," you replied, grabbing your first aid kit.

As you knelt in front of him, unpacking the supplies, Chip watched you quietly. For a moment, he seemed to forget his pain, his gaze softening as he took you in.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when I start cleaning those wounds."

He smirked, the faintest glimmer of his old charm shining through. "I already do."

"Good," you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "That makes this easier."

You grabbed a clean towel and some antiseptic from the first aid kit, shooting Chip a pointed look as you settled on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, this is going to sting like hell. No whining allowed."

Chip raised an eyebrow, his lopsided grin making a reappearance despite his injuries. "When did you get so bossy? You used to be so sweet."

"And you used to be less of a shit talker," you shot back, soaking the towel with antiseptic. "Guess we both changed."

His smirk faltered as you pressed the towel against the gash on his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. "Damn, Y/N. Trying to kill me?"

"Not my fault you’re a baby," you teased, your voice light but your hands steady. "Maybe if you’d gone to the hospital like a normal person, someone else could’ve done this for you."

He chuckled, though it was strained. "Yeah, but they wouldn’t have looked this good doing it."

You paused for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His grin was still there, faint but mischievous, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself. "Flattery isn’t going to make this hurt any less," you muttered, turning your attention back to his arm.

"I’m just saying," he continued, his tone playful now, "if I’d known my high school classmate turned into some kind of Florence Nightingale, I’d have gotten into trouble a lot sooner."

You snorted, dabbing at the cut with perhaps a little more pressure than necessary. "Florence Nightingale would have let you bleed out for being this annoying."

Chip winced, but he didn’t stop talking. "Annoying? Come on, Y/N. I’m charming. You used to have a thing for charm."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I had a thing for Pete’s charm, Chip. And you’re about one bad pickup line away from me calling an ambulance to take you out of my apartment."

He laughed, the sound genuine despite his discomfort. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But seriously, thanks for this. I mean it."

"Don’t thank me yet," you said, leaning in to inspect the cut on his eyebrow. Your knee brushed against his, and you felt his gaze shift, watching you more intently now. "I still have to clean this mess on your face. That’s going to be even worse."

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "I trust you."

You stilled for a moment, your breath catching at the sincerity in his tone. Meeting his eyes, you found something there that wasn’t entirely playful—something softer, more vulnerable. The moment lingered, the air between you suddenly heavier.

Shaking off the feeling, you forced a smirk and reached for another antiseptic wipe. "That’s your first mistake," you said lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Chip grinned again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If this is what a mistake feels like, I think I’ll take my chances."

“Was that a pick up line?” You narrowed your eyes at Chip before you focused on cleaning his eyebrow, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His breath was warm on your cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. This was Chip, for God’s sake. The same Chip who’d spent half of high school cracking jokes in the back of class and charming his way both in and out of trouble.

"Doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would," he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," you replied, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good? More like amazing," he said, his grin widening as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes studied you carefully, flickering with something more contemplative than before. "Can’t believe you came back here after college."

"Why’s that?" you asked, keeping your focus on cleaning the stubborn cut near his cheekbone. You avoided meeting his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words.

"I don’t know," Chip said with a small shrug, though his voice held a quiet sincerity. "You always seemed like you were going to do bigger and better things. You had that spark, you know? Like you were meant for something more."

"Yeah, well," you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you dabbed at the wound. "I wasn’t going to come back. But… things change."

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, the playful energy between you dimming. "What changed?" he asked, his voice softer now, curiosity tinged with genuine concern.

You held your breath, your hands momentarily stilling as you thought about how to answer. The memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, but you pushed them down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mom passed," you said finally, the words quiet but firm. "Dad needed help."

The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of your apartment’s air conditioning the only sound. Chip’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something far more serious. "Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, forcing yourself to keep busy as you finished cleaning the last of his wounds. "It’s okay. It was a while ago now. You know how it is—life happens, and you just… deal with it."

Chip nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering as he watched you work. "Yeah. But still, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, offering him a small, tight smile. "Thanks, Chip." You stood up, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the trash. "Alright, you’re all patched up. Try not to pick any more fights for at least a week, okay?"

