#and then you still have to get it home and unpack it and put it away?????

[diormoon]

PERIOD - p.bueckers

- Paige Bueckers x Fem!reader

- Readers avoiding her girlfriend because she doesn’t want Paige to give her the full nurse treatment, but Paige can read her girl like an open book.

- Periods, Period pain, Fluff

REQUESTED • Yes x No

You were studying in the library when the first cramp hit, causing you to double over in pain. Once it passed, you realized you had bled through and quickly tied your hoodie around your waist.

You grabbed your things and hurried to your dorm. Since Paige had extra classes and a late practice, you decided to go to your dorm to take a nap instead of visiting her.

You didn’t want to tell Paige about your period, as she would go into full nurse mode, seeing as you have super bad and painful periods. She already has a lot going on with March Madness right around the corner, so complaining about being in pain while her body is also in pain seems selfish.

Walking into your dorm, though, was a disaster. You forgot that the last time you were here, you were packing to stay at Paige’s for a few days and couldn’t find something you were looking for. Now all of your clothes are thrown around your dorm, and it’s super hot because you accidentally left the furnace on. Today is apparently going to be a bad day all around.

You quickly turn off the heat and open some windows before making your way to the bathroom to clean up.

After your shower and a small snack, Paige called, basically just saying that she would be off a little earlier than planned and that she was going to bring dinner home. You had exactly five hours until she would arrive at her dorm, giving you four hours to yourself before you had to leave for her dorm and put on a fake smile around her.

You were in a lot of pain, so you knew what you would be doing for those four hours: sleeping. The problem is that you forgot to do one small thing before you passed out—set your alarm.

You woke up startled. You could hear footsteps outside your door, and the sound of bags crinkling reached you from somewhere nearby. The thought of an intruder was the only thing on your mind until you saw the time on your nightstand clock. Seeing the time made your eyes widen; you had slept for seven hours.

Maybe it’s Paige? The thought ran through your head, and it makes sense. She has a key; she could easily make her way inside. Should you call her just to be safe? Probably, but you’ve already talked yourself into the idea that it’s her. There can’t possibly be an intruder!

Before you can send yourself into a spiral, though, your bedroom door opens, and in walks your girlfriend with a few grocery bags and food from your favorite restaurant. She doesn’t notice that you’re awake and watching her yet. She just puts the bags and food on your desk and starts unpacking them.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, watching how she flinches, not expecting to hear your voice. “For a little while. Once I got home and didn’t see you, I checked your location and saw you were here. I figured you were getting clothes or something, and then an hour passed, and you still didn’t show up. So I came here, found you asleep, and saw your period pain medicine open on your nightstand instead of in your bathroom. Then I went to the store, and now here we are. How long have you been awake?”

"Woke up to you, I'm guessing, walking back into my dorm. I thought there was an intruder for a second." Paige walks over with your food and hands it to you. "Nope, no intruder. Sorry for waking you up."

"You know you could have told me you were on your period and didn’t want to come to my dorm, right?" Paige asks while walking back to the desk. "Complaining about my body being in pain while I know your body is in pain from practice seems rude."

She just side-glances at you. "If we’re comparing pain right now, then you're definitely in more pain than me." You just roll your eyes in response before scrunching up your face in pain, setting your food down on the bed so you don’t drop it. "Baby? Are you okay?" Paige asks, walking over and kneeling next to you. You shake your head yes but still grip your stomach in pain. "Baby?"

You don’t say anything else, which Paige notices—because obviously. Paige pushes you back to make you lie down on the bed again and puts her hand under your shirt and on your stomach—gently pressing down as a way to help you.

She doesn’t move until your face slowly relaxes, and even then, she leaves her hand on your stomach, gently rubbing it. Since her hands are warm, it’s kind of like a heating pad.

When you open your eyes, you’re met with Paige staring at you—looking concerned. “Are you okay?” You don’t verbally respond; instead, you just nod your head but move onto your side and pull your knees to your chest—facing Paige now.

“When did you take your medicine?” Paige asks, making you groan from pain before saying, “Around seven hours ago. I took it before I went to sleep,” you mumble.

Paige doesn’t say anything and instead gets up to get your medicine and a drink. After you take the medicine, she grabs her food and the grocery bags she brought with her and gets comfortable in your bed.

—

It’s now around 2:30 a.m.; you and Paige both fell asleep during the second movie.

That was hours ago, and now you’re waking up with your head on her chest, her hand on your stomach, and your legs curled up again, with cramps attacking you. You wince in pain, trying to breathe through it and not wake Paige up.

Your body seems to have different ideas, as the cramps only get worse. Already having painful cramps, the worsening is a living hell.

You’re trying so hard not to cry and wake up Paige, but during the 'trying not to cry' part, tears have already started falling down your face. Paige slowly starts shifting awake—feeling the wet spot on her shirt from your unknown tears. “Baby? Are you okay?” she rasps out, her voice cracking from sleep and her eyes barely open. You don’t respond—you can’t. Your body is attacking you when she asks; all you can do is curl more into yourself in response.

When she doesn’t get a response but can feel you curling into yourself, she already knows the issue. She knows that you feel like you’re being punched in the gut repeatedly. And she wants to help.

Slowly removing herself from the bed, she makes her way to the bathroom—getting you your medicine and starting up a warm bath with oils.

When the water is at the perfect temperature, she goes back to the bedroom and gently picks you up. “What are you doing?” you mumble in a raspy voice—pain and tiredness evident in your tone. “I made you a bath. Your medicine is on the counter waiting for you; I just have to go get you a drink.” She doesn’t give you time to whine about how she didn’t need to do this or how she should go back to bed for practice tomorrow. Instead, she carefully helps you get undressed and then sets you in the tub. “Stay here; I’m going to get you a drink so you can take your medicine.”

—

When you said you didn’t want to tell Paige because she would go into full nurse mode? She’s only proving you more right. Once she came back with a Gatorade for you, she opened it first before giving it to you. That was the first thing.

She got undressed and into the tub with you—per your request. During that time, she massaged your shoulders; you both cuddled for a while. She grabbed your loofah and washed your body for you, and now she’s scrubbing your hair.

“You know you don’t have to be awake right now, right?” you mumble tiredly.

“Shut up,” Paige replies, still scrubbing your hair.

“What—” Paige cuts you off. “I’m obviously not going to let you be in pain by yourself. I can’t stop the pain, but I can give you everything you need or want to make you somewhat comfortable with it.” You don’t say anything and instead lean your head back—making her scrubbing stop—and pout your lips at her. “I love you,” you say with teary eyes.

Paige smiles and leans in, kissing your lips before pulling away slightly. “I love you more,” she says against your lips.

—

After the bath, Paige was still in nurse mode. She got out of the bath first—drying off and putting on clothes before helping you out of the tub and wrapping a warm, fuzzy towel around you—also helping you dry off and get dressed.

She then caught you off guard by picking you up bridal style. “Wha—PAIGE, what are you doing?” you laugh out, making her smile. “What do you mean? I’m giving my princess princess treatment,” she says, still smiling, while now laying you down on the bed and tucking you in.

She gets in next to you and pulls you into her arms. “Please wake me up if you’re still in pain.” You nod in response, putting your head under her chin—all of a sudden feeling really tired. “I promise... I love you,” you mumble out.

Paige doesn’t say anything and instead kisses your forehead, letting her lips linger for a few moments before pulling away and putting her hand under your shirt to rub your back—helping you fall asleep.

After a few minutes, she hears you lightly snoring. Knowing it’s okay for her to go to sleep now, she kisses your forehead one more time before mumbling, “I love you more.”

[lotties-ashwagandha]

SORRY TO CANCEL…

shauna sadecki x fem!reader, 1.5k words.

when you move in across the street, shauna invites you to her book club — it’ll be good for you to be involved in your new community. but when her book club cancels last minute during your first meeting with them, the night starts to feel more like a first date. dedicated to @seluni . part 2 of this coming soon!!! lmk what we want if we want sesbian lex or no sesbian lex? stalker shauna?

Your new neighbor stands at the door with a store-bought pie made to look homemade in a glass dish and giant sunglasses covering up how she tries to inconspicuously look into your house. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

You take the pie, trying to figure out where to look instead of straight at the sun glaring off her glasses. You look down at the pie. “Thank you so much! It’s beautiful— apple?”

“No,” she scoffs. “Pickle.”

Oh. Well. “It’s great to finally meet you,” you try. It’s been a little less than a week since you moved in, and so far the neighborhood has been quiet — it’s good to make some acquaintances at last.

She hums in response, taking off her sunglasses and squinting into your house to get a better look at it. She has already lost patience when it comes to disguising the snooping neighbor act, and while you would’ve preferred your privacy, you respect her openness.

“Would you like to come in?”

She meets your eyes. She nods, and then she backpedals as she becomes aware of her impoliteness. “Oh, I’m sure you’re busy unpacking…”

“No, not at all,” you smile. You step aside and catch a hint of her perfume as she passes, cool and woodsy and complimentary of the air of authority she’s swept into your house with in her blue flannel. “Shauna, right? The realtor mentioned you, said your family kept the neighborhood a lively community.”

She nods mindlessly and continues inside. You follow.

“You have a gorgeous home,” Shauna picks up one of the framed photos on your hallway display table and puts it back face-down. “You know, I took a tour with the realtor while it was still on the market. Didn’t want to buy this place, just wanted to see if you could still tell where they buried all those murder victims in the backyard.”

Fuck. “Really?”

“No.”

You set the pickle pie down on the kitchen counter. You clear your throat, trying to cut through the silence that has formed between you. “Thank you for the pie.”

Shauna stalks toward you, studying you so intensely you look away. She leans against the kitchen island as if she lives here, taking you in. She isn’t subtle about letting her gaze linger.

The smell of fresh grass wafts in through your open windows, the sound of a lawnmower down the street acting as a tool for groundedness. You try not to read too much into the way Shauna is looking at you, and you try not to let your gaze get stuck on her for too long even with how close she is. You lift your eyes to meet hers.

“You should join my book club.”

You blink. “Your book club?”

“We’re meeting this Friday night at seven. You’re new here and it’s good to be active in the community, don’t you think?”

“Your group wouldn’t mind a stranger?”

“No, I think they would be very welcoming,” Shauna shakes her head. “Friday at seven. We’ll look forward to seeing you there.”

She’s out the door before you can respond.

Book club. Do you seem like a book club person? No. Maybe. You certainly aren’t a woman eager to party crash a stranger’s gossip group on a Friday night, but the finality in Shauna’s tone left you without any options.

That doesn’t mean you can’t mope about it, though — you spend the entire week dreading that Friday, trying to get your confidence up so that you can channel a bit of charisma upon arrival. You buy a nice bottle of wine to bring over too, and while you have no idea what book Shauna’s group read this month, you try to make yourself seem somehow academic when you step onto her front porch on Friday at exactly seven in the evening and knock on the door.

“You made it,” Shauna smiles, opening the door a crack. She looks you over, takes the bottle of wine from your hands, and then her expression falls. “Oh, shit, I forgot to come tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“We canceled this month,” she sighs. “I didn’t have your phone number, I would have sent you a text…”

You don’t know how to respond — you wish you hadn’t gone over in the first place. You knew this was a bad idea from the very start.

Shauna opens the door up wider and steps to the side. She holds up the bottle of wine. “I can’t send you home when you’ve brought me this, though. Come in.”

After a moment of hesitation, you follow her inside. It’s a little awkward being the only one here and to be an unexpected guest, but the wine was expensive and you’re dressed up in the finest of the clothes you have unpacked since moving in. You’ll consider it a guilty pleasure if you must, a night to celebrate your new house and your new neighbor and your new status as World’s Most Prepared Book Club Member.

Shauna doesn’t seem to mind, either. She has an empty house and a full bottle of wine and nothing more to ask for.

Her house is beautiful, and you try your best to focus on it as you try not to focus on her. You try not to study the way she fits into her black dress, too formal for book club, hugging her frame and complemented by the array of dainty silver jewelry adorning her neck.

“Sit down,” she gestures into the living room.

You settle into an armchair and Shauna takes a seat on the sofa next to it after handing you one of the two wine glasses she comes back with.

“How are you enjoying the new house?” Shauna asks. “Despite what the realtor told you, this isn’t much of a busy neighborhood. I’m always grateful for that.”

“It’s beautiful,” you nod. “Pleasant neighbors…”

She taps a fingernail against the wine glass. “Who would that be?”

You pretend to consider it. “Certainly not the Sadecki family.”

“No, definitely not. Not so pleasant at all. You should move away.”

“Do you want that?”

“No,” she says. “I don’t want that.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue. You look down into the glass, and then up at Shauna. “What book were you reading this month? For book club? I never asked.”

For once, Shauna falters. She stares at you harshly for a few seconds, scanning a small stack of books on the coffee table before gingerly picking one up off the top. “This. We were reading this.”

“A gardening guide?”

She pauses, eyes darting to the title. She shrugs and sits back. “It’s almost summer. A few of us in the group have gardens.”

You’re not convinced. “What did you learn from reading it?”

“Are you an avid gardener?” Shauna asks, irritability creeping into her tone.

You like it — you want to evoke more. “I am, actually. I’d love to hear all about it.”

She sets the book down in front of you instead, rapping her knuckles on the hard sage green cover. “Read it yourself. Take it home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to...”

“It’s the least I can do after everyone canceled on such short notice,” she says, trying to recover — it’s clear to both of you by now that there’s no book club.

If not book club, you’re wondering what this is. It feels very much like a date, but you don’t want to make any straightforward assumptions. If she had wanted a date, you would have hoped she would just go out and say it.

Maybe it’s different with Shauna, though. She doesn’t come across as trusting. This is her way of assessing you, and if she likes what she finds then this will count as a first date from her perspective.

“You look incredible,” Shauna tells you. She looks over your outfit approvingly.

“Thank you,” you look down at your own clothes, smoothing them with your free hand. “I wasn’t sure if it was too formal for a book club.”

“You look perfect,” she assures you, because she’s too overdressed herself to have not been expecting visitors.

This was all premeditated, and the longer the night goes on the less you care. In the back of your mind, maybe you wanted this — your dread had concealed your hope. And even though it was the excuse you had both gone with to get you here, you didn’t give a fuck about being an active member of the community.

Wine glass in hand, you stand up and move to sit next to her on the sofa. You meet her eyes when she shifts a little to face you.

“I’m glad book club had to cancel,” you place a hand carefully on her knee. You let her read into it in whichever way she’d like, but despite the possibility of the gesture being domestic, neither of you see it as such.

She places a hand over yours on her leg and slides it up her thigh a bit. When you look up at her, she seems even closer. New want dances in her eyes, focused on you alone, and she leans closer.

You won’t give in just yet. Not on the first date.

You take the wine glass from her hand and stand up. “Ready for a refill?”

-

-

-

sexy yellowjackets taglist: @webism @ahauandthesun @chaithetics @szczurkanalowy @marleymarleymarleymarley @aphrodyk3 @ludasgf @pnsteblnme @il0veb0ttomsthem0vie @neighbourhoodspidey @dorotheareid @jackiesjersey

thank you for reading!!! if you’d like to read more fics, check out my masterlist!

[gumii-bearr]

❝ i'm already yours ❞

summary: megumi learns to be honest with you and tell you what he wants.

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, angst, fluff, some rude guy (ino slander im SORRY), mentions of alcohol, mentions of megumi's ex, fighting, megumi still being emotionally stunted but hes learning, ozawa x itadori mentions, maki x yuta mentions, nobara is a menace, megumi being such a cute lil baby, swearing, smutttt, fingering, mirror sex, missionary, p in v sex, loss of virginity, belly bulge, unprotected sex (dont do that!), pulling-out method, subspace a bit, squirting, aftercare!!

word count: 9.3k

author's note: oh BABY, this one GOOOOOD

chapter one

Megumi Fushiguro is starting to really like you.

Like, more than just ‘like-like’, as you so eloquently put it those few months ago while lying naked in his bed. Megumi’s heart races at the sight of you. Granted, that has always been the case but he’s starting to think about you all the time.

You still sleep in your separate rooms, though you’ll occasionally sneak into his room in the late hours of the night holding your pillow and softly chanting ‘sleepover’. And Megumi’s heart just swells, moving aside in his tiny single bed to make room for you to curl into his side, your leg thrown over his waist and your hand clutching his shirt.

You are his first thought every morning.

Whether you’re still sleeping beside him, cooking breakfast, doing your makeup in your room or already at work or college; you are all he thinks about. Most of the time he thinks about good things, but sometimes he thinks about the not-so-good things. 

Like if you’re getting tired of him.

Or if you think he’s too possessive or too clingy or too needy or too much–

“I’m home!” you exclaim from the front door. You have your hands full holding take-out bags, your apron still tied around your waist (Megumi pictures you walking around in public still wearing the brown-coloured apron with the little bear on it and your name tag still pinned to your shirt because you always forget to take it off). 

Megumi is quick to appear in the hallway, effortlessly lifting the bags from your hands as you attempt to kick your shoes off, hopping on one foot and cursing like a sailor when they don’t cooperate. 

“Hi,” Megumi greets, voice soft and a little tired. 

He always waits up for you, even when you have a midnight closing shift and he’s been awake since five in the morning. When he knows you’re finishing late, he makes sure to text you at exactly 12:16, a minute after your shift actually ends. He likes to make sure you’re okay, even if he won’t admit it.

“Hi, Gumi,” you beam, a wide smile on your face as you press up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. You giggle when his face flushes slightly and he averts his gaze to avoid you catching him blushing. But you think it’s so unbelievably cute. 

“How ws’ work?” He asks, dropping the take-out bags on the counter in the kitchen.

“Boring,” you whine, dropping your car keys (Megumi’s car keys) in the bowl by the door and shrugging off your jacket. “Some guy had me re-make his coffee, like, five times at 11:55! How rude.” You mumble the last part with a scowl on your face.

“Mm, you should have just pretended to remake it,” Megumi mutters, unpacking the take-out from the plastic bags and grabbing some plates for the two of you.

“Oh, I did,” you reply with a cheeky grin, “after the fourth try, I just shook it and gave it back to him… It seemed to work ‘cus he said it was perfect.”

Megumi gives an amused smile, “that’s my girl.”

You smile sweetly at the nickname, padding over to Megumi and wiggling your hands through his arms to wrap your hands around his waist, pressing your front to his broad back.

“I missed you, Gumi,” you nuzzle into his warmth just between his shoulder blades.

“Missed you too,” Megumi says after a beat, lifting a hand to squeeze your arm still wrapped around his waist.

Megumi seems tired, though his voice is laced with something else a little sadder and you know when Megumi gets like that it’s because he’s thinking. And you’ve been so busy with work and the rapidly approaching final exams, that you haven’t been home as much as you want to.

“What’s wrong?” You ask quietly, twisting yourself around Megumi to peer up at his tired face.

“M’fine,” Megumi replies after a short pause. 

You frown, “...what’re you thinking about then?”

Megumi hates how you know him. After the catastrophe that was his confession to you, you’ve been more sensitive to and observant of Megumi’s changes in behaviour. You can now so easily tell the difference between Megumi’s genuine exhaustion and when his thoughts start to spiral into insecurity and anxiousness. 

“Just stuff.” Ah, Megumi Fushiguro, a man of many words.

“You wanna tell me about it?” You don’t ever push. Sometimes Megumi does want to talk about it, other times he just wants to curl up on the couch with you to distract himself. It worries you no matter what though.

Megumi knows he should talk about it with you. He’s been trying really hard to tell you about things that are bothering him since when he used to talk about it with his ex, she would rattle off insults about him being too clingy or too nervous or too paranoid. 

But you’re different.

You pay attention to him, holding his hand so gently and letting him get the words out on his own, no matter how long it takes or how much he stumbles over his thoughts. 

It took him about forty minutes to ask you if you’d be his girlfriend.

“And I… I think that–” Megumi cuts himself off, running a hand through his messy hair and avoiding eye contact with you by staring at the ceiling then the floor.

Your hand holding his is making him even more nervous. Your thumb strokes over his knuckles, your knee touching his as the two of you sit on the couch, the movie you were watching long forgotten.

“Do you… Is it okay with you if we, uh. Fuck… We’re dating, right?”

You chuckle softly, “yeah, we’re dating,” you ponder for a moment. “You’ve been taking me on dates, right?”

Megumi gives an amused huff, “that’s what they were intended as.”

“Okay, then I’m confident in saying that yes, we’re dating,” you giggle. 

Megumi always over-thinks the plans he makes. Wondering if you will like the picnic he planned (with the help of Nobara and Yuko who were sending him far too many pinterest screenshots at 3am), wondering if you’d like the restaurant he picked (you’re determined to try almost everything on the menu and claim he’ll have to roll you home), and wondering if you still like him.

He knows it’s irrational. You are always so excited to see him at the end of every day, always so excited to tell him about your day and ask about his even if he spent the whole day at home.

“Will you… Would you want me to be your boyfriend?” Fuck. He asked it wrong. “Wait, I meant will you be my girlfriend?”

The smile that spills across your face is so happy and so bright and you crash tackle him onto the couch, squealing in delight and pressing kisses to his face as Megumi just chuckles (mostly with relief). “I would love to be your girlfriend!”

“Really?”

“Of course! …It was so worth the forty-five minutes of stammering–”

“Hey!”

“M’just thinking about you,” Megumi finally forces out, a nervous pit forming in his stomach as his eyes flicker around the room, unable to meet your gaze.

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, slipping your hands into Megumi’s and playing with his warm fingers. You know deep down he’s feeling anxious and worried about things regarding you and your relationship, you know none of it is malicious because that’s just the way Megumi is; always thinking.

Megumi shrugs, “js’ worried about me being… too paranoid and stuff.”

Your expression softens and you reach a hand up to cup Megumi’s jaw, gently forcing his head to tilt down and his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes flicker between his and you smile softly, “you’re not too paranoid, Megumi. You’re a good person and you worry about doing and saying the right thing.”

Megumi chews on the inside of his cheek, “...you sure?”

“Always,” you beam. “You never have to worry about me… ‘cus I like-like you,” you giggle quietly.

Megumi’s lips tug into a smile, “I like-like you too.”

You press up on your tiptoes, hands snaking around Megumi’s neck to toy with the shorter baby hairs at his nape. His eyes glance down to your lips, still tinted pinkish with the strawberry-flavoured lipgloss you love so much. 

You smile before leaning up to press a slow peck to his lips, revelling in the way Megumi gently pulls you closer by your waist, hands so big yet so gentle as they hold you close to his body. You taste like strawberries, some of your lipgloss smearing onto Megumi’s lips.

You chuckle lightly, lifting your thumb to rub the gloss off his lips, “Ozawa asked if we wanted to hang out Saturday night too.”

Megumi moves some of your hair out of your face, “doing what?”

“Mm, bowling and arcade games? Maybe some drinks? I thought it would be nice to hang out with them since we haven’t in a while,” you shrug. 

Megumi hums, “if you want to.”

You smile softly, “only if you want to.”

“I never want to.”

“Yeah, I know,” you chuckle. Megumi isn’t exactly social, he would prefer to stay cooped up in the apartment with you, both of you lounging around in your pyjamas and watching movies or playing video games (a.k.a. Megumi playing CoD while you play Animal Crossing). 

Megumi watches your expression falter a little and his heart squeezes, “but I’ll go.”

Your face lights up, “really?”

“Mhm,” he hums, “I’ll win you a plushie in the claw machine.”

“A Hello Kitty one?”

“Sure.”

“Yay!”

—

You practically sprint toward Yuko when you see her. She’s sitting at a bar table next to Yuji, his hand resting on her thigh, but she promptly swats his hand away and leaps off the barstool to tackle you in a crushing hug.

“Eee! Y/N, I’ve missed you!” Yuko sways you from side to side, able to bear hug you with how much taller she is than you (and with her chunky heels on). “I haven’t seen you in, like, so long.”

“I saw you three days ago,” you giggle against her shoulder. 

“Yeah, but that was work, it doesn’t count,” she tuts, pulling away from you and giving you a disapproving look. 

“Right, of course,” you roll your eyes playfully.

Yuko peers behind you at your bored-looking boyfriend who stands a few feet away from you with his hands stuffed in his pockets and your adorable pink kitty bag slung over his shoulder, “hi, Fushiguro… cute purse.”

Megumi sticks his hand up in a half-assed wave, “m’trying something different,” he jokes with a bored expression. Anyone who didn’t know Megumi would think he was being dead serious with how his jokes tend to come across.

Yuko chuckles, “come on, we’ve been waiting for you guys forever.” Yuko tugs on your hand and you reach your own hand out for Megumi, who catches you easily with his long strides and laces his fingers with yours. 

“Heeey!” Yuji drawls, “what took you dorks so long?”

“Traffic, you know,” you shrug. 

That’s a lie; Megumi was too busy laying you down on the dining room table so he could stick his head under your skirt and eat you out because you looked so damn cute in your pretty outfit.

“Sure,” Yuji gives a Megumi a shit-eating grin, to which Megumi rolls his eyes and moves to pull a chair out for you at the table.

“You want a drink?” Megumi asks, peering down at you as he helps you into your chair.

“Mmm, surprise me,” you smile, pressing a kiss to Megumi’s cheek and inwardly beaming at how his cheeks dust a little pink at your affection, especially in front of his friends.

“Sure,” Megumi ruffles your hair, but not enough to ruin it because he knows you spent a lot of time making it look pretty in the bathroom mirror. Megumi promptly disappears into the huge crowd forming around the bar (given it’s a Saturday night, you’re not exactly surprised).

“You two are so cute,” Yuko nudges your shoulder playfully.

You smile, “he’s cute.”

Nobara makes gagging sounds from across the table, “boo, get a room.”

Maki elbows her, “you’re just jealous ‘cus you don’t have a boyfriend,” she says cooly, taking a sip of her martini.

“Rude,” Nobara retorts, dramatically rubbing her shoulder.

“S’okay, Nobara, we’ll fine you a boyfriend,” Yuko chuckles.

“Ew, no thanks,” Nobara scoffs, “men are gross.”

“That’s not very nice,” Yuji whines, his voice muffled from the mouthful of burger shoved in his face.

Nobara raises her brows and points at him, “see?”

Yuko chuckles and picks up a napkin, gently wiping the sauce and crumbs from Yuji’s cheek. He just sits there with a little smile on his face (if he was a dog his tail would be wagging happily, let’s be honest).

You chat with everyone for a while, finally meeting Maki’s boyfriend Yuta and his friend Inumaki (who doesn’t talk much from what you’ve gathered). But as soon as the boys leave to grab more drinks from the bar (they noticed Megumi was at the front of the line and decided to hijack his spot), Nobara and Yuko lean in toward you while Maki rolls her eyes.

“So…” Nobara drawls, scooting her chair closer to yours.

You look at your friends, the tips of your ears feeling hot from the sudden attention. “What?” You huff out a nervous laugh.

“You and Fushiguro done the ol’...” Nobara wiggles her brows childishly to emphasise her point. 

You roll your eyes playfully, “that’s none of your business.”

“So that’s a no,” Maki chimes in matter-of-factly.

You’ve only met Maki a handful of times but you like her. She’s quiet and intimidating but she always offers sound advice as opposed to Nobara who lives for disrupting your peace. 

But no, you and Megumi haven’t had sex yet. You’ve come close a few times but Megumi is quick to hold back, instead kissing down your tits and your tummy to eat you out or slipping his fingers into your panties to get you off. 

It’s not that you don’t want to have sex. You absolutely do. You don’t want anyone other than Megumi to be the one to take your virginity. 

But Megumi avoids it and he always seems to be battling some kind of inner turmoil when you hint at him having sex with you. Whether you ask if he’s got a condom or you reach for the waistband of his pants– he’s quick to redirect you and you want to ask him, you really do, but it makes you wonder if he’s unhappy with you or maybe he simply doesn’t want to have sex with you.

You try not to be insecure about it because Megumi loves being between your legs, he loves touching you behind closed doors and worshipping you with kisses and lovebites. And he loves it even more when you’re on your knees in front of him, his hands wrapped around your hair and pulling into a makeshift ponytail so you can take him into your mouth uninterrupted (you’re getting pretty good at it, you think).

But it still makes feel insecure.

“You should do it whenever you’re ready,” Yuko smiles warmly, her hand holding yours. You love your best friend to pieces, always the voice of reason in these situations.

But the thing is; you are ready. It’s Megumi who holds back.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh, squeezing Yuko’s hand gently. 

“I got you this… thing,” Megumi suddenly appears behind you, placing down a fizzy sweet-looking pink drink topped with edible glitter and a little umbrella. “The bartender said it was popular.”

You smile in delight, “oh it’s so pretty! Thank you, Gumi,” You turn in your chair and plant a hard kiss to the underside of Megumi’s jaw. 

“‘Welcome,” Megumi replies, nursing his own drink (which looks exceptionally normal compared to yours). 

Megumi pulls a chair around to sit beside you, basically forcing Nobara to move over (who attempts to put up a fight but Megumi simply moves her himself). You rest your head on Megumi’s shoulder and he goes a little stiff at the simple form of affection.

Megumi isn’t big on PDA, he prefers to show you how much he cares for you in the privacy of your apartment or when he’s confident that the two of you are alone. But you like showing him off, holding his hand, peppering his face with kisses, hugging him from behind as you wait in line at the grocery store. You’re a little snuggle bug and Megumi is slowly, slowly, getting used to it.

“You gonna win me a Hello Kitty plushie, right?” you tease, wrapping your hands around Megumi’s muscular arm.

“Even if it takes me five tries,” he replies with an amused smile.

It takes him more than ten.

“This shit is a scam,” Megumi grunts, giving an annoyed kick to the neon purple machine filled with soft pastel plushies.

You stand beside him laughing into your hand, “s’okay, Gumi–”

“I’ve spent like forty dollars,” he huffs, “on one machine.”

“Come on, we should play something else,” you tug on his arm, “I already have about four of every sanrio plushie anyway,” you shrug.

Megumi’s jaw clenches and he sighs in frustration, eventually giving in to your protests and letting you tug him off the claw machine to play some other game. The arcade is huge, there are plenty of other games to spend forty dollars on instead of a goofy claw machine.

“We should play space invaders– oh! Or DDR!” you beam.

“I don’t have the coordination for DDR… or the energy,” Megumi grumbles.

You giggle, “right, let’s play space invaders.”

Megumi trails behind you the whole evening, playing games with you and absolutely refusing to let you pay for any of them. You always pull some coins out or your card and he promptly swats your hand away or wraps his strong arm around your middle, pinning your arms to your sides and lifting you away from the machine so he can pay.

You appreciate him doing this with you considering he doesn’t like being social all that much (all his friends think it’s crazy you managed to get him to come along tonight). But really, you know Megumi isn’t doing it because he wants to, he’s doing it because you want to and it makes your heart swell and your body want to melt into a puddle of happiness.

“Oh, boo, this is a scam,” you mutter to yourself as you attempt to win yourself a My Melody plushie in a new claw machine. Megumi was dragged off by Yuji to play some shooting game with Yuta and Inumaki and you snuck off to play another claw machine (and pay without him knowing). You saw that the plushie looked loose and you were sure you could win it if you nudged the claw just right.

You gave up after three tries and grabbed your bag to rejoin your boyfriend and his friends on the other side of the arcade. You spot your pretty boyfriend quickly, giggling as you hear him bickering with Yuji over not shooting straight.

“Uh, hey,” a voice appears beside you.

“Hm?” You peer to the side and notice a taller guy wearing a beanie looking at you, he’s holding a plushie out toward you.

“I saw you trying to win that pink bunny thing…” he holds out the My Melody plushie you were attempting to win.

“Oh,” you beam, “that’s really sweet!”

He laughs softly, “that’s okay… I’m Ino.”

“I’m Y/N–”

You suddenly feel a looming presence behind you. You peer up at Megumi, his eyes harsh and narrowed toward this guy talking to you.

“Uh, hi?” Ino forces out.

“Can I help you?” Megumi deadpans, his jaw slightly clenched in annoyance.

Ino barely offers him a glance, “I was just giving this pretty girl the plushie thing she was trying to win–”

“She doesn’t want it,” Megumi forces his lips into a condiscending smile.

Ino looks between the two of you before clearing his throat, “boyfriend, huh?”

“Mhm,” Megumi hums, his hand snaking around your waist and grabbing at your hip.

“Right,” Ino nods, “sorry, man.” He doesn’t seem sorry with how he mockingly laughs at Megumi’s protectiveness of you.

“Whatever,” Megumi huffs. 

Ino promptly disappears, handing the plushie off to some other drunk girl on his way out. You chew on the inside of your lip before turning to Megumi, “Gumi–”

“What?” Megumi spits, a little harsher than he meant it.

You press your lips together, “nevermind,” you sigh, forcing his arm off you and leaving to join Yuji, Yuko and the others, Megumi trudging behind with his hands in his pockets and feeling his mood rapidly plummeting into a mix of annoyance and insecurity. 

Megumi’s jaw is tight with tension and he feels like shit because he didn’t watch his tone when he talked to you. He gets protective of you and perhaps a little jealous. And he knows it’s stupid being annoyed and upset over not being able to win you a fucking plushie from a children’s arcade game, but he promised you and this guy managed to do it in one try and actively sought you out to give it to you.

“You two okay?” Yuko asks curiously, almost startling Megumi as he stands at yet another claw machine.

Yuko saw the way your mood immediately changed after your interaction with that guy, instantly becoming a little sad and not as bubbly and talkative as your little group moved around to play more games.

Sure Megumi wasn’t always super affectionate toward you in public, but he wasn’t even staying near you or holding your hand anymore.

“Fine,” Megumi retorts, eyes still glued to the pink plushie he’s trying to win you.

“...Did she upset you?”

“No.”

“Did you upset her?” 

“I don’t know,” Megumi shrugs.

Yuko sighs, “maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Yuko lets out an amused laugh, “Fushiguro, she always wants to talk to you.”

Megumi feels a pang in his chest at that, feeling bad that he didn’t even attempt to drag you off to the bathroom or outside so he could talk to you. He’s still trying to get better at the talking, he was just fucking embarrassed. 

