#and i also have trouble opening it with table corners and shit

[ghostcrows]

gay people need to be carrying around bottle openers. put that shit on your carabiner...i'm serious its gravely important that you do this

[blainesebastian]

ex-something

word count: 11,109 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. notes: really appreciate the overwhelmingly positive response on my first nick x reader post :) hope this is just as enjoyable! i have a masterlist! notes 2: gifs from this gif pack

You get it—relationships change, that’s true with anything. You’ve had friendships that have evaporated into thin air or have fused together thanks to one night, boyfriends who promise they’d hand you the moon but couldn’t even show up when you needed them. You’re also different, you’re not the same person from year to year, nor day to day. Small, minute shifts sometimes make the greatest ripple effects. It’s good to see how something can adapt, how you can realize one thing and decide on another. 

Maybe you should have realized that you and Nick were never going to work—a thought that’s ugly that sprouts in your mind like a weed. Like ivy twisting around your ribcage and squeezing. You know him like the back of your hand, have been part of the same circles for so long—the orbiting around one another felt inevitable. 

So maybe the disintegration was too. 

Nick’s come a long way since you’ve known him in opening up, both of you bringing so much baggage to the table that you could no longer see the surface. Everyone has their own weight to carry, their own shit to get through, but it felt like…what you were carrying was no longer heavy when he was around. You both shared things, secrets in the dark, things you felt like couldn’t be shared with anyone else. While that should have caused the bond between you to strengthen, it created cracks and fragments that were sharp enough to cut the skin. 

Nick has trouble trusting that people won’t leave him, and you have trouble trusting that something will last the way it’s supposed to. As awful as it sounds, you never thought you and Nick would be together long-term. It’s not about him, but about yourself—about not deserving something good, about losing someone you were never supposed to have in the first place. 

When you began to pull away, creating distance and space, Nick overcompensated by yanking harder. He leaves you before you can leave him. The break-up, though surprising, is…somehow amicable, even though the devastation of it ending was clear on both your faces. Like a roadmap of a decimated city, the skyline crumbling into itself. 

The sudden destruction is so ugly that neither of you can look away. There’s regret almost instantly, that much is obvious, and yet neither of you speak up to change anything. You just…part ways, Nick leaving first.

You let him go, you allow him to push you and keep that chasm of space, because it was never meant to work out, right? 

“He’s in love with you, babe,” Jenna tells you one night over her house. “That’s never gonna change.” 

“Guess not enough.” You mumble—but you’re not innocent. You didn’t chase after him. 

“Well I never said he was smart,” Jenna teases, attempting to lighten the mood, and a smile twitches the corners of your mouth but you can’t reply. You shake your head, running a hand over the side of your face before lying back on her bed. 

But Nick is smart. He’s smart, and calculated, and even though he sometimes thinks with his fists, he knows the consequences of actions before he makes them. He knows exactly what choice he’s made and why he’s done it. 

Which is one of the reasons you can’t bring yourself to tell him he’s wrong. 

—

You miss Nick like you never knew you could. It’s one of those cliché things that you don’t understand what’s missing until it’s gone. There’s an absence that feels like a force, that sits on your chest, that makes it hard to breathe. An ache that begins behind your ribs and pulses outward. You miss things that aren’t altogether obvious—things you never knew you thought about until they pop-tap-pop like morse code in your mind. 

You miss his hands, the way they felt on your body, his fingers brushing through your hair or lingering along your hip. The squeeze on your knee or the gentle pattern of circles along your spine. You miss his mouth, the way the corner quirked up when he found something ridiculous, the way it felt on your own, his lips on your cheek, your shoulder, between your legs. You miss the way your bodies felt lined up, curled up in bed to sleep or slotting together during sex. You miss the sounds he used to make. You miss the gentle crinkle of his nose before he laughed, you miss that too; the laughing. 

But most of all you miss the way he stood by you, protected you, cared about you, a driving power that’d run anyone else over if you needed something. You miss the way he made you feel loved, actual love—something real and tangible and consistent. Something you didn’t know you deserved. 

It’s too late to take back what you’ve done and you lay awake at night, sometimes, wondering what would have happened if you would have tried to talk to him instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you. 

—

Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. 

—

Jenna drags you to Anna’s party—literally, she has to drag you. 

“Enough moping,” She sing-songs. “Time to put on your tightest dress and your best lipstick and have a fucking good time.” 

You roll your eyes but…she’s not wrong. So you follow her lead. Little black dress, comfortable shoes, red lipstick. It brings out the color of your eyes, it matches with the tiny, ruby, heart-shaped earrings you’re wearing and it draws people to look at your lips. But most of all? It makes you feel good. Your mother has always had a saying, to ‘dress your best when you feel your worst’, and you suppose that’s what you’re doing. 

Surviving. 

And sometimes? That’s more than okay. 

“Wish this party wasn’t here, though.” You comment, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you enter the lavish home of Anna. Anna who is probably salivating at the concept that Nick’s single again. You’re sure he’s here tonight, you don’t need to ask Jenna to know. You smooth your fingers along your dress, adjusting your small purse so it sits on your hip. 

You and Jenna wouldn’t exactly call Anna a friend…a frenemy, maybe? Maybe not. But Jenna smiles over her shoulder, “Shouldn’t let her expensive booze go to waste, should we?” 

You let out a soft laugh—you suppose that’s true. 

The night swirls forward with a lot of dancing, a messy game of darts, and almost too many shots. You roll your hips to the beat of the music, a grin on your face as Jenna bounces in time to the base, her hands finding yours and squeezing before giving you a twirl. It’s in that spin that you see him, leaning against the back of the couch on the outskirts, watching you. 

Or maybe that’s a trick of the light, or the hazy alcohol licking your common sense. Either way, you don’t look back over your shoulder towards him, you can’t. You wish that Jenna doesn’t call over the music that she needs water, because your knees suddenly feel like jello at the concept of staying on this makeshift dance floor alone. So you don’t. 

You make your way through the crowd to follow her, lingering, and hate yourself for your eyes being pulled from the task at hand…towards Nick. 

He looks gorgeous tonight, but you suppose that’s not a surprise. Jeans, a white t-shirt, an oversized jacket. It’s pretty textbook and yet it’s enough to practically sway you off kilter. Without being close to him, you can smell the leather of his jacket, the expensive cologne, something purely him tying it all together. You can feel the heat of his body, the chill of the thin silver chain he’s wearing and the rings on his fingers over your skin. 

An ache begins low in your stomach, which only turns sour when his eyes flitter to you and then look away. It’s so quick it feels like a slap to the face, his own expression impassive, like he has a million better things to do than be standing around at this party. You know his masks well, the ones he puts on when he thinks no one is looking, the ones he peeled off when he was around you. You know this is his favorite one—pretending he doesn’t care, when he does. 

Chewing on your lower lip, you take a step towards him though you’re not sure why. To speak to him, maybe? To make a joke about how his face looks like it was carved in stone? That if he keeps making that expression it’s going to stick like that. But then he shifts when someone comes up beside him—

fucking Anna. 

You stop short, trying to tell yourself to turn around, to get some water, to go back to having fun with Jenna. And yet, like a car crash, you can’t seem to look away. Anna has always been obvious about her feelings for Nick, whether it’s something genuine or just purely physical—it doesn’t matter. She practically molds herself to his side, a pretty grin on her face, talking about something that you can’t hear about—but her hand glides down his arm. 

There’s a small, gentle tilt to Nick’s lips, ever so subtle, but it’s enough to make it feel like the floor is opening up underneath you. 

Turning on your heel, you move through the crowd towards the bathroom, trying to quell the nausea rolling in your stomach. You try to tell yourself that you’re overreacting, that it’s not fair for you to have a reaction like this, that Nick is single and he can do whatever the fuck he wants… regardless that Anna is the worst. 

It hasn’t been too long since you’ve broken up, and yet you find yourself trying to rationalize that it shouldn’t hurt like this. You know that’s a defense mechanism, that trying to convince yourself that you’re okay is just something to keep yourself from hurting. But maybe it’d be good to feel that hurt, to let it in instead of shoving it deep in a box that’ll remain unopened. 

Maybe if you let yourself hurt, you wouldn’t be spiraling over Nick’s almost smile at Anna. 

When you go for the bathroom door, it’s locked, and a groan leaves your lips because of course. Running a hand over your forehead, you lean back against the opposite wall, waiting, allowing your eyes to close as your head tips back. 

“You look a little nauseous.” 

Nick’s voice jolts you out of your position against the wall, almost setting you off balance. When your eyes dart to him, there’s that playful quirk to his lips, warm amusement in his brown eyes. His jacket is missing—you hate that you wonder if it’s around Anna’s shoulders. You straighten your shoulders, letting out a breath as you turn to look at him. 

He’s not wrong, you are nauseous. But it’s not from the alcohol. “Think this house just does that to me.” 

Nick smirks, shaking his head as he takes a few steps towards you. He stops short, too short, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His eyes dance over your form, making you squirm, hating how he seems to see right through you. Like you’re made of glass. Heat gathers low in your stomach and pulses between your legs, that familiar ache comes back in the center of your chest. You miss him and you fucking hate that you do. 

Tearing your gaze away, you curl your hair around your ear, glancing back towards the bathroom door. Sheesh, what is someone doing in there? 

“Is it the house or is it someone in particular?” 

You scoff out a soft laugh—fuck, he’s got a lot of nerve. “Is that any of your business?” 

The smile he gives you is something slow and knowing, his gaze wandering to your lips, lingering on the red lipstick there. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, fluttering up towards your ribs, living there on the bones. The way he’s looking at you digs under your skin in the best way. 

“Think it’s completely my business.” He replies, sticking his one hand in his pocket. You can picture his fingers flexing, maybe trying to resist touching you. You love the sound of that. It’s one of the reasons you decide to flip the script, to take a little power back when he won’t stop staring at your mouth. Two can play this game—whatever game this is. 

Taking a step towards him, you say, “Is my lipstick your business?” 

Nick draws in a slow breath, it may seem causal, but you can see the heat darken the color of his eyes. Regardless of how things have played out between you two, things that maybe should have never happened in the first place (breaking up sounds like it was a stupid idea), you know that you feel safe with him. It’s that safeness that has you eliminating space, the toe of your shoe bumping into his. 

He’s not that much taller than you but it feels like he’s towering, eyes zeroed in on your lips. He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb over your lower one, purposely smudging your red lipstick, 

“You never seemed to be jealous of anyone when we were together.” He whispers, his breath fluttering over your cheek and yet it feels like a bucket of ice water tossed over you.  A reminder. Dick. 

You lean further into his touch, your noses bumping, close enough to kiss him but you don’t. Nick goes dangerously still and licks his lips. 

“Unsurprised that you didn’t seem to know me very well.” 

And with that you pull back, putting distance between your bodies. You wish it was enough to get your head on straight. Nick rubs his fingers over his thumb, erasing any traces of lipstick, like it never even happened. 

You wished it didn’t sting to see it. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to keep Anna waiting.” You cross your arms over your chest, a clear defensive move but almost creating a shield as well, protecting yourself. 

You’re not looking at him but he lingers, a soft hum leaving his lips. He then moves to the bathroom door that…still hasn’t opened? Jesus, who’s in there? Though you try not to think about how often you and Nick found an empty bathroom during a party, a dark corner, a place where hands could roam and lips could nip. 

He jiggles the handle and pushes, your mouth falling slightly open—

“The door sticks,” He says, amused, eyes bright. And then turns to head back down the hall. 

Well, fuck. 

—

Nick leaves the party before you do but you’re not going to deny that you feel a zing of enjoyment that Anna’s left behind. And she looks pissed. 

—

Time crawls forward—it’s somehow achingly slow at the same time that it spins like a top. You and Nick are unfortunately like magnets, stuck in one another’s orbit. You suppose that’s the downside of having the same group of friends, seeing one another is unavoidable. It’s not…the worst thing, despite the prickly conversations you’ve been having. You know the fallout is a reflection on how good your relationship could be. There’s still strong emotions lingering—guilt, regret, love. It stains everything around you both. 

There’s a moment that comes and goes, just like your feelings, about having a conversation with Nick. About explaining to him why you were pulling away—that your parents have a shit relationship, that their divorce and their problems and their burdens sometimes sit in your bloodstream in a way you can’t put into words. You’re used to people disappointing you, you’re used to relationships not carrying merit—the only good one you’ve ever been in had been with Nick. And sometimes you were afraid that you weren’t worthy of it, that eventually he’d realize it too. 

That he’d leave. That all good things come to an end. 

Maybe then he’d crack wide open and explain that he likes to hurt people before they can hurt him. That it was a mistake. 

That you can start over. 

That thought is gone as quickly as it comes. Everything happens for a reason, right? There’s no need to go backwards when you need to focus on what’s ahead. Just because a relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean that…you and Nick can’t be what you were before. 

Friends. Good friends. 

—

“Can you check again, please?” You ask, rubbing the back of your neck as you hold up a line at this charity event that your parents were supposed to attend. 

Well—your parents decided to get a divorce three months ago and neither of them wanted to get dressed up and go. You get it, you really do, they don’t want to spend time with one another anymore. They want to continue separating their assets and not be in one another’s lives unless they have to. You're the bridge between and that’s…that’s something you’re coming to terms with. 

You tried to explain to both of them that you’ve been wanting to go to this, that this charity event is about donating money to cleaning up the ocean. That plastic removal and creating turtle sanctuaries and doubling-up efforts on proper recycling is really important to you. It always has been—this shouldn’t be some sort of surprise. 

And yet neither of them can get their shit together to just be present. To go with you. 

So whatever, fine. At this point you’re used to feeling like you’re doing things by yourself, and that’s how you decide you’re going to go. By yourself. 

Except for some reason, your name isn’t on the guest list. 

Vanessa, who’s in the same social circles as you, scowls behind the podium. She must be some sort of volunteer in whatever rotations that rich kids fall into, her nose wrinkling as she taps her fingers down the so-called list that you’re missing from. 

“Sorry—who are you again?” 

You feel your cheeks heat in frustration, refusing to get flustered even though you’re sure that’s her intention. There’s this group of girls that are always hanging out with Anna at any party you’ve ever been to. Vanessa knows exactly who you are. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, can feel people getting restless behind you, wanting to get inside to escape the chill in the evening air. You’re not sure whether your parents took themselves off the guest list when they decided they weren’t attending or whether Vanessa is just being a bitch. 

“Y/N,” You say your name and add your last, just in case there’s any confusion. 

Vanessa purses her lips, about to say something nasty, when her gaze catches something over your shoulder. Her entire demeanor changes—her shoulders relax, there’s an easy smile on her face, eyes soft. You already know who it is before he speaks. 

“Is there a problem?” Nick asks, the warmth of his body at your back. You feel yourself bristle, not turning around. 

“Nick, hi,” Vanessa offers. 

Nick ignores her, his gaze falling to your own when you finally tip your chin. You turn a little, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s dressed in all black; slacks, dress shirt, overcoat, it makes the softness of his brown eyes and the golden curls in his hair stick out even more. 

“You alright?” He lifts his eyes away from you just briefly and you know he’s checking the crowd for your parents who aren’t there. 

“She’s not on the guest list.” Vanessa sounds altogether too pleased at informing him. 

“Your parents made these reservations months ago,” His attention doesn’t waver from you.  

You swallow, giving him a small smile as another podium opens up to get guests inside since this one is obviously backlogged. You resist the urge to just give up, to head back down the steps and go home.

“I know.” You reply, and Nick’s head tips back just slightly, recognition flashing in his eyes. Months ago. Your parents. The divorce. 

He turns to Vanessa, finally acknowledging her. “There’s space at my table for her.” 

“Nick,” You say gently, touched by the sentiment, by him trying to help, as Vanessa visibly bristles. 

“All the tables are filled—“

Nick cuts her right off, voice cold and sharp as glass. “Then I suggest you figure it out, Vanessa, because Y/N’s my plus one.” 

Vanessa scoffs, waving us in, muttering whatever under her breath. Nick’s hand falls to your lower back, encouraging you to step forward to walk inside. You roll your lips together, glad you’re not wearing lipstick tonight before turning to look at him in front of the coat-check. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

Nick gives you a soft smile, motioning you to turn around so he can help you take your coat off. “Like I’d get in-between you and saving the otters tonight.” 

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that threatens to slip out, amusement pulling your mouth into an honest smile. Something warm and comfortable and feels far too familiar with him. 

“Sea turtles.” You correct. “I’m worried about the sea turtles.” 

You’re not sure why he’s here if he doesn’t really know what the event is for, but you bite down on the inside of your cheek from saying that to him. A twinge of warmth butterflies your stomach in hopes that he came because he knew you’d be here. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Your lips twitch and you smooth your hands down your dress, removing imaginary wrinkles. “Thank you.” You add. 

Nick’s hand slides effortlessly into yours to tug you towards the open doors and awaiting tables. He doesn’t say anything back, but he does squeeze your fingers. 

—

When you donate an amount at that charity event, Nick doubles it. 

—

It’s easy to get lost in those simple touches, it’s always been something so easy between you and Nick. That communication runs deep. Sometimes, you think, that words often get in the way. A misplaced phrase, a misunderstanding, syllables stuck under tongues or behind teeth. There’s never been any confusion in how you touch one another, in how Nick’s hands convey a love language that maybe words can’t. 

The problem is that touch between you two is sometimes too much, too honest, too real. Too complicated. 

How are you supposed to move on and get over him if you’re constantly near one another? If one brush of his fingers turns into a playful squeeze at your hip, if one lingering gaze ignites into him brushing his lips against your temple? 

You convince yourself that you can somehow create space, that it won’t be so difficult, that the universe has to be on your side here—that even though it’s hard? It’ll be good for you in the long run. 

Turns out the universe is a bitch. 

—

There’s too many moving bodies on the dance floor, it pushes you and Nick closer and closer together. 

To be fair, you’re in a tight circle of friends and beats are pulsing through the tight spaces. You’re in a tiny slip dress, a pair of high-top converse sneakers to move easily, which just ends up being a bunch of bouncing and swaying to the beat at a wicked pace. Jenna’s grin is wide as she throws her arms around you and you laugh, tipping your head back towards the ceiling. 

You love nights like this, the feeling of freedom, your heartbeat loud in your ears, no concerns other than when the next drink is gonna be bought. Lion tugs your dance partner away, twirling her into a circle and you back up to avoid the spin—

And bump right into Nick. 

The man is like black hole—endless, all-encompassing. He’s dressed simply, but he could probably wear a paper bag and still have the same sex appeal. Lean, tapered body, intricate line tattoos on muscled biceps and you try not to think about the set of Roman numerals that you used to love to kiss on his collarbone. You’re close enough to see the light sheen of sweat sticking to his skin, deepening the scent of his cologne and him somehow. You want to run your hands through his curls and tug—

You must show how you feel right on your face because Nick steps closer, his hand reaching for you, sliding it around your waist to pull you flush against him. It’s so confident and knowing that it nearly takes you out at your knees. 

You know you could pull away and that he’d let you, but the moment his fingers curl against your back, the moment he gathers a bit of the fabric of your dress between his fingers—you know you’re not going anywhere. 

The weight and heat of his body against your own feels like coming home. 

You dance like that for a while, pressed against one another, your arms resting on top of his shoulders, fingers against his neck, curling into the bottom of his hair. He slips close enough at one point to press a kiss to your shoulder, something that you ignore. You have to. 

And yet your fingers dig into his shoulders and Nick pulls back, eyes dark, on your lips. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’re about to say something, maybe mention grabbing water or stepping outside—but Nick’s thumb begins to trace circles through the thin material of your dress against the underwear line on your hip. A struggled gasp leaves your lips, and he must feel it more than hear it, a slow smile curving his handsome mouth. 

“I need to—“ You take a step back, almost running into someone else. Nick’s arms stabilize you from stumbling, even though he eventually lets you go. You immediately regret opening your mouth. “Bathroom.” 

You turn and make a b-line towards the restrooms before he can say anything. The sharp coolness off the dance floor manages to shake reality into focus and you run a hand over your face, a soft laugh rumbling in your chest. 

Jesus. 

You don’t end up using the bathroom, just leaning against the wall near them and breathing, trying to center yourself. It’s blissfully devoid of people back here and you need that. Your body aches in a delicious way, a throb of heat still present between your legs. 

And apparently it’s not going to go away, because Nick rounds the corner. 

“Nick—” His name barely slips out from between your teeth before he’s pressed against you again, and your resolve goes right out the fucking window, your mouth crashing down onto his. 

You thread your fingers into his hair and yank him forward and you can feel him chuckle against your body as he has to balance himself with his hands on the wall on either side of you. His thigh slides between your legs and a full body shudder passes through you as you allow yourself to lean down into him. 

Fuck. 

Nick pulls back just a little, brushing your lips together. His hand slides between you, tugging your dress up so that the only thing between your cunt and his jeans are your underwear. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, mouth at your ear. “I can stop.” 

That’s something you’ve always loved about Nick—he checks on you, he makes sure you’re okay. Doesn’t matter if it’s something soft or like this, heated and desperate. You know you shouldn’t—you know that this will only complicate things that are already complicated…

And yet you don’t want to stop. 

“No,” You reply, assure your response with your hips pivoting down, grinding against his leg. Nick’s hands fall to your waist, holding you in place, a groan vibrating in his chest. 

The pulse of the music is muffled, you can hear the uptick in his breathing, can feel how hard he is against you. You’re not ashamed of the tiny whimpers that leave your lips as you roll your hips down against him, the pressure incredible but not enough—he feels so fucking good. You’ve missed him terribly. All logical thought evaporates when his one hand comes up and cups your breast through your slip dress. 

“Can feel how wet you are for me,” Nick says. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?” 

Jesus. You need more. You need him to help—to do something. You can only use the momentum of your legs to get off on him to a certain point. There’s not enough leverage, there’s not enough friction to sate the heated ache quickly building in your lower belly. 

“I—I need—”

“No,” He nips at your lower lip. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to do it just like this.” 

An exasperated noise leaves your mouth, and you’re stuck between wanting to throttle him and kiss him. He drags your hips down, and you wish his fingers were inside of you, wish his thumb was circling your clit. The thought alone is enough to uptick your pleasure, and you’re so fucking close. 

“Nick,” You moan, “Please.” 

He licks his lips, smiling a little as his hand tugs down your dress over your breast. “So polite.” He teases, before he dips his head, taking your nipple into his mouth. 

There’s a snap of your hips when he drags his teeth over your puckered flesh and then you’re shattering. He holds your body up as you shudder, waves of pleasure slamming into you like the base of the music pulsing in your ears. 