He chuckled, though the sound was quieter than before. "I’ll do my best. But no promises."

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the return of his humor. "Seriously, Chip. You should try and take care of yourself. I won’t always be here to clean up your mess."

He grinned, the warmth in his expression taking some of the weight off the conversation. "Good to know you’ve still got that fire in you. Some things don’t change, huh?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe. But some things do."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the air shift again, a quiet intensity settling between you.

"Yeah," Chip said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "Some things do."

—

You sent Chip on his way that night after you finished cleaning him up. Something about him lingered in your mind, pulling at threads of memory and curiosity. He wasn’t the same Chip you remembered from high school—not entirely, anyway. Back then, he was the class clown, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks, his antics loud enough to mask whatever deeper, darker truths he thought no one could see. You noticed, of course. You always did.

You’d thought he was cute back then, with his messy hair and crooked smile, but now? Now, he was handsome in a way that made you pause—a rugged, lived-in kind of attractiveness that spoke to years of experiences, good and bad.

In high school, you never gave much thought to what might’ve been. You’d always had a boyfriend back then—Pete Welsh. Pete, with his soft-spoken kindness and steadfast loyalty, had been the sweetest guy you’d ever known. But Pete never wanted to leave Amarillo. He was content with the small-town life, dreaming of raising a family on the same quiet streets where he grew up.

You, on the other hand, had dreams of moving far, far away. The big city called to you with its bright lights and endless possibilities. But then… Mom got sick.

Everything shifted. Plans for the future faded, replaced with long nights by her bedside and endless days balancing work and care. Amarillo, for all its limitations, became your entire world.

And now, here was Chip, standing on your front steps with that same crooked smile but a different air about him. It made you wonder what had changed for him in all these years—and what was still the same.

“What are you doing here, Chip?” you asked, exasperation clear in your tone as you stood in the doorway. Your arms crossed instinctively, but your gaze softened as it traveled over him.

He looked down, avoiding your eyes as his hands fidgeted, wringing together awkwardly. “I—uh, got kinda… cut,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. The sound was weak, forced, and trailed off quickly as he winced, one hand clutching his side.

Your eyes immediately darted to the hand pressed against his ribs. “Cut?” you echoed, your exasperation melting into concern. “Chip, what did you—”

“Can you help me out?” he interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and hope. His lips pulled into a half-smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but the faint pallor of his face betrayed him.

You sighed, already stepping back to let him in, your mind racing with questions. “Fine. Get in here before you bleed all over the porch.”

He shuffled past you, careful not to brush too close, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his steps were slightly uneven, his posture hunched just enough to protect his injured side.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice firmer now as you pointed to the kitchen. “Sit down, and don’t try to charm your way out of explaining this.”

Chip shot you a lopsided grin despite the situation, but he obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest chair. “I’d never dream of it.”

But of course, he would dream of it. Chip expertly dodged every single question you threw at him, deflecting with vague answers and cheeky grins that only served to wear down your patience further.

“Chip,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You can’t keep showing up here, okay? What if you’re in real danger and I’m not home?”

“You’re home right now,” he countered with a sheepish grin, his tone light and teasing, as if his very presence wasn’t bending every boundary you’d ever set.

“You got lucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, though the flicker of concern in your eyes softened the words.

His grin faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to the floor before returning to you. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

You shook your head, trying not to let his sudden shift tug too hard at your heartstrings. “Seriously, Chip. You can’t keep doing this. What’s going on? Why do you keep coming to me?”

For a moment, you thought he might actually answer, his mouth opening as if to speak. But then he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, the grin creeping back onto his face like armor. “Guess I just like the company.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and worried. “Chip—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he interrupted, giving you a wink that did nothing to ease your concerns. “I’m tougher than I look.”

You sighed again, the weight of his stubbornness settling heavily on your chest. “One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, Chip,” you muttered, turning to grab the first aid supplies.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. “But not tonight.”

—

It kept up like this. Chip kept showing up, like clockwork, and you—against all odds—were always magically home.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling, as if he had some sixth sense for your presence. No matter the time, no matter the day, he’d appear at your door, sometimes with a scrape, sometimes a bruise, and sometimes just that lopsided grin that made you want to roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

And despite your best efforts to keep your walls up, you always let him in.

