#but might come back in a few hours for it

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

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Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

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thanks for reading!

[ennabear]

✞︎ ︎YOUR OWN PERSONAL JESUS.

SOMEONE TO HEAR YOUR PRAYERS. SOMEONE WHO CARES.

cw: religious!reader x sevika, inspo from personal jesus by depeche mode, dark themes [drinking addiction, religious crisis, trauma/ptsd, etc.], a mention of isha because i’m evil, as well as religious themes, nasty sloppy dirty sinful dyke sex [body worship + tribbing] 18+ 🧛🏿

word count: 14.1k

i. FEELING UNKNOWN AND YOU’RE ALL ALONE

sad, dull, gray, gloomy, what else could she use to describe it? constant rain, a chronic form of seasonal depression that lingered in the air no matter where she went. her therapist prescribed her some fresh air, but the air is never fresh here. it’s thick with fog, the humidity weighs down on your shoulders and makes it unbearable to trudge through. sure, the sun shines, but it never peeks out from behind the clouds, leaving the town in a dark, unsaturated gleam.

she crosses the threshold into her apartment, hair clinging to the back of her neck and the sides of her face due to a mix of humidity and sweat. her apartment might be more vapid than the outside world, it’s a small box that overlooks the parking lot and a few 24 hour diners across the street. the walls are all white, along with the ceiling and cabinets, and the carpet is scratchy and gray. she hardly has any furniture, a small couch with a tv propped up on a cardboard box facing it. no coffee table, chairs, or shelves, but she doesn’t spend much time out here anyways.

her ribs start to ache, and the growing hunger in her stomach only makes it worse. she scours her cupboards for a snack, and settles for half a bar of dark chocolate and a glass of whiskey. the couch is small and hard and it barely offers any comfort to her tired body. on the tv, the meteorologist blabbers away about the predicted weather for the week. she feels bad for him, the poor guy probably wanted a bigger and better job than this. foreseeing the same weather for 365 days straight. cold, cloudy, wet, maybe snow if we get lucky.

the dark chocolate she’s nibbling on is cheap and tastes identical to the plastic wrapper it came in, and the burn of the whiskey is only adding to the bitter taste. but at least it soothes her mind. she sighs, flicks off the television, and heads for the shower. the last thing she wants to be right now is even more wet, but the promising warmth of the water will at least soothe some of the pain in her shoulders.

a bone-chilling squeak rings out through the bathroom as she twists the faucet on, and the light flickers as if in response to the noise. sevika peels her clothes off, her sweatpants dropping to the floor and her shirt still trying to hang on to her body. her ribs are more prominent than they’ve ever been, and she can see her muscles slowly starting to wither away with how frequently she skips the gym.

steam fills the room, the foggy clouds of it wisp around her as she studies herself until she can’t see her reflection anymore. it’s all blurry— her reflection, the walls, her own hands in front of her face. her left arm has the deepest and darkest scars she’s ever seen, most of them are jagged from the way her stitches were inserted. she can hardly stand to look at herself anymore, so maybe it’s a good thing the mirror is fogged up.

in the shower she only washes herself for a quick second, rubbing a thin layer of soap all over her body and scrubbing her scalp with shampoo. she debates on adding conditioner, but she feels as if she’ll faint if she’s in the shower for another second. the hot water quickly runs out, and sevika only notices how scorching her water was when it switches over to room temperature.

as soon as she steps out of the shower, she wraps herself up in her towel, although there’s not really a point in that due to the holes and strings coming off of it. she makes a mental note to buy more towels, and just as she’s about to mope about another purchase to make, her phone blares an alarm warning her not to be late to her physical therapy appointment.

stumbling out of the bathroom, she trudges half nude to her liquor cabinet, aimlessly grabbing around for something strong. she pours herself a shot, and then another, and fuck, why not a third one? she doesn’t notice the burn as it goes down, her mind instead focusing on the ache in her left shoulder.

she pulls a shirt over her head and shoves her shoes on, finalizing her outfit with her black raincoat. she wears it nearly every day, partially because it’s always cold and rainy, and partially because it’s a good excuse to hide the thick scars that travel all the way up her body. her spine starts to ache as she walks to the clinic, but she doesn’t have money for a car, and she doesn’t know anybody in this town well enough to ask them for a ride.

the receptionist at the clinic doesn’t look up one single time as sevika checks in, and sevika wishes so badly that she could get paid to sit down and look at a computer all day. she takes a seat in the waiting room, slumping back and relaxing her muscles as she waits for her PT to invite her in. the clock on the wall ticks extremely loudly, she notices, but she decides to close her eyes and count the ticks until it’s finally her turn.

ii. FLESH AND BONE BY THE TELEPHONE

static muffles through her radio. she flicks the ashes of her cigarette out onto the pavement, watching as a pigeon across the street skitters around. another few crackles through her walkie talkie go ignored. it’s her break for fucks sake, and she’s only just starting to enjoy it.

“sevika?” her radio booms. she sighs, rolling her eyes and waiting for someone else to respond.

“sevika, we need you inside. your break is over.”

“my break is what? over.” she responds, giggling at her own smartass response.

“your break is over, god damn it. over.”

“roger.” she says, a hint of a smile still in her voice. “i’ll be inside in a second. over.”

she pulls her phone out of her pocket, double checking the new code for the security door. after punching it in, she swings the door open until it bolts shut behind her, and then makes her way to the lobby. the museum is huge, the lobby has floors that sparkle and shine no matter how many muddy shoes cross over them, and the rest of the stories are complete with floor to ceiling windows that are taller than she ever could’ve imagined.

as she crosses through a giant stone archway, her boss nods and waves her over. one of her coworkers is there too, both of them looking stern and serious. she steps into the small circle they’ve formed, lifting her eyebrows quizzically at the two of them. “well?” she asks. “what do you need?”

“what do i need? what i fuckin’ need from both of you is for you to do your fuckin’ jobs.” he spits, literally. droplets of his saliva collect in his beard as he digs into sevika and her coworker about ‘not doing their jobs.’

“what do you mean by that, sir?” her coworker asks.

“do you know how many people i’ve seen walk out of here with souvenirs stuffed into their pockets? that gift shop is gonna be desecrated by the end of the day.”

“respectfully, sir, we aren’t in charge of the gift shop. we only monitor the grounds of the museum, and you’re the one who hired us both to do that.” she says back.

“then go do ya fuckin’ job.” he growls, his thick boston accent shining through his attempt at a serious lecture.

she raises her eyebrows and turns around with her tongue in her cheek, heading up the large marble stairs. sevika can’t argue with that, and she loves her job. it’s easy— all she has to do is puff her chest to intimidate her guests, hand out lollipops to the little ones who are brave enough to wave at her, and occasionally answer a question about directions around the place. all of her coworkers love her, and she’s never felt more secure in her life before.

ascending the stairs, she eyes a beautiful young woman with blazing orange hair wandering into the gift shop and a smile on her face. that’s not the type of person who’d steal, she thinks, and she’s probably right. concealing her eyes are a pair of black sunglasses, and she’s finally thankful they’re part of her uniform now that she’s got direct sunlight hitting every corner of the second floor.

she inserts her earpiece into the side of her head, prepared although not excited to listen to her coworkers chat and complain for the rest of the day. she flicks around until she connects to the private channel, and then continues to stroll around the second floor.

people of all ages wander through the halls. kids being scolded by their parents, awkward adults grasping clammy hands on their first date, seniors leaning on their walkers and canes as they reminisce about famous painters. the community is so beautiful, so important to her, she’d do anything to protect it. this place is like her second home, and she’s made some of the best friends of her life here. not to mention the fact that it’s taken her years to memorize her way around the place, so now it’s even more special to her.

she steps toward the large windows, feeling the warm sun prickle her skin as it sparkles through the leaves of the trees. the muffled sound of laughing families combined with the sight of her people paints a smile on her face, and she closes her eyes and loses herself in this divine moment until she feels something tug on the bottom of her vest.

“yes?” she asks, turning around and smiling down at the kid. her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears, she makes a mental note that she can’t be any older than six years of age.

“i—” she starts, attempting to blink back tears and inevitably failing. “mmmph!!”

sevika crouches down and wipes the girl’s tears away with her thumbs, ruffling the kid’s fluffy blue hair. “don’t worry, kiddo.” she assures her, “what’s wrong? oh, lemme guess— lost your parents?” the kid nods and sobs some more, attempting to hide her face in her hands.

she scoops her up in her arms, letting her sob into her shoulder. “ughffff!!!!” she pouts, squirming in sevika’s hold. she takes a guess that the kid is either really shy or just mute.

“it’s okay,” she coos. “would you like a lollipop?” the kid sniffles at this, but lifts her head up and nods at her. sevika digs into the small bag on her waist, pulling out a bright blue sucker for the little one that matches her hair. she takes it in her small hands and unwraps it, eyes sparkling at the sight of the blue raspberry favored sugar. sevika just hopes her parents don’t kill her.

with the kid in her arms— who is now joyfully sucking on the lollipop instead of soaking her in tears and snot— she makes her way downstairs. sevika’s no stranger to lost children, and she’s fond of their company. it’s refreshing to hear them describe colors and patterns in the paintings instead of overanalyzing it and telling stupid facts about the artist. and she loves that she can finally give back to the world, bringing the kiddos comfort like she never received from her own parents.

“radio check.” her earpiece says, slightly catching her off guard.

“go ahead.” her teammates all say, mutually praying their boss isn’t about to go on another two hour long rant in their private channel.

“keep your eyes peeled for a little kid with a full head of bright blue hair,” her boss says into her earpiece. “apparently her names isha and she’s five. parents lost her on the second floor and they’re worried.”

sevika looks down at the kid, unnecessarily double checking that her head is painted with blue hair dye. “i’ve got her.” she says. “we’re making our way to the lobby. 10-20?”

“lobby, meet you there soon. over and out.”

“isha!!” her mother shrieks as soon as sevika lands on the bottom step. “oh my sweet ishabear! i thought we’d lost you forever.”

isha’s dad shoots sevika a look that seems to say ‘sorry about her’, but she smiles and hands the kid over. “what’s your name?” her mom asks frantically. just as she’s about to respond, her boss speaks up and whacks her on the back with a proud slap.

“this is sevika. best security in the whole building, ain’t she?” he says, reaching out to pinch her cheek. sevika tries her absolute best to hold back, but she can’t stop a harsh glare from forming on her face as her boss pokes and prods at her like she’s a doll. she clears her throat and shoves him off, but resumes a smile for the parents staring at her.

“that she is!” the mother cheers. “god bless you, sevika, seriously. i’ll never be able to repay you.”

she smiles proudly, not necessarily because she believes in a god, but she’s just glad to get the kid back and hopefully end the conversation soon. “thank you ma’am. it’s no problem, really. it’s my job.”

“it is your job!” her boss exclaims. “and she’s gonna get right back to it.”

before turning away, she gives isha a smile and an explosive fist bump, smiling at the adorable little cub and then parting. her boss is probably the only downside of her job. words can’t explain how much she hates that guy— even hate isn’t a strong enough word. but she ignores it, pushing her hatred to the back of her mind and attempting to continue with her good day.

until an ear piercing scream is let out at the front of the building, and she’s knocked out before she can turn around to investigate.

——

“shit, how many are still in the building?”

“i dunno, man! there are people fuckin’ everywhere.”

“sevika? can you hear me? … sevika, you need to get out of there now.”

groggily, she peels her heavy eyes open and looks around. the scent of pennies fills her nose, a metallic smell so strong it nearly knocks her out again. before she feels like she can hit the floor, her body jerks forward and she sucks in a gasp before she realizes she’s already laying on the marbled ground.

“sevika…?”

“leave it alone, for gods sake, we need to get people out of here!”

her left arm was laying oddly and uncomfortably behind her, and her whole body was absolutely aching. she leans forward and chokes out some blood before looking at the scene before her. windows shattered and glass glistening on the floor, reflecting the light that shines off of the mini fires lit all around. there are people everywhere— or at least the remains of them. shoes and purses and walkers left behind, the suffocating scent of blood and charred flesh, and the sound of sirens blaring all around her.

she tries to breathe, but it seems impossible. her lungs won’t fill with air no matter how many times she gasps, and that number is burgeoning with the way she’s hyperventilating. hot, salty tears prickle her eyes involuntarily, but she blinks them away, too shocked to feel any emotions yet. she groans into the floor as a sharp pain shoots through her body, and the thrashing caused by that pain only makes her feel worse.

deep red and sticky, her blood pools around her. it leaks out of her left arm, which takes her a while to recognize as hers because of the way her elbow is inverted. she recognizes cries of children and shrieks of pain, which is a harsh contrast of the peaceful atmosphere earlier. how much earlier? how long has she been knocked out? and why is she on the floor?

after an eternity, two men in heavy jackets lift her onto a stretcher. she’s facing up this time, and now she can get a good look at the walls around her. they’re crumbling and splattered with blood, world famous paintings that were once hanging from them are now completely destroyed. either torn up or burnt to a crisp.

as they approach the bottom of the stairs, she makes the tough decision to peek over the stretcher, eyes frantically searching around the spot she was only just standing in. and there she is. that little girl with her bright blue hair, now drenched in red. her lips are still blue from the lollipop, but she’s grown pale and cold. and gone. and sevika couldn’t protect her.

before she closes her eyes, she takes in the scene one more time. piles of hair tangled together and skin melted into the floor. she’s seen some pretty outrageous things as a security guard, but never this. tears pour out of her eyes, the pain in her body making her wish she would’ve been taken out too. by what, she doesn’t know. she isn’t aware of where she is or what’s going on, all she knows is the pain in the left side of her body, and it’s all she’ll feel for the rest of her life.

iii. LIFT UP THE RECEIVER, I’LL MAKE YOU A BELIEVER

“sevika…?”

she blinks awake with a gasp, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. children’s toys litter the floor, flyers and posters on the wall, bright white lights beaming down on her— and her physical therapist standing about 2 feet away from her. sevika grumbles in embarrassment, trying to shake off her sleepiness as quickly as possible.

her therapist offers a sympathetic smile before waving her back. sevika curses those waiting room chairs for being so comfortable, or maybe it’s just because she doesn’t get much shut eye at home. her back is so weak and achy that she feels as if she’ll snap under the weight of gravity, but she tries to play it cool in front of her poor doctor. she’s already embarrassed herself enough today, she won’t let herself collapse in pain on the floor of the office.

“nice to see you again, sevika.” her PT smiles, “how’ve you been?”

how has she been? what a long list she could go down. first of all, she’s in so much physical pain she can barely sit upright without passing out. next, she hasn’t been sleeping well due to her night terrors, and she’s waken up soaked in sweat and shivering more often than not. finally, if this list has to end anywhere, she feels jealous. of the happy families she sees every day, of the kids with friends, of the adults with well paying jobs.

“i’ve been… surviving.” she says, purposefully ignoring the plethora of problems she has. this is physical therapy, she reminds herself. not the damn loony bin. get ahold of yourself.

“well, surviving is a great start.” her therapist says with a faux smile. “how has the pain in your shoulders felt since i last saw you? better? worse?” and with that, her voice trails off into the distance with sevika zoning out.

her poor arm gets bent in every single direction you can think of, even ones it’s not supposed to. she bites back her screams of agony and replaces them with little pained growls and whimpers. every time her arm gets bent slightly behind her, a shock of pure pain shoots through her spine and leaves her a shivering mess. the pain within her feels electric, like she’s about to burst into flames or something. it’s the worst thing she’s ever felt.

the tears in her eyes threaten to spill more than ever, but by some miracle she manages to hold them back. until she gets back to her apartment, at least.

as soon as she steps through the front door, she makes a beeline for her bedroom. burying her face in her pillow, she lets it all out. her pained scream is barely muffled by the pillow, but she continues to scream until her throat feels like sandpaper and she realizes that she can’t breathe.

gasping for air, she flops over. her vision is spotted and blurry from a mix of tears, pain, and exhaustion. she stares at her ceiling and cries while she chokes on her own staggered breaths, and she barely registers that someone’s knocking on her door until she hears her name called through it.

“sevika? are you alright, hon?” is followed by another few pounds on her door. she doesn’t want her anyone to call the cops, so she slowly and reluctantly rises from bed, grabbing onto her door frame to steady herself.

it’s her neighbor. curse these walls for being too thin.

sevika groans and rolls her eyes before opening the door, trying her best to plant an indifferent look on her face although it looks more like a pout. the old woman smiles up at her, glad to see that she’s alive after that screaming, but sevika can’t return the smile.

“what’s wrong? did something happen?” her neighbor asks.

“nothing’s wrong.” sevika grumbles, lying through her teeth.

“i know that’s not true honeybun, your eyes are bright red and your cheeks are wet with tears.” her neighbor coos. sevika thinks it’s annoying. she doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy.

“i’m alright, thank you.” she says sternly, although her neighbor keeps pushing.

“may i come in?”

sevika doesn’t answer, instead watching as the old lady walks past her and plants herself on sevika’s couch. “come chat with me.” she invites with a warm, grandmotherly smile.

“i’m not in the mood for chatting.” sevika glares.

“oh, dear,” her neighbor chuckles to herself. “i’m afraid i’m too mature to have you groan at me like a teenager. come sit.”

sevika comes up with another response, but it’s not a very friendly one. the angel on her shoulder tells her not to say it, that the poor woman is just trying to help, that sevika’s already been so much of a bother that she should just shut her mouth. but the devil on her shoulder is fed up right now, and sevika always favors the devil.

“i’m afraid you’re not an ounce as mature as i am. you haven’t been through what i have, and you have no place to tell me what to do in my own fucking apartment.” but sevika does listen to the lady, because she takes a seat right next to her on the couch.

her neighbor ignores her emotional outburst and instead asks “are you hungry?”

“no.” sevika scowls.

“tired?”

“exhausted.”

“sad? lonely? you’d do good with a pet around here. or a few plants. i can grow you a—”

“no thanks. i don’t need a… plant. or an animal.” sevika spits.

“hmm. you live a sad life, don’t you. i wonder what you were like before you came here.” her neighbor sighed.

“i don’t owe you an explanation. that’s private.”

“sevika, you can talk to me if you need to. i’m only one door down the hall, retired, it’s just me and my cats. i’ll always be available if you need something.”

“i don’t need anything.” sevika rolls her eyes. “much less your pity.”

“okay, fine then. if you won’t let me help you, i’ll make someone else help you.”

she reaches into her pocket and digs through her wallet, pulling out a thin paper card and handing it over to sevika. “come with me tomorrow. it’d do you wonders.”

“to… church? no thanks, i’ll pa—”

“okay, great. i’ll see you tomorrow morning then.” her neighbor says, rising and making her way to the door.

“i didn’t say i’d come.”

“i’ll pick you up at eight. better set an alarm.”

“i didn’t agree to co—” and sevika gets cut off by the slam of her own door before she can finish her sentence. whatever, when tomorrow rolls around she’ll just ignore her neighbor, pretending to be asleep or something.

she leans back on her couch, staring at the ceiling and wishing she had a pillow to grip onto, to scream into. another thing to add to the list. she stares at the ceiling instead, balling her hands up into fists as rage turns into sadness and sadness turns back into exhaustion.

it takes everything in her not to crawl to bed, but she stands and walks herself eventually. her shoulders sag and her torso slumps forward as she takes one step at a time, her posture making her about 4 inches shorter than she really is. her bed cradles her weight though, and she sighs into her cold, wet pillow once the tension in her body is released. it’s the best feeling ever. and before she knows it, her eyes are shutting, mind going back to that deep, dark memory.

——

7:30am rolls around, and sevika curses herself for waking up this early. now she’ll have to pretend to be asleep in front of her neighbor, and she’s not a good actress. she rolls out of bed, dragging herself to the bathroom to get her day started. she tries to avoid the mirror, but it’s impossible.

she stares at herself for a while, the uncomfortable feeling of someone else looking back at her creeps up on her. she doesn’t look like herself, she doesn’t look like sevika. she looks sick, tired, hurt, starving. the thought of food makes her stomach twist, she hasn’t eaten anything real in over a full day. maybe she should go easy on her neighbor and ask for a home-cooked meal. maybe.

her hair is fluffy and frayed at the ends, and her roots feel eternally greasy. her depression is so bad, she either showers daily in an attempt to scrub the hallucinated blood off, or she won’t shower for weeks. it’s like she can never win the battle.

a knock at the door disrupts her thoughts. “sevika?”

a groan involuntarily escapes her as she silently opens the bathroom door and creeps out into the living room. “sevika, wake up, it’s almost eight.”

she freezes, praying that her movements on top of her creaky floorboards go unobserved.

“sevika, dear, i can hear you on the other side of the door. you’re not fooling anyone.”

fuck. she’s not getting out of this, is she.

with another groan, she opens the door and sighs. the old lady smiles up at her, dressed in some sort of church attire. “grab a coat,” she says. “it’s chilly out.”

what else does sevika have to do, other than follow the orders? she’s trapped now. following this sweet old woman to church on a sunday. something she never thought she’d do. but she yanks a jacket over her shoulders and shoves her shoes on, not bothering to lock the door behind her. she claims she has nothing to lose in there, but that’s just because she lost her own apartment key a while ago.

she almost smiles when her neighbor shoves her into her car. almost. but she’s not exactly capable of that anymore. it’s so luxurious. she has a heater and a radio and a seat. it’s almost like she’s in a spaceship, marveling at all of these features that would make her life so much easier.

her excitement reaches it’s end as they pull into the parking lot of the building, and that pit in her stomach returns as she climbs out of the small car. if her legs worked a fraction of how well they used to, she’d run so far away from this place.

everything about it is repelling her. the building is huge, bright, colorful, everything she’s seen in her recurring nightmares. it smells like dust and coffee, children’s art line the walls, along with some more formal paintings and portraits. the ceiling seems to be made of glass— the kind that shatters easily and can slice your hands up.

the windows are colored with stained glass that portray different scenes. people made of bright colors dance and pose and feast all around them, their dazzling figures being illuminated by the white sunlight shining through the windows. it’s the kind of beauty she was attracted to years ago, the kind that nearly got her killed.

“sevika, come sit with me.” her neighbor says, derailing her train of thought. she practically has to drag sevika over to the pews as she stares at the buildings interior, feelings of fear and comfort flooding through her veins and stunning her.

she’s too busy taking in her surroundings to realize that the service has started, and she’s quickly reminded of how much she hates places like this. a large, beautiful room full of people. a community. something bad could happen at any moment, and she’d be in no shape to help any of them.

small droplets of blood fill her mouth one at a time as she anxiously chews on her bottom lip. she knows it’s a bad habit, but it’s oddly comforting. the metallic taste is just a reminder that she’s still alive, that the blood is still inside of her body instead of splattered across the floor. gross, ugh, don’t think of that.

in an attempt to tune out the preacher’s sermon, she decides to study the people around her. it’s a harsh reminder of past events, she swears she can almost recognize the faces of the dead bodies in them. all ages, young and old. parents cradling their newborn babies, seniors admiring their lover’s white hair, kids swinging their feet out in front of them in an attempt to stay occupied.

she tries to push these morbid thoughts away from her brain, but it’s not easy. it’s her minds default, it’s why she hasn’t stepped foot in any sort of large building in years. by some miracle, she’s survived a bombing once, how on earth could she do it again?

but to her luck, the ceremony is over before she knows it, and she’s about to escape before her neighbor yanks her back by the collar of her jacket. she pouts, rolls her eyes, and turns around to face her.

“meet my neighbor, sevika. this is her first time joining us.”

“nice to meet you, sevika.” and the man sticks his arm out to sevika, awaiting a returned hand shake. she doesn’t return it though, and she doesn’t even look at him. instead she just stares at the floor and says “yeah… thanks…”

her neighbor nudges her shoulder for being rude, but she doesn’t owe anyone anything. she doesn’t know if the man who tried to shake her hand is same guy who’s been blabbering on this whole time, but if it is, she doesn’t want anything to do with him.

“sevika, what the hell was that? i didn’t bring you here to be rude, i brought you here to learn something.”

sevika scoffs with a fake laugh, “i don’t need you to parent me.”

“then stop acting like a kid, let’s go meet more people.”

how was she gonna get out of this? oh well, in only a few hours she’ll be home again, resting and recharging in bed under the covers. she follows behind her neighbor like a lost puppy, not even looking in front of her, just staring down and making sure that she’s following the correct pair of shoes.

you greet sevika’s neighbor warmly, she’s a familiar face you’re always glad to see. sevika’s figure almost startles you when you peek up, almost. but you get yourself under control, asking the sweet older woman “who’s this?”

“this is sevika, my neighbor. it’s her first time joining us today.”

“oh! nice to meet you, sevika.” you smile, keeping your hands to yourself. sevika doesn’t know what to think of you, you’re so… different from everyone else here. you’re not dressed like everyone else, you look more like sevika than you do the others. but she wouldn’t expect someone like you to work at a church, would she? god, how the world has changed.

“nice to meet you.” she says, not bothering to attempt a weak smile, but giving a cordial nod in your direction anyways.

“we hope to see you around here soon. if you need anything, you know where to find me. although, you look like you’re in good hands.” you offer, giving sevika’s neighbor a friendly pat on the shoulder. sevika watches you walk off, wishing she could dissect you a little more. but she doesn’t hesitate to exit the building when her neighbor declares that it’s time to leave.

“are you hungry?” her neighbor asks once they’re in the car.

sevika’s mouth speaks before she can stop herself, “yes. starving.”

“good, you’ll come over for brunch. that wasn’t a question, by the way.” she smiles.

sevika rolls her eyes and almost smiles back. almost. but the ache in her lower back is making it hard to be happy in this moment.

her neighbor’s apartment is quite grandmotherly, to put it nicely. she has two cats— a black ball of fluff named “fluffy” and a skinny, all white cat named “snowy”, both of which were named by her grandchildren. there are plants and paintings and handmade quilts littering her place, every one of them having a story behind it. it’s cute, sure, but a little bit too maximalist for sevika’s enjoyment. at least she has furniture. good quality furniture.

a steaming teacup is placed in front of her seat at the counter, and both of the cats jump up to check it out. in all honesty, sevika thinks it’s kinda gross to live with animals. she doesn’t know where the hell those cats paws have been, and if it were up to her they wouldn’t be on the kitchen counter.

the cats waddle over to sevika, getting too close to comfort in an attempt to investigate the strange woman sitting at their counter. once she’s deemed safe, they raise their backs and point their tails up as if to ask for pets, but sevika scowls and awkwardly scoots away from the strange animals.

“not a cat person?” her neighbor laughs.

“no… not an animal person in general, really.”

“they’re sweet. give ‘em a pet.”

“no thanks…”

“fine. but you better eat up before they eat it for you.” her neighbor says, shoving a tall stack of pancakes in front of sevika. it’s a heavenly sight, and she almost feels bad for eating it instead of staring at the masterpiece for a while longer.

but that hungry pit in her stomach only grows and shoves itself against her stomach, so she has no choice to dig in. not that she’s complaining, and they taste absolutely divine. she grows uncomfortable again, last time she felt divine was the worst day of her life. it’s almost like a curse— one that never lets her feel true enjoyment.

fluffy and snowy meow loudly at her neighbor for food too, so she grabs a small dish and starts plopping some wet food onto it. again, sevika can’t fathom why someone would do that. on the counter? where she’s eating? but it’s not her apartment, so she keeps her mouth full of pancakes to stop the complaints.

she can’t wait to get home. checking the time, she realizes that it’s now afternoon. this has been the most eventful day she’s lived through in a while, and that triggers her anxiety to tone everything down. she needs a drink and a nap, so she thanks her neighbor and heads one door up the hall to her own apartment.

her door is unlocked, just how she left it, and she realizes that the only valuable thing in her apartment might be her liquor cabinet. maybe she should get a lock after all. add that to the list.

she guzzles down some whiskey directly from the bottle before stopping to take a breath. with how much she’s been drinking lately, she barely gets drunk anymore. it’s not fair, she might just have to find something stronger. jesus christ, i’m gonna drink myself to death. before she has a chance to bury herself back in bed, her phone rings. how strange, she hasn’t gotten a call in years. but what choice does she have, other than to lift up the receiver?

“yes?” she groans.

“hello,” you greet, a bit disturbed that someone would answer the phone with just ‘yes?’ “is this sevika?”

“who are you?”

“i’m from the church, we met earlier.”

“oh… okay… so…?”

“so, i wanted to tell you that i meant it when i said i hope you join us again. it was nice to see you, we rarely get any newcomers in this small town but… i can tell that you’re different.”

“okay…” sevika says. there is no way she’s stepping foot in that building again. jesus christ himself could not drag her in there.

“so… you’ll come?”

“i still need to be convinced.”

“easy. but i’ll need you to show up for that.”

“maybe.” she says, and you feel like you can hear a hint of promise in her voice.

“okay, well, have a good rest of your day. i’ll see you soon. maybe.” you say, about to hang up.

“how did you get my number?” she questions.

“helen gave it to me.”

“…who?”

“your neighbor? helen?”

“oh… right.” how could she not know her own neighbor’s name?

“sevika, don’t worry.” you assure her. “i’ll help you believe.” and the line goes quiet.

iv. I WILL DELIVER, YOU KNOW I’M A FORGIVER

that day was the first time you saw sevika, and you wish you could live in that moment forever. she was so soft and so sharp at the same time, and it was surprisingly harmonious. her physical features were striking, she looked almost… scary. but that scariness was easily cancelled out by her gentleness.

her cheeks were thin and sunken, but her chin effortlessly faded into the smooth skin of her neck. her nose stuck straight out of her head, but there was a slight curve to it that made you wanna run a gentle fingertip over it. her eyes were bright and silver, but they were so big and so round. she was tall, sticking up higher than anyone else in the room, but her hips and thighs were so plush and thick, she took up just the right amount of space.

she was just plain gorgeous. usually you’d scold yourself for thinking about another woman this way, but you’d been slowly coming to terms with your sexuality. as long as you don’t act on it.

from the moment you laid eyes on her, you knew you had to guide her. it was like some sort of fate or destiny. here’s this immaculate woman showing up in front of you in desperate need of help, your help specifically. it was a perfect mission, you’d do anything in her power to earn her trust and to help her feel that faith.

by some miracle, she answered the phone when you rang. judging by her previous attitude, you almost expected her to storm back down to the church and smack you across the face. your conversation was unproductive, sure, but it was a good start. well, if she decides to show up, that is. you don’t doubt her, if anything you can just ask her neighbor to force her to tag along again.

the mental image of her floats around in your head all day. what are you gonna do when she does show up? give her some sort of speech? she’ll probably just tune you out like she does to the rest of the world. you wonder why she acts the way she does, there’s no way anybody with a normal life could act this guarded. you just hope she opens up eventually, you’d kill to get to know her.

sevika’s not amused. she doesn’t want anyone’s help, or to pretend to have faith in something that’s all just make believe. really, the only thing she wants is some peace and quiet, and for the pain in her shoulders to lessen. before returning to her den, she sluggishly trudges to the kitchen cupboards, yanking them open in search of some painkillers. to her luck, there are two small pills left, which she quickly downs. she chooses water over whiskey this time, shockingly, because she’s a little bit frightened by drinking herself to death. which is strange, and she wonders why she values her life so much.

no matter what you do, you can’t get this woman off of your mind. something about her makes you feel different than how other people make you feel, but you can’t tell what it is or why. you need a plan. you need to talk to her again. or at least some confidence would be handy. but instead of dwelling on it, you decide to go for a walk.

the walk doesn’t really work though, it actually does the opposite of clearing your mind. you have nothing to focus on, no work to do, so you just think. your mind runs wild the whole time. you’re so intrigued, so excited yet nervous, you feel like it’s almost a craving. almost, because you’re not really sure what a craving is. not until you meet her, at least.

after swallowing her pain meds, sevika crawls back into bed, the heavy feeling of anxiety that settled over her chest slowly but surely fades, and she’s eased into a light afternoon nap. the plain white walls of her room offer some familiar comfort, but the more she looks at them, the more she’s reminded of the hospital. fuck, maybe she should try to decorate the place. and she really does need to go shopping later.

