#and then he quickly said goodbye and left

[ladykailitha]

You're a Dream to Me Part 10

Here we are at the end of this wonderful story. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I enjoyed taking you on this journey.

In this we have Eddie and Steve navigating their new relationship and we see why I didn't want Claudia as Steve's mom's soulmate. ;)

Also Ted is not a bad father and husband, just a disconnected one.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

~

After the concert was over and Steve was ushered into the green room. Robin and Dustin had been sent off home with a bunch signed merch and a promise to Robin that Steve would say goodbye before they left.

Eddie stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his back pockets, rocking back on his heels. “So...”

Steve huffed dramatically and strode over to him, pulling him in for a searing hot first kiss. Eddie’s arms came up around his waist to grip the back of his shirt, holding on for dear life.

When they finally broke off, Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Wow.” And then dived back in for another kiss. It was sweet and smooth, like melted chocolate.

“Let’s talk,” Steve breathed, “before you kiss me senseless.”

Eddie chuckled. “You’re the one that started it, pretty boy. But sure we’ll talk.”

Steve grinned back, taking Eddie’s hand leading them to the sofa. “I just want to say that this isn’t a strike against you or anything, just letting you know the scope of what we’re talking about here, me waiting for you wise.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said with a nod. “I’ve got a bad feeling it’s in the years category instead of months, or even weeks like for me.”

Steve winced. “Yeah, since your final go round at high school.”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut. Steve reached out and took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“No judgment, remember. It doesn’t matter to me why you weren’t ready for your soulmate. Some people never are and sometimes it takes a lifetime. Take the guy who came with me for example, or rather I should say who I came with.”

Eddie opened his eyes to see Steve’s earnest face. “Come on, you can’t expect me to believe it’s been ‘years’ and he hasn’t found his soulmate yet. Dude had the biggest baby face.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “No, he’s one of the lucky bastards who not only met his soulmate when they were thirteen, they got their dreams at the same time. It was almost sickeningly cute.”

“Lucky bastard indeed,” Eddie huffed, drawing his knee up under his other leg.

“But his mom on the other hand,” Steve continued with a cock of his head and an eye roll. “She got pregnant from his dad and they got married really quickly. They weren’t soulmates, but they loved each other a lot. But she’s never been ready for her soulmate because her whole life has been consumed by her son, especially after her husband died. When she’s ready to let him go and find true love, then she’ll be ready.”

Eddie nodded. “That makes sense. My uncle’s the same way. He says when he doesn’t have to worry about me anymore, then he’ll think about this whole soulmate business.”

Steve scooted close. “Well, I’d say that he’s got to starting thinking because I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

Eddie cupped his cheek and pressed their lips together. He wasn’t sure who moaned and who gasped, but it really didn’t matter. He was more than willing to make either sound come out Steve until the end of time.

There was a knock on the door that forced them to stop.

“Come in!” Eddie called out. He shifted so that they were better situated on the sofa, but other than that he didn’t move at all.

Steve felt his whole body glow with the thought that Eddie didn’t care who was on the other side of that door, they were in this together.

The door opened and Chrissy peaked her head in.

“Hey, guys,” she said with a grimace. “I know this is a really important time for you both, but I need to clear out the room so staff could clean it.”

Eddie smiled up at her. “Of course! We’ll be there in a minute.”

Chrissy gave them a thumbs up and swiftly closed the door behind her.

Eddie stood up and held out his hand for Steve to take. Steve smiled up at him and then slipped his hand in Eddie’s. Eddie gently pulled him to his feet. Then they were inches apart again, and Eddie wanted nothing else but to kiss this man senseless, but if they did that, they wouldn’t be leaving here. At least not for awhile.

So, still hand in hand Eddie led them out of the green room to wear the band and the girls were waiting for them.

“As I understand it,” Chrissy said, “Steve is joining us for the rest of the tour?” Steve nodded. “Fantastic! You’ll meet Leon in New Orleans, he’s Gareth’s soulmate, Georgia in Boston, she’s mine, and Miranda in New York, she’s Jeff’s. Leon is from Louisiana with his band The Pop Rockets. They’re currently on break, so he’s visiting his family. Georgia is touring with her band Lilith’s Little Monsters and both bands will be in Boston at the same time. I will spending time with her, so if you need anything, tough titties. And finally Miranda is New York with her family who is taking care of her while she gestates twins. Got that?”

Steve stared at her in shock and whimpered, “No?”

Everyone laughed, except Eddie who patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you. I’ll make sure to point in the right direction.”

Steve looked up at him awe and Eddie blushed. He shoved a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his darkening cheeks. But Steve gently tucked it behind his ear.

“Well shit,” Gareth breathed. “If I didn’t see it myself, there is no way I’d believe Steve Harrington and Eddie were soulmates. But that little scene just cinched it.”

“Like even my parents aren’t as in sync as they are after three hours,” Jeff said in admiration, “and they’ve been soulmates for thirty some odd years.”

“I think they’re cute,” Sophie said with a grin. “I can’t wait to see what they’re like as a couple.”

Everyone agreed with her and they split up to go to the hotel they were staying at for the last night. They had said goodbye to their families before the show, so they missed meeting Steve, but Eddie called Wayne right away to let him know about Steve. He ended the call with promises to bring Steve with him the next time he was visiting.

Yes, Wayne knew Steve from the Soulmate Singles group, but this was different. This was meeting family.

~

The first couple of days was all at once bliss and nerve-wracking at the same time. Bliss because Steve was spending every second getting to know Eddie and the rest of the band and just being as close to Eddie as physically possible.

It was also nerve-wracking as hell, because he’d never been away from the bookstore for so long. So he was on the phone with Robin making sure she wasn’t being harassed by little old ladies, that she remembered to make the order, and that she was training the new guy right.

After the third day Robin stopped answering his calls and would only send curt text messages. After the fourth time she did that Steve took the hint and would only ask about her or Vickie so she would stop screening his calls.

But other than that Steve would say that he loved life on the road. The new places and new faces. He knew that it must be exhausting for the band, them having done it for almost a decade. But he thrived on it and his enthusiasm spread to everyone else and they started to get pumped up for it too.

When the tour was finally over and everyone came together for a reunion in Hawkins. Jeff and Miranda’s twins were born and they took the long drive to Hawkins to be there (the babies being too young to fly). They were named Vincent and Veronica. Or Vinnie and Ronnie for short.

All the other soulpairs were there. Gareth and Leon, Brian and Sophie, Chrissy and Georgia, Dustin and Suzy, Will and Mike, Robin and Vickie, Lucas and Max, and of course Steve and Eddie. And to everyone’s surprise, Karen and Allison.

Once they saw how happy Steve was with his soulmate, they had talked it over with their husbands. Ted was all for staying married and letting her be with Allison. He explained that his soulmate had passed away and he had been happy being with Karen.

Clint Harrington on the other hand was furious that his wife’s soulmate was a woman and threatened to throw her out until Allison pointed out that everything he was, was because of her. He agreed to a quiet divorce and had moved out to New York to be closer to his job.

El came with Hopper and Joyce. And Claudia and Wayne to round out the older adults.

“Steve!” Dustin said running up to Steve and Eddie. “You’ll never guess what, but Ma started getting her soulmate dreams! Isn’t that amazing?!”

Steve ruffled his hair. “That’s great, bud. It’ll be nice to see your mom happy with someone. Especially now that you’re all grown up.”

“That’s really cool,” Eddie said, trying to hide his smile. “Hey, has she met my uncle, Wayne yet?”

Dustin lit up and slowly began to grin. “No, they haven’t...” He turned on his heel and dashed off.

Steve looked at Eddie in confusion. “What was that about?”

Eddie cackled and rubbed his hands together. “Just wait.”

Steve just shrugged. If Eddie wasn’t going share, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Eddie was like a steel trap when it came to keeping secrets. You could trust Eddie to never tell shit about anyone, not even when the person is right there saying it’s okay.

He loved that about his soulmate. Well he loved his soulmate full stop.

Suddenly there were sounds of Dustin squealing like stuck pig.

“And there it is,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go meet the newest additions to the Munson family.”

Eddie grabbed his hand and lead him over to where Claudia and Wayne were hugging each other fiercely.

It was then when Steve got it. “Soulmates, huh?”

Eddie beamed at him. “Yup! I had a feeling it was her from the conversation we had when first bonded. Two people who love their charges with the passion of a thousand fiery suns? Who would be better for each other?”

Dustin was jumping up and down and screaming, “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!”

He spotted Eddie and Steve and ran up to them. “My surrogate brother and my soon to be step brother! I can’t believe it! We’re going to be actual family, Steve!”

Steve hugged him fiercely. “We always were. This just makes it official.”

They celebrated their new soulmate status as everyone around them just enjoyed the party.

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist. “You know, it might have taken us a long time to get here, but I think it was the perfect time. Maybe if you had been ready when I was, you wouldn’t have made it big with the band and I wouldn’t have got the bookstore. And those were really important to both of us.”

Eddie paused for a moment. “You know I never thought about it like that, but you’re right. We had to go through all that to get to here. Just like Claudia and Wayne. Love you, so much, Stevie!” He kissed him fiercely.

“Love you too, rockstar!”

Tag List: COMPLETED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @themoonagainstmers @eyehartart @tartarusknight @chaotic-waffle @dotdot-wierdlife

10- @stedestielfrattficlover @steddieislife @riotrose8 @bunnybens-blog @watermelonmite

[theonlyonesora]

The Shift - Part 2

Nico Rosberg x Reader

The villa in Lake Como was quiet—too quiet. You’d left Monaco behind like a storybook closed too quickly, pages still fluttering in the breeze. Italy welcomed you with a gentler rhythm: slow mornings, coffee that burned a little less than your thoughts, and silence. So much silence.

The headlines had moved on. Lewis had been seen on a yacht with someone else—two someones, actually—and you only found out because a friend messaged you saying, “Guess he moved on fast.”

And you? You hadn’t cried. Not really. It was more like a hollow ache beneath your ribs. You knew what this was when it began. You weren’t naïve. But that didn’t make the sting of being disposable any less sharp.

As for Nico—there’d been nothing. No calls, no messages, no “I’ll see you again.” Just a kiss goodbye at the hotel door. You didn’t know what it had meant to him. Maybe nothing. Maybe just the way Monaco nights unfold—fast, sweet, and forgotten by morning.

Now, you found yourself watching Sky Sports F1, not for the races, but for him.

There he was.

Cool. Collected. Articulate. A little too polished, if you were honest.

And then you heard it. Just barely, but you caught it.

“…well, Monaco was full of surprises,” Nico said, in response to a teasing comment from the host. “Some memories stick with you.”

The others laughed. He smiled, but not like the public Nico—the one who trained his every gesture. No, this smile had a weight to it. Subtle. Real.

Maybe, just maybe… it hadn’t been nothing.

But still, you were here, and he was there. And Lewis? A closed chapter. A lesson. One that still burned.

The rain came gently in Como, not in angry sheets like in Monaco. It whispered against the windows, soft like the kind of sadness you don’t mind sitting with. You watched it fall from the comfort of a window seat in your apartment—barefoot, hair damp from the shower, oversized sweater sliding off one shoulder. You were alone. Again. But this time, it wasn’t sharp. Just quiet.

You held a cup of coffee like it might answer something. Like it might offer clarity or peace or even distraction. But the truth was—clarity had already arrived. You just hadn’t wanted to look it in the face until now.

You hadn’t wanted Lewis.

Not really.

Not the version of him that came with cameras and disappearing acts, with public smiles and private distance. You’d liked the idea of him, maybe. The attention. The charm. The pull of being desired by someone the world seemed to worship.

But that wasn’t love.

And Nico… oh, Nico.

He’d thrown everything off balance. Just a single night, a single look, a single moment of tenderness wrapped in the scent of ocean salt and champagne. You weren’t supposed to fall into someone so quietly, like slipping into a dream you weren’t sure you were allowed to have.

He hadn’t called. You hadn’t expected him to.

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t wanted it.

Now, you found yourself wondering—not about fame, or attention, or names on headlines—but about what came after the noise. When the flash of cameras faded. When the world forgot you were someone worth talking about.

You wanted someone who remembered the quiet parts of you.

The way you hated the sound of ticking clocks. The way you lit candles even during daylight. The way you peeled oranges slowly, letting the citrus cling to your fingers like perfume.

You didn’t want promises.

You wanted someone to see you and stay.

.

The invitation sat heavy in your inbox. Aston Martin. Lake Como. An exclusive gathering of investors, engineers, board members, a handful of drivers, and the usual constellation of polished faces who orbit Formula 1 like satellites chasing relevance. You didn’t hesitate to RSVP.

You’d been to hundreds of events like this one. You wore your armor in the form of heels, a fitted dress, and lipstick like a final word. You knew how to listen more than speak. You knew where the real conversations were happening—behind glass doors, at the edges of champagne flutes, inside the nods of men who spoke with silence more than words.

And yet… this time felt different. Because just two days before the event, Nico Rosberg sent you a message.

You nearly dropped your phone when it lit up. His name. Blue checkmark. Message request.

Nico Rosberg: Hey—will you be at the Aston Martin event this weekend? I was hoping to see you again. If that’s something you’d want too. :)

The simplicity of it was disarming. No games. No overconfidence. Just a thread of vulnerability behind a screen.

You stared at the message for longer than you’d admit. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But your heart skipped anyway.

You didn’t reply immediately.

Instead, you turned your face to the late afternoon light spilling through the balcony doors. The lake below shimmered like it had secrets to keep. Your reflection in the glass wasn’t the same woman from Monaco. She looked calmer now. Softer in the eyes, somehow. You weren’t sure what you were walking into—but for once, you didn’t feel like you were about to lose yourself.

You typed back, simply:

I’ll be there.

And hit send.

Your pulse was still fluttering when the "Seen" notification popped up. Then came his reply.

Good. I’ll find you.

The estate was carved into the hillside like something out of an oil painting—old stone and trailing ivy, tall hedges manicured with the kind of care that wealth pretends to ignore. Lake Como glittered below, wrapped in a quiet stillness that didn’t belong to any other place in the world. It was the kind of place that made time feel suspended, like anything could happen and nothing would last.

You arrived just as the sun began to lower, painting the villa in shades of gold and burnt honey. Your dress was a deep forest green—silk that clung just right, off-the-shoulder, with a slit that whispered promises every time you moved. You didn’t dress for anyone else. But maybe, just maybe, you’d worn it hoping he would notice.

And he did.

You felt his eyes before you saw them. A pull, quiet and magnetic.

When you turned your head across the courtyard, past the soft clinking of glasses and laughter folded in low conversations, there he was. Nico. In a crisp navy suit, leaning against the railing with a glass of wine in his hand, the breeze teasing strands of his hair. And those eyes—familiar, steady—locked on you. No smile. No wave. Just that stare like he was memorizing you all over again.

You held his gaze for just a breath longer than you meant to. And then you turned, walking slowly into the garden where the heart of the event pulsed beneath golden lights strung from olive trees.

You didn’t speak at first.

He didn’t rush over. He didn’t chase.

He waited.

And that made it all the more powerful when, much later—after polite conversations and clinking glasses, after you’d laughed with two old investors and thanked someone from the McLaren group—you felt him step behind you.

Close.

Not touching. Not yet.

You felt the heat of him, the pause in the air.

“I was starting to think you’d changed your mind,” he murmured, voice soft beside your ear.

You turned, slowly. And there he was again—closer this time. The scent of his cologne. That quiet restraint in his body, like he didn’t want to scare you off.

“I don’t do things I don’t want to do,” you replied gently, lips curving.

A smile tugged at his mouth, half crooked. “Still wearing green.”

“Still watching me,” you said, more boldly than you felt.

He laughed quietly, gaze dipping to the neckline of your dress, then back up. “Hard not to.”

You stood there for a moment—just the two of you in a crowded courtyard, the rest of the world dimmed beneath the lamps and stars.

“Come walk with me?” he asked.

You didn’t hesitate this time. You took his hand.

[catladyoftheyr]

She has her father’s eyes

Nanami Kento X fem reader

Dad! Nanami x reader blurb, rambling about Nanami’s daughter being a tinier version of him. Mostly fluff, little bits of past grief, protective and anxious dad

AN: this was supposed to just fluff about Nanami raising an old soul but it got real angsty in that last paragraph I’m SORRYYYYY

When your daughter was born the very first thing you’d said to Kento was “she has your eyes”. But as she grew it was becoming impossibly clear that wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited from him. You often teased your husband that you were raising the tiniest office worker in the world. Your six year old was virtually a clone of Nanami, blonde hair, chestnut eyes, and an identical personality. You’d never met a more serious child.

Report cards came home with full marks, and comments about her quiet and studious nature. Her teachers always remarked that she was an old soul, preferring reading in the shade or jumping rope with select group to rambunctious activities on the playground. Her penmanship was neat and your husband teased it was more legible than your own. She enjoyed following the rules, often complaining when other students misbehaved. One time she’d come home completely aghast and telling the story of how another girl in her class had gotten bubblegum stuck in her hair and had to have it cut out. The six year old swore off chewing gum on the spot, her pale twin braids bouncing as she babbled.

The first grader loved to help around the house as well. She delighted in dusting and sweeping with her father. Much like Kento she disliked mess, once reprimanding the family dog for a trail of muddy paw prints left across the kitchen floor. When she was done playing with her toys, she made sure to carefully arrange them how she liked; every plush friend in their designated spot and all her dolls gingerly shelved within reach.

She took a particular interest in caring for her favorite stuffed rabbit as if it were her own child. Affectionately named Dandy, the bunny was always in her arms, and held a designated seat at the dinner table as well. Dandy was well traveled for a rabbit, coming along for every car ride, vacation, and doctor’s appointment. Your heart melted every time you saw her asleep with the hare cradled in her tiny arms. You knew these days were flying by far too fast and wanted to cherish them while she was still young.

Your daughter clung to her father, a daddy’s girl through and through. You often found her cradled in his arms while he read her favorite books aloud. Whenever he had to leave for work trips the goodbyes were long and tearful, the girl begging him not to go. You held her and smoothed her hair as you tried to assure her that “papa will be just fine.” You hoped to god it was true because you knew how dangerous being a jujutsu sorcerer was. He would promise to call as often as he could and truthfully he wishes he could stay right here, to crawl back into bed with his daughter and the woman that he loves.

The two of you were his whole world and he’d never quite found the right words to express how much he cared for his family. A man who was worn down from the weight of the world on his shoulders, who learned how to share life’s burdens when he met you. He said you made him lighter and his heart grow softer. And when he held his daughter in his arms for the first time he cried. He cried joy at the miracle of life, a tiny infant who looked like all the parts of you that he loved so well, who you insisted shared his tawny eyes. But he cried out of fear as well, knowing how fragile life is, how quickly it can be taken. He knew he’d do anything to protect the child he’d made. He cried remorse and guilt, her cries reminding him of those he’d lost. He still blamed himself for friends gone far too soon, the smile of Haibara in the back of his mind, now he saw him in his little girl.

[matchpointfaist]

i can’t dance around it, i better be yours

part 3/3 in my challengersversary x luke hemmings release today! <3

tw for smut, angst

art would give anything to rewind. back to before the divorce, before the entire marriage, before tennis became his entire life, before he hadn't seen you in a decade. he remembered the day he left like no time had passed- the day you’d hugged him goodbye at the airport when he headed for california, leaving you and everything else he loved behind. you’d kissed him, just once, just a fleeting moment, but it stuck with him for years. carried him through stanford, through countless tournaments, through his vows to another woman.

he figured he was a bad person, a bad husband at least, for thinking of you so often, but you were all he knew for so long. the two of you walked to school together, spent your afternoons in your bedroom, snacking and talking about nothing in circles for hours, falling in love between episodes of your favorite tv show. his family was your family, his ambitions were your own. all until he left, until the miles separated the two of you in a way that nothing else ever had. when the plane landed, he vowed to never forget the feeling of realizing you weren’t beside him. it would forever be an open wound, never healing, never changing. just raw, empty, aching.

he had everything he should have wanted; a lucrative, insanely successful tennis career, a beautiful daughter, a wife that at one time treated him well. even after the divorce, he had the privilege of saying he’d been with a woman so many had wanted. what did it matter, though, if you weren’t there to enjoy the walks of life with him? he’d invited you to the wedding despite you having lost tough years prior, one final act of hope, an olive branch in the form of an invitation he hadn’t even picked out. you didn’t come, didn’t call, didn’t write. he heard from your sister, though, a short message saying that she heard about the wedding and congratulating him. he told himself it didn’t matter. this was it, the life he’d wanted. it just wasn’t what he imagined.

after the divorce settled, his thoughts drifted to you more than ever. he looked for you in everything, saw you in the pinks of the sunset and the dew on the trees in the mornings. he had to force himself not to reach out almost daily, constantly forcing it down, never wanting to disturb the peace he was sure you’d built without him. but then he got a text, just one singular notification. ‘i’m sure your numbers changed, but i just wanted to tell you i’m sorry about the divorce. she won’t say it, but she’s sorry too. she misses you.’ it was your sister, the first semblance of contact he’d had with you in ten years. it was enough.

he was on the next flight out, showing up to your apartment with nothing but a confession and hope, raw desperation and need for you to understand. he knocked twice, gentle, his heart in his throat. moments later, the door was open, and you were standing just inches from him, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “art,” you exhaled it like a secret, like your undoing, “what’re you doing here?” “i had to see you,” he said softly, his eyes burning with tears as they swept over your appearance, scanning for any changes, “your sister texted, i- i just had to see you again,” for a moment, he thought you’d turn him away, but you stepped out of the doorframe, gesturing for him to come inside, “we should talk,”

the two of you settled into your couch, his eyes raking over the space, taking in all the little details of the home you’d built. it was so you, little traces of your interests all over the apartment, candles that smelled like you and books left out on the table. “i’m sorry about tashi,” you said after a moment, your voice careful, tedious, “that’s awful,” “it’s okay,” he said quickly, “it’s just hard for lily, but it was for the best. you know that, right? it was for the best,” “art, i don’t know you anymore,” the words sounded all wrong, “i don’t know what’s best for you,”

“that’s not true,” he pleaded, “you know me- you’ll always know me,” he took your hand in his, eyes watering all over again when he saw that tears had already slipped down your cheeks, “there was not a day that passed that i didn’t think of you, okay? i was- i was miserable, i was exhausted and probably malnourished and worked to the fucking bone, and i- you got me through it. do you understand that? you always got me through it, then and now, and i know this is a lot and i’m sure you moved on but i had to tell you, had to make you understand. i was in love with you,”

you wiped your eyes with trembling hands, “i loved you too, art, you know that. but it’s been nearly ten years, we’re strangers now,” “no,” it came out quick, desperate, “no, we’ll never be strangers. god, if i knew it’d end up like this, i never would’ve left. do you understand that? i would’ve stayed with you, would’ve begged you to come with me. i’m so sorry, i wasted so much time chasing some pipe dream, i was too blind to see what was right there,”

“you have a daughter,” you say it like it changes anything, clinging to some reasoning that this won’t work after the years you spent telling yourself it wouldn’t, “and your career- the media would eat you alive for this, accuse you of cheating,” “i don’t give a fuck,” it’s easy, natural, “i don’t care about that. lily would adore you, anyway. anyone would,”

when you finally kissed him, it felt like coming home. it felt like children holding hands between their desks, pushing each other on swings in the schoolyard, like middle school dances and awkward photos for your parents, like exchanging notes in class and smiling like you held all the secrets of the world in your palms. it felt like asking you to prom, the incandescent happiness of you saying yes, like the blue dress you’d worn to match his eyes. it felt like your arms around him that day in the airport, the smell of your perfume carrying him through the flight, lingering on a hoodie that he had to this day, one that you’d bought on a school trip together. it felt like bracelets you’d made him on a loom you got as a birthday gift, like matching sunglasses and coffee dates after school and living again. everything, all at once, everywhere.

you let him take you to your bed, let him make a home for himself there underneath your silk sheets, stake his claim on a place he’d never known. he took his time, savored each moment, committed it all to memory. “wanna remember this for the rest of my life,” he told you, half breathless, “when we’re old and sick, i’ll remember the way you’re looking at me right now,” he held you after, ran his fingers through your hair, whispered little sweet nothings until you were dozed off in the crook of his arm like you belonged there.

when you woke the next morning, he was there, still asleep on the pillow next to you, his golden hair like a halo against the satin. “art,” you whispered, running a finger down his jaw, memorizing, “it’s morning,” “mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your wrist as he rolled to face you, “so it wasn’t a dream?” he smiled and the breath left your lungs, like always. “no, not a dream,” you murmured, “how long are you in town for? do you need to fly back soon?” “long as you’ll have me,” he pulled you to his chest, “this is it for me, alright? all my plans are right here. i mean it,”

you knew it was ridiculous. he had a life, a daughter, an image to maintain. but the two of you made a home in your small apartment regardless, never bothering to stray from your bubble, ordering takeout or cooking each other meals, eating curled up together on the couch sprawled across your bed. it felt real, felt like everything was finally coming together. like after all that time, all the pain and distance and other lives, your strings had finally connected.

