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cherrygirlfriend · 1 day ago

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touchy subject

pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: reader seeing her ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of a miscarriage, just pure agony! wc: 1.8k inspired by the song 'touchy subject' by peach prc. originally posted 11/21/2024

a white baby gate fixed in my hallway stays haunting the house with the angels we made; sometimes, i dream, a decade away, we meet in a grocery store; you look the same, with just a few grey hairs. the blonde little girl who tugs on your shirt with your smile looks nothing like me.

it had been four years since you had last been on kildare island; four years of trying to forget the life, or the ruined bones of one, that you'd been escaping from.

after ending your engagement with your fiancé, you'd traveled all around the country in your beat-up truck, hoping to find a place where you'd belong; only to end up back in the outer banks. they say there's no place like home, and in a way, it was true. you can leave kildare island, but kildare island will never leave you.

"everything okay?"

you're startled out of your thoughts by the melodic sound of your mother's voice, and when she follows your gaze to the baby-gate attached to the door leading to the kitchen, her mouth twists into a frown. "i was meant to take that down before you got here..." she chewed on her lower lip, a pang of guilt almost punching her in the chest.

"it's fine." you shrug, trying to lift the ends of your lips into a smile, only for it to look artificial and rehearsed. "i should start unpacking."

"alright." your mother placed her hand on your shoulder, but should've been a comforting gesture, made you feel like you were underwater and the hand was simply pushing you deeper.

you stood alone in the living room of your apartment, the only thing to be heard of was the ticking of the clock your mother had already mounted on the clock, mixed in with the sounds of passing cars, so unlike the day you first moved into the apartment, yet so much like the day you were last there.

"you should keep the apartment."

"rafe, i can't do that. it's way too much, and i'm leaving-"

"it's already in your name." the man sighed, smoothing his hand over his shaved head; he looked so different than usual, the dark bags under his eyes making him look like he had aged ten years, his usually tan face almost pale. "you can do whatever you want with it. keep it, sell it, i don't care. it's yours. i never want to step foot in this place again."

your feet were almost moving on their own, the hardwood floor cold under your feet, leading you to that door, and even though you felt your blood run cold, every cell of your body telling you not to open it, you couldn't help but nudge the door open.

you didn't know what you were expecting.

stepping into the room, you let your hand trail over the soft-pink wall, still remembering the smell of paint.

"you know, you shouldn't be doing that." he sighed, leaning against the doorway. "i can just hire someone to paint the walls."

you roll your eyes, your denim overalls covered in the soft pink paint as the paint stained the white wall, "i want to do this. i'm not gonna hire someone to do everything for me when i'm perfectly fine doing it on my own."

"you're not-"

"hush." you pointed the paint roller at rafe, "i'm doing this. now pick up a paint roller or quit whining."

you look down at the crib, lined with white lace, picking up the brown teddy bear that used to belong to you when you were a child, brushing your hand over the fur, straightening the pink bow around its neck.

hung above the crib, was a picture of a couple that had just gotten engaged, wide smiles on both of their faces; a couple that had once been so familiar to you, but now, it was like you couldn't recognize either of the people in the photos.

it felt like everyone was staring at you as they walked past you; four years clearly hadn't been long enough to make the people of outer banks forget about you, and as you made your way towards the local cafe, you couldn't help but think about how long it'd take for the person you didn't want to know you were in town to find out.

you were strolling down the street, rafe's hand in yours, your fingers intertwined. you licked the ice cream cone, deep in thought, letting rafe take the lead.

"what's going through that pretty head of yours?" he chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, your engagement ring glimmering under the sunlight.

"baby names." you shrug, "what should we name her?"

"do you have any names in mind?"

"i was thinking..." you pursed your lips, not sure if the name you had been considering would be appropriate or not, chewing on your lower lip as you turn your head to face your fiancé, an expectant smile on his lips and his brows lifted in question, "evelyn."

when the name left your lips, you saw his mouth fall open, and for a moment you thought that you never should've spoken, but after rafe cleared his throat, there was a clear smile on his lips, his blue eyes glassy.

"you- you uh, wanna name her after my mom?"

"yeah." you smile, squeezing his hand. "i do."

for the millionth night, you were laid in bed, looking through pictures, featuring the faces of the couple above the crib in the room next door. pictures with the man's arms wrapped around the woman's waist, ones of them holding hands, ones where one was pressing a kiss the other person's cheek, ones from the several midsummers parties they spent together, ones from halloween, thanksgiving, christmas...

the girl in the dress she had planned to wear on her wedding day.

"rafe, where are you taking me?" you laughed, the blindfold covering your eyes, "if the blindfold's for some kinky purpose, you better forget about it."

rafe laughed, continuing to lead you, his large hands on your waist, "come on, have a little faith in me. i'm not that bad, am i?"

"oh, you definitely are. just last week we were an hour late to ava's party because you just thought i was irresistible."

rafe snorted, "well, that's because you were." he pressed a kiss on your cheek, "you can take it off." he whispered, taking a step away from you.

untying the blindfold, you blinked a few times, letting yourself get used to actually being able to see again, only to be startled by the sight of your boyfriend on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, "rafe...?"

you wiped away the stray tear that had left your eye without permission before it could reach your jaw, continuing to scroll through the pictures, knowing that it'd be yet another sleepless night, but when you saw a picture of her, you paused.

you weren't sure who was more nervous, you or rafe, even though you were the one in the examination chair, your shirt pulled up and your rounded stomach on full display. his hand was tightly gripping yours, the man's jaw clenched.

"let's take a look, shall we?" the ultrasound technician smiled, and you nodded, feeling her spread the cold gel onto your stomach, a slight yelp leaving your lips, making rafe squeeze your hand even tighter. you looked to him, nodding reassuringly, speaking softly, "it's okay."

rafe's grip loosened slightly and he softened his grip, both of you turning your heads to the screen, and the moment you saw the little lump on the screen, you couldn't help but feel tears stinging in your eyes.

"look. that's our baby."

"shit..." rafe stared at the screen wide-eyed, letting out a low breath, "that's our baby."

just like on any average day on the island, the sun was shining, your skin radiating with warmth as you walked down the street, looking in through shop windows; it had been a few days since you'd first stepped outside, and it seemed like your arrival had become widespread news, and you didn't receive as many stares as you did before.

you arrived at rafe's door, bringing your hand up and pounding on the door before you could stop yourself and chicken out for the third time that week. you were a wreck, unable to sleep, to think about anything other than how much you knew you needed to talk to rafe.

you waited, tapping your foot against the ground and biting down on your lip, when finally, the door slowly started opening, a small smile forming on rafe's lips when he realized that it was you.

"hey baby," he chuckled softly, placing his hands on your waist, "you miss me so much you couldn't even text me to let you know you were coming?" he grinned.

"i have to talk to you." you pull away from his embrace, taking his hands off your waist, the blonde looking down at you with furrowed brows, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, clearly alarmed by the slight frown on your lips.

"what's wrong?"

"i'm pregnant."

without even realizing it, you had stopped in front of a jewelry store, gazing inside at the things on display as you were going down memory lane inside your head. you let out a small chuckle, about to step back and continue walking, when your blood ran cold, the smile fading away from your face, feeling as if someone had stabbed you in the heart.

to anyone else, it would've just been the backs of two random people. but even without seeing his face, you could recognize the only man you'd ever loved no matter where you went.

his short-sleeved white collared shirt was tucked into his dark jeans, riding up slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, having grown out slightly since the last time you'd seen it, his signet ring on his middle finger.

you saw him let out a chuckle, and you could almost picture how it'd sound, his hand going to rest on the back of the person he was with.

a younger woman smiled up at him, and even just from her side profile, you could tell that she was gorgeous, her flaming hair flowing over her shoulders, the smile on her face genuine, matching his.

and when you saw what she was holding up and showing to him, the knife in your chest was twisted.

an engagement ring.

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ace-of-bass · 8 hours ago

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All of this is real but I wanna add on a personal story that's the reverse of the original post, just so folks don't think all is lost.

When I was growing up, my parents were staunch Republicans. Both of them are very Evangelical, both are from from southern families, both were military brats, and my dad spent 20+ years in the air force. Not a combo that's particularly well known for making people less conservative. My mom tells me that when my parents were in college in the early 90s my dad could've been a Young Republican.

I think my dad's mind began to change around the 2008 election, when we lived in DC. DC is a fairly progressive city, though it's also a military town, and for the first time my dad knew people at church who were liberal and had productive, respectful conversations with them. He still disagreed, but he understood that it was a difference of opinion - not that liberals were evil or stupid.

My dad's mind further changed in 2014, when he was deployed to Afghanistan. He became really close with his translator, who was working and hoping to immigrate to the US - actually I think his first translator did immigrate while he was there and he had a second one for the last couple months he was there. He also saw the incredible hospitality of Afghan people and was blown away by it. He still keeps up with his translator, who lives in Texas now. One thing he said to me at the time was something to the effect of, "Afghans are just like us. They want a better life for their children and are willing to work hard to attain that."

I couldn't trace the evolution in my mom's beliefs quite as well, since she was less outspoken about her politics when I was a kid, but I know a couple things more recently helped move her left. One of our good friends from the church we attended in Arizona, a kid a couple years older than me, came out as trans a few years after we moved away. When we knew her, she had always been thoughtful, intelligent, and well-spoken, as had her mom. When she came out, her mom was unflinchingly supportive, despite plenty of transphobia from other people at the church. My mom didn't actively join in either side but watched it play out on facebook. A few years ago, after the Club Q shooting in my parents' current home of Colorado Springs, my mom said that she thought that all the homophobia and transphobia from the church was wrong. She said there were maybe some Bible verses against being gay, but she couldn't think of any that were against being trans.

But the thing that got my mom really fired up against the republicans was COVID-19. My sister is immunosuppressed and so the isolation of the pandemic hit my family particularly hard, since it was really not safe for them to go anywhere. All the while, conservative voices at their church insisted that services go on as usual, in person, masks and tests not required. This was life or death for my sister, and the callousness of my mom's community broke her heart, I think, and also got her upset at the republican party and Donald Trump (someone my parents had never liked). In 2020, my parents cast their first blue votes.

As my beliefs have rocketed leftwards, my parents' have less quickly. But I still find it fairly easy to talk about politics with them, as long as I don't use the most inflammatory language. Last year, my dad brought up not liking Biden's foreign policy, and said that the handling of the situation in Palestine was a disaster. He said, "I'm not pro-Hamas, I mean, they are a terrorist organization, but the response from Israel has just been so incredibly outsized and unwarranted, and Biden has done nothing against it." Maybe not #fromtherivertothesea, but a more progressive stance than most would expect.

Anyway, I think this reiterates what prev said, that you have to be continually progressing forward. My parents haven't ever been radical, but they've always been open to new ideas, new experiences, and new perspectives, listening to others and hearing what they have to say. If you strive for those things, I think that will do a lot to inoculate you against propaganda.

#deradicalization #us politics #conservative #progressive #propaganda

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chosolar · 2 days ago

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ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ when I'm with you

street racer sukuna x fem!reader

streetracer!sukuna is arrogant and cocky for a reason. he knows he's the best and no one can compare to him when it comes to being the fastest.

streetracer!sukuna has had a few run ins with the police here and there for speeding ofc and reckless driving, but he has enough money to pay off the tickets. the police have gotten so many complaints about him that they are on a first-name basis with him, but sukuna has always managed to get out of trouble with them

streetracer!sukuna may seem like the biggest fuckboy but finds hooking up and relationships to be a waste of time. he doesn't know why he has a reputation of being a fuckboy when he hasn't been with a lot of girls. why would he spend his money on flowers and date nights when he can use it to buy parts for his car?

streetracer!sukuna drives 2 different cars - the car he often uses for racing is his custom-wrapped burgundy red supra mk5, modded to the gods. the other one is his daily car, a black gt4 that is his baby. both of his cars are unique and anyone knows that the dark red supra is his.

streetracer!sukuna is wealthy enough as it is, but with all he races he's won, he's able to provide himself without his family's money. his parents wanted him to take over as he's the oldest but refused to do so, feeling that his calling in life was not being in suits and meetings all day. his parents aren't happy with the career he chose but they support him by giving him a huge monthly allowance.

streetracer!sukuna met you for the first time at a gala he was forced to go to in place of his father. he was getting annoyed of the other guests asking when he'll be working with his father over and over again so he took off to an empty part of the building, hoping to relax before he goes back in again. sukuna loosens tie and opens the door that leads to the balcony, not expecting to see a lady already there. "oh sorry I didn't know someone was here already."

"oh no don't worry, I was just about to leave," you reassure him and smiled. sukuna sighs and walks over to the spot beside you, resting his arms on the top of the balcony railing. "you don't have to leave. did you come out for a breather too?"

you nodded, "yeah a little. it's my first time going to a gala and I wasn't expecting it to be so..."

"snobby? pretentious? all of the above?" he butts in, his interruption earning a laugh from you. "yeah just a little."

both of you kept quiet for a bit when sukuna speaks up to introduce himself and you reciprocate the action. he's silently glad that you don't know him, either through his family or as the reckless street racer. he ended up staying with you longer than expected but he wanted to continue getting to know so he asks for your number before heading back to the gala.

streetracer!sukuna usually spends his friday and saturday nights driving around when he's not racing. usually he cruises with gojo and geto, but sometimes sukuna prefers the silence of being by himself. he's used to it now though, often choosing to race with no passengers compared to the other racers.

streetracer!sukuna finds himself wanting your company after meeting you at the gala. with races taking place at night, sukuna likes that he has the daytime to meet with you. whether that was picking you up from work or taking you out to a breakfast date, sukuna is always wanting to spend time with you somehow.

streetracer!sukuna is uncharacteristically bashful when you ask him about racing and his cars. he usually loves talking about it and always brags about his cars whenever he gets the chance but when it came to you, he has a hard time. (it's because he's worried you'll think he's living a dangerous and irresponsible life and if it was anyone else he wouldn't care but you're the first person whose opinion he cares about). he makes sure to only tells you half-truths when you question him about racing - yes he goes fast (and has crashed into road barriers), yes the police have stopped him a couple times (he's been arrested a couple of times but is released the day after). he cares about how you perceive him so he tries to not inform you of the dangers he experiences with the career he's in.

streetracer!sukuna usually drives fast but when you're in the passenger seat, he is not going any more than 10 above the speed limit. he's a professional racer so he's used to driving at high speeds but he doesn't want to risk anything with you in the car. sometimes you'll ask him to do a pull which he reluctantly agrees to, but he doesn't even try to reach the red line. he knows his cars well but he thinks about the off-chance that something could go wrong.

streetracer!sukuna is elated that you don't judge him for what he does for a living. he knows that it's a non-traditional job and it can be unstable but for sukuna, it's a lucrative occupation. he asks you often to come with him during races with a large prize because he says you're his lucky charm, he actually just wants to show off. ever since you got together, he's earned more than enough for the both of you to live very comfortably.

streetracer!sukuna only lets you drive his car. word spread around that someone that's not sukuna was in the driver's seat of his supra AND his gt4, and even some of the guys texted sukuna to see if it was true. he asked you first if he can tell them that you guys are together, and immediately said yes when you let him. to confirm everyone's suspicions, sukuna posts on his instagram a photo of his cars side by side with you sitting down on the hood of the gt4 posing cutely with the caption "everything I love". it's the only picture that he has pinned on his profile (yess we love a king who shows off his girl)

streetracer!sukuna is the epitome of gentle giant to you. everyone knows him as the intimidating tall racer who has a resting bitch face and does not like talking to anyone, but he's such a giant softie when he's with you. when you're beside him, all of a sudden he's smiling and doesn't look like he wants to murder someone. other racers only come up to sukuna when you're with him because you force sukuna to be nice and actually talk to them (they're thankful for you).

streetracer!sukuna is 2 words - THE CLINGIEST! because he races at night and when he hasn't seen you for a long time (1 day), he'll come over to your place and sleep over. he doesn't care if he has to drive to the other side of the city to do so, he wants to see you now. he gets grumpy if he doesn't feel you in his arms when he wakes up. mans just wants to wake up being cuddled and who can blame him

streetracer!sukuna was insanely nervous when he met your parents. he wasn't worried when you met his because he knew that they would love you (spoiler alert they do), but his palms were sweating when you said your parents wanted to meet him. he knows that his appearance is not the most conventional with his pink hair and tattoos all over his body, especially his face. he wanted to make a good impression so he opted to went to his mom to get help for his outfit and how to impress your parents. his mom thank you after he left because she never thought she'd see the day her son son would willingly wear a shirt with a collar.

streetracer!sukuna contemplates if he should stop racing when he misjudged the distance of the car when he was trying to take over and got into a really bad crash. he recovered quickly and is fine now, but the image of you crying at his bedside wouldn't leave his head. he knows you want to be supportive but he notices how hesitant you get when he tells you he has a race. he would do anything for you, even if it that means giving up his dream so that you could have a peace of mind.

streetracer!sukuna loves you unapologetically. he's never met anyone so encouraging and so patient with him, and he would be the world's biggest idiot if he fumbles you. he doesn't care if anyone calls him a simp for prioritizing you first above all else, he loves you too much to care about being name called. he knows you deserve the world and does his best to give you so, treating and spoiling you with whatever you desire. he's never going to let you go, and he doesn't care what anyone thinks because he knows that you're his endgame.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

I wanna make a smau for this but like idk if I should, what do you guys think? again, not proofread hehe

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quintessenceofdust88 · 3 days ago

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Priorities

(okay, so remember this ficlet? I finished it 🤭 and it's basically 1800 words of Tommy being me and saying everything I wish I could say to Eddie Diaz about the way he treats his supposed best friend. But since I'm a relentless optimist, I gave Eddie a slight redemption at the end. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for how much love you gave the first part! I hope this part lives up to your expectations ♥)

Tommy is being weird with him.

Eddie's been back for about ten days when he finally gets an invitation to Tommy and Buck's house, that Buck moved to about a month before he arrived. And the invitation came from Buck himself, not from Tommy, so Eddie doesn't think he's being paranoid about the pilot treating him differently.