——

she wakes up nearly three hours later feeling more exhausted than before she slept. at least she feels a bit more calm, but the looming feeling of her responsibilities made her groan. another reason why she doesn’t want pets: it’s another mouth to feed, to walk, clean up after, bathe, spend time with. she can barely do those things for herself, how on earth could she do it for something else?

rather than pouting about her responsibilities, she makes the tough decision to get out of bed and get started with her day. get started meaning that it’s almost 6:00pm and she’s only just now attempting to complete her to-do list. and so what? she lives on her own terms. she doesn’t bother brushing her messy hair after her nap, even less to keep it out of her face with a little half ponytail. it never works anyways, the wind whips it all around you until it sticks to the sides of your face with humidity.

so, that’s it then, and she shoves her shoes and her coat on and leaves. the door stays unlocked, of course, and she makes her way down the stairwell and out of the building. there’s a small grocery store on her block which is conveniently located next to a liquor store. if she has the funds after buying her necessities, she’ll stop in there for a treat. actually, she’ll probably stop in there anyways, but she likes to think that she still has some self control left when it comes to drinking.

does she remember what she needed to buy? no. and did she bother to write down her mental shopping list as it came to her? nope! but it’ll come to her. hopefully. she spends the whole walk there trying to focus on what she needs to spend her money on and what she wants to spend her money on. she needs more painkillers, more snacks, some sort of decoration for her place, and… was there something else?

she crosses into the store and she’s immediately greeted by the sound of loud pop music buzzing through the speakers. great, so she’s overstimulated already. she’ll make it quick, she decides, it’s not like she wanted to be here in the first place.

sauntering down the aisles, she picks up everything she needs. at least, everything she remembers that she needs. she grabs a large bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, more bread and butter, microwave meals, milk and eggs, and what else? before she can think of another thing to add, she decides to just leave. if she thinks of anything else, she can always just come back later.

her shoulders sag under the weight of her basket, full of stuff that’ll probably just rot in her fridge. as she approaches the register, she sighs as the man behind it attempts to strike up a conversation with her. she’s not interested, she never has been, and she has no clue why he insists on chatting with her every time she’s there.

she doesn’t respond to the man the entire time she’s there, just staring daggers past him. she doesn’t even muster out a “good evening” or “goodnight”. i mean jesus, even a “fuck you” might’ve been polite. it’s not like she cares.

but she does stop by the liquor store on the way home, as we knew she would. she decides to treat herself, picking up not only one, but two bottles off of the shelf. whiskey and vodka, not cheap but it does the job. the money will come back around anyways. the man behind the counter, this time stoned out of his mind, asks her what she’s gonna do with the alcohol.

“what am i gonna do with it?” she repeats, obviously annoyed and confused. “what the fuck do you think?”

“mannnn, i bet you could make a hundred bottles of homemade mouthwash with this stuff. fucking awesome.”

sevika rolls her eyes and collects the large glass bottles, shoving them into her bag as gently as she can. she has no idea why everyone’s so interested in talking with her tonight, it’s like she’s wearing a glowing neon sign above her head that says “TALK TO ME!”

does she look approachable? happy? friendly? welcoming? no, obviously not. she must not be part of this inside joke the world is playing on her tonight.

so you’re surprised to see sevika when you’re out for your second walk of the night. pacing around in your own house wasn’t working, and all you wanted was some fresh air. well, maybe not fresh, but the temperature definitely did shock you. you almost walked right past her until you recognized her statuesque figure. she was across the parking lot, rolling her eyes and shoving the door to the liquor shop open as she stepped back outside.

huh. sevika at a liquor shop. not necessarily unusual for a person, but forbidden for you. you wonder if this is a ritual for her, if she’s gonna go home and get drunk or something, or maybe if she’s gonna split the bottle with some friends. does she even have friends?

you turn around and head in the same direction she does, hoping your paths cross before her quick, long strides can leave you behind. and you eventually catch up to her, pretending you had no idea you’d run into her, you greet her with a “oh, sevika! hey, i didn’t expect to see you here.” except, you did expect to see her here. you already spied her storming out of the liquor store. ugh, you’re such a bad liar.

“oh… hi.” she mumbles, a little disturbed by your sudden appearance, and already burnt out from the two people who’ve made small talk with her in the past hour. while you stand in front of her, she raises her eyebrow slightly as if to signal that she’s waiting for you to say something before she walks away.

“i’ll see you next week, yeah?” you remind her, not really sure of what to say. partly because the meeting is so sudden, and partly because this woman is breathtaking.

“yeah, maybe.” she agrees halfheartedly.

“i don’t want your ‘maybe’s sevika. i want you to say yes to me.” you challenge, huffing at her indecisiveness. “if you want me to help you, i need a yes.”

“help me with what?” she asks, pretending to be shocked and offended at your words. you stutter, staring up at her with a sorry look in your eyes.

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“i’m just fucking with you.” she says, chuckling to herself and offering a small smile. and as if her face couldn’t get any more perfect, you notice a small gap between two of her top teeth. she’s so beautiful you feel like you’re gonna melt, even in this chilly autumn weather.

before you think about what you’re saying next, you blurt out a “tomorrow? can i see you tomorrow?”

she raises her eyebrows at your bluntness, the suggestion seems to come out of nowhere. but what else does she have to do? and she already feels bad for fucking with you all of the time, shouldn’t she just give in and attend whatever stupid meeting you have planned for her?

“i— i guess, yeah.”

“you guess?” you tease. “or you will show up?”

“i will. i’ll see you tomorrow.” she admits with a huff.

“good, i’ll see you tomorrow too then.” you say, and you offer her a small wave before walking past her and continuing with your walk. after seeing her, your mind automatically feels so much clearer considering the fact that she was the one occupying all of your thoughts.

sevika stands frozen in place as you walk away, holding her bag in her hand as she reflects on what she just agreed to. why the fuck would she say yes to that? she doesn’t believe in any of your religious bullshit, and she doesn’t care to try. but it’s too late, she’ll just have to let you down easy when tomorrow comes.

but when tomorrow does come, she decides to go a little bit easier on herself. it’s not like you’re trying to annoy her with all of your beliefs and jargon and whatnot, and she can tell that this actually does mean a lot to you. plus, she’s in a good mood after remembering that she bought two new bottles of alcohol. she even ate a little bit last night and managed to keep it all down, which is a rare occurrence for her. so yeah, it might be a good day.

the sun peeks out just a tiny bit from behind the clouds as she walks herself back to the church, which offers a nice, although minuscule, bit of warmth. you’re already there by the time she arrives, and you greet her with a warm smile and invite her down the long hallway to your ‘office’. it’s not technically a real office since you don’t do too much work other than filing papers and planning events, you just begged them to give you a room that you could sit alone in sometimes.

you don’t have any sort of plan on how you’re gonna convert sevika, or how to at least help her fix up her life a little bit, but you do wanna get to know her. so you start with that. you ask her where she’s from and if she’s lived here her whole life, and you’re surprised to learn that she used to work in new york. all the way across the country.

she hesitates to tell you why she left though, saying she’d rather save it for a later session when she gets more comfortable. which she regrets almost instantly, because she just solidified herself another few meetings like these. she tells you more, like how she was always close with her mother until she passed when sevika was only ten. and how she definitelty inherited some anger from her dad, even though she never liked him.

her childhood was interesting. to you at least. she was just stable enough to keep herself afloat, but unstable enough for her to be left with some sort of trauma. she moved out as soon as she reached eighteen and never looked back. she scoured for jobs that would be good for someone like her, someone broken but strong. resilient, you call it.

the two of you chat for nearly three hours, you asking questions after question and her answering nearly all of them. but the one question that you’re too scared to ask is this: what happened that turned her into… this? she said it had something to do with her job, something that just completely broke her and left her unable to snap back. but what was it? how bad could it have been? what job did she have? was it her fault? but you did agree to letting her tell you on her own terms, so you’ll just have to wait until she’s ready.

eventually your time is up, and you walk sevika back out of the double doors of the small building. she flashes you a small smile, one that you’re already obsessed with, and she turns to leave.

“wait.” you call after her, although she’s only about six feet away from you. “you don’t have a car?”

“no.”

“how did you get here?”

“i… walked…” she says, waiting for you to get to your point.

“all this way?”

“it’s only about a block and a half.”

“but— well…” now you feel bad. you didn’t know that you were forcing her to exercise her exhausted joints and muscles in this weather. sure, maybe she doesn’t mind, but if you were her you’d probably throw a tantrum. “do you want me to drive you?” you ask.

“sure, if you really want to.”

“of course i want to.” you say, and you practically drag her off of the sidewalk and shove her into the passenger side of your car. the drive is short, her building really is just about a block and a half away.

“i’ll see you next week.” you say.

“yeah, see you then.” she responds, and for once it doesn’t feel forced or awkward.

“and tell helen i say hi if you see her. assuming you know who she is?” you giggle.

“yes, i know my own neighbor.” she says, rolling her eyes and chuckling.

“just making sure…” you tease.

sevika just laughs and waves you goodbye through your front window, disappearing into the building and up the stairs. you don’t even register it— to busy with staring at her back— but eventually it hits you that she laughed. this mysterious, guarded woman laughed at something you said. and she spent the last three hours opening up to you about her life. and for the first time in quite a while, you feel like you’re finally good at your job.

——

sevika’s been following through on her promise, meeting you for exactly four weeks now. twenty eight days. you started out with just seeing her twice a week, then every other day, and now you see each other daily. she opened up to you about how much she hates the church setting, how it activates her fight or flight response and brings up old memories, so you switched to taking her to a small local cafe instead.

it’s great. you get to have real coffee, not the burnt stuff from the coffee pot in the church’s kitchen. you’ve also been forcing sevika to eat after learning that it’s been a struggle for her. nothing big, but you make sure she always has at least a muffin or a croissant in her stomach. you pick her up and driving her there too, which is good for her because she can finally relax instead of being worn out from walking everywhere.

she’s taken a liking to you, every morning she’s glad she wakes up because she knows she can see you again. it’s such a strange feeling, but she enjoys it. opening up to you wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be either. you listen so attentively, and you’re always careful to ask appropriate questions and give her a break without her even having to ask for one.

it’s never been easy for her to talk about what happened in her past, and she wishes she had the ability to forget about it completely. but it’s easier with you. every time her eyes grow wide and teary as she pictures the bodies, you change the topic and point at a cute dog outside of the window. or when she gets choked up, stumbling over her words because the brutality of the situation is just too much for her, you let her take her time.

the most memorable moment for her was when she told you about that kid with the blue hair. everything else, sevika managed to stay under control about. sure, the mangled body parts and the melted flesh was bad, but that fucking kid. her lips were still blue. she’d been so alive only moments earlier, smiling as sevika gave her a fist bump and held her in her arms, and she was gone just like that.

when she told you, she couldn’t help but break down in heavy sobs. you could feel your heart shatter at this— the story and sevika’s reaction to it. you scrambled from your side of the booth to hers, scooting in next to her and wrapping her up in a hug as she cried. to your surprise, she hugged you back. she hooked her chin over your shoulder, grabbed you tightly in her strong arms, and just let herself go.

it’s the most tranquility she’s ever felt, and it put all of her past therapists to shame. immediately after that day, the two of you were bonded. you’d do anything for her. be a shoulder to cry on, drive her to and from her various doctors appointments, and make sure she’s eating.

she’s started to trust you, and she agreed to going back to the church with you a few times a week. instead of taking your usual spot with the rest of the staff and speakers, you sit with her every time. sevika on your left, her neighbor on your right.

today you’re feeling particularly bold for some reason, you suspect it might be because of your friendship with sevika, but this feels different. well, you know how it feels, but you’re scared to admit it. although you’ll probably be fine, you’re hesitant to say it to yourself out of the fear that you’ll be thrown out of the church. yes, you like sevika, and sure, she is a beautiful woman. but you just can’t bring yourself to say it. to say that you have a real crush on her. to admit that you want her.

so instead of saying anything, you use your actions instead. glancing over both of your shoulders, you make sure that nobody important is looking in your direction before you snake your hand forward and wrap your hand around sevika’s. this action is the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone, and your cheeks are practically on fire with how hard you’re blushing. you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building could hear your heartbeat right now.

sevika adjusts her fingers so that she’s gripping your hand firmly, and you feel so… dirty, almost. you know that this is nothing, but you’re scared and ashamed of what other people might think. but although it initially feels wrong, you settle down when you realize that nobody’s looking— even more that nobody cares— and it feels so right. her hands are surprisingly warm and soft, they feel so welcoming and familiar against yours.

maybe, just maybe, you’ll hold her hand more often. but for now, this is just a one-time occurrence.

she notices the panicked look in your eyes as you stare straight ahead. she tries to nudge you gently, but you’re in such a deep stupor that you don’t notice it.

“hey.” she whispers, elbowing you a bit harder than last time. “you okay?”

you realize now that she’s trying to talk to you, so you just squeeze her hand and give her a small nod, blinking your eyes a few times and trying to snap back into reality. once the ceremony is over, you stand and walk sevika and her neighbor to the door quickly.

“are you sure you’re alright?” she asks again.

“yeah, it’s nothing.”

“you know that… this works both ways, right?” she says, gesturing between both of your bodies. “if you need someone to talk to, i can listen.”

“i know, thank you.” you start. “but it’s not like that. it’s nothing… bad. i think? but i’m fine. or— i will be fine.” you say, stumbling over your words incredibly hard.

“you don’t seem fine to me.” she retorts.

“i am, thank you though. get home safely.” you choke out, missing a crucial part to your signature goodbye’s.

“…see you tomorrow?” she asks.

“oh, yes! see you tomorrow, i knew i was forgetting something.”

sevika flicks you on the forehead, before turning to leave. “get some rest, then.”

“i will.” you laugh, although it’s forced.

as soon as her and her neighbor are out of sight, you turn around and make a beeline for your office at the end of the hall. your eyes are glued to the floor, purposefully ignoring anyone’s gaze in case they try to chat with you.

the door clicks locked behind you, and you slump down in our office chair. with your head in your hands, you start to cry. the anxiety in your chest is just too much to handle, and you’re so upset with yourself. you’re upset because it felt so good to be that close to her, and you let yourself indulge in something you know you’ll never get to have. you allowed yourself to catch feelings, but you know you can’t go any further. you’ll have to stick with just thinking she’s pretty and sweet and yours, and watch her fall in love with another woman.

worst of all, she’ll probably fall in love with a woman who’s the total opposite of you. someone who’s experienced and not awkward and cool. and not you. and this really hurts to realize.

what are you supposed to do now? now that you’ve admitted how you feel to yourself, what else is there to do? you can’t ask her out on a date, that would be against everything your community believes in. but are you really supposed to just sit here and play along? it’s not fair. your adrenaline is so high right now that all you really want to do is run.

and that's just what you do. you don't even bother to use the exit door down the hallway, you just peel your window open and hop out of it. tears prickle your eyes and the frosty air nips at your skin, but it helps even out your overheating temperature. you’ve walked this route a millions times already, it’s nothing different but the gentle scenery offers a nice place to think.

you think about all of the sweet moments you’ve shared together, specifically about how much it means to you. you’ve never really had a friend like this before. sure, you’re convivial, but having someone like this was so different. she was yours. and you’d gladly be hers if she asked you to, but would she ask you to? would she ever ask someone like you to be hers?

but you also think about how much your religion means to you. you’ve been part of this for so long, working harder to have a strong sense of faith every single day. if you get with sevika, they could cut you off in an instant, and it would’ve all been for nothing. your reputation would be ruined, and if you’d ever wanna start over with another church, you’d have to leave this small town. leave your home.

it’s just not fair. why did god make you this way? for everyone else, falling in love with a man is no problem. they were made the right way, or at least know how to ignore their true feeling really well. was there some sort of secret lesson that you missed? that everyone is in on besides you?

once you get dizzy and out of breath, you find a stump to sit on and reflect. your shoes kick at the dirt underneath you, brain fuzzy as you try to decide on what to do. little bugs crawl around on the ground beneath you, each one of them having a family and a home. i wish i could have a family, you think. you can hear rain pattering on the leaves of the trees above you, but you stay dry. well, as dry as you possibly can be living this close to the ocean.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting here lost in your thoughts before the sky turns a lovely light shade of orange, and you realize you’d better leave now if you wanna get back before dark. the only thing on your mind as always is sevika.

sevika has been thinking about you all night too, wondering if you’re okay after the way you acted. she won’t push, she wants to give you time to open up to her the same way you did, but she just worries. and she misses the warmth of your hand in hers, although she could tell you were nervous. in her opinion, it was cute. she admires how gentle you are, how you always make sure others are alright before making sure you are alright. but whatever it is, she doesn’t doubt that you’ll be fine.

leaving your window open was a stupid idea, now your entire office is cold and there’s a puddle of rainwater leaking down the bottom of the window and onto the floor. but you’ve made up your mind. you need to call her. you know that she’s infinitely more experienced with these feelings than you are, so she’ll be able to help you, even if those feelings are about her.

she’s about to go to bed early when her phone rings again. she knows it’s you before she even picks up— you’re the only one with her number.

“yes?”

“…sevika.” you sob out, the small whimper of her name followed by sniffles and cries.

“holy shit, are you okay?” she asks frantically, scared that maybe you’re hurt or something.

“well… physically yes. but i just… miss you. i need to talk to you in person.”

“okay, yeah. i’m on my way.” she says, and she practically flies out of her building and down the street to get to you. it’s not late, but the sky is already pitch black due to how early the sun sets. you meet her at the door again when she arrives, and the sight of her instantly calms your nerves. she looks so worried, it makes your heart twist. you’re so in love and it’s all her fault.

she doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in her arms as you sob into her shoulder, and this gesture only makes you sob harder. because you’re so in love and you think you know which side you’re choosing. and it breaks your heart.

“what’s going on?” she asks, and you realize you’re still standing in the doorway.

“come inside, i’ll explain.”

“okay…” she whispers. “did something happen?”

“i have a question.”

“of course. ask me anything.”

“do you ever…” you trail off, trying to find the right words. “feel like… like you can’t live without someone? and you’d give up anything to be with them?”

“yeah, i guess i’ve felt that way before.” she admits quizzically.

“what’s it called?” you ask, although you already know the answer.

“love?” she guesses.

“sevika, can i tell you something?”

“yeah, go ahead.” she says, worried that maybe you’re about to admit to killing someone.

“i think…” you start, but you get interrupted by tears dripping past your eyes and down your cheeks.

“spit it out,” she prompts. “you can trust me.”

“i think i’m in love with you.” you blurt out, biting the bullet.

“oh…” she says, and she almost steps away from you before she realizes that you’re crying again. so she wraps you in another hug and rubs your back. you grip onto her so hard you can barely breathe, and you cry in her arms for so long that you’re brought to your knees. sevika holds you even after you fall the the floor, keeling before you as your knees give out.

she’s in love with you too, but she didn’t wanna say anything in case it made you uncomfortable. plus, she’s not really into corruption or anything, so she decided to just respect your boundaries. but eventually her joints grew sore of sitting on the floor, so she rose, holding your face in her hands and wiping up all of your tears as they fall.

v. REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH

every little thing about her attracted you. sevika was a lost soul, mysterious above all. a woman who needed help and direction but was so strong, you swore she could hold the whole world on her shoulders, no matter how much she’d whine about the pain. she complains about people— how there are too many of them and how they’re all stupid— but she’d give her life in a heartbeat to save them.

you couldn’t crack her, no matter how hard you tried.

she looked down at you with her silver eyes sparkling in the candlelight, her hair falling over her face in a silky curtain. you gasped as her thick hands took their place on either side of your head, each one cupping your cheeks so tenderly although they have a rough exterior. you always knew she was capable of being gentle.

you looked up at her from your position on your knees, her torso looking impossibly longer than usual. something comes over you, something that warms up your stomach until you feel so dizzy you feel the need to reach for something to steady yourself. unaware of just how much trouble this would get you in, you end up grabbing for her upper thighs. they’re so thick that your hands are almost completely flat, but they’re sturdy. perfect for grabbing onto.

she chuckles at your flushed state, huffing out an amused “it’s alright, you can touch me if you want. you won’t burst into flames.”

those two sentences make your cheeks heat up involuntarily. you know what she’s implying, and it makes you feel strangely electric. if you don’t burst into flames by this act of sinning, you’ll burst into flames due to how flustered you are. she does something to you that feels so enchanting, like some sort of spell she’s casted. you’ve been frozen in place for so long that you hardly register the soft caress of her thumbs against the apples of your cheeks. if she were medusa, you’d get turned to stone in an instant.

“sevika, what are you— we should—”

“what are you thinking about right now?” she asks, tauntingly putting an end to your stuttering mess of a sentence.

“uh— medusa. and you. you remind me of her.” you choke out, reaching up and gripping onto her biceps before hauling yourself up.

“how so?”

“i always feel like you put me under some kind of spell. like when i’m with you i’m frozen in place. in a good way.” you respond, your breath tickling her face as you gaze up at her from a closer distance this time.

most of your dizziness has relented, and now you sense something softer in the way sevika gazes at you. like she’s pleading for something she doesn’t know how to ask for. she stammers back, almost hitting the wall, and you grow concerned. the roles have shifted. little do you know, you’re in power now. she feels… weak. and needy. something tingly settles in her stomach, she can’t decipher whether it’s anxiety or horniness.

“sevika?” you ask with concern, slowly walking over to where she’s pressed against the wall. her chest heaves as she breathes deeply, and she shivers when you reach out to grab her hand. “are you feeling alright?”

“i don’t think i can do this anymore.” she confesses, her big, silver eyes growing glossy with tears. “i’m— i can’t do this to you.”

“what are you talking about?” you attempt to soothe, worried that maybe she’s suddenly gotten possessed or something.

“you belong here, sevika. you’re not doing anything wrong. if anything, it’s me who should back off right now.”

“it’s not about that.” she sighs, unable to meet your gaze, her eyes instead settling for your lips. a sight she’s seen many times before in her most erotic fantasies.

“what are you feeling right now?” you ask, your therapist persona settling over you in case she’s about to reveal more of her past trauma.

“i… i can’t say it.” she whispers, now solely focused on the curve of your lips and how they’re still shining from the last time your tongue trailed over them.

“you can trust me.” you whisper back. “always.”

sevika studies your words in her mind, hoping that you’d still mean them if you could see the thoughts running wild in her mind right now. she inches closer to you and her nose almost brushes yours. the tension in the room makes her squirm, thighs pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them. somehow, in some strange way, this feels better than sex. better than anything she’s ever smoked, any liquid she could get drunk on.

you are her intoxicant. her stronger substance. her higher power. her breath of fresh air in this humid town. you are what she’s been searching for.

before she makes another move, she pauses. you’re looking at her with such concern, such love, her heart feels like it’s gonna burst. she theorizes that you’re aware of exactly what she’s thinking, but she has no way to know. sevika wonders how you’d react if she leaned forward and kissed you right now.

you have a sneaking suspicion that she’s thinking of something… lustful right now. it shows in her eyes. wide with pupils big and blown out, and the silver in them is practically glittering. she looks pretty, you think, and soft. and although it’s against almost everything you believe in, you probably wouldn’t mind if she leaned in right now and just—

her lips come crashing against yours, a beautiful harmony of carnal aggression and tender care. gravity suddenly feels about twenty times stronger, and you near collapse in sevika’s strong arms. instead of that, you regain your balance after stumbling and back her against the wall. her back hits it with a thud, and she whimpers into your mouth. she whimpers.

it’s as if everything you’ve ever believed in suddenly floods out of your mind. you don’t care which god sees you kissing another woman with such animal desire. somehow it doesn’t matter to you anymore. all that matters is sevika. her safety, her trust, her pleasure.

for once, you allow yourself to feel this way. although it feels wrong, it’s so freeing. you’re an adult for god’s sake, and you’ve missed out on so much due to the strict rules of the church. you want this, you deserve this. after all, it is technically your job to guide sevika, to make her feel good. how is this any different?

as her lips part, you take the chance to slide your tongue over hers. just a gentle brush, but the warm heat of her mouth drives you crazy. her hands claw at your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no gap between the pair of you. this level of closeness isn’t something you’re used to, but fuck, it feels so right.

you can feel the way her thighs tighten when she squirms and clenches them together, feel her own tits rub against yours through your clothes. the intimacy of the moment almost feels awkward, especially because it’s completely silent other than the sounds of your lips smacking together. but before you can dwell on the embarrassment crashing over you, sevika grounds you by moaning your name into your mouth.

as if you weren’t already turned on, this flips a switch and activates something in you that’s a hundred times stronger. both of you pant when you pull back, staring into the silver pools of sevika’s irises. you need her. now. in every way possible.

“take your clothes off.” you demand. sevika nods momentarily, but she hesitates.

“are you sure? we don’t need to— if you’re not comfortable with it that’s fi—”

“now, sevika.” you huff at her attempt to be gentlemanly, but you know she’s craving this as much as you are.

without another word, she strips herself of her shirt, leaving her in just a black sports bra and jeans. you halt your own undressing to stare at her. and god. she’s fucking perfect. her abdomen carries the remnants of what you assume used to be a thick six pack of abs. and although you can’t exactly see them yet, her tits are wide and heavy looking, her ribs poking out slightly under them.

something that you didn’t expect to turn you on is her happy trail. she’s got a thick line of dark, coarse hair running from her belly button all the way down to—

her pants drop to the floor as you continue to stare at her, and your eyes trail lower and lower until they reach the ground. her thighs look impossibly thicker, and you’re surprised about how much she complains about her body. she looks so strong, like nothing could ever hurt her. and as for being insecure? impossible for someone who looks as good as she does. you’d do anything to make her aware of just how beautiful she is.

as she stands almost naked before you, she peeps out a timid “your turn.”

before you think twice, you tackle her to the floor, crushing her lips under yours and shoving your tongue back into her mouth. she whimpers when she hits the ground, albeit mostly out of pain instead of pleasure. you slightly pull away with a gasp, concerned about potentially hurting her— the opposite of your intentions.

“fuck, sorry.” you groan against her lips. “did i hurt you?”

“it’s alright.” she responds. “worth it to have a pretty thing like you on top of me.”

with that, you’re kissing her even deeper, grabbing onto the back of her head to get a better angle with your tongue. she shuffles slightly under you, bucking her hips up as she unbuttons your own pants. shit, you think to yourself, i’ve never done this before.

your bottoms are quickly discarded, sevika throws them somewhere behind you the second they’re off. you’re dying to get your hands on her tits, but you don’t know how to ask. it’s a good think she can always tell what you’re thinking, because she reaches up to hook her thumbs under her bra and yank it off. and god, you were right. her tits are wide and heavy, they’re so smooth and round with the most perfect brown nipples sitting proudly in the center of each one.

you lean forward to give each one a kiss, just a gentle brush, but it doesn’t really satisfy your craving for her. you pout, you’re so horny that it hurts. no matter what article of clothing she removes, it’s not enough. you just wanna crawl inside of her and live there.

“what’s wrong?” she asks.

“i need you.”

“have you ever had sex before?”

“no. i have no idea what i’m doing.”

“guess it’s my turn to guide you.” she laughs, and although the joke was stupid, you giggle too. you didn’t know it could be this fun.

she shuffles under you as she slides her boxers off, and you almost drool at the sight of her bush. it’s just so… beautiful. and intimate. she pats your hips as a signal to scoot off of her, and she spreads her legs before manhandling you to sit your cunt on top of hers. as soon as you connect your cunt with hers, you swear you black out.

it all feels so good. she keeps spreading her legs wider to help you get a better angle against her clit, and you can feel it throbbing against yours. you thought holding her hand was intimate, but this is so much more than you could’ve imagined.

“fuck, sevika.” you moan, tears crashing over you again and dripping onto her cheeks now. “you’re so beautiful.”

she groans at this, tears washing over her too. she hasn’t felt beautiful in so long, and here you are completely undoing her insecurities. all of the scars on her face, cheeks, neck, arms, and torso get kissed. you trail your fingers along some, your tongue along others. you want her to feel loved. you want her to feel the exact same way that she makes you feel.

“you’re beautiful too.” she admits sheepishly. “i can’t believe i haven’t fucked you sooner.”

this flusters you. it’s hard for you to believe that anyone can just be this confident saying things like that, especially because you’re not used to it. but it feels so good to be desired. to have the woman of your dreams using you to get off.

you’re both so sensitive that it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum. sevika’s catches her first after you tell her how beautiful her scars are, even though she used to believe they were the ugliest things known to mankind. she gasps as she cums, her thick cream leaking out of her cunt and down her ass.

you eventually follow after her when she readjusts, moving one of her hands down from your neck onto your hip. she grinds up into you, and your clit meets hers at such an angle that you cum with a scream. it’s dizzying. you gasp and moan and writhe as your orgasm crashes down over you. considering that it’s your first, you weren’t expecting it to be so enveloping. you were taught that sex was unholy, gross, sinful, and a plethora of other negative adjectives.

but it’s not.

you imagine that this is what heaven feels like, a shock of pleasure that runs through your body and leaves you panting and reeling. and it’s fun. as soon as you come down, sevika’s congratulating you on a good job and holding you close. you cry again, but this time not out of fear, out of certainty. you have it all figured out. you’ve just felt the best sensation of your life and here’s the love of your life smiling up from under you.

and so sevika holds you for another few minutes. yeah, you’re both naked in the middle of church, and yeah you’d be burned at the stake if anyone ever found out. but you wouldn’t mind that, as long as you have sevika with you.

“sevika?” you ask after a long while of silent kisses and tickling breaths.

“yeah?”

“i think we need to get out of here.”

“alright. where to?”

“i dunno. let’s leave the country.”

sevika laughs at this, and it’s a sound prettier than anything you’ve ever heard. something you’ll never get sick of. “fuck, i love you so much.”

but before convincing her to leave the country with you, you drive her to a small 24 hour diner down the street and have dinner together. it’s a real date, although all of those coffee shop meeting have gotta count for something too. you hold her hand across the table, this time not afraid, and share a milkshake just like they do in the movies.

so yeah, maybe things didn’t work out for you with this certain group of people, and maybe it does still take a while for you to get over your fear of societal rejection, but sevika is there for you every step of the way. as your girlfriend. officially.