[eternal-love]

A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA

Pairing: Major Gale Cleven x Reader

Summary: Before he left, he was yours. Yours only. Your Gale. Saying goodbye to him was so difficult, but never seeing him again was the last blow.

Warning: Mentions of war, slight love making.

Part of the Preacher’s Daughter series.

It was doomed from the beginning, you just didn’t know it yet. You met Gale in high school, and you thought he was beautiful. Blond hair and striking blue eyes, like a Hollywood star. You used to tell him he could dethrone Gary Cooper, he only laughed in return, his cheeks flushing as if he was wearing rouge.

You were both very alike, quiet, kind, from broken families and most importantly— lonely. You connected quickly. It was easy to do so, when the both of you needed someone.

You knew he was different, Gale, your Gale, didn’t like drinking, or sports, or smoking nor betting. Maybe that’s why you wanted him. He was everything your father wasn’t, everything his father wasn’t.

You two dated, since junior year, even after graduation. Everyone congratulated you, he had been valedictorian, he was the brightest boy around. You were already planning in your head your future with him. How many kids, two (boy and girl, of course). You imagined how your house would look, how he would get a good job and he’d come back every night to you.

You forced him to drive almost 10 hours to Nebraska. Under your spoiled little self, telling him your penpal cousin lived over there. That house in Nebraska, it was abandoned, but it had sometimes. Two stories, white, few windows. Your grandparents were your example of love, they had built their home from the ground, it was theirs, and love was inside that house, you could feel it in the air. That’s what you wanted to have with Gale.

You practically pulled him inside the house,he was scared, what if you two got in trouble?

“I don’t think this is a good idea, sweetheart.” Gale said, as you pulled his hand, he looked around, careful on what he stepped on.

“Come on! Nothing will happen. Alright?” You said confidently. Your T-strap pumps clicked on the old wooden floor.

“It reeks in here.” Gale scrunched his nose.

You looked around the house, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, a backyard.

“Let’s go upstairs.” You said, almost rushing towards the wooden stairs.

“What? Are you crazy? What if-what if the stairs break? You don’t know how old this damn house is!” Gale grabbed your hand, he didn’t want to get you hurt and deal with your father. And because he didn’t like seeing you sad.

“If I fall, you fall with me.” You said, getting closer to him. Pecking his cheek, trying to make him smile, to drop his serious. “No one gets beaten up by my daddy, alright?”

“Ya know I can never say no to you.” Gale smirked. Following you, the stairs creaked with every step. And upstairs it was the same as downstairs, but just filled with three rooms, two of the rooms were small. But the main one was big, some forgotten wooden furniture and a dirty mattress on the floor.

“This will be our room.” You said, already imagining it with the right care, with matching sheets and curtains. Wearing your rollers, your nightgown, waking up next to him. “You’ll make love to me here.” Gale almost choked on his own saliva.

Not because he didn’t want to make love to you. But because you said it straightforwardly.

You both ended up laying on the dirty mattress, he placed the jacket underneath your heads. It was silent, the only sound was the wind outside and your breaths.

“This is my favorite sound.” Gale whispered, finally just— silence. “I’m tired of my mama and father fighting all day long.” Gale groaned, his hand rubbing his face.

“That won’t happen between us.” You promised him. “Our children—“

He interrupted you, quickly “Our children?”

“Yes. Ours. I mean… we’ve been going steady. I’m not going to force you, Gale. I guess I thought—“

He kissed you, deeply, you’d kissed before, a thousand times. The fact that you were already planning a perfect domestic life in your head made him fall in love with you even more.

“You’re my girl.” He whispered in your lips. “And I’m your man.” He then leaned in and kissed you again, his hand cupping your jaw. He immediately got on top of you, his hips in between your legs.

Kissing had never gotten so heated before, well, you both had felt it, but never went past the line. You had promised yourself and God that you’d remain pure until you got married to Gale. But it was harder than expected.

You started to unbutton his plaid shirt, tossing it to the side, you took off his sleeveless undershirt. His hands went under your skirt, gathering it up in your waist.

“No stockings?” Gale whispered in your ear, pulling down your panties.

“I thought this could happen.” You whispered with a smile. Pulling him down and kissing him again, your hands messily trying to unbuckle his belt, he propped himself on an elbow, his other hand trying to help you. But it was very messy.

You started chuckling nervously. It was endearing. This was your first time. You took it slowly. You had heard stories that it hurt. And damn— it did hurt.

He stretched you out in ways you didn’t know you could. Your back arched once the pain started to fade, he held your waist, his thrusts very slow and gentle, you cupped his face with both hands, maintaining eye contact as he ruined you.

You were finding each other, in this fucked up place. Which was weird. The place that should be the most dangerous— felt like the safest place for the both of you.

He finished, fast, you couldn’t help but laugh. He collapsed on top of you. His labored breaths in your ear.

“If we die tonight, you’ll die as mine.” He whispered, softly, kissing his way up to your lips and then pecking your cheek.

“You’re my whole world.” You whispered back to him, not wanting this moment to end.

You really thought you would have your happy ending. That house in Nebraska became your safe place every second weekend of every month.

Before he graduated university, you were already expecting him to propose. But he gave you another announcement.

“I enlisted.” He said, as if he was telling you something vague. You turned around, flabbergasted.

“What?” You asked, as if you hadn’t heard the first time.

“I enlisted—“

“Yeah, I heard the first time.” You nodded, gulping. “I’m asking. Why?” You walked closer to him.

“I gotta serve the country, sweetheart. Aim that what a good American does?” He said, smile on his face.

“You ain’t gotta listen to the propaganda or your buddies, Gale. You a good American man. You don’t drink, smoke or gamble.” You shook your head, grabbing his hand tightly. “You don’t have to give into the pressure, Gale.”

Maybe, just maybe, he was doing this due to the peer pressure people placed upon young men nowadays during war time. But Gale worked, he had a girl back home, he paid taxes, he was a good American.

“Just, tell me you’ll wait for me.” Gale said, hopeful with his tone.

“Wait? Wait for you?” You shook your head. He had promised you’d be on a white dress by spring. Now— this? What else did this war want to take from you? “No. No. No. I won’t have you come home in a box. No.” You said firmly.

“I will come back to you. I will.” Gale cupped your face. But you were stubborn. Why were the young men having to do all this shit, while the ones who started this could sit in their high chairs, without getting hurt? “In one piece. With a ring.”

“No. No. I won’t lose the man I love.” You pushed him away softly. Trying not to cry as you paced around.

“I love you, sweetheart. But if I don’t do this— I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror.” Gale said. The ever emphatic Gale. You hated how sweet he was.

“It’s because of men like you that us women here keep losing who we love the most.” You said. Without thinking. You were mad. Mad at everyone.

Gale gasped, in disbelief. “It’s my duty.”

“It’s not your duty. You didn’t start the goddamn war, Gale! You didn’t!” You yelled, not being able to hold back. “We were planning our wedding. We’re saving up to buy our home.” You pleaded with him. Trying to look at him in the eyes. “Gale?”

He avoided your gaze, looking down on the floor of your bedroom. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t go!” You said, as if it wasn't obvious. “Stay here. With me. Let’s buy that house in Nebraska. Let’s build our own space. We’ll make our life.”

But you saw it in his eyes. He was already a foot outside. He just needed a little push. You thought that maybe if you scared him, he’d bail out. What a stupid girl you were.

“Then pick.” You said, he raised his eyebrow, biting the inside of his cheek. “America or me?”

One second. Two seconds. By the third second, your heart broke. Loudly. But you prayed to God, that this time, he would also listen to you.

“The country.” Gale said, his voice strained.

You should’ve known your Gale, the one that was led by duty and honor. Silly girl. Thinking this perfect man would be imperfect this one time

“Ugh, go on then. Leave! Go!” You said, shoving him. Not caring if it hurt him. “Go! I don’t want to see your damn face again. I don’t care if you come back in a box! I don’t care if you don’t even come back at all

Gale didn’t even defend himself. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was.

Now your world was empty. It wasn’t Gale and you against the world. It was Gale against his world. And you against your world. Because you were two lonely people. You were the only person you trusted enough to talk about being hurt. By 1942, you knew he was in England. Your heart in your throat everyday. As if he expected you to wait for him. As if you hadn’t thrown him out of your parents house.

You told him to go. You told him so. You lit the fucking match. You pushed him. You told him you didn’t care if he came back home dead. Or if he died on the air. You missed him, everyday. You visited the house you first made love in. Drank up in your fathers liquor like a fool. Like you could drown the guilt inside of you. The bottles made it worse. They just highlighted the pain inside of you, they made you cry harder than you already did.

You laid staring at the ceiling, for hours. Maybe he would never come back home, and you might never sleep at night again. And in those cold and cruel nights, you stared at the frame beside your bed. A sun bleached picture of you and Gale in high school. He was beautiful. The love was there, in your eyes.

His mama still called you sometimes, to check up on you, see if you were alright, well. And you lied to her, said: “I’m doing fine, peachy keen” when in reality, you’d kill your self to hold her son one more time.

And it hurt to miss him, but it was worse to know that you were the exact reason of why he was thinking of never coming back home.

The war ended, thousands were dead, but America celebrated. As if this had been the Olympics.Your Gale came back, he did, but he went straight to his mama. And then to that house in Nebraska. He drove hours just to get one last glance, the house was still falling down. If he had stayed— it would be the most beautiful house in the whole state.

But he chose the country over you. Even if it meant ripping his heart out with his bare hands.

He still remembered making love to you on the second floor, every weekend. He missed your warmth, you sweetness, your chuckles and you both learned together. The room was as you two had left it the last time you were here. He even found one of your hair pins. And a letter. A bit wet, ink runny, but readable.

“I hope God is listening to me tonight. I’m so sorry if I’ve asked more than I’ve thanked. I just hope you’re doing well out there. I just pray that you’re alright.

I am so alone. So alone. I feel so alone. Nothing can fill this whole you’ve left in me. I can’t forgive myself. I am so sorry, Gale. I know you probably won’t ever read this.

I hope you still think of me. Whether you hate me or miss me. If you don’t come home. It’s not America’s fault or Hitler’s. It’s mine. I told you to go. I pushed you. I won’t remember anything else but how I told you to go.

I’m still praying for this house in Nebraska. I still remember how you loved that it was by the highway. Out on the edge of town. How you loved humming while we looked around. I haven’t learned to let go when something’s broken, Gale.

It’s all I know and it’s all I want now, if it means you always being on my mind.

Love, y/n.”

He cried over the letter. Over and over again. Until tears ran out.

But you never saw him again. Because you were still the reason— he wouldn’t come back home.

[leaawrites]

Later

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: part 2 to Now Or Never

Warnings: angst, fluff, I hate this but anyway...

Wordcount: 1.2k

Masterlist, F1 Masterlist

The lights were already bleeding together as she stepped into the club Lando had told her to meet him at. The music could be heard from outside the venue, but inside it was deafening. Loud club classics coming from where the DJ was standing above the crowd and every speaker that was scattered across the room.

Near the entrance, Lando was waiting with a drink ready for her. Greeting her with a hug that lingered a second longer than casual. His voice already drooping a bit as he guided her to where the others were waiting.

"I've got this for ya," he said, giving her the drink in hand. "Max said yer liked it." His British accent becoming clearer with the alcohol. "We're this way."

Taking her hand in his, they pushed through the crowd, Lando stopping all too often to greet someone or take in their congratulations on the good season. Introducing her with her full name.

"She's the reason I look good in the media," he'd say, pulling her into his side with a smile plastered on his face.

Heat coming over her when his lips grazed the top of her head.

"I'm only telling what's true," she answered then, making him laugh to the point he doubled over.

Walking further into the room Lando now had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her close as he made sure she safely stayed by his side.

"Look who's made it for once," Max said, standing up from his place next to Kelly to greet her.

"Hello, Mr. 4 times World Champion," she greeted him back, gratefully accepting the hug he initiated.

"You're gonna put in a good word for me after what I've read so far?" He asked, pulling back and sitting back down. Arm wrapped around Kelly's shoulders.

"Always," she answered, trying to walk over to the empty places on the couch. Her movement stopping by Lando’s fingers tightening around her hand, pulling her back towards him again.

"What about me?" He asked, already feeling left out. A pout on his face. Big, wide blown pupils looking at her, his bottom lip slightly sticking out.

"As if I ever talk bad about you," she said back, patting his shoulder in assurance. Her hand quickly flying up to cradling his cheek. Fingers tracing over his jaw. Taking a sip from the glass he gave her at the start of the night.

That's how the night went on, filled with drinks, talking and lingering touches that should mean less than they did. His hands on her waist as they danced to the vibrating music, his breath against her skin as he leaned closer to her ear for her to understand him, her head head on his shoulder and her legs thrown over his lap as the night started to wear her out.

"You wanna go back?" Lando asked, drawing shapes on her hip where his hand laid.

"No, just a tired phase, I'll get over it in a bit and be wide awake and then you'll have to put up with my hyper-active for another few hours," she said, slurring her words more than one does at a decent amount of alcohol in their system.

"I wouldn't mind that, you know?" Lando said, his eyes flying over her face, down to her lips. "Forever."

His eyes stayed fixated, not noticing the way her eyes lost the tired look in them. But he noticed the corners of her lips moving down into a frown.

"What do you mean?" She asked, sitting up straighter. His hand slipping from her waist down on the leather of the couch.

"Nothing." Looking away from her, he moved his body further towards the wall next to them. The side of her body that was pressed against his suddenly falling cold. Like dead skin.

"Lando," she started, his eyes not looking at her but the liquid swirling in his glass. "I wanna go home."

Nodding his head, he stood up without another word,walking towards the exit of the club, saying his goodbyes, checking that she was always behind him. Close enough to keep her safe, far enough away to not touch her by accident.

The air outside was cold, the neon lights not keeping them warm like they used to on other occasions. People were still lining up at the entrance to the place they just left.

Walking side by side, the hotel they stayed in was just 15 minutes away.

Watching him walk in front of her she knew that it wasn't nothing he had to say. It was obvious by walking past him. Kicking rocks under his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets, sunglasses pulled over his glass-like eyes.

Taking a few quick steps to catch up with him,she slipped her hand into his, pulling him back under the streetlight, bright neon lights all around them.

"What was that inside?" She asked, not letting him pull away from her grip.

"A party. People were dancing and drinking like us," he answered the obvious. Still not looking up from his shoes.

Rolling her eyes at his answer, she tried being more specific with her question. She knew how good he was at dodging questions, she'd seen it happen all too often. It just never happened to her. "What did you mean when you said 'forever'?"

"Nothing," he said again, seemingly sobering up quick enough to organize his thoughts. "Just a slip up."

"What kind of slip up?" She asked again, not letting him turn away. "Lando, just tell me what you wanted to say. It can’t be that bad. I know the worst people say about you, what could possibly be so bad you can’t tell me?"

Taking in a deep breath, he finally looked at her. All too aware that she wouldn't let loose until she had an answer that satisfied her. One that was the truth. It was her job after all.

"I thought about, since we're in Vegas and all, that if I somehow didn’t lose the championship, I'd ask you to marry me," he confessed, his thumb drawing circles over her hand. Eyes widening at his answer, he continued talking, "It was just a drunk thought I had whenever I couldn’t think straight, don’t think much of it."

"Lando, I barely know you outside of interviews."

"It's insane I know, stop thinking about it." Trying to walk once more, he tried ignoring the small smile pulling on her lips.

"Lando," she said again, tucking him back in. Faces inches apart now. "I barely know you."

"I know, that's what you just said- could you stop making me look stupid?" He rambled on, not quite catching up to the intention behind her words.

"You seemed nice enough to ask a girl out a couple minutes ago. Guess things have changed, huh?"

"You wanna go out with me?"

"That's not how you ask that question to receive a yes, you know?"

"Can I take you out?"

"I'd love to."

"Let's see how I feel about saying yes in a year or two, okay?"

[galsinspace]

It's so wild to see my absolutely awful former boss who treated his employees like shit and whose restaurant I left because he stole my tips now try to become a local politician for the SPD. The party that's traditionally all about worker's rights. What's your platform my guy, telling waitresses that as future family managers they need to be better at cleaning? Or telling employees that next time they leave trash next to the trash can, he'll deduct 200€ from their wages because that's what his time is worth? Or is it all about how if you don't have the money for new stovetops, paying with the staff's tips is fine

[novelistwriter]

Royal Bats

DP x DC Prompt

Danny and Jazz always were together in life, and they would remain together as siblings whenever Jazz would reincarnate as a mortal again.

Jazz reincarnated a lot, wanting to experience the different things in those dimensions she chose with a fresh start and no memories. She had many adventures in her new lives, with Danny beside her as her 'Imaginary Friend' whenever she was a kid and her 'Guardian Angel' during the rest of her lives.

This new life she has reincarnated in has her living as a rich woman with a loving husband and a kid. The first time he's seen her have one in her many lives. He couldn't save Jazz or her husband's lives because of Clockwork, who had sent him on a small mission related to time.

When he returned to the dimension with Jazz's new life, he arrived at the funeral for Thomas and Martha Wayne, with their Ghosts behind Bruce. Martha, or Jazz again, had embraced Danny in a hug and told Thomas the basics of who Danny was to her, but before they left, Jazz left some parting words to Danny.

"Look after my son, little brother. Protect him like you how you protect me."

So Danny does. He follows Bruce around while he's training to become Batman. And when Bruce returns to Gotham to be Batman, he helps him with Lady Gotham. With each kid Bruce brings into his family, Danny duplicates himself to help each of them.

Danny had killed the Joker after his resurrection by Bruce when the Clown was alone. He couldn't do it while the Joker was living, as he needed to follow the rules, or else he would have had more paperwork to sort through.

Danny had been telling Jazz and Thomas about their son and what he's been doing about his feats, his children, and his friends. They did support Danny's decisions on killing the Joker. He felt a tug on his core, the tug that happens when he is being summoned, so he quickly said his goodbyes to Jazz and Thomas and accepts the summoning.

What shocks him is seeing that he's in the Watchtower, with the Justice League there, including Bruce and his children. All of his seriousness is drained out of him, and he smiles at Bruce and his family.

"My nephew, it is good to finally speak to you"

[maiamore]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭

Masterlist | Joel miller x F!reader | 18+ | 4.5k wc

Summary: A one-sided crush was all it was. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel a little better about the fact that your orgasms always ended with his name.

Tags: f!masturbation, joel is grumpy as always, fingering, pinv intercourse, unprotected pinv, couch sex, tinge of voyeurism, mention of body hair, Joel struggling with reader being younger than him, unspecified age gap, instances of ambiguous consent

𐙚 resurrected due to my the carnal need for Joel, after clint blessed out lives. also this took fucking weeks with my flimsy ass drive to write, fingers crossed i don't dip again!

"...What if it had gone well? Would he be driving her home in his truck? Walk her to her doorstep, try to be a gentleman, give her a kiss goodbye. Or would he have gone in? Walk her backwards with a desperate kiss, fuck her nice and slow deep into her bed?"

It’d been nearly three hours since the power went out for the entirety of your neighborhood. The house was essentially a humid tomb by 2pm. Sweat accumulating in the worst places, like the back of your fucking knees. When did people start sweating there? At this point, you’ve stopped caring. You’d succumbed to stripping down to a cami top and boxers an hour ago–sprawled onto the ground like some civil war widow in front of your patio doors.

You were halfway through fantasizing freezing to death in a 7-Eleven beer fridge when three loud knocks had you begrudgingly lift your head to look at the front door. Whoever it was could wait till next week, you were not getting up. Well, that was until the lock clicked and your door creaked open.

“Don’t shoot,” Joel called out. “Brought somethin’.”

“If I did have a gun, shoot me with it instead.”

He grunts in response, signalling that he’d already been over your dramatics, even when he’d quite literally just arrived. There’s the thunk of something heavy being set down on the floor. You tilt your head off the ground just enough to see Joel setting a large grey box next to the backup generator he’d dragged in.

A portable AC unit. A real one, not the janky oscillating fan you whipped out of your dad’s attic.

Joel had a penchant for showing up at the slightest signal of your distress. As if you’d shone out a bat-signal that summoned him. Without asking or waiting for a call, he’d just show up with his tools. Last month, he’d fixed your garbage disposal. And the month before that? The creaky porch step he insisted you’d probably trip over and fall three steps to your ‘death’. It bordered on suspicion how quickly he finds out whenever you’re in trouble, but you were starting to think he just knew. 

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, curiosity getting the better of you as you squint at Joel. He's still fussing over the plug. Utterly oblivious to how you were staring holes into him. He looked...clean. There’s a fitted grey henley under a flannel that looked like it’d been worn less than twice—which said a lot considering he explicitly wore the ones that had holes and limestone chalkdust on them. Even the grey collars were left unbuttoned, enough to see the slope of his collarbone and speckled skin. And his curls, usually unruly, were brushed back. Neat. Intentional.

"You look good," you blurt without really meaning to, your voice slightly thick from the relentless heat. Your words hang awkwardly in the air. Joel stills for just a second before he goes back to wrestling with the cord.

"That so." he echoes skeptically, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips at your praise. "What, I usually look like shit?"

"Yes. Obviously." He doesn’t bother looking up, knowing you probably looked damned smug at your quip. “So? Why are you trying all of a sudden?”

Joel clears his throat, wanting nothing more than to avoid answering entirely. “…Had to.”

Your interest flares immediately and you sit up. Pulse picking up a little faster. “Hell does that mean?” 

What came in return was a deep sigh, as if he were about to admit to some crime rather than reveal something as trivial as his afternoon plans. “Tommy set me up on one of those damn blind dates.”

Something twists sharply in your gut. A strange and unwelcome ache that spread in you like venom. "Seriously?” You manage to sputter out your next few words with barely contained disbelief. Joel. Joel fucking Miller. A man that shot down gorgeous hedge-fund-botoxed bitches for a living, and even you on occasion when you dared to flirt after just having moved back into your dad’s place. “You? On a date?”

Joel gives another hum, a non answer that was…answer enough. You frown lightly, forcing a casualness into your voice you didn’t feel in the slightest. "And?"

"And what?"

"How was it?" you press. Unable to mask the edge in your tone. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans, visibly uncomfortable. "Wasn't much of anythin’. She spent half the time talkin' about how I should care more bout’ aging. Takin’ pro-robotic sup-lee-ments n’ whatnot."

“You mean probiotic.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

You snort, masking your amusement with an ill-timed cough. Ignoring just how relieved his miserable little recap made you feel. "Joel, she sounds delightful. Please tell me you're seeing her again."

He ignores your jab, focused on fixing up the conditioning unit. But you’re still staring, unable to stomp away at the vivid images of Joel at whatever bar Tommy fancied them to go to. Flashing that reluctant lop-sided smile he wasn’t aware of how much it made women swoon. Or maybe he was aware. What if it had gone well? Would he be driving her home in his truck? Walk her to her doorstep, try to be a gentleman, give her a kiss goodbye–or would he have gone in? Walk her backwards with a desperate kiss, fuck her nice and slow deep into her bed? 

You flop down onto the cooled floors with a thud, staring at the ceiling again, swallowing hard around the strange tightness in your throat–he'd clearly made an effort. How for someone else tonight, Joel tried. And in the next few dates, the chances of him taking one of those old floozies home grew more likely. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it had.

Joel flicks the switch on the AC, effectively sending you out of your spiral. You hear the machine hum to life, a gentle whisk of cool air brushes against your skin–instantly giving you pure relief. He glances back at you, and his mouth goes dry. He eyes the way you subtly roll your shoulders against the ground, rubbing the back of your neck in the barely there top of yours. It made his mind go to places he didn’t want to admit. "....Better?"

"Yeah," you softly exhale, eyes fluttering shut, "much better."

Joel nods, taking your approval as his cue. He gathers himself and starts coiling the leftover cords. Your chest squeezes with panic then when you see pack up from your peripheral. “Joel?”

He makes a noise. It could mean what, or what now. It’s hard to tell. You forge ahead anyway. “My shower isn't giving me cold water anymore.” When he looked over, it was an instinct to vomit more bullshit out. “Like, it starts scalding hot and just…stays that way.”

Joel considers calling you out on your excuse. Your shower all of a sudden not working? With the way you were fumbling about for something to say, it tugged the strings at his heart. You wanted him to stay. It dipped into territories he locked the vaults to, but he’d humor you. For now. The heel of his boot knocks against the AC unit. “‘ve already hooked this up for ya.”

“Uh huh.”

“An’ last week I changed out that socket of yers that damn near lit the wall on fire.”

“Correct.”

“...Replaced the hinges on yer doors.”

“Also true.”

Joel pushes himself up to stand up with a grunt. Leveling you with a look that could very well wither a plant. “You little shit. Do I look like Bob the fuckin’ Builder to you?” His hands falls to his hips and you swore you could see the gears turning. Like he’d been calculating how many more times you’d try to get away with this before he finally starts saying no to you for once.

