#but when they are suddenly the one so in love that their chest hurts. they have no idea what to do or how to handle it

[stylesispunk]

'Landed too hard'

outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You save Joel's life from raiders but instead of thanking you, he gets mad at you.

or

You get hurt and you are forced to be vulnerable with each other.

wc: 7k

warnings: age gap, established relationship, angst, fluff, miscommunication, insecurities, mentions of blood, and fluff

a/n: i'm slowly coming back to this with this baby here that was on my drafts. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

The forest was too quiet for your liking. No birds, no wind—Just the soft crunch of the snowy ground beneath your feet as you followed Joel who was ahead of you and Ellie. There was something in the air this day, eerie silence pressing on your chest, tension, and Joel had been on edge all day, his broad shoulder seemed tense under his jacker, his grip on the rifle tighter than usual.

It felt like the premonition of something bad coming on your way. So, you kept your knife close and your gun pressed under your hand.

“We’ll set up camp soon,” Joel muttered, his voice low without looking behind to you and Ellie.

Ellie groaned. “Finally. My feet feel like they’re gonna fall soon.”

You gave her a tired smile at her remark, but your eyes stayed on Joel. His jaw was tight, the scar above his brow crinkling deeper. You knew him well enough to read the signs—he was worried. More than usual.

That’s why you didn’t even hear them coming.

One second, you were walking behind Joel, and the next, chaos broke out. Shouts echoed through the trees. Five, maybe six men, all armed came out from nowhere. Joel shoved you and Ellie behind an overturned log.

“Stay down,” he growled, pressing his rifle into your hands. “If anyone gets close, you shoot. Don’t move unless I say so.”

“Joel—”

“Stay.”

You swallowed your fear and nodded, grabbing Ellie and pulling her down. Joel stepped out, drawing their attention, firing a shot that took one of the men down, then another and so on.

But the rest came fast. Through the cracks in the log, you watched Joel fight. He moved like a man who’d done this too many times, but even then, it was too much. One of the raiders tackled him, and suddenly, Joel was on the ground, with one of those men’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

the man’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

“Shit,” you whispered, your heart pounding so hard you could barely hear Ellie’s panicked breathing next to you.

Joel clawed at the man’s wrists, his face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. He wasn’t going to get out of it and you couldn’t just sit there watching the man you loved die in front of you.

“Stay here,” you told Ellie, voice shaking from rage.

“Wait…what are you doing?!” she whispered.

Your body moved before your mind could argue. You were already running before Ellie could have the chance to stop you.

You tackled the man strangling Joel, knocking him off balance, but before you could finish him, another set of hands grabbed you from behind. You struggled, kicking and clawing, managing to land a sharp elbow into the man’s ribs before twisting free. The first man lunged again, but you dodged, feeling the burn of a knife slicing across your cheek. The pain barely registered as you drove your own blade into the man’s neck, then turned and plunged it into the second attacker’s chest before he could recover. Warm blood splattered your hands as the man crumpled, gasping his last breath.

You stood there, panting, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Joel coughed violently, rolling onto his side, his face pale and drenched in sweat. You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands hovering uselessly. “Joel? Hey—hey, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, still gasping for air. When he finally sat up, his brown eyes locked onto yours—not with gratitude, but with pure, burning rage.

“The fuck were you thinking?” he rasped, voice raw.

You blinked, the adrenaline still rushing through you. “I—I had to. He was going to—”

“You didn’t listen to me!” Joel slammed his fist into the dirt, his whole-body trembling with anger. “I told you to stay hidden! What if he’d killed you?!”

“Well, he didn’t” you stated, “I saved your life!”

“And you risked yours doing it!”

His voice echoed through the trees, sharp and unforgiving. You felt your chest tighten, heat rising in your throat.

“I’m not some helpless girl you can just shove behind a log, Joel! I did what I had to!”

Joel stood up, wiping the blood from his hands. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else. The space between you felt impossibly wide.

He ran a hand over his face, stepping back like he couldn’t even look at you. "You put yourself in danger. You could’ve been killed. Do you even get that?"

"I get that I just saved your ass!" You shot back, the weight of the moment crashing over you. "And all you can do is yell at me?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists before he turned away. "I ain't doin' this."

"Fine," you bit out.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. You glanced at Ellie, who stood off to the side, arms crossed, her expression tense.

You lifted a hand to your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky with blood. The cut burned now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and you sucked in a sharp breath. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the wound, concern flashing across her face, but she didn’t say anything. Joel still wasn’t looking at you, his back rigid as he adjusted his pack.

"We should get moving," he muttered, voice low and strained.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache in your throat. Without another word, the three of you fell into step, the silence stretching between you like an open wound

That night, you found a small clearing tucked between dense trees, far enough from the road to feel safe. The cold had settled deep, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you sat near the weak glow of the fire. Joel had barely spoken a word since the fight, his focus set on keeping watch, his back to you.

You weren’t hurt by his words or the outburst he had, but by the idea of him willingly die and feeling at peace with it. How easy would be for him to left you behind and in your own.

You dismissed your thoughts as you dug through your pack for a rag, pressing it against the wound on your cheek. The sting made you wince, and you cursed under your breath.

A quiet shuffling caught your attention, and you looked up to see Ellie kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed.

"Here," she said, pulling a small bottle of alcohol from her pocket. "Let me help."

You hesitated for a moment, then gave her a small nod. She dampened the cloth with the antiseptic and reached for your face. The touch was gentle, but the sting made you hiss.

"Sorry," Ellie murmured, concentrating as she cleaned the cut. "You’re lucky it’s not deeper."

You let out a small chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Lucky isn’t exactly how I’d describe this day.”