OK HAIII if you made it all the way through my the treacherous jungle of my yap and you’re reading this, thank you so much!!!! i poured my entire heart and soul (and pussy) into this so i hope u enjoyed hehehe :P special thanks to pluto, rayray, eren, and lyss for allowing me to yap about this fic to them, i couldn’t have done it without you guys 🥹 my favorite people in the world right here, MWAH here’s a kiss from ennabear <3 and another thanks to the rest of my mutuals for putting up with the empty promises of “coming soon” at least it’s actually finished now!! i love all of you, let me know what you thought of this one!!! comments and reblogs are very highly appreciated 🤎🤎

[naburi]

ALL OF US ARE NOT DEAD

HWANG YEJI X LEE CHAERYEONG X READER

TAGS: HORROR, GIRLXGIRL, TONGUE KISSING, THREESOME

3K WORDS

The school ground is silent and dark besides the one lighted classroom on the third floor. “Cheers,” the three students said quietly, celebrating their successful trip. You manage to gather food that can last for a few weeks. Yeji put her arm across the younger girl, encouraging her to eat. Chaeryeong is still shocked by what happened. As the night wears on, the two eventually share laughter together, but this is not the only thing they share tonight.

“Run! Don’t look back!” You instructed the two girls, knowing that some of your classmates are already turned. You run upstairs with hoards of infected students trailing the three of you. Despite the noise of the chaos, you heard the cries coming from the two girls as they ran ahead of you. “Fuck!” You cursed, you found an extra strength to keep running until the three of you found an empty classroom. You quickly lock the doors to secure your safety.

“Shh…” you tried to quiet down the girls as they were having a breakdown. Yeji tried to hold her own mouth, while you embraced Chaeryeong into a hug to muffled her cries. It’s getting dark but the three of you are still, visibly shocked on what’s happening. Afraid to turn the lights on with the thought that the infected will notice, the trio just lays down on the dark classroom floor to sleep, hoping this is just a one big nightmare.

2 days have passed since the outbreak. The three of you observing the chaos below through the window. You noticed that the infected only are attracted by noise. “We can get out,” Yeji claims, she knows that you can’t just stay here forever. “Where are we going?” Chaeryeong asks. The two girls look at you waiting to hear your thoughts. “Let’s get some food first,” you said.

Peeking out the door, you go out of the room for the first time since the outbreak, you walk down the hallway in high alert, ready to run back to the room if danger comes. You signal the girls to stay put and wait for you to come back. Passing by some empty rooms, you realize that you might be alone on this floor. Going downstairs, you found the same empty halls but the sound of ragged foot steps can now be heard from below. It seems like the infected are only on the ground floor.

“I’ll do it,” Yeji said after hearing your plan. She volunteers to be the one to distract the infected. She will be on the other side of the building, throwing stuff on the cars below to attract the attention of the infected without putting herself in harm. You didn’t object as you are more confident in her being alone than Chaeryeong. You and the blond girl will walk silently to the nearby stores to gather food and water. You empty the biggest bags in the room to bring them with you. You carry two backpacks, one in your back and the other infront, while the blonde girl has one in her back.

Yeji starts to throw things at the cars. The infected quickly run up to the noise. You and Chaeryeong sneak out of the building unharmed. An hour has passed, Yeji is getting worried. You are yet to go back with the blonde girl. The two of you found a convenient store. You put down your bags and fill them up with as much food and water as it can carry. Chaeryeong smiles when she notices that you also packed up some liquor. You instruct her to get some plastic bags to carry more food while you get some first aid items you can find in the store.

The two of you stayed still when you heard the door open. Two boys entered the store looking for the same thing. They first saw Chaeryeong, they ran up to her to take her bags. You manage to throw a punch on the boy to get a hold of your bags. The other boy checks on his friend before charging on you. You exchanged punches with the boy as Chaeryoung joined the action, throwing some punches as well. The first boy who got punched sneaked in Chaeryeong's back. He pulled her away holding the girl by her waist. Despite the Chaos, the boy took this opportunity to put his hand on the blonde girl’s boobs, groping them while his other hand was covering her mouth.

Adrenaline sets in when you see Chaeryeong gets molested. You got on top of the boy, beating him to a pulp. The other guy saw this and pushed your friend to the side before charging at you. You get to hit him first again, but now you don't stop until all he can do is breath. You quickly check on Chaeryeong, she reassures you that she’s fine and you need to get out of here. Before leaving, you pack more plastic bags to carry food as you know that other survivors will loot this place soon. Yeji was relieved and surprised when she saw the two going back to the building but with more bags than you can carry.

The three are now back in the room, sorting out the food they collected. They figure this can last for a few weeks even over a month if they eat rationally. You told Yeji what happened as she hugged Chaeryeong. The blond girl teared up but she’s more glad that they have food to survive. Yeji patted the girl’s, telling her that she’s brave in going out and fighting the other survivors. This made Chaeryeong cry as she buried her head on Yeji’s shoulder.

“Cheers” the three students said quietly, they each had a bottle of soju, paired up with snacks. While sitting in the makeshift blanket on the floor. Yeji is reluctant with the idea of this celebration but you convinced her by reminding them that you haven’t eaten any meaningful amount these last 2 days. The three students clink their bottles, celebrating their survival and drinking away their worries. Each took turns in expressing their worries about their families and friends.

Yeji felt the growing heavy feelings in the group, she tries to change the subject in hopes of brightening up the mood of everyone. She brings up memories from their childhood as she and Chaeryeong lived in the same neighborhood. The blonde girl is embarrassed with the stories that Yeji is telling as the two share laughter together. Chaeryeong answers back, she told that Yeji is disgusted with kisses so their friend group starts kissing Yeji to tease her.

Yeji is so embarrassed she denies it unintentionally. The three of you pause for a moment. You walk up to turn off the lights, trying to hide your location. You go near the door to listen if some infected is walking upstairs. You can barely see the two sitting on the floor as they stay still nervously. You move toward the window trying to catch if someone is going towards the building. After long minutes on high alert. It seems like you didn’t attract any infected. You decided to switch on the lights. The two girls are now intertwined, Chaeryeong is sitting on Yeji’s lap as they’re exchanging kisses.

Their kisses are slow and cautious, not trying to make a noise. Yeji’s hands are wandering the girl’s curves as she finds her hands holding the perky boobs of the blond girl. Chaeryeong is holding Yeji’s face as she tries to kiss her deeply. Her tongue is slithering inside her mouth inviting her tongue to meet hers. Chaeryeong's hands are now holding her head by the hair as their tongues are intertwined with the other. In shock at what you’re seeing, you stand up still not knowing what to do.

The two girls noticed that the lights were on, they looked around the room to find you. Chaeryeong looks embarrassed that you saw them in the act but she couldn’t care less. She signals you to sit besides them. She sits on Yeji’s lap, grinding her slit to her leg, while Yeji is busy opening her uniform. This leaves the blonde girl’s lips available, which she uses to kiss you. You can taste the soju in her mouth as the two of them start making out. You have had a crush on the blonde girl ever since you became classmates but you didn’t pay attention to your feelings as you don’t want to enter into a relationship right now.

You felt Chaeryeong moaning in between kisses as the black haired girl is now playing on her nipples. Yeji’s nails are pinching her nipples enough to make her moan. While her other hand is caressing on her boobs. The blonde girl doesn’t want to moan out loud because of the action of the other woman. She pulls you deeper into a kiss as she tries to muffle her moans in your make outs. Chaeryeong now moves on top of your lip while still not breaking up the kiss. Her arms are across your neck as she clearly appreciates your kisses. She likes that your kisses are passionate and needy as if you have been waiting for this moment. Her tongue moves in your mouth swiftly as she wants to get into you deeper. You reciprocate her advancement as your tongue kisses her as well. Your tongues are outside your mouths fondling with one another. The two tongues move against one another feeling all sides of one another. Your tongues are intertwined like they are longing for one another. You didn’t know that you were capable of such erotic tongue kissing but here you are with your classmate making out in front of someone.

Yeji reaches down on her wet slit as she gets turned on by how the two kiss each other. Her slender fingers effortlessly enter her slit, as she touches herself watching the erotic display in front of her. It seems like the two of you sense that Yeji is touching herself by watching you. Chaeryeong starts to grind on your hips to give Yeji a better performance. Your bulge is now visible as her grinding made you rock hard. The blonde girl felt this as she moved on top of your bulge to grind directly on it. The sight of Chaeryeong wet panties hitting your bulge made Yeji’s mind go blank.

She plunges her fingers deep in her as her orgasm. She holds her mouth with her other hand to muffle her moans. Chaeryeong notices this and goes to the girls wet slit to have a taste of it. You stand up with Chaereyoung to now remove your pants. Your cock is bulging through your pants, begging to be left out. Your thick cock is now exposed, stroking it while watching the blonde girl eat her out. Yeji is looking at your thick cock as she taps Chaeryeong's head to look in the same direction. The two girls quickly moved in front of your thick cock. Yeji held your cock first, stroking it as she exchanged glances with Chaeryeong. The two start to make out again in front of you as Yeji continues to stroke your cock. Your cock is throbbing hard as you get turned on by the two pretty girls making out.

Yeji pulls your cock closer as she puts your cock in between their lips. The two girls are now sucking and licking your cock on each side. Yeji sucks your cock in different places like she’s trying to give it hickies while Chaeryeong tongue swirls on your tongue making sure to lick every part of it in her side. Your thick cock is now wet with their saliva as the two girls make out again in front of your cock. You try to tease them by slapping their face with your cock as you notice Chaeryeong smile with what you’re doing. Yeji’s hands go inside the blonde girl's panties as their make out continues.

Chaeryeong knows that she’s a loud moaner. All she can do right now is to kiss Yeji deeper to muffled her loud moans. The black haired girl was forced to lay down as the blonde girl is now aggressively kissing her. Yeji pulls her finger out of her then puts in her Chaeryeong lips. She immediately sucked the wet fingers that’s on her lips. Bobbing her head like she’s sucking a cock. The girl looks back as she continues to suck it. Signaling you to put your cock in her. With no hesitation, you position yourself on the blonde girl back while she’s still on top of Yeji. You pull her wet panties aside, tapping her slit with the tip of your cock.

Chaeryeong's eyes are glued into your cock, she wants to see it go inside her. You didn’t wait for her for long as you put the tip of your cock in her slit. She looks at you before looking back on how your cock disappeared inside her. Yeji notices that Chaeryeong is about to moan, she pulls the girl into a kiss. You groan with how your thick cock is being hugged tight inside. You slowly pull your cock out as you feel all her inside walls. Chaeryeong knows the danger of making a noise but she can’t help it. She put a hand on her mouth to prevent her loud moans. Before your tip leaves her inside, you push it back in again. Chaeryeong heads snap back with how her inside is being stretched by your thick cock. You hold her slim waist as you repeatedly push and pull your cock inside her.

Yeji tries to help her contain her moans. She pulls the blonde girl into a kiss again with now being the one to initiate tongue kissing. Yeji’s tongue tries to reach the other girl’s mouth which she welcomes greatly. The girl has been distracted for a while to not moan as she feels all of your thick cock rampaging her inside. The distraction didn’t last for long as you got turned on by how the girls are making out while you’re fucking one of them. Chaeryeong's head snapped back again and she tried her best to cover her mouth. Yeji notices how her perky boobs are now dangling in front of her. She catches one of them with her mouth. Chaeryeong quickly reacts to the girl’s tongue circling her boobs. Her muffled moans are still getting loud. You quickly remove her hand to be the one to cover her mouth. The size of your hand covers her mouth better. Her moans can be contained but her orgasm is on its way. Chaeryeong's legs shake, signaling to you that she’s near. You hold her head by her mouth while the other hand is in her hips. You thrust faster and deep inside her to finally meet her orgasm. Chaeryeong's whole body shakes as her orgasm flows out of her while your cock is still impaled deep in her.

Chaeryeong lay down to the side, exhausted by her orgasm. This leaves Yeji in front of you. The girl looks surprised by the sudden opportunity to get fuck but you didn’t let her think as you align your thick cock on her slit. She looks hesitant to take it as this has been the thickest cock she have seen, she’s not sure if she can take it well like Chaeryeong did. You didn’t mind her hesitancy as you pulled the girl by her thin legs. You put the tip of your cock in her entrance just before thrusting it all in. Yeji’s back curved up with the sudden sensation. Yeji catches her moans as we slit got stretched that quick. You found yourself groaning as well, also caught surprised by how fast your cock goes in her. You didn’t realize that Chaeryeong juices lubricate your cock well which made the penetration go swiftly.

Yeji’s body is getting rocked back and front as you hold her by her thin legs. Her legs are now resting on your shoulders. Yeji can only hold her mouth as she’s getting fucked by your thick cock. She looks to the side to see Chaeryeong now sleeping peacefully. She looks at you, meeting your hungry eyes. Yeji got turned on by your gaze. She moved her hips more upward to give you a better angle to go deeper. You took this furthermore as you went to her closer meeting her for a kiss. Her legs are now pressed against her chest. Yeji moans slips through her hand as you're now thrusting even deeper inside her. Yeji is now biting her lips trying to contain her lustful moan. She haven’t got fucked this good before. Your cock is hitting the right spot, the thickness of your cock is stretching her walls up, your pace of thrust when pounding her. Her thin legs twitch, signaling she’s near.

Yeji pulls you into a hug as she reaches her second orgasm. You meet her lips as you give her a few poundings before removing your cock in her. “Cum in my face,” she said weakly. You move your cock in front of her face, stroking it fast to give Yeji what she needs. Spurts of hot cum, touches her forehead up to her nose. Yeji was surprised at how much you load on her. You just noticed that Chaeryeong is asleep but you still directed your cock in her face to cover her lips with your cum, you watched as some of your cum dripped down inside her mouth. You give your cock few strokes to let out all your cum. You pat Chaeryeong's sleeping face with your cock as you found her too cute when asleep. You lay there between the two girls, sleeping the night away.

A few knocks on the door wakes you up, you look at the two girls still asleep. “Help, help, I’m not infected” you heard a girl’s voice on the other side of the door.

[mydarlingclaudia]

every word I meant to say

note : ermmmm hi. don't ask where I went for like almost a month work is eating me alive and I was sad. this was inspired by that the unsent project thing andddd idk if I really like this it's def ooc but I was thinking about it again today and this has been in my drafts since September so I figured why not

wc : 2.1k

tags : @luvrgreyy @clitorphosis @sonya-semyonova

desc : letters that went unsent. kind of unrequited love, angst (???), more Leon focused, re2r!Leon - DI!Leon, fem!reader, ooc, not proofread

"I meant to write sooner, I really did. I know it's been a year, my life is so different now, I don't think you'd even believe me if I tried to explain it. I hope you're doing better than I am, I'm happy you weren't able to move to the city with me."

Leon hasn't written a letter since, what, his first few years in the academy? Maybe the end of his senior year of high school? He can't really remember, but he knows that this letter is important because it's to you, his friend he hasn't seen since the night he left for Raccoon City. This isn't even an actual letter, he's scribbling out what he thinks might be good excuses as to why he hasn't talked to you in a year on the back of pieces of scrap paper he took from the office.

He's supposed to be asleep right now, same as everyone else in boot camp, but it's been a year since Raccoon City and he's wondering if you ever tried to reach him. Maybe you tried to go to Raccoon City to look for him, only to see the pile of rubble that stood in its place, sectioned off by the government. Maybe you thought he was dead, he wouldn't blame you.

You and Leon had stuck together all throughout high school, even managed to stay friends when he went off to the police academy and you moved a few hours away for college. He doesn't even know if your address is still the same, he really hopes it is, there's no phone-books in boot camp if he wanted to try and call you, you're supposed to have your loved ones numbers memorized.

The last time Leon saw you was the night before he was supposed to move to the city, before he got a letter in the mail the next morning telling him not to come in, he really wishes he had listened. You were so happy for him, starting out as a city cop was a big deal and he had worked so hard to get there, you and a few friends had thrown him a going-away-party, telling him not to forget you once he got to the city. Leon couldn't forget you if he tried.

You had talked about moving to the city with him for a short period of time, it was really just ramblings the two of you kept bringing up. "Oh, when we live in the city..." "I can come visit you at work..." "I'll handle dinner, you'll handle cleaning..." Nothing ever really came of those ideas, but it gave him a warm feeling in his stomach knowing you wanted to come to the city with him.

He hopes you’ve been well, that life has been kinder to you than it has to him. Leon hopes you got that job you were gushing about the last time he saw you, he hopes you still think of him on his birthday because he thinks of you often.

He shouldn’t have gone to Raccoon City, he should’ve stayed home the day he left and instead stopped by your house to bother you about going to see a movie. Or he should have taken you to lunch, anything would’ve been better than walking into a city that was beyond saving.

"I’m not really sure what I’m saying, but I know I miss you. How have you been? I hope I’m able to come and visit soon, everything’s been moving so fast, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe we can get dinner, or something. Whatever you want, I’ll pay for it, don’t worry."

Leon's hands shake a tiny bit when he thinks of you, it's that school boy nervousness that movies portray whenever there's a boy with a crush on a girl who he knows is probably too out of his league. You were friends, at least.

"You're done with school now, right?" He knows you are. "I wish I was there for the graduation ceremony, I know your parents are proud. Do you remember my graduation party? Someone spiked the punch and we both ended up passed out in the bathtub at your house, you looked really pretty that night. I hope your graduation was better than mine. This would probably have been better as a phone call, but I don't know, you said letters were always more thoughtful.

– Leon"

–

That letter never got sent. Every letter needs an envelope, Leon just never got around to finding one, but he kept that scrap piece of paper tucked inside his pillowcase on the odd chance that he got his hands on one. He had stricter rules to follow than the other recruits, being legally dead and all.

But even after he got out of boot camp, he kept the letter. It's hidden away in some drawer in his house, he's not sure where, though.

He didn't make it into the army, he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but being in the position he was in now wasn't much better. He's stronger now, hardened, more mature.

Leon's written a few more letters to you over the years, ones that still never got sent because he either deemed them unworthy or because he became unsure of himself halfway through writing it. But he hasn't thrown any of them away, he'll send them one day, he swears it.

Leon's not using you as a way of journaling, either, even though he should find some way to actually write down his thoughts to get them out of his head. What he writes to you is mostly memories, telling you that his life keeps changing and that he misses you. He knows you're different by now, too. You're both grown, no longer in high school, no longer in college or the academy. If he could turn back time, go anywhere other than Raccoon City, he would. He thinks that's selfish of him, him not being there would've left Claire and Sherry in that city, but how would he have even known?

"Me again, hope you're doing better than I am." Leon's way with words gets worse and worse by the week, not that he cares. "I met someone who kind of reminded me of you, she's a sweetheart, like you. You'd probably become fast friends if you were ever able to meet."

Leon's not allowed to tell you about his mission in Spain, or about the president's daughter. President Graham is putting more body-guards in place for his daughter once she steps foot in D.C. again, Leon's sure the president considered appointing Leon as one of them at some point since breaking the news that she was going to be coming back home safely.

Leon should stop thinking about you so much, it's not like you were his only friend in the world, you've probably forgotten him, anyway.

"My life is still different, but yours probably is, too. This probably sounds stupid, but I miss being in high school. You probably don't, your mom was up your ass all the time and you worked yourself to the bone. Has that changed at all?

I remember that one year I went to Thanksgiving at your house, your uncles were all drunk and your cousins kept trying to get me to come sit with them, your grandpa was trying to get me interested in football. I haven't had a holiday like that since then, your family was always really nice to me."

He's not sure what to say anymore, these letters always just end up dragging out, but Leon has a lot of memories and he hopes you think of them as often as he does.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited. It's harder for me to get time off of work these days, even though I could really fucking use it. I promise one day I'll come back, it's just not going to be for a little while. Just don't do anything dumb.

– Leon"

–

Those letters he's been writing you have piled up in the drawer of his nightstand.

He's definitely sure that your address has changed by now, you're probably not even in the same state anymore. He could always try to find you on Facebook, explain everything that's been building up over the years in a simple text, but there's still rules he's supposed to follow even in his personal life.

Leon didn't stop writing, though. The letters did eventually get shorter, he's not sure if you like the same things anymore or if you'd even be interested.

He writes now mostly about how different his life would be if he was with you, if he had just asked you out in high school or kissed you the night he was supposed to leave for Raccoon City. It almost feels real to him when he goes to sleep, but that might just be the alcohol numbing his brain, not the dream of you sleeping next to him or the feeling of your breath on the back of his neck, not even the little pitter-patter off tiny footsteps coming from down the hallway.

It does make him feel a bit pathetic, dreaming of a life with someone he hadn't talked to in years. Leon can't help but think of you, he always thought you were pretty, and the past always lives in the back of his mind, but it comes alive late at night.

You're an entirely different person by now, someone who he hasn't had the opportunity to meet yet. You're probably married, maybe you even have a few kids running around, Leon's jealous of that. That could've been him, but it's not. But he's not even sure if you'd recognize each other if you passed by on the street, so is it even worth it to dwell on all the maybe's?

"I'm not sure I'll get to visit you for a while, not without a lucky fucking twist of fate, anyway."

All these letters are starting to sound the same, but Leon clings onto the thought of someday sending them to whatever corner of the country you were hiding in and hoping that there's still room in your life for a stranger.

"Do you still want me over for dinner? You don't know what I'd give to just eat a shitty meal with you right now."

You don't know what he'd give to do anything with you, really. He knows that there's a lifetime worth of things he's missed out on and that maybe every once in a while you think about him in the same way he thinks about you.

"I don't know how to ask this, but are you married? I know you'd look stunning in a wedding dress." You probably are, you're a catch, who wouldn't want to put a ring on your finger? Your husband's probably a better man than he is, too. One who hasn't had years worth of trauma jammed into his brain with the proof of it marked across his body, your husband probably takes you out on a date every week, maybe even surprises you with breakfast in bed and kisses the nape of your neck to gross out your kids. "I really hope you're happy, in my head you are.

I wanted that to be us, I never told you, but I was a chicken-shit kid and didn't know how to say it. You show up in my dreams sometimes, you deserve nothing but the best. I meant to get back in touch with you forever ago, but I think it's probably too late.

– Leon"

–

Two years after his last letter and Leon's still thinking of you, seventeen years after Raccoon City and the image of you sitting across from him for the last time still loops in his mind. He doesn't really remember your voice but he knows that you thought handwritten letters were romantic, and he still reads over the ones he meant to send to you but kept avoiding.

He's done with the letters, hasn't written one in a long time. But he just got back from California and your old favorite song is playing on the radio, and he's remembering how in love he is with your memory.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I'm too old for this and I'm sure you'd tease me if we had somehow kept in touch. I don't blame you if you thought I died in Raccoon City, I hope you're still alive and that life is good to you.

You were always important to me, I think you've given me something to cling to over the years. This letter won't find you and I'm not even really sure if I want it to, but I hope you'd still call me if you were able to. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen, but I'm happy you never got to see them.

Love, Leon

p.s. I'd say I love you but it feels like something you'd say in person"

[gpcwsl]

Hi! for a caitlin foord request, do you think you could write caitlin foord x williamson!reader? reader isn’t an arsenal player but hangs out with the team a lot. maybe a party at leah’s and the team plays spin the bottle or something. thank you 💕

**Warnings** : Swearing, kissing, making-out, just an little suggestive and not probably read through. I am also not shipping any of theses people, it’s a fan-fiction work.

Caitlin Foord x Williamson/Reader:

An unexpected (spinning) twist.

Teaming bonding night was often. Very often for Y/N’s sake but she adores it either way. She loves her sister’s teammates, could never get sick of them.

Y/n wasn’t an footballer unlike her sister, who was one year younger than she was. She wasn’t as successful as Leah either, but she didn’t care one bit. Y/n actually haven’t got a job currently. She quit her job back in Leicestershire a few months ago when things got, well not great. Leah complained to her so many times to move away from there and come join her in London. So a few months in and things have really started to become so much better for her. And maybe more brilliant to come.

Again, Leah insisted on a team bonding small party at her (now hers and Y/n’) house. Of course, majority coming. Some being busy, having plans with their families or just wanting a chill evening which makes sense since they played a thrilling match. Alessia, Beth, Frida, Kyra, Katie, Caitlin, Emily and Lia. The ones were stocked to come.

Fast forward to around an hour later. Where everyone was talking, laughing around. Then the child, the pest of them all came up with an, terrible but not so terrible for the future, game.

Kyra insists that they should play spin the bottle. Everyone, and I mean everyone immediately deny her wishes. But, after a-lot of pestering. Here they are sat in a circle, on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Who will spin first.” Kyra asks, a big massive smile on her face.

“This is why we don’t invite you to stuffs, Kyra. Seriously? Spin the bottle is for kids, teenagers! Not grown adults!” Lia whines, hating the idea she might have to kiss someone.

“Come on! It won’t mean anything, just a little kiss. But, can’t be a peck. The kiss has to last at least five seconds long.” Kyra says, pointing out the rules which makes some groans and some curse Kyra under their breaths.

“Okay, okay. Lia since yours being mean, you spin first.” Kyra says, smiling smugly at the Swiss midfielder. Who rolls her eyes in return. “Let’s get this over with.”

Spinning the bottle it landing on Leah, who was opposite to her. Everyone ‘ooo’ as the two grow rose-red. Chanting ‘kiss, kiss, kiss.’ like a bunch on three year olds.

Leah makes the first move, leaning forward grabbing Lia’s chin; pulling her in, till there lips touch. Holding her lips on Lia’s for five seconds before slowly pulling away and retreating to her spot on the floor with beat red rosey cheeks, mirroring Lia’s.

Kyra then springs into action, wanting to spin next. Landing on Alessia. She immediately smiles up at her. Alessia rolls her eyes but there is a hint of enjoyment in Kyra’s actions. “Just get it over with.”

“By all means.” Kyra mumbles, smiling as she mirrors Leah’s actions. Gently grabbing Alessia’s chin; leaning forward kissing her softly, for more than five seconds as their lips move together. But then, Alessia breaks the kiss by shoving Kyra back in a playful manner, who then giggles in return. “Enjoyed that, Lessi?”

“Fuck off-“

“Right! Who’s next?” Kyra says, looking among the circle. “Caitlin?”

“Dammit-“ Caitlin whispers, as she shifts forward reaching for the bottle; mumbling curses words as she watching the bottle spin. As the bottle spins, it feels like it’s going in slow motion for Caitlin. Her eyes darting to a pacific figure across from her, who’s watching the bottle intensely. Huffing to herself before moving her eyes back to the bottle when it fully stops. Her eyes widen. Did fate do this? He eyes then going back to the figure, who now was already looking at her.

“No! No, no, no! I forbid for you to kiss anyone. I shouldn’t have even let you play this game.” Leah says, her sister manner coming in quick.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” Everyone but, Leah, Caitlin and Y/n chant. Y/n smiles at her before leaning in. But whispering. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Caitlin nods her head, her eyes fixated on Y/n lips before being the one to close to gap. Hesitantly connecting their lips. Just like Kyra’s and Alessia’s. The kiss lasted longer than five seconds. But, it lasted longer than ten seconds. As their found a rhythm of the kiss. Caitlin’s hands going on Y/N’s waist does it for Leah. Who immediately pulls them away. “Okay, that’s it. Stop kissing.”

“Cock-blocker.” Y/n says, smirking at Caitlin. Leah rolls her eyes, smacking her sister’s knee. “Don’t care if you guys just expressed some feelings that were just discovered right then and now. Just expressed them alone. I don’t want to see my sister making out with one of my friends.”

Y/n and Caitlin blushes before Y/n steps in. “Could say the same thing for you and Miss Swiss over there.” Leah goes bright red, flipping off her sister. “I’m done, I’m tired; I’m just done.”

“Oh come on- some of you haven’t kissed anyone yet-“

“Kyra, it’s time for you to leave.” Leah says, shaking her head as she pushes Kyra towards the door.

Caitlin grabs Y/N’s hand, holding her back. “Hey, can we talk?” Caitlin smiles softly at her. Y/n instantly smiles back, nodding her head. Looking over her shoddier seeing the others are preoccupied. She moves the two of them to an oboe place, the hallway of the downstairs bathroom and garage. “What’s up?”

“I-I just wanna talk about the kiss we had and I wanna know if it meant something.” Caitlin says, her eyes fixated on the floor.

“Of course it did. I wouldn’t have kissed you longer than ten seconds if I didn’t.” I whisper, having an déjà vu moment as I leans forward cupping her chin. “May I?”

Caitlin nods, her eyes now on Y/N’s lips. Y/n places her lips on Caitlin. Not having any hesitation like last time. Her hands now fully cupping her cheeks as Caitlin’s slide around her waist. Kissing softly with a passion rhythm that gets slighlty out of control. Caitlin pushing her back makes Y/‘s back slam against the wall, groaning in response but doesn’t give any indication to stop the kissing.

Being to invested in the kiss, the two didn’t see or hear someone coming to them. “Caitlin? Are you leaving or- oh my god!”

The two breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, lips swollen as they look at the blonde defender. “Okay, I’m guessing you are staying the night. Just don’t make much of a sound, please.” Leah then walks away, her body shivering at the sight she just encountered. Y/n groans at her sister’s words, flipping her off.

“Am I staying the night?” Caitlin asks, smiling at Y/n. Her hands still in her waist. Y/n smiles back, nodding her head. “Yeah, I would love that.” “Me too.”

[sarandipitywrites]

Thalassé and the Witch

As the moon to the waves, she calls to me. I was no more able to resist her on that day than on any other.

Approaching her ship from the shore, one might have mistaken it for a rocky islet reaching up from the seafloor. Gray and craggy, with as many cracks as it has weather-beaten boards, it should have sunk long ago—and would have, were it not for the sheer will of its mistress holding the wreck together.

As I anchored my boat beside her galleon, dread wound around my heart. For what fell purpose had she called me, this time? What evil was I to inflict upon the world? Cursed treasure? A plague of insects? The released souls of the damned? I had never personally witnessed her wickedness unleashed—one of the few mercies she has ever granted me was the promise never to afflict my village with her curses—but whenever the agony of ignorance becomes too great for me to bear, she happily tells me what doom I'm delivering to the shore.

When I crossed the gangplank and found her waiting for me on deck, I knew she had something new in store. I knew not for whom this new horror was bound, but I mourned for them.

“Come.” With that command she turned from me, wine-dark hair flowing on the ocean breeze as she descended below decks. She did not wait for me to follow; I always followed. I had no choice.

From the moment I could walk, my body yearned for the sea. I would seek it relentlessly. I was the terror of the village: the one child who could not be frightened away from the shore, for whom the waves reached more hungrily than any other. My caretakers managed to keep me from the ocean's embrace for five summers before it ensnared me. To hear it told, Ronan took his eyes from me for hardly a moment; when he looked back, I was reaching out for the most monstrous wave he'd ever seen on our shore. Then, as though swallowed by a great creature, I was gone. They searched for hours, days. Only when they'd given up, accepted that their child had been claimed by the sea, did I reappear on the beach—wet, hungry, but unharmed. For that, the village named me Thalassé: 'the ocean's favorite one.' They could not have known that I was, indeed, favored—but by a different sort of power.

My mistress did not speak as she led me down through the gun deck—she never does. But her ship, packed as it usually was with the implements of her magic, was oddly bare that day. Strange, considering that I had brought her a new shipment not a fortnight before. I knew not what I brought her from the mainland—the suppliers never tell me, and I never ask—but I noticed then that she carried herself strangely that day. Her usually careless, flowing gait had been replaced by stiff-backed briskness; her hands, which normally drifted through the air beside her, touching anything and everything she passed, instead knotted together like clumps of seaweed. She twisted and worried the thick golden rings that adorned her fingers, her mutters as incomprehensible as waves murmuring upon the shore.

