#and the more light hearted stuff like this

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTIKTOK TRENDS: PLUMPING LIP GLOSS * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N does the TikTok trend 'trying plumping lip gloss before kissing my boyfriend' with Matt just to see his reaction.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

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

Y/N was curled up in the passenger seat of Matt's car, fluffy pink pajama pants bundled around her legs, her oversized hoodie swallowing her figure whole.

Matt had insisted they make a quick Target run before their movie night. He said they needed more snacks, and Y/N didn’t argue.

He was right.

They had, like, two Oreos left at home because obviously Chris had to eat all of them.

As soon as the door shut behind him and he vanished into the store, Y/N leaned forward, reaching for her phone in the cup holder. She unlocked it, smiling at her reflection, adjusting the angle just a little before slotting it onto the phone holder in front of her seat. With a single tap, the TikTok camera opened.

Record.

She blinked at the screen, instantly slipping into a soft tone.

"Hi, guys!" She whispered with a grin, glancing toward the driver seat to make sure Matt wasn’t coming yet. "Okay, so Matt ran into Target to grab snacks 'cause we're doing, like, a whole movie night. I'm gonna try to actually make him marathon Harry Potter."

She giggled and adjusted the hoodie’s collar, tugging the sleeves over her hands like she always did when she got too cozy. The camera caught just the tops of her bare knees poking out from under her fleece pajama pants, clear evidence that she very much did not leave the house intending to get out of the car.

Then she reached down and held up a shiny pink tube between two fingers, turning it slowly toward the camera so it sparkled under the small yellow light above her.

"But I thought it’d be funny if I did this new trend I saw on TikTok where you put on plumping gloss, like the really intense kind, and kiss your boyfriend to see if he notices. So, um... yeah."

She bit her lip to suppress a grin, holding up her Too Faced Lip Plump.

"This stuff." She said, unscrewing the cap. "Literally feels like the seventh circle of hell on your lips. So obviously... I’m gonna use it."

Y/N shifted forward, bringing her face close to the camera so she could use the screen as a mirror. She dipped the small wand onto her lips, the glossy pink sheen instantly coating her bottom lip. She held her breath a bit as she moved to the top, then slowly smacked her lips together, trying to spread it evenly.

"Okay... yeah, still spicy." She muttered, already feeling the faint tingle morphing into a burn. "Every time. Never gonna get used to this. Why do I do this to myself?"

She blinked at the camera with mock betrayal before glancing toward the store entrance, instantly smiling when her eyes caught the man dressed in all black, keys dangling from his waist and hands full.

The doors clicked, the unlocking beep echoing inside the quiet car.

"Okay, he’s coming." She whispered to the camera, quickly tossing the gloss to the side and leaning back into her seat, trying to look nonchalant. Her lips tingled violently, but she kept her face innocent.

Matt opened the driver’s side door with a loud, exhausted sigh, plopping into the seat with two Target paper bags. His hoodie was slightly lopsided, and his brown curls were flattened under his cap. He twisted to place the bags behind their seats and turned toward her, his grin bright and boyish - typical of him.

"Baby, it was so packed in there, I swear. Like, unnecessarily packed for a wednesday night." Then, as if remembering, he perked up, blue eyes seeming to shine a bit brighter. "But I got your favorite."

Y/N’s heart melted. She pouted at him dramatically.

"Really?! You did?"

He nodded proudly, causing a small laugh to escape Y/N's throat. He was so sweet.

"Yup. Found the last bag, too."

She leaned in, her voice soft and sweet.

"Thank you, pretty."

Matt blinked, recognizing the cue. His smile went soft, his pale cheeks taking on a pinkish color, as if he still wasn't used to it. Without hesitation, he leaned in, breathing in her natural perfume, and gave her a quick peck on her pouty lips before turning to face the front again, putting the car into drive like nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

Y/N folded her lips inward to stop herself from laughing. One second. Two seconds.

By the third second, Matt’s brows furrowed. He frowned slightly, lips pursed, and shifted a little in his seat, car slowing down just a bit.

Thank God they were still inside the parking lot.

She turned to him, all faux concern.

"You okay?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Just... my lips are burning?"

Y/N blinked, tilting her head, trying not to react with how he seemed to be asking her instead of affirming what he, himself, was feeling.

"Wait, what? They're?"

Matt’s face scrunched up again.

"Yeah, my lips are literally burning. Like, they’re tingling? Did I eat something spicy today?"

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh as she kept her voice sweet and curious.

"Did you?"

"No." He said quickly, clearly puzzled. "I didn’t even touch any food in the last few hours. Why are my lips burning?" He lifted one hand from the wheel and pressed two fingers to his bottom lip, inspecting them like maybe the answer would be printed there.

Y/N blinked at him, eyes wide, feigning confusion.

"Maybe it’s, like... an allergy?"

Matt cut her a deadpan look before going back to pouting.

"No, seriously, Y/N, it feels like someone set my mouth on fire."

She turned to the camera for a split second, her lips twitching with barely contained laughter, then looked back at him, observing how his eyebrows furrowed deep, his eyes concentrated on the road while his hand kept touching his lips.

"Is it hurting that bad?"

Matt nodded dramatically, lips slightly puckered, a baby-whine in his voice.

"Yes. What the hell."

"You want me to-" She gestured toward his lips. "See if they look weird or something?"

He nodded eagerly, leaning a little toward her. Y/N leaned in, too, peering closely, but her wrong move was to meet his pleading eyes for a split second, a soft giggle escaping before she could stop it.

"What?" Matt demanded, eyes widening and voice growing some octaves. "What?!"

She shook her head, laughing harder.

"I can’t- I knew you’d react like this."

"Knew I’d- wait." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What did you do?"

Y/N could barely speak between her laughs, her hands up like she was surrendering.

"It was just a TikTok trend, I swear! I put on plumping gloss and kissed you to see if you'd notice!"

Matt's mouth dropped.

"You poisoned me?!"

She burst out laughing again.

"It’s not poison, Matt! It's just lip gloss."

"My lips are on fucking fire, Y/N. I’m driving a moving vehicle and my face is actively combusting."

Y/N pointed out the windshield through her giggles, shaking her head.

"You’re literally one block from home. Don’t be dramatic."

Matt shook his head, lips puckered, sulking like an actual baby.

"You're so fucking unreal sometimes."

"I already told you!" She said through a laugh. "The burning means it’s working."

"I don’t want it to work! I want my old lips back!"

Y/N leaned forward, kissed his cheek gently, and smiled at him with those sparkling eyes she knew would soften him, eyes catching the shining glitter left behind from her lips on his milky skin.

Matt side-eyed her, trying so hard to hold onto his pout.

"You still look hot, though." She added softly, letting her voice drop.

His lips twitched.

"You're not forgiven." He muttered.

"Yet." She whispered and kissed his cheek again.

And just like that, Matt cracked.

He was that easy, and Y/N adored it.

"You suck." He grinned, shaking his head as he pulled into their driveway.

Y/N rolled her eyes, Matt turning his head to properly look at her just in time for her to gently catch his lips in another quick kiss, smiling.

"I hope your mouth catches on fire, too." He muttered against her mouth.

“Oh, it already is." She giggled, shutting off the camera with a wink.

extra - comments:

"Y/N said ✨ suffer ✨ for the content and Matt really did 😭 boyfriend of the year and he don’t even know it

"Y/N: applies literal lava to lips

matt: 'my lips are BURNING'

also matt: accepts another kiss immediately like a trained puppy 💀💀💀"

"petition to make matt try every trend blindly so we can get more of those versions of him 👏👏👏"

"why is matt being a dramatic little princess while driving kinda hot tho?? like yes pout king 😩"

"this is the most romantic act of violence I’ve ever witnessed"

"matt: panicking mid-drive, lips burning, brain melting

Y/N: 'is it hurting that bad?' 😭 she’s EVIL and I support her fully"

"y’all matt is the only man who could be actively suffering and still be like 'but she’s pretty tho 🥺'"

© vanteguccir

[beaureveries]

ONE SHOT : PRETTY PLEASE

paige x azzi

“Pretty Please” was Azzi’s secret weapon against Paige’s toughness.

trigger : very short, light and fluffy

I had this cute idea in the middle of the night, hope you guys like it.

——————————————————————————

The sun was sinking, lazy and golden, casting long streaks of light across Paige’s apartment. The kind of light that made everything feel softer, slower, like summer was waiting just outside the window.

Paige was sprawled on the couch, limbs loose and content, with Azzi curled up against her side, head resting on Paige’s chest. The TV was on, some reality show neither of them were really watching, just background noise to the steady rhythm of Paige’s fingers brushing through Azzi’s curls absentmindedly.

It was quiet. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.

Azzi shifted slightly, turning her face into Paige’s shoulder, letting out a soft hum of contentment. But when she pulled back to adjust, something caught her eye.

She blinked, staring at the top of Paige’s head.

“Hold up,” Azzi said, sitting up a little straighter, squinting.

Paige groaned, letting her arm fall off the couch dramatically. “What now?”

Azzi parted Paige’s hair gently with her fingers. “Are those your roots showing?”

Paige turned to look at her, deadpan. “They’re barely showing.”

Azzi grinned, eyes soft but teasing. “Barely anything now. Give it two more weeks and you’ll be brunette again. Full scandal.”

“I don’t care,” Paige muttered, clearly caring just enough to be annoyed about it.

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. And then she smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.

“Let me dye it,” she said suddenly.

Paige stared at her like she’d offered to perform open heart surgery. “You? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Azzi pouted.

Paige side-eyed her. “You don’t even do your own hair.”

Azzi smirked. “True. But I’m invested now. Please?”

“No, Azzi” Paige stated more seriously.

And then — Azzi’s voice dropped. Sweet. Deadly.

“Pretty please?”

Paige’s head hit the back of the couch. She could feel the defeat sinking in like quicksand.

“You’re evil” she said, sitting up straighter, letting her knees fall apart slightly to make space for Azzi between them.

Azzi smirked. “You love it.”

Paige hated that she was right.

And with that, they were both in the bathroom. Azzi got to work, humming under her breath, like dye-ing someone else’s hair was as easy as running drills. Paige could feel the soft glide of the brush against her scalp, the way Azzi’s fingers occasionally steadied her head, firm but careful.

“This better not turn orange,” Paige murmured, eyes fixed on the tiled floor, pretending her pulse wasn’t doing stupid things at the closeness of it all.

“Trust me,” Azzi said, soft and full of something that made Paige’s chest beat louder a little. “I got you.”

——————————————————————————

The gym was too quiet now, the echo of bouncing balls long gone, replaced by the low hum of ventilation and the soft squeak of Paige’s sneakers as she collapsed onto the court.

Flat on her back. Arms flung out. Sweaty, exhausted, satisfied.

Azzi stood over her, hands on her hips, barely winded. Of course. She looked annoyingly good even after running shooting drills for an hour straight, curls pulled back, a sheen of sweat making her skin glow under the flickering gym lights.

Paige squinted up at her. “How are you still standing?”

Azzi grinned. “I’m built different.”

Paige let out a half-laugh, half-wheeze. “You’re annoying.” Paige muttered, watching her. “It’s over. I’m dying. Let me die.”

Azzi smiled, “C’mon. You can’t die yet.”

“Why not?”

“You owe me.” Azzi raised both of her eyebrows.

Paige blinked. “Owe you what? I dropped, like, twenty more shots than you.”

Azzi stepped closer, playful now. “It’s not about who won.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Paige scoffed. “That’s new.”

“It’s about tradition.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since right now,” Azzi said, smirking. “Post-workout equals sweat treat. That’s how this works.”

“You’re making stuff up.”

“C’mon P” Azzi whined.

“Azzi it’s almost midnight.” Paige deadpanned.

Azzi knelt in front of her, way too close, curls falling loose from her ponytail, eyes bright. “Pretty please?”

There it was. Paige exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. “You’re actually sick.”

Azzi just grinned wider, knowing exactly what she was doing. “You’re rich. Buy me ice cream.”

Paige snorted. “You have your own money.”

“Yeah, but it tastes better when it’s yours.”

Paige stared at her for a second. Everything about Azzi was unfair — the curls, the smile, the way she always smelled good even after running sprints. And the worst part was that she was right.

“Fine,” Paige muttered, dragging herself to her feet, body aching. “But I’m not sharing.”

Azzi smiled instantly, victorious. “We’ll see”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Azzi brushed past her on the way to grab her water bottle. “Yeah. And you love it.”

Paige watched her go, smiling despite herself. “Unfortunately.”

The shop smelled like vanilla and waffle cones, warm and sugary against the cool air conditioning. It was mostly empty, since it was almost the middle of the night.

Paige stood next to Azzi, arms crossed, eyebrow already lifted like she knew where this was going before it even happened.

“You should just get the usual,” Paige said calmly. “Cookie dough. Like you always do. Like you love.”

Azzi glanced at the flavors behind the glass, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek, ignoring her.

“I’m thinking birthday cake,” she said finally.

Paige blinked, slowly. “Birthday cake?”

Azzi nodded, pretending she was deep in consideration like she was picking out a college major. “Switching it up. New era.”

Paige just stared at her. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Azzi grinned, specifically because Paige said that. “You don’t know that.”

“I literally do.” Paige gave her the last warning.

But Azzi was already ordering it. One scoop of birthday cake in a waffle cone. Paige stuck to her usual, not because she was boring, but because she was right. Cookie dough. No drama. No surprises.

And she knew what was coming…

They sat by the window, their knees brushing under the small table. Paige took one bite of hers and gave Azzi a pointed look, daring her to admit defeat first.

Azzi stared at her cone like it had betrayed her.

The first lick was cautious. The second was… worse.

“This is trash,” Azzi muttered under her breath.

Paige leaned back in her chair, smug. “What’s that? Didn’t catch it.”

Azzi glared at her. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, it’s fine?” Paige took another dramatic bite of her ice cream. “Interesting, cause it looks like regret to me.”

Azzi huffed, eyes narrowing, before leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand like she was about to start sweet-talking.

“You’re gonna share with me.”

Paige just raised her eyebrows. “Am I?”

Azzi blinked, lashes soft, voice dropping low like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Pretty please?”

Paige let the silence hang, savoring it. This was why she never switched things up. This was why she was always right.

She held out her cone anyway.

“God, you’re annoying,” Paige said, handing it over. “You don’t deserve me.”

Azzi was already stealing a bite, eyes closing dramatically like Paige’s ice cream was the best thing she’d ever tasted. “Mm. I really don’t.”

Paige shook her head, laughing despite herself, licking the terrible birthday cake cone Azzi left behind. “This tastes like a candle.”

Azzi smiled at her with a mouthful of cookie dough. “Sucks to suck.”

“You suck more.”

“Probably.”

And for once, Paige didn’t mind losing.

It was embarrassing, really — how easy it was. Azzi could win any argument, steal any bite, flip any game just by saying two words the right way. And every time Paige told herself she wouldn’t fall for it again.

And every time, she did.

Because with Azzi? Pretty please wasn’t just asking — it was winning.

[houseofaegon]

can I put in a request for Rhett Abbott x Reader? They’re in his truck since they were “star gazing”but a hot steamy make out ends up with reader riding him and before he finishes, reader goes down on him.

DEAD OF NIGHT ╱ RHETT ABBOTT X FEM!READER

"you wake me up, you say it's time to ride in the dead of night"

+18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪  no use of y/n, fluff, explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v, oral sex (m!receving), best friend!rhett, dirty talk, explicit language, praise kink, grinding, save a horse ride a cowboy!!!! mention of unrequited feelings, mutual pinning, sexual tension, friends to lovers trope, stargazing under the wyoming sky with rhett!! <3

SUMMARY: you didn't really plan on spending tonight anywhere but in bed, binge-watching true crime and savoring wine. but when your best friend rhett abbott texts you at 1 am asking you to come outside, your comfortable night in turns into a starry, intimate confession beneath the wyoming sky. the lines of friendship blur deliciously into something deeper and hotter—under constellations and blankets on rhett's truck. and he finally shows you exactly how long he's been waiting to make you his.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: aaaaahhhh!!! thank you soooo much for requesting rhett!! this is my first ever fic for him and i'm so excited to write more outer range stuff!! ughhh i love rhett so fucking much you have no idea!! i'm already through season 2 and oh my god?? it's soooo good!!!! literally obsessed with rhett and cowboys. head over heels for my favorite bull rider!! he just does things to me gahhhhh stargazing, confessions under the night sky, and riding rhett?? sign me tfff up!!! thank you for this ask, i loved the idea so much<3 i hope you like it! love, your friendly neighborhood cowboy-lover, bri.

You weren't really planning on doing anything tonight. Your warm bed awaited patiently, the cold sheets a welcoming embrace, while an unopened bottle of red Sauvignon shimmered in the silver glow of the moonlight streaming through your window. Netflix was paused on your TV—a true crime documentary glowing softly on the screen—waiting patiently to wash away the week's stress.

Your phone buzzed, jolting you from your cozy haze. You groaned softly—who the hell was texting at nearly one in the morning?

Rhett🤠💛: You awake, sweetheart?

You bit your lip, smiling softly. Your heart fluttered involuntarily at the sight of his name on your screen. Of course, Rhett Abbott would be the culprit. Always Rhett, your best friend since forever, your ride-or-die cowboy with that infuriatingly cocky grin and sky-blue eyes that always made your breath catch in your chest.

You: depends on what awake means

He responded immediately, almost as if he'd been waiting for your answer.

Rhett🤠💛: Eyes open, heartbeat steady. You missin’ me?

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm.

You: you wish, cowboy

Rhett🤠💛: I sure do. Come to your window.

Frowning curiously, your phone buzzed again—his picture lighting up the screen. You sighed, unable to hide your amusement as you swiped to answer.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured into the phone, padding across the floor and pulling back the curtains.

There he stood, propped against his trusty old truck, cowboy hat tilted just right, his smirk lazy and infuriatingly charming beneath the porch lights. He lifted his head to meet your gaze, and even at a distance, you could see his eyes shimmer mischievously.

“It’s almost one in the morning, Rhett. What the hell are you doing here?” you whispered into the phone, but he could hear the smile in your voice.

He chuckled warmly. “C’mon down, sweetheart. Don’t keep me waitin’. Got somethin' to show ya.”

“Fine, give me a minute.”

“Take your time, darlin’. Not like I'm freezin' my ass off or anything.”

“It’s barely cold, drama queen,” you scoffed, and he laughed lightly, a sound that melted into your bones.

You ended the call, grinning to yourself, excitement making your heart skip as you quickly shed your oversized shirt and slipped into a delicate white sundress, stepping into your worn, beloved cowboy boots.

You ran down, finding him exactly where you'd left him, the same stupidly charming smirk stretched across his face.

"Howdy, darlin'," he drawled, eyes flickering appreciatively over you.

“You’re obnoxious,” you teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.

“Ah,” Rhett countered easily, swinging open his passenger door for you, eyes glittering warmly beneath his hat. “But you love it.”

You hesitated dramatically. “You sure you’re not kidnapping me?”

Rhett grinned, eyes darkening playfully beneath his hat. “Kidnappin’? Well shit, sweetheart, sounds terribly hot.”

You scoffed, climbing up into the truck. "You're disgusting."

“Only for you,” he drawled, sliding into the driver's seat and firing up the engine.

As he drove, you stole glances his way. Rhett Abbott—playboy, flirt, and the keeper of your deepest secrets. He knew your favorite songs, your go-to midnight snacks, how you liked your coffee, and the names of every one of your childhood pets. He’d been there for your best and worst days, steadfast and irritatingly observant, noticing things about you no one else bothered to. Like how your brow furrowed when you were stressed, or the particular kind of silence you kept when something upset you. He noticed every detail. Every quiet shift.

God, you loved him.

You'd loved him—helplessly, recklessly, and quietly.

You’d loved Rhett Abbott for longer than you could remember, every stolen glance embedding deeper in your heart, every casual brush of his hand against your skin lingering long after he pulled away. Your love had become a secret you cradled close, hidden safely in shadows and subtle sighs, nestled in sleepless nights spent dreaming of what could be, wrapped in every heartbeat that stuttered at the mere sound of his laughter.

But confessing? Fuck no.

The thought alone terrified you. It was easy to joke with him, easy to laugh at his teasing comments and playful flirtations because that was Rhett. Cocky, charming, effortlessly alluring, the guy who could walk into any room and draw every eye. He had always been your best friend, your constant, your confidant. But turning this steady, beloved friendship into something else—something uncertain and dangerously delicate—felt far too risky.

And then there was Maria Olivares.

A shadow from high school, Rhett’s supposed ‘great love.’ You’d spent years watching him chase after her, hearing him speak her name like it was poetry he memorized. Though lately, you noticed he barely mentioned her anymore. Still, the echo of her presence lingered—a reminder that maybe you were just a placeholder, someone to distract him when the memories became too sharp. Maybe his lingering glances and softened touches were simply illusions your foolish heart conjured because you wanted them so badly to be real.

How could you risk it?

Because risking your heart felt like risking everything else too—every late-night phone call, every comfortable silence, every inside joke whispered conspiratorially between you two. Your friendship with Rhett Abbott was your safe place, a precious shelter built over countless nights spent laughing until dawn, confiding secrets no one else knew, sharing fears, hopes, dreams you trusted only to each other.

It was safer to keep quiet, safer to keep smiling and teasing, safer to pretend you didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on you longer lately, the way his voice softened whenever he murmured "sweetheart," the way your heart skipped wildly, frantically, beneath his attentive gaze.

Because losing Rhett—even the smallest chance of it—would shatter your heart completely, leaving you lost and adrift without the boy you’d always loved quietly, desperately, hopelessly from the shadows.

So, you buried your secret deeper still, hiding it behind careful laughter and practiced smiles, behind sarcastic retorts and playful banter, hoping it would remain safely hidden—hoping, selfishly, that someday it might finally, mercifully slip free.

But until then, you'd guard it fiercely, keeping the love you felt safely, silently yours.

It was safer this way, even if it hurt.

And god, did it hurt.

���You’re definitely kidnapping me,” you teased lightly, noticing he was heading toward his ranch’s secluded pastures.

