#because you’re inviting death into your life.

[satsugacafe]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞…

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: If your requests are still open, can you do dating headcanons of Urahara Kisuke with a human with no powers like Uryu and Aizen :0? I really loved both of them!!!! They were so cute

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: Charmed that you liked the others I wrote for ☺️. For everyone whose favourite shopkeeper is a handsome guy without a Bankai. Enjoy!

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: Headcanons for what it’s like to date the eccentric shopkeeper as a normal human

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

˚₊‧꒰ა Urahara Kisuke always found humans fascinating. Not in the detached, scientific way he studied Hollows or other supernatural phenomena, but in a quiet, thoughtful manner. There was something refreshing about people who weren’t caught up in the endless cycles of duty, war, and spiritual politics. When he first met you—a completely ordinary human with no spiritual powers whatsoever—it intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d wandered into his shop out of sheer curiosity, finding it tucked away in a quiet corner of Karakura Town. He watched you from behind the counter as you examined the odd items lining the shelves, clearly puzzled by the peculiar collection of goods. He’d let you browse in silence before finally calling out in that lazy, sing-song tone of his, “Welcome! Looking for something in particular, or just lost?”

˚₊‧꒰ა At first, he treated you like any other customer, but your repeated visits quickly changed that. You came back, not because you needed anything, but because you found his company oddly comforting. There was a strange charm to him—part mysterious shopkeeper, part eccentric scientist. He made you laugh with his odd sense of humour and impressed you with his seemingly endless knowledge about random topics.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You know,” he said one day, leaning casually against the counter, “most people don’t stick around once they realise I’m not selling anything useful. What keeps bringing you back here, hm?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You shrugged with a small smile. “Maybe I like being here.”

˚₊‧꒰ა That answer caught him off guard. He’d always been good at reading people, but you were harder to figure out. There was no hidden agenda, no ulterior motive. You simply enjoyed spending time with him, and that baffled him more than he cared to admit.

˚₊‧꒰ა Over time, you became a regular fixture in his life. You’d stop by the shop with coffee, sit with him while he tinkered with strange gadgets, and chat about mundane things—work, weather, books you’d read. It was so normal it almost felt foreign to him, but he found himself looking forward to those quiet moments more than he expected.

˚₊‧꒰ა Tessai and the kids noticed the change almost immediately. Tessai would give Kisuke knowing looks while Jinta and Ururu whispered behind his back, giggling like mischievous children. Kisuke pretended not to notice, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

˚₊‧꒰ა One evening, after closing up the shop, he surprised you by inviting you to stay for dinner. He claimed Tessai had cooked too much, but you weren’t buying that excuse. Still, you accepted, and it quickly became a routine.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You don’t have to keep coming around, you know,” he teased one night, passing you a cup of tea. “I’m not that interesting.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re more interesting than you think,” you replied, giving him a look that made his heart skip a beat.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he started to care more deeply than he intended. He caught himself worrying about you when you were out late or feeling jealous when other people made you laugh. It was ridiculous, really. He’d spent centuries dealing with life-or-death situations, but your presence made him feel…vulnerable.

˚₊‧꒰ა Kisuke being Kisuke, tried to keep his feelings hidden behind his usual playful façade. But you saw through him more often than not.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You overthink everything,” you told him once, poking him lightly in the forehead. “Maybe try feeling for a change instead of analysing everything to death.”

˚₊‧꒰ა That hit closer to home than he wanted to admit. You weren’t wrong—he’d spent most of his life relying on his intellect, keeping people at arm’s length. But with you, it was different. He didn’t want to keep his distance.

˚₊‧꒰ა Eventually, he stopped fighting it. One night, as you were leaving the shop, he called out to you just before you reached the door, he would nervously and uncharacteristically, ask you out.

˚₊‧꒰ა Dating Kisuke was anything but ordinary. He’d surprise you with elaborate dates—picnics under the stars, late-night walks through the quiet streets of Karakura, even impromptu trips to hidden parts of the town you never knew existed. He had a knack for making the mundane feel magical.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?” you teased once after he’d somehow managed to set up a candlelit dinner in a secluded park. “I like to keep things interesting,” he replied with a wink.

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite his playful exterior, you saw glimpses of the more serious side of him. There were moments when he’d stare off into the distance, lost in thought, or when he’d absentmindedly fiddle with his fan, a faint shadow of melancholy crossing his face. You never pushed him to talk about it, but you always let him know you were there if he needed to.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You have your secrets,” you said once, resting your hand on his. “I’m not here to pry. I’m here because I care.” That simple statement meant more to him than you realised. In a world full of hidden agendas and dangerous secrets, your honesty was a rare and precious thing.

˚₊‧꒰ა Over time, he opened up more, sharing bits and pieces of his past. He told you about the Soul Society, his exile, and the dangers lurking just beyond the veil of the ordinary world. You listened without judgement, accepting him for who he was—not just the brilliant scientist or the exiled captain, but Kisuke, the man who made your heart race with a single smile.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You could have a normal life,” he told you one night, his voice unusually serious. “You don’t have to get involved in all of this.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I’m exactly where I want to be,” you replied without hesitation. “With you.” Those words lingered with him, a constant reminder that even in the midst of chaos, he’d found something worth holding onto.

˚₊‧꒰ა Doesn’t hide his emotions when you’ve done something that touched his ear. He might not verbally express it, but the blush and his explosive reaction tell you enough. Bring him a meal of food, and he’s telling Tessai that you’re the new chef in the house.

˚₊‧꒰ა Urahara’s affection was subtle but undeniable. He’d bring you odd little gifts—an antique key with no lock, a beautifully painted fan, or a box of sweets he claimed were imported from “a very exclusive supplier.” You’d laugh and tease him about his dubious taste, but the care behind each gesture was clear

˚₊‧꒰ა There were moments of danger, of course. Being close to Kisuke meant you weren’t entirely safe from the spiritual threats that loomed over Karakura. But he did everything in his power to keep you protected, even if it meant keeping you in the dark about certain things.

˚₊‧꒰ა While you’re asleep, he already had Tessai set up a new defensive system, telling the poor man to create some new Kido to protect you and your neighbourhood. Jinta and Ururu are placed to guard your house for extra precautions.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jinta had let it slip out during a visit that he was never guarding your house all night, ever again, and that’s how you came to learn that he’s been going above and beyond to protect you. Gave him a little scolding for it and told him to go easy on his kids.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re terrible at hiding things from me,” you pointed out once when he tried to brush off a particularly nasty injury. “You might be a genius, but you’re not a very good liar.” He chuckled, wincing slightly as you gently cleaned his wound. “Guess I’ll have to work on that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა For all his quirks, Urahara was deeply protective. You noticed it in the way his playful eyes sharpened whenever someone approached you too quickly or in how he always seemed to position himself between you and any potential danger, however minor. “Can’t have my favourite human getting scratched, now can I?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Melts when you still give him kisses and caution him to be safe. And Kisuke always takes everything up a notch—his way of masking his affected state—by asking for another or more good luck affections. He’s bold enough to ask for this to be a regular thing each time he has to head out, stopping by your house for his kisses.

˚₊‧꒰ა We all know he’s touchy, but when you’re the one giving him the physical affections, of a moment, his hyperactivity dies down and all the noise vanishes. He’ll melt into your touch, visibly turning into a puddle, murmuring about how good your hug felt. Cuddle him and watch as he turns into a giant baby.

˚₊‧꒰ა He probably can’t remember the last time someone was this genuinely affectionate towards him, so he clings to every drop of affection. Your kisses to his forehead, the way you cradle his head and run your fingers through them, how you hold him to your chest and baby him. It’s a feeling he never wants to let go.

˚₊‧꒰ა Your simple human touch adds colour to his bleak life. Something he likes to whisper when you’re asleep as he kisses your cheeks. “I don’t know what I’ll do should something ever happen to you. You’re the light in my life.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite the risks, you never regretted being with him. He made you laugh, challenged you to think differently, and reminded you that even in a world full of supernatural dangers, there was still room for joy and love.

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite his mysterious nature, Urahara was a man of simple joys. He loved lazy mornings where he could sit outside with a cup of tea, the brim of his hat tilted just enough to catch the sun. You’d join him, and he’d share random musings about the weather, the birds, or the peculiarities of human behaviour.

˚₊‧꒰ა He had a mischievous streak a mile wide. One time, he convinced you to help him with a ‘harmless’ experiment, which ended with you glowing faintly for an entire day. “You look positively radiant!” he exclaimed, clearly delighted, while you swore revenge through gritted teeth.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You know,” he said one night, pulling you close as you stood on the shop’s rooftop, gazing at the stars, “for someone without powers, you’ve completely enchanted me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Good. It’s about time someone outsmarted you.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @edensrose

©satsugacafé: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[satorena]

( P*SSY GOT ) P☆WER !?

bad ☆ summary. converting a loser into a munch wasn’t on your yearly bingo card ( or was it ? )

content ★ warnings. explicit content. mdni. foul language. situationship!gojo. college au. cunningulus. frōtting. premature ejaculātion. fīngering. eventual smut. gojo pines for like 99% of the fic. he also studies in pornology. reader is kinda bratty. mention of death lightheartedly. a lot of italicized words. lowkey gojo centric? 6.4k words (bye).

rena’s ☆ note. SATORENA COMEBACK … sorta (・・?)

“gimme a kiss.”

your face scrunches before the words can express your distaste. with your hand on the handle of his car’s door, your fingers tighten around the metal bar, half tempted to leave the man at your left— rosy lips puckered into an obnoxious smooch.

his eyelids are shut tight as his brows furrow to the centre of his forehead, face leaned in. you chuckle at his theatrics, lifting your free hand to press your digits at his pucker. his eyelids open as his brows now loosen, “gojo, bye.”

you feel his hands wrap around your wrist, gently lifting your hand off his mouth, though your fingers hover over his lips still, “girl.” he tilts his head to the side, emitting an aura of sass you’ve yet to understand, “it’s satoru to you— i can’t even have a little one? haven’t i been good all day?”

you click your tongue, “you been runnin’ your mouth all day long actually,” and before your mind can even process your following words, you focus on the way his plump lips fall into another one of his childish pouts. cute. however he chooses to take your invitation is all up to him. your eyes dart to the rosy flesh as you hum, “mhm, if only you ate pussy as good as you talk shit.”

you feel the hold on your wrist drop, as his frown switches to a blank stare. you cock a brow, watching as the hand his steering wheel tightens.

he gulps, eyes narrowing before glancing over to the leather wheel, “i, uh, don’t eat pussy.”

oh. . . oh.

the slam of the car door speaks the rest for you.

“woah— hey!” gojo yells after you, though your figure seems to get smaller with the steps you take. in your hold is your purse, bouquet of flowers he’d bought earlier and house keys. “baby, hold on— this damn window,” he cusses, removing the barrier between you and him angrily. you hadn’t even hesitated to exit the car, as if he’d said the world’s most vile comment.

you’re not listening, and for some reason gojo feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. what the fuck had he said that made you all upset with him?

he watches helplessly as you insert your key into the hole. the chiming sounds of your keys serve as a reminder that he was definitely in trouble. that and he wasn’t getting his damn goodbye kiss.

he sighs instead, albeit defeatedly. “am i at least gonna see you soon?”

the front door opens and you look back over your shoulder, and god— he really thought he had it. his lips threaten to pull into a smile, ready for your little mood to be over with.

you grin and as does he. you even give him a cute wave, thank fuck, “have yourself a nice life, baby.”

and the front door closes. damn.

☆ ☆

“you said what?!”

gojo groans into the phone, sprawling himself on his king sized mattress that suddenly feels way to big for him alone. where were you when he needed you? oh that’s right, “she ghosted me! i’m blocked on all socials— can you believe that?”

he tried reaching out to you through texts to make sure you were feeling okay, but the shade of green told him everything he needed to know— especially as an apple user. he then proceeded to go through your social media, to double check his suspicions and there it was, user not found.

“uh, duh?” geto is as judgemental as ever, and gojo doesn’t try to suppress the roll of his eyes. “bro, you just told the girl you’re talkin’ to that you don’t give head. the fuck d’you think was gonna happen?”

“it’s not even a big deal!” he argues because his pride in on the line, and he ignores the groan geto gives him across the phone. rude. his fingers pinch at the top of his nose bridge, “was it really necessary to block me? literally just tell me to kill myself at this point.”

“pretty sure that’s what she blocked you for.” geto snickers, and gojo realizes he’s lucky they aren’t in person because he would have blocked him. instead he whines, pressing the speaker button before stuffing his face in his pillow. he’s probably insane but he swears there’s a hint of your scent there, and now he’s whining louder.

“quit bitchin’. you brought this upon yourself,” and out of spite, gojo whines louder. if his legs kick against his mattress childishly, it’s nobody’s business but his own. the love of his life just walked out of his life— give him a break. “and dude, no shade but do you really not eat pussy? are you gay or somethin’?”

“i am not—” he cuts himself off once the sound of his own voice echoes loudly in his lonely room. geto winces and gojo bites down on his tongue before sighing. “i’m not gay. i love women only. seriously. how does not eating pussy make me gay?”

the line goes quiet, and gojo can tell geto’s making that face he makes whenever he’s finding the right words to say without offending gojo. it ticks him off. “alright, lemme counter that question with one of my own. why don’t you eat pussy?”

gojo pauses. he tightens his fingers around his pillow as the question ponders. he thinks about having received head in the back of his car once, the other time in the bathroom of some frat party, and another in some girl’s bedroom. from all memories, he draws a similar conclusion— they always come onto him first.

“i dunno.” his lips fall into a pout, tracing patterns into his pillowcase with his index. “they never really ask, so i never bothered. that can’t be weird, right? all of my hookups have consisted of them pulling my pants down. why would i refuse? i get my nut and that’s that.”

and because geto is genuinely never on his side, “satoru . . . eugh.” some kind of best friend is he.

“what?!” he hisses in retaliation, glaring at his phone as if it would solve his issues. there’s nothing he hates more than feeling judged. “you fucking asked!”

“calm the fuck down,” he hears geto rolling his eyes. the white haired man huffs, the blow of air pushing his bangs up before they fall back down. okay, maybe he should calm down. whatever. “so essentially what you’re saying is you’ve never been put in a position where you could eat pussy?”

something like that, “sure.” gojo nods, and he doesn’t understand why geto sighs.

“why do i even bother?” though the answer is clear, he’s pretty sure geto was talking to himself. gojo clicks his tongue, ready to bark back but geto beats him to it. “so tell her just that— it’s not that you won’t give head, it’s just that you haven’t given head. which still blows me, but whatever.”

“how? remember she blocked me on everything?” the thought makes gojo whine again, throwing his limbs all over his bed. he hits his phone, then opts to grab it. “is that not entitlement? i have to bend my back all over the damn place just to get her to talk to me again?”

“satoru, you’ve literally done the same thing. don’t act like you’re above it,” geto chuckles and gojo hears shuffling in the background. the ravenette sighs in relief, and he assumes he’s now in his own bed. “besides, you fuckin’ love women who give you challenges.”

and fuck, he’s really not wrong. “yeahhh, you know me so well.” he wipes a fake tear from his eye. he rolls over onto his back, “welp, i’m gonna log into your insta to stalk her account. i miss her so much i’m literally gonna die.”

“satoru.” geto warns him, but gojo is quicker than that. he’s already typing your name into the search bar, username memorized as if it were his cellphone number.“i swear to god if you accidentally like her shit—”

“thanks bestie, love ya lots!” and he hangs up the phone. and with a shit eating grin, he giggles, “time to start lurking.”

☆ ☆

so it’s been months (read: four days) since he last seen you. he’s thankful you’re at least in two of his courses, so he has some sort of opportunity to reach you. he’d spent the last months (hours) stalking your page, viewing your stories to see if there’d been any indicator that you missed him as badly as he missed you.

and all he’s gotten so far is that you spent friday out to dinner (with him) (it was just a mirror pic of your outfit but an outfit you wore on a date with him) (you love him so bad), you had a girls’ night on saturday with shoko and utahime (he barely registered they were in the selfie) and sunday was a study sesh you had at the cafe across the college. he had to screenshot and zoom in to ensure there were no signs of living souls in the same booth as you.

he was still in the clear. whew.

and so monday morning falls, and he’s actually rushing to get to class for once (late but as expected). the one of two classes he shares with you. he hopes he’ll find you sitting in your habitual seat, not too far up close yet not too far back, and he might pull the fire alarm if he spots anybody next to you.

he’s a man on a mission— he’s going to talk to you today. he needs to be back in your good graces. there were many things he wanted to yap to you about, many places he thought of taking you over the weekend, many moments he wanted your soft lips back on his and your gentle hand back in his own.

he misses you, damn it.

there you sit, in all your glory, shining so bright in the middle of this depressing ass psychology course in the early hours of the butt fuck morning. he sees you twirling your pen in between your fingers, your cheek leaned into the palm of your hand— and nobody by your side.

if he rushes and trips over his feet momentarily to get to you in time, it’s nobody’s business but his own (and the girl who’s backpack laid useless on the floor. hazard much.)

he so much as plops into the seat as he does actually sit in it, and he watches as you jerk in surprise. though, the look of surprise is quickly replaced by aloofness. you feel different— not entirely closed off but not as welcoming as you usually are. you’re probably still done with him.

well it’s too damn bad he’s not done with you, “good morning, princess.”

you blink at him, before nodding your head curtly. “morning, gojo.” and you turn your focus back onto the professor. just like that, you shut down another conversation.

he doesn’t like that, and so he pokes at your side and chews at his strawberry gum. “you blocked me on everything.”

“i did.” you answer shortly, though your eyes never leave the professor. he cannot be that interesting, who actually gives a fuck about cognitive dissonance?

“seen this new bakery shop down the street.” he tries again. “wanted to take you but that was impossible because somebody blocked me.”

“i mean, you know where i live.” you shrug, writing whatever the fuck the professor had mentioned in your notebook. wait, what? you turn your head to see him gaping at you in confusion, and you smirk at his silence.

“cat got your tongue?” you quip, amused by his stillness. your eyes sparkle mischievously, though your smile isn’t entirely full. don’t tell him, you’ve been— “too bad it’s not mine, though.”

ohhh, you cheeky brat.

“so. . . you were never really mad at me?” gojo blinks, his mind running miles a second. nothing was adding up, he was positively certain you were cutting ties with him. “this whole time. you weren’t mad about the pussy eating comment?”

“don’t get it twisted,” you raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. you lift a finger in the air before pointing at him, “you,” and then pointing at yourself “and i are done. we can still be cool but i’m not wasting my time with no bitch—respectfully.”

“so you are mad?” he asks again, disregarding the bitch comment. he knows what he’s supposed to say— to clarify the situation, to make it known that it’s not like he’s repulsed by the idea of giving head— but you make it so hard to stay on track when you’re acting defiant.

suguru was right— he does love a challenge.

“mad?” you giggle, and gojo leans back in his seat. damn, you’re confusing. stone cold one minute but all giggly the next. it’s cool, he’ll figure you out. “i ain’t trippin’ baby— if you don’t wanna eat it then don’t. another man definitely will.”

huh, “oh?” his eyes narrow just slightly, though the smirk on his lips never falter. he ignores the way his stomach just dropped to his ass at your implication— there is no way in hell is he letting another man have you. not when he’s still alive and breathing. “if you think i’m letting that happen, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“everything seems to be coming but me,” you bat your lashes, and damn he fell right into that one. you drop your pen down, giving him one last smile before redirecting your focus to the professor before you. “the real question is what do you plan on doing ‘bout that?”

you give him no time to respond, and it’s not like he thinks he would be able to, as you begin to pack your belongings into your tote bag. you’re leaving and he barely got to say what he’d been memorizing all weekend. oh well, at least he now knows you haven’t entirely cut him off.

if he doesn’t knows better, it feels like you want him to chase after you.

god, he thinks he’s in love.

☆ ☆

gojo satoru is amazing at everything. there truly isn’t something he can do that won’t come out spectacular. he’s gifted, that he knows much, and it’s difficult to stay humble when he’s constantly reminded of so.

“i can easily do this shit.” he mumbles to himself, cerulean eyes narrowing into focus at the bright lit screen of his ipad. his airpods are in, and he’s gonna be completely honest— the pornstar’s screaming is starting to get on his nerve. however, he’s always been an exceptional student and when it’s time to lock in, it’s time to lock in.

his legs feel as though they’ve fallen asleep in the criss-cross position he’s been sat in on his bed for the past two hours. irrelevant, he decides as he picks at his bottom lip with his fingers. his device is running hot with how long it’s been since it last caught a break, but he had bigger issues to worry about. so, basically all he has to do is spread open her lips and go to town until she squirts? sounds simple enough.

he watches as the guy begins motorboating into the girl’s pussy and— “damn, that looks like it hurts.” a grimace creeps onto his face as the guy repeatedly goes ham on swollen red lips. he’s got half a mind telling him that the moans the girl’s letting out are entirely out of agony and not pleasure.

“aaaalrighty,” gojo speaks up, though to himself. “next video, that shit was ass. pussy hurts just thinkin’ bout it, eugh.”

he finds an amateur video, and the thumbnail seemed intimate enough. after an agonizing ad of ‘want a quick break from the ads?’, the video begins. the upper half of the woman’s body is cut out of frame, but she’s laid onto her side, her backside in view. her top leg lifted just slightly, the man lays on his stomach and spreads them apart further and begins to lick.

he dives his tongue inside her cunt, not too sloppy, and gently works his way in. his thumb is caressing at her puckered forbidden zone, always gently, as his tongue glides up and down her labia.

gojo gulps. the girl makes soft sounds, hand coming down to play her the man’s hair, and he proceeds eat her out skillfully. her back arches, she whines and begs for more, and he never loses control. at some point, the hand that focused on her asshole moves up to grip at her cheeks, thus spreading her pussy lips further. she’s already wet from a mixture of fluids, and the sound it creates is so damn obscene.

gojo gulps again, and his sweats feel tight.

before his mind can even allow it, he’s thinking of you. he thinks of you on your side, legs spread open for his disposition as he brings you this same pleasure. as he lays himself on his stomach, munching at your pussy in ways that’ll have you squirming all over his bed, squeezing your plush thighs around his head and begging for him to give you more.

he thinks of how good you’d smell— how good you’d taste. he thinks of how nice you smell whenever you wrap your arms around his neck and he follows suit around your waist. he thinks of how sweet your lips taste when you’re straddling his thighs and slipping your tongue in his mouth.

pheromones are a crazy thing. your scent lingering in his car alone drives him insane. he’s so prone to boners around you, it’s like he’s a dog you’ve trained.

and now he’s thinking he wants you in this very bed at this very instance, ipad be damned, pussy spread open so he can feast. so he can relish the sounds you make as you call out his name, enamoured by the way his tongue would flick at your clit and break open that dam of water right onto his face.

“shit.” he chucks his ipad onto the floor, cradling his head into the palms of his hands. how had he not ever wanted to do this before?

☆ ☆

he doesn’t expect you to pick up. it’s far past two in the morning on a thursday night, and he’s missing you. badly. he misses you and your sweet smile. he misses you and your smart mouth. he misses you and the way your lips move so fluidly against his own, as if they were made for one another.

he really doesn’t expect you to pick up.

it’s around the fifth ring that he hears your honeyed voice, “hi.” his eyes widen as he sits up from his bed in a hurry. talk about a damn surprise.

“hey.” he says back lamely, because of course he does. he feels the corner of his lips tugging into a smile and his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage. “didn’t think you’d answer.”

“mhm. so what’d you call me for?” you sound tired, and he wonders if you’d been sleeping when he called. somehow, the thought makes his stomach churn at the implication you cut off hours of sleep for him.

“just wanted to hear your voice.” gojo answers as honestly as he can, leaning down to rest his back back into the mattress of his bed. he shuts his eyes and imagines his arm falling asleep underneath your head, using him as a pillow. “been missin’ you.”

“you literally see me every other day at school,” he’s graced with the harmonious sounds of your giggles, and he can already picture the way your shoulders shake as dimples curve into your cheeks. “y’re so fuckin’ clingy.”

he supposes he is, can’t even find it in him to disagree. you’ve been plaguing his mind since you cut him off (question mark) last week. he wasn’t sure what kind of ban you were putting on him, but he’s been tiptoeing around his relationship with you for too long. the absence of your presence in the way he craves is driving him nuts. he misses you, damn it.

a longing sigh rips from his throat, “can’t help that i miss that ass,” he jokes instead because talking about feelings and vulnerability is wrong. “you still owe me a goodbye kiss, y’know? just left a poor guy hangin’, rude.”

“hmm,” you hum lazily and he isn’t sure what to expect. he’s just talking out of his ass, wants to restore that playful banter you guys had prior to this whole pussy eating mess— which he’d gladly now get on his knees and rock your fucking world. “like i said already, you know where i live.”

“you got one more time to say that before i show up at your doorstep for real,” gojo tests the waters, and swings his legs off his bed. he’s waiting for a sign, confirmation, anything to ensure you were being serious. late night be damned, he will show up to your door and flip your shit right then and there.

“the fuck i gotta repeat myself for?” you sigh, and gojo’s slipping his shoes on. he’s wasting no more time, he wants you right now. “if you really missed me you would have been come see me. you’re all talk.”

“so when i yell at your doorstep to lemme eat it, don’t start lookin’ at me crazy—i’m warning ya.” and with that he hangs up. he’s not leaving any more room for debates, enough’s enough. and shit, when the fuck had he gotten bricked?

he grabs his keys and slams his door close.

☆ ☆

you’re looking at him like he grew an extra head on his shoulders overnight. he’s looking at you like the tee you have on your body decimated his entire bloodline. there’s a heavy silence between you both, as if either one of you are expecting the other to make the first move.

“you actually came.” you blink in mild shock, neck craning up to look him dead in the eye. he’s panting heavily, he might’ve ran here the second he could, but how could he not have?

“enough games, baby.” gojo answers instead and takes a step into your apartment. you back up in retaliation, and he takes another close step. you stay still this time. his hands sneak below the hem of your shirt and slide up to your bare waist, grabbing onto the plush flesh. you feel jolts of electricity imbedded into your skin with every lingering touch. “lemme eat it, come on. please?”

“oh?” you cock an eyebrow, raising a hand to press your palm flat against the plane of his chest. you feel his heartbeat thudding wildly. “and here i thought you were too good to stoop as low as giving women head.”

gojo clicks his tongue and tightens his hold on you. “i never said that.”

“you basically did.” you bite back, tilting your head to the side. you see his nostrils flare a bit, “or does that rule apply with just me?”

“if it did, would i be here at three in the morning begging to eat your pussy?” gojo rolls his eyes. you open your mouth but snap it back shut and gojo decides you conceded. he lifts you from the ground and places you on his shoulder, ignoring your ‘put me down!’ and opts to shut you up with a firm slap on your ass.

your cheeks jiggle from the impact, and his dick twitches in his briefs. as he suspected, you’ve got no bottoms on— just a cute pair of pink lace panties he wants to tear apart with his teeth. animalistic is what you make him.

“so. . . which one is your room?” he finds himself in the corridor, arm wrapped around the back of your knees. you fall limp in his hold, defeatedly as your arm lifts to point at the door at the end of the hall. he smirks and rubs at your booty, “atta girl. look at ya bein’ all obedient and shit.”

“shut up.” you huff, and he would bet a million dollars you’ve got that adorable pout on your lips. the one you make whenever you don’t get something done the way you planned.

your bedroom is everything he expected from you, fits your personality just about right. but—respectfully, fuck your bedroom. he’s got bigger issues to address, and that can only be done with your panties on the floor and a mouth full of your cunt. his dick is twitching uncontrollably at the thought of it alone.

“if you drop me on this bed, i swear i’m gonna kill you.” tilting your head, you warn him once he stands next to the edge of your bed frame. though a moot point, because if you know gojo as well as you think you do, you’re about to meet your duvets face first.

“mhm, what was that?” cupping a hand behind his ear, he pretends innocence then proceeds to do exactly what you warned him not to do. him and his long ass limbs, manhandling you all over the damn place as if its in his birthright. and no, it does not make your cunt clench, despite your thighs rubbing one against another. “sorry shortie, think i missed what you said.”

when you’re finally able to gain composure, you sit up on your elbows and furrow your brows in the nastiest scowl you can muster. he stands right above you, his frame so large it both annoys and turns you on. “gojo, you stupid fucking—”

you want to slap the smile off his face. “yeah, yeah.” he cuts you off, before leaning down to hover over you. his arms are pinned at your side, upper body pressing against yours. you feel the weight of his hips pressing into your legs, and so you widen the space. he fits in just as perfectly as you’d imagined he would. the tip of his nose brushes yours, biceps flexing in your peripherals. you feel his breath fanning at your cupid’s bow, warm yet it leaves shivers creeping at your spine.