Even when you answered the door with your arms crossed and an exasperated sigh. Even when you scolded him for not going to the hospital or told him he was too reckless for his own good. Even when you warned him, time and time again, that this wasn’t sustainable—that he couldn’t keep running to you like this.

But you still opened the door, every single time.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, a mixture of hope and mischief that felt impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the quiet moments in between—the ones where he let his guard down, even if just for a fleeting second, and you could see the boy he used to be, buried beneath the man life had clearly roughed up.

Whatever it was, you let him in, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. And Chip? He kept coming back, as if he knew. As if he could sense that, no matter what you said, you’d never actually turn him away.

You sat across from Chip at the kitchen table, the two of you nursing mugs of coffee long after the sun had gone down. The evening had settled into an easy rhythm, the kind where conversation flowed naturally, unhurried by the clock.

“Man, high school feels like it was a hundred years ago,” you said with a laugh, swirling the last bit of coffee in your mug.

“Pete Welsh and you were practically glued at the hip back then,” Chip chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. “I thought for sure you two were going to get married and have that perfect little white-picket-fence life.”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his smirk. “Pete Welsh, huh? I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Chip chuckled, tilting his head. “Mhm. Mr. Perfect Hair and Letterman Jacket? What happened to him, anyway?”

You shrugged, a wry smile crossing your face. “Last I heard, he’s still in Amarillo. Married some sweet girl he met at church, has a couple of kids now. He’s doing great.”

Chip nodded, a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds about right. Bet he’s still mowing his lawn in crisp khakis and a polo shirt, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. That’s Pete to a T.”

Chip’s grin softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “You ever think about how different your life would’ve been if you’d stayed with him? Settled down here, had that picket fence and all?”

You paused, swirling your coffee as the thought settled in. “Honestly? No. Pete’s a great guy, but he always wanted to stay, and I… I needed to see what else was out there. Staying in Amarillo would’ve been the easy choice, but it wouldn’t have been the right one for me.”

Chip hummed, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You were always the type to chase something bigger.”

You smiled at that, tilting your head. “And what about you? You’ve done plenty of chasing yourself, haven’t you?”

He laughed, but it was softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah, I guess. Though I think I was always chasing the wrong things. Or, you know… the wrong people.”

There was a weight to his words, and the way his eyes met yours made your breath hitch. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chip hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I spent all of high school with this dumb crush on you, watching you and Pete from the sidelines...”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Chip…”

He shrugged, his smile crooked and a little shy. “It’s not a big deal. You were way out of my league back then. Still are.”

Your chest tightened. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have mattered?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—nostalgia, surprise, and something undeniably warm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, meeting his gaze.

Chip smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You laughed lightly, the moment settling between you with a weight that neither of you was ready to unpack.

—

“Goddammit, Chip!” Liza screamed, her voice shaking with fury as she grabbed the nearest heavy object—a ceramic vase—and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing his head. “We need money for fucking rent!”

Chip flinched, shrinking into himself as he backed up against the kitchen counter. His hands raised instinctively in defense, his voice stumbling over itself. “I—I know, Liza, I’m sorry. Jo—John said he’d have more work for me soon. I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying?” Liza’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a knife. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you’re not trying hard enough! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking moron, you could get a real job! You ever think about that, genius?”

Chip looked away, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “I’m doing the best I can,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, the frustration and shame threatening to choke him.

“Well, your ‘best’ isn’t good enough,” she snapped, her hands gesturing wildly. “Do you think the landlord’s gonna take your excuses as payment? Do you think I’m gonna keep putting up with this shit? Get your act together, Chip, or we’re both screwed!”

Chip swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. But deep down, he knew—whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Liza’s anger had reached a boiling point, and he was the easiest target.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“You better,” Liza hissed, glaring at him one last time before storming out of the room, leaving behind the broken vase and a silence that felt heavier than anything she could have thrown.