If Tommy is mad at him for some reason (though Eddie can't fathom why, they haven't even talked much since Eddie moved), it explains why the invitation took so long; frankly, part of Eddie was expecting to set foot in LA and have Buck all over him wanting to hang out, but not quite. Buck had barely shown up, mostly to say hi to Chris, and then Eddie hadn't seen much of him.

Eddie shows up anyway, casting his doubts aside, because he definitely missed hanging out with the two of them. If there's a downside to the months he passed in Texas is how lonely he was; he can't wait to be able to hang out with his friends whenever he wants again.

Chris opts out of joining him, also wanting to catch up with his LA friends, and Eddie doesn't mind. It's good that it'll be just the three of them.

At least it should be, but again, Tommy is being weird. Not to Buck, God no. With Buck he's all 'sweetheart' and kisses to the cheek and hand holding all the time. Eddie privately thinks that this is how they're behaving now, six months after their reconciliation, he's quite lucky to have been in Texas for the first few days after they got back together (he tries not to think what they could have gotten up to in his house while Buck lived there; ignorance is bliss or whatever).

But the point is: Tommy doesn't have any scrunchy smiles or 'how are you doing, man?' and talking about the latest NBA developments with Eddie. Instead he's giving him that trademark bitchy look, and barely answering when Eddie does talk to him.

Buck, bless him, doesn't seem to pick up on the tension. He seems ridiculously happy, all heart eyes at his boyfriend, and for the first time, Eddie feels like a third wheel between them, and that's what makes him decide enough is enough.

When Buck leaves to check on their appetizers, he turns to Tommy, who's quite deliberatedly staring at the TV with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Tommy, man, have I done something to you?" He asks, and Tommy looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

"To me? How could you? You haven't even talked to me one-on-one since Evan and I were broken up."

Eddie sighs; he should have seen that coming, though he never thought Tommy to be the needy kind. Maybe Buck was rubbing off on him.

"Tommy, you know Buck's my best friend, I had to..."

"Oh, is he?!" Tommy says, his voice laced with faux-surprise and mockery, and Eddie recoils. "I would never guess based on the way you treat him"

Eddie stares at Tommy, completely stunned and, if he’s being honest, not just a little offended. He and Buck have been best friends for years; who does Tommy think he is to chime in, especially after he broke Buck’s heart the way he did months ago?

“Tommy, what the hell are you talking about?” Eddie demands, trying to keep his voice low. “Buck is my best friend, everybody knows that.”

“You know what, Eddie? My bad, you are right.” Tommy says, but Eddie doesn’t feel relieved; he seems far from done. “Evan is your best friend; he supports your decisions, he’s always there for you, worrying about you and your kid, going above and beyond to make sure you’re okay.”

The words leaving Tommy’s mouth should have been positive, but for some reason, they’re bringing a deep blush to Eddie’s cheeks and a weird feeling to his stomach. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s feeling ashamed.

“Okay, so what are you saying?” He asks, and Tommy stares at Eddie as if he’s being particularly stupid.

“What I’m saying, Diaz, is that Evan is your best friend, but there’s no way you can claim to be his best friend. I’m not even sure you could claim to be his friend.”

“That’s not fair”, Eddie hisses in response, but that inconvenient blush is still stuck to his cheeks.

“No, what’s not fair is making him keep your moving to Texas a secret, then treating him as expendable, then being mad when he finally snapped, and then just ‘forgiving’ him for something you should be apologizing for when he once more proved himself useful to you by taking your house”

Eddie stares at Tommy, mouth agape. That’s certainly not how he remembers things happening.

“I… I was doing what was best for Chris. He… He didn’t have the right to make it about himself” Eddie says, but it now sounds weak even to his ears.

“Oh no, Eddie, as far as you’re concerned, Evan never has the right to make anything about himself. It’s all you, isn’t it? He babysits your son. You two talk about your plans, your feelings, your problems. Did you ever even have a conversation with him about our break-up? Did you even once ask him how he was handling it, if he was suffering?”

Eddie tries to remember those few weeks between their break-up and his moving, and he’s ashamed when he realizes that he doesn’t remember asking Buck how he felt. All he remembers is the incessant baking.

“I…”

“Don’t bother”, Tommy says, raising a hand. “I know you didn’t. Because you, and everyone else, want Evan to always be happy and ready to help you with your problems. And when he dares to ask for help with his own things, of letting his insecurities be known, you accuse him of making everything about him. Of being exhausting.”

The word hits hard for Eddie, and he remembers a fight from so many years ago. He frowns, looking at Tommy, whose expression is harsh, his arms crossed, not a single line of the softness Eddie is used to from him. This is Tommy in protective mode, but Eddie had never expected it to be aimed at himself. It’s not fun, to say the least.

“Did… Did he tell you about that?” He asks, and guilt is pooling up in his chest.

“He wasn’t going to; I got it out of him when he asked me if I had left because he was exhausting,” Tommy says, and Eddie can see some of his guilt mirrored in Tommy’s eyes before he closes them and takes a deep sigh. “Look, I wasn’t perfect with him either, but you, Eddie? You were supposed to be his best friend”

“Tommy, I… I never realized…”

“No. And you never would, because he’s so used to this treatment that he’d never say anything. It’s the normal between the two of you. Except there’s nothing normal about it” Tommy laughs a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “God, Eddie, when he told me how he had ended up living at your place… The way he told it. Putting himself down, saying you were right on calling him out for ‘making everything about me, like I always do’. Like he had been a tantrum-throwing child, like you had been so good for forgiving him after he solved a problem of yours for the millionth time. You could barely say thank you. I asked, and he said you ‘shouldn’t have to thank him anyway, cause that’s what friends do’. That’s the man you like to call selfish.”

Eddie’s heart feels frozen in his chest. He wants to fight back, and wants to give Tommy examples of times he was there for Buck as well, but, to his immense despair, he’s coming up short. He’s about to mention putting Buck on his will, but he can see Tommy saying that was more for his benefit than Buck’s, and he’d be right. Eddie also thinks of telling him about how he handled Buck’s coming out, but… Is that something he should be that proud of? It was basic human decency, nothing else.

When was the last time their friendship was about what Buck needed? Eddie can’t remember, if there ever was one in the first place.

As guilt and shame take over him, he runs a hand through his face, and looks back at Tommy. In a way, he’s grateful; grateful that Buck found someone who’s that willing to defend him, but it makes Eddie feel awful that he’s the one who Buck needs to be defended from. And the worst part is that he knows, absolutely knows for a fact, that Buck hasn’t asked Tommy to say any of that.

“I… I made him feel less than, didn’t I? When… When I left like that” He says, and Tommy nods, his expression finally softening a bit.

“Look, he gets it. I get it. Chris is your priority. But Evan is mine, and him taking me back was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m sorry, Eddie, but I won’t let him be treated like that anymore. Not by you, not by anyone. He deserves better.”

Eddie finds himself nodding numbly. Tommy is right; Buck deserves better. From the 118, from his parents, but from him. Eddie has to step up.

“He does. I… I’m sorry” He says pathetically, and Tommy only shrugs.

“Don’t tell that to me, tell it to him. But let me tell you that it won’t make much of a difference. He doesn’t think you have anything to be sorry for.” Tommy says, and the worst part is that Eddie knows it’s true, which makes him feel even guiltier. “So instead of being sorry, do better”

He doesn’t have much time to mull on Tommy’s words before Buck is back, announcing the nachos are finally ready and that he had to re-do the guacamole three times before it was perfect.

And as he drops the bowls on the coffee center table, then gives Tommy a quick peck, Eddie looks at them. The way Tommy instantly smiled when Buck entered the room, as if the tension is out of him now that he told Eddie what was on his mind; the way he wraps his arm around Buck’s waist and Buck leans against his shoulder. The way he intently listens to Buck explaining what exactly went wrong with the first two guacamole batches, the way he praises Buck for finally getting it right.

Eddie sighs and does his best to join their conversation as if nothing has happened. Watching the two of them, the way Buck smiles so easily, his eyes never leaving Tommy, and how content his best friend looks, how sure of himself, Eddie realizes that yes, he has to do better by Buck, because they’ve been friends for years and he hasn’t been very good at it. But one thing he knows for sure: Buck is not alone.

He is finally someone’s priority.

Ppl who were interested/asked to be tagged: @azaharinflames @laundryandtaxesworld @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @iredastead @exhaustedpirate @dum-amo-vivo9 @neverstopschanging @walkedthroughfires @aar-journey @justahumblecabbagemerchant @styxhuntress @sgprfan

#anti eddie diaz #just in case #he just gets called out on his very canon actions #and how they affect people #people being buck #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tommy defends his man's honor #gabby writes

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monzterpup · 3 days ago

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SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING

NICE! . . . E.W

summary; baking lessons with ellie get messy!

pairing; baker!ellie x fem!reader

cw; very slight usage of y/n! (i'm sorry). food play. dom!ellie. top!ellie. oral!r (receiving). fingering!r (receiving). mdni.

w/c; 1.4k

a/n; hi cuties! this is kinda uhh horrible! i made this in literally one day bc i wanted to post something for u guys so bad. writers block has been a bitch lately! sorry this isn't dark content and kind of boring :( i promise some is coming soon! this is also a little short so sorry about that too. lowkey expecting this to flop buttt i hope u enjoy it anyways lovelies <3 (not proofread, i apologize if there are any mistakes. eventually, i will go back and edit it but rn i can’t be bothered lol.)

you didn't have a clue about baking. and, this was a real disadvantage to you since one of your friends was having a small get together where all of you were going to bake cupcakes, brownies, cookies, whatever sweets you could think of.

your friends did these every month and you were tired of missing out; miserably tapping through each one of their instagram stories while you sat at home in bed, rotting.

so, you did what any other reasonable person would've done, and you scheduled yourself a baking lesson. just a one on one with you and... and ellie.

ellie was a baker that you found through instagram, who just so happened to live merely 15 minutes away from you.

y/n_l/n: hey! just saw one of your vids, you do lessons right? i was wondering, if we live somewhat close, you could give me one? my friends are having a small bake day this saturday, so it would have to be before then. no pressure, thank you!

after a while of scrolling through your page and, well, maybe getting a little turned on by some of your very-obvious, attention seeking bikini posts-- at least, to her-- she decided that she was going to give you a lesson for free.

ellie.w.bakes: sorry for getting back to you so late. i would love to! thursday, 12:30 sound alright to you? here's my address if you're still interested. [1 attachment: ellie.w.bakes location]

y/n_l/n: yup! i'll be there. also, looks like we only live about 15 minutes away from each other. haha, that worked out. thank you so much!

and you were there; there sitting in your car, 15 minutes early, parked in front of ellie's house, trying to calm yourself down before the lesson. god, why was this making you so nervous all of a sudden? maybe it was the thought of her in an apron, with her hair pulled back, hands kneading the soft, floury dough-- okay, this was getting out of hand.

as you— finally— made your way up to ellie's front door, the spring air delved around your not-so-calm body, but the delicate breeze did help your sweating a little bit.

you knocked on the door, which was painted a nice, light cream color, complimenting the rest of her home.

when ellie opened the door, you froze. she looked exactly how you pictured her. in an apron, hair pulled back... just hot.

you don't know why you froze. it was like you weren't expecting her to actually answer or something. even though you booked this class three days ahead of time.

"y'alright there, angel face? looks like y've seen a ghost. come on in, i promise i don't bite." ellie's words were laced with a crooked grin and a smug tone. they snapped you out of your embarrassingly obvious staring and back into reality.

"right, yes. thank you."

as you made your way through ellie's home, you took note of the the strong vanilla scent, probably coming from the kitchen, which attacked your nostrils immediately. not in a bad way, it wasn't a bad smell. it was just a lot.

ellie's eyes drank your form in as you walked in front of her. one thing she noticed, you definitely didn't edit those instagram posts she was stalking. every single part of your body, head to toe, looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves.

once the two of you made it to the kitchen, ellie sweetly took your purse and coat, hanging them up on a nearby shelf. what a gentlewoman.

your smile was almost as sweet as the cupcakes you were about to make, and ellie couldn't get enough of it. every time you flashed your pearly whites at her, she swore she almost fainted.

and every time ellie's skilled, slim fiingers sunk into the buttery dough to knead it deftly had you biting your lip. this lesson wasn't going well at all. how were you supposed to learn a thing when you were so pathetically distracted by her hands?

maybe it was just you. maybe you were the perverted one for thinking all of this. no, no. she was definitely trying to shove it in your face.

after you finished the lesson and grabbed your purse, you walked over to ellie to thank her and ask how much it was going to cost.

"so, how much will this be? i could venmo, or i have cash--"

ellie cut you off, "don't you worry ‘bout that, sweetie pie. beginner lessons are always free." psh, no they're not.

you gave her a confused tilt of your head. surely that wasn't true. "a-are you sure? it's really no problem, i could just pay you and get it over with."

"i'm serious. plus, i was thinking you could repay me in a different way. i was a pretty swell teacher, wasn't i?"

and this was exactly how you ended up naked, panties down to your ankles, heels kicked off to somewhere else in the kitchen, and whipped cream covering both of your nipples.

ellie’s hungry mouth latched onto one of your cream covered nipples and slurped up every drop of whipped cream like her life depended on it.

your manicured nails dug into the back of her head, forcing her mouth down onto your boob as she sucked and licked all over it.

“ellie, please,” your needy bitching and whining finally reached ellie’s lust filled ears.

“mm?” she hummed in curiosity while lifting her head up. “what is it, doll?”

you huffed in frustration. “y-your fingers. please. fingers, mouth… anything.”

“good girl, telling me what she wants.” ellie reached over on the counter to grab some strawberries that you had just used to bake, then placed them in a neat line leading down to your dripping pussy, which was currently clenching around nothing. cute.

the final cold strawberry was placed on your cunt and you let out a little gasp. it had been ages since someone treated you this good, with so much patience and delicacy.

ellie made intense eye contact with you as she ate her way down to your pussy, her green eyes glaring up into yours with so much hunger, she almost didn’t look like a human, just a starved beast.

when ellie’s tongue reached the final strawberry that was so perfectly placed on top of your aching clit, she took a tiny bite out of it first, then pressed it down with her teeth, the pressure making your clit twitch and throb even more than it already was.

“prettiest pussy i ever seen in m’life. looks so delicious,” and ellie took that seriously. because when she started eating you out, it was like your brain short circuited. she wasn’t afraid to get messy at all. she really treated your cunt like it was the best meal she had ever tasted in her life.

you arched your back up and lifted your hips off of the counter only to buck them towards ellie’s mouth, needing more. “f-fuck, ellie!” strangled moans strung from your throat and echoed throughout the whole kitchen.

ellie kept one thumb rubbing at your clit while she detached her juice covered mouth from your pussy to instead shove two fingers inside of your sopping hole.

“sucking me in so, so good, baby. you got it…” she praised and whispered sweetly as if she didn’t just force two long fingers into your guts.

“ah!” you hissed sharply. the bone and skin of ellie’s fingers stuffed you up just the right amount, not too much, not too little. and she was right, your pussy swallowed up her fingers up fast.

ellie started erratically pumping her digits in and out of your tight, little hole, leaving you rolling your eyes into the back of your head and trying to hump her hand.

“shit, shit, shit! els, g-g’nna cum!”

she gently grabbed your spazzing hips and relaxed them a little. “yeah, that’s good, that’s good. let me see that sweet pussy cum. give it to me, baby.”

and you did. your cum came gushing out of your pussy in hot floods, completely coating and drenching ellie’s wrist in your liquid.

“shit, there you go. look at that.” ellie slowed her fingers down, letting you ride out your orgasm and making sure to milk you dry before finally pulling out.

ellie brought her fingers up to her (already) dripping mouth and licked her fingers clean of your sweet, sweet cum, followed up by a:

“tastes just like vanilla frosting. can y’give me another one before you gotta go, babe?”

#monzterpup ⋆🐾°#ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie smut #baker!ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou smut #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams drabble #lesbian #sapphic

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physalian · 3 hours ago

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The thing about this is—and I’ve said it before—putting your characters in a situation where them not knowing what to do can be just as compelling and even easier to write than if you try to skate by on “idk this looks cool” for a character who should be an expert in their field.

I am not an experienced battle tactician, and I write fantasy and scifi, and I also hate blocking and choreographing big fight scenes with a lot of elements.

A few things I’ve done instead of a straight up A vs B battle are below. Character cannot rely on their otherwise expertise in this situation because doing things the right and smart way is…

Too expensive (money, resources, or time)

Too risky with unplanned collateral around them

Too dangerous

They’ve been caught completely unawares

They’re impaired in some way (drunk, drugged, blinded, deafened, anesthetized)

They’re majorly emotionally compromised by some other event and not thinking straight

I have a character who is a living weapon and a veteran of warfare. I am not either of these things. The mechanics of the war he fought relied heavily on being insanely reckless with his health, and half-hoping he’d never make it back from any one mission. Due to magic, if he went and lost a limb on the battlefield, a mage could just make him a new one. He was very, very hard to kill.

The current plot takes place after the fact, when that magic is unavailable. When he gets caught in Situations, all his training relies on tactics he can no longer use, so he’s constantly having to improvise, on top of being traumatized. Therefore, his dumb mistakes and erratic behavior are perfectly in-character for him and make sense for his powers and the world when he can’t spam the insta-kill button without serious consequences like he used to.

But, obviously, not everyone is writing that type of character.

In my other series, I have so far one big battle scene fought entirely by immortal vampires who have been ambushed in their own castle. This battle is an uncoordinated mess, but (I think) it works for a few reasons:

This is a post-war setting and many vampires in this fight have no actual battle experience and just are not prepared for this. They haven’t trained in a coordinated effort in any capacity, as no one ever believed they’d have to.

They left a massive hole in their defenses open that no one would ever think to exploit and the initial surprise attack sends the competent leaders of this resistance scrambling to get their orders heard and keep people from scattering

Because of this surprise, the competent leaders quickly get spread thin trying to patch leaks in the metaphorical dam, and, without phones or radio, lines of proximity communication get cut instantly, and no one has any idea where anyone else is, all now with suddenly different and critical priorities like fires, vulnerable mortals, and a zombie horde scaling their wall.