Ellie huffed, finishing up before pulling a bandage from her pack. "Well, you’re not dead, so that counts for something."

You smiled faintly, glancing toward Joel. He still hadn’t turned around. You sighed, looking back at Ellie. "Thanks, kid."

She just shrugged, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Anytime."

As the fire crackled softly between you, you finally felt a small sense of comfort—at least, from Ellie. Joel, on the other hand, was still a storm brewing on the other side of camp.

Joel sat a few feet away, his gaze drifting to you as he kept watch. He noticed the way you shivered, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, but still, you slept. He hesitated, jaw tightening as he debated with himself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and carefully draped it over you.

You stirred slightly at the added warmth, a small, unconscious sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Joel lingered for a moment, watching you, before settling back down next to you as if he needed to remind himself you were still here.

The fire in your camp had burned down to glowing embers, the scent of smoke mixing with the cool morning air. Joel sat near it, his hands wrapped around his termo, sipping coffee our from it, his eyes occasionally flicking over to where you slept.

Your back was to him, your body curled slightly, the jacket pulled high over your shoulder. The cut ran along your cheekbone from the fight the day before—a fight that left you and Joel in a tense, suffocating silence. Reminding him how you always put yourself in danger for him.

He hated himself for it. How he had came to the point where he felt useless.

Now, in the morning light, you looked peaceful despite the frown that creased your forehead. Joel knew that look. He knew you too well.

Ellie stirred next to him, stretching before getting to her feet. She glanced at you, then back at Joel. “Should I wake her up?” she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

Joel shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ellie raised a brow. “Why?”

Joel sighed, glancing at you again before taking another sip of coffee. “She’s got a frown.”

Ellie blinked. “Yeah, ‘cause she’s mad at you. Even in her sleep.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, but there wasn’t much fight in it. “No. It’s different. She gets that when she gets a migraine.” He ran a hand over his beard, glancing at you again. “Let her sleep a little longer.”

Ellie’s teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something softer. “You really pay attention, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another slow sip of coffee, staring into the fire. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “When it comes to her of course I do.”

Ellie sighed, dropping back down onto the log next to him. “So… you gonna fix this or what?”

Joel tensed, setting his cup down beside him. “She doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Yeah, because you yelled at her.” She reminded him.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face. “She shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“She saved your ass, Joel.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t the point.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, it kinda is. She did what you would’ve done for her.”

Joel was silent, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do you think she would be fine if you were dead?” she pressed on, sighing.

Instead of answer, Joel reached for his bag, unbuckling the strap. He knew exactly where to look, tucked inside one of the side pockets were the pills he always carried for you, just in case.

Ellie, who had been watching with quiet curiosity, tilted her head. “Wait… you carry her pills?”

Joel didn’t look up as he pulled out the small bottle, checking how many were left. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, like he didn’t think it was something worth mentioning.

Ellie crossed her arms. “Huh.”

Joel finally glanced at her. “What?”

Ellie smirked. “Nothin’. Just—you act all tough, but you’re, like, secretly the softest person ever for her.”

Joel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Keep it to yourself, kid,” as he moved toward you.

You stirred slightly as he knelt beside you, brushing your hair back from your face with a careful hand. The sight of the cut on your cheek made his stomach twist again, but he pushed the feeling down. He had already failed to keep you from getting hurt once, he wouldn’t fail you now.

Gently, he set the bottle of pills down next to you, along with a canteen of water. He knew you still weren’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop taking care of you.

As he sat back, Ellie watched him with something unreadable in her expression. “Still mad, huh?”

Joel sighed, rubbing his thumb over the strap of your bag.

Ellie nodded. “Well… you’re doin’ the right thing, at least.”

Joel wasn’t sure about that. But as he sat there, keeping watch while you slept, he figured it was all he could do for now.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the dull ache in your head. The second was the soft sound of the fire crackling nearby. You blinked against the morning light, your body still heavy with exhaustion.

And then you saw the canteen and the small bottle of pills sitting beside you. You didn’t have to ask who put them there.

Your gaze flickered to Joel, who sat a few feet away, his back turned slightly toward you. He was sharpening his knife, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone filling the quiet space. Ellie sat across from him, kicking at the dirt with her boot, sneaking glances at you like she was waiting to see what you’d do.

You swallowed, your throat dry. Carefully, you pushed yourself up, wincing as your muscles protested. Your fingers brushed against the bottle of pills, and you hesitated before finally picking it up.

Joel’s voice came before you could say anything. “Drink some water with that.”

It was quiet. Gruff. Like he wasn’t sure where the two of you stood after yesterday.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to respond, but you didn’t have the energy to fight again. Instead, you obeyed, twisting the cap off and dry-swallowing the pill before chasing it with a sip of water.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you saw his shoulders drop just a little.

Ellie, of course, didn’t stay quiet for long. “Sooo… does this mean you guys are done being mad at each other?

You shot her a look. “Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying’—”

Joel cut in; his voice flat. “Eat your breakfast.”

Ellie huffed but dropped it, tearing off a piece of jerky with her teeth.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before stealing a glance at Joel. His eyes were still fixed on his knife, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the handle a little too tightly.

He was waiting. For you to say something. For you to forgive him.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples in a weak attempt to ease the pressure in your skull. It wasn’t working. Nothing ever really worked, except for him.

Joel had a way of grounding you when the pain got bad. He didn’t always have the right words, but he never needed them. He had his own way of taking care of you, of letting you know he was there. And right now, all you wanted was for him to kiss your temples the way he used to.

The way he always did when you were hurting.

But things weren’t the same. You had fought, you had pulled away, and he had let you. And now, even though he was right there, he felt miles away.