The machine suddenly chimes, a little song playing as a plushie falls in behind the collection door.

“Hey, you won,” Yuko beams.

Megumi bends down, pulling the plushie out of the machine and scoffing; it wasn’t the My Melody plushie he as aiming for.

Yuko laughs, plucking the bored-looking penguin plushie from his hand and holding it up, “I see the resemblance.”

“Who even is this?” Megumi takes it back, squeezing the soft toy in his large hands,

“It’s Badtz Maru,” Yuko replies, “looks a bit like you.”

“Mm,” Megumi makes a noise of annoyance. 

Yuko nudges his shoulder, “she might like it even more,” she sings softly. 

Megumi walks around the arcade looking for you, peering around corners and looking through the claw machine section in search of you. He can’t find you. He spots Itadori, Inumaki, Yuta and Maki but can’t find you anywhere. He asks Yuko and Nobara and they shake their heads with a shrug.

How did no one know where you were?

“Where’d she go?” Nobara looks around for you.

“I’ll call her,” Yuko offers.

“S’okay, I’ll call her,” Megumi replies, pressing on your contact and holding his phone to his ear. The call rings before your voice message comes through. Megumi grunts in annoyance. He starts to worry as he texts you a few times, asking where you are. You don’t respond in the record speed you normally do and he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

He walks around the arcade a few more times, then he finally spots you.

He relaxes a little at the sight of you, but it’s short lived when he spots that fucking guy again. He’s leaning against the wall, basically trapping you in a corner as you attempt to curl away from him, your back flush against the wall.

“U-Uh, I should get back to my friends,” you laugh nervously, your hands wrapping tightly around the strap of your purse.

“Lemme walk you t’them then,” he offers.

You look around anxiously, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Uh, no thanks, I can go myself–” Ino suddenly puts a hand on your upper arm.

Megumi surges forward, slightly blinded by anger and annoyance as he pushes the guy away from you, forcing some space between you. Ino stumbles back, clearly intoxicated with how he struggles to catch himself, his hands flailing around to catch himself against the wall.

“She said back off,” Megumi spits, forcing himself in front of you protectively.

“I ws’ just talking to her,” Ino slurs back.

“And she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Megumi retorts, forcing him onto his feet and half-pushing him away. “So fuck off.”

Ino scoffs, “whatever, bro. Was just tryna be nice.” Megumi rolls his eyes at the shitty excuse, jaw clenched angrilly until the guy finally leaves, stumbling off back to the bar. 

Megumi suddenly hears you sniffle and his expression instantly softens, shoulders relaxing as he spins around to look at you. You have your back pressed against the wall, your face a little flushed with embarrassment. Your hands are pressed to your face, hiding yourself from him.

“Baby?” Megumi coos, reaching a gentle hand out to pull your hands away from your pretty face.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, your bottom lip quivering as your eyes gloss over with tears.

Megumi’s heart sinks and he sighs, pulling you to his chest to crush you in a hug, a hand stroking the back of your hair. You press your face into his chest, staying there for a moment and melting into his warmth. 

“M’sorry I was mean,” he says against your hair.

“You weren’t mean,” you mumble, “I was being dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Y/N. You thought he was doing a nice thing for you,” Megumi replies. He pauses for a moment before deciding to admit his thoughts to you, “...I was js’ jealous.”

You pull away from him, a bit of your makeup staining the fabric of his black shirt. “Why were you jealous?”

You never thought Megumi could be jealous. He always seems so laidback and bored that you assumed everything was water off a duck’s back to him. But you were obviously sorely mistaken.

“M’always jealous when it’s you,” Megumi shrugs, eyes glancing away as he admits it to you, his face dusted a light pink.

You grin cutely, “you like-like me,” you poke his chest.

“Shut up,” Megumi mumbles, earning a soft laugh from you. He suddenly remembers the Badtz Maru plushie in his other hand. He lifts it up toward you, “I won this for you.”

You pout, “really?”

“Mhm,” Megumi nods, handing it to you.

You squish the softness in your hands before giggling, “looks like you.”

“I don’t see it,” he grumbles.

“He could be your son!”

“It’s a plushie, Y/N.”

Megumi has a winning streak after the two of you make up, winning you a bag of sweets, a pair of earbuds in that impossible to win string-cutting game, and wins you a Hello Kitty plushie that is almost half the size of you. 

You carry it around with a big smile plastered across your face and earning jealous glances from other people who have obviously been trying to win the massive toy. You walk around with it under your arm, your other hand in Megumi’s.

“You guys ready to go?” Yuji asks, “‘cus I am officially broke.”

Yuko giggles, “okay, lets go, baby.”

Yuji plants a kiss on Yuko’s nose, then another on her cheek, then another on her forehead before peppering kisses in a circle around her face, his hands resting on her hips as she giggles.

You smile softly at them, your hand unintentionally squeezing Megumi’s.

“Yuck, get a room!” Nobara gags. 

Megumi watches you smile at your friends, resting your head against his shoulder. He feels his heart thumping in his chest, suddenly feeling the urge to show you the same affection. He doesn’t like PDA, he thinks its gross and people should just save it for the privacy of their home. But he can see how people like it, being able to show off their partner in public so people know they belong to them and no one else.

You feel Megumi’s eyes on you and you peer up at him, “you okay, Gumi?”

He suddenly presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You smile against his lips and he pulls away, planting another kiss to your cheek then your hair.

You grin at him when he pulls away from you, “what was that for?”

Megumi shrugs, “I just wanted to.”

You point your finger at him, “who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, “oh, ha-ha.”

—

You sigh with relief once you kick your heels off at the door, your shoes landing haphazardly in the corner as you lug your new plushies down the hall. Megumi follows you, dropping his keys in the bowl on the side table in the hallway. 

You and Megumi have made up, but Megumi still has something on his mind. He knows exactly what it is but he feels weird bringing it up again since you’ve already worked it out. 

But you can tell there’s something on his mind.

You drop your plushies in your room, putting your Badtz Marui plush on your bed so you can sleep next to it (it can be your Megumi stand-in when he’s busy or away). Megumi is sitting on the couch when you come out of your room, he’s scrolling on his phone absentmindedly, jaw tight with tension.

You pad over to him, gently pulling his head back to rest on the back of the couch. You peer over him, your hands gently resting on his shoulders. 

“You okay, Gumi?” You ask, lifting your hands to stroke your thumbs across his jaw.

“M’fine,” he replies.

You frown, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Not tell me,” you sigh. “I can tell when you’re sad or you’re thinking about stuff, I want you to be able to talk to me.”

“I really am fine, Y/N,” he huffs, pullin away from your hands and getting up off the couch. 

“I’m not your ex, Megumi,” you stare at the back of his head. 

Megumi visibly stiffens, “...I know that.”

“Do you?” You ask without thinking, “because I really care about you n’ I’ve been trying to be patient and understanding but I–” you cut yourself off, sighing sadly.

Megumi turns to look at you, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek like he always does when he’s nervous. “I know you’re not her, Y/N. You’ve never made me feel the way she has.”

Your shoulders relax and you glance away. You still get insecure about Megumi having an ex, mostly because she’s got to see parts of him you haven’t yet, but in the same breath, she was awful to him and is part of the reason he’s wound so tight and struggles to talk.

You don’t even think when it falls from your mouth, “why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

Megumi’s eyes widen and he feels his heart in his throat. He stiffens, unable to form anything other than– “W-What?”

You sigh, “I know it’s stupid. I just… I wanna have sex… with you. And it just seems like you don’t want to… with me.”

Megumi’s heart aches painfully. Of course he wants to have sex with you. He wants to every day like some kind of maniac, but you’re too good for him (at least that’s what he thinks). And it’s important to him that your first time is perfect and special and Megumi can be a fucking wreck a lot of the time, unable to communicate simple things with you, unable to convey his feelings in a way that’s coherent and not total gibberish.

He can’t shake the fear of him being too needy and paranoid toward you. You’re so special to him and he fears losing you. Fears that one wrong move will send you packing or make you hate him.

“I…” Megumi squeezes his hands into fists, trying to release the tension inside his chest. “Y/N, I do want to.”

You peer up at him, eyes glossed over, “...I’ve beent trying to like… hint at it but you–”

“I’m scared,” Megumi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I mean… I’m not scared, m’just worried.”

Your brows furrow, “worried?”

“I want it to be special for you,” Megumi admits, “I’m just always thinking that I’m not special enough for you.”

Your heart cracks and you feel like crying and wrapping Megumi up and crushing him in a bear hug and covering him in kisses. Because how could he not think he’s special enough for you?

“Gumi,” you sigh out his nickname and he wipes his eyes. You pout, padding around the couch to press your body against him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a tight hug.

He hugs you back, chin resting on your head gently. 

“You’re perfect for me, Gumi,” you murmur. “There’s no one else I trust more in the world than you.”

Megumi squeezes you a little tighter, “I’m not good at talking.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I know.”

“I want to be better at it, ‘cus you’re my priority now,” he says, heart beating rapidly in his chest at his confession. “And I’m worried that I’m too paranoid or needy… I don’t want to– I can’t lose you.” You pull away from him a fraction, a tear slipping down your cheek. Megumi catches it, “don’t cry. Please.”

You sniffle, “I don’t want to lose you either, Megumi.” You wrap your arms around his neck, his strong arms still wrapped around the small of your back. “But you need to talk to me, even if you think it’s stupid… Because I tell you stupid stuff all the time and you still listen.”

Megumi chuckles softly, “yeah, I know.”

You cup his cheek, beaming as he leans into your touch, “offer yourself a little kindness, Gumi. You’re too hard on yourself.”

He knows you’re right, you’re always right. 

He nods, “I’m gonna try,” he sighs.

“You’re already doing good,” you praise, “I’m still going to be here no matter what.”

“Promise?”

You grin, “I promise.” You hook your pinky with his.

“Then I have something else I need to tell you,” he forces out.

You frown, “okay…”

“I didn’t like that that guy grabbed you,” Megumi huffs, “it made me really fucking mad.”

You chuckle softly, “you handled it, though.”

“But still,” Megumi’s jaw clenches. “Asshole.”

“You don’t like that some other guy touched me?”

“I wanted him dead right then and there,” Megumi’s arms squeeze around you a little tighter. 

“Mm, that’s pretty hot,” you giggle.

“...Hot?” Megumi seems confused.

You shrug, “yeah… I like that my boyfriend wants me all to himself.”

Megumi pauses, any words that he could possibly think of getting caught in his throat. Your giggles die in your chest as Megumi’s steely eyes bore into you, an intensity settling in the air.

“Gumi?”

Megumi’s eyes flicker down to your lips, “m’gonna kiss you.”

You grin, “I’d never be opposed to that,” you whisper.

Megumi’s lips are on yours in an instant, his big hands resting on your hips and pulling you against him. One of his hands rests on the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. He forces a whine from your lips when his tongue swipes across your glossed lips. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, slowly backing you up against the wall and knocking some poor unsuspecting vase onto the floor.

It smashes on the ground and you yelp in surprise, “G-Gumi–”

“We’ll fucking clean it later,” he grunts, forcing your jaw to tilt upward so he can kiss you again. Your hands squeeze the fabric of his shirt, your tits pressing against his chest as he grinds his hard-on against your thigh. 

The two of you awkwardly crash through your apartment before you finally get to your bedroom door, giggling at how eager Megumi is to get you onto your bed. Your bed is a little bigger than his and always makes it easier for cuddle sessions and Megumi always looks so cute with his dark hair and dark clothes in your pretty pink, white and pastel room. 

Your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up his abdomen and chest. Megumi helps you, finally pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. His lips connect with yours again, forcing you back until the back of your thighs hit the mattress. Megumi lets go of you, letting you fall back.

You giggle, scooting yourself up your bed and eyeing your strikingly hot boyfriend with his pretty abs out and staring down at you like he wants to devour you. Megumi just stares at you, his eyes raking over your pretty spread thighs, peeking at your lacy pink panties under your skirt, almost salivating at how pretty your tits look almost spilling out of your top– his eyes meet yours, your pretty eyes wide with lust and just pure adoration.

You are his favourite person.

“I love you.”

You pause, lips parting slightly as Megumi’s words finally sink in. You press up on your elbows, eyes widening, “what did you say?”

Megumi presses his lips together, wondering if he should back track. But no, he needs to be honest with you and himself, he owes it to you and to himself. “I said I love you.”

“You love me?” you pause, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

Megumi crawls onto the bed, body hovering over yours and his hands pinned on other side of your head as he just looks at you, taking in every part of you. “You told me I should be honest.”

You beam, “Megumi–”

“Don’t say anything,” he says softly, “js’ let it stay out there for a minute.”

You close your mouth, a smile tugging at your lips. Megumi grins at you, the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen, before he leans his head down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s slow and so loving, he’s gentle with you as one hand comes up to cradle your face.

He pulls away after a minute and you smile, “I love you too.”

Megumi pauses before he lets out an amused laugh, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

“Say it again,” he teases.

“I love you,” you whisper, holding his face in your hands. Megumi leans down, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You tilt your head up to give him more access as his teeth gently nip at your skin.

“Again.”

“I love you, Gumi,” you whine out as he sucks on a particularly sensitive part of your neck, leaving a angry red mark on your skin. 

Megumi’s hand slips under your top, pushing it up your tummy and over your tits. You help him pull your top over your head, leaving you in your skirt and your pretty pink lacy bra that makes your boobs sit like pretty soft pillows against your chest.

“S’beautiful,” Megumi mutters, trailing kisses down your neck and down between your tits, his hand snaking under your body to unclasp your bra.

No matter how many times Megumi sees you naked, you still get nervous under how intense yet adoring his gaze is. You feel your heart hammer in your chest as Megumi toys with your hardened nipples, his eyes occasionally flickering up to your face to catch your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whine.

Megumi chuckles, “like what? Like I love you?”

“Like you want to devour me,” you correct with an amused laugh.

“Mm, no promises,” he smiles, pressing a peck to your lips.

Megumi’s large veiny hand squeezes your soft breast, kneading the flesh in his hand while flicks his tongue over your hardened nipple, leaving hot wet kisses all over the pretty mound of skin. Your hand tangles in his hair, forcing his mouth down further. He gives a gentle bite to your skin, forcing a pretty whimper from your lips.

Megumi kisses down your tummy, one hand still squeezing your breast while the other trails up your thigh and underneath your skirt. You feel your skin prickle at the feeling of his gentle fingers trailing across your soft skin, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your body.

You tug on Megumi’s wrist, forcing him back up your body, “what is it, baby?” He asks breathlessly.

You press a peck to his lips, “I wan’ you to touch me,” you murmur against his slightly chapped lips.

“Oh yeah?” Megumi asks, his tone a little teasing.

“Mhm,” you nod quickly.

Megumi chuckles, trailing his hands up the inside of your thigh and pressing his fingers against the damp patch forming on your panties, “mm, someone’s excited,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you mutter, forcing his lips back onto yours.

Megumi rubs against your clothed clit, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers at the sounds you were making because of him. The smell of your arousal lingers in the air of your room as Megumi forces your legs to spread open a little more, finally slipping his hand down your panties to feel your slick pussy against his fingers.

“S’wet, princess,” he murmurs against your cheek.

“All f’you,” you whine as Megumi nudges your clit with the tip of his middle finger.

Megumi pulls his hand from your panties, forcing you to whimper at the loss of contact but he quickly slips his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling the soaked fabric down your legs and tossing them onto the floor. 

Megumi manhandles you into his lap, laying his upper body against your headboard and forcing you to sit between his legs with your back to his chest. 

“W-What are we doing?”

Megumi gently holds your jaw, forcing you to look at the mirror across the room in front of your bed, the same mirror you take your cute little outfit of the day photos in every day. You suddenly feel embarrassed seeing yourself so vulnerable. Your legs are spread, one knee hooked over Megumi’s muscular forearm while the other is propped up, forcing your soaked pussy lips open.

“Look how pretty you are,” Megumi mutters against your ear, his large hand squeezing at your tits.

“Gumi, this is embarrassing,” you whine.

Megumi presses a kiss to your cheek, “just watch.”

You press your mouth closed as Megumi trails his fingers down your tummy, dragging two of his fingers down your glistening slit. You throw your head against his shoulder as he nudges your neglected clit, fingertips circling the little bundle of nerves agonisingly slowly. 

“F-Faster, Gumi, please,” you moan, your hands squeezing Megumi’s strong thighs.

“Shh,” Megumi coos, “be patient, baby.”

Megumi slips his fingers down your slit, pressing his middle finger against your sopping hole. Your thighs instinctively spread apart further and Megumi slowly slips his finger inside you, his long finger dragging against your gummy walls. 

You whine, hand gripping his wrist as he starts to curl his finger inside you, pressing against that spongy spot inside you, “m-more.”

Megumi chuckles at your desperation, pressing a second finger into you. You whine at the burning stretch, subconsciously grinding your hips down on his fingers, your ass unknowingly grinding on his hard-on in his boxers. 

“Look at you,” Megumi mutters against your ear. 

Your eyes flicker up to your reflection. Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your baby hairs are stuck to your forehead and Megumi’s eyes are glued to your cunt, watching his thick fingers disappear inside you. You whine, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks them into you.

Megumi presses against the spongey spot inside you, the ball of his palm rubbing against your clit and making you fucking dizzy. You feel your tummy start to burn, your nails scraping against Megumi’s clothed thighs as your hips grind and roll against his hand.

“G-Gumi, m’gonna cum,” you whimper.

“S’okay, baby,” Megumi coos, “cum f’me.”

“N-No,” you force out, your hand wrapping around his strong wrist in an attempt to stop him from forcing an orgasm out of you.

“No?” Megumi slows his movements, the lewd squelching sounds in your room silencing as he gently pulls his fingers from your sopping pussy. “What’s wrong?”

You pant, whimpering as the burn in your tummy fades and you feel so fucking pent up. Megumi’s face is laced with concern as he turns you on your side in his lap. You give him a tired smile, “please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please,” you whine, “I need your cock, Gumi.”

Megumi grunts, “fuck, baby.”

“Please,” you beg, “please, I’ll be s’good.”

Megumi cups your face, pressing his lips hard against yours. Your swollen lips move against his, your hand tangling in his messy hair. Megumi pulls away from you slightly, pressing his arousal-soaked fingers against your tongue. You whine when you taste yourself on his fingers, your tummy jumping with excitement as you suck his fingers clean.

“Such a good girl,” Megumi praises, kissing your forehead. 

Megumi forces you onto your back, your body bouncing against the soft mattress slightly. Megumi rests his thighs on either side of your hips, tugging your legs over his hips. You’ve never had your pussy this close to his cock and your mind is reeling with excitement.

Your shaky hands reach for the waistband of his pants but Megumi quickly forces your hands above your head, pinning your wrists together, “you said you’d behave.”

“Mm, you can’t blame me for being excited,” you whine pathetically. 

Megumi only chuckles at how damn cute you are before he forces his pants down his hips, kicking them off across the room, leaving him in just his boxers. There’s a wet patch forming on his boxers and your mouth salivates at the idea of him finally fucking you with his big cock that you’ve had in your mouth many times before. 

“S’big,” you compliment, wrists wriggling against his large hand still pinning them above your head.

“You sure about this?”

There’s a sudden intense seriousness in the air. You peer up at Megumi and he looks nervous, his teeth nipping at the inside of his bottom lip. He lets go of your wrists and you reach up to cup his face, forcing his steely eyes to meet yours, “Megumi Fushiguro,” you call softly.

“Mm?”

“I love you,” you sigh. “There’s no one I want more to take my virginity than you.”

Megumi lets out a shaky breath, “...you sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” you grin.

“Because I really want you to be mine.”

“I’m already yours, Megumi.”

Megumi lets out a huff of a laugh, leaning down to pepper kisses across your forehead and down your nose to your lips, forcing a soft giggle from your chest. 

Megumi reaches down slowly, pulling his boxers down his hips until his cock springs free, the angry red tip leaking with precum. You peer down at his pretty cock, eyeing the vein you trace with your tongue every time you suck him off, noting how heavy it is as it struggles to hold itself up. 

Megumi sighs, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and pumping a few times, his eyes never leaving yours. You cup his face, forcing him to kiss you one more time before he sits up, scooting his hips closer to yours.

He eyes you one more time, looking for any sign of regret or hesitation. You don’t offer any, eyes wide and almost sparkling with anticipation. Megumi holds his cock and lets it slap against your tummy, the tip almost reaching your belly button.

Your brows furrow and you wonder what he’s doing. Then it sort of dawns on you.

He’s sizing you up. 

“M’gonna be right here,” Megumi presses the tip of his finger to the spot just below your belly button. His eyes meet yours and all you can do is meekly nod, your heart slamming against your chest. You knew Megumi was big but now that he’s fucking sizing you up and showing you where he’s gonna be inside you, you’re starting to get a little nervous. 

But fuck you want him inside you.

You buck your hips up and Megumi chuckles, “s’eager.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you grumble playfully. Megumi smiles, scooting your hips up and leaning over to quickly kiss your forehead one more time.

“You tell me if it gets too much,” Megumi says seriously. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You smile, “you won’t hurt me.”

Megumi nods slowly before gently gripping the head of his cock, rubbing the precum-covered tip against your swollen clit. Your hands grip the sheets and you bite your lip to keep the whines at bay. Megumi breathes heavily as he dips his tip down to your soaked hole, your arousal slipping out of you and dripping down your ass. 

“Look at me,” Megumi orders softly.

You open your eyes, not realising you’d pressed them closed. 

“Please,” Megumi sighs, “I wanna watch your face when I put it in.”

God, this fucking guy is gonna be the death of you.

He presses the tip into your cunt, groaning softly at your tightness as your pussy swallows his tip eagerly. Your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate his size. He presses into you slowly, letting your tight cunt stretch around him to get used to his size. 

“G-Gumi–” you whine out.

“Y-You okay, baby? What’s wrong?” Megumi stills his movements.

You pant slightly, chest heaving, “feels s’good.”

Megumi sighs a little in relief, hand coming up to cup your jaw as he presses his thick cock into you. He’s over halfway when you let out another whimper, your thighs shaking slightly with the stretch.

“Still okay?”

“Mhm, almost in?” you ask.

“Just over halfway.”

“Halfway?!” you force out.

Megumi chuckles before pressing his fingertip to the space between your pretty pussy lips and your belly button. “M’about here.”

“Holy fuck,” you pant. “So fucking big.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he chuckles. “It’ll go straight to my head,” he jokes.

“Mm, s’true.”

Megumi laces his fingers with yours on the sheets, his steely blue eyes staying glued to your face as he pushes the rest of the way in, your soaked pussy sucking him in. Once he finally bottoms out, you let out a shaky sigh at the fullness.

“F-Feel okay?” Megumi’s voice shakes, feeling like he’s gonna cum like a damn teenager with how tight you are around him.

“Mm,” you screw your eyes shut, “you can m-move.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh,” you nod slowly. 

Megumi leans down, lifting your arms and forcing them to wrap around his neck. He plants a kiss to your lips before pulling out– you whine– then he pushes himself back in. Your arms wrap around his neck, forcing Megumi’s head to rest against your shoulder as he pulls almost alllll the way out before plunging back into your tight heat.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Megumi groans, his hips snapping against yours as you hook your ankles together behind him, your thighs squeezing his waist. “S’good, princess.”

You moan and whine against his neck, feeling like he’s rearranging your fucking guts with how big his cock is and how hard he’s fucking you. It almost seems like Megumi needed this more than you with how his hips snap hungrily against yours. 

You tip your head back, mouth falling open as he forces moan after moan from your pretty swollen lips. Megumi reaches a hand down between your bodies, rubbing his thumb over your neglected clit, forcing you closer and closer to orgasm. 

His cock drags against your gummy walls, slick pooling around the base of his cock and soaking the sheets below as your nails drag against Megumi’s strong back, leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

Megumi hisses at the feeling, groaning into your hair as he snaps his hips into yours a little faster, thumb still rubbing your clit, your room is filled with lewd squelching sounds, your pussy so wet and tight around him.

You feel the white-hot pleasure of your orgasm approaching, your belly burning as you arch your back off the bed, letting go of Megumi’s shoulders to grip the sheets. 

Megumi suddenly sits up on his knees, lifting your hips in his strong hands, creating a new angle that makes you scream out in pleasure. His tip fucks against your cervix, surely leaving a bruise. You feel him in your tummy, his sheer size forming a bulge in your tummy. 

“F-Fuck, look at you,” Megumi groans, eyeing the bulge in your tummy.

You toss your head from side to side, your toes curling as Megumi reaches for your hand, forcing you to press down on the bulge in your tummy, his hand over yours. 

Then you just cum. There’s no warning as you gush around him, your vision going stark white as you spray your orgasm across Megumi’s pelvis, his thighs, your own thighs and all over the sheets.

“Fuck, did you just squirt?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. You’re mumbling incoherent noises as Megumi fucks you through your high, his hips snapping harder and harder against yours as he chases his own orgasm. You’re both covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Megumi feels his orgasm fast approaching.

He pulls out of you with a quiet pop, quickly jerking himself off, your arousal making his cock slippery as he cums across your tummy. Hot ropes of cum paint your abdomen and tummy, Megumi panting as he squeezes the base of his cock.

“Mm, you’re fucking perfect, sweet girl,” Megumi praises, panting as he comes down from his high.

“Mm, Gumi,” you whine, voice quiet.

Megumi gently lowers you onto the bed, crawling up your body to cup your face, “are you okay? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “mm-mm, felt s’good.”

Megumi sighs with relief, “we gotta get you up, you have to pee and I gotta clean up–” he peers down at the utter mess you’ve made of the sheets, “–somehow.”

“Sleepover?” You beam.

Megumi chuckles, “sleepover.”

Megumi carries you to the bathroom, running you a warm bath. The two of you share a bath together, Megumi gently washing you hair for you while you make him a bubble crown. You’re obviously sore with how you limp down the hallway to Megumi’s room, clutching your pillow under your arm.

You rest your head against Megumi’s chest, his fingers gently smoothing over your wet hair and tracing down your bare arm.

“Any regrets?” He asks curiously.

“Mm, no,” you reply with a smile. “You made me squirt my first time having sex… I think you have to marry me,” you giggle.

Megumi chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “mm, maybe one day.”

You giggle, sitting up to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” Megumi pauses, “what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” Megumi points to the bored-looking penguin plush he got you. It’s pressed to your chest right between your boobs.

“Oh, you mean your son?”

“Y/N,” he groans. “Get that thing out.”

“I will not!”

“I’ll throw it out the window while you’re sleeping.”

You gasp, “don’t do that to your son!”

“It’s not my son!”

author's note: HEHEHEHEHEHEH

taglist: @starpachinko @2ukika @sukunabish @somethinglikero @wannabewolf @milliex01x @princessa143 @hrithi11 @katsukita69 @slayzzz @arcanefeelings @shirabu-k @izzzzzzig @zah2890 @evergumi @aerareads @flashilyquinn @raedollsstuff @happylildeath @anormieee @l1v1ngzomb1e @kimkimoruo @sunnyf4lls @saekolust @kalulakunundrum @xastoriaaurax @feliaeae @sleepyxzn @raya4643 @kaidostwin

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: daddy kink, overstimulation, forced orgasm.

“I don’t… I don’t know. This is stressing me out.” 

The box in front of you is labeled ‘kitchen’ and you’re staring at it like there’s a bomb inside. 

“Good job with your rule baby. What don’t you know?” 

“This… the appliances, and the bowls, and everything… where do I put it? I don’t want to move your stuff and I don’t want to take up too much space I…” His hands cover yours, thumbs moving in methodical circles across your skin. You’re overwhelmed. You’ve been on the brink all day, dialed down after he took over packing up your apartment, now ramping back up as you try to unpack it and put it away. It’s been a lot, all day, and you’ve taken it on the chin. He’s proud of you.

“Would it help if I did it?” Your lower lip trembles, and you nod. 

“Yes. Please.” 

“Okay.” He kisses your forehead, wiping away one of the fat tears falling down your cheek. “It’s alright. Go upstairs, get in the bath, and relax. I’ll take care of everything that’s left.” You already did your clothes and personal items, things brought over from your bedroom and closets, but the rest of it is too much. You’ve deliberated everything, and he’s happy you’re making his house your home, but you’re getting tired, and anxious. “It’s okay, go on baby.” You sniffle, turning in his arms to rest your cheek on his chest with a sigh. 

“Thank you daddy.” 

“You did a good job today.” You shake your head. 

“I didn’t finish.” You press closer to his side, leg hitched up across his thighs. 

“But you told me when you were stressed and trusted me to take care of the rest. It’s okay if you need my help, you just have to tell me, which you did. I’m very proud of you.” He rubs your back, your hip, kneading as he goes, slowly moving down between your legs, feather light touch ghosting over your panties. He’s been doing it for twenty minutes, teasing you, working you up, and when he finally presses his thumb over your cloth covered clit and you gasp.

“Daddy…” 

“Are you wet for me?” He turns you on your back, peeling your underwear down and off so he can spread your knees open. You’re fully exposed like this, little clit swollen and hard, pussy soaked and glistening, squirming as he studies you. “Oh baby. Look at you.” You throw your arm over your face, trying to hide in your elbow and he chuckles. “Why are you embarrassed?” 

“You’re looking at my… at me.” 

“At your what, sweetheart. Tell me what I’m looking at.” You drop your arm and stare at him with wide eyes. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

“Yes daddy. P-please.” You shake a little, hesitant, nervous, and he rubs your leg encouragingly. 

“You have to say where.” It’s a coaching game. He pushes you step by step, always there, always urging you forward, proud again and again when you rise to whatever challenge he’s posing.

“My… my pussy.” 

“Good girl.” He presses down on your clit, sliding two fingers inside you at the same time, drinking in your gasps and moans. He’s thoroughly enjoying taking things slow, working you up to your first time, soaking up every single moment, every single orgasm along the way. 

But tonight, he’s going to push some boundaries. 

“Your little pussy is so greedy, baby girl. Should daddy make you come?” You lick your lips and nod quickly.  “What do you say?” 

Please daddy, make me unf-  make me c-come, please,” you clench, naturally trying to squeeze him, your body instinctively knowing what to do. Already so close. 

“What a good girl, asking so nicely.” He gives it to you, harder, faster, and your back arches, thighs locking around his arm, the sheets twisting in your grip. Your pussy tries to milk his fingers for something that’s not there, fluttering as you come for him.  

“Oh- Oh my god,” you’re still riding his hand as it ebbs, but when you come down, he doesn’t stop, even as you try to run up the bed and close your legs. 

“You’re going to have one more.” You shake your head frantically. 

“N-no, it’s… ow- ah- it hurts,” He pins you by your hip, preventing your escape, and you shriek. “D-daddy, please-” 

“I know it’s a lot, sweet girl I know. One more, you can do it.” One more orgasm, and one more finger. It’s an overload, and your foot kicks when he pulls back, just to push back inside you with three fingers, groaning at the sight of your tears. “Look at you,” he coos, pumping his cock, “daddy’s girl stretched around his fingers. Are you nice and full?” You groan, the overstimulation bringing tears to your eyes. 

“It’s t-too much,” you cry, but even as you protest, your rhythm changes from tense to chase. 

“You can take it,” he fucks you harder, flicking back and forth across your clit, and your knees fall open, wails turning to moans. “That’s it, good girl. Such a good girl, listening to her daddy.” He tugs his cock free, letting it settle at the top of your slit, ready to explode, and just before you’re falling over the edge, he pulls away to settle his length between your lips, rutting forward to grind his cock against you.

“Oh god-” You fuck yourself against him mindlessly, screaming into your orgasm, crying for your daddy as you rub your clit on the head of his cock, sliding up and down his length, soaking it. It’s enough friction to draw his balls up, more than enough heat to bring his own barreling down, and he shoots cum up your belly and his at the same time. 

He covers your body with his immediately. Both of you sticky and sated, his lips dragging over the skin of your neck, your cheek, your mouth as he calms you down. “My precious girl,” you turn into his voice instinctively, searching for him with closed eyes, limp and exhausted. “Did so well.” You nod your agreement, grip still iron on his t shirt, fully out of it. You’ve already been in the bath once today, but he knows you won’t protest a second. “I’m gonna get you some water and then we’ll take a bath, how does that sound?” You pull him close, hands on his shoulders, and press your nose to his neck. 

“Sounds good daddy.” 

“I have a surprise for you.” You blink at him. 

“For me?” 

“Turn around.” The front door is half closed behind his back, and he can tell you want to peek around it or ask more questions, but you choose to listen. Good girl.

“I’m ready.” You announce, bouncing on your toes with a little squeak, and he laughs, pushing the door wide to let the floppy, giant, Great Pyrenees puppy inside.

“Okay, turn around.” Making you happy will never get old, and he knows these memories, the ones where your face lights up and your joy explodes, will stay with him for the rest of his life. 

“Oh my god!” Your excitement floods out of you as a high pitched squeal, and you immediately go to your knees in front of the white fluff at his feet, the puppy’s big pink bow flopping on her neck. “Oh my god, oh my god. Is she… is she ours?”

“Yeah sweet girl, she’s ours. She’s for you, actually.” You scratch under her chin, cooing at the huge white puppy that could easily pass for a baby polar bear, even at five months. 

“Does she have a name?” 

“Duchess.” You clap your hands together. 

“Duchess. Aren’t you just the cutest girl? Yeah,” the dog licks your face appreciatively, and you giggle, “you are. You’re the cutest.” 

“She’s not cute.” She’s not supposed to be cute, anyway.

“Yes she is.” You give her another pat. He has a feeling you’re going to turn Duchess into a lap dog. A one hundred pound lap dog. He pulls you over to the couch, settles you in beside him as the dog paws at your feet and you giggle.  

“She’s a Great Pyrenees. She’s not a pet so much as she’s a guardian dog.” You frown, pout already forming your lips. It was a tough decision. He almost bought a Mal, but the idea of you having to take care of a real life velociraptor when he’s not here didn’t sit well with him. “She’s going to grow up with you as her best friend, so she’s going to see you as her flock, which means she’s going to make guarding you her main job.” Not outright aggressive or high strung, but protective and territorial, and big enough to intimidate just about anyone once she’s full grown, a Pyr is perfect.