Chip stood there for a moment, staring at the shards on the floor, his jaw tight as he tried to push down the familiar ache in his chest. Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the weight of Liza’s words settling deep into his bones.

—

The two of you were sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room, the kind of night that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. Chip had just told a ridiculous story about one of his old "get-rich-quick schemes," and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“Oh my god, Chip,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “How do you even come up with this stuff? Did you seriously think selling glow-in-the-dark socks was going to make you a millionaire?”

“Hey,” he said, trying to look indignant but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “The market research was solid. I just didn’t account for, you know… shipping costs.”

You burst out laughing again, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable!” you teased, and in a playful burst of energy, you gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

The moment shifted instantly. Chip flinched, his body jerking back like he’d been hit much harder. His grin disappeared, replaced by a fleeting look of alarm that he tried to mask as quickly as it came.

Your laughter died in your throat, your hand frozen mid-air as your brain tried to process what just happened. “Chip?” you said softly, concern creeping into your voice.

He forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, reflex,” he said quickly, rubbing his shoulder even though your punch had been more of a tap. “Guess I’m just jumpy today.”

You didn’t buy it. Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head, studying him carefully. “Chip… did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off, his voice too quick, too dismissive. “It’s nothing, really. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your tone firm but gentle. “You flinched like I was about to deck you. What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t meet your gaze, instead staring down at his hands as he fidgeted nervously. “It’s… it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, you reached out, placing a hand on his knee, offering a touch of comfort. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm. “It’s me. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I said it’s nothing, okay!” Chip snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved your hand off his knee.

The movement startled you, and you flinched, your eyes widening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air thick with tension. You weren’t used to this—being yelled at by the sweet, goofy man who had spent the last hour making you laugh.

You pulled back slightly, your hand hovering uncertainly in your lap. “Chip…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His face fell almost instantly, the anger and frustration draining away as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of regret. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t trying to push you,” you said gently, though your voice trembled slightly. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice thick with guilt. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, okay? I’m sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in your chest softening as you saw the pain etched across his face. Slowly, you nodded, your voice tender as you said, “It’s okay, Chip. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not that easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I know it’s not,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your tone quiet but steady. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You gave him a small, tentative smile, silently hoping he’d let you in someday. Until then, you’d wait, no matter how long it took.

“How about we take a walk? Clear our heads?” you suggest softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

Chip looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nods. Without another word, the two of you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You walk side by side down the quiet street, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chip breaks it.

“I must look like a real winner, huh?” he says, his tone self-effacing, his words laced with a bitter humor that makes your heart ache.

You glance at him, his profile barely visible in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

He huffs out a laugh, the sound quiet and almost bitter. Gently, he nudges his shoulder into yours, a small, tentative gesture. “First, I need you to clean me up. Over and over. And now I can’t even make it through one chat without ruining it.”

“Chip…” you say softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “Didn’t I? I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, your honesty making him glance at you sharply. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Chip stops walking for a moment, looking down at you as if searching for something in your expression. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter. “You are.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, your hands brushing together as you both start walking again. “We all have bad days, Chip. It doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you admit, nudging him lightly. “But I figure as long as you keep showing up, I’ll keep trying.”

Chip looks at you then, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

You don’t respond right away, letting the moment hang in the cool night air. Instead, you glance up at the stars, hoping he feels even half as much comfort in your presence as you do in his.

—

Chip doesn’t come around for a few weeks after that night, and though you tried not to worry, the silence gnawed at you. When he finally shows up, it’s worse than you ever imagined.

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant. When you open it, the sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s standing there with a deep gash running along his cheek, blood crusted at the edges, and his eyes red and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Chip!” you gasp, your heart pounding. “What happened? Get in here, now.”

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, wincing as he speaks.

“Not that bad?” you echo, incredulous. “You’ve got blood on your face, Chip. Sit down before you fall over.”

Without waiting for him to argue, you guide him to the bathroom, your hands firm but gentle as you steer him. He sinks down onto the edge of the tub, his shoulders slumping, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You position yourself between his legs, tilting his chin up with careful fingers so you can get a better look at the wound. “Hold still,” you murmur, your tone softer now.