“think you owe me somethin’, princess.” his voice comes out in a low growl, from the depths of his chest. his presence is so dominating— his bulge pressed right up against your aching cunt, the feel of his heartbeat right against yours. it all feels dizzying, the scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils and clouding any better sense of judgement.

he’s teasing you— leans in, brushes his soft lips against yours and watches as you lean forward to capture them but pulls away just in nick of time. he loves every one of your facial expressions, especially that adorable scowl of yours. he can’t wait to see the faces you make when you’re in absolute bliss.

he tilts his head just slightly, practically mouthing the words into your parted mouth. and with a low chuckle, he speaks, “if you want it, take it.”

you might’ve folded first, but he kisses you back just as eagerly, lips moulding into one another. you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you’d relieved him of all stresses weighing on his shoulders. you lift a hand to cup at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching at the undercut at his nape.

gojo shudders beneath your touch, rolling his hips deeper into yours and relishes in the way you moan softly into his mouth. he wants to drink up every single sound you make, wants to discover your body’s sensitive spots and maneuver them into making a mess out of you.

your neck soon begins to ache, and almost as if he can read your mind, pushing deeper into you as you fall back onto your bed. he never takes his lips off of yours— not when the hold in his hair lowers in favour to grip at his biceps or stroke his back, not even when your legs wrap tightly at his waist. at a particular grind, you moan louder than any other sound you’d made all night, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“gojo,” you whine into his mouth, fingers clawing at his compression tee. he continues to roll his bulge into your clothed cunt, aiming at that spot that has you arching your back off the bed and into him. he grips a hand tightly at your plush thigh, his hold so hard you’re certain he’ll leave bruises. “you said y-you’d eat it. be a man of your, ngh, word.”

“yeah, that’s right,” he pulls away finally, a thin string of saliva connecting both your lips. he pecks at your kiss bitten lips, the dazed look in your eyes igniting a fire deep in his gut. “gotta keep my promise— can’t keep my baby waitin’ too long,” you feel his lips trail from the corner of your lips to the slope of your jaw, “she gets all cranky an’ pissy.” from the column on your neck to your collarbone, “starts gettin’ all mean with me.”

“oh my gosh, shut up!” you complain, though your hold on him tightens. you feel the vibrations of his chuckles at your jugular, followed by a deep plunge on his teeth at the thin layer of skin and another agonizingly slow grind against your clit. “fuckin’— shit— hurry up already!”

“tsk, see what i mean?” gojo tuts, hands sliding down the curves at your torso. you feel his large fingers play with the material of your panties, rolling the lace between forefingers. the contrast of the coolness of his rings against your heated skin adds a strange stimulation to your senses. “so mouthy, ‘m gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

“i’m mouthy?” you squawk, watching as he lifts your tee up from your body. he taps wordlessly at your waist and you understand to remove the article of clothing. you chuck the tee across the room, before redirecting your focus on the man peppering wet kisses all over your stomach. it leaves butterflies rattling inside. “you literally cannot shut the fuck up— what’s the hold up? awe, don’t tell me you can’t walk the talk?”

he pauses for a bit. he doesn’t let himself fall bait for your words. you’re just being bratty— all hot and bothered and can’t properly ask for what you need. you don’t have to worry, he’s here entirely for your pleasure. he isn’t even thinking about the way his cock throbs painfully in his boxers, doesn’t even attempt to relieve it at all.

and so, he kneels at the edge of the bed. with two large hands cupping at your hips, he pulls you closer to him and rests your thighs on his shoulders. he watches as your chest rises up and down, and you prop yourself back onto your elbows.

your eyes are misty, your lips swollen and wet, your hair a mess and your neck littered in marks that scream gojo. you already look fucked out and he hadn’t done shit. god, he can’t wait to stuff his face between your thighs.

“i got you baby,” he drags his index finger right in the center of your cunt. he can both feel and see the material dampen with your arousal, your hips squirming as you chase for more. he licks his lips as he narrows in on the treasure, he swears he hears his stomach growling. “promise i do. just relax for me, yeah?”

“whatever.” you mumble, and comply to his order. he calls you a good girl, before stroking at your clit some more. the reactions you give will forever be imprinted in his mind, fleeting touches already granting him the opportunity to hear your delicate voice once more. you may be impatient but gojo is worse, and he decides that he wants to see your cunt now. he pushes your panties to the side, and the sight he’s rewarded with nearly— nearly, had him cumming right on two knees.

gojo gulps. “holy shit,” he feels his voice waver in excitement, eyes widened as he stares dead on. your cunt clenches around nothing from the switch of temperature, oozing more of your arousal down to your sheets. your pussy lips are puffy, clit sitting atop so prettily and damn, he wants to hump something.

he isn’t sure why but you try to close your thighs together, rude much, though gojo is much stronger. he keeps them spread wide, and shoots you a look. “do not.”

“tsk.” you click your tongue, looking away. and, oh, are you shy? “stop staring, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

he’s too far enamoured by the slick dribbling from your tiny hole down the crack of your ass. it trickles so tauntingly, that he finds himself nearly jealous. he wishes he could be there— oh wait, “just appreciatin’ my meal before i eat, sue me.”

the pad of his thumb collects your juices before popping it into his mouth. “wow,” he mumbles, more so to himself, at your taste bursting onto his taste buds. it’s so undoubtedly you, a raw and truthful you, and he gives you no warning before diving right in.

“fuckkk,” you throw your head back, hand flying to grab at the nearest thing in your vicinity— which so happens to be tousled, fluffy hair.

so, first time for everything right? but gojo maneuvers his way into your pussy as if he’d done this before. he starts off with kitten licks, teasing you some more before flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down your lips. he swallows and moans into your cunt, fingers digging deep into the back of your thighs.

he’s practically making out with your pussy. he doesn’t neglect any area, not even the clit surprisingly, as he latches his lips to the bundle of nerves and lightly nibbles. now that has your back arching and pushing his head deeper into you. if there was a way to go in life, he’d gladly take this death.

he’s so painfully hard it hurts, unable to control the way his hips grind against the bed frame. your scent is driving him feral, the way you tug on his hair harshly has his balls tightening and the way you cry out his name makes him want to imprint his name inside of you.

“s-satoru!” oh god, you’ve done it. you finally said his first name and he’s this close to painting his briefs white in shame. he continues to flick his tongue inside your hole and similar strokes to his humping. “you’re doin’ s’gooddd baby, shit!”

keep praising him and he’s gonna bust. he lifts himself away from your pussy, eyeing the gooey center almost offensively, “why the fuck do you taste so good?” he lands a wad of spit down, as he brings two digits to properly rub his saliva into your essence. the sounds it produces are so wet, it’s damn near filthy. he clicks his tongue, “seriously. ‘s makin’ me mad almost.” he slaps at your cunt twice, watching how your spray down his wrist.

“you s-sure this is your first, hnng, time?” you accuse, to the best of your abilities, as you feel him slip a finger in. you’re so lubricated, the slip inside was easy. pushing past that first ring of muscle, he’s pumping in and out of your cunt with precision, curling his digit as if he’s aiming to find a specific area. “y’know too much— mmph, fuckin’ liar.”

when he thrusts into a specific angle, your thighs tremble terribly around his head. he smirks, found it. “watched a lotta porn.” and he isn’t lying, he thinks back to how he studied the arts of cunningulus, and recalls the double combo. he has to try it, so he’s back to sucking and nibbling at your clit while adding an extra finger inside.

“oh my goddd,” you whine, feeling your limbs liquify in heat from every extremity. he pushes your knee further into your chest, and so you grab ahold of both your thighs. he hums approvingly, dragging his free hand along the soft skin of your legs. “don’t— don’t stop, please don’t stop,”

your toes are curled, back off the mattress and the pain in his scalp is shooting straight down to his cock. he’s rutting and rutting into the wooden frame, the flat surface painfully teasing though it does do the job. or maybe he has you to blame.

he feels saliva dripping down his chin, the way his tongue slides into your folds and feels his knuckles in there. his fingers move in scissoring motions, rotating circles, in and out— all the while repeatedly attacking your golden spot.

you severely underestimated him, and can barely process the orgasm that rips through you when he presses a hand onto your lower belly, “‘m cumming, fuck, ngh, don’t stop—” and you wail, fingernails clawing intensely into his tresses, torn between pushing him away and pulling him in closer. he decides to make that decision for you, stuffing himself as deep as possible to not miss a single drop, and your thighs clench against his ears.

so, gojo satoru is a shameless man. as you flood into his mouth and onto his face, grinding out your orgasm and using him as nothing but a toy for your own high— somewhere along the lines, he feels his briefs are sticky. he moans sluttily into your pussy, hips twitching incessantly as his cock shoots loads of nut into his boxers.

it feels like an eternity yet simultaneously a second when you’ve come down from your high, body twitching as gojo slows down his movements, his finger pumps gradually lessening in intensity and the kitten licks on your abused clit coming to a halt.

his face is soaked. his skin feels moist and damp, a thick air of humidity beginning to grow in the room, but he genuinely couldn’t care less. his eyes are stuck on you, limbs sprawled out limply against your bed, your chest heaving, tiny breaths coming out of your mouth.

he slides out his aching fingers, and pops them back in his mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits so eagerly, basking in your taste once more. absolutely divine,

“christ, i’d make a nasty pornstar.”

gojo won the poll. . . everybody act surprised (°_°)

[heesimp]

tasty (heeseung)

summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.

word count: 5.6K

notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX

warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?” 

Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” 

In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line. 

The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life. 

On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun. 

It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there. 

The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that. 

Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you. 

Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it. 

You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start. 

Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties. 

You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm. 

Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.

At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go. 

Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared. 

That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger. 

It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off. 

And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly. 

Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now. 

Heeseung answers after one ring. 

“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?” 

You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears. 

“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.” 

“Not true.”

“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”

“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”

Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”

“What, no girl to hook up with?” 

“Not tonight, princess.” 

“How sad.” 

“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.

“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”

“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.

“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him. 

“I can’t get myself off.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.

“What?”

“Heeseung…”

“No, say it again.” 

Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.

“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone. 

“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes. 

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”

You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.” 

He chokes. “What do you mean?”

“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!” 

Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?” 

“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.” 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.” 

“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.

“You should start touching yourself again.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.

“Are you doing it?” 

“Yeah,” you admit. 

“How does it feel?” 

“Really good…”

“How good?” 

“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”

“It’s not enough, is it?” 

“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.” 

“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?” 

“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.

“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.” 

“This?” 

He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.” 

“Hee, don’t say that.” 

“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.” 

“How are you gonna help me do that?” 

It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight? 

“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.” 

Your eyes widen. “N-Now?” 

“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.” 

The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again. 

“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.” 

“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”

“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on. 

“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”

“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.” 

You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval. 

“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?” 

“Only when it feels really good.”

“Yeah? Do you feel really good?” 

You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs. 

“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.” 

The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that. 

Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time. 

He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you. 

The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space. 

You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight. 

“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”

“You never asked.” 

He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge. 

“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.” 

If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured. 

You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum. 

Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress. 

He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”

“I can’t believe I let you do that.” 

“Why?” 

You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…” 

“Because?” 

“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?” 

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”

You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours. 

“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.” 

“So this would be like…friends with benefits?” 

“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom. 

It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.

“This won’t be weird, will it?” 

“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes. 

“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.” 

Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy. 

“You’re hard.” 

“So you’ve noticed.” 

You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?” 

“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?” 

His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked. 

“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.” 

Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”

You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”

“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling. 

You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit. 

“Need some of my cock?” 

“Yes, yes!”

“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.” 

Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might. 

You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight. 

“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.” 

“Fuck me,” you manage to choke. 

And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now. 

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”

“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”

“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”

“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again. 

He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.

“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate. 

“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”

“So good, fuck!” 

Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Hee! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”

And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off. 

You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you. 

Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.

“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.” 

Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.

When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?” 

“Stop looking…”

He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.” 

You look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too. 

Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin. 

“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”

You blush. “Shut up.”

“No can do, Y/N.”

“I…”

Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”

You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.” 

“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.” 

“Are you gonna go home?”

“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him. 

His heartbeat puts you to sleep.

tagging: @zara2318 @markmato @heechwe @horijiro @ggumjilgeong-yjn @porunarefuu @leov3rse. :)

[extinctlesspains]

I really loved the salesman imagine.could you write one where the reader and the salesman had a romance.But he gives a card sending her to the games.Feeling and hurt and betrayed she does her best to survive and she ends up winning along with Gi-hun.now three years later the reader goes to visit Gi-Hun with her 2 year old daughter.(she had found out she was pregnant after the games)she walks in on Gi-hun and the salesman during Russian roulette 

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 [𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

☆ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ x ᴀғᴀʙ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ

☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ sᴇɴᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇs, ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀs sʜᴇ’s ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅs ʜᴇʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ. ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, sʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴғʀᴏɴᴛs ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴇɴsᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ɢɪ-ʜᴜɴ’s ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴄʜᴏᴏsɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs.

☆ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴋɪssɪɴɢ, ᴠɪʀɢɪɴɪᴛʏ ʟᴏss, ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɢᴜɴ ᴛᴀʟᴋ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

It all started with a simple game.

You’d been on your way home, drowning in stress and overdue bills, when a man in a sharp suit approached you at the train station.

“Care for a little fun?” he asked, holding up a red and blue envelope.

At first, you wanted to refuse. But his easy charm—and your desperation—drew you in. He explained the slap-match game, and soon you were caught in the strange, exhilarating rhythm of winning and losing. By the end, you were breathless, laughing despite the sting on your cheek.

“Not bad,” he said, handing over the cash with a smile that felt too warm, too genuine for a stranger.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that. When you ran into him again a few days later, he acted like it was coincidence.

“Maybe it’s fate,” he teased.

Soon, he was everywhere—buying you coffee, walking you home, and making your life feel just a little less heavy. He made you laugh, listened to your frustrations, and looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

One night, after weeks of growing closer, you found yourself in his arms. You’d invited him in after a long evening, your walls lowered by exhaustion and the warmth of his presence. You were full of ecstasy after that night. The way his lips kissed your neck, the way his thrusts were so sensual.

“You’re special, you know,” he murmured as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.

“Do you mean that?” you whispered, scared to hear the answer.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His words were your undoing. That night, you let him see all of you—your fears, your flaws, and your dreams. For the first time in years, you felt safe.

The illusion shattered when he slid the card across the table.

“What’s this?” you asked, staring at the embossed logo. Circle, triangle, square.

“A chance to change your life,” he said, his tone eerily calm.

You frowned, a pit of unease forming in your stomach. “What kind of chance?”

“It’s a game,” he explained. “An opportunity to win enough money to solve all your problems.”

“Why are you giving me this?” Your voice wavered, the trust you’d built with him suddenly fragile.

“Because I care about you,” he said, his gaze steady.

His face softened, but he didn’t retract the card. “I believe in you, Y/n. More than you believe in yourself.”

His words felt like a betrayal wrapped in a compliment. Against your better judgment, you took the card, driven by desperation and the hope that maybe he was right.

The games were worse than you could have imagined.

Every death chipped away at your soul, and every betrayal reminded you of his. But you refused to break. Gi-hun became your lifeline, his determination and kindness pulling you through when you felt like giving up.

“We’re going to make it,” he promised one night, his voice steady. “We have to.”

You survived, but at a cost. The prize money felt like blood money, and the nightmares lingered long after the games ended.

A month later, you discovered the pregnancy.

At first, you were terrified. The thought of raising a child alone, of explaining where her father was and why he wasn’t around, felt overwhelming. But when you heard her heartbeat for the first time, everything changed.

You named her Hana, meaning “flower.” She became the anchor that kept you grounded, her laughter a reminder that there was still beauty in the world.

When she was born, you held her close, tears streaming down your face. “You’re my miracle,” you whispered.

Hana grew into a bright, curious toddler who filled your life with light. But you couldn’t shake the shadow of her father—the man who had once made you feel safe and then abandoned you to the wolves.

Two years later, you decide to visit Gi-hun. He had become like a brother to you, someone who understood the darkness you’d endured. As you climb the stairs to his apartment, Hana babbles in your arms, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.

But when you reach the door, the sound of voices stops you cold.

“Are you sure about this?” Gi-hun’s voice, tense and uncertain.

“I never force anyone,” a familiar voice replies.

Your heart races as you push the door open.

Gi-hun and the salesman sit at the table, a revolver between them. The salesman looks as composed as ever, while Gi-hun is pale and trembling.

“What the hell is going on here?” you demand.

The salesman looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he sees you—and the child in your arms. “Y/n.”

Gi-hun stammers, “It’s not what it looks like—”

“You’re playing Russian roulette!” you snap, your voice rising. “How is that not exactly what it looks like?”

The salesman’s gaze flicks to Hana. “You have a daughter,” he says softly, putting the pieces together.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, clutching her closer. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to act like you care.”

“I do care,” he says, standing slowly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You lied to me,” you spit. “You used me. You sent me to those games knowing I might die.”

“I gave you a choice,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

“You gave me a death sentence,” you fire back. “And now you’re here, dragging Gi-hun into your twisted games? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

The salesman’s jaw tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” you say, your voice shaking. “It’s exactly that simple. You destroy people’s lives and pretend it’s for their own good. But you don’t get to do that to us anymore.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, his eyes lingering on Hana one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/n,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the door closes behind him, you sink into a chair, trembling.

Gi-hun reaches out, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, cutting him off. “He manipulates people. That’s what he does.”

Hana wriggles in your arms, her tiny hand brushing your cheek. “Mama,” she says softly, her voice filled with love.

You press a kiss to her forehead, tears slipping down your face. “We’re okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

Gi-hun watches you, his eyes filled with both guilt and gratitude. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

You meet his gaze, your resolve hardening. “We save each other.”

[hallowxiu]

How the Brothers Would Deal with MC's Mortality

Mammon:

You casually brought it up as a joke

Probably something like “i’m here for a good time, not a long time” or “why should i care what happens in 100 years? It’s not like i’ll be around to care”

Would probably confuse Mammon at first as to why you wouldn’t be around, but he would put the pieces together in the middle of the night when trying to sleep.

A whole, eyes snapping wide opening and flinging out of his bed kind of moment.

Mammon would worry himself sick

Yes, he knows humans can die, hell, he used to mock you for being so frail when you first came to the Devildom, but now? 

Well, now things are different. How he feels about you is different

He's spending all his money on ways to keep you kicking longer. 

Anything he can think of that’ll help, he’s buying it. Vegetables, fruits, protein powder, comfortable clothes, a nice pillow, vitamins, shampoos- anything. He has no idea where to start, so he just starts grabbing everything. 

I mean, something will have to help, right? 

If you notice he looks panicked, don’t point it out, it’ll only make it worse. Unless you want to be smothered to death from his affection and worry, then by all means. ;)

Leviathan:

Look, he can barely handle his favorite anime characters dying, so you? Yeah, no, that’s way too much. 

Nothing actually popped up to remind Leviathan of your mortality, it was because of Satan throwing his books all around the house that did it. 

Suddenly, it was all he could think about. How did he not think of this before? 

Leviathan is no Satan though, and he’s certainly not Lucifer. Researching medical documents and trying to think of things to keep you alive longer are a little over his head. That being said, there were some things he could do.

Leviathan dove into his own research that would be within his realm of understanding, studying that humans who have more positive mindsets and who are less exposed to depressing forms of media, may live longer than the average person. This- this was something he could work with. 

Suddenly, you were constantly being invited to his room, Leviathan having a variety of slice-of-life anime for you to watch with him, all of which had happy endings to boot. If an anime was even remotely depressing, he made sure to keep that out of reach. 

Video games? He’s keeping it safe; he’s not risking anything here. If it’s not similar to Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Dreamlight Valley, or The Sims (which must be on a good day), you’re just not playing it. Kingdom Hearts if you’re lucky. 

Satan:

Would do an insane amount of research 

Likely overheard the topic on a news segment about the tragically short lifespans of humans before it all clicked together.

Satan, unlike the other brothers, has never experienced death before, so while it sounds silly, he never had reason to think of you dying.

Looks up humans who had long lifespans to see how he can implement those things into your lifestyle.

Books will be littered everywhere (although that’s not really unusual, but what is would be the topic of said books- The Long Lives of Humans, Human Lifestyle for Dummies 101, The Road to Human Immortality, etc. etc.)

This is when Satan learns just how easy it is for a human to kick the bucket.

Heart attacks, brain aneurysms, strokes, seizures, cancer, the list goes on and on and it’s starting to scare him. He didn’t know humans could just drop dead. 

He’s going to start researching curses to increase your lifespan, or at the very least he’s going to make sure you’re careful as hell. 

You won’t even get as much as a cut without him being aware of it; he’s going to hover around and mother hen the absolute shit out of you. 

Try not to get too annoyed with him though, it all stems from good intentions. 

Asmodeus:

He’ll be damned if his shopping partner for life is going to die on him.

Asmo isn’t stupid; if anything he’s pretty emotionally aware. He's known for a long time just how short the lifespan of humans is.

But still, it came in the form of a nightmare. One where he couldn’t save you, despite giving his best efforts. The way you died was tragic, long before your life should have ended. 

This sent Asmo somewhat into a frenzied state trying to find things to keep you alive once he woke up. 

Vitamins, vitamins, vitamins

Humans benefit from vitamins, right? Surely you’d benefit from Devildom vitamins then. If it’ll increase the lifespan of a demon, he sees no reason why it wouldn’t increase your lifespan. 

Of course, it really only gives you nicer nails and shinier hair. 

He’s 10x more intense with your morning and night routines. 

He will be unloading all his facial creams on you, and telling you the benefits of each one and how it might add a few years to your lifespan. 

You want to stay up late at night to finish homework? Maybe watch a movie? Yeah, no, not on Asmo’s watch. 

Your ass is going to bed every night at 10pm, right along with him. You do realize you’ll be getting exactly 8 hours of sleep each night, too, right? 

Beelzebub:

Regarding his trauma with Lilith, it came as no surprise when he started to fret over your well-being. 

Poor Beel saw an article that discussed how tragically easy it is for a human to die. The cherry on top? How they could die from simply overeating. 

Overeating isn’t a concept Beel is overly familiar with (because to him, it’s never overeating), and while he knew most people couldn’t keep up with his eating habits, he didn’t think it could actually cause harm to a human, let alone kill them. 

Grocery trips are now a more anxiety-inducing event. 

He’s suddenly paranoid that any of the Devildom food could and will kill you. Are you allergic to anything? How would you even know? 

What if one day he serves you his favorite boiled dragonhead and you just drop dead at the dinner table?? No, that will never do. 

There’s a list of Devildom foods that he knows for sure you can have without dying, but then comes the issue of portion control. How much is too much for a human? 

Beelzebub swore he would never lose another loved one again, and it’s a promise he intends to keep. From now on, you will only eat what he deems safe. 

You want to try a new food in the Devildom that you’ve never had before? You better get some seriously good convincing skills if you want him to cave in. For someone who only ever thinks with his stomach, he’s surprisingly stubborn. 

Belphegor:

He’s still plagued with nightmares about Lilith, especially since he still thinks it’s his fault. Tack that on to the way he blamed you and the rest of the human race for it? The man is walking trauma. 

 Like Asmodeus, this was brought on by nightmares about you dying. Different from Asmo’s, however, you usually died by his hand. Naturally, considering your tumultuous history. 

Belphegor, unlike his brothers, takes a different approach. He just doesn’t approach you at all. 

What better way to keep your lifespan long than by staying away from you altogether? 

Is it something that he wants? Of course not! But how can he trust himself to never hurt you again? To never kill you again. 

He can’t. 

So, he locks himself away in his room, sleeping most of the day or just avoiding the areas you normally like to lounge. 

On a normal day, almost everyone in the household, including yourself, would notice this behavior change. However, since you’re now being cornered by all the brothers and their concerns about your lifespan, it’s easy for Belphegor’s absence to slip your mind. 

This hurts Belphegor, but at the end of the day, he believes this is for the best.

Lucifer: 

Lucifer didn’t need a reminder of your short lifespan; if anything, it’s something he’s thought plenty about. 

Lucifer has trauma, we all know that much. After Lilith, he’s absolutely terrified of losing another loved one to something outside of his control.

And your lifespan is not something that’s out of his control. At least not how he sees it, anyway. 

If you thought he was overbearing or overprotective before, brace yourself. He’s going to step it up several notches. 

No excess of junk food, no more pulling all-nighters, no more sitting around the house gaming all day, and definitely no more overexerting your use of magic. He’s no fool, he knows the toll your magic could eventually take on your body. 

Honestly? He wasn’t this bad until his brothers started to panic about your mortality, and though Lucifer told himself he was above such nonsense, he quickly found himself taking all the precautions they were taking (and then some). 

Fortunately, if you find yourself becoming overwhelmed, they’ll be more than willing to listen to you (granted you take some of their concerns into account).

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo Drabbles ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 028 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: Implied Yandere Jinwoo, suggestive end <3]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Jealous. Jealous Jealous. ] ¡! ❞

What kind of rage is more terrifying than one that is being displayed in the open like a volcanic eruption? 

The type that is silent.

The kind of rage akin to that of a blazing flame that sits beneath calm serene water free of ripples. The kind of fury hidden inside a doll that has been abused and thrown by its own, developing a curse within it’s porcelain glass that is pristine and free of cracks

That was the kind of rage Jinwoo holds beneath his expressionless exterior.

Though his empty grey orbs displayed nothing, there was an undesirable wish to set everything ablaze. To bathe this glorious ballroom in brilliant dancing embers.

Oh but he had to hold back. 

He has to.

After all, his beloved is currently attending as a plus-one in this small gathering of hunters and celebrities alike are present. Jinwoo never really thought much of it, he invited you since for one; you are his lover. Two; he wanted to show you off to the world.

Sure, you could say that he’s doing that just to prove to everyone that he loves you more than anything or to perhaps end the rumours that he is secretly dating famous actresses or some rich girl or someone else. But all those things came in second really. His real priority was to see you dressed up pretty.

Of course, you’re always been pretty in Jinwoo’s eyes. Your figure dressed in an outfit that accentuates your beautiful body. Meek but elegant jewellery on your ears and most importantly— Your pretty face gleaming underneath the brilliant lights in this ballroom. The golden glow on your face just made you more endearing.

You are the apple of Jinwoo’s eyes.

But ah… You two aren’t alone in this little gathering.

People kept approaching you. At first, it was merely small talk and greetings. Nothing really wrong with that. But Jinwoo was perceptive. Too perceptive.

He knew how men do their things, he isn’t that stupid since he is one himself.

He could see the way those grimy bastards flashed you their charming smiles. How their hands were twitching to rub their digits over your skin that only he is allowed to ever touch.

Ah… Jinwoo could feel his head about to burst the more he watches the men flock over you for your favour.

He tried to stay calm really, but the more the seconds ticked by, the more he watched them try to woo you over— He wanted to call over his children and maul them over to death.

Jinwoo stayed in his spot, with hazy grey orbs so far gone in the stirring rage brewing within his stiff body.

The moment he spots someone about to land a palm on your lovely waist— Jinwoo charges forward and stops the hand. His hazy grey orbs now glowing with a terrifying hue of purple.

“Well aren’t you having a good time?” Jinwoo says with his low voice, warning and daring the bastard to do something. 

The man stiffened, paling at the up-close sight of the shadow monarch that is craving to put an end to his life right then and there. Jinwoo has the look that could kill, even his eyes can be enough to put your 6-feet under.

As Jinwoo roughly let go of the man’s hand before wiping his palms and then extending it towards you. 

Of course, you obediently take his palm. The moment he felt your skin, Jinwoo flicked his head to the host and said; “It’s late, my lover is not a fan of staying up late at night. We’ll be on our way now”

Without even batting an eye back to the crowd that froze due to his ministrations.

Jinwoo would have been calm when you both arrived home. But you kept talking about the famous celebrities who  were polite to you. The way you smiled was endearing but irritating at the same time because someone else is causing you to make such a pretty expression.

You didn’t even stop even as you both arrived in your bedroom. 

Eventually, Jinwoo would lose his patience and there would be a visible shift in his eyes.

Eyes had always been mirrors to the soul, and Jinwoo for one— Had especially expressive ones. His blank face may be devoid of anything but his eyes would always manage to show what he really feels.

The way his grey orbs are sweeping over you right now, it was dominating. It was as if Jinwoo was holding back a destructive dam, threatening to swallow him whole and then bursting.

“So, you find that Mr. Cheong is charming?” Jinwoo cocks up an eyebrow, putting one step in front of the other— Causing you to step back with the sudden overwhelming feel of Jinwoo’s shift in his demeanour. “You seem so entranced by his gentle and witty personality, in contrast to me, who is gloomy and awkward.”

You end up stumbling backwards, sitting down on the chair behind you and Jinwoo leaned forward, his hands resting on either side of the armchairs— Caging you down as he cocks up an eyebrow, teasing you to answer him.

“Hm?” Jinwoo muses, lifting his hand out to touch your hand— Making you all the more flustered and confused at his actions. “Maybe I should start reminding you some stuff, baby. Your memory has gotten a bit… Foggy.”

He mumbles, lifting your hand up to his lips and kissing your palm, then your knuckles, then to each digit before his gaze swept up to you again. Those intense, grey eyes, boring into your very soul— Piercing every cell in your very being. It was hypnotising, as if you were a snake being seduced by the sounds of a wind instrument.

The way he was hovering above your head, those ebony black locks of his falling forward as he hovered right above you— You could feel tingles starting from the very soles of your feet rising to your very heart that was already thumping so madly.

Oh you knew, you knew,.. you’re in for one hell of a marathon with the monarch.

“I won’t promise I’ll be gentle, and neither will I promise this punishment will only take one night”

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[joelsrose]

First Date? Part 5

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

My masterlist!

I KNOW CHRISTMAS IS OVER BUT ITS OK PRETEND ITS NOT i'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, i have split the last part into 2 because i wanted to give yall something - multiple crying emojis. I LOVE YALLLL AND AGAIN I APOLOGISE

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Maria had asked you to meet her at the greenhouse under the pretense of planting seeds, but you couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to her invitation than pulling weeds.