He doesn’t let you go, even when your breathing settles, even when his leg moves out from between your thighs. You’re sure you look absolutely wrecked—you feel it. Underwear ruined, sweat sticking some of your hair to your neck, your heart thrumming for a completely different reason. 

Your eyes find Nick’s, the port that’s always been in the center of your storm, and a sudden thick emotion lodges itself in your throat. 

“I miss you.” You choke out, blaming the almost waterworks on endorphins, on the bliss that’s still kissing your nerve endings. 

Nick visibly swallows, brushing your hair over your shoulder after he fixes your dress. You think he might say something, he even opens his mouth, but no words come. 

Jesus. One good orgasm and you’re tumbling head over tincups into emotions too heavy to come with words. Nick broke up with you—you should be furious, you should push him away, except this is how the whole problem started. You pushed first. 

You straighten your shoulders and he takes a step back. You expect him to turn and leave, but he doesn’t, hovering—waiting? You’re not sure for what. He runs both of his hands through his hair, as if to compose himself, as if there’s words stuck in his throat that he doesn’t know how to say. 

Instead of saying anything at all, he reaches his hand out for you to take. A peace offering, of sorts, a promise that even though things aren’t okay, the door isn’t completely closed off. 

You discreetly wipe away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek and take his hand. 

—

You don’t talk about what happened at the club but things don’t change between you. It’s the same heavy glances, the same shared, soft smiles, the same brushing of fingers and calling it an accident. 

It should be fucked up. But it’s not. 

—

You haven’t been to an underground car show and race in a while, so the thrum of engines and the smell of gasoline is exciting. Comforting, even. You come with Jenna even though you know Nick will be there. Avoidance doesn’t work and trying to ignore the crackling energy between you two just…ends up with you getting off on his leg in a darkened corner at a club. 

“Don’t get me wrong, babe,” Jenna says over her shoulder as she moves to lean against her car. “I love Nick, I really do. But…whatever this is between you two—”

“I know,” You put your hand up to stop her. 

She smiles a little, “I was hopin’ you two would talk, figure it out.” 

“Oh, you mean you ruining my favorite pair of underwear wasn’t ‘figuring it out’?” You laugh a little, rubbing the back of your neck. Despite it probably not being the best decision…you can’t find yourself regretting it either. 

You still love Nick. You don’t think that’ll change. 

You look down at your shoes, a pair of sneakers, high waisted jeans  and a crop t-shirt. You’re showing off your shape but nothing that overdoes it; comfortable. You feel like you need that tonight. 

“I told him I missed him.” In an orgasm induced haze, but still. “And he didn’t say anything.” 

You know Nick isn’t exactly very forward with his words all the time, his actions speak the loudest. But…you needed to hear something then, you needed some sort of assurance that…maybe you both made a mistake. 

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on your part. You can’t quite picture ripping yourself wide open to talk to him about why you pulled away if he can’t admit he purposely let you go. 

You run a hand over the side of your face, glancing over at another set of cars pulling up and guys getting out, greeting one another, the space turning into an outside party with music and beer. While you’re glad you came, it’s been a while, part of you feels like curling under your comforter at home with a book. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to branch out?” Jenna asks, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “Not saying you need to have another orgasm,” You laugh softly. “But maybe talking to some handsome strangers wouldn’t hurt either.” 

You breathe in through your nose, looking out at the crowd of cars and people. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt. 

—

Turns out talking to guys about cars is fun. You don’t know much about them? But they like responding to your questions—and none of it has been mansplaining, which you’re grateful for. You’re really not in the mood tonight…just trying to sink into your own skin, enjoy something that’s a little different, not think about Nick. 

Even though you can feel his eyes on you. 

You know he’s here because you saw him drive in, park his car, and find Lion and Jenna. He doesn’t come find you; wouldn’t be surprised if Jenna told him to give you some space. Either way, you can feel his gaze every so often, lingering, something open and warm that you miss. That you feel like you can dive right into. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as you lock eyes, the guy you were talking to, Pete, headed to the bathroom. Nick crosses the pavement, giving you a small wave. 

“Hi.” 

You smile, the word somehow too simple , but you say it back. You try to think of something else to say, to fill the space between you, 

“There’s not a race tonight, is there?” 

His eyebrows crinkle together, smiling, “Why? Did you want to give driving a shot?” 

You laugh and he takes a step closer, “No, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Even when you’re driving too fast sometimes I get nauseous.” 

“I’m always under the speed limit.” 

“You are not,” You scoff out a sound but you’re grinning. 

“Very responsible,” Nick tacks on with a playful tilt of his lips, sticking his hands into his pockets. 

The banter is familiar but it makes you miss him even more. That gnawing pit in your stomach rears its ugly head as you think about the other night, about saying something so vulnerable and it not being reciprocated. Nick must see the shadow pass over your face because he clears his throat, tilting his head in the direction of the bathrooms. 

“I’m gonna—” He trails off and he turns to leave but then pauses, “I’ll see you later?” 

The question sinks into your skin and blooms before you give him a small nod. You then look at your shoes, unable to watch him walk away. 

—

Having another sip of the drink in your hand, you smile as Pete finishes his semi-cute rant about the first car he ever owned. Some sort of thing he and dad fixed up together, which is how he’s come to love cars. It’s nice, having that connection to something special, something that becomes a passion project. You thought for a long time that might be art for you but…you’ve learned that you’re much more someone who appreciates viewing art than creating it. Maybe you’ll end up going to school for something that involves the ocean.

Shifting on your feet, you curl your hair away from your face. There’s a soft headache pinching the back of your head, behind your ear, but it’s probably from the muffled sound of music constantly pulsing against the concrete down here. 

“So would you say you like driving or fixing up cars more?” You ask, running your thumb over the rim of the cup. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his gaze narrows to someone behind you. Turning, you come face to face with Nick, who looks furious. It’s not so much in his face, it’s the way he’s holding his body—like a tight band about to snap. He zeroes in on the cup in your hand, 

“Give that to me.” 

You blink, “What? No.” Seriously? You thought you kinda parted from one another on good terms and now he’s here? In your business while you’re trying to talk to a guy? To have a decent night that doesn’t include him? 

You open up your mouth–

“Y/N.” There's something in the way that he says your name that makes you feel cold, your gaze wandering down to the cup. It only takes a moment to connect to dots about why Nick would approach you like this, pissed. A sour feeling develops in your stomach, connecting to pinpricks of dread as the cup leaves your hand.

Nick takes it, your fingers brushing, setting it down on the pavement. And as if he wasn't moving carefully before, he suddenly whirls his body in precise movements, suckerpunching Pete in the face. His body bows and he lands on the ground, screaming about his face—

"You broke my fucking nose!"

"You think someone wasn't going to hear you in the bathroom, you fuck?" He snaps and you stumble a step back, bumping into the driver's side of a car nearby. You’re trying to piece together what’s going on but your thoughts are sluggish, which just serves to make you feel more panicked. 

"I didn't know she was your girlfriend, man, she said she was single." 

You put your hand over your mouth, swaying a little on your feet, though you're not sure if it's because Pete...he put something in your drink or because of the blood on Nick's knuckles as he throws another punch, this time hitting him square in the jaw. Pete's head snaps back like a ragdoll but all he does is groan. 

It’s unclear if Nick says anything else because the garage begins to spin and you let out a short, sharp breath, bending a little at your waist to close your eyes. Fuck. Whatever Pete gave you? It's strong and working fast—you only had a few sips of that drink. Terrifying to think if you'd been alone with him...

Someone comes up beside you and wraps an arm around your waist and you begin to squirm until you hear Nick's voice against your ear, "Shh, it's me." A small, uncomfortable whimper leaves your lips—your body feels weird, like it's disconnected. Bone by bone, muscle by muscle. Your cheeks are hot and your stomach is dipping in nausea. "I know, I got you. Hold onto me." 

You stretch your arm across his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as everything spins. There's movement, but you have no idea how you're even walking with how heavily you're leaning into Nick's side. 

Flashes of movement, sound, and pitches of light. You can feel warm leather underneath your body, head lolled back against the headrest, Jenna's voice? Then Nick's. 

"No, I got her." He closes a door, opens up another, "I get it Jenn, but it’s not happening. I’m not leaving her.” Confusion prickles along your forehead, unable to make heads or tails of that conversation. You want to ask but your veins feel like they're filled with cotton as the world goes black. 

--

Sleep is uncomfortable and dreamless. You wake up several times with a pounding headache, a sour stomach, and shaking that makes you feel like there aren’t enough blankets in the world to keep you warm. When you wake up and it sticks, you blink as you try to get your vision to adjust. The room is a little dark, sun trying to shine through drawn curtains. There’s an anvil that’s been placed on your head, there has to be, because when you turn to lie on your back the pain in your temples is unheard of. 

You close your eyes again, pinching the space between your nose and forehead with your fingers. It doesn’t help. A weight sits down near your legs, an arm stretched over them. When you manage to pry your eyelids back again, Nick comes into slow focus. He looks tired, eyes not as bright, curls a bit mussed. 

“How you feeling?” He asks, voice nearly a whisper. 

“Like I swallowed a tire and then was run over.” You wince, sitting up just a little, which somehow makes everything worse. Your hand covers your face and Nick threads his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands over your shoulder. The room is quiet for the moment, birds chirping outside, the even movement of Nick drawing in breath. 

“I can't believe this happened,” You mumble, “I feel like an idiot.”

“This isn't on you,” He says, voice gentle but firm. “If Pete knows what's good for him, he'll never think about doing shit like that again.”

You raise your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth twitching in a smile as you finally look at him. “What are you, like, the mafia? Did you cut off his hands?”

A wisp of a smile, and yet something dark in those eyes that make you swallow, “No, but I did threaten to slam them in his car door if I ever saw him at another event you were at.”

You shake your head even though your entire body bursts with warmth. What does it say about you? That you're willing to accept such a violent sentiment? You draw in a long breath through your nose. Maybe a thought for another day when you don't feel so sick. 

One of Nick's hands lace through yours, his thumb brushing circles around your knuckles. "Seeing you like that..." He was scared, you realize, you can see it on his face—plain as day. He's quiet for a moment, licking his lips before he speaks again, 

"Can I get you anything?" 

You shake your head, not wanting him to leave, drawing in a breath as you finally notice that you're in his bedroom and not your own. You pick up hints of the smell of laundry detergent and his shampoo on his sheets. He drove you back to his place, 

"Didn't think I'd end up in your bed any time soon." It's a small joke, just something to break what feels like a vice-like tension around your ribs. 

Nick's gaze holds your own for a moment, something unweighted and unsaid, "I miss you here." 

You swallow over an instant lump in your throat and you have to tear your eyes away and blink, trying to get rid of the sudden onslaught of tears. Partly because of the situation that landed you here, but also because you didn't realize how much you needed to hear him say it, to hold that same sentiment as you. 

You sniffle, a tear slipping down your cheek as you try to play off the comment with a light laugh, "Well your bed does have the best pillows." 

Nick doesn't reply but instead leans forward until his arms are wrapped around your back, gently pulling you to his chest. His one hand slips through your hair as you press your face into his shoulder, while the other rubs up and down your back in firm, even strokes. 

Nothing is fixed between you two, not by a long-shot. But some of the visible cracks, you think, begin to heal. 

—

You were wrong. 

That much is clear. You’ve had so many good moments with Nick that you’re not sure why you allowed your unfounded anxiety to control you, to convince you of something that wasn’t true. But that time spent with him in his bedroom after the whole Pete thing only solidifies what you’ve been feeling for a while. 

You fucked up. 

You pulled away based solely on fears that were baseless, something you thought you didn’t have a claim to. But you do. You do deserve to have someone be there for you, to take care of you, to look out for you. To miss you. 

You’re ready to own that you didn’t make the best choice…but Nick needs to own his mess too. 

Y/N: Can we talk? 

It takes a little for your phone to buzz— Nick: You’re not gonna convince me that diner food is somehow better than Italian, you’re just not. 

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, Y/N: I mean…

You’ve had this banter back and forth before and it’s easy to fall back into similar patterns, something comforting. That feels like home. 

Nick: You’ve never had homemade carbonara. Life-changing. 

Y/N: Are you offering? 

Not what you were originally trying to text him about but spending time with him wouldn’t suck, either. Who says you can’t bring up past mistakes over pasta? You chew on your lower lip, as you wait for a response. 

Nick: What do you want to talk about? Nick: I might be out of London next week, my dad is traveling for work and I think I’m gonna go with him.

You stare at the messages for a moment, almost getting whiplash. You know that tone completely disappears sometimes with texting but…you also get the sense that you and Nick are on the same page. And he doesn’t want to be. 

You swallow over unspoken words in your throat, not wanting to lose your nerve. If Nick leaves, you’re almost worried that you’ll be at square one when he gets back. 

Y/N: Something important. 

You curl your hair around your ear, pulling yourself up in bed. You do your best not to pace, trying to clean up your room instead, something more productive than wearing the carpet down. When your phone pings, you deny practically diving for it. 

Nick: Then I’ll make time for you. 

—

That conversation doesn’t happen. Not because neither of you want it to happen, but because the next day, your grandmother passes away. It’s not something you were expecting—you thought your grandma was in pretty good health for her age. You just saw her a month ago…went over to her house, baked cookies and watched episodes of Magnum P.I., because your grandmother’s thirsting commentary over Tom Selleck was one of your favorite things to participate in. 

You were close. Sometimes you talked to her about relationships  because she was married to your grandfather until he died a few years ago. They were in love in a way that made you feel like…like maybe it’s one of the best and worst things to happen to someone. That maybe not all relationships are doomed from the start. Your gram talked about her husband every day, even after he passed, something warm and gentle in her eyes. That love never faded. 

Sometimes you and her talked about Nick. 

When your parents tell you, you don’t cry. You just kind of stand there staring at them, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to turn this into a warped joke, a morbid sense of humor. It doesn’t feel real. How does one day have your grandmother in it and then the next just…doesn’t? How are you supposed to keep going through each of them moving forward without her? Someone who was always willing to listen, someone who made you laugh and feel at home in your skin. 

Someone who just saw you. There’s only been one another person in your life that’s made you feel like that. 

The days slip forward but you don’t end up leaving your room, spending time in bed, unmoving. You ignore your laptop, your pinging phone that eventually dies, the pleas of your parents to eat something. You just…you can’t. Not right now. There’s an ache in your chest that is beyond anything you’ve ever felt before, it immobilizes you. In the back of your mind you know you should take care of yourself, that the last thing your grandmother would want is this. 

But today isn’t that day. 

You shift in bed, adjusting your head on your pillow, hearing your bedroom door open. You don’t turn to look at who it is—probably your mother, either setting food on your nightstand or maybe deciding she’s gonna force your hand. Yank the covers off and encourage you to get a shower. You cover your face with your hand, listening to the movements as the door closes again. 

Blankets are pulled back, but someone crawls in, your heart lurching into your throat as you realize who it is. 

Nick drags his hand down your arm, shuffling closer until his front maps against your back. “You don’t have to say anything,” He murmurs, “But I’m going to lay here with you. Alright?” 

You lick your lips, the bridge of your nose stinging as you realize he’s supposed to be gone this week. He mentioned he was going to travel with his dad and yet he’s here, with you, offering you comfort and space all at once. You lean back just a little into him, a silent reply, squeezing your eyes shut. Nick’s hand rubs your shoulder, thumb tracing back and forth along your elbow, a kiss pressed to the back of your neck. 

The weight of his body and the heat of his skin make tears gather in your eyes. You’re not sure how your heart can feel so full and empty all at the same time. Sniffling, you turn your body so that you’re facing him, Nick leaning back just a little. His hand comes to rest on your waist, his head perched on your one pillow. Your eyes begin to trace the soft blonde curls that are near his forehead, the slope of his nose, his strong jawline and full lips. 

He’s here—and you love him even more than you already do, which doesn’t feel possible. 

Nick’s eyes explore your face, his one hand cupping your cheek and brushing underneath your eye, removing invisible tears that haven’t fallen yet. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry, but on the next intake of breath tears spill over your cheeks. You cover your face with one hand, your shoulders shuddering, and Nick closes the space between you. He draws you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, and you find yourself clinging to him as each sob wracks your body. All the pent up emotions you’ve had since you found out empty against his chest—and Nick takes it all. 

He steadies you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame, pressing his nose and lips into your hair. He squeezes every so often, your fingers gathering his shirt into your hands as if you can ground yourself in him. 

“That’s it,” He threads his hand through your hair, rubbing his thumb against the back of your neck. “Just let it all out.” Nick knows you far too well, knows that you haven’t given yourself time to feel, to be. To let it all wash over you. That you need this and didn’t realize how much that was true until it was happening. 

You exhaust yourself, until you’re a mess of sniffles and stumbled breathing. Nick pulls back a little, cupping both sides of your face to brush your hair behind your ears. He presses a kiss to your forehead, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few tissues from the box on your nightstand. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is a bit strained from lack of use and you try your best to clean up your face, crumpling the tissues into your palms. You’re not just thanking him for the tissues though, it’s for everything, for being here. 

Your chest hurts but…you feel a little bit better. You’re not sure when you’ll feel like yourself again, but it’s a good, small, first step. Your gaze finds Nick’s, who’s watching you with a careful expression. Not because he thinks you might start crying again, but because he’s concerned. Worried. You lift your hand and brush your thumb over his lower lip, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I love you.” You tell him, feeling him go still beneath your touch. You know this might not be the best time, that maybe these thick, heavy emotions are driving forth how you make decisions, but…if anything? You’ve just been reminded that life is short. That you shouldn’t go through it without sharing how you feel about things, about people. 

“I know it’s…I know we still have to talk and I understand if—” If you don’t feel the same way, is what you want to say but the words get trapped underneath your tongue. 

Nick’s hand falls to your neck, tipping your chin up with his thumb, “I love you too.” He replies, stealing the air right from your lungs. “That’ll never change.” He holds your gaze a moment, playfully pinching your chin between his thumb and fingers. “Okay?” 

You give him a soft, watery smile, nodding before he tucks you in close again. 

Nick stays as long as you need him. 

—

A handful of weeks pass by—the pain of losing your grandmother doesn’t completely disappear. But you do feel better. They say that time is capable of healing all wounds, and maybe that’s true, but honestly? You think it has everything to do with Nick. 

—

Jenna’s birthday is celebrated at her house, a large party underway. You’d expect nothing less at celebrating someone so vibrant. You’re over there early to help set up, to hang out and do your makeup, to eat a little too much cake with sweet icing. Her house fills up fast, people you’ve never even met before spilling into all the rooms of the lavish London estate. You’re looking for someone specific though. 

You and Nick haven’t spoken with the intention of clearing the air since your grandmother passed. He’s been giving you space to breathe and work through your emotions, which…you appreciate, but you don’t want space anymore. You don’t want to spend one more day caught between a ‘sometimes’ and an ‘almost’. 

“You seen Nick?” You call out to Lion who’s mixing drinks in the kitchen. 

“Playing pool I think.” He volleys back. 

Making your way through the crowd of people, you turn towards the dining room were the pool table is located, but stop short when you hear Anna—

“C’mon Nick, at the very least we used to be good friends.” 

“Jesus Anna, I’m just trying to take a piss.” Which tells you she cornered him outside the bathroom. You chew on your lower lip, debating turning the corner and revealing that you’re standing there or going about your business to the dining room…or maybe even go back the way you came. 

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you know you’d be annoyed if someone was listening in on you, but…your feet feel glued to the carpet. You’re not sure you can move even if you decided to. 

“I’m just trying to say,” Anna replies, softer than before. She must have stepped closer to him because her voice is no longer carrying like it was. “That I miss you.” 

There is no reply from Nick. 

“We’ve always known how to have a good time.” 

When Nick finally does speak, his voice is matter of fact, “That hasn’t been true for a long time.” 

Anna bristles, “I just thought that since you’re single now, free from that—”

“Don’t,” Nick interrupts, a warning. You can picture the muscle in his jaw working, the way it clenches when he begins to get pissed off. Then, “You thought wrong.” 

A door closes, effectively ending the conversation. You know you should probably move as Anna storms down the hallway, but you don’t and when she turns the corner, her eyes go wide. You straighten your shoulders at her scowl, offering her a bright smile…before heading in the direction she came from. 

Down the hall, towards Nick. 

You wait patiently outside the bathroom for the door to open, his eyebrows lifting in soft surprise as he sees you leaning against the far wall. Warm amusement blooms over his face, erasing the earlier attitude lines from his expression.  Nick’s shoulders drop from his ears, his entire demeanor relaxes around you, as if he’s peeling away a version of himself. That he’s showing you something real. You have no idea why you hadn’t noticed it before. 

He props himself against the doorframe, “This feels vaguely familiar.” He smirks, glancing down the empty hall. 

You move towards him, a fond smile on your face, “I was looking for you.” 

Nick draws in a soft breath, tipping his chin down as you come to stand in front of him. “How have you been doing?”

It’s a large question, one you’re not sure you have a complete answer for, but you love that he asks, “I’m alright,” You nod, “Some days are better than others.” 

He nods, silence stretching between you both but it’s not uncomfortable. Your heart hammers a little into your ears and you resist the urge to straighten your dress when you know it’s perfectly fine. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” You ask after a moment, “Anna waiting to have a good time?” 

Nick lets out a soft laugh that sounds like a breath leaving his nose, rolling his eyes, “Heard all that, did you?” 

And yes, you may have admitted that you were eavesdropping, but he doesn’t look put off in the slightest. “Was a valiant effort on her part.” 

His gaze is warm as he shakes his head and suddenly the silence between you two feels electrically charged. “She didn’t come close.” 

You feel heat splotch across the back of your neck and fuck, you have no idea what it is exactly about Nick and how he can make you feel like this. Like everything you thought you knew has been flipped upside down. You breathe in through your nose to settle the butterflies, straightening your spine in resolve so you don’t chicken out—

“This…distance between us, it’s…it was my fault.” 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together a little and he takes a step forward and you’re almost breathing the same air. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, his cologne achingly familiar, his fingers brushing yours as he takes your hand into his. You turn your wrist, your thumb playing with a ring on his index. 

You expect him to make a joke about there not being distance at all, but instead, he shakes his head, not allowing you to take all the blame, “I knew what you were doing,” Pulling away, “and instead of trying to talk to you, I made it worse.” 

“You wanted to hurt me,” You admit in a small voice. 

Nick glances away, a twitch in his jaw that tells you everything without him even having to say it. Not something he’s proud of, yet true. 

“Is that what you really wanted?” You ask, quickly clarifying when pain flashes in his eyes. “To break up?” 