“But she’s still a pet.” He sighs. 

“Yes. She’s still a pet. We’ll take care of her together when I’m home, but when I’m away, you’ll have to do it by yourself. Do you want that?” 

“Definitely.” Good. It’s a dual solution. He needs to feel more at ease with you being home alone, and you need some gentle encouragement. Taking care of a puppy is a lot like taking care of a human. They need food, water, enrichment. Naps. Walks, exercise. When he’s gone, you’ll be the primary caretaker, for both Duchess and yourself, and he thinks, he hopes, having her will help you take care of yourself. 

You also need food, water, enrichment. Naps. Walks. Exercise. 

“And she can sleep in the bed with me while you’re away!” 

“Well, we really need to teach her to sleep in her own bed…” 

“Sure daddy.” You ruffle the top of her head. “We’re going to be best friends, aren’t we girl?” She paws at you and you smush her face, dotting a kiss right between her brows. He sighs.

That dog is definitely going to be sleeping on his side of the bed. 

[notquitecanon]

Keep talking // Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

Summary: Simon really likes your new sundress AND wants to hear about your day. These things can coexist

Tags: established relationship, pretty domestic, yapper wife x silent husband, sunshine x grumpy kinda??? Whatever tropes the kids are saying these days suggestive but not NSFT, dumbification if you really squint, husband Simon Riley, pg-13 at worst

—

Simon was staring at you. Intensely. Him staring wasn’t exactly a new thing, he was a silent creature by nature. He watched, he listened. Especially to you. He loved listening to you.

You’d barely noticed his intense gaze as you flitted about the kitchen of your shared home, putting away the things you’d bought while you’d been out, all the while chittering on about your day, the people you talked to, the things you’d seen, things you’d bought, things you’d almost bought, things you didn’t buy, what you had for lunch, what you were thinking for dinner… And Simon listened like always, absorbing your presence like a plant absorbs sunlight.

Anyone else would have been cowed under the weight of his stare, but not you. Not only were you used to it, you loved having his attention. Every now and then you’d offer him a sweet smile when you looked to him or press a kiss to his cheek or jaw or wherever you could reach easiest as you’d squeeze past where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, absolutely dwarfing the appliances. His face gave away nothing, it never did so you kept talking- yapping, you’d call it jokingly.

“Anyways, that’s when I told her-“

“New dress, love?”

His interruption cut you off. You set down the purse you were unpacking and looked to him as you trailed off.

“Hm?”

Simon kicked off the counter, closing the short distance. It was then you noticed that his eyes weren’t on your face or eyes or even lips, but instead tracing the line of the strap laying on your shoulder.

“‘aven’t seen that one. Is it new?” His eyes roamed to the skirt where his fingers had caught a sliver of the bow in the back, “Soft.”

You cleared your throat as you turned around to face him, “I got it a few weeks ago, since it’s getting hotter, sun dress season and all, but it might be a little much for running around town…guess you haven’t seen it though-“

You cut yourself off again when you felt the tension in the tied back slack. The snapped your eyes to Simon, realizing he hadn’t dropped the bow’s string as you turned.

“I’d remember this one, lovie.” He was still gazing at the hem line appreciatively, where the delicate pattern you loved so much revealed your thighs.

“Well, then it’s new to you.” Your voice was quieter now that you’d realized the specific intensity in his gaze. Simon grunted in response, his large calloused hands resting at your hips. You could feel the roughness and warmth through the thin summer fabric.

“You were saying?” He reminded you with a slight smirk, knowing he’d derailed your train of thought. Cheeky bastard.

“Oh, uh,” You started again, preoccupied with the little circles he was rubbing on your hips, “I told her that, well, that-“

Simon nodded along to your barely coherent dialogue, as if he was listening to a TED talk. Heat was rising up your chest and neck as the solider kept getting closer until your chests were basically flush and your legs were interlocked, your chatting was only slightly better than babbling but you continued choking through your story. Even when he’d slowly moved you backwards so that you were the one pressed against the counter. You hadn’t realized you stopped once again until his brows raised, “that all?”

“Si-“ You all but whined, sharply gasping when he suddenly and effortlessly lifted you unto the kitchen counter, the stone counter chilling the backs of your thighs. Even sat on the tall counters, you still only came up to his broad chest, “We have your friends coming later-“

“And I cleaned up the yard just like you asked, love. Wearing this dress tonight?” Simon questioned gruffly, brushing a kiss first across the top of your head and then leaning down to dust a trail of kisses down your neck.

“What? Probably- but” you stuttered, the heat of his breath making it hard to track the different tracks of conversation.

“Good, does this come in any other colors?” His questions almost fell on deaf ears as he brushed the straps off your shoulders so he could continue his path down your chest. The hands on your hips had traveled first to your knees and were slowly hiking the hemline of your dress up. He paused when you didn’t answer, cutting those sharp eyes up to yours, squeezing your thigh to get your focus back on him and not just his hands. You hummed in confusion, “colors, love?”

“Oh, uh, a couple I think,” you nodded as the squeeze to your thigh turned to a kneading moving further up, “I wanted to try one, but it was hard to decide-“

Simon was sinking to his knees in front of you, never breaking eye contact, “Keep talking, love. I’m listening.”

Simon was a hard man to say no to, so you kept talking. Jumping from thought to thought as they became fewer and farther between, a hand in his hair to ground yourself as he’d offer questions from between your legs until you could no longer say anything but his name.

___

I wrote this in 20 minutes on an airplane. It’s not proofread nor is it really in character. First time writing for COD but hopefully not the last… we shall see where the hyperfixation takes me

[reilemon]

Powdered Gold

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: When you invited Caleb to stay at your place in hopes of rekindling your friendship, you didn’t realize you’d be inviting the feelings you shunned years ago. You both changed, but what you feel for each other hasn’t—and maybe, this time, you’ll be brave enough to reach for it.

♡︎ pairing: Caleb x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, angst, smut, Caleb calls you pipsqueak (and always will in my fics), Caleb is a virgin, but reader isn't, oral (both of them giving and receiving), creampie as always

♡︎ word count: 10.3k

♡︎ a/n: this is my first time writing Caleb, so pls be nice to me ok??

♡︎ this is not beta read but i'm still giving a shout-out to my bestie ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @/anitalenia

Caleb’s voice echoes from the bathroom, breaking you out of your thoughts. “How many body lotions does one person need?”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond immediately. Instead, you smooth the fabric of his shirt between your fingers before placing it on a hanger in your closet. Then you go to the bathroom.

You lean on the doorway, crossing your arms, “You’re not being a very pleasant house guest with comments like that.”

He’s standing in the shower, placing his travel size toiletries in one corner, his back turned to you. “And you’re not bein’ a very nice host for making your guest sleep on the sofa.”

You roll your eyes again.

This was your idea. That’s what you remind yourself as you watch Caleb settle into your space like he’s always belonged there. You were the one who matched your vacation days with his, and invited him to stay here instead of a hotel.

It made sense. You hadn’t seen much of each other since he came back, just a few meetups here and there, a handful of nights at his place. But now, for the first time in what felt like years, neither of you had somewhere else to be.

The sight of him here, snooping around your bathroom after setting down the toiletries you know he’ll use up in a day before inevitably stealing half of yours, warms your heart. When you’re like this - so close to him, grabbing his wrist to drag him out of the bathroom because ‘why are you inspecting every corner, you’re so weird!’  - and when he lets out that impish chuckle as he says ‘but I need to get acquainted with my vacation place.’ - it feels like nothing has changed.

Like there are no threats in the shadows. Like both of you haven’t lost a little light in your eyes.

But you have.   

And now, watching him here, so effortlessly at home in your space, you’re not sure if it’s comforting or bittersweet.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Time quickly passed while helping him unpack and putting away his stuff, and now it’s already dinnertime and you’ve worked up an appetite. You glance, from where you’re sitting on the sofa, at Caleb who’s rolling up his sleeves before opening your fridge. Before he can ask you anything, you stand up and start walking towards the coat rack.

“Since I am such a gracious host,” you begin, earning Caleb’s attention and he turns to you, “I’ve decided to spare you of your cooking duties on your first day – “

“It’s dinnertime.” Caleb intercepts, with a mock offence in his voice.

You ignore him. “We’re going to one of my favorite places to eat.”

He closes the fridge and turns to you, crossing his arms. “That is too vague. Do I need to change and wear something fancy? Is it your treat?”

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Sure!”

You toss him his jacket and when you reach for your purse you remember something. “Oh, wait – I got you something.”

You dig into your purse and pull out a brand-new lip balm, holding it up with a triumphant look. Caleb eyes it, then sighs.

“You’re so thoughtful. Thanks.” His flat tone as he accepts it makes you grin.

“It’s extra moisturizing so I don’t have to keep looking at your dry lips.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Why do you want to keep staring at my lips?”

Heat spreads across your face instantly. You immediately look away, mumbling, “I’m not staring.”

He hums, unscrewing the cap as he tilts his head. “What was that, pipsqueak?”

You exhale sharply, ignoring him. But the moment he swipes the balm across his lips, with orange glow of sunset spilling over his face, you can’t help but steal a glance. And you just know he catches it. But, for once, he doesn’t tease. He just smirks knowingly.

You grab your jacket a little too quickly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t say anything, just follows, still smirking as he tucks the lip balm into his pocket.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

By the time the two of you return to your apartment, you feel sleep already overtaking you. The dinner turned into wandering around some shops, then you had smoothies, then Caleb insisted walking around more to burn off calories. Usually, an evening like that wouldn’t be so tiring if you didn’t spend the whole day cleaning and tidying up, and then picking him up at the train station. And there were these waves of butterflies in your stomach, that would appear whenever you thought of him. It was draining, and frustrating.

But not confusing.

You thought those feelings had disappeared. You really did. But as the years passed and you started a new life here—new city, new people, new experiences—you told yourself you’d moved on. You had to.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you fluff up his pillow after slipping it inside a fresh and clean pillowcase. You already took a shower, stole one of his baggy shirts and paired them with pajama shorts and fuzzy socks. While he’s in the bathroom, you decided to set up the bedding on the sofa, since you’re sure he must be tired as well, even if he’s not showing it. As always.

Though your body feels like velvet, heavy with exhaustion, you still accept Caleb’s suggestion to watch a movie before bed.

"We don’t have to watch it tonight." Caleb lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking over your sleep-heavy expression.

"I’m fine!" You try to sound convincing, but you’re already tugging the duvet over yourself. "I just need to lie down."

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watches you nestle deeper into the cushions, head resting on the pillow meant for him.

"It’s so nice and cozy in here," you murmur, voice already thick with drowsiness. The crisp, freshly washed bedding cocoons you, pulling you under.

He chuckles, stepping closer and tapping your legs, silently telling you to move. "You’re just trying to convince me that this is comfortable for me."

Before you can protest, he takes your legs and settles them over his lap.

Your body stiffens at the contact. This is normal. It should be normal. It’s not the first time he’s had your legs in his lap. You inhale deeply, telling yourself to relax, to stop overthinking. You’re just getting used to his presence again.

Though, suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy anymore.

The movie plays on the TV, filling the space with voices and background noise. Comfortable silence settles between you both, broken only by occasional remarks—mostly Caleb critiquing the acting. Of course he can’t keep quiet even during a movie. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but the annoyance fades the moment his hands slide under the covers, grazing over your shins.

He glances at you, voice low. "You seem a little tense. Was the walk too exhausting?"

Your breath catches for a second before you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. His fingers press against the tight muscles in your calves, kneading gently.

"Maybe a little." you murmur, your voice softer than intended.

He murmurs a small apology, letting his hands make it up to you. He presses and kneads with just the right amount of pressure, his thumbs digging into spots that unravel you far too easily.

Heat blooms deep inside you, catching you off guard.

He works his way down, his palms smoothing over your ankles, rolling slow circles there before moving to your feet. The added texture of your socks only makes it worse—the friction, the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the way his thumbs press into the soles of your feet, it makes it so much harder to focus on the movie.

You bite your lip, pulse thrumming. A small sound threatens to escape your throat, and you swallow it back before lifting your legs off his lap. You murmur a small “thank you” and curl up on your side, your gaze now glued to the screen.

Caleb teases you, saying you look like you’re about to pass out. And even though you mumble a half-hearted protest, swearing you’re still awake, your eyes flutter closed before the movie is over.

His presence might be the source of your simmering frustration, of all the feelings you’re trying to ignore—but it’s also the most comforting one you’ve ever known.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes open, it’s already morning. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your room. You’re warm, nestled beneath the comforter, a plushie tucked securely in your arms. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips as you nuzzle against it. You don’t remember how you got to bed, but you don’t need to think too hard about it. Caleb must have carried you here last night, just like he always used to, slipping back into old habits as if no time had passed at all.

The scent of something familiar drifts in from the kitchen, rich and savory. He’s up, moving around the kitchen, already making breakfast.

You stretch lazily before dragging yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine. After freshening up and changing into more presentable loungewear, you step into the living room.

"Look who’s awake!" Caleb’s voice greets you the moment you enter. His back is turned as he works at the counter, only glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning to whatever he’s preparing.

You groan, voice still laced with sleep. “I don’t want to hear the usual ‘by the time you got up I already jogged’ and blah blah blah!” Caleb laughs at your mocking tone, shaking his head as he grabs a pair of plates from the cabinet. He starts setting the table, saying something in response, but his words blur in the background when your eyes catch on something unexpected.

A pillowcase. His pillowcase.

It’s hanging on the drying rack by the window, the fabric swaying slightly from the morning breeze. Your brows knit together.

"When did—why did you wash this?" You gesture toward it, confusion clear in your voice. "It was completely clean."

Caleb barely falters. "It was, but I drooled on it last night," he says easily, still arranging the table. "Didn’t want to make too much noise, so I hand-washed it."

You huff a small laugh, tempted to tease him for drooling, but for some reason, you don’t. Maybe he was exhausted. Or maybe your scent bothered him. Your stomach tugs uncomfortably at the thought, but you brush it off before it can settle. Don’t be ridiculous.

Instead, you take a seat across from him, scanning the breakfast spread. He made everything you like in the morning—even bought coffee from one of your favorite coffee shops. The warmth in your chest is immediate, dangerously soft, dangerously familiar.

“You should quit the colonel position,” you look up from the bowls and plates, meeting his gaze properly since you walked in – he’s already watching you, a hint of amusement in his eyes, “A – and be my personal chef.”

Damn it.

Heat creeps up your neck at the stumble in your voice.

He shakes his head with a small chuckle, setting a glass of water in front of you. "I wouldn’t mind that."

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The room is bathed in the dim, flickering light of the television, casting soft shadows across the coffee table cluttered with half-eaten snacks. The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, warm and familiar, mixing with the faint traces of Caleb’s cologne. He sits comfortably beside you, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed, his focus on the screen in front of him.

You should be watching too. After all, you’re the one who recommended it, but Caleb wanted to wait, saying he’d rather watch it for the first time with you instead of on his own.  And now, here you are, barely paying attention at all.

Your eyes are glued to the phone screen, and every so often, a quiet giggle escapes you, fingers tapping swiftly against the glass as you reply to messages. You don’t notice the way Caleb’s gaze flickers to you from the corner of his eye. You don’t register the barely-there tightening of his jaw as you keep getting distracted, your smile aimed at a screen instead of him.

At first, he says nothing. He lets the minutes pass, lets you have your moment, but with every small laugh, every glance downward, his patience begins to fray at the edges.

Who the hell is so funny?

He shifts beside you, stretching slightly, making himself known, a silent reminder that he’s still here. But you don’t even glance up.

Fine.

The movement is swift—before you can react, Caleb reaches over and snatches your phone out of your hands.

“Caleb!” You protest in disbelief.

He leans back against the sofa, holding your phone just out of reach, with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

"I thought we were watchin’ this together?"

You blink at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity, before a scoff escapes you. "Did you seriously just take my phone?"

He shrugs, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it, like he has every right to.

Your eyes narrow. "That is a violation of privacy."

His smirk widens slightly, thumb hovering just over the screen. "So what were you laughin’ at?"

You sigh in defeat. Time to change the tactic.

You lunge for your phone without hesitation, but he’s faster—his arm lifts easily, keeping it just out of reach, and he leans away, making you chase after it.

"Caleb—!"

The next few seconds is a blur of limbs, the glowing screen of your phone, and breathless laughter.

You scramble onto your knees, grappling at his wrist, stretching upward, trying to reach the device, but he moves effortlessly, dodging you like this is nothing. You nearly lose your balance in the process, your hands bracing against his chest—

Fuck, those muscles are strong.

Caleb chuckles at your failed attempt, his grip on your phone still firm, completely unbothered by your struggling.

You’re not giving up that easily.

With renewed determination, you grab at his wrist again, pushing against him with your full weight, throwing him slightly off balance. Your bodies end up in a tangled mess of limbs as both of you topple on your side onto the cushions. His body is so close, his warmth suddenly everywhere. Your breath catches, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because you notice a slight flinch when your fingers brush against his ribs.

You blink up at him as realization dawns, slow and sweet and far too tempting.

Caleb’s expression shifts instantly. "Don’t."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across your lips.

You dig your fingers into his side, and he twists in protest, his muscles flexing as he tries to escape you. His laugher is light and carefree - and it is the most unfairly attractive sound you’ve always loved.

You falter for a second too long.

Caleb doesn’t waste the opportunity. Before you can react, he grips your wrist, and with ridiculous ease, he flips you onto your back. By the time you catch your breath, he’s already caging you in, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

Everything stills for a moment. His breathing is heavier now. Yours is too. The TV hums softly in the background, but neither of you are listening. Your phone has slipped onto the carpet, forgotten. His grip isn’t tight, isn’t restricting, but it keeps you in place. Caleb’s gaze lingers on you, no trace of teasing left in his expression. And something about that - the way he’s looking at you, about the weight of his body pressing against yours, how his chest rises and falls above you—sends a slow, unbearable warmth curling through you.

But then, just as easily as he pinned you down, he lets go. You sit up quickly, forcing a small laugh, brushing off the moment like it was nothing. Caleb leans back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair before reaching down and lazily tossing your phone back to you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop stealin’ your stuff. For now.”

You roll your eyes, unlocking the screen, but you hesitate for a second before speaking. “I know it was rude to text during the movie,” you admit, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I was just talking to my friends about tomorrow.”

Caleb doesn’t react at first. He’s stretching out his legs, seemingly unfazed, “Yeah?” his voice is too neutral. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I already made plans to go out with them.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something quickly buried, masked with indifference. He exhales through his nose, nodding, like he’s completely unbothered.

“Cool.”

"I won’t be out late," you say quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. “Just a couple of drinks, maybe some dancing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, eyes flicking back to the screen, but his jaw is tighter now.

You hesitate, studying him for a moment, before offering a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, you can come pick me up.”

That makes him glance at you, his eyes softer now. “Yeah. Alright.” Then he takes the TV remote to pause the movie, and now his full focus is on you. “So, what are you gonna to wear?”

The question makes you flustered, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I don’t know.” You admit quietly. It is the truth, which is why you’ve been texting your friends during the movie. But he hasn’t seen you in anything revealing before—not really. Not outside of tiny glimpses in summers past, when you’d lounge around in shorts and tank tops, never once thinking about how his eyes followed you.

And it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so unbearably attracted to him.

You spent too much time getting ready this morning. From the cozy loungewear you’d picked out before breakfast, to the outfit you chose for your day out with him, to the subtle refresh of your makeup before settling down for the movie—it had all been intentional. Every choice, every small detail, designed to make you look effortlessly good.

“Why don’t you show me the outfits you had in mind?” He asks, leaning back against the sofa, “Maybe I can help you.”

You force yourself to exhale, keep your tone light. "Fine. But don’t be annoying about it."

Caleb smirks, tilting his head slightly. “No promises.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You disappear into your room, trying to shake off the ridiculous way your body reacted to that simple suggestion. You shouldn’t care. It’s Caleb. He’s seen you barefaced and half-asleep, wrapped in blankets, wearing mismatched pajamas. He’s been around you long enough to know every version of you.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, sleek and form-fitting, hugging the shape of you in a way that suddenly feels too revealing. You refuse to dwell on it.

You smooth your hands over the fabric before stepping out, ignoring the way your pulse picks up the moment you re-enter the living room.

And the moment you do, Caleb stills.

He doesn’t shift, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t offer some offhanded remark the way you expect him to. He just watches, his gaze moving over you. Then, his brows pull together slightly, his head tilting as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

"Hm. I don’t know."

You gasp, almost appalled at the comment. “What do you mean you don’t know?” You’re trying your best to sound normal, and not like your cheeks are burning under his gaze. He looks effortlessly handsome, sprawled across the sofa with his arms draped over the backrest, legs spread in a way that makes him seem both completely at ease and utterly in control of the space around him.

His eyes lift to yours. "Turn around for me."

The request is effortless, spoken with the same ease as everything else he says. But something about it—the quiet authority in his voice, the way his gaze stays locked onto yours, unblinking—makes your skin prickle.

You try to shake off the thought, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Turn around? What, am I on a runway?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Exactly. Indulge me.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You try on another dress, stepping out with a little more confidence this time, expecting at least some approval. But Caleb only exhales, tilting his head slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Not my favorite."

You huff, retreating into your room once again, determined to find something he can’t find an issue with. But it becomes a pattern. No matter what you put on, Caleb always has something to say.

"That one’s not very practical."

"You’ll be freezing in that."

"It’s fine, I guess."

But you’re not stupid. The pattern is glaringly obvious—the more revealing the dress, the less he seems to like it.

After one final unimpressed hum from him, you let out an exasperated breath. There’s a pile of clothes on your bed and your muscles are aching from the endless zip-twirl-sigh routine. “Okay,” you snap, sharper than intended, “you’re officially no help.”

Caleb smirks, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. “Just bein’ honest.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your phone on the coffee table. "Whatever. I’ll just ask my friends."

You barely hear whatever excuse he’s offering now, his voice a low murmur in the background as you tap out a message. Then, an idea pops up in your head. You glance up from your screen, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You should go out as well.”

Caleb stops, his gaze flicking to yours, just for a second. Then, he shakes his head, exhaling lightly. “Clubs aren’t really my scene.”

You nod, finishing your message and sending it off before locking your phone. You lean your shoulder against the wall, the cool surface pressing against your heated skin.

"Well, who knows—" your tone is casual, "you might meet a cute girl."

His laugh is hollow. “Doubt that’s happening.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly, feigning innocence. “You have someone back home?”

The room stills.

You notice Caleb’s jaw shifting just slightly before his frown deepens. It’s not irritation—not exactly.

"I don’t." His voice is steady. Then, his gaze sharpens, latching onto yours, his expression more serious than before. "I would’ve told you, like I promised."

A breath catches in your throat.

"Like we promised."

Caleb’s words linger. I would’ve told you. Like we promised. You stare at him, throat tightening as his gaze sharpens—he’s studying you, dissecting the guilt spreading across your face.

“You never told me,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “if you ever liked someone.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand, but you barely register it. You don’t want to answer this question. You swallow, but your throat feels dry. "We weren’t talking as much." The words come out quieter than you intend, "It didn’t seem relevant."

“Relevant.” He repeats.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even as something in your chest tightens. "You can’t deny we grew apart, Caleb." The words claw their way up, bitter and ugly, “And you're the one to talk - as someone who decided to go no-contact for months.” and the second they leave your mouth, you regret them.

You watch his face shift from stunned to something that looks an awful lot like hurt.

Before he can speak, you sink onto the sofa beside him, your scarred knee bumping his. “I’m sorry.” you curl your fingers into the fabric of your dress to keep from reaching for him. “I didn’t mean that.”

His eyes soften and a sigh leaves his lips. Then, the faint pressure of his palm settles on your head, the familiar gesture offering comfort. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice low.

You lean into his touch, eyes burning. “But I am sorry.”

“I know.” His hand stills, heavy and warm. “So am I.”

The admission is so quiet you almost miss it. You glance up, but he’s already looking away, jaw clenched against whatever else wants to spill out. So am I for leaving. So am I for coming back broken. So am I for loving you like a man who was never meant to fly—reaching for the only light that ever felt like home, even knowing that if I get too close, you’ll be the one who burns.

You don’t press. Instead, you let your shoulder bump his. He exhales, tension seeping out of him as his hand slips down to cradle the nape of your neck. "Come on, pips." His voice is quieter now, lighter. "We should get some sleep."

The argument dissolves, but the ache remains—a bruise you’ll both keep pressing, to remind yourselves it’s real.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Even though it was late, you had insisted on finishing the rest of the movie, clinging to the familiar comfort. You slipped back into the playful banter – you had whined about the pile of clothes still sitting on your bed, blaming him for it. Caleb, ever unbothered, had only smirked and offered to neatly put them away tomorrow.

While he was in the shower, you took the time to make up the sofa, tucking the sheets with more care than necessary. When he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm from the heat of the water, you didn’t comment on the familiar citrus scent clinging to him—the scent of your body lotion.

You’d exchanged a quiet goodnight before retreating to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Grabbing the pile of discarded clothes, you stacked them onto the armchair in the corner, ignoring the mess for now. You had planned on wearing your usual pajama tank top, but Caleb had insisted you wear one of his shirts again, claiming it was more comfortable.

You’re here now - lying beneath the comforter, pajama shorts brushing against soft sheets, the soft fabric of his shirt enveloping you, and yet still— you’re completely awake. Your eyes remain wide open, staring into the darkness, as if sleep might find you if you just keep pretending you’re not thinking about him.

You shift beneath the comforter, rolling onto your side, then onto your back, only to flip your pillow to the cooler side and press your cheek against it. The softness offers no relief.

A deep sigh slips past your lips, but the weight in your chest remains.

I should have told him.

You should’ve told him about the men you’ve dated. You should’ve kept your promise. That’s what he did. But you tell yourself, keep comforting yourself, that at some point your lives drifted apart. When time and distance made him feel more like a memory, you thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Except it did. It mattered to Caleb.

He’d said it plainly —I would’ve told you—as if keeping that promise was as simple as breathing. No loopholes. No expiration dates.

Your breath hitches slightly, something twisting in your chest. You roll onto your side again, eyes drifting toward the empty space beside you.

The dull ache in your lower back pulls at your attention, a stiffness lingering in your shoulder. You shift slightly, frowning at the discomfort— a souvenir from last night when you’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He had carried you to bed, made sure you were comfortable. And now, he’s the one out there, sleeping on the same sofa, crammed into a space too small for him.

The guilt creeps back in.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, you throw off the covers and rise from your bed. You move carefully through the dark, the wooden floor cool beneath your bare feet as you make your way toward the living room.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The apartment is silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, and as you reach the doorway, you pause, peering inside. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but you can already make out the shape of him—Caleb, stretched out on the sofa, one arm draped over his stomach, his breathing steady. For a second, you think he’s asleep -

"Can’t sleep?" His voice is quiet, but in the stillness of the apartment, it still makes you flinch.

You step closer, your gaze meeting his, even in the dark. “You should sleep in my bed tonight.”

There’s silence for a moment. You can’t make out his expression, but you can feel the hesitation in the way he exhales slowly.

Then you hear a soft chuckle. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

You narrow your eyes, irritation mixing with your exhaustion. Of course, he’s being stubborn. Any other night, you might have tried to coax him with teasing, maybe thrown in a snarky remark or the fact that he’d be doing the same thing for you if the roles were reversed.

But it’s late, and you don’t have the patience for an argument you know you’re going to win anyway.

So instead, you move without warning.

With one swift motion, you snatch the duvet right off his body, yanking the pillow from beneath his head before he can even react. A startled breath escapes him, but you don’t wait for a protest.

You’re already retreating toward your bedroom, grumbling under your breath, "I’m trying to be nice here."

Behind you, Caleb exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He doesn’t argue this time, just watches for a moment before finally pushing himself up from the sofa and following.

By the time he steps inside, you’re already back beneath your comforter, curled on your side. The mattress shifts slightly as he settles in beside you, his presence familiar yet suddenly overwhelming.

“Goodnight,” you say, too stiffly.

“Night.” His reply is softer.

You close your eyes, and the fact that he is sleeping in a comfortable bed eases your mind long enough to let you drift off to sleep.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes blink open, the darkness feels denser, heavier. The digital glow of your nightstand clock blinks 3:07 AM. You're not sure if you ever truly slept or if your mind simply hovered somewhere between dream and wakefulness.

The room is silent, save for the distant murmur of the city and the steady rhythm of Caleb’s breathing behind you—deep, even, grounding. You listen for a moment, letting the sound soothe you, lulling your nerves the same way it always used to. From the sound of it, he managed to fall asleep.

Slowly, carefully, you shift onto your other side, moving as if the smallest rustle might wake him. Your body rolls toward him, your eyes adjusting to the dark until his silhouette takes shape in front of you. He’s asleep, facing you. The moonlight spills in through the slit in the curtains, illuminating his face with delicate silver light. His brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, and one cheek is gently squished against the pillow.

Seeing him like this makes you smile, faint and bitter-sweet. He looks like a memory. Like all those nights you used to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, when he’d shift just enough to let you under the covers, barely awake but always aware of you, always there.

But the warmth of that memory fades almost as quickly as it came. Guilt rises like bile, acrid and insistent.

I don’t blame you.

You should have said that. You wish you had. When you apologized earlier, when you sat beside him trying to make up for your comment, you should’ve said that too. Because it’s true. You don’t.

You understand why he disappeared. You understand why he didn’t call, why he let you think he was gone—you know that he did it to protect you.

But the girl who slept with his necklace clutched in her fist for months, who scrubbed explosion residue from her hair until her scalp bled—she blames him. A splinter of her still does, lodged too deep to dig out.

Your eyes sting, but you blink quickly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

You focus on the rhythm of his breathing, his lashes that cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the slight sheen on his lips. He is right here.

So close you could reach out and touch him. So close you can feel the warmth coming off his body.

And yet, so impossibly far.

But wasn’t he always?

Hadn’t he always felt just beyond reach, even when you shared the same space, the same roof, the same memories?

You had spent so many years convincing yourself he didn’t see you that way—that his devotion was born out of duty, not desire. That he was bound to you by shared history, not longing. You told yourself that he saw you as something fragile, something to protect—not something to love.

But there were glances. Touches that lingered longer than they should have. But he never crossed the line. Never let himself want aloud.

So you told yourself he didn’t want to. That he couldn’t. That you weren’t something he was allowed to reach for.

And that’s why you found distractions. That’s why you chased comfort in other people. Because if you couldn’t have him, you had to have something.

But now, lying here beside him, in the quiet of your own bed, there are no distractions. No excuses. No distance left to hide behind. And suddenly, you wonder—

What if he wanted more?

What if he was always waiting for me?

You could wake him now. Could trace your fingertips over his eyelids, could say the words that have lived in the marrow of your bones since before you knew their name. I loved you then. I love you now.

But your lips won’t move. Your hand won’t reach out. Instead, all that comes is the memory of the aching regret that followed you around when you grieved him, whispering your sins in the dark - You should have told him. You should have been brave.

But now—he’s alive. He’s here. He’s right beside you.

But nothing is the same.

And even if you let yourself reach for him, even if you handed over every buried feeling and begged him to take it—the world around you hasn’t changed.

The people who tried to destroy you once are still out there, still watching, still hunting. There are still shadows at your back, and Caleb has always been the one who walks toward them first.

And if you lost him again—really lost him—

You don’t know if you’d survive it.

Because if regret was unbearable before, the devastation of another goodbye—this time after knowing what it’s like to have him— would split you open, would leave you hollow as the day you buried an empty casket.

You don’t realize the tears have started to fall until your vision blurs, until a soft sniffle betrays you. Caleb stirs - he takes a slow inhale, then a deeper one. You still, but it’s too late. His eyes open—drowsy with sleep—but the moment they land on you, on the shimmer on your lashes, they sharpen with clarity.

"What’s wrong?" He whispers softly, concern clear in his voice.

You swipe hastily at your cheeks, the salt sting lingering on your skin. “Nothing,” you lie, offering a trembling smile. “Just a nightmare.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t search your face for more or press for the truth he knows you’re not giving. He just reaches out. His hand finds yours first, then the warmth of his palm presses against your side, gentle as it invites you closer.

You hesitate, just for a moment. But then your body moves on instinct, pulled to him like it always is, like it always has been. He shifts onto his back, making room for you, letting you tuck yourself against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

You let yourself melt into him. Let yourself take comfort in the solid warmth of his body, in the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek. Your tears dry slowly, absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers trace the chain around his neck, finding the pendants, the metal warm from his skin.

And you listen to the heartbeat beneath your ear.

Strong. Steady. Real.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s yours, if you want him.

The fear is still there. The shadows haven’t disappeared. The world is still dangerous, still cruel, still capable of breaking him again.

But here, in the cradle of his arms, with his heartbeat syncing to yours, you finally understand: bravery isn’t the absence of fear.

So, maybe…

If that’s what sits at the end of this—if tears and heartache is what awaits you—then let it be. Let the hurt come. Let it hollow you. At least the emptiness will echo how fiercely you loved him.

You lift your head from the steady rhythm of his chest, propping yourself on your elbow, your face hovering just above his. Your eyes find his in the moonlight—half-lidded, warm, still laced with sleep, but softened by the sight of you. A small, barely-there smile touches his lips, a quiet relief. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, calloused and warm, and you lean into his touch, your lashes fluttering shut. Then you feel the press of his lips against your forehead, featherlight and lingering.

When your eyes open again, he’s still watching you. Your faces are close now, close enough that your breaths mingle, close enough that the brush of your nose against his sends a soft shiver down your spine. You glance down at his lips, drawn to the place you’ve denied yourself for too long.

His fingers still on your cheek.

And when your gaze returns to his, you see it - the look you’ve spent years misreading. The one you chalked up to pity or duty, something you’ve caught glimpses of over the years and turned away from. Something you didn’t recognize at first. Then later, refused to acknowledge out of fear.

But now, there’s no more running.

You shift closer slowly, cautiously, as if giving him time to stop you if this isn’t what he wants. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart to your lips, just once, but it’s enough.