“Here.” We had arrived in the orlop; every surface was covered in a fine dusting of white. So too, I now noticed, was she. “Take this back to your village, and give it to the innkeeper.” She pushed a single item into my hands: a wicker basket with a white cloth spilling out from beneath its closed lid. It lacked the usual salty tang of her magic. This curio smelled… warm. Inviting. “The contents are to be distributed among the patrons.” A pause; she bit her lip, her gold tooth sparkling in the lanternlight. “Their feedback—their kind feedback—would be most welcome.”

Cold dread brushed my cheeks, trailed its fingers down my spine. She had promised. For all the deliveries I had ever made on her behalf, for all the unknown atrocities I had ever brought to the mainland, she had always promised that she would not bring harm to my village. I wanted to argue. I wanted throw her basket back at her feet and refuse, defy. I wanted to tell her to kill me, instead. Without me, she was harmless; she couldn't set foot on land, herself. That was why she had me; why she kept me.

I looked down at the basket in my hands, and my heart shattered. “Yes, Mistress.”

My soul heavy as the sky before a storm, I returned to the land. I delivered the basket to Murray, as I was bidden. I conveyed the witch's message, and the deed was done. I slept aboard my ship that night; after what I had done—all that I had ever done—I did not deserve to share in the company of my fellow man.

When the dawn broke without clamor—without screams or curses or tears—I returned to the inn. Murray met me at the door. They wanted to know who had sent the basket. I could not tell them that I served the Witch of the Waves—even my village's tolerance only extends so far—so I merely said it was from a friend. “Well, tell your friend that I'd like three more baskets of the same—no, best make that five.”

No sooner had Murray made their request than I felt the demand of another. I promised to relay their message and went asea again. This time, my mistress waited at the end of the gangplank.

She wrung her hands, twisting her rings. “So? What did they say?”

“What was in that basket?” I demanded.

“Come and see for yourself.” She flew through the ship, faster than I had ever seen her move, straight through the orlop and into her workshop.

At the threshold, I hesitated; I had only been in her workshop once before, and not by her bidding. It was her sanctuary, her retreat. I had told myself I would never enter it again for fear of her wrath, but there was another emotion of hers that I feared much more.

“What are you waiting for? Enter.”

I obeyed. I had no choice.

The room was littered with half-empty sacks and broken-open boxes—the very cargo that ought to have filled the orlop to the walls. Myriad ingredients spilled from the containers: flours and sugars, berries and sweets. In the corner, where her great blackened cauldron had once lurked, stood a massive metal oven. Its weight alone would have sunk a lesser ship—would have sunk mine, at least.

As she fussed with a row of baskets—five of them, identical to the one I had delivered to Murray—the violet flame within the oven brightened to emerald green. With a squeal of wicked glee, she donned a pair of thick mitts and retrieved her prize from the contraption.

Pastries. Sheets of flaky, golden brown pastries in the shape of the crescent moon. They made the room smell of melted butter and winter evenings curled in front of the hearth. Thoughtlessly, I reached for one.

“Ah-ah!” A wooden spoon darted from the countertop to rap smartly across my knuckles. “Wait until they're cool.”

So we waited. We waited, and she made tea—herbal, spiced with cloves and cardamom—and she told me about her baking. It was only a hobby, she said, even as her face heated and a little smile stole across her lips. She'd started many such hobbies over the years, most of them on impulse. Curiosities to sate her boredom.

She didn't regret the decision she'd made a thousand years ago—not as such. The ability to walk on land was more than a fair trade for all the power and timelessness of the sea. But after a few centuries of pirating, marauding, and granting double-edged boons to people who needed a cosmic lesson in reading the fine print, she'd started to find life at sea—life as a sea witch—to be terribly… dull.

I heard something else there, under the 'dullness.' I saw it in the faraway stare of her sea glass eyes, the inward roll of her shoulders when she shrugged off her boredom, her isolation. I saw it in the minute pull of her lips when I finally told her what she'd been waiting to hear: the innkeeper's patrons hadn't just loved her baking. They'd wanted more.

For all the cackles and sneers and smirks she's offered me over the years, I realized at that moment that I had never before seen her smile.

I brought more pastries to Murray that evening: five baskets, as requested. They pushed payment upon me—five conches, each basket apparently worth as much to them as a full day of work from me, when I cleaned the rooms for them in my youth—and asked if there might not be a way to get the pastries earlier in the day. Fresh, if possible.

My mistress, when I told her of Murray's request, wouldn't have it. “I've seen not a soul in three hundred years!” she cried. “And you want me to let a stranger aboard my ship?”

“A customer,” I corrected, “who has a great interest in your baking, 'hobby' though it may be.” And, because I could never allow one of her slights against me to go unanswered: “You've seen me.”

“You're different.” She said it without thinking, without breathing. As though it were true as the north star. She paused, considering. “Bring the innkeeper tomorrow morning,” she decided. “Only the innkeeper.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I bowed and made to take my leave.

“Eirenne.”

“Pardon?”

“You are not my thrall, Thalassé; it does not do for you to call me 'Mistress.' You shall call me by my name.” A pause. “If it so pleases you.”

“…It does.”

She handles herself well with Murray. To watch her laugh and chat and ply the innkeeper with more of her confectionary creations (today, in addition to the crescents, she has prepared tiny pies: one variety filled with red berries that ooze syrup from beneath their pastry lids, and a savory option filled with egg and cheese), one would never think that she's spoken to no one in centuries.

As I watch the flame of her magnificent oven turn from violet to green, it occurs to me that her claim may not be entirely true.

After I ferry Murray back to shore, I return to her—to Eirenne. I work beside her to create tomorrow's selection; though my clumsy 'help' is certainly more of a hindrance, she makes no effort to shoo me away. I ask her who delivered the oven to her. I certainly didn't; a monstrous thing like that would sink my little boat in a heartbeat.

Instead of an answer, she grants me a smile so delicately sweet that I nearly forget the question. “Tomorrow,” she says, “if another guest wishes to come along with Murray… I think I will allow it.”

This becomes our routine: each day, one additional patron is permitted to peruse her wares. She chats and laughs and charms them all without any need for sorcery. I watch, silent, as she employs a magic I've never possessed or understood. I wonder at how someone like her—someone who attracts people and community like kelp attracts flies—would turn away from the world for the sake of power and solitude. But that had happened a thousand years ago; perhaps now she, too, finds it hard to believe.

When her guest list grows such that I must make two trips a day in my little boat, I linger after all of her customers have gone. She shows me how to fill a sheet of dough with cinnamon-sugared butter and carve it into rolls. I ask her: “Why me? You could have claimed anyone you desired; why did you bid the sea to call to me?” She could have had anyone else; she might have been happier with anyone else.

She sets her knife down. “Thalassé,” she sighs. It's a breath, a prayer. The villagers—the people who named me—call me 'Thale.' Not her. Not ever. “Even without me, you would have been drawn to the sea. I only ensured that you needn't stay there. I wanted you to be able to return to the land whenever you wished. I wanted you to have a choice.”

My heart clenches, then flutters. “And if I choose the sea?” The words tumble from me unbidden, stones in the tide. I make no attempt to catch them.

“Then I will be here.” Her sea glass eyes pierce me, body and soul. “If it so pleases you.”

“It does.”

For all the smiles she has granted me since the opening of her bakery, I have never before felt her kiss. Today, I learn that it is every bit as sweet.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this (or anything else I write), check out my Ko-fi. You can support me there, and see my stories (including this one!) before anyone else, for free!

Text: The bakery is built of seashell studded stone, sitting several meters out from shore and buffeted by ocean waves. The owner can’t set foot on land.

[wandasdollie]

  ꒰  𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ensommeillé. ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀18+! men and minors dni.

 .   ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ wanda x bunnyhybrid!reader

꒰  tags ꒱ 𓈒  mommy!wanda ,  smut w/o much plot , somnophilia , cunnilingus (r!recieving) , squirting , aftercare.

 ꔫ  ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ this is based off of two requests i recieved, so thank you very very much for sending them in!! i luv seeing your thoughts, i hope i did them justice <33 pls send more!! this is day one of my kinkmas!!   ໒ ྀི>֯ . <ྀི֯ ̥ ︣ა

 ⁺ ⑅  ꫂ ၴႅၴ tag list ֯݁ต  @emiliaisdead , @mommywandas ( pls comment if you'd like to be added~! )

When you finally return home after what you believe to be the world’s longest day of work in history, the pout settled on your lips is unrelenting. You might be a little overdramatic, sure it’s only about four in the afternoon, but you haven’t caught a break all day! You’ve been running around for hours, doing all of the little errands that your bosses have sent you on, waiting on guests and cleaning up messes like your life depended on it. You haven’t sat down once in hours!

So, completely needless to say, when you come home, it’s all you can do to not throw yourself on the floor and fall asleep right then and there.

But you don’t want to disappoint Wanda when she gets home, no no. You want to fix her dinner so that it will be ready by the time that she returns home, and your bedroom is awfully messy right now from the frantic way you’d gotten dressed this morning. But… there’s the sofa… and as you release your hair from its tight braids, long, fluffy ears falling heavy against your shoulders, you can feel all of your day’s stress melting through you, your feet much like cement cubes as you trudge through your home.

Mama would want you to rest, right? She always says that her favorite little bunny needs her beauty sleep, and you wouldn’t want to upset her by not doing just that! Of course, you want to look your prettiest for her always. And she does encourage your slumber as often as she can. She has quite the fascination with it, you’ve noticed. But, it’s best not to worry yourself too much over that right now. You need to make some dinner and clean up and—

You’re not sure just how you wound up on the sofa. Nor how your clothes landed in little pink piles on the floor; you’re usually much more careful to put them in the laundry basket. Yet, here you sit, in nothing but your panties and a sweater that you always keep in the living room in case you get too cold, laying beneath your favorite blanket. Your feet are perfectly tucked, and though you’ve turned on the tv to watch whatever program is on right now, you’ve brought one ear over your eyes to act like a sleeping mask, blocking out the image on the screen, along with the light bouncing off of the snow outside.

It takes you so few minutes to fall asleep, someone would think you’ve been awake all of 24 hours. But you certainly haven’t, even though you did get up quite early this morning. Your exhaustion hits you so completely that you just can’t help but pass out immediately. So, you drift off quite easily, though your worry over Wanda’s return is still toying at the back of your head.

𓊆 . . . 𓊇

You hadn’t heard her come through the door, though she did so quite loudly. Wanda herself had gone through her own exhaustive day of work, and as usual, she couldn’t possibly wait any longer to wrap her arms around her bunny and squeeze all of her stresses away. Though, when she returns home to less than your usual fanfare, she grows quite concerned right away.

That is, until she spots you on the sofa, curled up so tightly in your little ball of slumber that Wanda’s heart nearly explodes inside of her chest.

She is sure to be quiet as she sets down her purse and pulls off her overcoat, kicking off her heels to save you from their noise, yet leaving on the pencil skirt and tight, buttoned shirt that hug her curves so enticingly. The sight of you all cuddled up and sleepy, in addition to the setting sun outside, makes her yawn. She herself has grown impossibly tired, yet hides it well as she comes to your side at the sofa.

She gently pets the top of your head, sitting beside you on the small sliver of cushion that your body does not occupy. She simply cannot help herself, and lifts the blanket so that she may drink in the image of you sleeping there. The smirk that rises to her darkly stained lips is downright greedy as she notices just how little you wear, sweater bunched up high around your chest from your tossing and turning, showing off your tummy. Wanda licks her lips, hands moving from the crown of your head down to your side, gently rubbing into your warm flesh, her hands still freezing cold from the short walk from her car to the front door.

The feeling of sudden cold against your skin makes you flinch, but is not enough to fully wake you. You wiggle away from the feeling, but Wanda’s firm hand only follows you, softly tickling you in attempt at waking.

“Wake up, little one.” Her voice is soft, so coaxing and almost a bit lewd, as is her fashion when trying to wake you up in such a pleasant manor. Though, she doesn’t want to wake you entirely. She has always had a preference for your half-asleep manor, when all you can do is whine and fuss and, on days when you wake up from inappropriate dreams, moan and cum around her fingers until you ultimately fall back asleep like nothing had happened in the first place.

When you don’t wake up even after she gives your cottontail a little squeeze, her wandering hands eventually hook beneath your knees, lifting you until she holds your little form against her chest, walking you to the bedroom. There’s not much she can do with you while on the sofa, especially when her body is still so constricted by tight work clothes. But when she does make it to the bedroom, Wanda does not strip. She adores the power she holds over you when you lay naked below her, while she remains entirely dressed. There is simply something so enticing about her little bunny looking so obscene and nude while she maintains all of her decency.

As she lays you on the bed, Wanda delicately removes your sweater, and you unconsciously move to help her, arms lifting out of sheer habit— you have done just this far too many times before. The redhead cannot contain her low groan at the sight of you sleeping so soundly, so primed for her taking, so innocent while her thoughts are such the opposite.

Her fingers gently trail down your sides, fingernails lightly scratching into your flesh, sending tickles through you, bringing just the littlest bit of awareness into you. She whispers something in Sokovian, something along the lines of ‘such a pretty girl, such pretty tits.’ Had you been at all lucid, the words would have made you turn into putty in her hands, though, you’re already just that. Just a little plaything, just for her.

Wanda straddles you now, as best as her tight skirt will allow, and dips down so that she can place soft, fleeting kisses into your stomach. She massages into the flesh at your hips, then your breasts, her hands still incredibly cold against you, the little prickles of goosebumps forming on your arms right away. This, she feels guilty about. Though she enjoys having you all to herself, while you are so blissfully unaware, she does not like it when her little girl is at all uncomfortable, especially in the cold of the winter. Despite how carnal she may feel for you at this moment, her most important want for you is comfort. So, she decides she must begin to act quicker, so that her bunny is not left in this cold for too long.

The redhead’s fingers slip down your sides, index fingers hooking into your panties and sliding them off with ease. She once again releases one of those lust-fueled moans, licking her lips from just how downright delicious you look. Though you aren’t even conscious enough to be turned on, your pussy is already slick with arousal, simply begging for Wanda’s fingers, for her mouth, for any of her. Still, she will remain patient. Patient, despite how she is so very entranced by you. The soft, innocent look on your face is enough to tell her to be gentle.

“Dripping wet for me, and you don’t even know it. Silly girl,” she coos gently, lowering herself so that her kisses meander to the bottom of your tummy, right where it’s the most sensitive, right where she knows you’re sure to stir from the touch. And she’s right, even the tiniest bit of touch there makes you squirm below her, your hands bunching up in the sheets below you, your hips raising ever so slightly to meet her touch.

“Needy little thing…” She purrs, kisses trailing to meet her hands on your thighs, which she props up, spreads wide. Wanda presses a few little kisses to the insides of your thighs until her head comes between them, her kisses pressing to your cunt, lips becoming wet from the slick that she finds there.

Even the tiniest touch has you more awake now, little bunny hips beginning to rock up to meet her kisses, your clit throbbing, desperate for her touch, even though your silly little brain is not yet registering what is going on. You are simply seeking pleasure without even knowing it, body working without your nervous system working to tell it what to do.

“Mama…” You whine ever so softly, your voice hoarse from sleep and small enough that Wanda can barely hear you.

“Shh, zaya… it’s alright. Mama’s just going to help you sleep, hmm?” Wanda muses gently, her fingers lightly running through your folds, teasing you so that your back lifts from the bed, so that you’re basically dripping onto the sheets. She’d typically tell you to speak up, that you’re not being loud enough for mommy to hear your pretty moans, but she’s all too swept up in just how sweet you sound now, your vocabulary reduced only to her title.

Wanda hums softly, turning her head to press a few more sloppy kisses to your thighs as one of her fingers dips inside of you. She moans all too loudly as this happens, as she curves her finger up into you, all too pleased at just how tight you are for her. Wanda smiles into the flesh at your thigh, licking your soft skin and gently sucking on it to leave her favored dark patches there, the last of which she left still faintly staining your skin. As you’re definitely wet enough for her, she slides in a second finger with ease, and your hips begin to whine up and down against them, desperately seeking her pleasure.

“Mommy…” You try, your eyes slowly beginning to open but you’re still drowsy with sleepiness, brain so foggy from your long day that you can’t really fight awake just yet. Your body’s movements slow as Wanda begins to take over, pinning your hips down to the bed without too much force, the pumping of her fingers quickening their pace. She curls her fingers into your firm flesh, the sounds of her sliding so obscene, so pleasing to her own ears that she can’t help but moan in tandem with them, whispering gentle reminders of how sweet you are, how good you taste, how you’re mommy’s perfect girl.

And taste you she does, her tongue eagerly lapping up all of the wetness that spills from you. When her fingers move in such a speed that is entirely overwhelming, there comes a gush of liquid so intense that it wakes you up entirely, your hands whipping over your face as if to hide you from such embarrassment. Though, Wanda only seems to enjoy this mess that you’ve made, it only pushes her further into her dominant headspace. You’re just her messy little doll that can’t keep any control of herself, that needs to be cleaned up and tended to at any given moment. She loves it, wants more of it, pushes you even harder for it.

“’m sorry…” You whine out, your hands dropping to reveal your bright pink face, lower lip trapped between teeth to conceal your needy moans. Though it’s not much use, because the second that Wanda notices your attempt at maintaining any bit of modesty, her lips latch onto your clit, sending a streak of pleasure right up your spine, your back arching even more than it previously had. Her name flings from your lips a few times from this sudden uptick in sensation, filling your large bedroom with nothing but your whimpers and moans. Your fingers land in her perfectly curled hair, tugging on it gently as though she could possibly be any closer to you, despite the way her mouth is latched onto your cunt.

She would typically fuss at you for apologizing, that you should never feel sorry for something like this, that mommy likes you messy. But her mouth is so full of you now, so encumbered by your taste, that she cannot speak, does not want to.

Wanda’s goal is, unfortunately for you, always overstimulation. She loves to feel you throb below her, loves the way your pussy becomes bright pink and puffy and your pupils become blown out. She prefers her bunny over-fucked and out of breath, and this is just how she will get you ever time. Her fingers are simply merciless, even when she feels you suddenly tighten around her, feels the way your thighs begin to shake, your orgasm washing over you. She allows you to ride it out, yes, but does not cease when your back hits the bed, body convulsing ever so slightly. Even when your fingers fall limp in her hair, she does not give you a moment to recover. Though she does remove her fingers from your pussy, they are quickly replaced by her tongue, which greedily laps up every bit of liquid that spills from you. Wanda is impossibly thirsty for you— she always is— and such is incredibly evident from her diligence in licking up every single bit of you.

You whine her name as if you’re stuck on a loop, your body twitching with every bump of her nose to your overworked clit. It might seem like you are begging her for relief, for her to stop, you both know that could not possibly be further from what you want. You truly want her to fuck you again and again until you can’t walk, but your body is so very desperate for sleep. Your thighs are so sore already from the amount that you’ve walked today that they feel like pins and needles as they struggle to prop up around her head. Your tired little body is so exhausted, your brain becoming fuzzy all over again, your consciousness careening towards sleep once more. Though, Wanda will not allow this. She won’t let you sleep just yet, though her more caring instincts so want to allow you to doze off, you just taste so good on her tongue, your whines so precious to her ears that she wants to hear them as much as she can before she goes without them while you sleep for eight hours. She has to bank this memory deep within her mind, so that later, when you do fall asleep with your head on her chest and your arms wrapped around her waist, she will have something to remember while her hand slips down the front of her own pajamas.

It does not take long, with the older woman’s tongue dancing over your sensitive bundle of nerves, for you to cum for her once again. This time, you are much less dramatic with your trembling, instead you finally let your legs fall, and though it takes you a moment to recover, eventually your breathing settles.

Wanda cleans you up ever so gently, careful as to not further stimulate your delicate clit as she slides your panties on, then your favorite matching pajama set over top. She removes the duvet which you’ve made such a mess of, covering you instead with a clean blanket from the closet. She allows you to sleep for an hour or so, just until the sun has set outside— much earlier than she’d expected, and it makes her quite sleepy, too. But Wanda fights the urge to crawl up into bed with you, and instead makes you something to eat. She won’t let her angel wake up hungry in the middle of the night, that’s for certain. So, once she’s fixed you both a proper meal, she wakes you up ever so gently, fingers pushing back the hair that has stuck to your forehead with sweat, kissing your cheek to coax you awake.

You wake up a bit grumpy, begging her to let you sleep even more, but she refuses, tells you in the warmest of tones that you’ll ruin your sleep schedule, and that mommy doesn’t want to stay awake without her bunny keeping her company. You begrudgingly follow her to the kitchen, but as soon as you smell what she’s prepared, you perk right up.

“You are such a good girl for me, you know,” Wanda hums as she pulls you into her lap at the dinner table, lightly bouncing you on her knee, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your ears perk up ever so slightly at the words, a blush raising to your nose as you play with the button of her shirt.

“Really?” You giggle in return. Your memory of the moment is truly inexistent, your head was so fuzzy and sleepy that you weren’t really lucid enough to remember any of it. But you have the wet spot in your panties to remind you of just how good it felt, so you’ll take her word for it.

You eat as Wanda feeds you, smiling to her as she does, and you each share stories of your days. She pouts when you recount your tale of utter fatigue, of how many tables you’d waited in just an hour, of how some man asked you to refill his soda ten times! Wanda laughs a bit as she cleans up the table in record time before sweeping you back to your shared bathroom. You whine a little as she finally undresses from her work clothes, watching with wide eyes as she wiggles her hips to remove the skintight skirt from her hips. You hate that you’d been asleep for the majority of the time she’d been wearing it and will without a doubt beg her to wear the same outfit again soon.

Once she is dressed in a pretty lace nightgown of her own, she slips into bed beside you, whispering gentle compliments and encouragements into the dark room, stroking the fur of your ear, and you are out like a light in a heartbeat.

[lucidbee]

Swim Lessons | Percy Jackson x Reader

Summary: Every camper must know how to swim, so who better than the son of the sea God to teach you, and the possibility of learning more than just how to swim.

Authors Note: This has been in my drafts for the last two weeks and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s making me irrationally angry so I’m posting it just so I can stop having to write it.

Word count:768

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“It’s fine. Everything will be okay. He won't laugh at me,” you say to yourself, making your way to Cabin Three. “He is just the most famous demi-god ever to exist, and you haven’t spoken a single word to him before. Everything will be completely fine.” With a sigh, you knock on the cabin door. Thirty seconds pass before the door finally opens, revealing a half-dressed Percy.

“Hey, sorry, I was changing after training. What can I do for you?”

“H-Hi, I was, um... hi.”

“Hi?”

“Sorry, we’ve never met before,” you say nervously.

“Are you new to Camp Half-Blood? New campers get sent to the Hermes cabin.”

“Wait, you’re not a child of Poseidon, right? Are you my sister?” Percy asks in a rush.

“No, no, I’m not new. I’m a daughter of Apollo. Chiron sent me here to ask you something.”

“Oh, a daughter of Apollo. That makes sense—you have that golden hue to you. What did you need to ask me?”

“It’s silly, really. I can come back another day if you’re busy,” you say, turning to head back to your cabin.

“NO,” Percy says, taking your wrist into his hand. “I mean, I’m not busy. I can help you.”

“Chiron said every camper needs to know how to swim, and I don’t. He said you might be able to teach me. But it’s no trouble if you’re not able to help me.”

“No, I would love to help you. Meet me at the beach in ten.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

“You're welcome…”

“Y/n, my name is Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” Percy says with a smile.

The waves were calm as you and Percy stood in the shallow end, the water reaching just past your waists. You thought you would be more nervous around a stranger, but Percy was good at keeping the mood light, always asking if you were okay.

“Okay, now that you know water safety 101, let's start with floating on your back. I know, I know, it sounds boring, but it’s important to know.”

Percy helps you onto your back, teaching you how to move your arms and legs to change directions in the water before he gets onto his own back.

“So, why have you never learned how to swim?” Percy asks.

“The water always scared me. Not knowing what’s swimming down below... Drowning is scary as well, but it’s mostly fish. Not a big fish person.”

“WHAAAT? How are fish scary? Most aren’t even deadly.”

“They have these large eyes that don’t blink. Who wants to be staring at huge, unblinking black eyes?”

“Don’t let the sea nymphs hear you say that. They might drag you down to the bottom of the sea.”

“You would let them kill me?”

“No, but maybe let them scare you a bit before saving you,” Percy says, laughing.

“Oh, my hero.”

“Yeah, your hero,” Percy says with a soft smile.

The next hour is spent teaching you how to swim. It was easy with the son of Poseidon. You had nothing to fear, knowing that he would let nothing happen to you. He was a pretty good teacher, too—you were able to catch on fast. You hadn’t been so relaxed at camp before; it felt more like a vacation than training to fight against monsters.

“I think you officially know how to swim,” Percy says, swimming to the shore.

“All thanks to you,” you say, following.

“It probably helps when your teacher can control water, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

You and Percy get out of the water, drying off, and sit on the beach. You couldn’t help but steal a few glances at him, his wet hair framing his face and dripping down his chiseled stomach.

“Enjoying the view?”

Your face turns red, being caught staring. “Sorry,” you say, looking down.

“Don’t worry, I was staring at you too.”

Your face flushes brighter, taken aback by how blunt Percy was being. It was no secret that he was considered one of the most attractive people at camp—his looks were often discussed just as much as his fighting prowess. The thought that he could find you attractive seemed almost impossible to believe. You wouldn’t exactly call yourself unattractive, but you definitely weren’t a daughter of Aphrodite.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Percy says, looking worried.

“No, you didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“You’re beautiful, Y/n.”

“Yeah?” you say, looking at Percy.

“Yeah,” Percy says, keeping eye contact with you.

An idea pops into your head to hopefully have this moment again in the future.

“Hey, Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I still need swimming lessons. I don’t think one day is enough.”

A wide smile forms across Percy’s face. “I was thinking the same thing, actually. I think you should also get over your fear of fish. I have a feeling you’ll be around more sea life from now on.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“No reason.”

“Mhm, can we start with a cute sea animal? Work my way up to the scary, beady eyes? Maybe a sea lion or a hippocampus?”

“I’m sure I can have that arranged. Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say as the horn for lunch is blown.

“I guess we should start heading back,” Percy says, looking a little disappointed.

“Yeah, I guess we should. It was nice hanging out with you. See you tomorrow,” you say, turning to walk away. You make it almost a foot before—

“WAIT.”

“Yeah?” you say, confused.

“I don’t want to stop talking to you yet. I know we can’t sit at the same table, but can we talk together until our cabin is called?”

A smile spreads across your face. “Come on, fish boy,” you say, holding out your hand.

[gibsongirlsundaymorning]

After all this time… (Night One.)

A/N: At the time of posting this, most people had voted that this be released in parts, and I’m impatient, so I’ll be releasing these in a few parts separated by the days of the story! As always, please drop any suggestions in the replies or my asks if there’s anything you’d like to see 😊

Synopsis: You come home with your childhood best friends, Billy and Tommy during your break at college, and instead of going to your own house, you stay at theirs with them and their mother… who you’ve had a huge crush on since before you can remember. As the visit goes on, you find it more and more torturous with your forced proximity and how she only seems to get more beautiful as the years pass.

Warnings: Nothing crazy this chapter, allusions to masturbation, drinking, pet names, legal age gap, strict!wanda.

Pairing: Mom!Wanda x Student!Reader (fem)

…………………………………………………………………………

As the holiday break approached, you felt a surge of excitement and a slight nervousness. You had been looking forward to this moment for months- after a long semester at college, you were finally heading home. Well, you weren’t going back to your own house. Your parents were spending their holidays traveling out of the country and exploring, so instead, you were going to stay with her childhood best friends, Billy and Tommy, at their home just five minutes away from the house you grew up in.

The twins' mom, Wanda Maximoff, had always been like a second mother to you. Growing up, she spent countless afternoons in their cozy home, playing games, doing homework, and watching sitcoms with the three of you. She was especially kind to you out of all the boys’ friends, and you suspected she’d always wanted a few more girls in her life, which was crowded by the masculine energies of Vision, Billy, and Tommy. She’d stay up with you after the boys went to bed, tired from their hours of roughhousing, and would spend those extra hours teaching you how to braid your hair by doing yours and then allowing you to try on her long, shiny red hair. Their home became your second house, their door always open to you.

Now, though, you were anxious on your train ride home to the woman and your childhood best friends. You’d stayed friends with the older woman on socials once you were allowed to get them in high school, keeping tabs on the woman who was aging impossibly beautifully as you approached your senior year of college. You constantly traded reels that reminded you of each other, and sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if she picked up on the undertones of a few of the complimentary posts the two of you often exchanged.

There was no denying the crush you’d developed on the older woman, but you felt ridiculous even questioning if she’d maybe felt the same. You let yourself imagine it on occasion, though, especially in the past two years because of her separation from her ex-husband and the boys’ father, Vision. None of the 3 of them really kept in touch with the man due to the nature of their separation- he had somehow decided to cheat on the woman you now had a major crush on, a fact that confused you to no end, given her absolute beauty, intelligence, and kindness.

Your heart raced now as you spotted the twins waiting for you at the train station. They greeted you with wide smiles and tight hugs, their familiar laughter echoing through the crisp winter air. As they drove back to the Maximoff house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging and anticipation for the festive days ahead.

Despite the excitement, you couldn't shake off the nerves fluttering in her stomach. It had been years since you last saw Ms. Maximoff in person, and you worried about how much things might have changed. Would she still have that soft spot for you beyond your messages now that you were all grown up? Would you even be able to face her with this crushing admiration you’d developed as she grew more gorgeous with time? As they pulled into the driveway, you took a deep breath to steady yourself and clear your mind of the swirling questions.

The twins seemed to sense her anxiety. "Don't worry, Y/N," Billy said with a reassuring smile. "Mom's been looking forward to seeing you. She talks about you all the time."

Tommy chimed in, "Yeah, it's like you never left. She's got your favorite cookies baking right now." Their words helped, but your heart still pounded as they walked up to the door. When Ms. Maximoff opened it, her warm smile and open arms melted away half of your fears. In that moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Her arms wrapped tightly around your waist as your cheek pressed into her chest and your front against her own relieve you of the question of if her admiration for you had faded over the years. But this doesn’t shake the anxiety coursing through your veins. If anything, it feeds it, making you almost certain that this crush you had on her would be crippling over the week you’d be spending in her home.

As she pulled away, moving her tight grip to wrap around your elbows and hold you out to examine your matured face, her scent enveloped you, sending you flying straight into an almost drunken state.

Her fawn-like eyes meet your own as she lets out a deep sigh, speaking to you aloud for the first time in nearly three years. “Y/N, honey, you’ve grown up so much! Even prettier than the last time I saw you, too.” You’re searching desperately for a response to force out in our wavering voice when one of the boys speaks from behind you.

“Hey mom, nice to see you too!” One of the twins speaks from behind you- but from the sarcasm the comment is laced with, you’re sure it’s Billy. “Watch your tone, little man, I’m not against sending you to sit on the steps like before. I see you boys constantly, I miss my girl!” Wanda responds quickly, knowing just how to get the boy to remember his childlike fear of his mother’s discipline. You duck your head down in an attempt to cover up your deep blush at the title giggle at the antics and Wanda invites you to come into the house.

As you step into the Maximoff home, the familiar scent of freshly baked cookies filled the air, instantly bringing back a flood of childhood memories. The warm, cozy atmosphere makes you feel a bit more at ease, and Wanda couldn't help but smile at the relaxation that graces your face.