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against your wrist. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it under the faucet. “Just tell me what happened.”

Chip hesitates, his eyes darting away from yours. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly.

“It’s not nothing,” you counter, your voice steady but firm as you press the damp cloth gently against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t just show up with a gash like this for no reason.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching under your gentle touch. “Liza and I got into it again,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she had a bottle. Things got out of hand.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion as the name registers. “Liza?” you repeat, stepping back slightly, the washcloth dangling in your hand. “Who’s Liza?”

Chip’s eyes widen briefly, like he hadn’t meant to let the name slip. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “She’s, uh… my girlfriend,” he mutters, the words heavy with shame.

“Your girlfriend?” you echo, the word catching in your throat. “Chip, are you telling me your girlfriend did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turn white. Finally, he nods, barely meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s got a temper, and sometimes… I just—I make her mad, you know?”

You stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in your chest. “Chip, no,” you say firmly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “This isn’t about you making her mad. This is about her. This isn’t okay.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like that all the time,” he says defensively. “She’s… she’s just going through a lot. I’m trying to help her.”

“Help her?” you say, stepping closer again, your voice rising slightly. “Chip, look at yourself. She’s hurting you. How is that okay?”

“I can handle it,” he insists, though his voice wavers. “It’s not a big deal.”

You crouch down in front of him, your hand resting gently on his knee. “It is a big deal,” you say softly but firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Chip. No one does.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glassy and full of conflict, as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the overhead light, the weight of his pain filling the small bathroom.

“This isn’t okay, Chip,” you say, your voice firm but trembling with emotion. You grip the edge of the counter behind you, your knuckles white, steadying yourself as you speak.

“I can handle it,” he insists, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor like he’s trying to will the words into being true.

But you won’t let him sink back into that silence, not this time. “Handling it isn’t enough,” you counter, your voice soft but unyielding. “You deserve better than this, Chip.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… leaving, fixing things, I’ve tried everything. And every time, it just gets worse.”

Your heart aches at the rawness in his voice, the hopelessness that seeps through every word. Slowly, you kneel in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Chip, listen to me,” you say gently, placing your hands on his knees. “You don’t have to fix this alone. You don’t have to keep going back. There are people who care about you—I care about you. Let me help.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his emotions swirl just beneath the surface. “What if it doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t get away?”

“You can,” you say firmly, leaning closer. “And you will. But you have to let someone in, Chip. You have to let someone help you.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You squeeze his knees gently, your eyes locked on his. “Because you deserve better,” you say simply. “And I’m not going to let you believe you don’t.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, slowly, he nods, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the despair in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers, the word so faint you almost don’t hear it.

But you do, and it’s enough. It’s a start.

—

“Where have you been?” Liza slurred drunkenly, her voice thick and venomous as Chip quietly closed the trailer door behind him. She was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something strong dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh, nowhere?” Chip replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Liza snorted, her lips curling into a sneer. “What’s her name?” she shot back, leaning forward unsteadily. “Little Miss Nowhere?”

Chip froze, his throat tightening as he searched for something—anything—that might diffuse the situation. “It’s not like that, Liza,” he said carefully, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves.

“Oh, it’s not like that?” she mocked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m stupid, Chip? You come sneaking in here like some guilty teenager, and I’m supposed to believe you were just out… what? Taking a walk?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he mumbled, stepping further into the room, though he kept his distance from her. “I just—needed some air. That’s all.”

“Air, huh?” Liza spat, taking a swig from the bottle and setting it down hard on the coffee table. “Funny how you always seem to need air somewhere else. Who is she, Chip? Huh? Some charity case who feels bad for you?”

“Stop, Liza,” he said softly, his voice pleading. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me what I am,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and swaying slightly. “You’re the one sneaking around, lying to me, and I’m the problem?”

Chip’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and fear. “I’m not lying to you,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sure you’re not,” she hissed, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “But let me tell you something, Chip—you think you can just waltz in and out of here, running to whoever she is? You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

He flinched at her words, his head dipping as he avoided her gaze. “I’m tired, Liza,” he said softly. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Yeah?” she barked, her voice rising. “Well, tough shit, because I’m not done.”