You tilt your head. “C’mon.” Voice dropping to a lilt, meeting his gaze dead on, pairing it with a sad sheepish smile. It was your final card to play—you realised the effectiveness of it after the door-hinge-replacement saga that this particular ruse worked. What was it? Triangle Method? Whatever Vanity Fair said, really. “You want me to boil alive in there?”

He exhales long and loud, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were a migraine that wouldn’t go away. 

“Fine.”

You sat on the edge of the tub with your palms gripped around the porcelain, watching him work. It’s strangely comforting, the sound of metal against tile. His occasional grunts, and the way he keeps his curses low but audible enough to let you know he wasn’t all that pleased about doing this.

“Christ. Goddamn oven in here.”

In fairness, the bathroom was damp. All the steam from your shower earlier before the power went out somehow sunk into the grout. But seeing Joel now, his flannel discarded on the towel rack, with the sleeves of his henley rolled up his forearms–sweat glistening at the nape of his neck, some locks perfectly dried in a little loopy c. 

Yeah. You’d deal with the heat. 

He starts fiddling with the knob, taking it apart in a practiced rhythm that makes it obvious this wasn’t his first rodeo. 

“Before you say anything, yes, I tried turning it all the way to the cold side. And yes, I let it run. Even kicked the knob to make sure it really didn’t work.” Of course, you knew it didn’t work. Your dad told you that before he’d left for his vacation with his new wife—calling the plumber was long overdue on your list. 

Joel huffs. Not a laugh, not quite. “Don’t think yer s’posed to be kickin’—...” He doesn’t get to the end of that futile sentence. Because why the hell wouldn’t you? He crouches down by the faucet, before settling back on his heels to decide just how deep of a problem this was going to be for him. “M’gonna hafta pull this thing off.”

You nod along, staring at the shower tap with a faux-worried look as if it was going to inconvenience you more than him. “She’s all yours.”

Joel starts work on it without further complaint, which was when you could usually tell when something was broken broken. You watch him dig around in his tool roll of his, prying at the panel behind the knobs. Something rattles loose, and falls into the tub with a loud metallic clang.

You jolted. “...Should I be concerned that things are falling off?”

“It’s not fallin’ off. I took it off.” He doesn’t look at you, “it was already halfway rotted through.” Another minute goes by and with a deep sigh, Joel backs up slowly with his palms on his thighs. 

“Well?” 

He wipes off the sweat accumulating on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Valve’s shot. Rusted out. Yer lucky yer gettin’ any water at all, let alone hot.”

You lift your eyebrows, toeing at the edge of your bath mat. “So…you’re saying I should be grateful for my sad lukewarm and/or scalding drizzle?”

“M'sayin’ you should start savin’ up for a real plumber if you keep breakin’ shit like this.”

“Or, I could just keep calling you.”

Joel shoots you the nastiest side eye paired with a slow head turn. Ah yes. The look of a man who’d regretted every decision that led him to this exact point in his life. He grabs a rag from the counter, wiping off the rust stains on his hands.

“I gotta run to the store,” he mutters, to himself mostly. “Pick up a new stem and a couple washers. Maybe a new handle too if they’ve got a set that’ll fit.”

“Sounds like a whole lot of plumbing words I don’t understand.”

Joel reaches for his keys in his flannel pocket,  glancing over where you perched all nice and polite on your bathtub. He looks away before the feelings bloom in his gut. “An’ that’s exactly why I ain’t leavin’ you t’do it without me.” You watch him head down the hallway, the distant jingle of his keys echoing back as your front door creaks open.

“Get me some peach rings while you’re out!”

“Not yer fuckin’ errand boy,” came his reply, not as convincing as he thought it was.

You slumped onto the couch shortly afterwards. Arms limp, hanging off the edge. The back of your thighs peel off the vinyl cushion with a soft, wet pull. You groan into the crook of your elbow, regretting the movement. The AC whiiirs faintly in the corner, wheezing out mildly cooled air. 

The living room still smelled like Joel. It wasn’t his cologne, or his soap. It’d just been…Joel. A warmth, the scent of clean laundry, sun dried and soft. Old Spice mixed in with the aftershave he used. All in all, it was a you-wanted-to-bury-your-face-in-his-shirt-and-stay-there sort of scent. It was annoying. And distracting. And very much not helping your body cool down.

The silence that followed his departure was thick. Dangerous.

You exhale roughly through your nose, flipping onto your back. Your top rode up with your movement, sticking to your ribs. An easy blame to all of this would probably be the heat, frustration, or the gnawing restlessness between your thighs that grew potent. But that would be dishonest.

Because it wasn’t just the heat. It was him.

The way he’d crouched by the tub, how his shirt tugged taut across his shoulders. The sound of his voice, low and steady, talking about broken valves. And how the veins on his forearms became prominent when he twisted the wrench. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, curling your fingers around it. Kiss the pretty curves of his lips when he said he’d be back. Words he uttered that hinted underlying care and attentiveness. And it was all for you.

God, you were pathetic.

If your estimations were right, it’d be what? 5? 6 Miles? Joel wasn’t going to be back for at least half an hour. You mindlessly lifted your hips to inch closer to one of the cushions. Just needed to see if it helped at all. It’d be quick. If anyone knew better on how to get you off, it’d obviously be you.

You slink out of your shorts, toeing the fabric off your ankles before fully committing & grabbing the cushion. Shifting over to your side, you aligned yourself to trap the softness between your thighs. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you notched the seam of your cunt onto the cotton piping. Angling it just right. 

“..Fuck..” 

The fabric eventually gives you just enough stimulation and your hips grind against the seams. It felt good. How it brushes just right against your clit. It was short lived. The sensation quickly fades after your hair gets caught behind your shoulders. You attempt to reposition yourself, combing it away from you. The heat wasn’t helping in the slightest, so you closed your eyes. Focusing. Your palm slides beneath your camisole, brushing over your nipples enough for them to stiffen.

Joel would’ve taken his time, you thought.

Your brows furrowed in concentration, two fingers dragging the wetness of your folds down before you ease a finger into your pussy, the softness sucking them in. 

It’d be way bigger to have his fingers in you. 

Swallowing the dryness of your throat, you slip another in. Nudge upward and deeper into your walls in a slow, rhythmic motion.

He’d stretch you out. Nice and slow. Probably would love how your hips would jump when he swipes against your clit. And he’d keep going, exactly the way you liked if he knew whatever he was doing was getting you to cum on his fingers alone. 

A breathless moan slips when you increase the intensity of your motion with your hips moving in tandem. The illusion would be enough. Thinking about riding him was enough. Your rolled your shoulders back, the knots in them easing when the fantasy had your cunt fluttering & squelching in pure pleasure. Ankles arched against the vinyl as your thumb circles around your clit, the cushion falling to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

“...O-h.. Joel.”

“Mhm.”

You huffed out in confusion when a foreign sound breaks your peace. Turning your head towards your kitchen, your heart sinks. 

Joel, with his arms folded against his chest—casually leaned up against your countertop. Behind him, the backdoor that opened directly into your kitchen left ajar. 

You sat up straighter, blood pounding in your ears as you attempted to make sense of it all. You couldn’t get a read of his expression. It wasn’t disgust, that’s for sure. You managed to somehow squeeze your thighs together on instinct. “W...when did you….”

“'Bout ten minutes ago,” he says with a seemingly composed tone. 

“...You...didn’t say anything...”

Joel shrugs, “didn’t wanna interrupt.”

You don’t know where to look. At him? Away? “I didn’t think you were—I..I thought you left.”

“I did.” His eyes flicker over your face, lingering on the heat blooming in your cheeks. “Came back. Forgot t’get the measurements.” Then, his voice drops, a thumb swiping over his lips. “Door was open.” 

Which was just another way of saying—you didn’t even lock it. I could’ve been anyone.

“Joel…I just—”

He doesn’t let you finish, the wood creaking underneath his weight. “That work f’you, hon?” Your brows knit in confusion when he approaches you. You’d attempted to scoot back into the couch. Not that you had anywhere else to go. Joel’s shadow quickly looms over you entirely, his palm resting on the vinyl rest next to your head. “What?” Your voice comes out breathless, too quick. His scent practically warms you further, inciting the dull ache between your thighs that border on unbearable.

“Fuckin’ yerself on that.” He nudges his head to the abandoned cushion on the ground. You could barely dignify him with an answer, and you hear him take a tone you’d never heard from him before. Like he’d been angry. You shudder from the graze of his fingers when he lifts the loose strap of your cami from your arm, back up to your shoulders. “Asked you a question.” He’s close enough and you can see the muscles that tick in the right side of his jaw. 

“What I do in my own house—”

There you’d gone, giving him an answer he didn’t want to hear. The couch dips in his weight, and he settles down next to you. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the jump. “Don’t give me that.” He harbours a pained expression. Gaze tearing away from the sight of your slick smeared around your thighs. “Moanin’ pretty goddamn fuckin’ loud earlier, my name at that.”

You bite down on your lips hard enough for the skin to break. Fighting against the embarrassment and hot flush that took over. Joel, on the other hand, drags a hand down his jaw, elbows resting on his knees. As though battling with his own sanity. The latter ends up taking precedence. 

“What yer gonna do now. Is put this shit back on.” He grabs your shorts that were left abandoned, tossing it back onto your thighs. “N’ we’re gonna move on.”

“We clear on that?”

“....No.”

He turns to look at you over his shoulders. Expression incredulous. 

“No?”

“You heard me.” You don’t give Joel time to react when your palm presses against his chest, pushing him flat back onto the couch. Your breath catches in your throat when the looming suspicions prove to be right. The unmistakable bulge in his jeans. 

“I’m done with you playing the fucking saint. Done with wanting you and getting jack shit from you, even when this is how you feel!” You gestured pointedly at his erection, though you’d awkwardly balled it up into a fist, retracting it when you realised how stupid you looked doing that. 

The rise in your voice seems to catch him off guard. The way his brows twitch slightly, he’s offended that you dared pin this on him. As if he was the one making things complicated. You force yourself upright, gathering whatever shred of dignity you had left. 

Because despite the urge to crawl back into your skin, you knew it wasn’t one sided. You’d seen it, in the way his gaze always lingered too long. And how he’d always come back to you. He just kept showing up for you, over and over, offering pieces of himself without ever letting you in.

“Go fuck the next withered old cunt for all I care.” You drag the cotton of your tank top down to shield your bits and pieces. Hell if you were gonna put on your shorts in front of him. Turning heel, you do your best to get the hell out of there as quick as you could’ve.

Joel lets you get a couple steps away before you feel his arm hook around your waist to lift you, fairly easily, positioning the both of you onto the couch. Leveraging your shock and lack of defense to hike your thigh over his hips. Your shoulder finds the back of the armrest, and you look up at him in confusion. He looks down briefly where your wetness dampened his jeans. You could feel how he was throbbing even through the thick denim. It was clear, he wasn’t hiding it anymore.

“You mean that?”

“What? That you should fuck a withered old cunt?”

He sighs deeply. “You wantin’ me, you-fuckin’-donut’.” He corrects with a tinge of annoyance.

“I’ve never hidden it.” You snapped defensively, squirming in his hold. The heat of him permeated into you. His palm spreads around the span of your hip, thumb smearing the slick around your thighs. As if he was considering. 

“I know.” A pause. “Just ain’t feel right.”

“Because I’m younger.” Your voice is steadier.

And he affirms. “‘Cause you’re young. Big fuckin’ difference.”

You thought about pushing him off, doing what he told you to. At least that way you could recover this ‘friendship’ between you two. But you don’t do that. Your hands wrap around Joel’s wrists instead and you lock your gaze with his. Guiding his palm against your pussy, nudging two of his fingers in. He curls his fingers in you instinctually. A shaky moan from you cuts through the silence between you two and Joel fucking breaks.

He groans, head slumped down to look at your glistening cunt, where his palm lay flat against the soft, cropped hair of your pubis, sticky with your arousal. He pulls his fingers out only briefly to tease your outer folds, smearing the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath. “So fuckin’ soaked.”

Joel lets out a strained exhale before lifting his head, his expression bordering on desperate. He thrusts his fingers into you, moving it in a come hither motion into your warm, snug walls. Leaning in to place a chaste kiss onto your lips, stifling your mewls. Over, and over until the both of you groan into each other's mouths. 

He pulls out of your cunt, leaving you clenching around nothing. You hear the clank of his belt and zipper as he deepens the kiss, distracting you from the heavy warmth that bobs against your abdomen. “Gone for barely ten fucking minutes. And you up n’ do this shit.” 

Joel tuts at your attempt to feel around for his cock. You let out a grumble at that, looking down anyway and immediately regret it. Joel was big. You’ve seen big before, but not nearly as thick and…frankly–pretty as his. The tip slightly curved, milky pearlescent droplets streaked down the vein that travelled to the base. Joel senses your apprehension and nudges your face back up with his knuckles.“Easy. Don’t go scarin’ yerself.” 

He hikes you up with ease, the length of his cock wedged between your puffy folds. Rocking his hips against you, coating his cock with your slick. Gently, he kneads around your tits to ease your anxieties. “We don’t hafta do anythin’. Promise.”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, shaking your head almost immediately. Your hand holding over his assuredly as he rikes your top above your chest. Squeezing, rolling the softness in his palms. And god did it feel good with how rough his fingers felt on your skin.

His thumb swipes around your nipples, admiring the sight. “Tried to be the bigger person. I did.” He begins. Angling the tip of his cock into your entrance, soaked from your slick. You whine shakily, pussy fluttering, needing more.

“Told myself…you were outta bounds.”

He sighs, “yet you fuckin’ push…and test me.” 

“You aren’t all that inno—“ His palm slips to hold your jaw up firmly, and with calculated shift, he bottoms out in you fully. “—nhhhnnt!” Your thighs instantly tenses around his hips, nails digging into his shoulder. You claw around his back, pulling him closer. Your whines grow louder against his neck, the dull ache from the stretch blurring into pleasure with his slow, deep grinds.

Joel steadies himself on the armrest of the couch, doesn't waste any time before his hips snap into you with a steadied pace. Fucking his thick cock in and out of your pussy. The intensity of his gaze intimated you. Deep brown eyes admiring just how well you were taking him. He needed to see the exact look on your face when you’d finally broken your strong willed self. 

Broken and melted into him. 

“Jo—el!”

He presses his body weight into you, thrusting you into the couch. Grunting into your ears with every snap of his hips. “Fuck…fuck…pussy’s fuckin’—” And he lets out a rough exhale, he was close. So goddamn close. “—chokin’ my cock…” You couldn’t manage anything more than garbled noises. Uhn-uhn-uhns muffled against his shoulders. 

Joel brushes the sweaty strands of your hair away from your cheeks, peppering desperate kisses up your neck and jaw. He lowers his head to suckle around your nipples, fucking you slow and deep when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut crept up. In a desperate attempt to buy himself some time, he squeezes around the base of his cock, painfully, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours.

You weren’t sure if you’d come either, the feeling felt foreign—your mind practically a puddle with the noises you weren’t even certain you were making. Joel leans down to slot his lips with yours, moaning lowly into it as his pace turned frenzied. The stifling weight of his body on yours tips you over the edge, your thighs quivering when the near white flashes draws out a choked moan out of you. Joel follows closely after, managing to pull his cock out in a moment of clarity, painting your tits with ropes of milky white.

He slumps next to you, forehead pressed against the side of your head. The kisses he presses by your jaw and cheeks drag you back to reality.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Think the AC’s busted.”

The both of you look towards the temporary unit that he’d fixed up earlier, the machine sputtering and eventually whirring to imminent death. 

“…Fuckin’ hell.”

[thepencilnerd]

Edge of the Dark

pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!Reader summary: What starts as quiet pining after too many long shifts becomes something heavier, messier, softer—until the only place it all makes sense is in the dark. warnings: references to trauma and PTSD, mentions of deaths in hospital setting, emotionally charged scenes genre: slow burn, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/mostly comfort, soft intimacy, one (1) very touch-starved man, communication struggles, messy feelings, healing is not linear, implied but not explicit smut word count: ~13.5k (i apologize in advance ;-; pls check out ao3 if you prefer chapters) a/n: this started as a soft character exploration and very quickly became a mega-doc of deep intimacy, trauma-informed gentleness, and jack abbot being so touch-starved it hurts. dedicated to anyone who’s ever longed for someone who just gets it 💛 p.s. check out my other abbot fic if you're interested ^-^

You weren’t sure why you lingered.

Everyone had peeled off after a few beers in the park, laughter trailing behind them like fading campfire smoke. Someone had packed up the empties. Someone else made a joke about early rounds. There were half-hearted goodbyes and the sound of sneakers on gravel.

But two people hadn’t moved.

Jack Abbot was still sitting on the bench, legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted just enough that the sharp line of his jaw caught the low amber light from a distant streetlamp.

You stood a few feet away, hovering, unsure if he wanted to be alone or just didn’t know how to leave.

The countless night shifts you'd shared blurred like smeared ink, all sharp moments and dull exhaustion. You’d been colleagues long enough to know the shape of each other’s presence—Jack’s clipped tone when things were spiraling, your tendency to narrate while suturing. Passing conversations, brief exchanges in stolen moments of calm—that was the extent of it. You knew each other’s habits on shift, the shorthand of chaos, the rhythm of crisis. But outside the job, you were closer to strangers than friends. The Dr. Jack Abbot you knew began and ended in the ER. 

It had always been in fragments. Glimpses across trauma rooms. A muttered "Nice work" after a tricky intubation. The occasional shared note on a chart. Maybe a nod in the break room if you happened to breathe at the same time. You knew each other's rhythms, but not the stories behind them. It was small talk in the eye of a hurricane—the kind that comes fast and leaves no room for anything deeper. The calm before the storm, never after. 

“You okay?” Your voice came out soft, not wanting to startle him in case he was occupied with his thoughts. 

He didn’t look at you right away. Just blinked, slow, eyes boring holes into the concrete path laid before him. "Didn’t want to go home yet." Then, after a beat, his gaze shifted to you. "You coming back in a few hours?"

You huffed a small laugh, more air than sound. "Probably. Not like I’ll get more than a couple hours of sleep anyway." The beer left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue as you took another sip. 

His mouth curved—almost a smile, almost something more. "Yeah. That’s what I said to Robby."

You saw the tired warmth in his eyes. Not gone, just tucked away.

"Wasn't this supposed to be your day off?" you asked, tipping your head slightly. "You could take tomorrow off to comp."

He snorted under his breath. "I could. Probably won't."

"Of course not," you said, lips quirking. "That would be too easy."

"No sleep for the wicked," he muttered dryly, but there was no edge to it. Just familiarity settling between you like an old coat. 

A quiet settled over the bench. Neither of you spoke. You breathed together, the kind of silence that asked nothing, demanded nothing. Just the hush of night stretching between two people with too much in their heads and not enough rest in their bones.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "Do you think squirrels ever get drunk from fermented berries?"

You blinked. "What?" It was impossible to hold back the frown of confusion that dashed across your face. 

He shrugged, barely hiding a grin. "I read about it once. They get all wobbly and fall out of trees."

A laugh burst out of you—sudden, warm, real. "Dr. Abbot, are you drunk right now?"

"Little buzzed," he admitted, yet his body gave no indication that he was anything but sober. "But I stand by the question. Seems like something we should investigate. For science."

You laughed again, softer this time. The kind that lingered behind your teeth.

"Call me Jack."

When you looked up, you saw that he was still staring at you. That smile still tugged at the edge of his mouth. There was a flicker of something in his expression—a moment of uncertainty, then decision.

"You can just call me Jack," he repeated, voice quieter now. "We're off the clock."

A grin crept its way onto your face. "Jack." You said it slowly, like you were trying the word on for size. It felt strange in your mouth—new, unfamiliar—but right. The syllable rolled off your tongue and settled into the space between you like something warm.

He ducked his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with your smile.

The quiet returned, but this time it was lighter, looser. He  leaned down to fasten his prosthetic back in place with practiced ease, then stood up to give his sore muscles another good stretch. When he looked over at you again, it was with a steadier kind of presence—solid, grounded.

"You want some company on the walk home?"

Warmth flooded your face. Maybe it was the alcohol hitting. Or the worry of being a burden. You hesitated, then gave him an apologetic look. "I mean—thank you, really—but you don’t have to.  I live across the river, by Point State Park. It’s kind of out of the way."

Jack tipped his chin up, brows furrowing in thought. "Downtown? I'm on Fifth and Market Street. That’s like, what—two blocks over?"

"Seriously?" Jack Abbot lived a five-minute walk south from you?

The thought settled over you with a strange warmth. All this time, the space between your lives had been measured in blocks.

He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets and slinging on his backpack, the fabric rustling faintly. "Yeah. No bother at all, it's on my way."

You both stood there a moment longer as the wind shifted, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic from Liberty Avenue and the low splash of water against the Mon Wharf. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, then fell silent.

"Weird we’ve never run into each other," you murmured, more to yourself than anything. But of course, he heard you.

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you, and something like a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Guess we weren’t looking," he said.

The rest of the walk was quiet, but not empty. Your footsteps echoed in unison against the cracked sidewalk, and somewhere between street lamps and concrete cracks, you stopped feeling like strangers. The dim lights left long shadows that pooled around your feet, soft and flickering. Neither of you seemed in a rush to break the silence.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the leftover buzz from the beers, or maybe it was something else entirely, but the dark didn’t feel heavy the way it sometimes did—especially after shifts like this. It was a kind of refuge. A quiet shelter for two people too used to holding their breath. It felt... safe. Like a shared language being spoken in a place you both understood.

A few night shifts passed. Things had quieted down after the mass casualty event—at least by ER standards—but the chaos never really left. Working emergency meant the moments of calm were usually just precursors to the next wave. You were supposed to be off by seven, but paperwork ran long, a consult ran over, a med student went rogue with an IO drill, and before you knew it, it was 9 am.

After unpinning your badge and stuffing it into your pocket, you pushed through the main hospital doors and winced against the pale morning light. Everything felt too sharp, too loud, and the backs of your eyes throbbed from hours of fluorescent lighting. Fatigue settled deep in your muscles, a familiar dull ache that pulsed with each step. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to your scrubs, mixed with the bitter trace of stale coffee.

You were busy rubbing your eyes, trying to relieve the soreness that bloomed behind them like a dull migraine, and didn’t see the figure standing just to the side of the door.

You walked straight into him—headfirst.

“Jesus—sorry,” you muttered, taking a step back.

And there he was: Jack Abbot, leaning against the bike rack just outside the lobby entrance. His eyes tracked the sliding doors like he’d been waiting for something—or someone. In one hand, he held a steaming paper cup. Not coffee, you realized when the scent hit you, but tea. And in the other, he had a second cup tucked against his ribs. 

He looked up when he saw you, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. Just smiled, small and tired and real.

"Dr. Abbot." You blinked, caught completely off guard. 

"Jack," he corrected gently, with a crooked smirk that didn’t quite cover the hint of nerves underneath. "Off the clock, remember?"

A soft scoff escaped you—more acknowledgment than answer. As you shifted your weight, the soreness settled into your legs. "Wait—why are you still here? Your caseload was pretty light today. Should’ve been out hours ago."

Jack shrugged, eyes steady on yours. "Had a few things to wrap up. Figured I’d wait around. Misery loves company."

You blinked again, slower this time. That quiet, steady warmth in your chest flared—not dramatic, just there. Present. Unspoken.

He extended the cup toward you like it was no big deal. You took it, the warmth of the paper seeping into your fingers, grounding you more than you expected.

"Didn’t know how you took it," Jack said. "Figured tea was safer than coffee at this hour."

You nodded, still adjusting to the strange intimacy of being thought about. "Good guess."

He glanced at his own cup, then added with a small smirk, "The barista recommended some new hipster blend—uh, something like... lavender cloudburst? Cloud... bloom? I don't know. It sounded ridiculous, but it smelled okay, so."

You snorted into your first sip. "Lavender cloudburst? That a seasonal storm warning or a tea?"

Jack laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly couldn’t tell you. I just nodded like I knew what I was doing."

And something about the way he said it—offhand, dry, and a little self-deprecating—made the morning feel a little softer. Like he wasn’t just waiting to see you. He was trying to figure out how to stay a little longer.

The first sip tasted like a warm hug. “It’s good,” you hummed. Jack would be remiss if he didn’t notice the way your cheeks flushed pink, or how you smiled to yourself. 

So the two of you just started walking.

There was no plan. No particular destination in mind. Just the rhythmic scuff of your shoes on the pavement, the warm cups in hand, and the soft hum of a city waking up around you. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, just cautious—guarded, maybe, but not unwilling. As you passed by a row of restaurants, he made a quiet comment about the coffee shop that always burned their bagels. You mentioned the skeleton in OR storage someone dressed up in scrubs last Halloween, prompted by some graffiti on the brick wall of an alley. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Jack shoved one hand in his pocket, the other still cradling his now-empty cup. “I still think cloudburst sounds like a shampoo brand.”

You grinned, stealing a sideways glance at him. “I don’t know, I feel like it could also be a very niche indie band.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and breathy. “That tracks. ‘Cloudburst’s playing the Thunderbird next weekend.’”