“Maybe,” he replied playfully, eyes gleaming beneath the moonlight. “Maybe I’m gonna murder you and hide your pretty little body somewhere out in these woods.”

“So romantic,” you deadpanned sarcastically.

He snorted softly, shaking his head. "Shut up, dumbass."

Beside you, Rhett’s heart beat quickly, his thoughts tangled and aching. He glanced at you—his best friend, his sweet torment. You were everything to him: your laughter, your teasing words, your stubborn kindness. He knew every hidden freckle, every quiet sigh, every favorite snack. He’d spent years drowning himself in meaningless distractions, Maria a distant memory that had long faded beneath your gentle presence.

He loved you desperately, fiercely, terrified that admitting it would send you running from him. Because if he lost you—he’d lose everything.

When Rhett parked in the open field, he hopped down smoothly, rounding to your side. Before you could protest, his strong hands gripped your waist, easily lifting you from the seat. You squealed in protest, and he laughed warmly, setting you down gently by the tailgate. Opening it, he revealed blankets and pillows piled invitingly.

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “If you wanted sex, Abbott, you could’ve just asked.”

Rhett leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. “Sweetheart, trust me—if I wanted that tonight, you'd already know.”

Your cheeks flushed hot as he chuckled, delighting in your reaction. His grip softened, gentle once more, easing you up to sit atop the truck bed.

“I remember you told me once—probably drunk off your ass—that you loved stargazin’,” Rhett said softly, almost shyly, glancing upward. “Thought you might like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He remembered. Always so perceptive, attentive to every quiet detail you'd shared, every fleeting whisper you'd half-forgotten yourself. Rhett Abbott somehow catalogued every secret part of your soul.

"Are you serious?" Your voice was breathless, touched.

"Dead serious," he confirmed softly, hopping onto the truck bed beside you, reclining back and patting his chest invitingly. "C'mere."

After a shy hesitation, you sank against him, head gently nestled over his steady heartbeat. The sky stretched out overhead, an ocean of glittering starlight, infinite, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Rhett pointed lazily upward. "Alright, stargirl. Which one’s that?"

“Orion,” you smiled.

He hummed approval, voice teasing. "Alright, what about that one over there?"

"Cassiopeia."

He chuckled warmly. “You’re real good at this.”

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed softly.

“Yeah,” Rhett murmured, voice softer. “So damn beautiful.”

Your gaze shifted, heart thumping, realizing he wasn’t looking at the sky—he was looking at you.

His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. His thumb traced your lower lip lightly, and he whispered huskily, eyes searching yours, “You're beautiful.”

“Rhett,” you murmured breathlessly.

In the breathless heartbeat that followed, he surged forward, cradling your face in his strong, calloused hands, claiming your mouth in a fierce yet tender kiss. Your world spun wildly as you melted instantly into his embrace, lips moving hungrily, passionately against his own.

He groaned low into your mouth, desperation and relief laced in the sound. “God, sweetheart,” he murmured feverishly between kisses, “wanted this—wanted you for so fucking long.”

His tongue traced hotly along your lower lip, teasing entrance until your mouth parted eagerly beneath him, allowing him in, tasting and teasing until you moaned breathlessly.

“You drive me crazy, darlin’,” he growled softly, gripping the back of your neck possessively, deepening the kiss until it felt like he was stealing the breath straight from your lungs. “Think about you all the goddamn time.”

“Rhett—” you whispered, clutching at his shoulders, fingertips sinking into muscle, holding him desperately close. “Me too—god, please…”

At your whispered confession, something snapped in Rhett, and his kisses turned frantic, heated, teeth tugging lightly at your lip, dragging delicious moans from your throat. His hands roamed possessively, slipping beneath your dress, tracing urgently over the curve of your thighs, your hips, grasping firmly to anchor you closer.

“C'mere, baby,” he rasped, voice rough with need as he pulled you onto his lap. You gasped sharply, thighs parting instinctively, knees bracketing his waist. Your dress rucked up high, pooling carelessly around your hips as his hands gripped and kneaded your bare thighs, pulling you tight against him.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart—” he groaned, head falling back slightly as you ground experimentally against the rigid, straining bulge of his jeans. “Just like that, baby—god, you feel so fucking good.”

Your hands tangled into his soft hair, tugging lightly to tilt his head back, exposing his throat for your lips to explore hungrily. Rhett shuddered beneath you, growling deeply in his chest, fingers gripping tighter, pulling you closer, hips thrusting upwards desperately, chasing friction.

“So good,” he whispered fervently into your skin, teeth scraping tenderly at your collarbone. “So fucking perfect, baby—wanted to touch you like this for so damn long.”

You whimpered softly, rolling your hips faster, grinding harder against his hardness. He hissed sharply, fingers bruising into your hips, guiding your frantic movements, desperate to feel you closer, deeper.

“Need you, Rhett,” you pleaded softly, breath ragged and trembling.

He surged upright, pressing you flush against him, kissing you deeply, fiercely, as his fingers swiftly undid his jeans. “You’ve got me, sweetheart. Always.”

When you finally sank onto him, stretching deliciously around him, he groaned loudly—unrestrained, wild with pleasure. “Fuck—sweetheart,” he gasped, voice strained with raw pleasure. “Look how good you take me, darlin’—goddamn—so tight, so fucking perfect.”

You moaned his name, tossing your head back, riding him slow and deep beneath the watchful eyes of the stars. He leaned back against the truck bed, eyes glued hungrily to your flushed face, awed by every gasp and whimper falling from your parted lips.

“You look like a goddamn dream riding me like that,” he praised roughly, hands gripping your waist, guiding you up and down, matching each roll of your hips. “Fuck—just like that, beautiful. God, yes.”

Your nails dragged lightly down his chest, back arching beautifully beneath his heated gaze. Pleasure coiled tight within you, spiraling, pushing you to the edge until your rhythm faltered, breath catching sharply.

“Rhett—fuck—I’m gonna—” you gasped desperately, riding him faster, harder, chasing release.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged roughly, his thumb brushing firmly over your sensitive clit. “Let go—I wanna feel you come undone.”

His words sent you spiraling, shattering instantly around him. “Oh fuck, Rhett—” you cried out loudly, moaning shamelessly, trembling as pleasure consumed you, shaking wildly around him.

“Good girl,” he groaned, voice thick and hoarse with adoration. “So perfect, sweetheart—fuck, you feel so good.”

Before he could tip over the edge himself, you slid off his lap with a wicked smirk, sinking down onto your knees between his spread thighs.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, eyes darkening hungrily as your mouth enveloped him completely, hot and wet and perfect. “Oh fuck—baby, yes—”

He trembled beneath your touch, hips bucking involuntarily as your tongue swirled and teased. “God, your mouth—fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart—gonna make me come.”

You hummed softly, the vibration sending him spiraling, fingers gripping your hair desperately, gently guiding your head, hips thrusting shallowly, lost in your wet, warm mouth.

“Fuck—I’m—” Rhett gasped raggedly, head thrown back, stars dancing behind his eyes as he came undone, spilling hotly into your mouth. You swallowed obediently, savoring him, your eyes locked wickedly onto his flushed face.

“Come here,” he rasped breathlessly, pulling you urgently back up, crashing his mouth onto yours fiercely. He groaned against your lips, tasting himself, tasting you, the intoxicating blend making him dizzy.

“Goddamn, you taste good, baby,” he murmured breathlessly, forehead pressed tenderly against yours, fingers still threaded possessively into your hair. “I love you, sweetheart—I’ve always fucking loved you.”

Your heart skipped violently at his whispered confession. “You do?”

Rhett laughed softly, tenderly, kissing you again, softer this time, almost reverently. “More than I know what to do with.”

You smiled shyly, your fingertips tracing gentle circles over his chest. “I love you, Rhett. Always have.”

He exhaled, relief flooding his eyes, expression growing boyishly sweet. “Thank fuck for that.”

You laughed quietly, settling comfortably against him, nestled safely in his arms. “Mmm,” you teased lightly, drawing lazy patterns on his chest. “I could get used to this.”

His grin turned mischievous, cocky smirk returning as he pressed a teasing kiss against your forehead. “Oh, you definitely will. I ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight now, darlin’. Especially now that I know what your pretty mouth can do.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giggling softly. “You’re impossible, Rhett Abbott.”

He chuckled deeply, wrapping his arms around you possessively, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Oh, but you love it.”

You tilted your head, gazing up into his beautiful blue eyes, heart swelling with affection, softness overwhelming you beneath the starlit sky.

“Yes,” you whispered quietly, truth heavy yet freeing on your lips, “I do.”

Beneath the vast Wyoming stars, Rhett held you tighter, knowing for certain now that everything he'd ever needed—everything he could ever want—was right there, safe in his arms.

[gay-dorito-dust]

One piece reacts to you holding their hand when in need of comfort/reminder that they are there.

Zoro doesn’t flinch when you hold his hand, it’s happened more then once, he has yet to see you do similar with the rest of the crew, but he wasn’t about to say anything about how you always seem to come to him for comfort and security.

He wasn’t complaining as it only meant he was doing his job, growing stronger and cementing himself as someone strong enough, brave enough for others to find solace within. Zoro took pride in the work he had put in himself to get where he was now, he was even proud that you even thought of him as a source of comfort in the first place, and feeling no fear when you reached for his calloused hand that wasn’t perched upon the hilts of his swords.

He caresses his thumb against the back of your hand in a way to reassure you that nothing would happen when under his protection, nothing wouldn't dare harm a hair on your head when his reflexes were seemingly faster then light on most occasions, he had made himself an vow to himself to keep being your safe haven and your source of comfort.

Buggy almost jolts out of his skin when he feels you hold his hand out of the blue. He’s never known someone to touch him out of their own free will, not unless it was to beat him up at least, so feeling you grab his hand on instinct made him tense up before realising why you did what you did.

You were in search of something to ground yourself to and ironically he was the closet thing you could get your hands on, something to keep you steady and he was the one you automatically deemed safe enough to hold onto, at least just until this feeling of uncertainty passes you by.

Buggy would feel an sense of pride that out of everyone you could've possibly have picked from, you had chosen him to be your sense of normality and someone you associated with saftey and security, not that Buggy was complaining -not at all- as it only gave him an sense of purpose and he wasn't about to take your trust in him for granted.

He even puffs out his chest like a cocky bird and held your hand even tighter, and maybe even leaving you with it when he had some stuff to do, smiling ever so slightly when he felt you squeeze it and acting as though there isn't a warmth within his chest. Buggy is just happy that he could be useful and not a punching bag for once and he has you to thank.

Ace grips your hand immediately and squeezes it multiple times to reassure you that he was there, that he was real and he wasn’t going to let anything get to you. If anything he grips your hand with equal strength to show you that he held you in the same regard, that while he is your source of comfort you were just as much his source of comfort.

He felt as though he was the luckiest man alive to be chosen as then one person you go to when facing uncertainty and were at a geuine loss, feeling as though he wasn't worth your trust and companionship, thining that there were more better suiting people instead of him. Yet here you were proven his innermost thoughts wrong, holding his hand as though you'd be lost if you were to ever let go, which were things that only warmed Ace's heart tenfold.

His smile couldn't have been more wider then it ever had when your holding his hand as though it held all the awnsers you saught after, unafraid of the flames that he could easily conjure with a single snap of his fingers, treating it as though it was something sacred and only something you entrusted him to bear witness to it.

Ace felt as though he was within a picture perfect dream, not believing that this was reality until he felt the warmth of your palm push agaisnt his own, the twitch of your fingers and how you seemed to need to reassure yourself that he was real. At least he wasn't alone in such a feeling, feeling compelled to keep holding your hand if it meant being each others constant reminder that this was your shared reality, for he wouldn't about to let you wander this life alone in the dark when he could easily light thr way for you instead.

[holdmytesseract]

Guardian Angel

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When Pamela Milton makes the big mistake to threaten Daryl and his family, the archer isn't afraid of protecting what's his - at all costs.

Warnings: usual TWD stuff, violence, blood, choking, injuries, threatening a baby, attempted murder & murder, mentions of birthing a baby, protective dad!Daryl, fluff & babies!

Set in Season 11!

Word Count: 3,4k

a/n: I wrote this for @dixonsstinkysock , 'cause she was so excited about dad!Daryl, hehe. Thank you for the inspiration! I LOVED writing this! Hope you like it, too.

Disclaimer: Some words of the interaction between Carol and Daryl aren't mine. I just used them to fit the plot.

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

A father... He got blessed with becoming a father. Never ever - not even in his wildest dreams would've Daryl thought that the end of the world was going to bring this his way. Never. And yet here he was. It was incredible and borderline unbelievable. The archer would've scoffed and laughed into everybody's face who told him that in the beginning of this shit show.

Daryl buttoned up the fresh black grayish shirt he was just forced to slip into. Kudos to the tiny bundle of joy who had gotten to see the light of the world only a mere week ago and decided to 'burp' milk all over his shoulder. Daryl forgot to use a burp cloth; still adjusting to this whole new situation.

He couldn't help but smile to himself, as deft fingers worked the buttons.

The archer's heart was close to exploding with all the love he felt for you and his baby girl.

"What got you smiling so cute?"

Your sudden remark catapulted Daryl out of his thoughts. He finished the last button on the shirt, then lifted his head properly. His eyes met your frame; standing in the doorway - and it was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. You were wearing one of his sweaters, sweatpants and fluffy socks. Clothes who did not tick many boxes besides being absolutely comfortable. Comfort was all you cared about at the moment - understandably. Besides the easy access to your daughter's food source, of course. Speaking of her... She was neatly tucked against your body to provide body warmth; hands cradling her bum and head. Eyes closed and most likely sleeping; milk drunk and satisfied.

He merely shook his head; still smiling. "Nothin'. Jus'..." Daryl crossed the short distance between you and him. One hand gripped your hip gently, the other cupped your cheek. "...this. You. Our daughter." His oceanic blues gazed into your Y/E/C ones. "Ain't never been happier in my life, I think." Daryl's words caused you to smile as well. Turning your head slightly, you kissed his palm. "Me too. Even more now since we go back home." He nodded in agreement, "Yeah. 'S gon be perfect." and pressed a tender, lingering kiss against your forehead. His goatee tickling your skin.

"I love you, Dar."

Although he heard you say it about a million times by now, his heart never failed to skip a beat. "I love ya, too, sunshine." His eyes flickered to the newborn in your arms. "Both 'a ya." You smiled; eyes speaking the language of pure, unbridled love.

"'M gonna go check if the others are ready. 'N I gotta get my bike, too," the archer said; thumbs caressing your soft, delicate skin. You nodded. "Sure, go. I'll get everything ready here. Could you send Jude and RJ over? They have to check their room again and make sure they got everything." "'M gonna send the kids over, yeah, but you, darlin', ain't gonna do anythin' besides movin' yer cute ass over to the sofa 'n lay down."

A last loving look was exchanged before he grabbed his angel-winged vest, slipped inside the signature piece of clothing and left.

You wanted to open your mouth and say something in protest but Daryl was quick to leapfrog you. "Nah. No buts. Yer gonna rest. Yer body is still recoverin' 'n we got a long way home." You sighed, but nodded; knowing that arguing wouldn't get you further. Plus, you couldn't deny that your partner was actually right.

"Okay, yeah. I'm gonna lay down." Daryl smiled, "Good girl." and dipped his head to bestow a soft kiss on your lips before he let go of you. His thumb brushed over one tiny foot of his daughter; safely confined by the romper she was wearing. "I won't be long," he promised; marveling at the baby's smallness. You watched Daryl with yet another smile. How his eyes stuck on the tiny girl. His gentle touch. "Yeah, I know."

He had managed to make it a one on one; killing one of the men. The clearly weaker fighter. The other one was stronger and harder to defeat. One moment of negligence was enough to get into a predicament. That was the moment the guy became a problem. He gained the upper hand and had the archer now pinned to the concrete floor; choking him. Daryl tried hard to fight it. He couldn't and wouldn't die. He had a family to look after now. To protect. To provide for. You and his newborn daughter.

Little did the archer know that he was going to fight for his life only a few minutes later...

He had reached the meeting point; carriage completely abandoned and messy. Wooden boxes laid on the ground with their content mostly destroyed and distributed on the ground. No Maggie. No Hershel. No Jude or RJ. Nobody. Daryl frowned, kicked down the pedestal of his bike to park it and immediately started to analyze the scene; quite confused. The traces led him into the warehouse behind the scene, but he didn't have the time to 'investigate' any further. Two men sneaked up on him - the perfect ambush. Before Daryl could even blink, he found himself in a fight again. Two against one - not even remotely fair, but not really a problem for the experienced fighter. Yet.

"They got the kids, Maggie," Daryl panted and breathed hard to get air back into his lungs. His eyes met the ones of his best friend; showing his gratitude. "They got everyone," Carol stated. Daryl's eyes widened to the size of plates as the meaning of his friend's words hit him like a truck. If Pamela's men tried to abduct everyone of the group, it meant... "Y/N..." Daryl gasped. "Fuck. I gotta go. I gotta check on 'em." Carol nodded in understanding. "Go, but be careful, yeah? Don't act headless. I know you." Daryl merely nodded; already halfway disappearing around the corner. Carol looked after him with a worried look. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea to split up.

No, he wasn't going to die. Not today. Not here. Not now. And certainly not because of this asshole.

Help was just around the corner, though. Carol, who apparently had the same thought as him, appeared behind the men and used a slat to hit the prick on the head who was currently choking her best friend. Daryl got quickly up and grabbed his knife - just in time to watch the man he killed take a bite out of his former colleague. It was an easy task to get rid of the threat then; driving his weapon through both men's skulls.

Daryl more or less ran back to the house in which he shared an apartment with you. He hurried up the steps as fast as his legs carried him - only to find the door slightly ajar. His heart thumped hard against his ribcage; almost bursting at the sight. He already feared the worst, but then the signature cries of his baby urged to his ears. Without hesitation, he stormed inside.

The scene he walked into made his blood boil. The apartment was messy; signaling the archer that you had clearly been involved in a fight as well. His eyes frantically searched for you. It didn't take him long to do so... A man had pinned you to the wall beside the sofa and crib. One hand firmly around your throat, the other trying to reach for the tiny girl in the grip; attempting to cover her mouth to keep her cries muffled. Wheezing breaths left your lips as you tried to stay conscious. Your hands wrapped around the man's wrist as he choked you; scratching and pulling. Your legs kicked repeatedly against the shins of the man, but all of it wasn't quite helping. Usually, you had no problem to fight a man - or more. Daryl had taught you very well, but right now you didn't stand a chance. Not after birthing a baby only a few days ago. Your body was still recovering and not strong enough for a fight.

Daryl balled his hands to fists; jaw clenching. The primitive urge to protect his woman and child stronger than ever before. He was about to absolutely lose it and run over to fight the man who hurt his family - but then your eyes flickered up and landed coincidentally on your partner. Out of instinct, your eyes widened and you started to wriggle even more against your opponent's death grip - a mistake. Your understandable but obvious behavior blew Daryl's cover; took him the advantage of going unnoticed away.

The intruder noticed, of course and looked over his shoulder to witness the archer on the verge of storming over. Unfortunately wasn't the man stupid. He let quickly go of you; carelessly, and took a step to the left - towards the crib with his hands hovering about the crying infant inside. "One step closer and the baby dies!" The man yelled, causing Daryl to literally freeze in his movements. The archer threw him a death glare; heart racing in his chest. Fear and anger pumped adrenaline through his whole system.

"Touch 'er 'n I kill ya," Daryl growled through gritted teeth. "Try me," spat the man in return. The tension was thick; cuttable with a knife.

You sat on the floor; body slumped against the wall. Your strength was running so low that you weren't even able to keep yourself on your feet. Especially not after being halfway choked to death. You barely registered the conversation and stare contest between your attacker and partner since your body was too occupied in getting air back inside your lungs. You coughed; breathing hard and unsteady. It broke Daryl's heart to see you like that... In pain and suffering. He wanted to hurry over to you. Help you. Make sure you were okay, but he couldn't risk it. He'd never forgive himself if this innocent, tiny life got hurt because of him.

Your body may have been weak, but your motherly instincts strong. The cries of your baby - cries of helplessness and discomfort sent you into a frenzy. "P-Please, don't, please..." You stammered out; tears gathering in your eyes. "T-That's my baby, p-please!" You were begging the man, while trying to heave your exhausted body closer to the crib. But he didn't have any of it. "Stay where you are! Nobody moves, or...!" He put his hands dangerously close to the tiny girl's neck. Both, you and Daryl knew that it wouldn't take much. She was barely a week old; still so tiny and fragile.

He had unlocked the animal inside of the archer with threatening his baby and its mother, and was now paying the price. With his life.

Daryl's brain worked feverishly to find a way to get both his girls safely out of the situation, while you kept whispering 'Please' over and over again like prayer.

"Whaddaya want?! Where did ya take the others?!" The archer started to indulge the man in a conversation; hoping to distract him enough to get his knife out of its sheath unnoticed. "Freeing the Commonwealth of a plague," the man hissed. Daryl shook his head; hand working subtle and precisely. "Ya didn't answer my question, ya prick. Where are the others?" "I don't know, scum! And I frankly don't ca- Ahhh!" A painful yelp slipped past the man's lips as he was forced to cut off his own sentence. Daryl's plan had been a success. He had freed his knife, took the risk - he had to, and threw said knife which was now plunged in the man's shoulder. It caused him to stumble a few steps back - away from the crib and the newborn inside. That was Daryl's start signal. He lunged forward to literally tackle the intruder to the ground. From that moment on, everything happened so fast. Fists colliding with skin and bones, until they were bloody and went to wrap around the throat. The man underneath Daryl was struggling and desperately trying to shove him off and away from him, but it was no use. Daryl was too strong; too dominant.

His heart clenched.

"Told ya I was gonna kill ya, prick," Daryl growled, pulled his knife out of the man's shoulder to pierce his skull with it instead, before he crawled off of the lifeless body. He quickly wiped his bloodied knuckles on his shirt and lifted himself off the ground to tend to his still crying baby. His fatherly instincts kicking into overdrive.