But Chip didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind him, Liza’s words kept coming, sharp and slurred, but he didn’t look back.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, his chest heaving with shaky breaths. The fight had drained him, but your voice—steady and kind from earlier—echoed faintly in his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, Chip.”

And for the first time, he wondered if you might be right.

—

It was like clockwork, hearing the knock on your door. You didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting the usual sheepish face and bruises.

“What is it today, Chip—” you began, but the words died in your throat as you froze.

It wasn’t Chip. It was Liza.

Before you could react, she pushed her way inside, her movements unsteady but fueled by a drunken determination. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol clung to her, and her eyes narrowed as they darted around your space, taking in every detail.

“So you’re the little twinkie my Chip keeps running off to see?” she sneered, her words slurred but cutting.

“What? Um, no,” you stammered, panic rising as you took a step back. “We’re just—uh, we’re friends.”

Liza let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless as she staggered toward you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. “Friends?” she spat. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you tried to stay calm. “Why are you in my home?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

Liza ignored the question, her gaze sweeping the room again before settling back on you. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” she hissed, taking another step closer. “Playing the good little Samaritan, patching him up, feeding him your pity. You think you can just take him from me?”

“No one’s trying to take anyone,” you said, your voice steadier now as you held your ground. “Chip’s my friend, that’s all. But if you’re here to cause trouble, you need to leave.”

Liza’s sneer deepened, her body swaying slightly as she crossed her arms. “Trouble?” she mocked. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Your stomach churned as she stared you down, her presence filling the room with a volatile energy that made it hard to breathe. “Liza, I’m asking you nicely. Get out,” you said, your tone firmer now.

But she just laughed again, the sound colder than before. “Or what?” she challenged, leaning in closer. “You gonna run to Chip? Beg him to save you from big, bad Liza?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for how to handle this without escalating things further. “No,” you said firmly, your voice low and measured. “I don’t need anyone to save me. But you need to leave. Now.”

Liza’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face before she straightened up, wobbling slightly. “Fine,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “But you’d better stay away from him. Because if I find out you’re messing with what’s mine…”

She didn’t finish the threat, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she stumbled out of your home, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what had just happened. Finally, you locked the door, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily.

And all you could think was, What the hell has Chip gotten himself into?

The rest of the day was a blur, the encounter with Liza leaving a sour knot in your stomach. That evening, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t home when Chip came knocking. Work had called, and with bills looming, you couldn’t afford to say no.

When Chip arrived at your door, his knock was softer than usual, almost hesitant. He waited, shuffling on the porch, but there was no answer. He tried again, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced around. Still nothing.

Unsure of what else to do, Chip slumped down onto the steps of your porch, his legs stretched out as the weight of everything pressed down on him. The fight with Liza, the exhaustion from trying to keep it all together, the growing guilt over dragging you into his mess—it all swirled in his head, loud and unrelenting.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a few minutes to collect himself before heading back to the chaos. But the cool night air and the relative safety of your porch lulled him into stillness, and before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy.

By the time you got home, the clock was nearing midnight. You were juggling your keys and a bag of groceries when you noticed the figure curled up on your porch. Your heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in.

“Chip?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stirred at the sound of your voice, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Your chest tightened as you took in the sight of him—his slumped posture, the faint bruise blooming on his jaw, the weariness etched into every line of his face. You crouched down beside him, setting your bag aside. “Chip, you can’t sleep on my porch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your frustration melted at the vulnerability in his tone, replaced by a wave of empathy. “Come on,” you said gently, standing and reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chip hesitated, glancing up at you, his eyes glassy and unsure. But when you offered him a small, reassuring smile, he let out a soft sigh and took your hand.

The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder every so often to make sure Chip hadn’t snuck off. But there he was, sitting at the small table, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, looking more like a lost puppy than the rugged man who had crashed on your porch.

When you placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he blinked at it, then up at you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Just eat,” you said with a small smile, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when he picked up a piece of bacon, his hands trembled slightly. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, though he quickly looked down, blinking hard as if the sight of breakfast had somehow betrayed him.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a hesitant bite, and the words spilled out before you could second-guess them. “Move in with me.”