You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, trying to push down the disappointment twisting in your chest. It was stupid to want that from him right now. After everything, you shouldn’t need him like that.

Except you did.

Joel shifted, and you felt him move closer, his presence clear even before he spoke. “Did you take the pills?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a long silence, and then, so softly you almost missed it— “Still hurts?”

You hesitated. Your pride screamed at you to say no. To brush him off and keep that last little bit of distance between you. But you were tired.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

Joel exhaled slowly. And then, finally, finally, you felt his fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head just enough so he could lean in.

His lips pressed against your temple, warm and steady, lingering for just a second longer than they needed to.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in.

“Get ready, we have to go now” he spoke, still closer to your face.

You nodded, your throat tightening at the sudden shift back to reality. The moment was brief, fleeting, just like every soft thing between you and Joel seemed to be.

He pulled away first, his hand dropping from your face like he hadn’t just touched you like you meant something to him. Like he hadn’t just kissed you the way he always used to when you were hurting.

You cleared your throat, pushing yourself up slightly, ignoring the dull ache in your chest "Yeah, okay," you muttered, rubbing at your face as if you could wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joel stood up, already shifting back into that closed-off version of himself, the one that had been there ever since your fight. The one that didn’t know how to bridge the gap now.

Ellie walked in just as you were attempting to stand, her eyes flicking between the two of you. "You guys look weird," she said, frowning. "Like... extra weird."

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now, Ellie."

She just smirked, clearly entertained by whatever tension was hanging in the air. "Whatever you say, lovebirds."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your bag to distract yourself. Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps, but you pretended not to notice. Joel pretended too, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, watching you too closely like he always did.

The road stretched ahead, cracked and broken, nature reclaiming what once belonged to people. You walked in silence, the weight of the morning still pressing against your chest. Your head ached, but you bit down on the pain, refusing to let it slow you down.

Joel was beside you, his steps steady, his presence solid as ever. But something about him felt distant. He was looking at you, you could feel his gaze flickering toward you every few moments, but it wasn’t the same. Not like before.

Before, his eyes had been filled with something warm, something certain. But now? Now, it felt like he was watching you from behind a wall, like he was making sure you were still there but refusing to let himself feel anything about it.

Ellie, for once, was quiet, kicking a stray rock as she walked ahead, letting the tension settle between the two of you.

Joel’s outburst had been raw, desperate, his voice breaking, his hands gripping yours like he could tether you to him. But now, you saw it for what it was. Fear. Not just of losing you. But of what it meant if he didn’t.

Because Joel didn’t think he deserved to have you. He thought he wasn’t enough, that he never had been. And maybe… maybe he never would be.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "You don’t have to keep looking at me like that," you muttered, not even turning your head.

Joel tensed beside you. "Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to cry to let you in and forgive you shout at me.”

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all. But then—

"I am not," he said, voice rough. A lie.

You stopped walking. Finally, you turned to face him. "Then what is it?" you asked, your voice softer than you meant for it to be. "Because you had been like this for week, something's been different and yesterday you just broke."

Joel exhaled slowly, looking away, his hands on his hips, his fingers flexing. "Nothing’s different."

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Ellie stopped a few steps ahead, glancing between the two of you like she wanted to intervene but thought better of it.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders stiff, his mouth opening—then closing again. He had no answer. No real one, anyway.

Because the truth was, it had never been about you. It had always been about him. About the way he would rather push you away than let himself believe, even for a second, that he was allowed to keep you. That you would want to stay.

That you would choose him. But you were tired of being the only one fighting for this.

So, you just nodded, setting your jaw. "Alright," you murmured, turning back toward the road, ignoring the way your chest ached. "If nothing’s different, then let’s just keep moving."

He Heard the way your voice broke at the end and he just watched as you joined Ellie.

Joel stood there, hands tightening into fists at his sides as he watched you walk away. He’d done this—again.

He had Hurt you.

He told himself it was for the best, that it was the only way to keep you safe. But that excuse was starting to sound as hollow as he felt.

Ellie shot him a glance, her expression unreadable before she turned her attention back to you. She said something low under her breath, nudging your shoulder. You didn’t look back.

And Joel? Joel just stood there, rooted in place, watching the one thing he was most afraid of slip through his fingers.

Because, deep down, he knew. It wasn’t the world that would take you from him. It was him. It was a matter of time.

A few hours later, when cold still found its way deep down your bones. You followed Joel and Ellie into the old market, the air inside thick with dust and the remnants of a world long gone. The faded signs above the shop windows once advertised fruits and vegetables, but now they were nothing more than silent witnesses to the decay around them.

Joel stepped into the shadows first, scanning the area with ease. His hand never strayed far from the rifle slung across his back. He wasn’t just looking for supplies—he was looking for danger, as always, he was ready to find it. You watched him move with that quiet confidence that made him seem invincible, even though you knew better. The way he held himself, as if the weight of the world was constantly on his shoulders.

He disappeared behind a corner, moving into the heart of the market.

Ellie, always ready for adventure, shifted impatiently next to you. “Think it’s safe?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the market.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes fixed on the place where Joel had vanished. You could feel the tension coiling between the two of you, that invisible thread that had been growing tighter over the last few hours. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

“He’ll let us know when it’s safe,” you said quietly, not taking your eyes away from him.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced. “Yeah, but what if-”

You cut her off with a shake of your head. “He’s careful. He’ll check everything first.”

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but she stayed quiet. You both waited in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the wind and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Then, Joel’s voice echoed from ahead. “Clear,” he called out as he reappeared from behind a row of shelves, his gaze briefly flicking over you before he turned to lead the way deeper into the market. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the wariness beneath it.