Basically, I’ve put my characters into a situation that they were horrifically unprepared for, so the emphasis of the story focuses less on actual tactics and more on the creativity and ingenuity of individual characters backed into a corner.

—

Both of these work really well for the stories that I’ve set out to tell, because I know my strengths and duct-taping a scene together with two real, competent armies going at each other just isn’t in my wheelhouse. You don’t have to write the big coordinated battle scene just because it’s popular in your genre. You can set up the stakes and elements in your favor to remove the need to study complex strategies if the situation the characters are in demands all that pre-planning or expected knowledge just isn’t useful or isn’t possible.

In both of these books, should the day come when I do need to have a coordinated campaign war effort, I already have my secret weapon: In both books, neither hero side ever has the numbers for a proper battle, they always have to rely on guerilla warfare, ambushes, and pretty dirty tricks.

Which are a whole lot easier to plan and visualize as a lone writer than studying battlefield mechanics at the scale of tens of thousands with infantry, cavalry, archers, and heavy weapons.

Make it easy on yourself and, well, write what you know.

the problem with knowing things about battle tactics is that an ever-increasing subset of popular media becomes impossible to enjoy properly because you have to sit there like 'wow Captain Protagonist good to know all those dead people on your own side are a direct result of your total lack of anything resembling brains'

#battle tactics #writing combat #writerblr #writing community

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muqingslover · 2 days ago

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[ is that angst I smell? The menu for tonight offers the LADS boys and how they are post-breakup with you! yum! the reason for the break-up is open bc it's besides the point. Also, how do we feel about this layout? ]

Rafayel

Now playing: The cut that always bleeds by Conan Gray

Part of him had always expected this to happen. The ugly and resentful side of his heart that never believed in the so called "love" you held for him after the horrible things he went through and in the end he was proven right.

How many more reincarnations would he have to live through until you finally learned to love him? Or maybe this was his punishment for sacrificing the lives of his own people for someone who won't even look his way.

Personally, I don't think he's a weak, whiny baby most people describe him as. I firmly believe Rafayel can be resentful and angry, he just keeps it hidden so you won't see it. This time however? Oh you're seeing all the sides of him.

He wouldn't ever hurt you, absolutely not, but he will raise his voice when he questions why you were doing this to him, why were you forsaking him again, when he's given you everything he possibly could.

"Why is it never enough for you?! Why is it so damn hard for me to be enough for you?! Answer me!" The tears streaming down his face are something he doesn't even realize until his eyes begin to sting. How many centuries has it been since he had last cried?

For months he'd stay locked inside his studio and no one is allowed to visit, not even his aunt is able to help. The paintings he had of you were all ruined but Rafayel still found himself sketching your face like clockwork each time he stood in front of an empty canvas.

He feels angry, betrayed and he's just so, so hurt. I believe that depending on the reason behind the breakup it could very well be his last straw and will lead to him returning to the sea for good.

One day he's just gone without a trace and he's never coming back.

-----------------------------⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠------------------------

Xavier

Now playing: The loneliest by Måneskin

He can't believe this is happening. Like, you choosing to break up with him was never even an option in his mind. Xavier would immediately assume it was his fault and beg for you to let him try and fix whatever went wrong.

His entire world shatters when you walk out the door and somehow it hurts so much more than when he held you in his arms as life left your body.

For months he would take part of the same missions you did, visit the same spaces, take the same train and do anything he could to be apart of your life. The silence between the two of you is suffocating but, surprisingly, Xavier is the one who makes the effort to make conversation about even the simplest of things.

His emotional state would completely drain him. He is so exhausted but he can't sleep at all. Not when he knows you chose to not be by his side.

Nevertheless, Xavier would keep trying, trying and trying and then some more. He brings you things he tried to cook in hope it'll make you smile the same way it did before only to end up throwing it away in a bin after you declined it.

Eventually his exhaustion would catch up to him and lead to a fatal mistake while out in a mission. He is stubborn, but there is only so much he can do when his own body is running into the ground.

"Can you see the sky from where you are?" He would ask during a call you received in the middle of the night in which, unknown to you, would be the last time you ever heard his voice. To Xavier however, he was relived he was able to hear your voice while under the same sky one last time.

-----------------------------⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠------------------------

Zayne

Now playing: Promise by Laufey

The breakup itself is so quiet and calm. The two of you discussed things and he accepted it. Zayne would always, always, respect your choices. If being by his side was not something you wanted then he will let you go without any claw marks.

It was too awkward to be around each other so what follows are weeks of radio silence. He throws himself into his work, but he can't find the focus to properly do his job. His mind always go back to you— Were you okay? Were you thinking of him at all? Were you eating and sleeping well? Who was by your side now?

He breaks the no contact rule first to check on you and although he isn't sure if what he feels is genuine relief when he sees you doing well at least that's...closure. You're happy and healthy, even without him, and he couldn't ask for more than that.

Zayne feels as if everything around him turned dull and grey. His heart frozen in time after you left and he is nothing more than a husk that functions on autopilot until his body breaks down.

He feels cold regardless of the temperature now that you're not here and he believes it is what it is. He tried, he truly did his absolute best, but he can't take away from your happiness.

The two of you will return to being friends after a while and he will continue to support and care for you like he always did. To you, the moments you shared will soon be forgotten while Zayne he will forever remain frozen in those warm memories.

-----------------------------⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠------------------------

Sylus

Now playing: The Moon will sing by The Crave Wives

His hands gently cradle your face as he asks you to please talk to him because there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Except sometimes there are are things he simply can't do and that's something he would be forced to accept.

Sylus would ask to keep contact even if it's just for the sake of business and uses any and every excuse to see you or hear your voice. If he can't be wanted then he will be needed and if he can't be needed then he is okay with being used as long as it's by your hands.

In truth, he wouldn't ever give you up regardless if you fell for someone else or years pass. He will be frustrated and hurt at times, but he can be patient. He will wait until it's his turn to be deserving of your heart again.

Though that does not mean he will do absolutely nothing. Sylus would tell you every day that he still loves you and it doesn't matter what you say because he won't ever feel disencouraged.

"I'm not expecting anything or pressuring you. I'm only reminding you that my love for you won't change even if you're not by my side." His voice is like a gentle coo as his hand comes to pat your head, playfully ruffling your hair so you would drop the serious expression on your pretty face.

-----------------------------⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠⁠☆⁠------------------------

Caleb

Now playing: In my room by Julia Wolf

The biggest CRASH out.

First, he knows you want to break up before you even gather up the courage to bring it up and he finds a way to stop you from saying it every. single. time.

"Caleb I think—" "Oh! I completely forgot! I got these tickets to the show you wanted to go! C'mon, c'mon! We'll be late!"

He is in strong denial after you finally manage to say it. He'd claim you're just confused about things and that it'll pass as long as you give it some time because you don't truly mean it. You need him, how could you ever think otherwise?

He will keep calling and texting you non-stop— He begs you to talk to him and rethink your choice. You're obviously making a mistake so please stop this already.

It would take a lot to make him stop. Unless you had an ironclad reason to not come back to him then he would keep going. When he does stop though? Oof.

Caleb could only endure the torture and damage done to him mentally and physically all those years because you were his anchor. His entire life is centered around you and now that you're gone he'd lose all of his motivation.

The last time you hear from him is through the news you'd receive about the colonel who took his own life.

"Please keep me close to your heart." Your eyes read the words on the letter while your other hand clutched the necklace he left for you. Would you grant him this one last, selfish wish of his?

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cressidagrey · 1 day ago

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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 19

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Call Transcript - Rachel Anderson & Richard Treshton

Richard Treshton: [Answers the call, voice tense] Rachel.

Rachel Anderson: Oh, so you do pick up the phone. I assume you already know why I’m calling.

Richard Treshton: [Dry] No, but I imagine I’m about to find out.

Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] Don’t play dumb. I’ve had reporters on my doorstep all morning, asking about Lizzie. They were digging into my personal life. I have nothing to do with this. I haven’t spoken to her in years. Why am I being dragged into this mess?

Richard Treshton: Because some lowlife on the internet thought digging into Lizzie’s past would make good entertainment.

Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] I don’t see why they’re so obsessed. She writes fairy porn for a living!

Richard Treshton: Excuse me?

Rachel Anderson: Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what’s in those books. I skimmed one after all the press about her and that driver started up. It’s embarrassing, Richard. She’s a grown woman writing drivel about handmaidens and fae warriors.

Richard Treshton: [Coldly] Careful.

Rachel Anderson: Oh, please. Let’s not pretend her little fairy tale nonsense is high literature. The only reason she’s even relevant right now is because she latched onto that racing driver—

Richard Treshton: You don’t get to talk about her like that. You don’t get to belittle her, not when you gave up any right to an opinion the day you walked out on her.

Rachel Anderson: [Defensive] I left because I had to, Richard. You know that.

Richard Treshton: [Furious] No, you left because you couldn’t deal with having a sick child. You made a choice. Lizzie was six years old, Rachel. Six. And you left her wondering why her own mother didn’t love her enough to stay.

Rachel Anderson: [Quiet] That’s not fair.

Richard Treshton: No, what’s not fair is that she had to grow up without a mother. What’s not fair is that she learned, at six years old, that the person who was supposed to love her unconditionally decided she wasn’t worth the effort.

Rachel Anderson: [Uncomfortable] Richard—

Richard Treshton: [Cold] You don’t get to rewrite history just because the press showed up at your door.

Rachel Anderson: [Tightly] I didn’t call to argue with you. I called to say that I don’t want any part of this circus. I don’t want my name attached to Elizabeth’s mess—

Richard Treshton: [Dangerous calm] Lizzie isn’t a mess.

Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] Oh, come on—

Richard Treshton: She is a best-selling author. She is a strong, brilliant, and kind person who has done more with her life than you could ever hope to understand. She is a woman who wakes up every day and keeps going, even when the world makes it harder for her.

Rachel Anderson: Oh, go to hell.

Richard Treshton: You first. And while you are at it: Keep my daughter’s name out of your damn mouth, Rachel.

***

Lizzie hadn't let go of Mara since it had happened.

Not on the drive home...not when she had crawled into her bed, and pulled the blanket over her head.

She had curled up on her bed, fingers buried in the soft fur of her Labrador, face pressed against Mara’s side like she could disappear into the warmth. The weight of the world sat heavy on her chest, pressing her down, making it hard to move, hard to think, hard to breathe.

Lando sat beside her, close but not pushing. He hadn’t left her side, not once. His hand rested on her knee, grounding. A silent reminder that he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

But now, morning had come. And he had to go. McLaren wanted him in for a meeting.

Lizzie’s stomach twisted as she listened to him get dressed, the sounds of fabric rustling, the quiet zip of his hoodie. Her eyes were still closed, her face half-buried in the pillow. She could feel Mara pressed against her side, the dog’s nose nuzzling into her hip.

The door was ajar, Lando’s shadow passing in front of the light spilling in from the hallway.

Lizzie still hadn’t looked at her phone. She didn’t want to know what else was being said. Didn’t want to see her name trending. Didn’t want to read a single thing about her mother being dragged into the mess, about her private life being turned into entertainment.

Lando hesitated before speaking.

“Do you regret it?” His voice was careful, quiet.

Lizzie went very still.

For a moment, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. The hum of the AC, the tick of the clock on the wall.

Do you regret it?

She knew exactly what he was asking without saying. Not about her mother, not about the stupid online bullshit. Lando was asking about them.

Lizzie’s fingers twitched in Mara’s fur.

She exhaled, long and slow. “I don’t regret you.”

Lando let out a breath of his own, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. He was watching her; she could feel his gaze, warm and steady on her.

“Not even once?” he said, voice quiet enough that she almost thought she’d misheard him.

Her heart clenched.

She forced herself to sit up, pushing herself up on her elbows. "No. Not once," she told him, her voice raw. "I don't regret you. I...don't even regret going public," she admitted weakly. "I just wish it..."

Lando’s gaze softened. He walked over to her, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand landed on her hip, thumb stroking the bare skin as he leaned in. “You wish it what?”

Her throat felt tight.

She exhaled, then said, “I wish it didn’t make the world hate me."

Lando’s thumb stilled.

Then he was pulling her forward, his arms sliding around her. He pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. Lizzie went willingly, burying her face in his chest, her fingers curling in the material of his hoodie.

He tucked her head under his chin, letting her hide against him. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

“They don’t get to hate you,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“Lando...”

He tightened his arms around her. “No, listen,” he said, his breath warm against her temple. “The whole goddamn world could hate you, and I would still love you. They wouldn’t change a damn thing."

She closed her eyes, her eyes stinging. She wanted nothing more than to simply hide away with him.

She took a shuddering breath, then another.

“ I can’t do social media right now.” Her voice was quiet, rough at the edges. “I just—can’t.”

Lando nodded instantly. “Then don’t. You don’t have to.”

Her throat bobbed. “People are everywhere, saying—” She stopped, shaking her head, burying her face against the crook of his neck.

Lando’s hand came up to cradle her head, the fingers of his other hand tracing gentle circles on her back. “I know. I know what they’re saying.” His jaw clenched. She could feel it against her forehead.

She could also feel the tension coursing through his body, how hard he was fighting to restrain himself, to keep his response in check.

“You don’t have to see it. You don’t have to read it," he said softly.

Lizzie let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “It doesn’t matter if I read it. It’s there. It exists. They think they know me, think they get to have opinions about me, and I—I just want to exist, Lando."

“You do get to exist,” he said, his tone a mix of fierce and urgent, like he needed her to understand this. “Those idiots on Twitter—they don’t get to take this from us. And they don’t get a say in how we live our lives.”

He took her chin in his hand, gently lifting her face to look at him. “They don’t get to decide how I feel about you.”

Lizzie inhaled sharply, searching his gaze.

His eyes were dark, focused on hers. But there was a determined set to his jaw, and a fire in his eyes that she knew meant he was ready to take on the whole world, if he had to.

And in that moment, all she felt was the quiet, overwhelming certainty that he’d win, because he’d fight for this. For them.

“Your dad’s coming over,” he murmured. “I have to go to McLaren, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Lizzie’s grip tightened. “Okay.”

Lando hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Lizzie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”

Lando’s expression softened. He took her face in his hands, tilting her head up, and kissed her.

His lips were warm, firm against hers, his fingers curling possessively against her skin. It was an urgent kiss, fierce and a little desperate, as though trying to say all the things they couldn’t put into words.

He broke the kiss far too soon, resting his forehead against hers. “You text me if you need me, okay? I’m coming right back.”

Lizzie nodded. “Okay.”

Lando’s eyes searched hers, like he was trying to commit all of her face to memory. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away, sliding her off his lap so he could stand.

He paused, one hand on the door. “Liz.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

Then he smiled, that same crooked, boyish grin that had made her heart skip a beat from the moment she first saw him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told her, with a conviction that made her believe him.

Lizzie tried to return the smile. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Her father came over...The The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the wind outside and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Lizzie sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, watching as her father moved around the small space, rinsing out the kettle and tidying up even though it didn’t need tidying. She knew what that meant—he was working through something in his head, giving himself time before he spoke.

Her father was a tall man, with dark eyes that had always seen everything. He finally sat down across from her, his hands wrapping around the mug of tea. He blew softly over the surface before taking a sip. Then he exhaled, his gaze meeting hers as he carefully set the mug back down.

Mara was curled up at Lizzie’s feet, resting her head against her lap. The Labrador always seemed to know when she needed grounding, her presence solid and unwavering. Lizzie absentmindedly ran her fingers through Mara’s soft fur, trying to do the same for herself.

Her father cleared his throat. “I should've warned you…”

Lizzie frowned. “You knew?”

“I knew about them.” He hesitated. “I didn’t know people were going to drag it into the spotlight like this, but… yeah, I knew.”

Lizzie took a slow breath, willing her voice to stay even. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Her father rubbed the back of his neck. “Because it wasn’t going to change anything.”

Lizzie let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. I know now.”

Her father exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the table. “She called me, you know.”

Lizzie stiffened. “What?”

“This morning.” He shook his head. “She’s furious. Says she has reporters showing up at her house, asking her kids about you.”

Lizzie’s stomach turned. “I didn’t want that,” she murmured.

“I know,” her dad said. “But she’s acting like it’s your fault. Like you somehow brought this on her.”

Lizzie stared silently into her tea. She didn’t want to feel guilt over this. She didn’t want to feel the weight of it on her shoulders, the churning sensation in her stomach.

Lizzie swallowed hard, gripping her mug a little tighter.

Her life.

Her kids.

Her mother had built a family—one that didn’t include her. One that had never even considered including her.

“She really just… replaced us,” Lizzie murmured. “Didn’t she?”

Her father’s expression softened. “Lizzie…”

She shook her head, refusing the sympathy she saw in his eyes. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want pity. She just wanted—she wanted this to be over.

Her voice was almost a whisper when she said, “Do you ever regret it?”

Her dad’s brow furrowed. “Regret what?”

“Sticking with me,” she said quietly. She forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze. “When she left. When I got sick. When things got hard. Do you ever wish you’d done what she did? Started over? With a new wife? A normal kid?"

There was a long moment of silence, her words echoing in the air.

Then her father reached across the table, and took her hand, fingers curling gently around hers.

“Elizabeth.” His voice was steady, firm. “I need you to listen to me.”

She swallowed, nodding.

“I have never—never—regretted staying.” He squeezed her hands. “Not once. Not for a single second.”

Lizzie felt something crack in her chest.

“I would do it all over again,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Every long night, every hospital visit, every fear and frustration—if it meant having you, I’d do it a thousand times over.”

Lizzie blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Even though it wasn’t easy?”

Her father let out a quiet laugh. “Most of the best things in life aren’t easy.” He cupped her cheek, brushing away the tear that had slipped free. “But they’re worth it. And you, kid… you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The tears were falling in earnest now, streaming down her face, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“Dad,” she said, voice choked.

He gently pulled her out of her chair and into his arms, letting her cry against his chest like she was suddenly six years old again, overwhelmed and scared and just wanting her dad.