He lifts his hand and plays with a strand of hair near your ear before tucking it behind. There’s a soft smile playing with the corners of his mouth, but it’s like he’s afraid to give into the full emotion. 

“Think we both know I’m not exactly over you.” 

You smile back, “So I’ll take that as a no then—”

Nick leans down to kiss you. It’s gentle at first, wary, asking for permission—just in case. But the moment you thread your fingers behind his neck, when you lean your body into his and make a soft, pleased noise, that’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss. The atmosphere shifts around you and Nick leans down, lifting you up into his arms, backing up into the bathroom as your legs wrap around his waist. 

Sometimes Nick reminds you of fire—warmth, crackling energy, unpredictability. All-consuming. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how undeniable he is. 

The kiss breaks for a moment, you breathe and Nick’s one arm keeps you close while the other slips between you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb toying with your lower lip. “Whoever thought breaking up was a good idea is an absolute tool.” 

A giggle slips out, making Nick smile against your lips, and he backs up until he becomes flush with a wall. When that happens, he carefully loosens his arms so that you end up back on the floor, pressed against him. Your arms lazily wrap around his waist, up and under his jacket, a soft squeeze following. 

He purses his lips, “You think Jenna would be angry with us for leaving her birthday party early?” 

You really like where that thought is going, “I think she’ll understand,” You tip your chin up at him, smiling, “Besides, I have one of those faces that’s hard to say no to—sure she can’t be mad at it, either.”

Nick sighs softly, grabbing your hand to lace his fingers with your own. He begins to tug you from the bathroom, “Don’t I know it.” 

You grin, wandering back down the hallway and through the party towards the front door where all the cars are parked. You pass Anna on the way out, her eyes zeroing in on your joined hands. You know it’s petty of you to wave goodbye to her with your other hand—yet you do it anyways. 

—

Nick’s kitchen is filled with the scent of spices, herbs and fatty pork. He kept his promise about making homemade carbonara and you should have known that if he was going to cook, he was going to go all out. You lean against the counter as you sit on a high stool, chin pillowed in your hand, eyes on the back of him as he twirls pasta on the stove with tongs. Your gaze follows the long line of toned muscles in his shoulders, down to his waist. 

One of the hottest things a guy can do, you think, is cook. 

Jenna playfully snaps her fingers in front of your face, breaking your staring contest. You’re not even embarrassed, you just grin at her. She shakes her head, amused, “I’m so glad you’re back together, babe. No offense, I love you, but you both were just absolutely insufferable.” 

You scoff out an affronted noise, your hand on your chest in mock offense as Nick turns around to plate pasta. He’s smiling, his eyes flickering to yours before concentrating on the task at hand. He pulls long noodles from the pot, twisting even helpings onto serving plates. 

Everyone eats their fill—Jenna, Lion and Giles headed towards the pool for a late night swim. You and Nick will join them, eventually, but for now you have another helping of pasta as Nick cleans up the kitchen. You smile a little as you hear Jenna laugh outside, splashes of water. A pleased breath is drawn into your lungs as you eat the last bit of pasta on your plate. 

It’s gone—a tragedy. 

“Not going to lick the plate?” Nick asks, voice full teasing, a warmth in his gaze as he takes the plate from you. 

You narrow your eyes a little, “I mean, it was good, but check your ego.” 

Nick smirks, “Alright, so what’s the verdict?” You pretend to give it some serious thought, pausing for dramatic effect. Your boyfriend laughs suddenly, shaking his head— “Oh come on, you’re not serious.” 

“I’m still thinking!” 

“What’s there to think about?” He asks, “Homemade carbonara.” 

“Yeah, but like…have you ever ordered a cheeseburger with a perfect side of cinnamon pancakes?” You ask, purposely trying to jerk his wire, “Only a diner can do that.” 

Nick sets the plate down behind him, turning to lean against the counter. He gives you an incredulous look, “You are absolutely wrong for that, don’t know how else to put it.” 

You preen, a grin on your face, “You love me.” You toss it out rather carelessly, not expecting Nick to catch it. 

And yet he does, handles it with care, keeps it close. “Yes,” He nods, a small smile on his face. “I do.” 

A soft breath catches in your throat and warmth, affection, gathers in the center of your chest. The sensation used to make you feel like running away, but not anymore. You tilt your head a little, 

“Come over here and kiss me.” 

Nick pushes himself off the counter, rounding the island counter as you shift your body on the stool. He’s moving almost too fast, eager, and you don’t have time to open your legs for him as he leans down and captures your lips. That’s just fine though, his hands splay your knees apart before he sinks between them. 

A soft noise leaves your lips, an ache beginning in your stomach and blooming lower, your one ankle hooks around the back of his leg. There’s a distant thought in the back of your mind, shouldn’t we be getting back to our friends? — but that is quickly overshadowed when you feel the beginning of Nick’s hardness against your inner thigh. 

He seems to read your mind because in one quick motion, he’s lifting you up into his arms and you steady yourself with your legs around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” You laugh, noses brushing as he tips his head up to look at you. 

“Making up for lost time.” And carries you towards his bedroom. 

[omega-e123]

some headcannons i like to use when shadow has a sick s/o

-he knows every medicine in the book due to.his time on the ark, so he goes through a mental checklist of the ones that will help you wvery time you get sick

-he cuddles the shit out of his s/o as long as they are okay with it, he gets worried about losing them when he sees you sick like that.

-shadow when hes not cuddling and comforting you while your sick will cover you in a weighted blanket to simulate the deeling of beibg cuddled.

-shadow also has a tendency to hoord medicine due to his fear of losing you to sickness, so anytjing in the books you could need he probably has two of it.

-shadow will worry if he doesnt start to see improvement in your system in 24hrs after the sickness started. So he will book you a doctors appointment and gently drag your tail there.

-if you have trouble with the taste of medicine, shadow always has a chaser near by somewhere. The hedge will make you take your meds then imediantly have you taking chocolate sryup as a chaser after to help with the taste.

-shadow sees you even more like maria when your sick so hes voice will rarely go above a soft whisper when your sick. Him mimcking his old behavior with maria.

-shadow loves to handmake soups for you with the knowledge he has, they may not be perfect but they are a labor of love.

Thats my gush have a nwiceee dwayyy.

Oooh! I love these headcanons! Thank you so much!!

✾ He definitely tries to keep more solid medicine rather than liquid, knowing how awful they taste! Some of them can’t be helped though..

✾ Imagine even after taking the chocolate chaser, a twisted, disgusted look is still plastered on your face. Shadow snorts, “That bad?” before kissing you. You’re not focused on the taste anymore!

✾ The great thing about having Mr. Ultimate Life Form as a partner I s getting all the kisses in the world without worrying about getting him sick.

(:̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:★:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

You open the doors to the medicine cabinet. Nono, not the one in the bathroom. Shadow keeps a separate small cabinet in the corner of the bedroom stocked up with every over the counter and left over prescription medicine you’ve ever had.

Hung on the inside of the door is a meticulous list of all the expiration dates. Below that is a little container of directions to most of the medicine. At the very least, the ones that don’t have the directions and ingredients on the bottle. They’re more so for you than him, in case you need something while Shadow isn’t around. Each bottle is organized alphabetically by name and not by the generic name.

Of course he knows what medicine is stocked, which one is for what. All the information about medicine is up to date.

Staring at the two main painkillers for headaches, you couldn’t decide which one to take. Shadow informed you to take a specific one first to see if it helps, but the memory evades you.

You’ve been so deep in thought, you hadn’t noticed that your partner had been calling you to the dinner table to eat. When he walks in the room, he spots your small frame sitting on the floor in front of the cabinet. Shadow’s arms rest crossed over his chest. “What’s wrong?,” he speaks up, effectively startling you. Turning to him, he simply raises a brow, waiting for an answer.

“Stupid headache.. It’s been progressively getting worse. I thought it was cause I wasn’t getting enough water but… Anyway, which one?” You hold up the two containers, the labels facing him.

A finger points to the red bottle, “Acetaminophen. Take one and see if it gets better. If not, use the other. Food is on the table and Acetaminophen is less likely to cause stomach irritation.”

Classic Shadow. Even with that near expressionless face you could tell by the slight tension between his brows and word choice that he’s concerned for your well being. For a brief moment Shadow disappears. In the time that he’s gone you put back the other container in its rightful place. Reappearing, the hedgehog has a glass of water in his hand. Ruby red eyes watch as you pop the pill in your mouth. A hand is outstretched to pass you the glass.

After taking the medicine he hoists you up princess style. “Shadow! Put me down! I can walk on my own! It’s just a headache!,” you protest. To no avail, Shadow hold you tighter as he walks around your shared home. A smile finds its way to his lips as you ‘struggle’, “You’re not putting much of a fight. Besides, I thought you enjoyed getting royal treatment?”

He’s not wrong—

[nylaboon]

hi there! can you please write akito with a reader that has a crush & its suuuuuuper obvious about it, so he can't help but tease reader and get them super flustered? thank you!

Rabbit Hole — Akito Shinonome

"Gonna be a smitten mitten till the day you die?"

— in which An gets you to confess to Akito.

akito shinonome x fem!reader

tags: fluff, characters might be a little ooc, probably shit lmao i wrote this at one in the morning, cut me some slack

note: i literally squealed when i read this request i love akito sm

You've been in school for nine years, yet you still struggle with paying attention in class. It wasn't just the teachers who had poor teaching tactics, which didn't help you activate your brain for the remainder of the day, but it was also the lack of sleep you got each night. You spent more time scrolling on social media than you did working on your homework. It was the poor attention span that troubled you. It was your fault, though. You knew you should've been responsible enough to better yourself in these situations. You were getting to that age, anyway. Soon, you would be independent and no longer under the wing of safety connected to your parents.

But until then, you would continue to feed off your friends.

It helped you get things done faster, so it couldn't have been that bad. You weren't entirely dependent on them, but only just a little. Both An and Mizuki were in the same class as you, so that gave you even more of a reason to slack off whenever they attended. They didn't really mind, either. It just gave you three another reason to hang out after school, therefore it was more of a blessing than a curse. Sitting in the corner booth of Weekend Garage, sipping on piping hot coffee, chowing down on sweet treats, and praying to whatever god up there that one of them had the answers to the homework. It was the highlight of your year.

This afternoon was the same as any other. You rested your chin against the table, tapping the end of your pen against your workbook and staring off into space while An yapped Mizuki's ear off about whatever the hell they were talking about. Another part of your guys' "study session" was that it always took at least thirty minutes for you all to actually get to work. It was a lengthy process, but you still somehow managed to get work done.

After yawning and raising your head from the table to lean back comfortably against the booth seat, An switched her attention from Mizuki to you. She smirked pridefully and played with a strand of her hair. "Y'know, y/n, me and Akito did some talking during practice yesterday, and—"

"What did you do?" You asked in horror, slowly sinking down the seat. An shook her head, a sign that your fear was unnecessary. "I didn't say anything, okay?" She took a large gulp of her coffee before continuing her explanation. "We just played a little game of 'what if'."

"By 'we played' do you mean you forced him to answer your questions while he tried to get work done?" Mizuki interjected, to which An rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes, but that's not the point. The point is..."

She paused, leaving you in suspense. Her mouth stayed open for a bit, before shutting—but there was still a smirk on her face. You raised an eyebrow. "The point is?"

She shrugged. "Actually, I'll let you find out on your own."

You couldn't help but get butterflies from that sentence alone. Whether they were good or bad was unknown, but it made you feel nervous, nonetheless. "C'mon An," you begged, "don't be evil..."

You turned to Mizuki, desperation written on your face. "Do you know anything?"

"No," she answered, "nothing for sure. But can I offer my two cents?" You nodded eagerly and waited for her to speak again. "He never snaps at you, but he sure does tease the hell out of you. Odd, don't you think?"

"Right?" An agreed. "He even snaps at Toya sometimes, and that's his best friend."

"What if I just get Ena to put you on?" Mizuki questioned, to which you immediately declined her offer. You chuckled humorlessly and played with the hem of your shirt. "Absolutely not! She would totally make fun of me until the end of time. Maybe even criticize my taste in guys, if she's feeling extra mean..."

Mizuki scoffed and mocked you. "As if she can't already tell you're crushing on him."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you can't act normal around him for the life of you," the bluenette answered for her. "He doesn't even have to be in the room. We could just be talking about him and you'll start giggling like a little girl."

"No, I don't! I didn't even giggle today!"

"Yeah, because you were too busy trying to not have a panic attack over whether I told Akito about your feelings for him or not," she countered, to which Mizuki agreed.

"Yeah, it's, like, painfully obvious how bad you have it for him. I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. Maybe that's why he teases you so much."

If that was the case, you wouldn't know what to do. If he already knew, then why wouldn't he just tell you instead of making you wait so long for a fifty-fifty answer? The thought made you want to throw up. Not that it was bad, but it was nerve-wracking. It would be nice if he did know, but what if he didn't feel the same? What then? You placed your hand on your stomach and pouted subconsciously. "All this stress is making my stomach hurt."

"And all this pussying out is making my head hurt," Mizuki joked. Meanwhile, An was scrolling on her phone, barely paying attention to the conversation now. "C'mon, y/n! I'm sure if you tell him, he'll be nice about it."

"No, he won't," you whined. "Guys are never nice about this stuff. The last time I confessed to a guy, he told the entire class and they all made fun of me for a month."

"That was in primary school, y/n..."

"So what? It still happened!"

"Y'know what?" An spoke up as she tidied up her area, putting her books and pens back into her schoolbag. "What if we help you practice a confession?" You raised an eyebrow and asked what she meant. "Mizuki will cover your eyes, and I'll pretend to be Akito. Then, you work your magic and confess!"

"Why does Mizuki have to cover my eyes—?"

"Because it'll help you focus on envisioning his presence." It didn't take a genius to know that she completely pulled that claim out of her ass, but you chose to just let her get away with it. "C'mon, y/n! It's getting sad watching you drool over him without knowing if he feels the same or not."

You let out a defeated sigh and threw your head back. "Okay, okay. We can practice, or whatever."

Little did you know that agreeing to her idea would be the best and worst decision you've ever made.

As to why you were doing this outside was a mystery. Maybe it was to avoid getting weird looks from people inside the cafe, but it was equally as bad—and probably worse—to do outside the building. You stood in front of An, awkwardly rubbing at your arm to distract yourself from the pure embarrassment you felt every time someone walked past you three. Mizuki and An, however... You really needed their confidence, because they did not seem to give a shit about gaining people's attention.

"Alright," An said cheerfully, "close your eyes and just imagine that I'm Akito. Mizuki, you cover her eyes so she can't see for sure." Mizuki did as she was told, lightly cupping her hands over your eyes. With that, An cleared her throat and spoke up a second time. "Are you imagining him?"

"Uh," you muttered nervously, "sure, I guess." It took a while for her to speak up again, but you assumed that she had gotten distracted by her phone again. "Now say what you have to say. Don't think about it; just let it flow out."

"...An, this is stupid."

"Trust me! It'll help!"

You sighed and took your time to think. Let the words flow out, you thought. It couldn't be that hard. It was like you were talking to yourself. All you had to do was just forget about An and Mizuki, and you were good. You imagined a world where everything was perfect. A world where it was just you and Akito, for the time being. A world where no one could make fun of you for expressing yourself. A world where everything went your way. You clenched your hands into fists and swallowed hard, preparing to vocalize your thoughts and feelings.

"...since you're totally Akito," you began sarcastically, still finding the whole concept to be ridiculous, "I guess now's the time to finally tell you about how much I'm soooo in love with you, and how annoying it's been to have to deal with these feelings, knowing damn well that I was way too scared to actually tell you about them without my friends forcing me to. And I guess I have to talk about how irritating it is to have to deal with your teasing without knowing if it's platonic or not. And I guess I have to talk about how this is probably a huge waste of time because I know that I'll just pussy out when I actually want to try to confess to you."

You could hear Mizuki sigh behind you. "You're not taking it seriously, y/n!"

"What's the point? It's not like I'm gonna tell him anything anytime soon, so what's the—"

During your mini-rant, you pulled Mizuki's hands away from your eyes and opened them. Instead of An standing in front of you, she was beside Akito, who was now where she stood before. You felt your entire body freeze up at the sight of him. Not only that, but your heart fell all the way down to your ass. He was smirking at you, seemingly finding the situation to be amusing.

"—That's the point," Mizuki finished for you. Not that you were even listening. You were too busy trying to not start hyperventilating. "Why are you here?" You timidly questioned. He was supposed to be at work, so why the hell was he here now?

"I'm on my break and An told me to come here," he answered smugly, not once breaking eye contact other than to blink. "What was that about you being soooo in love with me?" Your jaw clenched and your head became light. Is this what dying felt like? Because, honestly, you were hoping that your next breath was your last.

"It was just a joke," you blurted out and internally cursed at how stupid that lie was. Akito sneered and let out an 'uh-huh'. You weren't getting out of this easily, so you might as well just give up. "Akito," you muttered, "don't do this to me."

"I already knew before this," he admitted nonchalantly. "I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to tell me."

"It would've taken longer if An didn't set me up..." Maybe your crush on him was obvious, as much as you didn't want to believe it. "Can you just, like, tell me what you think so I can rest easily tonight?" He nodded and laughed a bit with that same annoying grin on his face. "I think you're cute, or whatever."

An let out an excited squeal before you could even process what he said. "And I think that you should come clean about this beforehand so we could actually…y'know."

"I don't know," you replied, to which Mizuki quickly spoke up with a grin of her own. "He wants you!" Akito sent her a glare but didn't deny it.

"You're making this a lot less enjoyable for me," he advised the girls. "But I guess that's one way to put it." It felt like the entire world was crumbling beneath your feet but in a good way. You couldn't help but play with your fingers as a nervous tic, but despite your anxiety, you were smiling. Wide. Before you knew it, you walked up to him and pulled him into a tight hug. Akito was caught off guard, but only for a bit. He eventually wrapped his arms around you as well and applied a sweet kiss on the top of your head. It was like a dream.

"Thanks, An…" you mumbled against his chest. You totally owed her after this.

written by @nylaboon

[bennysmiller]

I love your writing! Would you consider writing a short fic where you’re one of Santi’s friends and he sets you up on a blind date with Frankie? Bonus points for Frankie being kind of shy and adorable

Blind Date - Frankie Morales x Reader

Thank you so much for your request!! I really hope this is okay 🩷

I have a friend. He’s single. You’re single. You’re both recently out of long-term relationships. You can awkwardly return to the dating scene together. But seriously, I think you’ll like each other. How does that sound?

You laughed when Santi sent you that text. But two weeks later, you were pacing anxiously in your kitchen waiting for your cab to arrive. You’d partly agreed to the date to shut Santi up, because you knew he’d complain about your complaining if he’d offered you a way out of the single life and you’d refused, without even giving him a chance. Finding a good man was difficult, so it was worth trying, right?

The cab ride to the restaurant was painful, to say the least. You couldn’t help but question if you were doing the right thing, but Santi was one of the few people you actually trusted, and he wouldn’t have set the date up if he didn’t think you’d actually get along.

Five minutes. This Frankie guy was five minutes late. You tapped your fingers on the table, trying to distract yourself from the fact that he maybe got cold feet himself. But out of the corner of your eye, you see a little bit of commotion near the entrance of the restaurant.

A man has a bouquet of roses in one hand, and the other was messing with the soft curls on top of his head. He looked as thought he’d ran all the way there. He was frantically looking around and trying to catch his breath, while also explaining to the wait staff who he was there for.

Someone’s in trouble, you think to yourself. And then it hits you. Man who looks like he’s supposed to be on a date, also looks like he has turned up late to said date?

Then you hear your name. And a few curse words that he muttered under his breath in embarrassment. You look up, and it’s him.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get off work. Then I realised I’d forgotten to get you flowers. I hope you like roses.” He said, as you stood up to greet him.

“Frankie? You’re fine. I mean, not fine as in handsome, just fine as in ‘you don’t need to apologise for being late’. Actually, you’re fine as in handsome too, but-“

Disaster. Two seconds in and it was a disaster.

He hands you the flowers and you thank Frankie, before gesturing for him to take a seat in front of you.

“Let’s start over, huh Frankie? We both screwed up there.” You say as you settle at the table.

“Sure, I could take a redo at that”, he laughs and he blushes a little when you laugh back.

You just looked so beautiful. Frankie wished Santi had warned him about that.

The rest of the date went better than either of you could have ever imagined. The chemistry was just as Santi had promised in his myriad of texts to you about it. He knew. He always knew. And you needed to thank him for this one.

Frankie was so pleased with himself, he had you laughing all night. Even in his truck, on the way home. The radio was on, the windows were down, and the conversation was flowing so effortlessly. It was a movie scene straight from a movie that the two of you had no idea was only the first part of many.

“I’d love to see you again,” said Frankie, as he admired the way you looked in the glow of your porch light. “If you feel the same, of course”.

“I feel the same, don’t you worry about that.” You smiled at him and kissed his cheek, which took the poor man by surprise. “Goodnight, Frankie”.

The look you gave him over your shoulder as you opened your front door would be thought about until you graced him with your presence a second time.

[nwjws]

when you break something important to him - yjw 🎐

; pairing - idol!jungwon x gf!reader

; synopsis - you didn't mean to break jungwon's ipad, and he didn't mean to let all his stress and anger out on you.

; tags - fluff, angst? one shot, ; warnings - swearing, jungwon gets pretty mad, but he also ends up begging for your forgiveness, not proofread so there may be typos/grammar errors and other things i missed

; wc - 2.1k

; author's corner! this was requested! not my best work, but i hope u enjoy! :)

you're in deep shit.

staring at the broken screen of your boyfriend's ipad, you know you're in trouble.

with jungwon's schedule packed with practice and shows, you decided you wanted him to come back to a clean and tidy home. so you used the spare key he'd given you to enter the boy's dorms and do them a favour.

upon opening the door, you were met by the sight of clothes spread around the floor, piled on top of each other. unwashed dishes sat in the sink, and- is that a receipt from something sunghoon bought two months ago?

yeah, you had your work cut out for you.

taking a deep breath in, you mentally prepare yourself for the next hour or two.

you got through it though, and seeing the place get cleaner made you feel proud of yourself. it's like the dorms suddenly increased in space, with the lack of clothes and displaced furniture littering the rooms.

you only had to polish the surfaces though. so you'd been wiping the dining table absent mindedly, thinking about how jungwon would react once he saw the place. maybe you could even pull a few kisses out of him.

but you should have paid more attention, and you would have noticed his ipad sitting on the side of the table.

the device fell to the tiled floor with a loud crack, having fallen on its corner before flopping onto it's screen. you'd knocked it off the edge.

a gasp escapes you, and you quickly knelt down to inspect the damage.

the corner had been scratched, the damage seeping into black at the corner of the actual screen. a crack striked through the screen, and colourful lines lit up rather than the lockscreen when you turned it on.

god, how did it even manage to get that bad? you hadn't thought the fall was that bad at first. clearly you made a misjudgment.

panic seized through you as you realised how important the device was to your boyfriend, using it in his practices almost every day. and now it was sitting in your hands, broken and unusable.

your hear the door unlock and voices filtering in.

perfect timing, you groan in your head.