The twins, eager to catch up, quickly grabbed their bags and headed upstairs to put their stuff away. This left you alone with Ms. Maximoff, who enveloped her in another heartfelt hug. "It's so good to see you, hon," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "’Ive missed having you around here." She wraps one hand ever-so-gently around the bottom of your chin to caress your jaw, and you naturally lean into her touch. When you finally remember to respond, you say “I’ve missed it here so much, Ms. Maximoff. Thank you so much again for having me, it means more than you could know that you’re still so welcoming. This really does feel like a second home to me.” Wanda slightly tilts her head and allows her eyes to linger on you one last second before bringing her hand away and grabbing your bags out of your hand.

It was then that you looked out into the living room you’d spent so many hours in with the red-haired woman, quietly bonding in your senior year of high school while the boys slept before their big games when you slept over in preparation. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Much more you now.” You note aloud as you notice the changes to furniture and decor she’s made, assumingly since her divorce, but more importantly noticing the stools you two used to sit on while she taught you all sorts of crafts and skills, and how they seemed to be the only remaining parts of the original room that kept their place in the center of the house.

You feel your nerves finally start to dissipate as the boys came down and they all moved to the kitchen once Ms. Maximoff dropped your bags in the guest room next to her own. You help the boys’ mom set out the cookies and make some tea while you all chat about everything from your college experiences to fond memories of your shared childhood adventures. Ms. Maximoff’s kind eyes and attentive listening made you feel more at home than ever before.

As the evening wound down, the boys headed upstairs to their childhood rooms, eager to pick out a few cherished items to bring back to school. They rummaged through old clothes and coats for the upcoming winter season, laughing and reminiscing about their younger days.

Meanwhile, you stayed downstairs with their mom to help clean up. You worked side by side in the kitchen, tidying up the remnants of dinner. The familiar routine brought a comforting sense of normalcy, something you could almost see yourself doing every night with the woman. You remind yourself to snap right the fuck out of that quickly. As you washed dishes and put away leftovers, you began to catch up, just like you used to.

You talked about everything—college life, future plans, and the little things that made up your daily lives. Your conversation was filled with warmth and intense attentiveness from the older woman, a testament to the bond you had always shared. While you were sure now that she hadn’t grown to be less fond of you in the couple of years you’d spent apart, there was certainly something different about the way she looked at you now. Her gaze seemed more heavy now, lingering longer and often wandering a bit, the ventures so slight you thought you were imagining them.

“Remind me again how old you are now, honey?” Wanda speaks out as she dries her hands and grabs a wine glass for herself. “I’m 22 now, Ms. Maximoff.” She grabs another glass at the end of your sentence. “Well then, call me Wanda, sweetheart! You’re a big girl now, yeah?” she insists as she turns around to face you again with two bottles of wine in her hand, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. “Which one?” She straightens her elbows out for you to read the labels, and you’re grateful for the distraction from your reddened cheeks she provides you with.

“Um…… this one, on the left.” You point to a sauvignon blanc randomly, not too knowledgeable about wine. “Good choice.” She winks and brings the glasses, a corkscrew, and the bottle and you two make your way to the family room. The room was slightly dark now, lit only by a few warm-toned decorative lamps sprinkled throughout the room.

You take a seat on one of the remaining stools from your fond childhood memories with the woman, adjacent from the cushion Wanda takes her seat on, her legs curled with her heels under herself while she rests on the armrest of the sofa and leans her side into it. Her sweater falls off of her shoulder, exposing her collarbone as she lets her hair down from the clip it was in.

You watch in awe as the long scarlet waves cascade down in such a fluid movement around her shoulders, bringing your hand to your mouth to bite down on your index fingernail to keep from letting out the sigh that was now crawling up your throat at the sight.

However, it becomes so much more impossible to restrain yourself when the older woman leans forward and grips your wrist harshly, bringing your hand back down to your lap, and then swiping the proof of your former actions off of your bottom lip with the pad of her thumb.

“You really shouldn’t mess up your nails like that, honey. Nasty habit.” Her voice came out lower and with a bit more of a rasp than usual, the late hour of the night affecting her tone. “Sorry, Ms. Maximoff.” You try to chuckle it off, dumbfounded by her simple gestures. “Hey, what did I say? Call me Wanda.” She gives you a stern look, similar to the one she gave Billy when he quipped at her in the doorway of the home upon your arrival.

“Right. I’m sorry, Wanda.” You draw out the delivery of her name, and the way the green of her eyes is overcome by her growing pupils sends goosebumps all through your skin and a shiver down your spine. “Good girl.” Before either of you could react to what she’d just said, she followed her praise up with a simple question, “Well, we can’t let this go to waste can we?” Gesturing to the bottle of wine, you giggle and shake your head.

You watch a bit too closely as she uncorks and pours out two glasses of the wine, your eyes tracing each movement of her slender fingers as if you were trying to save them in your mind in perfect detail. She hands you a glass and goes back to her reclined pose before swirling the liquid in her own glass and taking a sip. You again pay intense attention to the way her defined jaw appears impossibly sharper than usual as she drinks, the way her eyes close in bliss at the taste.

“Oh, you always were my smart girl, Y/N. You picked out a great one. Drink up, hon.” With that, she grabs the tv remote and turns it on. “What would you like to watch? I know you used to love the classics, but I’m sure you’ve developed a more evolved taste recently.”

You ponder on the question for a moment and stare back in your own distorted reflection in the wine that rests in your hand below you. “Well, it’s been out for a while, but I have been loving Orange is the New Black. If you’ve already seen it, that’s alright, you can pick!”

“Oh, I’ve seen it, but I love it. Let’s pick a good one.” She clicks through seasons and episodes before picking one she likes. You sip your drink and can’t help but hum in appreciation of the taste. Wanda’s head snaps towards the direction of your own at the sound, swiping her tongue over her teeth before practically sighing out, “You like that?” You stammer out an affirmative answer, flustered at just the sound of her voice.

You both return your attention to the tv screen, hoping for some relief from your blushing state. You find no help from the show, turning towards it to find the two main characters in an intense argument stop what they’re saying and pull each other into an intense, rough kiss… and it only leads to more. You turn slowly away from the screen and towards Wanda, desperate to see how she was reacting to the scene unfolding in front of you, but you’re met with her gaze already on you. She doesn’t look away. If anything, she analyzes you more closely, getting a feel for all of your tells, every way you’re reacting to the girls on the screen, the desperation in your pleading eyes that say everything you’re too shy to say yourself.

It’s her who finally breaks her gaze, looking back up to the screen. You take this opportunity to continue looking at her, hypnotized by her beauty, which was now illuminated by the glow of the television. She lets it happen for 5 seconds longer before snapping back to you.

“It’s rude to stare, yknow?” Dumbfounded, you reply, “Then why is it ok when you do it?” You regret it as quickly as it comes out of your mouth. She rises to her feet and places her now empty glass down on the table with such force you thought it might shatter. She takes the few steps it takes to be standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off of your skin and grabs your jaw harshly.

“Watch your mouth.” And then she’s walking off to her bedroom. You’re truly shocked as you down the rest of your glass, clear both of them as they’re now empty, and turn off the tv. You sit out in the room for a bit longer, just gathering the courage to walk down the hallway to enter your room that shared a wall with Wanda’s. You finally do, your steps not making a sound as you approach the room because of how slowly you’re going. You finally take a seat on your bed and scroll through varying socials when you start to hear… buzzing?

After being frozen in your tracks, you walk up to the wall that you share with Wanda… and that’s definitely buzzing. And moaning. You know you should walk away from the wall and respect Wanda’s privacy, she probably didn’t even know you were in the room yet because of how quietly you entered it, but you seemed to be magnetically pulled towards it. You were about to snap out of your trance when you heard something awfully familiar. Was she saying your name?

You press your ear to the wall. You hear her let out a noise a bit more broken and higher pitched than the rest of the string of moans you’d heard her emit before… and then nothing. You were left to wonder what it really was that you’d heard her say just moments before, sounding so similar to your name. But you must’ve been imagining that.

You get in bed, replaying the short sounds you’d heard minutes before in your head and wishing you’d cleaned up and made your way to the room just a bit more quickly, but almost simultaneously glad you didn’t- you didn’t need that kind of delusion fuel. You drift off to the memory of the older woman’s blissful sounds.

………………………………………………………………………… Thats all for part/night 1 of this new story! Please let me know if you like where it’s headed so far and if there’s anything you’d like to see in the following parts :)

tags: @ahintofchaos @bees-for-brains @scxrlett-wid0w

[despressoslatte]

not the zoey you wanted (four)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

a/n: a big big BIG thank you to everyone who has been enjoying this fic! I love seeing everyone’s comments and inbox messages dissecting the story and making predictions! I wrote for OBX back in 2020 when the show first came out under a different blog (in case anyone here remembers a blog called jjmaybankx, HI! Though that’s just a generic username, it might be hard to remember that specific iteration ahaha), but i had just created this blog the same day i put out this fic… and i am in awe of how well received and how much you guys are actually invested in this little world i have conjured up whilst dreaming of bf!drew. I am very honored <3

Masterlist | < part three | add yourself to the taglist

ᯓ⟢

How you were supposed to just get up and go to your afternoon classes after what had just happened was beyond you, but you had an important peer workshop in one of your writing courses and then straight to the tutoring center for you. 

Day one was hard, as you navigated the complexities of whatever the hell had just happened. You were angry: angry at the car for hitting Zach, angry that he had even for a second thought that Zoey Miller had been you, angry that she let him think that knowing it was wrong, angry that she did any of what she did at all. And most of all, angry that you were even angry with Zach for it.

Tuesday rolled around and you had to go to the class you had with Zoey Miller, with anger seething in your veins but the inability to cause a scene. You hadn’t told anyone, not even your roommate Bree, what had happened. You felt like if you made a big deal and spoke about it, then you would likely never get over it. 

You felt her eyes on you as you typed your notes during the lecture, having sat a few rows and seats to the left in front of you. Could she like… not? Face forward and pay attention to the class, stop staring at the girl whose boyfriend you tried to steal after trying to steal his cousin, thanks. 

Your next shift at the tutoring center was on Wednesday. Instead of having assigned tutees for the day, you had a five hour shift in the tutoring center where you mainly did your own homework, helped student athletes figure out why the printers wanted to act up and not print their assignments, and help the few random people who would come up to the reception desk to ask you for help on a writing assignment or to proofread their essays.

You paused as you set your coffee up and laptop down on the desk, looking across the tutoring center to see Zach hunched over his own computer in one of the middle tables, typing away. He was one of the few athletes who wasn’t assigned to mandatory study hall hours after he had gotten his grade up, thanks to your one-on-one tutoring sessions and then, once his girlfriend, study dates together in his dorm or yours. He normally wouldn’t be caught dead in the tutoring center if he wasn’t required to be there, preferring to do his homework on his own anyways.

But there he was, regardless. 

A week passed and Zach didn’t try to talk to you at all, just like you had asked. You also never saw him walking around with Zoey Miller, a recurring minor nightmare you kept on having. Thank God, you thought every time you’d see one of them around campus without the other. Zoey Miller came to class looking miserable every time, and each time you worked a shift at the tutoring center, whether it be study hall monitoring or a few hours of one-on-one tutoring, Zach was there, during his homework by himself at one of the tables. 

“Hey.”

You looked up from the book you were engrossed in, taking off one airpods to see Zach in front of you, his laptop in his arms.

“Zach…” you sighed softly.

“I’m not here to bother you, I swear,” he reassured you, sliding his laptop to face you. “I just… actually need your help with this one, promise.”

You looked down at his screen to see an essay typed out. You glance up at him again.

“It’s a big part of my grade, so I was wondering if you could proofread it,” he said sheepishly, putting his hands in his pockets.

You exhale and nod, motioning with your head to the seat next to yours. A smile beamed across his face, and he rounded the desk to sit down next to you, both of you half facing each other as he watched you go over his essay in suggesting mode, making comments and edit recommendations. 

“I like the color you painted your nails,” he said softly.

“Zach,” you warned.

He shut up.

You got to page five of the essay, having only had to make a few small grammatical suggestions, a small smile building on your face for how well written the essay had been. When he wanted to apply himself, and knew how to, Zach would always be extremely smart. Sometimes, when it came to subjects he didn’t quite care for, he just didn’t care to put in the effort. But he was very smart, he had to be a student athlete. 

Plus, you knew he had little moments of crises when he thought about his future. He didn’t think he’d make it pro, but he also wasn’t passionate for other things the way he was for soccer. He felt aimless sometimes. The ironic part of it all was that he chose English Literature as his major, the classes he struggled with the most and hence how you two met.

You had given him the idea before that if he really didn’t think he could go pro, he could keep playing soccer or being involved with it through coaching at high schools or even middle schools. But you also always told him that you thought he had it in him to go pro. He was the school’s soccer star, you weren’t sure why he always sold himself short.

“You okay?” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You had been stuck on page five for longer than it would have taken to read the page over twice, Zach just sitting there in anticipation of what you thought he needed to fix before he looked over at your face and noticed you were zoned out.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shook yourself out of it, continuing to scroll down through his essay.

Another excruciating fifteen minutes until you were finished reading over every line intricately and leaving any commentary needed, you slid the laptop back closer to Zach.

“Just those edits, and it’s all good,” you told him, trying to avoid looking at him.

He tapped the desk, nodding. “Thanks,” he said, and you pursed your lips and nodded.

You bit your lip to try and prevent yourself from asking the question that has been hot on your mind, but the words vomit out before you can stop it, “How come you’ve been doing your homework here?”

You finally look into his striking blue eyes, seeing them widen before his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“It’s the student athlete tutoring center,” he pointed out, then pointed at himself. “Student athlete.”

You titled your head to the side, giving him “the look” as you said, “Zach…”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed with a small laugh, closing his laptop closed. “It’s the only time I ever get to see you, okay?”

You had an inkling feeling that was it, and you just nod in response.

“I can stop if seeing me bothers you,” he whispered.

“Seeing you would never bother me,” you said back.

The hopeful smile that erupted on his face made your heart sting.

The moment you two were having was interrupted when another student athlete walked up, asking for help since the printers weren’t working. You offered Zach a small smile, and he gave you a wave, before you got up to go to the opposite side of the tutoring center to figure out the printer.

ᯓ⟢

On your way to class the next day, you paused in front of the class you had with Zoey to see she was standing a little bit to the side of the pathway talking to Zach. You slowed your steps down a bit as you stared at them. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell from the back of his head, jacket, and backpack that it was him.

That same guilty look was on Zoey’s face, and she was shaking her head. 

You could tell from Zach’s body language that he was upset, the way his shoulders lifted and his arms moved about as he talked, the way he did when he was trying to drive a point. 

You didn’t feel like watching them talk, putting your head down and heading into the building to go to class.

ᯓ⟢

“So, she broke up with you?” Zoey asked as she stood there staring up at Zach. She had asked him if they could talk when she saw him walking by on her way to class, and with an irritated huff, he agreed.

“She did not break up with me,” Zach said back sternly, shoving his hands into his pocket, kicking a rock on the floor. “She is just taking time to… process… what happened between you and I on the ski trip…”

“I didn’t mean for any of that stuff to happen… I—”

“I don’t really care what you meant to have happened,” Zach said back with a shrug. “You knew you weren’t my girlfriend, pretended to be anyways, and now she won’t talk to me.”

“Well, I don’t get why she’s upset with you when I’m to blame,” Zoey quipped back, earning a look from Zach.

“Don’t,” he shook his head at her. “Don’t try to make her out to be the bad guy here.”

“I’m not,” Zoey shook her head. “I’m just saying—”

“I don’t care what you’re saying, Zoey…” he sighed. He wiped his face with the palm of his hands and huffed frustratedly. “Look. It’s just a lot for her. First, she thought I ghosted her all weekend. Then, it looks to her like I had cheated on her, and then when she found out the truth, she hears that I was starting to feel things for you, and—”

“You were starting to feel things for me?”

He gave her an irritated glare when that was all she had heard from that.

“I love Y/N, okay?” he said to her sternly, using his hands to point to himself and then off to the side for emphasis. “Not you, not anyone else, just Y/N. Whatever fake relationship you and I had when I didn’t have my memories, that’s all it was, fake. You are not the Zoey I wanted.”

Zach looked away from her, and that was when he saw the back of your head, face pointed to the floor, as you sped-walked away into the building. He couldn’t tell if you had seen him and Zoey talking, but from the way you were walking so damn fast, maybe. Damn it. 

He turned back to Zoey, who had tears in her eyes. And he felt bad, because he didn’t enjoy making girls cry.

“Just…” for the umpteenth time, he sighed. “Just stay away from me and my girlfriend, I’m begging you.”

ᯓ⟢

taglist: @faephoria @maybankslover @ursogorgeous13 @khiatonsx @enchantedstarfish @starsmoonn @zulema222 @10ava01 @ietss @rafegf-real @leather-n-velvet t @avengersgirllorianna @chalahyung01 @thaissette @emberaurora @isabellaxlilah @matchieee @purplerose291 @wtfdudesblog @mattyskies @onlyrealjoy @sabrina6272827 @probablyreadingsmutlol @loupiotesworld @tqd4455 @persefone200 @dreamygirli3 @tobucina @h1ghw4y-blog @k-k0129 @harrys-housewife @pillowprincess4him

hoping all of these tags worked, some of them weren't popping up when i typed them! i've retyped them all by hand like 3 times, but each time i save it, it comes up as half of the list not actually tagged, so pls let me know if it tagged you!

[ruruumin]

young

₊˚ ᗢ canon! alhaitham x gn! reader.

⤷ inspired by this guitar cover of young girl a. 2.4k words.

as the official recordkeeper of the akademiya, the burden of notetaking and historical artifacts rests upon your hands. students and scholars come to you with their discoveries, hoping to be kept alive through history books and beyond. much of their research is rubbish, half-haphazardly put together in an attempt to seem great. 

days stretched out longer than they needed to. work becomes overbearing. it seeps into the corners of your mind. going out with tighnari didn’t help, drinking tea with collei did nothing to soothe the ache in your jaw and hand. a close friend of yours from the same darshan expressed the worries of drinking too much coffee. but nothing was helping. your mind was burning up. your fingers felt like they were on fire. and it couldn’t have been just your pyro vision.

your brain felt like a string being pulled too hard you can hear the vibration wringing the air. you keep your head low in your office, praying to lesser lord kusanali that there won’t be another person coming through those now worn-out doors. you have your hand pressed against your forehead, your eyes peeking through the cracks of your fingers, furiously writing a report upon someone's recent expedition. 

don’t forget to write about how they entered the desert runes. add the part where they stumbled next to the entrance. make sure you indent here. transcribe every part of their dialogue as perfectly as you can. do it as if you were there. these racing thoughts were doing nothing but pulling you back and forth, pushing you toward the edge you could see the bottom of. your breaths felt hot. your skin was sweating. everything was damp and sticky. 

you grip your vision tightly, trying to hold out as much as possible before exhaustion could hit you like a train. in the confines of your office, you think about unspeakable things. what would alhaitham do? that snarky, know-it-all scribe, what would he do in this situation? would he stress out like you are? does he even feel stressed? are you just competing against some robot with no emotions? what if he couldn’t even feel pain at all? why were you thinking of him at all?

perhaps it was all the time you spent in your younger years at the akademiya, having been in the same darshan as him once before graduating and going back to school for a second diploma. maybe it was the way he constantly one-upped you in everything you did. one point off of a test score. one second behind his mile time. hell, he even got the job of acting grand sage so easily, while you had to work your ass off sucking up to the previous recordkeeper. why was it so easy for him to become a scribe and grand sage?

he never had to say it out loud, but the look in his eyes, the turquoise gaze that he leaves you when the doors close, made you all the more furious. 

you wanted his job so badly. being a recordkeeper was the closest thing you could have that was remotely similar to sumeru’s scribe. you might not be able to get the same amount of pay or recognition, but it was something. you could still put your love for writing and history into books. all of it would be great. you could be satisfied. if only you didn’t want more. 

the ticking clock is like a metronome. click. click. click. one sentence down. the next one. click click click. halfway there, if you push a little harder, click, click, click and run through your thoughts one more time, click, click, click, you can finish this in less than an hour. click. click.

what happened to the third click? you look up and see a familiar face staring down at you. his lips were squeezed tightly together into the same thin line you always saw in the classroom. 

“when was the last time you slept?” he asks, raising his hand to your forehead as you lean back in your chair, barely escaping his grasp.

you raise a few fingers, eyes glancing down at your paper. “one… three.. one and a half hours.” he lets out a huff, sounding rather disappointed in your answer. 

“the well-esteemed recordkeeper, unable to keep record of their sleep. how ironic is that.”

“if you came here to taunt me, you know the door is that way.” 

he doesn’t say anything in this instance. no response. no backtalk. he’s so eager to jump on any flaws you exhibited, and suddenly, when you gesture towards the door, trying to be unfazed by his comments, he is quiet. it grosses you out.

“tighnari told me you weren’t doing so well. looks like you've been working on this paper for a while now." he brushes back a few strands of his hair, "you know, you could always ask me for help. as a scribe, i have some knowledge of recordkeeping.”

there it is.

really? tighnari had to tell him? had you known he was going to tell the scribe, you would have never said anything. you want to be frustrated at him but knowing how kind he is, he was surely doing it out of the kindness of his heart. your reply to alhaitham has a sharp, sarcastic tone. 

“what don’t you know? don’t you know everything already?

“stop making it sound like i’m so much better than you.” his response was instant this time.

you grip your pen tightly, fingers trembling at the pressure. that’s what he gets out of all of this? you thought after being academic rivals for so long, he’d know how you feel about him. and the reasons why you’d even villainize him in the first place. was he always this blind? questions were racing through your thoughts again and for once in your life, you wished that the entire world could just disappear so you could have a moment of peace. 

“you don’t understand, alhaitham,” you start, teeth trembling, “i don’t think you do.”

“yes, i don’t understand why you’re pushing so hard. you’re only a recordkeeper, the job doesn’t require much other than documentation. but regardless, i won’t know unless you tell me.”

slamming the pen down, you raise yourself from the chair, slapping him across the face as he looks back at you in utter surprise. the skin on his cheek was beginning to grow red. your entire body felt cold the moment those seven words came out, and yet the anger you felt was warming you up from the inside.

i won’t know unless you tell me.

so ignorant. so blind. that’s what he was. and you despise him for it. 

“only documentation? that’s what you got? i’m just working so hard over nothing, right? this is just some stupid job, it’s not even as special as your lavish one. i’m no grand sage. no scribe. i’m not even a matra. i’m just some lowly recordkeeper that has to write about everyone else’s accomplishments, while i have absolutely none to my name."

you can't control your words. "do you know how many times i have to write your name down? for everything you did for sumeru? for lesser lord kusanali?” 

the air is growing hot, and so is your skin. did anyone leave the doors open? where was the breeze? who turned on the heater? your head was beginning to feel light. “sorry, maybe i’m too stupid for you. not everyone has the mind of grand sage.”

“grand acting–”

“my apologies, grand acting sage. not everyone is like you.”

“like what?” he says, a lower tone following his words, “rational? logical? cool-headed? have you forgotten everything you learned in haravatat? or has switching to a new darshan made your brain forget the lessons our professor taught about burnout?”

you? burned out? those words hover over you like a looming darkness. “you seriously–can’t understand.” 

“understand what?”

don’t say words you can’t take back.

“that i hate you!” a scream ripped through your throat, ah, there it is.

“i despise you. i hate everything about you. you’re so nonchalant about everything, when we graduated, all you could say was ‘oh, thanks.’  even when you’re declared grand acting sage, you didn’t show an ounce of gratefulness or humility. you saw it as some kind of chore when that job–your job! was all i ever wanted!” 

everything was spilling out of your mouth like bile. with your vision heating up to burn the surface of your skin, you fail to see the hurt in his eyes. the flinch his fingers carried, and the way he stepped back at the raise of your voice. 

“so i don’t understand why they gave it to you when you–fuck– you don’t even care! you don’t care about anything! so now i don't even know why i do!” squeezing your eyes shut, you block out all the unnecessary noise that isn’t your voice. “i tried so hard, i switched darshans so i could do more, but the best i could do is be some shitty recordkeeper that can’t even handle a few paperwork.”

"of course the grand acting sage of sumeru can't understand the feeling of being mediocre. after all, you're the perfect alhaitham. grand acting sage alhaitham. sumeru's feeble scribe alhaitham. the know-it-all jackass alhaitham!" you run your fingers through your hair, pulling on it, "fuck, can't you just show me that you're at least grateful that you got the job, the one that i've been working so fucking hard for in the past few years."

“this is a joke.”

you let out a gasp when his hand reaches out to grab you by the face, squeezing your cheeks tightly. “the only person being ungrateful here is you. are you even hearing yourself right now? being a recordkeeper is a huge accomplishment. you’re doing what many sumerians can only dream of doing. graduating from two darshans? how many people can you name off of one hand that can do that? lisa only graduated from one. most of us did. and here you are, having done two.” 

"if it was me in your shoes, having done two darshans back to back, would you say the same thing?"

"hah? of course not–"

"so why are you wasting your breath complaining about yourself?" those words hurt a lot more than you thought they would. but what did you expect? some sympathy after all of this?

a laugh is choked out of you, “yeah, i guess you’re right. i should be more happy that i got this job. after all, i’m just some spoiled brat to you.” his hold tightens up, veins bulging from his wrist. despite the change of tone in his voice, the expression on his face conveys a different feeling. one that is mixed. you don't know how to describe it.

“did you even listen to me?”

“i don’t know. what did you say anyway?” your body trembles. fingers wrapping around his hand, trying to loosen his grip as tears swell. you wish you had the strength to clamp your jaw shut.

“i don’t even know what i’m doing anymore.” 

his turquoise eyes begin to soften. his grip losing its strength. this gives you the moment you need to breathe.

he doesn’t know what to say. for someone so adamant on accomplishing what is seen as extraordinary, you didn't see it at all. to him, you were a ball of sun, a brightly shining star that could never lose its color or flame. seeing you like this is twisting his hearts in ways he cannot fathom.

he thought it would be nice seeing you vulnerable, to see you at your most raw. he always liked how enthusiastic you were about beating him. but he doesn’t know if he feels this way anymore. you, at your wit’s end, despite graduating in haravatat and having experience in a multitude of languages, being unable to come up with a proper response was more than heartbreaking. it makes him feel sick.

and before you can push him away, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly to his chest. this unexplained action is incomprehensible to you. and you fear that he's doing this out of pity.

the air grows quiet as he’s pensively thinking.

“i’m sorry,” his voice is as soft as a mouse. its timid, something you never thought to hear from the grand acting sage himself. 

“i don’t know if this is what you wanted to hear. but i don’t think of you any less. i’m sorry my actions made you feel that way. being a recordkeeper is a lot harder than i made it out to be. you have to balance everyone's story and make sure they're all written accurately and true.” he is unsure if this is the right thing to say at the moment, but it's the only thing he feels is true.

“i was too harsh on you because i thought it might push you forward. i thought things were the same as they were in the akademiya. but now that we're older, i see that the way i treated you was... more than wrong."

he wants to bite his tongue, humiliation burning through his cheeks like a bullet wound. "there is a lot that you should be proud of. so..." he is beginning to mumble, "don't cry." that last part comes out like a question.

you hesitantly hold onto him, keeping him close to you as if he’s the last person on teyvat. alhaitham, the great one himself, was giving you an apology. a rather heartfelt one too, even if he seemed inexperienced in it. you should be a little grateful he had the guts to tell you rather than pass around notes as he did when you were younger.

you shiver when his hand runs down your spine, moving up and down to comfort you. you could feel your vision pulsate in reaction. your heartrate spiking. if the past you saw where you were now, they’d be mortified. to think you’d be this close to the one person you considered your worst enemy. and despite that, sharing this moment of vulnerability with him was oddly comforting.

it made everything feel okay.

a breath is drawn out of you, one that was flimsy and weak, “i’m scared.”

“what are you scared of?”

“i don’t know what to do,” your words come out shaky, “i don’t know what i’m doing anymore. this job, my feelings…all this work that’s piling up, students who are counting on me, everyone– what am i supposed to do?”

“is there supposed to be a manual?” 

your jaw locks up in an attempt to hold back a laugh. you instead roll your eyes, trying to force him off of you but he remains glued to you, intent on keeping you as close as possible. almost as if you’d fly away if he loosened up a little. maybe you’d burn up like a star, suck the entire universe with you, including him.

“point is, even if you don’t know what to do, there is still plenty of time. if you need to take a break, then do so. travel the world if you have to. leave sumeru and find your purpose.” the last part was more for exaggeration and dramatics. he'd rather die than admit he doesn't want to see you leave sumeru.

he presses his forehead against yours, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “those scholars can wait. it's not the end of the world if they don’t get their measly report written.”

“but–”

“relax. you and i know they’re all pretty whiny. would it kill you to just take a break so you don’t have to listen to them?” his comment finally breaks a snort out of you.

“you’re as good as you are. without you, a lot of what we’ve learned and experienced might get lost. being a recordkeeper is still a very esteemed title. it won’t be hard to ask for a raise.” 

“you joke too much.”

“kaveh says i don’t do it enough.” 

you inhale another deep breath, noting the smell of sage and pinewood on his shirt. it's rather earthy (and you were surprised to know he bothers spraying anything at all.) the gem between his collarbone is flickering underneath the chandelier light in your office. and you could feel the slight tense of his muscles as he adjusted his hold on you.

the words that come out of your mouth feel like needles. “do you hate me?”

“i don’t.”

“even when i said all of those horrible things to you?”

“even so.” his resolution was clear in his answer. 

the burning sensation you felt was beginning to fade away. the flame inside of you finally quelling. you would have never thought in a million years that the man you’ve competed against could make you feel so strange. so conflicted. so unsure. yet at the same time, so secure. 

perhaps, with him in mind, you might be able to take things a lot slower. maybe consider a vacation. you can stop comparing yourself to someone who's on a different path and appreciate what you have already. or at the very least, appreciate yourself, before anyone else. 

you don’t know how to put it into words, so you press your face in the crook of his neck, releasing a content hum. his adam apple bobs with hesitation, his body tensing up as if he’s nervous to breathe in your embrace.

“thank you.”

… 

“that slap really hurt. i think you might need to fetch an icepack for me.”

“i can give you another.” 

“please don’t.” 

[jaeyunluvbot]

this love

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 exes to lovers, joshua x reader, also partially mingyu x reader

word count 𝟅𝟈 10.1k

part one

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua stepped off the plane, the cool air of New York sweeping over him as he entered the terminal. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the bustling energy of this city felt like it was pressing in on him, in a way that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. It wasn’t the first time he’d been here, but this time felt different. There was a strange weight to the air as though the city itself was carrying something he wasn’t prepared for.

The hum of conversation, the footsteps of hurried travelers, the flashing billboards just outside the windows—it all felt so vibrant, so full of life. And yet, beneath the excitement and the rush, there was a quietness to his heart, a tug in the back of his mind.

This city reminded him of you.

He shifted the strap of his suitcase, moving through the crowd. Bright lights, hurried people, and the constant motion—the life of New York was contagious. But it wasn’t just the city’s pulse that caught him off guard. It was the way everything about it seemed to echo the parts of you he had loved so much.

You had always been like the city to him—full of energy, always moving, always chasing the next thing. Your smile, the way you carried yourself in a room, the way you could command attention without even trying. That’s what you had been to him, a force of nature that made everything feel brighter.