He held her firmly, gently. He didn’t say anything, just let her cling to him.

He rocked her back and forth, the same way he had when she was little and had scraped her knees, gotten too overwhelmed in a crowded place, or cried herself into a seizure. He never let go, just held her close, letting her sob into his shoulder.

"I never regretted it," he repeated. "Not for one single second, Lizzie. You are my daughter. And I will never, never be alright with people treating you like you are a burden or unlovable or that you don't deserve to exist."

Lizzie’s arms tightened around his neck, like she was six again and he was the only thing tethering her to solid ground. It was familiar and comforting, and she had never been more grateful that this man was her dad.

She let herself sink into him. The solid line of his shoulders against her, the beat of his heart, the smell of his favorite cologne. Her dad was quiet and unassuming, soft-spoken and kind, but he was also the most fiercely protective person she’d ever known.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. “You are the best thing I ever got out of my marriage,” he murmured. His hand came up to brush her hair away from her face, his palm cupping her cheek. “Just tell me something.”

She sniffed. “What?”

He tilted her chin up, meeting her gaze, his grip on her firm but always gentle. “You’re happy? With Lando?”

She nodded. There was no hesitation, nothing but the familiar, overwhelming certainty that this thing with him was right.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I am.”

“He makes you happy?” he pressed.

She nodded again, not even needing to think about it. “Yeah.” A small smile touched her lips. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

***

The tension in the McLaren briefing room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Lando was sitting at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating barely contained fury. Across from him, Sophie from PR looked like she’s fighting off a migraine, while Zak Brown and Andrea Stella exchanged cautious glances.

And then there’s Oscar—legs crossed, scrolling through his phone with the same casual energy as someone reading the weather forecast.

Lando exhaled sharply. “Let me get this straight. You all knew that Lizzie was getting harassed like this, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Sophie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lando, we weren’t trying to hide anything from you. We were monitoring the situation, trying to control the damage before it got out of hand.”

Lando scoffed. “Out of hand? Do you think what’s happening now is ‘under control’?”

Zak leant forward, trying to maintain some authority over the spiraling conversation. “We wanted to handle it internally, without escalating the situation further.”

Lando’s hands slammed onto the table. “Lizzie has been dealing with days of harassment—ableism, threats, even people doxxing her mother—and your grand plan was to just wait it out?”

Zak didn’t immediately respond, which only infuriated Lando further.

“And you let me walk into that interview blind?” Lando’s voice was dangerously low now. “If I hadn’t shut that down myself, what were you expecting me to say? That maybe, yeah, dating my girlfriend is too hard because she has epilepsy? That I regret being with her? Because that’s exactly what they wanted from me.”

Sophie shifted uncomfortably. “We didn’t expect them to be that direct about it—”

“Bullshit.”

Zak sighed, rubbing his temples. “Lando, we understand that you’re upset—”

“No, you don’t!” Lando cut him off, his voice raw with frustration. “You don’t get it at all! You get to sit here and talk about damage control while Lizzie is at home seeing people pick apart her entire existence like she’s a burden. You think I give a shit about PR right now?”

Zak exhaled. “We’re not saying we do nothing. We just need to be strategic about it.”

Lando let out a humorless laugh. “Strategic. Right. Because God forbid McLaren actually takes a stand instead of waiting until it’s convenient.”

Andrea finally spoke up, voice sharp. “Lando. Be reasonable.”

Lando didn’t even bother trying to contain his scoff. “Be reasonable? You think I’m being unreasonable?”

Oscar set his phone down with a thunk. “Okay, I’m done listening to this.”

Sophie tenses. “Oscar—”

“No, really. Because this is ridiculous.” Oscar looks around at everyone, unimpressed. “Lando wants to make a statement, and you’re acting like he’s trying to blow up the whole team. But guess what? It’s already blown up. This isn’t a little PR hiccup. It’s a full-on disaster. And the only thing worse than handling it badly is doing nothing.”

Zak watched him carefully. “We’re trying to avoid making it worse.”

“By saying nothing? That’s not how this works, Zak.” Oscar shrugged. “You want to wait it out? Fine. But I won’t.”

Sophie groaned. “Oscar—”

“Either you release a statement and you’ll let Lando release a statement, or I’ll start tweeting like I did with Alpine.”

Silence.

Zak blinked. Andrea actually looked alarmed. Sophie looked like she might start crying.

Lando could just stare at his teammate.

Sophie swallowed. “You’re bluffing.”

Oscar’s face remained impressively stoic. “Try me.”

“Oscar,” she said slowly, like she’s trying to reason with a wild animal, “do you remember what happened the last time you went rogue on Twitter?”

Oscar arched one eyebrow. “Yeah. Alpine cried about it, and then I got a better seat. Good times.”

Lando, despite his anger, let out a breath of disbelief. “Oscar, you absolute menace.”

Oscar shrugged. “People seem to forget I have zero patience for bullshit.” He picked up his phone again. "Give out a statement. Or I'll do it for you. I’m pretty sure there are 19 other drivers who will agree with me that ableism is bullshit.”

Sophie buried her face in her hands. Zak swore under his breath. Andrea just looks resigned.

Lando?

Lando finally, finally smirks. “Remind me to buy you dinner later.”

Sophie lifted her head from her hands, eyes darting between Oscar and Lando like she’s debating whether to resign on the spot or fight for what little control she has left. Zak exhaled through his nose, arms crossed, looking like a man who knows he’s lost but refuses to admit it.

Andrea, ever the level-headed one, finally spoke. “Alright. Let’s take a step back. Oscar—if you tweet, what exactly are you planning to say?”

Oscar leans back, unfazed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something like—‘If your biggest concern about my teammate’s girlfriend is her having a medical condition instead of, I don’t know, the insane amount of talent she has or the fact that she makes him happy, then I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe try being a better human being.’” He tilts his head. “Something like that.”

Sophie groaned like she’s physically in pain. “Oscar, please.”

Lando was outright grinning now, despite the fury still simmering under his skin. “Yeah, I definitely owe you dinner.”

Zak closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself before responding. “We need to be smart about this. If we make this bigger than it already is, we risk—”

“Risk what?” Lando interrupted, voice sharp again. “Risk pissing off the same people who are already tearing Lizzie apart for existing? Risk upsetting the same journalists who think they can get away with asking me if I regret being with my girlfriend? Fuck that.”

Zak pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lando—”

“No, Zak. I’m done. You guys are trying to manage PR while Lizzie is sitting at home seeing people drag her through the dirt for things she can’t control. You’re worried about making it worse? It’s already as bad as it gets! They doxxed her mother. They’re making fun of her service dog. They’re acting like she’s ruining my life just by being in it. And the longer we say nothing, the longer they think they’re right.”

Silence.

Andrea exhaled, nodding slightly. “He’s right.”

Zak’s eyes snap to him, but Andrea holds his gaze. “This isn’t just a PR issue anymore. It’s an integrity issue. If we ignore this, we’re condoning it. And frankly, I don’t want to work for a team that stays silent when something this disgusting is happening to someone in our family.”

Lando blinked at him, surprised but grateful.

Zak sat back, weighing his options. He looked at Lando, at Oscar, at Andrea. He knew he’s outnumbered.

Finally, with a sigh, he nods. “Fine. We put out a statement.”

Sophie looks pained, but she knows there’s no stopping this now. “What do you want it to say?”

Lando didn’t even hesitate. “That ableism is unacceptable. That Lizzie has been subjected to relentless harassment, and it needs to stop. That McLaren stands by her, and we won’t tolerate this kind of treatment toward her—or anyone.” He looked directly at Zak. “And that I love my girlfriend, and I’m not ashamed to say it.”

Zak held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Oscar grinned. “Great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some tweets to like.”

Sophie looks like she might combust on the spot. “Oscar, for the love of God, please do not start a Twitter war before we even get the statement out.”

Oscar doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Too late.”

Lando leans over to peek at Oscar’s screen and immediately snorts. “Oh my God, you just liked a tweet that says ‘Lando Norris should set the internet on fire and propose out of spite.’”

Oscar shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

Sophie stared at him in open horror. “You’re not helping.”

Zak rubbed his temples. “Alright, let’s get ahead of this before we end up with marriage rumors on top of everything else.”

Andrea, ever the strategist, spoke up. “We need to make sure we’re not just reacting to the backlash. This isn’t about damage control—it’s about making a clear statement. We stand by Lizzie. We won’t tolerate ableism.”

Zak sighs. “Fine. But we phrase it carefully. Something like…” He glances at Sophie.

She still looks exhausted but nods. “‘McLaren stands firmly against the harassment and ableism directed at Elizabeth Treshton. We are appalled by the treatment she has received and fully support Lando and Lizzie against this unacceptable behavior.’”

Lando leans forward. “Make sure you use the word ‘ableism.’ A lot of these people don’t even think what they’re doing is wrong. They need to hear it.”

Zak sighs. “Lando—”

“No.” Lando cuts him off. “This isn’t just about Lizzie anymore. If they can say this shit about her, what’s stopping them from going after other people? What if another driver’s partner has a medical condition? What if it’s a fan next time? If we don’t call this out, we’re saying it’s okay.”

Oscar nodded. “I’m tweeting.”

Sophie groaned. “Of course you are.”

Zak shook his head but didn't argue. “Fine. But let’s make sure McLaren’s statement goes out first.”

Lando quietly said, “Make it strong.”

Sophie exhaled. “It will be.”

Andrea looked at them all, nodding slightly. “Good. Because after this, things are going to get loud.”Oscar, jaw still tight, finally put his phone down. “Good.”

209 notes · View notes

koralira-kira · 2 days ago

Text

MASSAGE OIL ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆k. bakugo⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

pairings : k. bakugo x reader

genre : crack, slice of life, established relationship

synopsis : After a grueling day of dance training, you’re sore as hell and in desperate need of a massage. Luckily, your explosive hothead of a boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugo, is more than willing to help—until things take a hilarious turn. What was supposed to be a relaxing massage turns into absolute chaos when you both realize Katsuki grabbed the wrong bottle… and slathered you in lube instead of massage oil. Cue the shouting, the accusations, and the absolute mess that follows.

warnings : profanities... like ALOT. a hint of explicit jokes too!

wc : 1,457

notes : OMG i haven't written in A WHILEE. wrote this out since it just spawned randomly in my mind and i thought it was kinda funny sooo... why not make a oneshot out of it! :D ANYWAYS, i still got a heck tone of pending papers to do cuz let's be honest, school sucks. JK! still tryin my best to keep those gpa's UPP!! (i'm about to crash out and lose my shit... help me) LOL hope ya'll would like this one the same way as I did!

---

The living room was quiet except for the occasional scroll of a thumb against a phone screen and the faint sound of Katsuki sighing every now and then. Both of you were sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in blankets, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying each other’s presence.

After a whole damn day of training yesterday, your body was in absolute shambles. Everything hurt—your legs, your arms, your back—hell, even blinking felt exhausting. And naturally, you were complaining about it.

“I swear to god, Kats, if I have to do another goddamn windmill next week, I’m gonna fucking lose it,” you groaned, tossing your phone onto your stomach. “My body is screaming at me. Like, I think my muscles are planning a rebellion. My back, baby. My back is DONE.”

Katsuki, not even looking up from his phone, let out a short snort. “Well, no shit. You disappeared for a few months and then jumped straight back into training like some lunatic. What’d you expect?”

“That I’d have superhuman regeneration powers, obviously.” You rolled onto your stomach, dramatically burying your face into the pillow. “Ughhh, I need a back massage. Katsuki, pleaseee.”

“Tch. Fine, fine,” he grumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I’ll get the oil. Wait here.”

You watched as he got up, stretching slightly before making his way toward your shared bedroom. You sighed in relief, smiling to yourself. Perks of having a strong-ass Pro Hero boyfriend—he gave damn good massages.

A few moments later, Katsuki returned with the familiar little bottle in his hand. He plopped back down next to you, tugging at your oversized top. “Take this off.”

You turned to him with a lazy smirk. “Oh? A lil kinky now are we, huh?” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Shut the hell up and turn around, dumbass. Ain't tryna get you dicked down.”

Chuckling, you finally pulled your shirt over your head and lay back down on the couch, getting comfortable as he poured some of the oil into his hands. He rubbed them together before pressing his palms against your skin, starting slow, letting his thumbs dig into your tight muscles.

In all honesty, training was the pain in the ass. Especially since you just got back after a few months of taking break from dancing. Not gonna lie though, dancing was really you passion ever since you were a kid and it lead you to many great opportunities and achievements you never thought you'd reach. You've been through countless of stages and danced your ass in all of them.

Definitely you're not ashamed of that, cause who would? It was just that you and your crew were all busy for the last couple of months since competitions were just coming in and it was just too much to handle physically and mentally. That's why you took a little break but of course you also took your time to pass by your studio ever now and then. Checking out on the progress of the routine, just not entirely participating in the dance.

"Ohh yeah, press a little bit harder there, Kats."

"Yeah, yeah, quite moanin' your ass, I know I got magical hands."

"Hell yeah you do, babe." You grinned and Katsuki just chuckles.

A few minutes then passed by in comfortable silence before something felt… off.

You frowned. “Hey, Kats?”

“Hm?”

“You bought a new massage oil, didn’t you?”

“The fuck you mean?” Katsuki paused, his hands still pressed against your back. “I bought the same menthol massage oil we always use. Why?”

“Well… it’s not minty like usual. And it feels kinda… greasy?” You turned your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “Like, I dunno, it doesn’t feel the same.”

Katsuki huffed, shifting slightly as he lifted his hands and rubbed his fingers together, as if expecting the familiar cooling sensation to suddenly appear. “What the hell? It’s been a few minutes, and I don’t feel that minty shit either…”

Now getting suspicious, he reached down and grabbed the bottle from the floor to check it properly. Maybe he bought the wrong one by accident?

He flipped the bottle around in his hands, reading the label.

“…uhhh.”

Your head snapped up. “Katsuki, what the fuck do you mean ‘uhhh’?”

Katsuki blinked. Then blinked again. His red eyes grew about two sizes as he processed what he was holding.

You twisted your body slightly to look back at him, and the second you saw the bottle, your stomach dropped.

“KATSUKI.”

He flinched. “What?!”

“YOU STUPID FUCK. YOU USED FUCKING LUBE INSTEAD OF MASSAGE OIL?!”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched as he immediately went on the defensive. “ASSHOLE, THEY WERE IN THE SAME DAMN CABINET. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE?!”

“OH, I DUNNO, MAYBE READ THE GODDAMN BOTTLE?”

“I WASN’T THINKING ABOUT READING, I WAS THINKING ABOUT RUBBING YOUR WHINY ASS DOWN.”

You sat up fully now, chest still out, and slapped your hand over your face in pure disbelief. Meanwhile, Katsuki was still holding the damn lube bottle like it wasn’t already too late.

“This is actually insane. We are insane,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Oh my god, Katsuki, what if I had skin allergies or some shit? What if I just broke out in hives? Huh?”

“Well it hasn't happened before now did it? And plus, we’ll figure it out, dumbass,” he shot back, but his voice was losing the edge, turning into a chuckle as he finally started to process the absurdity of the situation.

You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “You're actually disgusting.”

Katsuki finally burst out laughing, tossing the bottle onto the coffee table. “You’ll live.”

Still pouting, you crossed your arms, glaring at him. “We’re never speaking of this again.”

“No, no, we absolutely are,” Katsuki smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m tellin’ the whole damn crew. You got rubbed down in lube.”

“YOU’RE NOT TELLING SHIT.”

Katsuki laughed harder, leaning down to press a kiss against the side of your head. “Relax, dumbass. No one’s gonna know.”

“…Swear on your All Might figurine?”

Katsuki groaned. “God, you’re fucking impossible.”

You snickered before finally letting yourself relax in his embrace. As much of a disaster as that was, at least now you had a new inside joke to hold over him for the rest of your lives.

"Will you be a gentleman now and bring me up to go shower with me?" You batted your eyes at him.

"Aight, aight, we'll shower together, princess." He kissed you're temple and carried you bridal style towards the bathroom with you chuckling.

And if he ever fucked up again, you now had the ultimate trump card:

“You used lube instead of massage oil, babe. You literally cannot say shit.”

fin

---

319 notes · View notes

seitmai · 2 days ago

Text

“Couldn't risk anyone interfering. You can thank the limo driver for that,” he said, darting around and blocking the main door when you tried to walk out. “Why do you look so scared? There's nothing to be scared of. We’re just going to talk.”

Yeah just talk 🫠🫣

“Bucky, help!” you cried, hoping that whatever cameras Bucky had in your place had sound. “Help me, please!”

Oh 👀

You tensed up when his hand touched your thigh. You didn't know if it was to pry your legs open or to try to carry you out, but you wouldn't let him have you. And if he was going to have you, you wouldn't give it to him easily. So you struggled as much as you could and managed to move his hand away just enough for you to bite down.

Go off!!

Images flashed in your mind when you clawed at his hand. Putting together your first arrangement at your childhood home. Grabbing your favorite treat from the cafe. Finding a good book at Marc’s shop. The day Mrs. Crandle hired you. Laughing with your girlfriends. And waking up beside Bucky that morning, a soft smile on his face. Something you didn't expect to think about.

That sure is unexpected

Bucky paused to look at you. “You don't need to thank me.” “But you saved me,” you said. Him and the man you didn't recognize. “If you hadn't…” Your stomach rolled as you trailed off, not wanting to imagine the worst. He held you closer. “If you call for me, I’ll be there.”

He means every word

“He works for me. I’ve had him keep an eye on you. You weren't supposed to meet him…” He swallowed and looked down at you. “Like this.”

I feel like nobody's first introduction should be anything like this to be fair

You hid your face in his neck, wetting his skin with your tears. “I was so scared.” He slowly breathed out. “I was, too,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I’ve got you now.”

🥺🥺🥺

“I’m so sorry, Kotyonok,” Bucky whispered brokenly. He wasn't a helpless man by any means, but you were certain your sobs made him feel hopeless at the moment. “I can't fix what he did, but I’ll make him pay. He’ll fucking pay. I promise.”