She knelt beside you in the soft earth, her hands deftly working to clear the tangled mess of weeds from the fragile seedlings. Her movements were steady and deliberate, but her sharp, watchful eyes weren’t focused on the plants—they were on you.

The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until Maria broke it, her voice deceptively casual. “So,” she drawled, her tone light but her gaze cutting. “Tommy told me about yesterday.”

Your hands faltered for just a moment, the weeds slipping from your fingers before you quickly resumed, feigning nonchalance as her words hit their mark. “What about yesterday?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, though your chest tightened.

“You know,” she said, her tone deceptively casual, “in the dining hall. With Joel?”

“I already told you what happened,” you muttered, your focus dropping to the soil as if it could shield you from the conversation.

“Yeah, you did,” Maria replied, sitting back on her heels, her expression impossible to read. “But you left out the part where Joel nearly took some guy’s head off. For you.”

You exhaled, leaning back and brushing dirt off your hands. “Maria, it’s just… Joel being Joel,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He’s protective. That’s all.”

“Protective?” Maria’s laugh was louder this time, tinged with incredulity. She shook her head, reaching for another weed. “Honey, Joel doesn’t just get protective over people. Not like that.”

You busied yourself with the watering can, your fingers tightening around the handle as you avoided her gaze. “He does it for Ellie,” you said, your tone defensive. “And Tommy. And you. It’s not—”

“Not that special?” Maria cut in, her voice sharper now, though there was no malice in it. She leaned closer, brushing a hand against her knee to wipe off the dirt.

“This is different, and you know it. Joel Miller doesn’t make a scene unless it’s life or death. And yesterday?” She shook her head, her gaze unwavering. “That was a declaration.”

Your breath caught at her words, your hands tightening on the watering can as you tried to focus on the steady stream of water pooling at the base of the plants. “It wasn’t a declaration,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “He just… cares. That’s all.”

Maria’s brow lifted, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to puzzle you out. “Oh, he cares, alright,” she said, her tone softer but no less sure. “But this isn’t the kind of caring he shows for Ellie, or Tommy, or anyone else. This isn’t just Joel looking out for you. This is Joel claiming you.”

Your heart skipped, the word hitting you like a jolt. “Maria, stop—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but gentle, her gaze steady as she gestured toward you. “Because someone has to say it. Joel didn’t just stand up for you yesterday. He didn’t just step in. He made it loud and clear to everyone in that room that you’re his priority. You think that’s nothing?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words tangled in your throat. Maria’s expression softened, her voice dropping just enough to make you listen.

“That’s Joel Miller’s language for ‘I care more than I know how to say,’” she said, her eyes locking on yours with quiet intensity.

You sighed, setting the watering can down and wiping your hands on your thighs, your gaze fixed firmly on the uneven soil in front of you. “It’s… complicated,” you murmured, the words heavier than you’d expected.

Maria didn’t back off. She shifted closer, her sharp gaze unwavering, her fingers pausing their methodical tugging at weeds. “So tell me,” she said softly, her tone gentle but edged with curiosity. “What’s so complicated about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, the loose thread unraveling under your touch as you tried to find the words.

How could you explain it? How could you possibly articulate the way Joel made you feel—like standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind catching your breath, thrilling and terrifying all at once? How every gruff word, every lingering glance, every unspoken act of care felt like something delicate and fleeting, something you were too scared to hold for fear it might break.

“I don’t know,” you sighed finally, the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you. “He’s… hard to read.”

Maria tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Even Tommy sees it. He brought it up last night, said he’s never seen Joel like that before.”

Your hands stilled, trembling slightly as her words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. “What exactly did Tommy say?” you asked, your voice quieter now, betraying the nerves prickling at your skin.

Maria’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk curving at the corners. “He said, ‘Joel’s actin’ like a damn fool,’” she said, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with something deeper. “And when I asked why, he just shook his head and said, ‘Because she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, and I don’t even think she knows it.’”

You inhaled sharply, the words twisting in your chest, warm and fragile and terrifying all at once. “Maria—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Maria said gently, cutting off your fumbling attempt at a response as she brushed the dirt from her hands with deliberate care.

Her gaze softened, though her voice held a quiet firmness that left no room for doubt. “But let me say this—Joel Miller doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Maria paused, a small, knowing smile flickering across her lips. “I think you made him soft,” she added, her tone light but carrying a weight that landed squarely on your chest.

“When I’m around him,” you said softly, your gaze falling to the soil as the words slipped free before you could stop them. “I feel… safe. Like nothing could hurt me. Like he’d do anything to protect me.” You paused, your voice faltering as your chest tightened. “I’ve never—” you stammered, swallowing hard. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

Maria didn’t respond right away, letting the weight of your confession settle in the quiet space between you. Her sharpness softened, her expression shifting to something tender, almost maternal, as she studied you. Finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm, carrying a truth you weren’t ready to face.

“Sounds an awful lot like love to me,” she said, the words landing with the force of something undeniable, wrapping around you in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You shook your head quickly, the denial automatic, but it felt hollow, a reflex you couldn’t fully believe. The truth sat heavy in your chest, unspoken but undeniable, like a secret that refused to stay buried. You loved him. You had for a while now—longer than you cared to admit, maybe longer than you even realized.

You loved him with a yearning so deep, it scared you. A love that felt raw and all-encompassing, a love you couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him—and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

“Maria,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, as if speaking too loud might give too much weight to the feelings you were barely holding together. “Every time we get close, he pulls away.” Your voice broke, a tear slipping down your cheek before you even realized it. “Sometimes… sometimes I feel like he’s about to say something, or do something, to show me he feels the same way. But then he flips, like none of it ever mattered.”

“That man’s been through more than most of us can even begin to understand,” Maria said, her voice quiet but carrying a conviction that struck deep. “But listen to me—this isn’t about you being a risk he’s too scared to take. You’re not some passing thing. You’re the one thing he’s terrified of losing.”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest, knocking loose something you’d been holding too tightly. Because deep down, you knew she was right. Joel had told you himself—the words I’d die for you still echoed in your mind, raw and unshakable, like a vow you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

“The other night…” you began hesitantly, your fingers twisting nervously at the hem of your shirt. “He came over.”

Maria’s eyebrows shot up, her entire face lighting with intrigue as she leaned in closer, the teasing lilt in her voice unmistakable. “Do tell,” she urged, her grin already forming.

You winced, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly, holding up a hand as if to fend her off, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “He was just… making me dinner.”

Maria blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a slow, knowing smirk took over her face. “Just cooking you dinner?” she repeated, dragging the words out, every syllable dripping with disbelief. “Uh-huh. Because Joel Miller is the kind of guy who goes around playing chef for just anyone.”

Your face burned, and you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“No,” Maria said with a laugh, shaking her head, her grin widening. “I think you’re not making enough of it. So? What else happened?”

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hands fumbled aimlessly with the nearest seedling. “Well… I… I gave him a massage.”

Maria froze mid-motion, her hand hovering above the soil, her eyes widening as her jaw dropped. “You what?” she asked, her voice pitching higher, loud enough to make you wince.

“Maria, keep your voice down!” you hissed, your gaze darting toward the greenhouse door as though someone might be lurking just outside, ready to overhear.

Maria’s hand clamped over her mouth, but it did nothing to hide the glint in her eyes. She looked ready to burst. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she leaned in closer, her expression a mix of pure disbelief and delight. “Hold on. You gave him a massage? Like, with your hands? On his bare back? Oh my god—did he take his shirt off?”

The words sent your stomach into a spiral. You groaned, your face falling into your hands, wishing the soil beneath you would swallow you whole. “It wasn’t like that,” you muttered, your voice muffled. “He was sore from patrol, and I offered because he looked like he was in pain. That’s it.” You paused, knowing there was no way to escape the next part. “And, yes… he took his shirt off.”

Maria’s mouth dropped open before morphing into the widest grin you’d ever seen. She let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together like a kid who’d just been handed the world’s juiciest secret. “So let me get this straight,” she began, her tone exaggeratedly slow, like she was savoring every word. “Joel Miller—Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Lone Wolf, Mr. Don’t-Get-Too-Close—was shirtless in your house, letting you touch him? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

You threw your hands in the air, the flush on your face deepening. “It wasn’t a big deal!” you insisted, though your voice betrayed you, rising in pitch as the memory of the moment came rushing back. “He was in pain, Maria. Pain. I was just helping him out.”

Maria leaned back, her arms crossing as she gave you a knowing look. “Sure,” she said, drawing the word out with enough skepticism to make you want to crawl under the nearest seedling. “That’s why your face is bright red and you’re stammering like you just got caught sneaking out after curfew.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you muttered, barely above a whisper. “He probably didn’t even think twice about it.”

Maria snorted, “Oh, he thought about it alright,” she said, her voice ringing with certainty, “Hell, he’s probably still thinking about it.”

Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Maria grinned, leaning closer like she was about to share some grand secret. “You know, late at night.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, her words loaded with meaning.

Heat flooded your face as her insinuation brought a wave of memories you wished you could forget—Joel’s visible arousal, the way his pants had tightened at the crotch, the strategic placement of the pillow he’d used to conceal it. You swallowed hard, determined not to let those thoughts, or Maria’s teasing, derail you. There was no way she was hearing about that.

“Jesus, will you stop?” you nudged her arm, heat prickling up your neck as the implications of her statement hit you.

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?” she said, shaking her head as though she couldn’t quite believe the sight of you sitting there, a mess of nerves and denial.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, though your voice wavered, and the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Maria leaned in, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes sharp and glinting with mischief. “It means,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, like she was explaining something painfully obvious to a stubborn child, “that he was probably using every ounce of self-control not to flip you over on that couch right then and there.”

“Maria!” you hissed, her name bursting out of you, sharp and scandalized.

“What?” she said, feigning innocence as she gave a casual shrug. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. He’s a man, after all. And let’s be honest—Joel Miller probably hasn’t had a woman’s hands on him in years.”

You let out a heavy sigh, dragging your hands over your face in frustration. “Ugh, I don’t know, okay?” you mumbled, your voice muffled behind your palms. “I mean… if he did feel that way about me, wouldn’t he have done something by now? At least kissed me or—or something?”

The words slipped out in a rush, unguarded and raw, trailing into a whisper like they might disappear if you spoke them softly enough. But they didn’t disappear.

Instead, they hung in the air between you and Maria, heavy and unrelenting. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, pinned you like a butterfly under glass. Her voice, when it came, was gentle. “You really believe that?”

"Yeah," you murmured, the word brittle. "I mean… wouldn’t he? If he wanted to?”

"Sweetheart," Maria began, her tone steady but kind, "Joel Miller is the most stubborn, self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated man I’ve ever met. You really think he’s just gonna march up to you, bare his heart on a silver platter, and hope for the best? That’s not how he works.”

You frowned, shaking your head as frustration prickled hot at the back of your neck. “So what?” you asked, your voice sharper now, brittle around the edges. “He’s just… never gonna say anything? Never gonna do anything? I can’t just wait forever, Maria.”

“No,” she said gently, shaking her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is Joel’s spent most of his life believing that caring about someone—really caring—is a weakness. Something that gets you hurt or worse. And then you come along and, well…” She paused, her gaze warm and steady. “You make him feel things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. But that terrifies him, probably more than you realize. Because letting you in? That means tearing down walls he’s spent decades building. That means risking everything.”

Your voice came quieter now, uncertain and aching. “So… what am I supposed to do?” Your eyes found Maria’s again, searching her face for guidance, for answers, for something—anything—that might untangle the knot of doubt tightening in your chest.

“Be patient,” she said simply, her voice a balm to your frayed nerves. “Joel’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows exactly what you mean to him. He’s just gotta figure out how to stop fighting himself and let it happen. And when he does?” Her smile widened, turning sly as she gave your knee a light squeeze. “Trust me, it’s not gonna be some half-hearted thing. That man will move mountains for you. Hell, he already does.”

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Winnie’s steady gait beneath you was a quiet balm, each step rocking you gently as you tightened your hold around Joel’s waist. Your hands rested over his ribs, rising and falling with his even breaths, the rhythm anchoring you more than you cared to admit.

The world here felt almost untouched, too peaceful for its harsh reality. Overhead, the canopy swayed like a living thing, the leaves whispering secrets to the wind. A bird trilled somewhere in the distance, its song rippling through the stillness like a pebble dropped in glassy water. It felt like the kind of day you could bottle up and save for when the world grew too dark again.

“So,” you started, your voice light, teasing, as you broke the quiet. “You’re really gonna teach me to shoot a deer today?”

Joel’s head tilted just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile—sharp, rugged, softened by the glow of the sun. “That’s the idea,” he replied evenly, his drawl as familiar as the creak of the saddle beneath you. “Long as you listen to what I tell you.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “For once.”

You gasped, overly dramatic, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Hey, I do listen.”

Joel hummed, a low, skeptical sound, and you swore you could feel his lips twitching even though you couldn’t see them. The small, almost imperceptible sound made something inside you warm, like you’d just struck gold.

Truthfully, you’d been surprised when Joel had offered. You’d been at the stables after patrol, brushing Winnie down when he approached and casually suggested you join him the next morning. Hunting, he’d said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.

“Well,” you sighed now, letting the moment stretch as you leaned your cheek lightly against his back, “don’t get your hopes up. I have a feeling we’ll head back empty-handed.”

“Don’t matter,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “Good to be out here. It’s nice. We’ll make it fun.”

You froze, pulling back, your brows lifted, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Uh, excuse me? Am I having a stroke?”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and he glanced back at you, brow furrowed, his tone rough with instinctive gruffness. “What?”

“Joel Miller,” you said, barely able to keep your grin in check, “talking about fun?”

His exhale was short, just shy of a laugh. “You’re a pain,” he muttered, the words carrying no real heat as he turned his attention back to the path ahead.

You laughed, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it. It felt light and unburdened, a sound that didn’t belong in this harsh world but fit perfectly here, in this pocket of peace—where the trees swayed gently overhead and the sun filtered down to warm your face.

Joel didn’t say anything, but you could feel him relax in front of you, like the sound had smoothed out the edges of him, loosening a piece of the armor he always wore.

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Joel walked ahead, his steps deliberate, his boots barely making a sound. You followed, watching the subtle tilt of his head every so often as he listened for sounds you couldn’t pick up. He was watchful, always, as though the forest could turn on you at any second.

“Stay close,” he murmured over his shoulder, his gaze flicked to yours for a heartbeat before shifting back to the trail ahead.

You nodded, your own steps careful as you matched his pace. Twigs snapped faintly beneath your boots, the crunch of dried leaves mingling with the faint rustle of wind through the trees.

Joel stopped suddenly, his hand lifting to signal you to pause. You froze mid-step, holding your breath as he crouched low. Without a word, he gestured for you to do the same. You sank into a crouch beside him, the earth cool beneath your palms as you balanced yourself.

“There,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was barely a breath, the heat of it brushing your ear. You followed his line of sight, your heart stuttering as you spotted it—a deer, grazing in the clearing just ahead. Its coat gleamed in the broken sunlight, rich and golden, and its ears flicked lazily as it chewed on the grass, oblivious to the two of you watching.

Joel turned to you, his expression calm but focused, “We’ll take it slow,” he said, inching closer. The warmth of him followed, settling like a weight around you as he crouched beside you. He reached for the rifle, his movements slow and deliberate, before he settled you against a fallen log.

His touch was gentle but firm as he adjusted your position, “Here,” he murmured, the word soft enough to almost get lost in the hush of the forest. His hands covered yours, guiding the rifle into place with a patience that made your pulse quicken.

“You remember, don’t you?” Joel asked quietly, his voice a low hum at your ear. “Keep your grip loose. Just enough to hold it steady. Like we practiced.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as your heart stuttered under the weight of everything—the rifle in your hands, the quiet between you, the solid feel of him so close. He leaned in more, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he tilted your aim slightly.

The deer grazed peacefully in the clearing, its movements unhurried, and you let your focus fall there—tried to drown out the way your skin burned everywhere Joel touched.

“Now,” Joel murmured, his voice softer still. “Take a deep breath. Steady. Slow. You don’t rush this.”

You inhaled, deep and deliberate, the air cool against the tightness in your chest. Joel’s hands stayed on yours, steadying, grounding, and you found yourself focusing not just on the rifle but on him—the way his presence felt like an anchor.

Your finger hovered over the trigger. The weight of the moment settled over you, a knot of nerves and something more twisting deep in your chest. “What if I miss?” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He leaned in closer, his voice steady and sure as if it held the power to undo every doubt in your head. “You won’t,” he said, the confidence in his tone like a balm. “You trust yourself. And you trust me.”

You blinked, your breath hitching as his words sank in. Joel didn’t pull away, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the rough timbre of his voice lingering like an echo.

“Breathe,” he reminded softly, the word curling through you like an unspoken promise.

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders relaxing under his touch as you centered your aim once more. Joel stayed still, his hands steadying yours—not pushing, not pulling, just there, like he always seemed to be when you needed him. The world felt smaller somehow, narrowed to just the two of you and the stillness of the forest.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, your heart hammering in your chest. And then—click. The sharp crack of the rifle firing shattered the stillness, the deer collapsing instantly to the ground.

The forest went quiet again, as if it, too, were holding its breath. You stared, wide-eyed, your pulse thrumming in your ears as the reality of what you’d just done settled in.

Then Joel’s voice broke through, low and steady, laced with something proud. “Hell of a shot.”

You turned to him, chest heaving, a grin spreading across your face—wide, uncontainable. “I did it,” you breathed, the words tumbling out on a rush of disbelief and elation. “Joel, I did it!”

His smile was small but real, softening the sharp lines of his face. Pride flickered in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made your heart stumble. “Knew you could,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle, like he’d never doubted you for a second.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in—quick, impulsive—pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was fleeting, barely more than a brush, but it was enough to make him freeze. The world around you seemed to pause, Joel going stock-still beneath your touch, his breath catching as if the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. The words carried the weight of more than just this one moment, more than just a lesson with a rifle. “For helping me. For—” You hesitated, your voice faltering under the way he was looking at you. “For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—something soft and unguarded that he rarely let slip. His eyes darted away for the briefest second, a faint blush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheeks.

“Uh—yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat as his hand went to the back of his neck. “You’re… you’re welcome.”

The gruff awkwardness of it pulled a laugh from you, light and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like a sunbeam breaking through the trees. Joel Miller—this man who stared down raiders and infected with unflinching calm—was blushing because of you.

He began to rise, his hand already extended to help you up so you could see your catch, but you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm.

“Wait,” you murmured, your voice quiet but sure. He stilled instantly, his gaze flicking to yours. Slowly, you set the rifle aside, your movements careful, deliberate. Then, you shifted, turning over to rest your head against the log, your eyes lifting to the canopy above.

The trees towered above you, their branches swaying lazily in the breeze, sunlight filtering through in golden streaks that dappled the forest floor. It was a moment that felt too perfect to disrupt, too rare to let slip away.

“Lay with me,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the words carried weight, a quiet invitation that hung between you.

For a moment, he hesitated, and you thought he might pull back—say it was getting late or that you were being silly. But he didn’t.

Instead, Joel obliged with a quiet groan, sinking down beside you. He stretched out, his head coming to rest just near yours, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. His eyes followed yours to the canopy above, where the trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling in a soft, rhythmic whisper.

You stayed quiet for a while, letting the hum of the woods fill the spaces between breaths. Joel’s shoulder brushed yours with each small shift, a touch so faint it almost didn’t count—but it did.

“I have a question,” you murmured, your voice barely above the whisper of the wind through the trees.

Joel hummed softly, a low sound that felt like an invitation, steady and patient, as if he’d wait forever for you to ask.

You hesitated, teeth catching the inside of your cheek, unsure why your heart suddenly felt too big for your chest. “What was your first impression of me?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rough and warm, a quiet rumble that sent a shiver through you. You could feel his gaze shift toward you, even as you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above. “First impression?” he asked, his voice carrying that familiar, low drawl.

“Mhm,” you replied, your lips curving faintly as you tried to sound casual, though your chest tightened in anticipation.

“Let’s see…” He dragged the words out like he was savoring them. “Lazy,” he started, his tone laced with teasing. “Chatterbox. Stubborn as hell.”

Your head snapped toward him, and before you could think better of it, you swatted his arm. “Hey! Be serious,” you protested, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Joel smirked, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him, though his eyes had softened in that way they sometimes did when he wasn’t guarding himself so tightly.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the teasing slipping away as he leaned back a little, his gaze drifting somewhere far off, like he was digging through memories he hadn’t let himself touch in a while. “I remember Tommy talkin’ about you before we were first partnered for patrol. Said you were a nice kid. Reliable. Good to have around in a pinch.”

He paused, his words settling into the quiet between you. You might have teased him for calling you a “kid” if it weren’t for the way his voice shifted then—lower, steadier, like he was choosing his words with care.

“But then… then I got to know you, and you’re... a hell of a lot more than that.”

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured, the words soft but heavy, landing squarely in your chest and taking the air right out of you. His voice dipped lower, roughened by something real, something unguarded. “Sweet… even when the world tried to take that from you. Didn’t let it. That’s somethin’.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face like the next words were harder to admit. “You’re tough. Know how to stand your ground. Don’t let anyone push you around. But you’ve got…” His voice faltered, a slight hitch in his breath. “You’ve got a good heart. And that’s rare. You don’t see that much anymore.”

He turned his head toward you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he murmured, his voice low and weighted with sincerity. “You’re... different.”

“Different?” you whispered, your breath catching.

“Special,” he replied, the word lingering in the air like a quiet confession.

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe. You blinked up at the sky, pretending the ache you felt was just from the cool air brushing against your skin. You didn’t trust yourself to speak—not now, not when your voice would betray everything you weren’t ready to admit.

Joel shifted beside you, clearing his throat like the moment had gotten too heavy for him too. “’Course, you still talk too damn much,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but it lacked the sharp edge of his usual teasing.

You didn’t swat him this time. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, the space filled with nothing but the sound of the forest and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your shoulders brushed again, and this time you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

"What did you…" Joel started, his voice low and halting, like he was pulling the words up from some place deep inside. He paused, his throat working as he forced the rest out. “What did you think about me?”

You blinked, his question catching you off guard. Joel Miller, asking what you thought about him. The man who could silence a room with a look, who walked through life with his walls so high you were sure no one could climb them.

And now, here he was, his voice so quiet and uncertain it felt like the wind could carry it away. It was so uncharacteristic, so achingly vulnerable, it made your chest feel like it was splintering under the weight of it.

He stayed still beside you, his gaze fixed upward on the swaying trees, but you could feel the tension in him, as though the question alone had cost him more than he was willing to admit.

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words. A soft laugh escaped you, unsteady and a little raw, the memory rushing in before you could stop it.

“I remember Maria warning me before our first patrol,” you said, your voice light but tinged with something deeper. “She told me, ‘He’ll probably ignore you, or say something that might hurt your feelings—but that’s just Joel.’” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he let out a huff of air through his nose, shaking his head like he’d heard that before.

“And sure,” you continued, your tone softening, “the first few times, we didn’t talk much. You kept your distance, and I figured that was just who you were. But you weren’t mean. Not once. Never did anything to hurt my feelings. If anything…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “If anything, you were… thoughtful.”

“You let me eat half your food,” you said, your lips curving into a soft, wistful smile as you held his gaze. “You carried my pack even when I argued with you about it.” A quiet laugh escaped you, though it trembled under the weight of your emotions. “And you… you brought me a damn Christmas tree.”

Your smile faltered, the ache of those moments flooding through you—the quiet, selfless things he did without ever needing to say why.

Each one was tucked away in your heart, little treasures you’d clung to, but now they came crashing down all at once, sharp and overwhelming.

You loved him. God, you loved him. And all you wanted to do was tell him.

Your voice wavered, trembling as you pressed on, your chest tightening with every word. “You… you make me dinner. You bring me firewood when it’s cold, even when I don’t ask. You…” Your breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut. “You take care of me, Joel. In a way no one ever has.”

You swallowed hard, the words I love you hovering on the edge of your lips, too fragile to speak but too real to ignore.

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and endless, the weight of what you’d just confessed hanging in the air like the low hum of the wind through the trees. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, each beat loud and uneven, as though it was trying to drown out the unbearable quiet.

For a moment, you thought you’d said too much, crossed an invisible line, shattered something that could never be put back together. And then, just as the ache of it became too much to bear, something warm and rough brushed against your palm.

You didn’t have to look down to know what it was.

Joel’s hand, strong and calloused, slid into yours with a gentleness that stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers intertwined with yours, hesitantly at first, as though he wasn’t sure you’d let him stay. But when you didn’t pull away, when your hand instinctively curled tighter around his, his grip steadied, solid and unyielding, like it was exactly where it belonged.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to speak. The tension, the quiet, was no longer unbearable—like the spark of something long denied, long overdue. You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you; both of you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above, as if the fragile balance between you would shatter if either of you broke the spell.

The warmth of his hand seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. It wasn’t just a touch—it was an admission, a promise, a vulnerability he’d never offered anyone else. Joel Miller, who had spent years building walls so high no one could breach them, had just let you in. And it was enough to make your heart ache in the most devastating, beautiful way.

You lay there together, the forest whispering around you, the sky shifting above. His thumb brushed your skin, almost imperceptibly, as though he couldn’t stop himself, as though he needed to remind himself you were still there.

And you stayed like that, wordless, motionless, the world around you slipping away until there was nothing but him, and the way his hand fit perfectly into yours.

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The ride back to Jackson was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. The sound of Winnie’s hooves hitting the dirt was familiar and steady beneath you, grounding in a way that felt almost intimate. Your arms were wrapped around Joel’s waist, and though the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, the warmth radiating from him was enough to chase it away.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and soft, meant only for you. “Told you you could do it,” he said, and there was a thread of pride in his tone, so pure it made your chest ache. “Your shootin’s gotten real good.”

The words sent a blush rushing to your cheeks, and you were grateful he couldn’t see the way you were smiling like a fool behind him. “That so?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away, and the pause felt heavier than it should have. Then, without warning, his hand left the reins and covered yours where they were clasped around his waist. His touch was steady, deliberate—a quiet reassurance that made your heart stumble over itself.

“Steady hands,” he murmured, his voice even softer now. “Steady heart.” His hand lingered there for just a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Your heart was thundering now, and you were sure he could feel it where your chest pressed lightly against his back. You let your cheek rest against him, the worn leather of his jacket cool beneath your skin. “Guess I had a good teacher,” you said, your voice quiet but certain, the words carrying everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say outright.

Joel let out a huff of air—a sound that might’ve passed for a laugh if it weren’t so gentle. You felt the rumble of it beneath your cheek, a low vibration that seemed to settle into your very bones. “That right?” he said gruffly, but there was no edge to it, only something soft and unspoken.

The silence stretched on, soft and comfortable, broken only by the steady rhythm of Winnie’s hooves against the dirt. The world felt small out here, just the two of you and the trail ahead, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant, like you were stepping carefully into a part of him he rarely shared.

Joel didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t. But then his voice came, low and thoughtful, “Grew up in Texas,” he said. “Spent most of my time outside. Fishin’, climbin’ trees, gettin’ into trouble with Tommy.”

You smiled at the thought, the image of a younger Joel flashing in your mind—sun-kissed and wide-eyed, a boy too good for the world he’d been handed. “Were you the troublemaker?” you asked, teasing, but there was a softness in your tone.

Joel let out a huff, more breath than laugh, but warm all the same. “Nah,” he said, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. “That was Tommy. Always gettin’ himself in a mess. I was the one cleanin’ up after him. Still am, come to think of it.”

The corner of your mouth tugged upward, and you shook your head lightly, even though he couldn’t see you. “Sounds like you had your hands full,” you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it doesn’t sound like a bad way to grow up.”

“Could’ve been worse,” he said simply.

“And you were in construction, right?” you asked, your tone light, almost cautious, as if not wanting to disrupt the delicate quiet between you.

“Yeah,” he said. “Took on whatever jobs I could—houses, repairs, sometimes just fixin’ fences. Wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. Made sure Sarah had what she needed.”

There was something in the way he said her name, a warmth that softened the rough edges of his voice. It made your chest tighten, the weight of everything he’d carried alone for so long pressing against you. “Sounds like you worked hard for her,” you said softly, your words laced with admiration you didn’t bother hiding.

Joel glanced back at you briefly, his dark eyes catching the fading light of the trail. For just a second, his expression softened, the lines on his face easing. “Had to,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “She deserved that much.”

“And were you,” you started, hesitating for a moment as the words danced on the edge of your tongue. You glanced at the back of his head, at the way his shoulders shifted subtly with the rhythm of the horse. “Were you married?”

Joel’s posture stiffened at your question, just for a heartbeat, before he let out a quiet breath. “No,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “Well… divorced.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the word soft, instinctive. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly wishing he could see you nod, as if it might somehow convey the understanding you didn’t quite know how to voice.

You hesitated, unsure whether to press further, but the curiosity wouldn’t let you stop. “And after the outbreak?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt like uncharted territory—dangerous, intimate. You and Joel didn’t talk about relationships. Hell, you hardly talked about the past at all, and now here you were, asking questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Or maybe you did.

Joel shifted slightly in the saddle, his shoulders tightening under your arms. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off, deflect the way he so often did. But then his voice came, quieter than before, weighted with a kind of honesty that made your chest ache. “No one after that,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, like he’d been carrying them alone for too long. “Didn’t have the time. Didn’t see much point.”