“Opening for Citrus Lobotomy,” you deadpanned.

Jack nearly choked on his last sip of tea.

The moment passed like that—small, stupid jokes nestled between shared exhaustion and something else neither of you were quite ready to name. But in those fragments, in those glances and tentative laughs, there was a kind of knowing. Not everything had to be said outright. Some things could just exist—quietly, gently—between the spaces of who you were behind hospital doors and who you were when the work was finally done.

The next shift came hard and fast.

A critical trauma rolled in just past midnight—a middle-aged veteran, found unconscious, head trauma, unstable vitals, military tattoo still visible on his forearm beneath the dried blood. Jack was leading the case, and even from across the trauma bay, you could see it happen—the second he recognized the tattoo, something in him shut down.

He didn’t freeze. Didn’t panic. He just... went quiet. Tighter around the eyes. Sharper, more mechanical. As if he’d stepped out of his body and left the rest behind to finish the job.

The team moved like clockwork, but the rhythm never felt right. The patient coded again. Then again. Jack ordered another round of epi, demanded more blood—his voice tight, almost brittle. That sharp clench of his jaw said everything he didn’t. He wanted this one to make it. He needed to.

Even as the monitor flatlined, its sharp tone cutting through the noise like a blade, he kept going.

“Start another line,” he said. “Hang another unit. Push another dose.”

No one moved.

You stepped in, heart sinking. “Dr. Abbot… he’s gone.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look at you. “One more round. Just—try again.”

The team hesitated. Eyes darted to you.

You stepped closer, voice soft but firm. “Jack—” you said his name like a lifeline, not a reprimand. “I’m so sorry.”

That stopped him. Just like that, his breath caught. Shoulders sagged. The echo of the monitor still rang behind you, constant and cold.

He finally looked at the man on the table.

“Time of death, 02:12.”

His hands didn’t shake until they were empty.

Then he peeled off his gloves and threw them hard into the garbage can, the snap of latex punctuating the silence like a slap. Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the trauma bay, footsteps clipped and angry, leaving the others standing frozen in his wake.

It wasn’t until hours later—when the adrenaline faded and the grief crawled back in like smoke under a door—that you found him again.

He was on the roof.

Just standing there.

Like the sky could carry the weight no one else could hold. 

As if standing beneath that wide, empty stretch might quiet the scream still lodged in his chest. He didn’t turn around when you stepped onto the roof, but his posture shifted almost imperceptibly. He recognized your footsteps.

"What are you doing up here?"

The words came from him, low and rough, and it surprised you more than it should have.

You paused, taking careful steps toward him. Slow enough not to startle, deliberate enough to be noticed. "I should be asking you that."

He let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh—or maybe just exhaustion given form. For a while, neither of you spoke. The wind pulled at your scrub top, cool and insistent, but not enough to chase you back inside.

“You ever have one of those cases that just—sticks?” he asked eventually, eyes still locked on the city below.

“Most of them,” you admitted quietly. “Some louder than others.”

Jack nodded, slow. “Yeah. Thought I was past that one.”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You knew better than to press. Just like he didn’t ask why you were really up there, either.

There was a pause. Not empty—just cautious.

“I get it,” you murmured. “Some things don’t stay buried. No matter how deep you try to shove them down.”

That earned a glance from him, fleeting but sharp. “Didn’t know you had things like that.”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze steady on the skyline. “That’s the point, right?”

Another breath. A half-step toward understanding. But the walls stayed up—for now. Just not as high as they’d been.

You glanced at him, his face half in shadow. "It’s not weak to let someone stand beside you. Doesn’t make the weight go away, but it’s easier to keep moving when you’re not the only one holding it."

His shoulders twitched, just slightly. Like something in him heard you—and wanted to believe it.

You nudged the toe of your shoe against a loose bit of gravel, sensing the way Jack had pulled back into himself. The lines of his shoulders had gone stiff again, his expression harder to read. So you leaned into what you knew—a little humor, a little distance cloaked in something lighter.

“If you jump on Robby’s shift, he’ll probably make you supervise the med students who can't do proper chest compressions.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But something close. Something that cracked the silence just enough to let the air in again. “God, I'd hate to be his patient."

Then, in one fluid motion, he swung a leg through the railing and stepped carefully onto solid ground beside you. The metal creaked beneath his weight, but he moved like he’d done it a hundred times before. That brief flicker of distance, of something fragile straining at the edges, passed between you both in silence.

Neither of you said anything more. You simply turned together, wordlessly, and started heading back inside.

A shift change here, a coffee break there—moments that lingered a little longer than they used to. Small talk slipped into quieter pauses that neither of you rushed to fill. Glances held for just a beat too long, then quickly looked away.

You noticed things. Not all at once. But enough.

Jack’s habit of reorganizing the cart after every code. The way he checked in on the new interns when he thought no one was watching. The moments he paused before signing out, like he wasn’t ready to meet daybreak.

And sometimes, you’d catch him watching you—not with intent, but with familiarity. As if the shape of you in a room had become something he expected. Something steady.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

Whatever it was, it was moving. Slowly. Quietly.

The kind of shift that only feels seismic once you look back at where you started.

One morning, after another long stretch of back-to-back shifts, the two of you walked out together without planning to. No words, no coordination. Just parallel exhaustion and matching paces.

The city was waking up—soft blue sky, the whir of early buses, the smell of something vaguely sweet coming from a bakery down the block.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You walking all the way?”

“Figured I’d try and get some sleep,” you said, then hesitated. “Actually… there’s a diner a few blocks from here. Nothing fancy. But their pancakes don’t suck.”

He glanced over, one brow raised. “Is that your way of saying you want breakfast?”

“I’m saying I’m hungry,” you replied, a touch too casual. “And you look like you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, then nodded once.

“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

And that was it.

No declarations. No turning point anyone else might notice. Just two people, shoulder to shoulder, walking in the same direction a little longer than they needed to. 

The diner wasn’t much—formica tables, cracked vinyl booths, a waitress who refilled your bland coffee without asking. But it was warm, and quiet, and smelled like real butter.

You sat across from Jack in a booth near the window, elbows on the table, hands wrapped around mismatched mugs. He didn’t talk much at first, just stirred his coffee like he was waiting for it to tell him something.

Eventually, the silence gave way.

“I think I’ve eaten here twice this week,” you said, gesturing to the laminated menu. “Mostly because I don’t trust myself near a stove after night shift.”

Jack cracked a tired smile. “Last time I tried to make eggs, I nearly set off the sprinklers.”

“That would’ve been one hell of a consult excuse.”

He chuckled—quiet, genuine. The kind of laugh that felt rare on him. “Pretty sure the med students already think I live at the hospital. That would've just confirmed it.”

Conversation meandered from there. Things you both noticed. The weird habits of certain attendings. The one resident who used peanut butter as a mnemonic device. None of it deep, but all of it honest.

Somewhere between pancakes and too many refills, something eased.

Jack looked up mid-sip, met your eyes, and didn’t look away.

“You’re easy to sit with,” he said simply.

You didn’t answer right away.

Just smiled. “You are too.”

One thing about Jack was that he never shied away from eye contact. Maybe it was the military in him—or maybe it was just how he kept people honest. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and when it landed on you, it stayed.

You felt it then, like a spotlight cutting through the dim diner lighting. That intensity, paired with the softness of the moment, made your stomach dip. You ducked your head, suddenly interested in your coffee, and took a sip just to busy your hands.

Jack didn’t miss it. “Are you blushing?”

You scoffed. “It’s just warm in here.”

“Mmm,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Must be the pancakes.”

You coughed lightly, the sound awkward and deliberate, then reached for the safety of a subject less charged. “So,” you began, “what’s the worst advice you ever got from a senior resident?”

Jack blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. “That’s easy. ‘If the family looks confused, just talk faster.’”

You winced, grinning. “Oof. Classic.”

He leaned back in the booth. “What about you?”

“Oh, mine told me to bring donuts to chart review so the attending would go easy on me.”

Jack tilted his head. “Did it work?”

“Well,” you said, “the donuts got eaten. My SOAP note still got ripped apart. So, no.”

He chuckled. “Justice, then.”

He stirred his coffee once more, then set the spoon down with more care than necessary. His voice dropped, softer, but not fragile. Testing the waters.

"You ever think about leaving it? The ER, I mean."

The question caught you off guard—not because it was heavy, but because it was him asking. You blinked at him, surprised to see something flicker behind his eyes. Not restlessness exactly. Just... ache.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "When it gets too loud. When I catch myself counting the days instead of the people."

Jack nodded, but his gaze locked on you. Steady. Intense. Like he was memorizing something. It took everything out of you not to shy away. 

"I used to think if I left, everything I’d seen would catch up to me all at once. Like the noise would follow me anyway."

You let that hang in the air between you. It wasn’t a confession. But it was close.

"Maybe it would. But maybe there’d be room to breathe, too..." you trailed off, breaking eye contact. 

Jack didn’t respond, didn’t look away. Simply looked into you with the hopes of finding an answer for himself. 

Eventually, the food was picked at more than eaten, the check paid, and the last of the coffee drained. When you finally stepped outside, the air hit cooler than expected—brisk against your skin, a contrast to the warmth left behind in the diner. The sky had brightened while you weren’t looking, soft light catching the edges of buildings, traffic picking up in a faint buzz. It was the kind of morning that made everything feel suspended—just a little bit longer—before the real world returned.

The walk back was quieter than before. Not tense, just full. Tired footsteps on uneven sidewalks. The distant chirp of birds. Your shoulders brushing once. Maybe twice.

When you finally reached your building, you paused on the steps. Jack lingered just behind you, hands in his jacket pockets, gaze drifting toward the street.

"Thanks for breakfast," you said.

He nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

A beat passed. Then two.

You could’ve invited him up. He could’ve asked if you wanted some tea. But neither of you took the step forward, opting rather to stand still. 

Not yet.

“Get some sleep,” he said, voice low.

“You too.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off into the quiet.

Another hard shift. One of those nights that stuck to your skin, bitter and unshakable. You’d both lost a patient that day. Different codes, same outcome. Same weight. Same painful echo of loss that clung to the insides of your chest like smoke. No one cried. No one yelled. But it was there—the tension around Jack’s mouth, the clenching of his jaw; the way your hands wouldn’t stop flexing, nails digging into your palms to ground yourself. In the stillness. In the quiet. In everything that hurt.

You lingered near the bike racks, not really speaking. The space between you was thick, not tense—but full. Too full.

It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. The kind of hour where the streets felt hollow and fluorescent light still hummed behind your eyes. No one had moved to say goodbye.

You shifted your weight, glanced at him. Jack stood a few feet away, jaw tight, eyes somewhere distant.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. 

“I could make tea." Not loud. Not casual. Just—offered. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it. Maybe it was the way he was looking at the ground. Or the way the silence between you had started to feel like lead. Either way, the moment it left your mouth, something inside you winced.  

He looked at you then. Really looked. And after a long pause, nodded. “Alright.”

So you walked the blocks together, shoulder to shoulder beneath the hum of a waking city. The stroll was quiet—neither of you said much after the offer. When you reached the front steps of your building, your fingers froze in front of the intercom box. Hovered there. Hesitated. You weren’t even sure why—he was just standing there, quiet and steady beside you—but still, something in your chest fluttered. Then you looked at him.

“The code’s 645,” you murmured, like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t just made your stomach flip.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded. The beeping of the box felt louder than it should’ve, too sharp against the quiet. But then the lock clicked, and the door swung open, and he followed you inside like he belonged there.

And then the two of you walked inside together.

Up the narrow staircase, your footsteps were slow, measured. The kind of tired that lived in your bones. He kept close but didn’t crowd, hand brushing the rail, eyes skimming the hallway like he didn’t quite know where to look.

When you opened the door to unit 104, you suddenly remembered what your place looked like—barebones, mostly. Lived-in, but not curated. A pair of shoes kicked off by the entryway, two mismatched mugs and a bowl in the sink, a pile of jackets strewn over the chair you'd found in a yard sale. 

The floors creaked as he stepped inside. You winced, suddenly self-conscious.

"Sorry about the mess..." you muttered. You didn’t know what you expected—a judgment, maybe. A raised eyebrow. Something.

Instead, Jack looked around once, taking it in slowly. Then nodded.

“It fits.”

Something in his tone—low, sure, completely unfazed, like it was exactly what he'd imagined—made your stomach flip again. You exhaled quietly, tension easing in your shoulders.

"Make yourself at home."

Jack nodded again, then bent to untie his trainers. He stepped out of them carefully, placed them neatly by the door, and gave the space one more quiet scan before making his way to the living room.

The couch creaked softly as he sat, hands resting loosely on his knees, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay upright or lean back. From the kitchen, you stole a glance—watching him settle in, or at least try to. You didn’t want to bombard him with questions or hover like a bad host, but the quiet stretched long, and something in you itched to fill it.

You busied yourself with boiling water, fussing with mugs, tea bags, sugar that wasn’t there. Trying to make it feel like something warm was waiting in the silence. Trying to give him space, even as a dozen things bubbled just beneath your skin.

“Chamomile okay?” you finally asked, the words light but uncertain.

Jack didn’t look up. But he nodded. “Yeah. That’s good.” You turned back to the counter, heart thudding louder than the kettle.

Meanwhile, Jack sat in near silence, but his eyes moved slowly around the room. Not searching. Just... seeing.

There were paintings on the walls—mostly landscapes, one abstract piece with colors he couldn’t name. Based on the array of prints to fingerpainted masterpieces, he guessed you'd painted some of them, but they all felt chosen. Anchored. Real.

A trailing pothos hung from a shelf above the radiator, green and overgrown, even though the pot looked like it had seen better days. It was lush despite the odds—thriving in a quiet, accidental kind of way.

Outside on the balcony ledge, he spotted a few tiny trinkets: a mushroom clay figure with a lopsided smile, a second plant—shorter, spikier, the kind that probably didn’t need much water but still looked stubbornly alive. A moss green glazed pot, clearly handmade. All memories, maybe. All pieces of you he’d never seen before. Pieces of someone he was only beginning to know. He took them in slowly, carefully. Not wanting to miss a single thing.

The sound of footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. Two mugs clinking gently. You stepped into the living room and offered him one without fanfare, just a quiet sort of steadiness that made the space feel warmer. He took the tea with a small nod, thanking you. You didn’t sit beside him. You settled on the loveseat diagonal from the couch—close, but not too close. Enough to see him without watching. Enough space to let him breathe.

He noticed.

Your fingers curled around your mug. The steam gave you something to look at. Jack’s expression didn’t shift much, but you knew he could read you like an open book. Probably already had.

“You’ve got a lovely place,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking to a print on the wall—one slightly crooked, like it had been bumped and never fixed. “Exactly how I imagined, honestly.”

You arched a brow, skeptical. “Messy and uneven?”

Jack let out a quiet laugh. “I was going to say warm. But yeah, sure. Bonus points for the haunted radiator.”

The way he said it—calm, a little awkward, like he was trying to make you feel comfortable—landed somewhere between a compliment and a peace offering.

He took another sip of tea. “It just… feels like you.”

The words startled something in you. You didn’t know what to say—not right away. Your smile came small, a little crooked, the kind you didn’t have to fake but weren’t sure how to hold for long. “Thank you,” you said softly, fingers tightening around your mug like it might keep you grounded. The heat had gone tepid, but the gesture still lingered.

Jack looked like he might say something else, then didn’t. His fingers tapped once, twice, against the side of his mug before he exhaled through his nose—a small, thoughtful sound.

“My therapist once told me that vulnerability’s like walking into a room naked and hoping someone brought a blanket,” he said, dryly. “I told him I’d rather stay in the hallway.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, surprised. “Mine said it was like standing on a beach during high tide. Sooner or later, the water reaches you—whether you're ready or not.”

Jack’s mouth quirked, amused. “That’s poetic.”

You shrugged, sipping your tea. “She’s a big fan of metaphors. And tide charts, apparently.”

He smiled into his mug. “Makes sense. You’re the kind of person who would still be standing there when it comes in.”

You tilted your head. “And you?”

He considered that. “Probably pacing the rocks. Waiting for someone to say it’s okay to sit down.”

A quiet stretched between you, but this one felt earned—less about what wasn’t said and more about what had been.

An hour passed like that. Not all silence, not all speech. Just the easy drift of soft conversation and shared space. Small talk filled the cracks when it needed to—his comment about the plant that seemed to be plotting something in the corner, your half-hearted explanation for the random stack of books next to the radiator. Every now and then, something deeper would peek through the surface.

“Ever think about just… disappearing?” you asked once, offhanded and a little too real.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. But then I’d miss pancakes. And Mexican food.”

You laughed, and he smiled like he hadn’t meant to say something so honest.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough. A rhythm, slow and shy. Words passed like notes through a crack in the door—careful, but curious. Neither of you rushed it. Neither of you left.

And then the storm hit.

The rain droplets started slow, just a whisper on the window. But it built fast—wind shaking the glass, thunder cracking overhead like a warning. You turned toward it, heart sinking a little. Jack did too, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Jesus," you murmured, already reaching for your phone. As if by divine timing, the emergency alert confirmed it: flash flood advisory until late evening. Admin had passed coverage onto the day shift. Robby wouldn't be happy about that. You made a mental note to make fun of him about it tomorrow. "Doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon..." 

You glanced at Jack, who was still holding his mug like he wasn’t sure if he should move.

“You're welcome to stay—if you want,” you quickly clarified, trying to sound casual. “Only if you want to. Until it clears.”

His eyes flicked toward the window again, then to you. “You sure?”

“I mean, unless you want to risk get struck by lightning or swept into a storm drain.”

That earned the smallest laugh. “Tempting.”

You smiled, nervous. “Spare towel and blankets are in the linen closet. Couch pulls out. I think. Haven’t tried.”

Jack nodded slowly, setting his mug down. “I’m not picky.”

You busied yourself with clearing a spot, the nervous kind of motion that said you cared too much and didn’t know where to put it.

Jack watched you for a moment longer than he should’ve, then started helping—quiet, careful, hands brushing yours once as he reached for the extra pillow.

Neither of you commented on it. But your face burned.

And when the storm didn’t stop, neither of you rushed it.

Instead, the hours slipped by, slow and soft. At some point, Jack asked if he could shower—voice low, like he didn’t want to intrude. You pointed him toward the bathroom and handed him a spare towel, trying not to overthink the fact that his fingers grazed yours when he took it.

While he was in there, you busied yourself with making something passable for dinner. Rice. Egg drop soup. A couple frozen dumplings your mother had sent you dressed up with scallions and sesame oil. When Jack returned, hair damp, sleeves pushed up, you nearly dropped the plate. It wasn’t fair—how effortlessly good he looked like that. A little disheveled, a little too comfortable in a stranger’s home, and yet somehow perfectly at ease in your space. It was just a flash of thought—sharp, traitorous, warm—and then you buried it fast, turning back to the stovetop like it hadn’t happened at all.

You were still hovering by the stove, trying not to let the dumplings stick when you heard his footsteps. When he stepped beside you without a word and reached for a second plate, something in your brain short-circuited.

"Smells good," he said simply, voice low—and he somehow still smelled faintly of cologne, softened by the unmistakable citrus-floral mix of your body wash. It wasn’t fair. The scent tugged at something in your chest you didn’t want to name.

You blinked rapidly, buffering. "Thanks. Uh—it’s not much. Just... whatever I had."

He glanced at the pan, then to you. “You always downplay a five-course meal like this?”

Your mouth opened to protest, but then he smiled—quiet and warm and maybe a little teasing.

It took effort not to stare. Not to say something stupid about how stupidly good he looked. You shoved the thought down, hard, and went back to plating the food.

He helped without asking, falling into step beside you like he’d always been there. And when you both sat down at the low table, he smiled at the spread like it meant more than it should’ve.

Neither of you talked much while eating. But the air between you felt settled. Comfortable.

At some point between the second bite and the last spoonful of rice, Jack glanced up from his bowl and said, "This is good. Really good. I haven’t had a homemade meal in... a long time."

You were pleasantly surprised. And relieved. "Oh. Thanks. I’m just glad it turned out edible."

He shook his head slowly, eyes still on you. "If this were my last meal, I think I’d die happy."

Your face flushed instantly. It was stupid, really, the way a single line—soft, almost offhand—landed like that. You ducked your head, smiling into your bowl, trying to play it off.

Jack tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, amused. "Was that a blush?"

You scoffed. "It's warm in here."

“Mmm,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced. But he let it go.

Still, the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

You cleared your throat. "You're welcome anytime you'd like, by the way. For food. Or tea. Or... just to not be alone."

That earned a look from him—surprised, quiet, but soft in a way that made your chest ache.

And you didn’t dare look at him for a full minute after that.

When you stood to rinse your dishes, Jack took your bowl from your hands before you could protest and turned toward the sink. You opened your mouth but he was already running water, already rinsing with careful, practiced motions. So you just stood there in the soft hush of your kitchen, warmed by tea and stormlight, trying not to let your heart do anything foolish.

By the time the dishes were rinsed and left on the drying rack, the storm had only worsened—sheets of rain chasing themselves down the windows, thunder rolling deep and constant.

You found yourselves in the living room again, this time without urgency, without pretense—just quiet familiarity laced with something softer. And so, without discussing it, without making it a thing, you handed him the extra blanket and turned off all but one lamp.

Neither of you moved toward sleep just yet.

You were sitting by the balcony window, knees pulled up, mug long since emptied, staring out at the storm as it lashed the glass in sheets. The sound had become something rhythmic, almost meditative. Still, your arms were bare, and the goosebumps that peppered your forearms betrayed the chill creeping in.

Jack didn’t say anything—just stood quietly from the couch and returned with the throw blanket from your armrest. Without a word, he draped it over your shoulders.

You startled slightly, looking up at him. But he didn’t comment. Just gave you a small nod, then sat down beside you on the floor, his back against the corner of the balcony doorframe, gaze following yours out into the storm. The blanket settled around both of you like a quiet pact. 

After a while, Jack’s voice cut through it, barely louder than the storm. “You afraid of the dark?”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just at the rain trailing down the window. “Used to be,” you said. “Not so much anymore. You?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“I used to think the dark was hiding me,” he said once. Voice quiet, like he was talking to the floor, or maybe the memory of a version of himself he didn’t recognize anymore. “But I think it’s just the only place I don’t have to pretend. Where I don’t have to act like I’m whole.”

Your heart cracked. Not from pity, but from the aching intimacy of honesty.

Then he looked at you—really looked at you. Eyes steady, searching, too much all at once. You forgot how to breathe for a second. "My therapist thinks I find comfort in the darkness."

There was something about the way he fit into the storm, the way the shadows curved around him without asking for anything back. You wondered if it was always like this for him—calmer in the chaos, more himself in the dark. Maybe that was the tradeoff.

Some people thrived in the day. Others feared being blinded by the light. 

Jack, you were starting to realize, functioned best where things broke open. In the adrenaline. In the noise. Not because he liked it, necessarily—but because he knew it. He understood its language. The stillness of normalcy? That was harder. Quieter in a way that didn’t feel safe. Unstructured. Unknown.

A genius in crisis. A ghost in calm.

But you saw it.

And you said, softly, "Maybe the dark doesn’t ask us to be anything. That’s why it feels like home sometimes. You don’t have to be good. Or okay. Or whole. You just get to be." That made him look at you again—slow, like he didn’t want to miss it. Maybe no one had ever said it that way before.

The air felt different after that—still heavy, still quiet, but warmer somehow. Jack broke it with a low breath, barely a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So... do all your philosophical monologues come with tea and thunder, or did I just get the deluxe package?"

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing by degrees. "Only the Abbot special."

He bumped your knee gently with his. "Lucky me."

You didn’t say anything else, just leaned back against the wall beside him.

Eventually, you both got up. Brushed teeth side by side, a little awkward, a little shy. You both stood in front of the couch, staring at it like it had personally wronged you. You reached for the handle. Jack braced the backrest. Nothing moved.

"This can’t be that complicated," you muttered.

"Two MDs, one brain cell," Jack deadpanned, and you snorted.

It took a few grunts, an accidental elbow, and a very questionable click—but eventually, the thing unfolded.

He took the couch. You turned off the last lamp.

"Goodnight," you murmured in the dark.

"Goodnight," he echoed, softer.

And for once, the quiet didn’t press. It held.

Weeks passed. Jack came over a handful of times. He accompanied you home after work, shoulders brushing as you walked the familiar path back in comfortable quiet. You learned the rhythm of him in your space. The way he moved through your kitchen like he didn’t want to disturb it. The way he always put his shoes by the door, lined up neatly like they belonged there. 

Then one day, it changed. He texted you, right before your shift ended: You free after? My place this time.

You stared at the screen longer than necessary. Then typed back: Yeah. I’d like that.

He met you outside the hospital that night, both of you bone-tired from a brutal shift, scrub jackets zipped high against the wind. You hadn’t been to Jack’s place before. Weren’t even sure what you expected. Your nerves had started bubbling to the surface the moment you saw him—automatic, familiar. Like your brain was bracing for rejection and disappointment before he even said a word.