Oh I'm sure he will

“What? No, you’re not working tomorrow. Mrs. Crandle will understand,” he said, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your wrist. You went rigid for a moment before you relaxed. He wouldn't hurt you. “You need to rest and stay here.”

He's not wrong

“Kind of surprised you didn't make me carry one from the start,” you commented. “You've been a bit skittish because of how I went about everything. If I gave you a panic button, it may have scared you into never leaving your place and I couldn't do that to you.”

Fair

You almost laughed. He preached over and over about your safety and it turned out he was right in some way. “Looks like you got your wish,” you said, trying not to tear up again. “You’re moving me in before the month’s out.” He looked stricken. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered.

You studied him with a careful eye. Part of you thought in the beginning that he was twisted enough to arrange a setup so he could step in and play the hero, but he would never do something like that to you. He’d never let anyone else touch you if he could help it. And he couldn't fake the pain in his eyes. It hurt him that you were hurt.

I mean, i feel like this would not be a too crazy thought

Because everything led back to him, the threads of fate weaved together by his very hands.

Their lives truly get more intertwined minute by minute 🫣

Hold You Tight: Part 20

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 19 | Series Masterlist | Part 21

Chapter Word Count: Over 4k

Chapter Summary: Things come to a head when Clark confronts you.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, break-in, physical assault, threat and fear of sexual assault, choking, fighting, reference to stalking and violence, inner turmoil, angst, comfort, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and this chapter is a little heavy. Thank you again for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The chilling smile on Clark’s face made you grip your phone tighter. How did he get in, and how long had he been waiting for you? Looking around, you were painfully aware that you were alone in the building lobby with him. Maybe you could head back outside and call Bucky.

Or the police.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again.

“I just wanted to see you.” He removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He stood taller, too. “Is that a problem?”

“If you want to see me, you can stop by the shop. You don't need to come here,” you pointed out. You had one stalker already and didn’t need to deal with another.

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, taking one step closer. “You didn't come home last night, and I thought you’d be back a little earlier today.”

A roll of uneasiness moved through you. What the hell was he on about? “Who said I didn't come home last night?” you asked. And why did he expect you back at your building earlier? Unless…

He laughed, a cruel and bitter sound. “Don’t bullshit me. I know you were with him. And I know you went out with your friends today.” His smile was going to haunt you for days. “I'm sure you had a nice time, but you do look a little more alert than I expected.”

The unease quickly turned to dread. Bucky said he caught someone following you, but what if that guy wasn't the only one? Ray would've spotted Clark though if he followed you, right? “And how exactly do you know I was with my friends?” you asked, slowly backing away toward the door since he was blocking the elevator.

“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to get the inside scoop,” he joked. You weren't laughing.

“My life isn’t inside scoop and it isn't any of your business,” you said, making his smile fade away. “I think you should leave.”

His eye twitched. “But we just started talking.”

You took a deep breath. It was getting tiring being surrounded by men who didn’t listen. “Look, I’ve had a long day on top of a long week. If Bucky finds out-”

“Bucky,” he spat, like the name tasted horrible on his tongue. “You think he’s the only powerful man in this city? I have a powerful friend, too.”

You froze. “Does your friend happen to be Helmut Zemo?” you asked, trying not to show how afraid you were. Did he know him? Work for him?

“Why don't we grab that coffee and I can tell you more about it?” he asked, reaching for your arm.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you said, glancing behind you. You wished Bucky or Ray was there. One of them would be there soon, right?

“Looking for your little bodyguard friend?” he smirked like he knew something you didn't. “I don't think he’ll make it with a flat tire and all.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. “How did you-”

You had every reason to be frightened. You didn’t know what Clark’s intentions were, but you sensed enough that they weren’t good and he didn’t want to just have a conversation. Bucky for all of his sins wouldn’t raise a hand to you, but Clark? Zemo? You could really get hurt.

“I’m sorry, but I think you should go.”

“Do you even want to be with Bucky or are you just afraid of him?” You jumped when he grabbed your arm. “Or is it because he’s rich? You think he’ll spoil you if you spread your legs for him?”

The sudden onslaught of vitriol made you shake. “Let me go. Please.”

He ignored your wince when his fingers dug in. “He doesn't deserve you. He isn't good for you, but I am. Just let me help you,” he argued, trying to grab your phone with his other hand. “I have a car waiting out back. Just come with me and we’ll figure this out.”

“There's nothing to figure out and I don’t need your ‘help’,” you said, yanking your arm back. “Just go and leave me alone!”

“Leave you alone? You sound just like Lois,” he bitterly whispered. His ex. You remembered the name. “Either come with me or I’ll-”

You dashed to the building staircase, not waiting for him to finish his threat. It felt reminiscent of a scary movie, running up the stairs and spelling out your doom instead of running out the front door. But you’d be okay. You could call for help once you got to your apartment.

“Get back here!”

Your legs ached as you ran faster, but the adrenaline and the heavy sound of his footsteps helped you push through it. It wasn't long until you got to your floor and you didn't look back as you got your keys out. “Come on,” you whimpered, your hand shaking as you unlocked your door. You sensed Clark right behind you, but you slammed and locked the door before he could get in.

“Open the door!” he shouted, the door shaking as he slammed his fist against it.

“Go away!” you begged, swiping at your phone screen. “Please…”

The sound of your door being kicked in nearly made your heart burst from your chest. You spun around to find Clark just outside, his breathing heavy as he narrowed his eyes at you. Scrambling back as he stormed inside, you opened your mouth and did something you never thought you'd do since Bucky entered your life.

“Bucky, help!” you cried, hoping that whatever cameras Bucky had in your place had sound. “Help me, please!”

You tried to rush to your room, but Clark was faster. Stronger. He pulled you back so fast and so hard by your wrist that you fell backwards to the floor. Pain shot through your body and you felt like you couldn't draw your next breath when Clark’s shadow fell over you. Tears stung your eyes, your body temporarily paralyzed as he kicked your phone away.

“Look what you made me do,” he sighed, crouching over you. “Lois ran from me, too.”

“What…”

“She was stubborn. Headstrong. We had a big fight and, well…” He shook his head. “But you were always so kind to me, and I thought you’d make it all better.”

The night you came home and found Bucky waiting for you frightened you, but it paled in comparison to the pure terror you felt when Clark crouched over you. There was something dark and twisted in his eyes as he looked you over. Any trace of the nice guy you were used to seeing in the shop was nowhere to be found.

“Bucky,” you breathed, some of the pain subsiding as you tried to roll away. “P-Please, help me.”

Clark’s face twisted into a murderous scowl when he rolled you onto your back again and clamped a hand over your mouth. “Stop saying his name. Stop fighting me. I don't want to hurt you.”

Your eyes widened, barely able to breathe through your nose. Cark already hurt you. Pain bloomed everywhere he touched. There were sure to be marks or something with how hard he pressed against your mouth.

“You just need to understand,” he whispered.

He cried out and pulled his hand back, looking as shocked as you felt. “Why are you behaving like a petulant child? I’m trying to help you. Why don't you see that?!”

“Clark, you're hurting me. Please, stop.” Tears streamed down your cheeks when he wrapped a hand around your throat. “Bucky, HELP ME!” you tried to scream, the fingers around your neck cutting off your words along with your air supply.

Were you going to die?

“Shut. Up.” he snarled, loosening his grip just a little. “Just let me-”

Neither of you saw the figure behind him until he was pulled off you and shoved across the room. It happened so fast you couldn't tell if it was Bucky or not. You held your throat as you coughed and greedily gulped the air, the sound of scuffling and objects breaking urging you to move away. Sitting up, you were vaguely aware of more footsteps entering your apartment, but couldn't see who they were. You just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

You didn't want anyone else to hurt you.

Before you could get out of the room, a large, imposing body suddenly cradled you against it and gently held you when you tried to fight back. Blinking your tears away, you realized the man had blue eyes, but it wasn't Bucky or Ray. You didn't recognize him at all. Was he a new tenant?

“W-Who…”

“It’s okay,” the man assured you, quickly assessing you as the shouting and fighting continued. He brushed a finger along a rip in your cardigan. When did Clark do that? “Are you hurt?”

“I don't know,” you whimpered. Your wrist throbbed from where Clark gripped it, and so did your throat.

The fighting only lasted a few more seconds, the sound of heavy breathing filling your apartment before you heard, “Kotyonok?”

“She’s right here.” The man holding you let you go, but stayed close. “She’s safe.”

Safe. You weren't safe. You would never be safe again in this lifetime, would you?

“B... Bucky?” your voice cracked. You trembled and you thought you were crying, too, but you couldn't be sure. It wasn't until you blinked and felt a pair of almost familiar arms around you that your vision began to become more clear again. “You're here?”

“It’s me. I'm here,” he tried to soothe you, tenderly wiping your tears away. His hair was a mess and his clothes were disheveled, a far cry from the put together man you were used to seeing. “I’ve got you.”

Glancing across the room, you spotted Clark laying on the ground with Ray and Steve standing over him. You let out a broken sob when you took in the rest of the scene. Your potted plants and vases were broken, your little trinkets and frames shattered, and everything felt terrifying. It was supposed to be your home and it was once again invaded and forever tainted.

“Steve, bring him to the club. Shut it down. No one touches him until I get there.” Bucky’s metal arm curled around you and lifted you before you could protest that you were too heavy, the heat radiating from him soothing you. “Ray, deal with any neighbors who saw or heard anything. No cops.”

“You sure you don't need me to drive you?” Ray asked, concern etched all over his face when he looked at you. He looked both hurt and furious.

“I’m sure. Just get to the club after you deal with the neighbors.”

Something covered your body. Was it a blanket? A jacket? “What do you need from me?” the stranger asked.

“Get the car. Take us home,” Bucky ordered, carrying you away.

You didn't lift your head as Bucky carried you to the elevator. Did your neighbors hear the commotion? “He was waiting for me. H… He kicked my door in.” You sniffled, your body shaking uncontrollably. “He grabbed me and…”

“He won't touch you again. Ever,” he whispered. He was holding his anger at bay. You could feel it.

“I told him to go,” you explained, seeing the clench in his jaw. “I didn't… I’m sorry…”

Bucky gently shushed you. “You don't need to apologize. This isn't your fault. And I’m taking you home and no one is going to lay a finger on you ever again.”

You nodded, but some voice in the back of your head said you caused this somehow. It may have been the shock you felt since you rationally knew you hadn't done anything. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky paused to look at you. “You don't need to thank me.”

“But you saved me,” you said. Him and the man you didn't recognize. “If you hadn't…” Your stomach rolled as you trailed off, not wanting to imagine the worst.

He held you closer. “If you call for me, I’ll be there.”

How did he get there so quickly? And Ray? “How did you know something was… I mean…” You sniffled again. “Did you hear me?”

Bucky tensed up. “Steve and I weren't too far from your place, and I got an alert as soon as your door opened. I knew something was wrong because Ray wasn’t here yet and you were still supposed to be in the limo,” he said, stepping out of the elevator and heading right to the car. “I dispatched Curtis immediately and we were close behind. Ray ran to get here.”

Your brows pinched. “Curtis?” you asked. Was that the man you didn't recognize?

“He works for me. I’ve had him keep an eye on you. You weren't supposed to meet him…” He swallowed and looked down at you. “Like this.”

Another man watching you. When exactly were you supposed to meet him? “So you heard me call for you?” you asked.

He swallowed again and nodded. “Yes.”

Never in a million years did you think you’d call out to him for help. You didn't consider that the cameras would ever be anything more than an obsessive way for him to have control over you, but it may have saved you today. And you couldn't imagine what you looked like as he looked over you. Your makeup ruined, shaking like a leaf.

“Try not to move too much,” he urged when you shifted in his arms. “I’m going to have my doctor look you over to make sure nothing’s broken and… to make sure you're okay.”

“Okay.” Your face scrunched up before you began to cry again. You were hurt and so confused. Nothing made sense and you couldn't even go home. “Why did Clark-”

Bucky let out a low growl and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Never say his name again.”

You hid your face in his neck, wetting his skin with your tears. “I was so scared.”

He slowly breathed out. “I was, too,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I’ve got you now.”

Bucky had you, but your tears didn't stop flowing and it didn't change what happened.

You slumped against Bucky, exhausted from everything that transpired. You had no doubt he'd destroy Clark for hurting you. You just wished he never put his hands on you to begin with.

The partition lowered, but you kept your face hidden in Bucky's neck. “Nick got the driver,” Curtis announced.

“Make sure he’s brought to the club,” Bucky said, rubbing your back. “I need him to tell me exactly why he let you out of the limo before I beat him within an inch of his life.”

“He did it… The driver.” You sounded like you hadn't used your voice in days. “He did something to Ray's car.”

You hadn't been able to process what Clark said earlier, but you could now and it all made sense. The driver was at the winery the entire time you were and he would've had plenty of opportunities to mess with one of Ray's tires. Knowing that Ray wouldn't get to your building like normal, he let you get out of the limo and go into your building where Clark was waiting.

Clark also said you were more alert than he expected. Maybe you weren't paranoid by thinking something happened to the drinks. If you drank as much as your friends, you may have been more out of it and wouldn't have been able to put up any sort of fight against Clark.

Bucky tilted your head up and wiped a stray tear away. “He’ll pay, too,” he promised, not even questioning if what you said was true. He took you at your word. “There’s something else, isn't there?” he asked, grabbing a water from beside him and bringing it to your lips.

“He didn't confirm it, but…” You took a drink, the cool liquid making your throat feel a little better. “I think Zemo had something to do with this.”

Bucky’s mouth was set in a grim line and fury burned behind his eyes, but he softened his gaze for you. “Zemo knows you're my future wife. If he knowingly allowed someone to put their hands on you…” His metal fingers curled, but he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Did Jensen get that file like I asked?”

“He did,” Curtis confirmed, looking in the rearview mirror.

“Make sure he’s there, too,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “Let's get you inside.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself lying in a guest bedroom with a blanket draped over you. Bucky didn't leave your side as he made a couple of calls, but you didn't pay attention to who he was talking to as you stared at the ceiling. You weren't sure if shock was wearing off or sinking in.

“Kotyonok? Dr. Cho’s almost here,” Bucky said, worried when you didn't look at him. “I can run you a bath after she looks you over and give you something for any pain you’re feeling. Or you can just rest.”

You made some sort of humming noise. Today was a day in your life that should've been fun, a day to remember a nice outing with your friends. The memories were tainted now, just like your home. It hurt so much. And you couldn't even message your friends because how would you start to explain what happened?

“What can I do?” he asked. He sounded desperate. This was something out of his control.

“I have to work tomorrow,” you said, testing your wrist and ignoring his question. Work was normal. You needed normalcy. “I have to…”

You sniffled. What were you going to say if you called in? That a customer attacked you? “My stuff…” you said. There were things at your apartment you wanted, needed.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure it's brought here. It isn't safe for you to go back there.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” you asked. Would you be a prisoner now as a means to keep you safe? He had every excuse in the world now to do so since his home was safer than yours ever was.

“We need to discuss some fail-safes, like getting you a panic button.”

“Kind of surprised you didn't make me carry one from the start,” you commented.

“You've been a bit skittish because of how I went about everything. If I gave you a panic button, it may have scared you into never leaving your place and I couldn't do that to you.”

He had a point, but you wouldn't say so. “But you could install cameras and have men like Ray and Curtis watch me?”

“Because I know I put you in danger, which is a reason why I did those things and why I wanted you here for good. I also wanted you here for selfish reasons, but your safety is the top priority,” he smiled sadly.

He looked stricken. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered.

“I really am thankful that you showed up tonight,” you said.

“I go where you go,” he swore, curling up beside you. “Always.”

He’d follow you into hell if you asked him to do so. “Will you please do me a favor?” you asked.

“Anything,” he replied.

“Cl… He mentioned his ex-girlfriend. Lois,” you said. “Can you make sure she’s okay?”

You weren't certain if Clark attacked you on Zemo’s orders or if it had nothing to do with Zemo at all, but you were afraid for Lois. As obsessive as Bucky was, it was a saving grace tonight that you had someone looking out for you. Not an excuse, but a silver lining.

“You're hurt and you're thinking of someone else?” he asked in awe.

You bristled for no good reason at all. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m fine.” You inhaled and exhaled, trying to compartmentalize again. If you could just go to sleep and pretend everything was normal, that you were just a florist with an average life… “I’m fine.”

Bucky shook his head. “You're not fine.”

“Of course I’m not fine! Nothing is fine!” you snapped. He didn't flinch. Didn't move. “I was followed! I was attacked! I…”

You were living in a nightmare.

Your chest heaved before Bucky put your face in his chest. The dam built up inside you, all the turmoil and stress you tried desperately to keep from surfacing, finally broke and overflowed. Your fingers curled in his shirt and it all came out in heart wrenching sobs, as if a piece of you died. You cried until your head hurt and your throat felt raw. Until you didn't think you had any tears left to cry.

He held you through it all, being the calm in your emotional storm, your source of comfort instead of your tormentor. “It isn't fair,” you cried. It wasn't fair what you were going through, but life was never fair.

“It isn't,” he agreed, not letting you go when you stopped crying. “But I’ll make them pay and we’ll get through this together.”

“Together?”

“Together,” he whispered.

You had to believe he was telling the truth, that things would look up and you’d heal from the pain. You'd either hold your head high or Bucky would hold your head up for you. Like everything else in your life recently, you had no other choice but to grin and bear it. And no matter what, Bucky would be by your side through it all.

Because everything led back to him, the threads of fate weaved together by his very hands.

And breathe, lovelies. This was a heavy chapter for me to write, and I just want to give Kotyonok all the love and comfort and wine and money and everything. What is Bucky going to do to Clark? Do we think Zemo will be pleased when he finds out what Clark did? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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kiszjuli · 18 hours ago

Text

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 ──── [𝐋.𝐃𝐇] 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

( 이동혁 ) ; 𝐟𝐞𝗺!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝗼𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤

──in which your parents had always told you to stay away from boys like haechan. boys with cocky smirks, black eye liner, bruised knuckles, and a reputation that came with warning labels. you never had a reason to listen until you were assigned to tutor him after school. it should have been simple. help him pass, get it over with. but there’s something about him that drew you in, and you didn’t want to pull away.