Relief washed over you, unexpected and sharp, mingled with something darker, something you didn’t want to examine too closely.

You weren’t sure why you wanted him to say no—why the thought of someone else knowing him the way you did, maybe even more, made your chest tighten.

It wasn’t fair, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want anyone to know Joel like you did, to see the cracks in his armor he let you glimpse, the moments of tenderness he seemed to reserve just for you.

“Some of us just… don’t get second chances. That’s all,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was speaking more to the shadows of his past than to you.

Some of us don’t get second chances.

The phrase knocked the breath from your lungs, a sudden, raw ache blooming in your chest. Your heart stuttered at the thought—the idea that he believed that.

That Joel, with his quiet strength and steady hands, thought himself unworthy of something so simple, so human. The idea of him carrying that weight, that belief, settled in your bones, cold and sharp.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You wanted to reach into the silence and pull him back, tell him he deserved more than he could ever imagine. But the words caught in your throat, tangled in the unspoken feelings you weren’t ready to say out loud.

Because the truth was, you wanted to be his second chance. You wanted to be his, in every way that mattered. You wanted to show him that even in a world as broken as this one, he was still worthy of love and light and everything he’d spent so long denying himself.

“What about you?” Joel asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the stillness. He glanced back, just enough for you to catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Vulnerability, curiosity, maybe even hope. “You got someone waitin’ out there?”

The question sounded casual, almost offhanded, but you felt the weight beneath it—the way his words carried something deeper, something braced. Like he was preparing himself for whatever answer you might give, steeling himself for a name that wasn’t his. Boyfriend. Husband. Someone—anyone—out there waiting for you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked, your brows lifting in surprise. A soft, startled laugh escaped before you could stop it, not because the question was funny, but because it was him asking. Him, who never asked things like this. Him, who you never thought would.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice higher, breathless with something you couldn’t quite place.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, his posture betraying the casualness his words tried to feign. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now, rougher. “You. Someone back home, or… someone out there?”

You could see it then, how much he wanted you to say no, how much he needed you to say no. The thought made your chest ache, the quiet yearning in his question making your throat tighten. You shook your head, slow and deliberate, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “No,” you said simply, your voice low, steady, but tinged with something you couldn’t hide. “There’s no one.”

Joel’s shoulders eased—just slightly, just enough for you to notice—and the sound that left him was little more than a hum, low and thoughtful. “No one, huh,” he murmured after a moment, the words quiet, like he was turning them over in his mind. Then, softer, almost to himself, he added, “I find that hard to believe.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, the words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water. The quiet conviction in his tone, the way he said it like it wasn’t a compliment but a fact, left you breathless.

“Why’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a whisper carried on the soft afternoon air.

Joel hesitated, his hands shifting slightly on the reins. “A girl like you,” he began, his voice low, unsteady in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Could have anyone.” He shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “You’ve practically got all the boys in Jackson lined up. Toby. That Levi guy.”

You shut your eyes, shaking your head in frustration at how blind he was—how this man, so steady, so stubborn, couldn’t see that you loved him with every fiber of your being.

Slowly, carefully, your arms tightened around his waist, the movement deliberate, your grip firm as though you could somehow hold him together in a way no one else ever had. A secret message in your touch—silent, desperate, saying all the things you didn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t want just anyone,” you said, your voice quiet but steady, trembling only slightly with the rawness of it. The words carried every unspoken truth you’d kept hidden, tucked away in the quiet spaces between your moments together.

You didn’t know if he’d understand—not fully—but you had to try. You had to give him this, even if it was just enough to plant the seed of something he’d been too blind to see.

Joel’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, the sound cutting through the tension like a lightning strike. You felt it under your cheek where it rested against his back, the way his ribs rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm. He didn’t speak—didn’t turn or shift—but the tension in his shoulders gave him away, his body betraying everything his words wouldn’t.

You let your eyes drift closed, the warmth of Joel’s back beneath your cheek grounding you, his presence steady in a way that made your heart ache. Winnie’s sure, rhythmic pace felt like it could carry you both away from the world, from everything, into a place that was just this. Just him.

I could stay here forever, you thought, the words unspoken but so loud in your chest it almost hurt. My cheek against his back. My heartbeat pressed into his spine. Safe.

The silence stretched, soft and full, until the thought finally broke free, escaping as a murmur that carried with it something raw and fragile as you spoke, “I think we would’ve gotten along back then.”

“I think we would’ve too.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

It was Christmas Eve.

You perched on the edge of Maria’s kitchen counter, swinging your legs idly as she moved around the room, her hands busy but her sharp gaze flicking to you now and then.

A Christmas hat dangled precariously on your head—your Christmas hat, patched together from mismatched scraps scavenged over the past few weeks on patrols with Joel. The red fabric had come from a faded curtain in a half-collapsed house, and the fleece trim? From an old jacket no one could use. The stitching was uneven, one side slumping more than the other, but it had heart.

Joel had never asked about it. Not outright. He’d just given you those raised eyebrows of his, paired with that low mutter—“Don’t know what the hell you’re plannin’ on doin’ with that.” And yet, not once did he stop you from stuffing another scrap into your pack.

Maria glanced at you as she slid a bowl of something fragrant onto the counter. “So,” she said casually, a smirk already tugging at her lips, “how was shooting with your man?”

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice rushing out in a flustered tumble. “He’s not my man.”

Maria leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms as her smirk widened, sharp and teasing. “Yeah,” she said lightly, dragging out the words, “but you’re almost there, though.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back some half-hearted denial, but instead, a soft sigh escaped. The fight left you before it even started. “It was sweet,” you admitted, almost to yourself, the edges of your lips curling into a small, unbidden smile. “He’s… sweet.”

The memory of him holding your hand lingered, unshakable.

You wouldn’t tell Maria that, though. No way. She’d have a field day with it.

“You’re in loooove,” she sang, dragging out the word like it was some cosmic revelation.

Your jaw dropped, heat flushing your face as you scrambled for anything, anything, to shut her up. “I—”

Nope. Nothing.

So, you did the next best thing. Reaching over to her cutting board, you snatched up a slice of carrot and popped it into your mouth before she could stop you. “Whatever,” you said around the crunch, waving her off as if her words hadn’t just hit you square in the chest.

“Hey! That’s for dinner,” Maria scolded, her tone caught somewhere between irritation and amusement as she shot you a sharp look.

“Relax, you’ve got like fifty more,” you said, waving a hand toward the mountain of chopped vegetables she’d already prepped.

“Yeah, and I’m counting on you to ruin at least ten of those by sneaking bites,” she quipped, her knife hovering over the cutting board as she gave you a mock glare. “Seriously, get out of my kitchen. I’ve got enough to worry about without you slowing me down.”

“I’m here to help,” you protested, raising your hands in exaggerated surrender, your grin refusing to fade. “I could chop something. Or, like… boil water? I’m a multi-talented individual.”

Maria snorted, her eyebrow arching skeptically. “Oh, sure. And if I wanted someone to set the kitchen on fire, I’d call Tommy.” She waved her knife at you for emphasis, her smirk cutting through the threat. “Go. Living room. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, sliding off the counter with an exaggerated slump of your shoulders. “But for the record, this is the last time I offer my expertise to this household.”

Maria didn’t even look up, her focus already back on the cutting board. “Expertise,” she muttered under her breath with a scoff. “God help us all.”

As you shuffled toward the doorway, dragging your feet for maximum effect, you couldn’t help but shoot a glance over your shoulder, your grin widening as Maria flicked a stray piece of carrot in your direction without looking. You caught it midair, popping it into your mouth with a crunch that echoed defiantly through the kitchen.

“Living room!” she barked, her voice sharp but laced with unmistakable warmth.

“Going, going,” you called back, retreating into the next room with a laugh, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

“Hello, baby,” you murmured as the living room couch came into view, the words half a sigh of longing. It practically called your name, and you didn’t hesitate, flopping onto it with all the grace of a potato sack. A groan escaped you, muffled by the cushion as you sprawled out, one arm draped dramatically over your eyes.

For a moment, you stared at the clock on the wall. 4 p.m. Two whole hours until dinner. Two hours until Tommy and Joel got back from patrol. Two hours of absolutely nothing to do but wait—and wasn’t that just the most unbearable stretch of time?

“Maria!” you called out, your voice loud enough to carry back to the kitchen.

“What?” came her sharp reply, tinged with her usual exasperation, followed by the rhythmic chop of her knife against the cutting board.

“Can I take a nap?” you asked, drawing the words out in a mock plea for permission, even as you settled deeper into the cushions.

There was a pause. You heard her muttering, low and unmistakable, and you caught just enough to know she’d said something like “lazy ass.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Love you too!” you called back, but you didn’t bother waiting for her retort. Sleep was already pulling you under, warm and heavy, the couch a cocoon against the fading afternoon light.

Whatever meddling Maria had planned for the evening—whatever teasing or remarks or too-knowing smiles she had up her sleeve—it could wait. Joel would be back soon, and for now, that was enough.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

You woke with someone poking your face. Actually poking your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the haze of sleep blurring your vision as you struggled to make sense of the looming figure above you. It was Joel, his hand hovering suspiciously close to your face, like he was about to do it again.

“You drool when you sleep,” he said plainly, his voice gravelly and low.

“Joel?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep, your mind still caught between dreams and the dim reality of the room.

“No, it’s Santa,” he replied dryly, a faint flicker of amusement in his tone as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

You pushed yourself upright, blinking around the room to find the clock. The arms of the clock stared back at you: 6:15 PM.

“How was patrol?” you asked, your voice soft and thick with sleep as you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, still trying to shake off the lingering haze.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending a quiet thrill through you despite yourself. He dropped heavily onto the couch beside you, his weight making the cushions sag. His arms stretched out across the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his presence anything but. You shifted instinctively, making room for him.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug, his voice as casual as ever. But there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes as he added, “Though we got things done faster ‘cause you weren’t there yappin’ my ear off.”

“Please,” you huffed, throwing him a look as you leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore how close his arm was to brushing your shoulder. “You love it.”

Joel shrugged again, feigning nonchalance, but his lips twitched upward in a faint, unguarded smile.

“Can’t believe you were sleepin’,” Joel muttered, tilting his head toward you, his voice thick with a faint yawn. “Shouldn’t you be helpin’ Maria?”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the couch, letting your frustration bleed into an exaggerated pout. “She practically kicked me out of the kitchen,” you muttered, your voice laced with mock indignation.

Joel turned his head, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, how’d I forget? Can shoot a man dead, but can’t even bake a potato.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as heat flushed your cheeks. Without thinking, you reached for the nearest pillow, brandishing it like a weapon. “Ha-ha. Very funny,” you shot back, tossing it at him with little care for accuracy.

The pillow bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and to your surprise, Joel laughed—a real laugh, deep and unguarded, rumbling low in his chest. It wasn’t something you heard often, and the sound caught you off guard, striking something tender inside you. You wanted to freeze the moment, hold it tight, and keep it for all the days when he felt a million miles away.

When the laughter faded, a quiet calm settled over the room. Comfortable, warm, and charged with something you couldn’t name. Joel’s dark eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d seen in a long time, his smirk mellowing into a faint, almost shy smile.

You felt yourself staring back, your lips curving into an answering smile before you could even think about it. There was something about him like this—unguarded, at ease—that made your chest ache, your breath hitching before you caught it.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before returning to you. “You’ve got—” Joel chuckled, pausing mid-sentence like he was trying to stop himself. But then he reached over, his fingers brushing against your lip, and your heart stuttered.

“Drool,” he said, his voice low, tinged with something you couldn’t quite pin down. “All over your damn face, you silly girl.”

His touch was fleeting, so light it might’ve been nothing, but it left sparks in its wake, the warmth of his fingers lingering long after he pulled away.

Joel leaned back, shaking his head like he was fighting off a grin, but you caught it—the quiet fondness in the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The world outside the living room melted away, leaving nothing but the low hum of the fire, the faint scent of Maria’s cooking drifting in from the kitchen, and the feeling swelling between you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Maria’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the quiet like a sharp blade, snapping the two of you back to reality.

Joel’s hand, which had lingered just a second too long near your mouth, dropped abruptly, as if he’d only just realized it was there. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and awkward, his gaze darting away from yours. “Better get movin’,” he muttered, his tone gruff, like he was trying to pull himself together.

He pushed himself up from the couch, his movements stiff and purposeful, tugging at the hem of his jacket like he needed something—anything—to do with his hands.

You stayed where you were, watching him as your heart thudded in your chest, the warmth of his touch still ghosting over your skin.

“C’mon,” he said, softer now. “Maria’ll have my head if we’re late.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

The dining room was warm, cozy in the way only Maria could make it. The table was set with care, adorned with steaming bowls of vegetables, a mound of golden mashed potatoes, a basket of fresh bread, and little details that made the world outside feel miles away.

“Maria, this looks incredible,” you said as you pulled out your chair, the scent of everything making your stomach rumble.

Maria smirked, hands on her hips as she surveyed the table with satisfaction. “Look how much work I got done without you sneaking bites of my veggies,” she teased, her eyes twinkling as she shot you a playful glare.

“You’re a naughty one,” Tommy quipped, his grin wide as he turned to Maria, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself, baby.”

Joel slid into the chair across from you, the scrape of wood against the floor almost lost in the hum of conversation. His gaze caught yours for just a beat—a quiet, fleeting connection—before he looked away, his attention falling to the food in front of him.

“So,” Tommy began, already reaching for the bread as if he hadn’t eaten in days, “Joel and I had quite the day on patrol.”

Joel huffed, his lips tugging into a wry smirk as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “If by ‘quite the day,’ you mean you spent half of it yappin’ and the other half tripping over your own damn feet, then yeah, sure.”

The comment drew a laugh from your lips. Joel’s gaze flicked toward you again, his eyes catching yours, and for a moment, his expression softened.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, was already grinning smugly as he tore into a piece of bread, slathering it with butter. “Hey, I didn’t hear you complainin’ when I saved your ass from that clicker,” he shot back, wagging the bread at Joel like a weapon.

Joel leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “I had that under control,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying just enough edge to hold back Tommy’s teasing.

Tommy barked a laugh, clearly enjoying himself, but the word clicker lodged itself in your chest like a thorn. The lighthearted chatter around you blurred into static as the weight of the word pulled your attention elsewhere. Your fork froze midair, the food on your plate forgotten as your gaze snapped to Joel.

“Clicker?” you asked, your voice soft but taut with concern, your brows furrowing as your chest tightened. All the humor drained from your face, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Your eyes searched his, desperate for assurance, for some unspoken promise that everything was fine.

Joel’s jaw tightened as he saw the worry etched into your expression. “Yeah,” he admitted after a beat, his voice low and steady, smoothing the jagged edges of the truth. “Just one. It was alone. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.”

His gaze locked onto yours then, steady and insistent, and the intensity of it made your heart falter. It wasn’t just words he was giving you; it was something more—a silent plea for you to believe him, to let him carry this so you wouldn’t have to.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he added, his tone softer now, like he was trying to calm the storm he knew was already brewing in your mind. Joel wasn’t good at words, not when it came to things like this, but the way he leaned slightly forward, his shoulders tense, told you he felt it—the weight of your fear, your worry.

God, he thought, looking at you, his own chest tightening at the way you seemed to fold into yourself, worry so plainly written on your face. If he were half the man he wished he was, he’d reach across the table, take your hand, and kiss that fear right out of you. He’d tell you, I’ve got you, and make you believe it.

But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, his hand hovered over the table for a split second, as if it might defy him, before retreating to his lap.

You nodded slowly, but the tightness in your chest refused to ease. The weight of Joel’s words lingered, heavy and uneasy, the thought of him—your Joel—that close to danger settling like a stone beneath your ribs. “Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge of your napkin.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, his voice softer now, almost tentative. His eyes, though, carried the weight of a promise, silent but firm: I’m fine. I won’t let anything happen to me. Not when it would hurt you.

The moment stretched between you, filled with something unspoken but undeniable, before Tommy, blissfully oblivious to the tension, jumped back in with a teasing grin. “Yeah, well, I’m the one who made sure he stayed that way,” he said, tearing into another piece of bread with all the smugness in the world.

“Anyways,” Tommy said, undeterred, turning his full attention to you with his mouth still half-full of bread. “Joel was tellin’ me you shot a damn deer. That true, darlin’?”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, the heat spreading down your neck as you ducked your head. You nudged the peas on your plate with the tines of your fork, suddenly unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “Yeah,” you mumbled, biting your lip. “But Joel basically did all the work.”

“Not true,” Joel cut in, his voice steady and firm, leaving no room for argument. He set his utensils down and leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “She did it all herself,” he said, his tone softening, a quiet pride lacing every word. “Too modest for her own good, as always. She lined up the shot, kept steady, and didn’t flinch—not once. Clean hit, too. Not many folks can say they’ve got that kind of aim, especially their first time.”

Your cheeks burned hotter under his praise, and you dared a glance up, only to find him still watching you, his expression warm and earnest. “Really impressed me,” Joel added, his voice dropping slightly, almost as if the words were meant just for you. “Takes guts to do what she did. Can’t teach that. She’s a natural.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, damn,” he said, grinning. “Sounds like you’ve got some real competition now, Joel.”

Joel didn’t even glance at Tommy, his focus still entirely on you. “She’s better than I ever was,” he said simply, the honesty in his tone making your heart ache in the best possible way.

Tommy let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with an appreciative nod. His gaze flicked between the two of you, a teasing glint in his eye, but for once, he didn’t say anything about it. “Well, I’ll be damned. Good job, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm, the smile he gave you full of pride.

You glanced up, catching Joel’s expression as he reached for his drink. His eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d ever seen, a quiet pride flickering in their depths. That’s my girl, you could almost hear him think, though the words never left his lips.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

After dinner, the group drifted into the living room, the gentle crackle of the fire glowing steadily in the hearth lulling everyone into a comfortable rhythm.

Tommy and Maria claimed the couch closest to the flames, their silhouettes bathed in the warm amber light.

You lay sprawled out on the floor, propped up on your elbows, your feet swaying idly behind you as you flipped through an old scavenged recipe book Tommy had brought back for Maria on patrol. The room seemed to hum with an easy warmth, the golden light catching on the strands of tinsel Maria had strung up earlier in the week.

Across from you, Joel sat on the far couch, his posture deceptively relaxed, though the way his fingers curled around the glass of whiskey betrayed a quiet tension. The amber liquid swirled lazily as he tilted it in his hand, but his attention wasn’t on the drink—it was on you. You didn’t have to look up to confirm it; you could feel his gaze, steady and unwavering, burning into you with an intensity that made your skin prickle and your heartbeat quicken.

You swallowed hard, trying—and failing—to ignore the weight of his eyes, the way they seemed to see through every wall you’d so carefully constructed. Instead, you focused on the firelight dancing across the room, on the warm crackle of the wood burning low in the hearth, on the worn fabric of the book in your lap that you hadn’t turned a page of in far too long. Anything but him.

But it was impossible. He was impossible to ignore. His face, slightly pink from the fire’s glow and the remnants of the day’s sun, was achingly familiar yet disarmingly softened in this moment. His dark lashes, impossibly long, fluttered with every slow blink, as though time moved differently for him. You caught yourself wondering if he was thinking about you—or if he already knew you were thinking about him.

“Okay,” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable lull in the room, your voice a touch too bright, betraying the nervous energy humming beneath the surface. You sat up straighter, tucking your legs beneath you, your arms crossing behind your back in a small, self-conscious gesture. “I have a surprise for everyone.”

Maria tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity lighting up her eyes. She raised a single brow, her tone a mix of intrigue and caution. “A surprise?” she echoed, drawing the word out like she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

“You’re pregnant!” Tommy blurted out, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he leaned back, clearly pleased with his own joke.

“Tommy,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade. The single word carried enough weight to make his brother immediately hold up his hands in mock surrender.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, crawling up your neck and settling there as a stubborn flush. But you didn’t look back, didn’t dare meet anyone’s gaze, least of all Joel’s. Instead, you crouched near the corner, your fingers diving into the bag you’d carefully stashed earlier. The familiar texture of the fabric met your fingertips, grounding you as you grasped it.

You turned back to your bag and pulled out the Christmas hats you had made for everyone, holding them up triumphantly with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “Ta-da!”

Maria’s eyes widened, and then her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, God, you made more,” she said, though the amusement in her voice betrayed her words.

“Damn right I did,” you replied, your grin unstoppable as you shook out the cascade of red and white fabric, the soft material spilling over your arms like a dramatic reveal.

Tommy leaned forward, squinting at the hats like they were a personal insult. “Sorry, darlin’, but those are some ugly-ass hats.”

“Hey!” you shot back, clutching the fabric like they were precious cargo. “They’re not just hats.” You pointed a finger at him, your grin growing wider. “They’re Christmas hats. Festive, delightful, and mandatory.”

Before Tommy could even open his mouth to protest, you strode toward him and plopped one onto his head with an exaggerated flourish. The pom-pom flopped to one side, the whole thing slightly askew, and yet it was perfect—perfectly ridiculous.

“Maria, help me out here,” Tommy groaned, gesturing toward his head with his free hand like the hat was some great injustice.

Maria shook her head, her own laughter soft and warm. “Sorry, honey, but I think it suits you.”

You turned to Maria, handing her a smaller hat trimmed with red velvet and gold ribbon. “And this one’s for you.”

“Gosh,” she murmured, her tone half-teasing, half-genuine. “You shouldn’t have. Really—you shouldn’t have.”

Next, you turned to Joel. He was watching you.

The weight of his gaze was heavy, grounding, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. Your steps faltered for a heartbeat, the oversized Christmas hat clutched tighter in your hands like it could shield you from the way his eyes bore into you.

The walk to the couch stretched longer than it should have, each step carrying the ghost of that night—the night of spin-the-bottle.

The memory slammed into you unbidden, vivid and searing: the heat of Joel’s lap beneath you, the solid weight of his thighs pressing against your own. You could still feel it, the way his breath had mingled with yours, warm and shallow, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. You’d been so close. His breath had ghosted against your skin, and for one fleeting second, you’d thought—hoped—he’d kiss you.

“What you got for me, darlin’?” Joel’s voice broke through the haze, low and rough, his drawl curling around you like smoke. It was quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers clutching the hat tighter as you stopped in front of him. His eyes hadn’t moved—not once.

“This one’s for you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly as it escaped your lips. You hated the way it wavered, like a tightrope swaying in the wind, hated how exposed he made you feel. Like he could see everything—every soft, raw, guarded secret you tried so desperately to keep hidden.

Joel hummed low in his throat, a deep, quiet sound that thrummed through the room and settled heavy in your chest. His fingers reached up—not to take the hat, but to brush lightly over the fabric where it rested in your hands.

His dark eyes flicked from the hat to your face. Then, faint and almost reluctant, the corner of his lips curved into a smile.

It wasn’t the teasing smirk he reserved for Tommy or the polite, distant warmth he gave to Maria. This was something else entirely. Softer. Warmer. And it wrecked you because there was no hiding the truth in it—adoration, raw and unguarded, spilling from him like he hadn’t even realized it was there for the world to see.

From the other couch, Tommy leaned toward Maria, his voice low enough to think you wouldn’t hear. “Joel’d never be caught dead in somethin’ like that.”

But Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t glance in Tommy’s direction or roll his eyes the way you expected him to. Instead, he set his glass down on the small table beside him with deliberate care, his movements slow and measured.

“Well then,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, laced with something that made your breath catch. “Go ahead.”

Your hands trembled slightly,“You… want me to—?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking just enough to send your heart tumbling in your chest. “I ain’t puttin’ it on myself.”

The space closed as you stepped closer, your hands trembling as you raised the hat toward him. You didn’t notice the ridiculous green felt or the uneven trim. All you could feel was him. The way his hair brushed softly against your fingertips, surprising you with its texture. The way his shoulders loomed in your vision, broad and unyielding, steadying you even as your heart raced so fast it threatened to undo you.

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He stayed perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on you, unwavering, as if this moment was as pivotal for him as it was for you.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the world around you disappeared entirely. All you wanted—all you needed—was to close the space between you, to sink down and kiss him, consequences be damned.

From the other couch, Maria’s hand darted out, smacking Tommy lightly on the leg, “Oh my God, look at them,” Maria muttered, her voice hushed.

When you finally stepped back, the hat perched crookedly on Joel’s head, you allowed yourself to take him in.

It was utterly ridiculous—the slouched green fabric and the pom-pom dangling lopsidedly made him look impossibly out of place, like he’d been roped into something far beneath his dignity.

But somehow, impossibly, it suited him. Or maybe it was just because he was him—Joel Miller, so rugged and handsome he couldn’t possibly look bad in anything.

Your lips quirked upward before you could stop them, the warmth in your chest blooming like the soft glow of the fire.

“Perfect,” you whispered, the word slipping out unbidden, your voice barely audible.

Joel tilted his head slightly, the faintest breath of a huff escaping him, low and rough. “You happy?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual, like the words carried a tenderness he wasn’t sure how to show.

“Yes,” you murmured, the word trembling as it left you. “Very.”

His lips pressed together in the faintest twitch of a smile, his gaze flicking away for a second before settling back on you. He shook his head, slow and deliberate, like he couldn’t quite believe himself. “Good,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

And it ached—physically ached—because you knew. Deep down, in a place you rarely let yourself linger, you understood that there wasn’t a single universe where Joel Miller would wear something like this for anyone but you. It wasn’t for Tommy’s teasing or Maria’s amused approval, and it certainly wasn’t for the absurd cheer of the holidays. No, he’d done it for you.

Every glance, every quiet word, every second of stillness as he sat there with that ridiculous hat on his head—he’d done it because it made you happy. Because somehow, in a way neither of you dared to name, you mattered to him.

And it wrecked you. It wrecked you because Joel Miller—this man who had built himself out of iron and grit, who would rather face a swarm of infected or a pack of raiders than do anything to chip away at the unyielding, stoic image he’d crafted—had done this without hesitation. For you. The thought was staggering, dizzying, and when he looked at you again, his eyes softer than they had any right to be, you knew: he’d do anything for you. He’d endure anything. He’d die for you.

“Tommys gonna think I’ve gone soft,” Joel murmured, his voice low and meant only for you.

Your smile deepened, warmth pooling in your chest, and you tilted your head slightly, your voice just as soft. “Have you?”

You were still standing in front of him, looking down at where he sat on the couch, the firelight catching in his dark eyes, making them burn with something unspoken.

“D’ya think I have?” he asked, his voice rough, quiet, the rasp of it threading through your veins and anchoring you to the moment.

You swallowed, the tension tightening in your chest like a quiet ache, the words slipping out in a whisper. “Maybe.”

Joel’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile, though his eyes stayed on yours, unreadable yet devastatingly open all at once. “Then maybe,” he murmured, his tone dipping lower, softer, pulling you closer like a tide you couldn’t resist.

The heat in his gaze felt too much, too raw, and you turned, ready to claim your seat by the fireplace and retreat before it swallowed you whole.

“Hey.”

Joel’s voice stopped you mid-step, rough but not sharp, more like a tether than a command. Your breath caught as the word curled around you, pulling you back to him.

“Come sit with me.”

You turned slowly, the quiet invitation pressing against you like gravity. He was still sitting there, his hand resting on his knee, fingers loosely curled, the other gripping the armrest. His broad frame leaned slightly forward, like he couldn’t help but close some of the space between you—as if his body physically couldn’t bear the distance, even in the same room.

His expression was carefully unreadable, a mask you’d seen him wear so many times before, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—gave him away. A silent plea wrapped in his gaze.

“If you want,” he added, almost shyly, his voice dipping lower, like he didn’t want to push too hard.

If you want. The simplicity of it nearly broke you. Joel Miller, a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint, who never asked for anything, was asking now—for you.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Slowly, you settled next to him on the couch, the heat of his body radiating toward you like a magnet pulling you in. Your thighs pressed together, neither of you daring to move away.

Joel shifted slightly, just enough to turn his head toward you, his dark eyes catching the firelight. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word like a warm ember slipping into the space between you.

The sound of his voice wrapped around you, soft but steady, and it seeped into your bones, settling somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips twitched, threatening a smile you couldn’t quite hold back.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, but the words carried everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “Much better.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

One drink turned into two. Two turned into three. And before you knew it, the edges of the world had softened, the flickering firelight blending into a warm, golden haze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

You weren’t someone who got drunk—it wasn’t your thing. You knew your limits, knew when to stop, how to keep control. But tonight… tonight felt different.

Tommy, with his easy grin and mischievous glint, was no help at all. Every time Joel told him to quit—his voice low, tinged with irritation—Tommy would wave him off with a laugh, saying something about Joel having a stick up his ass.

“C’mon, Joel. Live a little,” Tommy drawled, pouring you another drink with all the flair of a showman. And you, caught up in the warmth and ease of the night, shrugged and raised your glass in a tipsy cheer, obliging without a second thought.

Somehow, the night unraveled from there. You’d gone from sitting beside Joel, close enough to feel the subtle heat radiating off him, to sprawling across the living room floor, your head tipped back, your arms stretched wide. Your voice—off-key and full of enthusiasm—belted out Last Christmas like it was your personal anthem, each wobbling note echoing off the walls.

Tommy was in stitches, practically doubled over on the couch as he slapped his knee in delight. Maria shook her head, her smile soft and indulgent as she sipped her drink, her eyes crinkling with barely-contained amusement.