You tried to keep it casual, but old habits died hard. Vulnerability always felt like standing on the edge of something steep, and your first instinct was to retreat. To make sure no one thought you needed anything at all. The second you saw him, the words spilled out in a rush—fast, nervous, unfiltered.

"Jack, you don’t have to...make this a thing. You don’t owe me anything just because you’ve been crashing at my place. I didn’t mean for it to feel like you had to invite me back or—"

He cut you off before you could spiral further.

“Hey.” Just that—firm but quiet. A grounding thread. His hands settled on your arms, near your elbows, steadying you with a grip that was firm but careful—like he knew exactly how to hold someone without hurting them. His fingers were warm, his palms calloused in places that told stories he’d never say out loud. His forearms, bare beneath rolled sleeves, flexed with restrained strength. And God, you hated that it made your brain short-circuit for a second.

Of course Jack Abbot would comfort you and make you feral in the same breath.

Then he looked at you—really looked. “I invited you because I wanted you there. Not because I owe you. Not because I’m keeping score. Not because I'm expecting anything from you.”

The wind pulled at your sleeves. The heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it.

Jack softened. Offered the faintest smile. “I want you here. But only if you want to be.”

You let out a breath. “Okay,” you said. Soft. Certain, even through the nerves. You smiled, more to yourself than to him. Jack’s gaze lingered on that smile—quietly, like he was memorizing it. His shoulders loosened, just barely, like your answer had unlocked something he hadn’t realized he was holding onto.

Be vulnerable, you told yourself. Open up. Allow yourself to have this.

True to his word, it really was just two blocks from your place. His building was newer, more modern. Clean lines, soft lighting, the kind of entryway that labeled itself clearly as an apartment complex. Yours, by comparison, screamed haunted brick building with a temperamental boiler system and a very committed resident poltergeist.

You were still standing beside him when he keyed open the front door, the keypad beeping softly under his fingers.

"5050," he said.

You tipped your head, confused. "Sorry?"

He looked at you briefly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud but didn’t take it back either. “Door code.”

Something in your chest fluttered. It echoed the first night you’d given him yours—unthinking, unfiltered, just a quiet offering. This felt the same. An unspoken invitation. You’re welcome here. Any time you want. Any time you need.

"Thanks, Jack." You could see a flicker of something behind his eyes. 

The elevator up was quiet.

Jack watched the floor numbers tick by like he was counting in his head. You stared at your reflection in the brushed metal ceiling, the fluorescent lighting doing no one any favors. Totally not worried about the death trap you were currently in. Definitely not calculating which corner you'd curl into if the whole thing dropped.

When the doors opened, the hallway was mercifully empty, carpeted, quiet. You followed him down to the end, your steps softened by the hush of the building. Unit J24.

He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside so you could walk in first.

You did—and paused.

It was... barren. Not in a sterile way, but in the sense that it looked like he’d just moved in a few days ago and hadn’t had the energy—or maybe the need—to settle. The walls were bare and painted a dark blue-grey. A matching couch and a dim floor lamp in the living room. A fridge in the kitchen humming like it was trying to fill the silence. No art. No rugs. Not a photo or magnet in sight. 

And yet—somehow—it felt entirely Jack. Sparse. Quiet. Intentional. A place built for someone who didn’t like to linger but was trying to learn how. You stepped in further, slower now. A kind of reverence in your movement, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

Because even in the stillness, even in the emptiness—he’d let you in. 

Jack took off his shoes and opened up a closet by the door. You mirrored his motions, suddenly aware of every move you made like a spotlight landed on you. 

"Make yourself at home," he said, voice casual but low.

You walked over to the couch and sat down, your movements slow, careful. Even the cushions felt new—firm, unsunken, like no one had ever really used them. It squeaked a little beneath you, unfamiliar in its resistance.

You ran your hand lightly over the fabric, then looked around again, taking everything in. "Did you paint the walls?"

Jack gave a short huff of a laugh from the kitchen. “Had to fight tooth and nail with my landlord to get that approved. Said it was too dark. Too dramatic.”

He reappeared in the doorway with two mugs in hand. “Guess I told on myself.” He handed you the lighter green one, taking the black chipped one for himself. 

You took it carefully, fingers brushing his for a moment. “Thanks.”

The warmth seeped into your palms immediately, grounding. The scent rising from the cup was oddly familiar—floral, slightly citrusy, like something soft wrapped in memory. You took a cautious sip. Your brows lifted. “Wait… is this the Lavender cloudburst... cloudbloom?”

Jack gave you a sheepish glance, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is. I picked up a bag couple of days ago. Figured if I was going to be vulnerable and dramatic, I might as well commit to the theme.”

You snorted. He smiled into his own cup, quiet.

What he didn’t say: that he’d stared at the bag in the store longer than any sane person should, wondering if buying tea with you in mind meant anything. That he bought it a while back, hoping one day he'd get to share it with you. Wondering if letting himself hope was already a mistake. But saying it felt too big. Too much.

Jack’s eyes drifted to you—not the tea, not the room, but you. The way your shoulders were ever-so-slightly raised, tension tucked beneath the soft lines of your posture. The way your eyes moved around the room, drinking in every corner, every shadow, like you were searching for something you couldn’t name.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched.

And maybe you felt it—that quiet kind of watching. The kind that wasn’t about staring, but about seeing. Really seeing.

You took another sip, slower this time. The warmth helped. So did the silence.

Small talk came easier than it had before. Not loud, not hurried. Just quiet questions and softer replies. The kind of conversation that made space instead of filling it.

Jack tilted his head slightly. “You always look at rooms like you’re cataloguing them.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” He smiled softly into his mug. “Like you’re trying to figure out what’s missing.”

You considered that for a second. “Maybe I am.”

A pause, then—“And?”

Your gaze swept the room one last time, then landed back on him. “Nothing. This apartment feels like you.”

You expected him to nod or laugh it off, maybe deflect with a joke. But instead, he just looked at you—still, soft, like your words had pressed into some quiet corner of him he didn’t know was waiting. The moment lingered.

And he gave the slightest nod, the kind that said he heard you—really heard you—even if he didn’t quite know how to respond. The ice between you didn’t crack so much as it thawed, slow and patient, like neither of you were in a rush to get to spring. But it was melting, all the same.

Jack set his mug down on the coffee table, fingertips lingering against the ceramic a second longer than necessary. “I don’t usually do this,” he said finally. “The… letting people in thing.”

His honesty caught you off guard—so sudden, so unguarded, it tugged something loose in your chest. You nodded, heart caught somewhere behind your ribs. “I know.”

He gave you a sideways glance, prompting you to continue. You sipped your tea, eyes fixed on the rim of your cup. “I see how carefully you move through the world.”

“Thank you,” you added after a beat—genuine, quiet.

He didn’t say anything back, and the two of you left it at that.

Silence again, but it felt different now. Less like distance. More like the space between two people inching closer. Jack leaned back slightly, stretching one leg out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. “You scare me a little,” he admitted.

That got a chuckle out of you. 

“Not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Just… in the way it feels when something actually matters.”

You set your mug down too, hands suddenly unsure of what to do. “You scare me too.”

Jack stared at you then—longer than he probably meant to. You felt it immediately, the heat rising in your chest under the weight of it, his gaze almost reverent, almost like he wanted to say something else but didn’t trust it to come out right.

So you cleared your throat and tried to steer the tension elsewhere. “Not as much as you scare the med students,” you quipped, lips twitching into a crooked smile.

Jack huffed out a low laugh, the edge of his mouth pulling up. “I sure as hell hope not.”

You let the moment linger for a beat longer, then glanced at the clock over his shoulder. “I should probably get back to my place,” you said gently. “Catch a couple hours of sleep before the next shift.”

Jack didn’t protest. Didn’t push. But something in his eyes softened—brief, quiet. “Thanks for the tea,” you added, standing slowly, reluctant but steady. “And for… this.”

He nodded once. “Anytime.” The way the word fell from his lips nearly made you buckle, its sincerity and weight almost begging you to stay. "Let me walk you back."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You don’t have to, I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jack was already reaching for his jacket, eyes steady on you. “You’re never a bother.” His voice was quiet, but certain.

You stood there for a moment, hesitating, the edge of your nervousness still humming faintly beneath your skin. Jack grabbed his keys, adjusted his jacket, and the two of you headed downstairs. The cool air greeted you with a soft nip. Neither of you spoke at first. The afternoon light was soft and golden, stretching long shadows across the pavement. Your footsteps synced without effort, an easy rhythm between you. Shoulders brushed once. Then again. But neither of you moved away.

Not much was said on the walk back. But it didn’t need to be. When your building came into view, Jack slowed just a little, as if to make the last stretch last longer. 

“See you in a few hours?” The question came out hopeful but was the only one you were ever certain about when it came to Jack. 

He gave a small nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The ER was humming, a low-level chaos simmering just below the surface. Pages overhead, fluorescent lights too bright, the constant shuffle of stretchers and nurses and med students trying not to get in the way.

You and Jack found yourselves working a case together. A bad one. Blunt trauma, no pulse, field intubation, half a dozen procedures already started before the gurney even made it past curtain three. But the two of you moved in sync.

Same breath. Same rhythm. You knew where he was going before he got there. He didn’t have to ask for what he needed—you were already handing it to him.

Shen and Ellis exchanged a look from across the room, like they’d noticed something neither of you had said out loud.

“You two always like this?” Ellis asked under his breath as he passed by.

Jack didn’t look up. “Like what?”

Ellis just raised a brow and kept walking.

The case stabilized. Barely. But the moment stayed with you. In the rhythm. In the way your hands brushed when you reached for the same gauze. In the silence afterward that didn’t feel like distance. Just... breath.

You didn’t say anything when Jack handed you a fresh pair of gloves with one hand and bumped your elbow with the other.

But you smiled.

Days bled into nights and nights into shifts, but something about the rhythm stuck. Not just in the trauma bay, but outside of it too. You didn’t plan it. Neither did he. But one night—after a particularly brutal Friday shift that bled well past weekend sunrise, all adrenaline and sharp edges—you both found yourselves back at your place in the evening. 

You didn’t talk much. You didn’t need to.

Jack sank onto the couch with a low sigh, exhaustion settling into his bones. You brought him a blanket without asking, set a cup of tea beside him with a familiarity neither of you acknowledged aloud.

That night, he stayed. Not because he was too tired to leave. But because he didn’t want to. Because something about the quiet between you felt safer than anything waiting for him outside.

You were both sitting on the couch, talking—soft, slow, tired talk that came easier than it used to. The kind of conversation that filled the space without demanding anything. At some point, your head had tipped, resting against his shoulder mid-sentence, eyes fluttering closed with the weight of the day. Jack didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deep, afraid to disturb the way your warmth settled so naturally into his side.

Jack stayed beside you, feeling the soft rhythm of your breath rising and falling. His prosthetic was off, his guard lowered, and in that moment, he looked more like himself than he ever did in daylight. A part of him ached—subtle, quiet, but insistent. He hadn't realized how much he missed this. Not just touch, but presence. Yours. The kind of proximity that didn’t demand anything. The kind he didn’t have to earn.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, your arm brushing his knee. Jack froze. Then, carefully—almost reverently—he reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it gently over your shoulders. His fingers lingered at the edge, just for a second. Just long enough to feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric. Just long enough to remind himself this was real.

And then he leaned back, settled in again beside you.

Close. But not too close.

Present.

The morning light broke through the blinds.

You stirred.

His voice was gravel-soft. "Hey."

You blinked sleep from your eyes. Sat up. Found him still there, legs stretched out, back to the wall.

“You stayed,” you said.

He nodded.

Then, quietly, like it mattered more than anything:

“Didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You smiled. Just a little.

He smiled back. Tired. Honest.

The first time you stayed at Jack's place was memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Everything was fine—quiet, even—until late evening. Jack had a spare room, insisted you take it. You didn’t argue. The bed was firm, the sheets clean, the door left cracked open just a little.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You only remember the panic. The way it clutched at your chest like a vice, your lungs refusing to cooperate, your limbs kicking, flailing against an invisible force. You were screaming, you think. Crying, definitely. The dream was too much. Too close. The kind that reached down your throat and stayed.

Then—hands. Shaking your shoulders. Jack’s voice.

“Hey. Hey—wake up. It’s not real. You’re okay.”

You blinked awake, heart slamming against your ribs. Jack was already on the bed with you, hair a mess, eyes wide and terrified—but only for you. His hands were still on your arms, steady but gentle. Grounding.

Then one hand rose to cradle your cheek, cool fingers brushing the flushed heat of your skin. Your face burned hot beneath the sweat and panic, and his touch was steady, careful, as if anchoring you back to the room. He brushed your hair out of your face, strands damp and stuck to your forehead, and tucked them back behind your ear. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the quiet care of someone trying to reach you without pushing too far.

You tried to speak but couldn’t. Just choked on a sob.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

And you believed him.

Then, without hesitation, Jack brought you into his arms—tucked you against his chest and held you tightly, like you might disappear with the breeze. There was nothing hesitant about it, no second-guessing. Just the instinctive kind of closeness that came from someone who knew what it meant to need and be needed. He held you like a lifeline, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm across your back, steadying you both.

Eventually, your breathing slowed. The shaking stopped. Jack stayed close, his hand brushing yours, his body warm and steady like an anchor. He didn’t leave that night. Didn’t go back to his room. Just pulled the blanket over both of you and stayed, watching the slow return of calm to your chest like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered eventually, voice hoarse from the crying.

Jack’s gaze didn’t waver. He reached out, cupping your cheek again with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said firmly. Not unkind—never unkind. Just certain, like the truth of it had been carved into him long before this moment.

Jack and Robby greeted each other on the roof, half-drained thermoses in hand. Jack looked tired, but not in the usual way. Something about the edges of him felt… softened. Less on-edge. Lighter, one might say. Robby noticed.

“You’ve been less of a bastard lately,” he said around a mouthful of protein bar.

Jack raised a brow. “That a compliment?”

Robby grinned. “An observation. Maybe both.”

Jack shook his head, amused. But Robby kept watching him. Tipped his chin slightly. “You seem happier, brother. In a weird, not-you kind of way.”

Jack huffed a breath through his nose. Didn’t respond right away.

Then, Robby’s voice dropped just enough. “You find someone?”

Jack’s grip tightened slightly around his cup. He looked down at the liquid swirling at the bottom. He didn’t smile, not fully. But his silence said enough.

Robby nodded once, then looked away. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Thought so.”

"I didn’t say anything."

Robby snorted. “You didn’t have to. You’ve got that look.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “What look?”

“The kind that says you finally let yourself come up for air.”

Jack stared at him for a second, then looked down at his cup again, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. Robby elbowed him lightly.

“Do I know her?” he asked, voice easy, teasing.

Jack gave a one-shouldered shrug, noncommittal. “Maybe.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Is it Shen?”

Jack scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Robby laughed, loud and satisfied. “Had to check.” Then, after a beat, he said more quietly, “I’m glad, you know. That you found someone.”

Jack looked up, brows drawn. Robby shrugged, this time more sincere than teasing. “Don’t let go of it. Whatever it is. People like us... we don’t get that kind of thing often.”

Jack let the words hang in the air a moment, then gave a half-scoff, half-smile. “You getting sentimental on me, old man?”

Robby rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

But Jack’s smile faded into something gentler. Quieter. “I haven’t felt this... human in a while.”

Robby didn’t say anything to that. Just nodded, then bumped Jack’s shoulder with his own. Then he stretched his arms overhead, cracking his back with a groan. “Alright, lovebird. Let’s go pretend we’re functioning adults again.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but the smile lingered.

They turned back toward the stairwell, the sky above them soft with early light.

It all unraveled around hour 10.

A belligerent trauma case brought in after being struck by a drunk driver. Jack’s shoulders tensed when he saw the dog tags. Everyone knew vets were the ones that got to him the most. His jaw was set tight the whole time, his voice sharp, movements clipped. You’d worked with him long enough to see when he started slipping into autopilot: efficient, precise, but cold. Closed off.

He ordered a test you'd already confirmed had been done. When you gently reminded him, Jack didn’t even look at you—just waved you off with a sharp, impatient flick of his wrist. Then, louder—sharper—he snapped at Ellis. "Move faster, for fuck's sake."

His voice had that clipped edge to it now, the kind that made people tense. Made the room feel smaller. Ellis blinked but didn’t respond, just picked up the pace, brows furrowed. Shen gave you a quiet glance over the patient’s shoulder, something that looked almost like sympathy. Both of them looked to you after that—uncertain, searching for a signal or some kind of anchor. You saw it in their eyes: the silent question. What’s going on with Jack?

When you reached across the gurney to adjust the central line tubing, Jack barked, "Back off."

You froze. “Dr. Abbot,” you said, soft but firm. “It’s already in.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a split second, they looked wild—distant, haunted. “Then why are you still reaching for it?” he said, low and biting.

The air went still. Ellis looked up from the med tray, blinking. Shen awkwardly shifted his weight, silently assuring you that you'd done nothing wrong. The nurse closest to Jack turned her focus sharply to the vitals monitor.

You excused yourself and stepped out. Said nothing.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did. But he didn’t look back.

The patient coded minutes later.

And though the team moved in perfect sync—compressions, meds, lines—Jack was silent afterward, hands flexing at his sides, eyes on the floor. 

You didn’t speak when the shift ended.

A few nights later, he was at your door.

You opened it only halfway, unsure what to expect. The narrow gap between the door and the frame felt like the only armor you had—an effort to shelter yourself physically from the hurt you couldn’t name.

Jack stood there, exhausted. Worn thin. Still in scrubs, jacket over one shoulder. His face was hollowed out, cheeks drawn tight, and his eyes—god, his eyes—were wide and tired in that distinct, glassy way. Like he wasn’t sure if you’d close the door or let him stay. Like he already expected you would slam it in his face and say you never wanted to see him again.

“I shouldn’t have—” he started, then stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. “I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed, but the words wouldn't come out. You were still upset. Still stewing. Not at the apology—never that. But at how quickly things between you could tilt. At how much it had hurt in the moment, to be dismissed like that. And how much it mattered that it was him.

His voice was quiet, but steady. “You were right. I wasn’t hearing you. And you didn’t deserve any of that.”

There was a beat of silence.

"I panicked,” he said, like it surprised even him. “Not just today. The patient—he reminded me of people I served with. The ones who didn’t make it back. The ones who did and never got better. I saw him and... I just lost it. Couldn’t separate the past from right now. And then I looked at you and—” he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Being this close to something good... it scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to mess this up." 

Your heart thudded, painful and full.

“Then talk to me,” you said, voice thick with exhaustion. The familiar ache began to flood your throat. “Tell me how you feel. Something. Anything. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, Jack. I have my own shit to deal with, and I get it if you’re not ready to talk about it yet, but—”

Your hand came up to your face, pressing against your forehead. “Maybe we should just talk tomorrow,” you muttered, already taking a step back to close the door. It was a clear attempt at avoidance, and Jack saw right through it.

“I think about you more than I should,” he said, voice low and rough. He stepped closer. Breath shallow. His eyes searched yours—frantic, pleading, like he was trying to gather the courage to jump off something high. “When I’m running on fumes. When I’m trying not to feel anything. And then I see you and it all rushes back in like I’ve been underwater too long." 

At this, you pulled the door open slightly to show that you were willing to at least listen. Jack was looking at the ground—something completely unlike him. He always met people’s eyes, always held his gaze steady. But not now. Now, he looked like he might fold in on himself if you so much as breathed wrong. He exhaled a short breath, relieved but not off the hook just yet. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered. “But I know what I feel when I’m around you. And it’s the only thing that’s made me feel like myself in a long time.”

He hesitated, just for a second, searching your face like he was waiting for permission. For rejection. For anything at all. You reached out first—tentative, your fingers lifting to his cheek. Jack froze at the contact, like his body had forgotten what it meant to be touched so gently. It was instinct, habit. But then he exhaled and leaned into your hand, eyes fluttering shut, like he couldn’t bear the weight of being seen and touched at once.

You studied him for a long moment, taking him in—how hard he was trying, how raw he looked under the dim light. Your thumb brushed beneath his eye, brushing softly along the curve of his cheekbone. When you pulled your hand away, Jack caught it gently and brought it back, pressing your palm against his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut like it hurt to be touched, like it cracked something open he wasn’t ready to see. Then—slowly—he leaned into it, like he didn’t know how to ask for comfort but couldn’t bring himself to pull away from it either.

Your breath caught. He was still holding your hand to his face like it anchored him to the ground.

You shifted slightly, unsure what to say. But you didn’t move away.

His hand slid down to catch yours fully, fingers interlacing with yours.

“I’m not good at this,” he said finally, voice rough and eyes locked onto you. “But I want to try. With you.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but what came out was a jumble of word salad instead.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m not—I'm not the kind of person who’s built for this. I fuck things up. I shut down. I push people away. And you…” Your voice cracked. You turned your face slightly, not pulling away, but not quite steady either. “You deserve better than—”

Jack pulled you into a bruising hug, arms wrapping tightly around you like he could hold the pain in place. One hand rose to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into his chest.

You were shaking. Tears, uninvited, welled in your eyes and slipped down before you could stop them.

“Fuck perfect,” he whispered softly against your temple. “I need real. I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still resting against the side of your head. His gaze was glassy but steady, breathing shallow like the weight of what he’d just said was still settling in his chest.

You blinked through your tears, mouth parted, searching his face for hesitation—but there was none.

He leaned in again, slower this time.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It started hesitant—like he was afraid to get it wrong. Or he didn’t know if you’d still be there once he crossed that line. But when your hand gripped the front of his jacket, pulling him in closer, it changed. The kiss deepened, slow but certain. His hands framed your face. One of your hands curled into the fabric at his waist, the other resting against his chest, feeling the quickened beat beneath your palm.

You stumbled backward as you pulled him inside, refusing to let go, your mouth still pressed to his like contact alone might keep you from unraveling. Jack followed without question, stepping inside as the door clicked shut on its own. He barely had time to register the space before your back hit the door with a soft thud, his mouth still moving against yours. You reached blindly to twist the lock, and when you did, he made a low sound—relief or hunger, you couldn’t tell.

He kicked off his shoes without looking, quick and efficient, like some part of him needed to shed the outside world as fast as possible just to be here, just to feel this. You jumped. He caught you. Your legs wrapped around his waist like muscle memory, hands threading through his hair, and Jack carried you down the hall like you weighed nothing. He didn't have to ask which door. He knew.

And when he laid you down on the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careless.

It was everything that had been building—finally, finally let loose.

It was all nerves and heat and breathlessness—everything held back finally finding its release.

When you pulled away just a little, foreheads touching, neither of you said anything at first. But Jack’s hands didn’t leave your waist. He just breathed—one breath, then another—before he whispered, “Are you sure?”

You frowned.

“This,” he clarified, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. If you’re not okay. If this is too much.”

Your hand came up again, brushing his cheek. “I’m sure.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, finally meeting them, and he asked softly, “Are you?”

You nodded, steadier this time. “Yes. Are you?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure about a damn thing in my life.”

And when you kissed him again, it wasn’t heat that came first—but a sense of comfort. Feeling safe.

Then came the warmth. The kind that started deep in your belly and coursed in your body and through your fingertips. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingertips skating across skin like you were trying to memorize every inch. Jack's breath hitched, and he kissed you harder—desperate, aching. His hands were everywhere: your waist, your back, your jaw, grounding you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Clothes came off in pieces, scattered in the dark. Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the bed through the blinds. It was the first time you saw all of him—truly saw him. The curve of his back, the line of his shoulders and muscles, the scars that marked the map of his body. You’d switched spots somewhere between kisses and breathless moans—Jack now lying on the bed, you straddling his hips, hovering just above him.

You reached out without thinking, fingertips ghosting over one of the thicker ones that carved down his side. Jack stilled. When you looked up at him, his eyes on yours—soft, wary, like he didn’t quite know how to breathe through the moment.

So you made your way down, gently, and kissed the scar. Then another. And another. Reverent. Wordless. He watched you the whole time, eyes glinting in the dim light, like he couldn't believe you were real.

When your lips met a sensitive spot by his hip, Jack’s breath caught. His hand found yours again, grounding him, keeping him here. Your name on his lips wasn’t just want—it was pure devotion. Every touch was careful, every kiss threaded with something deeper than just desire. You weren’t just wanted. You were known.

He worshipped you with his hands, his mouth, his body—slow, thorough, patient. The kind of touch that asked for nothing but offered everything. His palms mapped your skin like he’d been waiting to learn it, reverent in every pass, every pause. His lips lingered over every place you sighed, every place you arched, until you forgot where his body ended and yours began. It was messy and sacred and quiet and burning all at once—like he didn’t just want you, he needed you.

And you let him. You met him there—every movement, every breath—like your bodies already knew the rhythm. When it built, when it crested, it wasn’t just release. It was recognition. A return. Home. 