Daryl approached the crib; hovering over the wooden furniture. The tiny girl inside was wriggling around in her warm confines like crazy. Cheeks stained with tears and red from all the crying.

"Hey, lil' angel, dun cry," he whispered hoarsely yet gently and reached carefully inside to cradle the miniature human in his big hands. "Sh, sh, sh, 's all good. Daddy got ya, sweetpea." He lifted her up to lay her into the crook of his arm to provide some body contact and warmth in an attempt to calm her down. His pointer finger softly traced her cheeks and the small hands which were closed to fists with the even smaller fingers attached.

Once your breathing got even and regular again, one hand reached out to cover Daryl's - which was cupping the newborn's bottom to keep her safely tucked in his arm. You looked up; eyes meeting your partner's - and he knew. He saw the longing in your eyes. The urge. The need to hold your daughter. So, without a word, the archer maneuvered the baby girl cautiously in your arms. She protested at the short loss of warmth with a whine, but once she felt that her mama was close, the world was perfectly alright again. You buried your nose in the baby's tufts of chestnut brown hair; deeply inhaling her scent and pressing your lips repeatedly against the utter softness.

At her father's words, touch and comfort, the little girl calmed down. Her cries got quieter and quieter, until they faded into soft coos.

"S-She okay?" Your broken, shaky voice urged to his ears and he instantly looked up to face you. You were still sitting on the floor; wiping away some stray tears and trying to get a grip and grasp what just happened. Daryl hadn't forgotten about you. Of course not! He just thought it would be best to tend to his crying infant first. He nodded; eyes thoroughly scanning the baby's body again. "All good. She's fine, sunshine." A relieved breath you didn't even know you were holding left your lips.

The archer stepped over and sat down on the floor beside you; back propped against the wall. He opened his arm for you. "C'mere. Gotta make sure my woman is a'right as well." You didn't let yourself tell that twice. You slid closer - into Daryl's awaiting arm and cuddled against his side. His closeness (and your baby) being all you needed right now. He instantly tightened his grip around you; chapped but gentle lips peppering your forehead repeatedly with kisses. "'S okay. 'M here. I got ya," your partner whispered as he tried to offer as much comfort and love as possible. "Ain't lettin' anythin' happen to my family." You were still in a state of shock, so you said nothing at all and just held on to Daryl. Closing your eyes, you relished in his touch and inhaled his natural scent. Leather, smoke, something earthy and musky, and a touch of blood and sweat.

She was okay and safely back in your arms.

Daryl adjusted his position; was now seated behind you. His back against the wall, your back against his chest as you sat between his open legs. Strong arms pulled you protectively closer; tucking you neatly against his front.

"Ya okay, darlin'?" He muttered softly, as his thumbs started to rub soothing circles into the clothed skin of your sides. You nodded. Merely, but you nodded. The shock was the worst - besides the still lingering pain around your neck and throat. Daryl's eyes flickered over every visible body part of yours; making sure. They got stuck on your neck, of course, and saw the bruises forming already. He swallowed. Another wave of rage crushes into him. He was angry. Angry of Pamela for breaking the deal and kidnapping his friends and family. Angry of himself for not being here to help earlier. For letting this happen.

The archer's head dropped to your neck, where he peppered the bruised and hurting skin with gentle kisses. "'M sorry," he whispered. "'M so sorry. Shoulda been 'ere earlier. Then this wouldn't have happened. Fuck, should've never even left from the start..." His voice broke at the end; close to shedding tears.

You had listened to his every word. Your eyes watered as well. You shook your head and freed one hand from the now sleeping newborn in your arms to reach behind and cup Daryl's head; fingers buried in his curls. "It's not your fault, Dar. You couldn't know that this was going to happen..." "Dun care. Shoulda been here. 'S my job to protect the both 'a ya, 'n I failed. I dun even wanna know what would've happened if I didn't..." He trailed off and swallowed hard; unable to finish the sentence. It hurt too much. "Daryl..." You whispered his name and angled your head; lips brushing his stubbly cheek, then his lips. "Stop, baby. What happened happened. You can't change it. But we're alright, okay? We're here. We're alive - and whatever Pamela throws at us... We're gonna make it. We're gonna find the others and make it. Together. Like we always do."

Your heart sunk.

Daryl swallowed once more. You were right. He couldn't change the past, but the future. He swore to himself to protect you even better. And together you were going to make this. Like you always did. Starting over.

His lips searched and found yours; entangling them in a linger kiss filled with love and the promise to keep you and his baby safe - until the very last breath he was going to take on this godforsaken planet. You melted into the kiss. It gave you the strength and confidence you needed. It always did. Daryl was the bright and shining light in this dark world. Always was, and he always would be.

Once you ended the kiss, Daryl started to shift then; gently squeezing your sides to urge you on to stand up as well. "C'mon, sunshine. We should go, 'n find Carol." You nodded and started to move as well; Daryl helping you stand up. After all, you had a cute, tiny creature tucked in your arms... "Carol managed to flee? Thank god..." The archer nodded and grabbed the most necessary backpack you had packed - filled with baby stuff. Diapers, bottles, fresh clothes, blankets and such things. "Yeah, 'm glad too, but I think nobody else beside us made it to escape."

"W-We gotta find them. Help them." Daryl threw the backpack over his shoulder and took the tiny girl from your arms in his so that you were able to slip in your 'outdoor' clothes with your weapons attached. "And we will, sunshine," he promised you and lastly helped you slip inside the baby carrier with one hand. "We'll find each other again. 'S what we do. 'S what we always did. Ain't nothin' in this world is gonna keep us apart for long." Daryl maneuvered the little girl into the carrier. You made sure that she was safely and securely strapped inside; luckily still sleeping. "We're gonna safe 'em and Alexandria."

A surge of hope and confidence swept over you at his words. You took your partner's hand; intertwining your fingers and gave his big hand a squeeze. You nodded, "Let's go." and smiled. Daryl dipped his head to bestow another kiss on your forehead then gave you a small smile in return, before he started to guide you out of the apartment. You had to find Carol, find out where the others had been taken and then get the hell out of this place.

One thing was certain... The archer was done playing games.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @negansbestie @bigbaldheadname @ellasdixon @loz-3 @imadisneyprincessiswear @mayday2007 @huntedmusicgardenn @belitoxx @marvelcasey05 @stitchintimefan @whore4romance @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @cakesandtom @sweetz1919

[muwapsturniolo]

I Miss You ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ C. Sturniolo

“I thought maybe it was easier to step away than to stay and end up resenting you.”

⟢mainly angst, but fluff too.

inspired by one of chris's main hoes @luverboychris.

divider @bernardsbendystraws

You and Chris had been broken up for a year now. It ended mutually—no drama, no harsh words. For a while, you kept in touch, both of you trying to stay cool, calm, and collected. But eventually, like everything else between you, the communication faded.

You drifted apart—quietly, inevitably.

That’s why it was so surprising when your phone started ringing and his name lit up the screen. Chris. You hadn’t heard from him in months. And now he was FaceTiming you?

You hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"

His face appeared on the screen, and your heart gave a traitorous little jump. He looked good. Better than you remembered. A bit of scruff on his jaw, a backwards cap, a black T-shirt, and a chain that caught the light just enough to make your breath hitch.

"Hey, pr—… you busy?" Chris asked, his voice a little hesitant, the almost-slip of your old nickname hanging awkwardly between you.

You caught it. Of course you did.

It sat in your chest, heavy and warm and a little painful.

"Not really," you said softly. "Just on the couch, watching TV. You look like you’re... in a store?"

He nodded, adjusting the camera slightly. "Yeah. I, uh... I need help with something. Skincare."

That made you pause. You tilted your head, half-smirking. "Skincare? You used to groan if I even mentioned a face mask."

The words came out more wistful than teasing, laced with memory. You didn’t mean to reach back like that, but it was already out there, hanging in the air with everything else you never said after the breakup.

Chris let out a breath, not quite a laugh. "Yeah, well... things change."

Your eyes met on the screen. And for a second, it was like time folded in on itself. You were back in your old apartment, him stretched out on the couch, you sitting cross-legged on the floor with a clay mask in one hand and a smile on your face he pretended not to love.

But that was then.

Now, there was distance. Months of silence. And a call you didn’t see coming.

"You gonna help me or what?" he asked, quieter this time, but still with that edge of familiarity—like he already knew your answer.

You spent the next thirty minutes walking Chris through a full skincare routine—asking questions about his skin, explaining the difference between hydrating and exfoliating, recommending a few of your favorite products. Some of them were ones you used yourself, and you hesitated for a moment before saying so. He didn’t react much, but you knew he noticed.

In the background, you heard a voice:

“Do you have a phone number?”

You squinted at the screen, trying to figure out where he was.

“Nah,” Chris replied to the cashier, then added, “But I know someone who does. She’ll be happy to get the points.”

You blinked. “Wait… are you at Ulta?”

He turned the camera toward the store’s bright lighting and pastel shelves. “Yup. I remembered you always got your stuff here.”

That made you pause. Not because it was surprising—Chris had always noticed more than he let on—but because you didn’t expect him to remember that kind of thing. Let alone use it.

Soon after, he was back in his car, bags in the passenger seat, sunlight casting stripes across his dashboard.

“Well,” you said, the call starting to dip toward an ending, “looks like my job is done. I’ll let you—"

“Nah,” he cut in quickly. “Stay on the phone. I don’t know how to use this shit. I still need your help.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Alright.”

The drive back was easy, surprisingly so. You talked about nothing in particular—bad traffic, overpriced serums, a song you both used to play in the car. It felt familiar, but not the same. There was space between you now. And you could feel both of you stepping carefully around it.

Eventually, he got home. The screen jostled as he carried the phone inside, then steadied again when he reached the bathroom. He propped it up against a bottle of cologne, the angle a little off, the lighting a little too bright.

Then he pulled off his shirt.

Your gaze dropped instantly, not fast enough to miss the way his shoulders looked or how the light caught the chain around his neck.

Chris smirked. “Still shy?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you’d be over that by now.”

You shot him a look. “Just... trying to be respectful. We’re not—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

You didn’t have to.

He looked at you for a second longer than necessary, like he was remembering something. Then turned back to the mirror.

“Alright,” he said, voice a little quieter. “What the hell do I do first?”

You spent half an hour walking Chris through the skincare routine, explaining each step while he clumsily followed along. When he finally smeared on the face mask, he glanced at you with an uncertain, almost shy look.

“So then Sam was like—‘Chris, who the hell are you talking to—oh my god, is that’”

Suddenly, the phone jolted as Nick’s face popped into view, grabbing the phone before you could react.

“I’ve missed you so much! Oh my god!”

You blinked, caught off guard, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the interruption.

“Why are you two on the phone? Are you getting back together? Please say yes! I’m so tired of Chris saying he misses you and—”

��Nick! Get the hell out!” Chris snapped, his voice sharper than before. He wrestled the phone away and pushed Nick out, locking the bathroom door behind him.

The screen went quiet.

Chris leaned against the sink, the mask drying on his face. After a moment, he peeled it off slowly, jaw tight, avoiding your eyes.

Then, in a low voice, he asked, “So… what’s next?”

You hesitated, the silence stretching between you—awkward, charged, and full of unspoken things.

You decide not to bring up what Nick said. You’re afraid if you do, Chris might hang up, and you’d both slip back into strangers.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed him until now.

You help him finish the routine, watching as he studies his reflection in the mirror.

“Damn,” he says quietly. “You were right. This skincare… it actually makes me look… clean.”

You chuckle softly, shifting on the couch. “I told you so. But you didn’t want to listen.”

He laughs, but there’s a pause, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. He looks down, scratching the scruff on his chin.

“Yeah… you were right about a lot of things. And I didn’t listen. Maybe I wasn’t ready to.”

His gaze meets yours, quieter now, carrying the weight of things left unsaid.

A quiet silence falls between you, heavy with memories neither of you wants to voice aloud. Both of you linger in that fragile space, thinking about what once was.

“Nick was right, you know… I miss you. A lot,” Chris’s voice breaks slightly. “I was stupid to let you go. I know it was mutual, but I should’ve fought for you instead of just walking away.”

“Chr—no, just, please—let me finish,” he interrupts himself, voice uneven.

You nod softly, even though he can’t see you, giving him the space to open up.

“I didn’t need this stupid skincare,” he admits quietly, “but I needed a reason to call you. To hear your voice. I just… I miss you. And damn, I wish you were here.”

He stays silent, not meeting the phone, the weight of what he’s said hanging between you.

You take a deep breath, your voice catching slightly as you try to get the words out.

“When we broke up, we both said the feelings had faded... but that wasn’t true. My feelings didn’t go away. I just felt... I don’t know, kind of neglected. Not because you didn’t care—your career was taking off, and it should have. It’s just… I guess somewhere along the way, I felt like I was becoming an afterthought.”

You pause, swallowing hard.

“I thought maybe it was easier to step away than to stay and end up resenting you.”

“Fuck… I’m sorry,” Chris admits, his voice rough, throat tightening as he finally says what’s been unsaid for so long. “You’re not wrong about… you becoming an afterthought.”

He swallows hard. “I didn’t mean to neglect you. I swear on my life, it wasn’t on purpose. There was so much going on… and that’s not an excuse, but it just got hard to juggle everything."

“I saw how much it was hurting you,” Chris says quietly, his voice thick with regret. “How you’d put on that brave face every time I flaked on a date… again and again. And eventually, you just stopped asking. You shouldn’t have to ask your boyfriend to go on dates.”

He exhales slowly, the weight of his words hanging between you.

“So when you came over that day and said we needed to talk… I didn’t fight it. Didn’t even try to make it harder, because it wouldn’t have been fair to you,” Chris says, voice thick with regret. “You put up with so much from me—more than you should’ve—and honestly, princess, letting you go? That hurt like hell. I just wish I’d done things differently.”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, something shifted between you. There was an odd relief in finally laying everything out—the regrets, the hurts, the unsaid words.

It wasn’t neat or perfect. It was raw and messy, like picking at a scab that still stung. But somehow, hearing each other’s voices, sharing this moment, gave you both a small, fragile sense of closure.

You felt the tightness in your chest ease just a little. The knot of silence that had settled between you for months loosened, and in its place was something quieter—something like understanding.

For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like you were just drifting apart. It felt like you were finally… connecting.

After a long silence, both of you break at the same time.

“I miss you.”

You laugh softly, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you hear him do the same. For a moment, the weight of everything between you feels a little lighter.

Your eyes flick to the corner of your phone — 8:10 p.m.

With a hesitant breath, you finally say, “Did… did you want to come over? I can throw a pizza in the oven or something.”

Your heart races, tight in your chest, as you wait for his answer.

There’s a pause, then a small, almost shy nod.

“Yeah… yeah, that sounds good.”

The call ends, and both of you sit quietly for a moment, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

There’s a flutter of nervousness in your chest—anxiety about what’s next—but beneath it all, there’s something else.

A spark of joy.

Excitement.

For the first time in a long time, the possibility of something new — or maybe something old, reborn — feels real.

And that feeling alone is enough to keep your heart beating a little faster.

[nekonaps0]

You are NAUGHTY!! Pt1

✦part2

✦ characters: third years

✦ gn!reader

✦ dirty jokes

✦ their partner suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

Trey Clover

“Trey, your hands are always so steady when you’re baking… I bet they’d be just as good at frosting something a little more... sinful.”

Trey pauses mid-stir.

He slowly turns to you, lifts an eyebrow, and smiles… that calm, confident smile that betrays a whole lot of fluster he’s pushing down like a champ.

“Now… you know I’m sweet, not sinful… Unless you’re asking for a special recipe?”

He acts smooth, but his ears are a little red, and he starts avoiding eye contact as he stirs too quickly. If you catch him off guard again?

“You’re really playing with fire, sugar. Don’t be surprised if I bake you into something irresistible.”

Cater Diamond

“Cater, you’re always taking pics of your food… wanna snap one of me with just the whipped cream next time?”

He screams. Actually.

“OMG, bae!! You can’t just say stuff like that out loud… I mean, you can, but I might melt~!”

His phone is nearly dropped. He fans himself with his phone, bites his lip in mock-shock, then gets way too close.

“So when’s this whipped cream shoot happening? I gotta prep my lighting. And my appetite~”

You just turned this flirt-war into a full-on event. He's now plotting outfits and hashtags like:

#TooHotToPost #BlessedAndUndressed.

Leona Kingscholar

“You know Leona, if you keep growling like that, I’m gonna start thinking you want me under you for real.”

Leona stops. Smirks. Stretches lazily like a big cat about to ruin your life.

“Tch. You really wanna play that game, herbivore?”

He’s unfazed—in fact, he’s pleased. He loves a partner who’s bold and flirty, especially if it gets under his skin just enough to spark a reaction.

He’ll lean in close, voice low and teasing:

“Careful now… jokes like that’ll land you in a position you can’t handle.”

You’ve awakened the predator.

Congratulations.

Vil Schoenheit

“Vil, if you keep ordering me around like that, I’m going to start confusing your instructions with dirty talk.”

Pin-drop silence.

Vil looks at you like you just slapped him across the cheek and called him beautiful… Which you kind of did.

Then he slowly smiles like a cat that’s just noticed a helpless mouse.

“Is that so? Well, darling… perhaps next time, I’ll make the difference clearer. Shall I demonstrate?”

He lives for a well-timed, well-structured innuendo. You impressed him. And now he’s inspired.

Careful what doors you open with this man.

Rook Hunt

“Rook, I must be your next hunt… 'cause I can feel you stalking my thoughts—especially when I’m alone in bed.”

He gasps like you just confessed undying love and slapped him with a silk glove.

“Mon dieu! Ma chère, you wound me with your words… and thrill me all the same!”

He clutches his heart, swoons into a chair, and then grins like the predator he is.

“Such a delicious line, dripping with wickedness! Shall I pursue you now, or wait until the moonlight bathes us in temptation?”

You’ve turned the poet into a freak, and he is so here for it.

Malleus Draconia

“Malleus, you’re so tall. I bet even your horns are compensating for something~”

Malleus stares. Blinks. Tilts his head.

“...I was unaware you believed my horns served… compensatory functions. Should I… correct that misunderstanding?”

He’s 100% confused at first, not because he’s innocent, but because your innuendo feels like riddles to him.

But once he gets it, once Lilia or someone explain it later, perhaps?

Oh, he remembers it.

The next time you flirt?

“You’ve been teasing me my dear. Perhaps I ought to show you that dragons need not compensate for anything.”

And he’ll say it with that calm, deep voice and a tilt of his head that promises danger.

Lilia Vanrouge

“Lilia, you might look small, but something tells me you could absolutely wreck me if you wanted to.”

He chuckles. Like full-blown villain laugh.

“Oh ho~! My, my~ What a bold darling you are tonight!”

He floats toward you, arms behind his back, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Is that a request? Or are you simply hoping I take the hint?”

You’ve just turned on flirt-mode Lilia, and he’s dangerous. Expect teasing, whispering, and no personal space for hours.

“Now, let’s see just how wreckable you are, hmm~?”

Idia Shroud

“Hey Idia~ Wanna roleplay? I’ll be the innocent maiden and you can ‘hack’ your way into my firewall”

Idia dies.

Straight up collapses onto the floor, hood over his face, glowing like a neon strawberry.

“Wh—Whaaaaa—?! THAT’S—THAT’S NOT A DIALOGUE OPTION IN REAL LIFE!!”

He short-circuits. His hair flares pink. He makes incomprehensible noises.

The idea that you, his amazing, goddess-tier s/o, are flirting like this??

It sends him spiraling. In a good way.

Mostly.

Later, in private, he’ll try to flirt back:

“H-Heh… you keep this up and I’ll… uhh… overheat and crash, probably…”

He's trying, okay? Reward him with kisses.

..............................................................................................................................

Hehehe~ I’m back ✨

[hannahsturniolo]

ᴄʜʀɪs ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴅᴄᴀsᴛ

Summary: chris goes on the Zach Sang show to talk about his relationship with you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chris was finally ready to open up about your relationship on the Zach Sang podcast. He was nervous, sure. But more than that, he was excited. He wanted to show you off, to let the world know about the woman who had completely stolen his heart. He talked about you with nothing but admiration in his voice, calling you beautiful, kind, and the best thing that’s happened to him.

You were nervous too. You knew how fan girls could be, and the internet didn’t always play fair. But still, after three months of being together, Chris saw you as so much more than just a girlfriend. In his eyes, you were his future wife. And deep down, he knew it was time to share a little piece of his happiness with the world.

Before the cameras started rolling, Chris sat in the podcast studio with Zach, fidgeting slightly as he admitted he wanted to bring up his girlfriend, he wanted to talk about you. but he wasn’t sure how to ease it into the conversation. He didn’t want it to feel forced. Zach smiled and told him not to worry. He said he’d kick it off by casually asking how Chris’s love life was going, and that would be Chris’s moment to open up about you.

The podcast kicked off with light chatter about Chris’s career, his recent projects, what was next for the triplets, and their upcoming tour. The energy was upbeat and casual. Then, with a knowing smile, Zach shifted gears and asked, “So, how’s the love life going? Have you been dating around?”

Chris’s face lit up instantly, a grin spreading across his face. “Actually, yeah,” he said, his voice full of quiet pride. “I’ve been dating one really special girl for the past three months.”

Zach leaned in, curiosity peeked. “So, who’s this special girl?” he asked with a grin.

Chris smiled even wider and said, “Her name’s Y/N.” He explained that some fans had already started speculating after the two of you were spotted walking together in downtown LA. Since you were an influencer too, people quickly connected the dots and recognized who he was talking about.

Zach asked how the two of you met, and Chris didn’t hesitate, “We met through social media,” he said. “And honestly, we clicked right away. We spent hours on the phone, just talking and getting to know each other. Like, hours and hours. It felt effortless.”

He went on to say that you eventually flew out to LA so you could meet in person, and that’s when everything changed. “We pretty much fell in love,” Chris said, a soft look in his eyes that said it all.

Chris’s expression softened as he talked about you.