But Joel—Joel stayed quiet. He hadn’t joined in the way Tommy had, hadn’t pushed the bottle toward you or filled your glass with a mischievous grin. He sat on the couch, his broad frame hunched slightly forward, one hand resting on his knee, his dark eyes fixed on you with a quiet intensity.

He wasn’t laughing. His lips were pressed into a firm line, his brow furrowed just enough to make your chest tighten if you weren’t already too clouded to notice. It wasn’t disapproval exactly—not the kind you might’ve expected from someone like him—but something closer to worry.

His dark eyes stayed on you, steady and unflinching, like he was trying to gauge how far you were from the line, how much longer until he might need to step in.

At one point, something small—a bottle cap, maybe—rolled under the coffee table. It didn’t matter what it was; in your tipsy state, it became an immediate priority. With all the single-minded determination of someone far too gone, you leaned forward, hands groping blindly under the table, muttering something about how “everything needs its place.”

You didn’t notice the sharp edge of the table creeping closer, didn’t feel the unsteadiness in your own balance as you reached further and further. But Joel did.

He moved before you even realized - his hand, warm and rough, settled over the crown of your head just as you were about to smack it against the edge of the table. The pressure was firm but careful, guiding you gently away from danger before you could even process it.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, the words low and instinctive, slipping out before he even realized what he’d said.

You didn’t register it, your focus still entirely on the bottle cap beneath your fingers. “Got it,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice smaller than you intended as you pulled back, victorious and unaware.

When Tommy reached for the bottle to pour you another drink, Joel stepped in without hesitation. His hand closed over the neck of the bottle, firm and commanding, pulling it away before Tommy could even tilt it.

“All right, that’s enough,” Joel said, his voice steady but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut through the room’s hazy warmth.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard for a moment before his easy grin slid back into place. “Hey, man,” he started, his tone light but laced with the slightest edge of challenge. “The girl wants a drink.”

“Quit, Tommy,” Joel said, his tone dropping lower, heavier, leaving no room for argument. His eyes cut to his brother with a pointed sharpness that made Tommy sit back slightly, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Fucking child,” Joel muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch it.

Maria stood then, shaking her head as she picked up the nearest empty glass with a sigh. “Honestly, you two are worse than children,” she said, her voice exasperated but warm, her eyes flicking between the brothers like this was nothing new.

The haze in your mind started to shift then, softening into something weightier, more complicated. The room seemed quieter, heavier, and your cheeks burned—not just from the whiskey but from the weight of Joel’s eyes on you. He wasn’t laughing like Tommy, nor sighing like Maria. He was watching you.

You shifted slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans as a quiet embarrassment crept in. Not because of him, but because he could see the truth you weren’t ready to admit—not even to yourself. That you weren’t drunk for nothing. That this wasn’t just another night. Joel saw it, as he always did, and somehow, that made you feel both more vulnerable and more understood than ever.

“You’ve had enough,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he reached for your glass. Joel leaned back against the couch, his broad frame sinking into the worn cushions.

“I don’t… I don’t get drunk,” you mumbled, your voice unsteady, trailing off as you lay back against the carpet. Your eyes stared upward, fixed on the wall as if it held the answers you couldn’t find yourself. The words were soft, almost more to yourself than to him, but the slight slur in your tone betrayed you. “I’m not drunk,” you added, weaker this time, as if saying it aloud might make it true.

Tommy grinned from his spot on the couch, raising his hands in mock solidarity. “Me neither, sister.”

“Exactly,” you said, jabbing a wobbly finger in his direction as if he’d just made the most compelling argument of the night.

Joel’s voice broke through the room then, low and firm, slicing through the haze like a knife. “You’re drunk.”

Your head snapped toward him, narrowing your bleary focus on the man who’d barely spoken all night. Joel sat back on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. His posture screamed patience, but the kind that was wearing thin.

“You’re grumpy,” you said, a weak jab, though the words stumbled on their way out. “And I am not drunk.”

Joel arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. That why you’re lyin’ there like you can’t tell which way’s up?”

Your brows furrowed, defiance bubbling up despite the haze in your head. “Alright,” you said, preparing to stand up. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly, his brow creasing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “No,” he said, his voice low, steady, and firm. “I believe you. Don’t gotta prove nothin’.”

“See?” you huffed, crossing your arms like you’d just won an argument. “That’s what I thought.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically holding himself back from commenting. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Maria stood then, stretching with a soft yawn and giving Tommy a light nudge. “Alright, it’s way past my bedtime,” she announced. Her gaze shifted to you, her expression softening. “You can stay here tonight,” she offered, her voice resolute. “No sense sending you out like this.”

You opened your mouth to agree, but Joel was already moving. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw flexing as he stood abruptly.

“No,” Joel said, the word coming out firm, final, leaving no room for debate. His voice cut through the room with quiet authority, drawing all eyes to him. “I’ll take her home.”

Maria blinked, visibly surprised. Her gaze flicked between you and Joel, her eyebrows arching slightly as her lips curved into the faintest hint of a knowing smile. “You sure?”

“She’ll sleep better in her own bed,” he said gruffly, the words deliberate but carrying a weight that was hard to ignore.

Maria tilted her head, her brow lifting as if to say Oh, really? But she didn’t argue, just exchanged a quick glance with Tommy, whose grin threatened to break across his face.

Tommy stretched lazily, his grin lopsided as he turned to you with a look that could only be described as fond mischief. “Night, troublemaker,” he said, his voice brimming with affection. His gaze slid to Joel, and the grin widened, his tone taking on a teasing edge. “Be careful. This one’s feisty when she’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, but the slur in your words betrayed you, and Tommy’s chuckle made your cheeks burn.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were a kid. You swatted weakly at his hand, your protest too slow to land, and he laughed again, shaking his head.

He clapped Joel on the shoulder as he passed, the weight of it friendly but carrying a knowing edge. “Good luck,” he added, the words laced with that unmistakable Tommy charm.

Joel sighed, the sound low and heavy, threading with both frustration and a quiet sort of resignation. He didn’t bother responding to Tommy, didn’t even glance his way. Instead, his focus was on you, his dark eyes sharp and steady as he stepped closer.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice gruff but softer than you expected. His large hands reached for you, settling gently at your elbows as he helped you up, his grip firm and steady. You wobbled slightly, your balance faltering just enough to make Joel’s hold tighten instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, almost like a coaxing whisper. His hands shifted, one sliding to your lower back to steady you as you leaned into him without realizing it.

Together, you made your way toward the front door, Joel guiding you with a patience that felt like it shouldn’t belong to someone as gruff as him.

The boots by the door stared back at you, almost mocking in their silent challenge. You blinked down at them, swaying slightly, trying to figure out how you were supposed to get them on when the floor seemed to tilt every time you moved.

“Alright,” Joel said, nodding toward the boots. “One shoe at a time. Think you can handle that?”

“Obviously,” you muttered, though your fumbling hands betrayed your confidence almost immediately. You bent down to grab one of the boots, determined to prove him wrong, only for the room to tilt ever so slightly, the lazy spin of the world throwing you off balance.

Before you could topple forward, Joel’s hand shot out, his grip firm and steady as it curled around your arm. “Thought you said you weren’t drunk,” he muttered under his breath, his tone low but laced with exasperated fondness.

He guided you upright gently, his other hand bracing at your side. “Hold still, or you’re gonna end up kissin’ the floor,” he added, dropping down to one knee in front of you with a quiet sigh.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as heat surged to your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest. Joel Miller, kneeling in front of you, his broad frame grounded and steady against the backdrop of the room, sent your pulse into a frantic rhythm you couldn’t seem to control.

Joel laced the boot quickly, his movements efficient but deliberate, the steady brush of his fingers against the leather sending warmth up your spine. When he finished, his hand lingered for just a moment longer, giving your calf a light squeeze. It was subtle, almost absentminded, but achingly tender—like he couldn’t help himself, like the simple touch meant more than he could say.

“There,” he said softly once he finished, giving your leg another light pat before standing again. He stepped back with a groan, his dark eyes sweeping over you in a way that felt less like he was checking your boots and more like he was checking you, making sure you were steady, secure, okay.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, your face flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, a picture of tipsy disarray. Joel’s gaze softened despite himself, his lips pressing into a line that didn’t quite hide the tenderness creeping into his expression.

“You’re a mess, y’know that?” he muttered, shaking his head with a soft huff. But even as the words left his mouth, he leaned closer, his hand lifting with a careful steadiness to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m fine,” you argued weakly, even as your feet betrayed you, slipping slightly on the uneven floor.

He turned, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, shaking it out before holding it open in front of you. “Arms up.”

You blinked at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “What?”

“Arms up,” he repeated, this time with more insistence. When you still didn’t move fast enough, Joel sighed, muttering under his breath as he stepped closer, already lifting your arms himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered, tugging the coat snug over your shoulders with a final, purposeful motion. “You’re worse than dealin’ with a kid.”

“Don’t be mean,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, your voice carrying the faintest pout.

Joel’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but just enough to send a flicker of warmth curling in your chest, cutting through the biting cold lingering beyond the door. “I’m not bein’ mean,” he murmured, his tone softening, though that familiar gruffness clung to the edges, giving his words weight. “Just tryin’ to get my girl home in one piece.”

The words slipped out so naturally, so effortlessly, that Joel himself didn’t even realize what he’d said. His focus remained on you as he adjusted the coat on your shoulders, his movements careful, deliberate, like you might catch a chill if he left even a corner undone.

You, too tipsy and too focused on fiddling with your gloves, didn’t seem to hear him. The weight of the moment passed unnoticed by you, but Joel froze for half a beat, his hands stilling against your sleeve as the thought settled into his chest.

It didn’t feel strange to him, calling you that—my girl—because somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally got home, Joel was all practicality. He unlocked the door with ease, nudging it open with his shoulder while keeping a steadying hand on your arm.

He turned briefly to shut the door, but when he looked back, you were gone. “Jesus Christ,” Joel muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room until he found you.

You’d somehow made it to the living room, sprawled out face down on the rug like you’d decided it was the most comfortable spot in the world. Your muffled hums filled the quiet space, a nonsensical melody that made Joel sigh deeply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, the words barely audible as he disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned with a glass of water, his footsteps deliberate and steady.

“Hey,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through your tuneless humming as he stopped a few feet away. His hand rested on his hip, his broad shoulders framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light. “What the hell’re you doin’? Get up.”

You turned your head sluggishly, your cheek still pressed against the rug. Heavy-lidded eyes met his, and for a moment, you just blinked at him, the alcohol dulling the sharper edges of his tone. Despite his words, the concern etched into his brow softened the bite.

Joel let out a sigh, muttering something under his breath as he knelt beside you, the floor creaking faintly under his weight. He held out a glass of water, his hand steady and deliberate. “Drink this."

You reached for the glass, your fingers brushing his as you took it. You drank the water in a few large gulps, the cool liquid grounding you slightly.

“Alright,” he said firmly after you were done drinking, “time for bed.” He extended a hand toward you, palm open and waiting.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled into the rug, though your traitorous body betrayed you with a yawn that slipped out before you could stop it.

Joel arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Yeah?” he drawled, his tone thick with dry amusement. “Tell that to the yawn you just tried to swallow.”

His voice softened then, the edge fading as something gentler took its place. He crouched slightly, his hand still extended, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “C’mon. Up. Now.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in the rug for just a second longer, drawing out the moment like a child protesting bedtime. “Ugh,” you said, dragging the sound out with exaggerated flair. Finally, with a sigh heavy enough to shake the earth, you reached for his hand. “Fine.”

You reached up, slipping your hand into his as he helped you to your feet, “Atta girl,” he murmured.

Without thinking, without hesitation, your fingers instinctively intertwined with his. The movement was so natural, so effortless, that it didn’t register at first—not to you, and not to him. But then Joel’s gaze dropped to your joined hands, his breath hitching as his mouth opened slightly, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Joel swallowed hard, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, unspoken emotions swirling there. He didn’t pull away—he didn’t dare. His hand stayed firmly in yours, his fingers curling around yours like letting go wasn’t an option he’d even considered.

You blinked up at him, your mind sluggish from whiskey and the creeping warmth of exhaustion, but his steady presence anchored you. “What?” you asked softly.

“Nothin’,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. His voice dipped lower, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Just… don't usually hold hands.”

The quiet admission hit you like a ripple in still water, gentle yet profound. Your chest tightened, a wave of something achingly tender washing over you. “Oh,” you whispered, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry.” You started to pull your hand away, the movement hesitant, reluctant.

But his grip tightened, firm but careful, like he was afraid to let go. “No,” Joel said quickly, his voice rough but urgent, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in the faintest, most deliberate motion. “Don’t.”

He didn’t look at you then—couldn’t—but the tension in his jaw and the quiet plea in his tone said everything he couldn’t.

“Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice softer now, gentler. “Let’s get you to bed.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally reached your room, Joel reached out with his free hand, twisting the doorknob and nudging the door open.

He led you to the edge of the bed, your hand still firmly clasped in his. You swayed slightly as you stopped, the whiskey and exhaustion making your balance unsteady, but Joel’s steady grip kept you upright.

He guided you gently to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped around yours, steadying you. His grip lingered, his fingers flexing slightly as if testing the moment, like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile thread was holding you together.

“Time to let go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft. Slowly, reluctantly, you let your hands part, the absence of his touch leaving a faint, lingering ache. You sank into the mattress with a soft sigh, your body sagging into the familiar comfort as Joel stood by your side, his presence steady and grounding.

His movements were careful as he reached for the blanket, pulling it up over you with the kind of gentleness that made your heart flutter even in your sleepy haze. He tucked it around your shoulders, his hand lingering for just a moment before he straightened.

“Go to bed,” Joel said softly, his voice gentler now, though still firm enough to leave no room for argument. As your eyes dipped shut, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch so light it barely registered but sent a warmth blooming in your chest.

“You’ll feel better in the mornin’,” he added.

He turned toward the light switch, his hand halfway there when your voice cut through the quiet, soft and desperate. “Wait,” you said, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. “Don’t leave.”

Joel froze mid-step, his broad shoulders stiffening. He didn’t turn right away, but when he did, his expression was carefully guarded. “You need to sleep,” he said, his tone gruff, his walls snapping back into place. “No more games. Go to bed.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an edge of pleading that you couldn’t hide. “I will, I swear. Just… stay. For a little while. Please.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking toward the door as though he was considering making a quick exit. But then his shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t catch. How could he possibly say no to you?

“Fine,” he said at last, the word carrying the weight of reluctant surrender. He moved toward the chair in the corner of your room, sinking into it heavily, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back. “But only for a little while.”

“No,” you said suddenly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. You sat up in bed, the blanket pooling around your waist as you blinked at him.

Joel frowned, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at you. “What now?”

“Not there,” you murmured again, your voice softer now, hesitant but insistent as you patted the empty space on the bed beside you. “Here.”

Joel blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head like he needed to convince himself as much as you. “Not happenin’.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with an exasperated huff. “Jesus, Joel. Do I have to beg?”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended, his knuckles whitening as his hands gripped the arms of the chair like it was the only thing tethering him to resolve.

His gaze flicked to the bed, to the empty spot you’d been patting, and you could see the war raging behind his eyes. It was written in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, in the way his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. The push and pull of wanting and resisting.

“Please,” you whispered, the single word soft, breaking through his defenses like a crack splintering through glass. Your voice wavered, your gaze locking onto his. “I’ll sleep better if you’re close. That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes softened, the fight in them faltering for just a moment. He sighed deeply, his head tilting back like he was asking the ceiling for patience. His shoulders sagged slightly, and you could see the exact second he gave in. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, his steps heavy as he crossed the room.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze dropping to yours. For a long moment, he just stood there, torn between holding his ground and giving in completely. His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides, before he let out another long sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

The bed dipped under his weight, and you watched him. He sat stiffly, awkwardly, like being this close to you was something he hadn’t quite prepared for.

“Joel,” you murmured softly, almost unsure, almost hesitant. “Lay down. Please.”

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the sound of your voice alone had unraveled him. “Alright,” he muttered, the word rough but softer than before.

With slow, deliberate movements, he shifted onto the bed, laying down beside you. His posture was stiff, his head resting on his folded arm, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible. “You happy now?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind, a quiet exasperation bleeding through.

You hummed softly in response, a sound of contentment as you scooted closer, the blankets rustling softly around you. Without thinking, you rested your cheek against his chest, the steady warmth of him seeping into you like sunlight through a window.

Joel froze, his breath catching for just a moment. Christ, he thought, glancing down at you. His arm hovered awkwardly for a beat before it came to rest at his side, his hand brushing against the curve of your back like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You comfy?” Joel asked finally, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile soft as your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Are you?”

He hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you like he was trying to memorize something he couldn’t name. “Yeah,” he said eventually, though his voice was quieter now. He nodded faintly, his expression softening.

“Not gonna get much sleep with your eyes wide open, though,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed, the sound quiet and airy. Tucking the blanket higher over your shoulders, you tilted your head slightly to look at him. “You know, for someone so serious, you actually have jokes.”

Joel shrugged, the faint smirk fading into something softer, quieter, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment. “There’s more to me than bein’ old,” he muttered.

“You’re not old,” you said instantly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You shifted onto your side to face him more fully, your expression earnest, a small crease forming between your brows. “Quit saying that.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, his gaze dipping away from yours like he was trying to brush off the warmth creeping into his chest. “It’s the truth,” he said simply, his voice low, though the rough edges softened when he glanced back at you. Got more years behind me than ahead,” Joel said quietly, almost offhand, his voice dipping low like it was just a fact of life.

The words hit you harder than he probably meant them to, sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward and unraveling the easy warmth of the moment.

You froze, staring at him as the ache that bloomed in your chest caught you off guard. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to see his face more clearly, your gaze searching his, the playful ease from before slipping away entirely.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet urgency that surprised even you. Your hand moved instinctively, coming to rest lightly on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm only deepened the ache.

Joel glanced down at you, his brow furrowing as he caught the way your brows knit together, your expression tightening. He hadn’t meant for it to land like that, hadn’t thought it would hit you so hard.

“I mean it, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to make him pause. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

His lips parted, the words caught in his throat as he stared at you, unprepared for the way the emotion in your voice clawed at something deep inside him. The thought of him not being here—of losing him—was like a sharp blade pressing against the edges of your mind, and you couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t let him dismiss it so easily.

“Hey,” Joel murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, the sharp edges smoothed by the weight of your words. His hand lifted instinctively, covering yours where it rested over his heart, as if to anchor both of you.

Your hand fit perfectly beneath his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm a subconscious reminder that this was real—he was real. He was here. He was alive.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, the movement slow, deliberate, pulling you back from wherever your mind had wandered. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, his tone low, filled with a quiet kind of tenderness he rarely let surface. His dark eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your chest ache. “It’s just… the way things are.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with a quiet intensity.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice low and tender, stripped of the usual gruffness he used as armor.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, grounding motion. “I’m sorry. Promise I won’t say it again—sorry, darlin’.”

You nodded, letting your head sink back against Joel’s chest, his hand moved without thought, slipping into your hair and threading through it gently.

“You gettin’ sleepy’?” Joel hummed, his voice low and soft, vibrating through his chest where your cheek rested.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice just a little too sharp, your body shifting slightly against him. You weren’t ready—not for the moment to end, not for him to leave, not for the fragile warmth that wrapped around the two of you to slip away.

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, his hand pausing in your hair for a brief second before continuing its gentle rhythm. “Don’t sound so sure,” he muttered, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

You tilted your head up, your gaze finding his, and he glanced down at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Quit staring at me,” he said, his tone gruff but devoid of any real bite.

“Can’t help it,” you murmured, your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

His brows knitted further as he looked at you, his lips parting like he was about to say something, but you beat him to it. “Pretty,” you whispered, the word barely audible, so soft it almost disappeared into the space between you.

Joel’s brows knitted further as he turned his full attention to you, his gaze heavy and intent. “You know I got a bad ear,” he said, his tone gruff but tinged with a faint trace of amusement. “Gotta speak up.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as hesitation gripped you for a brief moment. And then, as if the alcohol had burned through the last of your reservations, the words spilled out, clear and bold, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I said… pretty. You’ve got pretty eyes and a pretty smile.”

Joel froze. You paused, your heart racing as a grin, small but sincere, tugged at your lips. “Handsome,” you added, softer but no less certain. “You’re handsome, Joel.”

Joel’s face dropped, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at you. His mouth opened, as if to respond, but no words came out. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against your hand like he needed something—anything—to ground himself.

Joel finally shook his head, a sharp exhale escaping him as he muttered, “You’re drunk.” The words came out fast, like a reflex, a shield he threw up to deflect the blow before it could land. But his voice betrayed him, the rough edges fraying with a faint tremor that he couldn’t quite hide.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you leaned in just slightly, your gaze steady and unwavering. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

Before he could deflect again, you broke the silence, your tone softer now but still certain. “Joel, I have a question.”

Joel sighed, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to gather what little patience he had left. “What happened to sleepin’?”

“Joel…” you began, your voice quiet, fragile. “Why didn’t you kiss me? At Tommy’s birthday.”

The air shifted instantly, heavy and stifling, as if the room itself had stopped to listen. Joel froze, his body going completely still. The hand that had been absently stroking your hair stopped, his fingers hovering like they didn’t know where to go.

His other hand, which had been resting over yours on his chest, slowly withdrew, falling to his side as though retreating from the weight of your question.

The teasing light in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker, something harder to read. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he stared at the ceiling, his gaze fixed like he might find the answer buried in the walls.

He didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke volumes. It felt like a door that had been cracked open was now slamming shut, and you weren’t sure whether to step forward or back away.

“I—” he started, but his voice caught, faltering before he could finish. Joel wasn’t expecting this. The weight of your words hung in the air between you, pressing down on him like a physical force.

He ran a hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his beard, his shoulders stiffening as though he was bracing himself for a blow that hadn’t yet come.

“It’s okay,” you said, though the words felt like they were breaking you apart from the inside. “If you don’t… if you don’t find me pretty, or if you think I’m annoying, or if you just didn’t want to. I just…” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to breathe. “I just need to know why.”

Joel moved instantly, sitting up straighter as his arm pulled away from you. His head snapped toward you at that, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that stole your breath.

They were brimming with something raw, something unspoken and fierce. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough and firm, the single word cutting through the space between you like a knife.

Your brows furrowed, confusion and hurt twisting in your chest, the ache blooming into something unbearable. “Don’t what?” you asked, your voice softer now as you sat up, mirroring him, the distance between you suddenly feeling vast despite your closeness.

Joel’s fists flexed at his sides, his knuckles white as the tension in his body radiated off him in waves. His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped for the briefest second before snapping back to yours. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, his voice low and strained, trembling with the effort of holding something back. The look in his eyes was fleeting but sharp—like he was fighting himself, fighting you, fighting the weight of the moment.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head as if trying to wrestle with the storm in his own mind. “Why’re you askin’ this now?” he murmured, his tone rough, defensive, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, like the weight of the question was almost too much to bear.

“Because I need to stop thinking about it all the time,” you said, your voice trembling as the words tumbled out, unguarded and vulnerable. “I need to stop replaying it in my head.” You hesitated, your breath hitching as you fought to steady yourself, but the truth burned too hot to hold back. “You said, ‘Not like this,’ and I—” The words broke off, catching in your throat as the ache you’d carried since that night threatened to overwhelm you.

Your eyes searched his face, desperate for something—anything—that might explain the way his words had stayed with you, carved into your heart like a scar. But Joel wouldn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on some indeterminate point, his jaw tightening as if he were bracing himself for the blow he’d already dealt.

“What did that mean, Joel?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of longing and hurt.

His head shook, sharp and almost violent, like he was physically trying to shake the question away, to shove it into some dark corner where he wouldn’t have to deal with it. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, the words rough and uneven, cracking under the weight of his own defenses.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid,” you fired back, the frustration slipping into your tone, making it wobble. “I’m asking you what you meant.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his muscles twitching under the strain as his hand raked through his hair, his exhale shaky and unsteady.

“What do you think I meant?” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t fucking know, Joel,” you said, your voice rising as your words cracked under the pressure. “That’s why I’m asking. You confuse the hell out of me.”

His hand flexed against his knee, restless and agitated, but his face remained locked in that tight, unreadable mask he wore when the stakes felt too high.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you said, the confession tumbling out in a whisper that wavered on the edge of breaking. “I wanted you to kiss me so badly that night.”

Joel froze, his whole body going rigid as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Slowly, painfully, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and what you saw in them made your heart twist painfully. It was like he was searching for something—desperately, almost frantically—as though hoping to find some small lie buried deep in your gaze. Because if you were lying, if this wasn’t real, it would destroy him.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he said, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Did you think,” you began, your voice softer now, quieter but no less resolute as your hand reached for his arm, resting lightly against the warmth of his sleeve, “maybe I got this drunk because it’s the only way I can tell the truth?”

Joel’s eyes followed your hand, lingering where it rested against him like he couldn’t decide whether to pull away or hold on. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly, the motion almost imperceptible. “That ain’t somethin’ you’re gonna wanna say in the mornin’,” he said, his voice rough and uneven, frayed at the edges like he was already bracing for the fallout.

Why? The thought clawed at your chest. Why can’t he believe me? Why won’t he let himself accept that he’s worth loving? The ache swelled, raw and heavy, pressing against every unspoken word between you.

“But it’s true,” you countered softly, your tone steady, carrying none of the sharpness his did—only quiet, unyielding conviction. “Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, it’s still true tonight.”

“Stop,” Joel said, his voice firmer this time, but there was something in it—a thread of desperation, raw and unguarded. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. “You don’t mean it. You’re just—”

“I do, Joel.” You interrupted him, your voice trembling with the effort to keep steady. Your hand tightened slightly on his arm, grounding both of you in the moment. “Look at me.” The words fell with quiet insistence, steady despite the tremor in your chest. “I mean it, Joel. I’ve always meant it.”

His breathing faltered, his eyes flickering toward yours like he wanted to believe you but didn’t know how. The silence was unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, each one carrying a piece of the ache you’d held back for too long. “Fuck, Joel, I care about you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I more than care about you. I love—”

“Don’t.” The word came sharp and sudden, cutting you off like a knife. Joel’s voice was hoarse, rough, like gravel scraping against stone. It hit the space between you with the force of a blow, making your breath hitch.

His gaze darted to you, his dark eyes stormy with something raw and pained, before he looked away again, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “Don’t say it. Because you don’t mean it.”

The words crushed something in your chest, the weight of his denial suffocating. “Joel—” you began, but he shook his head again, his hand lifting to run through his hair, his movements jerky, restless, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“You don’t mean it,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice barely more than a rasp. “You can’t. Not about me.” His shoulders sagged slightly, and for the first time, you saw it—the cracks in the armor he always wore, the fear in his eyes that no amount of gruffness could hide. “Don’t do this. Not for me.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as if a fist had wrapped around it, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. The tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, but they didn’t fall.

Your mouth parted, a soundless gasp escaping as your mind reeled. You silly girl, the thought screamed. He doesn’t feel the same. He’s letting you down easy, and you’ve ruined everything. The silence between you stretched, suffocating, the weight of it pressing against your chest until you thought it might break you.

Then, slowly, Joel stood. His shoulders sagged, his head dipping low as though the act of leaving was as heavy as the words left unsaid. His voice, when it came, was quiet—so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it carried the finality of a closing door.

“I’m leavin’. I’ll lock up.”

You stared at him, frozen, the world tilting beneath you as his words settled in. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stop. And as the sound of his footsteps faded, the tears finally spilled over, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

yall do i have an angst kink?!

tag list xx

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[sheep-from-rad]

Hi! Sorry if this is weird or anything, this is my first time sending an ask lol

But I just finished reading your writing about the singer/influencer reader and omfg I love your brain. Like imagine the reader did a cover of/wrote like spit in my face by ThxSoMch or Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott (love her sm btw-) cause just imagine the GUILTTT

Imagine the Batfam listening to their music and just hearing the bitterness in their voice as they sing “Screwing everything up, doing everything wrong, In my defence I wasn’t supposed to be around this long, so” HGDECANZZKNFBVD

Anyway, I love your writing and I hope you have an absolutely amazing week! Take care of yourself too- drink water, eat some food and try to get some sleep ml <3

Nah anon you're cool. I love reading asks. ALSO credits to Luludelulusramblings, they made the originally made Influencer reader. Batfam belongs to DC as usual. Singer reader post: here

You know, in the Art History year 1901-1904, Picasso started the Blue Period where he only painted in the shades of Blue. It started due to the death of his friend, later his financial struggles, and of course the current state of the society. Blue Period art was so good but so doleful and depressing that no one wants to hang it in their house. Singer! Reader started their career covering mainstream songs, band songs, maybe even vocaloid. 

Their blue period started months before they planned to leave the manor. It was a simple cover of MARINA’s ‘Are you satisfied?’ A lot of burnt out overachievers ate that cover, even Tim himself. The song is basically the reader questioning the Wayne last name. Sure it was a goldmine to others but to them it’s a ticket to misery. One song cover turned into many song covers, enough to make a long playlist to play at 3 a.m. when you’re about to have a breakdown. 

The whole playlist? Batfam avoids it because it reminds them of the times they could have been giving you love but they didn’t BUT at the same time they can’t really avoid it. It became like those guilty pleasures playlist. Damian loves and hates reader’s ‘The Family Jewels’ cover because it reminds him of the fact that he and the reader are basically on the same boat. They were just children who needed attention and love. He got that attention and love immediately because of the whole league of assassins backstory. He won’t admit it but the weight of the role weighs like tonnes of iron on his shoulders. 