"oh- y/n?" you hear jungwon's voice shout in surprise, the happiness in his voice making you apprehensive.

"hi..." you greet him weakly, trying to hide the broken ipad behind your back.

"wow, you cleaned up the place?" riki gasped. "it's amazing!"

"i wish i had a girlfriend who'd do this for me," heeseung chuckles, placing his bag on the table.

"oh my god, what's this?" you hear sunoo gasp from behind you.

you quickly spin around, turning to look at him, while the device stayed behind your back. you and the boy stare at each other with wide eyes, and you're about to say something, when jungwon speaks up.

"y/n... what happened here?"

only then do you realise that you'd forgotten jungwon was right behind you after turning to face sunoo.

"i... accidentally knocked it off the table..." you admit hesitantly. "it happened just before you guys entered."

"ah..." jungwon sighed, taking the ipad from your hands.

you gulped as you watched him check the device, before deeming it completely useless, seeing as it couldn't even show the screen.

he gave heeseung a look, who then signalled the others to go to their rooms. they didn't want to see their leader angry after a long and tiring day on stage.

"look at this... do you even realise how stupid that was? how am i supposed to practice tomorrow?" jungwon says to you, pinching his nose bridge.

"i know... i'm so sorry. i should have been more careful."

"yeah you have! i just wanted to come home and rest today, you know? but now i have something else to deal with after a busy day."

"i'll buy you a new one," you offer.

"no, i just- i don't want to talk about this right now. not to you," he shakes his head and turns away, opening his phone to text his manager. "it might have been better if you never came in the first place."

you're shocked. you understood that he had a tiring day dancing - that's why you wanted to try and lift some weight off his shoulders. but is he seriously disregarding your own efforts?

"are you being for real right now?"

"yes i am, why wouldn't i be?" he challenged. "i just spent all day on stage, using up all my energy, and i come home just wanting to sleep but instead i have another problem to deal with?!"

"i just wanted to help you!"

"i didn't need your help! it did less for me than you thought," he shouts.

"you aren't the only one working your ass off all day! i also have my own job, and still decided to go here straight after to clean up the dorm - which, by the way, was so messy?! it's like you guys don't know how to clean up after yourself."

"you know we don't have time! isn't that why you wanted to help?"

"oh, so you're twisting my words on me now, huh? i spent two hours cleaning the floors, the dishes, i even washed the clothes just laying around! you seriously didn't have enough time in your packed schedule to just put a piece of clothing back in your closet? you just let it pile up like garbage!" you huffed out.

"if you're just gonna shout at me, leave! you know how much this is going to set me back? if you didn't break my ipad i could easily do my work with no problem," he yells at you.

"i can't believe you right now. you're letting a stupid device - which i obviously broke by accident allow you to ignore everything else i did? to get in between us?" you stare at him with exasperation in your voice. you want to cry, and it physically hurts having to stop the sobs from escaping your throat.

"what?" his tone shifts from an angry to a more dejected one.

"i know your ipad is important, and i had planned to get you a new one because of it. i just wanted to take a burden off your back. but if i'm clearly not doing enough, then i guess i wasted my time here."

you pick up your own belongings and make your way towards the exit.

"wait-" he grabs your wrist, but you shake him off.

"i'm leaving, like you asked. sleep well jungwon, you clearly need it."

.

jungwon hadn't left you any missed calls or texts the next day. and you hadn't really expected him to.

in your time dating him, you had learned that it was best to give him some time to process things. then you'd start pestering him to talk about it after a day or so - you two always came out of your arguments stronger this way.

by the time his first attempt at talking to you again came - a call at 10pm, of all times - you decided. decided that you wouldn't make this easy for him, not when he made it hard for you the other night.

so you ignored the call. sat and stared at your screen, waiting for him to stop.

when he did, you turned your phone off and watched some new series on your tv until you fell asleep peacefully.

the next morning, you woke up and found that your boyfriend had tried to call you five more times, but went right to voicemail since your phone was off. you also received the 20 messages he had sent.

still, you resisted the urge to reply, and went off to the store.

again, jungwon tried calling you throughout the day, when he presumably had breaks during practice. every time your phone lit up and rang that familiar tone, your fingers itched to press answer and accept his apology and offer for a date out on the town. but you persisted in your resolve to keep him on his toes. he's going to have to grovel for your forgiveness.

after picking out a new ipad, you paid and left the store with the box in your hands. you fished your phone out of your pocket and finally turned your phone off again, so his incessant calls would stop disturbing your peaceful shopping (read: everyone was giving you weird looks for not answering the ringing of your phone).

someone should give you an award for not giving into your strong urges to do so.

looking at the time, you think jungwon's probably leaving practice now. no doubt he'd find you soon, if he wasn't already on the way.

is it unfair? you ask yourself, but you know the answer is no. jungwon had been completely unreasonable during the argument. you understood he was tired and how important the tablet was to him, but it didn't give him an excuse to overlook everything else you did. to shout at you like that, over something stupid like a cracked screen, none the less.

okay... maybe it was more than a cracked screen. you should apologise for it again.

"y/n!" ah, there he is.

you turn to see the face of your lovely boyfriend, who's been chasing you all day.

"jungwon." he ran up to you, panting, but not giving himself time to breathe when he took your hands in his.

"please, y/n. i'm sorry, really," he started, staring at you with those wide, beautiful eyes. "i know i was harsh, and it was stupid. you did so much for me, a big favour, and i had the audacity to react like that. over an ipad!" he laughed.

"i'm literally the biggest idiot on earth. in the whole universe. you're amazing, you know? i feel like you give me way more than i give back to you. so i want to show you how sorry i am.

"let's go watch the latest movie at the cinema tomorrow. it's on me. and then, i'll ask for some time off so we can go to that butterfly garden 20 minutes away - i'll try to catch some for you. not that they'd be as pretty as you, though."

you watched as he gradually lowered to his knees, looking up at you with pleading eyes. you quickly pulled him back up, shaking your head.

"don't- don't beg for my forgiveness," you sigh. "i understand. i'm sorry too, for breaking your ipad. so i got you this-" you handed him the bag that held his new ipad. his jaw dropped as he took it from you, gaping back at you.

"thank you..." he trailed off softly. in disbelief.

"this doesn't mean i forgive you just yet, though," you harrumphed. "you'll have to work harder. that butterfly garden does sound nice."

jungwon smiled and followed as you began walking away, arms folded.

"i'll bring you to that cat cafe downtown," he said, trying to take your hand in his, but you refused.

"even if you're allergic to them?"

"i'll just take my meds," he shrugged nonchalantly. "as long as you're happy. i know you love their little calico."

you gasp, remembering the adorable cat from the cafe. "i miss him so much! can we go now?"

"you have your own cat! me!" he pouted, going in front of you to stop you.

"well, it seems like my 'own kitty's' been misbehaving," you rolled your eyes playfully.

"i know, i know! i'm sorry. i'll bring you there right now."

jungwon called for a driver, who picked you two up and dropped you off at the cat cafe.

you failed to keep your snickers to yourself as you watched him sit in your booth, sniffing and rubbing at his (now red) nose, while you played with the cute little cats.

the corners of your mouth tug upward when you see him open the case you had bought, which you had customised at the store to have your lipstick stains all over it. he immediately ran to you and snaked his arms around your waist, hoisting you up into the air, and spinning you around while shouting 'thank you, i love you'.

"i love you too," you laugh as you kiss him on the cheek, leaving another mark on his face, identical to those on his new ipad's case.

; perm taglist - @lovelovelovebts

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hiii! I really love your work and I saw that your requests are open. So I was wondering if you could do something for Rowan? Maybe a fluff one <3

Trouble

Rowan had been clenching his jaw the moment he was dragged out of bed to go to that stupid meeting early in the morning. Peeling away from your warm body had been torture. He had stood in the doorway for a solid five minutes just looking at your sleeping form. Thinking about how he could escape the order. Until Gavriel had practically dragged him out.

“You’ll be back soon, don’t frown so hard, might get permanent lines on your face”, Gavriel teased from beside him, making Rowan scowl even harder. “She’s safe back there. The rest of us are looking over her”, he reassured Rowan. “It’s not that”, the male argued, “I wish I didn’t have to leave her at all. “How is she still alive with you smothering her like that”, Gavriel chuckled but resulted to only smirking once Rowan flashed his teeth at him.

His mood shifted instantly when the familiar cottage came into view. Tightness in his shoulders slipped like the rain off his feathers. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Nothing beat the feeling of coming home to you. The laughter caught up with the two soldiers at the bottom of the litter valley dip. Even Gavriel visibly relaxed at the sound of it.

“Get your paws off the table”, you huffed batting the white wolf away from the freshly baked goods. “Connall, I see you”, you warned the second twin with a warning finger. Golden eyes rolling back even in the shifter's form. “I saw that”, you warned them both but they simply nudged you with their snouts before lying down by the fire. The two often lounged in the furry coats. Gavriel said it most definitely was a self-comforting thing.

“I leave for a day and the kids are already misbehaving”, Rowan teased making you turn to him in a gasp. A loud squeal followed right suit as you rushed towards him, jumping into his arms. “You’re home way earlier”, you beamed cupping his face, before pulling away to look him all over. “Not a single scratch, don’t worry”, Rowan reassured you pulling you back into his embrace. You tilted your head to look past his shoulder at Gavreil who simply smiled, “All good here as well, darling”, the worrier nodded your way before stepping deeper into the house.

“Spirits above, I’ve missed you”, your lover breathed out, brushing his lips over your cheek. “Look at you being all clingy”, you teased him playfully before kissing him softly. “Don’t you even dare find a single excuse to not be with me”, Rowan breathed against your lips making you giggle. “So even in the bathroom…”, you started but he cut you off with a sharp nod, “Even in the bathroom”.

You were about to tease him some more when a loud clank of a tray hitting the floor echoed through the room. Rowan instantly pulled you behind him, his protective instincts not missing the beat. But from a low whine, you already knew what that was about. “You two are in deep shit”, you frowned, barely catching the sight of the white and black fur flashing out the back door.

“It looks like I don’t feed them”, you shook your head with a laugh. “You do but you’re also the only female and the only one who cooks godly stuff”, Rowan bent down to pick up the tray before resting his hands on your hips, “I don’t blame them”. You hummed, “But I blame you cause you distracted me and now look”, you crossed your arms over your cheeks. “How am I in trouble”, he whined softly making you let out yet another chuckle. “Don’t even start”, you raised your palm at him playfully but Rowan only used that as a way to pull you closer as his fingers started ticking your side. The house once again beating with laughter.

[spinfins]

Okay I need to hear about the Ghostbusters Minrathous fic lol

As you wish, my Darlings! @sunny374940, @pursuitofeverything, @draco-illius-noctis

-/- Tethras Studios Presents -/-

(We hear the click and shutter of an old home movie camera. Grainy footage ensues.)

Rook (voice): Ready?

Bellara (voice): Okay. We’re all set.

(Interior, a dark dingy room, the camera wavers and then focuses on Rook. She is dressed head to toe in a faded purple jumpsuit, complete with boots, gloves, and a myriad of straps and buckles.)

Rook: Is it recording?

Bellara (voice behind camera): Recording in progress.

Rook (nervously breathes out, friendly smile): Okay! Hi there viewer! Are you having trouble with spirits?

(Disconcerting screech, like a scream or a skipped record player. Cut to black.)

(Crisp camera footage. Exterior, Minrathous, night. We hear the distant sounds of the city and traffic, police sirens. The city is dark and enveloped in fog. The dim lights of the buildings stretch out on the horizon.)

Neve VOICEOVER: In a world of magic, things are rarely what they seem.

(Interior, a dingy room full of junk. Bellara is seated at a desk taking apart some elvhen artifacts with a screwdriver. Tighten focus to her face. Her eyes widen as blue light begins to grow and a strange warble is heard.)

Neve VOICEOVER: Some of these things are otherworldly…

(Interior, large villa, dark. All the lights are off. Emmrich, and Rook creep forward, wearing jumpsuits and carrying gear. Above them on a staircase we catch a glimpse of a glowing blue figure dart past.)

Neve VOICEOVER: …unwanted…

(Interior, bedroom, dark. Lucanis lies in bed sleeping peacefully. Tighten focus on face. His eyes pop open to reveal violet light. Camera pans away to wall where we can see his shadow sitting up, and violet light outlines the shadow of bony wings sprouting from his back.)

Neve VOICEOVER: …even dangerous.

(Exterior, night, a dark, wet alley with trash and neon signs. Davrin is walking Assan on a dog harness. He stops, looks behind him at the camera. Fear washes over his face, he starts running with Assan.)

Rook (voice): Hold up!

(Skipped record player sound again. Cut back to interior, first dingy room with Rook. The footage is grainy again.)

Bellara (voice behind camera): What? That was really good.

Rook: Can they see the logo?

(Rook tugs at her jumpsuit, clearly displaying a cartoonish depiction of a bright, green ghost, with the initials S.W.I.M. underneath it.

Neve (behind camera, a little impatient): It look’s fine, Rook.

Bellara (behind camera, enthusiastic): It looks great!

(Rook smiles a big, shit-eating grin.)

Rook VOICEOVER: We’ve got a really top-notch team together.

(Crisp camera footage. Interior, library. Emmrich in casual wear, working diligently at a table strewn with hand-written notes and ancient books. He has glasses pushed up into his hair and a pencil in his mouth because sexy.)

Rook VOICEOVER: Really the best of the best!

(Cut to exterior, day, Neve looking fabulous in a Noir riff outfit strides with confidence through a busy market in pursuit of a shifty looking Dorian, also fabulous in Noir riff outfit.)

Rook VOICEOVER: So give us a call at 1-800-swim. And trust Spirit Whisperers Inc. Minrathous with the problems that haunt you!

(Cut to interior, old public building. A very fearful looking Emmrich has his hand on Rook’s arm, both in casual wear.)

Emmrich: I don’t know, Rook.

(Rapid montage of scenes including spirits of various colors popping out of doors, chasing a car through the woods, passing in front of windows, descending on a baby’s crib, creeping into a bedroom where Bellara is peacefully sleeping, swinging from a lamppost cackling maniacally.)

Emmrich (voice): I think we may have bitten off rather a mouthful this time.

(Montage grows more rapid and violent; Neve and Bellara in an attic, Dorian frantically driving behind the wheel of a car, Assan crouching in a corner, Rook’s head forced underwater. Camera slows to show entire team of Rook, Neve, Bellara, and Emmrich in uniform, in what appears to be some sort of basement, backing away from a violently shaking wardrobe.)

(Cut to Harding in a police office, her legs stretched casually on the desk, Taash in uniform beside her, their arms crossed over their chest.)

Harding (longsuffering, cigarette in hand): Tell me about it.

(Cut to black. More maniacal laughter.)

-/- Coming Soon -/-

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Double Trouble

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 5 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Part

Waking up to the sound of a phone ringing for the second time that night made you feel the strongest sense of déjà vu. It was dark this time around, and you were so tired that you couldn’t even find it in you to open your eyes, instead letting out a groan as the ringing suddenly cut off.

Minho whispered something behind you, too quiet for you too make out. He was silent for a second, and then he was letting out a sigh and shifting out from under the covers, the chill against your back quickly remedied as he tucked the blanket against you.

You let out a hum, your mind still muddled from sleep.

When you didn’t hear anything else, you rolled over to stretch only for light to flash across your eyelids. You suddenly sat up in surprise to a now empty room, the sun shining in through the crack in the curtains and the sound of muffled traffic reaching your ears. You must have fallen back asleep without realizing.

“Minho?”

There was no answer, and you figured he must have left by now. Taking a second to shake off the lingering disorientation, you reached for your phone and checked the time.

It was 15 minutes before the hour you had planned to meet up with the boys.

“Shit!”

By the time you managed to rush through your morning routine and stumbled through the elevator doors, you were only 5 minutes late. You sent a quick message to the chat that you were on your way with an apology, the replies coming in seconds after.

Soulmates

Jisung

Don’t worry, I’m also running late

Felix

How are you running late? Didn’t you go to the gym so early specifically so you wouldn’t be late?

Jisung

It wasn’t that early

Felix

It was still dark out. That’s way too early for me （ > ﹏ &lt; ）

Im in the lobby. Where are we meeting up?

Seungmin

At the restaurant. Back left corner.

Omw

Chris

Me and Changbin are on our way down too. Be there in a minute.

Jisung

Wait, hold the elevator for me!

I’m leaving my room!

Chris

Too late.

Jisung

(T - T)

Felix

Hey Han, can you check up on Jinnie?

I’m pretty sure he’s still asleep

Jisung

Might as well (¬ ､ ¬)

You followed the red string to a table hidden near the back of the restaurant, surprising the maknaes as you pulled out a seat next to them. Felix immediately perked up, leaning over to pull you into a hug.

“Well, hello to you too,” You said, returning his hug with equal enthusiasm.

“Good morning,” Seungmin piped up, still scrolling through his phone.

Jeongin gave you a smirk from the other side of the table, saying his own greeting when you met eyes, and you gave him a nervous smile. From what you’d been told, Jeongin was sharing the room with Minho this trip. Which meant he knew the dancer didn’t make it to his room last night.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.

Seungmin let out a laugh. “Hyunjin was asleep.”

“I knew it,” Felix muttered, pulling away so he could grab his own phone. “Changbin never wants to wake him up. Always says he looks ‘too cute’ to disturb.”

“Yah, I did wake him up. He fall back asleep!” A voice said from behind you.

You tilted your head back and beamed at Chris and Changbin, the former taking the seat next to you as the others started to bicker. He gave you an exasperated look as their voices began to rise.

“Never a moment of quiet with these guys, I swear,” He joked.

"You poor thing," You said, playing along. "How ever do you survive?"

"Well, it sure helps to have such a pretty lady by my side," He said, throwing his arm over the back of your chair.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?"

Chris let out an awkward laugh, ducking his head. "Too much?"

“Hey, save the flirting for someone who knows what they're doing," Felix yelled, throwing Chris's arm off and replacing it with his own.

"What, like you?" Seungmin deadpanned.

"Hey!"

The others laughed, Felix getting up from his seat to mock wrestle with the Seungmin as the others laughed. In between the chaos, Minho slipped into the now empty seat to your right with a nod in your direction. You gave him a small wave, and he smiled.

Jeongin snorted, leaning back in his seat.

"Sleep well, hyung?" Minho's smile slipped from his face and he shot Jeongin a glare that would have had a normal person running for the hills. But Jeongin was braver than most men. He continued, "You didn't sleep in the room last night."

The others at the table grew quiet, Changbin sitting up straight in his chair. "What?!"

"Oh? And where did you sleep last night, Lee Know? Hmm?" Chris was grinning like he already knew the answer.

You imagined your fluttering heartbeat and flushed cheeks probably gave you away. Minho rolled his eyes.

"Jeongin, you little snitch," he said.

The sound that escaped your mouth was an embarrassing mix between a shout and a snort, and you immediately clapped your hands over your mouth. The table turned to look at you in varying levels of surprise and shock before they all burst out laughing. You found yourself joining them.

Felix slammed his palm against the table a few times. "I thought we agreed to wait."

"I kind of expected someone to pull this, but you?" Chris wiggled his eyebrows at you two.

You groaned. "Don't make it sound like we did anything scandalous."

"I mean, you were pretty flustered last night."

"Oh my god, you felt that?!"

"Wait, wait, wait, what happened last night?" Changbin exclaimed.

Jeongin said something in Korean, and Minho let out a sigh. He replied, probably explaining the embarrassing events of last night and the others immediately reacted with exclamations and complaints you didn't understand. Minho didn't seem that bothered. If anything he looked almost a little smug, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

"I hope you told them that the only thing that happened last night was some cuddling," You warned him.

"Without me? You traitor!" Felix yelled.

"Yah, why are you guys so loud?" Hyunjin groaned, slumping down into a free seat.

Jisung followed, looking far more awake. "Who's a traitor?"

"They slept together last night," Seungmin explained, pointing at you and Minho.

"What?!"

"Not like that!"

0o0o0

Hyunjin was obsessed with the way his touch left marks along your skin. After everyone had settled down and gotten through breakfast with minimal complaining (although Jisung did spend most of the time pouting at you), the boys offered you a ride to the venue. Your original plans were to take a taxi or uber, so you gratefully accepted the ride.

The boys were sent off in two cars depending on who showed up first, so you ended up riding in the back with Chris and Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jisung sitting in the middle row ahead of you.

And Hyunjin had quickly taken the opportunity to test out his soulbond.

You watched in amusement as he used his fingers to trace lines across your hand and wrist, trying to draw shapes but finding it hard with so little space. His traces left goosebumps across your skin and he started to move higher, his thumb swiping across your inner elbow. He experimented with more pressure, watching as the marks lasted longer the harder he pressed, but still fading away within a minute or two.

“I could draw something if I’m quick enough,” He muttered to himself.

“Huh?”

“Pretty,” He said to you, giving you a blinding smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back. You reached up to brush his hair back, and Hyunjin’s eyes slid closed at your touch. The grips on your arm tightened slightly, a hum leaving his mouth as he leaned back against the seat as your fingers began to card through his hair, lightly scratching against his scalp.

“You’re so cute,” You softly teased.

“Hmm.”

The car took a sharp turn around a corner, and you let out a squeak as Hyunjin’s body squished you up against the window. He let out a chuckle, but even as the car rightened itself and the pressure eased up, he refused to move back over to his size, his shoulder pressed up against yours and his face close enough that if your turned, you would probably be brushing noses.

“Hyunjin?”

He leaned in slowly, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. Your breath caught in your throat. Leaning back just enough that he could see the mark he had left, Hyunjin then pulled back in and pressed another kiss against your bare shoulder, and then another one against your arm. You let out a giggle as he began to press kisses all along your arm and back up to your cheeks.

“Hey, hey. What are you doing?” Chris laughed, reaching over to cover you in mock protection.

Hyunjin didn’t skip a beat, instead beginning to press kisses against Chris’s arm instead. The eldest let out a squawk, immediately pulling back and giving Hyunjin full reign to your arm and face again. You laughed at them.

“Hey, keep It down,” Jisung complained.