After the air cooled and the adrenaline had faded, he didn’t pull away. His hand stayed at your back, palm warm and steady where it pressed gently against your spine. You shifted only slightly, your leg draped over his, and your forehead found the crook of his neck. He smelled like your sheets and skin and the barest trace of sweat and his cologne.

He exhaled into the hush of the room, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. His fingers traced lazy, absent-minded lines along your side, like he was still trying to memorize you even now.

You were both quiet, not because there was nothing to say, but because for once, there was nothing you needed to.

He kissed your lips—soft, lingering—then trailed down to your neck, his nose brushing your skin as he breathed you in. He paused, lips resting at the hollow of your throat. Then he kissed the top of your head. Just once.

And that was enough.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow. You stared at him, letting yourself really look—at the way the moonlight softened his features, at how peaceful he looked with his eyes half-lidded and his chest rising and falling against yours. Jack couldn’t seem to help himself. His fingers played with yours—tracing the length of each one like they were new, like they were a language he was still learning. He toyed with the edge of your palm, pressed his thumb against your knuckle, curled his pinky with yours. A man starved for contact who had finally found somewhere to rest.

When he finally looked up, you met him with a smile.

"What now?" you asked softly, voice quiet in the hush between you. It wasn’t fear, not quite. Just a small seed of worry still gnawing at your ribs. 

Jack studied your face like he already knew what you meant. He let out a soft breath. His hand moved carefully, brushing a stray hair from your face before cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

"Now," he said, "I keep showing up. I keep choosing this. You. Every day."

Your lips pressed together in a shy smile, trying to hold back the sudden sting behind your eyes. You shook your head slowly, swallowing the emotion that threatened to rise.

He tilted his head a little, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Are you sick of me yet?"

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Not even close."

His fingers tightened gently around yours.

"Good," Jack murmured. "Because I’m not letting you go."

And just like that, the quiet turned soft. For once, hope felt like something you could hold.

You fell asleep with his arm draped over your waist, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. His breaths were deep and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed your own. Neither of you had nightmares that night. No thrashing. No waking in a cold sweat. Just quiet. Any time you shifted, he instinctively pulled you closer. You drifted together into sleep, breaths falling in sync—slow, steady, safe.

And for the first time, the dark didn’t feel so heavy.

thank you for reading 💛

<3 - <3 - <3 - <3

[writersblockiskillingme]

Russian Roulette | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After doing everything in your power to find the salesman who got you and Gi-hun into all this mess, he unexpectedly shows up in your motel room.

Warning/s: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!!, angst, unspoken feelings (until now), guns, playing Russian Roulette, threatening, mocking, blood, character death, cursing (maybe, idk), tears, talk about the games, tension, reader gives off femme fatale energy, also reader has longer hair to fit into a braid but if you don't just ignore it please, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I just watched the first few episodes, and for a little while, I got out of the writers block. NO SPOILERS, PLEASE!

Prequel to this fic here!

Rain was pouring down like crazy, wind blowing around as I drove my black car with full speed as I tried to get to the Pink Motel that Gi-hun and I co-owned as fast as I possibly could after today's events. Gun that was placed on the seat next to me was jumping slightly as I drow down the road every time I hit a bump or such. My left hand gripped the steering wheel til my knuckles turned pure white as my right hand gripped the phone to the same extent.

"I found bloodstains there!" I practically shouted into my phone as I came to a stop, the images of blood seeping down the trash bags and the knife thrown on the ground never really leaving my mind. "Gi-hun is still looking, I'm sure they didn't get far from that alley."

"What do we do, miss?"

"Check all the CCTV and dashcam footage you can collect from the area and keep asking around." I continued to practically shout for him to hear me over the rain on the street, my braid swinging over on my left shoulder as I got out of the car, running towards the entrance to the Pink Motel.

"I'll join you soon." And with that, I ended the call, quickly putting my phone in the left pocket of my jacket.

I roughly pulled loose threads of hair that fell on my eyes as I quickly took out the key. However, I came to a sudden stop. Something wasn't right. I found myself freezing as I slowly moved my head to look around. That's when I noticed. The sign of the Pink Motel was lit up.

Someone is here, and they want me to know that.

I stood there in the rain for a little while before I decided to take a deep breath before entering. I walked up all the way to the fourth floor before entering, the light going on as I did. I walked into my bedroom as quietly as I could. But even before I could prepare myself for what I was about to see, just as I walked to the end of the first corner, I saw him.

After three years of endlessly, tirelessly trying to find him, he was here. Right in front of me. He was standing in front of my wall, a shining black gun in his hand, looking at the calendar on which I crossed the dates with red marker every single day for three years. Next to in was a map of the underground, every single route mapped out, drawn on, and my handwriting shone on it to.

"It's been a long time, Miss."

For a while, I said nothing. I was just standing there, soaking wet, the rain that I took with me inside dripping on the floor. I was staking in his appearance for a moment. He was just as tall as I remember, standing there in his suit. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't change one bit, like nothing changed from the moment that I fist saw him on the train station three years ago.

But it did.

His hair was longer, I won the games alongside Gi-hun, we weren't on the train station, but in my Motel room, he wasn't holding a briefcase, he was holding a gun and I didn't.

But his voice was the same, he was still as tall as I remember, I suppose his smile was the same, too. And maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same feelings he did three years ago before I gained and lost it all.

I just sighed and moved towards the table I ate. There was a towel that I threw last night. I started to pat my hair, trying to dry it off as I looked around for some dry clothes.

"You should've gotten on that plane that day." He said, looking over at me as I paused.

"I changed my mind when I saw you there." I said before continuing to dry myself.

The moment of quiet continued as I put the towel away. He tapped the map with his gun before he started to speak again. I truly didn't know how to feel. After I wasted three years trying to find him, he just shows up at my motel room. Funny.

"It looks like you've been trying hard to find me, darling." I could just hear that ignorant smirk in his voice. Motherfucker.

"Don't let it get to your head." I told him slowly, my voice completely calm. "I just wanted to thank you." I said as I took off my wet jacket, throwing it in the corner.

"Thank me?" He asked as he sat down on one of the sofas by the table next to my bed. I turned to look at him slowly, a dry jacket in my hand. That's when I noticed blood on the collar of his suit and his face. Motherfucker.

"For inviting me to the game." I said as I approached him, his eyes on me as I sat down, opposite him. "I won and took a bloody fortune with me."

He kept quiet, listening to me, his dark eyes flickering all over my face as I spoke.

"So the decent thing of me to do would be to thank you for it."

"I'm just a messenger who delivers invitations." He smirked, but before he could say more, I continued, all off my anger resurfacing.

"And just who had you deliver those invitations, handsome?" I spoke, venom infecting my every word. "Let me meet him. I have something to say to him."

"Give me the message, and I'll pass it along." He continued, giving me a smile at the end. It appears that I was right. His smile is the same.

"Oh, dear." I mockingly pouted as I crossed my legs. "I'm afraid that it's not something I can discuss with an underling like you."

His smile quivered as he raised his eyebrow. Waiting on me to continue.

"You prey on people who are hanging by a thread and corner them at subway stations." I could feel myself slowly starting to shake from anger and despair. "Someone like you wouldn't be able to understand what I'm trying to say, of course."

For a while, there was silence yet again. We were just looking at each other. Our eyes never leaving each other's.

"You know what the funniest thing was?"

"What, miss?"

"For a moment, when I was hunting you down, I was just delusional enough to think that we could actually team up. You know? Take down the games and whoever was behind them. I liked you. And I liked to think that. But now I realize just how wrong I was." I whispered, turning away from him as I spoke. Yet I still felt his eyes on me. "And boy was I wrong. You will never change. You like the monstrous things that you are doing."

"How do you think I got to where I am now?"

"I don't fucking care." I spat at him as I turned to look at him again, his expression unreadable. "I don't care how you became their dog. I just want you to bring me your master."

He looked down, sighing as he cracked his neck, gun still in his hold. After a while he spoke again.

"I used to work in the games when I was younger. I removed and burned the bodies of countless people like you."

He was the pink guard once.

"'These things aren't human. They're just trash utterly useless in this world.' I kept telling myself that and worked hard for a few years." He spoke, suddenly smiling again. "Then they gave me a gun."

The triangle guard.

"It felt pretty good." He said as he lifted up his gun, examining it. "Like my existence was acknowledged for the first time in my life. I don't know which year it was, but one day, I was about to shoot a man who had lost a game. The guy seemed familiar. Guess who it was."

I kept quiet.

"My dad." He finally said. "My dad was suddenly standing in front of me. He was in tears, desperately begging me to spare his life."

He suddenly moved his hand, placing the gun in front of my forehead, but his suddenly, quick movement did not startle me one bit. I was used to it.

"I shot him right in the middle of his forehead, and realized, 'Ah. I'm cut out for this job.'"

He was looking straight at me, his dark eyes mad. I narrowed mine at him. Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? Maybe, but I didn't. Not only did he enjoy it, but he also has no idea how it was like for me. All the things Gi-hun and I went through. All of people we lost along the way... Ali... Sae-byeok... Sang-woo...

"Whether you shoot people in there or con them outside, it doesn't change anything." I said, slowly leaning over towards him. "You have always been nothing more than their dog."

He clicked his gun, putting his finger on the trigger, his expression darkening.

"Miss." He started, his hand shaking slightly as I kept completely still. "Do you think you're special because you won the game?"

I said nothing. My expectation still as I leaned forward just a bit more, pressing my forehead directly on his gun. His dark expression broke into one of shock.

"Someone like you could never know or understand how I made it out of there alive. And how it feels to play the games."

Suddenly, he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. My expression barely changed, yet I could he on his face that my eyes old him every. Shock, disappointment and sadness.

He sighed before leaning over to me on the table that until now kept us at a distance. He was quiet for a while. I suppose he has always been that way.

"Let's play a game." He smiled at me.

I didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and placed it on the table, letting a song play.

Time to say goodbye.

He leaned back against the seat as he lifted up his gun.

"I'm sure you've seen this in the movies." He started to explain, never breaking eye contact with me. "It's called Russian Roulette."

Motherfucker.

"Usually, you place one bullet in the gun, spin the cylinder, and pull the trigger." He said, clicking the gun in its place before pulling the trigger, explaining the game as he showed me what to do. "And before the next round, you spin the cylinder again. It rests the odds back to 1 in 6."

"I know." I mumbled and he smiled.

"But I'd like to make this game a little more serious." He smirked. "Because you're truly special, love."

"Cut to the chase." I glared at him and his stupid antics. He blinked at me and continued.

"We'll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over." He paused. "What do you say?"

"Spin the gun." I frowned.

He smirked before gently placing the gun on the table. This could end badly on both sides, but for a moment, I found myself being selfish. Maybe, just maybe, if I lost this game after everything I went through, I could die and find peace with the people I lost. I could join them and leave with the feelings I have for him, that he possibly realized, unsaid. I could finally end it all. The night terrors, the time I spent searching for him, my cigarette addiction, mourning what I lost and what I couldn't have, yet at the same time not enjoying the money I got form the games. Who could enjoy that? Who could possibly enjoy living the life that I live.

He spinned the gun, and its tip pointed at me. Without a second thought, I took the gun and placed it by the side of my head. A few seconds later, not looking away from him, I pulled the trigger. Noting happened. That chamber was empty.

I put the gun on the table. I barely had time to move my hand before he took the gun, placed it by his head just like I did and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He sighed in content as he placed the gun back on the table, smiling at me almost lovingly. I knew.

I took the gun and placed it by my head again, but before I could just pull the trigger he spoke up.

"I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive." He smiled before he laughed a little. "For, one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji."

I said nothing, glaring at him. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened once again.

He looked at me, impressed by my luck so far. I looked him straight in the eyes as I threw the gun on the table. It slid over on the other side, right in front of me.

He took the gun after he took a moment to just look at me. Not breaking eye contact, he took the gun. Leaned over to me until he was basically touching me, pointing the gun at me. Then he did something that I did not expect at all. He put the gun in his mouth.

Motherfucker.

He pulled the trigger. I winced a little. Nothing again. He laughed at my expression as I tried my hardest to keep myself composed. He slowly took the gun out of his mouth before sitting back, putting the gun back on the table.

I took the gun and as I was about to place it by my head he spoke up again.

"What's the matter?" He asked me, raising his eyebrows. "Is your mind starting to race?"

I scoffed slightly.

Motherfucker.

"Now your odds of death are 1 in 2." He nodded. "That's pretty high indeed. I'm sure you're afraid, darling. Lots going through your mind."

I said nothing.

"Let me guess what you're thinking right now." Motherfucker. "'The gun is in my hand. Screw the rules. Pull the trigger once or twice, and I can blow his face off.' Isn't that right?"

I kept looking at him, glaring as I did. All while he spoke. "If you and Gi-hun want to meet the person you mentioned earlier, the key is in my pocket." At that I allowed my eyes to travel all over him. "You can simply shoot me with that gun and take it. But I'll have you admit one thing."

He took a moment to pause, my hand still holding the gun by my head. He leaned over once again.

"That you're a piece of trash, just like Gi-hun, just like everyone else that was in the games." He leaned over more closely, our lips practically touching as he spoke. "A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster."

He laughed as I pressed the gun against my head, our lips barely an inch away from each other's. This was it, I thought to myself. This round will determine if I live or die. I tightened the grip on the gun, my knuckles turning white again. I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He looked at me, then at the gun and then back at me. I started to chuckle lowly, like a maniac. Perhaps I was one. I watched his face closely as I pulled the gun away from my head. The grip on the gun still tight as I pointed it at his chin before slowly opening up my palm, waiting on him to take the final, real shot.

His hand touched mine. I felt him and myself freeze at the contact as he took the gun from my hand. I pulled my hand away as he looked at the gun.

"What's the matter?" I taunted him, my face mirroring the smirk that he always wears. "Is your mind starting to race?"

He said nothing as I spoke to him.

"That's right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me." He looked pale at my words. "But... before you leave me forever this time. I'll have you admit two things."

He looked at me as I brought my hand at his cheek, wiping a little bit of blood on his face.

"You put a mask on your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark, and wave your tail for them. You're nothing more than their dog." I told him before my voice became gentle.

He waited on me, his eyes soft.

"And regarding this." I said as I waved my hand slightly between the two of us. "You really are a dog. A dog that loves me. And... perhaps I am a fool, too. Because I love a dog that could've made it all work out for us but was too much of a coward to do so."

I leaned over to him, my hand landing under his chin, holding him.

"Admit it." I whispered as we looked each other in the eyes. "Admit that you love me, that you did ever since you gave me that fucking card."

For a moment, there was silence. His tortured eyes, looking at me. I knew. I always did. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, for a moment. This would be the last time that I spoke to him, that I could look into his eyes.

"I love you." He whispered.

All of a sudden, there was a loud sound followed by blood spraying my face as his body fell backward.

I stood up and walked over to him. I don't know how long I stood there, but after a while, I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. My hand touched my cheek as I whipped it away.

Motherfucker.

[littlegrapejuice]

Grid Mum 2 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Growing attached to the rookies meant that you now cared for them off track as well. So when some of them are not treated well by their teams, you and Max take your role of grid parents very seriously.

Author's Note: ok so i usually don't plan on doing part 2 for my fics but @robinivoryanvalentine gave me ideas and this lil thing was born ig so shout out to them🫶🏻 i have one request left that I'm hoping to write soon now that it's FINALLY school break and i hope I'll also get some inspo w the rest of the triple header🙂‍↕️

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Read Part 1 here

From the moment you had accepted that Max’s grid kids were also yours in the process, you had thought that your interactions with them would only be during race weekends. However, when you saw that some drama was already happening even though the season had barely started, you decided that the rookies would become both your on and off track children.

It had begun with Jack.

You had never been Alpine’s biggest fan – you mostly considered Esteban and Pierre as acquaintances during the previous season – and it had gotten worse when Flavio was back in the paddock. Still, you were glad for Jack when it was announced that he would get a full-time seat for the 2025 season – although it was a shit move from Alpine to sack Esteban for the last grand prix of 2024.

The drama had started a bit after Alpine announced their reserve drivers for 2025. First, Paul Aaron. He was a good driver, and had done a good F2 season, despite the insane amount of car issues he had suffered from. Then, Franco Colapinto. Having raced for a third of the 2024 season with Williams, Franco had quickly become a fan favourite due to this charming personality.

The issue wasn’t Alpine having two reserve drivers – it was honestly quite usual. No, the actual issue lay in fans already expecting Jack’s downfall so that Franco could take his place. Everyone was claiming that Jack only had the first five races to prove himself, and then it would be goodbye for him.

Then, it got even worse. Shortly after the New Year, Alpine announced their third reserve driver. You remembered seeing the news and being really surprised because “why do they need so many plans b?” – that’s what you had said to Max, who had agreed and had then proceeded to diss the French team for the next few minutes. And if you thought that they were done, you were wrong because Alpine waited until a few days before the first race of the season to announce their fourth reserve driver.

You truly hoped that Jack wasn’t too stressed about it, but the latest season of Drive To Survive showed you that he definitely was. The scene between Jack and Flavio in the latter’s office had truly scared you, and you couldn’t imagine the amount of pressure they were putting on the Aussie.

It also didn’t help when Jack DNFed at his home race, which led to the fans clearly awaiting the day when Alpine would replace him with Franco. The dinner you had invited him to along with the other rookies had helped, but you knew that it was only temporary comfort until the following races. The next week in China had been a bit better: Jack had finished 13th after the three DSQs, which wasn’t so bad, but you had seen the comments everywhere. ‘Fans’ were still dreaming of Franco taking his seat, not caring one bit about Jack.

You were truly saddened by the situation. Jack didn’t deserve that kind of reaction – no driver did. The only thing he deserved was the opportunity to prove himself, and his full potential couldn’t be seen after two races.

Two. races. were. not. enough.

And yet, it wasn’t Alpine that was currently at the origin of your newly-found anger. No, right now, you were only mad at one team: Red Bull Racing.

You had seen the rumours online. You had heard about them in the paddock. You hadn’t wanted to believe them; they were rumours for a reason. So when Max told you the news before it would be public, you thought he had been messing with you. You had been back in Monaco in your shared flat, when he announced it to you:

“Don’t be mad but…” Max waited for you to look at him before he kept talking. “They’re dropping Liam”.

“What?” Did you hear it well?

“Red Bull”, Max explained. “They’re switching Liam and Yuki.”

“You’re joking?”

“Wish I was, honestly. It’s such a shit decision, but I have no say in this.”

You were kind of glad that even Max wasn’t agreeing with the switch, but it still hurt. You were mad. Mad for Liam. Mad at Red Bull.

“Do they not realise they’re the fucking problem?” You couldn’t help the venom in your tone. “Have been for years. But no, it’s always the driver.”

“I know… Trust me, I wish I could have helped tilt the balance on the other side. Turns out my opinion suddenly doesn’t matter.”

“Shocker”, you sarcastically replied. You knew Max had vouched for Liam to stay; but when his team had decided something, even their star driver apparently didn’t have any right to go against it. “Do they wish to destroy another driver’s career?” You thought about Yuki, with whom you’d been friends for years since he had joined Racing Bulls. “At this home grand prix, that’s fucked up.”

“You know everything Red Bull does is fucked up at this point. That’s like your main take everytime they do something.”

“Am I wrong, though?” You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

“Unfortunately, no.” Max sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess I won’t see you in my garage in Japan, then?”

“I’m not that much of a bitch, Max. I’ll show up for Yuki, obviously.”

“Obviously”, Max repeated with a chuckle. “You’ll text me which garage I have to collect you from, yeah?”

“You know me so well.” You smiled at him, before pulling him close for a quick kiss. “When are they announcing it?”

“I think some media are confirming it today, but the teams will only post about it starting tomorrow.”

“Does Liam actually know?” This was the dreaded question. You knew Red Bull was bad enough that they were capable of telling him after the entire world was made aware.

“He does, yeah.” Max thought for a second. “Don’t know for sure if they told him before Yuki, but they were decent enough not to let him find out through the internet.”

“I hope so.” You pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over the messages application. “Is it too early to text him?” You really wanted to show Liam your support, but you were scared that Red Bull had actually been too cowardly to not notify Liam until the very last minute.

“Might be good to wait a couple days”, Max suggested. “He might be home right now, so he’ll probably have his family and friends with him.”

You nodded at Max’s words, agreeing to wait until the information would be out everywhere. Still, you made a mental note to start thinking of what you could eventually do to lift the Aussie's and Kiwi's spirits.

…..

At the end of the week, the whole world had seen the news. Red Bull Racing had definitely swapped Liam with Yuki, deciding that the younger driver had not shown enough potential after only two races.

Trusting yourself, you did what you thought was right and texted Liam as well as Jack. You sent them your address, and offered to have them for dinner that evening. You knew that even though almost the entire grid lived in Monaco, it was actually quite rare for the drivers to hang out. Max, especially, loved to stay home in order to avoid seeing his work friends. However, he was surprisingly glad to have Jack and Liam. Your boyfriend had even helped to cook tonight’s meal, and you were certain the rookies would particularly enjoy this information.

Monaco was a small town, so it didn’t take long for Jack and Liam to arrive at yours. It was known on the grid where each driver lived in the city, but actually seeing where Max lived with their own eyes felt surreal to the young drivers. When you opened the door to see them both awkwardly standing next to one another, it only took one warm smile from you to help them relax. They cautiously followed you inside; admiring every piece of furniture, every picture, Max’s beloved simulator which looked out of place in the living room you had beautifully decorated.

The most surprising thing for Jack and Liam, though, wasn’t the wall full of helmets and trophies nor the silly cushions you had bought with cats’ faces on them. No, it was the shocking view of four-times world champion Max Verstappen who was wearing an apron and currently setting the table.

When he saw you, the loving smile on his face naturally appeared. He then noticed the two rookies behind you and gave them a nod.

“Hi”, he said to them. “Welcome to our home, I guess.”

“Thanks for having us,” Jack replied. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah”, Liam agreed. He then raised his right hand that had been holding a bag. “Hmm… I brought dessert?”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaimed. “That’s so sweet of you, Liam.”

You took a large box out of the bag, and barely had time to put it on the table that another box got put down right next to it.

“We had the same idea”, Jack stated. “We didn’t buy the same thing, though. Had time to compare when we were in the lift.”

“You guys are so nice, thank you so much!”

Quickly opening each box, you saw that Liam had brought chocolate muffins while Jack had brought profiteroles. You let yourself out to the kitchen in order to put the boxes in the fridge, which meant that the drivers were now alone in the living room.

Safe to say, the atmosphere was quite awkward. There wasn’t any tension per say, but it wasn’t everyday that Max had people from his workplace at home. Remembering what he was wearing, Max looked down at his outfit and swiftly removed his apron.

“Yeah… hmm, sorry… you guys can sit down if you want. It’s almost ready.”

Jack and Liam thanked him with a nod, before they both pulled out the closest chair to them.

“Dinner is ready indeed, but everyone’s washing their hands before we eat please.” You had just come back to the living room. Your tone wasn’t harsh, but commanding enough that no one would disobey – exactly like a mother.

You made sure that everyone, including your boyfriend, had now washed their hands before leading them back to the table. You asked Max to bring the food there, which he did. Together, you had prepared lasagna as well as some potatoes to go with it.

You served the drivers, who all thanked you with a smile. You and Max were sitting next to each other, with Jack and Liam facing you both. You then all began to eat in a comfortable silence.

“Thanks again for having us,” Liam eventually said. “Food’s really good by the way.”

“It is”, Jack agreed with a nod.

“Max is a good cook, right?” You chuckled before offering them seconds, which they gladly accepted.

“Guess I have a plan b if racing doesn't work out,” Max claimed with a shrug. “Can't say that it's really going well recently.”

“We said no work talk, remember?” You reminded him while serving the rookies. “Tonight is supposed to be about anything but your jobs.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

“Yeah, Jack’s right. If anything, better to talk about it with y’all than anyone else,” Liam added.

“Sure?” You wondered. They both nodded, which reassured you. “Well, if you don’t mind talking about work then I guess we can do so after dinner while racing.”

“Racing?” Liam and Jack repeated.

“Y’all know how to play F1 24?” You asked them, to which they positively answered. “Then yes, racing.”

Exchanging a glance, the two drivers in front of you were now even happier to be there. A proud smile made its way on your face, glad to have your boys in a good mood.

Dinner finished quickly enough after light-hearted chats. You learnt more about Jack’s and Liam’s childhood, while they asked you questions about your and Max’s relationship. They were really enjoying their time with you – even more than with Max – and loved getting to know you outside the track.

While the drivers were moving from the dining table to the sofas in front of the massive TV that adorned the wall, you went back to the kitchen to retrieve the desserts. When you came back, Max was giving controllers to Liam and Jack before he turned the game on.

Obviously not caring about you being here, Max left the racing mode on ‘expert mode’ which clearly wouldn’t bother the other drivers present. As expected, he chose to play himself. You let Liam select Lewis while Jack selected Oscar, before it was your turn. You picked Charles as you often did, and now it was actually time to race.