Jason, Bruce and Cigarette Ahegao will roll together so much. That man has twice the amount of trauma Bruce had and his coping mechanism sucks. All the aggressiveness was just a coping mechanism, underneath he’s a man with conflicted feelings and those years of being dead and suddenly being resurrected didn’t help. Let’s face it Bruce is a tired man who lives a double life. He's a man who dresses up like as a bat making sure the city is safe but he can't cover all grounds. The neglect on reader was unintentional but neglect is neglect.

Dick with reader’s cover of ‘Stressed out’ by Twenty one pilots, no explanation needed. ‘This is me trying’ by Taylor Swift with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim. Cassandra and Stephanie being raised by villains and Tim being an overachiever to have his parent’s attention. His parents being always away and realizing he basically did the same thing to the reader by making them feel invisible. 

Double guilt if they left the playlist on autoplay and ‘Daddy issues’ plays. Any version but I think the original fits the bill. Reader ends their blue period with a cover of Mother Mother’s ‘Burning Pile’ basically saying ‘Yeah fuck it, it’s over. I’m burning it, I’m leaving it, I’m closing the chapter’. But to the Batfamily, it meant renewal and turning a new leaf, an invitation to make things better.

[aperrywilliams]

From Now On (Spencer Reid x Pregnant!Reader)

------------------

Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Pregnant!Reader.

Summary: After faking his death for seven months, Spencer is back just to find out you’re eight months pregnant. After the initial commotion and your denial, you both step into the apartment you used to share. Things have changed and you must talk about it.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Talking about gunshots, blood, hospitals, faking death, pregnancy symptoms, potential abortion. If I missed something, let me know.

A/N: I’m back! I don't know for how long, but I needed to do something to fight my writer's block. This story can be read independently, but it is the second part of Seven Months.

-----

The cab ride to your apartment is mainly silent. Your head is tucked into Spencer's shoulder as he rubs your back from time to time. His nose is buried in your hair, inhaling your scent. God, he had missed it so much. He had missed you so much.

And he missed so much of your life in the past seven months. And that scares the shit out of him.

How would he fit into your life now? Does he have any right after faking his death and not telling you anything?

Rossi and Morgan told him you would understand eventually. That you would forgive him for doing this to you.

And maybe you are really considering. Maybe that’s why you went for him to Derek’s in the middle of the night.

Spencer wants that more than anything, but he feels like he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

Now you both are in front of your building complex. The one that used to be his too.

Spencer knows the concrete walls are the same, but they don't feel like they are.

It's a strange feeling. A feeling that gets stronger when you open the apartment door.

Stepping inside, he knows this is where he used to live, but it doesn't look the same.

The shelves are no longer full of his books. Gone is his globe and coins collection that usually laid over the desk. There are just a couple of pictures of him with you on the wall. The decoration is different. Did you paint the place? Spencer is almost sure of that because it looks brighter than he remembered.

He's silent, inspecting everything around him. The walls, the bookshelf, the furniture: all changed.

After you take off your coat and hang it on the rack, your eyes follow him.

You know what’s going on. You have known Spencer for so long. Even if you thought you lost him, you still can read him like a book.

“Hope isn’t look too bad. I needed to, you know, make some changes?” you explain, not sure how to put the last months in words. Spencer turns to look at you, guilt written over his face. He knows what your words imply and remorse eats him alive.

“I - I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sure it's not enough to erase the hell you have been through since he were gone. Since they told you he was dead.

“I know.” Your response is short but not because you don’t have things to say. It's because you don’t know how to start. “Uh. Would you like some tea?”

It's the safest path. The one you both usually have taken the times you had fought and then try to speak it off. It's different this time, though.

Spencer hesitates. In other circumstances, he would agree and sit on the couch to talk. But it's late, the day has been a rollercoaster and you are eight months pregnant. He knows you should be sleeping, or resting at the very least.

“Maybe it's better you go to bed? It's late and you must be tired,” he points, nervously fidgeting with his hands, his gaze shifts between your eyes and belly.

“Honestly? I don't think I could sleep tonight even if I try,” you confess, moving to the kitchen to put the kettle.

”I don't think I could sleep either,” he admits, following to the kitchen. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to look like an intruder in your space. A space that it’s not his anymore. Noticing Spencer doesn't know what to do with himself, you invited him to take a seat on the barstool.

“It will be ready in no time, don’t worry.”

You are the one who endured months of grief from your fiancee, carrying his child, and you are the one comforting him. Spencer thinks it's not fair.

In silence, he looks with raptor fascination at the way you move around the kitchen. It's delicate and calm. You have a glow that captivates him. You don’t realize his gaze until you turn to put the mugs over the counter.

“What?” you question softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, eyes entranced in you. You laugh, shaking your head.

“Come on, Spencer. I look like a mess. This belly reaches everything minutes before I can. It's huge! I can barely walk decently. Look at my hair! And my skin. It's sticky all the time.”

As you ramble about why isn’t accurate to call you beautiful, Spencer stands from the stool and rounds the kitchen counter to step in front of you. He wants to reach for your hands that you’re waving in the air to emphasize your point, but refrains. He’s still unsure about initiating physical contact. He rests his hands on the counter and clears his throat.

“I can certainly say it's not the way you are used to feeling. But the way I see you right now? I see beauty, power, and life. It's light what I see on you.”

You don’t know when tears started to roll down your cheeks. But hearing the adoration in Spencer’s words only spurs you to let out your emotions.

“You know my hormones have been doing a number on me, right? You’re not helping,” you complain, chuckling. After handing Spencer his tea, you take yours and walk to the living room.

You carefully sit on the couch and reach for the blanket in the back to cover your lower half. Spencer mimics your actions, sitting as well on the couch, but at a safe distance from you.

A silence envelops the room. Your hand plays with the strands at the end of the blanket, and your eyes scrutiny Spencer’s face. He looks tired, with prominent circles under his eyes, and stubble for days of no shaving.

He is analyzing you too. Even if your eyes denote exhaustion, he can see the strength that makes you look put together despite everything that has been going on.

He can see the protectiveness too. Rubbing your belly in soothing motions, shielding your non-born child from the unknown, the uncertain.

How much he would have given to be the one who could have protected you and the baby from the first minute.

“I guess you have questions,” you prompt. “But I have mine too, so if you don’t mind,” you trail off and Spencer understands what you want. He nods, preparing himself to answer whatever question you have. After a pause to collect your thoughts, you start to speak again.

“What really happened in that warehouse? Why you didn't let me go inside with you?”

You are talking about the day Spencer was shot and beaten for the unsub. The day he ended up at the hospital just to be declared dead hours after.

“I thought if we didn't split we could lose him. We were so close so many times. I thought it was our last chance. It never occurred to me it was a trap. That he wanted me there alone. I just didn't see it,” Spencer swallowed hard, remembering that day. You stayed in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“I heard his voice telling me he had you, and I panicked. So I ran to him. I let my guard down. When I realized he was lying it was too late.”

“But you launched at him. Why didn't you try to stall him first?” You asked, leaving your mug on the coffee table, feeling the suddenly urge to protect yourself with your arms around you. You never talked about what really happened with anyone. Not even to Hotch when he questioned you during the FBI investigation of the incident.

The way Spencer reacted with the unsub is something you never understood. The profile said the unsub was a guy who liked to show off, so trying to incite him to do that while waiting for backup would have been reasonable.

“The way he laughed. Maybe sounds stupid, but- I saw the resolve of an end game, and not like the typical bragging-end game, it was an evil-end game. He had the upper hand and he knew it. If I didn't do something first, he would have gone after you. And I couldn't let that happen. I didn't count on the hidden gun, though. Another mistake,” he breaths out.

You remember like it was yesterday rushing to the warehouse after hearing two gunshots. Once inside you saw Spencer lying on the floor, in a pool of blood.

“You were there and I didn't know what to do,” you recount your side of the story. “It was the worst nightmare. I screamed for help and it felt like an eternity before someone came to us. And your eyes-” You stop for a second, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “You - you were saying goodbye and I wasn’t ready.”

Your resolve from earlier seems to crumble as you revisit what happened in that warehouse. Tears are now rolling down your cheeks, and you bite your bottom lip to stop their quivering.

Spencer wants to hold you, but he’s afraid of how you would react, so tentatively rests his hand on your knee. You are shaking and he’s worried this conversation could do more harm than good.

“We can stop. You are not feeling okay,” he points out. But despite Spencer's apprehensions, this conversation must happen now.

“I need to get this out of my chest. Please, let me do this. I know you need it too.”

Spencer knows you are right. You both need this.

“Do you remember anything after the shots?” you ask, and Spencer thinks for a moment.

“I remember being there, the sharp pain in the chest and my ribs. But most of it is a blur. I remember seeing you there. Crying. God. I hated seeing you cry. I think you held my hand?”

You nodded. “I was so scared, but with you there, I wasn’t anymore. The last thing I remember it’s the guilt of not saying I love you for the last time. I really thought it was the end for me,” he admits, his own tears blurring his sight.

“It was for me, though,” you mumbled, a sad look in your eyes. “I mean, I still had hopes when you were moved to the hospital, but deep down I knew I shouldn’t have had them. And everything shattered when JJ came to the waiting room and told us you didn't make it.”

A heavy sigh escapes from Spencer’s lips. Neither JJ nor Hotch had told him how they let it know the team he was ‘gone.’

“I can’t even imagine - It was unfair to you. And I know no matter what I say it won’t make it better.”

Your thoughts wander to the moment after you heard JJ saying Spencer was dead.

Disbelief. Pain. Denial.

And then, days of numbness.

“You know. I just shut off. I have some flashbacks. Rossi hugging me; Hotch telling me to take all the time I needed; Morgan crying with me.”

It feels weird to recall those memories as yours, like an alternative universe that turned different at the end.

“Where did you go?” Spencer asks. The thought of you in the apartment alone after that breaks his heart.

“Emily took me to her place because I couldn't put a foot here. I stayed with her for a couple of days. She helped me a lot to get through this,” you recognize. And for that, you will always be grateful to her.

You also tell Spencer about how the whole team helped you to make it through the days. Some kind of relief washes over him knowing you didn't face it alone.

He can’t fathom how difficult it was for you, also knowing you were pregnant. And about that...

“When did you find out?” He asks, eyes darting to your belly. You follow his gaze trajectory and a little smile creps on your face.

“Almost a month later. I was feeling sick all the time. Emily pushed me to get checked. They took blood tests and stuff. When they told me I couldn't believe it. For me, it was a twisted joke,” you admit, hanging your head low.

Spencer dreads asking the next question but you already know what is, so you keep talking.

“Yes. I had thought about it. I didn't feel in a good place to be a mom, Spencer. I barely could make it through the days. And having a baby? Fuck, just thinking about it was too much.”

You tell him about how you cried your eyes out. How lost you felt for days. The doubts about the future, but above everything, the protectiveness that aroused in you once the idea settled. Yeah, you couldn’t keep Spencer safe, but you were determined to save the part of him growing in you.

“And seven months later, here I am. About to give birth to our baby,” you conclude, lovingly rubbing your belly.

“It’s weird, you know?” Spencer begins. “The last time I saw you and now. It feels like I lost time. And I know I lost it. It’s just - I never expected to see things so changed. I don’t know how I fit here. What I’m saying doesn’t make any sense right now-” he trails off, darting his gaze to the fidgeting hands on his lap.

He’s been holding back. You notice. Since you both crossed the threshold he has been afraid of invading your personal space, of touching you. Now it makes sense.

“That's why you have been keeping your distance from me?” you ask. Spencer’s eyes quickly flash to you. Guilt is written on his face.

“What?”

Your gaze soften seeing him so stressed by being caught. It's true the past months have been tough for you, but they have been tough for him too. And to see a before and an after so different probably has him reeling.

“Since we put a foot in this apartment you have kept a safe distance. I’m not judging you, I really don’t. I just want to know what’s on your mind right now,” you explain, shifting on the couch to change your position. With an eight-month belly is difficult to be comfy in any position.

Spencer sighs. There are so many things revolving inside his brain that it’s not easy to put them in words.

“When I woke up in a hospital bed in Bethesda, the first thing I looked for was if you were there. But I was alone. A strange feeling squeezed my chest. For a moment I thought -” he pauses to take a breath. “I thought everything had gone wrong and the unsub had hurt you or the team, or both. I was about to freak out when a marshal came and explained to me what happened.”

Spencer recounts how the agent told him about his new destination and how this assignment was for an undetermined time.

“Since then, not a single day passed without the urge to take a plane and come back. To you. But what if I messed up putting you at risk doing so? It was insane to know I was dead for you and I couldn't do anything to fix it.”

“That's why you wrote the letters?” Spencer nodded. In a notepad, he wrote a letter to you every single day since he landed in Paris. He handed you the notepad at the BAU this afternoon before you stormed out, completely shaken and confused.

“I needed to put in words each day without you. I needed to tell you I was there, even if you never could read it.”

His shaky breath forces him to take some seconds to compose himself. You took that as your cue. Shifting again, you scoot a bit closer to him and reach tentatively for his hand, and he clings to it as if his life depended on it.

“And I’m here right now. And so do you,” you squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’m as scared as you are, but we need to do something to get through this. If it is something you want to do,” you add. Spencer's glassy eyes find yours.

“It's all I want. Maybe it's hard for me to understand I can’t fix something like this, but I want a chance to make us work again. I know I can’t get back time, but if you let me I want to gain back the place I lost the day I gone.”

Spencer’s free hand flies to your cheek to wipe with his thumb the tears you haven’t noticed are falling.

“We can start with something,” you prompt, reaching for a folder resting at the coffee table. After opening it, you produce a bunch of ultrasound pictures and hand them to him. From the first appointment you had, to the last one from a week ago.

Spencer’s eyes sparkle with excitement, seeing every detail and the way the baby has grown in the past months.

Tears fall freely and there is pure emotion that fills his heart.

So many nights you both spent talking about what it would be like to have a baby. How wonderful it would be to see them grow. About what traits they would inherit from each of you.

You smile at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. It feels so good to see in him the same excitement you have. You both wanted this. And until today you thought only you would get the chance to experience it.

After inspecting and committing to memory each detail from each pic, Spencer’s eyes find yours again.

“Do you know the baby’s-” he trails off. He’s unsure, maybe you didn't want to know or want him to know.

You have known the baby’s gender for a while now but have not told to anyone. From the same folder, you extract an envelope you offer to him. With trembling hands, Spencer takes it and gets the paper from inside. Scanning the words he realizes it is the information of your baby’s gender.

“It's - it's a girl,” he reads aloud with a cracking voice and more tears in his eyes. You nod, your own tears clouding your vision.

“Yes. Do you remember when we talked about having a baby and you told me you wanted a girl? When I found out the gender, I thought about how happy you would have been,” you sniffle, and Spencer reaches for you, now wrapping you in a loving embrace.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he repeats over and over, kissing your temple. You close your eyes, losing yourself in his chest, inhaling his scent.

You stay like this for a moment. Contently in each other arms. Spencer still can’t believe he got the chance to hold you again, and you are still assimilating the day’s events. It's unbelievable how everything changed in less than twenty-four hours.

“I love you,” he mumbles in your hair, a hand moving to rub your belly. “And I love you,” he says now, talking to your baby.

“We love you too, Spencer,” you respond, voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped, and we will never stop.”

Parting from your embrace, you get lost in each other's eyes. Communicating without words what this moment means to both of you. Cupping your face, Spencer leans to find your lips with his in a loving kiss. You kiss him back, pouring all your feelings.

It's a new promise of love.

After breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Will we be okay?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

“From now on, we will be,” you assure him. It feels like you are telling this to yourself too. Maybe you do. Everything still looks messy right now, but life is giving you a second chance, and neither Spencer nor you is willing to let it go.

-----

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[leaderwonim]

SEASONS

⤻ pairing. popular!sunghoon x shy!reader (ft nishimura riki and hanni from nwjns)

⤻ genre. fluff, hints of angst, brother’s best friend to lovers trope (reader is heeseung’s sister) forbidden love kinda

⤻ synopsis. park sunghoon, the notorious playboy who just so happens to be your brother’s best friend, was off limits. heeseung had made it clear to you during your freshman year of high school, and the rule still hasn’t changed even when entering your senior year. but what lee heeseung doesn’t know won’t hurt him right?

author’s note: wrote this out of boredom after listening to seasons by wave to earth 🥹 i love that song with all my heart. riki is so unserious lmao i love him. COMMENTS & REBLOGS are always appreciated 🤞

“he’s off limits,” heeseung says as he swings by your desk, watching as you scrolled through your Instagram feed, a post of sunghoon’s passing by. “i saw you stalk him, you know.”

“i wasn’t stalking him.” you say, shooing your older brother away. “geez, have you gotten crazier since you’ve left for stanford?”

“first of all, i’m not crazy.” he flicks your forehead, deciding to be the annoying older brother he was and rummage through your things. “and i’d like to see you get into stanford yn, i really would. instead of being boy crazy with your psychotic friends.”

you roll your eyes at this, placing your phone down to look at your brother. “my friends are not psychotic. plus, your stupid rule about sunghoon started in freshman year of high school, can’t you let it go?”

“never.” heeseung steps off your bed. “i know him, yn. you don’t, you don’t know what he’s capable of.”

you blow the threat from your brother. if there’s one thing you’ve learned from living with lee heeseung your entire life was that ignoring him was easier than trying to pick a fight with him. he was stubborn as a bull.

heeseung and sunghoon became friends in the fifth grade after your family had moved, and he ignored your presence up until junior year of high school, where he ruffled your hair when you congratulated him on his graduation.

“thanks little lee,” he says, and it’s all park sunghoon has spoke to you, which hurt knowing that you’ve practically tried everything since middle school for him to acknowledge your existence.

“YN!” your mother calls from the kitchen. “oh gosh, i forgot to pack heeseung his lunch! can you drive to the university?”

your cheeks puff out, which makes riki who was currently on your phone screen, laugh.

“yah, listen to your mother lee yn,” riki snickers. “i’ll come with. i need to get out of my house anyway.”

you roll your eyes at his self invitation, hanging up as you quickly run down to grab heeseung’s lunch from your mom and your keys.

yn on top☝️

be ready in 5 nishimura, im omw

nishishi

ok.

yn on top ☝️

dry ass

“get in loser!” you call out. nishimura riki pulls his black shades down, eyebrows furrowed.

“the hell you call me?” he jokes, opening your passenger car door.

he starts to buckle his seatbelt as you drive, taking a sip from your stanley. “so why are you so excited? wait—i know why. you get to see park sunghoon in action!”

“yah!” you slap his shoulder with your free hand, turning the music a bit louder so you couldn’t hear him.

“oh don’t turn up the music because you can’t handle the truth. you just wanna see your brother’s hot best friend.”

“can you blame a girl?” you say, lips out in a pout. “maybe now that i’m 18, they’ll take me seriously.”

“nobody takes you seriously, y/n.”

“nishimura riki, you have 5 minutes to get out my car.”

turns out, nishimura riki did not get outside of your car. for a boy who was on the varsity track and swim team of your high school, he refused to walk the 3 miles that was left to go to the university.

“you almost forgot his lunch idiot,” riki laughs, handing heeseung’s lunch to you. “imagine you approach sunghoon thinking you’re all cool and then he asks why you’re here and you don’t even have your brothers lunch to defend you.”

“do you always wish death upon me?” you give him the stink eye, pulling him by his hands.

“little lee, did not expect to see you here.”

you knew that voice from anywhere, and you were almost afraid to turn around to face the owner of it.

“yah little lee, i’m talking to you.” it was park sunghoon in all his glory, his hair sitting all nice and pretty as he waits for your response.

“oh! uh—where’s heeseung?”

“ouch,” sunghoon places a hand over his chest. “i greet you and the first thing you ask is where’s your brother.”

riki cackles loudly, so loud that you want to slam his mouth shut and pretend you don’t know him.

“hi park sunghoon,” he greets, extending his hand.

although sunghoon finds the tall boy a bit of a cutie by his baby face, the way he was holding onto your hand made him already seem like a threat, so sunghoon’s expression is pursed into a poker face.

“heeseung is down at the corridor,” sunghoon says, turning back to you. “do you want me to give him that?”

you nod shyly, handing the lunch to sunghoon who smiles. “aish, the kid got into stanford and he’s still making his mom make his lunch?”

you could feel riki’s hand loosen from yours, his attention caught on two students who were currently dancing on the other side of campus.

“be right back!” he exclaims, running off to watch them.

“this jerk,” you whisper underneath your breath, smiling when you make eye contact with sunghoon again.

“he’s quite the character, isn’t he?” sunghoon questions. “who is he?”

he says that in such a bitter taste that makes your stomach flip, wondering why he was suddenly upset.

“nishimura riki, he transferred to hybe high from japan just this year. he’s really sweet but very chaotic.”

“ah,” sunghoon clicks his tongue. “is he your boyfriend?”

your words almost get caught in your throat, obviously shocked by sunghoon’s straightforward question. “what?! no!”

“oh,” he smiles. “that’s good little lee.”

“you should just call me y/n,” you groan. “little lee sounds so stupid.”

“it’s not stupid,” sunghoon says, flicking his hand. “it’s cute.”

“really?”

“like you.”

before you could even process it, riki’s already running back to the two of you, excitedly telling you about the amazing dance program stanford has to offer.

“let’s go! i have to go home and submit an application to stanford!”

sunghoon raises an eyebrow at the excited tall boy who was currently grabbing you, sending you a small wave and smirk when your eyes plead for him to rescue you.

“see you soon little lee.”

“YAH! ARE YOU AN IDIOT?”

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU IT WAS AN ACCIDENT?!”

you were currently scolding the japanese boy for ruining your chances with sunghoon earlier.

“it is not my fault lee yn!” he says, puffing out his chest. “plus, the dancers say there’s a party this weekend at stanford and they’ll sneak us in. we have to go, you can see sunghoon hyung again and i can see them!”

you pursed your mouth into a thin line, riki awaiting anxiously for your answer.

“let’s say i do wanna go, heeseung would never let me go to a college party, especially not with a boy like you!”

riki clasps his hand over his chest and pretends to fall over in pain on your bed. “how could you say that?! i’m a great guy. cmon yn, you can’t let your older brother dictate your entire life, you’re 18 now!”

although riki has said a million of stupid things, he was right about this. you were eighteen, and you didn’t need your older brother ruining your chances of getting a boyfriend.

“okay,” you say, watching as riki’s eyes lit up. “let’s go. who are your dancer friends?”

the weekend had came by quicker than you thought, and you waited until heeseung said his goodbyes to you so you could get dressed and do your makeup.

although you didn’t want to go overboard with the whole thing, you still wanted to impress sunghoon, because after all, there would be a bunch of prettier college girls at the party that were smarter than you in everything.

“wow.” nishimura riki’s mouth drops as he sees your dress and face. “you clean up nice lee yn!”

“thanks ri,” you ruffle his hair, which he swats away in annoyance. “let’s go, heeseung’s already there.”

“great, so are my dancer friends!”

the two of you blended in easily, riki’s height doing both of you a favor as you held hands and made your way through the crowd of dancing and drinking college students.

“little lee?” your face bumps into sunghoon’s chest, and you almost gulp when you look up at his height. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“well that’s my queue to leave!” riki chuckles nervously, throwing you a lazy thumbs up as he runs to the drink cooler.

“never will understand that kid.” sunghoon mutters under his breath. “but seriously y/n, it can be dangerous, why are you here?”

it’s the first time in forever that he’s addressed you by your first name, and you can’t help but feel giddy.

overconfident by the drinks you had pregamed with riki previously, you find yourself leaning closer to park sunghoon. “i came here for you.”

he blinks.

“here..” he states, glancing around the party. “for me?”

the confidence wore off in a second. you were now starting to get embarrassed, cursing yourself for saying such things in front of sunghoon who probably didn’t even like you.

“that’s sweet little lee,” he says, eyes crinkling. “but you could get into a lot of trouble if your brother finds you, you know? he already freaks about you enough, finding you at a party at his college at night will kill him at the spot.”

park sunghoon was right, your brother would absolutely rage if he had found out you snuck out to go to a party. in some ways, he was even more strict than your mom.

“hoonie!” the voice of a girl interrupts the both of you as she makes her way over, placing a sloppy kiss against sunghoon’s cheek. she hasn’t said anything to you and you were already starting to see red.

“oh hi! i didn’t see you there!” she extends her hand, grinning from ear to ear. “i’m hanni, president of the pi beta thi sorority!”

you notice sunghoon’s hands finding themselves around her waist. although he’s probably only doing that to stabilize her, you find yourself too jealous to speak.

“hanni, this is lee y/n, heeseung’s sister.”

“oh!” the girl gasps. “oh my gosh, i’ve heard just so much about you! you’re prettier in real life! what are you doing at a college party?”

now you can’t really keep being mad at her because she seems so genuine when she’s complimenting you.

“oh, my friend riki has dancer friends who invited us.” you say awkwardly, watching as sunghoon whispers something in hanni’s ear.

“well that’s awesome, i hope i’m gonna see you here next year!” hanni then waves her hands, parting away from sunghoon. “i’m gonna go say hi to your brother, toodles!”

you watch as she makes her way towards the outside, most likely to the pool. at least you knew where your brother was so you know how to avoid him.

“hanni is really sweet,” sunghoon says as you turn back to face him. “met her a few months ago.”

“oh really,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “is she your girlfriend?”

sunghoon laughs as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “what? no—of course not. she’s just touchy when she’s drunk. she’s dating one of my frat friends, his name is yang jungwon.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, happy that sunghoon was still single. after all, hanni was a pretty and nice girl, you wouldn’t be surprised if she was able to pull him.

the two of you stand in silence for a bit, sunghoon staring into your eyes with his dazed eyes. you almost want to pull him in, close the gaps between yours and his lips.

“am i stupid?” he suddenly asks, eyes still in contact with yours.

“no, why would you say that sunghoon?”

“i still like you after all this time. even when i got to college and promised myself i’d find a girlfriend and move on, you’re always still at the back of my mind.”

his confession makes you wonder if you were hallucinating, not believing that the park sunghoon who you’ve been inlove with since childhood was currently telling you he liked you.

“i..” he doesn’t let you say anything else, choosing to lean in and kiss you instead.

it’s all great and feels magical until you’re pulled back harshly, the sound of your brother’s yelling filling your ears.

“LEE Y/N? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING AT A COLLEGE PARTY, AT NIGHT? KISSING SUNGHOON OF ALL PEOPLE? WE’RE GOING HOME!”

you want to cry in embarrassment when you realize everyone has turned their eyes to look at you, and sunghoon throws you a look of guilt and pity when he sees heeseung dragging you away.

“stop it, you’re embarrassing me.” you cry as you’re outside the party.

“me, embarrassing you?” heeseung scoffs, looking up into the sky before looking down at you. “do you know how much you’ve disappointed me tonight? first, you dress up in barely any clothes, then you sneak into a party with some japanese male exchange student, and then you KISSED MY BEST FRIEND?” you close your eyes at heeseung’s yelling, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole.

“what will i do with you?” he grumbles as he drives the two of you home. “you’re lucky mom is out of town for two days. if i drove you home like this, she would kill you. and is that fucking alcohol i smell on you lee y/n?”

you gulp, knowing full well that you probably reeked of alcohol and sunghoon’s cologne at that moment.

“i told you he was a bad influence.” heeseung says as a red light comes up, turning to you as his hands were still on the steering wheel. “he’s going to break your heart and crush it beneath his feet, and who are you gonna come crying to? me. i’ve seen it so many times before y/n, my own girl friends at college have got with sunghoon and all he’s done is crush their souls and spirits. you think you’re any different because he said a few sweet things and kissed you?”

“stop it.” you say, wiping your tears away. “you’re being mean, heeseung.”

“men like him don’t change, y/n. sure, he’s my best friend, but he’s not a good boyfriend. he’ll drop you the second he feels like you’re inconvenient.”

you let out your first sob at night as your brother pulls into your driveway. although he’s still fuming mad at you for going against all his rules, he pulls you into his chest, letting you cry it out as he rubs your back comfortingly.

“are you okay?” is the first thing nishimura riki says when he sees you at school, frowning at your bloodshot eyes. “i saw you get dragged away by heeseung hyung yesterday night. it was really loud.”

“gee, thanks.” you scowl at him, making him raise his hands in surrender.

“if it makes you feel better, sunghoon wanted to speak to you.”

your head suddenly peeks up at this, and riki almost laughs by how easily he could change your mood.

“really? even after last night?”

“mhm.” riki stabs a fork into his mashed potatoes. “but he didn’t look so happy, so if you end up crying after, i have ice cream at my house.”

you let out a laugh at the boy’s words, silently thanking the world for giving you such an unserious best friend.

and just like riki had said earlier, park sunghoon was waiting in front of your house by the time you got home.

“hey.” he says, hands in pocket.

“hey.”

“about last night,” he seems to be looking everywhere but you. “i’m really sorry about your brother.”

“it’s fine.” you say, shrugging. “he was just being overprotective as usual.”

“yeah.” sunghoon steps closer cautiously. “i meant what i said, you know. about me liking you.”

“sunghoon, i like you too.”

he nods slowly, expression still glum. “that’s the problem though. we cant be together, y/n, you know that, right?”

“why?” you breathe out. “because you want to keep playing girls at your college?”

his eyebrows furrow deeply. “what? no? i’m just—i can’t be with you!” he steps backwards. “i’ll ruin your life, you said it yourself, i play girls at stanford. what’s to say i wont do the same to you?”