“Jealous?” Hyunjin teased.

“Yah, you little shit.”

Hyunjin let out a giggle, and the next kiss he pressed to your face brushing against the corners of your mouth. You gulped as he pressed a kiss against your jaw, and after a moment of hesitation, he pressed one last kiss to your neck. You froze, Hyunjin’s lips lingering against your skin before he slowly pulled away, his mouth parted, and pupils dilated.

Heat flooded your system, your heart beating loudly in your ears and butterflies exploding in your stomach. Hyunjin’s hand slipped into yours, raising your intertwined fingers and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand while still maintaining eyes contact.

Your eyes met Chris’s gaze from behind Hyunjin, his face uncharacteristically serious. You knew he could feel everything, knew you should probably try to calm yourself down on his behalf, but the way he tilted his head at you only made the heat grow.

Letting out a cough, you pulled your hand away from Hyunjin and forced yourself to look away from Chris. One of them was bad enough, but both of them made you feel like you were on fire. While you didn’t mind the feeling, this wasn’t the time or the place to let yourself give in.

Hyunjin pulled away, no longer pressing up against you. “Ah, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You whispered.

The rest of the ride passed by in silence.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation Rewritten - Chapter 2

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: NONE HERE.

I'm very sorry this took 3 MONTHS to post... a lot has happened. Hopefully the future will have faster updates. Also, this part is pretty short and I don't really like it, but I I'm reminding myself that it's all just building up. Until next time!

It’s noon when I’m buzzed up to the apartment. Love caught you up on the last minute changes. Still, you open the door with hesitancy and step back without once looking me in the eye. I peel my boots off, taking my time to really look around the living room. There’s nothing of interest here anymore, now knowing this isn’t your place and these aren’t your things. When I make my way to the corner table by the couch, I pick up a frame. Another picture without you in it.

“She had a lot of friends,” You sniff. I turn to look at you. “Left almost everything to them, actually.”

“What a great mom…” I comment and set the picture back in place. “What did she leave you?”

You look around the apartment, gesturing about. I look too, but nothing else catches my eye. Where are your things?

“Garbage.” You respond. You rub your nose then, when I don’t respond, and sniff again. You still don’t meet my eyes.

“This apartment, too?” I inquire, but you shake your head.

“In a way… she left me with the bill. I can’t afford a place in LA on my own, and It’s costing me money I don’t have for this place to sit unoccupied. So, I’m clearing it for new tenants before the month’s over.”

I rub the back of my neck. Your mom sounds like a bitch, but I’d like to stay focused and get the real job here out of the way. “Should we get started?”

“Yeah, uh… First things first,” You start, pointing behind you toward the kitchen. “We have to throw everything edible in the cupboards out.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. It all has to go. I already cleared the fridge this morning.”

You walk around the kitchen island, bend down to pull out a drawer, and come back to the surface with a few plastic garbage bags. I take one, and we begin.

The cupboards themselves seem to be in good condition, until I pulled one open and the knob comes right off. We laughed. You reassured me it had happened to you too, and that you simply pushed it back into place. After throwing the few cereal boxes left inside into my garbage bag, I did the same. The inside of these cupboards are dusty, and the small black pellets left behind look more like mouse shit than they do crumbs. I’ll have to tell Love I was right about the rodents.

I reach over and take a metal tin. Something jostles inside as I bring it to my ear. You peer over from your corner and jump.

“Not that,” you say as you reach over to take the tin out of my hands. “Love made those.”

“And your mom’s been keeping them in her cupboard?”

“No, of course not,” You roll your eyes and start prying it open. “Love gave them to me the other day. They're homemade cookies.”

When the cover comes off, I see six golden cookies spread out. They look good.

I look up at you, wondering.

“You can take one, I don’t mind.” You say.

I reach in and take a cookie, bringing it between my teeth not a moment sooner. I bite.

The flavour is sweet and tangy. Lemon, I recognised it quickly… You can really taste Love in them. But, I can’t help but sulk a little; she doesn’t make me cookies, I think sourly.

“Good, right?” you ask, taking one for yourself before shutting the tin. You split a piece off and pop it into your mouth. I watch the action, chewing away at my bite. I feel cold. Upset. I’m growing bitter at the thought of Love making treats specially for you. I’m jealous, I know. Jealousy and I know each other remarkably well.

Once the cupboards are empty of the numerous snack boxes your mom seemed to endlessly collect, we tie the garbage bags and bring them to the front door.

We spend the rest of the afternoon wiping the surfaces clean, scrubbing the tiles, and making sure anyone could feasibly lick spilt milk off the fucking floors.

As you scrub away at the floors with a brush, I wipe down the inside of the cupboards – rat shit and all. We’ve engaged in small talk throughout – mostly on the subject of your family life since the split. You lived with your dad up until recently. He never remarried.

“How’s Love?” You suddenly ask me. You hadn’t seen her since the dinner… probably the longest you’d gone since the ten years before. I groan, but you don't hear it.

“She’s been good,” I say. “She’s out of town with Forty today.”

“And… you?”

“What about me?” I smile, looking down as you pause your scrubbing. You don’t look up at me as you spray tile cleaner down.

“How are you?”

“I’m good, I’ve just been helping you tidy the place up.”

I watch you smile at that.

“And I appreciate it,” You huff, grabbing a rag to wipe the suds. You look up at me then, and I watch as your eyes shy away the moment you notice me staring.

“I think I’m done with the cupboards.” I state.

“Right,” You acknowledge. “I’m just finishing up here and I think we can call it a day.”

By the time we’re done, two full garbage bags have been tossed in the communal bin outside. The kitchen’s done, clean, as pristine as any of LA’s cheapest apartments can get. I stretch my back as I check my phone. Already 4 o’clock.

“Hey, Will?” You ask as I crack my knuckles and make my way to the front door. “Do you have somewhere you need to be right now?” I turn to look at you. Your lips are tucked in, eyes curious.

“I don’t have to be anywhere in particular, no.” I answer, crouching to slide on my boots. “Why?”

“I was thinking of treating you to lunch.” You say, chewing on your lip as you tear your eyes away. “To thank you for helping out. Would you be okay with that?”

I’m surprised as I tie up my laces unsteadily. “Yeah, sure. I don’t think I’d mind that – Isn’t it already 4 pm?” You could almost make me blush.

“A late lunch, then. Calling it dinner just sounds like a date.” You say, laughing your comment off with a wave. I nod slowly, thinking. Just a treat… and I have nothing waiting for me at home.

“Sure, sounds fine to me.”

“Perfect, let me grab my purse.”

—

We’re seated in the far back of a dingy diner. The waitress sets down two glasses of water before leaving us alone with the menu. You drop your familiar jingling bag right by your side in the booth and lift the glass to your lips. Your hands set it down a moment later, my eyes continue to linger on them while you talk.

“So, how did you and Love meet?”

“Anavrin, can you believe it?” I say playfully.

“Really?” You respond with surprise as you lift your arm, drop your elbow on the table, and rest your chin on your palm. “How did that go?”

If I said I followed her around for a while, got a job where she worked, and she still made a move on me first, would you believe me? I think I’ll just skip to the good part.

“Okay, so… She picks up this peach, and–” Before I can finish, you put your hand out to stop me.

“Wait, let me guess…” You hold off for a few seconds and raise your brows. “She said it looked like a butt?”

“Actually, she asked me if it looked like a butt.” I reply snarkily and you roll your eyes.

“Same difference.” You say as you wave me off.

“Oh no…” I feign a ground-breaking realisation, my gestures playful as I can’t help but smile. “Don’t tell me I fell for an overly used pick-up line…”

“Ah, I really couldn’t tell you how often she used it, if at all,” You take a deep breath before continuing with a smile. “but I remember we had an ongoing joke like that – about peaches and butts.”

“I guess you’ve left an impact.”

“I guess so.” You look around, suddenly sheepish as you take a sip of your water, again. You change the subject. “Know of any good bookstores around here? I’ve been gone for so long that any of the places I can recall have been bought out and replaced.”

“Well, there’s Anavrin. Where I work. With books.” We both crack a smile again and you nearly laugh in my face. I raise my brows and slowly nod my head to really hammer in that I wasn’t kidding.

“Right. I’m not looking for vegan cookbooks or autobiographies.” Cute, you’re trying to be funny.

“Oh, come on!” I grip my chest and feigned a painful jab to my heart. “I’m sure I can get you the book you’re looking for. If it isn’t in stock, I can order some copies.”

“You’d do that for me?” You tilt your head in such a curious way and I feel myself getting warm under my shirt.

“Of course! So, what’re you looking for?”

“I – Nothing yet… I’ll let you know. I’m working on a project.”

“Ooh – If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this project for?”

“Hmm… mostly myself. I don’t have a job so I spend my hours reading and writing.”

“You can make a career out of writing.” I assure you.

“But then it wouldn’t be fun! The moment I have a deadline, I don’t want to work anymore.” You pout.

“I take it you have money set aside?”

“Yes – kind of. I had money set aside, but…” You look away, clicking your tongue as you think. Your lips part for a moment, as though you were ready to say something, but you hesitate. “Yeah. Just a bit.”

“I don’t mean to pry, and – and you can just tell me you don’t want to answer anything – were you close with your mom? Before everything, I mean.”

“No,” You laugh while lacking the joke. “She never liked me. I think she just never wanted kids. Maybe she felt threatened by having a daughter. And, actually, as a testament of her hatred, she left me with nothing but the overpriced apartment.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I frown.

“Oh, trust me when I say you’re already doing more than enough. I’ll be out of there sooner than later, and I won’t have to worry about payments weighing me down.”

You lift your arm and your hand falls to the single laminated menu between us. You look through it slowly. I watch you, and I feel pity.

“You said you like writing,” I begin, opting to change the subject.

“Correct.” You reply robotically before looking up at me.

“Have you ever thought about publishing any of your work?”

“Maybe one day. It’s never been a priority of mine, but I’ve thought about it before.”

“Do you have anything I could read so far? Might be able to give some pointers, advice… you name it.”

“Of course! But – but I’d prefer to read it over again beforehand. I have a strange process; it may not even be comprehensible in its current state.” You laugh and I can’t help but chuckle along.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Oh ease up on it! I can see why Love likes you so much,” You say. “You’re very supportive.”

I smile at the comment, feeling content. You’re not so bad yourself.

“Know what you’re getting?” I suddenly ask, bringing both of our attention back to the menu. You bounce and look down.

“I was thinking about a club sandwich,” you say, “What about you?”

“I mean, I haven’t looked at the menu yet.” I laugh and realization hits you. The menu is spun to face me as your finger hits the page.

“This is what I’m getting – the club sandwich,” Your finger slides down to the selection below it. “They also have a BLT option,” and below that, “mac and cheese, corn dogs…” and as you continue to talk, my mind begins to blank. My eyes dawdle on the movement of your hands, following where they had been on the sheet as your words drift off into nothing, but your voice remains. I’m thinking about the softness of the way you’re speaking to me, serenely, and I’m entranced by the sound.

“Do you know what you’d like?” I’m snapped out of my daze, my thoughts. My eyes shoot up to look at you and you tilt your head with the question still fresh in the air. I blink.

I… like……

I look back down and point at something simple. Quite frankly, the options at local diners tend to be, for a lack of a better term, just as expected.

“Fries?” You ask and I blink a few more times. I wasn’t really thinking, actually.

“Yeah, I mean. What a great lunch, right?” You laugh and ask me again, but I reassure you a plate of fries is just fine.

When the waitress makes her rounds, we place our orders. She refills our waters and we meld back into simple conversation.

As we spend the next few hours talking, even when our food arrives. I watch you pick at your plate. You’re slow to eat because you talk so much. You’re opening up like never before, and I’m slipping into a familiar feeling I hadn’t expected. When you finish your fries, you ask. “Can I pick off your plate?” and I let you because you gave me half of your sandwich to try. I watch the way my fries slip past your lips and, when you swallow, I watch that too. I swallow too, too.

I need to fuck Love.

—

“Hey, Will,” you inquire on our walk back to the apartment. The chit chat was nice, even if the lunch was unappetizing. Fries alone don’t sate much. “Would you be able to stop by tomorrow? To help a bit more?”

“Well,” I laugh. “I work tomorrow,”

“Right,” You close your eyes and tuck your lip, nodding. “I just–”

“I can come over on my next day off, if you really need the extra set of hands.”

“That would be really helpful,” You sigh contently, shoulders dropping. “Thank you.”

“How does Tuesday sound? You think you’d be free then?”

“Oh, I’m free,” You assure me. “I don’t have much else to do in the city.”

Your phone rings – the sound like the chime of a bell – and you fish it out of your purse to answer it.

“It’s Love,” You tell me as you accept the call and put it to your ear. We stop our promenade and you turn away, no doubt to feel like you have a crumb of privacy.

“Hey, Lovey,” You sigh. I can practically hear the smile on your lips as you step around distractedly. I rub my nose and watch you. I can’t hear Love from this distance.

“Actually, I – I already ate,” You laugh, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear as you turn around. You’re watching your shoes as you languidly pace, suddenly unaware of the world moving around you as you listen to the call. I take hold of your forearm and pull you to the side when someone walks by. You’re a little surprised at first, but nod at me appreciatively. I can hear Love from here, beside you, tucked closer to the buildings and out of the way of passersby.

‘With Will?’ I hear Love say.

“Yeah, with Will. It was a, uh… a thank you for helping out. He didn’t have to, you know? So…”

‘See! He’s not so bad,’ When you glance up at me, I move to look around, observing the sidewalk across the street. I can’t help a smile from creeping up.

“You’re right,” You huff. “But, um… We’ll talk again later, okay? Will and I are still walking back to the apartment.”

’Sure thing, babe,’ I bite the inside of my cheek, but my smile doesn’t falter. ‘Lunch tomorrow?’

“Yeah, tomorrow. Hope things went well with Forty today,”

When you hang up, I turn my head to look at you. You look forward, defeated.

“Good?” I ask.

“Yeah, good.” You reply, already continuing our path back to the apartment. I follow while you lead ahead.

“I’m not so bad, eh?” I throw in, and you glance behind to roll your eyes at me. I laugh and catch up to you, nudging your shoulder. You huff and finally laugh along too.

"Not so bad at all," You shake your head and huff.

We part ways in front of the building, exchanging lazy waves as you hop up the steps.

"See you on Tuesday," I say.

I watch you the way I had that other night, clumsily twisting your key, pushing on the door too soon. When the door's unlocked and finally opens, you turn to look at me one last time, waving again.

"Tuesday!" You confirm, slipping through the crack.

I turn away, making my way back to my car.

[mullermilkshake]

People would assume

Part 6 <- Part 7 -> Part 8

Another damn day.

It's just another damn day.

Sashimi the cat is a cutie boy, but also a danger boy. Satoru's bad dog childhood trauma

<- Masterlist

“Hey…” 

“Hey, it’s time to wake up…” 

“Hey. I hate waking you, but Yaga’s waiting for us at the station. It’s already Nine thirty-“

“Shit. I overslept? I-I’m sorry.” You were still on the sofa, blanket nestled in a cocoon of teddy fluff. 

It dropped from you when you rose and Mr Gojo’s hands replaced it, holding your shoulders and slowing you down. “It’s alright, I’m always late so he expects it now. Have some coffee and get dressed when you’re ready.” 

He sat there next to you picking up a pristine porcelain mug from the coffee table, steaming like a wistful fire all inviting and warm. He didn’t look at you directly, but rather around you with an averted gaze. 

You weren’t indecent, that wasn’t the reason. You were perfectly appropriate for a conversation. You didn’t pry though. “Did you stay here all night?” 

He nodded, still appearing to wear the same clothes he had yesterday, only his shirt wasn’t speckled with blood and other dirt from the back stage. 

“You fell asleep pretty quickly, didn’t feel right just leaving you to wake up in an empty apartment you don’t know.”

Meow… 

Sashimi jumped up onto your lap. “And he was still chilling in his carry box, he gave me all sorts of trouble getting him out.” 

“Oh baby I’m so sorry I left you in there didn’t I?” You felt terrible, but he still nuzzled his nose and head against your cheek when you grew close. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.” 

He didn’t seem fussed, but you noticed in the corner of your eye, a red mark at the bottom of Mr Gojo’s sleeve by his hand. “Mr Gojo…” 

“Please call me Satoru, the whole Mister stuff makes me feel old.” 

“S-sorry.” You didn’t pay him mind and instead let Sashimi go to pick up his hand for a closer look. 

“Sashimi did this. It needs cleaning.” 

“It’s no big deal, I’ve had worse.”

You didn’t let go and just held him. “It needs cleaning, I’ll clean it for you.”

The bathroom wasn’t far, down a long corridor past other various closed doors, you still had a hold of Mr Gojo’s hand and never let go until you secured a first aid box to clean the wound.

It wasn’t surprising in his line of work that his skin was as soft as it was, well moisturised and supple. An art collector with incredible eyes for worth and value who never needed to handle anything heavy in his life, yet his hours of work were so insane that you could practically reach him at any time of day or night. His skin was so delicate and made the scratch mark stick out like a sore thumb, all swollen and reddened. It was criminal.

“This wasn’t necessary.” There was no hint of pain in his words. Like the cotton swab didn’t sting him in the slightest.

“You fought someone for me, helped me deal with my apartment and invited me into your home when you had no obligation to do so. I owe you this at least.” You almost chuckled at the end, his selflessness showing though he was completely oblivious to it. 

He was very selfless. A quality not many people had these days, including those who had as much money as he did, it was pretty much unheard of. 

The room stood silent, you could feel his eyes watching you though you didn’t dare to look, the atmosphere shifted its intensity, a pressure you hadn’t experienced properly with him. Like tension that caused your heart to jump in its place yet you didn’t push the flood gates open.

Keep yourself to yourself and no hearts on your sleeve. Because that was inappropriate and totally against the rules. You knew that this moment was only because of what Mr Gojo did for you. 

“I remember when I was a kid and I got bitten by a dog.” He broke the agonising silence.

“That’s awful.” He naturally filled the air with his words that put you at ease. “Must have been terrifying.”

He smiled when you finally looked up briefly. “It’s not all bad, I was a little shit when I was a kid. I’d been told already to leave that dog alone, but he was so fluffy.”

You chuckled but tried to stifle it to keep your hand still with the off colour cotton pad now gathering a pink hue in the middle. The scratch was swollen as expected, but now that it was clean, it put you at ease that it was taken care of.

“You’ll get yourself into trouble if you don’t listen every once in a while.”

“I already have.”

You looked at him properly now and you noticed the colour of his eyes, you hadn’t actually been this close to him before. How were they so blue? Blue Topaz gems, in the sea, so vibrant. So… 

It’s just shock. Stop looking at him for goodness sake. “We uh, we should go now.”

He cleared his throat and rolled his sleeve down quickly. “Y-yeah, let's finish up and go or Yaga will kick my ass probably.” 

That moment only lasted a few minutes and luckily, Mr Gojo was talking as though nothing happened, because it didn’t, nothing happened. He kept chatting away to you until you both got comfortable in the car. The two same men from last night were in the front driving.

Your head was clearer that morning and the clarity allowed you to think. You had considered taking Mr Gojo’s offer as assistant, but the whole situation deterred you from making a final answer. 

It was as though Mr Gojo read your mind. “Have you taken any more time to consider my job offer?” 

“I have. And I’m still not sure.” 

“Take all the time you need, I won’t pressure you, but it would be sad if I lost you to some drone worker ant farm that would squander your talents.”

Talents. What were they again? What talents did he see enough of to convince himself he wanted you working for him in such an intimate position?

You were organised, it was true and you took on way too much work for one person and completed it without issue or complaint. Now that you thought about it, that was certainly a concern and you assumed that was the reason Nanami dumped it all on you, to keep you at work longer than necessary.

Nanami… What is he doing this morning? Sitting in a cell all cold and alone you hoped, scared and fearful of his future.

“Thanks.” You offered a small smile and turned your head to watch life go by on the way to the police station. 

This part of town looked practically the same in the daylight, but there were no soft lighting shining up at the tall buildings, only bellhops and doormen waiting outside to collect luggage or open a car door for the rich who obviously couldn’t do it themselves. 

Rows of short spindly trees stood evenly in their cages, solemn in their wind blown shapes to brave the cold so helplessly useless in holding them firm. All regimental and clinically spaced did not make it look natural, only forced in the perpetual imbalance of the rich and poor.

Where would Nanami fit in? To you, he belonged in the pit of scum, the lowest of the low to match his awful personality. But how he carried himself, how he spoke and appeared so comfortable and knowledgeable around the upper class raised questions. He knew Mr Gojo personally, more than a colleague should know a client, close friends? Maybe. But in being upper class whilst you worked mercilessly to fulfil deadlines in an apartment that was just as small as an elevator just made it all so unfair. 

Mr Gojo just added to the confusion, clearly well off and drowning in people who wanted to know him, he dusted them off like he didn’t belong there or didn't know big money until he became older and not being used to it since his birth.

“Hey, are you alright?” You shook your thoughts away in fears you had drifted off in your own mind again.

“Huh, What? Um, yeah I’m okay.” 

“I know it’s nerve wracking coming to the station, but I’ll be there the entire time. Whenever it gets too much, tell me and I’ll take you back to the apartment.” 

How considerate. Too considerate. You didn’t understand how or why he was putting in so much effort, so involved now where others wouldn’t have stepped in. “I’m getting way too involved; I shouldn’t have gotten involved.” He clearly regretted it, who wouldn’t? You came with a lot of baggage now after Nanami did what he did. Would he come after you, honestly? You dared not to think about it, but that thought lingered on your mind like smoke in a bonfire. 

“We're here.” Mr Gojo shuffled nearer to you, leaning over to open the door before the men could get out and do it for him. “Wait in the parking lot, go get yourselves some breakfast, we could be a while.” 

Did he put cologne on? That smell was familiar though you couldn’t place it. “Thank you sir. We won’t be far should you need us.”

Detective Yaga waited by the front double doors, mumbling to himself and pacing the floor to wear it out. “Gojo.” He noticed the two of you. “What time do you call this? I said Nine o’clock It's already nearly Ten thirty. I’m a very busy man you know?” 

“I’m sorry-” Mr Gojo put his hand up to keep you quiet, his body language protective yet it did not match his smile. 

“Yaga, you know me. I gotta get my beauty sleep to keep my face looking this good or I’ll get circles under my eyes, I only slept in a little bit.” He pouted. ‘Will you ever forgive me?” 

The sarcasm that coated his words could almost make you laugh if you were not standing where you were. He was crafty and took the fall for you for a reason you weren't sure of. Of course the Detective didn’t buy it and they began to bicker.