“She’s just, everything,” he said, shaking his head with a small laugh, like he still couldn’t believe his luck. “She’s smart, hilarious, insanely beautiful , but it’s more than that. She makes me feel calm. Like I can fully be myself around her.”

He went on, his tone full of admiration. “She’s got this big heart, heart of gold like, she genuinely cares about people. Whether it’s her followers or her friends, she always goes out of her way to lift people up. And the way she supports me? I’ve never had that before. She’s my safe place.”

Zach smiled, clearly moved. “Damn, man, you sound very happy.”

Chris just grinned, eyes lighting up. “I am. I really am.”

Zach leaned back in his seat, thoughtful for a moment before saying, “You’ve talked before about being scared of relationships, about how dating always kind of freaked you out. So, what made her different?”

Chris paused for a second, his smile softening. You could tell he was thinking carefully. “Honestly,” he began, “I was scared. I’ve been through stuff, trust issues, pressure, not knowing if people were with me for the right reasons. I always felt like I had to keep my guard up.”

“But with her,” he continued, “it just felt different. There was no pressure. No games. From the first conversation, it was easy. She made me feel safe. Like I didn’t have to perform or pretend. She saw me,the real me, and didn’t run from it. She embraced it.”

Zach smiled and leaned in again. “What’s been your favorite memory with Y/N so far?”

Chris’s eyes lit up as the memory came back to him. “Oh man, there’s a lot, but one that always sticks out was the first night she came to LA.” He laughed a little to himself. “We were supposed to go out to dinner, but we ended up just staying in, ordering way too much takeout, and sitting on the floor of my apartment eating and talking for hours. Like, until 3 a.m.”

He smiled to himself, clearly replaying the moment. “At one point, she fell asleep on my chest mid, conversation, and I just remember thinking, yeah. This is it. I’m in trouble.”

Zach grinned. “That sounds like something out of a rom com.”

Chris shrugged, still smiling. “It felt like one.”

Zach smirked a little, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Okay, what’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for Y/N so far?”

Chris laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. “I’m not usually the over the top romantic type, but, there was this one night.”

He smiled to himself as he recalled it. “She mentioned once that she always wanted to have a picnic under the stars, like, just something simple but meaningful. So one weekend, I surprised her. I took her up to this quiet little spot in the hills outside of LA. I brought a blanket, all her favorite snacks, her favorite wine, even brought a little speaker to play her comfort songs.”

He paused, eyes soft. “We laid there for hours just talking and looking up at the stars. I remember she looked over at me and said, “This doesn’t even feel real”. That moment, it kind of locked it in for me.”

Zach let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re setting the bar high.”

Chris laughed, “She deserves it.”

Zach tilted his head, getting a little more serious. “How do you navigate being in a relationship while juggling your career, and the fact that your girlfriend’s just as busy with hers?”

Chris nodded, like he had expected that question. “It’s definitely not always easy,” he admitted. “We’re both constantly on the go, whether it’s filming, traveling, meetings, content deadlines. But we make it work because we both want to.”

He explained, “We’ve made communication a huge priority. We FaceTime every night, even if it’s just for ten minutes while one of us is half, asleep. We send little updates throughout the day, voice notes, random pictures, just stuff to feel connected. It’s those small things that matter.”

Chris smiled. “We also plan ahead. If we know there’s a free weekend coming up, we block it off and make sure it’s for us. Even if we just chill on the couch and do nothing, we enjoy that time. And we’re always cheering each other on, even from a distance.”

Zach nodded, clearly impressed. “Sounds like you’ve got a really solid foundation.”

Chris looked down, smiling softly. “Yeah. She’s worth the effort every time.”

Zach leaned in just a little, the question more personal now. “Are you nervous about how fans are going to react to you dating Y/N? Like, are you worried about how they’ll treat her?”

Chris took a deep breath and nodded honestly. “Yeah, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I know how passionate fans can be, and I get it. But at the same time, Y/N is someone really special to me. She didn’t ask for the opinions that come with it, she just happened to fall in love with someone whose fan base is mostly women.”

He smiled softly. “What I hope people see is how happy she makes me. And how genuine she is. She’s not with me for attention or clout, she’s got her own thing going, and she’s incredible at it. She supports me in ways I never expected, and I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”

Chris glanced toward the camera and added, “I just hope that the people who support me will support her too, because she’s become such a big part of my life. And I love her. Simple as that.”

Zach asked, “Are you planning to post anything on your socials before the podcast goes live? You know, because some fans might miss the episode.”

Chris laughed and nodded. “Yeah, definitely. On the day the podcast drops, I’ll probably share a cute picture of us, something that shows how happy she makes me. Maybe a snap from one of our walks in LA or just a candid moment where she’s laughing. I want my fans to get a little glimpse of what she means to me, even if they don’t catch the whole interview right away.”

He smiled, eyes lighting up. “It feels right to share that part of my life with them. She’s a big deal to me, and I want everyone to know it.”

Zach grinned and leaned in with playful curiosity. “Okay, before we move on, I gotta ask one more thing. First kiss. When was it? How’d it happen?”

Chris laughed, shaking his head like he wasn’t expecting the question but secretly loved it. “Man, the day after she flew to LA, We’d spent the whole evening just hanging out, talking nonstop like we always do. There was this moment, she was sitting across from me, wrapped in a hoodie, hair a little messy from the plane, and I remember thinking, God, I’m so gone for this girl.”

He smiled at the memory. “She got quiet for a second and just looked at me with those eyes, and I couldn’t help it. I leaned in, and she met me halfway. It wasn’t planned or dramatic, it was just soft, and slow, and it felt like something that had been building for a while. Like a sigh of relief.”

Zach let out a quiet, “Awww,” and Chris just chuckled. “Yeah. It was one of those moments you don’t forget.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @mattssidepiece @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274 @briizysturn @sturniolooluvv @kenziesturniolo54 @d0llworld @kalel2005 @yourfavejules @rheaasturn @babyt0matoes

[demie90s]

One Chance - 2

Olivia Miles x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE | Part 1

Summary: You're a problem. Olivia's problem. At least that what she tells herself.

Warnings: MAD CUTE Strong language, teasing, emotional confusion, slow-burn kiss

Genre: Friends to lovers, emotional tension, flirtatious chaos Warnings: Strong language, teasing, emotional confusion, slow-burn kiss

Word Count: ~ 4.2k

Olivia stayed live for another five minutes.

And for that entire five minutes, I sat there in the mall food court with her in my lap, hand still under her hoodie, thumb rubbing slow on her stomach like this was our anniversary picnic and not just a random Saturday afternoon.

She tried to keep talking to her chat—tried to act like I wasn’t still holding her like a baby mama who just posted a TikTok with the “That’s mine.” audio—but her voice kept hitching every time I adjusted beneath her. I wasn’t even doing anything wild. Just… existing. Touching. Breathing. Being too damn close.

Her jaw was tight. Phone low in her hand. And I knew she could feel me smiling against her shoulder.

Eventually she sighed, long and defeated, and muttered, “Aight. I’m finna hop off.”

The comments blew up before she even clicked off.

“she leaving cause the touchy wife back at it again”

“it’s that stomach rub LMFAOOO she folding”

“bless this lesbian household”

The live cut off. And still, she didn’t get up.

She just sat there in my lap for a second longer, breathing quiet, body soft and still. I didn’t say anything. I just kissed the back of her shoulder real light, then gave her a little tap on the thigh.

“Ready?” I asked, like we were married and about to go buy curtains.

She groaned. “Why do you talk to me like we married?”

“Cause you don’t correct me.”

Once we were back on our feet, the team had split up even more. Some girls were across the mall by the shoe section, others still eating or taking mirror selfies by the escalators. Olivia started walking toward the stores again like she had a purpose.

I was on full bullshit mode. She was mid-scroll on her phone when I caught up behind her, arms wide, eyes lit up like I was in a damn TikTok skit.

“Baaaaby,” I called, voice goofy and dramatic, drawing out the vowels.

She flinched, already annoyed. “No.”

I ignored her and wrapped my arms around her from behind in the exact broke boyfriend stance. Chin on her shoulder, arms under her arms, gripping her around the stomach like she just bought me McDonald’s and I was trying to stay in the apartment.

“Why you walkin’ so fast?” I mumbled into her hoodie. “You tryna leave me?”

She sighed so loud a woman at the next kiosk looked up. “Girl,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Get. Off.”

I obeyed. Let go, stepped back dramatically like she just stabbed me in the chest. “Damn,” I said, clutching my heart. “That’s how you treat your man in public?”

“I don’t have a man”

“You don’t got me?”

She turned and gave me a look. One of those half-lidded stares like she didn’t know whether to slap me or admit I was right. So I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Quick. Soft. Nothing crazy.

And then I was back at her side, trailing just a step behind like a bad kid in a grocery store who kept knocking stuff over and pretending it wasn’t me.

She didn’t tell me to leave again.

We made it to a store with hoodies and sweatpants and that weird unisex streetwear section that all mall stores have. Olivia started flipping through the racks, real focused, real calm, fingers brushing over tags like she actually needed new clothes. I followed right behind her, pretending to look, but mostly just watching her.

She had her hood halfway up, sleeves tugged low over her knuckles, and still looked like somebody who didn’t need anyone. But that’s exactly why I liked her.

She didn’t need me. But she let me stick around anyway.

I came up behind her again—this time slower, quieter. Slid my arms around her waist from behind, just like before, but smoother now. Natural. My hands disappeared under her hoodie again, palms flat against her stomach, thumbs pressing gently against the curve just above her waistband.

It wasn’t a thing. It just was. Olivia didn’t move. Didn’t push me off.

She just glanced down at my hands, then at the hoodie she was holding, then kept flipping through like this was normal.

“Wanna try it on?” I asked, chin resting on her shoulder again. “I’ll buy it.”

“I can buy my own clothes,” she muttered, shifting slightly against me.

“I know you can,” I said, smiling. “But I want to.”

She paused for a second. “Why?”

I shrugged against her. “Cause I like seeing you in shit I paid for. Makes me feel special.”

She shook her head, but it wasn’t in annoyance this time. She was hiding a smile.

“I been like this for two years, Liv,” I whispered, still close. “You just now noticing?”

She didn’t answer. But she leaned back into me. Just a little. And I knew what that meant.

I was already sitting outside the fitting rooms like somebody’s boyfriend with too much time and not enough shame.

Legs spread. Elbows on my knees. Slurping the last bit of smoothie from my cup with a straw bent like I stole it from a movie theater. I looked like I was waiting for my wife to come out so I could take her to dinner. And in my head? I was.

Olivia had finally let me buy her something. A black zip-up hoodie with this clean white detail down the arms and matching sweats. I didn’t even blink at the price. Told her “go try it on, baby” and smacked her ass in spirit as she walked away. She didn’t look back, but she definitely heard me call her “baby.”

So now I was outside the fitting room, alone, waiting. And I was plotting.

Because I knew she’d look good. I knew it. Olivia could put on a trash bag and still look like somebody’s fine ex who ruined their life in high school. But this? This was about presentation. She was mine—spiritually—and I needed the world to know.

When the curtain finally moved and she stepped out?

It was over for me.

She had the hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up, sweatpants sitting just right on her hips. Her edges were laid, her chain was catching the light, and her expression was that usual half-annoyed squint like she couldn’t believe she was humoring me.

I lost it.

“OOOOHHHHHHH!!!” I hollered, shooting up from my chair so hard it slid back.

People turned. Shoppers paused. A mom by the jeans section glanced over like she was about to cover her child’s eyes. I didn’t give a single damn.

“Y’ALL LOOK AT MY BABY!” I called out, arms wide, hype level 9000. “LOOK AT HER! OUUUU!!”

Olivia’s mouth fell open in horror. “Stop.”

“NO, NO, NO. Don’t cover your face, girl, LET THEM SEE! SHE’S A BLESSING!”

She grabbed my arm, hissing through her teeth. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m proud,” I said, voice still booming. “Turn around, lemme see the back. LEMME SEE THE BACK.”

She yanked me inside the fitting room area so fast I nearly tripped over my own damn shoes. The curtain closed behind us and she backed me into the wall, both hands gripping my shoulders like she was holding me hostage.

“You are so embarrassing.”

“You are so fine.”

“People were staring.”

“I hope they took notes,” I said, unbothered. “They just witnessed greatness.”

She glared at me. Close. Real close. Her cheeks were pink. Her hoodie looked good.

I smirked. “You blushing?”

“No.”

“Then why you matching the fitting room wall?”

She groaned and pressed her forehead to my chest for one second. Just one. Like she needed to reset. And I didn’t say anything. I just wrapped my arms around her back and hummed into her hair like I’d been doing this for years.

“You staying in it?” I asked softly. She didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah. I like it.”

“You want the receipt in your name or mine?”

She pulled back just enough to look up at me. “Yours.”

I nodded, satisfied. “Yeah. Thought so.”

The ride back to the hotel was calm. Music low. Sky getting darker, blue melting into soft orange like the day was winding down just for us.

I was driving, one hand on the wheel, hoodie sleeves rolled halfway up, nails tapping against the steering column every time the beat dropped. Olivia was in the passenger seat, stretched out, arms crossed, head leaned slightly toward the window like she wasn’t tired—just thinking. She always got like that when the sun started to fade. Quiet. Still.

We didn’t talk for the first ten minutes. Didn’t have to.

I’d been doing the most all day. Teasing. Touching. Smiling like I was in love with her—which, let’s be real, I was. Had been. Ever since she looked me dead in my face two years ago and told me I was “too loud” for her taste. Like I wasn’t exactly what she needed.

I licked my lips, glancing over at her profile. Her hoodie was zipped up halfway now, the one I bought her, and the chain around her neck caught just a little bit of light from the streetlamps outside. She looked good. She always did. But tonight, she looked… soft.

Like she didn’t wanna fight no more. So I cleared my throat, real casual, eyes still on the road.

“…You ever gon’ say yes?”

She looked over, slow. “To what?”

“To me.” The silence in the car shifted. Like the air changed shape.

“I mean,” I went on, voice still low, like I hadn’t just said the most important shit all week, “I like you. But that ain’t new.” Olivia didn’t say anything. Not right away.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “I know I play a lot. Joke around. But I’m not fake about how I feel. Never been.”

Still nothing. I glanced over again. She was looking straight ahead now. Eyes locked on the road. Jaw tight. But not mad. Just… thinking. Fighting something.

“I be all over you ‘cause I wanna be,” I said, softer. “Not just ‘cause it’s funny.”

She let out a breath through her nose. “You asking me out while you driving?”

“Is that a bad time?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just… you act like we already together.”

“Cause in my head, we been together since you let me fall asleep on your lap Junior year and didn’t push me off.”

She cracked a smile. Barely. I smiled too, eyes flicking between the road and her face.

“I just want to hear you say it,” I added. “You already let me act like your girl. Let me hold you, spoil you, flirt with you in front of everybody. You don’t stop me.”

“I don’t stop you,” she repeated quietly.

“You don’t want to stop me.”

She didn’t answer that. But she reached over and turned the volume down on the music. Then she looked at me. And for the first time in a minute, she wasn’t annoyed. She wasn’t playing it off. She was just… there. Real.

“I don’t know how to say yes to you when you never ask normal.”

I nodded once, letting it sit. Then I pulled up to the hotel parking lot, cut the engine, and turned to her completely.

“Aight,” I said, eyes locked on hers. “So I’m asking normal.”

“You are?”

I licked my lips. “Yeah.” Beat.

“You mine?” She looked at me for a long time. Then she nodded.

“Yeah.” Just like that. I just reached for her hand and held it. She let me.

By the time we got back to the room, the vibe had shifted just a little.

Not much. I was still me—loud, annoying, touchy. But there was something different in the way I leaned against the bathroom door while she did her night routine. The way I watched her move. The way I kept smiling to myself like I had a secret.

Because now? She said yes. And I hadn’t shut up since.

She was at the sink, hoodie off, tank top clinging to her back, her little travel toiletry kit lined up with military precision on the edge of the counter. Toothbrush in her mouth, head slightly bobbing to the soft music I had playing off my phone.

Meanwhile, I was in the middle of the room getting down.

I was talking full “Back in my day” energy—knees bent, back hunched, hips swinging. I had my socks pulled up, my shirt rolled a little at the waist, moving like I was about to cook ribs on a homemade grill made from a shopping cart.

“You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this here!” I said, shoulders jerking, doing a full two-step in the middle of the hotel carpet. Olivia spit her toothpaste out mid-eye roll.

“You are so embarrassing,” she mumbled through her laugh.

“You lucky I don’t got no damn cane,” I replied, spinning into a half-body twerk with my back to her. “’Cause I’d be jittin’ all around this damn room. Get me some church socks and a Bluetooth speaker and it’s over.”

She wiped her mouth with a towel, completely unbothered, like she hadn’t just agreed to be my girl thirty minutes ago.

I kept going. “Lissen here now, youngblood,” I said, switching my voice to old-man smooth, knees still popping. “When you get you a fine lil lady like this one—don’t play wit it! Hold her! Pay her bills! Rub her back like you got arthritis!”

Olivia walked straight past me like I was invisible. Didn’t say a word. So naturally, I followed.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out her lotion like this was routine. Like I hadn’t been doing a private family cookout concert.

I dropped to the floor in front of her, slid between her knees like I was about to propose, and started rubbing her shins.

She blinked down at me, all dry and blank-faced. “What are you doing now?”

“Caring for my wife,” I said, real soft. “She works hard. She got pretty knees. She needs pampering.”

She laughed into her hand and shook her head. “You are so dumb.”

“And yet,” I said, climbing up to my knees and kissing her leg, “you said yes.”

She just stared at me. Didn’t say anything. But the corners of her mouth betrayed her. That slow, reluctant smirk. That gleam in her eyes she tried to keep under wraps. That little hum in her throat like I was her peace even when I was chaos.

She stood up and walked over to the mirror, picking up her scarf to tie down her hair. I followed. Of course I followed.

Wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, slid my hands right under her shirt again, resting flat against her stomach. No hesitation. No asking. Like I always did.

Except now?Now she leaned back into it.Head tilted against mine. Arms resting over mine like she’d been waiting too.

We stood there a second. Just breathing. Then I mumbled into her ear, “You know you lucky I ain’t bring my Bluetooth speaker.” She groaned. I started swaying again—slow, deep, full-body soul movement.

She covered her face with one hand and whispered, “Lord, what did I sign up for.”

I kissed her temple and grinned. “Forever.”

Lights were off. Hotel room quiet. Phones on chargers. Teeth brushed. Liv was already leaning against the headboard, pillow behind her back, legs stretched out under the blanket like she was winding down for real.

I was laying across the bed sideways, legs dangling off the side, talking my ass off like I’d just discovered I had vocal cords.

“You don’t even know,” I said for the fifteenth time, voice loud in the dark, hands moving like I was preaching. “Like girl. GIRL. I was down bad for you. I’m talkin’ praying-on-the-low bad. I used to go to the locker room like ‘Lord, give me strength. Don’t let me embarrass myself today.’”

Liv exhaled through her nose. Didn’t even open her eyes.

“You still embarrassing yourself,” she muttered.

“And yet you mine now,” I shot back, grinning.

She just shook her head. Didn’t deny it though.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, arms spread wide like I was catching Holy Ghost. “I mean, you so fine… I was this close to fainting everyday. Like girl, woo—you’d walk past with them long ass legs and that lil frown on your face and I’d be like, ‘Yup. That’s my wife. She just don’t know yet.’”

She snorted. Quiet. But I caught it.

“And don’t get me started on that attitude,” I added, leaning up onto my elbows like it was getting good now. “Oh my Goddd. That little ‘don’t touch me’ thing? That mean mug? That ‘why you always talkin’?’ vibe you give off? Baby. That was my fuel. That kept me going.”

She finally cracked one eye open and turned her head toward me.

“You done?”

I grinned. “Not even close.”

She groaned and slid down into the bed, turning onto her side, pulling the blanket higher like she could hide from me.

“Go to sleep,” she mumbled.

“…Can I at least kiss you?”

She froze. Just a second. Barely long enough to catch.

“What?”

I sat up slow, voice real sweet now. “I said… can I kiss you, girl? I been waiting.” She rolled over to face me, squinting like I had just asked to borrow her social security number.

“Now?” she asked, suspicious.

But before she could blink again, I was already there.

Leaning in. Real smooth. Eyes half-lidded, lips barely parted. I caught her lips before she could finish her breath. Slow. Soft. Nothing wild—just… full. The kind of kiss that holds every joke and every feeling and every “I told you I’d wait.”

Her hand came up and gripped my hoodie lightly, like she didn’t mean to. Like her body said yes before she did.

And right when it started to feel like something, I ruined it.

“Mhm… mhm…” I whispered into her mouth, eyes still closed. “Girl the things you got me thinking…”

“You ruined it.”She pulled back with a groan, eyes rolling.

“No, I spiced it,” I said, grinning wide as hell.

“Get in the bed,” she muttered, turning over again, pulling the blanket up to her nose like she was done with me.

I climbed in right behind her, no hesitation. Threw my arm around her waist, my leg over hers, buried my face in the back of her neck like it was my damn pillow.

“I ain’t never lettin’ go,” I mumbled.

“You don’t shut up,” she whispered back, voice low but not angry.

I kissed the shell of her ear, real soft.

“I love you though.” She didn’t respond. Just reached down and pulled my hand tighter around her belly. And we fell asleep just like that.

The tunnel was buzzing with game energy—squeaks of sneakers, coaches barking instructions, the faint echo of hype music from the arena. I was pacing slow, bouncing my ball, hoodie half-zipped, focused but chill. Trying to lock in. Trying to act like today was just another game and not my first official game with Olivia as my girl.

She was standing off to the side, hoodie on, headphones around her neck, doing that thing where she rubs her wrist with her thumb while thinking. She looked so calm. Like she always did before the chaos.

I walked over, gave her a little bump with my shoulder. “You ready, baby?”

She looked at me, slow. “You ready?”