✦ drama, fluff/angst, slow burn(ish). forbidden love? ; tags. goodgirl!reader x badboy!haechan, suggestive, your parents are literal jerks, swearing, mentions of fighting, kissing !!, protective!haechan, corruption? but not really , lmk if i missed any !

𓂃 w.c [ 7.4k / 22.7k ]

!! not proofread !!

▸ j.note ; woahh i didn’t expect you guys to like this gif so much but im glad you did! i hope this lives up to the rest of the strontium happy reading !! also pls pls give feedback i want to improve my writings in the best way possible and i know my writing needs a lot of work, so constructive criticism is encouraged.

▸ this is part two of two and part one can be found here .ᐟ (please read it first)

your heart in your throat, your breath shallow as your mom stands in front of the both of you in the living room. ironically, the first time haechan was on there. she was watching you and haechan like she's just discovered the most unforgivable thing. the two of you are frozen, your lips still tingling from the kiss that was abruptly interrupted.

"what the hell was going on here?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, and you can see the flicker of shock and anger in her eyes. her gaze darts between you and haechan, her lips pressed into a thin line. the tension in the air is suffocating.

haechan steps back, but his eyes don't leave you. he looks like he's about to speak but holds back, his expression shifting into something unreadable.

your mom's gaze flicks from him to you. "this is what i've been worried about," she says, her voice sharp. "you're not a child anymore, but you're making reckless decisions. boys like him-they don't care about you."

your chest tightens. "you don't even know him," you reply, though your voice trembles slightly.

she shakes her head, disbelief written across her face. "i know enough." she takes a step into the room, her eyes narrowing. "you can't see it now, but you will. he's trouble, and if you keep going down this path-"

"mom, stop," you cut in, your voice rising before you can stop it. "this is my choice."

the room is thick with tension. haechan stands silently off to the side, still processing what's happening, his hands balled into fists at his sides. he's been silent, waiting for your mom to finish, but you can see the frustration on his face as she continues.

"you need to leave," your mom commands, her voice icy, cutting through the air like a knife.

haechan takes a breath, his chest rising and falling sharply. he's about to turn away, about to leave, when you step forward.

"wait," you whisper, a sharp sting of regret flooding through you. you didn't want this. you didn't want him to leave-not like this.

haechan stops, turning slowly back toward you, confusion written across his face. he doesn't speak, but the look in his eyes is soft, almost too soft for a situation like this. you take a step closer to him, your heart racing, and in a moment of vulnerability, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible, feeling the heat of his skin against your cheek. the words feel heavier than you expected, like a weight you didn't know you'd been carrying.

for a moment, neither of you moves, just standing there in the fragile silence of your embrace. then, he leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, "i'm not going anywhere, you know."

his voice is quiet, but there's a certain determination in it that makes your heart skip a beat. you want to say something, anything, but before you can, your mom interrupts.

"you need to go," she insists, her voice breaking through the moment.

reluctantly, you pull away from haechan, your hands lingering on his shoulders for just a second longer than necessary. you glance at your mom, who's watching you with a look of disappointment, and then back at haechan.

he takes a deep breath, eyes meeting yours one last time. "i’m sorry too," he says softly, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that only you see.

without another word, he turns toward the door. you watch him leave, the weight of your mom's disapproval heavy in the air. but just before he steps out, he pauses and looks back at you once more, his gaze full of quiet determination. it's a look that says, i'm not giving up on us, even if everything else feels like it's falling apart.

the door clicks softly behind him, and you're left standing there, your heart racing, the silence in the room almost deafening. your mom's disappointment lingers, but you can't shake the feeling that whatever this is with haechan is far from over. "what did i tell you?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and furious. "how did he even get in here? you are grounded for... until i say so! now go to bed. your father and i will deal with you in the morning."

well, fuck.

—

after your mother’s furious words, the weight of reality settles over you. your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling from the way haechan had touched you, but now it’s mixed with something colder. hame, fear, the undeniable knowledge that you’ve been caught.

without another word, you turn on your heel and head to your room, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind you. you lean against it, exhaling shakily, trying to process everything. grounded indefinitely. your parents furious. and yet, all you can think about is the look in haechan’s eyes before he left—the quiet promise, the way he lingered just a second longer, like he didn’t want to leave you behind.

you pace the room, hands running through your hair, restless. you’re supposed to feel regret, supposed to feel ashamed, but instead, something else burns in your chest. defiance. yearning. maybe even something close to a thrill. because for the first time in your life, you aren’t just following the rules. you’re chasing something you actually want.

climbing into bed, you grab your phone from under your pillow, half-expecting a message from haechan. nothing. you sigh, staring at the dark ceiling, but just as you’re about to put your phone away, it vibrates in your palm.

[1:42 am] haechan: you still awake sunshine?

despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips. you hesitate, but only for a second before replying.

[1:43 am] you: i hate you.

[1:43 am] haechan: no, you don’t.

[1:44 am] you: i’m grounded until further notice.

[1:44 am] haechan: damn. worth it though, right?

[1:45 am] you: go to sleep.

[1:45 am] haechan: not until you do.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the way your lips curve up, no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. you sigh, setting your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling. you should be panicking about what’s to come, but instead, all you feel is him.

and maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all.

—

you wake to the sound of voices just outside your door—your parents, low but firm, clearly waiting for you to come out and face them. sunlight spills through the blinds, too bright, making your room feel smaller than usual. for a moment, you consider staying in bed, pretending to still be asleep, but you know that won’t work. you’re trapped, and you might as well get it over with.

dragging yourself out of bed, you pull on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and take a deep breath before opening the door. your parents are already at the kitchen table, your mom with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, your dad with a weary look, like he’s already disappointed before you’ve even said a word.

“sit.” your mom’s voice is clipped, no room for argument.

you sit.

the silence is heavy, thick with tension. then she takes a deep breath

“what were you thinking?” your mom demands, shaking her head. “letting that boy into your room, sneaking around behind our backs—do you have any idea how reckless that is?”

you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping the hem of your hoodie. “nothing happened.”

your dad exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “nothing happened this time, because i walked in. but what about next time? do you even know what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into?”

trouble. the word lingers in the air like smoke. you’ve heard it before, always in the same breath as haechan’s name. boys like him were nothing but trouble. you know that’s what they think. maybe it should be what you think too.

“we’ve warned you about him,” your mom continues, voice softer now, but no less serious. “he’s not—he’s not the kind of boy you should be involved with.”

you flinch, something defensive curling in your chest. “you don’t even know him.”

“we don’t need to know him,” your dad says, exasperated. “his reputation speaks for itself.”

you shake your head, frustration bubbling up. they don’t understand. they never have. if they knew the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel alive in a way nothing else ever had, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

but they won’t listen. they never do.

your mom’s words settle like a weight on your chest. “you’re grounded. no phone, no going out. and we don’t want to hear another word about him.”

you stare at the table, jaw tight. the sessions were already over, but that wasn’t really the point. they wanted him out of your life completely. like he was some kind of bad habit you just needed to quit. like he wasn’t already tangled up in your thoughts, in your pulse, in the way your skin still burned from where he touched you.

“do you understand?” your dad asks, voice even but firm.

you swallow hard and nod, because it’s easier than fighting. because you know they won’t listen.

but as you sit there, hands clenched in your lap, you realize something.

they can take away your phone. they can take away your freedom. they can make rules and set curfews and keep a close eye on you.

but they can’t change what’s already happened.

they can’t change you.

—

monday feels different.

the hallways are the same, the usual chaos of students dragging themselves through the first day back after break, but you feel off. like you’re walking through a version of your life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

it’s the lack of your phone, mostly. no morning texts, no unread messages waiting for you, no way to check if he even tried to reach out again. your parents had taken it first thing saturday morning, and the silence had settled in fast.

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. that a few missed texts aren’t the end of the world. but as you step into the building, scanning the crowd without meaning to, you already know who you’re looking for.

and then—there he is.

leaning against the lockers like he always does, dressed in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he listens to something one of his friends is saying. but his eyes aren’t on them.

they’re on you.

your breath catches, your steps faltering just slightly before you force yourself to keep moving. to act like everything is fine, like your parents didn’t just rip away the one thing tethering you to him over break.

but then he pushes off the lockers, shoving his hands into his pockets as he starts toward you, gaze dark and unreadable.

you barely make it to your locker before he’s there, sliding in beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“so,” he drawls, leaning in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “thought you were dead for a second.”

you sigh, spinning your lock with unnecessary force. “my parents took my phone.”

he hums, like that explains everything.

“figured they’d do something like that,” he says, and when you glance at him, there’s something knowing in his expression, something frustrated. “so what, they think ignoring me is gonna make me disappear?”

you exhale sharply, finally yanking your locker open. “i don’t know what they think.”

he watches you for a second, then suddenly reaches out, fingers brushing against your wrist before you can move away. it’s quick, barely even a touch, but it’s enough to make you freeze.

“meet me after school,” he murmurs. it’s not a question.

you hesitate. it’s stupid, reckless. risky. and you should probably say no.

but you don’t.

you just nod.

—

the rest of the day crawls by, every second stretching longer than it should. you go through the motions—taking notes, nodding at the right times, pretending to listen—but your mind is elsewhere. stuck on him. on what you agreed to. on the way his fingers skimmed your wrist like he knew you wouldn’t pull away.

when the final bell rings, your heart stutters.

you could go home. act like today was normal, like nothing is pulling you in the opposite direction. but your feet have already made the choice for you, carrying you through the crowded halls, out the side doors where the air is crisp with early spring.

he’s there, waiting. leaning against the brick wall, one foot propped up behind him, hoodie pulled over his head. but the second you step outside, he straightens, dark eyes locking onto yours.

“thought you might chicken out,” he muses, lips curling at the corners.

you cross your arms, tilting your head. “thought you might get bored and leave.”

he grins, slow and lazy, but there’s something sharper beneath it. “not a chance.”

you exhale, glancing around. “so? where are we going?”

he nods toward the parking lot. “just walk with me.”

you hesitate. not because you don’t want to—because you do, more than you should. but this is dangerous, walking this line when you know exactly where it leads.

then his fingers brush yours again, like earlier, but this time he doesn’t pull away. just hooks his pinky around yours, barely holding on, like he’s leaving the choice up to you.

“come on, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rough at the edges. “just for a little.”

and that’s all it takes.

you don’t say anything, just step forward, closing that last bit of space between you. letting him lead you somewhere you probably shouldn’t go.

—

he leads you deeper into the park, past the usual paths and toward a hidden trail. the air shifts around you, growing quieter as the city noises fade into the distance. soon, you find yourself surrounded by towering trees, their branches swaying gently, the leaves rustling softly as though the earth itself is breathing with you.

you stop at the edge of a small pond, its still surface reflecting the warm, amber glow of the early afternoon sun. everything around it seems to settle into a peaceful hush, as if the world outside this moment has no place here.

he turns to you, and for a second, you’re not sure whether he’s showing you the pond for your sake or his. “this is where i come when i need to clear my head,” he says, his voice lower now, almost reverent. he gestures toward the water, his gaze lingering on the surface. “it’s quiet. no one bothers me here. i can just think.”

you take a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh air. it’s hard to reconcile this calm, serene version of him with the boy who’s been impulsive, reckless, and unpredictable. yet, somehow, it feels right. this side of him, this peace.

“i didn’t think you’d have a place like this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he glances at you, a small, almost sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “no one ever does,” he says, a glint of something dark flickering behind his eyes. “that’s kinda the point.”

the way he says it makes your stomach flip, and you can’t quite put your finger on why. maybe it’s the vulnerability that tugs at the edges of his words or the way he’s letting you see a part of him no one else does.

for a moment, you think he might say something more, but he simply steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. the touch is casual, but it sends a spark of warmth shooting through you, a connection that seems to hum between you both.

“do you wanna see something else?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, and there’s a soft challenge in his tone that makes you want to lean in, to see more, to feel more.

you nod, unable to resist. you find yourself drawn to him in ways you can’t explain, your breath catching when he doesn’t pull back. instead, he closes the gap between you, moving closer until the air between you thickens, charged with something unspoken.

his eyes lock with yours, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that sends your heart into a wild, erratic beat. he tilts his head slightly, and before you can think twice, his lips are on yours.

the kiss is soft at first, like he’s hesitant. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. as his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, the kiss deepens, the heat between you both growing with every brush of lips, every soft gasp that escapes. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you nearer, and your hands instinctively clutch at his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours.

your heart races, the world around you nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his touch. you break away for a moment, gasping for air, but his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in uneven bursts.

and then, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “i shouldn’t want this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “but i do. i want you.”

his words make your stomach flip, the intensity of them washing over you in waves. something about the rawness in his voice, the honesty, catches you off guard.

you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i want this too,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the moment will shatter if you speak too loudly.

there’s a quiet beat, just the two of you, caught in this fragile space between wanting and hesitation. but then, he presses another kiss to your lips, and you forget everything except the feel of him, the way his touch makes everything else fall away.

when you finally pull apart, breathless, he smiles—a small, almost wistful thing. “i think this place is special for more than one reason now,” he says, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite place.

you smile back, though your heart is still racing. “yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”

—

that night, when the house is dark and quiet, you barely hear the sound of him climbing up the tree until there’s a soft thud against your window. your heart stutters in your chest as you rush over, pushing it open just in time to see him balance himself on the ledge.

the moment haechan lands in your room with a quiet thump, you glare at him, arms crossed. “you’re unbelievable,” you whisper harshly. “do you have any idea how much trouble i’d be in if we got caught?”

he grins, completely unfazed. “but we did get caught.”

you smack his arm, making him flinch. “not the point.”

he raises his hands in surrender, but the smirk stays. “yes, ma’am.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his teasing tone. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you still let me in.”

you don’t have a response to that, so you just sigh, motioning toward your bed. “sit down before you break something.”

he flops onto the mattress with a little too much enthusiasm, making you shake your head as you sit beside him. the room is quiet except for the hum of the night outside, the occasional rustle of leaves from the tree he just climbed. neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can feel the shift in his energy—less playful, more… tired.

“so,” you say softly, “what are you really doing here?”

he exhales, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “couldn’t sleep.”

you glance at him, catching the way his jaw tightens before he looks away. “bad night?”

“something like that.”

his voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual bravado, and it makes your chest ache. you hesitate for a second before shifting slightly closer, your fingers barely grazing his on the comforter.

he notices. you feel it in the way his hand twitches, in the way he inhales just a little sharper. but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his pinky moves just the slightest bit, brushing against yours again.

“you ever feel like you’re running full speed toward a cliff,” he murmurs, “and you can’t stop?”

you swallow. “yeah.”

he huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“there’s nothing wrong with you.”

he lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “you’re the only person who thinks that.”

you turn to look at him, really look at him, and for once, he doesn’t hide. his guard is down, his eyes raw with something you can’t quite name. and in that moment, he’s not the reckless boy who teases you endlessly, who smirks like he owns the world. he’s just a boy who’s trying to keep himself together.

you shift your pinky again, letting it hook around his for the briefest second before pulling away. his fingers twitch, like he wants to chase the touch, but he stays still.

“you’re not running off that cliff alone,” you murmur.

his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes flickering to your face. “you make it really hard to stay away, sunshine.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. you just sit there in the dim glow of your room, fingers barely brushing, hearts quietly syncing to the same rhythm.

—

the next school morning felt different.

it’s been just a few nights since you let haechan in through your window, since he talked to you so deeply; revealing himself to you in a way you never thought he would. you felt something deeper than just adrenaline when you whispered that you wanted him there. and now, stepping into school, that night feels fragile, like something you shouldn’t have touched, something that shouldn’t have followed you into the daylight.

because now the whispers have grown louder.

“did you hear? they were together again over the weekend.”

“she sneaks out with him. she’s not as innocent as she acts.”

“it’s cute how she thinks she’s different.”

you keep your head down, fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag, trying to push past it. but it’s everywhere. in the halls, in the classroom, even when you sit down with your friends at lunch—where, for the first time, the usual chatter dies down when you approach.

“so,” giselle starts carefully, “is it true?”

“what?” your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“you and haechan.”

your stomach twists. you already know there’s no right answer. deny it, and you sound guilty. confirm it, and they’ll pick it apart.

“we just study together, karina, you know that,” you say evenly. “that’s it.”

a look is exchanged, one that makes your skin prickle.

“you don’t have to lie,” winter says. “we’re just… looking out for you.”

“looking out for me?” you let out a sharp laugh. “for what?”

“we’re just saying,” giselle chimes back in, quieter, hesitant. “he has a… reputation. you know that.”

“i know him,” you counter.

“do you?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the air shifts awkwardly, and lunch carries on, but the words stick.

by the time the final bell rings, you feel raw, rubbed down by a day of passing glances and quiet judgments. you don’t know what’s worse—the people who whisper like you can’t hear them, or the ones who make sure you do.

you’re halfway to the front doors when someone else’s words catch your ear.

“he’s just playing with her. like he does with everyone.”

your breath stumbles.

“he gets bored fast. wonder how long she’ll last.”

yourchest tightens. you know you shouldn’t care. you know it’s just talk. but it digs in anyway, settling like lead in your stomach.

then a voice pulls you out of it.

“sunshine.”

you turn. haechan’s waiting near the steps, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking over you like he can tell something’s off.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer. “you good?”

“fine.” it’s automatic, too quick. his brows pinch slightly, but he doesn’t push.

“come with me,” he says instead, nudging his head toward the doors. “let’s get out of here for a bit.”

you hesitate. for the first time, you aren’t sure if you want to go. because you can still hear their words. and worse—you can’t shake the fear that maybe they’re right.

but then you meet his eyes, warm and steady despite everything, and that fear doesn’t seem so loud anymore.

“okay,” you say.

and just like that, you follow him out.

—

he takes you somewhere quiet. away from the school, away from the weight of a thousand glances and whispers pressing down on you.

it’s a small clearing just past the neighborhood, tucked behind a line of trees, where the ground slopes gently toward a creek. the sky is wide here, open, stretching endless above you in soft hues of late afternoon.