You took a moment to look around the station, quite the exciting place to work compared to your tiny little office you may or may not be going back to once all of this blew over. The environment was loud, overwhelming with the low voiced background noise and the occasional shriek or yell in anger.

A man, cursing profanities to the poor woman behind the desk, cuffed wrists behind his back and furiously tugged to the point a dark red ring formed to almost bleed at his rage. Her poor face trying her best not to cry whilst he berated her, two officers intervened. 

There were officers talking stereotypically around the water cooler, slurping on their coffee and exposing the newest happenings of some show you didn’t catch the name of. Joking and laughing, casual cursing and hard slaps on the back to signify a close bond of friendship. 

A blonde man in handcuffs. 

Wait. 

Your heart thumped in your mouth and dried it like sand, tall enough and matched a heavy set build. A man sat quietly, unprovoked in his seat across the large office entrance, no one to tame him or watch on when he would snap when he turned around. All he had to do was turn, turn and see you. He would see you and he’d try it all again. No one besides Mr Gojo would stop him, you knew it, they would melt at his logical thinking and smooth words. 

Fuck all he had to do was turn around. 

“What’s wrong?” You couldn’t look away, not for a second or he'd vanish. You couldn’t.

Your name was called. “What’s wrong? What do you see?” 

It was a blink away to see Mr Gojo, a worried expression clouded his face, no smile or grin in sight. “I-it was…” 

The man was not Kento Nanami. Just another blonde man who was not prone to invade your nightmares if you ever remembered them. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. 

It was not him.

“It’s not him.”

“It wasn’t who?” You recognised Detective Yaga’s authoritative voice.

“See? This place is depressing and it’s already putting pressure on her. Can we wrap this up quickly?” That was Mr Gojo.

Detective Yaga took both of you into a small side room, he was adamant it wasn’t, but it really looked like an interrogation room of sorts, but again, he made it clear you were not being interviewed. 

More like being shown camera footage of the guy who robbed your apartment using the little computer set up on the table. 

The video played. “I don’t… recognise him.” You didn’t.

You watched him wander into your apartment block, walking as calm as could be, even appearing to be whistling on the footage, but the concerning part of this footage wasn’t the fact he broke his way inside in the first place. It was the fact he let himself in with his own key.

“How did he get my key? How did he do that?” It panicked you, no one had access to your keys, no one had been allowed to let themselves in to care for Sashimi to give you respite for a vacation.

“We can only assume someone made it for him to enter the property and make it look like a break in. Gojo told us they only took one thing, correct?”

The knot in your throat stopped you from speaking. They discussed your underwear, all the lacey ones and garments that gave you a slither of confidence. Oh god they must have laughed when it came up in conversation, how could you look the detective in the eye now? You had to gather up the courage. 

“Y-yes. But how could you know that someone made him a key?” The pressure shifted to intense tension that made it hard to stop you choking on it when no one responded. “How does he even know he was at my apartment? That the stuff he has are my belongings?”

“Our assumption is that Kento Nanami gave him the key.”

“When would he ever get a chance to copy my key-” That one time you caught him in your office when you came back from lunch. 

He claimed he was delivering notes, copies of transactions and payments on some of the accounts he’d delegated to you. It happened only once, could that have been… Shit, it was that time. The bastard copied your key and waited. That was over a year ago.

“There is also another reason we suspect it, please watch this.” 

You did and the video showed that guy leave and turn down a street and then it cut to him walking down another and another in some crude edit. Then you saw him approach. Nanami was waiting. 

“Does she really need to see this? You could have just told her.” You hadn’t realised until now that Mr Gojo’s hand had been on your shoulder this entire time.  

“Yes she does, if there’s anything she can tell us or add to this will help us in our investigation so we can catch him.”

Kento Nanami stole your keys, made copies and gave them to a random guy to break into your apartment and steal your underwear. Why would he do such a cruel thing?

“You never should have let him out after what he put her through in the first place Yaga.”

Wait… “Catch him? You mean he’s gone; he’s out there?”

“We had to let him out on bail. But with this evidence, we can bring him back in again.” Detective Yaga pressed a few buttons and clicked on the large play button in the corner. 

“Oh my god…” Covering your mouth would not prevent your sickness if your body decided to throw up. 

“Holy shit.” Mr Gojo squeezed your shoulder.

Nanami and the man got into an altercation, clearly arguing over something and they fought over the bag the guy had in his hands. Your underwear. Punches were thrown, back and forth they pushed and wrestled until Nanami got the guy on the ground, striking him over and over until he picked up a rock from the floor and hit him with it. 

“The man is in intensive care and we’re pursuing this legally over the assault on both counts. We’ll put him away, I promise that.” Him and you, those were the accounts. 

The man was willing to attempt to kill someone over your belongings? Was he really that insane that he would try it in hopes he’d get away with it? What would happen if he got a hold of you again?

The room sat so deafening in silence. Detective Yaga cleared his throat and ended the video. “I want to put you in protective custody, just until we find him.” 

Protective. Could they? Would they struggle against this obvious display of strength? Could they stop him from getting to you and prevent it happening again? There wasn’t really anywhere you felt safe, not anymore. You would have to leave Mr Gojo’s apartment soon once your window was fixed and you weren’t sure if you could ever sleep on your own in that place again. 

Mr Gojo’s tone was authoritative, coming on much firmer than the detective. “She’s safer with me, I have plenty of staff who are trained to protect me, and I don't need them. They can watch her until you find the bastard.” He looked at you, you hadn’t noticed that he’d scooted closer and within your eye sight. “It’s nowhere near safe for you to go back to your apartment and I’d feel better if you were somewhere I knew was safe. Nanami was my friend, so I’ll shoulder the responsibility for his actions to ensure your safety.”  

Why did his words cushion you, make it appear as calm as possible in a promised solitude? That settled your stomach, his soft and caring touch applied to his sudden tender nature. You wanted to say yes, but an imposition you were not. “I can’t accept that, you’ve done so much for me already.”

“I can't let it happen either Gojo, She needs an officer present.” Yaga broke up your locked eyes and tapped the table with a random pen he found by the keyboard. 

You weren't addressed by either of them. “Fine, but they come to her, not the other way around. And just one, we need to limit the amount of people who come in and out all the time.”

“I’ll send Ino-”

Mr Gojo chuckled. “I’d hardly say Ino’s the best fit for this, what is he gonna do, chat his ear off to death?”

“Ino’s an incredibly capable officer who excels in conflict resolution, he’s exactly the best fit for this. Now is not the time to get all whiny like a child Gojo. Ino is coming with her end of.” Detective Yaga shuffled in his seat to which you could tell he was already over the day before it had proper started. His glance shifted to you and then back to Mr Gojo. “He’ll be with you by the end of the day, I trust you can look after her until then?”

“You got it boss.” Then the two of you stood and the detective approached the door to show you out, another day and Kento Nanami was out there amongst the public, lurking anywhere. 

It was just a matter of time before they caught him, you told yourself, only a matter of time before your life could return to normal and Nanami’s name would be a thing of the past and wouldn’t leave such a bitter and sour taste in your mouth.

At least Satoru Gojo advocated some form of justice for you, tried his best to soothe you when it was clear it was too much.

You were forever in his debt.

Part 6 <- Part 7 -> Part 8

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 😊

Taglist - @starrynights23x,@jumpinjaxx,@yatiimariiee

Likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated! ❤️

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[levis-nut-dump]

~Break Away~

Description: Drug dealer ex boyfriend Connie tries to make you jealous.

TW: Drugs, gang, fluff, cursing

You never liked Connie Springer much. Since you were thirteen he was trouble in a small package and now you're twenty and he's trouble in a bigger package, which is why you weren't surprised when your six-month relationship was cut short because of his line of 'work'. You weren't too fond of being around a bunch of guns, drugs, and gangbangers every time you want to hang out with your boyfriend, you weren't cut out for that life. Not even two weeks later, Connie found someone who was.

You found the news out through a mutual friend of yours, Sasha Braus, she also hated Connie's work but knowing him as long as you have she knows just as well there's no pulling him from it.

"Already?!" you yelled.

Sasha jumped. "I mean, yeah. But that's ok, right? Your relationship was mainly physical and you don't like him that much anyway."

The truth is, you have grown to like Connie as a partner over the last six to seven months. You also found him sexy as you did dangerous. "Well... Whatever! Just how can he move on so quickly?! With Jackie nonetheless!" You grabbed your car keys and slammed your apartment door open.

Sasha jumped from the couch. "(Y/N) Where are you going?! He's around his people and Jackie's just as dangerous as he is! Don't do anything rash!" she begged.

"Fuck Jackie and FUCK Connie. I'm giving that prematurely grey jackass a piece of my mind!"

"Jackie?!"

"She can get in my way if she wants to. She doesn't mean shit to him. Connie's wanted me for years he didn't move on that fast. Jackie is just to make me jealous and it's not working." you say getting into your car.

Sasha crouched to talk to you in the passenger side window. "Are you sure about that?" she giggled.

"Are you coming or not?" you say with aggravation filling your body.

"Yes but only so I can keep my two best friends from killing each other. This is why we don't date in the friend group." Sasha said getting into the car.

You start the car on the way to Connie's corner. "You're dating Jean, who is in the same friend group." you point out.

"Jean who's not a gangbanger."

You flip Sasha off.

Finally, you get to Connie's corner hideaway. An old building he and his guys use to plan their moves. "Ok, so what's the plan? Do you have like a weapon or something or are we gonna take the sneaky app-" Sasha started.

You turned the car off and got out, slamming the door which alerted Connie around the corner as he smirked.

"Connie Springer!" you yelled turning the corner to Connie, his guys, and Jackie sitting on his lap. In front of them was a table full of guns, large bags of weed, and a white substance you didn't even want to know about, but you weren't scared, your ego was bruised. You weren't the violent belligerent type but when your pride was hurt no one was safe from your temper.

"Hey Connie." Sasha smiled and waved from behind you, fearful of the table that possessed at least three charges. Maybe Sasha's the only one exempt from your temper.

"Hey Sasha. (Y/N)." Connie grinned.

"Fuck he's so sexy." you thought. "You're kidding me, right? Jackie?"

Connie sighed. "We broke up babe. I moved on." he said cocking his head to the side.

"Yeah right. It would be more believable if it were with anyone but Jackie Fletcher." you scoffed.

Jackie got up and Sasha backed up. "And what's that supposed to mean? What's wrong with me?" Jackie asked putting her shoulder-length blonde hair into a ponytail and taking her earrings out.

"It means you have more STDs than Connie has warrants." you grit through your teeth.

Connie's boys laughed and this set Jackie off. "Bitch you better have the hands to back that mouth up." she said stepping closer

"My mouth isn't as 'trained' as yours but I bet my fucking hands are just as good hoe."

Jackie ran up and you don't know what happened but the next thing you knew you were on top of her punching her over and over.

"Guys take Sasha upstairs I'll take care of this." Connie ordered. As the guys were carrying out his command Connie went to pull you off Jackie. "Alright. Alright Tyson she's out!" he said finally getting you to your feet. You quickly turn around and push him. "The fuck (Y/N)?!" he yelled.

"What you want some too?" you asked, pushing him again.

"I'm not gonna put my hands on you (Y/N)." Connie said softly.

You push him again. "Why not?" You pushed him against the wall "Fucking pussy. Fight back." You slap him on his left cheek.

Connie stared at you with a hazel deadly glare that snapped you back to reality. Sometimes you forget just how scary he could be as he towers over you weighing two hundred all muscle. "You want me to put my hands on you (Y/N)?" he growled switching you against the wall faster than you can blink. "You come in here, yell at me in front of my guys, insult my girlfriend, then beat her unconscious. After that, you have the nerve to come at me?" He put your chin between his fingers and made you look him in the eyes. "You're so fucking sexy." Your lips smashed together in a sloppy kiss. You run your fingers through his short grey hair as he undoes your pants and drops them to the ground. With a small bite of your lip, Connie breaks from the kiss and peppers your neck.

For an hour, years of pent-up hatred and anger were released against that wall.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - deleted scene: "hey, sister"

you know you never stood a chance series

deleted scene: hey, sister

series masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 4.6k

Summary: you and joel try to patch things up with ellie before the baby comes. this takes place before the epilogue but I recommend reading the epilogue first!

Note: posting this now as part of Moth & Birdee's Mother's Day Fic Challenge! This is the final deleted scene for the series. (also if the first bit seems familiar, I posted a snippet during febuwhump).

Warnings: established relationship, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2 but no one goes golfing, terrible communication, makeup sex instead of communicating, p in v, two idiots at the end of the world, fluff, brief Tommy & Maria cameos, baby used as a plot device, vague descriptions of childbirth (nothing graphic in any way), vague depictions of breastfeeding, pregnancy, postpartum depression, family trouble, joel and ellie aren't speaking, estranged family dynamics

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel has the nerve to look sheepish when you storm into the house, door smacking against the drywall. You fumble when you try to grab for the edge of it, eventually grasping and slamming it closed.

“You lied to me,” you said, low and dangerous, heart thrumming with all you’ve been told. You clasp at your chest for a moment, sure that your hand will come back red. 

You let the accusation hang, daring him to grab it and throw it aside. 

But he doesn’t. He can’t. He knows he’s been flayed and left open to burn. 

“I lied to everybody,” he says after minutes have crept by. 

“You lied to me,” you snarl. The corner of your lip jerks, an involuntary sneer. You’d trained yourself to do it in the dingy mirror of your first Boston apartment, holding the other side down until you looked as nasty and tough as the rest of them. 

It worked. It was just a twitch now, unstoppable, popping up when you needed it, whether or not you wanted it. 

Oh, but you do right now. You want it. You want him to see the way you’re rethinking this whole fucking situation.

“I had to,” he says. 

“Oh, fuck off. I trusted you.” 

“I never asked ya to,” he snaps. There he goes. There’s the Joel you know and thought you loved. 

The fight slips from your fists, unfurling and folding over your chest instead. “You’re right. You didn’t.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you go upstairs, but oh, does he wish he had when you come back down a few minutes later. His brain almost doesn’t put it together; the sight of your backpack straps so incongruous with your life here in Jackson.

“What—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Don’t. I’ll come back by in a few days. And you can think about if it was fuckin’ worth it, Joel.” 

“Worth it to save her life?”

“For fucks sake, Joel, I’m not mad you did it! Jesus, is that what you think of me?” 

You had been trying to keep quiet before, but that’s dead and buried. He raises his voice to match.

“How the hell am I supposed to know what you’re thinkin’?”

“You’re supposed to talk to me, Joel! You’re supposed to tell me shit. You tell me when there’s chili at the hall, you tell me when Tommy has a stomachache, but you can’t fuckin’ tell me how close it came? Can’t tell me what you had to do to save that girl? To bring her home?” 

It’s too late. He’s shut down; you can see it. “I ain’t sorry. About any of it,” he says, and it’s clear and crisp, but you feel like it filters in from across town, something too distant to be sure what you heard. 

But you know. 

“Figure out if it was worth it to lose both of us,” you snarl before you can stop. And it does exactly what you meant it to. It whips across his face like a snowball packed with ice. 

His own sneer twitches to meet yours. You think you might burst if you stay there too long, held perfectly still between him and the door. Might spill more words you don’t want to watch him hear, might throw and shatter the vase on the foyer table, might break down into tears. 

Part of you wants to break, to give in, to try to pull the confession from him and pray he didn’t mean it. That he wants you to trust him. That he is sorry.

But you leave, and when you hear the door slam after you’re down the road, you don’t turn back.

You don’t cry until he opens the door, brows knitted together in confusion.

“What’re you doin’ here this late?”

But your lip trembles. “Tommy—” you start, and it breaks into a crackling, shaky breath. “Did you know?”

Tommy pulls you in for a hug. “Shit,” he says quietly. “No. Just this morning, too. C’mon."

You’re reading in bed when you hear them. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. She seemed awfully upset, and I think she’s already asleep.” Tommy’s voice carries easily up the stairs. He’s not a quiet kind of man. 

“Jus’ let me talk to her for a minute,” Joel says. 

You hold your place in the book with a finger shut between the pages, waiting to see who wins this round. It’s a toss-up, really, for who’ll crack. They’re both stubborn as all hell. 

“I mean it, Joel,” Tommy says firmly but kindly. “She was cryin’ all evening and she just finally fell asleep.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel says. “Fine.”

You hear the slow creak of the door and heave a shaky sigh, unable to tell the difference between the relief and disappointment. 

He had come looking for you. You hadn’t expected that, not really. 

But of course, you don’t get to go Miller-free for the night. Tommy knocks shortly after. 

“Hey,” he gives a weak half-smile. “So, how much of that did you hear?”

“All of it,” you admit. 

“He seemed pretty upset,” Tommy says. He sits on the edge of the bed. 

“Good,” you mutter, scowling. 

“I just—look, I don’t want you to think I’m pickin’ teams. But y’all worked hard for what you’ve got. It’d be a shame if ya walked away from it.”

You sigh and lean back against the headboard. “I know. But he really hurt me this time. I trusted him.”

Tommy sighs. “I hear ya. I didn’t know, either. He really didn’t tell anybody. I think he was plannin’ on takin’ it to the grave.”

You know, because you know Joel. You know he didn’t want to put you in a hard place between him and Ellie. Didn’t want to ask you to shoulder his decision. And you know you’re going to forgive him. Maybe not today. But it’s already settling in your bones.

Joel meets you in the foyer. He must have heard you coming up the porch. You slip in and shut the door before just… standing there.  Just as you had three days ago. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel starts, and with it, takes all your resolve. 

You sniffle. 

“Don’t cry,” he pleads, but it just tips the tears over the crest of your eyes anyway. 

You let him fold you into his arms, one hand cupping the back of your head to hold you against his chest. Your fingers twine into the soft green flannel, the lingering cinnamon and wood smoke as soothing as ever. 

But as soon as you’ve pulled it together, you extract yourself. “We’re going to have to talk about it,” you say to the button on his breast pocket. 

He tilts your chin up with two curled fingers. “I know. You gotta promise you’re gonna hear me out this time.”

You nod and before you can speak, he’s kissing you, one hand soft against your cheek.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, ya hear me?” he murmurs against your lips. “Don’t run away.”

“Don’t you do that to me again,” you retort, but there’s little fire behind it as you lean up to kiss him again.

He’s sweet from the honey he puts in your tea. He always tastes it before he gives it to you. 

“Hang on, how’d you know I was coming home?”

He grimaces. “Didn’t.”

“But—“

“Shut up.” It’s not sharp, but embarrassed. His cheeks are a little flushed.

You can’t help the fond smile. “What a sap you are, Miller.”

He kisses you again, unable to stay parted for long. “M’serious,” he murmurs. “Don’t run away. Y’can be mad at me all you want, but do it here.”

“I am mad,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he says, pulling your head against his chest and holding it there under his wide palm. “I deserve it.”

“Yeah,” you nod, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re an ass.” 

“M’your ass.”

“No, this is my ass,” you wiggle a little. 

“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he gives it a hard smack, squeezing with his wide palm. “This is all mine. Said so yourself.” 

It’s as if you blew out a candle, the way his eyes have gone dark and encompassing. You can’t help but moan a little, and his lips quirk up at the corner. 

“Right?” he prompts, backing you over to the couch. 

“Uh-huh,” you squeak as he lies you down, tugging your sweatpants down as he goes. 

His fingers slide down and cup over your cunt, pushing your body close between his legs. “And this greedy little pussy is mine.” He wastes no time in pressing inside you, giving you no room or breath to adjust to his cock.

His hand slides back up to brush along the side of your breast. “Pretty tits just for me,” he murmurs in your ear, tweaking a nipple to hear you whine. His voice has gone low and rich, his Texas twang a little thicker. 

His thumb rests on your lower lip. “Perfect, eager mouth.” He pulls his thumb away right as you try to suck on it and replaces it with his lips, tongue dipping in to taste you. 

“Hmm? Anyone home?” he taunts. 

The sound you make is more like a strangled balloon than an actual word, and he chuckles. 

“See? I know what you need, sweetheart. All of you is mine,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling out torturously slow and pressing back in until your hips are flush. 

“Fuck, Joel, please,” you whine. You want to be mad that he’s distracted you from being mad, but, well… it’s working. 

The thick emotions of it all don’t leave so easily. Your throat is clogged with it, his breath is heavy with it, and the way he works at your clit is an apology on repeat.

Until it isn’t anymore. Until it’s less “I’m sorry” and more desperation. You’re writhing a little beneath him, the ache at a breaking point, pleading for him to push you over the edge he’s brought you to again and again and again.

“No,” he pants. “Not until you promise. Promise you won’t leave.”

“I’m not,” you nearly sob. “Joel.”

It’s the way you cry his name. He can’t keep pushing you; he pulls all the way out and drops to his knees on the living room floor, burying his face in your cunt with all the fervor he’s been fucking into you.

He goes straight for your clit, three fingers in your cunt, and wrings you dry over and over before he relents and plunges his cock back in you to the hilt, setting a punishing pace, though you aren’t sure which one of you is being punished by it.

Maybe both, but in reality, neither, since he comes deep inside you moments later.

It’s not the first time, but it is rare for him to slip up that way. Still, you think nothing of it, given how low the chances are. 

Lulu is born in the peak of July. It’s hotter than hell and you’re glad that Ellie had gone with the other kids on the trip to the lake. It had been the reason you stayed behind, originally planning to go along with Maria and Alé. 

Joel hadn’t wanted you to go at all. It wasn’t far and even though you weren’t due for another month, he didn’t like it. 

The due date was kind of made up, though. It was really up to you and Joel counting on your fingers to see if you remembered the last time you had a period. 

Not that your period was very consistent to begin with.

His eyebrows had climbed higher and higher as you went back a week at a time to see if either of you could associate an event with it, like if he had fucked you in the ass for a few days or something. 

He had, but really, that wasn’t a great predictor, since he was still coming home from patrol riled up the way he used to in Boston. For the sake of your poor, well-loved cunt, you mixed it up a lot. 

You waited another four weeks before going to see Alice at the clinic. 

After she confirmed what you frankly already knew, you tried to talk to Ellie. 

The first time you visited the shed, you almost chickened out, rocking back and forth on your heels while you waited outside. She cracked the door open, mouth twisted until she saw you. 

“Hey!” She gave you a hug, and you held her as long as she allowed (which wasn’t long; she was a teenager, after all). “Wanna come in?”

“Sure, kiddo, I’d love to see what you’ve done with the place.”

She beams and lets you in, shutting the door behind her to keep out the late autumn breeze. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting. You had feared something bare and cold, where she’d be lonely all winter. But the space is all Ellie. You look over, and she’s clearly bracing herself for your judgment.