“Been ready since you said yes.” She just smiled. Barely. Then—without warning—she leaned in and kissed me. Real quick. Real soft. Right on the lips. I gasped so loud the trainer turned around.

My knees buckled. My back hit the wall behind me. I slid down the concrete like a 1950s jazz widow, hand over my chest like she shot me. “OH my God.” She just looked down at me, shaking her head.

Coach walked past, barely blinking. “At least y’all getting along now. Miles, don’t break her.”

The whole squad was cracking up. I was still on the floor. Palm to my forehead. “Y’all she kissed me… like with her mouth.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Liv muttered, walking off toward the court.

⸻

We won. Blew ‘em out by 18.

Olivia dropped 16 and 7. I hit three threes in the third quarter alone. And I swear every time she subbed out and sat on the bench, she looked at me like yeah, that’s mine now. She never said it. But I felt it.

Postgame locker room was loud. Everybody hyped. Music playing. Coach already out. I was bouncing around in my slides, talking trash, hugging teammates, hair wild.

And then I spotted her. Across the room. Calm as always, unwrapping tape from her wrists, jersey halfway off. Skin glowing. Eyes half-lidded. My girl.

So I walked right over. Grabbed her face with both hands. And kissed her. Full. Mouth open. Right there.

She flinched, but didn’t pull away. Just grabbed my waist like she had to hold me up. Which she did—because the second our lips broke, I collapsed again.

Back to the damn floor. Sliding down the lockers like someone unplugged my spirit.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, fanning myself. “This is my villain origin story. I’m ruined.”

The team lost it. Screaming. Wheezing. Phones out.

“MILES got her in a chokehold,” someone shouted.

“Yo they’re so unserious,” another laughed. “You good, bro?!”

Olivia just stood over me, one hand on her hip, the other holding her water bottle like she was so done.

“Alright now,” she said, deadpan. “You got your kiss. Get up.”

I reached for her hand. “I need emotional support.”

“You need a nap.”

She pulled me up anyway. And didn’t let go.

The hotel room was warm, quiet, and still humming with the soft leftover energy of a perfect day.

We’d won. Played our hearts out. I dropped buckets, Liv did what she always does—control the court like it was hers and make the whole game look easy. We came back to the hotel, showered, ate, didn’t even bother with music or phones. Just us now. Clean, tired, glowing. Full of the kind of joy that doesn’t even make noise.

Liv was already in bed when I came out the bathroom. Sitting up against the headboard in a dark hoodie and shorts, bonnet on, legs stretched under the blanket, scrolling slow on her phone like her day hadn’t just been insane.

I stood there for a second, looking at her from across the room. That was mine.

The realization hit me again like it always did—soft, dizzy, heavy in the chest. Olivia Miles, with her smart mouth and long lashes and shoulders that made hoodies look sinful, was mine now.

I padded over in fuzzy socks, climbed onto the bed like it was a jungle gym, and flopped across her lap before she could say a word.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, locking her phone and catching me mid-fall.

“I missed you,” I whispered into her stomach.

“You were literally gone for five minutes.”

“Felt like years,” I groaned dramatically, face buried into the fabric of her hoodie. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“You’re so—”

“In love?” I looked up at her with full, sparkly eyes. “I know. It’s exhausting.”

She exhaled, head falling back against the wall. But she was smiling.

I climbed higher into her lap like a climbing vine, legs straddling hers, arms thrown dramatically around her neck, chest to chest now. I kissed her cheek once. Then again. Then her jaw. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her nose.

“Stop,” she muttered, but her hands were already on my hips, grounding me. I kissed her mouth for real. She melted just a little.

“You’re gonna suffocate me,” she whispered against my lips.

“You’re gonna like it.”

She shook her head, laughing quietly. “Oh Lord.”

I kissed her again before she could say more. A slow, playful one—mouth barely open, lips pressed just long enough to make her sigh again.

“This weekend’s been perfect,” I said softly, kissing the corner of her mouth again. “Like… stupid perfect. You don’t even know how down bad I am right now.”

“You don’t say,” she deadpanned, tilting her head as I kissed her collarbone through the hoodie.

“I love you like… like women love wine and warm socks and movies where the dog doesn’t die. I’m talking deep.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

I pulled back, cupped her cheeks with both hands like she was the last warm thing in the world. “I’m so in love with you it’s honestly a public safety hazard.”

She stared at me for a long second. Her eyes were soft, the kind of soft that made my throat ache. She didn’t say anything. Just tucked one arm around my back, the other sliding up to rest between my shoulder blades, like she needed to hold me in place.

“I should be asleep,” she said, but her voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.

“You can sleep. I’ll kiss you in your dreams.”

“God,” she groaned, and buried her face into my neck.

I laughed and curled around her tighter. One arm wrapping beneath her, one leg slung over hers, like I was trying to fuse into her bones.

“I love you,” I said again. For no reason. Just because I wanted to.

She didn’t say it back—not out loud.

But her arms pulled me tighter. One hand rubbed slow circles against the small of my back. Her nose brushed the edge of my jaw like she was inhaling me.

And I fell asleep in the crook of her body—content, wrapped around her like gravity, whispering “just one more kiss” every time she tried to shift.

She let me stay. Because she loved me, too. Even if she never said it the way I did.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[colouredbyd]

Off-Script

chapter 1: scene 11, take 1

celebrity!sirius black x celebrity!reader

synopsis: in which one audition changes everything, and you find yourself growing up in the spotlight—alongside sirius black, a boy with a voice like smoke and a name the world won’t forget. the fame is loud, the rumors louder, and somewhere between the endless cameras and the harsh media, the lines begin to blur: between who you are and who you’re expected to be.

and, along the way, everything goes off-script.

warnings: anxiety, nervousness, cringe movie scripts (i tried my best), panic attacks, overthinking, and emotional vulnerability. disclaimer: this chapter features minors as characters since it’s intended as a flashback to how they first met; in later chapters, the characters will be older and adults.

wc: 4.8k next chapter

“Hi, I’m James Potter.”

Your head snaps up, eyes meeting a pair of round glasses and a grin so effortless it almost annoys you.

He’s tall, charming in that boyish way that makes you think he’s never had to try too hard at anything. And he’s holding out a hand like the two of you haven’t been sitting in the same holding room for the past hour, like you didn’t just watch him high-five every casting assistant and crack a joke with the lighting guy and befriend the green-screen lady.

You blink, gather your breath, and take his hand. “I’m Y/N—” 

You hesitate for half a second, but it’s more instinct than insecurity. 

“You look nervous,” he says, dropping into the seat beside you without waiting for an invitation.

He doesn’t say it unkindly—it’s more of an observation, like he’s stating the weather or that you’ve got a pen tucked behind your ear.

“I’m fine,” you say, but your thumb is still pressed against the margin of the script, smoothing over the same corner you’ve been folding and unfolding since you walked in.

“It’s the lines, isn’t it?” James leans over, peeking at your script.

“Everyone always gets stuck on that one monologue. It’s a beast. I couldn’t get through it without sounding like I was about to cry. Still can’t, but maybe that’s the point.”

You glance at him, surprised. “You struggled with it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says easily. “I’ve been in this industry since I was in diapers and I still choke on the heavy stuff. My parents keep trying to convince me it’s all about breathing and honesty. But I think sometimes it’s just about surviving the scene.”

You try not to look visibly shocked. Of course you know who he is. Everyone does. Euphemia and Fleamont Potter—famous for their string of Emmy-winning series and flawless box office runs—are the brains behind this very show. Stranger Things. The dark, nostalgic, terrifyingly brilliant project that people have already started calling “genre-defining.” The Potters are its creators, directors, and executive producers. And James? He’s practically royalty.

You wonder, briefly, if he knows how impossible it is for someone like you to be here.

Because you didn’t grow up on studio lots. You didn’t take acting classes at age three or have your face printed on casting calls by age six. You came from a town where dreams like this stayed dreams. No famous family. No connections. Just a voice in your head telling you to try.

Now you’re here. Sixteen years old, freshly cast as one of the leads in the most anticipated show of the year, with a role that’s raw and strange and full of psychic powers and bleeding noses. You’re not even sure how you got it.

They haven’t officially announced the cast yet. There’s still one final audition round left, but the assistant told you it’s more of a chemistry read—just to see how you and the others move together. Still, the thought of it makes your heart pound.

This isn’t just a dream come true. It’s a dream with teeth.

James nudges your elbow lightly. “You’re gonna be brilliant, by the way.”

You blink. “What?”

“The scene. The whole thing. I can tell.” His smile softens, less flashy now, more real. “You’ve got this look in your eyes. Like you’ve already lived it.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just nod, and for the first time since you arrived, the room feels a little less sharp. The walls stop closing in.

James grew up with cameras in his face and scripts in his hands. This is his normal.

But he doesn’t make you feel small. He doesn’t throw it around like it means more than your quiet, trembling hands or your desperate need to belong.

“Are you nervous?” you ask, half-joking.

He grins. “Always. That’s how I know it matters.”

You smile back, the knot in your stomach loosening just a little.

“You want to run lines?” he offers, already pulling out his own copy of the scene, edges covered in messy ink.

You nod.

And for the first time since you got the call, the weight lifts. A little.

You’re still the only one who didn’t come from a famous family. Still the only one whose name means nothing in a casting room.

But James Potter is sitting beside you, reading your name like it belongs here. And maybe that’s a start.

You and James run lines for what feels like both forever and no time at all.

He reads with an ease that doesn’t feel showy. There’s no smugness, no performance for the sake of impressing you—he just lives in the scene.

He trips over words sometimes, laughs at strange directions, makes faces when something doesn’t make sense. It makes you feel lighter, like maybe this isn’t so impossible after all. Like maybe you don’t have to be perfect to be good.

At some point, your shoulders stop tensing at every noise. The studio hallway grows louder as more crew members shuffle past—assistants with clipboards, stylists with tangled garment bags, someone dragging what looks like a lighting rig across the floor—but their movement blurs into the background. You’ve got a rhythm now. A steady back and forth between pages, voices, breath.

Then a voice cuts through the hallway: “Remus Lupin? Scene ten, take nine—you’re up.”

James looks up and grins. “You’ll like Remus. He’s good. Kind of freakishly good, actually.”

But you don’t really hear James. Because after Remus, it’ll be you.

You try not to stiffen, but your fingers tighten around the script in your lap. You glance toward the casting room door—the one they’ll call you through next—and suddenly it’s harder to breathe.

James must notice, because he bumps your shoulder lightly. “Hey. You’re fine. You’ve got, like, twenty minutes.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll step out for a bit. Get some air.”

“Good idea,” he says easily, already gathering the pages between his fingers. “Don’t go far, and don’t psych yourself out.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

The hallway is more crowded than when you first arrived, a blur of unfamiliar faces and tangled equipment. You walk briskly, turning toward the exit sign at the far end—except when you get there, it leads to another corridor, not outside.

The studio’s layout is a maze of white-painted walls, steel beams, and swinging doors with production labels. Voices bounce from room to room. The air is warm with stage lights and static.

You try another hallway. No exit. Just more people—tech crew, assistants, actors already in costume. Someone offers you a bottled water. Another brushes past you with a headset and a frown.

Still no fresh air.

You keep moving, further from the noise, until you find a stairwell tucked between two heavy doors. You climb, following the scent of dust and metal, up past the wardrobe floor, past the locked rehearsal studios, up to a plain gray door that hums faintly with the wind behind it.

It opens to the rooftop.

It’s quieter here—distant sirens, a low hum from the city beyond the studio walls. The sky is overcast but soft, the kind of light that makes everything look washed in nostalgia. You step forward slowly, as if not to disturb it.

From up here, the lot looks small. Even the casting room—the one that holds your future inside its four thin walls—seems like it couldn't possibly contain something as heavy as your dream. You sit down against the ledge, script still in hand, the pages fluttering slightly in the breeze.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to remember how it feels to breathe when no one is watching.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to remember how it feels to breathe when no one is watching.

But when you open them again, you realize you aren’t alone.

There’s a figure already at the far end of the rooftop, perched at the edge, his back to you. His legs dangle over open air, casually swinging like the hundred-foot drop beneath him means nothing.

You blink, startled. He hadn’t made a sound—not even the creak of movement on the metal ledge.

Your breath catches. “Hey—careful, you’ll fall off.”

The boy doesn’t move. For a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you.

But then he sighs—loud and pointed—and turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face.

His eyes are red. Not tired, not irritated—red. The kind that only happens when someone’s been crying for a long time and didn’t have time to fix it before being seen.

“I’m fine,” he says flatly. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just… blunt.

You take a step closer, slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a wounded animal. “You’re not really supposed to be sitting like that.”

“Then don’t look,” he mutters, eyes flicking back toward the skyline. His voice isn’t sharp, but it cuts anyway.

He’s dressed like someone who was supposed to be somewhere important earlier—pressed shirt, blazer half-slipped off one shoulder, tie loose and crooked. But his hair’s a little messy, and there’s a scuff on one of his shoes, and he looks like he got into a fight with the day and lost.

“I just—” You hesitate, but the words come anyway. “I didn’t think anyone would be up here.”

“Clearly.”

You bristle, despite yourself. There’s a part of you that wants to walk away. Let him stew in his rooftop silence and whatever disaster he’s currently avoiding. But there’s something in his posture—how rigid his shoulders are, how he won’t look at you—that stops you.

So instead of stepping back, you step forward. Right up to the ledge.

And then you climb onto it.

His head snaps toward you. “What are you doing?”

You settle beside him with more stubbornness than grace, gripping the edge for balance as your legs dangle beside his. “If you get to sit here, so do I.”

He frowns, the sharp line of his jaw tightening, a muscle twitching as if caught between restraint and something more volatile. “You could fall.”

“So could you,” you answer without hesitation, your voice calm but firm.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” you tilt your head, meeting his eyes. “How?”

He opens his mouth like he has the answer ready—like he always does—but nothing comes. His jaw locks again, and for a moment, silence stretches between you, taut as wire.

“Because—” he starts, and then falters. The words catch in his throat. And when he speaks again, it’s thinner, almost like fear is threading through it. “Because I’ve been up here before. I know where the edge is.”

You glance out at the city skyline, the wind brushing against your cheek like a warning, and then back at him. “Then show me.”

He looks at you for a long second, a storm flickering in his gaze. Like he’s weighing the urge to lash out, to say something cold or careless to make you leave.

But something in your expression stops him. Because you’re not backing down. And maybe that’s what makes him pause. Maybe that’s when he sees it—the same quiet storm behind your eyes that mirrors his own. That same mix of anger and aching, of being brave when all you want to do is run.

His shoulders drop slightly, the tension bleeding out in a slow, reluctant breath. When he speaks again, it’s not angry anymore.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” you say, your voice soft but unwavering.

He huffs, a half-laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. Still, he doesn’t look away. “You’re impossible,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“And you’re not?” you counter, the corners of your mouth tugging upward just a little.

His eyes flick to you again, sharper this time. Curious. Like he’s trying to make sense of you, to figure out why you keep showing up in all the places he thought he’d locked away for himself.

“What are you even doing up here?” he finally asks, voice low, frayed at the edges.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual even though your hands are starting to feel numb from the wind. “Auditions. I needed air.”

That gets his attention. He turns to you more fully, brows pulling together. “Wait—you’re here for Stranger Things?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

His stare sharpens. “Who are you cast as?”

You hesitate, just for a breath. “The girl. With the powers.”

His mouth drops open slightly. “Fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

He lets out a humorless laugh and rubs a hand over his face. “Just… of course. Of course it’s you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just tips his head back toward the sky like it might answer for him. Then, with a sigh, he mutters, “I’m her love interest, Mike.”

There’s a beat of silence. A breeze cuts through, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of how close you’re sitting, how this rooftop feels like a stage you didn’t mean to step onto.

“Wait,” you say, squinting at him. “So… who are you?”

He pauses for just a second too long. “Sirius. Sirius Black.”

You blink again, harder this time.

“You’re—Sirius Black?”

He grimaces. “Unfortunately.”

And that’s when it hits you. The name. The face. The headlines.

The Sirius Black. Probably the most well-known teen actor of his generation. Star of a dozen indie films, two major franchises, and one Oscar-buzz drama that made everyone collectively lose their minds when he was fourteen.

His mother, Walburga Black, hosts one of the most watched reality TV empires in the country, her name basically synonymous with Hollywood gossip.

His father, Orion Black, was once a golden boy actor in the 80s, now the executive force behind Black Pictures—one of the biggest production companies in the industry. The entire family reads like a film credits list. His uncles are actors. His aunts are Oscar-nominated. His godfather is the face of an entire perfume brand.

And you… you had to pick this rooftop.

“Oh,” you say faintly, the word barely brushing past your lips. “That makes sense.”

He snorts, bitter and tired. “Does it?”

You look at him again—really look. There’s a glassiness to his eyes, a kind of weight that doesn’t come from call sheets or cameras but from something older, quieter, and heavier. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s laughing at you or at himself.

“I mean,” you murmur, gaze steady, “it explains the dramatics.”

That earns the faintest twitch of a smile—subtle, almost like it slips through before he can stop it. “You’ve got guts,” he says, the words curling just slightly at the edges, “I’ll give you that.”

You don’t know who laughs first.

Maybe it’s him—Sirius Black, perched on the edge of a rooftop like it’s just another stage, muttering something dry that slices through the silence and all your tension with it.

Or maybe it’s you—because everything suddenly feels absurd. The audition, the pressure, the hours spent holding your breath, the way the city breathes beneath your feet.

You glance at him. He’s not smiling wide, not beaming, but there’s something there now—something pulled from beneath the stormcloud eyes and sharp cheekbones. A warmth that could almost be mistaken for light.

And then it hits you.

Your entire body jolts with the realization.

“Shit,” you breathe, the word tumbling out before you can stop it.

He glances over, one eyebrow lifting. “What now?”

“My audition,” you murmur, eyes already darting to the crumpled script poking out of your dress pocket. “Your name’s on my pages.”

He stares at you. “What?”

“You’re in the scene I’m auditioning with.” You fumble for the paper, smoothing it open between your hands. “It’s the one with the girl and the boy in the woods—the flashlight, the whole speech about being scared and doing it anyway.”

He leans slightly to peek at the page, and then groans. “Oh, that one.”

You nod. “That’s you.”

He shrugs, utterly unfazed. “Great. You’ve got it covered.”

“No, I don’t. I need to run it, with you.”

“I don’t rehearse,” he says simply, like it’s a personal philosophy.

You blink. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t rehearse,” he repeats, dragging a hand through his hair. “Never really needed to. I show up, hit the mark, say the lines. People seem to like it.”

You just stare at him.

“Sirius fucking Black,” you mutter under your breath, turning toward him with a look that could split the moon in half. “You are going to rehearse with me.”

He looks almost amused. “Am I?”

You’re already climbing off the ledge, your white dress catching in the wind as you move fast, fueled by panic and adrenaline and something that feels dangerously close to raw determination.

“Whoa, whoa—hey!”

Before you can plant your feet back on the gravel safely, a hand grabs your wrist—tight, steady, pulling you back just enough.

“Fuck, be careful, angel,” he mutters, the words rushed and low like they’ve leapt out of him uninvited.

You pause.

Not because of the nickname (though it sparks something strange in your chest), but because he said it like he meant it. Like for half a second, the idea of you falling scared him more than anything else in this moment.

He’s still holding your wrist when you look at him.

“I’m fine,” you say, softer now. “I’ve got it.”

He lets go, slowly.

And then you square your shoulders, adjust the pages in your hand, and lift your chin. “We’re doing this scene.”

“I just said—”

“You are going to rehearse with me!” you repeat, voice sharper now.

“Because I am going to get this fuckass role. I don’t care how many Emmys your uncle has, or how many magazine covers your face is on.  I didn’t crawl my way into this building to have some nepotism prince brush me off like I’m decoration!”

His eyes go wide, a flicker of something wild and admiring sparking in them.

And then he bursts out laughing.

Full, deep laughter. The kind that echoes off the rooftop walls and makes your blood boil.

“Stop laughing!” you snap.

He just keeps laughing, wheezing now, hands on his knees. “You—you just said fuckass role.”

“I’m serious!”

“No, I’m Sirius.”

You groan, glaring.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay. You’re terrifying.”

“Good.”

He straightens up, brushing off the edge of his jeans. “Fine. Let’s rehearse. But only because you threatened me.”

You cross your arms. “I did no such thing.”

“You dragged me off a ledge like some kind of homicidal fairy.”

You shrug. “Desperate times.”

He looks at you for a long moment. The wind plays with the edge of your dress, your hair, the papers clutched in your hand. And you swear he softens—just slightly. The edge in him easing, curiosity replacing arrogance.

“All right.” He tugs a folded script from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and waves it in the air. “Let’s see if you’re any good, then.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m excellent.”

“We’ll see.”

You step back, flipping to the right scene, clearing your throat. The wind tugs at the corners of your script and your dress, but your hands are steady now. He leans against the ledge, eyes half-lidded and unreadable, and waits for you to begin.

The rooftop isn’t a stage. The city doesn’t quiet for your lines. No one’s watching.

But you speak like someone’s listening.

And when you finish the scene—when the last word hangs between you, raw and electric—Sirius doesn’t say anything for a long time.

He just looks at you.

Like he sees something he didn’t expect.

Like maybe, you belong here after all.

Sirius taps the edge of your script with a knuckle. “Alright, angel. Scene 10. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You raise a brow. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he says, dropping into an easy stance like he’s done this a thousand times before.

His posture shifts, the smirk tucks itself away, and suddenly he’s someone else entirely—Mike, the boy trying to hold a flashlight steady while the world around him falls apart.

You take one breath, then another, then step into the moment.

Scene 10. Forest. Mike and Eleven, side by side in the dark.

The lines you’ve memorized a dozen times spill out, but this time they don’t feel rehearsed. Sirius listens like he’s never heard them before, and when he speaks, it’s with a weight that grounds the scene.

The words aren’t magic—but they do something close. The space between you vibrates with the rhythm of shared silence, tension, emotion. It’s short, but by the time you reach the last line—“It’s not about what we lost. It’s about what we’ve still got.”—the quiet that follows feels earned.