In that stillness, you close the distance.

The kiss is soft. His lips are warmer than you imagined, but still a little chapped. He goes utterly still, as if fearing the slightest movement might dissolve this moment. But when you press closer, his hand slides to the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him.

And when you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming.” he murmurs.

You smile softly, and press a delicate kiss to his eyelid.

“You’re not dreaming, Caleb.” you whisper.

His lashes flutter open. His gaze searches your face like he’s still trying to understand how this happened. His hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with aching gentleness. And then he moves. This time, he closes the distance. His mouth moves over yours, his breaths shaky against your skin. There’s no practiced skill, no calculated seduction—just raw, aching want, tempered by the fear of wanting too much.

Your hands slide from his chest to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken, messy hair. He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his tongue brushes hesitantly against yours. It’s clumsy, earnest, his nose bumping yours, his teeth catching your lip by accident.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but you laugh—a soft, breathless sound—and pull him closer.

“Don’t be.”

You lean into it, guiding him with soft sighs and quiet hums.

His hands hold you tighter now—one on your back, the other slipping down, splayed at your waist like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’s started.

And when your lips break apart for breath, you don’t pull away. You rest your forehead against his, and you whisper, barely audible, "I don’t want to stop."

He exhales, "Me neither."

Your fingers tremble slightly as they wander from his hair, along the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing lower. Over the column of his throat, skimming the pulse beneath his skin, before drifting lower—over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. You feel the way he shivers beneath your hand, how his muscles tense slightly.

His breath hitches when you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling there, his gaze locking onto yours.

He doesn’t need you to say it.

Without a word, he sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist as he yanks the shirt over his head. The fabric falls to the floor, and for a moment, you just stare—you’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never yours.

You gently press against his shoulder, coaxing him to lie back down, and he does so, collapsing against the pillows. You swing one leg over, your thighs bracketing his hips, but you hover just above him—close enough to feel his heat, yet far enough to let him breathe. You lean down to reclaim his mouth, your hands framing his face. The kiss deepens, and you tilt your head to better taste him, to feel more of him. He gasps into your mouth, one hand slipping to your lower back, the other lowering—slow, unsure—to brush against your bare thigh, the contact making you shiver.

And still, his hand doesn’t wander, doesn’t explore. It lingers like he’s afraid of being told to stop.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your breaths mingling between kisses. Your hand covers his where it rests against your leg, and you guide it higher, to your hip, where your skin is warmer.

You hold his gaze.  “You can touch me, Caleb.” Your voice is soft, “Wherever you want.”

His eyes widen slightly, color blooming high on his cheeks. His fingers flex against your skin, then he speaks, “I don’t… I’ve never—” He swallows hard, and you see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, not at you, but at himself, at his own nerves.

“I know,” you whisper, your hand slipping up to cradle his jaw, your lips brushing just beneath his ear. “It’s okay.”

Then, slowly, you lower yourself until your hips meet his, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against you. His head falls back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut. Heat blooms through your belly at the contact, and your hips rock forward just enough to make him shudder.

His hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still. “Wait—wait.”

You freeze, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he says, eyes snapping open. “Just… let me—” He swallows, his voice dropping to a plea. “Let me do this right.”

You smile, and brush his hair away from his eyes. “There’s no right, Caleb. Just us.”

He exhales, nodding, and then his hips roll upward tentatively, the friction drawing a gasp from both of you. His thumbs press into the soft curve of your hips as they continue to move against him in a slow, rolling rhythm. The thin barrier of fabric between you—his sweatpants, your pajama shorts—only amplifies the heat, the friction of every roll of your hips against his. His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, as you grind down again, your own shorts riding up, the seam catching just right. He curses under his breath, hips jerking up to meet yours, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

You want to feel all of him, nothing between. And the way his hands start to roam, still cautious, still learning, tells you he’s thinking the same thing.

You shift slowly, rising from his lap with a final roll of your hips that leaves him gasping, lips parted, brows knit. His hands fall away reluctantly, his eyes flickering with confusion and curiosity. Your hands trail down his chest, over the taut planes of his stomach. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers graze the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” His hand covers yours, trembling. “You don’t have to—”

You lift his palm to your lips, “I want to.” Your gaze holds his. “Let me show you how much.”

He swallows hard, but nods.

You hook your fingers into the fabric, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, letting you peel the layers away, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally see him, all of him – hard, heavy, straining for you, you feel a fresh heat rise in your chest, in your belly, deeper.

When your eyes meet his again, you find him watching you just as intently—like he’s searching your face for any flicker of doubt. But there’s none. At first, his body tenses—thighs taut beneath your touch, hands clenching the sheets under him. He tries to hold still, tries to be polite, tries to hide the way his hips twitch when your lips press to the sensitive skin just below his navel.

“Breathe.” you whisper against his skin, and you feel it when he does - shoulders softening, jaw loosening, a low groan slipping past his lips as you finally take him into your mouth. You take your time, learning what makes his body melt under your touch. You relish the way his hips stutter when you swirl your tongue, the broken whimper he tries to smother with his fist, the devotion in his voice when he rasps your name.

Gradually, his iron grip on the sheets loosens, one hand resting on the back of your head, and his hips finally start to move to the rhythm you set.

His breath starts to come faster. You feel the change in his body—the way his thighs tense, how his fingers flex and twist in the sheets. “Wait—” His voice is rough. “If you keep going, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You slow, just for a moment, lifting your eyes to his flushed face. You reach for him, one hand sliding up his stomach, calming. “It’s okay,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the sharp cut of his hipbone. “Let me take care of you.”

He groans at that, head turning into the pillow. He doesn’t speak again, but his muscles start to twitch, his legs falling wider, hips stuttering as your mouth picks up the pace. His moans become deeper, more raw, and then your name spills from his lips again.

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

You hum in acknowledgment, not letting up, your hands gripping his hips as he shudders beneath you, and then—he falls apart. You taste him on your tongue, feel every desperate pulse of release as his thighs tremble beneath your hands, coming undone in your mouth—helpless and wholly yours.

You don’t pull away. You stay with him through it, coaxing him through the final tremors. You only ease off when he makes the faintest sound of overstimulation, brushing your lips one last time to the hollow of his hip before sitting up.

Caleb is panting, eyes closed, arm thrown over his face.

But when you crawl back up his body, he opens his arms instinctively, pulling you into his chest, where you hear his heart is thundering under your ear. And after a long pause, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you softly, tasting himself on your lips.

His breath is still uneven, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. But he sits up, and for a second his eyes search yours again—asking permission without words. You nod once, and his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt you’re wearing.

He pulls it up slowly, his eyes tracking the reveal of your stomach, the curve of your breast, watching the way your chest rises and falls a little faster under his gaze. His hands tremble, just slightly, and you can see it - that mixture of reverence and disbelief in his eyes. He bends to kiss you again, before his mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, the flutter of your pulse.

He guides you onto your back, and shifts to follow, half-hovering over you. His lips trail kisses along your neck, your breasts. You arch into him, a gasp escaping as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and he hums in response, the vibration rippling through you.

His hands move lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pajama shorts. He pauses, “Is this okay?”

You nod, your voice failing you, and lift your hips. He slides the shorts down, his knuckles grazing your thighs, his breath hitching when you’re finally bare. For a moment, he just stares. Fading moonlight spills across your body, catching the sheen of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale escapes him as he drags a single finger across the wetness, his touch featherlight.

But before he goes further, before his mouth finds its way to where you’re already pulsing for him, something else catches his eye. The faint scar across your knee. Fading now, but still there. His thumb brushes gently along the uneven line, before he leans forward and presses a kiss to it, the silent apology making your heart flutter.

Then his mouth drifts lower, lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. The first flick of his tongue on your folds is so startlingly gentle you flinch. A soft laugh escapes you, breathless and giddy, goosebumps blooming on your skin.

Caleb stills, lifting his head, brows creased in confusion.

“You’re tickling me,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair in reassurance.

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “Got it,” he murmurs. His mouth presses more firmly, his hands holding your hips as his tongue parts your folds and he groans at the first taste. Your back arches off the bed, a moan slipping out, and it spurs him on. One hand stays braced on your thigh, the other moves to gently trace one fingertip around your entrance, testing. You whisper yes, please, and that’s all it takes. He sinks a finger in, his eyes flicking up to watch the way your face shifts—lips parted, brows gently pulled, the rise and fall of your chest now uneven.

His mouth finds your clit, more confident now. The heat of his tongue, the wet pressure of his lips - it’s clumsy but it’s honest, driven by need and the desire to learn what makes you tremble. Then his finger finds that spot inside you, the one that makes you fist your hand in his hair, the one that makes your toes curl. You whisper yes, yes, yes, and you swear you feel him smile.

His free hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers against your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, and you force your eyes open, “Want to see you.”

Your body is starting to unravel beneath him, soft moans spilling from your lips, your thighs trembling.

“Another,” you pant, and he obeys instantly, adding a second finger. His rhythm stutters at first, but you guide him with whispered pleas, your hips rolling against his hand. His tongue flicks faster, his fingers pumping in a deep, steady curl, and you’re suddenly so close to the edge. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, and he growls against you, as if your climax is his own.

And when you fall apart with his name on your lips and your hands tangled with his, Caleb doesn’t stop. He holds you through it, lets you ride it out, his fingers easing only when your thighs start to shake, when your hips twitch with overstimulation. He pulls back, resting his forehead against your inner thigh, his breaths ragged. His erection strains against the sheets, but his focus still on you, always on you, even as his hand trembles where it grips yours.

You pull him up, his body collapsing over yours, and kiss him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips grind reflexively against your thigh, a broken noise escaping him, but he doesn’t push. Just holds you, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, your hands cradling his damp hair.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breath and skin and the quietness of the morning twilight.

His fingertips trace along the curve of your side, not teasing, just feeling. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then he murmurs—soft, regretful, honest:

“I should’ve been your first.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. Still, the way he says it isn’t bitter. There’s no accusation in his voice. Only ache.

You draw back just enough to meet his eyes, your palm resting flat on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then be my last.” You whisper.

His breath hitches, eyes widening for a split second. He presses a kiss to your temple, before he meets your eyes again.

“Do you… have anything?” A pause, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Protection?”

You pause for a moment. Then you nod, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

“Left drawer,” you whisper.

He hesitates, his thumb circling your hipbone. “We don’t have to—”

“I know.” You press a kiss to his furrowed brow. “But I want this.”

He shifts to reach for it, but you catch his wrist. “Wait.”

His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowed.

You trace the skin with your thumb, suddenly too sheepish to meet his gaze. “We don’t need it.”

He stills at your tone. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You finally meet his gaze, “If it’s you… I don’t want anything between us.”

He exhales, shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening as his arms wrap around you again.

When your legs shift, parting around his hips, you feel the hard length of him press against your entrance, and it pulls a soft gasp from you both.

Caleb stills. One hand rests by your head, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, threading your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

He exhales slowly, trembling slightly as he reaches between you, lining himself up. The head of him nudges your entrance, already wet and aching for him. You feel the pressure first, a stretch that makes your breath catch. He sinks in just a little—then stops immediately when you tense.

“Too much?” he breathes.

You shake your head, running a hand down his back. “No… keep going.”

Inch by inch, his body presses into yours, your warmth pulling him in, taking him deeper. His jaw clenches, a guttural sound caught in his throat as your walls flutter around him, as your hand curls over his bicep for something. His restraint is palpable, sweat beading at his temples as he presses deeper, his hips rolling in shallow strokes until he’s sheathed fully inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His necklace rests warm against your collarbone, the metal shifting slightly as his chest heaves above yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his lips grazing your temple.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I will.”

His thrusts start slow, each one sinking deeper than the last, his eyes locked on yours as if searching for permission with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” he grits out suddenly, halting his movements with a trembling inhale. His entire body shudders as he lowers his forehead to your shoulder, nose brushing your throat, lips finding your pulse.

“I need a second…” His voice is breathless. “I don’t want this to end yet.”

You cradle his jaw, lifting his face up so you can look at him. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper, your thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Just be here. With me.”

His gaze falters, then finds yours again. He draws back just enough to move again, slow at first, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that won’t break him.

One of his hands tangles with yours, fingers lacing tightly together as he presses it into the pillow above your head. The other slips between your bodies until his thumb finds you, pressing a gentle, slow circle over your clit—and it draws a gasp from you, your thighs tensing around his hips.

“Like that?” His voice is hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathe, hips chasing the movement of his hand. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he leans in to kiss you again—messy now, all teeth and parted mouths. He keeps moving inside you, each thrust dragging along your sweet spots, and the rhythm of his thumb against your clit grows more confident, bolder with every breathless moan you give him. He watches you with blown pupils, flicking between your face and the place where your bodies meet, as if committing every detail of your pleasure to memory.

His forehead drops to yours, the weight of his body pressing deliciously down as his thumb circles faster, more intently, chasing the way your thighs begin to tremble, the way your grip on his hand tightens.

Then his hips shift—just a little, but enough for a sharp discomfort to shoot through you. You suck in a breath through your teeth, a soft, involuntary “ah—” escaping your throat.

He stops immediately. Every muscle in his body locks, his expression flashing from concentration to concern in an instant. “Shit—did I hurt you?” he asks, breath still ragged.

You shake your head quickly, already reaching for his face, your palm cradling his cheek. “No, no,” you whisper. “Just... not like that.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heels pressing against the small of his back, gently urging him into a better angle. “Here,” you guide, your voice low and coaxing. “A little lower. Like that.”

He swallows hard, still frozen in place, but the panic softens as he watches you, sees that you still want this. He nods, his throat working with the effort to calm himself.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “I promise.”

He exhales on the word promise, and then he moves again. His brows draw together, not in worry now, but in focus, lips brushing your cheek as he resumes the rhythm that had your body unraveling.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as he grinds deeper, the angle just there, the friction so exquisite your vision blurs.

“Caleb—” you gasp, voice cracking as the pleasure rises sharp and fast inside you.

“I know, I know.” he rasps. His hips snap harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing as you spiral closer. “That’s it,” he grits out, his thumb pressing harder. “Let go. Let go for me.”

When your thighs lock around his waist, when your walls clench around him in a sudden, overwhelming spasm, your release rips through you - deep, intense, every nerve alight. Your back arches off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as you pulse around him, your fingers clawing into the sweat-slick skin of his back.

“Fuck—” His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic. With a shattered groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his hips jerking as he spills into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath a ragged pant against your lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re both still, just a tangle of sweat and shared breath, his necklace resting between your breasts, now warm from the heat of your skin. Then he collapses against you, his weight comforting and grounding, his lips brushing your collarbone. His arms curl tightly around you, one hand tracing slow, mindless patterns over your hip, and the other splayed beneath your shoulder. You exhale slowly, your fingers sliding through his damp hair.

You’re not sure how long you lie there like that, tangled and breathless, your hearts gradually slowing from their frantic rhythm. The first sliver of sunlight filters through your curtains, golden and gentle. You tilt your chin to study him, how sunlight looks like powdered gold over his lashes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

“You’re beautiful,” you say, because it’s true, and because you know it’ll fluster him.

His nose scrunches, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Men aren’t beautiful.”

“You are.” You brush the hair from his temple. “Like a pouty Renaissance angel.”

He only chuckles, burying his face against your chest.

You tilt your head to kiss his temple, your voice a soft murmur against his skin. “Come on. Let’s wash up.”

He groans. “Or we could stay like this forever.”

“You’re sweating all over me.” you protest, already nudging at his side.

He lifts his head just enough to squint at you. “You liked it when I was sweating five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off with a laugh as you both untangle from the bed. The sheets are a mess, still warm with everything that happened, and your thighs ache, making you bite your lip as you stand. You grab a towel and toss one at him too. He catches it, looking far too smug for someone who was blushing just an hour ago.

As you step under the warm spray, Caleb holding your hand for stability, something crosses your mind.

“Hey… did you really drool on the pillow?”

[kamaluhkhan]

LOVE, VIOLET

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 12.9k summary: history might say that you and vi were only best friends, but the real story is much more complicated. (or: you and vi celebrating valentine's day warning: friends to lovers arc, lots of sapphic yearning, brief mention of homophobia and bullying....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and sappy lesbian monologues and lots of smut [oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), thigh riding, strap usage(r! receiving), needy+possessive! vi and slightly (?) dom! reader] (18+) ! a/n: happy (belated oops) valentine's day girls and gays <33 been working on this for a while and hoped to get it out like....actually in time for love day but such is life. ANYWAYS this is set in the same universe as this x-mas themed fic (and kinda a modern au of this one?? reader has the same nickname and there's a friends to lovers arc so....). hope y'all enjoy!!!!

♪: "glue song" by beabadoobee ft. clairo (sun); "home by now" by MUNA (moon); "love is a kaleidoscope" by chappell roan (rising)

also - header image was cropped from a gifset from @arcanegifs , pls check out their beautiful work !!!

track 1: “feeling you” by cat burns

(now)

"fuck, vi," you moan as her tongue splits your folds. "we don't have time for this...."

you have to get to studio and vi has to get to work, but the combination of the hot water hitting your skin and vi’s mouth on your cunt was something you did not want to give up just yet — even if you didn't want to admit it.

"baby," vi pouts, looking up at you innocently, as if she wasn't the one who decided to push you against the tile wall and get on her knees in front of you. "it was your idea to shower together this morning.”

"well, sorry for wanting to save water," you breathe, your grip tightening on her hair when she wraps her lips around your clit. "the planet is dying."

vi pulls away from you once more, lips shining with your slick. "well, excuse me for thinking you wanted to start today with a bit of romance. if all you care about is the environment...." she gets up and reaches behind you to turn off the water. "we better get going, pretty girl."

you whine at the sudden loss of warmth and clench your thighs together at the nickname, something that does not go unnoticed by vi. she licks her lips before leaning forward to kiss you, your back pushed against the cool tile once more and the taste of yourself faint on her tongue.

hearing your alarm go off reminds you that there are other responsibilities you each have to attend to. reluctantly, the two of you dry off and make your way to your shared bedroom. you put on a fuschia boyshort / bralette combo (your favorite set because, yes, it matches your girlfriend’s hair) before slipping on some dark jeans and a heart-printed turtleneck, and moving on to your makeup. in the meantime, vi had been in the kitchen making coffee, and reemerges now with two mismatched mugs. she sets one on the desk next to you, kisses the top of your head before getting herself ready for the day. 

you swipe some eyeliner on your waterline, watching in the mirror as vi searches in the closet for something to wear, still only dressed in black briefs and a sports bra. you smile as you see the stars tattooed on her upper thigh, sparkling with every movement she makes. once she picks out an outfit, her eyes catch yours.

"what?" she asks with a lazy grin, slipping on a tight black henley.

you smile, adding some pink glitter to your eyelids. 

it’s only been two weeks since you’ve moved into this new place. there are still plenty of unpacked boxes, and you still get a bit lost navigating around the neighbourhood, but otherwise, it’s been a dream. 

you love seeing your clothes woven together in the same closet; you love waking up with her arm around your waist, doing laundry together, and coming home to vi having tried a new recipe for dinner. you love how you sometimes wear each other’s rings because you keep them all in a pile on the nightstand, how she falls asleep with her head in your lap during movie night, how her skin smells like the rose body wash you picked out together at lush. 

you love this — this home you’re starting to build. you’ve known vi for so long, but your lives are intertwined now more than ever.

"nothing," you respond, finishing with a layer of vanilla lip gloss. "want me to do your eyeliner?”

it’s a familiar position: vi sits on the edge of the bed while you straddle her hips. she leans forward and presses a kiss to your sternum before you hold her chin between your thumb and pointer finger.

“so….tomorrow’s valentines day,” vi suddenly points out, though, really, you didn’t need the reminder.

you’d spent these past few years apart and this is your first valentine’s day since the break-up. 

you both agreed — no pressure — but…..there’s definitely a bit of pressure. you’d been working on your gift for her for weeks, and you’re really hoping that she likes what you’ve planned.

“i thought it would be nice to get dinner tonight at bacchus. i called earlier this morning and got us a reservation for 7:30.”

you hum in appreciation.

vi might be taking a break from the band, but she’s still the violet lanes, the pink-haired rockstar of every lesbian’s dreams who’s written award-winning songs and sold out entire football stadiums. there are new perks of being her girlfriend this time around, like a nice apartment in new york and getting a day-of-reservation at the most expensive italian restaurant in the city. 

“valentine’s day is tomorrow,” you repeat, a playful lilt to your words. you swipe your thumb near the corner of vi’s eye where you’d smudged an otherwise sharp wing of eyeliner. “someone’s eager to get a head start.” 

with that, you snap the tube closed, press a kiss to the tattoo on vi’s cheek, and get up to gather your things for studio. you’re tucking your sketchbook into your messenger bag when you feel vi’s strong arms wrap around your middle.

“you always said i was impatient,” she teases. you can feel her smirk against the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear before pressing a gentle kiss to your skin and whispering: “can you blame me, stargirl? for wanting to get dressed all fancy and go somewhere nice and romantic with the prettiest girl in the world?” 

“of course not.” you crane your neck back until your lips practically brush against hers as you speak. “except, you’re the prettiest in the world, baby.”

a beautiful blush spreads across vi’s freckled cheeks, the way it always has whenever you comment on vi’s beauty.  

she clears her throat, still a bit flustered. “agree to disagree?”

you pretend to think about it for a second, nudging your nose against hers. “agree to disagree,” you reply, teasing her by continuing to hover above her lips, just a sliver of air between you. 

yeah, vi’s impatient — but, sometimes, you love it. like, right now, when she turns you around to face her so she can close the gap, deepening the kiss by sliding her tongue into your mouth without any preamble.

vi groans as another alarm goes off from your phone. "i will never get used to how many alarms you set."

you giggle, and pull away slightly to swipe the cancel button. vi takes the opportunity to move your shirt slightly and leave bites on your exposed collarbone. you check the time on your phone.

you can spare a little more time. it is valentine’s day, after all. 

(age 13)

“vi, your precious stargirl is on the phone for you!”

at the mention of your nickname, vi flinches, inadvertently failing to dodge a lethal attack. green goblin crashed his glider into her spiderman avatar, and the words GAME OVER fill the screen in an angry red font. 

vi groans, throwing her playstation controller on the couch before heading to the kitchen.

powder is sitting on the counter, twirling the telephone cord around her finger and yapping away before vi takes her place.

“hey.” vi clears her throat, tries to sound casual. “what’s up?”

“so, my mom promised to make something for ekko’s valentine’s class party, but she just got called in for a shift….which means i’m stuck baking 30 rainbow confetti cupcakes, and hoping i don’t give any eight year olds food poisoning. you doing anything right now?”

“oh - i’m actually, uh, busy! i have homework, and….”

and she’s busy avoiding you, ever since she heard something about you — from drea, of all people — and wondered why you wouldn’t confide in her, your supposed best friend. 

“please, vi,” you coax. vi’s heart beats a bit quicker as she pictures your bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “can you come over and help me bake? it feels like forever since we’ve actually hung out. i miss you.”

vi is certainly not god’s strongest soldier when it comes to you, so of course, she caves. rainbow confetti cake is her favorite, so that’s a bonus. she and powder throw on their coats and head next door to yours; powder and ekko keep each other company in the living room while vi joins you in the kitchen.

“hey,” she greets. 

“there you are!” your face lights up with the sweetest smile, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flap up a storm. 

gods — do you realize the effect you have on her? 

there’s already flour dusting your cheek; vi has to resist the urge to brush it away with her thumb, wanting to feel how soft your skin must be. 

she snaps out of it though, as you instruct her on what needs to be done, and the two of you work in a comfortable silence, the sounds of your siblings watching cartoons in the other room filling the space between you. at one point, probably realizing that vi isn’t in the mood for talking, you switch on the radio. vi catches you smiling at her as she hums along to freddie mercury, but you’re quick to blink away and get back to work.

you’re sifting confectioner’s sugar into room temperature butter for the icing while vi slides the first batch of cupcakes in the oven, starts prepping the second, her mind starting to wander.

you and vi are playing the leads for your final english project, where you have to reenact scenes from romeo and juliet. powder caught the two of you rehearsing last week, and spent the whole night singing that stupid playground chant. now vi can’t get it out of her head: you and her, sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G — 

“the rumor’s not true, by the way,” 

vi looks at you as she pours batter into another cupcake liner, which accidentally overflows onto the counter. 

“shit,” she groans, but you slide over to the other side of the kitchen counter to bring her a towel. 

you don’t elaborate on what you’ve just brought up as you wipe up the thick batter. vi figures you’re waiting for her to say something.

“what rumor?”

it was never vi’s instinct to play pretend with you, but frankly she had no idea what else to do without letting her emotions burst into flames and inevitably burn you.  

“vi,” you sigh. “i know you’ve heard it. the whole school has. it’s not true, though. i wasn’t kissing james.”

oh. the spark of envy in her gut simmers down. 

“did he ask you to the sweetheart dance?”

you shake your head, and the spark extinguishes completely. “even if he did….i wouldn’t want to go with him.”

“why’s that? not your type?”

you finish wiping the counter, and vi takes the now-sticky towel from you to rinse it out in the sink. as she does this, you get back to frosting duty, stirring in some pink food colouring. 

“drea saw me kissing someone with dark brown hair,” you explain. “so isabel started told her that it was james, and that’s what she’s been telling everyone. but really….it was her.”

vi blinks at you. “her?”

“yeah, her,” you smile hesitantly. 

“you were kissing isabel?”

isabel was the prettiest girl in eighth grade — though, according to vi, you’d have that ranking, and it would go way beyond the scope of your middle school. you’re the prettiest girl in the world; not that vi would ever have the courage to tell you that.  

you nod. “you’re not, like, weirded out that i like kissing girls, are you?”

“what? no, of course not! especially since….i, uh, i like kissing girls too.”

in theory. vi likes to imagine kissing girls, especially when they look like korra from the legend of korra, or shego from kim possible, or hayley kiyoko in lemonade mouth.

or….you.

vi watches intently as you — a very pretty, very real girl — swipe your finger through the fluffy pink frosting and taste it, flashing her a sugary smile. 

“good to know.”

(age 16)

when josie asked her out, vi had completely neglected the fact that dinner on friday would mean dinner on february 14th. 

which is how vi finds herself getting ready for a date with someone she met during your short-lived attempt at starting an all female fight boxing club. josie is sweet and vi felt bad cancelling on her, so like the gentleman she is, vi promised to pick her up at 7:30pm. on friday, february 14th. 

it’s 6:44pm, and vi is in your room. you helped her pick out an outfit — something nice but not too formal — and you’ve moved on to makeup, carefully applying her eyeliner. 

vi tries not to stare at your lips — which are slightly red from the cinnamon hearts you’ve been eating — so she keeps squirming, and you keep gently guiding her chin towards you. her eyes wander to your decorated walls, filled with posters and photos and other things you’ve collected throughout the years. she’s featured in quite a few, and she catches a glimpse of an old valentine card she’d given you in elementary school.

“it’s weird that we won’t be spending valentine’s day together,” you comment as though reading her mind. 

you’d never spend the holiday as anything other than friends, but it does still feel strange, not spending it with someone she knows for sure she loves. 

(again — like a friend loves a friend.)

“yeah, definitely,” vi agrees. “do you have anything planned for tonight?”

“huge plans, actually.” you pop another cinnamon heart in your mouth. “i’ve got a super romantic date with the prettiest girl in the world.”

vi tilts her head in confusion — did you mention this to her? — which causes you to shake your head with a lighthearted laugh and guide her towards you once more.

“really? with who?”

you roll your eyes. “i’m kidding!” 

“oh.”

“it’s cute how gullible you are,” you whistle. by now, you’re done with her eyes and move on to dusting her cheeks with some sort of shimmery powder. “i’m probably just gonna put on a rom-com and finish — well, start — writing my english essay on romantic literature. lowercase ‘r,’ because ms. chavez was feeling festive. i’m leaning more modernist, but that’s only because i want to write about virginia woolf.”

it’s inching towards when vi should leave, but vi doesn’t care what time it is — she’d listen to you talk forever if she could.

“what’s it about?”

you pull away to examine vi’s makeup one last time.

“the movie, or my essay?” you nod once in approval and give the compact you’re holding to vi so she can take a look. “you look beautiful, by the way.”

vi watches her reflection blush, almost enhanced by the makeup you put on her. 

“thanks, stargirl.” vi clears her throat and decides to get back to your original conversation. “the movie and your essay, i guess.”

you offer vi a cinnamon heart, which she accepts, the candy burning sweet on her tongue. you then reach into your backpack, for the ring pop that vi had left in your locker this morning, just before you handed her a box of rainbow confetti cupcakes. you slip the candied jewellery onto your right ring finger before answering.

“i want to analyse the letters between virginia woolf and this other writer — vita sackville-west. they’re essentially love letters, but, you know.” you give an exaggerated shrug. “history says they were only best friends. at least, according to ms. chavez’s interpretations, along with most of the class.”

vi chuckles. “thankfully, you’re here to prove them all wrong.”

“exactly.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, the feeling of your body familiar next to hers. “and, for the movie, i’m thinking when harry met sally, which i remember watching with you for the first time.” 

vi definitely remembers watching that with you, too. the whole question of whether or not men and women can be friends without romance getting in the way brought up another, much more relevant question in vi’s mind: can two sapphic women be friends without any complicated feelings?

it’s definitely possible.

“so….you excited for this date?”

vi shrugs. “yeah.”

“wow. i totally believe that,” you say, words dripping with sarcasm. 

“it’s just….it’s valentine’s day,” vi whispers. she starts fiddling with one of her rings — you’d gotten it for her last valentine’s day, a silver thumb ring with a star in the middle. “what if she wants to kiss me tonight?”

“well, you kiss her back, if that’s what you want.” 

“that’s what i want,” she responds, way too quickly to be true. “it’s just — i’m not sure i’ll be any good.”

“you’ll be fine,” you assure. 

“but — i mean, i’ve never…..”

“oh.” your eyes widen and your lips part in shock, the blue-raspberry of the ring pop turning them from red to purple that’s intoxicatingly close to violet. “oh.”

“what! it’s not, like the end of the world.”

“of course not! it’s just — you’ve gone out with a bunch of girls, so i just figured….”

vi shakes her head, her cheeks heating up. “guess i never found the right one. i know it’s cliche, but i kinda wanted my first kiss to be —” 

“special?” you guess, and vi nods.

“and now, there’s all this pressure, i’m worried that i won’t be good.”

you clear your throat. “right. well, if it helps relieve the pressure….i could show you….how.”

“show me?”

“well — i mean, like teach you, i guess. plus, then i can let you know whether you’re, like, a good kisser or not.”

that’s how you find yourself practically in vi’s lap, slotting your lips between hers. it started off with a quick peck, but clearly, you’ve both decided that this lesson requires a bit more. 

every single one of vi’s senses is heightened: the stickiness of your glossed lips, the sugar on your tongue, the giggles rumbling through you and bouncing down vi’s throat. time seems to slow down — no, freeze entirely — which is a stark contrast to the burning in her lungs.

needing air, vi pulls away. 

“h-how was that?” she breathes, her words warming your mouth. 

“good.” you smile, almost shy. you’re so close together that vi can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. “maybe….a bit gentler this time.”

“gentler?”

“slower,” you suggest. 

so, you kiss again. gentler, this time.

“your lips are a bit chapped,” is your next note. you reach for the tube of lip gloss in your pocket. “can i?”

“go ahead, stargirl,” vi whispers. “you’re the expert.”

you paint a layer of sticky vanilla glitter onto vi’s lips.

“there,” you sit back after swiping your thumb underneath vi’s bottom lip. 

vi blinks at you. her lips feel like they’re coated in honey. “how do i look?”

“really pretty,” you reply, with a small smile. you sigh, glancing at the scooby-doo alarm clock on your nightstand, the one you’ve had since you were six years old. “you better go. have a good time with josie, okay?”

“okay.” vi gets up and grabs her jacket, tugs on her shoes. “and, thanks again for, well, you know.”

you shrug. “that’s what best friends are for. happy valentine’s, vi.”

vi hesitates just as she’s about to climb out your window. “look, stargirl, i don’t have to – i mean, i’m perfectly happy canceling my, uh, date, and just hanging out with you.”

“you’re sweet, vi, but i’ll be fine. go — have fun.” you walk closer to her so you can slip your tube of lipgloss into vi’s button down shirt pocket. you pat her chest affectionately. “and remember to be gentle, yeah?” 

later, when she’s making out with josie in the backseat of her dad’s car, vi tries not to think about your soft voice guiding her through the movements, or the dizzying taste of your lips — cinnamon hearts and sour candy and sweet, sweet vanilla.

history might say that you and vi are only best friends, but the real story is much more complicated.

___

[image: a cartoon scooby-doo, holding a bouquet of hearts. the message reads: BE MY VALENTINE!]

to: stargirl <3

from: vi

___

track 2: “you’re my best friend” by queen 

(age 7)

“mom?”

“yeah, kiddo?”

“can you be in love with your best friend?”

her mom, felicia, smiles knowingly, the question hanging in the air until the end of song. it’s part of an old mixtape that felicia plays sometimes, mostly glam rock like queen and david bowie. she put it on this afternoon while her and vi get ready for the valentine’s class party tomorrow. vi scribbles names on cards while her mom fills clear heart-printed bags with candy. powder’s fallen asleep on her lap. 