“is this where you spend some of your time too?” you ask, looking around.

“one of the places.” haechan drops down onto the grass, leaning back on his palms. “not a bad spot, huh?”

“no,” you admit, sitting beside him. “it’s pretty.”

he grins. “figured you’d like it. you have that whole… poetic, pretty-things type of vibe.”

“oh, do i?” you glance at him.

“mhm.” he shifts closer, voice dropping slightly. “that’s why you like me, right?”

your stomach flips. you don’t answer, but the way you go quiet gives you away. his grin widens.

“i knew it.”

“shut up,” you mutter, shoving his shoulder lightly.

he laughs, but the teasing fades after a moment, leaving something quieter in its place.

“you don’t have to listen to them, you know.”

you tense. you don’t ask who he means—you both know.

“they don’t know me,” he says, eyes still on the sky. “not really. but you do.”

“do i?” the words slip out before you can stop them, laced with something you don’t quite recognize.

it makes him pause.

“do you think they’re right?” he asks after a moment, voice unreadable. “that i’m just messing around?”

you turn toward him. his expression is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something waiting.

you should say no. you should tell him that you trust him, that you don’t care what anyone else says.

but the doubt is still there, tangled up in everything else you feel for him.

“i don’t know,” you whisper.

his jaw tightens. he looks away.

the silence stretches, thick and heavy. your heart pounds.

and then, before you can stop yourself, the question leaves your lips.

“what are we, haechan?”

he stills.

for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s searching for something.

then, slowly, he exhales.

“we’re whatever you want us to be.”

you blink. “what?”

he shifts closer, so close that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “if you want this to be nothing, i’ll leave it alone. if you want me to be just some guy you tutored, i’ll deal with it.”

his fingers reach for yours, tentative, brushing against your knuckles.

“but if you want more…” he trails off, voice low, gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

your heart is a drum against your ribs.

“what if i don’t know what i want?” you whisper.

he lets out a quiet laugh, almost breathless. “then tell me what you do know.”

you swallow, pulse thrumming as you feel his fingers slowly interlace with yours.

“i know i don’t want you to be just some guy i tutored.”

his grip on your hand tightens.

“then you’ve already answered your own question, sunshine.”

the nickname is soft, almost reverent. and before you can second-guess it, before you can let the fear creep in, you squeeze his hand back.

he smiles—one of those small, secret ones, like you’ve just given him something he thought he’d never have.

and for now, that’s enough.

—

the evening was calm, the sun dipping lower in the sky as you walk with haechan beside you. the two of you had just finished the day at school, chatting and laughing, not realizing how close you were to your house until you were almost at the front steps. everything felt normal, easy, the way it had been recently, and you couldn’t have imagined what was about to happen.

you notice them—your mom and dad—standing in the doorway, watching. your stomach drops and you instinctively grip haechan’s hand tighter. his smile fades when he feels the change in you, his attention shifting to what you’re looking at.

“shit,” you mutter, but keep walking, praying they won’t notice you until you get inside. but just as you reach the steps, your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet air. “what did i tell you?” it’s sharp and furious, each word heavy with the threat of anger. “what is he doing here?”

you freeze. your dad steps into view beside her, arms crossed. his posture alone is enough to make your heart race.

“mom, i…” you start, but you’re immediately cut off.

“no excuses,” she snaps, voice dripping with disdain. “you think i don’t know what you’ve been doing? sneaking around with him? what do you think you’re doing?”

“mom, i—” you try again, but her dad’s icy glare silences you.

“you’re still grounded,” he says in a low, dangerous tone. “go inside. now.”

you glance at haechan. he’s standing beside you, quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets. he doesn’t know what to do. he probably doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to say anything.

your mom turns to him, her face contorting with barely-contained fury. “you. what are you doing here? you have no business with my daughter.”

“i’m not causing any trouble,” he says quietly, but his words hang in the air, useless against the tension.

“no,” your mother snaps, “you’re not just causing trouble, you’re ruining everything. you don’t belong here.”

you can feel the heat rising inside you, the pressure of everything that’s been building in the last few days, and you can’t hold it in anymore. “stop,” you say, your voice trembling but strong. “i—”

and then, before you can stop it, the words slip out, raw and unfiltered. “i love him.”

the air around you freezes. your mom’s eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock. she takes a step back, clearly not understanding what she’s hearing. it was the first time you ever said it, hell even thought it. but it felt right.

“what did you just say?” her voice is cold now, sharp as a knife.

“i said it,” you repeat, but your voice is barely above a whisper. “i love him.”

her mother stares at you, disbelief and disgust flashing across her face. “you don’t know what you’re talking about. you’re just a kid, and you think you love him?” she sneers, voice full of derision. “you don’t know anything about love. this… this is just a phase. and he—he is not good for you.”

your dad doesn’t speak. he just stands there, arms crossed, his silence just as loud as your mom’s words. you feel yourself shrinking under their gaze, as if everything inside you is getting smaller, more insignificant.

“you will not see him again. do you understand me?” your mother’s voice rises now, almost breaking with fury. “you are grounded, and this… whatever you think this is, it ends now.”

“i love him,” you whisper again, more firmly this time, trying to hold onto something—anything—before everything falls apart. “i love him.”

“no,” your mother spits, “you don’t. and you will forget him. you will go to your room. and you will stay there. i won’t have this in my house.”

haechan looks at you, his face unreadable. the words you shared earlier seem to echo in his eyes, but something changes in him. he takes a small step back, like he’s retreating from something, unsure how to fix this.

“i think it’s better if i go,” he mutters, his voice tight, as he begins to pull away. “i don’t want to make things worse for you.”

before you can stop him, he’s turning, walking away. you reach out, your hand grasping for his wrist, but he pulls away gently, avoiding your gaze. “no..haechan,” you say, your voice shaking. “please. don’t leave.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, just looks at you for a long, agonizing moment. then he lets out a shaky sigh and turns to leave, his footsteps growing fainter as he walks away from you.

you stand frozen on the front steps, your heart racing. your mom’s voice cuts through the silence again. “you’ll go to your room. and you’ll stay there. you will not see him again. do you understand me?”

you can’t even answer, your throat tight, your mind spiraling. without saying another word, you walk silently into the house, up to your room, and shut the door behind you. hard

you sit there, the weight of your mother’s words crushing you. her disapproval and disappointment are suffocating, and you can feel the space between you and haechan growing larger with every passing second.

but the hardest part? the hardest part is knowing that you love him, and yet, here you are, too afraid to reach for him because of everything that’s standing in the way.

—

it’s been a few days since the argument with your parents. the silence between you and haechan feels heavy, almost suffocating. you can’t stop thinking about him, but you haven’t been able to reach him either. you’re grounded, no phone, and it’s like a piece of you is missing.

you’re sitting in your room, staring at the wall in front of your bed, when you hear a light tap. your heart races. you hurry over, parting the curtains to find haechan standing there, looking just as conflicted as you feel. he looks tired—like he hasn’t been able to sleep—but his eyes light up when they meet yours.

you open the window quickly, and without a word, he climbs inside. it’s the same familiar move, but there’s something different now. there’s an unspoken tension between you both, a hesitation in the way he moves toward you.

he steps closer but stops when he sees you retreat a little, like you’re unsure whether to welcome him or pull away. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“i couldn’t stay away,” he admits, running a hand through his messy hair. “but i didn’t want to make things worse. i thought… maybe i was doing the right thing.”

you meet his gaze, and for a moment, you both just look at each other. there’s no need for more words. you can tell he’s been thinking about this as much as you have. but there’s still the weight of your parents’ words, their expectations, hanging in the air. and you know they would never approve. you’re supposed to stay away from him.

“i don’t know why i’m even here,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down for a moment. “i knew things were gonna get messy.”

you step forward then, frustration and confusion bubbling inside you. “you left me hanging, haechan. i didn’t hear from you, i didn’t—”

“i know,” he interrupts, his voice laced with guilt. “but i thought maybe you’d be better off without me. i didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

you don’t know how to respond to that. you want to be angry, but the truth is, you feel the same confusion. you wanted to hear from him. you missed him. but it’s hard to ignore the fact that your parents would never understand this. would never approve.

he takes a deep breath and steps closer again, almost as if he’s bracing himself. his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure of whether to reach out or not. you know the pull between you is undeniable, but there’s still a wall between you, the one built by fear and responsibility.

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i could, but i can’t.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening. “i can’t ignore everything, haechan. my parents—they won’t let this happen.”

he looks down, disappointment flickering in his eyes. then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to yours again. “i didn’t want to make things harder for you. i didn’t want to be the one who messed up your life.”

you feel a knot in your stomach. his words sting, but it’s clear that he’s not giving up. and neither are you.

“then why are you here?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

his answer isn’t one you expect. he steps forward and brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “because even if i shouldn’t, i can’t stay away. i don’t know how to.”

the words hang between you, unsaid but understood. your heart beats faster in your chest, and for the first time since the argument, you feel something other than confusion or anger.

“i can’t either,” you admit, your voice low.

before you can say anything else, haechan closes the distance, pressing his lips gently to yours. it’s tentative, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away at any moment. but you don’t. you kiss him back, softly at first, savoring the moment, the closeness. and for a brief moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

when you pull away, you both stand there, breaths mingling. he looks at you, searching your face, as if trying to make sure he hasn’t crossed a line.

“i’ll make things right,” he says quietly, his voice filled with resolve. “somehow. i don’t want to lose you.”

you take a deep breath, the weight of the situation sinking in. your parents’ disapproval, the complications, the risks—it’s all still there, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

“i don’t know what’s going to happen,” you murmur, your hand brushing lightly against his. “but i can’t stop wanting this. wanting you.”

he gives a small, bittersweet smile. “then we’ll figure it out together. i promise.”

and just like that, you feel the tension between you ease, even if only for a moment. the future is uncertain, but right now, all that matters is the warmth of his touch, the closeness you feel, and the quiet promise of something more between you two.

—

the tension in the living room is suffocating. it’s been a week since the small talk with haechan in your room. you two had been interacting a lot less at school, yet here you both were. your parents sit stiffly on the couch, their eyes locked onto haechan as if he’s something they need to purge from your life. he stands in front of them, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, but he doesn’t lash out. doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes like they expect him to.

his usual confidence is still there, but tonight, there’s something else underneath it. something raw, something desperate. because this isn’t just about proving himself to your parents. it’s about proving himself to you, too. proving that he’s worth fighting for.

“this needs to stop,” your father says, his voice firm. “you sneaking around with him. whatever this is. it’s done.”

your mother shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “you don’t see it now, but this isn’t love. boys like him don’t stick around.”

boys like him.

haechan’s jaw clenches. he’s heard those words before, from teachers, from people in town, from kids at school who assumed they knew everything about him. reckless. dangerous. a mistake waiting to happen. but it’s different coming from your parents, because this time, it actually matters.

“you don’t know me,” he says, voice steady but edged with frustration. “you only see what you want to see.”

your mom crosses her arms. “oh, so tell us, then. tell us why we should believe you’re any different.” you eye her as she speaks so sharply to him.

please just give him a chance.

haechan hesitates for just a second, and your heart clenches. because you know he hates doing this. hates explaining himself to people who have already made up their minds. but he does it anyway. for you.

“i know i don’t look like the kind of guy you want your daughter with,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i know i don’t come from some perfect family, and i know i’ve made mistakes. but i swear to you, i—i’m trying.” he swallows hard, his gaze flicking to you before going back to them. “i’m trying to be better. for her.”

your mother’s lips press into a thin line. “people don’t change overnight.”

“i’m not asking you to believe me overnight,” haechan says, his voice stronger now. “i’m just asking you to see me the way she does. not as some lost cause, but as someone who cares about her more than you could ever understand.”

silence stretches between all of you. your father looks away, exhaling through his nose. your mother’s expression is unreadable. you know they don’t fully accept him—not yet. maybe they never will. but there’s something in their faces that wasn’t there before. doubt. hesitation. a crack in the walls they’ve built around the idea of who he is.

your mother sighs, rubbing her temples. “this… this is a lot. i don’t know what to do with this right now.”

your father doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t push the conversation further either.

it’s not approval. not even close. but it’s not outright rejection either.

haechan shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against yours—not holding, just there. grounding.

“can i…talk to her alone?” he asks.

your parents exchange a glance, and for a moment, you think they’ll say no. but then your mom sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “five minutes.”

you don’t wait for them to change their minds, grabbing haechan’s wrist and tugging him down the hall to the guest bedroom. the moment the door clicks shut, you turn to him, taking him in—his disheveled hair, the way his rings catch the dim light, the way his shoulders are still tense.

—

the tension lingers even after your parents leave the room, their quiet murmurs fading down the hall. you stand there with haechan, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours, the weight of everything pressing down on you both.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting out a soft chuckle. “well… that went great, huh?”

you give him a look, half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

he grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “nah, guess not.”

you squeeze his hand, grounding him. “thank you. for standing up for yourself. for… for me.”

his expression shifts, something softer taking over. his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “i meant everything i said,” he murmurs. “every damn word.”

there’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken things. then, without thinking, you step forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders , pressing your face into his neck. he hesitates for half a second before melting into you, his arms coming up to hold you like he’s afraid to let go.

“i don’t know how this is gonna end,” you whisper.

haechan swallows hard, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. “me neither,” he admits. “but i know one thing.”

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “what?”

“that i love you,” his lips quirk into a small, lopsided smile—one that still holds a trace of mischief, but there’s something deeper beneath it. something real. “and i’m not letting you go that easily.”

your heart stumbles over itself, and before you can second-guess it, you surge forward, kissing him with every ounce of feeling you can’t put into words.

he responds instantly, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. the kiss is slow, lingering, like a promise neither of you are willing to break.

when you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, you whisper, “we’re kind of doomed, aren’t we?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “probably. but at least we’re doomed together.”

and somehow, despite everything, that feels like enough.

—

▸ taggies ; @ikykyuno @ashopatata @tynivr @ilujkm @maiyhw @413cl @flaminghotyourmom @yunjinsart @theandypark @nae-vm @czennilove — i hope this was everyone <3

▸ big thank you to everyone who left feedback on the first part ily guys :(

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httpswritings · 7 hours ago

Text

When I Was Your Woman

alexia putellas x reader — angst with happy ending, nsfw content and mentions of cheating and physical and mental health and conditions.

When you walked away from Alexia, you made a vow to yourself—one you swore you’d never break: you would never forgive her.

“It was just a kiss,” she’d said, her voice trembling.

But to you, it was never just a kiss. It was the first crack in the foundation of trust, the prelude to betrayal.

She begged. Fell to her knees, hands clutching at your sleeves, desperate. Her pleas hung thick in the air, dissolving into the silence between you.

It had happened that night, during the celebration of yet another team victory. The atmosphere was electric, the kind of night where possibilities felt infinite—until they shattered.

In a single, fleeting moment, she was locked in a sloppy, too-deep kiss with a blonde stranger. It ended almost as soon as it began, but the damage carved itself into your bones.

Alexia pulled away, face flushed, the room spinning as if the world itself were recoiling from her.

The blonde woman stepped closer, reaching for her again, but Alexia shoved her back.

Without a word, she tossed cash onto the bar and stormed into the night.

When she got into her car, she punched the steering wheel in frustration.

The memory of you both lying on the couch on a Sunday morning, talking about various topics, came rushing back. You had told her you'd never forgive infidelity, and she had promised she would never do that to you. The weight of that memory suffocated her.

She wanted to crash her car, to feel physical pain—anything to distract from the emotional agony of what she had done to you.

It took her a while to get home.

Alexia couldn't forget what you told her:

"I hope you enjoyed the kiss, because that was the moment you lost me."

And you were right. The price of kissing that blonde stranger was losing the love of her life.

You were determined to leave Barcelona, and thankfully, for your sanity, Alba, Alexia's sister, let you stay for the night.

The next morning, you woke up early and went to buy some presents for Alexia’s family, especially for her sister, mother, and grandmother.

You knew it was inevitable that you would lose contact with her family, and that hurt you as much as Alexia’s betrayal.

Still, you made a promise to yourself to call Alexia’s grandmother every week, and you were a woman of trust.

Eli didn’t say much, and neither did you.

“I’m sorry, Eli. I know Alexia is your daughter, and so is your sister, Alba. I don’t want to speak badly about her in front of you, so I'd rather not give you any explanations.”

They understood.

You saw Alexia’s family a couple of times after that, with the exception of her grandmother, whom you visited often.

The poor lady understood that you didn’t want to see Alexia, so she always let you know when it was safe to visit.

Two years later, you found yourself standing in front of Alexia’s apartment door.

You didn’t know what to expect, so you kept your hopes in check.

When you saw on your phone that Alexia had torn her ACL, you felt a deep empathy for her.

You didn’t know much about that type of injury, but after reading about it and understanding how difficult the recovery process would be, you decided to visit her.

When you rang the bell, Alexia was on the couch. Alone. She had asked Eli and Alba to leave for an hour or so because she needed some time alone, as silence filled the house.

She had been deeply upset by your departure, and the injury only deepened her depression.

Even after two years, her heart still waited for you.

It was a challenge for her to get up from the sofa because she was still awaiting surgery. Her leg was immobilized, making movement nearly impossible.

Just as you were about to leave, thinking she might not live there anymore, she opened the door.

The initial shock of seeing you made her drop her crutches.

She called your name carefully, her tone questioning, as if she thought you might disappear. You nodded.

Suddenly, her face turned red, and she covered it with her hands, letting out a deep, heart-wrenching cry.

You ran to her and embraced her fully, soothing her.

The way she held onto you sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t leave, please… Don’t. Don’t.”

Her grip was almost painful, but you knew she didn’t mean to hurt you.

“I’m not leaving, but let’s go inside so you can sit down.”

You helped Alexia by handing her the crutches and guiding her to the sofa.

She kept looking at you intensely, afraid to glance away.

“I came because I saw the news, and I was worried,” you explained.

Alexia was visibly moved and could barely speak, so you continued.

“Especially because of what I told you when it happened.”

«I hope football betrays you as badly as you betrayed me.»