Sirius exhales and gives you a crooked smile. “You’ve got timing.”

You shrug, but your heart beats louder than before.

Without a word, he grabs the scripts from your hands and plops down cross-legged on the rooftop floor. “Let me see.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you always this—”

“Collaborative,” he cuts in, uncapping a marker from his jacket pocket. “Now sit. We’ve got work to do.”

His annotations are a mess of arrows and looping words. He circles beats, draws dashes for pauses, and jots little notes like don’t rush this or breathe here. His handwriting is barely legible, but the edits are precise, focused.

“Pause here. This line’s too heavy to throw away,” he murmurs. “And this? Keep your voice low. Not scared—just… holding back.”

You watch him, amused. “You always direct your scene partners?”

“Only when they can actually act,” he says, glancing up.

You snort. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t push it.”

The corner of your mouth quirks, and he flips to the next page.

Scene 11.

He hums. “Ah. That one.”

You know immediately. The basement scene. The one where Mike—Sirius’s character—fake proposes to Eleven, your role, just to get her to talk again. You’ve read it so many times that the dialogue is practically carved into your bones.

He reads over the first few lines and chuckles. “This is so dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” you argue lightly. “It’s sweet. In a stupid, manipulative way.”

Sirius makes a face. “Exactly.”

Still, he stands, brushing dust off his jeans. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

You both take position, scripts half-forgotten at your feet.

He steps into the part quickly, voice shifting into something earnest and awkward—Mike trying to coax Eleven out of silence with a ring made from a candy wrapper and desperation.

“Okay,” he says, kneeling dramatically. “Since you clearly won’t talk to me like a normal person… I guess there’s only one thing left to do. I hereby propose. Like—on one knee and everything.”

You fold your arms. Stay silent.

“Wow. Rejected without mercy,” he mutters, then softens. “You haven’t talked to me in. Do you hate me?”

You look down, breathe. “No.”

“You’re mad?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m scared.”

The words slip out soft, but true. And Sirius looks at you differently this time—more like Mike, less like the boy who called you angel and handed you his marker.

A silence follows that isn’t awkward, only real.

Then Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You’ve got this.”

You let yourself smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Please,” he grins. “I’m Sirius Black.”

You roll your eyes, but something in your chest loosens. For the first time, the role doesn’t feel like something you're chasing. It feels like something already yours.

Sirius plucks your script off the ground again, flipping back to Scene 11 like he isn’t still grinning from your fake rejection five minutes ago.

“Well, angel,” he says, stretching out on the rooftop like it’s his living room, “if you’re gonna turn me down, at least let me immortalize it.”

He grabs his marker—still uncapped, still bleeding slightly at the edges—and scribbles something in the margin next to your line: SAY IT LIKE YOU’RE LYING TO YOURSELF.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder.

He shrugs. “Exactly what it sounds like. Don’t act like you’re scared of him—act like you’re scared of what he means.”

You blink at him. “Since when are you an actor and a psychologist?”

He grins, toothy and easy. “Since five minutes ago. I’m multitalented.”

You’re still laughing when the rooftop door slams open behind you.

A crew member stands in the doorway, breathless and wide-eyed. “There you are—we’ve been looking for you for ten minutes! Are you out of your minds? You’re both up next!”

Your stomach drops.

Sirius just stretches, calmly dusting off his jeans. “We got a little carried away. It’s fine.”

“It is not fine!” the woman shouts, already dialing someone on her headset. “Come on, let’s go!”

You scramble to your feet, panic rising like a tide you can’t swim against. Ten minutes. That’s forever in this world—enough time for a casting director to change their mind, to offer your role to someone shinier, someone with the right last name.

You clutch your script to your chest as you follow Sirius down the narrow stairwell, and your thoughts spiral with every step—they’re going to hate me, I ruined it, I lost it, I lost it—

“Hey.” Sirius’s voice cuts through the static, and then—his hand on your wrist.

He stops midway down the stairs, turning you to face him. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are steadier than you’ve seen them all day, quiet in a way that feels almost reverent.

“You’re fine. You haven’t lost anything. Just breathe, alright?”

You shake your head, heart pounding too loud in your ears. “They’re going to be mad. They’re going to say I’m unprofessional—”

“Shh.” He shifts his grip, then with his free hand, pulls the marker from his pocket again.

And slowly, gently, he starts drawing stars along the inside of your wrist—five-pointed, slightly smudged, looping together like constellations only he can see.

It takes you a second to notice that your breathing’s slowed.

The panic eases.

You glance down at the ink-dusted trail of stars blooming across your skin. “How did you… know to do that?”

Sirius freezes for a beat too long.

Then he looks away, tucking the marker back into his pocket. “My brother. Sometimes he… gets like that.”

You want to ask more, but something in his expression tells you not to. His shoulders stiffen, the familiar armor sliding back into place. The charm, the cool detachment—it’s all back by the time you reach the studio door.

But the stars stay on your wrist.

The second the studio doors swing open, chaos swallows you whole.

It’s brighter than you expect—overhead lights casting a sterile glow across the soundstage, voices overlapping as crew members rush to and from set, someone shouting about blocking, someone else dragging a lighting rig across the floor. You blink against it all, suddenly unsure where to look, where to stand, how to exist.

And then—

“There you are!” James.

He jogs over, looking mildly out of breath, strands of his messy hair falling over his glasses. Relief flashes across his face when he sees you, and then it shifts—warms—when his eyes land just beyond your shoulder.

“Sirius,” James breathes.

And Sirius lights up.

Like a switch flipped. The edges of him soften, melt. That cool indifference disappears entirely as he grins, almost boyishly, and throws his arms around James in a way that’s too fast to think about and too real to be scripted.

“God, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Sirius mutters into James’s shoulder, and you swear—for half a second—he sounds like a different person.

“Thought you were ditching the project,” James teases, clapping him on the back.

“Almost did.”

James pulls away, looking over at you. “You met Y/N, yeah? She’s playing the girl with powers. She’s incredible.”

You smile, shy under the weight of his praise. But before you can say anything—

“Hello, darling.”

A voice, smooth and warm and unmistakably in charge, cuts through the air. A woman strides over, sharp black heels clicking on the floor. Her hair is pinned up perfectly, lips a red that looks expensive, and the way everyone parts around her—it tells you everything you need to know.

Euphemia Potter. The director.

She reaches for your hand like you’ve already earned the role and says your name like she’s been waiting to meet you for months.

“I’ve heard about you,” she says, voice honeyed. “And I just want you to know—don’t worry about a thing. You’re here because you belong here. Okay?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. But something in your chest eases.

“And this,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, “is my husband, Fleamont. Producer. He’ll pretend he’s not a softie, but he cried over Scene 9.”

He gives you a polite smile and a knowing wink.

Before you can process any more, a crew member in a headset appears beside you, clipboard in one hand, clapperboard in the other.

He looks between you and Sirius, then lifts the board slowly.

“Alright,” he calls out, voice carrying across the set, grounding the room in sudden stillness.

A spotlight clicks on overhead.

The crew goes quiet. Everyone freezes.

You take your mark. Sirius takes his.

And the board rises. 

“Scene 11, take 1.” Snap.

The clap cuts through the silence, sharp and final.

And in that breathless second after the sound dies—everything begins.

Sirius turns to face you in the darkened basement set, his expression already shifting. The cameras roll, the lights hum, and the line between fiction and reality dissolves like sugar in water.

And just like that, the scene begins.

-

a/n: idk why i cringed so much writing this (i promise pt 2 is much better) anyways, thoughts?

oh and, before anyone comments it; no reader won't be bald like eleven, she has hair.

[prettydaisygirl]

babe i’m a twd obsessed and i’ve been looking for a rafe and zombie apocalypse au everywhere but never found any seriously I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR MAKING ONE!!! can i please request a little angst (with happy ending ofc) where maybe before they dated they met a group of other survivors and rafe got close with one of the girl and reader just got so jealous and she was just so sad and sulky all the time and stuff feel free to adjust it any way you want!! thank you have a great day love <3

hiii nonnie! Thank you so much for this request! I've been wanting to write more pre-relationship Rafe zombie au because the two of them were together several months before they actually started dating. I hope this is what you were looking for, also Rafe is a pretty bad guy in this. But it's the apocalypse so who cares. Thanks for reading, my love <3

Us and Them (zombie au): Chapter Three

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader who gets jealous ✿ 1.3k words

cw: zombie apocalypse, fem!reader, pre-established relationship, jealous!reader, Rafe is a bad guy, mention of throwing up, mention of unnamed side character deaths, i struggle to call anything in this au a happy ending so we'll say positive ending

rafe cameron masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You eat slowly, the already chewy pasta tasting like rubber in your mouth as you stare across the fire. Rafe is sitting there, legs crossed and grimacing as he eats out of his own makeshift bowl. Your eyes move to his left and there she is. Right next to him like she has been since your groups met two weeks ago. 

You aren’t sure why Rafe has decided to join this group. Yes, all of them are around your age, but Rafe has been very adamant about avoiding people since the beginning. The only thing you can think of is that he has a crush on this girl, their leader.

And why wouldn’t he, you think to yourself. She’s pretty, she’s the first woman he’s really interacted with since the apocalypse started (excluding you), and she seems to laugh excessively at all of his jokes. Even the ones that aren’t funny.

And so, you sit on the other side of the campfire and watch them with icky bubbles of jealousy and anger in your gut. It reminds you of Before, when you felt small and overlooked everywhere you went. It’s not that you even like Rafe, in fact you think he’s a huge dick. However, it had been just the two of you for almost two months and now…

“Hey,” There’s a boy sitting next to you, smiling at you in a way that makes your skin crawl. You stand, abandoning your meal, and head inside your tent. 

Things get worse the next night. 

You wake up having to pee, which already makes you anxious. Peeing in the middle of the woods where anything could find and attack you is certainly an experience. Your heart is already racing wildly when you return to camp, and a voice catches your attention. You instantly recognize Rafe’s deep tone and your steps falter. 

“Where do you want to go?” Rafe asks, his voice finding your ears from the tent you’re next to. Her tent. 

“I don’t know. Anywhere.” Her voice is light and airy, pretty like an actress from an old movie. It makes you want to throw up. “Come on, Rafe. You know the two of us could make it. Right?”

Oh. You seem to understand now. You can hear the shifting of fabric against the tent and Rafe hums in response. You want to return to your own tent, but your feet stay planted firmly where they are. Your suspicions are confirmed when she speaks again.

“We’ll just take what we have and leave. The two of us… we could do it. The others aren’t going to make it anyway, you know?”

Oof.

You don’t hang around for Rafe’s response. Your blood runs cold as you climb back into your tent as quickly as you can. You’re shaking by the time you’re back in your sleeping bag. 

You never really fall back asleep. How can you? It’s just fits of tossing and turning broken by the occasional drift off that leaves you panicked when you wake up. You’re fully convinced that in the morning, you’ll leave your tent to find Rafe gone with all of your supplies. The idea of being abandoned with nothing and left with strangers feels like a death sentence. You shed a few tears, your mind racing, and find yourself wishing that the morning will never come.

You must finally find some sort of unconscious state, because you’re woken up by a shove to your shoulder and a gruff “wake up.” Your heart leaps into your throat, eyelids flying open, only to find Rafe crouched above you in your tent. You aren’t sure what your face does but it seems to make his expression darken.

“Rafe?”

“Get up. Get your stuff. Now.” It’s a demand you wouldn’t second guess even if Rafe was your worst enemy. You scramble to stand, your joints achy and your mind spinning. You roll up your sleeping bag and grab your pack in record time, slipping on your shoes before leaving the tent. 

Rafe is there, grabbing your hand and tugging you behind him. None of the others are around, maybe not even awake yet. Rafe has more on his back than you’d ever be able to carry, and he still moves through the trees like it’s nothing. You glance back in the direction of the camp, and your brain starts to slowly put the pieces together. Rafe took the supplies, and instead of leaving with her, he found you.

“Where are we going?” You ask him, and he sends you a glare. A silent warning to shut up. It works for a while, until the nerves tighten around your throat just as his fingers tighten around your wrist and you can’t help it. “Rafe, what’s going on?”

He whips around, face to face with you, eyes darker than you’ve seen them. You lean back, afraid under the intense heat of his expression. When he speaks, it’s low and threatening.

“Listen,” A few of his nails dig into the skin of your wrist as he tightens his grip further. “You need to not be stupid. Shut the fuck up when I tell you to.”

You don’t listen, despite the fact that you could feel the blood draining from your face with each of his words. “But I thought you were leaving with-”

“I already told you not to be stupid.” He repeats. Rafe lets go of your wrist to run a hand through his short, unruly strands of hair. He adjusts the packs on his back and sighs. “Look, I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”

“But why?” This is the question neither you or Rafe really know the answer to. Rafe is mean, cruel, and clearly unforgiving. He stole supplies from another group and left them for dead without a second thought, but not you. You watch his jaw clench and his eyes harden.

“You’re annoying as fuck, you’re stupid, and you have no clue what you’re doing. Most of the time, I’m convinced you’re going to trip over your own feet, keel over, and die.” Each word feels like a punch to the gut, because you know he isn’t lying. This is the most honest he’s ever been with you. “But… look, I asked you to come with me, didn’t I?”

“Well yes, but-”

“Then don’t make me change my mind. Right now, it’s us and them. We have to survive, and so we’ll do what we need to do.” His eyes drill into your own like he’s trying to see into your soul. And even if you don’t particularly like Rafe Cameron, your insides flutter at the idea that he’s chosen to protect you. 

“Did you steal from them?” You ask quietly, barely a whisper, even though you know the answer. The two extra, fully stuffed to the brim packs on his back are evidence enough for you. 

“She was going to take everything and leave you behind.” Rafe says like that’s enough of an answer for you. You think for him it might be. 

“Are they going to die?” Rafe narrows his eyes at your question, like he’s challenging you to keep asking him things you already know the answer to.

“What did I just say?” Rafe raises his brows, and you know what to say. Because it’s always the same thing.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Now, come on.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[jessesluvr]

heyyy do you write angst? the ending can be whatever you like, even fluff!!!!!! i was thinking of jesse and dina being done for good and jesse and reader are already friends and start trying it out yk dating and stuff and them 2 months later they are so in love and everyone can see it until dina shows up saying she's pregnant and jesse was the last man she been with. reader tries to keep going and accept the situation but she can't help but thinking she can't do this, being a stepmom and knowing that if her and jesse ever get pregnant jesse will already have experienced the whole thing and this makes her sick and sad since she wants kids and has mentioned wanting a boy. she tries to keep going but a few months in jesse and dina says he thinks it's a boy she breaks down and say she can't do this. i think that's messy so i'm sorry

first, not mine | jesse x reader

author's note : to the anon that requested this.. COUNT YOUR DAYS?! you're my number one enemy now. i did this for you ! jk jk, i love you to bits, please enjoy this absolute heart shattering oneshot (at least to me). do other authors SOB at their own works, and feel their heart absolutely break, because mine did.

summary : after falling deeply in love with jesse, the reader’s world quietly unravels when dina reveals she’s pregnant with his child, forcing her to confront a future where she’ll always come second. despite trying to stay, the reader ultimately walks away, unable to bear the weight of a dream that now belongs to someone else.

word count : 3.7k

jackson’s nights were quiet in the way that made people nervous. too much silence often meant a storm was coming — literal or otherwise — but tonight, the wind was easy and the moon was low, casting gentle light on the muddy trails near the stables.

you had the early patrol tomorrow, but you found yourself lingering.

jesse stood beside you, leaning his arms on the top rail of the corral fence, boots scuffed and shirt rolled to the elbows. his skin glowed faintly in the lantern-light, bronze and shadowed, his eyes tracing the horizon like he was waiting for something to arrive. or leave.

neither of you spoke for a while.

not because there was nothing to say — but because there was finally nothing that needed to be said.

“i heard eugene found another old comic stash in the radio tower,” you said eventually, breaking the stillness with a lopsided smile. “swore he wasn’t gonna let anyone touch it, but i think ellie bribed him with jerky.”

jesse huffed a quiet laugh, glancing at you. “she probably threatened to melt his snow globes if he didn’t give her first pick.”

you chuckled, and his grin widened at the sound. there it was again — that little flutter in your stomach. it had been coming more often lately. every time he looked at you too long. every time your hands brushed when passing tools. every time he waited for you after patrol, even when you had nothing to do.

you hadn’t expected it. you’d been friends with jesse for over a year — long enough to know his tells, his sense of humor, the way his mood changed with the weather.

long enough to remember how he looked when he was still with dina.

they’d been over for a while now. nobody talked about it much — not even jesse. they still saw each other around town, made polite nods, exchanged words like they weren’t bitter in the back of their throats.

but jesse hadn’t gone back. he hadn’t waited around, either. instead, he started standing next to you more often. sitting beside you on watch. sharing meals. laughing longer at your jokes.

you didn’t know when friendship became something else — only that it had.

“tomorrow’s gonna suck,” you muttered, tugging your jacket tighter around you. “rain’s supposed to start around sunrise.”

“i’ll bring extra coffee,” jesse said. “you take cream, right?”

you blinked, surprised. “i didn’t know you noticed that.”

“i notice a lot of things,” he said softly, and your stomach turned to heat.

he pushed off the fence then, standing close. not too close — not assuming — but close enough that your hands almost touched in the dark.

you looked up at him.

it should’ve been awkward. but there was nothing unsure about the way jesse looked at you — only warmth, only patience, like he’d been waiting for you to catch up.

so you reached for his hand.

and he let you.

you didn’t tell anyone at first.

it wasn’t about hiding. it was about keeping something soft. something untouched by the rest of the world.

jackson had a way of putting its nose where it didn’t belong. couples were everyone’s business. breakups even more so. and jesse… jesse had always been at the center of things — trusted, reliable, always smiling. it made people curious. gossip slipped like frost through the streets, and you didn’t want to be part of it.

so instead, you kept it simple. quiet touches. shared lunches. books passed back and forth. you kissed only once that first week, in the corner of the library when no one was looking — a hesitant, hopeful thing.

he kissed you like he wasn’t used to being kissed gently.

and you kissed him like you were terrified to wake up from it.

two months later, it didn’t feel like hiding anymore.

it felt like home.

you found comfort in the routines — early morning rides, mid-day fencing repairs, jesse waiting for you with two mugs of bitter coffee and that stupid grin that made your knees wobble. it didn’t matter if the days were long. he made them lighter.

and everyone noticed.

maria had caught you two talking by the greenhouse and raised an eyebrow that said finally. ellie gave you shit for it, but it was the fond kind — the kind that meant she approved, even if she’d never say it directly. tommy started putting you on patrols together more often.

even dina… well, dina hadn’t said much.

she was still around, of course. she never left jackson after the breakup — just stopped being part of your circle. she kept to herself. took late patrols. worked in the armory when you weren’t there.

you crossed paths sometimes. she’d nod. you’d nod. but she never lingered.

it didn’t feel hostile. just distant.

jesse didn’t talk about her much. you never asked him to. but sometimes you caught something in his expression — a flicker of guilt, maybe. regret. not for being with you, but for how much time had passed in the in-between.

still, those thoughts faded when he pulled you into bed at night, hands warm and words soft in the dark.

he touched you like he was grateful you existed. like you were something good in a world that rarely allowed it.

you’d fallen for him so fast, it scared you.

and somehow, he always knew when you needed to be held tighter.

you talked about the future once.

lying in the tall grass behind the orchard, sun high overhead, a blanket beneath you and jesse’s hand tangled in yours.

he was telling a dumb story — something about ellie mistaking a raccoon for a dog — and you were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. when the laughter faded, you said, without really meaning to:

“i always thought i’d have a little boy someday.”

jesse’s brow arched. “oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “one of those loud, scrappy kids. always falling off things. covered in dirt. would probably drive me crazy.”

jesse grinned. “you’d make a good mom.”

you went still for a moment, startled.

“i mean it,” he said, voice gentle. “you’ve got a big heart. and you’re tougher than half the people in this town. any kid would be lucky to have you.”

you turned your face away before he could see the tears.

you didn’t know what the future held. but for the first time in years, you hoped for something more.

the day started like any other.

light rain fell in the early hours, turning the dirt paths of jackson into soft mud. you’d just finished restocking ammo at the armory when jesse came in, soaked from the waist down and grumbling about wet socks. he looked boyish like that — cheeks flushed, hair a mess, and smiling just for you.

you kissed him behind the workbench, hands resting on his chest, fingers grazing the damp fabric of his jacket. he tasted like rain and warmth and something safe. he hummed against your lips, then whispered something about dinner at his place.

it should’ve stayed that simple.

but then, halfway through your shift, maria stuck her head into the room.

“jesse,” she said, her voice unreadable. “dina needs to speak with you. privately.”

the way she said it made your stomach tighten.

jesse straightened slowly, brushing his hands on his jeans. “where?”

“she’s over by the supply depot,” maria said. her eyes flicked to you, something hesitant in them. “said it’s urgent.”

you didn’t say anything.

jesse looked at you then — really looked — and offered a soft squeeze to your shoulder before stepping out.

he didn’t come back for an hour.

by the time you got to his house that evening, the rain had stopped. the sky was bruised purple, and smoke curled lazily from the chimney.

you knocked once and let yourself in. his place was warm — always a little messy but lived in. you liked it that way. a guitar leaned against the wall, one of ellie’s old drawings pinned to the fridge. your scarf hung on the back of a chair. you’d forgotten it there days ago.

jesse sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the wood, head in his hands.

he looked up when you entered.

something in your chest tightened.

you pulled off your coat slowly. “hey… everything okay?”

he didn’t answer at first.

you moved closer, setting your gloves down, brows drawn. “jesse?”

he stood abruptly and walked to you — not urgently, but with that kind of restless energy that made you brace. his hands landed on your arms, grounding you, and his expression was conflicted. kind, but distant.

“i didn’t know how to tell you,” he said quietly.

“what happened?”

his jaw flexed. “it’s… dina.”

your stomach dropped.

“she said she’s pregnant.”

silence. cold. breath caught somewhere in your chest.

you stared at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly.