“definitely,” felicia finally answers, reaching over to tap vi’s nose playfully. “love, violet, can be a million different things. that’s the fun part.” 

felicia pinches vi’s cheek affectionately. vi frowns, thinking about this whole love thing. 

love is definitely not the next classmate whose name she’s writing — drea, who always cheats during sports and teases vi for being a tomboy. she’s tempted to just leave her out, but the policy of ms. julie’s second grade class is that everyone needs to get a valentine. so, that’s not love, either. 

instead, vi thinks of her family — her mom, vander, powder, and even ekko; movie nights and lively dinners and warm hugs. she thinks of her friends — mylo and claggor; laughter and skinned knees and running so fast it feels like flying. 

when she thinks of you, though, her heart beats differently.

vi thinks about how you always carry around a spiderman bandaid because she always scrapes herself during recess, and the nurse only carries plain, boring bandages. she thinks about how you ‘accidentally’ spill paint on drea’s art project after she calls vi mean names.

she thinks about how you doodle on her arms during math or braid her hair as you watch cartoons and eat sugary cereal on saturday mornings. 

she thinks about the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear, the perpetual marker stains on your hands, the dimple on your cheek.

you’re her best friend, and your smile alone wakes up a million butterflies in her stomach.

vi’s mom suggested spiderman valentine’s cards, but vi wanted to pick out something that you’d like; vi knows that scooby-doo is your favorite show, so that’s what she went with. she adds a ring pop to your bag of candy, because she knows they’re your favorite candy. she adds a little heart by your nickname, too.  

the next day, everyone is decorating their shoeboxes, transforming them into mailboxes before exchanging valentines. vi’s hands are sticky with glitter glue when you walk over — ms. julie said that you and vi distracted each other, so she assigned you to desks on opposite sides of the room. 

“happy valentine’s day, vi,” you say, sliding a card into her mailbox and smiling ear to ear before moving on to the next person. vi eagerly reaches in for the valentine. 

it’s spiderman-themed, and there’s a heart next to her name. 

(now) 

when you walk through the door, you’re engulfed in the scent of warm garlic bread and sweet, ripe tomatoes. the restaurant is bustling with waiters delivering colourful dishes, everyone wearing crisp suits and silk dresses. someone’s playing piano, soft music dancing throughout the room, and the overhead lights are dimmed, with each table illuminated by a candle in the centre.

the maître d' greets you with a welcoming smile and settles you into a table. once they’re gone, vi reaches across the table for your hand. 

“you look beautiful, stargirl.”

vi’s skin is always warm, but the cool metal of her thumb ring sends a shiver through you as she brushes over your knuckles. the flame between you flickers, darkening vi’s powder blue eyes as she gazes at you lovingly.

“you let me borrow your clothes,” you point out. “i’m wearing one of your suits.”

“what can i say….” vi winks, releasing your hand so she can open the menu in front of her. “i have good taste. looks better on you, anyways.”

“were you always this much of a flirt?” you tease.

vi smirks. “like a fine wine, i just get better with age.”

“you are so corny,” you say with a slight laugh.

“well, some people do think my love songs are cheesy.”

“even the ones written about me?”

vi looks up from her menu, one eyebrow raised. “baby, they’re all about you.”

your cheeks heat up at vi’s confession, and you take a sip from your glass, ice water trickling down your throat, in hopes of steadying your heartbeat.

a waiter comes by; you each order pasta dishes and vi orders a bottle of wine for the table. the wine arrives quickly, but given how busy the restaurant is, you anticipate the food will take longer. 

you fill the time easily, catching each other up on the details of your lives since this morning. you start by telling her how hectic your art studio has been as you prepare for your big spring exhibition, but how excited everyone is. you’re especially excited since you get to explore different mediums along the way; these past few weeks, you’ve been learning how to use a pottery wheel. you went through the final step of the process today — glazing — and you’re happy at the end product. 

“i don’t think i’m gonna include it in my exhibit, though,” you conclude. 

“well, it’d be nice to have some of your art on display all the time.” vi smiles. “you should bring whatever you made home.” 

“that’s the idea,” you muse, a twinkle in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “how was your day?”

vi started teaching guitar at the local community centre. some adults take lessons, but it’s mostly little kids with too much energy and too little patience. still, no matter how chaotic it can be, it’s clear that vi has been loving her job.

“i swear, this one girl, marceline, is a budding rockstar. i taught her a jimi hendrix song and she picked it up —” vi snaps her fingers, smiling proudly. “like that. such a talented kid.”

“you would know, pretty girl,” you praise.

your waiter arrives to bring plates full of pasta. you and vi thank them, your stomach grumbling at the delicious smell, a reminder that you had barely eaten all day. you’re so ready to dig into some quality fettuccine alfredo.

you and vi eat in a comfortable silence, until you hear an unfortunately familiar voice grate at your ears:

“oh my god, it is you! i saw you from the other side of the restaurant and just had to come over and say hi!”

you don’t need to glance to know who it is, but you do anyways, and so does vi. your stomach drops as you watch her bite back a scoff before turning back to her food.

“hi, drea,” vi clips before taking a big gulp of wine. she continues eating, barely sparing the woman another glance.

drea continues to hover. she’s wearing dark lipstick, her black hair cut into a classic bisexual bob, and her amber eyes silently pleading at you to break the ice. 

“hey, drea,” you greet with a stiff smile, and drea relaxes her shoulders at your veil of friendliness.

“nice earrings,” she winks, reaching over to tap the dangling purple gem. “thought you might have gotten rid of them after we broke up.”

vi chokes on a sip of wine. “broke up?” vi coughs, reaches for her water glass. “since when did you two date?”

you open your mouth to respond, but drea beats you to it, clearly too focused on being the centre of attention.

“maybe like a year or so ago.” drea turns to you. “right, starlight?”

vi’s jaw clenches, and she drops her fork, metal clattering against the plate.

“starlight?”

“yeah, because of the star-shaped birthmark behind her —”

“i know,” vi snaps. her eyes are locked on you, and slightly glazed over. “you never told me you dated drea.”

“i-it was only 3 months,” you stutter.

“that hurts,” drea groans, clutching her heart. she always did have a flair for the dramatic. “it was 4 months, babe.”

“you dated for 4 months, and i’m just hearing about it now?” vi seethes, trying to keep her voice low. the tables around you have already taken note that something is happening, though, their conversations hushing down to an idle whisper. “did you somehow forget how much of an asshole she was in high school?”

“um, i’m right here?” drea chides, still not taking the hint that neither of you are interested in a happy reunion.

“we need a minute,” you and vi say simultaneously. drea rolls her eyes and mutters something you don’t care to hear; you’re too concerned with explaining yourself to vi, whose cheeks are burning with a deep shade of red. whether it’s jealousy, anger, or embarrassment, you’re not quite sure.

“vi, just let me —” 

you reach out for her hand, but as soon as you make contact, vi pulls away abruptly.

“i…i need….to not be here right now,” vi mutters. the last thing she wants is to make headlines tomorrow morning — violet lanes, caught having argument with girlfriend at upscale restaurant during on valentine’s eve. flip to page 6 for the full story! — so, she gets up and slips on her jacket. 

“please, baby, let’s talk about this —”

“order dessert, if you want. don’t rush home.”

her voice cracks at that last word before she storms out the door, leaving you with two unfinished meals and stomach heavy with regret. 

___

[image: notebook opened to a page filled with chaotic, scribbled writing]

FOR STARGIRL (FINAL DRAFT!!! COME UP WITH TITLE LATER!??!!)

i’m stuck on you, baby

you taught me what love is

sugary sweet kisses,

frosting on your lips;

first tattoos,

promises on our skin

i’m stuck on you, baby

have been since we were kids

you’re not just the sun or the moon

you’re all my stars

know that i’ll love you

wherever we are

___

track 3: “true romantic” by indigo girls

(age 18)

the auditorium is decorated with red and pink streamers, heart garlands and bouquets of roses. a red spotlight shines on the stage, painting each performer with a pink hue. there are small tables and chairs arranged to make the space feel more like a parisian cafe, instead of where drama club rehearses for the spring musical.

you’re sitting at one of the tables, inhaling all the free coffee and pastries you possibly can and chatting with viktor and jayce, like you’ve done for the past three years at your highschool’s annual valentine’s day coffeehouse. 

the first time vi performed, during your freshman year, she was all nerves, her fingers fumbling at chords and voice trembling through the lyrics of a joan jett song she had played for you perfectly that morning. when her eyes landed on yours in the crowd, you gave her a thumbs-up — you’d been just friends at the time, after all — and vi seemed to warm up, finishing to enthusiastic applause. 

now, vi walks on with confidence right away, electric guitar the same pink as her hair, with a constellation of stars scribbled on its body with black sharpie. she’s grown out her hair, still keeping it shorter on one side to display her growing collection of piercings. the newest addition is a silver loop in her nostril, which glints underneath the spotlight as she leans closer to the mic. she’s wearing lowrise jeans and showcasing a sliver of her hips; you can’t help but think about what’s hidden just a bit lower, the stars sparkling along her upper thigh, etched into her skin at the same time you got violets blooming between your ribs. 

“hey everyone. most of you know me as the captain of our hockey team —”

beside you, jayce whistles and there’s a scattering of applause for the team, who just made it to nationals. vi landed an athletic scholarship, too, to play at university of piltover. even though you have a hard time picturing your girlfriend as an enforcer, you’re so proud of her. plus, it’s only a twenty minute drive from zaun university, where you’ve decided to go so you could be close to your family.

“but, i’ve been writing songs, too,” vi continues. “i realized that i’ve gotten up here every year to sing someone else’s love song to a girl i’ve had a crush on since before i even knew what a crush was. but this is a song i’ve been writing, for and about her, for years. and now that we’re actually dating….well, i wanted to do something special for our first valentine’s day. ” vi looks at you with a toothy grin, and you blow her a kiss. “wait, actually, can we get a spotlight on my girlfriend? right there?”

vi gestures in your general direction, and suddenly you feel the heat of the spotlight and 50 pairs of eyes on you. your cheeks flush at the attention, but you play along and wave nonetheless.

“there she is,” vi gushes. “my beautiful stargirl. i wrote this song —”

“oh my god, we came here for music, not your sappy lesbian monologue!” drea, current goalie of  zaun high’s hockey team and perpetual pain in vi’s ass, groans. “hurry up and play the song already!”

one of the teachers hushes the bubbling laughter, and it dies down just as quickly as it emerged.

vi rolls her eyes. “as i was saying, i wrote this song-slash-sappy-lesbian-monologue for you, stargirl. i hope you like it. happy valentine’s day.”

you don’t know what makes your heart soar more — the sweet lyrics falling from the lips of the girl you love, or the girl herself. 

later, vi is falling asleep in the middle of chemistry class when she hears a light clink against the window. she glances outside and sees you waving at her, smile as bright as a shooting star. you have paint stains on your jeans that weren’t there earlier and you’re gesturing at her to follow you. vi just shrugs and nods her chin towards the front of the class. 

your bottom lip juts out into a pout, and you curve your hands into a heart before disconnecting them. vi snorts at your antics. 

“ms. lanes, are my slides on organic compounds amusing to you?” 

“uh, no mr. michaels. of course not.” vi clears her throat, whips her head back towards the smartboard. “may i, uh, go to the bathroom?”

vi checks her phone as soon as she closes the door behind her. 

stargirl

hurry UP!!!

dyke spiderman <3

easy romeo

i’m omw

where should i meet u???

stargirl

our spot

“wait!” you call as soon as vi reaches the bottom of the staircase and starts to turn the corner. “close your eyes!”

“how’d you know it was me?” vi laughs, but does as she’s told nonetheless.

“the axe body spray is a pretty dead giveaway,” you deadpan. 

“hey, i stopped using that in middle school. can i look now?”

you ask her to wait one more time. vi feels you shift behind her, wrap your arms around her waist. on instinct, vi reaches a hand down and laces her fingers through yours, your skin slick and cold. 

“okay,” you whisper, your breath hot against her ear. “open your eyes.”

and when she does, vi is glad that you’re holding her, because she’s suddenly weak in the knees at what’s gracing the wall before her: a small mural reminiscent of klimt’s famous painting, ‘the kiss’. except — it’s the two of you, surrounded by stars and violets.

“happy valentine’s day, vi.” 

you untangle yourself from her, but vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even when she realizes it’s wet with fresh paint. 

“you….you did this?”

“yeah.”

“wow….it’s amazing. beautiful.”

vi squeezes your hand, still in awe at how you beautifully swirled together each color, the loving expressions you managed to portray with each delicate stroke of your paintbrush. 

“i’m glad you like it.”

“like it? i love….” she turns to you. “i love it. you didn’t have to do all this though, it must have taken you forever.”

“you’re worth it,” you muse. “like you said — it’s our first valentine’s day. as a couple at least. i wanted to do something special. i made us a playlist, too.”  

so, even though it means she’s skipping chem and you’re skipping history, the two of you curl underneath the staircase, a pair of earbuds split between you. 

“i’m gonna miss seeing you every day after we graduate.”

vi hums in agreement. she gently lifts your head from her shoulder, holding your chin between her thumb and pointer finger. “you know i’ll love you wherever we are, right?”

“i know, i heard you early on stage,” you swoon, settling back against her shoulder. “seemed a bit dramatic for only being, like, 20 minutes away from each other. though, i guess that is the farthest apart we’ve ever been.”

vi takes a deep breath, as your fingers dance along the doodles decorating her skin, the ones you had drawn on in sharpie during calculus. “except…. it might be further than that, depending on how things go.”

your pointer finger pauses halfway through an outline of a heart. “what do you mean?”

“i’m, uh….i don’t want to go to university of piltover. actually, i don’t want to go to college at all. i turned down the scholarship; made the official decision two weeks ago after the big game.”

“you did what?”

“i wanna move to l.a. or london, pursue this whole music thing. i think it could really take me places.” 

“right,” you clip.“and why are you just bringing this up now? have you told vander? have you talked to anyone before making a huge, life-changing decision?”

you continue shaking your head in disbelief as you gather your backpack and turn the corner, emerging from underneath the staircase; vi follows you. 

“no, but it’s my life — and i know what i want.”

“and it’s always about what you want, right?” you scoff.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“it’s just — did you ever think about your family in all this? how powder might feel having her sister so far away just as she’s starting high school?”

“i’ve spent the past 13 years of my life worrying about powder, taking care of her especially after our mom died,” vi reasons, trying to keep her voice steady. “i need a break. my dreams are bigger than this town.”

“do you…” you trail off, hesitant to even speak the words aloud, but the coil in your gut tells you it’s unavoidable. “do you need a break from us?” 

“stargirl.” vi whispers your nickname like a promise itching to be broken. “i thought you’d love having a rockstar girlfriend,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.

“don’t,” you grumble, brows furrowed. “if you wanted to make things work between us, you would have at least talked to me about this.”

“i am talking to you,” vi counters. she grabs her hands in yours. you pull away.

“but, you spent these past two weeks listening to me imagine our future together, while you had already made other plans. what does that say about our actual future?”

before vi can respond, someone clears their throat from the top of the staircase. your principal, looking down on you with an expression that can only be described as disinterested, addressing you by your last names. 

“pro tip,” she continues. “if you want to skip class and have a lover’s quarrel, make sure it’s not somewhere that carries sound directly to the office.”

you and vi get assigned detention that afternoon. you’re told to sit on opposite sides of the room, but that doesn’t stop vi from throwing a crumpled ball of paper your way. 

glancing over at your girlfriend, you have to admit that you find yourself melting at those puppy dog eyes of hers, pleading and so full of love as she waits for you to respond to her message.

even though the future feels uncertain, you scribble something back, then toss the paper towards her desk discreetly. it lands on the floor. vi unfolds it and smiles as she reads the note, cheeks tinted a light rose.

___

[image: a crumpled ball of paper. unfold it, and it reads….]

(in hot pink gel pen)

I WANT TO MAKE THINGS WORK BETWEEN US

I LOVE YOU

(in black sharpie)

I LOVE YOU TOO

OF COURSE WE’LL MAKE IT WORK

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A ROCK STAR GF, BTW

BUT ONLY IF SHE’S AS HOT AS YOU

___

track 4: “home by now” by MUNA 

(age 21)

“wait, hold on — what does that sign say?”

violet lanes, will you be my valentine?

“i’m flattered,” vi chuckles. “but, sorry ladies — i’m a happily taken woman. i’ve got a pretty girl waiting for me in the crowd.” 

“and, lemme just say, it’s a good thing we’ve all got separate hotel rooms this time,” caitlyn groans. 

vi rolls her eyes. “anyways. this is a very special night because it’s the first time my girlfriend is watching us perform live! she’s over there, looking as beautiful as ever. everyone, say hi!”

the spotlight shines on you, and you giggle shyly. the necklace she’d given you this morning practically glows between your collarbones, illuminates your skin with a violet hue. 

“isn’t she the cutest?” vi gushes. “the first time i performed this next song was to celebrate our first valentine’s day as a couple. and — fun little easter egg — when we released this as a single, the cover was a painting she had made for me on that same day. she’s just so talented, kicking ass at this fancy art program….she’s basically the frida kahlo to my joan jett…..and i’m just rambling, now, sorry guys. i could probably talk about my girl all day.” 

“oh, and she does,” maddie grumbles. 

“the fans love sappy-lesbian-monologues, don’t they?” the crowd roars, and vi flashes maddie a winning smirk. “so, yeah, i love my girlfriend every day, of course, but today it’s with roses and ring pops and those cheesy cards kids hand out to each other in elementary school. happy valentine’s day, stargirl. this one’s called — stuck on you.” 

when the show’s over, and the band’s played not one, but two encores, you’re flinging your arms around vi’s neck before she even has the chance to put down her guitar. she’s all sweaty, white tank top sticking to her torso. her ears are still ringing and her throat a bit sore, but all vi cares about is the feelings of your soft lips kissing across her cheeks. 

“you’re so fucking amazing,” you gush, pecking her lips delicately. “i mean, i’ve seen you play before, but never like this! vi, you’re….wow. electric, fucking radiant. you must be exhausted, though, ahh —”

vi kisses you, sweaty and breathless, until she’s practically sucked all the air from your lungs.

“not at all,” she replies with a cocky grin. “we’ve got all night and i’m not planning on getting any sleep.”

“ugh, gross. get a room,” caitlyn scoffs, playful but with a bit of an edge. 

“oh, we will,” you reply coolly. maybe you’re a bit jealous with how seamlessly caitlyn fits into vi’s new life, how much she’s able to see your girlfriend much more than you’re able to. she hasn’t been particularly friendly since you’ve gotten here, and she’s been a bit too touchy with vi in the tabloids lately. “i’m guessing you don’t have any valentine’s plans?”

caitlyn narrows her eyes at you.

vi laughs, probably about to make a lighthearted comment to diffuse the tension between you and caitlyn, but she’s called aside by their manager for a quick chat before she gets the chance. 

“i’ll be right back. cait, stargirl — play nice,” she advises, like you’re children fighting on the playground. 

once she’s gone, caitlyn’s frown turns into a smirk. 

“stargirl, huh? guess that explains her thigh tattoo. i didn’t think vi was that sentimental, though, so it must have been at your request.” 

you straighten your back, trying to mirror caitlyn’s combative confidence. “i think i know her better than you.”

“maybe before, when you were kids growing up in that nothing town. things change, darling. people change — who they are and what they want. if i were you, i’d accept that sooner rather than later,” caitlyn snarks as she finally walks away, bumping your shoulder just as vi returns to the pair of you.  

you don’t quite have the time to register the interaction, not with vi intertwining her fingers with yours and tugging you towards her body. 

“let’s get out of here, yeah?” she brushes some hair behind your ear. “we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

and, there was so much time to make up for — the days that have turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years since you’d last seen each other in person, sometimes only speaking to each other once every month, for only two minutes at a time. 

you’d gotten so used to being apart that being together feels like a dream.

vi’s warm body presses against yours, barely making it to the bed. you just couldn’t resist pushing her against the door of the hotel room as soon as you were inside, lodging your thigh between her legs. 

“i, uh, i have a surprise for you,” vi breathes, groaning as you hum and start to suck bruises down her neck. 

“yeah? what is it, pretty girl?”

blushing and slightly flustered at the nickname, vi removes her shirt and sits back on the bed, gesturing at you to follow her. you hover on top of her and take in her naked form. 

“you…got your nipples pierced.”

vi grins. 

“can i touch them?” 

she nods enthusiastically. you brush your thumb over one and she shivers, causing you to pull away.

“no, it’s okay,” she assures, guiding your hand back towards her. “feels good.”

you start kissing her again. “you’re so fucking beautiful.” until you reach her chest. “can i?”

vi blinks up at you, eyes glazed over with honeyed want. “please. f-fuck,” vi moans when you latch your mouth to her nipple, rolling the cold, silver piercing along your tongue.

“you’re so sensitive,” you coo. you release her nipple with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting it to your wet lips. your fingers slip underneath vi’s underwear, gliding through her soft curls and down into her sticky heat. “so wet. you really missed me, yeah?”

“course i did, stargirl,” vi lets out a shaky laugh. “i want to show you just how much.”

you pout, and vi has the urge to capture that beautiful bottom lip of yours between her teeth. “but i wanted to show you how much i missed you.”

“well, like i said — we have all night.”

three orgasms later, and you’re nearing the point of exhaustion, but you’re determined to keep going, if anything because of how full you feel with vi’s fingers fucking into you at a truly impressive pace. the pads of her fingers are rougher than before, calluses from playing guitar so often, but she still knows exactly how to curl and curve them in every way that makes you unravel. her lips are shining with your cum, and you still taste her sweetness on your tongue. 

she grinds her bare cunt against the soft skin of your thigh as she brings you closer and closer to your peak while desperately chasing hers. 

“you close, pretty girl? gonna cum for me again?”

vi whines, nods eagerly. “i’m so fucking close. fuck — i don’t know what i’d do without you.” 

you groan when vi starts sucking at your pulsepoint, running her tongue over the chain of your new necklace. you reach a hand up to tug at her hair, gently coaxing her to look at you.

“don’t worry about that,” you promise. vi takes a deep breath as though inhaling your words and buries her face in the crook of your neck, butterfly lashes fluttering closed and tickling the skin behind your ear. “you’re being so good for me, so messy.”

“s-sorry,” vi sniffles, blood rushing to her cheeks. her body stills while she moves to meet your gaze, her puppy dog eyes shining with desire and desperation. 

you shake your head and dig your fingers into the plush of her hips, urging her to keep going.

“i love it,” you clarify, prompting vi’s face to brighten, her smile pure sunlight and sugar. 

you run your thumb over the scar on her lip that stretches with such familiarity, before crashing your lips against hers. vi welcomes your slick tongue into her mouth, swirling around every crevice until your tastes combine into one. the knot in your abdomen tightens and you, somewhat reluctantly, pull away to admire your girlfriend.

“i love how gorgeous you look on top of me, fucking me while using my body to get yourself off,” you continue, words flowing from your mouth like thick, sickly-sweet nectar. “i want you to cum with me one more time, yeah?”

vi whimpers into the crook of your neck, the vibrations intensifying the waves of pleasure crashing throughout your body. it doesn’t take long for vi to feel you clench around her fingers, and for you to feel her gush against your skin, staining the bedspread beneath your entangled bodies.

vi pulls away her fingers — you whimper this time at the sudden emptiness — but she places the softest kiss on your lips as an apology before adjusting to lay down on her side. she nestles into the curve between your neck and shoulder. her teeth graze your pulsepoint as you run your hand through her damp hair.

you should probably take a shower — the two of you drenched in each other’s sweat and saliva and cum — but all you want to do is to melt against her. maybe if you stay in bed, then time will slow down. 

“i wish you could stay longer.” 

“me too,” you whisper, idly tracing your fingers down her body. 

“you know, the art scene in this city is amazing,” she mumbles. “lot of galleries where you could show your work. nice, big apartments where you could have your own private studio space. you could move here after graduation.”

you laugh. “maybe in another life, where i could afford a place in new york. plus, at this point, i think it’d be best for me to move home after i graduate. but, hypothetically speaking — yeah, that would be cool.”

“well, hypothetically speaking, you would share rent with the pink-haired butch of your dreams.”

“you mean the one whose cum is drying on my thigh right now?”

“the very same,” vi nods with a cheeky grin. she throw her arm around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

you nudge your nose against hers. “paint me a picture — what does this dream life with my dream girl look like?”

“well, we get a place in an artsy neighbourhood, obviously, surrounded by a strong, welcoming community of queer artists, who are all quirky and colorful in their own way.”

“we’d actually be friends with our neighbours — host dinner parties and have movie nights and dance all night at gay bars. our apartment would have an open-floor plan, and we’d have big windows that give us a ton of light and a great view.”

“a beautiful kitchen, too. one that’s a little outdated, but we prefer the term charming,” vi adds. “and there are always fresh flowers on the counter, in a gorgeous vase.”

“we thrifted most of our stuff, so the furniture is all mismatched furniture and in every color of the rainbow —”

“but it works.”

“it works,” you echo, heart glowing. “we adopt a dog, too.” 

“and, the dog’s name?”

you think for a second. “scooby.”

“of course,” vi agrees, her smile suddenly sad. “sounds like a nice life we’d have together.”

“yeah. it does.”

you swallow down those dreams with a bitter dose of reality. you’ll be on a plane tomorrow, heading back to your childhood home, while vi continues travelling the world, performing to sold-out stadiums. 

i don’t know what i’d do without you.

the sad truth is that vi does know what to do without you, and you know what to do without her. that’s what this relationship has become: together, in theory, but growing into your adult selves and towards lives that don’t necessarily include the other. 

the vi beside you, hair a mess and eyeliner smudged, looks the same, give or take a few new tattoos and piercing. but, you wonder about all the little ways she’s changed that you might not ever have the chance to appreciate, about all the details of her day that you’ll never get to hear about. 

you wonder if, possibly, caitlyn is right. you know that people change — who they are, what they want. you want to believe that you and vi are the exception, that no matter how much you changed, you’d always be together. always. 

you then remember something else that caitlyn had said, and abruptly stop tracing designs onto vi’s skin, your eyes lingering on the stars on her upper thigh. vi must notice how you stiffen, because she cups your cheek, prompting you to meet her gaze.

“hey — are you okay?”

“i just — don’t take this the wrong way —  but….has anything ever happened between you and cait?”

vi freezes. “why….why would you ask that?”

“o-oh, it’s just….she mentioned something about your star tattoo and, i, uh, i don’t know. seems like the type of thing she’d only know if the two of you had —”

vi shuffles away from you beneath the sheets and sits up. “you think i’d cheat on you?”

“you aren’t answering the question,” you notice, watching carefully as a nervous blush blooms across her freckled cheeks. “did anything happen between you and caitlyn?”

“why does it matter? why are you asking?”

“i’m starting to think i have a good reason to.” you get out of bed in a huff and slip on her oversized graphic tee, starting to pace back and forth.

“i — look, i was going to tell you, at some point — we, uh….well, nothing actually happened.”

“well? what didn’t actually happen?”

“baby, just let me explain —” vi catches your arm to stop you. “we were both drunk and high and sharing a cigarette by the pool and….she….we….almost kissed.”

you scoff. “so that’s what this weekend was all about — you felt guilty, so you put on this heart-eyed romantic act to make yourself feel better. everything — this last minute trip, the shoutout at your concert, the fucking necklace you got me — was all because you felt guilty.”

“maybe that’s part of it,” vi admits. “but, mostly, i wanted to see you. i miss you.”

you don’t confess to missing her, too. instead, you say:

“maybe we don’t know each other as well as we used to. maybe….things are changing a bit too much.”

“what does that even — where is this going?” vi drops your arm like its a hot coal, red-hot and blistering. “do you wanna break up?”

the tension hangs in the air, a cloud of smoke and darkness between you and the girl you’ve always loved.

“do you?”

you get on a plane the next morning, bone-tired and heart-heavy with deja vu. 

you kiss each other goodbye, promise that you’ll make things work.

you don’t. can’t. 

a few months later, you’ll break up. 

___

[image: postcard reading GREETINGS FROM PARIS! messy handwriting and misspelled words on the other side]

stargirl,

i promised powder id send her a postcard from paris but im really really drunk rn and urs is the only address i can rememer 

they say this is the city of love and it’s the most romantic day of the yer but it means nothing without u. i miss u.

that mesage was 4 u not powder. just tell her i say hi.

xxx

vi

p.s. i know were not together anymore, but i still love u.

___

track 5: “i’ve loved you for so long” by the aces

(now)

“vi?” 

all the lights in the apartment are off, the only sign that vi is home being her discarded doc martens strewn by the door. there’s a chill in the air, too — the window to the fire escape is open, so you head outside.

the string lights twisted around the railing flicker like fallen stars, and the city sparkles in the late winter night. vi perches over the edge, her silk shirt unbuttoned at the top, her dark lipstick faded, and a cigarette smouldering between her ringed fingers. 

“i stopped at magnolia’s on my way home – got us a slice of confetti cake for dessert,” you try, keeping your voice light in hopes of avoiding a fight. you hoped that the sweet treat would be a welcomed peace offering; that maybe you could sit down in your shared kitchen and actually talk through the conflict like the well-adjusted adults you’re trying to be. 

instead, time collapses into itself; you’re both teenagers again, keeping secrets from each other in hopes to ease future pain, and you have a feeling you’re about to bicker like an old married couple, fall back into familiar patterns.

“sure you wouldn’t want to share it with drea, instead starlight?”

you don’t take the bait; you know vi wants to push your buttons, and you know that she knows exactly how. 

“didn’t realize you still smoked,” you say, moving to lean against the railing next to her. 

“whenever i get stressed.” she takes a drag to prove her point, exhaling smoke into the ink-black sky. “guess we don’t know each other as well as we used to.” 

“vi, please,” you sigh. “can we actually talk about this without you lashing out like a wounded dog?”

and, it’s true — vi’s instinct when she’s upset has always been rushing to sink her teeth into something to protect herself from more harm, or gnawing on old wounds until fresh blood emerges.

“what’s there to talk about?” she snarls, tapping her cigarette, ash falling down into the abyss below you. “how you lied about dating drea?”

“i didn’t lie,” you huff. the winter night shivers down to your bones, but you cross your arms over your chest to keep yourself steady. “i just didn’t tell you that i’d gone out with her, specifically. we each admitted to seeing other people after our break-up. you never gave me a list of every fangirl you took to bed.”

“i told you about caitlyn —”

“the tabloids told me about caitlyn,” you counter. 

“you knew how much i hated drea!” vi barks, finally whipping her head to look at you. “do you not remember how much of a homophobic asshole she was? how she told the entire hockey team that i cornered her in the showers one day and tried to kiss her?”

you bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste copper.

“vi, if you just let me explain — she meant nothing to me.”

vi laughs, cold and bitter as the winter air. “i mean, jesus christ, you still have and wear the earrings she got you. meanwhile, you never wear that necklace i’d gotten you. as soon as we broke up, you were perfectly happy getting rid of me.”

“please, vi —” 

vi’s eyes shine under the starlight, and she clenches her jaw so tight that you’re worried the bone might shatter. “did you not care about me at all, even after all that time, everything we’d been through?”

you uncross your arms and reach out to her, but she flinches away. 

“violet —”

“no — you stopped caring about me to the point that you dated someone who made my life a living hell.” vi takes a shaky breath, and she chokes out your name. “we were best friends first, and i thought….god, i thought that meant we’d always love each other.”

the words hang heavy in the air, your heart pierced by her icicle-sharp words. in a haste, you wipe away the cold tears burning on your skin, turn around on your heels, and storm back inside. 

vi finds you a few minutes later in the living room. you’re using the swiss army knife you usually keep clipped to your belt to tear through unpacked boxes. though she’s not sure what you’re looking for, vi turns on the lamp to help your search. 

“what are you —”

you finally pull something out and offer it to her without a single word. 

vi’s fingers are still slightly frozen as she holds it, her eyes following the precise swirls and crisp lines, designs similar to the tattoos on her back. you must have drawn them on the worn cardboard.

“what is this?”

“open it,” is all you say before sitting cross-legged on the velvety purple couch, which the two of you had lugged up three flights of stairs from the street corner just the other day. you pick at one of the tears in the fabric as you wait.

vi stays standing while she carefully cracks open the lid, well aware that it could disintegrate in her hands like sand through an hourglass. 

what looks like a forgotten, ready-to-be-recycled shoebox turns out to contain much more than old sneakers: 

valentine’s cards she’d given you in elementary school; notes you passed to each other during class or detention; her first songwriting notebook she must have left at your place; a jolly rancher lollipop wrapper from the halloween party where you first…you know. little trinkets vi had given you throughout the years. receipts, movie tickets, photobooth strips of your younger selves. so carefree and full of love.

her anger, her hurt, melts away into sappy affection; knees turning to jello, she slides onto the couch next to you. 

you watch through the corner of your eye as vi rustles through contents of the shoebox-turned-time capsule, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. 

“you….you kept all of this?” 

“i put this box together on the first valentine’s day after our break-up. i was going to set it on fire,” you timidly admit, rubbing the back of your neck. 

vi snorts. “seriously?”

“some sort of stupid ritual i read about in autostraddle, to get rid of your ex. but when it got to that point…all of this — all these memories — i couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. i didn’t want to get rid of you.”

you reach into the box and pull out a faded, drunkenly-written postcard, chipped-polish nail fiddling with the french stamp in the corner. 

“what about the necklace?” vi can’t help but ask. she runs her fingers through the delicate, dried violets from your corsage, which your mom had helped vi pick out a week before prom. 

“ekko wanted new sneakers for his birthday, so i did the nobel big sister thing, and sold my most expensive piece of jewellery to pay for them,” you explain. you and vi had instinctively shuffled in closer together, the shoebox balanced on one leg from each of you, your knees touching. “plus — yeah, i was mad at you. god, i hated you — which probably was the reason i started going out with drea in the first place, and i’m really, really sorry that i did. but, i need you to know — i never stopped caring about you. i never stopped loving you, violet, and i don’t think i ever will. ”

silence stretches between you. vi stares at you in the warm living room light — how your eyes are darker, your lips parted, shoulders curling in to protect your bleeding heart. vi gently takes the postcard from you and places the shoebox on the floor. 

“i never stopped loving you, either,” she promises, placing her now thawed hands on your cheeks. “and i don’t think i ever will.” 

you smile softly as vi leans in closer, her eyes flickering between yours and your lips. you nod; vi presses her lips to yours, a tender vow that grows into something hungrier, something with teeth. 

“gentler,” you tell her as you pull away slightly. you want to take your time, inhale the dizzying nicotine in her lungs, savor the acidic red wine on her tongue. 

“gentler?” vi’s already eager, though, her hand inching up your thigh.

“slower, violet.”

vi shudders as you trail your fingers over the tattoo on her neck. “have i ever told you how much i love it when you say my name?” 