And now, just stepping into this city, he could almost hear your laugh again, see the way you’d look at him with that mischievous smile, eyes lighting up like you were always in on some secret. He could almost feel your presence in the air around him, but it was a presence that hurt now, a sharp reminder of what they had lost.

Joshua let out a slow breath, trying to ground himself. “You’re not here for her, Joshua. Don’t go looking for her.”

It was pointless, he knew. You had your life, and he had his. There was no going back, not after everything. You were in New York now, though, living in the same city he was. He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to dwell on the possibility that they might cross paths again. The city was huge, the chances of seeing you again were slim to none.

Still, it seemed like fate had a way of pulling the two of you back together, no matter how far apart you’d tried to stay.

He pushed through the terminal, his thoughts spinning as he made his way to the taxi stand. The whole business trip had been planned months ago, and it had seemed so clear-cut then—a professional trip to oversee the opening of a new office, a straightforward task. But now, with New York sprawling before him, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the past bearing down on him.

He stepped into the cab, the engine rumbling to life, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the city. New York had always been a dream of yours, hadn’t it? The energy, the endless opportunities. And even though their paths had diverged, it was impossible to forget that part of hyourer dream was still alive in this city.

But the cab was moving now, the streets of New York unfolding before him, and with each turn, each new block, Joshua felt something tug at his chest. A sense of familiarity, a longing he couldn’t fully explain. The city might be full of strangers, full of business and distractions, but he couldn’t help but wonder: could it ever really feel like home again?

He let out a long sigh and glanced out the window, forcing himself to focus on the purpose of the trip. But the more he tried to push the thoughts of you away, the more they seemed to take hold.

And this time, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what might come next.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua had spent the last few days wandering the streets of New York, letting the city become his guide. He walked for hours, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with a purpose, just to get a feel for the pulse of this place. He’d taken a few cabs, gotten lost a couple of times, and explored neighborhoods where the air smelled different from what he was used to. It was all part of the process of settling in, of finding his way in a city that, despite being filled with people, felt strangely isolating.

He hadn’t gone near your neighborhood, not yet. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Too many memories tied to that area, too many things that still felt fresh and raw. And he assumed you still lived with your parents, living your life, doing what you always had. There was no reason to go looking for a ghost of the past when he had his own life to rebuild.

But even as he tried to avoid the places that had once been familiar, he couldn’t help but feel that pull. It was New York, after all. A city of millions, yet somehow, it always seemed to bring people together, whether they were ready for it or not.

It was on a lazy afternoon when he wandered into a department store, aimlessly browsing through a few racks of clothes, that he saw you.

He didn’t notice you at first—just a flash of movement in the aisle. Then, his eyes caught sight of the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head back as you chatted with your friends. That laugh. It was unmistakable, like a sound from another life that had been buried deep in his memory. But it was real. It was here, right in front of him.

Joshua froze.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to blur. The lights, the busy customers, the gentle hum of conversation—it all faded as he focused on you.

You looked so different. Yet so much the same. Your hair, now a bit longer than it used to be, caught the light as you moved through the store. Your smile was still bright, infectious, that same twinkle in your eye he used to adore. But there was something else—something he couldn’t quite place. You were glowing, like you had grown into yourself in a way he never imagined.

Time had done something to you, something he hadn’t expected. You were still the girl he once knew, but you’d grown, matured in a way that took him by surprise. You had become someone else, someone so much more than he remembered. It was as if the city had worked its magic on you too—turning you into something even more radiant than before.

His breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he didn’t know whether to move closer or to turn and leave. But before he could make up his mind, you laughed again, your voice cutting through the air, and his heart seemed to skip a beat.

God, how long has it been?

Two years.

He hadn’t expected to feel this way—hadn’t expected to feel like the time between them had been nothing but a blink. But here you were, standing in front of him, and for a moment, he wondered if the world around him had shifted in a way he couldn’t understand.

You still hadn’t noticed him. You were too busy with your friends, your back to him as you flipped through some clothes on a nearby rack.

Joshua’s gaze lingered on you for just a little too long, and then, as if his body was on autopilot, he took a step backward, moving quietly toward an aisle to the side. He wasn’t sure if you’d even seen him, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this, not after everything that had happened.

As he walked away, his mind raced. You were still here, living your life in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. You had moved on, just as he’d tried to. But seeing you now, in the light of the city, so full of life—it made everything feel as if it hadn’t changed.The city, the memories—it was all there, wrapped up in the image of you standing in that store, looking so different and yet still so you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The first few months in New York had been tough. Moving back in with your parents at twenty-six hadn’t exactly been the picture of independence you'd envisioned for yourself. After leaving California—leaving him—you’d felt like a shell of yourself. Work had been the only thing keeping you afloat, a routine you clung to like a lifeline. Wake up. Go to the office. Come home. Repeat.

But even the most rigid routines couldn’t keep the ache at bay. The nights were the hardest—quiet and heavy, full of thoughts you’d tried so desperately to avoid. You’d wonder where he was, what he was doing, if he ever thought about you. Those first few weeks, it felt like every corner of your mind was occupied by him, by the love you had lost, by the life you’d imagined that had unraveled in an instant.

Then, your friends had found out you were back. Friends who had known you since you were young, who remembered the girl you were before Joshua, before California. They refused to let you wallow.

They dragged you out of your parents’ house, insisted you join them for brunches, walks in the park, late-night karaoke sessions that left you laughing so hard your sides hurt. Slowly, they helped you piece yourself back together.

You started to remember who you were.

Now, two years later, you hardly recognized the girl who’d come back to New York feeling broken and lost. Your job as a PR agent was amazing, the kind of position you’d dreamed of when you first started college. The cushy salary afforded you a beautiful one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side, decorated with warm, neutral tones and little pops of color that reflected your personality.

You’d finally found stability. Confidence.

You’d grown up in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You understood now that Joshua hadn’t left because you weren’t enough or because you’d done something wrong. He simply hadn’t been ready. And that was okay.

That realization had been a turning point for you. Letting go of the bitterness, the insecurity—it had freed you to focus on what really mattered: taking care of yourself.

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss him, though. There were still moments—quiet, fleeting—when something would remind you of him. A song you’d danced to together. The scent of his cologne on someone walking by. A fleeting image in your mind of his warm smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name.

But now, those memories didn’t hurt quite as much. They were a part of you, yes, but they no longer defined you.

Standing in your apartment one evening, you looked out at the city lights, the skyline glimmering like a promise in the distance. This city had seen you at your worst, but it had also witnessed your transformation.

You were happy here.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Vernon had been the first friend to find out you had moved back to the city. Your parents, worried about you, had called him after you’d locked yourself in your room for an entire weekend.

“I heard you were back,” he’d said casually, as though two years of silence between you hadn’t passed. “We’re getting bagels tomorrow. No excuses.”

You’d tried to decline, mumbling something about needing to rest or having work, but Vernon had simply said, “Eight a.m. Don’t be late,” and hung up.

That was Vernon for you—low-key, no-nonsense, and always there when you needed him, even if you didn’t realize it yourself.

That breakfast had turned into weekly meet-ups, then spontaneous hangouts, and eventually, him reintroducing you to the rest of your childhood friends. He never pushed, never asked you about Joshua unless you brought it up first. Instead, he let you heal at your own pace, offering the kind of quiet, steady support that only Vernon could.

“Look at you,” he said now, leaning back in his chair as you both sat at a small café near your apartment. “Living your best life. I’m so proud.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I wouldn’t say I’m living my best life.”

“You’ve got a great job, your own place, and you’re killing it out here. Don’t undersell yourself,” he said, raising his iced coffee in a mock toast. “To the comeback queen.”

You laughed, clinking your glass against his. Vernon had a way of making everything feel lighter, easier. He’d been your rock when you didn’t even know you needed one, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

“You know,” he said after a pause, a teasing glint in his eye, “you might actually be ready to start dating again. Or is the thought of Tinder still too terrifying?”

You groaned, throwing a sugar packet at him. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, dodging the packet with a grin. “The Y/N I see now? She’s ready for whatever’s next.”

His words lingered with you long after you parted ways.

Whatever’s next.

You hadn’t let yourself think about that much—not about love, at least. You’d been so focused on getting your footing, on becoming the version of yourself you were proud of. But now, as you walked back to your apartment under the glow of the city lights, you wondered.

Maybe Vernon was right. Maybe you were ready.

You just didn’t know that "next" was closer than you thought.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Vernon had been annoyingly smug when you finally agreed to go on a blind date with one of his friends he’d been raving about ever since you got bacl.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, earning an exasperated eye roll from you.

Now, sitting across from Mingyu in the softly lit restaurant, you begrudgingly admitted Vernon might have been right.

Mingyu was handsome in that effortless way that made you feel a little self-conscious but also oddly flattered. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a crisp button-down, he radiated confidence without crossing into arrogance. And his smile—warm, easy, and ever-present—had you forgetting about the nerves that had crept in when you first arrived.

“So,” Mingyu said, leaning forward slightly, his elbow resting on the table. “Be honest. Did Vernon have to bribe you to agree to this?”

You laughed, swirling the wine in your glass. “No bribe, but I did consider faking a work emergency.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Fair enough. I almost bailed too. Blind dates are…a gamble.”

“A gamble?” you teased. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent dinner companion.”

“Clearly,” he said with a playful grin. “But I think I’ve won the jackpot tonight.”

His compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth creep up your neck. It wasn’t just his words—it was the way he said them, with an ease and sincerity that made you believe him.

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Mingyu had an endless supply of stories from his time as a chef, from disastrous kitchen mishaps to the joy of creating dishes that made people happy. He was funny, intelligent, and attentive in a way that felt refreshing.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past. You weren’t analyzing every little thing, wondering what might go wrong. You were just here, sharing a meal with someone who made you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

As the waiter cleared the plates, Mingyu leaned back in his chair, studying you with a curious expression.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t know what I was expecting when Vernon said he had the perfect person for me, but I think I underestimated him.”

“Oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “What did he say about me?”

He smirked, taking a sip of his wine. “That you were smart, driven, and a little intimidating—but also one of the kindest people he knows. I think he was underselling you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, but you pushed it down, keeping your tone light. “Vernon does tend to exaggerate.”

“Not this time,” Mingyu said softly, his gaze steady on yours.

And just like that, you realized something. You weren’t thinking about Joshua. Not his laugh, not his smile, not the way he used to make you feel.

You were here, in this moment, and for the first time in years, you let yourself believe that you deserved this.

Deserved to be happy.

Deserved to move on.

As Mingyu flagged down the waiter for the check, you found yourself smiling, a quiet contentment settling over you. Maybe Vernon was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed.

And yet, although you'd let the past go, part of you wondered if the past would ever let you go.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua had barely touched his food.

The dinner meeting was productive—great, even. The new branch’s partners seemed reliable, their strategies aligning seamlessly with his company’s vision. It should’ve been a win, but his focus kept slipping.

Maybe it was the restaurant. Too nice, too cozy, too intimate for a business dinner. Or maybe it was New York itself, refusing to let him breathe without conjuring up memories of you.

He sighed, pulling his attention back to the table as the others laughed over a shared joke. He forced a polite smile, nodding along when necessary. When their meal wrapped up, he rose from his seat, buttoning his blazer.

That’s when he saw you.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him again, the same way it had been since he arrived in the city. But no, it was you—standing just a few feet away, radiant in a sleek dress, your laugh lighting up the space around you.

And then his gaze shifted to the man beside you.

Tall, broad, effortlessly charming, the stranger was leaning in close, saying something that made you laugh again, your hand briefly resting on his arm. Joshua felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

“Joshua? You coming?” one of his colleagues asked, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he said quickly, his voice tight.

He watched as you and the man—your date, he realized with a pang—moved toward the door. He hadn’t intended to follow, but as fate would have it, both groups converged near the exit.

You froze mid-step when your eyes met his.

“Joshua?”

Your voice was calm, but he could see the flicker of surprise in your expression. The man beside you turned, curious but unbothered, as though meeting exes was just another Tuesday.

“Y/N,” Joshua managed, his tone polite but strained. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same here,” you said, your voice steady. You glanced at Mingyu and gestured toward Joshua. “This is Joshua, an old friend from college.”

Joshua’s stomach twisted at the casualness of your introduction. Old friend? That’s all he was to you now?

“And this is Mingyu,” you continued, motioning to your date. “He’s…we’re—”

Mingyu, ever the gentleman, stepped in with an easy smile. “I’m her date,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Joshua shook Mingyu’s hand automatically, the words catching in his throat. Date. Of course. It wasn’t like he had any right to be surprised—you had every reason to move on. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Nice to meet you,” Joshua finally said, forcing a smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the city.”

“Oh, I am,” Mingyu said, glancing at you with a grin. “But I think Y/N’s making it better. She’s been showing me around a bit.”

Joshua’s chest tightened, the casual intimacy between you and Mingyu cutting deeper than he expected. He looked back at you, searching for something—hesitation, discomfort, anything that would tell him you weren’t as unaffected as you seemed.

But you stood there, poised and calm, as though seeing him was nothing more than a passing encounter.

“Well,” you said, your voice light, “we should get going. It was good to see you, Joshua.”

Before he could respond, you turned to leave, Mingyu’s hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you toward the door.

Joshua stood there, rooted to the spot, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background.

You looked happy.

That should’ve been enough for him. But as he watched you walk away, laughter floating back toward him, he realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn’t.

It never would be.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You refused to let Joshua’s sudden appearance rattle you.

The encounter at the restaurant had been startling, sure. Seeing him again after two years—looking as polished and composed as ever—had stirred up something you weren’t ready to name. But you had worked too hard to get to this point, to rebuild your life into something you were proud of.

So, as you slid into the cab with Mingyu, laughing at his exaggerated complaint about how hard it was to hail one in the city, you made a silent promise to yourself: Joshua Hong would not take up space in your mind tonight.

Or ever, if you could help it.

“Okay, so,” Mingyu said, his eyes sparkling as he glanced at you. “What’s next? Dessert? A rooftop bar? Or are you secretly a karaoke queen?”

You laughed, grateful for his easy charm. “As tempting as it is to traumatize you with my singing, I vote dessert. There’s this amazing bakery a few blocks from here.”

“Lead the way,” he said, grinning.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and conversation. With Mingyu, everything felt effortless—like you could be fully yourself without fear of judgment or expectations. You liked that about him. He was warm and steady, the kind of person who made you feel safe in his presence.

And maybe that was why you found yourself saying yes when he asked if you wanted to meet up again later that week.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments that reminded you how much you had missed this—dating, being open to new experiences, letting yourself feel hopeful about the future. Mingyu wasn’t just a distraction; he was someone you genuinely enjoyed being around.

He took you to hole-in-the-wall restaurants that became instant favorites, spent Sunday mornings wandering through farmers' markets with you, and made you laugh until your stomach hurt with his terrible jokes.

Eventually, somewhere between late-night conversations and stolen kisses, you became his girlfriend.

And you were happy.

Joshua, meanwhile, became a ghost of your past—a name you rarely thought about, a memory that no longer haunted you. You assumed he had left the city not long after you’d seen him. After all, New York had never been his kind of place.

Whatever his reasons for being here, they didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because for the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The holidays were always a busy time for you, but this year, they felt especially chaotic. Between work deadlines, planning Thanksgiving dinner with your mom, and finding the perfect gifts for everyone, your calendar was packed.

You were standing in the kitchen, helping your mom prep a pie crust, when she broached the subject.

“So,” she said, her tone casual but laced with intent, “I ran into Joshua the other day.”

Your hands froze mid-motion. “Oh?”

“Yes, at the market,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you. “We chatted for a bit. He looked well, but it turns out he doesn’t have any family in the city for the holidays.”

You had a sinking feeling about where this was going.

“I was thinking,” she went on, carefully avoiding your gaze, “it would be nice to invite him to Thanksgiving. I mean, it’s not right for anyone to be alone on the holidays.”

You placed the rolling pin down and turned to face her. “Mom...”

Of course, it’s up to you,” she added quickly. “We wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, you know how much we’ve always liked him. And it’s been years, hasn’t it?”

You sighed. She wasn’t wrong. It had been years, and you were pretty much over it—or at least you thought you were. Seeing Joshua at Thanksgiving wasn’t exactly on your holiday wish list, but you couldn’t deny that the idea of him spending the day alone tugged at your heart.

“Okay,” you said finally, though the word felt heavy in your chest. “He can come.”

Your mom beamed. “That’s my girl. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

But you weren’t entirely sure you believed her.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Later that evening, you sat across from Mingyu at your favorite café, stirring your coffee with a bit more force than necessary. You’d been mulling over how to bring it up all day, and now that you were here, the words felt tangled in your throat.

“What’s on your mind?” Mingyu asked, his gaze steady and warm.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, so... there’s something I need to tell you.”

He leaned forward, his expression curious but unconcerned. “Go on.”

“My family invited Joshua to Thanksgiving,” you said, watching his face carefully. “He doesn’t have family here, and they felt bad for him. I agreed because I don’t think anyone should be alone on the holidays, but... there’s something you should know about him.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded for you to continue.

“He’s not just an old friend from college,” you admitted. “He’s... my ex. We were engaged, actually.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with history and meaning.

Mingyu’s expression shifted, but not in the way you’d feared. There was no anger, no jealousy—just quiet understanding.

“Okay,” he said simply.

“Okay?” you echoed, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s all in the past, right? You’re with me now. I trust you.”

Relief flooded through you, but there was still a flicker of guilt in your chest. “I just didn’t want you to feel... threatened, or like I was keeping it from you.”

Mingyu reached across the table, covering your hand with his. “You’re telling me now, and that’s what matters. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving. Everyone deserves a little kindness.”

His words warmed something in you that had been cold and uncertain all day.

“Thank you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

“Of course.” He grinned. “But if he tries to steal the last slice of pie, all bets are off.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in hours. Mingyu was right. It was all in the past.

But as the holiday approached, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this Thanksgiving was going to be... complicated.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The smell of roasted turkey and freshly baked pies filled the apartment as you smoothed the last wrinkle from the tablecloth. The dining table, though modest in size, had been extended and covered in a cheerful autumn-themed runner. Plates and glasses were set with precision, every detail curated to make the space feel warm and inviting.

Your mom bustled around the kitchen, peeking into the oven and adjusting timers. Mingyu, ever the professional, was by her side, chopping herbs with practiced ease. Despite being a guest, he had slipped into the role of sous chef the moment he walked through the door.

“You’ve been running around all day,” Mingyu said as you adjusted the throw pillows on the couch for the third time. He set down his knife and gave you a pointed look. “Go get ready, Y/N. We’ve got it from here.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He grinned, hands lightly pushing you toward your bedroom. “You’ve cleaned, cooked, and stressed over every detail. You deserve at least twenty minutes to make yourself look even more stunning than you already do.”

Your mom chimed in, nodding her approval. “He’s right, sweetheart. We’ll take care of everything out here.”

Reluctantly, you retreated to your room, shutting the door behind you. A soft pink sweater and your favorite jeans were laid out on the bed, simple but flattering. You took your time brushing out your hair and adding a touch of makeup. When you stepped back out, feeling refreshed and put together, Mingyu looked up from the stove.

His face lit up instantly. “Wow.”

Your mom glanced over her shoulder and gave an approving nod. “You look lovely, honey.”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you muttered a shy thank you. Mingyu walked over, brushing his hands on a kitchen towel before cupping your face for a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

Before you could respond, the doorbell buzzed. Guests were starting to arrive.

The apartment filled quickly with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional clink of glasses. Your family filed in one by one, hugging you tightly and marveling at how wonderful everything looked. You moved between the kitchen and the living room, greeting each person warmly and ensuring everyone had what they needed.

You were setting down a tray of drinks when the doorbell rang again. Straightening your sweater, you opened the door to find Joshua standing there.

He looked a little nervous but composed, a bottle of wine in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Hi,” he said with a soft smile.

“Hi, Joshua,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. “Come on in. It’s good to see you.”

He handed you the flowers, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “These are for you. I wasn’t sure what to bring.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You gestured toward the kitchen. “Put the wine on the counter. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Joshua nodded, his gaze sweeping the apartment. “This place is really nice.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, trying to keep the interaction light. “It’s cozy, but it works for me.”

As he moved toward the kitchen, you turned back to greet another family member, letting the warmth and bustle of the evening carry you along.

Dinner was a lively affair. Plates were passed around, stories were shared, and laughter filled the room. Mingyu, sitting beside you, charmed your family effortlessly, joking with your cousins and complimenting your mom’s recipes.

Joshua sat a few seats down, mostly quiet but polite. You caught him glancing at you occasionally, his expression unreadable. You made a conscious effort to focus on the conversation around you, refusing to let his presence unnerve you.

At one point, Mingyu leaned over to whisper in your ear. “You’re amazing, you know that? This is perfect.”

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Thank you for helping. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Across the table, Joshua watched the quiet exchange, his chest tightening at the ease between you and Mingyu. He tried to focus on his plate, on the stories your uncle was telling, but his mind kept drifting.

The night continued with dessert and coffee, the energy never waning. When it was time to clear the table, Mingyu and your mom insisted you sit and relax. You ended up on the couch with your cousins, reminiscing about childhood antics and laughing until your sides hurt.

Joshua stayed on the fringes of the gathering, helping your dad with the dishes and making polite conversation.

As guests began to leave, Joshua found himself lingering near the door, unsure if he should say goodbye now or wait. Mingyu was by your side, his arm casually draped over the back of the couch, and you looked completely at ease.

When you finally walked him to the door, he hesitated.

“Thank you for letting me come tonight,” he said, his voice low.

“Of course,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” he said, though the evening had been anything but relaxing for him.

For a moment, it felt like he wanted to say more, but instead, he nodded and stepped out into the night.

As you closed the door, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Mingyu appeared a moment later, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, leaning into him. “I’m fine.”

And you were—mostly.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua closed the door to his apartment, the sound of it clicking shut echoing in the quiet space. He dropped his keys onto the counter and set the bottle of leftover wine he’d brought onto the kitchen island. The place was spotless, minimalist to a fault, but instead of feeling inviting, it felt cold. Impersonal.

He exhaled deeply, tugging at the knot of his tie and shrugging off his blazer. For a long moment, he just stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, his thoughts swirling.

The evening replayed in his mind, each moment sharper and more painful than the last. You, laughing at Mingyu’s jokes, your head tilted back in a way that made you glow. Mingyu’s hand brushing your arm, the way he leaned in to whisper something that had you smiling, cheeks warm with affection.

Joshua hated how easy Mingyu had slipped into the role he used to play—the charming boyfriend who could make your family laugh and feel at ease. It had been his place once, his hand in yours under the table, your parents shooting him approving glances, your little cousins climbing into his lap without hesitation.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this. He’d been the one who left, the one who’d walked away from you, convinced it was the right thing to do. He thought time and distance would dull the ache, make it easier to accept that you had every right to move on. But tonight had proved him wrong.

Dropping onto the couch, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He hadn’t expected it to hurt like this. The sight of Mingyu fitting so seamlessly into your world felt like a punch to the gut.

He’d been in Mingyu’s position once. He’d cooked with your mom in the kitchen, teased you about being a perfectionist, earned your dad’s trust and your siblings’ affection. He thought back to the countless holidays he’d spent with you, surrounded by warmth and laughter.

But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was the outsider, standing on the periphery of a life he no longer had any claim to.

The apartment felt stifling now, the silence pressing down on him. He rose to his feet, pacing the living room. He glanced at the window, the city lights twinkling beyond the glass. This city was supposed to be a fresh start, a place to build something new. But it only reminded him of what he’d lost.

He grabbed a glass of water and sat back down, staring into the distance.

What hurt the most wasn’t just that you were happy with someone else—it was that you seemed at peace. There was no bitterness in the way you’d looked at him tonight, no lingering resentment. You were kind, warm, even friendly. You’d moved on, and it was clear you’d grown stronger because of it.

And him? He still felt like a man stuck in the past, haunted by what could have been.

Joshua leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. He knew he had no one to blame but himself.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s a quiet evening, one of those rare nights when both of them have the evening off. You and Mingyu are sitting together on the couch in your living room, the soft hum of the city life just outside the window. You’re curled up next to him, but there’s an unmistakable tension in your posture. You’re quieter than usual, your gaze drifting off, lost in thought.

He glances at you, noticing the subtle shift in your mood. He pauses the movie you were watching, turning to face you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Something on your mind?”

You don’t respond immediately, fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The weight of everything—your past with Joshua, your present with Mingyu, and everything in between—feels like it’s weighing down on your chest, carving a hole into you. It’s been a while since you had thought about Joshua, but the holidays had stirred up old feelings you thought you’d buried.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately... about everything.”

He shifts beside you, his expression gentle but serious. He knows something’s off.

“About us? Or... something else?”

“About him.”

His heart skips a beat, but his face doesn’t show it. He nods, giving you the space to say what’s on your mind.

“I thought I was over him. I really did. But sometimes... I don’t know. A small part of me... it still feels like I might always love him in some way.” You look at him, eyes filled with guilt. “I don’t want it to affect us. I love you, I really do. But... sometimes I wonder if it’s something I can truly let go of.”

There’s a long silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. He takes a deep breath, trying to process it all, before speaking softly, his tone steady.

“I know you’re still healing. And I know that your feelings for him were real. That love was real. I’m not asking you to forget him.” His voice remains calm, understanding. “What I want is for you to be happy. Whether that’s with me, or... if you feel like you need time to figure out your feelings. I just want you to do what feels right for you. I want you to be true to yourself.”

You look at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. You thought he’d be angry or hurt, but instead, he sounds like he’s trying to help you find peace.

“But what if you’re not enough? What if a part of me always holds onto him? That’s unfair to you.”

He squeezes your hand, leaning in closer. His eyes are soft, full of affection and care.

“I’m not asking for your love to be something it’s not. I don’t need you to love me like you loved him. I just want to love you in a way that helps you heal, not keep you stuck in the past.”

Your eyes are glossy now, tears threatening to fall. You want to give him everything, but the weight of the past still clings to your heart, keeping you in limbo.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He gently cups your face, brushing away the tear that escapes with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you need me to. But I also want you to be happy, whether that’s with me or without me. I love you, and I want what’s best for you.”

Your heart aches hearing him say that. You know he loves you—you can feel it in every touch, every word. And yet, you also know you have to face what’s buried deep inside of you. The part of you that’s still tied to Joshua, whether you like it or not.

You lean into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time. Time to figure out what I really want... without rushing. I don’t want to make any decisions when I’m not sure.”

He nods, his expression a mixture of sadness and relief. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. But don’t feel like you have to rush to figure everything out. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

You look up at him, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You know this isn’t going to be easy, but you feel a sense of comfort in his words. Whatever happens, you have time. Time to heal. Time to understand what you truly want.

And for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You step into your favorite coffee shop, the one where the walls are lined with shelves of old books and the scent of freshly ground coffee always seems to settle into your soul. It’s a comforting place, a spot you’ve spent countless hours in, both alone and with friends. And today, you need it more than ever.

Vernon’s already sitting by the window when you arrive, his signature half-smile lighting up as soon as he sees you. He waves you over, and you drop into the chair across from him, your hands absently playing with the edge of your sleeve. You know he’s been watching you for a while, noticing the subtle shift in your mood, the way your thoughts seem to be miles away lately.

“Okay, talk to me,” he says, his voice warm but insistent. You can see the concern in his eyes, even if he’s trying to keep it light. “You’ve been off lately. And I can already guess why.”

You try to shrug it off, but it feels like a weight in your chest. You haven’t told anyone, but the moment Joshua had walked into your life again, even if it was just for one night, everything you’d thought you’d moved on from felt so much more complicated.

“I don’t even know where to start.” You take a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten as you speak. “Mingyu’s been so understanding, but I can’t stop thinking about Joshua. It’s like… like part of me is stuck. I love Mingyu, I do, but… I don’t know. There’s still a part of me that will always care about him. Maybe I’ll never stop loving him.”

Vernon watches you quietly, his gaze steady. You feel like he’s already figured out the direction this conversation is going, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just lets you talk, lets the words spill out.

“I feel like I’m betraying Mingyu just thinking about Joshua. But I also feel like I’m betraying myself if I don’t face it, you know? It’s just... so much.”

You pause, your voice faltering a little. Vernon leans back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. You know he’s been your friend for years—he’s seen you through the ups and downs, the heartbreaks and the happy moments. He knows how important it is for you to be honest with yourself, even when it’s hard.

“I knew something like this was coming,” he says quietly, his tone almost too calm. “You never really let go of Joshua, did you?”

You bite your lip, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I thought I did. But maybe... maybe I just buried it. I don’t know. Seeing him again made me realize how much of me was still tangled up in those feelings.”

Vernon’s eyes soften, but there’s no judgment in his gaze. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Loving someone doesn’t just vanish because time passes. But it also doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.” He pauses, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. “It’s not about forcing yourself to stop loving Joshua. It’s about figuring out what you want. Whether that’s with Mingyu, or by yourself for a bit, or... I don’t know, maybe with someone else. But it has to come from you, not from what you think you’re supposed to do.”

You feel like the world just got a little clearer. Vernon always had a way of cutting through the noise, of getting straight to the heart of things without overcomplicating them.

“I guess... I just need to decide what makes me happiest,” you murmur, staring down at your coffee cup as you swirl it absentmindedly. “But what if I don’t know what that is? What if I can’t make a decision without messing everything up?”

Vernon leans forward, his eyes intense, but his voice soft. “You can’t avoid it forever. But you can take your time. Don’t rush it, Y/N. You’ve been through a lot, and you don’t owe anyone an answer right away. You just need to listen to yourself, and the answer will come. It’s okay not to have it all figured out right now.”

You nod, feeling the tension slowly ease from your shoulders. Vernon’s words are a relief, even if they don’t make everything clear. They give you permission to feel, to not have to have all the answers just yet.

“You’re right,” you finally say, the knot in your stomach loosening a little. “I guess I’ve been trying to avoid the truth for so long that I didn’t realize it wasn’t about fixing everything, but about understanding it.”

Vernon smiles, his usual playful grin returning. “Exactly. And remember, whatever you choose, I’ve got your back. No judgment.”

You let out a breath, grateful for the simplicity of his support. You realize, with a little more clarity than before, that the road ahead doesn’t have to be so overwhelming. You don’t have to force any decisions. You just need to take it one step at a time. And no matter where you end up, you’ll have the people who care about you, like Vernon, guiding you along the way.

“Thanks, Vernon,” you say softly. He grins and lifts his coffee in a toast.

“Anytime.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next few days pass in a blur. After your conversation with Vernon, you feel a sense of relief, but that clarity doesn’t come overnight. It’s not that you’re afraid of the truth—it’s more like you’re afraid of facing it too soon, of rushing into something without fully understanding what it means.

Life moves forward, and in a way, so do you. You throw yourself into your work, meeting with clients, attending events, living your life. Mingyu’s presence in your life is steady, reassuring, and kind. There’s a warmth between you both that feels so natural, so comfortable. You laugh with him, share quiet moments, and everything about your relationship with him feels easy.

But then, you catch yourself sometimes, still thinking about Joshua.

It’s not the first time you’ve had moments like this—where you catch yourself remembering how things used to be between you two—but the frequency is different now. They’re more frequent, and the moments are sharper, clearer. And, each time, it’s like your heart beats a little faster in those quiet moments when you catch yourself missing him.