His fingers found their way to your shoulders, his touch was brief, just the slightest brush of his fingers against your jacket. A silent reassurance. Or maybe a habit he couldn't break.

You didn’t react, didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on scanning the shelves, looking for anything useful. Cans, medical supplies.

Ellie was already rummaging through a shelf, muttering under her breath about how people really liked canned beans before the world went to hell. Joel moved ahead, his rifle held tight as he checked the corners, ever cautious.

You bent down, shifting through a pile of toppled boxes, when Joel’s voice came from behind you. “You good?”

It was automatic, the way he asked. Like even when he was keeping his distance, he still couldn’t help but care.

You hesitated, keeping your back to him. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “Alright.”

But it wasn’t alright.

Not the way his voice sounded. Not the way your chest ached every time he was close but not close enough. And definitely not the way his fingers had lingered just a second too long on your shoulder, as if he didn’t want to let go.

Joel was already moving toward another section of the market, scanning the rows of empty shelves, searching for anything of value. Ellie had drifted further ahead, already rummaging through a crate she found. You stayed close to the wall, the building’s dilapidated structure making you nervous, but you tried not to let the unease show. You knew Joel was doing his best to keep everyone safe, but the weight of everything—of what you had lost, of what you were still fighting for—was starting to catch up with you.

You took a few more steps, carefully picking your way over the cracked floor, when suddenly, the ground beneath you gave way with a sharp, unsettling creak. Before you could react, your foot twisted, the bone snapping like a twig under the weight of the fall.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your ankle as you cried out, unable to stop yourself. The world spun for a moment as you collapsed, hands pressing to the ground to catch yourself, but the pain in your ankle was unbearable. You let out a sharp gasp, fighting the urge to cry out again as you felt something shift beneath the skin, your foot didn’t feel right.

"Shit," you muttered, trying to stay calm, but panic crept in with each breath. Your heart raced as you instinctively tried to pull yourself up, but your foot wouldn’t hold any weight. You couldn’t put it down.

Ellie’s voice broke through the fog of pain, distant but growing closer. “What happened?”

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice followed almost immediately. You could hear the panic lacing his tone, the urgency in his steps as he turned back toward you. You felt the weight of his presence before you saw him, his figure coming into view, moving fast.

He saw you on the ground, your face twisted in pain, and his heart dropped. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, kneeling down beside you with a speed that surprised you. His hands were gentle, but you could hear the frustration in his voice as he assessed the damage. "What the hell happened?"

“I—I fell,” you stammered, gritting your teeth as you tried to hold back more of the pain. You couldn’t focus on anything other than your ankle, the way it throbbed, the way your body seemed to give way under the weight of it.

Joel’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as he reached down to carefully touch your injured ankle. “I’m gonna need you to stay still, alright?” His voice was calm, but there was a warning edge to it. He was trying to hold himself together, trying not to let his worry show, but you could see it in his eyes. His hands worked quickly, checking for anything more serious, his brow furrowed with concentration.

“Ellie, get over here,” Joel called out, his voice low and strained.

Ellie rushed back toward you, eyes wide with concern as she knelt beside you. “Shit, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said through clenched teeth, trying to sound stronger than you felt. “It’s just my ankle.”

Joel’s gaze flicked between you and Ellie, his mind clearly racing. “We need to get you out of here, now.” His hand gripped your shoulder for a moment, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if grounding himself in that brief contact.

Ellie was already standing, her expression determined as she took a deep breath. “I’ll go grab what we need.”

Joel nodded, but his focus never left you. He reached down, his hands carefully lifting you as he positioned himself behind you. "I'm gonna carry you. It's gonna hurt a little, but I need you to hang on."

You bit back a hiss of pain as he adjusted his hold on you, making sure not to jostle your foot too much, but you couldn’t suppress the way your body tensed at the movement. The pain was still sharp, but there was something comforting in the way Joel’s arms secured around you.

“Joel…” you whispered, too exhausted to speak louder.

“I got you,” he muttered back, his voice almost a promise. "Just hang in there."

As he started to move, carrying you carefully toward a safer corner, you could feel your heart rate begin to slow, your pulse steadying slightly in the rhythm of his steps. But the ache in your ankle still lingered, a constant reminder of how fragile everything really was.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the pain, trying to find some semblance of peace in the way Joel had his arms around you. Because no matter how mad you were, no matter how much you weren’t talking to him, Joel Miller was always going to take care of you.

Joel helped you settle into a quiet corner of the abandoned store, easing you down onto an old crate. He crouched in front of you, his hands steady as he pulled your boot off, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

Ellie hovered for a second, glancing between the two of you, then rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’m gonna go check the other side of the store. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

You didn’t respond. Joel didn’t either.

Once Ellie disappeared, Joel focused back on your ankle, pulling out a roll of bandages from his pack. He was quiet as he started wrapping, his fingers gentle but firm, pressing just enough to support your injury.

You watched him for a moment, then let out a quiet scoff. “You don’t have to pretend you care about this.”

Joel’s hands stilled. His jaw ticked. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You think I’m pretending?” His voice was low, rough. Almost offended by the way your voice sounded saying those words.

You looked away, focusing on the peeling paint on the walls. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Joel. One second, you’re mad at me. The next, you’re acting like—like this.” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like it actually matters.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, sitting back on his heels. “It does matter.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Does it? Because you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you were yelling at me.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was mad because you almost got yourself killed.”

“I was saving you.” You protested.

“I don’t need saving” He replied, rough as always.

Your eyes snapped back to his, anger flashing in them. “And I don’t need you acting like I don’t have a say in whether or not I protect you. You can’t just decide for me, Joel.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He looked exhausted, like he was carrying too much weight on his shoulders. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

You frowned, your voice softer now. “Can’t what?”