“drea definitely wasn’t a fan of that habit,” you confess with a guilty grin. “one of the reasons we broke up is because, well...i kept accidentally saying your name during sex.”

“really?” vi chuckles darkly, a lightning bolt of possessiveness striking through her. “fucked you so good that i ruin you for other girls, hm?”

you roll your eyes, then suck in a breath when vi dips her fingers beneath your underwear, finding you wet and waiting.

“oh, sweetheart, you’re soaking. all this, just for me?”

“hm, i don’t know. drea did look pretty good in that dress,” you tease — because you know how to push vi’s buttons, too. “i have to admit, she was a pretty decent fuck.”

“don’t,” she warns, but her eyes are burning with desire.

you smirk, slipping your hand underneath her shirt. her skin is always warm, but, right now, it’s electric. her abs are sculpted by the gods, pave way to a thick haven of curls between her legs.

“maybe you need to remind me why your name always fell from my lips whenever she’d make me cum.”

vi’s cheeks are red-hot, her heart pounding against your chest as she pushes you onto the couch, and presses her body into yours. 

“it would be my genuine pleasure.”

everything else to ash, and you’re left with this: your lace underwear dangling off your ankle as vi pushes your legs over her shoulders. her slick, skilled tongue sliding through your folds and her rough fingers squelching into your hole at an expert pace.

“f-fuck, vi,” you moan, running your fingers through her messy hair. you don’t miss how eagerly she grinds down onto the butter-soft velvet once you start tugging at the strands more firmly. 

“feels good, yeah?” she moans like you’re the one fucking her. “i’m the one making you feel good?”

“yes.” you exhale sharply when she sucks on your clit. “i’m close, vi.”

“i know, baby,” she drawls, smirking against your skin.

“don’t stop.” you plead as she sucks a bruise into your thigh, fingers curling into you. “don’t stop, don’t stop —”

and, she fucking stops. 

“vi,” you whine. 

“uh-uh, you don’t get to cum quite yet, pretty girl.”

she sucks her honey-soaked fingers into her mouth as she gets up from the couch.

you pout, licking your lips even though you wish you could lick hers. “why not?”

“i’m still mad at you,” vi states. “you really did hurt my feelings. how do you plan on making it up to me?”

vi tries to resist, play the part of the jealous, possessive girlfriend — but, god, it’s hard, with how fucked out, how beautiful you look right now: your lips the color of ripe plums, swollen and stained with vi’s lipstick; the curls between your legs twinkling with droplets of your desire; and your eyes glazed over with lust as you gaze up at her from the couch.

“that new strap we got,” you suggest, still breathless. your breasts strain against the now-wrinkled silk of the shirt you’re wearing. vi’s thankful that it’s hers, because she wants nothing more than to rip the fabric off your body. “you — you can fuck me with it.”

“is that what you want?” vi hums, fire burning in her abdomen as she watches you nod eagerly. usually, you’re the one who takes control, and that’s perfectly fine with vi, but tonight….

tonight, she has something to prove.

you’re both naked by the time you reach the bedroom, clothes thrown across the apartment floor as you take turns leaving bites and bruises on exposed areas of the other’s skin. you get down on your knees, the shag carpet shocking your skin as vi looms over you, gnawing at her scarred, kiss-swollen lips. you help her adjust the harness and attach everything accordingly, leaving a kiss on each star glittering across her thigh once you’re done. she makes you wait patiently as she coats the dildo with a healthy amount of lube.

vi offers you her hand, sticky with lube and your essence from earlier, and lifts you to your feet. she kisses you sweetly before pushing you onto the bed. 

"turn around," vi instructs. "on your knees."

you comply, already feeling yourself dripping onto the comforter in anticipation. vi kneels behind you on the bed, grasping the plush of your hips between her strong hands. you gasp when she spits onto your hole and starts to fuck into you, inch by inch. 

"you okay, baby?" vi asks once she’s halfway inside you.

"yes," you breathe. "keep going.”

so, vi continues gliding further into your silken heat, and once she’s nestled inside you completely, her thighs meeting your ass — that’s when she turns on the vibrations. vi moans, so loud that you’re sure the entire building can hear. she starts grinding into you, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“violet.” you snap your neck back as far as you can, appreciating how perfectly dishevelled vi looks behind you, eyes rolled up to heaven, drool trickling from the corner of her plump lips. “are you gonna keep fucking me any time soon?”

“it’s just so much,” she whines, and continues rutting against you.

it is so much — the waves of pleasure quivering from her body to yours, the subtle burn of her happy trail rubbing against your skin, the melodic timbre of her voice — but it’s not enough. 

“i know, baby. but i need more. if you don’t do something now….maybe there’s someone else i can call…”

your words effectively reignite that spark of jealousy, and she growls. vi slips out slightly, only to thrust back in, over and over, until you’re a moaning mess beneath her. your body starts to shake, but before you almost collapse onto your elbows, so vi reaches one hand to your neck and lifts you up so that her pierced nipples brushed against your back.

she kisses the back of your neck, trailing her hand down to pinch one of your nipples and you hiss, dizzy with pain and pleasure. she moves her other hand below the harness, rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles and gathering as much slick as she can. she brings those same fingers, glistening in the moonlight, to your lips, and you let her shove them into your mouth so you can finally taste her.

"this enough for you, greedy girl?" she taunts. 

you are greedy, when it comes to her, suckling on her digits like a lollipop while she stretches you open so deliciously, the obscene squelching of your pussy accompanying a symphony of moans and curses. 

"yes, violet. f-fuck, yes!" 

you feel vi groan against the crook of your neck, where her teeth had been nibbling at the sweat-soaked skin. 

“fuck — i need to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

with that, vi flips you over, so she can watch you unravel. she hisses when your nails find purchase on her shoulders, digging down her tattooed back.

“you’re so fucking hot. so gorgeous. i’m so lucky that you’re mine.” vi’s voice is still rough and coarse with lust, but she’s looking at you all wonder-filled and soft-eyed, like you’re a work of art displayed at the louvre. “you….you are mine, right?”

the question is shockingly vulnerable from the woman who’s fucking you at a truly brutal speed, deep enough that you’re sure you’ll feel the lucious ache of her for days now. 

you bring your hands to gently cradle her face as you wrap your legs around her hips. vi snakes one of her hands down to rub at your throbbing clit, while the other rests lovingly on your tattooed ribs, where delicate violets bloom. 

“i’m yours,” you assure, and your heart glows when she beams above you. “you’re mine too, right?”

vi nods, damp strands of her hair tickling your forehead. 

“i’m yours.”

there’s a mess pooling underneath your entangled bodies by the time you’re both finished. 

for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, until vi breaks the silence:

“did you say that you brought home a slice of cake?”

the two of you throw on some clothes, throw the sheets in the wash, and vi pulls you into her lap as you share the slice of cake at the kitchen table, chattering about everything and nothing for however long, until vi glances at the oven clock.

“shit — it’s midnight already. guess time flies when you’re having fun.” vi wraps her arms around your middle, and kisses your shoulder. “happy valentine’s day, stargirl.”

“happy valentine’s day, vi,” you smile, weaving your fingers through hers. you crane your neck back so you can feed her a bite of cake. “you’re the sweetest.”

“this cake’s pretty sweet, too,” vi jokes. she peppers kisses across your face until you’re giggling, skin sticky with frosting. 

“i’m glad you like it,” you laugh. “they do wedding cakes, too, but i think we should explore our options before settling on one for ours.”

vi’s lips pause just as she starts to kiss underneath your jaw. 

“do you mean for our wedding?” she smirks. “is there something you wanna ask me, stargirl?” 

“damn it —” you cough, almost choking on a mouthful of cake. “i - i had this whole thing planned - wait, let me —”

you disappear into the bedroom and reemerge with an intricately painted vase. you hand it to vi and sit in the chair next to her.

“this is what i made in my pottery seminar,” you explain. “it’s supposed to be like —”

“that mural you made of us senior year,” vi finishes, looking between the vase and you with stars in her eyes. 

“exactly. except we won’t have to spend saturday detention painting over it.” you chuckle at the memory as vi shakes her head with a small smile dancing across her lips knowingly. “i was gonna promise to bring my beautiful wife fresh flowers for this vase every week and then i was gonna ask you to look inside….” you gesture at vi to do so, and she reaches in to pull out a velvet box. “and then i was gonna get down on one knee —”

“it’s okay — you’ve already done plenty of that tonight,” vi laughs, and you bump her shoulder playfully. 

“and i was gonna tell you that i love you, that i have for basically my whole life, and that i want to spend the rest of it with you,” you finish, heart fluttering in your chest. 

“i can’t believe you were going to propose to me.” vi places the vase on the kitchen counter behind her, smiling at you softly. 

“is that a yes or….?”

instead of answering, vi walks over to the couch, reaches behind and pulls up a heart-printed gift bag, and hands it to you. she watches intently as you pull out a turquoise-blue collar. 

“damn, i did not know you were this kinky.” you raise an eyebrow at vi. “so, is this a yes to my proposal or….just something you just wanna try in the bedroom?”

“w-what? no!” vi stutters, her cheeks blooming pink. “i mean, yes! well – okay, i also had this plan for valentine’s day.” it’s very endearing, how vi’s scrambling to find the right words. your punk rock girlfriend, flustered and lovesick for you. “okay — there’s a dog at the shelter i thought we could adopt. i brought home the paperwork for us to fill out, if that’s what you want — it’s all in there. there’s a picture of him, too.” 

you reach in the bag again and find a printed photo of an adorable brown lab with the warmest eyes. 

“he’s adorable,” you squeal. “does he have a name?”

“scooby, of course.” vi grins. “so, do you wanna adopt a dog together?”

“i do.”

“i love the sound of that,” vi hums. “there’s one more thing in there for you….”

it’s a ring pop — and you’re not sure if it’s the sugar rush, or the woman getting down on one knee and asking you, so tenderly, so sweetly, to marry her, but your heart is absolutely soaring. 

“we might have to tell our kids a more pg version of the night we got engaged,” vi whispers later, when you’re back cuddling in bed under fresh sheets.

“kids?” you twist around in vi’s arms to find her grinning at you. “is there something you want to ask me?”

“is scooby not our first child?” vi guffaws and you poke her ribs at her cheekiness.

“true.”

“besides, you know what they say, stargirl,” she practically sings. “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes —”

you cut her off with a sugary, confetti-flavored kiss, your smiles melting into one.

[leyavo]

Wife/girlfriend series, I wanted to do some more for the other TF 141 guys after doing Ghost’s, Gaz & Soap. John Price is much older than the others and a bit set his ways….

[masterlist] [Wife/Gf masterlist]

Price is on his third wife, you.

The last one bled him dry in the divorce, but that still didn’t put him off marriage.

His family not bothered to get to know you as much as the first and second wife. As if they know you’ll get fed up with him and his ways.

You can tell why he hasn’t had any luck with women. The man is terrible at doing laundry, grumbles to himself instead of talking and smokes like a chimney. Set in his ways, he finds it hard to break away from it.

“Breath of fresh air, darling,” he says to you as you chuck his dirty laundry at him.

“Clean your own crap, I’m not your maid or your mother!” You snapped, taking the cigar from his lips and smushing the end into the ashtray.

John Price just kept pushing and pushing, liking that you set boundaries with him and unintentionally made him get his shit together. He loves it when you tell him what to do.

You never wanted him to change, just wanted him to get a grip on his life.

“I have a career too, I might not be a bloody captain, but what I do matters too.” You work for a social impact company, helping young kids and teens going through poverty in your county. The same kindness John loves as he watches you interact with the people around you.

You were once that kid, struggling to get by and caring for your mother. The one thing you didn’t want, was for everything to fall on you like it did as a kid. You’re firm with it, telling John exactly how it felt. How his actions made you feel.

Well you did break up briefly, only for him to come crawling back. He still has his moments, a little mopey and lazy whenever he’s back from a long mission, but that’s normal.

He likes that you understand his vulnerability, likes the way you whisper that he is safe and protected whenever a nightmare tears him awake. It’s small quiet moments where he loves you most. The brush of your fingers over his knuckles or you palm over his chest as he tries to catch his breath. The way you giggle as his beard and moustache tickle your neck as he kisses you there.

And John gives you a home, security. One thing no one else has. The reassurance that there’s always food stocked up in the fridge and a set schedule for the heating to come on when the temperature drops. That if you can’t do something he’ll help you do it. So nothing has to be on just your shoulders.

Helps you down at the soup kitchen now and again when he’s back home, cleaning all the dishes so that your hands don’t get a rash from the washing up gloves. Little things that make your heart swell.

How he learnt how to knit during the autumn, so he can help you make hats for the homeless. It helps him distress, sometimes even does it in his room back at base to wind down. Currently knitting you some socks too.

Even in charge of the laundry when he comes home, loves the scent of detergent that he grumbles when it’s discontinued and he has to get used to another.

“Bloody found it.” The first thing John says to you as he unpacks his gear. Accidentally letting slip where he was stationed and how he got the discontinued detergent in another country.

And when you ask why he can’t just let it go. “Smells like you, darling.” He’s liked it since the first time you did his washing. Reminds him of home when he puts his civilian clothes back on, always a set put to the side for him to wear home.

When you meet the guys you’re surprised about the dynamic. How John easily gets them to listen and lay down the rules before they enter the house. Shoes come off straight away etc. no smoking indoors but on the patio outside. Watch out for the two chihuahuas running about the house and check underneath the blankets before you sit on the sofa.

One particular chihuahua not moving from Simon’s lap, that he stays in the armchair for ages till the dog wakes up. Johnny and Kyle telling you the most embarrassing stories of the captain, that one time his trousers split in an important briefing and no one told him, but everyone noticed. John doesn’t mind though as he likes the sound of your laugh.

[xplicitviewz]

Pussydrunk!Choso who was more than happy when you came home after the dreadful ‘3 days and nights’

You called Choso around 2am telling him to unlock the door because you truly didn’t have the energy to find your keys in your purse when you already had to figure out which bag was yours in the trunk, and that’s after driving for almost 2 hours and dropping off 3 other people. Choso missing you so much and being the best boyfriend, immediately headed outside with just a hoodie and some sweats, and waited for the rental van he saw you and your friends leave in pull up.

When it did, he offered to finish the drive for the remainder of your friends home, seeing you all were hungover and tired but the last two decline saying they would be sleepover one of their houses so they can return to rental in the morning together.

Choso helped you with your bags while you said bye to your friends, his mood is instantly lit up, and he all of a sudden feels more energetic. Watching you smile and wave bye made him happy because he knew you were coming to lay right next to him.

When you finally got in the house, you immediately went and snuggled into his arms, as he wrapped them around your frame, holding you tight. “Missed you Cho.” You mumble sleepily, “and my neck hurts from driving.” You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest.

“That’s because you never drive, shoulda told me, I would’ve went there just to drive for you.” He kisses your head. “I’m so sleepy,” you rest your head on him again.

While you showered, Choso unpacked your bags, putting the dirty clothes in the laundry basket, putting your skin care and makeup bag on your vanity, and putting your shoes away. He fluffed your pillows and took off his hoodie waiting for you to get out. He knows how tired you are and wants you to be relaxed and comfortable.

But here’s the thing, it’s been 3 days….oh yeah and nights. 3 long dreadful days he had gone without you, without feeling you, without tasting you. One thing about Choso, he’s an eater. He’ll just randomly start eating you out, doesn’t matter what time it is or what you’re doing (of course at home but it’s happened in public too). And don’t let you be lying down on the bed just minding your business.

It’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t even tell you anymore because you’ll want to freshen up, and him personally, he doesn’t like that. You on the other hand, mind it but Choso soon makes you forget about it.

When you got out the shower and laid down next to Choso, you gave him the biggest kiss before lying along him. Choso was lying on his back, his arm around you, with a raging boner from just thinking about your pussy. He shifts his body to face you giving you another kiss, and another, and another.

Moving to your neck slowly leaving you kisses. “Cho, m’sleepy.” You mumble with a small smile. “Just wanna eat you baby, been so long. Lemme help you relax yea?” He kisses the skin on your neck, lifting the oversized shirt of his you were wearing. His fingers trail along your breast, softly tugging at your nipple, causing you to whimper. He swore he almost came from just that.

Choso moves his lips from your neck to your hardened nipple, lightly sucking on it while looking up at you, his other hand pumping your boob in his hand. He feels your skin grow hot while he teases you. Your stomach rises and falls feeling his touch on you. As much as you try to ignore the wetness pooling in your panties, you can’t. Especially not when his fingers are gliding down your stomach ever so lightly.

You gasp lightly when he reaches right above your underwear, still sucking and swirling his tongue around your nipples, humming softly against your skin. “Cho,” you drag out as your eyes close trying to steady your breathing. Feeling his touch on your body ignites something every single time. “Hmm?” He responds still sucking on your boobs, biting very lightly on your nipple. He knows you’re tired and he wants to make this as comfortable and relaxing as possible. One of his hands still pumping your other boob in his hand, feeling the plushness of your skin and the other teasing you by tracing along your the hem of your underwear.

He leaves a few marks on your boob before moving to the other, “Just relax baby, close your eyes, lemme help you sleep better.” He murmurs, his tongue flicking your perked up nipple, before wrapping his soft lips around it, moaning into your skin.

You push your chest out on instinct as he sucks, switching his hand to pump your other boob. His tongue swirls around the bud as he sucks in more and more skin. You barely open your eyes to see his staring right at you, taking in everything. His fingers slip down to your panties, brushing lightly over your clothed clit, sliding down to your entrance where it was damp from your arousal.

Choso moans at the touch of your warmth and the expression you made, the small gasp you let out. He sucks your nipple a bit more before moving down your chest, leaving soft kisses and gentle nips all over your stomach, whining every time he pressed against his throbbing leaky cock when he moved down your body. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he needed you in his mouth.

“S-stop teasing.” You whisper squirming your hips. “Mmm not teasing,” he kisses your belly button, moving down, “tryna help you feel good.” Choso gets between your legs, lying on his stomach. Whimpering at the little spot on your panties he was surprised he can make out in the dark room. He grinds his bulge into the bed below him, his eyes rolling, “ f-fuck baby.”

He spreads your legs resting them on his shoulder before pressing kisses to your pussy. Your hips squirm in his face as he licks you through your underwear. “Ohh Cho please.” You lazily beg, your head pushing down in the pillows. “I know, just, I missed you, wanna take my time.” He sucks your clit through the wet fabric. You suck in a breath, whimpering when he moans around you. Your hand find his, trailing up above your thighs and holding you down in a way where he could let you squirm but not close your legs.

He continues to wet up the fabric, making sure to trace every inch of your pussy with the tip of his tongue, adding pressure on your sensitive spots. It was as if he was going to draw your pussy from memory. To be real, he knows your pussy from memory. His hands trail back down and under you, pulling off your panties slowly. Choso humps the bed watching your arousal stick to your underwear, his eyes dilating when he sees your pussy drooling out slowly, winking at him.

He wraps his arms around under your thighs, scooting you closer to him before he takes a breath, breathing you in. His eyes roll as he presses his dick into the bed. Barely even got started and he’s about to cum in his pants. “Baby please, need your mouth please, you got me so worked up.” You whimper squirming in his hold as the cold air hits your clit.

“Shhh baby you supposed to be going to sleep.” He kisses your clit, the warmth of his lips soothing you before blowing on it. Your hips jerk as you whine from the contrast. Choso licks his lips pressing more into the bed, moaning at your taste, it’s so addictive. His tongue strides up your wet slit to your clit, scooping more in his mouth.

Just like that, it was over. As if he was a vampire tasting blood for the first time. He held your thighs down and got to work. 3 days and nights, long time without you. Choso stuck his tongue in your hole in and out, in and out, lapping all your juices. He had to remind himself this is for you to relax, not for you to get energy. He honestly doesn’t want to fuck, he just wants to eat. Humping the bed for him to cum was more than enough.

His mouth moves to your clit, flicking his tongue gently up and down, side to side, clockwise, and opposite. Moaning as he hears your arousal seep out more. The lewd squelchy sound is his favorite. Your eyes are shut closed as you are held down, moaning desperately. Rocking your hips as he’s licking up and down your entrance, “shit baby, feels so good.”

He hums and moans against you, his eyes half-lidded as his keeps grinding into the bed, totally getting off to this. You thighs tremble slightly at the vibrations and your hands find his messy hair and pull. Chose moans louder, lapping his tongue around your clit with his lips around sucking softly.

Your legs tense up as you feel the pressure build up. “Cho, m’gonna cum soon, please, don’t stop, please, need it.” You moan your back arching as you tug his locks, pressing his face down more. Choso moves his tongue faster, adding just one finger and fucking you lazy with it, you clench tightly around his finger coating him with your essence. Your eyes roll back and you bite your lips.

“Taste so good, I’m not done yet. Cum all you need to baby, I still need more.” He kisses your pussy again before going back at it. Adding another finger he slowly curls them and scissors them inside you. You let out a louder moan as you cum out of no where.

He continues to lap around your clit, and thrust his fingers slowly riding out the high, taking his fingers out and spreading your pussy to lap up your cum. Moaning at the taste, grunting from grinding into the bed. His own legs are shaking as he feels his dick throb more, feels the leaky mess he made on his thighs. You are squirming in his hold, trying to close your legs but he isn’t letting you move an inch. Pulling your body closer he stuff his face fully, his nose hitting your clit while his tongue fucks your hole, moving his bead for more pressure.

“Baby f-fuck Chooo, p-please, I’m gonna cum again.” You whimper feeling the overstimulation he was giving you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, your own eyes half-lidded as you watch him eat- no devour you full with his eyes closed, moaning and humping the bed. He clearly was lost in you.

Your legs tremble as your head falls back when he sucks on your clit, adding 2 fingers and fucking you faster than before. Choso feels his orgasm about to bit but he wants you to cum first, again. He moves his hips into the bed faster, whining at the intensity, moaning at the feeling of you coating his fingers, at the taste of you in his mouth.

“Oh-nnggh- Ch-Cho- cummi-fuck- cumming baby I’m cu-o-ooh.” You whined out, as your hips jerk in his face, his tongue still moves as he desperately humps the bed feeling his own release coming too.

He moans loudly into you, spilling his warm load in his sweats, when you clench tightly around his fingers, your walls fluttering as he imagined how it’ll feel around his cock. Choso opens his eyes to see you sprawled on the bed, one hand holding the pillow next to you and the other pumping your boob as he continues to clean you up, more slowly.

He parts his mouth, leaving a kiss after, “she missed me too.” He smugly smirks watching you roll your tired eyes.

After choso cleaned you up, he went to the bathroom to clean himself up from his own mess and came back, you were out cold. Choso smiles and lays next to you, holding you close and kissing your temple before drifting off to sleep himself.

*not proofread*

Part 1

Ex-husband!Eren

Sylus mini

Nerd!armin x reader x boyfriend!eren

Best friend!jean x reader

Needed to do a part 2 😌😌😌

[marblehazel]

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Part One | Part Two: Deeper

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

[fluffyartbl0g]

FUCKED UP BEETLE

PROBLEM

So you're having a totally fine day by all accounts and then it instantly goes to shit just because you pass by a fucked up beetle hidden in the grass. You've seen bugs dead all the time, so what. So what if its torn up wings and cracked shell definitely mean that some random kids fucked it up before it died. So what if your dad was drunk and high all the time and screamed at you and you fucked C over and you fuck everything up. SO WHAT. No amount of therapy or 'healthy coping mechanisms' or 'unpacking of trauma' will ever erase the ultimate truth underneath. You are intrinsically, hopelessly fucked.

-3 Volition: Fucked in the head

SOLUTION

You're going to wake up the next morning totally fine again. In fact, Harry's probably going to put some extra effort into making breakfast nice to cheer you up--which will actually kind of annoy you, but in a way that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm. Sure, you still get stuck in your head sometimes about sad shit, but you're dealing with it better and better, and the days where you actually feel like someone are beginning to far outnumber the days you don't. For now, you hug him a little bit tighter. You're safe now.

-1 Composure: Permanently a little bit fucked

+2 Volition: You're going to be okay

_

transcript under read more

VARIOUS CANDY WRAPPERS SPLAYED OUT ON THE TABLE: The label reads 'BLUE DREAM'. Unlike what its colour may suggest, it is not flavoured a blueberry or bubblegum, but vanilla.

[A red orb appears above Harry's head]

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] - The air has been shifted ever so slightly. He's trying to breathe correctly, but blurs of thought keep flickering through his mind. This continued for the entire thirteen minute trek home.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - A loud thunk rattles across the room as Cuno closes the door, he looks out of breath

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He's barely holding it together

CUNO - He looks up at you with a yelp, "Fuckin hell! Wasn't the pig supposed to be out investigating some shit?"

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - He didn't want you seeing him like this, answer his question, he'll leave if you ask him about it first.

1. "Did something happen?"

2. "You look like you ran a damn marathon kid, what's up?"

3. "I had to quickly come back to snag some important evidence for the case" (point to various candy wrappers)

CUNO - He scrunches his brow "That mean you're getting your ass outta Cuno's face soon?"

DRAMA [Easy: Fail] - Wow. He didn't even ask about the wrappers!

EMPATHY [Difficult: Success] - He doesn't want to be alone

1. "Did something happen?"

PERCEPTION [Difficult: Fail] - Cuno's hands tremble as he mumbles out a whisper of words you can't make out

1. Cuno?

[Harry reaches out to comfort him, but Cuno sees this and snaps at him]

CUNO - "NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED ALRIGHT? THINGS HAVE BEEN FUUUCKIN PEACHY TODAY"

"CUNO GOT A FUCKIN A ON HIS ESSAY, ABSOLUTELY WENT DOWN ON A DELICIOUS FUCKIN KEBAB YA HEAR?

CUNO - He pauses. "Nothin fuckin happened today. It's all me. Cuno's the one thats all fucked up"

He starts choking up by the end of that,

(a yellow orb is seen above Harry's head as he looks at cuno breaking down [it's reaction speed])

Harry hugs him

CUNO - "Fuck"

KUUNO - He hugs back tightly

[solsticescribe]

Simon Riley x reader one-shot

Simon came home from a long deployment last night. You had no idea where he was during that time or what happened, you knew you were not supposed to know anything. You were just glad that he was back and safe.

After a great struggle of getting out of his hold this morning, you started unpacking his bag that he left on the floor right in the middle of the hallway (he was too busy thinking about getting into bed with you to care about where he left his stuff).

As you took out his dirty clothes, you noticed what looked like a plastic bag on the bottom. After starting the washing machine and getting the rest of his stuff out, you took the beige package into your hands to examine it.

What you were currently holding in your hand was an MRE. You’ve seen people all over Tiktok reviewing these meals and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about what they were like. Looks like this could be your chance to find out.

As you were examining the packet, you felt two bulky arms wrap around you and a face nuzzling your neck. “Mhh morning love” You heard Simon’s voice grumbling, still heavy with sleep. “Morning. Isn’t a bit too early for you to be up? You should sleep some more” You kissed all over his face and neck where you could reach. Simon shook his head. “ ‘s not as good without you in bed” “Are you hungry by any chance? I have some breakfast ready” You pointed to the pan sitting on the stove, his favorite breakfast, that you made earlier, just waiting to be heated up.

“Maybe later” He cupped your cheeks and pressed multiple little kisses to your lips. He had his eyes closed, fully emerged in the feeling of having you close to him and finally being able to love on you properly.

“What do you want to do with that?” He asked in between kisses, referring to the bag in your hands. He still had his eyes still closed and not showing any sign that he wishes to stop with the kisses.

“Well, can I try it? If you don’t need it” You held his face in your hands, stopping him so that you would have enough time to speak. “Whatever you want sweetheart. I was planning on throwing it out. Don’t expect anything gourmet though”

He left you at the counter to unbox everything from the MRE packet while he turned on the stove to heat up his breakfast.

Simon fixed himself a plate and sat next to you, watching your expression as you tried the different snacks and meal included in the bag. He smiled to himself, thinking about just how adorable you looked, eyes lighting up when trying things you liked and furrowing when you didn’t like something.

His own meal was soon forgotten, leaning on the countertop, he watched you fumble around with the small packets with a barely noticeable smile on his face. He found this quite amusing.

Trying the last thing included, you were disappointed by the blandness of it. You put everything in the bin and sat on Simon’s lap. “I’m sorry you have to eat that so often” You said while wrapping your arms around his neck. He just hummed, one arm around your waist to hold you closer, with the other, he held up a bite from his left-over breakfast to help wash away the taste in your mouth. You eagerly took the fork in your mouth. “Wanna know why isn’t it so bad?” He asked while preparing another bite for you “I know that I get to come home to you and your cooking. Makes it all worth it to keep you safe”

[pathologicalreid]

cryptic | S.R.

You and Spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams.

who? spencer reid x fem!AFAB!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort a little bit) content warnings: oh geez. pregnancy, periods, weight, medical inaccuracy, cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, NICU, hospitals, maybe a little ooc i'm not sure, breastfeeding, reader is running solely on oxytocin, crying. word count: 6k a/n: does anyone else have an irrational fear of this? is it just me? that's why i wrote this anyways. also i wrote this MONTHS ago so if it's bad i'm not culpable. (yall voted for unhinged fluff, here it is) anyways i'm calling this part of my "spencer reid dilf agenda".

him

In his work life, Spencer faced fear every day – that was part of the reason he loved life with you so much. The two of you had just moved to your first house together and were still unpacking boxes when he was called away to upstate New York for a case.

You weren’t frustrated with him; you merely kissed him and encouraged him to go save the day.

So, when he told you last night that you must’ve hurt your back trying to move the couch, he didn’t think anything of it. He just told you to rest and to let him know how you were doing in the morning, but when the morning came, there was a break in the case. Spencer had completely forgotten that he was expecting your call.

As the team waited in the police precinct, he didn’t wonder why Hotch answered a phone call and furrowed his brows at Reid until he called him over to talk in private.

For once, his overactive mind went blank when Hotch explained to him that you were in the hospital and that he should call your best friend, Ivy.

In a daze, Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket to find that he had missed two calls from you and thirteen calls from Ivy. Isolating himself in an abandoned office, he looked at your friend’s contact and pressed the call button.

The phone didn’t even have a chance to ring before Ivy answered, “Spencer! Oh my god,” she said, sounding relieved to be hearing from him. “I am so sorry for calling your boss. I pulled his number from Y/N’s contacts – I didn’t know how else to reach you, and I- “

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, teetering between panic and impatience. “She told me she thought he had just pulled a muscle moving,” he explained, wondering what could’ve happened.

On the other end of the call, Ivy took a deep, shaky breath. “She’s okay, but you have to come home,” she whispered, keeping her voice down.

Now he was leaning closer to panic, “Where is she?”

“Northern Virginia Hospital,” Ivy responded. “When you get here, call me, and I’ll bring you to her,” she told him.

Spencer took a deep breath and left the empty office once he ended the call, very nearly running into Hotch, “I need to- “

Holding his hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture, Hotch nodded, “There’s a flight going out, Morgan will drive you to the airport. Don’t worry about anything here,” he instructed him, gesturing over to where Morgan was standing with the keys to one of the SUVs.

After promising to call when he could, a thirty-minute flight, and a ten-minute taxi right, Spencer called Ivy back.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet through the receiver, “are you here?”

He turned around in the lobby of the hospital, “I just came in the front entrance; what wing is she in?” He asked. Which wing would a back injury be in?  He supposed it depended on the severity of the back injury.

She cleared her throat and there was a soft rustling before Ivy answered, “Stay put, I’ll come to you.” Her words came out quickly as if she was trying to prevent him from going looking for her.

Then he began to lean closer to impatience, nonetheless, he waited the couple of minutes that it took for Ivy to come out of an elevator, motioning for Spencer to catch up before they took the elevator back up. “Ivy,” Spencer said, “What is happening?”

“She called me at six this morning, saying that she thought she had pulled a muscle in her back and couldn’t sleep. I told her to take some ibuprofen and try to rest, and if she didn’t feel better by lunch, I’d bring her to urgent care. She called me again at ten and told me something was seriously wrong, but she didn’t know what,” Ivy informed him, her voice sounding distant. “She was crying, and I’ve never heard her sound so scared. So, I called an ambulance and met her here while she was triaged…” Her voice trailed off as they exited the elevator.

Spencer’s heart ached at the thought of you being so scared, but it still didn’t answer his question: What happened?

Ivy sniffled and wiped her nose, “Spencer, have you ever heard of a cryptic pregnancy?”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers, “She’s pregnant?” His words came out as a whisper, a mix of emotions flurried through him.

Your best friend smiled softly at him, “No, she had a baby. That back pain? She was in labor.”

Questions popped into his head quicker than he could ask him. He took a trembling breath, “Where are they?”

She led him around the corner, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “She’s in postpartum recovery, the baby’s up a floor in the NICU. It all happened really fast; you know? Anyways, they kind of whisked the baby away while saying things about Apgar scores that we didn’t really understand.

They stopped for a moment to get Spencer a visitor’s badge before he motioned for Ivy to continue.

Ivy shrugged in response, “She was kind of inconsolable after that, they gave her something to calm her down, but she keeps asking for you,” Ivy said, stopping outside of a door.

Spencer peeked through the blinds to your room. You’re awake, lying on the white bed, absentmindedly picking at the hospital bracelet around your wrist.

“If you need a minute before going in there, take it. Once you go in there, you need to be strong or brave or whatever,” Ivy instructed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m not saying you can’t be confused or upset, I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m saying she just gave birth unmedicated without ever even knowing she was pregnant, and they haven’t come back with an update,” she said, looking at Spencer like she was assessing a threat.

He nodded in understanding. Maybe when his head was clear he’d thank Ivy for being so protective of you, but he just nodded. “I need to be in there with her,” he insisted.

Ivy acquiesced, letting him know that she was going to go to the house to get clothes and was going to the store. At that point, Spencer had only been half listening to her.

You didn’t move on the bed when he opened the door. He looked at the whiteboard on the wall, his heart clenching when he saw the words ‘Baby Reid’ written below your name. Spencer quietly walked closer to you before he pulled a chair up so that it was at your bedside and took a seat. He could see tear tracks on your cheeks, “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your eyes closed, and two more tears streaked down your cheeks. There was an IV in your wrist and your vitals were being monitored. It wasn’t until Spencer leaned over and smoothed your hair back that you really started to cry.