It’s not even about wishing things had worked out the way you wanted them to. It’s not about regret. It’s about the way he made you feel—the way he understood you in a way no one else ever did.

You remember the quiet, cozy nights you spent together, the way he’d laugh at your bad jokes, how he’d rest his head on your shoulder during long drives, the way he could always make you feel like everything would be okay, even when everything was falling apart.

And you start to realize something—those moments, those memories, the way he made you feel—are still alive inside of you. They're not just memories of a past life. They are a part of you.

As you sit on your balcony with a glass of wine, the city lights twinkling below you, your phone buzzes. It’s Mingyu, asking if you want to meet for dinner tomorrow. You smile at the message, heart light, and yet, when you go to type a reply, you hesitate.

For the first time in weeks, a thought crosses your mind that you can’t shake. Am I really letting go of Joshua?

It doesn’t feel like guilt, not exactly. But it does feel like something is missing, like you’re trying to keep moving forward, but a part of you is still looking back. And that part isn’t easy to ignore.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Then, one day, after a busy meeting, you find yourself walking past a café you and Joshua had always gone to when you’d visited the city. The memory comes rushing back in a flood—his laugh, the way he’d always get extra whipped cream on his coffee, his habit of teasing you about how you always had the most ridiculous requests at the counter.

You pause outside the café, suddenly overwhelmed. A wave of nostalgia swirls through you, soft and lingering, like a shadow of something that once was. You let out a breath and step inside, the familiar scent of coffee beans and pastries filling the air. You sit at the same table you used to sit at, sipping your own coffee. For a moment, everything feels like it’s frozen in time, as if nothing has changed.

And then it hits you. The sudden realization doesn’t come with panic, or regret. It’s more like a quiet understanding, a subtle truth you’ve been avoiding.

The truth is, you still love him. Not in the same desperate way you loved him before, not in the frantic, consuming need to have him back in your life. But there’s a part of you that’s never really let him go.

The thought doesn’t sting like it used to. It’s not even painful anymore—it’s just there, settled into your chest like a permanent mark, something that’s been carved into you. It’s a love that’s glowing in the dark of your heart, a faint, steady light that’s always been there, even through all the changes and the years that have passed. It’s a mark you didn’t ask for, but one that you’ve learned to live with. A love that, despite everything, will never truly leave.

You don’t waste any time. The moment you make up your mind, you know you have to talk to Mingyu. This isn’t fair to him, and you can’t keep carrying the weight of these feelings without being honest.

You find him in the small restaurant he likes to go to when he needs a break from work. It’s quiet, and there’s a warmth in the air from the soft glow of the hanging lights. The kind of place where the world feels a little slower, and it’s easier to think.

He looks up from his coffee as you slide into the seat across from him, his eyes lighting up for a moment before they settle, sensing the seriousness in your expression. He doesn’t need you to say anything for him to know that something’s on your mind.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “About us.”

His brow furrows, but he nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“I can’t... I can’t keep doing this to you. I feel like I’ve been unfair. I’ve been holding on to something that I should’ve let go of a long time ago, and it's not fair to you."

Mingyu looks at you, a quiet understanding in his eyes. “Y/N...” he murmurs, reaching out to rest his hand on yours. You don’t pull away, but his touch feels different now—timid, careful.

“I still love him,” you say, the words tasting bitter and raw as you say them out loud. “I thought I was over it, thought I could move on, but... he’s still there, in my heart. I don't know how to explain it, but I can't ignore it anymore."

Mingyu’s expression doesn’t harden. If anything, there’s a tenderness to the way he listens to you. He knows you better than almost anyone. He knows that you don’t make decisions like this lightly. But there’s a sadness in his eyes too, a kind of quiet hurt that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your hand. “I... I knew something like this would happen, Y/N. I knew the moment he came back into your life, you’d be torn. I guess I was just hoping... hoping that it wouldn’t matter, hoping I could be enough.” He shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to laugh it off, but there’s no humor in it. “But I get it. I really do.”

Your heart breaks a little, seeing how much he’s trying to hold it together. But you know, deep down, that it’s the right thing. Mingyu deserves someone who can love him completely, without any lingering doubts about the past.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, feeling a lump form in your throat. “You’re amazing, Mingyu. You really are. But I can’t keep pretending that I’ve let go of Joshua when I haven’t. And I can’t keep you in limbo.”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His hand squeezes yours one last time, and then he lets go. “I think we both know what needs to happen. I care about you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could. But I want you to be happy, truly happy. And if it’s not with me... if it’s with him, then you have to go after that.”

You stare at him, your heart aching as you realize how much he’s letting go of. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, smiling softly, but there’s a sadness there too. “You don’t need to apologize. I knew what I was getting into. And I meant what I said... I want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

The weight of the decision sits heavily on your chest. But at the same time, it’s a release. You’ve made up your mind, and you’ve made the choice that feels right—no matter how much it hurts.

Mingyu stands up then, offering you a last, lingering look. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. Always.”

You nod, but the words feel stuck in your throat. You watch him leave, knowing that you’re walking away from something good, something that could have worked... but it’s not the thing.

And now, with a clear heart, you know what you need to do next.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

After breaking up with Mingyu, you feel a weight lifted, but at the same time, there's a gaping hole in your chest, a kind of emptiness that’s hard to fill. You never wanted to hurt him, but you also know that you can’t keep running from the past—especially not when the past is currently in your city.

You try to keep yourself busy, focusing on your work, keeping up with your friends, but every so often, your mind drifts back to that night at Thanksgiving—the way Joshua looked when he walked in, how his gaze kept shifting between you and Mingyu, the quiet distance that grew between you two in the hours after.

It’s been a few weeks since then, and you’ve thought about reaching out to him more than once. You’ve wondered if he’s still in the city, if he’s still staying in that empty apartment. You wonder if he’s moved on, if he’s forgotten all the things that used to matter to both of you.

One night, when you’re heading back home after a long day, your phone buzzes with a message. You don’t recognize the number at first, but when you open it, your heart skips a beat.

Hey, it’s Joshua. I know it’s been a while. I’m in the city for a little longer than expected, and I was wondering if you’d want to meet up for coffee?

Your fingers hover over the screen, uncertainty flooding your chest. You’re not sure if you’re ready for this—if you’re ready to face him and untangle all the feelings that have been buried for so long. But then, you remind yourself: you’ve already made your decision. You’ve made peace with Mingyu, and now, this is just a conversation with someone who was once everything to you. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.

You take a deep breath and type out your response.

I’d like that.

The meeting is set for the next day. It’s a cozy little place, the same place you used to go when you’d sneak away from high school for coffee and talk about your dreams. You arrive early, sitting at the table near the window, watching the rain softly tap against the glass. The café is quiet, and the smell of fresh coffee fills the air.

You see him before he sees you—his broad shoulders, his walk, that familiar way of running his hand through his hair. When he spots you, his expression softens. His eyes look tired, but there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place.

He sits down across from you, offering you a small smile. You can’t help but smile back, despite the tightness in your chest.

“You look good,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nod. “So do you.”

The silence stretches between you two, both of you unsure how to navigate this conversation. There’s so much history between you, so many unspoken words. The years spent apart have changed you both, but there’s still a familiarity in the way you look at each other.

“I... I didn’t know how to reach out,” he admits after a while, his voice quiet, the weight of his words heavy. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to hear from me.”

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t know if I was ready to hear from you either.”

He looks down, clearly grappling with his own feelings. “I’m sorry for how everything ended,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I wasn’t.”

The apology hits harder than you expect. You knew it was coming, but hearing him say it out loud brings back everything—the hurt, the confusion, the unanswered questions. You’ve spent so long trying to piece it together in your mind, and now, hearing it from him, it feels both relieving and painful.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say, your voice steady. “We both made mistakes. I’m not angry anymore, Joshua. I just... I had to move on.”

As you sit across from him, your heart heavy with memories, you find yourself reflecting on everything that’s led to this moment. You feel the weight of the past, the good and the bad, the love that once felt so natural, so easy, but also the pain of it falling apart. Your fingers absentmindedly trace the rim of your coffee cup as you consider what to say next.

“You know,” you say softly, your eyes meeting Joshua’s, “this love we had... it was both good and bad. There were so many great moments, but then there were times when it hurt more than I could handle.”

Joshua’s eyes are searching yours, his face filled with an emotion you can’t quite place—hope, guilt, maybe a little bit of both. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze never leaving you.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about us,” you continue, your voice steady but soft. “And sometimes, love just... doesn’t work out the way you want it to. You can try to hold on, but sometimes, you just have to let it go.”

You can see his face change, but there’s no anger, just understanding. He knows what you mean.

“And I did,” you add, almost whispering, “I had to let it go. I thought that was the only way for me to move on, for me to heal. I didn’t want to keep holding on to something that was only hurting me.”

Joshua nods slowly, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his cup. “I get that. I do. But... you don’t have to let go forever. Sometimes, when you let someone go, they come back to you. If it’s meant to be.”

There’s a brief silence, the words hanging between you both, heavy with meaning. It’s almost as if time slows down for a moment, allowing both of you to understand the full weight of what’s being said.

“That’s the thing,” you say, your voice quiet but resolute. “I think I had to let it go... because I had to learn to let go of the past. But now, looking at you... looking at us, I’m starting to realize that maybe it’s true. Maybe when you really let go of someone, when you give them space to grow, they can come back to you. And it doesn’t erase the pain or the mistakes, but it’s a chance for something new, something different.”

Joshua’s eyes are softer now, the tension that had been in his posture earlier slowly starting to ease. “I don’t want to rush anything,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m not asking you to forget everything that happened or pretend it didn’t hurt. I just want a chance to show you that I’ve changed. That I’m not the same person I was before.”

“I know,” you say, nodding slowly. “And I’m not the same either. But maybe, just maybe, this time... this love can be something better. I’m not sure what it looks like yet, but I’m willing to find out. I think, for once, we’re both in the right place.”

There’s a quiet understanding between you both, a silent agreement that neither of you wants to rush. The love you had, the good and the bad, the way it glowed in the dark and left a permanent mark on your hearts, is still there. But now, it’s different—more mature, more thoughtful.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe, just maybe, things could work out. The past doesn’t define you anymore. You’ve both grown, you’ve both learned, and if it's meant to be, the love will come back to you—stronger this time, in a way that it couldn’t have before.

As you sit there, staring at him, you realize that sometimes love doesn’t just fade away—it evolves. And when you’re ready to accept it for what it is, and what it can be, it might just come back to you. Maybe not the way it once was, but with something new.

Joshua leans forward, his hand gently resting on yours, and you feel a familiar spark. It’s not the same spark you felt years ago—it’s warmer now, softer, more knowing.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice low but steady. “This love has always been ours. And I’ll wait, however long it takes. I’m not going anywhere. Hell, I'll even fill out a permanent transfer application at work."

You smiled once again, taking his hand fully in yours, "We'll figure it out."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 yall i literally cooked so hard with this one, lowkey made myself emotional while writing it.

masterlist.

[thatnonameuser]

Hahahahha I Love the recent ask with the cats, so Idea is that the cats are the reincarnation of the Great 7 + frollo’s darlings, it’s Not just mc they rescue they try to rescue all of darling kind

If the cats are the reincarnations of the past darlings then they are desperately trying to save you, and other darlings, from the red flags of this whole world's nightmares for darlings. 

Cheshire making sure Ace and Deuce stay far, FAR away from you. And Riddle especially when he’s starting to show more of his controlling behavior. Because it reminds him of the Queen of Hearts.

Nala being surprisingly overprotective of Cheka when he comes by but still hisses at Leona when he manages to come by. Because she couldn’t protect her cub from Scar. 

Sushi refusing to let you get anything Azul gets you because he doesn’t want you to be indebted to him like he was Ursula. 

Rajah trying to blind Jamil with her claws to protect you from his mind control powers so you can’t be controlled like she and her family was by Jafar.

Duchess using all the power in her claws to keep you alert of the Pomefiore boys’ presence so you can’t be drugged and locked in a mirror prison like the Evil Queen did to him.

Chimera destroying every spy tool installed by Idia because the less he knows the harder it will be for you to be kidnapped and hauled off to the underworld like Hades did to her.

And Diablo stopping you from being brainwashed into blindly loving them forever like Maleficent did to him.  

Also MC bringing Count Claudius to NBC and your cat ‘on sight’ -ing Rollo the second he sees him being pervy with you. Since the MC doesn’t have a goat, they’ll be the goat, making the hypocritical Rollo pay for all the years their hypocritical priest made them suffer.

All of them know better and try to keep you far, far from repeating the mistakes they made. And while you don’t know what they’re trying to do, they know it’s helping. 

But of course, all your cats have their fears…..

Cheshire hates the colour red. And hates being locked in a cage, wanting to come and go as he pleases and not be restricted. Nala is the kind of cat that pokes you to make sure you’re alive whenever you sleep. As if afraid you’ll die. Sushi, despite his love of seafood, is terrified of water.  Duchess has a fear of not seeing their reflection for some reason. And if she doesn’t see her reflection once every hour she panics. Chimera has a crippling fear of the dark and despite his pudge he spends a good few hours basking in the sunshine. And Diablo’s dislike of magical artifacts also applies to the ones that protect you.

You wish you knew why, but they’re animals. So maybe that’s why. 

Maybe the cats figure out how to write their original names and you put two and two together. And then after NRC if you make it that far you become a darling rights activist until Crowley lets you go back home or you find your own way. 

Happy endings for Darlings are rare, but still possible. And an army of cats might help with that. Right?

[formulaforza]

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—09. Sweet Nothing —word count: 8.5k —warnings: none :) love, mack... sorry. SORRY. you can't even begin to imagine how different my life is from when i last updated. SORRY. technically I got paid to write this lol.

Charles turns up to pre-season testing with a gifted case on his phone. It’s from Reid, FORZA CHARLES written in his best handwriting, colored red with his new set of crayons from his birthday. It’s been on his phone since the five-year-old gifted it to him because Reid was too excited about it for Charles to do anything but put it on. 

Reid had carefully explained that it was a good luck charm—but that Charles is not allowed to be mad if it didn’t have enough luck, since he had to rush to make it before Charles had to leave. 

Reid had played it so incredibly cool ( see: jumping around Chris' kitchen after school squealing like a baby pig ) when Chris had shown him a picture of Charles with the phone case on in the paddock. There’s a certain softness that she feels watching his excitement over something so small, something that gets this kid so incredibly excited because he thinks Charles is so cool. There’s something soft, and there’s also something so incredibly terrifying about it. That she let Reid develop this relationship—even if oh-so-small—with Charles, because now if it goes wrong, if it sours… not only is it going to screw her up in the head royally, but now she’s going to have to explain it to Reid, too. To break his heart, too. She thinks Charles is completely clueless as to the amount of people he’s got completely wrapped around his finger. 

Reid, in all his pure and unadulterated joy, insists that Chris call him up so Reid can share in the joy with her boyfriend--because no matter how many times she attempts to explain it to the kid, he can’t fathom the idea of timezones. 

Chase has always been so good at navigating them, even though he has ever been only, at most, a few hours off the time at home. He’s never missed a bedtime story or a goodnight kiss if he could help it. They’ve always been so good at it, him and Hannah, that Reid is truly unable to conceptualize why someone away at a race can’t talk on the phone with him. 

“He’s sleeping, Reid,” Chris says, shaking her head, and taking her phone back from his grubby hands. “I’m not calling him in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the middle of the night!” He protests, and he’s not wrong. “It’s just after school time.”

Chris sighs. “But he’s not here. He’s somewhere far away, remember? We talked about this before he left?”

“No! Facetime him!”

She rolls her eyes. They go back and forth for some time like that, her arguing with a five-year-old about time zones. It’s only becoming clearer that there are only two ways for this to end. Either Reid throws the fit of all fits until Hannah gets off work to come pick him up, or Chris calls Charles. If she hadn’t spent all day already keeping five-year-olds from throwing a tantrum, she might have had the strength to endure another grumpy kid. But, she had spent the day on eggshells, so she makes the call and hopes his phone is turned off so it doesn’t wake him up. 

Despite her hopes, he answers, even though it’s past midnight there. She’s apologizing before she can even make out the shape of his face on the dark screen. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. His voice is groggy and sleepy and he speaks through a yawn, shaking his head in a dismissal of her apology. “Es-tu…” he groans. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” She quips. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Reid just wanted to say hello. I promise it won’t be more than a minute.” Momentarily, she considers shoving her nephew into the pantry where it’s dark. Where the bright light of Chris’ kitchen isn’t going to hurt Charles’ eyes in the dark of his room.  

“It’s okay,” he smiles, and God. God, he looks so sleepy and sweet and if she didn’t feel so horribly guilty for waking him up, she’d be thinking about how badly she wants to kiss him. He turns on a lamp and cringes at the brightness of it. Her wince is disguised as a smile. “Where is he?”

Here, she says, handing the phone off to Reid, a half-scold, half-warning leaving her lips in the form of be quick. He grabs her phone with the heel of both his palms, keeping his greasy snack fingers off her screen, setting it down with a light clatter onto the countertop, forehead peeking in at the bottom of the screen. “Hi, Chuck!” Reid greets. “Auntie Chris says you’re sleeping!” he giggles. 

“Auntie Chris was right,” Charles laughs softly, and now she just wants to kiss him. She doesn’t get to see him sleepy nearly as much as she’d like to, as much as other girlfriends get to see their boyfriends sleepy. 

She manages to swallow the guilt gnawing away at her bones, silence the already rehearsed apologies she’ll be uttering the next time they speak, and just listens fondly to Charles entertaining Reid. He's so patient. So kind in his efforts to get close with her family. He doesn’t have to do that—seriously. Most people wouldn’t talk to their girlfriend’s nephew on the phone in the middle of the night. Then again, most people wouldn’t fly a quarter of the way around the world for that same nephew’s fifth birthday party—or travel that same distance for a family wedding on a fifth date. In fact, most people would be so put off by the idea of having to do those things, they would never in a million years entertain the idea of dating someone who lives around the world. Most people wouldn’t, and yet. Charles would. Charles does. Each and every time, he does. 

— — —

“So, he comes up to me, right?” She laughs, “I’m trying to give a reading test, and he walks up, and I almost tell him to go sit back in his seat because he’s supposed to be silent reading,” She continues. It’s 12:03 am, at least that’s what her microwave clock tells her. It’s 12:03 am in Georgia and when they’d gotten on Facetime twenty-one minutes ago, he’d told her exactly two things. 

One—the car is shit. Two—I don’t want to talk about it. 

So, she didn’t ask any questions and instead launched into the story she’d been anxiously waiting to tell him all about since it had happened that morning at school.

“But before I can say anything,” she explains to her phone camera—to him, on the other side of the globe— “He says, ‘Um, Miss Elliott, um, my tooth falled out,’' She grins, and Charles matches her expression because even across continents it’s a contagious smile. It was the first time any of her students had lost a tooth in class, and the room proceeded to erupt into chaos, she would continue to tell him. “It was crazy,” she laughs. “I didn’t know what to do with him.”

“So what did you do?” Charles asks, laughing himself. 

“I took him and his tooth down to the office,” she says, half out of breath. “And I let them handle it. I was way out of my depth. The nurse brought him back like, ten minutes later with a plastic tooth necklace that held the tooth all day.”

— — —

Chris is cozied up on the couch with Bean, babysitting the dog for her parents while they traveled to Vegas for her brother’s race when Charles DNFs in Bahrain. 

Her heart sinks, through the couch and through the floor and deep into her non-existent basement. It might even go all the way through the world and into Australia to wait for Charles to get there in a few weeks. 

Once he’s out of the car and they show him on camera, he looks so annoyed. Defeated and annoyed in a way she isn’t sure she’s ever seen him, and like he could use a hug. A bear hug. She wants to stick her arms through the television and around him and hug him and kiss him and make him laugh and get that look off his face. She wants the car to turn into a person she can fight. To kiss him all over and run her finger through his helmet hair until he forgets about it for a little while. To tell him how she’s sorry. And how she. How she… how she likes him so much. 

How, maybe someday. Someday, in a vast and distant future, she loves him so much that it scares her to think about for more than a moment. How—again, maybe someday in a timeline she can't imagine yet—she thinks of him constantly. How he’s burrowed his way into her skin and how every time she sees the color red she doesn’t think of it as angry or harsh or mean, she just thinks of him. 

How she loves him, maybe, and it’s wholly terrifying. She hates that she loves him, maybe, because she knows it’s only a matter of time. She’d really, truly hoped he would come to his senses before it got to this point, this drowning slowly in his honey words and soft smile, hoped that he would have found her too much and too messy and not worth all the energy and time and money. But he hasn’t. He hasn’t, and now she loves him, maybe, and has nowhere to put all this fear. 

She waits for him to call her, and he does, hours later when it’s got to be the middle of the night there. She can’t keep the time difference straight and has googled it at least half a dozen times today alone. 

“Did you watch?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound defeated, not like he had during testing. He sounds… dejected, if anything but normal. 

“Yeah,” she says, even though there wasn’t much to watch. 

“They’re saying on Twitter I looked hot,” he chuckles, and it puts a soft smile on her face. She pulls her knees to her chest, picking at the lint on the knees of her leggings. “At least I have that going, huh?”

“You always look hot,” she says, her smile growing.

“True,” he says, and he follows it with a laugh. An honest to god laugh that makes her heart swell. 

“Besides the obvious,” she says, adjusting in her seat, “It was a good race.”

“It was definitely not a good race,” he chuckles. 

Chris continues to pick at her leggings. They’re covered in lint from her blanket and hair from the dog. “Well, I thought it was good. I know you didn’t finish, but… if you had,” she smiles gently. He was on track for a podium. If he had finished. 

“But I didn’t,” He sighs himself into a perfect frown. 

“Eh,” she waves it off with her hand. “Semantics, semantics. Rose and thorn.”

“Rose and thorn,” he nods, quirking a brow. “What is rose and thorn?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “you know. Like… take the good with the bad? The rose and the thorn,” she explains. “You were having a good race—rose. You didn’t finish the race—thorn.”

“Ah,” he says, his head dropping down into a chuckle. “Rose and thorn, yes.”

— — —

One thing you learn when you’re the aunt of a five-year-old little leaguer is that every single team is actually just a major league baseball team rebranded for whatever city these elementary schoolers are playing in. Same names, same logos—sometimes they’ll change the color scheme, but sometimes they can get away with keeping it. In Reid’s case, they kept even the color scheme. 

Chris supposes this makes her outfit choice for his season opener significantly easier. It’s sunny and sixty-five degrees and Chris is wearing a Detroit Tigers sweatshirt—Navy blue with a white old English D embroidered on the front—and a pair of blue jeans. Reid’s tee-ball team is oh-so derivatively named the Dawsonville Tigers. 

It’s Reid’s third year playing baseball, his third year playing tee-ball. Next year, he’ll get to move up to the real little league, which will only give Chase and Hannah a million more practices and tournaments, and games to travel to. Reid is counting down the days until he gets to play with the bigger kids. Chase and Hannah… not so much. 

They, along with the rest of the family, have grown relatively attached to the comedy show of a bunch of preschoolers chasing baseballs around a bunch of gravel. Chase is an assistant coach, and he’s been swearing up and down in the family group chat that at least ten of the fifteen kids on the team know they’re supposed to run to first base after they hit a fair ball. At least ten of them, and the coaches are working hard to get the other five on track as soon as possible. 

Chris and Hannah sit in folding camping chairs behind the fencing catching up while they watch the show, sipping boxed wine from Hannah’s secret purse-stash in their matching YETI wine tumblers. 

The conversation starts with a rundown of the team this year—of the moms, more importantly. Which ones Hannah likes, and which ones look at her like she’s still a nineteen-year-old with a baby she doesn’t know what to do with. It’s a common thing for Hannah, even now that she’s got a settled career and a house and a whole life with Chase. It doesn’t matter, not to the bitter southern housewives with nothing better to do than spend their time hating other women. 

It starts there. And somehow, with the quick exclamation of Oh! You’ll never believe what Miss Julie told me about Kacie! The two girls are deep in gossip about someone from high school’s relationship. It always seems to go like this, when Hannah gets this endless well of gossip from work, from the hours spent waiting for bleach to process and colors to develop in the salon. 

“But wait, forget about that!” Hannah laughs. “How’s Charles!? Your dad said he had a shit race?”

Chris furrows her brows, swallowing a sip of wine. “My dad knows how his race went?” She asks, and Hanah shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he did,” she chuckles. “Power unit issues, even though they literally replaced the battery and the ECU that morning.  They have to replace the whole thing, so he’s going to have to take a penalty next race too,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “For the ECU that they just replaced.”

Hannah scowls. “That’s fucked,” she laughs, covering her mouth, doing a poor job at concealing her wine giggles. “He’s coming to visit in a couple weeks, right?”

“Mmhm,” Chris hums. “He’s like…” she laughs, “so geeked out about coming to one of these games. I told him they’re so boring, but. He’s adorable.”

“I’m sure he’s more geeked about other things,” Hannah teases, playfully shoving Chris’ shoulder. “Long distance fucking sucks for the sex life,” she giggles. Chris blushes bright red, holding her hands up in surrender before taking a long sip of wine and asking for a refill. 

Chandler shows up somewhere between the third wine tumbler and the fourth inning of the baseball game. She’s in her work clothes, complete with the kitten heels that sink into the muddy grass with every step she takes. She taps the opposite shoulder of Chris that she stands behind, and Chris falls for it, turning back the other way to see her, to smile genuinely because they haven’t had the chance to get annoyed with each other yet, haven’t had the chance to get annoyed with each other since they last saw the other at Chase and Hannah’s wedding.

“Are you still with that guy?” She asked, from her seat in Chris’ camping chair. She felt too bad watching her heels sink in and out of the mud, so now she leans against the fencing while Chandler sits. “The French one?”

Chris nods, her arms crossed over her chest. “Monegasque,” she corrects. “But yes. Still together.”

“Hmm,” Chandler hums curiously, picking at her cuticles. “Are you ever going out to see him?” She asks. 

“Uh,” Chris sighs, dragging her toe through the gravel, drawing harsh lines and kicking up dust. “I’m gonna fly out for spring break,” she says. “But he wants me away from Monaco.”

“He wants you to stay away?” Chandler asks, and Chris doesn’t miss the tone of voice, eyes darting to Hannah to confirm the condescending tone she already knows she heard. Hannah closes her eyes before she can roll them, and takes a sip of her wine, leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs. 

“Not like that, Chan, come on,” Chris sighs. “I don’t want to be there. We don’t want to be there. It’s too hard, everyone knows him there and we don’t want anyone to know me.”

“So, he’s hiding you?”

“No,” Chris shakes her head, pursing her lips together. “We’re being private. He’s trying to protect me.”

“Alright,” Chandler chuckles, putting her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying, I never would have hidden Lex.”

Chris’ head physically recoils, forcing a scoff out of her mouth. Hannah laughs, too. “You literally hid Lex for two years,” Hannah says. “Like, genuinely you hid her from all of us.”

“That’s different,” Chandler argues. “I wouldn’t have hidden her if she was a man.”

“And Charles wouldn’t be ‘hiding’ me,” She says, forced air quotes around the word she can’t come up with a synonym for. “If every woman he interacts with wasn’t crucified,” she defends. “Can’t you just give him the benefit of the doubt, Jesus.” Chandler rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone, answering texts or emails or whatever else is so pressing as a distraction from the current conversation. “Seriously?”

“What?” Chandler spits, rolling her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you, Chris. You don’t have the greatest track record with guys, so forgive me for being hesitant to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Chris bites her tongue, literally, and purses her lips. She nods, watching the dead serious look in her sister’s eyes with a glare of equal intensity. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of death stares, Chris puts a pretty smile on her face. “I’m really happy you came all this way, Chandler,” she grins, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “I’m sure Reid will be thrilled to see you,” she continues. “He missed you at his birthday party,” she adds, squeezing her sister’s shoulder as she passes, walking away and kicking up gravel when she does it. 

Saudi Arabia is no better. He has a great qualifying, but he also has that pesky grid penalty and a Ferrari that just doesn’t seem to have anything even close to race pace. The car just feels… so undriveable. So unpredictable. One corner it’s all oversteer, and the next it’s a completely different car, fully understeery. It’s just. It’s terrible, really, and he’s known it since the first time he got in the car. 

It doesn’t help that he spends the whole race stuck behind Carlos, who seems to have just as much pace as he does. He calls Chris that night, so fucking angry, and she gets an earful, one that he immediately apologizes for dumping on her after he’s gotten it all out. 

“It's okay,” she tells him. “I’m just glad that your bad days don’t line up with mine,” she joked, and he laughed because it’s impossible not to laugh at her jokes, even when he feels like shit. “Better days are coming,” she promised, and he wanted to believe her, but he also knew this car inside and out. 

“Not soon enough,” he told her, and she smiled. He can’t get enough of her smile. 

“Patience, grasshopper,” she teased, holding up both her hands in a meditative pose, humming out an ommm. 

“You are so dumb,” he giggles. 

“Oh, please,” she says, opening her eyes, relaxing again. “You love me.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence. So heavy that it can’t even be blamed on FaceTime lag. 

His brain is malfunctioning; heart racing, palms clammy, entire body sweating thinking she knows. Thinking he’s been entirely too obvious about it and not done nearly as good of a job as he thought. You should tell her. You should tell her. Yes. Yes, I do love you. I love you so much I don’t know how to tell you. I love you so much that I’m scared telling you is going to mess it all up. 

He can’t tell her like this, though. Not now, when he’s halfway around the whole and every nerve of his body is frustrated.  No, it needs to be when he’s with her. Not over the phone. He’s completely clueless as to when or where or what the right time is, but he knows this sure as hell isn’t it. 

So, he stays quiet. Because he’s sure if he speaks he’s going to just blurt it all out, and he hasn't kept his mouth shut this long just to say it like this. She’ll have to break the silence. It feels like it takes an eternity for her to do it. 

“So, uh, what time does your flight land here, again?” She asks, and his shoulders loosen just a bit. 

“Yeah,” he nods, wondering if she can hear his heartbeat through the phone. It seems like it’s the only thing he can hear. “Sorry, uh. Yeah. Let me look,” he says, grabbing his phone from its propped-up place on the hotel coffee table and scrolling through it to find his ticket to Georgia. “Five… ish.”

“What time do you leave?”

“Eight-something?” He says, still looking at the flight information. 

“What time is it now?” She asks. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. He’s been making a habit of losing track of time with her. “Late.”

“Go to sleep,” she says, her voice playing out of his phone speakers softly. He smiles at her voice, at her instructions, at the fact she cares enough to tell him to go to sleep. 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and then salutes her for good measure. 

“Merci,” she giggles in butchered French, and his ears perk up like a puppy, a grin painting itself onto his face. 

“Oh?” He laughs. ““Tu parles français maintenant, n'a pas? fille drôle, je pourrais te dire ce que je veux et tu ne sauras jamais mieux,” You speak french now, do you? Silly girl, I could say whatever I want to you and you wouldn’t know any better. 

“Goodnight,” she says, ignoring the French they both know she can’t even begin to translate in her mind. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he nods. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Miss Elliott has to leave right after the bell today, friends,” Chris hums, leaning against the front of her classroom desk, holding a stack of school newsletters. “Do you think we can get our room nice and clean before the end of the day?” She asks, smiling and nodding at the spattering of little yeses and nods. “Okay,” she grins, pointing to the whiteboard. “All of our tasks are on the big board,” she explains, running through each table and their room assignments. 