“This is so cool,” you tell her, and she lights up. You drink in her toothy, genuine grin, and decide this is not the time. 

“You think so?” she says.

“Kiddo, I would have killed to have a place like this when I was your age. I had a treehouse, but that was nothing compared to this. Where’d you get all this stuff?”

“I traded around town for it; you know I’ve been—” and she stops, smile gone. “Well. I guess you don’t know. I’ve been doing some jobs after school in exchange for cool stuff.”

She’s guarded again, maybe expecting you to tell her off or nag at her for not telling you.

“That’s great, kiddo. That was a clever idea. What kind of stuff have you been doing?” 

You end up on the couch while she sits on her bed across the room. You don’t think the space is intentional, but you don’t want to cross it in case it is. 

She tells you about babysitting and cleaning, helping other residents with their jobs in the gardens and the stables. She shows you some of her prizes as she goes, gushing over a thick astronomy textbook. It’s beyond your knowledge level, but she’s clearly been devouring every word. Its real value, she says, is that it was printed in 2003 for some college. But the textbooks they had in the QZ were from 2001. 

“Did you know that after we discovered all the moons the other planets have—like did you know Jupiter has fifty moons? They told us it was 38—and then people were getting confused about our moon being the moon, so they started calling it Luna in all these research papers. It's all so fucking cool.”

“That’s incredible, Ell. I’m so proud of you.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. Sometimes, you forget she’s still a teenager. 

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “Did you need something?”

“No. Just wanted to see you,” you lie. 

It’s the wrong thing again. 

“Did Joel make you come here?”

“He doesn’t even know I’m here.” That, at least, is the truth. 

“Okay,” she says. 

“I—” you start, not knowing what you’re going to say, but hoping your runaway tongue will do patchwork here. But she doesn’t let you get that far.

“Hey, so, I was actually going out when you got here, so.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry to have kept you.” You believe her about as much as she believed you a minute ago, but you’re not going to push. You get up, and she lets you give her a hug, but it’s not returned very enthusiastically this time. “It was nice to see you, kiddo.”

“Yeah, um, see you later.” 

When she shuts the door behind you, it feels uncomfortably final.

You don’t try again for another month, when you have the excuse of Christmas to give you gumption. 

When you knock, she’s slow to open. Her face is unreadable, and she crosses her arms over her chest. 

“What?” she says. 

You nearly shove the bundle in your arms at her. “Merry Christmas. I know it’s early, but it’s supposed to be real cold this week, and—”

Anything else you were about to word vomit catches in your throat while she opens the gift. You’re terrified she’ll reject it, reject you. You’ve been working on it for a while. Since before the fight, even, worried about her in that damn shed all winter.

This quilt is patchwork blues, different shades and patterns. Over top you’ve cut out and stitched the galaxy together for her. It’s maybe childish, but you don’t think she ever had a chance for many childish things. And it’s not nice, not like the ones they used to sell at Pottery Barn when you were a kid that your parents could never afford. 

“You made this for me?” she says. 

“Yeah, kiddo, of course. Sorry it’s not quite accurate, I—”

Her hug knocks the breath from you for a moment, but you hold her to you and try not to cry. It doesn’t last long, and you can see the way her conflicting feelings are making her uncomfortable. But she surprises you.

“Wanna come in?” she says.

“Oh, um. Maybe later, I’m-um, I’m on my way to dinner at Tommy’s. Do you, um. Do you want to come with us?”

The scowl is back. “You mean with you and Joel.” His name was a dirty word spat from her mouth. 

“Well, yeah. We miss you, kiddo. I miss having everybody together.”

“He put you up to this.” It’s harsh and she knows it, sees the way you blink against the offense. 

“I’m capable of doing things of my own accord. Is it so hard to believe that I want to see you?” 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. 

“S’ok,” you say glumly. “I knew it was a long shot, I just—“ and you’re mortified to find tears burning at your waterlines, “just thought I’d ask anyway. M’sorry.” You had intended to ask, and Joel knew. You just wanted to tell her so badly. 

You hug again before you leave, but you have to hide in the half bath when you get to Tommy and Maria’s to weep. 

Joel slips in after a few minutes. He wraps you up in his arms while you try to smother the sounds of your broken heart. 

“I know, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.��

You tell Tommy and Maria after dinner. Tommy picks you up and swings you around in a hug, which makes Alé giggle. 

You go home first, exhausted. Joel tries to insist on going with you, but you know he needs some time with Tommy. As much as he’s trying to share Sarah with you, this is a whole different rodeo. 

The light is on in the shed when you get home. You hover on the porch, wobbling between your split instincts. In the end, you go to bed. 

Winter passes quietly. The layers help keep your secret, but you know it’ll be harder come spring. When Maria tells you that Ellie stopped by to wish Alé an early happy birthday because she wasn’t coming to the party, you cracked again. 

You pound on the door of the shed. She answers, guarded as always, and clearly surprised to find you there.

“Can I come in?” you blurt.

“Sure, yeah,” she says, and though she hesitates, she steps back to let you through. 

It’s not a frigid day, as you head into spring, but you stay layered up in your winter gear. Your bump isn’t big by any means, but it’s unmistakably there. It could be passed off as weight gain, but Ellie isn’t stupid, and you aren’t about to insult her by pretending. 

“Alé’s going to miss you at her party.” 

Ellie shuts the door of the shed, but hovers there, arms crossed. “She’s turning three. She won’t remember.”

“You’re her family; you should be there.”

“You want her to see us fighting?”

“Ellie, please. Just come over, come have dinner. We can talk. All three of us.”

“No,” she snaps. “If all you’re going to do when you come over is try to get me to talk to Joel, stop coming.”

“I just want our family together.”

“I’m not coming over there to get lectured and have you do nothing but side with him like always. You’re too damn scared of him leaving again that you never side with me. Guess what? I can leave, too. Get out.” 

“No, Ellie—”

“Just get out.”

“It’s not about him, just please give us a chance—”

She opens the door and stands there, not looking at you. 

You hesitate when you reach her, but she flinches back, so you just go home.

When Lulu is born, the sun rages at the apex of the horizon. Joel sends one of the neighbors for Alice, and busies himself getting everything ready while you pace the length of the upstairs hall and breathe through the pain. 

He’s filling the tub when he finds you with your elbows against the wall, head down, and teeth gritted. In an instant, he’s at your side, rubbing his hand over your lower back. 

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he says, as he always does. “What do you need?”

“Just you,” you whimper. “Need you with me.” 

“Okay, sweetheart, I got ya.”

It’s far too soon to push, but he helps you into the tub anyway, hoping the cool water will help since you’re flushed and sweaty. He climbs in behind you, perched on the edge with arms wrapping around the top of your chest above your breasts. His lips press up and down your neck, and he takes a rag to wipe the sweat from your face. 

That’s how Alice finds you, and she nods at Joel approvingly before telling you she’ll be in and out to check on you. 

Between contractions, you slump back against Joel. Alice dropped water bottles off and he coaxes you to sip while you can. 

When the time comes, you’re exhausted. You can tell Alice is worried that you won’t have the strength. 

Joel isn’t, though. “You’re tough,” he murmurs. “You just hold onto me and do what you need to do.” 

It hurts. There’s no way around that. You push back against his chest, arching and screaming while he holds you tight. When each break comes, it’s too short. Your head flops back onto his shoulder, and he wipes you down with the cold rag again.

“You’re doing great. Fuckin’ incredible. Just a little more, baby, I promise.”

After, Joel helps you stand on shaking legs just long enough to get dry. Once you’re safely seated on the bed, feeling absolutely ridiculous in what was more or less a heavily lined cloth diaper, he helped you into one of his flannels, leaving it unbuttoned so you could nurse the baby. 

The day is a blur. You’re not sure what time she was born and you’re not sure how long it is before Tommy shows up. You’ve been mostly asleep, rousing when Alice brings the baby in to eat. She’s an absolute miracle, watching over little Luna while you and Joel sleep. 

“Getting rest today is critical to your success in the coming weeks,” she had said. 

You sleep even better once Tommy’s there. Maria stayed back with Alé, just for today. They were coming over first thing in the morning at your insistence. But Tommy came to help with the baby and stay the night once Alice went home, as you had done for them. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Alice. But knowing Tommy had Luna made you feel safer than anyone, other than you and Joel. 

You might have slept better still if not for the specters haunting the room. 

The next time you wake, the sun has set. You can hear her cries from downstairs, and sure enough, Tommy brings her in moments later. 

“Look, Lulu, your mama is up and ready for you.”

You take her into your arms and get her latched before it registers. “What did you call her?”

“Lulu! Ain’t it sweet?”

No, you think, but he has his biggest, dopiest grin on. You settle on a noncommittal hum, which you would regret later when he takes it as enthusiasm. 

You go to say something, but it dies when it finally clicks that you’re alone in the bed. 

“Where’s Joel?” 

“He, uh—”

“Tommy.”

“He went to try to talk to Ellie. They all just got back.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, I tried to stop him—”

“No, it’s okay,” you say, closing your eyes tight for a moment. When you gently cradle Luna against your shoulder to burp her, you take a deep breath against her tiny, downy head. “He should. It’s good.”

“He didn’t need to leave you alone. I told him to wait until she got back.”

“I’m glad he didn’t. She deserves to know right away. Hell, we both tried to tell her before, but…” 

The silence sits like the river in the winter—a thin, false calm on the surface. After you latch Luna on the other side and get settled, Tommy sits on the bed beside you and lets you rest your head on his shoulder. 

That’s how Joel finds you when he gets back. Luna’s gone back to sleep, cradled in your arms, and Tommy’s thrown his arm around your shoulder while you cry. 

“It’s normal,” he had said. “That’s what Alice told us after Alé was born. Baby blues, she called ‘em. And I think you got a real reason to be sad, anyway.” 

You look up, blinking away stray tears, when Joel comes in the room. The look on his face tells you everything you need to know. 

“She took one look at me and took off with Dina. I tried to call out and tell her it was real important, but she wasn’t hearin’ it,” he says once he’s crossed the room to you. He presses a kiss to you and Luna’s foreheads. 

“What about me?” Tommy grumbles playfully, and Joel gives him a little kiss, too.

They both laugh. You wish you could. You think you would have. It’s right there, sitting at the bottom of your diaphragm. But it doesn’t rise, doesn’t bubble up. Instead, it goes cold and sinks down where you can’t reach. 

Joel and Tommy exchange a look. 

“What?” you say.

Joel just shakes his head and lifts Luna from your arms to place her in the crib. “Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be just across the hall,” Tommy says, tipping his head and shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Joel slips under the covers and wraps you up in his arms. It eases a heavy sigh from your lungs, one that trembles on the air in its own wake. 

He kisses your head and tucks you in close, trailing off into soft snores. But you can’t follow. Your heavy eyes blink slow, that brief darkness the only barrier between your gaze and the crib.

Your chest is tight. It’s like icicles are forming inside your lungs. It’s a testament to how tired Joel is that he doesn’t wake when you slip out of his grasp. 

The soft knit socks from Mrs. Davies muffle your shuffle across the floor. You tug the throw pillow and crocheted blanket from the armchair. The crib sits low to the ground, so you lower yourself beside it, wrapped in the itchy pastel, and watch the rise and fall of her little chest. 

You don’t sleep.

*title from "Hey Brother" by Avicii

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Caffeine Crash

Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: You go on a morning walk and you, quite literally, run into Jamie.

A/N: Part of my impromptu Jamie Tartt series, read Meet Cousin McAdoo

Isaac was still asleep when you woke up. You could hear his snores from down the hall where you stayed in his guest bedroom. For some reason, your body woke up early. It wasn't super early though, just nearing 8am. The weather was nice, so you figured you'd explore Richmond a little bit, maybe seek out a cafe for some coffee.

You got dressed in some jeans, a t-shirt, and a light jacket. You made sure you had your wallet, phone, and the spare key that Isaac lent you. Out the door you went to explore your home for the next few weeks.

_________________

Jamie was jogging ahead of Roy, per usual. It was almost eight thirty in the morning, which means his training session with Roy is ending for the day.

As Jamie's rounding a corner he crashes into someone, causing their cup of coffee to spill onto him and the person.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" the person says and he realizes it's you, Isaac's cousin.

You seem to also realize who you ran into and you groan, "Fuck. I'm really sorry, Jamie. I guess that's what I get for trying to take a picture of my coffee," you snort, "acting like it's 2014 again or something." You give a chuckle and a shrug.

He shakes his head, "No, no. I shouldn't have rounded the corner so fast."

Roy, who finally caught up, stopped at Jamie's side, assessing the situation. He looks at Jamie then you, then Jamie again, saying "The fuck did you do to her?"

"It was an accident," you and Jamie reply in unison.

Roy gives his usual grunt and then Jamie says, "Let me get you a new drink."

"That's alrigh-"

"Please," he insists and you agree, "Okay. I'll buy you a scone then, as a thank you."

"I don't like scones."

"He doesn't like scones."

Both Roy and Jamie say at once.

You giggle, "Okay, a croissant then?"

Jamie looks at Roy, silently asking him for permission and the former footballer replies, "Fine."

The three of you proceed to head to the cafe that you were previously at and walk inside. The barista smiles politely at you, "Back so soon?"

You nod, "There was a collision and my drink was collateral," you explain.

"So same drink?"

"Yes, please," you answer. You step aside for Jamie to pay and then you're in front again, "He'll have a croissant," you nod to Jamie, "I'm paying for it." You look over your shoulder, "Coach Kent, do you-"

"No."

You chuckle, "Maybe a water for the coach here. Thanks." you proceed to pay and move towards the pick-up counter.

You sit at a table that has three open chairs, Roy and Jamie occupying the other seats. You lean back in your chair with a polite smile, "So, what brings you out this morning, boys?"

"Trainin'," Jamie says, gesturing to Roy, "Grandad here wakes me up every day at four for runs and drills."

You look at him wide-eyed, "Four in the morning?!" When they nod, you look at Roy, "Do you not value sleep? Maybe that's why you're so grumpy all the time."

Jamie laughs, "That's what I tell 'im!"

The older man glowers at you two, "Sacrifices need to be made in order to be the best."

Jamie shrugs and puts his attention back to you, "What about you? Why're you out and about alone?"

"Isaac's still asleep. I woke up a little earlier than usual. Figured I'd grab a coffee and explore Richmond a bit."

"I can give you a tour if you'd like," Jamie offers before he can even think about it.

"Oh! You don't have to. Besides, aren't you still training?"

"We've finished. Besides, I'm here and ready. Who knows how much longer Isaac will be sleeping for. I'm a great guide, by the way," he gestures to Roy, "Gave 'im a tour of Amsterdam while we were there for a game. Taught him how to ride a bike too."

You smirk at Roy, "You didn't know-"

"We don't talk about it," he cuts you off with a glare.

You chuckle, "Alright," and you turn back to Jamie, "I'd really like that if it's no trouble."

Jamie beams at you, "None at all."

The barista then calls out your order numbers and you stand, "I'll get them."

Jamie watches you walk the short distance away and Roy leans, "You better be fucking careful."

"I'm not doin' nothin'!"

"Isaac said to behave yourself around her."

"I'm just giving 'er a tour of the city! It's not like I'm proposin' or anything!" Roy leans back giving a skeptical groan.

You come back with two drinks and a pastry bag, "My drink, your croissant, and Roy, your water," you say as you hand out the items.

Jamie bites into the croissant and lets out a moan that's damn near sinful, "I missed carbs so much," he says after he swallows.

"You'll be doing extra laps during practice today," Roy sneers as he downs his water and then stands, "I'm going home."

You give him a wave and a smile, "See you around, Roy!" When he leaves you look to Jamie, "He seems fun."

He shrugs, "He's not always like that. He has some good moments." He stuffs the rest of the croissant into his mouth and you watch in amusement, sipping your coffee.

He wipes his face and hands, then stands, "Alright, nothin' like the present, right? Let's get your tour started."

"Right!" you follow him out the door, ready for this adventure with your new...friend?

[forwhump]

a/n; IM SORRYYYYYY I feel like I haven’t posted anything in forever here’s something horrible to make up for it <3 (wren’s tortured again in this one)(but outside pov this time ! fun fun 🤩)(not actually fun tho v upsetting) (basically point murders a family but uses them to fuck w wren a little bit first)

word count: 4.5k

tw/cw: gun violence, sexual violence, rape/noncon, mass murder, misgendering (constant but unintentional)(also intentional), transphobia, psychological torture, imprisonment, implied sexual slavery

creepy whumper, outside pov

Running so hard he doesn’t have time to stop himself, Jonny collides with his mother’s kitchen door with enough force that his teeth rattle in his jaw. Benny, running behind him, collides with his back, and the added weight of him forces open the old door and they go sprawling across the kitchen floor together.

For a second, everything is almost normal. Mama’s standing over her cutting board. Billie’s burning something at the stove. Jenny’s sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to get work done but really playing solitaire on her laptop. They’d all moved home again to help Mama out with the farm and the house after their dad had died randomly and unexpectedly. It was nice, for a time, having them all together again. Jonny isn’t usually a sap, but it was nice. Until this.

Until the weirdo moved into Meadow. Meadow’s a farm, so to speak, and it’s on farmland, but it’s fenced off from the rest of the world with rows of tall trees. The place had been empty for a long time; it was weird anybody had moved in at all. It was weirder that the guy kept so much to himself. It made the choice of farm make sense, but it made him stick out like a sore thumb. People just aren’t like that in this corner of the world. With farms miles wide, neighbours aren’t close, so efforts have to be made to get to know them. You visit. You greet. You help out when you can. Town socials. It’s just what everybody does — except this guy.

Makes more sense now, though. The privacy. The secrecy.

“Slow down,” Mama chastises, as the both of them scramble up from the floor. “You’re too old now to be playing like that.”

Jenny scoffs. “Dorks.”

“Call the police,” Benny wheezes.

Mama looks up again. “What?”

“Call the police,” Jonny pants, and as soon as he’s on his feet, he slams the kitchen door shut, bolting it as quickly as he can with shaking hands.

“Jesus,” Billie says.

“What?” Mama repeats, putting her knife down to brush off her hands.

“You pick that thing up again right now,” Jonny commands. “Keep that in your hand. Call the police with the other. Jenny,” he orders. “You’re already on your phone. Call them, too. Get everybody out here.”

“Why?” Mama asks, but she does grab the knife. “What did you do?”

Benny shakes his head quickly. He’d managed to pull himself into a chair at the table, still catching his breath. Bit of a stoner these days, Benny. Better hope they don’t need to do a lot more running. Better hope the police get here before that guy does.

“Call, Mama!” Jonny snaps.

“What’s going on?” Billie asks. She’s a stoner, too. Useless lot of them. Not that running or sharp reflexes is gonna do a lot of good against that much military grade ammunition.

“Did you call, Jenny?” Jonny snaps.

“You know we have no service out here,” Jenny says with a snort, not looking up from the screen, too calm. “Mama has to call.”

“Are you calling?”

Mama isn’t. She’s hesitating. “I won’t if it’ll get you boys in a lot of trouble.”

“Oh my God,” Benny finally roars, “he’s got a girl, Mama!”

All three of the girls look up at the same time. Not appropriately shocked, but they’re getting there.

“What?” Jenny says.

“And so many guns,” Jonny says.

“And weird shit,” Benny adds. “Weird weapons. Weird torture shit.”

“And a girl,” Jonny repeats. “We thought she was dead, Mama, that’s why we went in —”

“You went in?” Billie asks, horrified.

At the same time, light explodes through the big window above the sink. Obnoxious headlights are swung towards their kitchen, the way they had run.

“He’s here,” Benny says.

“I’ll call!” Jonny shouts, and launches himself at the phone.

It’s dead. Almost comically, the phone is dead.

“Okay,” he says, and slams it back on the receiver. “Which one of you useless fucks was supposed to make sure the phone bill was paid?”

“Phone was Billie,” Jenny says.

“No, it wasn’t,” Billie says. “It was you, Jonny.”

Something slams against the kitchen door with a force that splinters the wood towards the centre.

Jenny screams.

Jonny says, “fuck!”

The door is kicked in. Jonny hadn’t actually seen their neighbour, not himself, not yet, just a fraction of the inside of his house and the bleeding, naked corpse he was keeping chained up inside. He sees him now as he fills the kitchen doorway. He’s a big fucking guy.

Fuck.

He’s got a big fucking gun in one hand. He’s keeping the girl slung over his shoulder with the other. Her hair is really long, and it’s kind of pink. Probably with blood, Jonny realizes, and it makes it hard to look at her.

Their neighbour looks at each of them, and there’s something not right in his eyes — he doesn’t have human eyes. He has the eyes of an animal.

Jonny doesn’t mean to, but he takes a step back.

He smirks, and Jonny almost takes another one. “What’s wrong?” He asks. His accent is deep, slow and Texan. It sounds fake. “Y’all were just so keen to meet me. And here,” he says, and lifts the girl off his shoulder to drop her, limp, onto the linoleum. He’d clothed her, but he’d dressed her in some stupid little doll dress. She’s so thin, in fact, her skin, where it isn’t bruised, so waxy, she almost looks like she could be a doll. Emaciated, probably, is the word for it. She’s probably dying, actually, and if she’s not, she’s probably getting there; she looks a lot like the way dying people are supposed to look. “Since you were so keen to get a good look at my wife.”

“Your wife?” Billie repeats.

Not a lot of her skin is waxy, in fact, because most of her is mottled in bruises or pink, shiny burns. Her hair is pink with bleeding. Her head moves a little, but she’s still face down, and she doesn’t move at all after that. For the second time that night, Jonny’s certain he’s looking at a corpse.

“Purty,” he says. “Ain’t she?”

“Oh my God,” Mama breathes.

“Oh my God,” he mocks, “how rude of me. I haven’t met you yet,” he says, and points, with his gun, at Mama. “I’m Darren. I’m your neighbour on Meadow. In the house your boys broke into.”

He keeps pointing it at her. She’s still holding a knife, but it’s a big fucking gun. Who brings a knife to a gunfight? What are they supposed to do? “I’m sorry,” Mama says.

“You will be,” Darren answers.

Without warning and with a speed Jonny would swear was unnatural, he turns the gun on Jenny. He pulls the trigger, and the gun sprays ammunition. He blows a good chunk out of her face.

For a second, after the skin of her cheek and the grey of her brain have sprayed the wall behind her, her body stays upright. Then it slumps forward onto the table with a horribly wet sound and Benny just manages to push back from it before he leans over and throws up, splattered with blood and chunks of teeth. Jonny can’t tell his shouting from Mama’s, from Billie’s, from Benny’s once he starts.