“she—what?”

jesse exhaled hard, his grip tightening slightly. “she said she didn’t say anything sooner because she didn’t know for sure. she’s a couple months along. she said… i was the last person she was with.”

your thoughts were slow. sticky. refusing to form the right shapes.

“she’s been here. in jackson. this whole time.”

jesse nodded once. “yeah. i didn’t know either. i mean, i saw her around, but… i figured she just wanted space. she didn’t even look at me. until today.”

something cold crawled down your spine.

it wasn’t betrayal. he hadn’t done anything wrong. but still, you couldn’t breathe right.

you took a step back, folding your arms, trying not to show how shaky you were.

“are you sure it’s yours?”

“she’s sure,” he said, quietly. “and i believe her.”

you nodded slowly. once. twice. “okay.”

jesse stepped forward, alarm in his eyes. “hey—no. i don’t want this to change anything between us. i’m with you. that hasn’t changed. i didn’t know.”

you nodded again, tighter this time. “i know.”

“i mean it,” he said, reaching for you. his hand hovered at your waist. “we’ve built something together. i’m not walking away from that.”

you leaned into his touch before your body could betray how sick you felt.

a baby.

dina was pregnant.

and jesse was going to be a father.

you remembered the orchard. the tall grass. that quiet moment when you said you wanted a boy someday. the way he smiled at you and said you’d make a good mom.

you wondered if he still believed that.

or if that dream — the one you barely let yourself whisper aloud — had already come true for someone else.

not you.

her.

“i’m okay,” you said, and it sounded almost convincing.

jesse’s face softened. “you sure?”

you kissed him before he could ask again. just once. just to stop the words.

but deep in your chest, something cracked.

you didn’t cry that night.

you lay in jesse’s bed with his arm around you, your cheek against his shoulder, and listened to the rhythm of his breathing. you studied the pattern of his freckles in the moonlight. counted the beats between heartbeats.

his child. growing in someone else.

you wanted to want to be strong.

but all you could think about was how your first time wouldn’t be his first time. how when your child came — if they ever came — it wouldn’t be something new. something shared. it would be second. a repeat. a retread of footsteps you’d never walked.

you closed your eyes.

and for the first time in a long while, you wished you hadn’t let yourself hope for more.

you didn’t leave him.

not right away.

you stayed, because you loved him — because jesse was kind, and steady, and still looked at you like you hung the stars. and for a while, that was enough to keep the ache from swallowing you whole.

you helped him fix up his place in preparation for the baby. just little things: building shelves, reinforcing the porch railing, collecting blankets that didn’t smell like old mold and leather.

you didn’t go with him to see dina. that was an unspoken agreement. their conversations happened quietly, behind closed doors. jesse always told you afterward — not everything, but enough. you never asked for more.

he said dina was calm. mature about it. that she didn’t want to interfere in his life, or with you. she only wanted what was best for the child.

you believed that.

it didn’t make it easier.

dina never said a cruel word. never glared. never got in your way.

but she didn’t have to.

her presence was enough.

you saw her more often now. brief glimpses — around the greenhouses, at the bartering stalls, in the hallway after patrol meetings. she never approached, but her eyes followed you. not with bitterness.

just... quiet knowing.

and you hated that it made you feel small.

jesse was gentle.

he made tea when your hands were shaking. left notes on your pillow when he had early shifts. made you laugh even when your heart felt bruised.

he’d talk about baby things sometimes — like he didn’t notice the way your body tensed.

“they’re measuring a little ahead,” he told you one night over dinner, stirring stew with the back of his spoon. “dina thinks it’s a boy.”

you nodded, and your throat closed so tight you couldn’t speak.

“she said she’s sure. don’t know how, but… i kind of believe her.”

you smiled. or tried to.

“that’s good,” you said, eyes on your bowl.

jesse reached across the table to touch your hand.

“you’re not saying much.”

you forced a breath. “i’m just tired.”

he watched you for a long moment.

but he didn’t press.

the nightmares came back.

not the kind with blood or clickers or fire — but the quiet ones. dreams of holding a child who never opened his eyes. of standing behind glass, watching jesse with someone else’s family. of telling a boy he wasn’t yours.

you stopped talking about kids.

jesse noticed.

but he didn’t know what to do.

you kept trying. you really did. you helped him sort baby supplies, sat with him when he read parenting books he borrowed from the library, helped repaint a dresser drawer he said might be good for diapers.

you held it together when people smiled at the two of you and said things like “he’s gonna be such a good dad” and “you’ll make a great stepmom.”

you nodded and smiled and bled on the inside.

the worst part?

you were starting to believe that maybe this was your role now.

not mother. not first love. not partner in some new chapter.

just support.

just next.

a few months passed.

dina was showing now. she wore loose clothes, but it was obvious — the slight curve of her stomach, the way she moved slower, how people started offering to carry her baskets.

jesse was with her more often. not alone — not like that — but enough to make your chest ache when you saw them talking outside the food hall. close. familiar. once in love.

he always came home to you.

but you stopped asking what they talked about.

you didn’t want to know.

the night it broke, everything felt too normal.

you and jesse were curled up on the couch. he had his arm around you, warm and steady, thumbing through a well-worn map. you were half-asleep, your head on his shoulder, when he murmured:

“she’s still sure it’s a boy.”

you stilled.

“she said she had a dream,” he continued, smiling faintly. “said he looked just like me.”

you sat up slowly.

he didn’t notice at first. “kind of funny, huh? wonder if he’ll have my stupid hair.”

you stared at him.

your mouth moved before you could stop it.

“i can’t do this.”

jesse’s smile faltered. “what?”

you stood, suddenly too warm, too raw, wrapping your arms around yourself. the room spun a little. you took a shaky breath.

“i thought i could,” you whispered. “i really, really thought i could. but i can’t.”

jesse sat up straighter, alarmed. “hey—hey, what’s going on?”

tears came before words did.

“i can’t be the one who comes second,” you said. “i can’t smile and pretend i’m okay while you’re… while you’re having all of this with someone else.”

jesse stood, moving toward you. “you’re not second—”

“i am,” you cut in, voice cracking. “i’m after. i’m everything that comes after. you’re already doing it, jesse. you’re already becoming a father. you’re getting the firsts. the first son. the first baby. the first experience. and it’s not with me.”

silence.

you tried to breathe.

“i wanted that,” you said, quieter now. “i told you once, remember? that i wanted a boy someday. a messy, loud little kid that looked like you. and you smiled, like it was something we might share.”

jesse’s voice was hoarse. “we still can—”

“but it won’t be first,” you said. “it won’t be ours. you’ll have already done it. and i’ll always know. i’ll always wonder if it compares. if i compare.”

you looked at him, eyes wet and broken.

“i love you,” you said. “i love you so much it hurts. but i’m not strong enough for this. i thought i was. i really tried to be.”

jesse stepped forward, face pale, throat working.

“don’t walk away,” he said, voice shaking. “please.”

you wanted to run into his arms. god, you wanted to forget everything and stay wrapped in his warmth.

but the ache in your chest had grown roots.

and you couldn’t unfeel it.

not anymore.

you didn’t pack much when you left jesse’s place.

a scarf. a few books. the necklace he’d carved for you — a wooden bead shaped like a little star, now tucked in the bottom of your coat pocket like a secret you didn’t have the heart to throw away.

you didn’t move far — just a cabin on the east side of town, near the lookout post. it was smaller, colder, and lonelier than the warmth of his bed and his arms and his steady heartbeat at night. but it was quiet. and you needed quiet now more than anything.

jackson was too small for heartbreak.

people noticed.

they tried not to stare when they passed you in the market, or when you sat alone by the firepit outside the dining hall. but the whispers came anyway.

“did you hear…?”

“she was with him after dina, right?”

“i thought they were solid.”

you hated how much your own name sounded like a question now. like an interruption in a story that had already been written without you.

dina never gloated. never rubbed it in. but you saw her sometimes — out walking slow, one hand cradling her growing belly. jesse was always a few steps away. close, but never touching.

he still looked for you.

every time you crossed paths — every time your eyes met across the yard, or inside the town hall, or at the stables before patrol — he looked at you like someone trying to wake from a bad dream. like if he blinked hard enough, you might still be there.

but you weren’t.

you couldn’t be.

not when your chest still ached every time someone said “the baby.”

not when you still dreamed of a son with jesse’s smile — a dream that now belonged to someone else.

the worst part was that you missed him even in the anger.

even when you tried to build a wall out of everything you’d felt — the jealousy, the loss, the fear of not being enough — some part of you still ached for him in the quiet moments.

when the first snow fell, you thought of how jesse used to race you back to the porch, brushing flakes from your hair and calling you slowpoke with a grin.

when you found a bent nail in the fencepost, you thought of how he always had a spare tucked behind his ear, ready to fix things with those calloused, gentle hands.

when you heard music drifting from ellie’s porch one night, you remembered jesse’s laugh — the sound he made when you pretended to hate his singing, even though you secretly loved every off-key second.

you didn’t go to him.

but god, you missed him.

weeks passed.

spring threatened the edges of the sky, melting the frost from the windows. the smell of wet earth returned.

and then came the letter.

a note, folded twice, slipped under your door.

meet me at the orchard. please. just once.

you stared at it for an hour before moving.

the orchard was just starting to bloom.

not fully, not yet — but the buds were there, small and pink and brave.

jesse stood beneath the same tree where he’d kissed you that first time. the same one where you’d told him you wanted a boy. the same one where he’d said me too.

he looked older now. tired.

but still jesse.

you stopped a few feet away. said nothing.

he spoke first.

“i know i don’t have the right to ask for anything.”

you stared at the bark.

“i just… i wanted to say that i’m sorry. for everything i put you through.”

your throat tightened.

“i didn’t know how much it was hurting you,” he said. “i thought… if i just kept choosing you, that it would be enough. that maybe you wouldn’t feel second. but i get it now.”

you closed your eyes. the wind stirred the branches above.

“i never meant to make you feel replaceable,” jesse whispered. “you never were. you aren’t.”

silence.

when you finally spoke, your voice was softer than you meant it to be.

“i know.”

he stepped forward once.

“i still love you,” he said, simply.

you didn’t answer right away.

because you loved him too.

but love isn’t always enough to heal the parts that broke.

“i believe you,” you said at last. “but i can’t come back. not yet.”

jesse nodded.

“i’ll wait,” he said. “as long as it takes.”

you looked up at him then — this man who had been your warmth, your safety, your home. and for the first time in weeks, you smiled. it hurt, but it was real.

“take care of your son,” you whispered.

he nodded once. “i will.”

you turned and walked away, heart full and empty all at once.

because some stories don’t end with a kiss.

some end beneath a blooming tree, where the ghosts of what could’ve been still linger like petals in the wind.

and maybe, one day, you’d walk this path again.

but not today.

today, you kept walking.

and let yourself mourn the boy you never got to name.

[holxist]

SHOWERS

word count: 1.9k genre: smut& pinch of fluff ⚠️ : mdni. established relationship, dom!haechan x sub reader, sub space-ish, water play, pet names, bit of degrading, oral (m receiving)

synopsis: Save water, shower with your girlfriend! notes: nervous about publishing this one since I haven't read anything including water stuff

This summer has been hot, with the sun blazing down and barely any relief from the heat. It's hard to enjoy being outside when you’re constantly sweating. The quest to cool yourself started with drinking more water, cranking up the air conditioner, and taking extra showers. But as the days pass, you notice the higher utility bills, just like the temperature outside. “My fucking balls are sweating, I feel like Satan’s fucking me in the ass right now!” Haechan said, practically stumbling through the front door. He was dripping with sweat, pooling at his chin before it could even hit the hardwood floor. 

His shirt was soaked from the brutal five-minute walk in the blazing sun, which felt suffocating. He pushed his damp hair off his forehead and sighed as he stepped into your place and finally escaped the heat.

“Seriously, tell me about it,” you said, stifling a laugh but feeling bad for him. You hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with ice-cold water. 

“Thanks,” he said, gulping down the water like a scene from a cola ad. His cheeks were flushed, glowing in the sunlight, and he looked great with his sun-kissed skin.

“Anyway, the utility bills just arrived, and I think we need to do the conserve reserve thing,” you said, glancing over your shoulder as you walked towards the sink to tackle the pile of dirty dishes. 

“Let me take a look,” he replied, following you into the kitchen. He reached for the bills on the counter, carefully opening the envelopes to review them beside you.

“Shit bug, now I get your whole conserve reserve thing, I mean look at this,” he said with exaggeration and a playful grin.

“But just think how much we could save if you hopped in the shower with me. Who knows what kind of fun we might have while at it…” He leaned in a little closer, a teasing sparkle in his eye. 

A warm breeze brought the strong scent of his cologne, making you want to lean in and kiss him right then and there, but you can't give in.

“You wish! I know you, Hyuck,” you side-eyed him, turned your head, and sniffed him mockingly.

“Ugh, Hyuck, you smell!” you said with a playful smile as you nudged his cheek with your wet hand. You watched him curiously as he sniffed his collar. You chuckled and gave him soft kisses on his cheeks and playfully urged him to rest.

As the late afternoon sun streamed through the window, Haechan slowly woke from his nap. He stretched lazily, yawning, and glanced at you as you tidied the living room. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you called out, a smile lighting up the room as you caught his eye while organizing the shelf.

“Hey, woah! You looked like you had a one-on-one with a skunk,” he teased in a sleepy voice, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that made your heart skip a beat.

“You know I don’t smell right, what are you on about?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at his mock-seriousness.

A laugh escaped you as you brushed your hair back, a little flustered by his teasing. “I should probably shower soon.” “Definitely,” he replied, a playful seriousness in his tone. “I’d hate for us to faint from the smell!”

He wrinkled his nose dramatically, but his gaze lingered on you with a hint of mischief. You nudged him playfully, smirking back. “Alright, alright! I’ll be quick! Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting…”

As you head up to your room, the thought of a warm shower makes you feel all tingly inside. You can’t help but picture Haechan from earlier—it makes your heart race a little faster.

Thinking back to him, all flustered and breathless, sends shivers down your spine. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, and the heat between your thighs starts to feel intense, and you can't help but crave some relief. 

You grab the showerhead, feeling a rush of excitement. With a quick move, you lean back against the tiles, legs spread out, letting the warm water wash over you and enjoying the pleasure it brings you.

You've come to your senses when you saw Haehan leaning casually against the doorway, his dark, intense eyes fixated on you with a tantalizing mix of lust and amusement.

"Caught you," he said, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You felt a flutter in your chest, an unexpected rush of warmth creeping across your cheeks and in your core. The playful tilt of his head, just enough to catch the light from the candle you lit earlier, made you feel both vulnerable and thrillingly exposed. 

"What are you thinking?" he asked, taking a step closer, his gaze unwavering. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening.

"Maybe I’m thinking about how much you look like between my legs," you replied, trying to inject some confidence into your voice. Your heart raced at the thought of what you just said. “Is that so, pretty?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he sauntered closer. He lifted you effortlessly with a gentle yet firm grip, placing you delicately on the edge of the cool toilet bowl. Out of breath, you finally managed to mutter, "Just eat me already!" as he hovers teasingly close to your core, a smirk on his lips. 

“Why so eager, princes?” he whispers, his voice dripping with honey. He stands up and grabs the showerhead you’ve been playing with. 

“Kitten loves water, right?” he says with a sly smile, “Why don’t you just open those legs for me?” His words hang in the air. You open your legs enough for him to see your glistening pussy. 

“You’re a such slut, aren’t you?” he questioned. “No… Y-yes…” you answered unsurely, your voice shaking. The moment felt charged, your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, almost drowning you out.

Suddenly, a sharp slap hit your cheek, and the sting jolted through you like a wave. Your skin burned where his hand had connected.

“Louder,” he said impatiently, the edge in his voice sending a thrill of fear mixed with something unnameable deep within you.

“Y-yes! I’m a slut!” you exclaimed, word spilling out as you tried to find the strength to meet his gaze. “Good girl,” he said, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

"Now wider," he firmly commands as he points the shower head at your center. You obey as you hold your shaky legs wider for him.

He leans in closer to you, face to face, “You want this, do you?” he challenges, his voice playful yet firm.

“Your toys can’t get you off, huh?” he says with a hint of teasing. 

Using his free hand, he adds his middle finger inside you, pushing you closer to the edge of your climax.

“Talk about saving water and shit then catching you getting off of this,” he remarks, a spark of mischief in his tone, as he navigates your gummy walls.

"I’m clos–," you implore, your voice trembling with a mixture of urgency and yearning. As you lift your gaze, shimmering tears threaten to spill over.

“What was that, baby?” he asked with a sarcastic tone, clearly amused as he upped the pressure, relentlessly honing in on your sensitive spot. You gasped as he thrust another two fingers inside you, pushing you more and more to the brink.

"Haechan, please," you pathetically plead, trying to ignore the knot forming inside you, ready to snap at any moment.

"FUCK!" you gasped as a sudden rush of liquid gushed out, soaking the boy in front of you and leaving a damp spot on his pants. He chuckled as he looked at the dark patch on it.

“I don’t think good kittens cum without permission first,” he whispers flirtatiously, his sultry voice wrapping around you like silk. His eyes glinting with mischief and desire, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek, sending a tantalizing shiver down your spine. He dropped the showerhead on the floor and gestured for you to kneel in front of him. With a teasing grin, he bent closer, playfully pinching your cheeks until your lips formed an exaggerated 'O.' 

“So, tell me, baby, who is Haechan?" he challenged, clearly enjoying the moment. 

"No one, sir," you reply with a hint of defiance. Your chin lifts slightly as you fight back your tears.

“You better watch that mouth whore,” he asserts firmly. The heat radiating from your core surged intensely, creating a wave of warmth that enveloped you. You found yourself inching closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you towards him.

As you eagerly rubbed your face against Hachan’s thighs, "Behave," he ordered. His intense gaze pressed deeper, creating a sense of urgency in your body, making you sit straight. As he teasingly ran his thumb along his lips. "Open your mouth," he instructed. You complied without hesitation. He gradually pressed deeper, and you gagged as the pressure increased, the softness of your mouth contrasting sharply with the firm, relentless push of his thumb.

“Greedy slut, undressing me while sucking on my thumb like her life depends on it”, you moaned with the way he talks to you, he lets you palm him which makes your pussy clench on nothing. As you pulled out his member, a surge of desire rushed through you, and your mouth  parted instantly, ready to take him. A playful chuckle that escaped him only heightened your eagerness.

“You’re drooling, kitten,” he stated as he took out his thumb in your mouth, followed by your saliva dripping on the floor. 

“Wanna suck daddy ‘m taste,” you beg as words scrambled in your tongue, as you stare at his cock.

“Head all mushed already?” as he pats your head, you simply look up at him with half-lidded eyes and nod.

“What is it baby? Tell me what you want” he asked sweetly. “Want daddy” you shyly answered, still looking at his eyes prettily. 

“Want daddy? But I'm here pretty” he states, “Cock, cum, want” you hastily murmured. Haechan all amused watching you melting in front of him barely forming a sentence. 

He grabbed you chin and gestures to open yur mouth once again. You pull out your tongue instinctively as he slaps his cock on the surface of your tongue, you moan feeling how heavy it is. He groans as you swallow him, he grabs your hair into a ponytail to see how well you take his cock

“Shit baby, just like that,” he hisses as he slightly thrusts his hips and hits the back of your throat. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, baby,” he praised. You hummed around him, “Needy little mutt, trying to get off my foot.”

Your eyes met his and he smiled seeing you grinding on his foot, you can’t help it—your hips, moving on their own. Haechan knows you're lost, that you can't even comprehend a word he's saying.

“Baby, I’m– fucking clos–, ” he panted, chest heaving as his stomach tenses. Haechan pulls out of your jaw, and you gasp for air, letting the spit drip down your chin. You whine as your mouth feels empty, longing for something to fill you.

“Up. I need to fuck you properly.”  holxist. 2025

[starsinthesky5]

would songbird be able to convince joey to go on stage during her tour (like travis did with Taylor sorta thing?)

a/n: this was so fun to write about :( so many thoughts in my head about it

never in a million years would she ask him to get up on that stage. not because she doubts he’d do it for her, but because she knows him too well to ever put him in that position. joe is the type of man who would move mountains for the people he loves. he’ll do the things that scare him, the uncomfortable, vulnerable, soul-baring things—if it’s for her, he won’t even flinch. but the truth is, she loves him too much to let him do that if it’s not his choice. and being up on a stage, center spotlight, with thousands of screaming fans watching his every move? that’s not joe. that’s never been joe.

because the only time joe has ever felt truly safe in front of a crowd is when he’s in pads and cleats, helmet snug on his head, blocking the noise and the lights. football is the only stage that’s ever made sense to him, because the helmet is his armor. it dulls the roar, narrows the vision. he forgets about the crowd. the chaos fades. the world tightens into twenty-five-second bursts of rhythm and instinct, and that he can handle. that is where he’s always felt in control.

but standing on her stage? no helmet. no playbook. just him, bare and visible and seen in ways that make his stomach twist? that’s different. that’s not a world he was built for, and she would never ask him to cross that line just for the sake of a moment. not even for a show-stopping surprise. not even to match the headlines.

and she’s okay with that. more than okay, actually. because their relationship has never been about showmanship or spectacle. it’s not about proving anything to the world. it’s the quiet, enduring kind of love, the type that doesn’t need a stage to feel big.

of course, she could probably get him to do it. she’s the one person who can coax him into anything with just a look. he always softens for her, always folds when her voice goes a little sweet and her fingers brush up the inside of his arm and she says, “please, joey?”, but that’s the thing. she never uses that tone when it comes to stuff like this. because she respects him too much. because she knows his boundaries aren’t walls to climb or challenges to overcome—they’re part of who he is, and she loves every single part.

so no, joe doesn’t strut onto her stage in a surprise moment. he doesn’t dance in front of pyrotechnics or wave to a roaring crowd. but what he does do is show up, fully and quietly, in all the ways that count.

he’s backstage every night when it’s about to wrap up, hoodie up, security pass clipped to his lanyard, hands tucked into his pockets as he leans against a rig or crouches at the side of the stage. he watches her like he’s memorizing something sacred, mouthing the lyrics to every song, smiling every time she points at a fan or throws her head back and laughs between verses. sometimes, when she looks over her shoulder between songs, she catches a glimpse of him in the wings—steady and unshakable. her anchor in a sea of light and noise.

during the middle stretch of her set, when the band hits a groove and she’s off doing her costume change, joe slips out to the barricade. not for photos or fanfare—he keeps it lowkey, always—but to be there, present with the people who love her just like he does. he hands out guitar picks to kids in the front row, laughs with a dad who drove his daughter eight hours for this show. he hums along to the interlude under his breath. he’s not performing. he’s participating. because her world is his world, too.

when the final note echoes out and the crowd erupts and she comes bounding off stage—sweat-drenched, adrenaline-high, heart racing—he’s already there. towel in one hand, her water bottle in the other, grin wide and eyes full of love.