Gently, Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, and you leaned forward into him. He just held you, running a hand up and down your back as he gently shushed you, “I’m here, darling. I’m here.”

“I had a baby,” you rasped, so quietly that Spencer wasn’t sure if you were telling him or trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t a dream.

He was quiet for just a moment, letting a few silent tears stream down his own cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

You hummed, leaning back ever so slightly, closing your eyes when Spencer kissed your forehead. “I tried calling you,” you whispered, looking up at him with watery eyes and lifting your hands so that you could wipe away the tears.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he tried to apologize. There was no way for him to navigate this situation, but if he felt this lost, then he couldn’t begin to fathom how you were feeling.

Shaking your head, you waved off his apology, “Did you catch the bad guy?”

He nodded, smiling at your question, “Yeah, we got him this morning. That’s why I didn’t get your call,” he said as he took your hand and intertwined your fingers. “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? Do you need water?”

A slight smile grew on your face at his concern, a fact that made his heart soar, “I should probably eat something.” The smile faded quickly, “We should probably talk, right?” You asked, leaning forward in the bed to reach for a pile of papers at the foot of the bed.

Noticing a pained look on your face, Spencer set a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it,” he said, guiding you so you were lying back on the pillows. “Please be careful,” he reached for the papers and handed them to you.

Quickly, you flipped through the stack of papers that was now in your lap. “I’ve been thinking, you know, and they gave me all of these papers with my options, but we have space at the new house. I work from home most of the time anyway, and we can afford it and- “

Spencer cut you off, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed them again.

Studying you, he watched as you visibly relaxed into your hospital bed. He followed your gaze as you looked out the window of the hospital room, “Spence,” you breathed as a nurse wearing pink scrubs walked into the room.

She looked at him, “Hello, are you dad?”

Dad. He was a dad. Spencer nodded enthusiastically at the nurse.

“I’ve got these bracelets for you two then, they’re to help keep little families like yours together,” she says, loping the white bracelets around both his and your wrist. “Baby’s got two,” she lets you both know. “So, Baby Reid had a hard time breathing at first, but we up in the NICU cleared some of the amniotic fluid from her lungs and everything is looking much better now. Another nurse is bringing the bassinet now…” her voice trailed off when someone knocked on the door.

He wanted to make sure he had heard the nurse correctly. Did she say ‘her’?

The door opened, and it was the tiny hat with the bow that gave it away. She wriggled on the white sheet in her bassinet, looking around her new surroundings. Spencer looked from you to her and couldn’t help the tears that pricked his eyes. It was an emotion that he couldn’t quite place.

Noticing the way you leaned forward, the nurse spoke, “Would you like to hold her?”

“I- Can I? Is she okay?” You asked nervously, for the first time that day, Spencer heard the fear in your voice.

Nodding, the nurse wheeled the bassinet closer to you, helping you move your hospital gown so that you could do skin-to-skin. As she did so, she talked about bonding with a newborn, but Spencer was so enamored watching you that he wasn’t really listening. “We’re estimating that she’s about thirty-five weeks, so she’s late preterm, but she should be able to go home when you do,” the nurse informed you, making sure you were comfortable holding the baby before she stepped back.

The concept of being in a home surrounded by boxes with a newborn stressed him out, but then the tiny baby on your chest let out a squawk and he returned to just watching the two of you.

Both of the nurses left to give the three of you time, and you turned to Spencer, “What was thirty-five weeks ago?” You asked, gently rubbing your thumb over your newborn’s back.

“Exactly? July sixteenth,” he responded, watching your daughter as her eyes shut. “She fell asleep,” he observed, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

You hummed in response, bending your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “She needs a name,” you murmured, “we can’t keep calling her baby.”

Spencer leaned over the edge of your bed, “Do you have any ideas?” He asked, even though he already knew you’ve been keeping a list of baby names in your phone for years.

Shrugging ever so slightly, you peered down at your daughter, “All I know is that her last name’s gonna be Reid.” Your eyes flittered up to his, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll sob, and our daughter is asleep on me, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

“I just love you so much,” he told you softly.

“We can do this, can’t we?” You asked him nervously, narrowing your brows. “She doesn’t have a name. Our house is a disaster. Oh… Spence, we don’t have a car seat. We can’t take her home if we don’t have a car seat.”

Realistically, Spencer knew that you had at least twenty-four hours before you were released from the hospital, maybe forty-eight, given the circumstances. He also knew that you knew this, and he was afraid the events of the day were beginning to take a toll on you. He wasn’t going to say that, instead, he leaned forward and comforted you, “We’ll figure something out, I promise, okay? The name thing we can do.” He encouraged you to take one step at a time, “What about Ivy?”

Your head snapped up, “Really?” You asked, staying conscientious of the newborn on your chest.

“She was there for you through all of this when I couldn’t be,” he shrugged. “Did you know she dug through your contacts on your phone and called Hotch when I didn’t answer?” He watched a small smile tug at your lips, “I just think we should honor her in some way.”

Nodding, a full smile bloomed on your face, “Absolutely.” There was a brief silence, “Do you need to call Hotch? You can step out if you need to. We’re fine alone. I mean just for a little while not for- “

That was the second time you had nearly worked yourself into a panic. Spencer set a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, angel. Don’t stress yourself out, okay? I’ll handle it.” He promised, after all, you had already done the hard work.

You paused and took a deep breath at his encouragement, leaving the both of you in silence while you caught your breath. “What about Eleanor?”

He smiled and looked at your sleeping baby, “It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The first time Eleanor, who had quickly been nicknamed Nell, cried with the two of you in the room was also the first time Spencer held her. He had been too nervous before, not that he’d tell you that, but when her wails started and he saw you wincing as you sat up in the bed, he instinctively picked her up.

He was still in his work clothes. Granted, he had taken off his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt had been undone, but it didn’t seem to bother Nell, the baby had quickly hushed upon contact. “Sit back,” he gently instructed, “Are you in pain?”

You nestled back into the pillows, “Just a little, they said it’s normal.”

Nothing about this was normal, Spencer wanted to say, but he knew you were well aware. He handed you the baby, knowing that it had been two hours since she last ate and that was likely why she was crying. According to the nurses, she was a good eater. He took their word for it.

Spencer watched you rock gently as Nell ate, you were staring off at nothing, so he asked, “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m wondering why you’re not more freaked out,” you admitted, looking down at the newborn.

He leaned back in the chair, “I don’t know. I work best under pressure and with a little bit of chaos. It’s also highly likely that the entire situation hasn’t fully sunken in yet.”

You nodded understandingly, “It’s a lot to take in. If you think about it, most parents have months to fully prepare and wrap their heads around it. It’s been about ten hours for me. Maybe six hours for you.”

Nodding, Spencer watched intently as Nell fell asleep, her tiny fists falling and quiet coos coming from her. He heard you say something to him, but the words didn’t process. “What?”

Giggling quietly, you cocked your head at him, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replied honestly. You seemed like you were taking to parenthood exceedingly well, he was afraid he wouldn’t match up.

In the end, it was your understanding smile that prompted him to agree. “Unbutton your shirt,” you ordered, laughing at him when he looked bewildered. “Skin-to-skin isn’t just for moms, Spence. Besides, I want you to bond. I want her to know who you are even when you’re away for work.”

He obliged your request, undoing his shirt so that he could gently place Nell on his bare chest. She squawked while she was being moved from parent to parent but quieted again as soon as she was being held, “she’s so small,” Spencer remarked, marveling at the tiny creature on top of him.

You nodded sleepily, “Four pounds, fourteen ounces. She had to fit behind my ribcage somehow.”

The oddness of the situation began to find a place in him. Were there changes in you that neither of you had noticed? Your period was always irregular, there was no significant weight change, and even morning sickness had seemed to totally pass you by. “I can’t believe we had no idea,” he murmured as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Nell’s head.

“I went to the doctor three months ago for chest pains, do you remember? I took an at-home pregnancy test just in case and it came back negative. The nurses here told me that there’s a less than one percent chance of that happening,” you informed him, slowly starting to mumble.

Spencer looked up at you to find that your eyes were fluttering shut. “You should sleep. I’ve got this.”

You grunted in protest, “but what- “

“No,” he interrupted. “She just ate, she’s sleeping, and you’re exhausted. I can spend some time with her while you sleep.”

Sleepily, you grinned, sliding down on the bed, and settling your head on the pillows, “Daddy’s girl,” you whispered.

He loved the sound of that.

you

You had always known that Spencer Reid was perfect, and as you watched him fall into the role of father, that knowledge became concrete. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and kept your gaze on the two of them, not daring to disturb the peace. Instead, you watched in awe as he held your daughter, softly speaking to her as if she could fully comprehend what he was saying.

For all you knew, she could understand what he was saying. She was Spencer’s kid, after all.

Gently, he whispered to her and one of her little fingers gripped his index finger. “Your palmar reflex lets you hold my finger like that, Nellie. It’ll go away when you’re six months old,” he softly swiped his thumb over her back as he murmured to her. “I don’t usually like surprises,” he admitted to the infant, “but you and your mama might just be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You grinned, reaching your hand out and touching the green armchair, “I love you.” He reached out a hand to hold yours. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?” You offered. Your body still ached, but getting some sleep had made you feel loads better.

“I don’t think I can,” he answered candidly. “I feel so…”

“Wired? Stressed?” You suggested.

He shrugged slightly, “I was going to say hyperaware, but yes,” he responded.

You wheeled the empty bassinet closer to him, “Set her down. Babies can sense stress. Take a minute, catch your breath,” you told him.

Reluctantly, Spencer placed Nell in the bassinet, adjusting the hat on her head while you watched him. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly.

Your shoulders drooped involuntarily, “When was the last time you slept, love?” After years with Spencer, you know he would go days without sleeping in order to break a case. His lack of a response answered your question well enough. Quickly, you pressed your call button and asked if a nurse could take Nell to the nursery.

Once you made sure the baby was taken care of, you moved over in the hospital bed and patted the open space. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he told you.

That was the problem with Spencer. He would always put you, and now Eleanor, ahead of himself. It made your heart ache. “Spence, this has been the craziest day, and I can tell you haven’t slept. So, get over here and lay down with me,” you instructed.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer kicked off his shoes before lying next to you in the hospital bed, “Do you promise to wake me if you need anything?” He asked as he gingerly pulled you into his arms, afraid of hurting you.

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I hate that saying,” Spencer whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your hairline.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed into him, “I promise, angel. Get some sleep.”

You startled awake, looking to make sure you didn’t wake Spencer. Your chest ached as you sat up, cringing at the noise your papery hospital gown made. Gingerly, you placed a hand over your heart, feeling the pounding of your heart and listening to the beeping of the monitor, cursing the screen for making so much noise.

This had happened earlier before Spencer arrived, and the doctor had given you something to calm down then.

When you came into the ER, they thought your appendix was bursting, but when they did an ultrasound, they found that you were in active labor. There was no time for an epidural, they didn’t have time to give you anything for the pain. A kind nurse held your hand and quickly explained what was going to happen.

Within thirty minutes, you arrived at the hospital, gave birth, and had your baby taken to the NICU.

It was too fast; your brain was so overwhelmed that it had shut down. It seemed like a ridiculous thought; how did you miss the birth of your daughter?

Hiccupping back a sob, you felt a comforting hand on your back, but the fact that you had woken Spencer up just made you cry harder. He wrapped his arms around you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed, rubbing small circles on your back. “I love you so much, you know that, right? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he comforted you. “It’s okay, it’s just all catching up with you, honey.”

You pulled away, wiping the tears from under your eyes. “It’s okay,” you repeated his words.

“What do you need right now?” He asked, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to make a list? Do you want to move around?”

Nodding absentmindedly, you watched as Spencer pressed the call button and got up, helping you stand. Your legs shook, and you felt a bit like a foal, but it felt good to be out of bed. You haphazardly finger-combed your hair before stepping into hospital slippers and leaving the room. For now, the nurses instructed you to just walk around the maternity ward.

As the two of you walked around, you made several lists. Things you needed to buy. People you needed to call.

By the time you’d returned to the room, Ivy had returned. Spencer opened the door for you and helped you sit on the end of the bed.

“I’ve come bearing gifts,” Ivy greeted, grinning with bags in her hands. She gestured to a suitcase, “First, clothes for both of you. I just grabbed whatever I thought might be good. Toiletries and stuff too,” she said, rolling the suitcase off to the side. “I grabbed a couple of newborn outfits, but again, I was kind of flying blind. The lady at the department store was extremely helpful.” She handed Spencer a bag of baby clothes. “I got a car seat, the same lady recommended it, she was probably getting a commission, but it’s in my car. I have approximately zero idea how to set it up, but I figured, Spencer has a doctorate in engineering. He can do it.”

You glanced blearily at your best friend, “Ivy, you didn’t have to do all of this. This is too much,” you confessed, holding a tiny onesie in your hand.

She dismissed your insistence with a wave of her hand, “I also got this.” Ivy held out a small stuffed duck. “I know it won’t do her much good now, but I couldn’t help myself.”

After you changed out of your hospital garb, you looked at Spencer, “Go call Hotch, we’ll be good here for a while.” You gestured to your best friend, who was filtering through the suitcase she had packed, trying to find your hairbrush. At your request, he told you he’d also ask the nurse to bring Nell back down so that Ivy could meet her.

Once he was gone, Ivy sat behind you on the bed and brushed through your hair, tucking it out of your face, you were finally beginning to feel a little bit more like yourself by the time she had finished.

You watched intently as the nurse arrived at the door, “Do you want to meet her?”

Ivy nodded enthusiastically, lips parting as she observed the small baby. “Is that her name?” She rasped, looking at the card on the bassinet, Eleanor Ivy Reid. “That’s not funny, don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, keeping your voice down as Eleanor slept. “It’s not a joke, and for the record, it was Spence’s idea,” you informed her, reaching into the bassinet, and scooping up the now-swaddled infant. “He’s so grateful that you were there for me, and I am too.”

She smiled, “I’m always going to be here for you two – you three now. Number one babysitter,” she said, pointing to herself. 

You sighed and looked from your friend to your daughter, “She’s got a whole FBI unit of babysitters.”

“I’ll be here when they’re away – when Spencer’s away,” she reminded you, carefully adjusting the hat on the baby in your arms.

The last thing you wanted to think of was Spencer being gone, leaving you to take care of a baby you weren’t ready for.

Ivy must have sensed your nerves, “Hey, you know I’m always in your corner, right?”

You nodded slowly, “It’s just all catching up with me. I have to call my mom. I have to call my boss. How do you retroactively apply for maternity leave?”

“One thing at a time,” she said soothingly. “Right now, just enjoy your time with your perfect little family. I’ll call your mom for you,” she offered. “If your boss gives you any grief, he’ll have to deal with me.” Standing up, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to go get food, do you two still have the same orders from the deli?”

Confirming with her, you moved so that you could feed Nell, watching her as she looked up at you. “She’s right, you know? You are perfect,” you cupped her head with your hand, looking up to find Spencer watching from the doorway.

“Hotch says congratulations,” he spoke gently, striding over to your bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed. “He also said to let the team know if we needed anything,” he let you know, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He continued to let you know that Hotch had offered to figure out Spencer’s paternity leave, and while you felt bad about giving Hotch something else on his to-do list, it felt nice to have one less thing on yours. 

You nodded, “Ivy’s gonna call my mom, so that’s two things off of our list.”

Spencer squeezed your shoulder, “They asked if they could come to visit, but I didn’t want to answer for you.” He moved back to the armchair, “I just said we’d let them know.”

“At the very least we’ll send a picture,” you murmured. “I’m surprised you’re not researching newborns right now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer shrugged, “I asked one of the nurses if I could get access to the hospital library.”

You snorted, “Of course you did.”

No one from the BAU ended up visiting while you were in the hospital, mainly because the idea of too many people in the one hospital room made you anxious, but both you and Eleanor had been cleared to go home. Eventually, you would have to allow visitors.

“Spencer, you can go the speed limit,” you said from the backseat of the car, not taking your eyes off of the baby in her car seat.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, “This stretch of road is bumpy. I don’t want to wake her.” Despite his anxieties, he was taking to fatherhood remarkably well.

You shook your head, “She’s already awake, babe.” She looked around her new surroundings, spending part of the six hours a day that she was awake going home for the first time. Part of the beauty of a newborn was that they slept for eighteen hours a day, but only in about fifty-minute bursts.

Spencer kept glancing back, and you made a mental note to get a mirror for the rear-facing car seat.

As he turned onto your street, you sat up slightly. “Who’s here?” You asked, looking at the cars in your driveway. You recognized Ivy’s car, but none of the others rang any bells.

“That’s JJ’s car, and that’s Morgan’s truck,” Spencer told you as he pulled into the driveway. Once he got out of the car, he ran around to where you were sitting. He opened the door, taking the car seat out of its base before helping you out of the car. “I had no idea they were here,” he said curiously.

You hummed thoughtfully, looking at Eleanor in her car seat. There was a part of you that felt horrible, you didn’t have anywhere for her to sleep set up. Another part of you knew that she’d be just fine sleeping in your arms while Spencer set something up. “Far be it from the BAU to abandon one of their own in their time of need,” you murmured, stepping through the front door as Spencer held it open for you.

Setting the carrier on the coffee table, you undid the clips so that you could hold the baby. As you lifted her, her legs scrunched up until you held her to your chest, at which point she settled.

“Where are they?” You asked, gently rubbing Nell’s back as she started to fall asleep on you. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen, across the counter, there were bottles set out to dry, along with other various baby things. “Oh, Spence,” you breathed.

There was a distinct lack of boxes in your house, they weren’t entirely unpacked, but there were much less than there had been when you left. A crash from upstairs got both of your attention, Spencer’s arm instinctively going around your waist.

Together, the two of you walked upstairs, finding members of the BAU in one of the rooms that was going to be a guest room setting up a nursery. “Hey?” You said, peeking in through the doorway.

“Oh my god!” Penelope said, “Wait, crap, sleeping baby.” She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified at the idea of disturbing the sleeping infant.

You smiled, looking around suspiciously, “What’s going on here?”

Rossi waved a finger at you, “Your best friend is a drill sergeant is what’s going on here.”

Confused, you turned around to see Ivy with her hands on her hips. “I thought you weren’t coming home until the afternoon,” she explained, “I was going to have them all out of here so you could have a nice peaceful house.”

“You enlisted the BAU to unpack our house?” You asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Ivy shrugged, “It started as just asking a question, but we all came to the same conclusion. The two of you were never going to ask for help, so we had to take matters into our own hands.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, “Plus, they have kids, so they actually knew what you needed,” she gestured to JJ and Hotch.

You leaned forward to give her a one-armed hug, keeping yourself mindful of the baby. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Penelope hugging Spencer.

JJ stepped forward, “I’m around. Any questions you have,” she assured you. “How are you feeling?”

Laughing nervously, you looked up at Spencer, “Still reeling.”

The rest of the team laughed too, which brought you some semblance of comfort. “I almost thought you were playing a prank,” Emily confessed.

“No, you definitely thought they were trying to prank us. You didn’t believe them until they sent the picture,” Morgan said, exposing her.

Appalled, Emily rolled her eyes, but you spoke up, “I’m not sure I would have believed us either.” Had you not experienced it firsthand, you definitely would’ve been skeptical. Eleanor was going on two days old, and you had still woken up wondering if it was all some kind of dream.

Spencer had previously told everyone that no one could hold her. He was concerned about germs. You echoed his concerns, just maybe not as strongly. So, instead, everyone just cooed at her until Spencer gently ushered you into your bedroom.

You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted a bassinet set up next to your bed. Gently, you set her down while Spencer pulled the bedding down, “You should rest,” he told you softly.

“Spence, I just spent the majority of the last two days in a bed. I’m tired of bed,” you responded, sitting down on the ledge of the bed.

He hummed in response, “You just had a baby.”

Reaching out, you took his hands in yours, “Moving around will be good for me. I promise not to do anything to tear my stitches. I’ll just show Nell the house.”

“Babies don’t recognize their surroundings until four to six months, so she wouldn’t recognize anything you showed her anyway,” he told you.

You narrowed your eyebrows at him, “Spencer."

He held up his hands in concession, “Right, overbearing.”

“Hey,” you said softly, “We’re still figuring this out, right? So, we’ll take it one step at a time.” You offered, having already had an in-depth discussion about being okay with making mistakes. “Why don’t we go check out the nursery?” You stood up, watching as Spencer carefully picked Nell up, cradling her in his arms.

You led the way into the hallway to find JJ, Morgan, and Ivy finishing the nursery. Morgan and JJ moved the crib to a different side of the room while Ivy placed books on a shelf.

Ever so slightly, you leaned into Spencer, glancing at the sleeping infant in his arms, you reached over and cupped her head with your hand. “This is your family, Nell,” you whispered, smiling when Spencer leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

That was your first lesson in parenthood, it really does take a village.  

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[bluewxrld07]

I'm The Problem (Luke Hughes)

Summary: Luke isn't the happiest camper post his shoulder surgery, and he feels at a loss at the fact he needs help doing almost everything. His best friend Y/N has been there every step of the way, but takes a step back after Luke get overstimulated

Warning(s): angst, yelling/cursing, crying, lack of self-worth

"For fucks sake."

Luke was annoyed to say the absolute least.

After getting an injury towards the end of the season, especially during playoffs, he felt like he let down the team at the one time where it counted most.

The surgery went smooth and well, it was the recovery that was taking a toll on him. He was a someone who liked the faster healing process rather than sitting on being patient. Only in certain cases that is, which this one happens to be part of.

He always looked forward to the summertime because he got to see his friends back home, stay at the lakehouse, golf and skate freely without the pressure on him.

Now he could barely do any of that without his injury causing some sort of issue. Don't even get him started on the sling. He hated that thing with a burning passion.

Y/N though, was there to help pick him back up when he needed it most.

She managed to take time off of work for a couple weeks during the week of his surgery to help him, especially since Jack was still in recovery from his own.

Luke didn't think he'd be able to get through anything without her around, she was an angel in disguise for him post surgery.

That was at first.

The more and more Luke figured out he couldn't do while in Michigan, the more frustrated and overwhelmed he began to feel. He couldn't swing a golf club, put on clothes properly, wash his hair, drive a car (or boat for that matter). It was beginning to piss him off as time went on.

Y/N would cut in to help him whenever she could see the annoyance reaching his eyes.

The time he was trying to open one of his meal prep containers, tongue sticking out as he grumbled at it not opening.

So Y/N walked over and softly grabbed it from his hands. "I got it, it's okay." she assures him with a soft smile, opening it with a pop and handing it back to him.

"Thank you pretty girl," he chuckles dryly.

Luke first started off mumbling out 'thank you's and now he barely said a thing when she'd cut in. He would either scoff or stomp away like a toddler.

Y/N understood how helpless Luke felt, as having a knee surgery a few years back that caused her to be bedridden for a month or two. it was hard to see everyone doing stuff for you around you when all you wanted to do was accomplish it on your own.

What Luke didn't know was how exhausted Y/N was. Not mentally, but physically. She was up every night the week post his surgery, making sure to switch out his ice packs, bandages, meds, you name it.

She only got a couple hours of sleep realistically each night during that time. She would never complain about it, because she wanted to make the process easy on Luke.

It was now the summertime in which meant she was done with college for the time being until fall, so she was also joining the boys at the lakehouse as per tradition. Not only to make sure Luke had the help he needed, but to also see her other favorite friends she hadn't seen in a bit as they were all traveling for work too.

It was another early morning in the Hughes lakehouse, she was just returning from her workout session and grocery shopping when she could hear the quiet commotion of some of the boys awake in the kitchen.

She smiles warmly as she sets down both arms that are full of grocery bags, nicely onto the counter. Dylan Duke, Cole and Quinn were all awake and made their ways over to the girl to help unpack everything.

"You're all awake earlier than usual." she jokes, opening a bottle of water.

"We decided to run this morning, and we were the only ones who actually got up at our alarms to go." Cole mentions, making her chuckle lightly.

"Should've came and joined my class today. Totally would've made you sweat your asses off, but totally worth how you feel afterwards." She says after she swallows a sip of her drink.

Quinn gives her a look, and points at her. "Absolutely not, I've seen how scary Hot Pilates can be." he denies as he puts groceries away.

"Oh come on it isn't that bad. You gotta try it before you hate on it!" she argues, Dylan laughing at her statement.

"We choose life sweetheart," Cole laughs. "Besides us men can't be seen dying in a class like that. Let's be real." Dylan adds. Y/N rolls her eyes playfully.

"Besides," Quinn buds in. "Luke was about to go insane if he didn't get out of this house somehow and do something more productive."

Y/N raises her brow. "He went running too?"

The boys nodded. "How'd he feel after that?" she says, going to sit at one of the barstools and crossing one leg over the other.

Quinn puts a hand over his neck and slides it across as if to signal not to ask. She purses her lips. "That bad huh?"

Dylan sighs. "He ended up stopping halfway through and walking the rest of the way because the motion kept killing his shoulder. He was red in the face by the time he got back to the house, and it wasn't just from how warm it is outside."

Y/N rubs a hand over her face. "Did he take any of his painkillers? I left them on his nightstand this morning before I left."

Dylan shrugs his shoulders. "No idea. He was too crabby to talk to, so I have no idea."

"You know I'm not deaf right?" Luke's voice booms into the kitchen, his back turned towards them all as he goes to sit on the couch.

He was dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a plain navy blue t-shirt, his sling over his body and hair still slightly damp from his shower.

Y/N looks at the boys, trying to hide her amused smile as they are. They decide to keep putting stuff away for Y/N while she looks back at Luke who is hunched over and tense.

She hops off the chair and makes her way towards him and rounds the couch to sit next to the blond boy.

He is staring forward, knee bouncing as if he is contemplating in his head.

"How're you feeling Lu?" she asks cautiously.

Luke just grimaces. "Sore." Is all he responds with.

"Did you take some of your meds?"

"Yeah I did when I got back."

"Why didn't you take them before?"

Luke just lets out a loud huff and rolls his eyes, standing up his spot and walking into the kitchen to join the boys conversation.

Y/N frowns at his mood change, knowing no matter how frustrated he got, he never shut her down like that. Instead of bombarding him she ignores it and stands up herself.

"I'm gonna go shower, and then what is the plan today?" she asks.

Cole scratches his head. "Uhhh I think we're going to do the boat for like an hour or two, and then Jack was saying we should hit up this new juice place. He said it's similar to Jamba Juice or something, but it's like the protein juice things."

She gives a thumbs up before walking away towards Luke's room to grab a change of clothes before heading to shower.

Once she finishes and she's dressed, she heads back down the stairs to now see everyone was awake and music was softly playing in the background as they all conversed.

Jack saw her and smiled before pulling her in for a bear hug. "Goodmorning sunshine."

"More like good afternoon now sir." she chuckles, and Jack rolls his eyes as he looks down at her when they break apart. "Hey I forgot I told them I would join this morning, I like my sleep."

"Oh I know. I said you guys should've just joined my workout class this morning."

Jack snorts. "Absolutely not, I choose life my dear Y/N."

"That's what I told her!" Dylan points out, mouthful of food.

"You're a bunch of wimps." she laughs as she goes to grab the cooler off of Quinn's hands.

"Let's get this show on the road now shall we? We're wasting daylight!" she says before heading towards the sliding door.

They all began to slowly follow behind the girl, her letting them all pass to make sure the door was shut before they left. Luke was the last to leave, his face still a bit more droopy. His eyes caught hers, and she gave him a soft, warm smile. "You ready to go?" she says.

"I'm here aren't I?" he says with an annoyed tone, making her smile fall slightly but she tries to hide it and just nods.

"I brought some of your stuff just incase you start to hurt while we're out there." she says, and he just nods.

"You feeling okay Luke?" she finally asks as they walk side by side.

"Yes I'm fine, stop asking." he says in a short tone, earning a frown from Y/N.

"Watch the tone I'm only asking because I care." she shoots back, and watches his face fall slightly.

"Sorry. I'm sorry you're right. I'm just really sore today." he says with a sigh, and she nods. "That's okay. It's normal. I get it." is all she answers with a tight smile.

The rest of the way onto the boat is quiet between them both, Luke deciding to catch up to Duke and talk with him as they got onto the boat.

Jack helped grab the cooler and Y/N's wrist to help her onto the boat, the girl smiling thankfully at him as she stepped onto the wobbly platform.

She went to go sit across from Luke instead of next to him like she usually would, just to give him a bit of space as she's noticed his mood has been a bit more negative with her.

Luke doesn't say anything as he sees her sit across from him, only eyeing her as he talks to Duke who sits on one side of him. She gives him a tight-lipped smile before looking away and starts to talk with Cole and Trevor, Quinn being the designated driver for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ouch Trevor! Move your fat ass over!" Y/N laughs out, pushing the boy over to his side of the booth, rolling her eyes as he playfully dramatized her actions with a fake pout.

The other boys get back with everyone's drinks, Y/N thanking Quinn as he handed her what she ordered before she takes a sip.

The group all converses amongst one another, discussing the plans for the summer and all the concerts they have all planned while sipping and munching on food and drinks.

"So Y/N you gonna have any dates while you're out here this summer?" Cole teases, earning a look from her with an amused smile.

"Yeah absolutely not. Remember how that went last summer?"

"Which one? The one that stood you up and said his fish died, or the one that ordered for you?" he jokes.

"Both actually," she chuckles while sipping on her drink.

"Yeah I remember when you texted the chat saying how the dumbass had been already sitting at a table with food ordered by the time you got there."

"Wait what? He already had it ordered?" Jack snorts.

She nods with a laugh. "Oh yeah. Basically gave me the house salad that comes with his order. So didn't even order me something for myself." she says, the guys all laughing.

Luke rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he remembers that day. She felt so annoyed and so pissed off, and she was starving after that ended.

"Never again. If I go on a date at all this summer, it's because it's with the guy I'd actually want to go on one with." she admits, making the boys all snap their heads to her.

"Wait," Trevor says, mouthful of chips. "There actually is a guy you have your eyes on??" he questions, and she nods with a raised brow.

"Who?" Duke pries, and she shrugs her shoulders while stirring her drink.

Her eyes scan the group, Jack giving her a knowing look and she just averts his gaze. "Oh come on you've gotta give us something." Cole groans, and she shakes her head.

"Nope not this year."

"Why not?"

"Because everytime I tell you guys, I feel like I jinx it because then they ghost me right after!"

"I doubt this one would." Quinn hums out, making her snap her head towards him and his shrugs.

"What? It's true!"

"Quinn knows?! Why does Quinn know?" Trevor whines.

"She didn't tell me, I just figured it out." he laughs, and she points at him with a nod.

"He's right."

"Well then now you have to tell us." Trevor begs, and she shakes her head with a laugh.

"What does Golfing look like this week?" she says to change the subject. The guys easily grab onto the bait and start discussing what they had in mind, her eyes drifting towards Luke who sat in the corner of the booth.

He was in his own world, gnawing on his straw as he tries to listen to the group converse. She can tell he is in his own mind.

She lightly nudges his leg underneath the table, causing him to snap out of his daze and look over at her. "You feeling alright?" she asks a little bit more on the quiet side, not to disturb the group of boys in front of them.

He rolls his eyes. "Y/N when are you going to stop asking me that? It's really not necessary." His gaze going back to the boys.

"You just seem off, and I want to make sure you're okay. Or that if your shoulder is bugging you-"

"I'm not a pussy I can handle the soreness and pain that comes with my injury, alright? Knock it off." he snaps quietly, his eyes burning over towards hers.

She looks at him in disbelief, stunned at the words that just came out of his mouth.

"Fuck me I guess." she mumbles back before deciding to ignore his energy, ignoring the look he throws her way after she says that, indulging in the new topic the boys were now caught into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Once they had arrived home from the juice place, Y/N was at a breaking point.

After how Luke had treated her throughout the day, she began to realize something was seriously wrong with him. She couldn't figure out what it was.

She knew he had been frustrated about his injury in general, but she didn't know why it was getting worse whenever she came around.

The boys all went to sit down in the livingroom as the rain started to slowly come down. The soft patters being heard on the rooftop of the house.

They turned on some country music while connecting the PS5 to the giant TV screen. Y/N had gone into the kitchen to go and grab herself something to eat and something to drink, setting it onto the kitchen island as she also went and prepped Luke's meds he was supposed to take every evening like clockwork.

The glass of water fills up and she tries to hide the shaking in her hands, both from exhaustion and anxiety because of what's going on with Luke.

She shook the tension away that was forming between them, and put on a fake facade while walking over to the boys.

"You going to come and join us for a round?" Cole asks, motioning towards the video games on the screen.

She smiles and nods. "Yes I will. Just give me a few minutes."

Y/N walks towards the other big couch where Luke was sitting with Duke and Jack, softly putting her hand on his good shoulder. He whipped his head towards her before rolling his eyes.

"Hey I have your meds, and I grabbed you a water to help get them down-"

"I don't need it."

"Luke you know you're supposed to take these or you can't sleep." she pries with a frown.

He huffs and decides to ignore her, starting to talk to Duke and Jack again. The boys give her a reassuring look before looking back at Luke.

"Luke, take them. You know how you get without them. If you take them later you're going to get sick." she tries again soft but stern.

Luke still doesn't acknowledge her, so she lets out a huff.

"Luke I swear if you don't take these-"

"Oh my fucking fuck Y/N just stop! I said No!"

"Luke I know you don't want to, but your surgeon says you need-"

"I don't give a fuck! I am sick of taking those and I am sick of you breathing down my neck and forcing those down my throat. Seriously knock it the fuck off!" he snaps, making the room quiet and look at the pair.

His eyes are now staring up at hers with a sharp glare, hers frowning down at him in confusion.

"Luke what the fuck is your issue? I'm just trying to help you-"

"Well fucking stop helping! I don't need your help, or you! You're insufferable! You breathe down my neck at every single moment of every single fucking day and it's annoying. You're like a clingy girlfriend who won't hop off my dick. Seriously stop, just stop!" he yells out, and begins to stand up.