His gaze met yours again, something raw behind it. “I can’t lose you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint wind outside, the rustling of leaves.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You think I want to lose you?”

Joel’s expression softened just a fraction. He sighed, reaching forward, his hand hesitating before resting gently on your knee.

Your breath caught. The fight, the tension, it was still there, but underneath it was something deeper. Something neither of you had the words for just yet.

“You are always so willing to die,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for the exact moment. Like none of this matters to you. Like I don’t matter.”

Joel’s breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, grounding you, but he didn’t say anything.

You sniffed, shaking your head. “Do you even know what that does to me? How it makes me feel?”

He swallowed hard, his throat working around the words he wasn’t saying.

“You walk into danger like you’ve already made peace with dying,” you continued, your voice raw. “And maybe you have. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I care. And you make me watch you throw yourself into danger like it doesn’t matter if you make it out. Like you don’t care if I have to watch you—”

Your voice cut off as a sob wracked through you.

Joel let out a slow breath. Then, finally, he spoke. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, swiping at your tears. “You sure don’t act like it.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look at you. “I’m not waiting to die.”

You scoffed, looking away.

“I’m not” he insisted. His voice was rough, firm. “I just…I don’t know how to do this. How to—” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before gripping the back of his neck. “I spent twenty years not giving a damn about whether I made it out of alive. And then you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words.

You stared at him, waiting. His gaze met yours again, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable.

"Do you think I would survive without you?" You asked him.

"You're strong." he stated.  

"That doesn't matter if the person I love and I protect throws himself to death" you said, tired of the cycle.

“I’m not trying to--” he started, but you cut him off.

“Yes, you are,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You act like you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I do. And I don’t know what’s worse—watching you run into danger without thinking or knowing that if you died, you’d probably think I’d just move on.”

His brows furrowed. “That ain’t—”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around Joel’s wrist. “Do you love me, Joel?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it—that maybe, after everything, he’d still hold back.

But then, his hand moved, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the cut on your cheek. His touch was careful, reverent, like he was memorizing you.

“I do,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Your breath stilled.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “More than I ever meant to. More than I know what to do with.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his voice.

“Then stop trying to leave me behind,” you whispered, pleading to him.

He looked at you with such intensity, as if he was trying to see past the pain and fear, trying to understand something that had always eluded him.

“How do you even love someone like me?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly, the question laced with vulnerability, a side of him you rarely saw—something raw and unprotected.

Your heart hurt at the sound of it. You wanted to reach out and erase the doubt from his mind, to tell him that he didn’t have to question it. But instead, you just looked at him, letting the silence linger for a moment, trying to gather the right words to answer him.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, “I love you because you’re you. Because through all the broken pieces, all the walls you’ve built around yourself, I still see the man who’s been there for me. You’re not perfect, none of us are. But you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if taking in your words, processing them, before meeting your gaze again. His expression softened, the tightness in his jaw easing, but there was still that guarded look in his eyes. He was trying to fight something inside himself, something he had carried for so long.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, almost to himself, but you heard it loud and clear. The doubt in his voice, something he couldn’t shake.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes. “Stop saying that,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “You deserve me. You deserve everything good that’s coming your way. I’ve seen who you are, Joel. You’re not what you think you are.”

“Why do you think I keep pushing you away?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, like he was afraid of the answer himself.

You leaned in a little closer, your forehead nearly touching his, and your breath mingled in the quiet space between you. “Because you’re scared of letting yourself love me the way you do,” you said softly. “You’re scared of losing me. But pushing me away won’t make it any easier. It’ll just leave you with a regret you can’t undo.”

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as if your words had struck a chord in him, but it wasn’t enough to break him completely, not yet.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m afraid if I let myself love you fully... if I let myself need you the way I do… I won’t be able to protect you. I can’t live with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you reached up to wipe it away, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. You could feel the pain in his words, the depth of his fear, and it only made you love him more.

Joel’s hand gently moved to your ankle, and despite everything that had just been said, the tenderness in his touch wasn’t lost on you. His rough fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully positioned your leg. You winced slightly at the discomfort, but it wasn’t the pain from your ankle that caught your attention—it was the way his eyes never left you, the quiet care he was showing in that moment.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low, trying to keep his own emotions in check. You could tell he was trying to be calm for you, even though you knew he was anything but calm inside.

Joel’s fingers moved gently over your ankle, wrapping the bandage with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. His touch was steady, and for once, it was soft, more like the careful tenderness of someone who didn’t want to hurt you, rather than the harshness that often came with survival.

You winced slightly when the bandage tightened, but he immediately eased his grip, looking at you with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but his care made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

Once your ankle was properly secured, Joel leaned back, looking at you for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place in them. He didn’t speak for a while, just stared at you like he was trying to decide something in his mind.

Joel’s gaze went to your ankle for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward, his lips brushing the soft skin of your bandaged ankle. It was a gesture so tender, so unexpected, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice remained quiet, almost apologetic. “I’m just trying to make it better.”

You shook your head, still chuckling lightly, the sound feeling strange after everything that had happened. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Joel,” you said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “It’s just... never thought you’d be kissing my ankle better.”

Joel’s smirk softened into something more tender, and for a moment, there was nothing between you but the quiet understanding. His eyes dropped back to your ankle for a brief second before lifting to meet yours once more, his expression serious.  Without another word, he moved closer, his hand reaching to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he had shown when tending to your injury. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his lips just a breath away.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you, soft, lingering, as if it was a promise, as if it was everything, he hadn’t been able to say before. You leaned into it, letting the kiss speak for you both, the tension between you finally easing, at least for this moment.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” Ellie’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

You and Joel broke apart instantly, your breath still tangled in his, as you turned to see Ellie standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Joel cleared his throat and sat back slightly, rubbing a hand over his beard like that would somehow erase what she’d just walked in on.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re already making out. Unbelievable.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic tone. “Ellie—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, waving a hand. “I mean, it’s kinda sweet, but gross.”