“I’m not happy about what happened to you. Even if I said that, even if I meant it at the time, I truly hope you recover as soon as possible.”

Inside Alexia, something healed, but she still felt like a monster for what she did to you. When she tore her ACL, the first image that came to her mind was you shouting that sentence to her face.

«I hope football betrays you as badly as you betrayed me» and football did, but not as badly as she betrayed your loyalty, your dignity, your love.

When Alexia cheated on you, you were peacefully sleeping on your bed, in one of her shirts. “It helps me sleep when you're out, and not by my side,” you told her. “I’ll be back sooner than you expect, just in time to cuddle you,” she told you. When Alexia came home after that kiss, she didn't cuddle you, she couldn't. Alexia felt absolutely disgusted with herself, and touching you, your kind and lovely self, felt like a profanity. That's why, when she saw you asleep, she spent almost the whole night looking at you, knowing that would be the last night seeing you.

“Ale, say something please.”

“I'm sorry.”

And those two words were also healing for you. When Alexia confessed her unloyalty, you didn't believe she was sorry.

«I’d never forgive you, Alexia. Never. I hope this haunts you for the rest of your life, so when you kiss any other woman, it reminds you of what you broke.»

That curse never happened because Alexia never kissed another woman after you left.

You were a mixture of contradictions. You still felt some hurt, even if you had already forgiven her, but seeing her so depressed, so visibly sorry… It was easier when you hated her, but now that your love for her made an appearance after being buried for two years, it was agonizing to not hold her and protect her.

Putting any thought aside, you carefully and minding her injury, hugged her as she was sat down, and she hid her face on your neck.

You heard her cries amplifying as the time passed by but you didn't stop her.

Crying for Alexia was a huge deal, so you knew this was necessary. She needed this release.

You tried to separate from her body to tell her «It's okay, let it out», but she held you tightly.

“No. Don't leave. Please.”

“I won't.”

You caressed her hair, her arms, her shoulders, anywhere to make her feel better.

“I won't leave, Ale, but we need to talk.”

Alexia didn't know if she was going to be able to bear this conversation, but she knew it was the minimum she had to do for you, especially after the way you were treating her.

She didn't say anything, so you decided to go on.

“I hated you for what you did, but right now, I've forgiven you. I still need time, because it’ll be very difficult for me to regain trust in you, but, if you let me, I’d love to be by your side, especially during this tough time. I've missed you every day and while coming here wasn't an easy thing to do, I felt the need to see those beautiful eyes again in front of me.”

Alexia, in between her cries, laughed clumsily. She knew that whenever you wanted to soften her, especially when she was sad, you’d talk about her eyes, her beautiful hazel eyes.

“So, despite everything, I'm here, and I'd love to have a conversation about what happened, if you're ready. I know it's not your best time, so whenever you feel ready, I’ll be ready.”

Despite Alexia's bad communication abilities, she knew she had to make the effort to match your maturity.

She thought she had lost you forever, but here you were, holding her.

Alexia suddenly felt remorse, and tried to back off.

You stiffened, not knowing why she reacted that way.

“No. You deserve better. No. No. No. You deserve better than me. I betrayed you.”

And she did, but you already knew that, and you already forgave her.

“Alexia, I already forgave you. It took me a while, but I did. I told you I need time because I need to regain trust, and if you want me to be part of your life, you’ll have to work for it, but that's another topic. There won't be a third chance, but I trust you enough to give you a second chance.”

“No. I don't want you to go through this again.”

That stirred something inside you. How could she be doubting herself already right after you were here giving her a second chance?

It took you off a little bit, enough for your fears to creep you, but deep inside, something told you that there was more behind Alexia's fear.

It wasn't that she didn't trust herself, she was deeply scared of hurting you so bad, you would not recover from it, because «there won't be a third chance».

“Ale, baby, listen…”

Baby.

That's how you used to call her, and you noticed the tears coming back to her eyes.

“Baby… you called me baby.”

It honestly worried you how upset she was with the situation.

You had never seen Alexia so out of control with herself, she was just not there.

“Yeah, I called you baby, because you know how much I loved to call you that. And I still want to call you my baby, my love, my girl. But you need to forgive yourself, Ale. It won't be until then that you’ll start to trust in yourself and then, you’ll make me trust you.”

“I can't. I won't. I don't want to. I fucked up everything. It's not only about us. Alba didn't talk to me in months. In months. And I don't blame her. I have never seen her so disappointed, and it was because of me. I can't fuck up everything again.”

“Tell me how it happened. Tell me about the night you cheated on me.”

Alexia looked at you perplexed. She didn't know why you wanted to hear that.

“I need it. I need to know why you did it and why you told me about it the following morning.”

It took Alexia a while to talk, and it wasn't until you started crying that she stopped.

“See? I want you to have a girlfriend worthy of your love. As much as I’ll always love you, as much as I’ll always wait for you, as much as these lips have the kiss of that woman as their last kiss as a reminder to haunt me every day of losing the woman of my life, I want you to do better, and that isn't with me.”

A part of you knew she could be right, but you wanted her, and for once, you didn't care about betrayal. You would worry about that tomorrow, or the day after, but right now, the only thing you wanted was to press your lips on hers, to eliminate the kiss of that woman from the club from her lips, and so you kissed her.

It was soft at first, but it had been two years without each other, and suddenly, a fierce passion wanted to make its appearance.

It's true that you didn't want to make things like this. You wanted to have a conversation, take things slow and behave like a mature adult but, for a moment, you forgot about what was right and what was wrong, only caring about the way Alexia was kissing you.

You ended up on top of her, letting her wander around your body.

Her hands touched everywhere around your belly, your waist and your back, caressing them, gripping them, delicately scratching them, and sooner you were desperate for more.

It wasn't until a small scratch on your waist made you moan, that Alexia tried to move her injured leg.

You noticed it and stopped.

“Ale, your leg… Be careful, baby.”

You noticed the resignation in Alexia’s eyes, and decided to do something about it.

“Let me handle it. Relax and don't make sudden movements. I've got you.”

You removed a little bit of her pants, enough to have fully access to her core.

“I've missed this pretty view.”

“There's no way I won't be able to move properly for months. I'm gonna go insane.” Alexia complained.

“Don't worry, my love. I can take care of you in every way,” you kissed her belly, leaving small bites, making her squirm.

“Ale, what did I say? No movements.”

“It's difficult, bebita.”

You had deeply missed that nickname and if it wasn't because you heard two familiar voices approaching outside the apartment, you would've made a mess of Alexia.

“Mierda, I told them to be back in an hour!” Alexia said as she rapidly tried to put her pants up.

She couldn't properly move past her upper thighs because she couldn't do any type of effort with her injured leg.

“Shit, Alexia, why didn't you warn me?!”

“Oh, sorry, I was too busy seeing your face below my belly—”

“Shhhh!”

You threw her a blanket to cover her exposed area.

When the door opened, Alba almost fell.

When she knew she wasn't hallucinating, she practically jumped on your arms, almost making you both fall down.

Eli got nervous too, but in a good way, especially after seeing her daughter's eyes: brilliant with that sparkle she had lost when you left.

“Alba, you're suffocating her!”

Alba kept kissing your face and holding you, like she always did with her friends when they hadn't seen each other in a while.

When you hugged Eli, you noticed how much she had missed you.

Her grip on you was tight, and when you saw her face, her eyes were watery.

You didn't know how you managed to get Eli and Alba to Alexia's bedroom, telling them that something had been bothering Alexia as she slept, but was too considerate to tell them, afraid she was considered a burden.

As you helped Alexia pull her pants up, you looked up, you saw her trying not to laugh.

You were too busy to laugh but it warmed your heart watching her shy smile.

Alba, bless her heart, was too naive but Eli knew something had been up, that's why when they came back to the living room, she shook her head laughing and rolling her eyes, looking at Alexia.

Alexia laughed and her cheeks got a reddish tone in just seconds, and had to improvise when Alba kept asking what was bothering Alexia, and giving her a lecture about how she was not a burden and that her, as the younger sister, would always be there for Alexia.

Alba and Eli spent the rest of the day and they both left at night.

As you were cleaning everything up, Alexia looked at you intensely.

You noticed her eyes on you, and you got closer to her.

“Let's get you to bed.”

“I can go by myself with the crutches, but you can join me— I mean, you can stay, well— if you want. You can stay wherever you want…”

You smiled at her nervousness, and with delicacy, you placed a kiss on her front.

“Relax, Ale. I’d love to stay with you. In bed. Is that okay?”

“Yes!”

Alexia asked you to get comfortable with the piece of clothing you liked the best.

To your surprise, she hadn't changed much of her clothes, so you chose a long silk shirt and some pants.

Changing in front of her made her visibly turned on, and you were enjoying it.

At first, she tried to not to look, but after assuring her it was okay to, she devoured your body.

Alexia remembered it in detail.

You got her pyjamas and helped her get changed.

As her upper body was bare, her nipples quickly responded.

With the fresh memory of how sensitive Alexia was around that area, you put her shirt on, because as bad as you wanted to make love to her, it had been a day full of emotions, and both of you were visibly exhausted.

Alexia had to sleep on her back because of her injury.

She told you that she had been struggling because, as you already knew, she always slept on her left side.

You got closer to her, after she assured you it was fine, and you began to place soft kisses on her face, making her giggle.

“Will you be here tomorrow by the time I wake up?”

Witnessing such a vulnerable Alexia was challenging because you didn't know how to act nor how to say, but you were actually eager to see more of it.

“Of course. But maybe you'll wake up before me.”

“That's okay, I always enjoyed waking up before you, especially to make you breakfast.”

Before laying your head on her chest, you placed a slow but delicate kiss on her lips, making her smile.

Alexia found comfort in playing with your hair as you had already fallen asleep, even though you wanted to stay awake until Alexia fell asleep.

And just how you expected, Alexia woke up before you.

Like last night, she began playing with your hair and her mind wandered to the last morning she spent with you and how different it was from this one.

This morning, she was not anxious because her mind was at peace and if you really wanted to try this again, she was determined to make you the happiest woman in the world.

Alexia knew you had a pending conversation, and that it wouldn't be easy, but when she was not going to let you down again, and just like that, your love story had its new beginning.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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bernardsbendystraws · 1 day ago

Text

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: mentions and talk of family death

A/N: This is a bit shorter than the past couple chapters, but I hope you still like it!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P12: Bittersweet

“You did all of this… for me?”

The question floats off my lips as my eyes dart around the room. It’s the same fluttery feeling I got in my chest when Matt showed me his handmade gift for Mia—expect this feels more intense.

“I… yeah.” Chris voices, his hand dropping mine as he moves over towards the bed. He shuffles the different items around, pushing them to make an open space and patting the bed.

My brows wrinkle together, warmth crawling up my cheeks as I take everything in. He did this for me. A box of legos, cookies, and chocolate—all my favorite things. How did he even know?

Wait.

How did he even know?

“This is sweet, but how much have you been snooping?” I question, sitting down as he lets out an awkward laugh. My hands run over the blanket, it feels softer than usual, almost as if it’s been freshly washed.

“No, no. I wasn’t snooping. Well, not more than I already have. I asked Matt, ‘cause you know… he kinda owed me.” he laughs.

My toes curl as my stomach flutters.

He asked Matt about me. He wanted to do something sweet.

Even if it was out of spite, it still made me feel so warm.

___

It should be awkward. There should be some sort of lingering tension, but there isn’t.

Things have been flowing effortlessly. Even when we fall into a pause of silence, it’s not uncomfortable, it’s peaceful.

We work together putting the legos in place. Slowly, each piece makes the object appear similar to the cherry blossom tree displayed on the front of the box. The direction pamphlet sits on the bed in front of us, our knees touching as we hunch over and build the small object.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Chris asks.

The questions have been mumbled every couple of minutes. I don’t mind though. Even when some of them seemed stupid, like when he asked me what my favorite size of pizza is.

Apparently his favorite is mini pizzas. There’s always a stash in the freezer and the last time Matt took one, Chris refused to do anything with him for a week—even if it was taking out the garbage and meant Matt would be helping him. Chris only caved once Matt bought him more mini pizzas.

Stupid questions, but they were fun.

“Hmmm…” I start to think. What is my favorite animal? I can’t remember the last time someone even bothered to ask. I can’t even remember the last time I tried to think of answering these types of questions for myself. “I think dogs? I mean, I love dogs since you can actually have them as pets, you know?” I say.

Chris nods, humming in acknowledgement. “Not a bad answer, you’re the same as Matt.” he points out. I smile at the mention of Matt. It’s heartwarming how much Chris brings him up, how much he truly knows about his brother.

“What about you? Do you have a favorite?” I interrogate, my fingers snapping another piece in place.

“I like deer,” he answers.

My face twists at his response. Deer? I don’t know what I expected, but definitely not deer. They seemed too gentle, too feminine. Most guys my age wouldn’t say deer unless it was followed by an explanation of how they loved hunting.

And Chris definitely didn’t hunt.

“Really?” I ask, wincing as my voice comes out higher pitch than intended.

Chris laughs at my shocked expression, nodding as he goes into more detail. “Really. I just like ‘em. My dad showed me this video of a baby deer once—the thing looked like it was on crack from how it was bouncing around. Him and all my family agreed that it was me in another universe.”

My teeth clench into my lip. The thought of Chris bouncing around with excitement is hard to picture, but I guess not impossible. Maybe that’s how he used to be, before he lost his mom and his other brother. I know I used to be different—I hated that fact.

“My dad used to compare me to this one dog in the neighborhood—this scruffy little rat-dog.” I huff, my lips curling from the memory. I miss him. “He said it was because of my hair since it was… I don’t even know. I’d play hard and get it all sorts of fucked up.”

The thought of my dad makes something inside me sink with a heavy weight. Everytime I try to recall his face, I can only picture how he looked in the one picture framed on top of my dresser. It’s like his memory is fading, his face blurring as I try to recall certain moments.

“Do you…” Chris hesitates, his fingers fiddling with a lego piece. “Do you still miss him?” he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard him speak before.

Nodding, I let out a strangled hum of affirmation. “Yeah—I, yeah. It’s weird. I know it’s been years since I lost him, but it’s so… I don’t know. Every memory I’ve had with him—it’s all I’ll ever have. I think that’s what hurts the most.” I say, tugging my lip in between my teeth as I feel my body slug with disappointment.

A sudden warmth callusing over my knee makes my head turn. I look over to see Chris, his eyes gleaming onto me as he spares a sympathetic smile.

His fingers slowly buffer over the fabric of my clothes, his touch getting lighter as he lets out a deep sigh. “I get that. I’m trying to come to terms with it. Honestly, it still doesn’t seem real.” he guffs.

His eyes drift to my lap. I watch as his cheeks hollow, his tongue prodding from the inside of his mouth as his presence gets lost in thought.

“Tell me about them.” I remark.

Shaking his head, Chris opens his mouth to respond, closing it before any words can escape. I reach my hand out, balancing it over his as the weight rests on my knee. My eyes blink into his intently. “It’s one of my biggest regrets. I wish I never let any of those memories die. You don’t have to tell me, but—”

“Well,” Chris starts, biting his lip as his brows furrow. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, keeping my gaze focused on him. He seems to fight the urge to say anything, but a deep sigh as he looks towards the ceiling makes my spine straighten as I give him my attention fully.

“I… I don’t know where to even start.” he mentions, his lip quivering before he pulls it between his teeth.

My skin pulses as I lean further towards him. I collapse my head onto his shoulder, peeling my gaze away from him in hopes of helping his anxiety ease. “There’s no pressure.” I mutter.

The slight shift of his hand on my knee leaves me bathing in anticipation. He turns his hand over, interlocking our fingers, sighing as the words begin to spill out of his mouth.

“I mean, my mom is–was everything to me. I’d hug her in the morning, hug her at night—even though most kids our age don’t do that shit, I—I don’t know. When I love people, I want them to know.” he explains.

God. He’s so sweet—a word I thought contradicted his personality at first, but now I know the truth. And the truth is he’s perfect. He’s just hurt—just a little lost, confused even.

He reminds me of myself. Both in good and bad ways. He seems to close people off, quick to pull away before he has the chance to lose someone again.

There’s a certain bitterness from his attitude that resonates with me.

“That’s really beautiful.” I say, softly rolling my lips together as I watch his nose twitch, his eyes drifting to my lap. “I… I used to be the same way too. I’d always run to my dad the second he got home from work, giving him the biggest hug I could and begging him to never let go.”

Chris lets his eyes float back up to me. His face falls, his eyes glazing over as he blinks quickly. I feel myself sink into reality, the sudden urge to cry climbing over me and pulling my body to slump with defeat. “I don’t remember the last time I hugged him, but I—I really wish I did.” I mumble, my voice wombling as I swallow thickly.

“Hey,” he husks, looking into my eyes with a comforting expression etched on his face. “You don’t have to remember the last time. Just tell me about all the times you do remember. I… I wanna listen. I don’t think I’m ready to talk anymore, but I’m ready—I wanna listen.” he whispers.

My heart twists in my chest from his words—words I’ve wanted to hear since I lost my dad in the first place, words that should’ve been said by my mom or my brother, but nobody ever wanted to hear it. I couldn’t understand why, all I could understand was that it hurt—and it still hurts.

But his soft eyes make it hurt a little less. The grip he has on my hand clutches just a little bit tighter, the comforting reassurance making the words stumble out of my mouth effortlessly.

“Well,” I trail, voyaging off into details of him, letting myself dig deeper into my memories.

Half the words that spill from my lips seem new—moments I didn’t even know I remembered until they burst through my lips from a sudden flash of a memory.

Each story trails to another, each moment making my heart feel a little more full.

His eyes darting into mine don’t make me anxious, they make me feel heard—understood.

My lips fall together as I breathe through my nose. The rambling of my words seems to make my ears burn, my cheeks warming up as I stare at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry.” I mumble, biting on the tip of my tongue lightly.

Chris shakes his head swiftly, clutching my hand a little more as his eyes glaze over me with a gentle glow. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, scooting closer as he wraps both his hands around mine and tugging it towards his chest.

“Tell me more.”

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