As usual when you played with Max, you didn’t do great. After a couple races, Liam and Jack realised that dating a world champion didn’t mean that you had gained his driving skills. So they decided to tone it down, and let you overtake them during the next race. You hadn’t noticed, simply thinking that this track wasn’t their favourite. Max, however, immediately realised what was going on.

“You shouldn’t let her win”, he told them while taking a quick bite from his muffin. “She’s used to losing, don’t worry about her.”

“Fuck you, Max.” You threw a cushion to his face, which didn’t even affect him as he still crossed the finish line in first position.

“You’re like the worst boyfriend ever, mate. I think my girl would kill me if I didn’t let her win from time to time,” Liam explained with a chuckle.

“What?” Max turned to Liam, a serious and intimidating look now on his face.

“I– I mean, not the worst of course!” Liam was scared he had joked about the wrong thing, and tried to take back his words. “You’re the racing driver so… yeah, makes sense you’re better than her.”

“I’m kidding, Liam.” Max simply said. “God, you’re easy to pressure.”

“And you are actually the worst”. Putting down your controller, you took a profiterole and faced the rookies. “Please don’t let him scare you or some shit like that, he’s literally just a silly nerd. If anything, be the ones to intimidate him. I’ll teach you both his weaknesses.”

“I’ll ban you from my garage”, Max retorted.

“Great, I didn’t even wanna be there anyways.”

“I’ll ban you from the paddock”, Max added.

“Then I’ll date another driver who’ll give me access and overrule you”. You innocently smiled at your boyfriend, knowing that he wouldn’t manage to get the upper hand back.

“I’ll run him off track and he won’t be able to race anymore.”

“I’ll join the FIA and give you stop-and-go penalties.”

As they had been sitting between the two of you, Jack and Liam could only watch the exchange between you and Max as if it were a tennis match. They were deeply entertained, and one thought was certainly shared between them: they would definitely side with you against Max, no matter the situation.

Max was their grid mum on track. But you were their grid mum off track, and that was worth so much more to them. If Liam and Jack had been nervous to come spend the evening here, all their worries had now completely disappeared.

If anything, they could even pretend to still be bothered about what was happening to them in the Formula 1 world, just so they could spend more moments like this one. They wouldn’t need to, though. Even without the excuse of wanting to distract them and lift their spirits, you would still invite them to dinner the next day, before offering them a ride on Max’s plane as if it was yours – it kind of was, according to Max who deemed everything he owned as your possession too.

So when the four of you would arrive together in Japan, the other rookies might be jealous. They might ask Liam and Jack about how they pulled it off, and maybe the two would agree in telling a little white lie just so they would gatekeep the family time they spent with you and Max.

And it would eventually become a competition as a joke: who would be able to get the most time with their grid parents?

..........

Hope y'all enjoyed it!! Y'all cannot imagine how mad i was when the devil (rbr) switched liam and yuki - actually you kinda can bc i posted ab it lol

But i fr hate that they only give liam 2 races to prove himself like THAT'S😭NO😭ENOUGH😭 and for jack, well i saw that oliver oakes confirmed they ain't getting rid of him + plan of having him for the whole season but they aren't giving him enough love imo - like why tf y'all have 4 reserve drivers

Anywayyys i acc have no idea whether liam was made aware of the switch before it went public but let's pretend rbr ain't bitches

Don't hesitate to like or reblog if you liked this<3 and don't be shy to leave a comment so i can know your thoughts as well :))

See you soon, take care of yourselves, i love y'all xx

[inkedinshadows]

Brooding, Cuddly Shadowsinger

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: thank you @pey2618 for this one! It was such a cute idea and I love it! I'm always down bad for soft Az. Note: i just finished writing it (it's 11pm here) after a full day of classes, so forgive me if there are mistakes or typos

Prompts: "You're not so scary after all, are you?" + "You're my new pillow now." + reader and az are out somewhere and he is all broody and scares ppl away but when they are home he is as sweet as a marshmallow

Warnings: none! Just fluff

Word count: 824

The party was going well. For you, at least.

When your friend had told you that you could bring Azriel along, you said you would ask, fully believing he'd decline. Instead, he'd agreed to come with you as soon as you mentioned it.

You were sure he was now regretting that decision.

When you were beside him, everything was fine. His hand was on your knee if you were sitting on the couch, on your back when you stood. But whenever you left his side—to get a drink, to dance, to talk with the other guests—it was like a bubble enveloped him. He became quiet, his brows knitted together, and he looked at people as if they might suddenly turn out to be an enemy he needed to fight. Even his shadows were restless, swirling around his shoulders and wings like a dark tempest, calming only when you joined him again and yet never disappearing completely. The all-black clothes definitely didn't help his case.

You couldn't blame people for avoiding him. And when you passed by two girls on your way back from the toilet, you couldn't help but chuckle as you caught a snippet of their conversation.

“I don't really know how she does it.”

“Well, he's very handsome.”

“Yes, but he's terrifying. Just look at him!”

“Yeah, he kinda is…”

You walked up to Azriel, a smile already on your lips. “You're scaring people off.”

His face softened as soon as he saw you, and he shifted to a more relaxed stance, his shadows settling down. But at your words, he frowned. “I'm not doing anything.”

You crossed your arms and looked him up and down. “You're standing here, just brooding.”

Azriel's gaze swept around the room. Some guests quickly looked away from him.

“Why would that scare people?” he asked when his eyes settled on you again.

“Because you're the big, infamous Shadowsinger?” you replied with a teasing smirk. “The High Lord's Spymaster?”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his lips curled up at the corners. Before he could say anything, you playfully patted his arm.

“Try not to scare too many people, okay?” you quipped. “I'll be right back.”

His expression fell, and for just a moment, he reminded you of a lost puppy. “Why? Where are you going?”