Joel shot her a look, his voice flat. “Ellie.”

“What?” She shrugged, grinning. “Just saying. But, uh—maybe save the romance for later, lovebirds? We kinda got shit to do.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but when he glanced at you again, you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“C’mon,” he muttered, standing up and offering you a hand. “We should get movin’.”

You took his hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. As you stood, Ellie shot you both a smug look before turning on her heel.

As she walked away, you heard her mutter under her breath, “God, I hope I never have to see that again.”

As soon as you put weight on your injured ankle, a sharp pain shot up your leg, making you wince. You bit down on a curse, trying to tough it out, but Joel noticed immediately.

“Joel, it’s fine, I can walk,” you protested, but you could see the look in his eyes, the one that said, no argument.

“Not gonna argue with me on this one. Up you go.” Before you could protest, he crouched slightly in front of you. “Get on.” He waited for you to settle onto his back, and you reluctantly complied, knowing it would be easier than walking on your own.

You blinked at him. “Joel, I can—”

He shot you a look over his shoulder. “I'm not asking...”

Ellie snorted. “Just get on, lovebird.”

You sighed, but there was no real fight left in you. Carefully, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you effortlessly.

“Easy, old man,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip. “Call me that again, and I’m dropping you.”

You laughed softly, “Thanks,” you muttered after a moment, your face buried in his jacket, still feeling the warmth of his body. The way he carried you felt like a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

You sighed against him, letting yourself relax just a little as Joel carried you forward with steady steps. Without thinking, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just above the collar of his jacket.

Joel stiffened for half a second, his grip on your legs tightening before he exhaled slowly. “You trying to distract me?” His voice was lower now, rougher.

A smirk played on your lips. “Is it working?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

You laughed, placing another kiss on the same spot, “I love you, Joel.”

His steps faltered for just a moment, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your legs like he needed to ground himself.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept walking, his jaw tight. For a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

But then, in that quiet, gruff voice of his, he murmured, “I love you too, darling. Always”.

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY 4 • JEY USO

author's note: hello my loves! we have made it to part four🫨 I am not gonna lie to you...this ending is gonna hurt(i'm sorry!☹️) but I promise you it will be worth it for part five, happy reading and I hope you enjoy💗

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise aka candy)

tags: 18+(MDNI), slow burn, flirty banter, fluffy lovey dovey shit, mentions of death, mention of miscarriages, talks of past predatory behaviors and grooming, use of the n word, teasing, kissing, lots of touching, lotsssss of dirty talk, pussy eating, jey is a certified munch ™, daddy kink, morning sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys!), missionary, backshots, biting, fingering, spanking, multiple orgasms, daddy kink, pet names ( pretty girl, baby, mama, baby girl ), slow, sensual, and rough sex, squirting, creampie, aftercare, heavy angst at the end.

word count: 7k words (buckle up y'all🤫)

read part one here!

read part two here!

read part three here!

soundtrack playlist

Cherise stretched under the warm weight of her blanket, her body still heavy with sleep, her limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly like vanilla and something masculine. Something like…

Jey.

She blinked against the morning sun filtering through her blinds,  wincing at the delicious soreness between her thighs. The memories of the night before rushed back all at once—his hands gripping her waist, his deep, filthy groans in her ear, the way he held her after, like he didn’t wanna let her go.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a pleasurable throb still lingering between them from the way he’d taken her apart.

Damn.

A small, satisfied smile started to creep onto her lips as she reached out across the bed…only to find his side empty.

Cold.

The smile faded instantly.

Of course.

Cherise exhaled, sinking back into the pillows as disappointment settled in her stomach. She should’ve known better, should’ve expected this. Jey had his life, his own world full of championship belts, WrestleMania main events, and people screaming his name in sold-out arenas. He wasn’t about to change that for some stripper he met in a club.

And yet…

She bit her lip, staring at the empty space beside her, willing herself to accept it for what it was.

A good night. A great night even. Nothing more.

She could handle that.

Probably.

With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her side, fingers mindlessly smoothing over the fabric of the sheets then suddenly, the faint sound of something clinking in the other room made her freeze.

Her brows furrowed.

“What the hell?” she muttered to herself. Before she could even sit up, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

Jey standing in her doorway holding a breakfast tray. Shirtless, grey sweatpants on, tattoos on full display, chains sparkling around his neck in the morning light like he belonged in a damn perfume ad.

He grinned when he saw her. That lazy, cocky grin that made her stomach flip in the most annoying way.

“Mornin’, mama,” he drawled, stepping inside like he hadn’t just nearly given her a damn heart attack. “You sleep good?”

Cherise blinked, her brain still trying to process what was happening.  “You’re… still here?” Jey smirked, setting the tray down on the nightstand before climbing back into bed, stretching out like he owned the place. “Damn, ma. That how you greet a man who made you breakfast?”

She shot him a look, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable.  “…You made breakfast?”

“Hell yeah. I ain’t no scrub, baby.” He tapped the tray. “Eggs, turkey bacon, French toast, lil’ fruit on the side ‘cause I know you tryna be healthy and shit. I even found some syrup in your cabinet, so go ‘head and give me my props.”