Chip froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as he choked on the bacon. He coughed, grabbing his coffee to wash it down, and stared at you like you’d just grown a second head. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want you going back to her,” you said simply, your tone steady despite the racing of your heart. “You basically live here already, so why not make it permanent?”

“Y/N…” he stammered, setting his fork down as his brow furrowed. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” you replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you in that situation anymore, Chip. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t pay much in rent,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I own the house, Chip. You’re not paying rent. Just… contribute when you can, okay? Groceries, light bills, whatever. This isn’t about money.”

He stared at you, the conflict in his eyes giving way to something softer, something that looked a lot like hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone, Chip. You don’t have to go back to that trailer.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze dropping to the plate of food you’d made for him. Then he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief washing over you. “Good,” you said with a small smile. “Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Chip nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he picked up his fork. But this time, there was a faint glimmer of something in his expression—a flicker of trust, of gratitude, of believing.

—

That weekend, you decided Chip deserved a break—a real one. So, you took him out for a round of celebratory drinks at your favorite local spot, a small, cozy bar with dim lighting, a jukebox that played everything from old country to classic rock, and a bartender who knew how to pour a drink just right.

For the first time in a long while, there was no drama, no blood, no tension hanging over your heads. Just you and Chip, relaxed and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Okay, okay,” You said, your voice loud enough to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. “But you’re seriously telling me you thought you could just jump off the roof into a pool without calculating the distance first? That’s, like, Physics 101!”

Chip rolled his eyes, tipping his glass toward you. “Hey, I was fifteen, and I thought I was invincible. Plus, I didn’t think anyone was going to snitch to my parents about it.”

You laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Chip couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see you like this, guard down, shoulders loose, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” You teased, taking a sip of your drink. “You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right, I do,” He shot back with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to bad decisions and living to tell the tale.”

You clinked his bottle against your glass, his smile softening as he looked at you. “I’ll drink to that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing easily as you swapped stories, teased each other, and indulged in just a little casual flirting. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but something about the way Chip looked at you that night felt… different.

“Thanks for this,” he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and giving you a small, genuine smile. “I don’t remember the last time I had a night like this. No stress. No bullshit. Just… good company.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you played it cool, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “Well, you deserve it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. “I think that’s all you,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Flattery will get you another round,” you teased, sliding out of your seat.

Chip laughed, shaking his head as he watched you walk toward the bar. And as the night stretched on, filled with more drinks, more laughs, and the kind of easy connection that felt rare and precious, you both couldn’t help but think: Maybe this is how things are supposed to feel.

But, of course, nice things never last. One minute, you were smiling and turning your head to flag down the bartender for another drink while Chip slipped off to the bathroom. The atmosphere was light, carefree. For a fleeting moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

And then, chaos.

The first thing you registered was the searing pain. Your head snapped forward as something—or rather, someone—slammed your face into the edge of the bar. The world spun, and your hands flew up to your nose instinctively, warmth already spreading down your face.

Screams erupted around you, voices blending into a cacophony of panic and confusion. Blinking through the haze, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her���Liza.

Her face was twisted with rage, her body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at you. “You think you can just take him from me?” she spat, her voice slurred and venomous. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Well, guess what, sweetheart—he’s mine!”

Blood dripped between your fingers, your likely broken nose throbbing with every beat of your heart. You staggered back, trying to create space between you and her as bar patrons scrambled out of the way, some yelling for security, others too stunned to react.

“Liza,” you managed, your voice muffled and shaky as you tried to steady yourself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, taking a step toward you, her eyes wild. “You think you can fix him? Save him? He doesn’t need you!”

Before she could lunge again, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back. Chip. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror as he restrained her, his voice shaking as he said, “Liza, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

She fought against his hold, screaming obscenities as her feet kicked against the floor. “You lied to me, Chip!” she shrieked. “You said you’d always be there! You said we’d work it out!”

“Let’s go,” Chip said firmly, dragging her toward the exit as she thrashed in his grip. “You’re done. Get out.”