“i have known you since you were 10 sunghoon!” you say, throwing up your hands exasperated. “i know you can change for the better. i won’t let you go away this easily, not when i’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

“really?” sunghoon whispers, eyes teary. “you’ve spent your entire life loving me?”

“i have.” you walk up to sunghoon, cupping his face into your hands. “and i’ll love you for my next life if i have to.”

he laughs quietly, head tilting as he admired your face.

“little lee,” he says softly. “you really are a gem, aren’t you?”

park sunghoon being park sunghoon doesn’t let you reply to his words, instead shutting you up with a long kiss on the lips.

“wow.” you say as you pull away, making the older boy giggle. “lee heeseung is so gonna kill the both of us after the life lecture he gave me last night.”

“can’t kill me if i move away to antarctica.” sunghoon smirks, watching as your expression changes in a millisecond.

“YAH PARK SUNGHOON! YOU ARE NOT MOVING ANTARCTICA AFTER JUST CONFESSING TO ME!”

[drabblesandimagines]

Cramped

Inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting prompt 1080! "I can't stop thinking about kissing you." "And what are you going to do about that?" Leon Kennedy x gn reader

“I can’t do this.” Leon mutters under his breath, but you hear it as clear as day from your position.

How could you not, seeing as you’re currently only an inch away from his chest, his head nearly resting atop your own?

You’ve been trapped in this tiny storage cupboard for at least 20 minutes now, waiting for Hunnigan to give the all-clear that all 27 heat signals had dispersed from outside your current location. You would describe yourself as a relatively decent shot, Leon more so, but the numbers weren’t in your favour.

“Claustrophobic?” You whisper back, cautious that your voice may carry. You wish you could shift your left foot ever so slightly, currently standing awkwardly over a bucket that was sat at the bottom at the cupboard when you entered.

“No.” He has his hands braced either side of you against the opposite wall, seemingly caging you in more than the cupboard is. Your arms awkwardly hung by your side, painfully aware of how if you moved even slightly forward you’d be pressing your front into his chest, fingers ghosting against his hips.

“I can’t do this.” Leon says again. “Missions - with you.”

“Oh, come on,” you wish you could step back so you could give him a proper withering stare. “You can’t blame me every time something goes wrong. The intel definitely said only five guards were on site at any one time.”

“No. I mean, I…” He’d rub the bridge of his nose if he could bring his arm forward to do it without hitting you in the process. “I can’t concentrate.” You scoff, immediately defensive. “And how is that my fault?” “Because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you!” Silence. “Oh.” “Yes, oh.” He mocks, frustrated. He's meant to be better than this. Hell, he usually is when the two of you are paired up. Leon’s flirty, sure, but he knows to be professional when it’s a matter of life and death, and trapped in a cupboard with a number of hostiles outside is definitely a time when he should be at his most focused. But ever since the two of you retreated in here, all he can think about is how close you are, how good you smell, the warmth of your body pressed up against his, how he could place his fingers under your chin, tilt your head up… “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“Sorry?” He looks down at you in disbelief, sure he’s misheard. “I said,” you lift your hand and trail your fingers up his chest before you rest it just above his pounding heart and meet those soft blue eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t need a third invitation, dropping his hands from the wall. One arm wraps around your waist, bringing you needlessly forward that final inch, your left thigh finding its way between his in lieu of anywhere else to go. His other hands grabs the back of your head and tilts it up to meet his lips, stealing your breath with a deep, frantic kiss... Hunnigan smiles to herself as she leans back in her chair at HQ, your voices falling silent on the comms in what she suspects is the result of other activity – Leon had left the channel open when you'd been forced to find cover. It’s only when she hears Kennedy let out a muffled moan that she taps to disconnect the audio, her suspicions now well and truly confirmed. The computer screen in front of her shows a blueprint of the factory, where two red dots reside in the small storage cupboard she’d directed them to after she’d ‘alerted’ them to the unwelcome company. She still needs to work out how to explain the sudden disappearance of 27 hostiles, but it’s worth it so she won’t be forced to watch the two of you dance awkwardly around each other in the office anymore.

--- This is probably the closest to a drabble I've ever gotten despite my blog name, ha! Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

PS: Thanks to @porcelainseashore for helping me clarify the ending <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

There’s no casket for the funeral. In this neighbourhood, that’s expected. After the usual affair at the church, all are invited back to the house to pay their respects. You put the only picture you have of your father on the mantel; his wedding photo. 

You dress in black but not for your father. You’re mourning your sisters. Yourself. You dress in sombre slate for the uncertainty of it all. The colour is as dark as your guilt. You brought this fear upon them. 

You didn’t think about any of this. Barnes was entirely right in that regard. You didn’t think any of it out. You weren’t thinking at all. You were angry and tired. Now, it’s done and there’s no going back to what was. You don’t truly want to do that but you don’t see a path ahead that’s much better. 

The people there are there because it’s expected. They are your father’s associates. Not family or friends. Funerals are part of their job description. 

You walk numbly from room to room. You haven’t cried. You haven’t had a tear for your father in years. You try to make yourself look distraught but all you feel is empty. 

Adrienne sways between bouts of bawling and soft sniffles. Kitty is stronger. She busies herself with the flowers and thanks every guest for attending. You accept their condolences but offer little in return. 

You’re all just pretending. You’re acting like you’ll miss him. You won’t. Even if your sisters are stunned and just as scared as you, you know they aren’t sad. You all wished for this the very night before the envelope showed up. The night that you... killed him. 

You sit in one of the mismatched chairs set out to accommodate the guests. The neighbours lent some of their own for the event. You are worn through. You haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since you pulled that trigger.  

You won’t tell yourself it’s regret, you were never more certain of anything in your life. No, you know exactly what it is. Dread. You have a debt to pay. 

A figure appears in the open door. You see him through the archway of the front room. You stand as the new arrival stops just within the frame. A slow hush rolls over each guest. You look at Kitty as she glances over from the tray of cookies she spent all night making. She sees him too. 

Your older sister goes to Adrienne and touches her shoulder. The youngest lifts her head and peers up as all attention aims at the arched doorway. Barnes fills it easily. He looks around. His suit seems blacker than usual. 

It isn’t a surprise. He’s the boss. He’s expected to see his men off. He nods at you, then your sisters. You go to them, standing with Kitty behind the sofa as she keeps her hand on Adrienne. 

“Please,” Barnes waves your younger sister from standing. “Stay. I’m sure it’s been a long day. I’ve only come to pay my respects.” 

He looks between you all then sidesteps the couch. He goes to the mantle and considers the wedding photo. He bows his head and reaches into his jacket. He sets a silver coin in front of the frame. It’s an old tradition. Back in the 30s, people would leave pennies on the church altar to help pay for the burial. 

He takes a deep breath and backs up. He turns to face the room. The people in it might be familiar but they are just as much strangers to you as someone on the street. They don’t care about you, they don’t even care about your father. They’re only there because that’s what you do. 

“Thank you all for coming. You may go,” Barnes says. 

There’s a moment of hesitation. Then, the men in suits and their wives, shuffle out obediently. Kitty grabs her hand and squeezes Adrienne’s shoulder. You watch the man they call the king. 

When the room is empty, he goes to shut the front door. He returns and stands just inside the archway. He peers around again. 

“Your father died as one of mine, that means you’re all under my protection. Consider the casket paid for,” he says. 

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” Kitty says. “That’s very generous.” 

“I do it for all my men. I try not to lose too many,” he replies grimly. “I want you girls to tell me if you need anything. Got it?” 

Adrienne smothers a sob and nods frantically. Kitty hushes her and leans in to pet her head. You stand staunchly beside them, staring at him. His eyes cling to you. 

“Catch your breath, doll,” Barnes says. “Calm her down.” He points at Kitty then you, “Your daddy got a gun safe?” 

You look at your sisters. You can see the glisten in Kitty’s eyes. She’s good at taking care of people. You’re not. Adrienne needs her. You did this. You gotta deal with it. 

“Yeah, upstairs,” you answer as you step around the couch. 

Barnes waits until you’re level with him before he turns. He lets you lead him out and follows you to the second floor. You take him to your father’s bedroom and push the door open. You can’t go inside. You were never allowed. Not unless you wanted a taste of your father’s belt. 

“I don’t know the code,” you say. 

“That’s fine. Just needa know it’s here. I’ll have my men sort that out,” he rocks on his feet. “We needa talk.” 

You nod. 

“Privately,” he glances over at the staircase. 

You look at your father’s door and take a step back, “not in there.” 

“Right, wherever you like,” he shows his palm indifferently. 

You turn and guide him to your room. You pause before you let him inside. You’re embarrassed as he enters. Your basket of laundry is overflowing and your makeup is still strewn all over from your erratic morning. 

He paces around your bed and you shut the door. He’s quiet. So are you. The tension is enough to make you squirm. You just want him to come out and say it. 

“It’s me. I owe you. Not my sisters--” 

He raises his index finger. “You do.” He stops and faces you. “And so did your daddy. He had his hands in my pockets. Deep. I coulda had him done for that. Coulda done it myself. Then I thought about it. I do that, I brand him a thief, and what does that mean for his girls?” 

You stare at him, chest aching as your heart pounds. 

“The house and what he actually brought in, it isn’t close to even with what he took,” he crosses his arms, setting his feet flat. He lifts his chin. “I really shoulda done it myself but you wanna know why I didn’t?” 

You can’t talk. He’s toying with you. You look down at the floor as if you might see your sisters through the boards. 

“Ah, eyes up here,” he comes closer until he’s right in front of you. Your eyes flick up and wet with tears. Finally. “I wanted to know if you would do what needs to be done. If when the hammer comes down, that you won’t crack.” His eyes flick up and down and he sucks his teeth. “You didn't. You didn’t fucking flinch either.” 

“He deserved it,” you whisper, voice wobbling. 

“I know he did, doll. And I know you deserved to do that,” he says. “And what I saw that night, I never seen that before. That’s a woman with steel in her gut. The kinda woman a man like me needs.” 

Your forehead creases in confusion. You don’t know what he means. 

“You want me to... take over for my dad? I can’t--” 

“Ha, no, no,” he startles you as he brings his hand up. You flinch and he keeps his hand aloft. His eyes spark and he tilts his palm, gently caressing your cheek as if coaxing a street cat. “This isn’t woman’s work. No, doll, all I want, is you.” 

Your eyes round and you shiver against his touch. He smirks. 

“And I know, just like in that warehouse, you’re going to do exactly what needs to be done,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone. “For your sisters.” 

[nadvs]

home before dark (part six)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night, yet he feels violently hungover this morning.

He stares up at the ceiling of your guest room, running on a few hours of broken sleep. He feels so exposed. Once he started talking to you, he couldn’t stop.

He was fine living an empty life. But then you walked back into it, completely unaware of how painful it is to be around you. But it feels so damn good, too.

Nonetheless, when he looks at you, he sees his doomed childhood, his lost happiness. He’s not sure the good will ever outweigh the bad. Especially because he’ll never be able to tell you the entire story. You’ll never completely understand why he is the way he is.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you to leave last night. You were just trying to help. After so many instances of telling himself he’d stop brushing you away, he’d stop acting like your asshole of an ex, he did it again.

But telling himself he should do something and actually doing it are two very different things. Everything in this nonsensical world is easier said than done.

You’re making breakfast in your kitchen, your temples aching from the sadness that hasn’t left you.

Rafe wasn’t awake before you for once. You don’t know how you’ll face him. You feel just as powerless as you felt when you were ten, unsure of what to say to him or how to act around him.

He was in the car. It won’t stop clanging around in your head. He was with her the last minute she was alive.

And when you tried to hold him, to be there for him, he told you to go away. You know better than to attempt to get him to talk about it again.

“Hey.” Rafe’s deep voice pulls you out of your haze. You look up to see him standing by the far counter, then return your gaze back down to the pan. For once, you’re the one avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” you reply. Your shoulders are stiff. You know he wants to leave. “Just a second.”

You pull the pan off the range and cross the kitchen, pacing to the front of the house. When you open the door and re-arm the security system, you step to the side, hand tight on the knob.

You will yourself to look up at him, meeting his blue eyes. He’s standing between you and the front step of your home, unmoving.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. “Maybe have some breakfast?”

It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, taking another risk of rejection, expecting to fall but having a shred of hope that he’ll pull you to solid ground.

“I can’t.” He walks past you, a hard push off the edge. You’re disappointed. In him for denying you again. In yourself for thinking he wouldn’t.

You’ve always felt safe with him. But right now, while he’ll protect you physically, your heart isn’t even close to feeling whole. He’ll break it every chance he gets.

You spend your morning in a haze. You wish you could carry at least some of Rafe’s pain for him, but he’ll never fully open up to you. Last night, when he told you about the accident, he pushed you away the second you tried to comfort him.

After lunch, you realize you can’t handle being alone any longer. You text a friend and accept her invitation to hang out at her house.

Talking with your friend about everything but what’s been weighing on you is a welcome distraction for a couple of hours. Rafe is always at the back of your mind, but being with someone else helps ease the pain.

After you say your goodbyes, you walk down to the street where you parked. You notice a white paper rectangle tucked under your windshield wiper.

Your stomach drops. Normally, you’d assume it’s a ticket of some sort. That maybe you parked where you’re not supposed to. But you know that’s not what this is.

You pluck the paper from under the wiper and get into your car, trembling as you lock all the doors. You look around, terrified you’ll meet Ty’s stare.

But you’re alone. Nobody is around.

You rip open the envelope. On the top inner fold, in his messy writing: I always have my eyes on you.

Fear’s razor-sharp claws squeeze your insides when you pull out what’s in the envelope. Photos of you from the past few days. At the gas station. At the mall. At the pool.

Ty’s been following you. Taking pictures.

You lock your doors again, even though you know you already did. You’re at a loss for what to do. Where to go.

Just walking up the driveway back to your friend’s house is daunting. And going home to an empty house is just as scary.

So, you go to the one person you know will take away the fear. You drive, park, and find his name in your phone.

Rafe is sitting on the balcony leading out of his bedroom when his phone starts buzzing. He sees your name on the screen and scrambles to answer as fast as possible.

“You okay?” Rafe says.

“No.” Your voice is shaky. “No. He’s been following me.”

“Where are you?” he asks, standing and rushing to find his keys.

“I’m in front of your house.”

“Good,” he says. He tucks his gun into the band of his jeans. “Good. It’s okay. I’ll be right down.”

Rafe spots your car at the end of his driveway. When his eyes find you, he’s sure he’s never seen someone look so shell-shocked. He tugs at the passenger door handle a few times before you catch on that you need to unlock it.

He settles in the seat next to you, brows furrowed in worry, watching you stare ahead at your steering wheel.

“I don’t even know how I - I drove here,” you stutter with a humorless laugh. You’re in a fog.

“What’d he do?” he asks.

Your eyes dart down to the ripped open envelope in your cup holder. Rafe grabs it and leafs through the photos. Anger climbs up his body in half a second.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.

“He left it on my car,” you say.

You can’t let Ty do this to you anymore. You’re not above wishing Rafe would beat him within an inch of his life. You want to fight back in every possible way you can. You want him to lose.

“I think this is enough to go to the police,” you breathe. “I need a restraining order or something. I can’t just watch this happen. I mean, I have enough evidence of - of stalking, right?”

Saying the word out loud is what finally breaks you. The tears you’ve been pushing down rush up without any mercy. You start to cry quietly, your chest heaving.

“Listen to me,” Rafe says softly. “He’ll pay for this.”

All he can feel is a burning urge to protect you. To make sure you never feel this way again. He’s not leaving your side for a minute.

You sense Rafe’s hand on your knee. It’s like you’re watching this happen to someone who looks and sounds like you because he can’t possibly be happening to you.

“You want me to drive?” he asks.

You nod, tears rolling down your face, unbuckling your seatbelt.

You watch Rafe’s knuckles turn white as he drives your car down the street. You ask him to stop at your house to grab the letter Ty left for you, glad you didn’t throw it out in haste, and arrive at the police station carrying the proof of your ex’s incessant hounding.

Rafe tucks his gun under the seat before going inside.

The building is dingy. You approach the front desk, locking eyes with the man sitting behind a computer, his uniform dull and washed out.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I need to file a restraining order,” you say. The words feel odd coming out of your mouth.

The officer hands you a sheet of paper on a clipboard and a pen, instructing you to come back up to the desk after you fill it out.

It’s vile. You’re scared for your life and in response, a stranger hands you a form.

The waiting room is empty. You and Rafe settle in the worn, ripped up leather seats. You look down at the words in front of you, your hands trembling.

“Here,” he says, taking the clipboard and pen from you. You’re too shaken up to focus.

You watch Rafe write your full name at the top. Your address. Your date of birth. He remembers it all.

Then, he drags the pen over every box that applies to you.

The defendant and I are persons who are in or have been in a romantic relationship. He marks it with an X.

The defendant has inflicted emotional distress on me. X.

I want the Court to order the defendant not to assault, threaten, follow or harass me. X.

I believe I am in danger of serious or immediate injury.

Rafe looks to you.

“Not when you’re around,” you say honestly. “But you can check it.”

When Rafe comes across the blank sections, he sniffs in unease before reading the instructions out loud.

“Give specific dates and describe in detail what happened,” he recites. He doesn’t want to hear this. “Just talk. I’ll write.”

You go through it all from the beginning. The aggressive text messages. The in-person threats. The email. The letter. The photos. Rafe writes it all down. His stomach turns as he listens to you recount it all.

You take the clipboard to record what’s left: Ty’s contact information.

You drop the form off at the front desk and sit back down. Rafe watches you blankly stare ahead, your knees anxiously bouncing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles. You nod, unconvinced.

“We can grant you an emergency protective order,” a police officer tells you after taking you and Rafe to a private room. “There’ll be a court hearing within ten days. You need an attorney to represent you and to help prove that the letter and photos are from him.”

“Okay,” you say. The old man across the table is speaking like he’s talking about something boring, like the weather.

“So, wait - are you saying - he can just walk around free until then?” Rafe asks.

The officer looks at Rafe, his face emotionless. Then he looks at you again.

“The defendant will be informed about the temporary order and he’ll be told not to contact you,” he responds. “If he violates the terms, you need to let us know. But a judge will determine if a permanent order should be granted. It’s up to them to decide if this person is a danger to you.”

“Are you kidding?” Rafe shuffles in his seat, shaking his head. “Someone’s gonna tell him to stay away from her and - and that’s it? Until a judge maybe makes it official?”

“That’s the way the law works,” the officer says.

“The law is bullshit.”

“Reconsider your tone, young man,” the cop warns.

Rafe scoffs, like he’s taking it as a challenge. You’re frustrated that the man is being so cold about this, but Rafe’s hostility isn’t helping.

“Rafe,” you say, placing your hand on his forearm. “Can you wait for me outside?”

He meets your eyes. He realizes he’s stressing you out. Times like these, he hates his temper.

Rafe has been standing by the front doors of the building for five minutes when you come out, your arms crossed.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters. “He was just so goddamn casual about the whole thing-”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I know.”

You still feel like this is a nightmare you’re waiting to wake up from. Your parents are overseas for work, totally oblivious to what’s happening. You need to call them. How the hell do you even deliver this kind of news?

“Did he say anything else?” Rafe asks as you make your way to your car.

“He just told me I should get a lawyer as soon as I can,” you say. “I found one in the area and I called her office. I have a meeting with her tomorrow.”

You’re still shaky and you’re glad Rafe is heading for the driver’s side without you having to ask him. You settle in your car, locking yourselves in silence.

He’s not starting the engine. He’s just looking at you. You meet his eyes and try not to think about last night.

“You’re scared,” he says. Your eyelids flutter. You are scared. The last twenty-four hours have been a mess.

Rafe wallows in the feelings of failure and self-pity. He’s supposed to make you feel safe and he’s fucking it up. You look terrified.

“I’m not gonna leave your side, alright?” he says. “I’ll make sure you’re never alone until he stops. And he will stop.”

Normally, you’d ask him if he can really take that on. But you have to ask yourself if you can take it on first. Being around someone who’s committed to keeping you at a distance is starting to wear on you. But this all started so he’d keep you safe. Whether you can handle it or not, you will.

Rafe grimaces when you don’t respond. Maybe he’s not enough. Maybe you need to feel like you have the power to keep yourself safe, too.

“I’m teaching you how to use a gun,” he decides.

“What?” you say. You can’t have heard him right.

“You won’t be scared if you know how to protect yourself,” he says. Then he shoves the key into the ignition and drives to his house to swap to his bike.

You cling onto Rafe as he drives his motorcycle along the coast. He approaches a clearing in an overgrown field. You can understand why he changed vehicles when you feel how choppy the terrain is. He navigates over the grass and stops under a tree.

“How do you even know about this place?” you ask once he kills the engine and you take off his helmet.

Rafe doesn’t want to admit that he passes by this barren corner of the island several times a month to pick up coke from his dealer. That he’s been here to shoot at nothing multiple times before.

“Just do,” he says. “Come on.”

You swing your leg off his motorcycle, wishing you didn’t feel the loss of his touch as deeply as you do.

When Rafe leads you deeper into the clearing under the cloudy afternoon sky, the road now out of sight, he pulls his gun out of the back of his jeans. It’s unreal watching him adjust the weapon in his hands, how casually he’s handling something that could kill a person.

You look over your shoulder, wondering if Ty is hiding somewhere. Will you always be on edge like this, worrying his eyes are on you?

You glance back at Rafe.

“Where’d… you learn?” you mumble. “To use it.”

Rafe looks up at you. Your eyes are wide. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He was being impulsive when he suggested this. He forgot how you looked at him when you noticed his gun at the party a few nights ago. He’s supposed to be making you feel safe. But you look freaked out.

“If this is a bad idea, we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I was-”

“No,” you interrupt. “You’re right. I’ll feel better knowing I can defend myself if it… if it comes to that.”

The thought sends a chill through your body. You try to shake away your fear.

“I was just wondering,” you say.

“I taught myself,” Rafe admits.

“How come?”

His jaw clenches.

“I told you, sometimes I get pissed off and…” He tries to bring down the sharpness of his tone. “This helps. It feels good. You’ll see.”

You can tell just how heavy his soul is as you watch him focus, sliding the magazine of the gun in and out. You wonder how many times he’s come out here, running towards a twisted form of solace.

You get it. You don’t know how you’d react if what happened to him happened to you, but you doubt it’d be very different from this. You’d be angry at the world, too. You’d want to take it out any way you can.

Rafe steps closer to you, opening the chamber, every column in it filled.

“It’s loaded,” he tells you. “You can see the bullets here. Safety’s on.”

He closes the chamber and offers the gun to you. It’s heavy in your hand as he rounds to stand behind you.

“You see that tree over there?” he says, his voice low. You follow his finger to see a tall, broken stump in the distance. It looks like it was hit by lightening and torn in half.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Aim at it,” he instructs you. “Use both hands. It’ll have some kick.”

You’re tense as you raise the gun towards the tree. You have one hand wrapped around the grip of the gun and tuck the other underneath the barrel.

“Like this,” he mumbles. His arms encircle you, his chest firm against your back. Your breath catches as he rests his hands over yours. He guides your left hand closer to your right, adjusting your fingers to spread wider.

“Safety’s on,” he reminds you. “Just get used to the feeling, alright?”

“Alright,” you say.

His forefinger settles over yours, pushing down on the blocked trigger.

“This is where you press down,” he says. You nod against him.

Rafe’s trying not to notice how nice your shampoo smells. The way your body feels enclosed in his. The fact that his heart started racing the second he gets close to you like this.

“You ready for me to turn off the safety?” he asks you, zeroing in on the reason he’s here. You nod and in seconds, the loaded gun in your hands is completely unguarded.

“It’ll be loud, okay?” he mumbles. You feel his warm breath against your cheek. “You don’t have to be scared. You have all the power here.”

You feel like you haven’t had any power in a long time. You take a few breaths before you pull the trigger. The bang is ear-splitting and force is hard, jolting your arm, sending the bark on the tree flying within a second. You actually hit your target.

You lose your stability, hands loosening beneath Rafe’s. He quickly pulls the gun back and turns the safety on again.

“Shit,” he says amusedly. “You did it.”

You’re in disbelief that you’re doing this and that it kind of felt good. You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s towering behind you.

Your eyes are locked as you stand together in the desolate patch of unkept greenery. You’re silent now and so is he, your breaths in unison.

“Feel better?” he finally asks.

“Yeah.”

Rafe has spent so long harboring hatred for everyone, including himself. But as he drinks in your features and the way they come together so beautifully, he’s sure he doesn’t hate you and never has. How could he when you look at him like this, like you’re expecting the best from him after all he’s done is disappoint you?

Just like last night, the words come rushing out of Rafe’s mouth. He’s getting worse at keeping them in around you. It’s still uncharted territory, so he’s struggling to find out how to say exactly what he’s thinking.

“I don’t…” he says. He starts over. “You should be… happy. I mean, you shouldn’t have to be dealing with all this.”

You chew on your lip. He’s right. Nobody should have to suffer like this, scared of a maniac who won’t leave them alone, who seems to find pleasure in inflicting fear.

Rafe hates that you’re fighting for your own comfort. You deserve to live in ease.

“Thanks,” you say. You gaze into his eyes, wishing they didn’t see what they saw when he was ten years old. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Rafe’s lids drop, his sharp jaw tightening as he grinds his teeth. He can’t cry in front of you. Not again.

“Give it another try,” he says, handing the gun back to you after turning off the safety. You take it in steady hands, aiming at the tree. He doesn’t hold you this time.

After a few seconds of concentration, you pull the trigger and miss. Then you try once more. You hit your target. You can’t imagine ever using this on a person. But if it comes down to it, to your life or Ty’s, you’re picking yours every time.

You lower the gun, realizing your breaths are faster now.

“I think that’s enough,” you say, your stare still fixed ahead. You feel Rafe slowly take the weapon out of your hands again, his fingers brushing yours.

“You wanna go home?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Without another word, you head back to your house, feeling Rafe’s heart thudding against your palm as you cling onto him on his bike.

Rafe waits in the front room while you try to call your parents. Neither of them answer, likely asleep in their timezone.

You put your phone away, looking defeated. He said he wouldn’t leave your side and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“I’ll try again in the morning,” you tell him. “You can just make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge. I’m gonna go lie down.”

Rafe nods, his elbows on his knees as he sits forward on the couch, as if he’s ready to strike any threat that might come your way.

You stand and cross the space, then breathe out a slow exhale when you reach the end of the room, your hand on the edge of the wall.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, glancing back at him. “I know it’s hard for you to be around me. My parents will fly back after I talk to them and you won’t have to do this anymore.”

You round the corner, leaving him with his thoughts.

It’s not until after sunset that you come back downstairs, feeling trapped in your own home. Rafe is where you left him, scrolling on his phone, surely bored.

“Hey,” you say. You got a text from a friend a few minutes ago about a party at a house down the street. “You wanna get out of here?”

More people are drunk than sober when you arrive at the party, the music and chatter almost deafening. Rafe is brushing through the crowds in front of you.

You spot your friends on the other side of the room and find some relief in seeing people you know actually want to be in your company.

You tug at his shirt to get his attention. Rafe turns and leans down to hear you over the music.

“I’ll be with my friends,” you tell him. He pulls back, confusion in his stare.

“You sure you should go on your own?” he asks.

“You’ll be close, right?” you say.

Rafe shuffles in place, looking tense before he leans over to speak again.

“I’m fine being around you, okay?” he says, thinking about what you said back at your house. “If that’s what this is about.”

He’s fine. You don’t miss the coldness of his words. He’s simply fine being around you, while you ache for him when he’s gone.

“I don’t want to just be… tolerated,” you confess. “I’ll stand over there and I won’t move.”

“Aren’t we supposed to pretend we’re together?” he asks, suddenly desperate to feel you. He offers his hand. You look down at it.

For the first time, you don’t want to touch him. Because you’re so painfully aware that this is all a farce. Because you went through so much today that keeping up appearances feels ridiculous.

When you don’t take Rafe’s hand, the sting of rejection pools through him.

“I don’t care about fooling him anymore,” you say. “We don’t have to keep lying to everyone.”

You offer him a sad smile and brush past him. Your friends’ faces fall when they see you. That’s when you know you’re wearing your anguish for everyone to see.

You stand against the wall, alert and sharp-eyed in case Ty shows up. Maybe he won’t. Maybe the police scared him from even risking being in the same room as you.

He doesn’t seem to be here. But you’re drained of all hope a mere half-hour later when you suddenly see your ex in the crowd. When his gaze meets yours, his lips thin in anger.

Like an animal charging towards its prey, he rushes towards you, shoving past people. You look around and feel overwhelming relief when you see Rafe’s profile locked on Ty as he scrambles to get to him.

“You went to the fucking police?” Ty shouts, rushing towards you.

Even over the music, you can hear the sound of Rafe’s fist making contact with Ty’s jaw. The crowd quickly scatters, shouts erupting as they clear out the space.

Everyone runs away but you. You step forward, watching in disbelief as Rafe leans over, one hand on Ty’s collar, the other delivering blow after blow.

Rafe’s knuckles ache with every punch as Ty lies on the ground, absorbing every strike, slack-jawed. He sees red. Every punch is harder than the last.

“Don’t follow her, don’t talk to her, don’t even fucking look at her!” Rafe yells. “Do you hear me?”