Cherise huffed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

Jey’s grin widened, eye crinkling.  “I know.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up, the sheet slipping slightly off her shoulders as she reached for the tray. Jey’s gaze dipped for half a second on her shirt covered torso before he licked his lips and focused back on her face.

“Mmm, baby, you gon’ have me forgettin’ about this food real quick…”

Cherise laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder before picking up a fork.  “Eat some damn breakfast, Joshua.”

Jey smirked but grabbed his own fork, stealing a piece of bacon off her plate like a menace.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jey occasionally stealing more of her food while she pretended not to care (but she cared, the audacity.).

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“So, tell me somethin’ real, baby girl.”

Cherise glanced up mid-bite. “Like what?”

Jey tilted his head, watching her. “Like you. Who really is Cherise?”

She hesitated, stabbing at a piece of fruit with her fork. “You already know me.”

“Not really,” Jey murmured, chewing a piece of bacon. "You don’t talk much about you."

Cherise raised a brow. "I talk plenty."

"Nah," he shook his head. "You talk around shit. I be tellin’ you everything, but you always keepin’ me at arm’s length."

Cherise bit her lip.

She didn’t talk about herself much. Wasn’t used to people caring enough to ask. But something about how Jey gave his undivided attention to her, seeing her for who she is outside of the fantasy she created..he made it hard for her to hide.

Then, between bites, he asked “What made you wanna be a nurse, baby?”

Cherise hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him.  It was just…no one had asked in a while. No one had cared to ask.

She exhaled. “My mom.”

Jey tilted his head.

“She died giving birth to me,” Cherise said quietly, rolling her fork between her fingers. “Preeclampsia. The doctors didn’t catch it early enough.”

Jey stilled, setting his plate down.  “Damn, baby…I’m so sorry.”

Cherise managed a small smile. “She knew it was a risk, though. She had a few miscarriages before me, but I guess she thought she’d be okay. She wasn’t. That’s…part of why I became a nurse. I always wanted to help women, especially Black women get better care. Too many babies goin’ home without their mama y’know?”

Jey was silent, watching her carefully, his fingers tracing idle circles into her thigh. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush her. Just let her talk.

“She wrote letters to me. One for each birthday up to twenty-one.  Always felt like she was still with me somehow.”

He nodded solemnly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “That's beautiful. That’s why you got that soft heart under all that tough girl shit, huh?”

She snorted, nudging him. “Hush. Anyway, her favorite craving was cherries when she was pregnant. Ate ‘em like crazy. So she named me Cherise. It’s French for cherry.”

Jey smiled softly. “That’s cute. Fits you, too.”

“Yeah? How?”

He smirked playfully, fingertips drifting lower down her spine. “Sweet, but a lil tart when you wanna be.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Boy, bye.”

He chuckled, then turned serious again.  “So your pops…?”

“Died when I graduated high school,” she murmured softly.  “Just been me since. Had a boyfriend years ago but I had to end it. Been navigatin’ the world alone for a minute.”

Jey shook his head. "Not no more, baby girl."

She looked at him then, eyes locking with his, her heart stupidly skipping a beat.

"Jey-“

"Nah." His voice was firm. "I mean that shit. You ain’t alone no more, mama. I gotchu, you hear me?"

Cherise pressed her lips together, trying not to let that get to her. But damn it…it did.

Jey then leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.  “Aight, my turn. What you wanna know?”

Cherise tapped her chin, smirking. “If you weren’t wrestling, what would you be doing?”

Jey didn’t even hesitate.  “Easy, football coach.”

Her brows lifted.  “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Played linebacker in college. I was good, too.  Almost went pro, but…fucked up my shoulder.” He shrugged.  “Still love the game, though. Wouldn’t mind coachin’ one day when I retire.”

Cherise hummed, watching him. “I can see that. You got that whole ‘Coach Carter’ vibe going on.”

Jey smirked. “Oh, you peeped that, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Boy, shut up.”

Jey chuckled, then his gaze dipped back to her lips. “Mmm…you got work or school today?”

Cherise blinked. “I’m off, why?”

Before she could finish, Jey laid her down on her back, his body pressing her into the mattress, his lips trailing hot kisses down her throat.

“‘Cause I need you again, baby,” he murmured against her skin.

Her breath hitched.  “Boy—”

His mouth was on hers before she could even get another smart remark out, swallowing whatever little control she thought she had.  He kissed her deep, slow, but possessive, like he was trying to brand her with every slide of his tongue, every bite of her lips.

Cherise whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading into the short curls at the nape of his neck, pulling just enough to make him groan against her lips.

"Mm, you like when I kiss you like that, huh?" Jey smirked against her mouth, his voice low, taunting, his hands sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her face just the way he wanted.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Her body did all the talking.

She was already soft and pliant beneath him, her thighs spreading just a little more on their own, her back arching when he slid his hands down her waist, gripping the soft curve of her hips.

Jey chuckled darkly.  "Mmm, I love that shit," he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, slow, teasing, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her throat.  "You talk all that shit, but soon as I touch you, you foldin’ on me, huh?"

Cherise hated how much she liked the way he was playing with her.

"I ain’t foldin'," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, breathier, already betraying her.

Jey hummed, amused, his tongue flicking out against her pulse before biting down, hard enough to make her whimper.

"Nah?" His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp heat of her panties, feeling the warmth that was already seeping through the fabric.  "So what’s this, then, huh? Why you already drippin’ on me, pretty girl?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Jey-“

"Nah, tell me." His lips dragged down her collarbone, slow, teasing, his fingers just barely pressing against her through the thin lace. "You get wet for me that fast, baby?"

She bit her lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction.

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, knowing she was fighting it, knowing she was stubborn.  But she was already squirming, her body betraying her, her hips subtly rolling into his teasing touch.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice smug. "Go ‘head, open up for me, baby."