The class stays about on task as a herd of twenty-something five-year-olds possibly can, with Chris reminding them to stay on task—and reminding them what their task is—from her seated spot on the group rug, cleaning up the class library with a couple of other students. 

“Where are you going to, Miss Elliott?” Quinn asks her, handing over a book. 

“I have to go to Atlanta,” Chris hums, putting the book on the correct shelf. “Do you know where Atlanta is?”

Quinn nods, handing over another book from the pile on the floor. “Far away.”

“It’s not soooo far,” Chris smiles.

“I just have a uncle there.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice. Do you ever go visit him?” Chris asks. 

Quinn doesn’t answer the question. “Does you have an uncle in Atlanta?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “I have to pick someone up at the airport.”

“Your boyfriendddd?” Quinn giggles, dragging out the letter sounds teasingly. 

“A boyfriend?!” Chris grins, laughing. “You think I have a boyfriend? I spend all my time at school with you!”

“No!” She laughs. “Landry sayed you have a cute boyfriend!”

“What?” Chris giggles, snatching a book from Quinn playfully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, crazy girl.”

— — —

With the help of her students, Chris manages to get the room put together for the next morning in less than fifteen minutes after the end of the school day, checking Charles’ flight tracking one more time before setting off from the parking lot to the airport an hour away. 

He emerges from the sliding doors of his terminal with his bags and a bouquet of flowers. Chris is shaking her head, cheeks already half-pink and mind more than half-melted when she hastily parks against the curb, popping her trunk and hurrying around the back of the car to greet him properly. 

“Get in the car,” she giggles, “before they start honking at us!” she says, but Charles couldn’t care less about the angry airport goers behind him, leaving his suitcase on the curb, waiting with his arms already open and a tired, jet-lagged smile on his face. 

Chris resists the urge to just throw his entire body into the car and speed away from the terminal, instead hugging him tight, arms wrapping around his frame, slipping into the space between him and his backpack, the plastic casing from the flowers crinkling against her back when he hugs her just as tight. 

He kisses her hair hastily, “Hi,” he mumbles, watching her lips carefully. 

“Hi,” she smiles, giddy. “Eyes up here, brother,” she teases. 

Charles scowls, dropping his backpack off his shoulder and lifting it up into the trunk. “Do not call me brother.”

“Too incest-y?”

“I can get another plane,” he teases, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, and hoisting his suitcase off the curb with his other hand. 

“Go visit one of your other girls?” She asks, pressing the button on the top of the hatch to close the trunk. 

“See?” He laughs, parting from her just long enough for both of them to get into the car. “You get it,” he says, closing the car door and quickly reaching over the center console to pull Chris into a kiss, muttering something about you did not really think I was not going to kiss you?

It’s a familiar speech he’s given that morning, the same one she’d carefully handed out when he was here months ago. The be safe, don’t get eaten by a bear lecture. That’s not where it ends, though. Chris continues to go on and on and on about her Mom’s birthday party that evening—one of the many reasons he’d decided now was a perfect time for a quick visit—and how he was under no circumstances to go overboard on gift-buying, or even buy a gift at all for that matter. 

“I’m going to pick up a card on my way home from work,” she explains, standing at the end of the bed, work bag slung over her shoulder, travel coffee mug in her hand. “And I’m gonna sign both of our names,” she continues. Charles rolls his eyes from the bed. “What?” She laughs. 

“Your siblings’ partners…” he yawns. “They get her their own gift, yes?”

Chris hesitates, which makes Charles grin, which forces her to grin. “Yeah, but—”

“No but.”

“But,” she laughs softly. “They’ve been around longer than you.”

Charles scoffs, feigning offense. “Stupid reason.”

“But a reason, nonetheless.”

Charles shakes his head, smiling. Dramatically, he pulls the comforter back over his head. “Goodbye,” he mumbles. 

“Goodbye. I’ll see you later,” she replies, her shoes creaking against the floor as she moves through the hallway. “No gifts!”

“100 percent buying a gift, but okay!” he calls back, pulling the covers back down, listening just long enough to hear her car pull away from the driveway before turning the nightstand lamp off and putting himself back to sleep. 

— — —

When he wakes up again, much closer to an acceptable morning time, he’s already racking his brain for gift ideas. 

It’s an area of life he’s never considered himself particularly strong in. Sometime shortly after the appropriate period of making his Mum a homemade necklace from uncooked macaroni noodles and washable markers, he discovered he was particularly inapt at choosing gifts. 

It’s a shame, really, because he’s always felt like a good listener—especially when it came to people he cared for. And yet, every holiday and birthday and anniversary he’s struggling to come up with something besides an outrageously priced bouquet of flowers at the local florist. 

Which is why he sits on the sofa, legs kicked up on the ottoman, laptop on his legs as he searches What to get your girlfriend’s mum for her birthday? Birthday presents for Mum. Birthday gift ideas. Birthday gifts for Mums near me. What should you get your mother-in-law for her birthday?

Nothing is right. Everything is too silly or too impersonal or too cheap or too expensive for Chris to forgive him for buying. He’s scrolled through so many pages and so many articles hoping for an idea to spark that he’s starting to go crazy. 

Defeated, he closes the laptop, abandoning it on the couch cushion next to him, and dragging his feet all the way to the bedroom, planning on flopping face down on the bed. Instead, he comes face to face with the unmade mess, sighing. He haphazardly peels all of the layers off the bed, stripping the pillows of their cases, tossing them onto the pile of blankets on the floor. With two new pillowcases from the linen closet, he carefully remakes the bed. 

But now, there’s laundry. So he gathers up the pillowcases and the plastic purple hamper in the corner of the room and hauls it all to the laundry room. He tosses the entire hamper into the washing machine, and then stares at the shelf of containers. Three look dustier than the orange plastic container, so he picks up that tote and reads the instructions on the side of the box, following them carefully. When he closes the top of the washing machine, the start button glows green. He doesn’t dare adjust any of the settings, pressing the button and saying a soft prayer to the laundry gods. 

He pulls the dry clothes from the dryer, putting them back into the hamper—and they’re all white. Fuck. Was he supposed to do that with the pile of clothes he’d just dumped? Too late now. Another prayer to the laundry gods. He heads back to the bedroom, dumping the clean white clothes onto the freshly made bed, and folding away at them. He sorts them out by drawer, checking the continents of each drawer half a dozen times, and puts everything where he’s nearly certain it belongs—first in the closet, then in the dresser. 

Sitting atop the dresser are two loose rings and an unclasped necklace. He puts both the rings on the plate of her jewelry stand, and carefully clasps the necklace back together. It’s a thin gold chain with a row of several pearls in the middle. He hangs it gently with the other three pearl-styled necklaces that hang from the top pole of the rack. Pearls, pearls, pearls. She’s always wearing pearls. The next pole has half a dozen bracelets, most with pearls incorporated, and he can’t even begin to count the pairs of pearl earrings in the dish. It’s always pearls, because of what her Mom always says. Pearls make a lady. 

Pearls make a fucking lady. The answer to his question has been literally sitting in front of him this entire time. New Google search—re: Jewelers near me. 

— — — 

Charles is in the kitchen assessing the fridge for snack options when the front door is swinging open at a speed he can’t believe doesn’t result in a loud clattering of the house shaking. “Chuck!” A small voice calls out into the house, followed by another thud, presumably his backpack against the floor of the foyer. The noise continues, heavy little feet running down the hallway through the house, in his direction. Quieter, he can hear Chris, the metal jingling of her keys against the coated aluminum of her travel coffee cup, the click of her shoes down the hallway floor. His name is not Chuck, she hums behind the small boy. “And my name ain’t Reidy but you’s still call me that.”

“That’s different.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris mocks. “I’m the boss,” she says, calling after the boy as he walks through the kitchen doorway. “I get to do whatever I want!” Chris calls out from another room in the house. 

Reid catches Charles’ eyes, squeezing between him and the fridge. He rolls his eyes, twirling his finger beside his head. “You are not the boss,” he insists, grabbing a juice box and a stick of mozzarella cheese. “You are like my stupid little boss.”

Finally, Chris appears in the doorway, shaking her head. Her eyes meet his and he feels himself grinning—an almost embarrassing amount. She looks so pretty, he thinks. So full of life and color. “I’m his stupid little boss,” she says, grinning. 

“Ah,” he nods, closing the fridge doors, moving to kiss her hello. “It’s like this, you know?”

“Do not tell me you haven’t gotten a gift yet!” Chris scolds her brother. First, he’s fifteen minutes late to pick up his kid, and then he has the gusto to ask her what she bought their mom for her birthday…. To give to her at the party in two hours. 

“Okay,” Chase laughs, “I won’t tell you.”

“Chase!”

“I have like, two hours,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Relax.”

“You’re ridiculous!” She insists, rolling her eyes. “Seriously. I got her a new Circuit because she’s always telling Dad how slow the one she has is running. And then I got her a bunch of scrapbooking stuff to go along with it.”

Chase nods, burying his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “And he’s just signing his name?” He asks, looking past her in the doorway to Charles, currently half-engaged in a Mario-Kart battle with Reid. Chris nods. 

“Actually—” Charles interrupts, eyes still focused on the game, hands moving with intentional precision over the controller buttons. “About that. I got her one of those….” he trails off, moving one hand to gesture around his neck. “You know. For your… here.”

“Your neck?” Chris questions. “You went out and bought a necklace?” She continues, thumbing at the gold chain around her neck. 

“Necklace!” He snaps his fingers, pointing in her direction before immediately flopping back into the sofa cushions, Reid laughing maniacally beside him at the sight of his rainbow road victory. “A pearl necklace,” he adds, holding his hand out to shake Reid’s. 

Chris smiles. A pearl necklace. A friggin’ pearl necklace. It’s so simple that it’s stupid, really. It’s dumb. It’s stupid and it’s dumb and it’s cliche, in all honesty—that he is the person to remember a one-off about pearls when he can’t remember anything else. 

“Oh, fuck you, that’s good,” Chase groans. “Hannah got her this, like… a cutting board with a recipe burnt into it or something.”

Chris shakes her head softly, still thumbing her necklace. “It’s Meemaw’s brownie recipe,” she says, her eyes glossed over, mind elsewhere. 

“On a cutting board? Because brownies famously need a cutting board.”

“Shut up,” she says softly, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “It’s cute.”

“It’s expensive.”

Chris’s attention snaps back to her brother. “You won like, literally a million dollars a few months ago. But a cutting board for Mom is too expensive?” She questions, raising her brows, crossing her arms over her chest. “You better find something,” she warns.

Chase holds up his hands in defense. “I know. Worst case scenario, I’m a little bit late to dinner, okay?”

“Get out of my house,” Chris shuffles, gesturing to the open front door. 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Chase laughs, gathering Reid’s backpack from the floor, and helping the boy tie his shoes. 

Chris closes the door behind them, staring at Charles, her back pressed against the cool door. He looks back guiltily, gathering the controllers and putting them on the end table. “I’m sorry–”

“A pearl necklace?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Do you want to see it?”

She shakes her head, moving to join him on the couch, an almost painful smile pulling on her lips as she curls up against him. “I want it to be a surprise,” she hums softly. Charles adjusts underneath her slightly, wrapping an arm around her frame, pressing a kiss into the top of her head. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “I’m just happy you’re here,” she adds. 

Is it possible for love to be a pearl necklace?

It’s an easy routine they’ve found—early morning alarms and goodbye kisses and listening to her try to sneak around the creaky floors without waking him up. 

Today, he gets a guest pass to a local gym and works out in the corner following a workout plan Andrea had sent him—minus the neck training. That’s not happening alone in public. 

After the gym, he heads to a grocery store—the biggest one he’s ever seen. He spends more time trying to figure out where he is in the store than he does actually shopping. Like, how many different kinds of pudding could one person need? A whole wall of cereal? Of chicken? Of milk? Be serious. It’s insane. What was meant to be a quick trip to the store for dinner ingredients has turned into a whole ordeal. 

He was just trying to make things easier—for Chris, not for him. It was the middle of her work week and instead of planning a lazy night at home, she’d planned out a million and one things for them to do while he was in town. Charles can’t help but feel like she’s trying to keep him entertained, and it’s a feeling he hates. It’s not her job to keep him entertained. He’s not a toddler. 

So, in response to their full evening schedule of a little league baseball game for her nephew, the possibility of some type of family gathering to follow that could last any vast pan of time, he figured the least he could do is make dinner and have it waiting for her when she got home. They aren’t on Reid duty after school, so it will just be the two of them. It can’t be that hard. 

He’s in the kitchen, humming along to The Kooks—watching the chicken and pasta and stirring the white sauce when she walks through the front door. “Bonjour bébé,” she says, walking through the doorway into the kitchen. 

His head shoots up from the pot on the stove, a smile instantly falling across his lips. “Oh, c’est bien, mon ange,” he says, even though her pronunciation was so forced she’d be laughed out of Paris. She’s trying, and he loves it, and he loves her. So, it’s a good job. 

“Really?” She beams. “It was good?”

He can’t help but smile at a smile like hers. “Yeah, very good,” he nods, kissing her quickly. 

“What are you making?” She asks, hoisting herself up onto the countertop beside the stove, wafting the air in the direction of her face. “It smells good.”

“Chicken and pasta,” he says. “One day, we are going to make pasta from the beginning.”

“You know how to make pasta from scratch?” She asks. 

Charles raises his brows, giggling to himself softly. “To be honest, no. I was hoping you did.”

Chris laughs out loud. “Oh. Well, then. We’re screwed.”

“No,” he frowns. “We’re in serious trouble if I have to be the good cook.”

“I’m not a bad cook!’ She insists, feigning dramatic offense, clutching her pearls, literally. Charles cocks his head to the side, glancing over to her. He smiles a come-on, now smile when she raises her brows in defense, an ache-inducing smile on her face. She is so beautiful it hurts. She is so soft it hurts. She is so, he supposes. End of sentence. 

“Et je ne t'aime pas,” And I do not love you, he mutters, leaning over to press a quick kiss into her lips, lingering just long enough to feel her grin. 

“En Ingles, por favor, Señor?” She asks, quirking a brow. 

“Not a shot in hell.”

“Please?” She frowns, and he actually considers it. Just momentarily, but considered nonetheless. Because what a moment this is. What a time it would be to do it, to say it, to make it known.

Instead, he shakes his head. “Maybe later.”

— — — 

“You’re going to want a jacket,” Charles mutters, moving behind her in the bathroom, sizing up her outfit. They’re getting ready to head out to the baseball game, and she’s wearing leggings and a blue sweatshirt with an Old English D on it—one that apparently matches the color and logo of Reid’s team uniforms. He’s opted for jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blue knit zip-up sweatshirt. It’s quite chilly out, and despite the sun peeking through the clouds, it’s windy. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says, running a brush through her hair. 

They remember to bring a backpack full of snacks, as well as two travel thermos mugs of drinks that are certainly not alcoholic. They forget their camping chairs, though, as well as the sweater Charles had planned on bringing for when Chris decided she did in fact want a jacket. And most importantly, they forget how to keep their mouths shut. 

It’s cold. It only gets colder as the sun sets, as the game continues. Neither their drinks nor the bottle of wine smuggled in by another one of the player’s mothers manage to keep the chill off. 

Chris stands against the fence that goes around the field with her mom, talking animatedly about who knows what. Charles steals Cindy’s empty seat beside Hannah. He watches as Chase and Reid walk up to them—Reid kicking up a trail of gravel dust with every excited skip. 

“Do you want kids?” Hannah blurts out from the seat next to him, and then before even a beat can pass, “Jesus, sorry,” she laughs. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“No,” he smiles, as soon as he can regain his composure from the blindside of do you want kids. “It’s okay,” he reassures, adjusting in his seat, his eyes lingering on Chris for a moment longer than usual—just to make sure she isn’t hearing this conversation. 

“It’s really not,” she laughs, shaking her head, taking another sip of her definitely-not-wine. “It’s just that if Chase and I die, Chris gets Reid. And she’s… I mean. You see her. You know her,” she says. The sentence left unsaid is that anyone who has ever met Chris would know that if anyone was ever born to be a mother, it’s her. “And she really likes you. Like, a lot,” Hannah whispers. “And I like you, too—but I won’t ever like anyone enough to let her sacrifice something I know is so important to her—”

“I want children, Hannah,” he laughs, cutting her off. “Do not worry.”

“You do?”

“Three.”

“And you want to get married?”

He nods again, almost instinctively looking to his girlfriend, because, as he would argue if pressed about it—who else do you look at but your girlfriend when someone asks you about marriage? “Yes.”

Hannah notices his lingering glance, apparently, because the next words out of her mouth are: “To Chris?” Charles cocks his head back over to face Hannah, rolling his eyes when he does it. Hannah nods. “Sorry, fuck,” she laughs, covering her own mouth. “I know, what’s wrong with me?”

“It,” he starts, but then he’s stopping himself because he isn’t exactly sure what he planned to say. “There is nothing wrong with you. You’re just being a good friend—a good sister,” he pauses, looking back to Chris quickly, spinning his ring around his finger. “I don’t think it is the craziest thought, maybe,” he says, and he’s as surprised to say it as Hannah is to hear it. “But,” he holds up a finger and laughs. “Ask me in six months and I bet I can give you a proper answer.”

Hannah smiles, raising her brows, and takes another sip of her drink. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” he says, and now he can stare without care. It’s normal, he tells himself, to think about it all after it’s talked about like that. It’s not his fault that he’s picturing it—his future, her future. Their future together. He thinks that maybe if he squints really hard and takes a step back he can see himself getting married. That maybe she’s there too, in some wedding dress that probably has pockets. 

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Hannah asks, and it pops into his mindless bubble of crazy. He laughs, shakes his head, and pulls his phone out without saying a word. “You totally are,” Hannah giggles, and he feels his cheeks flush. “Look at you blushing, oh my god!”

Charles rolls his eyes, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “Shut up,” he mumbles. 

He watches from his conversation with Hannah, watches as Chris stands at the chain-link fence, hugging her own arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she needs to pee, trying and trying to warm herself up with the friction of her own arms. 

“Did she bring a coat?” Hannah asks. 

“No,” Charles replies. “But she’s half a minute from forcing her to put on mine.”

“She can take mine, if she wants,” Hannah offers, but Charles turns her down. 

“No, no,” he says. “I am warm, anyways,” he lies. It’s cold out, but his mother raised a gentleman. 

Chris shivers one more time and Charles has had enough of watching her stubbornness. He takes off his sweatshirt and walks up behind her, draping it over her shoulders in the middle of a sentence. 

“Hi?” Chris says sweetly, turning to look at him over her shoulder. 

“Hi,” he smiles, kissing her cheek. “You’re cold.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles and mutters a soft thank you. Charles hums his response and nods, moves to return to the empty camping chair beside Hannah. Chris reaches out to stop him, catching his hand, his fingers interlocking into hers with a casual ease. 

He stands behind her, adjacent to her conversation with her Mother, watching the game through the fence. He’s barely listening, his focus split between the game he doesn’t understand and toying with Chris’ fingers behind her back. “I’ve been learning French,” she tells her mom. Charles smiles. 

“Oh really? Where at?”

“Uh, just on my phone. I got this app that you can do lessons on every day.”

“And you chose French because of…” Cindy trails off. Chris nods, her grip on his hand tightening, which really pulls his attention. 

“I’m pretty bad but he likes to pretend I’m a pro,” she grins, leaning back into him. 

“Well,” Cindy laughs. Chris shivers, moving to put on the sweatshirt instead of just having it draped over her shoulders. “Charles, you shouldn’t be scared to put her in her place.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “No, she’s a quick learner, really.”

— — — 

Cindy excuses herself, says she’s going to go and get some hot chocolate to take the edge off of the chill, and asks if Chris or Charles want any. Charles says no, Chris says yes—offers to pay but is denied. 

Once she’s gone, Chris is spinning in the gravel to face her boyfriend. “Thank you for the sweatshirt,” she says. “And thank you for not saying you told me so.”

“Are you still cold?” He asks, putting the back of his hand on her forehead like he’s checking for a temperature. It’s chilly, but it's not bitter or wintery. 

“Yeah,” she says, swatting his hand from her forehead. “I’m fine, just can’t get warm.”

“C’mere,” He says, pulls her into a tight, warm hug, fully wrapping her up in his arms, running his hands up and down her back. She melts against his chest. “I think it’s Reid’s turn,” he points out, and Chris spins in his grip to face the same direction so he’s hugging her from behind. 

Chris whistles, “Let’s go, Reidy!” She calls out, and then quieter, just to Charles. “He’s nervous that you’re here.”

“Hmm?” he laughs. “Why?”

“He wants to impress you.”

They watch Reid’s at-bat, watch him swing and miss on the tee twice without laughing. Chris is talking to Charles about whatever she and Cindy were talking about before he came over, neither of them taking their eyes off the game. Charles kisses Chris’ covered shoulder while he listens to her talk, runs his hands up and down her arms to create some friction. 

Reid hits the ball off the tee on his third swing, and Chris actually jumps with excitement. He hits it right to the second baseman, hurries his little legs towards Chase on the first base. Chris cheers through a laugh, her body vibrating against Charles’ chest. 

In a pause in the conversation, he wonders if she’s ever been more her than she is right now. At home, with her family, a never-ending well of love and laughter and beauty. He almost wishes that he could just observe her and all that she is, admire the woman he gets to love. 

This is the moment. 

It has to be. Perfect moments don’t exist but this has to be as close as you can get. “Are you okay?” Chris asks over her shoulder, “Your heart is racing.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Um,” Fuck. Just say it, Charles. 

Chris laughs anxiously, turns around to face him, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I love you.”

Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he nods. “I’m so in love with you.”

Her face softens, the concern melting away. “Really?” God, she says it so soft that it’s almost a squeak. It hurts him how much she clearly wants to believe him. How maybe, maybe she does. He nods. “I love you, too.”

Charles beams, cradles her face in his hands and kisses her. Kisses her like they’re in love. Because they are. They pull apart in a fit of giggles, his thumb dancing on her cheek, running over a tear. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” she says through a smile, turning around to lean against his chest again, wiping a tear from her cheek with a sniffle. It’s cute, he says. “Shhh.”

Through a peppering of kisses on her shoulder, her hair, her cheek, he repeats between each peck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[rose24207]

Dad!lado scared to hold his first baby because she’s so tiny

Tiny

Summary: Lando overcomes his fear of holding his tiny newborn daughter, discovering an overwhelming love and sense of responsibility that changes him forever.

Genre: Dad!Lando, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: another one done :) English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The hospital room was quiet except for the gentle hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of nurses passing by. The air felt thick with anticipation and exhaustion, the kind that settles after hours of labor.

You were lying back against the pillows, your face glowing despite the weariness etched into your features. In your arms was the tiniest human Lando Norris had ever seen.

His daughter.

Lando stood a few steps away, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his hoodie, rocking back and forth on his heels like he couldn’t figure out whether to step closer or retreat.

His eyes hadn’t left the baby since the nurse had swaddled her and handed her to you. The sight of her, all pink cheeks and downy hair, had knocked the wind out of him. She looked impossibly fragile, like a breath of wind might blow her away.

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Lando’s head jerked up, his wide eyes meeting yours. “What?” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Oh, uh, I don’t—I mean, I do, but—she’s so tiny. What if I...”

You smiled gently, your exhaustion melting into warmth. “You won’t hurt her, Lando. I promise.”

But he didn’t move.

His gaze flicked back to the baby, her tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. She was so new, so delicate. How could anyone expect him to hold her when he couldn’t even wrap his mind around the fact that she existed?

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “What if I drop her? Or hold her wrong? I don’t want to hurt her.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone. Lando was always so confident—on the track, in front of the cameras, even when life threw curveballs his way. But here, faced with this tiny, perfect person who depended entirely on him, he was terrified.

“She’s your daughter,” you said softly. “She already knows you, Lando. She’s been hearing your voice for months. And I know she’ll feel safe with you.”

Lando hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But the fear of doing something wrong kept him rooted in place.

You saw the hesitation in his eyes and decided to meet him halfway. “Come here,” you whispered, shifting slightly to make room for him on the edge of the bed. “Sit with me.”

Lando moved cautiously, like he was afraid even his footsteps might disturb the baby. He perched on the edge of the bed, his hands still buried in his pockets.

You gently reached out and took one of his hands, guiding it toward the baby.

“See?” you said as his fingers brushed against her tiny hand. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

As if on cue, the baby stirred, her impossibly small fingers curling instinctively around Lando’s. His breath hitched, and he froze, staring at the connection like it was something out of a dream.

“She’s holding me,” he whispered, his voice thick with wonder.

“She knows her dad,” you said, smiling through tears.

Lando swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. He let his other hand come up, cradling the baby’s head as you carefully transferred her into his arms. His movements were slow, almost agonizingly so, but eventually, he was holding her.

And just like that, the world seemed to stop.

She was so small, her entire body fitting easily into the curve of his arms. Her face was scrunched up, her lips slightly parted as she let out a tiny sigh. Lando stared at her like she held the secrets of the universe, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“She’s... perfect,” he said, his voice trembling.

“She is,” you agreed, resting your head against his shoulder.

Lando’s heart felt like it might burst. He’d experienced incredible moments before—winning races, standing on podiums, hearing crowds chant his name—but none of it compared to this. None of it came close to the weight of his daughter in his arms, the realization that she was his to protect, to love, to cherish.

“I can feel her heartbeat,” he murmured, awestruck. “It’s so fast. Is that normal?”

You chuckled softly. “It’s normal. Babies’ hearts beat faster than ours.”

He nodded, though he barely registered your response. He was too busy memorizing every detail of her face—the curve of her tiny nose, the way her eyelashes rested against her cheeks, the faint tufts of hair on her head.

“What if I mess this up?” he asked after a long silence. His voice cracked on the last word, and you could hear the raw emotion behind it.

“You won’t,” you said firmly. “You already love her so much. That’s what matters.”

Lando blinked rapidly, a single tear slipping down his cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared,” he admitted. “Or this happy. It’s like my chest can’t hold it all.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face toward you. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Lando. She’s lucky to have you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes closing as he let the weight of your words settle over him. For the first time since entering the hospital, he felt a small sense of calm. The fear was still there, but it was tempered by something stronger—love.

The baby let out a tiny whimper, and Lando instinctively rocked her, his movements gentle and unsure. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. “Daddy’s got you.”

And in that moment, he realized it was true. He did have her. She might be tiny, and the responsibility might feel overwhelming, but she was his. And he would do everything in his power to make sure she was safe, happy, and loved.

You watched the two of them, your heart swelling with love for the man who had stepped so beautifully into this new role.

Lando might have been scared, but as you looked at him cradling your daughter, you knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Lando never forgot that moment—the first time he held his daughter, the overwhelming mix of fear and love that consumed him. And as the years passed, as she grew from a tiny baby into a curious toddler and beyond, he carried that feeling with him: the knowledge that no matter what, she had him—and he had her.

Thank you for reading!

[ggreactionsandscenarios]

Hi can you do a smut with CEO! Karina and female! reader who is her secretary ?

Karina x Reader

Chinese couch

Late nights.

It was starting to feel a little bit too usual for Jimin to work until night lately. Being the CEO of a worldwide renowned company for sure comes with the prerogative but it was slowly messing with her sleep schedule and nothing good happens when Jimin is sleep deprived.

As her assistant you witnessed it all, her temper slowly getting worst and worst, the number of people getting fired slowly rising up.

Usually you wouldn't say anything, afraid to loose your job and even more afraid to face an angry Karina but it's been days and you're slowly feeling responsible.

It might be a tiny bit because of the S.O.S. looks from all the people getting kicked out that pass by your desk everyday.

Anyway you figured out you might as well try to calm your boss down before becoming the very last person employed here.

So when the clock hit nine, you made your way to her office. Stopping right in front of the door, contemplating whether you should enter or not. After building up the courage, you finally decided to knock.

But of course the door opened wide right when you were about to, revealing your boss in all of her intimidating self. Her face only a few inches away from yours.

"Please tell me you weren't coming to tell me some bad news, because I swear I'm gonna kill myself if anything goes sideways again."

You couldn't help but chuckle a bit at her frown but were fast to remember she was your boss.

"No actually I was coming to ask you if you'd like to eat with me, I'm ordering."

For a second there Jimin was bewildered, not expecting the offer but she was fast to put on her serious face.

"I don't have time to eat I have better things to do."

She was about to go back to her office when you suddenly grabbed the door keeping it opened.

"Chinese it is."

You don't know what's gotten into you, it's like you're trying to get fired.

Karina stared right at you for a minute, probably waiting for you to back down but you didn't.

"Fine."

And with those words she went back inside letting you choose what to order. You settled for a restaurant that was just down the street, hoping it would be delivered faster.

Sadly it didn't, you waited for almost an hour at your desk before the delivery guy came up.

You went to Karina's door knocking on it carefully, not wanting to interrupt a phone call.

Even though you got no answer you pushed the door opened, after all you did warned her you'll be treating her food.

When you entered the room you were surprised not to find your boss in her chair where she would always sit.

She was laying down on her luxurious couch, she probably got too tired to notice she was falling asleep before it was too late.

You set the food on the table before shaking her shoulder to wake her up but it didn't work.

She did not move nor did she said anything. She actually remained so still that for a second you wondered if she might have passed out of exhaustion.

It's only when you got close to her face to see if she was breathing that she suddenly opened her eyes.

"Getting comfortable there I see, you should have told me you weren't talking about food when you ask me for dinner."

You frowned not knowing what she meant until you took a closer look at your position noticing how you were pretty much all over her.

You took a step back and an other just to be sure.

"Excuse me for checking if my boss is still alive."

You tried to play it cool but you knew you were blushing at this point so you turned your back at her to hide your embarrassment.

Her face closed up, the movement upsetting her. She took a hold of your waist, turning you around and getting insanely close to you.

"Don't ever turn your back on me like that."

Once again you don't know what went on your mind because for some reason you couldn't help but to provoke her.

"Thought you liked my backside."

She stare at you before answering.

"Careful sweetheart, I don't like brats."

As you were about to argue back she shut you up, kissing you hard, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip so she could have access to your tongue.

As much as you'd like to resist her, you've been waiting for her to make a move on you forever so you weren't going to back down now.

So you kissed her back, pushing her back to the couch where she has been sleeping except now you were on top of her, kissing her neck.

You would've continued if it wasn't for her switching positions.

"I'm on top."

You couldn't careless all you wanted to do was for her to kiss you right now.

"Stop talking and start kissing."

And so she did, trailing her kisses down your neck to your breast, getting rid of your top on the way.

She cupped your mount, tasting them and playing with your nipples as you tugged on her hair asking for more.

You might have marks of her lips tomorrow because of how hungrily she was kissing every inch of your skin.

As she was kissing your lips again you decided to stop her.

"Wait, let's eat."

Jimin looked at you with confusion in her eyes.

"What do you mean 'let's eat' ? What do you think I was about to do ?"

She was now clearly frustrated as you sat up on the couch ans started unpacking your order.

"You need to eat, you haven't even eaten lunch today."

"Who cares ?"

Seeing her frustration wasn't getting to you she changed tactics, brushing her hand on your thigh and kissing your neck.

It was indeed tempting but as you let out a content sigh, you broke contact.

"Eat your food and maybe you'll have dessert."

Not really a smut but here is a little something -Ael