Pure rage fills his veins as he takes everything out with his fist. Every reason he’s so painfully angry. The misery you’re going through. The loss he feels every single day. The fact that people like this get to live when his mother doesn’t.

“Rafe, that’s enough, man!” you hear. You watch two of Rafe’s friends pull him off. He scrambles to get out of their grip.

You can see Ty clearer now. His face is covered in blood, his head rocking side to side.

You turn to see Rafe is pinned against the wall, a third friend now holding him back. His jerks to get free are violent and frantic. Until he sees you.

You look shattered. He stills. You close the distance.

“Let’s go,” you say, unable to recognize your own voice. “Please.”

Rafe’s friends look at each other, never having seen him settle down so quickly. They loosen their grip off of him and he hurries to you, his body curving over yours in an effort to shield you from everything that just happened.

As you rush out of the party, Rafe’s hand is pressed at the small of your back. You’re glad it is, because you’re not sure you’d be able to handle anything without him keeping you steady right now.

When you make it home, your heart is still pounding in your ears. In the moonlight, you noticed how bloody Rafe’s knuckles were as he drove, so you impulsively lead him to the closest bathroom on the first floor of your home.

He doesn’t realize what you’re doing until you turn on the faucet, checking the temperature of the water before you take his hand in yours and wash off the evidence of the fight.

Blood starts to pool down into the sink in a spiral. It wasn’t that long ago you watched Rafe cleaning himself up like this at his house the night he agreed to pretend to date you.

You turn off the tap and take a hand towel, gently dabbing his swollen knuckles. Rafe watches you, the way your face twists in concentration, his lips parted as he breathes heavily.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

You’re not thinking straight. You’re doing this because you feel like you owe him for making Ty pay for what he’s been doing to you, but it’s better not to be touching like this. Not when you know it’s a matter of time before he goes back to being a stranger.

“I guess you can do this yourself,” you say nervously. You hold out the towel for him to take with his good hand.

Ever since Rafe fell into this destructive pattern of fighting, he did this part on his own. Cleaning himself up, dealing with the ache, breathing through the residual adrenaline. Nobody ever took care of him like this. He never let them.

Really, he never let you. Because you were the only one holding out a hand while everyone else watched him drown.

“Can you?” he mumbles. You look up at him, puzzled. He always rejects your offers to help. But not now.

“You want me to?” you say. Your voice is brittle, echoing in your small bathroom.

His eyes are soft, as soft as they were when he was a boy, and he nods.

You continue to press the towel against his knuckles. You look at his hand, thinking about the way you watched it write for you earlier today, recording every detail of the torment you’ve lived through over the past few weeks.

What would’ve Ty done if he got his hands on you tonight? And how could Rafe think so low of himself, call himself a psycho, say he fucks everything up, when he could be the only reason you’re alive right now?

“You okay?” he mumbles. You look up, realizing he’s watching you and can see the anxiety etched into your expression.

“The court order didn’t work,” you respond. “It didn’t scare him. It’s a good thing you were there. Thank you.”

Rafe has never felt sure about his place in the world. Not after his loss. But the sense of purpose that taking care of you has given him, the feeling of being told it was good he was somewhere, is unlike anything else.

He flexes his throbbing hand, your words from earlier tonight rattling in his mind. The insinuation that he tolerates you. It’s wrong. It may bring back bad memories to be around you, but it’s not like he’s merely putting up with you, like he’s eager to get rid of you.

“Should I get you ice?” you offer.

Rafe doesn’t answer. He only stares at you.

“I don’t just tolerate you,” he says after a moment, his voice rough.

Your heart aches. Tears prick your eyes. You inhale slowly, your face crumpling with sorrow.

“What is it?” he says.

“I can’t… You told me not to talk about it.”

Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He can tell how much it’s been hurting you, how much you’ve been yearning to have this conversation.

“Say it.”

You look down, so overwhelmed that it hurts, accepting his invitation.

“What happened to you was… I don’t have the words. I never did,” you whisper. “It changed you but I can still see parts of who you were before. You’re a good person. Maybe you don’t think so, but you never stopped being good. You asked me why I care about you. That’s why.”

Rafe is speechless. Everything in him is urging him to walk away from you again. The closer he gets to you, the more it hurts. The more it reminds him.

He ignores the impulse to leave. He lets you keep talking.

“And I understand why you shut me out. You were grieving. I’m just so… so, so sorry.” You know it’s a risk to say, but this might be your only chance to tell him. You take a breath. “She’d be so proud of you, Rafe. I know it.”

You stare up at him through your lashes. Finally, you’ve said everything you’ve been wanting to say to him for years.

To hear someone he trusts telling him his mother would be proud of the man he’s become, even when he always feels so angry and rotten and broken, gives Rafe an overpowering sense of relief.

Then, it creeps up on him, the way he can’t bear that he survived and she didn’t. She should have stayed alive. Why did he deserve it? Why didn’t she?

You watch Rafe’s face fall, brows pinching, eyes starting to gleam with tears. Seeing him cry because of what you just said is a punch in the gut.

You should give him space. It’s what he always wants. But just in case he needs any of the comfort you can offer him, you give into your impulse to touch him. At this point, it’s senseless to fight it.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, bringing him close to you, squeezing him into a hug. When he doesn’t return your embrace, you start to retreat, but then you feel big hands drag up your waist, pulling you back in.

Rafe digs his head into the crook of your neck. His body starts to tremble with his cries. And finally, he surrenders himself to you completely.

(part seven)

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[kymerawrites]

How much it hurt standing right there, on the balcony of his two-story house, the thought of him getting married to another woman tomorrow was making your heart bleed. You leaned against the railing with a frown on your face, a glass of champagne in your hand and your eyes throwing daggers at the moon. Simon decided to invite all Task Force 141 for a drink the night before the big day, you could hear them all laughing and cheering downstairs in the living room, but you couldn’t even put a small smile on your lips.

You loved him and he loved you back, you thought things could still work between the two of you, he thought differently. He didn’t know how to show his love, his care, it hurt you and he knew it perfectly, that’s why he decided to break things off with you. And now? After one year you still haven’t moved on and now he was going to marry another woman. You heard someone clear his voice and immediately turned around, Simon was there with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes staring deeply at yours, “shym.. Why are you here alone?” He asked, his tone holding a little sadness.

You let out a scoff before turning your gaze down towards the garden, watching a couple of butterflies landing perfectly on the grass, “because I’d rather not be around for this,” you muttered, the grip on your glass of champagne tightening. He sighed and walked closer to you, joining you in standing against the railing of the balcony and keeping a respectful distance.

“You’re invited, why would you not want to be here?” He asked with a raised eyebrow before letting his gaze drop on you. You rolled your eyes and drank half of the liquid from your glass before replying, “Because I don’t want to watch my ex-boyfriend getting married to another woman.” You murmured with bitterness in your tone.

“Even though we’re still colleagues, I cannot just act like I don’t care Simon..” I took a big chug of my wine before looking down to the grass

His eyes softened as he realized how you truly felt about the situation, he could blame nobody but himself. He was the stupid one. He let out another heavy sigh and leaned against the railing, his shoulders dropping and his body slightly falling forward, as if a weight was on his shoulders, “I know-“ he paused and closed his eyes before continuing, “but the decision has been taken.”

“Why mia… why her Simon what was so special about her that overshadowed me?”

“You want me to tell you why did I choose her?” He asked and you could just hear how tired and frustrated his voice was. You turned your head to look at him and saw how tired he looked, probably tired from hearing the same question for the past few weeks after he told you that he was going to marry her and not you, “yes,” you said in a stern voice, “why her and not me?”

Simon thought for a split second “Mia, she was someone who saved my life, kept me company while I was almost dying on that battlefield..and we just fell for eachother, I couldn’t let that eat me up.”

Your heart dropped as Simon spoke, he fell for her while you were waiting for him here. You felt a pang of jealousy and anger towards her just from hearing the words leaving his mouth. You turned your body fully towards him and narrowed your eyes at his face.

“You fell for her on the battlefield?” You asked in disbelief, “while I was here waiting and worrying for you?”

He slowly nodded his head. “You don’t understand, she kept me company while I was in my lowest point during those days on the battlefield, I-“ he paused and licked his lips as he remembered those days where he didn’t give a damn if he lived or died and he was close to death so many times, yet Mia was there, taking care of him and talking to him as he just laid there, unable to speak or move.

Your eyes widened in shock and slight anger. “You don’t think I understood that?” You exclaimed, “Simon I was there for you too, I was texting you, calling you, worrying about your state every night!” You paused as you felt your eyes starting to heat “I was praying that you’d come back safely, that you’d come back home to me, but-“ you bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath as you tried not to yell at him, “but no- Instead you fell in love with another woman.”

He could basically hear your voice breaking as you spoke and his heart ached every second. “I know-“ he tried to speak up, but you didn’t let him, the last drop of rage finally hit you and you snapped at him.

“You know? Then why!? Why didn’t you choose me? Didn’t you love me like you love her!? Didn’t you care for me like you care for her!?” You yelled at him, not being able to hold your emotions back now.

“Of course I did! You know I did!“ He yelled back as he lifted his head and clenched his jaw, his hazel eyes staring deeply into yours. You looked straight into his eyes and felt a tear run down your cheek, “Then why?” You asked in a weak voice, “if you loved me and cared about me why didn’t you choose me instead?”

Another sigh escaped his lips and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Because it’s different with her!“ He yelled back and he saw how another tear fell from your eye. He was hurting you, but he didn’t know how to explain you why it was different, “I don’t know how to explain” he spoke in a much calmer tone and leaned against the railing again, “she’s just different..”

I nodded “ah yes, because she never made mistakes, she was soft, loving and caring..” I paused “and I always did the opposite. Because I am harsh, an ex maffia member, someone who was obsessed with the thrill of life or death, money..” I looked at him angrily “is that the reason?”

Simon stayed silent for a few moments, thinking about your words. He knew that what you were saying was completely true, you have never been the soft or gentle type of woman, you could never love him as fiercely as Mia did. He lowered his gaze to his feet for a second and bit his lower lip before replying. “It is part of the reason-“

Your heart shattered even more as he confirmed your thoughts. “That’s exactly why isn’t it?“ You said in an almost inaudible whisper. “She loves you like a real lover should do.. while I do the opposite..” you muttered almost to yourself.

You chuckled humorlessly and shook your head, looking up at the night sky to hold your tears from falling down your face. “And the other reasons..?” You whispered, knowing you were stepping into a minefield.

He took a deep breath and let it out before answering your question. “It’s a.. lot of reasons actually.” He said in a much calmer voice than before. He could see and hear the pain in your voice and it made him want to comfort you, but he couldn’t do that. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“Then name them.“ You looked at him again, holding back all the emotions that were swirling in your brain, “tell me all the reasons that made you fall out of love for me and fall in love with her.”

He grunted and closed his eyes for a second before looking into your eyes again “first reason, the one you already guessed, is her nature. She’s sweet, gentle, kind, loving, she takes care of me when I need it.” He said in a low voice, his eyes locked into yours.

“Second,” he paused as he leaned forward and his body was now facing you fully, “she knows when to stop arguing and when to give in, she’s not stubborn like you.” He said without thinking and winced slightly.

He knew that the next reasons were going to rip you apart, that’s why he was taking time to give the perfect answer. “She’s not some mobster and a con.” He said in a cold tone as he looked up at you again.

Your eyes widened in shock when he spoke, you couldn’t believe that part of the reason was the fact that you were once a mafia member. “You-“ you spoke in a weak voice “you’re using my past as a reason?” You let out a humorless chuckle and shake your head.

“Don’t act surprised,” he said in a dry tone “you’re a criminal. A con woman and now an ex mobster.” He crossed his arms over his chest and slightly lifted his chin, staring into your eyes with a blank expression, “what do you expect?”

His cold words and expression felt like daggers into your heart and you closed your eyes momentarily to hold back your tears. “I know what I was, but I never expected you to use it against me.” You said in a quiet voice.

“You know how I was forced in that and the horrific situations I experienced and needed to endure..”

He bit his lip and his body tensed when you spoke about your past, he remembered hearing your stories more than once. He knew it was cruel to use that against you, but he just wanted you to understand, “Yes I do..” he said in a serious and firm voice “and that’s another part of the problem.”

“I don’t want to hear it anymore Simon… I couldn’t get over you because I love you.. or well loved you.” A tear welled up in my eye “you just proved me why I should not even want to speak to you again.”

He clenched his jaw when he saw the tear rolling down your face and closed his eyes tightly. He wanted to reach over and wipe the tear off your face, his hands were itching to feel your skin again, but he knew he couldn’t touch you. This was already too painful for both of you. He looked at you again and saw how much pain you were in. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said in a low tone, “I just wanted you to understand..”

“Understand your bullshit reasons to marry another woman,” you whispered and wiped the tear off your face with the back of your hand. You couldn’t take this anymore, hearing him give you so many reasons why he won’t choose you was slowly killing you.

He flinched slightly when you cursed, he also couldn’t stand seeing you in pain like that. “Those same bullshit reasons are the ones I’m choosing her over YOU!“ He snapped. He was losing control of his emotions hearing you speak and seeing your hurting expression.

“Then why are you still trying to explain them to me?” You spoke, feeling your anger rise as well, getting tired of his attitude. “You already chose her, you’re going to marry her tomorrow, then why are you wasting your time to explain me something you shouldn’t?!”

He let out a scoff and leaned more towards you, “Because I don’t want you to think that I’m only doing this out of spite! I’m in love with her okay?! And I’m going to marry her because I want to, I want to spent the rest of my life with her!” He yelled at you, letting out all his bottled up emotions.

I just stayed silent and looked at the stars in the sky before turning my face back to him “then I wish you well in live Simon.” And I walked downstairs towards the door

His heart sank when you walked away like that, you just stopped fighting, you just gave up. “That’s it?” He said in disbelief before he started walking after you, closing the distance between the two of you in a few strong steps. He grabbed your arm and stopped you from walking.

He turned you around so that you would be facing him and held your arm firmly to prevent you from walking away from him. He stared into your eyes as he spoke, his voice low. “That’s it?” he repeated, “you’re just leaving? Not even going to fight for me?”

You felt like your emotions were about to explode anytime now, he had no right to speak like that. “What the hell do you want me to do?!” You almost shouted, looking him straight in the eyes, “what more am I supposed to say!? You don’t want me, you chose another woman! I’m not going to fight when it’s already lost.”

He tightened his jaw and his grip on your arm. He didn’t know why he was so upset when you said those words. He should’ve been happy that you gave up, but he wanted to see the feisty woman that never surrender, he wanted you to fight for him. But the words you were saying to him made his heart ache. You were giving up on him, you just accepted that he was marrying another woman.

His expression softened when he saw more tears in your eyes and he slowly loosened his grip on your arm, holding it gently now. He took a deep breath and looked into your eyes, his voice calm. “Say something. Yell at me, tell me I’m a bastard, that you hate me. Anything.”

You inhaled a shaky breath and tried to hold back your tears. Seeing him like this made your heart ache as well, but you knew you had to be strong, “What for? Do you want me to humiliate myself and beg you to pick me? Beg you that you will see how much I love you?”

“Well guess what Simon, I want you to thrive in your upcoming marriage and I don’t want to be seen as an obstacle, I don’t want to see you again Simon..” and I walked out the door and shut it close

And at that moment I felt like I lost myself, lost control. I called Shepard to surrender myself from the army and called an old friend of mine.

I called Amanda “shym is that really you? Girl we’ve missed you so much!”

Amanda’s excited tone on the other side of the phone made your heart clench slightly, you missed your old friend. A lot.

“How is angels palace doing Amanda? I want to come back. I miss everyone..”

“Oh we’re all good but we all miss your presence!” Amanda said in a cheerful tone “Come back here you crazy bitch, we all miss our queen.”

I smiled as tears welled up in my eyes again “so my dad isn’t angry at me leaving him?”

“Yeah he’s still sulking about it“ said Amanda before bursting into laughter “it’s kinda funny whenever someone mentions you, he just puffs like an angry child. But I know and everyone knows that secretly he’s missing your smartass comebacks.”

“And most of all his backbone, you were thriving and making us a lot of money, you need to come back.. Sol.”

A chuckle escaped your lips when she used your old name, nobody called you like that anymore. “Stop it, you’re making me miss that place even more. I swear to God if I get home and I don’t see my favorite drink at the bar I’m going to strangle your ass.”

“My flight leaves at 9 AM, I’ll see you around 7 PM in the evening alright?”

“Perfect, just be prepared to drink tons of my good old cocktails.” Amanda said and you could sense the excitement in her voice.

I drove home and instantly packed all my belongings and my cat, couldn’t leave the poor guy behind. I left my keys in the plant pot and put a note for my tenant that I payed last month rent and I’ve moved out.

After everything was in your bags and the car, you sat down in the driver’s seat and drove straight to the airport. You were already excited to see your old home again and meet your old friends, but your heart still ached from the whole Simon situation.

You checked in your bag and sat down in the waiting area for your flight. People were all around you, walking, chatting, all seemed normal. But you felt heavy and tired, you couldn’t get Simon’s face out of your head. You closed your eyes to rest for a moment.

You were awakened by the announcement on the speakers that your flight was about to start boarding up. You slowly opened your eyes and stood up from your sit, grabbing your bags. You slowly made your way to the boarding desk, showing the worker your ticket before making your way onto the plane.

Time to go back to bogota..

You made your way to your seat at the plane and strapped the seatbelt around your waist. You inhaled a deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment, trying not to think about Simon.

‘He’s marrying that stuck up doctor today, I hope everything goes well for them’ I thought

Even thinking that made your heart ache. You hated the thought of him marrying another woman. You took a deep breath and took out your headphones, deciding to play some music to distract yourself.

The flight seemed long, but at least the loud music was helping you to distract from your thoughts. You were listening to some of your favorite songs when the pilot announced your arrival to Bogota.

Back in London it was Simon, trying to call you multiple times since yesterday

He sat alone in his kitchen with his head resting on his crossed forearms. He hasn’t slept and he had bags under his eyes. He picked his phone up again and called your number, hoping that this time you would answer.

He tapped his foot on the floor anxiously and held his breath, listening to the beeping. But then he heard your voicemail again, causing his expression to tense up. He growled in irritation and was about to throw the phone but he quickly stopped himself and called your number again.

He impatiently waited for your voice but heard your voicemail again. He let out another loud sigh and leaned against his chair, covering his face with one of his hands. He was getting fed up, why weren’t you answering?

He dropped his hands from his face and looked at Soap who was grinning widely. He let out a scoff and rolled his eyes with annoyance, “Yeah I’m marrying her today, not even a bloody congratulations?”

Soap scoffed as well and shook his head, “I wouldn’t compliment your choice mate and you know that” he said and sat down next to him, patting his shoulder “are you actually going through with this?”

He leaned back in his seat and avoided eye contact with Soap, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asked in a rough tone, “she’s the one I’m marrying in a couple of hours remember?”

Soap narrowed his eyes at him “because you haven’t slept at all, and you haven’t even spoken to your fiancé since yesterday” he said in a suspicious tone, he knew his friend well and knew that something was wrong.

He averted his gaze from Soap and clenched his jaw. He hadn’t spoken to her, he had called her multiple times but you weren’t answering him, which irritated him even more. He hated the fact that he was having second thoughts and he hated the fact that you still had such an effect on him. “I’m just stressed about the whole marriage situation.” He lied.

Soap chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest, “You, stressed? You’re one of the most calm and composed guys I know” he said in a disbelieving tone, he knew he was hiding something.

He let out a loud scoff and finally looked up at Soap, his expression still tense “even I can get stressed sometimes Soap. Can you just cut me some slack for now?”

Soap raised his hands in defense and gave him a smirk, “Alright mate settle down, was just messing with you” he said and gave him a playful pat on his shoulder “but seriously, are you alright?”

He inhaled a shaky breath and leaned his head back to rest on his chair. He had never opened up to anyone about something like that before. But Soap was his close friend and he trusted him the most out of everyone. He let out a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling “No, I’m not.” He admitted slowly.

“It’s shym.” He said bluntly

Soap’s eyebrows knotted together in confusion “shym? What about her?” He asked in disbelief.

He let out a tired exhale and closed his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair before looking at Soap “She just won’t leave my mind, every time I try to stop thinking about her she’s still there” he admitted, he felt relieved that he was finally telling someone about how he felt, especially Soap who was his best friend.

“You still love shym don’t you..” he said firmly

He stayed silent for a moment, his expression tense. He slowly looked up at Soap and nodded “yeah, I still love her, more than anyone in the world” he admitted in a firm tone “I never stopped loving her.”

Soap raised his eyebrows in surprise. Out of all the possibilities of why his friend was so distracted, he didn’t expect his to say that. “Then why are you marrying another woman?” He asked in disbelief.

Simon looked at soap “because I also love Mia, a lot.. and she’s a better option.”

Soap let out a scoff and rolled his eyes, “How the hell is she a better option? Mate, you’re marrying a woman that you don’t even love that much, instead of the woman you truly love, do you even hear yourself right now?”

He looked away and clenched his jaw stubbornly “Mia is everything I need. She doesn’t distract me with her stupidity, she actually supports me and is there for me. She’s everything I need” he said as he tried to convince himself it was the truth.

Soap rolled his eyes and stood up from his chair, “That’s such bullshit mate and you know it.” He said in an annoyed tone, “You can’t marry a woman that’s not the one that you truly love. Can’t you just pull your head out of your ass and admit that you love shym?”

“It’s already too late, shym left with no trace.. I said some hurtful stuff yesterday and no one can find her now..”

Soap’s eyes widened in surprise and his heart ached for his friend. He didn’t want to believe that it was already too late. He walked back towards him and placed his hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze “She can’t have disappeared like that, she must be somewhere..”

And now i returned to the hotel a coverup for a secret organization that trades and smuggles drugs and other stuff.

As you walked into the palace you saw many people who were close to your family or that you had done business with before. They all looked surprised but somewhat happy to see that you had returned. As soon as your father saw you, he exclaimed and spread his arms wide open before pulling you into a tight and emotional embrace.

“Family! My backbone has returned!”

All the people in the room clapped and cheered as you appeared. Your father kept his arm around your shoulders and held you close to him as he spoke out to everyone in the room. “My daughter has finally returned” he said in a proud tone, “I missed her so much, I cannot believe that she has returned to us, my family is finally reunited once more!”

PART 2 SOON

[umamaki]

AIRMAN'S TAPOUT

a graduating airman is to remain standing at attention until a loved one taps him on the shoulder and releases him from his instruction.

l&ds caleb x reader

CW big big feelings (of love), fluff comfort all that good stuff. wc 0.7k

NOTE i was scrolling through my notes and found this gem of an idea from 2021. this was initially supposed to be about an mha character. i like to say that it’s divine intervention that i rediscovered it during the caleb renaissance. 

CRED divider by rookthornesartistry, banner by me

Caleb isn’t sure anybody is going to come for him. He tells himself that it’s fine, that one of his flight mates will tap him out if not. He says this to save face in front of his colleagues; he refuses to acknowledge the small part of him that also wants to be convinced that it’ll be fine. As if it changes the fact that it will be just has humiliating in the end. 

He starts giving out the benefit of the doubt. He only thinks of you when he does so. You probably didn’t get his invitation in the mail. It could’ve been lost in transit, delivered to the wrong address. Even so, you had your own busy life to prioritize; you had a career, maybe you’ve even fallen in love by now. He rapidly blinks the last thought away. 

It would probably be selfish of him to want you to drop everything to see him graduate. But god was he willing to accept that he is the most selfish man of all when it comes to you. 

He’ll be fine. He’s been fine for long enough. He had already made it this far, hadn’t he? Yeah. It’s fine, he decides. You’re probably busy. You have your whole futures to be together. He’ll see you then.

“Gege, guess who.” It comes from behind his shoulder, barely a whisper, as if it was uttered for his ears and his alone. He hears your stupid fucking angelic voice from behind him and for a moment, his brain short circuits. 

He considers for a moment that he is simply imagining it, but he would have to be a damn good schizophrenic if he was. The sound of your voice was clear and alluring, tempting him, daring him to just turn and prove to himself that it truly is you behind him. No, his imagination wouldn’t be so cruel.

It’s undeniably you behind him. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. It takes everything in him not to turn around in that exact moment. 

He maintains his outer composure, legs apart and hands still clasped behind his back, but his posture is no longer relaxed, no longer prepared to pathetically stand and watch his mates be released by their own families, no. He’s stiff now, and his brain is working at a million miles per hour, hyper aware of each component of his body, and it takes him every ounce of strength to keep him from falling limp into your arms. 

His jaw is clenched. He’s grinding his teeth together, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to the point of pain because you’ll do anything but just touch him. For god’s sake, you’re even close enough now that he feels the heat radiating off your body and onto his. He notes the aroma of your perfume wafting up to his nose. He remembers it being from the bottle he told you was his favorite; a semi-truth, since everything about you was his favorite anyway. 

You finally circle around him, positioning yourself directly before him, as close as you can be to him without physically touching. He keeps his head tilted upwards and his face stoic, his only give being the slight furrow of his brows and the pure emotion in his eyes that lower to the sight of you.

You’re here. And you’re looking up at him and smiling and crying and still doing everything but free him from his disposition. He thinks in that moment that you’ll be the death of him. 

His eyes are pleading, desperate for your liberation. At last you take the bait, wrapping your arms around his waist. He’s quick to react. Instantly enclosing you into his own embrace. 

“You’re a tease, darling. So mean to me.” His voice breaks when he mumbles the words into your hair. The feeling of you finally back in his arms, your scent, your warmth, it makes him dizzy and weak. You have a tendency to have that affect on him. 

“Can’t help it.” You giggle, it’s only when he pulls away to look into your eyes once more that he notices the tears he left behind in your hair. “Let’s go home.”

[iwritelmao]

Shovel Talk?

(there’s one suitor left in the the palace, but he’s not there for the Queen of Ithaca)

Penelope had long since fallen asleep as Telemachus sat silently outside her door, not quite able to break the habit yet. Odysseus had crept out of the room as soon as his wife had fallen asleep despite his intense want to stay near her. Still, he had to make sure the palace had been cleansed of the suitors.

Suddenly he heard heavy breathing coming from Telemachus’s chambers. Telemachus’s chambers that were supposed to be empty. He tightly gripped his sword and threw the door open, watching as an unfamiliar young man stumbled back, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you a suitor?” Odysseus asked flatly, adjusting his hold on the sword.

“Yes,” the young man said. “But it’s not what you think, I’m not-”

“Stop.” He said. “What’s your name?”

The young man sputtered a bit before finally saying, “Nausicaas.”

“Nausicaas… you should have lied.”

“No…” Nausicaas took a few steps back as the king walked towards him with a raised sword. “No, it’s- it’s not what you think! I’m here for Telemachus!”

“You idiot…” Odysseus shook his head. “Did you see what happened to the rest of the suitors who tried to hurt my son?” He pressed the sword against the young man’s neck. “This is where it ends. With your death, my family is safe. Do you understand that?”

His eyes widened as he stared right into the king’s burning red eyes, alight. In what Nausicaas assumed would be his last moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and yelled, “Sir, I’m in love with your son!”

There was no pain, no sharpness of the blade, but the feeling of it against his neck didn’t leave. Nausicaas didn’t dare open his eyes.

“What?”

He opened one eye, catching sight of Odysseus’s confusion. “I am a suitor… for your son. I- I arrived here this morning to… to ask the Queen for her blessing to marry the prince… a-and now that you’re here I can, well… would it be okay if I proposed to your son?”

Odysseus stepped back, letting his sword fall to his side. He looked like he was sizing the young man up. “Where did you come from?”

“Sparta, sir. The Queen’s family in Sparta is close friends with my own.”

The king seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “You say you love my son?” Nausicaas nodded eagerly. It was almost endearing. “How much?”

The young man’s expression finally hardened into something a lot more Spartan than it had looked before. “I would end worlds for him, sir. I would renounce my name, my rank, my home—I would be of Ithaca only, Sparta be damned.” His eyes suddenly wandered to a spot over Odysseus’s shoulder, softening as a smile tugged his lips.

The king turned around to see his son in the doorway. “Telemachus.”

“Mother woke up,” he said, his voice distracted. “She had a fit when you weren’t next to her.”

Odysseus smiled, then turned back to look at Nausicaas. He held his arms out, warm and inviting, and enveloped the young man. “Thank you,” Nausicaas uttered, returning the hug as if it were a handshake, strong and unwavering.

“Be true.” Odysseus said, then lowered his voice. “And if you even think about hurting my family, I will dismember you and feed what’s left of you to what little sirens managed to escape my crew and I.” The boy tensed up in his arms and Odysseus smiled. “That is, if Penelope doesn’t get to you first.”

He felt the young man nod and let go, stepping back. The king stood in wait. Nausicaas’s lips formed a small “oh,” then walked past him to face Telemachus. “Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca…”

“Nausicaas,” the prince said, grabbing the young warrior’s hand and pulling him closer with a grin Odysseus recognized from his days trying his hardest to win Penelope’s attention. “Why so formal?”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Because this is important. I love you, Telemachus. I will always love you. If there is a life after this one, I will love you in that one too. Would you join me in declaring this love to the gods?"

Telemachus smiled and leaned forward to kiss Nausicass. "It only took you three years to ask."

"Is..." He said tentatively, "Is that a yes?"

Odysseus shook his head and made for the doorway, patting Nausicaas on the back before leaving. "Welcome to the family."