“To say goodbye to everyone.” You were already stepping away, people parting to let you through after a quick glance at Azriel. “I'm taking you home.”

~~~~~~

Not even an hour later, you were back in your room, ready for the night.

Azriel was already in bed. As soon as you slipped under the covers, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer. He rested his head on your chest, right on the soft swell of your breasts, his eyes closed as he let out a content sigh.

You laughed softly. “Are you comfy enough?”

He hummed. “Yes. You're my new pillow now.”

You laughed again, shifting just enough to find a comfortable position without disturbing him. Your fingers tangled in his dark curls, while the other hand came to rest on the nape of his neck.

Azriel melted in your arms as every ounce of lingering tension from the day left his body. His shadows vanished, and his wings splayed out above the sheets, covering you like a second blanket. You swore he purred like a cat when you began gently massaging his scalp.

There he was—the big, infamous Shadowsinger who had terrified everyone at the party just hours earlier.

“You're not so scary after all, are you?” you murmured. “Those people just didn't know you like I do.”

He nuzzled into your chest, his voice already groggy as he mumbled, “No one knows me like you do, love.”

You smiled and kissed the top of his head. “That's right. Just me.”

With another soft sigh, Azriel settled against you. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his long eyelashes tickling you every time his eyes fluttered.

The party had drained him, despite the fact that he hadn't danced or interacted that much. But being around so many people could be overwhelming for him, especially when in an environment so different from what he was used to. Yet he had still come with you.

“Why did you come to the party?” you asked quietly.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “Wanted to be with you,” he mumbled, the words blurring together.

He was adorable. Utterly, sickeningly adorable.

“Go to sleep,” you murmured. “I love you.”

You felt his small smile against your skin as he whispered, “Love you too…”

You continued stroking his hair, holding him close to your heart, right where he belonged.

To others, he might be scary. Terrifying, even. The Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, the one no one truly knew.

But to you, he was this—a sweet, cuddly male who needed the comfort of his mate's embrace.

To you, he was just Az.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[lqveharrington]

Family Tree | D.M.

summary: Eleven years after the second wizarding war, you find yourself making lifelong decisions on platform 9¾ once more.

pairing: ex!draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: a LONG fic, daughter’s name is melody, talks about the war, abandonment, pregnancy, implied sex, cursing, hufflepuff slander (i’m a hufflepuff, i’m sorry), Pansy being a fun aunt & friend, teddy lupin mention being the coolest second cousin, melody is a mischievous child, teddy doesn’t like his god father, cursing, mainly angst with some fluff

a/n: i love him, your honor (he was truly my first love) this took way longer than i thought it would, so sorry 🙏

Years after you fought alongside Harry Potter to defend Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding World from Voldemort’s wrath, you found yourself packing trunks for Hogwarts once more. However, the trunks you packed were no longer yours. They contained unhoused robes and new textbooks that weren’t marked with your doodles and annotations. The pet carrier didn’t hold your own owl, but instead your daughter’s snowy owl.

Eleven years old. It was finally time for your daughter to attend Hogwarts.

The entire morning — the entire week — she would go on about finally being able to learn the spells and charms that protected the witches and wizards from evil. Just like you.

When you held her hand tightly to enter platform 9¾, she would continue to talk about seeing all the ghosts and paintings that were mentioned in all your stories. Of course, you never told her all the adventures you endured. She didn’t need to know where the Room of Requirements was.

“—And Moaning Myrtle! Is she as annoying as you said she was? I hope she isn’t. I want to ask her so many questions about you—“

“Melody, my love, you can’t bother the ghosts all the time. Hogwarts is a school.” You run your fingers through her platinum blonde hair and smile playfully when she scrunched her nose at you. You dusted off her shoulders and tilted your head, “What?”

“But it’s a magical school, mum. Shouldn’t I be able to ask questions if I have any?” She challenged you with a raised brow, pushing your hand away and adjusting her perfect hair — much like her father. She always wanted to be absolutely flawless, even when presented in front of you.

Your heart clenched at how similar Melody was to her father. Her smile and her mannerisms were all the same. It felt like you were eleven again and meeting him for the first time. The only difference between him and Melody was her eyes. She was born with your eyes — the ones filled with so much emotion with every single look.

Glancing down at your watch, you sighed and cocked your head to the side, fixating your gaze on the train that once took you to a place where you found everything and everyone you loved. Where you found him.

“Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back every chance I get.” Melody took your hand in hers and squeezed, noticing your far off look. Her thumb traced the silver ring you wore on your left hand. She never knew what the M stood for on your ring — she always assumed it was for her name.

“I promise I’ll send an owl every week.”

“I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before your eyes caught a book being dropped by a young boy — who looked an awful lot like Tonks and Remus. Shaking your head, you bent to pick the book up and handed it to your daughter. “Can you quickly run and hand this to that young man? But come straight back. I want to properly say goodbye before you leave me forever.”

Melody rolled her eyes at your antics, but nothing could hide the smile that came with it. She made swift steps over to the boy before he boarded the train, eyes widening curiously when he faced her. The boy’s hair turned a bright pink as he thanked her, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?” Melody whispered in excitement and watched his hair turned an electric blue. Her grin widened, recalling what you told her a while ago. “My mum says my aunt was one!”

The boy finally took a good look at Melody, a light bulb going off in his head when he realized who he was talking to. He recognized her the Black Family tree back at 12 Grimmauld Place. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was when his friends pulled him into the train without a single glance to whoever he was talking to.

Melody furrowed her brows in confusion before huffing, perfectly styled hair whipping behind her as she left to find you before boarding the express herself. She thought all Hufflepuffs were supposed to be sweet, but these Hufflepuffs seemed to ignore her like she was nothing but an itty bitty fairy.

She hoped she wasn’t put into Hufflepuff.

“My mum was one of the hero’s at Hogwarts.” She muttered to herself and — once again — flicked a piece of her blonde hair behind her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a collision of trolleys to her left. “I’ll tell her all about this.”

Melody made a quick turn to where she last left you before slamming into someone, nearly toppling over from the sheer force. She caught the person’s arm and yanked herself back before she could fall on her arse, mentally cursing herself for not looking at her surroundings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She muttered and dusted herself off from invisible dust, looking up at the person only to find a man staring at her with a shocked expression. Was he really that offended by it? He was an adult and she was merely eleven.

The man blinked before shaking his head, schooling his shocked expression to one of nonchalance instead. He looked around and tilted his head at the girl standing in front of him, examining her face like she was someone he recognized before. This girl reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to love dearly.

Melody pursed her lips and rocked on the heel of her Mary Jane’s, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with his staring, but she wasn’t comfortable either. Just as Melody was about to excuse herself from the man, she heard your familiar voice ring out, making her visibly relax despite your tone.

“Where were you? I told you to come straight back.” You rushed over to her and ran your fingers through her hair once more, unaware of your surroundings. You were so worried she had left before saying goodbye and it absolutely haunted you.

She looked back at the blonde man behind you for a split second before tilting her head down to the floor. Melody knew that you were waiting for an answer — she just had to suck up the embarrassment.

“I was coming to find you when I knocked into that man.” She gestured behind you and held back a whine when you tilted her head to check her for any cuts and bruises.

Melody made eye contact with the same person she knocked into again and hid her face in your jumper, hating that all the attention kept going back to her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

“Mum.”

You sigh softly and turn your attention to the man, still carding your fingers through Melody’s hair. You kept your eyes trained on her until she relaxed, finally looking up to meet the said person when years of memories hit you like a freight train.

“I’m so sorry about Melody. She usually isn’t this distracted — Draco?”

Your throat closed up at the sight of him — Draco Malfoy.

It was your Draco. The one who promised to love you his entire life; the one who promised to never leave your side; the one who left you alone with nothing but a broken heart and an unborn daughter.

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He felt horrible leaving you alone all these years, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain to you why he left so abruptly. Especially when you were about to drop your daughter — his daughter — off to Hogwarts.

Everything felt so overwhelming for the small family.

The whistling of the Hogwarts' Express immediately caught Melody's ears, her eyes widening at how little time she had left with you before departing for the next few months until holiday.

“Mum, the express is going to leave soon.” Melody’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, her small hand squeezing your ringed hand — which didn’t escape Draco’s gaze.

You cupped her face with both hands, kissing her forehead. This would be the first time you would be away from her for so long and you didn’t know if you could handle the separation.

“When you have time, send me an owl right away. Include your house in the parchment, alright? Be safe and make smart decisions.“ You instructed.

“I will.” She locked a pinky around yours before wrapping her arms around your neck, breathing in your familiar scent one last time. “I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.” You held her tightly and made the horrible mistake of meeting Draco’s eyes. You looked away faster than he could mark the emotion in your eyes. “Now get on that train before it leaves without you.”

Melody ran on the train and found a compartment occupied by a couple of other first years, smiling when you waved to her as the Hogwarts’ Express left platform 9¾.

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” Draco spoke and pushed his hair back — the initial shock finally settling in his chest.

You sigh and turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. Although it had been years, the warmth from his gaze still filled you and you hated it. You hated that all the love you had for him was still stored away.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He narrowed his eyes at your deflection but answered truthfully. He might as well begin with the truth before anything else.

“I’m the auror assigned to protect the wizards and witches at this platform.” Draco responded before glancing at his watch, frowning at the time it read back. “I’ll be back—“

You put your hand up and stopped his excuses, shaking your head and frowning. Pulling out your own wand, you pointed it at his chest and glared. You would never let yourself be fooled twice.

“That’s what you’re good at doing, Draco.” You tapped your wand on his chest, your heart screaming to stop but your mind blocked out every emotion you felt for him besides pure rage. “You’re good at leaving. That’s all I know about you, and that’s all Melody will ever know about her father.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides but made no effort to stop you. He could tell — your eyes betraying your every emotion — that you needed to reprimand him. He could see the way you wanted to scream and shout everything you kept bottled in your mind. Every single memory you had with him building up, ready to explode with any wrong move.

“Love—“

“You have no right.” You whisper at the nickname and shake your head at him, apparating away.

Melody watched in trepidation as first years were sorted into a house after Professor McGonagall read off their names from a long roll of parchment. Each and every one of them grinning brightly at the rest of the student body when the Sorting Hat screamed their respective houses out. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to be sorted.

After all, her mother blessed her with a last name that wouldn’t take ages to be called up.

“Bellemont, Melody!”

She beamed at the professors as she made her up onto the wooden stool, flicking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. Melody wasn’t sure what to expect when the hat fell, but she knew she would rather move to America than be sorted in Hufflepuff like that group of boys she met at the station. They were all rude except for the Metamorphmagus she held an actual conversation with.

“A Malfoy who isn’t a Malfoy.” The Sorting Hat murmured to itself — and knowingly — Melody. “Clearly, you haven’t been raised with the pureblooded status quo. Perhaps your mother’s doing… But you have your father’s confidence and pride…”

Melody’s face twisted in confusion at the hat’s words. Who was Malfoy? Was that her father? Maybe her grandmother’s previous last name? She didn’t understand the hat, and as if it read her mind — which it could — clarified for the young witch.

“Your father was a broken soul.” The hat tutted and swished around her head like it was revisiting old memories of her parents. “Your mother wormed her way into his heart until she mended him.”

She blinked and looked over at McGonagall, who merely smiled at her. Melody pursed her lips and looked out into the crowd, hoping to find any kind of familiar face. Unfortunately, all her aunts and uncles decided to have children only a few years ago.

Melody frowned as the hat continued to make random comments about her parents, ultimately boring her from the ceremony. She wasn’t sure what the hat was going on about you and her father, but she was sure to send an owl to you soon.

“Nevertheless, your father and mother were in the same house.” The Sorting Hat commented before shouting its decision for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. “SLYTHERIN!”

Melody gave the applauding hall a tight-lipped smile as she walked over to the Slytherin table, finding an empty seat beside an enthusiastic prefect. She was ecstatic to be in the same house as her mother, of course, but now only one thing circled her mind. She didn’t feel the need to ever know about this before. You were all she ever needed. Yet the Sorting Hat planted something in her head, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Who was her father? And who is Malfoy?

“I’ve been getting the same question back from Melody in every single letter. This is starting to get ridiculous.” You throw the recent letter you received from Melody on the kitchen counter, rubbing your face in frustration. “What the hell happened at Hogwarts for her to suddenly be interested in who her father is?”

On a normal day, Melody would never pester you about who her father was. Now, it felt like you got a letter everyday about who her father was. You weren’t sure what the best move was. Either way you went, everything would change drastically.

Pansy shrugged and read the letter, raising her brows at the perfect cursive that could rival Draco’s. “Maybe it’s time you should tell her. It’s been eleven years, and she’s old enough to know about him.“

You spun the stupid Malfoy ring on your finger and huffed. “It’s not about how old she is. I just don’t want her to know that Draco essentially abandoned her. Granted, he left before I could even tell him.” You glared at the silver ring. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull the piece of jewelry off. “Besides, she already met Draco. It’ll complicate the entire situation if I try to explain it now.”

“Wait — when did Melody meet Draco?” She furrowed her brows and sat up at the new information. Pansy squinted at your expression before gasping, nearly jumping out of her chair at the realization. “At the platform?”

“Yes.” You groan and bury your head in your hands. Even if you did want Melody to know about her father at some point, you didn’t want it to be like that. She doesn’t deserve such an abrupt change right before she hopped on the express for Hogwarts. “Melody bumped into him trying to find me.”

Pansy sighed and took your hands in hers, watching your reaction very closely. “It’s better that you tell her about Draco rather than someone else tell her. I don’t doubt you’ll make the right call about all of this, but please tell her sooner rather than later.” Pansy squeezed your hands and sent you a small smile.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced toward the moving photograph you hung on the wall. It was a picture of you, Pansy, and Blaise right before Draco’s final quidditch game. You were laughing at something Blaise said, but the photo only played that far into the memory before resetting.

Pansy caught your gaze and waved her wand over to the frame, changing the length of the moving photograph. Instead of you laughing at something Blaise said, you were pulling an unamused Draco to sit beside you for the photo.

Your heart clenched at the sight, finally giving into your daughter’s pleads.

“I’ll tell Melody when she comes home for the holidays. I don’t want her to find out via owl.” You sigh and wave your hand toward the photograph, setting it back to the way it was originally.

The photo was taunting you to look back over, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore.

You could always tell yourself you wanted nothing to do with Draco, but everyone knew that you would run back if you found the perfect reason to. Maybe Melody was your perfect reason.

“Melody, wait!”

The girl turned to the sound of her name — blonde locks flawlessly following through — and her arms tightened around the textbooks she held. Out of all the people at Hogwarts, she least expected to see the boy from the train station jogging toward her. She looked behind him for his friends — if you could even call them friends — but it was just the boy. The Metamorphmagus boy.

“Yes?” She tilted her head and creased her eyebrows when his hair turned a horrid shade of green. The color made her feel uneasy, forcing her to wait until it faded back to its original state to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know your — er — name.”

The boy blinked before sticking his hand out, shaking her hand profusely. “I’m Teddy Lupin. I’m so sorry about my friends back on the express months ago. They found an unoccupied compartment and wanted to claim it before someone else took it.”

Melody slowly nodded and glanced at her leather watch, frowning when she realized she was already seconds late to a study session with a couple of first years she befriended. She pursed her lips and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Was that all you needed me for? I need to study for a charms exam.”

“Well — uhm — I don’t want you to not study, but I wanted to ask you if this was you. If it’s not, it looks scarily like you and has the exact same name. Except the last name matches my uncle’s — “

Melody barely processed the rest of his rambling as Teddy pulled out a photograph of a wall she couldn’t recognize. There were bits and pieces of the wall that were burnt and faces that were skeletons rather than perfectly painted — perfectly detailed — faces. It seemed like the wall went on forever until she glanced at the very bottom right.

Melody’s breath lodged in her throat as she read the last name painted beside her legal first name. Her eyes followed the family tree branch up to find — not her mother — but her father’s face painted on the wall. Although your face wasn’t painted, your name was still written underneath one—

“Draco Malfoy.” She whispered and looked up at Teddy with a shocked expression, hands gripping the photograph in confusion.

There was the last name the Sorting Hat kept muttering.

It was the same man she met at the platform months ago. The color of his hair — and the way you acted around him — should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was indeed her father. Melody shook her head and gave Teddy back the photo, determined to understand why you chose to hide this from her for so long.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me figure the rest of this out, would you?”

The wind breezing through platform 9¾ from the Hogwarts’ Express sent your hair flying through the air and your arms tightening around yourself. You were picking Melody up for the holidays and made the awful decision to not bring a stupid coat — thinking you could get out within minutes.

Silently cursing from how cold it was, you watch the students stream out of the train until you saw the platinum blonde hair you knew belonged to your daughter. Instantly, her eyes met yours and she ran. She ran until she knocked herself into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over.

“Hi, mum.” She murmured into your neck and pulled herself impossibly closer. She tucked her chin in your shoulder, letting herself melt in your arms. “I missed you.”

You blinked away suppressed tears and kissed the side of her head. You didn’t realize how much you missed your sweet girl until she was in your arms again. “I missed you too, my love.”

You adjusted her Slytherin scarf — proudly, you might add — around her neck before pressing a kiss in her hair. You would make the most out of the two weeks you had with her if it was the last thing you did.

The commotion of the platform left the both of you unfazed as you went to grab her trunk from the express. You shrunk the trunk before tucking it away in your pocket, sending Melody a grin when she rolled her eyes at you. But as you went to leave the platform, Melody tugged you back in place with wide eyes.

You furrowed your brows and stared at her with a confused expression, hands ready to grab your wand in case she saw something that was potentially threatening. “What—?”

“Melody!” A boy ran over to your daughter and put a hand up as he took deep breaths, hair flashing many different colors before settling on purple. “I couldn’t find you after you left the compartment.”

You tilted your head at the sudden arrival of a boy before recognizing the face. You could recognize that face anywhere. After all, he was a spitting image of Remus and Tonks.

“Mum, this is Teddy Lupin.” Melody gestured to the tall boy and pushed up on her tippy toes to look past him, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Teddy.” You shake his hand and gently pull Melody back, eyeing her suspiciously before speaking to the young boy once more. “I haven’t seen you since you were an itty bitty baby.”

Teddy felt his heart kick up at the thought of you knowing him before now. You must’ve known him from when he was a mere baby. You probably knew his parents and who his parents were.

“You knew my parents?” He breathed with eyes shimmering with interest.

“Of course, I did. Your father taught me in my third year, and I absolutely adored your mother.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sighed, shaking away the thought of him being orphaned at such a young age. You would forever curse Voldemort for destroying so many families. “How are your studies going, Teddy? I heard—”

“Must we explain everything, mum?” Melody whined and interrupted your friendly demeanor. She didn’t want to stay at the platform any longer than you, but she needed to be here until he showed up, and she didn’t want to spend all that time listening to you being extra polite. It felt weird.

“Did you bring—?”

“He’s making his way over.” Teddy waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes, slight annoyance filling them. Not because of her but because of his uncle.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time trying to find Teddy after he all but ran toward Melody the second he saw her blonde hair over crowds of reunited families. Although, he had to admit that his uncle was far better on time management than his god father. Harry Potter could save the entire wizarding world yet he still was late to all of Teddy’s milestones.

“He’s making his way through the crowds, although he was quite skeptic on why I suddenly asked him about dinner.”

You looked between the two and knitted your brows together. You knew Melody invited someone over for dinner, but you didn’t expect another person. So who was the other?

Before either of the two could speak, you interrupted with a stern tone. “Him who?”

“Ted, you can’t wander off and not tell me who we’re going to have dinner with — Oh, fuck me.” Draco caught up to his nephew, who he found standing beside the woman he loved all these years. He didn’t think running into you twice at the platform in one year would even be possible.

“Shit.” You mutter and quickly avert your eyes from staring at his disheveled figure, forcing your heart to steady itself.

Looking down at the two children, you crossed your arms and raised a brow. You couldn’t help but think the both of them planned it — and by the looks of their guilty faces — you knew you were right.

“What did you two do?”

Teddy folded before Melody could even utter a single syllable. He jabbed a finger in her direction as his hair turned a bright pink. “Melody did it.”

“Gee, thanks.” The said girl pushed his hand away from her face and met your questioning gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have surprised either of you, but she wanted the truth without you stepping on eggshells every single time. “Uhm…”

You tilted your head and waited for her to continue, feeling Draco’s looming presence right beside you. He was equally as confused by the ambush but was willing to listen to his daughter.

Melody nervously played with the ends of her hair before spilling everything, shutting her eyes tightly when she heard how selfish her plan truly was. If something horrible came out of this, it would’ve been her fault that you were upset and her father would never want to see her again.

“I just really want to know the truth! Teddy showed me the Black Family Tree a while ago and — well — I saw me on there connected to who I suppose my father is. And when I realized it was the same person we saw here, I knew I had to find a way to see him again. I want to know who my dad is, I want to really know him.”

Draco’s face twisted into surprise and looked over at Teddy for confirmation only to whip his head back to Melody.

“And your name was written underneath his, mum.”

Instinctively, you hid your left hand under your arm and bit the inside of your cheek. Though you weren’t officially married to Draco, his family signet indicated that you were promised to one another. Whether you decided to continue with the marriage or not wasn’t a controlling factor.

“You know he’s your father, what else is there to say?”

Melody peeled her eyes open and frowned. You were getting so defensive and she still didn’t know why you never told her about her father. Even Draco looked hurt by your words.

“Why did you never tell me?” She spoke softly — afraid that the only thing she’s ever known could fall apart in an instant. She loved you, but what you kept from her seemed so unfair.

“I promise I was going to tell you this week.” You matched her tone and pursed your lips when you saw her eyes swimming with sadness.

Melody shifted her attention to her father and crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with the same confidence he had at her age. “Did you come to the station on purpose?”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head, tucking his hands into his front pockets, fidgeting from habit. He hated confrontation. “No, I’m an auror stationed here when students head back to Hogwarts and come back.”

Melody looked to Teddy for confirmation — much like her father — and received a curt nod back, making her bite her lip in frustration. Neither of them was giving her the information she wanted needed. All she saw was the tension and the underlying love of two different people.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, she could press on and continue bothering them. But on the other —

“I didn’t even know your mother was pregnant.”

You perked up at the mention and glared at the blonde, eyes filled with the same anger and disappointment he saw months ago. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to protect you.” Draco narrowed his eyes at you, his tone challenging yours.

Melody took a small step back. This wasn’t how she planned this to go, but this was more information she received than from the last eleven years.

“You made that decision yourself.” You whispered, voice cracking with hurt. The walls you carefully built around old memories chipped away as you recalled them all — each moment flashing in your mind. “I could’ve helped, Dray. Instead, you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

Draco furrowed his brows together and shook his head — you were always so stubborn and so correct. “You could’ve gotten killed—“

“I would have died to stay with you.” You instinctively grabbed his hand. “Do you know how long I waited? How long I used to stay up — wondering if you would ever come back?” The tears began to well up as you continued to speak, voice trembling and hands shaking.

Draco quietly listened and stared down at your ringed finger, his family signet shining for all the wizarding world to see. He promised to marry you — to take you away from the mess of the past.

Yet he still left.

“I was praying to whoever was out there for you to come find me.” You quietly spoke and finally dropped his hand. “You left me with nothing.”

The both of you stared at one another with unspoken apologies. No matter how long it’s been, you could still read him and he could still read you. To one another, it was like reading a childhood book that could be recited front to back.

After seconds of stiff silence, you turned back to Melody and Teddy — handing your daughter the miniature trunk and keys to your car. “Melody, take Teddy and wait in the car.”

“Mum—“

“Now.” You cut her off and watch her and Teddy leave the platform. Steadying your breathing once more, you looked back at Draco and twisted your ring. “Do you even have anything to say?”

He looked between your eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, voice small like the seventeen year old Death Eater he once was.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with so much emotion you swore you could see the colors surrounding him. “I’m so sorry I left without saying anything.”

A noise threatened to leave your lips, but you made no effort to leave your position nor say anything.

“But I was vowed to follow my father’s footsteps by becoming a Death Eater.” He took your hand in his and traced the familiar lines across your palm, effectively calming him and you. “Waking up beside you brought me comfort in all the torture they made me endure. I knew you didn’t deserve to suffer with me, so I left.”

Draco watched your hand delicately hover his arm where the mark was, biting his tongue when you thumbed the space below — something you used to do back in sixth year when he got so overwhelmed with his mission.

“I can’t ever take back the day I decided to leave and never show up again, but I don’t regret it.”

You silently absorbed his words and sniffled — signs that were so clear to Draco about what was to come. He tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, giving you a weak smile.

“You raised an excellent daughter without me.” He tired to cheer you up but frowned when he saw the shimmer of a singular tear streak down your face.

“I needed you.” You frustratedly wipe your tear and look away, knowing that the vulnerability of your heart was completely at stake. “Dray, I was seventeen too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the both of you — so young and restrained by everything.

“I was pregnant and terrified. I didn’t know if I could even raise a child on my own.” You breathed and looked up at the glass roofing, pushing the rest of the tears away. “Imagine how different our life would be if you just stayed.”

Another tear escaped and — suddenly — your barriers crumbled. The mere thought of raising Melody on your own without Draco consumed your every being. And somehow — even with just you — she ended up exactly like her father.

“Yes, Melody is amazing, but I really needed you.”

Draco caught your eyes and instantly pulled you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin — refusing to let go of you ever again. His heart continued to break at your silent sobs, each sniffle and hiccup chiseling the crack that formed years ago.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and repeated it like a mantra, voice raw with so much sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

“I needed you, Draco.” You sobbed and breathed in his familiar scent as you buried your face in his chest. You gripped the lapels of his suit, eyes squeezed shut as if you were afraid he would disappear again. “For more than eleven years, I needed you.”

“I needed you too.” Draco whispered and tilted your head up, thumbing your streaked face. His heart ached from all the time he missed out on. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like ages before you pulled away from him. The only sounds that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and the hisses of the express. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your jumper, mouth moving before your heart and mind could catch up.

“Would you still have dinner with us? I’m sure you’ve been here all day waiting for the arrival of the express.”

Finally listening to your own words, your freeze before slowly meeting his eyes. You were more shocked at yourself than his answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you and Melody.” He answered truthfully before waving his free hand around with the smallest smile on his face. “And Teddy.”

You match his expression and tilt your head to the right, wringing your hands together. “Maybe you could finally get to know Melody.”

Draco’s lips curled into a fully blown smile, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with delight at the idea of finally knowing his one and only daughter. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” You say softly and — for the first time in a long time — hide the rising warmth forming on your cheek.

Draco Malfoy. The biggest love and loss of your life.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Norris Girls

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

If Lando were to ask, in his perfect world, his girls wouldn't go to kindergarten, and they'd be homeschooled later on. If he were to ask, you wouldn't be working either. Your main and only job would be to pack up the girls and follow him around the world so he could have you around non-stop. But unfortunately for Lando, that's not the case.

After you had Izzy, you couldn't wait to get back to work and get away from home. You loved being a mom to your girls, but considering that you were mostly alone with the two of them, it eventually became too much.

Besides, you wanted to give them as normal a childhood as possible. Although there was no need for the two of them to go to any kind of kindergarten, you decided that you wanted them both to go so that they could socialize and adjust to school more easily later.

Adjusting to kindergarten was quite easy for Isla and didn't take long, considering that Isla is four years old and very outgoing and sociable, while Izzy, who is only two years old and is the complete opposite of Isla, had a bit more difficulty adjusting.

One of the problems was that they were not in the same kindergarten group, given that they were of different ages. While Isla enjoyed spending time with her peers, Izzy would cry every day when she arrived at the daycare, and when you would come to pick her up, her eyes would sparkle with happiness.

Pre-season preparations were already in full swing and Lando already had his hands full. For him, vacation was long over and every day he was more and more prevented from spending as much time as he wanted with you at home.

Today, Lando was returning from a business trip and went straight to the daycare to pick up Izzy and then Isla. He was in a hurry to get there on time, but due to the traffic jam he was a little late, so every kid left earlier than Izzy.

When Lando entered the room, Izzy didn't immediately notice him because her back was turned to him. His heart broke when he saw her sitting on a small chair at a small table playing with some blocks, patiently waiting for someone to come pick her up and go home. He stopped for a moment and silently observed her.

"Izzy? Look who is here." The young teacher said making Izzy quickly turn to look behind her.

The moment her eyes met Lando's, Izzy burst into tears.

"Daddy.." Overwhelmed with emotion, she rushed from her chair toward him. At the same time, she was crying because she hadn't seen him in a few days and because, of course, she wanted to go home as soon as possible.

"Hey, baby" He knelt as she ran into his arms.

"Daddy" She kept saying crying into his neck.

"Is my little girl ready to go home?" He asked rubbing her back and kissing the side of her head.

"Yeah" She sobbed.

"It's okay, it's okay" He comforted her. "Why are you crying?" He asked putting her cheeks between his hands.

"I-I missed you, da-daddy" She said looking up at him with her big teary eyes.

"I missed you too, munchkin" He said picking her up in his arms.

"Daddy's girl, isn't she?" The teacher commented.

"All mine" He smiled proudly kissing her cheek before saying goodbye to the teacher and heading toward the car.

"Did you play with other kids today, baby?" He asked while putting her in the car seat.

"A yitto"

"A little?" Lando chuckled. "Did you have fun?"

"No"

"Why not?" He asked as he buckled her seat.

""I yike bein' wif you mowe."

Lando's eyes almost filled with tears at Izzy's words. He bent his head toward her and showered her face with soft kisses. "I like being with you too, baby. We have a whole week together in front of us, I promise"

"Otay"

When Lando and Izzy came to Isla's kindergarten to pick her up, Lando almost fainted when he heard that she wasn't there, knowing she should be.

"What do you mean she left?" Lando scoffed. "Did my wife pick her up?"

"No, it wasn't mrs Norris, it was a man that was already-"

"A what?!" Lando's eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't even let the woman finish her sentence, and the worst-case scenarios were already running through his head.

"Oh, no, no-" The poor woman was so confused when she realized what it sounded like.

"Who came to pick up my daughter?! How could you possibly let anyone but me or my wife come to pick up our daughter?!" Lando wouldn't let her get the word out.

"Mr. Norris, please calm down." The woman said a bit frightened. "Last week Mrs. Norris came with a man named Max to pick up your daughter and the gentleman left his personal information. Your wife said that in case she or you were ever unable to come, Mr. Max would come. I forgot his last name, but he showed me his ID and I remembered his face. I swear I would never put any child in danger and give it to a stranger, including your daughter."

As soon as Lando heard the name Max, a stone fell from his heart, but at the same time he turned red with shame and he immediately started apologizing to the poor woman.

"I am.." Lando sighed running his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry. My wife didn't inform me about it and I reacted in the moment.."

As he drove, Lando couldn't stop thinking about how he had snapped at that woman. His thoughts also wandered to dark places like what if some stranger had really come for your daughter and taken her to who knows where. It was one of Lando's biggest fears that he couldn't shake from his mind all the way home.

"Daddy!!" Isla squealed with delight when Izzy and Lando entered the house.

He put Izzy down and grabbed Isla lifting her up as she ran into his arms. "Hey, pumpkin" He hugged her tighter to calm his thoughts from earlier. "I missed you" He said nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"Look what I got" She said, showing him a new toy he hadn't seen before.

"Wow, who got you that?"

"Mom bought it for me"

"It's awesome, baby. Where is mom anyway?"

"Mom's here" You said as you appeared in the hallway. "She is waiting for her husband, whom she loves so much that she even made him his favorite lunch, which is already waiting for him on the table."

"Oh, yeah? If she loved her husband as much as she says she would have informed me that Max had permission to pick up our daughter from daycare." Lando smirked as he pulled you towards him into a hug and pressed his lips against yours.

"I didn't tell you that?"

"No, you didn't tell me that, so I attacked the teacher in the most wonderful way there is."

"Lan..you didn't.."

"Yup, I did. I insulted her before I even let her finish her sentence.." Lando said embarrassed, hiding his head in your neck. "You know that's your fault, right?"

"I know and I can't wait to face miss Jones on Monday" You said rolling your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll put her apology gift on your card just so you know."

"Make it generous, I'll survive"

When you were all ready to sit down at the table to have lunch, Lando wanted to check with his older daughter her knowledge about stranger danger so he decided to ask her some questions.

"If a stranger says, hey little girl you wanna come see the puppies in my car?, what do you say?" Lando asked Isla who was sitting across from him and peacfully enjoying her spaghetti.

"Um, yeah" She nonchalantly replied to which Lando lost his appetite.

"No.."

"Or yes..?" She asked raising her eyebrow.

"No, baby, no!" Lando started sweating. You watched them from the side trying not to laugh even though it really wasn't funny, but Isla's confusion was kind of funny.

"..si?" Isla tried in spanish and that's when you lost it.

"No, we don't switch the languages!" Lando said before turning to you to scold you for laughing. "Y/n, that's not funny?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's not. It's just that I think our daughter is a smart little girl and I trust her. She just got confused a little"

"Well, that's what I thought too, until now at least." Lando quickly switched to full protective parental mode. "Isla, baby, we never, ever, ever talk to strangers and we don't follow anyone we don't know, okay? That is not safe!"

"But what about the puppies? I love puppies, daddy" She said innocently, slurping a piece of spaghetti into her mouth.

"Oh this is going to be such a long day.." Lando sighed wiping away the beads of sweat that had already formed on his forehead.

"Lan, it's alright, calm down. We'll deal with it."

"What if my boyfriend is asking that? Can I go with him?" Isla asked sending Lando into an additional unexpected shock.

"Oh my God.." He whimpered looking at you.

"Yuck!" Suddenly Izzy spoke up after hearing the word boyfriend. Lando worked hard to teach both Izzy and Isla that boyfriend means yuck, but it seems that only one of his daughters remembered it.

"See? Someone is actually listening to me. That's how we do it! Good job, baby" Lando said giving Izzy a kiss on the cheek. "And you missy, you better eat that spaghetti quickly because you're about to have a whole lecture about people we don't know. Don't even get me started about boyfriends!"

And you knew it would be just like Lando said, one very very long day ahead of you.

[rebelssvy]

babeeeeee you have me addicted to your roommates ushi x reader fic 😭 please make more with links 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 maybe a tsukki x reader 👀 okie but also love the size difference kink showing in your fic too 😭😘👌 absolutely delish girl thank you for blessing us

FUCK yes. god YES i can.

cruel ✧.*

tsukishima x reader ₊˚ෆ

★ twt links included!!!!

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: you and tsuki are roomates, you go out to a party and he is just mean to you. so when you get home you embarrass him by going through his porn. smut, making out, twt links, squirting dirty talk all, male receiving head

twt links scattered in here. loved making this!!! request more babes.

of course you were overstepping. of course you had had a little to much to drink. but to be honest you were still fully aware of every move you had made tonight. it was all calculated.

you and your roommate tsukishima kei had found yourselfs at a party earlier that night. it was a friendly get together that turned into more of a party the longer it went on. sure you took some shots. but all of that was hours ago.

during the party you had been flirting with some of kei’s teammates. it was nothing bad of course. it was all far play. the music was bumping and the lights were flashing. truly it had turned into a house party. it wasn’t until tsuki had pulled you aside that your mood really flipped.

he could be cruel sometimes. a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, but he was also caring. in this moment all the lines were blurred.

whispering in your ear he spoke the words. “stop putting yourself out there your just going to embarrass yourself..” you gasped, pushed him back and left. like any sane person would. you ordered and uber walking out of the apartment complex and arrived at your shared apartment within minutes.

instead of wallowing in your pain, you created a master plan. one that was going to embarrass him so much that he would have no choice then apologize to you. you were quick to your room, changing into skimpy pjs and lacey under garments.

sure his comment hurt. but it hurt more coming from him. you liked him. after sharing an apartment with him for so long you two would laugh after his snarky comments. hitting him and telling him to treat you better in which he would reply, ‘yes y/n…’. so why did he pull you away tonight and degrade you? did he have a problem with you flirting? maybe..

shortly after you changed the locks to your home unlocked and he walked in. with his timing it seems like right after you left, he said goodbye to everyone and followed you shortly after.

“how did you get home?” he asked, taking off his hoodie and hanging it up. then proceeding to take his belongings out of his pant pockets.

then and there is struck you. your master plan.

you walked over to him, making sure you didn’t rush to fast, but just quick enough to close in on him. “took an uber..” you spoke quietly. almost to a whisper.

“huh? you what? why are you being so quiet..?” he asked tone slightly annoyed. hook, line, sinker. you had riled him up just enough.

“oh i don’t know…” you said now right next to him, back against the counter top. he stood above you. eyes linked with yours. he was obviously looking at all of you. all of you. he tilted his head to the side waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“maybe.. it’s because..” you had to sly about this. reaching behind you in a very smooth motion, you grabbed his phone into your hand. praying he didn’t notice until you had it firmly in your grasp.

“-because you made me feel stupid..!” you said sharp and bluntly pushing him on the chest with your open hand before taking quick strides back to your room. it was too late for him to realize what you had.

you were already at your door when he started “y/n! give me my phone back!” stumbling after you, you shut the door in his face. locking it quickly. he was right on the other side of the door. his knocks turned into pounds. then shortly he gave in.

“what did i do y/n… fuck- please i’m sorry just open the door.” he said pleading to you.

“no tsuki. you embarrassed me. you said i was trying to hard and i was going to embarrass myself. so now… im gonna embarrass you.” you said while a smile on your face. your mission was simple, find somthing so embarrassing that he wanted to cry, give his phone back. and he would apologize. simple.

you knew his password. of course you knew his password, when unlocking his phone he spoke again on the other side of the door. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that. i didn’t know what i was thinking…” he said softly. it was sincere, but you were going to let this end that quickly.

you searched through his phone, going to his camera roll you looked for embarrassing photos of him in his pre-teens or maybe even as a kid. but the only thing you could find were younger pictures of him and he was adorable. this wasn’t going to work, you needed somthing better.

and there is was, your knight in shining armor. an app with a big white X on it. you knew you could find somthing on twitter right? ever guy had somthing on there… so he should right..?

before opening the app you decided to toy with him. just to make this whole thing more painful for him. “whatcha got on twitter kei? anything you want to tell me before i go through it?” you spoke with a joyful voice.

“god. y/n please don’t oh my god. i’m sorry. just don’t go into that app.” he pleaded more miserable then ever. that was your goal anyways.

“sorry i’m gonna do it anyways!” you laughed. and just like that you clicked into it. it had to be here somewhere… you thought.

like a beacon in the night, the likes tab revealed all. scrolling through countless videos of porn. something inside you shifted. maybe it was the way you heard him whisper “fuckk..” behind the door. or maybe it was that you had a full visual gallery of all his kinks. but you were growing needy, and it was clear to you.

you paused on certain videos, watching them longer than others. like the way this girl took her bfs cock down her throat and the way she was all tied up. it made you think about kei doing that to you. god! what were you thinking!

mindlessly you rubbed your legs together. the sound of him behind the door made your brain go fuzzy. “y/n just stop.. please..” he whispered. you couldn’t stop. you scrolled to the next one.

the next video was of a girl get railed right next to a pc monotor. her hands scrambled over the key board as she took rough back shots. your mind flashed to the set up kei had in his room. your mind flashed to him pounding into your cunt infront of his game. you having to be al’ quiet because the mic is still on. fuck. why were you thinking this. you forced yourself to remember you were still mad at him.

the next one a girl spread her legs in a public bathroom, forced to be quiet as her partner finger fucked her. spitting on her cunt. kei would be good with his fingers, is he seriously into the whole public thing? god seriously what is wrong with you! the need for him to do stuff to you was too much. your lust was replacing every emotion you had in you.

the last one really sent you over the edge. a video of a girl getting pounded, it is only about 30 seconds. and the entire 30 seconds is of her getting fucked through her orgasm. she soaks the camera with her liquid and is moaning through the whole thing. it was too much for you.

opening the door you met face to face with a deranged tsukishima. blushed and flushed his hair was a mess and his eyebrows furrowed with anxiety. there was something else though, the way his eyes were halfly litted and the way he looked down at you were your gaze met his. you needed him. and maybe, just maybe… he needed you too.

“tsuki…” you called his name out, bringing the phone up to his chest before taking it back into your hands and unlocking it. he didn’t say a word the whole time. “i’ve never squirted before…” you admitted before showing him the video. he recognized it. it was one he watched often.

“fuck.. y/n… what do you want. i’m sorry seriously. but… is this just a game to you? to get back at me?” he asked while taking his phone back. through it into his pant pocket.

“no.. it’s just… fuck tsuki-“ you cut yourself off. to afraid to cross that line. your gaze dropped to the ground. but somthing else caught your eye. his cock was prominent in his pants. it was big from the looks of it.

“tell me what you want.” his voice rang iut in the silence. confidence surged through your body. lust was overcoming every other emotion you had. any clear thought was gone.

“i want you to fuck me kei..!” it was music to his ears. before you knew it his body crashed into yours. he grabbed your face and pulled you in for a deep kiss. you moaned into his mouth. your noises made you embarrassed.

“fuck i love that… keep moaning for me please” he begged, almost reading your mind.

your back crashed into the wall next to your door frame. his hands traveled up and down your figure. your lips worked against each other. both of you needing more.

without second thought you broke the kiss and dropped to your knees. you really weren’t one for giving head, but for him…. you would do anything.

“y/n.. you don’t have to..” he said sincerely. you shook your head no, before freeing his cock from his pants and underwear. pulling them all down at once. it was beautiful. on the longer side, with a little girth. his balls were smaller. his tip was a nude pink. and fuck- your mouth drooled.

licking the tip, but a little. he groaned, hands flying to your hair, pulling it out of the way. you then licked all of it. before taking it into your mouth. back and fourth you bobbed your head. saliva slipping out of your mouth.

you gaged once or twice but it was short lived before he was pulling you to your feet and into his arms. lifting you up off the ground he mumbled the words “need more..” before making his way to his room.

gently resting you on the bed he stripped you of your clothing. making fast work of anything you had on, which already wasn’t much. your legs were closed before he pried them open. back flat on his bed, legs spread for him to see. you leaked on to his sheets. your wetness already overwhelming. his mind went silly.

“let me…” he said bringing his hand to your cunt. he sat infront of you on the bed, slightly angled but only to see your sopping pussy at full view. you moaned when he touched your folds. curling your clit your back arched off the bed.

it wasn’t until you lifted your hips into the air that he plunged one of his slender fingers into you. “fuck~ kei-!” you moaned out. your words were his motivation. he finger fucked you with grace. until he added a second one and you were squirming all around the place.

“fuck that too much for you baby?” he toyed. you clenched down on his fingers, enticed by is words. “you like that? you like when i fuck with you huh?” butterflies filled your stomach. he was too much.

“i need… you kei please please gimmie your cock..!” you moaned out, reaching for his length. only to grab his thigh and claw at it. searching for more.

“i’ll give you more baby…” he said while flipping you around. moving both your bodies in harmony while he kissed you with heat. you moaned into his mouth until you two broke for the position change.

it was in no time that he had you all stretched out around his long length. you were al spread for him. him underneath you, your back against his chest. his words rang out in your ears.

“knew you would like this position. been thinking about doing this to you al night. can’t fucking run away from his cock baby…” he fucked his dick into you. you were lacking of control. the only thing you could do was bounce on it.

“fucking been thinking of fuckin you like this for ages. getting to whisper in your ear and play with your clit….” his hand came in contact with your sensitive little bud. you started seeing stars.

“didn’t know you would be such a slut for my dirty words.. huh baby you like that?” he slaped your cunt. your back spasmed and you moaned out. you were going to cum. it was too late to even say anything your overwhelming sensation approaching too fast.

“cum on it.” he spat out. he knew you were gonna cum. and yet he kept fucking you. his long hard cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. his balls smacking against your skin. his groans behind your ear. fuck.

white liquid rushed out of you. tsukishima quickly rushed to rub harshly into your clit.

“fuck! ah-! kei fuck! ah~ i can’t-! stop!” your words were rushed, staggered and stuttering you grabbed onto his wrist to stop.

finally when no more seemed to come out of you he stopped his motion and set you down. laying you beside him. all your energy you once had was gone.

“see, now you can say you have squirted.” he laughed from beside you.

he was right.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

yum.