As they disappeared through the door, the bartender rushed over to you, his face full of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, handing you a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, pressing the napkins against your nose as your vision blurred with tears of pain and shock.

Moments later, Chip returned, his chest heaving as he burst back into the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically until they landed on you, sitting on a stool, blood dripping between your fingers. His face crumpled with guilt and horror.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to your side and crouching down in front of you. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you mumbled through the pain, though your voice trembled, and the blood on your hands told a different story.

“It is,” Chip said, his voice low and filled with self-reproach as he grabbed more napkins from the bartender. “It all is. If I’d just—if I hadn’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he pressed the napkins into your hands. “Here. Hold these tight, okay?”

You didn’t argue, taking the napkins and wincing as you held them against your throbbing nose. The room felt too loud, too crowded, the stares from the other patrons pressing down on you like weights.

Minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance cut through the chaos outside. Chip helped you to your feet, his hand steady on your back as paramedics ushered you into the back of the vehicle. The world felt surreal, the adrenaline in your veins masking the full extent of the pain radiating through your face.

“Stay still,” one of the paramedics instructed as they examined you, their hands gentle but efficient. You caught glimpses of Chip through the open door, standing a few feet away, his posture tense as he spoke with the police.

He gestured animatedly, his words spilling out in hurried bursts. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could see the guilt etched into every movement, the way he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping as he pointed back toward the bar.

When the officer nodded and took notes, Chip glanced back at you, his expression raw and heavy with regret.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic gave you a small smile, her voice calm. “It looks like your nose is broken, but it’s a clean break. We’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flickering back to Chip outside. 

—

When you arrived home that night, the sound of hurried footsteps greeted you even before you stepped through the door. Chip was pacing the living room, his hands raking through his hair in nervous, jittery motions.

The moment the door clicked open, he froze and turned toward you, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and worry. “Y/N? Y/N, oh my god, you’re okay,” he blurted, rushing toward you like a man on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his intensity, though it turned into a groan as the pain in your nose flared. “I’m fine, Chip,” you assured him, though your voice came out a little nasally thanks to the bandages.

Chip stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to get you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You had the car keys, and I—I didn’t know how to—”

“Chip,” you interrupted, smiling despite the ache in your face. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on your bruises and the fresh bandage across your nose. “I still feel like an idiot,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They arrested Liza,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I told them everything. All of it.”

“Everything?” you echoed, your brows lifting slightly despite the stiffness in your face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re gonna want you to testify, though. Against her. I—” He paused, looking up at you, his expression pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation, cutting him off.

Chip’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “She hurt you, Chip. And tonight, she hurt me. I’m not going to let her keep doing this—not to you, not to anyone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You reached out, squeezing his arm gently. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “Together.”

Chip’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, the tension visibly melting away. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long, and for whatever reason his brain cooked up, he decided that right then was the perfect time to kiss you.

Before you could even react, his lips met yours—not hard, not rough, but just enough to remind you that, oh yeah, you had a freshly set nose.

“Ow!” you grunted, pulling back sharply, your hand flying up to cradle your face.

Chip’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

But the ridiculousness of it all hit you before the pain fully registered, and a laugh bubbled out of you. “Chip, seriously?” you managed between giggles, wincing but unable to stop yourself from laughing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red. “Guess I got caught up in the moment or something. Stupid, right?”

You kept laughing, the sound slightly strangled as you tried to avoid moving your nose too much. “You think?” you teased, giving him a playful shove. “Maybe next time don’t kiss someone who just got their face rearranged, genius.”

Chip chuckled, his embarrassment giving way to a genuine laugh as he looked at you. “Noted,” he said, his grin growing. “Maybe I’ll, uh, ask for permission first next time.”

“Good idea,” you replied with a smirk, your hand still gently holding your nose. “But hey, points for effort, I guess.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As the laughter faded, the two of you sat there in the quiet, the moment lighter than it had been all night. And despite the throbbing in your nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth spread through your chest. Even if his timing was terrible, it was still Chip—and maybe, just maybe, there was something to that.

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