“you were magic tonight,” he says, voice low, arms already opening to catch her as she jumps into them.

and she melts into him, every single time. because even if he never once steps on her stage, he’s the one who grounds her after every show. he’s the calm after the chaos, the hand she reaches for when the lights go down.

he may never be part of the performance, but he’s her biggest fan. her most constant presence.

and that means more than any surprise cameo ever could.

[lvnleah]

the breaking point | no more secrets.

find the no more secrets masterlist here!

this is part of hayden’s background! this will help you to get to know her more and understand her past :)

this is part 3/4 of haydens past! i suggest you read the other parts to make sense of everything! find the mini series masterlist here!

May 11th, 2022 | age 18.

Four weeks of living in your car. Three weeks since Beth tried to stop you. One second away from falling apart.

You were exhausted and a shell of yourself. 

It had been nearly a month since your world quietly collapsed. A whole month since you’d started sleeping in the back of your car with the seats pushed down, the hard flooring digging into your ribs and your hoodie bunched beneath your head for a pillow. Since showers at the club became your only source of warmth. Since meals became something you earned with polite smiles and lies about different things.

You’d learned how to manage.

Sort of.

You kept your clothes in your gym bag. They folded with care at first, then just shoved in wherever they’d fit. You learned which staff left early and which ones wouldn’t ask questions if you lingered too long. You knew how to time your arrivals so that no one would notice you were always the first one in and the last one out.

But your body was beginning to betray you.

You’d gotten quieter. Quicker to snap, slower to recover in drills. You weren’t crying yet, but you were close. Your throat had that tight, burning feel all the time now. It was like you were always one comment, one mistake, one joke away from breaking.

Then your luck finally ran out.

You were in the locker room, tiredly changing out of your training gear, when your locker door swung open and everything spilled out.

Your whole life that was in your bag was now on the floor, on display for everyone to see. 

The room fell silent. Conversations stopped and all eyes diverted to you before looking at everything that was spilt on the floor. It was exactly normal stuff to keep in your training bag. 

Everything was everywhere. 

Toiletries. A crumpled photo of you, Maisie and your mum before everything went wrong. Your favourite hoodie. All your socks. A half-eaten granola bar. Your charger, the notebook you used to write in when you couldn’t sleep, a beaten-up pair of trackies that hadn’t been washed in god knows how long. 

Your whole life that was stuffed into one bag was now on show. 

Katie snorted from across the bench. “Jesus, H, what have yer got in there? You bringing yer whole house or what eh?”

She was joking. You knew she was joking. You could hear the lightness in her tone, the way the others chuckled.

But your heart dropped through your stomach.

Because that was exactly what you were doing. That was your house beside everything else that was packed into boxes and bags in your car. 

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Your chest started to cave in, the noise of the room muffled around you like you were underwater. You bent down to shove things back into the bag, hands shaking, too fast, too clumsy.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry. Not here.

You grabbed the photo, stuffed it deep under your clothes, zipped the bag with trembling fingers, and bolted.

You heard someone call your name but you didn’t stop.

You barely made it down the corridor before your knees buckled. You slumped against the wall, body trembling, vision blurring. You pressed your fists to your mouth to stop the sobs, but the panic was already in your bloodstream.

Your chest felt tight.

Too tight.

Your fingers tingled.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your brain screamed move, run, get out of here, but your body wouldn’t.

You didn’t even hear them coming.

Beth dropped down in front of you first, her voice low and steady. “Hayden. Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Viv appeared next, crouching beside her, hand reaching to rest gently on your knee. “You’re okay, just breathe, okay?”

And then Leah, her brows pulled together in quiet concern, sliding down the wall to sit beside you.

“I c-can’t—” you gasped, hands trembling against your mouth. “I can’t—”

“You’re alright,” Beth said softly, taking one of your hands and holding it between her own. “Breathe in with me, okay? In… and out. Just follow my voice.”

You tried.

You really tried.

And eventually, your chest started to loosen. The buzzing in your fingers eased. The pressure behind your eyes didn’t, but at least the panic started to calm down enough for you to speak.

“I didn’t mean to—” you choked. “I just…I’m tired. I-I’m so fucking…tired.”

“We know,” Viv said gently. “We’ve seen it. It's okay, we’ll help you.”

The sob bursted out before you could stop it.

“Hayden, what’s going on, kid?” Leah asked you gently, “Please just tell us so we can help.”

“I-I’ve been… living in my car.” The words spilled out quickly. “M-my parents k-kicked me out. They…they came home and-and found me kissing Grace. Said I was disgusting. Said I wasn’t welcome anymore. I didn’t know where to go, and I thought if I told anyone here, I’d get benched or dropped or—I don’t know. I just didn’t want to lose this too.”

Leah’s face didn’t even flicker with judgment, only pain. The kind you feel when someone else’s hurt cuts too close to your own. She slid closer, gently brushing her shoulder against yours.

“They said I was disgusting,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “They said I was an embarrassment… and then they told me to pack my shit and leave. And I did. I just… I left.”

Viv raised an eyebrow, “And you’ve been living in your car since then?”

You nodded, shame rising in your throat like bile as you wiped your eyes. “Almost four weeks. I park near the training ground or sometimes outside a Tesco because the lights make me feel safer. I–I shower here, eat what I can from the canteen, I do my washing at a local laundrette. I keep thinking I’ll figure it out, that it’s temporary, but I’m so tired. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Beth was shaking her head slowly, eyes glossy. “Why didn’t you tell me when I stopped you that day in the car park?”

“Because I didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case,” you said hoarsely. “I didn’t want to ruin what I have here. I finally had something good. I was scared that if I told someone, it’d all disappear. And I didn’t think anyone would… care.”

“Hayden,” Beth said, voice firm now, no space for argument, “we do care. I care. Viv cares. Leah cares. We all do.”

“You could kiss a girl in front of this whole team and the only thing anyone would say is, ‘about bloody time,’” Leah added, trying to soften the moment with a smile. “You’re not wrong for who you love. You love who you love. That’s it. No one would even bat an eyelid here if you kissed a girl.”

Beth leaned in. “Do you know how many of us are gay or somewhere on that spectrum?”

You blinked through your tears.

“We’re not a straight squad,” Viv said dryly. “We’re far from straight, Hayden.”

That pulled the smallest laugh out of you, and it nearly undid you again, how kind they were. How simple they made it sound, like love wasn’t something shameful, but something worth defending. Something worth holding onto.

“I–I don’t want to be a problem,” you said weakly, voice cracking again.

“You’re not a problem,” Beth insisted. “You’re a person. One we love. You’re eighteen, Hayds. You’re meant to be figuring life out, not surviving it on your own.”

You wiped at your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve. “I—I don’t know where to go. I can’t–can't afford my own place.”

“You’re coming with us,” Beth said immediately. “You’re moving in.”

Your head jerked up. “What?”

“We’ve got a spare room at our flat, you can move in with me and Viv. 

“I don’t want to get in the way of you and Viv and your relation—”

“You won’t,” Viv interrupted. “We want you there. Both of us.”

Beth nodded firmly, the most serious you’d ever seen her be. “We’re serious, Hayden. You’re not going back to that car, not even for one more night.”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, to tell them you didn’t want to be a burden or take up space or ruin whatever rhythm they had in their lives. But the words didn’t come. Because the truth was, the offer felt like oxygen. Like a lifeline thrown into the ocean that you were drowning in.

“I don’t have much,” you said quietly. “Just the stuff in my bag and the boxes in my car but I can buy some bits.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Beth said with a soft shrug like it was no big deal. “We’ll swing by and get it after training. You can crash at ours tonight.”

“You don’t even have to unpack right away,” Viv added, “Just… breathe for a bit, okay?”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Because if you spoke, you were certain you’d cry again. So you nodded instead, tears silently slipping down your cheeks. 

Leah stood then and offered you the gentlest grin. “I’ll cover for you with Jonas. Just take the rest of the day. Get your stuff, get settled.”

“But training—”

“You’re eighteen and barely holding yourself together,” Leah said gently. “There’s more to life than football, kiddo. And right now, you need to take care of yourself. Football will still be here tomorrow.”

You nodded again, fingers still trembling in shock.

Beth and Viv helped you up, neither one rushing you. Viv steadied you with a hand on your elbow while Beth picked up your gym bag from where you’d dropped it. You didn’t ask how she found it. 

You must’ve dropped it when you rushed out, or maybe one of the girls brought it to her. Either way, it was held gently like something precious, not like it was just a crumpled pile of clothes and a life you’d tried to keep hidden.

No one said anything as they walked you out of the training ground.

The ride to their flat was quiet, you weren’t in any fit state to drive so you got into Beth and Viv’s car. Viv of course played Taylor Swift and no one pressed you to talk. When you got there, Beth handed you the key to the flat like it had always been yours. 

That evening was quieter than you expected.

Not heavy, not awkward. Just soft and safe. 

Beth didn’t hover, but she didn’t leave you alone either. She kept herself busy in the kitchen unpacking the takeaway that she’d ordered, fussing with drinks and plates and cutlery like it was a dinner party. 

Viv moved around with her usual quiet efficiency, clearing space on the coffee table, lighting a candle like it was the most normal thing in the world to do for a shell-shocked teenager who’d just admitted to living out of a car.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, hands in your lap, shoulders tense like you were waiting to be told it was all a joke. That they didn’t actually mean it. That this kindness had an expiration date or they expected you to clean like Cinderella and pay all the bills. 

“Got your korma, me lady,” Beth said jokingly, placing the takeaway container in front of you. “And your naan bread. Obviously.”

You nodded, managing a small, grateful “thanks” as you reached for the warm food. It smelled like comfort. Like something real and solid.

The TV played quietly in the background, some reality show neither of them seemed to be watching. It filled the silence in a way that made it feel like home rather than something temporary. 

It took a few bites of food before your stomach even remembered what hunger felt like. Then you ate like you hadn’t eaten in days, because you kind of hadn’t. No one commented. Beth just refilled your water glass once. Viv slid a second naan across the table like it was nothing.

When you finally stopped, too full to finish, you sat back and wiped your hands on the napkin.

“This is nice,” you said quietly like admitting it out loud might make it disappear. “Thank you.”

Beth smiled at you over her food. “It is. And you can stay as long as you want. I mean that.”

“I don’t even know how to say thank you,” you murmured. 

“You don’t need to,” Viv smiled. “Just eat, sleep, be here.”

You nodded, throat tight again. You glanced around the flat. It was warm and lived in a way yours never had been. There were framed photos on the shelves. Beth with Leah, Viv with her parents, a Polaroid of the two of them at some holiday market, bundled up and smiling. 

It was a home.

Not just a house.

And now, somehow, it was yours too.

“Do you want to call Grace?” Beth asked gently, like she already knew the answer might be no.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “I don’t think she knows what happened. We haven’t… spoken. Not since my parents kicked her out.”

Viv looked over, eyes understanding. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. 

You sat there a while longer. Eating. Breathing. Just existing without the weight of survival pressing into your ribs. Eventually, Viv disappeared into the back and came out holding a hoodie. It was clean, soft, and a little oversized.

“Figured you might want something comfortable,” she said, offering it. 

You took it with both hands, “Thank you.”

“Bathroom’s second door on the right. A spare toothbrush is in the drawer.”

You nodded. That night, you showered until the water turned cold and then stood there a little longer anyway, just breathing in steam. When you finally padded down the hallway with wet hair and damp sleeves, the flat was dark except for the soft glow of the lamp in the living room.

Beth was waiting by the door to the spare room. She didn’t say anything, just opened the door and nodded toward the bed already made up with fresh sheets.

You turned to her at the threshold, voice small. “You really don’t mind?”

Beth just shook her head and opened her arms.

You walked into them without thinking. She held you like she meant it. Like you were something precious instead of broken.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’ll always be here, I promise.”

And for the first time in weeks, you believed someone.

When she let go, she smiled and nodded toward the bed. “Get some sleep, Hayds.”

“You know your birthday’s in a few days, yeah?” she said eventually, her voice soft.

You blinked. “Yeah. I… kind of forgot.”

Beth tilted her head, giving you a look like, of course, you did. “Well, we didn’t. Viv’s already made a list. She’s weirdly intense about birthdays even though she’s an awkward tattie. You’ll see.”

You stared at her. “You’re doing something for it?”

Beth smiled. “Of course we are. You think we’d let your first birthday with us go unnoticed?”

You shrugged, not trusting your voice. “I’m not really used to… doing anything. Last year my parents didn’t even say anything. Just gave me twenty quid and told me not to be dramatic about it.”

Beth’s smile faded. “Then this year, we’re doing it properly. Cake, food, whatever you want. Presents. You don’t even have to wear jeans.”

That pulled a small laugh out of you, and Beth grinned.

“You’re part of this family now, Hayden. That means birthdays get celebrated, and feelings are allowed, and you don’t have to carry everything by yourself anymore.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t even know how to… let people do that.”

“We’ll teach you,” Beth said simply. “You’ve got time.”

You curled up under the duvet that smelled faintly like lavender and clean laundry. You held the hoodie to your chest and stared at the ceiling until your eyes got too heavy to fight.

And when you finally fell asleep, it was the first time you didn’t dream about being left behind.

[zayn-210]

OBSIDIAN LOVER - christopher chahn bahng "are you really that obsessed with me?"

chris would never admit it, but he's head over heels for you. and as his friend jisung would say, good things come to those who drink.

warnings: frat!skz, afab!reader, swearing, quarterback!chris, mentions of reader getting used by asshole men, bsf!jisung,

"Are you going to finally grow some balls and talk to her or are you just going to stare at her all night?"

Chris's gaze snaps to Felix, and he groans as the frat house noise echoes around him.

"I don't know, man."

Chris was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, and you were currently perched on the arm of the chair Jisung was sitting in as you chatted with everyone around you. Your mini skirt rode up slightly, exposing more thigh than Chris could physically handle, and your tiny tube top barely kept your boobs in place.

"Instead of eye fucking her all night, you should go over there," Felix encourages him.

"No way, there's not a chance in hell she's interested in me," Chris says.

"Whatever you say, dude."

Felix walks away from Chris and joins the circle you're in. You smile brightly at him, then your eyes land on Chris. You smile at him, waving at him. Chris waves back, slightly awestruck.

Hyunjin says something that makes you laugh and turn your attention back to the group.

Oh, Chris was so fucked.

The next time he sees you is on SL Night. Starting Lineup Night, more commonly known across campus as SL Night, was when all cheerleaders were assigned a football player for the game and they wore their jerseys, number and last name. During halftime, each cheerleader would give their player flowers as a thank you for working so hard.

Of course, the universe loved to torture Chris, and when he scans the list, he nearly passes out when he sees your name next to his.

"Oh, hey, Chris!" you chirp as you walk up, your hair styled in delicate waves that frame your perfect face.

"Hey!" he says, stepping back.

"Is that the list for SL Night?" you ask, leaning past him.

"Oh, yeah! It is."

He watches as you look over the list, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your face light up.

"We're together! Isn't that awesome?" you ask.

"Yeah, it really is, huh?"

The two of you chat as you wander towards your lecture hall.

"Well, this is me. I'll see you later, yeah?" you say as you open the door.

"Yeah, see you later."

You smile at him before slipping into the classroom. Once you're gone, Chris rubs his hands over his face before he walks off to join the guys for lunch.

"You good, man? You look like you witnessed a murder," Seungmin comments as Chris sits down.

"I'm paired up with her for SL Night."

Everyone gasps and looks at each other.

"What?" Chris asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Nothing!" Felix says.

Chris gives Felix a pointed look, and the younger man sighs.

"I may have pulled a few strings and got you paired together."

"Felix!" Chris exclaims.

"What!? You need to get over yourself and fucking talk to her! It's suffocating us."

The rest of the group nods, agreeing with Felix.

"Is it really that bad?" Chris asks shyly.

"It's horrible," Minho says, patting Chris's shoulder.

It's silent for a moment, then Hyunjin speaks up.

"You know how they always get us flowers?"

Chris nods.

"Get her some, too," Hyunjin offers.

"You think that'll work?"

Changbin nods. "My brother did that for his wife when they were in college and she went nuts. Practically had to pull her off of him," Changbin says, continuing to eat his food.

"And, when you give her the flowers on Friday, ask her out. Girls love that stuff," Jisung adds.

"Aren't you gay?" Seungmin asks.

"I have a sister, dickhead," Jisung retorts, throwing a fry at Seungmin.

"Okay, I'll get her flowers. Does anyone have any idea what her favorite flower is?"

All eyes land on Jisung.

"Oh, fuck you guys!"

Friday morning rolls around, and Jisung and Chris are roaming around a flower shop not far from campus.

"Okay, you need to get her favorite flower and one that reminds her of you. She loves that type of stuff."

Chris gives him a confused look.

"Chris, she's my best friend. I've seen her be played by nearly the entire D-line and the hockey team. They only fuck her because she's a cheerleader, not because she's one of the best people they've met."

Chris nods as a weight settles on his chest. This has to be perfect.

Jisung follows Chris as he looks, offering help here and there.

"These." Chris picks up a bouquet of your favorite flower and one he really likes.

Jisung grins. "She's going to love them."

"How do I look?"

Yunji, who's wearing Hyunjin's jersey, looks over at you. She gives you a once-over, and grins. "I don't know how he's going to keep his hands off of you, girl."

Your hair is up in a curled ponytail, the signature style for SL Night, and your makeup is impeccable. You're wearing a cropped version of Chris's jersey, the number 3 plastered on the front and back, and his last name is big and bold on the back. Under the jersey, you're wearing a delicate gold chain with the letter C hanging from it.

The bouquet of red roses sits on the dressing room table, a small note for Chris tucked in it. What better way to confess your feelings for him than on SL Night?

"I still don't know how we got paired together. I thought for sure I would be with Jisung," you comment absently as you touch up your blush.

"That would be my doing!" Minjoo, who's wearing Minho's jersey, says as she skips over.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"Felix and I may or may not have worked together and gotten you paired together."

You look over at her, your jaw dropped. "You didn't."

"I did. Your obvious love for each other is disgusting, and we all need you to get on with it before we kill you. With love, of course."

You laugh and hug her tightly. "I love you, Joo," you say.

"I love you, too."

Your hands are sweaty where they grip your poms as the cheer team lines up for the tunnel. You can see the football team as they crowd the tunnel, and your eyes land on Chris.

He's holding his helmet by the face guard, and he looks ridiculously good for being in football pads. His eyes find yours and he smiles.

You giggle and turn around, looking over your shoulder at him.

Chris's smile brightens as you face him again. You blow him a kiss, and he pretends to grab it and place it over his heart.

"Let's go!"

Smoke blasts out of the pressurized cannons and the boys run onto the field. You're cheering as loud as possible as they all run past, your heart fluttering as Chris winks at you.

Halftime couldn't come soon enough.

The buzzer sounds and all of the players start filing off the field. You're waiting on the sideline, flowers in hand, as the starting lineup lines up in the middle of the field.

"Good evening, everyone! Tonight, we honor our starting lineup for working so hard this year to be the best team that they can be."

The stadium cheers and the announcer starts going down the list.

"Number 4, Seo Changbin, our starting center."

"Number 44, Hwang Hyunjin, one of our starting wide receivers."

"Number 25, Lee Minho, our starting tight end."

"Number 8, Han Jisung, our left tackle."

"Number 1, Lee Felix, our other starting wide receiver."

"Number 11, Kim Seungmin, our starting running back."

"Number 23, Yang Jeongin, our starting right tackle."

"And last but not least, number 3, Christopher Bahng, our starting quarterback."

You walk up to Chris and hand him the roses.

"Thank you," he says softly. "How did you know these are my favorite?"

"I pay attention," you reply.

"Oh, Jeong!" Chris yells.

Jeong, one of the backups, jogs over and hands Chris the bouquet he picked out this morning.

"These are for you," Chris says, handing you the bouquet. Your favorite flower is arranged with white tulips and baby's breath.

"These are beautiful, Chris. Thank you, you didn't have to do this," you say bashfully, your eyes shooting to the ground.

"I know, but I wanted to," Chris tells you, brushing your bangs back. He tilts your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. "I'm stupid for not telling you sooner, but I really like you. Like, I want to take you on a date, if you'll let me."

You giggle, your cheeks still pink. "I really like you, too. I would love to go on a date with you."

Chris smiles at you, opening his arms.

You step into his embrace, hugging him tightly.

"Finally!" Felix and Jisung chorus, collapsing dramatically onto the ground.

"What do you mean "finally"?" you ask Jisung.

"Chris has been talking about you nonstop for the past six months," Minho tells you as he pulls Felix and Jisung off the ground.

Chris blushes, hiding his face in your neck. "Shut up, Minho," he mumbles into your skin.

You laugh softly and run your fingers through his hair.

"Are you really that obsessed with me?" you ask him.

Chris pulls his head up and shyly meets your eyes. "Yeah. You're not mad, are you?"

"Chris, why would I be mad?" you ask him. "I just wish you would've said something sooner."

"Why?"

"So I could've done this more."

You reach for Chris and pull him into a kiss. He smiles, his arms tightening around you.

"FINALLY!" the entire football team yells.

"GUYS!"