“You should’ve stayed away from my house,” Darren says, and his voice isn’t Texan at all.

“I’m sorry,” Benny breathes.

Mama’s wailing, unintelligible, and Billie slides an arm around her.

Jonny doesn’t mean to but his legs give out and he sinks to his knees. His ears are ringing. He doesn’t want to look at Jenny, what’s left of her, but this close to the ground puts him too close to the neighbour’s wife and Jonny doesn’t want to look at her, either. He can’t help it.

“Not yet,” Darren says. He pulls the trigger again, blows Mama’s kneecap right out of her leg and she goes sprawling across the kitchen floor with a scream. The barrel is still hot, sizzling against Jonny’s skin as Darren uses it to tilt his face upwards by the chin. “You,” he says. “You’re looking awfully hard at my wife,” he says, and his fake accent is back. It’s hard to tell if he keeps forgetting to put it on or if it’s just a layer to fucking with them. Something psychological.

He looks too close at Jonny with those fucked up eyes and Jonny can’t say anything.

“You like what you see?” He asks, and he asks like there’s a right answer. Jonny has no idea what the right answer could be.

“Is she still alive?” Is what comes out, and it’s not the right answer.

He frowns. “Of course she’s still alive,” and kicks her hard in the side. She makes a soft sound, and it makes the hair on the back of Jonny’s neck stand up, but she makes a sound. She isn’t dead. Darren clicks his tongue. “C’mon, cowgirl. Rise and shine, now.” With his boot, he pushes her onto her back.

She makes another soft, horrible sound. Jonny inhales sharply. Slowly, she blinks up at the ceiling, wide eyed and probably dazed. She has startlingly dark eyes, and her left eyes, where it’s supposed to be white, is a dark, bleeding red.

Darren smiles with all his teeth and it’s unnatural the way it stretches across his face, like he’s wearing a mask that doesn’t quite fit. It doesn’t reach his eyes even a little bit. “There she is.”

“What?” The girl says, definitely dazed. Her voice is rougher than it looks like it would be. She sounds like she’s from Texas, too, but she sounds like her accent might be real. She blinks at the ceiling, vacant.

“It’s time to meet our neighbours, baby,” Darren says. “And you’re being awfully rude, sleeping through it.”

Her hands are tied tightly in front of her. Slowly, her head turns against the linoleum, just far enough that she looks, for the first time, at Jonny. For a long few moments, she looks right through him. Then she sees him, and something horrible dawns on her face. She looks quickly up at Darren, who grins again, grotesque. “What are you doing?” She breathes.

“They wanted to meet you,” he says. “And I know you’ve been getting lonely in that big ol’ house, only me around to keep you company.” He smirks as he looks up, and it’s still unnatural, but it reaches his eyes. He’s mean. “Used to have a lot of gentlemen callers, my girl. Didn’t you, baby? Wasn’t anything I could do to get her to keep her legs closed.”

She starts to sit up but Darren plants his boot hard in the centre of her chest, hard enough it knocks the wind out of her. She gasps.

Benny sniffles and says, “listen, man —“

“Listen, man,” Darren mocks. “I have been trying to mind my own business. We have been trying to keep to ourselves. You broke into my home. You put your hands on my wife.”

“Oh my God,” she says, still winded, but her words fold in disgust, “I’m not —“

He points the gun down into her face and says, “stop talking.” She does.

It had been pretty obvious something really fucked up was going on over on Meadow. It was weird anybody had moved in because it had been vacant for so long, and it had been vacant for so long because it just had such bad vibes. Anybody that came to look at it left and didn’t come back for it. It was too isolated. Creepy. Anybody that moved into that place had to be up to something. Jonny and Benny had been curious, that was all. Jonny had figured it was some weird, creep old man with a taxidermy hobby, that he’d borrow one of their horses sometime to fuel it. Benny had said doomsday prepper; Benny was closer, in the end. When the first thing they had seen were all the military weapons, they thought he was right, actually. The bound, naked girl that was obviously not his wife had thrown them off course a little.

And still, Jonny couldn’t have anticipated he’d be the kind of man to then show up in their kitchen to shoot his sister in the face. They’re all gonna die, right? That has to be how this ends. How else are they gonna get out of this? What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Across the kitchen, crouched protectively next to Mama, Billie sniffles. “Jenny didn’t do anything. Jenny didn’t break into your house.”

“She knew too much,” Darren answers, lifting his head too quickly, jerky. “You all know too much now, matter of fact. Figured your boys wouldn’t do a good job of keeping their mouths shut.”

“Then what are you doing?” Billie asks. When did she get so brave? Jonny must’ve missed it while he was cowering. “Get it over with.”

“Nah,” he says, and grins again, most grotesque this time. It reaches too much of his weird eyes. “I wanted to play with y’all a little. And you,” he turns the gun suddenly on Jonny, “are still looking awfully hard at my wife.”

He’d been trying really hard not to look at her, in fact. He swallows, and it kind of hurts.

“C’mere,” Darren says.

It goes in one ear and leaves out the other. Jonny only looks at him. Swallows again.

“Now,” he orders, and the irritation that leaks into his voice clears it of the fake accent.

“What?” Jonny says.

Darren sucks his teeth and says, “come here, boy. If I have to repeat myself again I’ll put down your other sister.”

Billie inhales sharply.

Dazed, Jonny heaves himself to his feet. He staggers closer, closer to Darren, to the barrel of that fucking gun.

Darren lifts it and says, “go on, now. Since you’ve been so fuckin’ curious. Get a good look at her. Go on.”

With shaking legs, Jonny kneels again, somewhere close by her thigh. He tries not to touch her. It’s hard to look. She probably was very beautiful once; she looks really sick now.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

Darren points the gun at her again. “Stop. Talking.” She does, and he turns it back on Jonny. “Well? What do you think? Looker, isn’t she?”

Jonny doesn’t say anything. Swallows again.

The gun clicks. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Jonny says.

“I know,” he agrees. He’s forgetting the accent. It’s starting to slip, replaced with something Northern, something more carefully militant. “You like what you see?”

“Yes,” he repeats.

“Go on, then,” Darren says, Texan. “Fuck my wife.”

Her knees close in time with Jonny’s leaning away. “What?” He says. Mama sobs, and Jonny hears it clearer than anything.

“Oh my God,” the girl says, and she sobs, too. “Point —“

He aims the gun at her. His face is completely blank. He’s probably old — he’s twenty years older than her, at least — his hair is starting to grey by the temples, but he has skin kinda like a doll. Jonny doesn’t think there’s anything artificial about it — he wonders if any sort of expression just doesn’t come naturally to this guy. “Don’t call me that,” he says, flat. Northern. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop talking?”

Jonny wonders if he’d really kill her. It doesn’t seem like she’d be so lucky; he’d probably just make it hurt.

She sobs again. Jonny wonders how long she’s been with Darren, and for how much of that time she’s been sick. He wonders how old she is. He wonders if he wants to know.

“Relax,” Darren says to her, dismissive and cruel. “You used to fuck dogs. You can take this.”

Her chest heaves with crying but there aren’t any tears. Jonny wonders if she just doesn’t have any left. “Shoot me,” she says, thick.

He does. He points the gun down and shoots her in the foot. Jonny scrambles away. The gunshot is loud, explosive; the sound she makes is soft. Wet. Her head lolls to one side.

Darren steps down hard on her foot and she barrels back into consciousness with a cry, something ear piercing. “Be a good girl,” he says, “and keep your eyes open. You,” he says, and points the gun at Jonny again. “Get back over here and fuck my wife.”

Jonny swallows audibly. What is he supposed to do? He’s gonna die anyway. But how much does he want it to hurt?

Maybe it doesn’t have to hurt. Maybe he won’t kill them. Maybe, if they just play along —

“Darren,” she’s sobbing. “Darren, I’m sorry, please —“

Darren’s mocking the way that she cries, a hitching sort of rasp of a sound. “Be a good girl, now,” he says, and he lays the accent on thick. “Hitch up your skirt, cowgirl.”

She covers her face with bound, trembling hands. Sobs something that sounds like, “I’m so tired.”

“You can lay right there, sugar,” Darren says. “You know you do your best work on your back.” She sobs, and he says, “lie back and think of Texas.”

She lowers her hands. She’s getting really pale. “I think about Silas,” is what she says.

Darren’s face falls, right back into something flat and doll like. He points the gun down, shoots her in the same foot. She screams at a pitch that makes Jonny flinch. Darren spits in her face. “How many times do I have to tell you,” he seethes, lethal and Northern, “not to think about that fuckin’ thing? Get over here,” he snaps, and he’s speaking to Jonny this time. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Jonny swallows bile.

Darren says, “you know what? What the hell,” and points the gun at Benny. “You, too. You’re watching awfully close. Get over here.”

Benny doesn’t look up from the girl, but he shakes his head.

Darren turns the gun. Aims it into the kitchen. “You boys get over here,” he says, “or I’m gonna shoot your mother in the fuckin’ face.”

Mama screams. Billie sobs as she hugs her tighter.

Jonny’s ears rings with the sound of them as he looks at Benny. Benny looks back, and he looks at him blankly before he looks away. Slowly, he heaves himself from his chair. Staggers to Darren and the girl like he’s possessed.

Darren smirks, angling his head towards Jonny. “Your turn, now.”

Jonny doesn’t remember moving but he finds himself swaying on his feet.

To Benny, he says, “kneel by her head.” To the girl, he says, “be good. Spread your legs.” She doesn’t, but she’s sick and she’s skinny and he kicks them apart, anyway, easy, steps down again with all his weight on her broken foot to keep her still. She cries out so hard her back arches off the floor and Jonny takes an instinctive step back. Just as quickly, he’s looking down the barrel of the biggest fuckin’ gun he’s ever seen. “Kneel,” Darren says.

Jonny does. He wishes he didn’t, but he does, sinking to his knees between the spread of her thighs. Her tied hands are shaking. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t,” she begs softly. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and she sobs.

“No —“

“Tip your head back, cowgirl,” Darren says. “Open wide.”

“No,” she says, and her breath hitches.

Benny doesn’t say anything but he slowly slides his fingers into her bloody hair, turning her head gently.

“No,” she pleads, trying to reach out with tied hands and it makes Jonny’s skin crawl. “Don’t,” she begs, and Jonny retches.

The barrel of the gun is pressed to the base of his skull and the size of it could probably blow his head clean off his shoulders. “Go on, now,” Darren says.

“Please,” she sobs, and she’s looking up at Benny as Benny tips her head back.

Jonny’s hands are shaking so hard he struggles with the button on his jeans. The ruffles of her dress are already soaked with blood and he retches again. She’d been bleeding when they found her in the house, but not this much. What did he do to her before he brought her to them? What’s wrong with this guy?

There’s something still so surreal about it, even with Jenny’s brain staining the wallpaper, even with the barrel hot against his scalp through his hair. This kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life, especially not to people like them, like Mama, unassuming farmers. Maybe a little nosey, but they’re only bored. Harmless. This is the kind of shit that happens in horror movies that aren’t even all that scary, they’re so unrealistic. How can this be happening to them?

He leans into her and her whole body trembles as she cries, as she pleads. Jonny tries his best to leave his body, to go somewhere else, but there’s too much and it keeps pulling him back to himself, to this place, to the floor of his mother’s kitchen. There’s the girl, the rough, panicked hitching of her crying, how desperately she begs him to stop, how hard she trembles. She presses her knee into him, tries to push him away, and Jonny can feel too much of the bones in her leg.

And then she isn’t crying, she doesn’t beg, because Benny is holding her head still as he eases himself into her mouth and Jonny doesn’t mean to, but he sobs, something hoarse.

Still, she struggles, but her hands are braced against Benny as she tries to push him away and it isn’t much of a fight as Jonny pushes up her skirts. As Jonny pushes himself inside her.

He tries to go somewhere else again, somewhere far outside himself, to someplace he isn’t fucking a crying girl in his mother’s kitchen on the floor in front of her at gunpoint. It’s hard to escape. He screws his eyes shut, tries to think about anything else, but she’s so wet and she’s so warm she’s almost too warm and Jonny knows it’s with bleeding, he can’t think about anything else, accidentally pushes into her harder than he meant to and her bleeding body makes a wet sound that makes him gag.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs.

Benny doesn’t say anything. Benny doesn’t say anything until he grunts. Shudders. Scrambles away from her suddenly and unsteadily.

She has just enough time to turn her head before she vomits across the linoleum.

Jonny bows his head as he sobs again.

Darren says, “enough.”

Jonny jerks away from her too quickly and her body makes another horribly wet sound. The sound she makes in return is too soft, kind of broken. “I’m sorry,” Jonny says.

“I’ve been telling you,” Darren says with a smile, “you will be.” There’s nothing natural in his smile. There’s nothing human in his eyes. “Get up,” he tells them, and steps over the girl, crossing the kitchen with slow strides. He stops, standing across from Mama. “And come here.”

Slowly, they do. They stand, fix their pants, stagger across the kitchen. It’s hard to explain, but Jonny feels kind of out of it, like he’d been hit really hard in the head. Everything’s gotten kinda fuzzy around the edges.

Darren smiles again. “Face your mother.”

Slowly, they do.

“On your knees,” Darren says.

Jonny doesn’t sob again but the tears don’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” Benny’s stuck. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Darren exhales a sound that might be a laugh, if he were human. “Choice last words,” he says. The barrel of the gun finds the back of Jonny’s head.

“Please,” Mama says, and he hears her louder than anything. “Don’t hurt my boys.”

“What would you propose I do?” Darren asks. The barrel is so hot through his hair Jonny’s sure his scalp is burning. “Your boys just raped my wife.”

“I’m sorry,” Benny’s chanting, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s always been a big guy, now a farmer — he’s never seemed so small before.

“I’d hope so,” Darren says, and he says it with a flat, Northern accent, nothing Texan about it at all.

“Darren,” the girl says, and Jonny feels a bit sick, he still doesn’t know her name and he probably won’t ever find out, “don’t do this.” She sounds like she’s from Texas for real, and it’s not the first time Jonny’s noticed but it’s the first time it occurs to him that maybe Darren’s accent isn’t psychological warfare at all, maybe he’s making fun of his wife.

It’s obvious, suddenly, in the way he drawls, “I’m defending your honour, cowgirl.”

He’s quick. It almost seems like he’s too quick, too, to be human. The barrel is pressed to the back of Jonny’s head one second, and the next, Benny’s head bursts into plates of skull and meaty chunks of brain tissue. Blood is sprayed aagainst Jonny’s side.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t do anything; he freezes, and he watches across the kitchen through red mist as another gunshot rings out and crouched next to Mama, a hole explodes in the centre of Billie’s chest. She makes a wheezing, gasping soft of sound. Her throat bursts open with the next gunshot, and she never makes a sound again.

“Why are you doing this to us?” Mama breathes. She’s been painted red with Billie.

“This is what happens to nosey families who don’t mind their fuckin’ business,” he answers. And he shoots Jonny’s mother in the face.

Finally, he turns the gun on Jonny. “Any last words?”

“I don’t know,” Jonny says.

He doesn’t hear the gunshot, there isn’t time, but he can feel the heat building against the side of his face.

Then, finally, it’s over.

For a long time, Wren stares up at the ceiling, at the blood splattered across the beams.

It was their kitchen. Point had slaughtered these people in their kitchen.

Wren doesn’t know why the cruelty surprises him, but it does. He didn’t think he had it left in him to be scared anymore but he’s that, too.

Point’s face comes into view above him. “This is what happens to people that try and help you,” he says. “I want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t look disturbed that he just massacred a family in the heart of their home, but he doesn’t look pleased, either. He doesn’t look anything. Somehow it’s worse. “What are you gonna do with me when I die?” He asks.

It makes Point smile. “You know I won’t let that happen,” he says. “We’re having too much fun, cowgirl.”

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 24)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap

Hours later, Cillian arrived at your house and you opened the door for him slowly, trying not to move around too much just as the doctor had ordered. 

"Hey," he greeted you softly, his voice laced with concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked, glancing briefly at your belly.

"I've got the worst cramps imaginable," you replied, your voice quivering slightly. "But I'm trying to stay positive," you added, forcing a weak smile. "Only four more weeks, right?" you told him as you gestured for him to come inside. 

"You should probably lie down," Cillian suggested, his voice laced with concern. "I'll bring you some water and toast," he added, heading towards the kitchen.

As Cillian busied himself preparing your meal, you sank deeper into the fluffy pillows, attempting to find a comfortable position. The relentless contractions were growing stronger, leaving you feeling increasingly vulnerable and exposed.

Cillian returned moments later, carrying a tray laden with food and drink. You thanked him gratefully, your voice trembling slightly. He settled down beside you, his hand hovering above your thigh nervously.

"So, how did Amanda take it?" you asked hesitantly, your voice quivering slightly. You shifted uncomfortably, aware of the awkwardness of the topic.

"Not well," Cillian responded matter-of-factly, his voice steady yet distant. "She was upset, angry, and resentful," he admitted, his gaze flickering between the window and the table.

"I am sorry. I really do not want to cause trouble between you two," you apologized, your gaze flickering between Cillian's eyes and the floor.

"Y/N, none of this is your fault," Cillian

comforted you, his voice soothing as he reached out to grasp your hand. "Amanda has been jealous and possessive since the start," he revealed, his gaze piercing into your soul. "And it was about time that I broke up with her," Cillian admitted, causing your chin to drop.

"You broke up with her?"

you echoed, your voice trembling slightly. "Because of me?" you added, unable to contain your surprise.

"Well," Cillian responded, his voice steady yet distant. "I guess I realised that it would be better for everyone concerned if I wasn't with her," he added, his gaze flickering between the window and the table. "And I think that, the only reason I got involved with her in the first place was because I needed some distraction from all the shit Danielle has put me through with Max," 

he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "I just wanted someone else to distract me from how wrong everything has turned out, and she was convenient," he added, shaking his head sadly.

"So, you used her?" you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling slightly.

"Maybe," Cillian replied swiftly, his voice firm yet compassionate before pausing briefly. "I am an asshole, right?" he then asked rhetorically, his voice cracking slightly. 

"Yes, you are," you agreed reluctantly, your tone softening perceptibly. "Sometimes you are real dick when it comes to women, me included," you whispered, swallowing hard as the admission weighed heavily on your conscience. "But, at the same time, you are also one of the most empathetic and caring people I know in general, so don't be too hard on yourself," you added, glancing up at Cillian with admiration.

"You are still a good person," you whispered reassuringly before pausing briefly. "And if I had thought that otherwise, I wouldn't have kept the baby," you confessed, averting your gaze as Cillian caressed your face. 

"I don't deserve you," Cillian mumbled, stroking your cheek tenderly. His fingers lingered on your skin, tracing gentle patterns as he gazed intently into your eyes before pulling his hand away from your face. "As a mother to my child I mean," he then explained, his voice cracking slightly. "You're going to be such a wonderful mom," he whispered, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards faintly.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with warmth at his unexpected declaration. His expression was earnest, filled with a deep connection as if acknowledging the invisible bond that had formed between you.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you lifted your hand to touch his arm gently.

"For everything," you added, your gaze flickering between his eyes and the table.

"Don't mention it," Cillian responded, his voice laced with emotion. "I just hope I can somehow make up for my past mistakes," he added, his gaze flickering between the window and the table.

"You already have," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Just by being here for me," you added, the corners of your mouth quirking upwards faintly just as the doorbell rang. 

"Are you expecting anyone?" Cillian asked and you immediately shook your head. 

"No," you answered softly, your gaze flickering between the door and Cillian who jumped up to open it.

Moments later, Cillian returned, his expression puzzled and confused.

"Who is it?" you asked cautiously, your curiosity piqued before watching your friend Emma walk inside, her expression grim.

"Em, are you alright?" you asked and, immediately, she shook her head.

"No," she muttered quietly, her gaze darting around the room uneasily. "I was actually hoping to speak with you," she confessed, her voice wobbling slightly.

"What's wrong?" you asked cautiously, your gaze flicking between Cillian and Emma. Her expression was grim, her lips pressed firmly together as a myriad of emotions swirled behind her dark eyes.

"Is everything okay?" Cillian chimed in, his voice laced with concern.

"Yeah, Em, what's up?" you persisted, your brow furrowed with worry.

"Okay," Emma conceded eventually, her voice hushed as she steeled herself. "Don't freak out, but there is an article about you in OK! Magazine," Emma explained, her voice low and strained as she handed you the paper. "About you and Cillian," she whispered, her gaze flickering between you and Cillian.

"What about us?" you asked cautiously, your gaze fixated on her eyes. "What does the article say?" you added, your voice trembling slightly as you saw yourself on the front cover of the magazine. 

"It... it's everything, Y/N!" Emma told you urgently. "It says that you got involved with each other while Cillian was still married and that you are having his baby. It's pretty bad. It even talks about the family and all," Emma disclosed grimly, her voice trembling slightly.

Your jaw dropped, and suddenly, you felt lightheaded. You struggled to find the words to respond, and for a moment, you were struck dumb.

"Oh my God," you groaned, pressing your hands against your eyes as tears welled up in your eyes. "I can't believe this," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head incredulously.

"Y/N, relax," Cillian urged, his voice firm yet comforting. "We both knew that this was going to happen at some point," he reminded you, his gaze flickering between the magazine and the floor. "Let's read the article and I will call my publicist," he added, reaching out to take the paper from your hands.

You nodded numbly, the shock of the article lingering like a heavy weight on your shoulders. Emma's eyes widened with concern, her gaze flitting between you and Cillian.

A surprising kind of scandal: Cillian Murphy's infidelity with step-niece

In the world of celebrity news, few stories captivate the public's attention more than those involving the private lives of celebrities who usually stay away from the public eye.

As such, it comes with great surprise when OK! learned that actor Cillian Murphy has found himself at the centre of his first scandal since the Sienna Miller incident in 2009, as reports surfaced of his involvement in an extramarital affair earlier this year.

The object of the actor’s affections at the time was 20-year-old law student Y/N Y/LN and, what further complicates the situation is the fact that Y/N is the adult stepdaughter of Cillian's brother, Frank Murphy, who reportedly introduced the actor to Y/N less than a year ago.

It has also been reported by our sources that Y/N is currently pregnant with the actor’s child and OK! reporters are of the view that the news of her pregnancy will only amplify the magnitude of this scandal, seeing that Murphy has just recently closed proceedings against his wife Danielle for the joint custody of their son.

The affair has undoubtedly cast a shadow over the actor’s reputation and Murphy has yet to make a public statement or address the situation, leaving many to wonder about his response to the unfolding events.

To be continued...

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