Only when he stands up, his good shoulder hits her hands that were frozen in place with the glass and pills. Before she can react, the glass and pills spill from her hands and crash onto the hardwood floor, glass shattering everywhere.

It was so silent that you could've heard a pin drop. Y/N is frozen as she looks at the mess on the ground, hands shaking as her anxiety increases, hands frozen in their spot where she was once holding things.

She could feel the tears forming, lip quivering.

"Y/N" Jack's voice perks up slowly.

"Y/N are you okay?" Jack asks slowly once again. She snaps out of her daze, and sniffles putting on a fake smile.

She nods quickly and her arms fall to their sides.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, I'm good. I uh I'm just going to clean this up and head to bed." she says before walking quickly to the kitchen to grab the cleaning supplies.

Jack is the first to stand up and follow behind her to the closet.

She's letting out a few huffs and sniffles when he sees her, shakily grabbing the broom and dust pan. Jack grabs them from her hands and says her name softly to have her look up at him.

"I got it. It's okay." he says to her in an assuring tone.

She looks into his eyes for a second, Jack seeing the heartbreak hitting her eyes as tears fall freely.

"I got the mess. Okay?" he says one more time, and she wipes her eyes.

"Okay." she sighs before leaving the room quickly and rushing up the stairs.

When Jack emerges from the closet and over towards the mess on the ground, his eyes glared over at Luke who was still standing and facing where Y/N once stood.

"You're a fucking asshole, Luke." he growls out. Luke sighs and lets his head fall.

"That was a dick move. Real dick move bro, she's been there for you the most out of anybody." Duke adds in, Luke running his hands through his hair.

"Well she hasn't left me alone for one fucking minute! I was losing my mind okay? This recovery has fucking sucked." he sputter out, sitting back down and putting his face into one hand.

"Do you know how much shit she has done for you? She didn't sleep a wink when she was one jersey during your first week post surgery." Jack admits.

"What do you mean?" Luke says.

"She stayed up a majority of every night in case you woke up in pain, or in case you needed something other than your doses of your meds. She was the one who would fill the kitchen with your favorite snacks. Your favorite drinks. She was the one who has dropped everything to take you to PT and your surgical follow ups. She hasn't slept since your surgery, because she wants to make sure this recovery is as easy as it can be for you!" Jack bursts, red in the face.

Luke sighs. "Fuck." he winces.

"Dude if you weren't injured right now I'd fucking smack you silly." Quinn scoffs.

"I don't care if you're injured, I'm still debating on doing it." Jack says.

Luke felt like shit. It was all hitting him now.

The times he caught her already awake at five in the morning. The tired red eyes she would have, bags very prominent underneath. The little naps she would take on his lap during the day. Her forgetting to eat because she was so caught up on preparing his food. Missing nights out with her girlfriends to be there for his appointments and PT.

Now he knows he has fucked up in the past, but he really fucked up in this moment. He fucked up terribly.

"I'd be so surprised if you're able to fix this one. You really hurt her, Luke." Jack says, a tired tone being heard in his voice.

"I really fucking hurt her. Fuck I fucked up bad." he groans out, feeling his face get hot and eyes gloss over.

All of their ears perked up when they hear the front door shut, Jack's eyes darting back over to Luke with a scowl as his own face had a fearful look going.

Silence follows as the boys watch Jack drop the supplies in his hands and scurry towards the entryway and open the door.

The door slams shut and Jack comes stomping back.

He points at Luke. "I'm gonna beat your ass." he snaps walking over towards his brother, Cole and Trevor walking towards him and pull him back. Luke stands up.

"What? Why? What happened?"

"She's gone."

Luke's eyes widen, soon rounding the couch and running up the stairs and towards his room.

He slams the door open on turns on the light, frowning when he sees her stuff is still on her side of his bed still in the messy clean form it was in this morning.

He rushes down the stairs. "Her stuff is still here." he says.

Jack is running his hand through his hair while the other is sitting on his hip.

"You better go find her. You better fucking find her, or hope she fucking comes back in one piece. If not, it's your head that will be on a stick by morning."

Luke glares at Jack at his sudden protectiveness over Y/N. "Since when do you get so protective over her? What's your fucking deal?"

"Because that girl is one you shouldn't treat like shit or throw away! She's one that you keep around forever, Luke. That girl is so fucking in love with you and you fucking blew it!" Jack says, his voice raising with every word he says.

Luke freezes.

"Wait, what?"

Jack bites his lip. "Fuck," he hisses. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

"Since when? How long have you known this?" Luke says, his anger now rising.

"No you don't get to fucking be the one who is pissed off! You don't get to act like that!" Quinn buds in.

Luke glares at his older brother. "You knew too? Are you fucking joking? Why-"

"Alright fucking enough! This isn't what we should be fighting about, what we should be doing is figuring out how the fuck Luke is going to fix things with Y/N." Trevor bursts out, making everyone turn over to him in shock.

Trevor throws his hands up in the air. "Yeah I know. Trevor of all people saying you guys need to calm the fuck down, but seriously I'm the only one that is also willing to see that we have a bigger issue to fix right now."

"Luke you need to figure out what you're going to say and do to fix this," Trevor instructs while pointing at him. He then points at the other boys. "You guys can sort your shit out afterwards. Y/N comes first right now."

Luke huffs, knowing he really had to sort his shit out. He royally fucked up badly, and this was the girl he cared about more than anyone else who existed in his life.

Jack was right. She was a forever girl.

He just hoped that she would still be there after all of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Y/N arrived home, it was late. WayI late.

She knew it was way late when all of the boys were sleeping, and the lights were all off inside the house. The outdoor porch light glowing a dark orange as she approached the front door.

Sniffles left her lips as she tried to stay as quiet as she could while opening the door, silently closing and locking it behind her.

The girl kicks her shoes off and lines them up at the door with all the other pairs of shoes there, setting her keys on the group key hanger before padding into the kitchen.

She turns on the dimmer lighting, hoping to not let it be too bright to wake any of the boys whom were sleeping on the main floor bedrooms.

When she opened the fridge she saw her leftovers that she was going to eat earlier that night sitting right in the smack-dab front, a note adorning the top of the lid.

Made sure nobody touched it. I hope you're home safely

-Quinn

She sighs before placing the note on the counter, opening up the container and grabbing a fork as she decides to just eat it cold to not worry about waking up anyone in the house.

Y/N brings the bowl over to one of the living room couches and eats in absolute silence, her mind running in circles as it has been all night. She thought maybe going for a drive and then stopping at the beachfront of the lake next to theirs would be a way to somewhat clear her mind a bit.

As she sat there alone with her thoughts once more, she couldn't help but break down into more tears.

Her container falls onto the coffee table as she lets the tears fall freely, putting her head into her hands as she lays herself on her side. Her chest feeling heavy as her heart breaks over again.

She couldn't believe Luke had really said those things. Really thought that about her especially.

Was she really that clingy? That much of a nuisance to Luke? Was she just causing more harm than good to him right now? Should she just leave the lakehouse in the morning was the real question.

She didn't know what to do.

Tears kept falling freely as she lay there on the couch, curled into a ball, rubbing her arms up and down.

Her eyes suddenly started to feel heavier, her sobs turning into soft hiccups, tears drying on her face that was red, splotchy and puffy. She let her eyes slowly close, her mind trying to be silenced by sleep.

Which slowly does take over.

Y/N soon is fast asleep on the couch, no blanket or pillow covering her as she was too caught up in her mind to notice.

Little did she realize that her container falling onto the table caused a loud enough noise for the oldest Hughes brother to stun awake and head out to the kitchen to see what was happening.

He squints around, then does s double take when he sees a small form curled up on the couch while little hiccups left their mouth. He walks over, his heart clenching as he sees Y/N shaking from crying so much while being fast asleep.

He grabs her bowl and puts the rest back into the fridge for her tomorrow, then walking back over to the girl and picking her up slowly to not disturb the much needed slumber she needs.

Quinn looks down at her, seeing how torn her face looked even in her sleep. If thoughts could kill in that moment, he was sure Luke would be dead in an instant.

Once he is back into his room, he quietly shuts the door and brings her over to lay in his bed. He sets her down softly and cover her up with his comforter, kissing her head softly. "I'm so sorry he did this to you." he whispers out, knowing she couldn't hear him.

He sighs before standing up and walking over to his side of the bed and getting in. Once his light is turned off he is laying on his side and keeps his distance from Y/N so she has her space, before he himself slowly falls back into a deep slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Her car is here so she had to come back. There is no way she would just disappear." Luke says as he paces around. "She didn't come sleep in my room last night."

"Well I wouldn't blame her is she decided to sleep somewhere else too. I wouldn't want to be near you either after being told all of that." Duke says, earning a look from Luke. His friend put his hands up in defense.

Jack, Cole and Trevor were all out that morning picking up some of Y/N favorites in opes that they could try to make her feel a bit better, while Luke was conjuring up what he was going to do and say to Y/N to at least get on a path towards fixing things between them both.

"Where would she have gone? She hates sleeping in other beds. She says they're not as comfortable, and I'm the only one in the house that has a fan. Because she can't sleep without one." Luke bombards, biting his nails.

"Well I think after how much she cried out last night, her body will be out for quite some time with no fan or your bed needed." Quinn's voice perks up, the boys waltzing into the kitchen with a yawn.

Luke stops pacing and looks at Quinn.

"What do you mean? Where is she? Is she safe?"

Quinn shushes his brother with a look and a hand motion to shut him up.

"Yes she is fine. She's asleep in my room-"

"What the fuck-"

"No don't start that shit. She wouldn't be in there in the first place if you didn't act like a bitch and go off on her like you did last night." Quinn chirps before Luke can say another word. "So yeah she is sleeping in my room. I woke up because I heard her come home, she passed out from crying so much on the couch, so I carried her to sleep in my room. You need to get over yourself if you're going to even have a chance at fixing the mess you made." Quinn admits.

Luke knows he is right. Quinn might've been the more quiet and reserved one out of the three brothers, but when he was mad or driven about something, people listened because he wasn't bullshitting in any way.

Luke decided to keep his mouth shut and put his good hand on his hip.

"So what do I do? Where do I start?" he asks, and Quinn shuts the fridge to turn to his brother.

"You need to apologize. Really apologize, hear her out, and be fucking honest." Quinn instructs. "You want a chance at being with the one girl I know you're just as obsessed with as she is with you, then you need to lay every fucking thing out. Don't bullshit any of it, Luke." Quinn explains, letting his little brother take in his words.

"But for now, you need to let her sleep. She looked so exhausted. Let her sleep and take her time. Don't immediately jump her throat when she so much as walks out here." He finishes before disappearing from the kitchen to go outside.

Duke looks at Luke and nods. "I think he's right. He said it better than I could've."

So that's what Luke did.

He left to go golfing with the boys. He left to go out on the boat. He left to go into town for lunch. He gave her space. He didn't want to do what Quinn said would make her feel pressured. He kept his distance.

Throughout that day, he slowly started to realize just how much her presence was meant for their group. Meant for him. He never realized how important she became for him especially with all of his post surgery things. She did keep him in check for good reasons.

He was stressed out every time he forgot to take his meds. Or when he forgot to do his PT exercises. Or when he especially forgot to switch out his ice packs.

She really did make it an easier process for him. Every single thing she was doing wasn't to be a pain in his ass or cling onto him, it was to make it easier on him.

He groans at the thought, knowing he really wished he could've just shut his trap the night before, but of course his pain and soreness and helplessness made him lash out on the one person who made this whole thing so much simpler for him.

The boys all sat around the fire pit later that night, music playing softly while they all sat amongst one another and talked. The sun was nearly gone, crickets and frogs being heard around the lake as well as a few loons.

The talking simmered when the group heard the sliding door slowly opening, they all snapped their heads over to see the familiar girl's face appear.

She looked like she was fresh out of the shower, her hair damp and face free of makeup as she shut the door behind her.

She was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a UMich Hockey sweatshirt, one that looked like it might've been Luke's that she took a while ago.

Her hands were hiding in the big sleeves of the sweater as she walked down to join them, some of the boys letting frowns form on their faces as they see her face still puffy from the night before.

They all snap out of their frowns when her eyes rise up to look at them with the fakest smile Luke had ever seen on her.

"There's my favorite girl." Jack is the first to speak up warmly, wrapping her up in his arms as she went and sat down. All the other boys warmly greeted and cheered when she sat down, Y/N smiling at them as she took a deep breath.

"I made you one," Trevor says as he hands her one of his famous s'mores. She looks over at him.

"How'd you know?" she asks, and he shrugs with a wink.

"I told you, I've got that twin telepathy." Trevor jokes in a cocky tone, earning an amused look from the girl before she thanks him and blows him a kiss.

"See? Y'all see that? I got a kiss before you guys!" he sings out, making all the guys groan and swat at him as he does a funny little dance.

"I take it back." Y/N says, earning an awestruck Trevor.

"No take-backsies!" he pouts before going to sit back in his spot.

Her eyes never met Luke's, the boy silently begging for her to look at him just once. She never did.

The group all kept on their conversations, trying to distract from the obvious tension going on as they all didn't want to make Y/N anymore uncomfy than she probably felt.

Luke tried hard not to get jealous or annoyed at Jack or Trevor when they would be close to Y/N, as he knew they were only doing it to make her smile and feel better. He just couldn't help but feel that way as he wished it was him making her that way.

But he was the reason she wasn't smiling. Why her face was puffy. So he deserved that at payback. He deserved way worse to be honest.

As the night began to near its end, each boys lowly trailed their ways inside, Y/N and Luke being the last two to be sitting near the fire. Y/N wanted to enjoy the night, as bonfires were something that made her feel anchored and helped her decompress.

Luke kept his distance, only staying on the left side of her across the fire. His eyes hadn't really left her figure the entire night.

At that moment he decided he couldn't wait any longer. The suspense was killing him slowly. So he cleared his throat, watching as she didn't move a muscle.

"Um," he squeaks out. "You-you can take my bed tonight. If you want. I-I know you usually can't sleep without a fan, a-and that you prefer my bed because it helps elevate your back." he stutters out quietly.

Y/N keeps her gaze on the fire, and just nods. Luke feels his chest tighten.

He clears his throat once again.

"I-I um," he starts once more. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry-"

Y/N stands up before he can finish, soon walking away from the fire.

He watches her walk away in silence, watching as she disappears back inside the house. Luke lets out a shaky sigh, before standing up himself and using the pot of water next to the pit to put out the fire before soon making his way back up to the house himself.

When he reaches his room, he prays that she took his offer, the boy wanting to use the excuse of grabbing pajamas in case she was in there.

His bed was empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day came by quicker than expected, and Luke was feeling at a loss.

Y/N had been ignoring him all day.

He had gotten up before the sun, went and picked up her favorite flowers, coffee and protein iced tea she loves, as well as her favorite bagel spot. He had even drove across town to get her the coffee grounds from a cafe that donates used coffee grounds to use for gardening, as he knows she loves using them when she does her planting at the lakehouse for Ellen and herself.

When she had come down that morning to get herself some breakfast, her face had contorted into all kinds of reactions.

Shock, awe, happiness, confusion, sadness and then nothing. It turned into nothing when she saw Luke creep in and giving her a look of hope.

She didn't acknowledge him once, but he knew he had gotten to her as she did indulge in the breakfast, coffee and iced tea he got her.

That was when Luke knew he had a chance to get her back.

Until the rest of the day had gone on.

She so much as did not look his way, acknowledge anything that had to do with him. She acted as if he didn't exist. Luke didn't know what to do. He couldn't talk to her as she wouldn't even try and be near him.

She either stuck to Jack or Cole's side for the day.

The evening was far from over too, and Luke was just ready to go to bed in that moment.

Especially now.

They were currently out at one of the dive bar clubs in the area, the music was loud and the place was packed.

Which also meant that Y/N was drunker than a sailor on a pirate ship.

She had been dancing and singing loudly to any and all of the songs, having any of the boys come dance with her as time went on. Luke stayed in his spot at the bar by Quinn, who looked very amused by her actions as she was spun around by Trevor.

"Have you gotten to talk to her yet?" Quinn says over the loud music.

Luke shook his head with a pout. "She's acting as if I don't exist."

Quinn uses his lips. "Do you blame her? You broke her heart. Especially after you said you'd never do that."

Luke huffs. "Yeah I know."

"Keep trying. That's all I'll say. You still have a shot. I know deep down she wants you to keep fighting."

"I'm trying. But she makes it so hard."

"She's worth it though?" Quinn trails off, and Luke thinks for a second. He then nods.

"Yeah. Yeah she is."

Trevor then runs up to them, drunkenly stumbling around as he reaches them. "Y/N disappeared outside. I think she's throwing up. I would go get her, but I'm not too far behind her." he says before disappearing back into the crowd.

Luke looks over at Quinn before he makes his way outside, eyes scanning for the familiar figure and spots her over at the corner by the bushes and hunched over.

He scurries over to her, using his good arm to caress her back as she throws up. He then takes her hair as best as he can with the one hand, and holds it back.

When she finishes dry heaving she turns and does a double take when she sees it's Luke.

She stumbles a little as she tries to push him away. "No, I don't want you." she slurs, dry heaving once more.

"Y/N stop focus on getting this out of your system right now. Quinn is coming with water." he says, and she shakes her head trying to get away from his grasp.

She forget that he still has a hold on her hair, and he gently pulls on it to keep her in her place. "You can hate me the most tomorrow, but I'm not letting you pass out after dry heaving for ten minutes. So it's me or the concrete."

"I choose the concrete."

"Y/N"

She drunkenly giggles at her comment, only to be stopped as she starts throwing up again. Luke keeps her hair back, his eyes looking back to see Quinn coming up with the bottled water.

He hands it to his younger brother. "I'm going to grab the boys and the car. I'll be back." he says before jogging back inside.

Once Y/N finishes her second round, she tries to stand straight but wobbles in the process. Luke is quick to catch her, only almost failing as his sling holds his bad arm back from fully being able to stabilize her.

He makes a dumb decision, but in that moment he was more focused on her.

He takes off his sling and lets it fall to the ground, Y/N watching the action and pout when she sees his sling fall to the ground. She points at it. "Your sling. You shouldn't be taking that off." she slurs out with a hiccup.

He shakes his head. "Not my concern right now, I'm more focused on keeping you upright. I don't need you passing out on me again." he tries to lighten the mood, only getting a scowl from her.

"Okay tough crowd." he mumbles, looking behind them to see any sign of Quinn.

"I'm serious-" she hiccups "put it back on. You can't have that off." she hiccups again as she bends down to try and get it.

"Y/N dammit leave it. I'll deal with my dumb decisions tomorrow."

"Like you other decision you made two days ago?"

His heart sinks at her words, seeing her eyes become big as she looks up at him. "Y/N look," he starts. "I'd love to have this conversation, and tell you how much I regret saying those things to you, but I want you sober for that. I'm not going to take advantage when you are probably seeing two of me."

"Hey! How'd you know that? Do you have my vision or something?" she whines, and he rolls his eyes trying to not laugh at her.

Before he knows it, Quinn is pulling around the corner to meet them. Luke brings her up to his car when he parks it, Quinn rushing up to grab her and he frowns at Luke as he looks down at his empty shoulder.

"Dude what are you doing? Put that back on!"

"I will, chill alright? I was more focused on trying to make sure she didn't fall face first onto the pavement." he says as he goes to grab the sling and carefully put it back on, trying to ignore the burning pain going up and down his collarbone.

It was a quiet ride home, as most of the drunk ones were already sleeping, the others just tired from the day they've had.

Once they were pulled into the driveway, Quinn hops out and goes to grab Y/N while Jack and Cole who are both not super drunk but are definitely past being buzzed, grab Trevor.

"Put her in my bed. I'm sleeping on the couch." Luke says to Quinn when they get inside. Instead of arguing, he nods and brings her up the stairs.

Luke follows behind, needing to go and grab some pajamas and his painkillers for the night. Once Quinn has set her in bed, Luke goes to turn on the fan for her watching as she snuggles closer into his sheets.

"She loves you still, you know." Quinn says softly, making Luke turn towards his eldest brother.

Luke gives him a pursed smile and nods, getting the same action back from Quinn before he leaves.

The blond boy slowly, and painfully, changes into a pair of sweats before going over to his bed to grab his pillow only to freeze when he sees Y/N's eyes looking up at him.

"You okay?" he asks.

"You hate when I ask you that, so don't ask me that." she snaps, her words still slurring.

He nods slowly. "I deserve that."

"You deserve a lot worse."

"Yes I do."

She stares at him, her eyes squinting at him as she watches him slowly try to take off his sling for bed. She doesn't miss the way his face winces at the pain he is definitely feeling after what he did.

"Where are you going?" she asks as she watches him head for his door. He points at it. "Downstairs. I'm going to go and sleep downstairs. Give you your space."

"Stay." she says, making him frown.

"Please." she slurs out softly, watching him fight with his mind. She watches as he slowly walks back over and cautiously gets into his side of the bed just incase she changes her mind.

"Just keep your distance." she says quickly and he nods.

"I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning Luke was hurting like a bitch.

He tried his best to not wince and hiss when he woke up, not wanting to awaken the girl next to him.

When he finally got out of bed and down he stairs, he saw Quinn and Jack both in the kitchen talking. Jack was sitting on one of the barstools while Quinn was putting together breakfast.

They both looked over when they heard him coming in, seeing him hold his sling out signaling he needed help putting it on.

"That was a dumb move you made." Quinn says, and Luke rolls his eyes.

"Yeah well I was more concerned for her than I was about my arm. I'll live." he shoots back, thanking Jack as he finishes adjusting it for Luke.

"What happened?" Jack asks.

"Y/N was at her throwing up point where she can't end to pass out from dry heaving too much," Luke says before pouring himself a cup of coffee. "So I took my sling off and kept her upright instead of letting her faceplate straight into the concrete."

Jack hums. "You're a dumbass," he starts. Luke chuckles dryly as he goes to sit down next to Jack. "But proud of you." he says before taking a bite of his waffles and standing up, patting the boy on his back.

"I'm off. I'm meeting Sammy for a farmer's market run this morning. So I'll be back around one." he says, putting his place in the sink and then heading towards the front door.

Quinn nods. "I'll be leaving shortly too. Trev and Cole are still sleeping. I think Duker and I are gonna go take up some ice time for a bit." he says, and Luke nods.

Y/N soon comes strolling in, still in her dress from the night before and her hair in a bun as she is squinting her eyes.

She goes to grab a cup of coffee, Quinn handing her a plate of food as she stand over by him at the island. "How you feeling champ?" he giggles, and she huffs.

"Not great. But not dying. I more so just have a headache right now. I think I got most of it out of my system last night." she explains with a dry laugh, taking a sip of her coffee.

Quinn laughs, before finishing up his breakfast. He goes over and kisses her head. "Don't kill him today, yeah?" is all he says, making her give him a look before he disappears.

Y/N just stands there, tracing the ring around her cup with her finger as they sat in silence.

Luke was the first to speak.

"There's um," he clears his throat. "There's some liquid IV in the cabinet. It's the berry one." he says, pointing to the cupboard.

She stands there quietly, taking a sip of her coffee and nodding.

Luke sighs. "Can I say more? Or are you going to leave before I can finish?" he asks genuinely.

"I'm debating." she answers back, not meeting his eyes as he keeps his own her figure.

"Well I'l just talk, and if you've had enough then you can walk away. Yeah?"

She says nothing, which then has him proceed.

"I fucked up," he sighs. "I really fucked up. I know that. I honestly wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to talk to me again."

"Again. Debating."

"And that's okay," he says, not wanting to say how much it would hurt him if she chose that. "I really should not make any excuses for what I said. I've just been in so much pain, and at such a breaking point with all of this. I took it out on you when I should not be doing that."

She takes a sip of her coffee, soon taking a bit of her food. He takes that as a sign that she isn't ready to leave just yet.

"I didn't realize how much you were doing until you weren't there. You know what I also realized?"

For the first time, she looks at him.

"I realized all you were trying to do was make this whole healing process easier on me. Not pester me. Or overwhelm me. Or annoy me. It was simply to make sure I was on the right path towards a faster paced healing process to get back on my feet."

"That's all I was trying to do, and have been trying to do Luke. Because I know how you get. You proved my point when you blew up at me like that." she answers in a monotoned voice. Luke nods.

"I know that now. And I'm so grateful for that and for you. Especially after having that realization," he says. "I hated hearing how you haven't slept, and how you have put me first. If anything don't do that again. For my sake. As much as I love you for that, I need you do make sure Y/N is healthy first."

Y/N ears perk up, and she looks at him with a frown. "What did you just say?" she says softly.

Luke furrows his brows. "I need you to put yourself first. Your health."

"You said you love me."

Luke's eyes widen, and his heart freezes. He did not even realize he let that come out.

He clears his throat and he feels his ears heat up, seeing her face change slightly. "I um," he squeaks. "Yeah. Yeah I do love you. I think I always have, but after realizing all of this I think it made me realize I loved you more." he admits, his voice shaky as he looks at her.

"Luke."

"I'm serious, Y/N." he says. "I know you hate love bombing, but honestly that slipped out. And I am just going to own it because it's nothing but the damn truth."

Y/N just stands there in disbelief. Luke continues. "I want you to know that I truly and deeply am sorry for saying all of those things. You're not clingy. You're not annoying or a burden or any sort of negative impact on my life." he says, slowly getting closer to her. "If anything I do need you. And I want you as mine and mine only. I don't want any of those stupid guys from last summer to be the type of dates you have this year. I want us to figure our shit out, and I want to give you the proper dates you deserve."

Y/N looks up at Luke. "You've got a lot of making up to do, Hughes. A lot."

Luke takes a deep breath. "I know. I know I do."

"You broke my heart."

"I know."

"You called me things."

"I did, and I'm sorry for that."

"Yet I love you too."

His eyes could've popped out of his head. "W-What?" he cracks out, and she give him a small smile.

Before he knew what was happening, she flicks his forehead hard and then smacks his cheek. "Ouch, hey!" he says in awe, and she points at him.

"You deserve that," she says. "But I got those out of the way so I could finish with this."

She lightly grabs his jaw and places a chaste kiss on his lips. He groans when she pulls away far too short for his liking.

"No. No more. Because you have a lot of shit to fix first."

"Roger that."

"I love you."

"I love you too, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it."

[fandom-random-help]

My Boy

Simon Riley x Single Mom!Reader

You and Simon have been dating for almost two years now, and you two were about to take the next big step. Moving in together. You never thought you'd meet someone as great as Simon, especially since you were a packaged deal. Your son, now six years old, was the light of your life. You had him without his biologoical "father" in the picture. You wouldn't trade him for the world, but he did make your dating life a tad difficult. Not that you would complain because it did show you potential dates' true colors before the date ended.

So when you first told Simon about your child, he simply smiled and asked about your son. What he liked, disliked, his personality, everything. You were taken back as nobody ever considered your child before. The first time Simon met your son, everything clicked. He showed up with flowers for you, and a toy truck for your son. From then on, dates with Simon were frequent and you even let your son tag along as Simon insisted he'd come too.

Now here you were, standing in your new shared home with Simon and your little one. Everything got unpacked in a span of two days as Simon invited the guys from the task force to help with the furniture and heavy lifting. One night, while Simon was deployed, you were sitting on the couch reading while your son was on the floor coloring. The TV played softly in the background as your son scribbled away. You were lost in your book until you heard your son say, "Mommy look!"

You looked up and seen the paper your held up a little too close to your face. You carefully grabbed the paper and held it out so you could see his masterpiece. It was a doodle of you, him, and Simon. What caught your eye though was the words above each person. 'Mom' above you, 'Me' above your son, and 'Dad' above what looked like Simon.

Dad

Your heart skipped a beat. You never realized just how integral Simon has become in not only your life, but your son's. He was always there for your son. When you signed your child up for junior baseball, Simon was at every game he could attend when he was home. He even played catch with him whenever you all came home from a pretty long game. He taught your kid about stealth to the best of his ability just so your kiddo could scare you on Halloween.

You smiled and looked at your son. His eyes beaming with happiness. "Tell you what, let's put this on the fridge for when dad gets home." You say. Your son jumps up and down as he follows you to the kitchen. You grab a heart-shaped magnet and stuck the picture on the fridge. As days went on you would look at the picture first thing in the morning as you sipped your tea. You wondered what Simon would think of his new title.

Two Weeks Later

You laid in bed as it was 11:30 p.m. on a Friday night. Your son was sound asleep in his room down the hall, but you couldn't sleep. Simon was supposed to be home last week, but you could only guess the misson took longer than expected. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you hear a truck park in the drive. It was him.

You were giddy with excitement, but waited for him to make it in the house and into bed. About thirty minutes went by and you grew concerned. You knew he was in the house, but after that it was still. No footsteps, no beating and banging in the kitchen, just silence. You quietly got out of bed and tiptoed downstairs. That's when you seen him. Standing in front of the fridge. "Love?" You whispered. "Are you alright?" He jumped and turned to look at you. That's when you seen it. Small tears streaming down his face. He steps closer and pulls you into the tightest hug he has ever given you. "I missed you two so much darling." That's all you had to hear from him before you were tearing up too. After a few minutes in each other's embrace and calming down, you both snuck upstairs. Simon took a shower while you slipped back into bed. He came out of the bathroom wearing a grey shirt and black sweatpants. As he got into bed and wrapped his arms around you he whispered, "I'm so lucky to have you two in my life." He kissed your forehead and pulled you close.

The next morning you woke up in an empty bed. "Don't tell me that was all a dream." You thought. You hear movement downstairs and immediately know you weren't dreaming. Then you hear another pair of footsteps, but they're smaller. You bedroom door creaks open and you see your son's face. "Mom, there's someone in the house." He whispers. That's when you notice the baseball bat in his hands. It takes a lot to not laugh at his antics, and you tell him that you should both investigate. You both slowly step downstairs and into the kitchen. Your son stops dead in his tracks. He recognizes that stature and the blond hair. "Dad!" He shouts as he runs toward Simon.

Simon turns around and bends down to pick him up. Laughter fills the room as you realize that even though Simon isn't biologically your son's dad, your son is definitely Simon's boy.

[anothertimdrakestan]

living with the batboys headcanons!

req: begging on my hands and knees for what it's like moving into an apartment w/ the batboys/yj boys. like just gimme all the domestic fluff you can think of and all the things they'd be annoying abt yk

jason:

- he would be sooo annoying just wanting to sleep on the floor and leave everything behind

- "all we need is each other! let's forget the world babe!" to which you'd remind him "jace you literally have no clothes here and i'm not letting you spoon me on the wooden floor, i need a bed!!"

- begrudgingly, your strong man would move the boxes and happily hang any high-up decorations

- under your supervision, the apartment would become beautiful

- jace would put little locks on the windows so he could crawl in at any time of night, and his red hood gear would probably be strewn around until you put it back in the closet

- friends would come over and say "love what you've done with the place" to you, and give jason a thumbs up for trying

- he'd also bolt the bed to the wall so it doesn't shake when you- you know. yeah. it's jason todd after all.

tim:

- mr. gadget definitely has a techy house, the type where you can turn the lights on with your phone and set the AC from bed

- he's be sure to get a penthouse with a view and a grass balcony. he knew how you'd always wanted a pet and somewhere breathtaking to read, while gotham isn't the most beautiful, an ocean view would do!

- he never wants to stress you out, so he'd take it upon himself to schedule movers and place furniture in the ideal style

- he'd happily push the giant IKEA cart around if it meant he got to watch you skip through the store happily pointing at the things that would make your apartment a home

- champagne and a small get together once everything was finished, he'd be unable to look at you without a little tear in his eye, he never though the universe would grace him with your warmth, he'd buy you a million more houses if it meant you'd be calling his arms your home

- after long vigilante nights he gets a little too excited guessing where you'll be in the home, watching tv on the couch, curled up in bed, trying another internet recipe- he still gets butterflies when he opens the door and smells you in the air, and his heart skips a beat when you give him the first smile of the day in the morning

- though everything was moved in efficiently, you two still take trips to art galleries and farmers markets, looking for local treasures to bring home

- when you're at a wayne ent. gala tim waits excitedly for you to say "ready to go home?" because finally, home means being together

dick:

- richard asked you way too soon to move in

- you accepted because you needed your goofball around as much as possible

- with a rented u-haul and a dream you carried your stuff together. left airpod in his ear right in yours. showtunes, rap, and pop blasting at all times

- once the apartment was passable, you both slumped into chairs with bowls of cereal

- dick was excited to invite his family over to see the new place and you couldn't help but agree

- the family had a move-in party where everyone helps unpack the final pieces

- now looking at the mantle makes you think of roy, the animal-centric artwork of damian, new computer set up had to be tim, and the beautiful silk sheets and candles in the bedroom had to be dick himself. jason did leave a half drunk bottle of brandy though which was as warm a welcome gift as you expected

- for you and dick, it was home because the people you loved were there. it was rare to get time alone, but that's how you both preferred it, wrapped in the presence of the people you care about

- they say home is where the heart is, and your heart has never been more full than it was curled up in bed with dick, watching the batboys rip each other apart- hey everyone has their own definition of peace!

damian

- damian, when he's paying attention and not thinking about one of his many pets, is scarily good at reading your mind

- the minute you started thinking "this commute is awfully long" and "wouldn't it just be better if we were in the same home?" he was signing the lease to your new dream home

- full of natural light for both of your art work and ample room for the few pets that would move with you, it was perfect

- except the "art of surprise" excited dami so much he forget to ask if you were ok with moving

- you came home to an empty room and though you were robbed

- technically you were? but ii was worth it when damian unveiled his master plan

- with a little tweaking and a few target trips, everything was perfect, and like the gentleman he was, he there would always be a driver parked outside to take you wherever you wished to go

- dami couldn't contain his excitement that you both got to create daily schedules that revolved each other, dog walks in the morning, gossiping over lunch, and exploring the city together at night. even when you went out alone, he would insist he couldn't sleep until you were at home in his arms

- though you would protest, secretly you were the same way. nighttime routines just weren't the same without those green eyes staring lovingly at your every move