Cherise sighed through her nose, hating herself for listening to him.

But she let her thighs part a little more.

Jey smirked against her skin. “Good girl."

Before she could say something smart, he was gone.

Sliding down, settling between her legs, dragging her panties down slow.

"Mmm, damn, mama…"

Cherise swore her whole body clenched at the way his voice dropped, dark and heavy with heat, his gaze locked between her thighs like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Jey licked his lips, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them even wider. "Shit, baby girl… look at you," he murmured, running a thumb over her slick folds. "All this for me?"

Cherise whimpered, her hips jerking at the first press of his fingers.

Jey groaned.  "Ohhh, baby…" He dragged a finger through the mess between her thighs, slow, teasing, coating his fingertips before pressing them against her clit. "Look how fuckin’ wet you are, damn."

Cherise shuddered..“Stop playin’ Jey c’mon…”

"Shhh, mama. I got you," he hushed her. "Lemme take care of you, baby girl."

And then he lowered his mouth on her. A sharp, shattering gasp ripped from Cherise’s throat the second his tongue flattened against her clit, licking slow, deliberate, his grip on her thighs tightening.

"Ohhh, fuck..”

Jey hummed into her, sending vibrations straight through her. “Mmm, yeah, there we go, baby." He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. “Can’t get over how sweet this lil’ pussy is.”

Cherise couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe even.

Her thighs trembled against his broad shoulders as his tongue moved with expert precision flicking, swirling, sucking, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves until her stomach tightened and her breath hitched.

Jey groaned against her, devouring her like a man starved, his tongue dipping lower, fucking into her tight hole slowly before dragging back up to her clit.

"J-Jey—"

"Mmm, that’s right, baby, say my name." He gripped her thighs, pulling her even closer to his mouth. "Let me hear you, pretty girl."

Cherise whimpered, her head tipping back against the pillows. "Oh my God…”

"Mmm, yeah, you like that, huh?" He chuckled darkly, his fingers replacing his tongue, sliding into her pussy, curling just right against that spot that made her back arch.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Go ‘head, mama," he groaned, his lips wrapping around her clit again, sucking just hard enough to push her over the edge. "Lemme feel you cum for me, baby."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, her thighs shaking, her mouth parting in a breathless cry as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she squeezed around his fingers, the way she soaked his hand.  "Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl, look at you… So fuckin’ pretty when you cum."

Cherise twitched, her entire body buzzing, her fingers tangled tight in his curls.

Jey sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil himself.

"Mmm, damn, mama…" He kissed her inner thigh, voice thick and lazy.  "You taste even better than I remember."

Cherise exhaled shakily, blinking up at the ceiling, barely processing what the fuck just happened.

Jey crawled back up her body, his hands pinned to her thighs, his hard, heavy length pressing against her, teasing, waiting.

"You ready for me, baby?"

Cherise nods eagerly.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers. ”Gimme words… you ready, mama?"

Cherise swallowed hard, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Mhm."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, sliding slowly inside her, stretching her open inch by inch. "Fuck, baby…" 

"Ohhh, fuck—" Cherise’s nails dug into Jey’s broad shoulders, her breath stuttering as he sank into her slow, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her legs trembling around his waist.

Jey groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his fingers tightening around the plush curves of her hips. "Mmm, shit, mama… You feel that? You feel how deep I am?"

Cherise’s lips parted, but no sound came out, just a breathy whimper, her mind hazy from the pressure, the way he was spreading her open, filling her too good.

"Mmm, yeah…" Jey shuddered, his abs flexing as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself completely inside her. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby… all this dick, huh?"

And she sure did take him good. 

She felt every pulsing, throbbing inch of his cock stretching her walls, pressing into her so deep that she swore she could feel him in her damn stomach.

Cherise whimpered, her head tilting back against the pillows.  “J-Jey..”

"Shhh…" Jey pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling back just slightly, only to thrust back in slow, deliberate. "I got you, baby girl. Just relax and lemme feel you.”

He rolled his hips slow, deep, grinding into her, making sure she felt every inch, making sure she took it.

Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Ohhh my God—"

Jey chuckled darkly, lifting his head to watch her.  "Mmm, you talkin’ to Him, but I’m the one blessin’ you right now, pretty girl."

Her cheeks burned, but she had no smart comeback—not when he was stroking into her like that.

"You know what’s crazy, mama?" he murmured, his voice smooth and taunting. "You act all tough, all independent… but soon as I get up in this lil’ pussy, you turn into my good lil’ girl, huh?"

Cherise whimpered, her breath coming out in soft, needy gasps.  “S-shut up..”

Jey smirked, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. "Nah, baby, you love that shit, huh?You like when Daddy talk to you like this? Like when I tell you how good you takin’ me?” 

"J-Jey—"

"That’s right." He pressed a kiss to her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin.  "Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you say my name, baby girl."

Cherise couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do shit but take it as Jey moved above her, his body pressed so close, his weight anchoring her to the bed.

"Ohhh, fuck—" she gasped, gripping his biceps as he pulled back, leaving only the thick tip of him inside her, and snapped his hips hard, the sudden force making her moan loud and sharp.

"Mmm, yeah, there we go…" Jey grinned, his fingers gripping her waist, holding her still so she could feel every inch as he set a slow, deep rhythm. "You like that, baby? You like when I fuck you just like this?"

Cherise could barely form words just desperate, breathy whimpers, her body trembling with each slow, heavy thrust.

Jey groaned.  "Damn, baby girl, you fuckin’ squeezin’ me…" His jaw clenched, his pace faltering for half a second as he felt the way her walls clenched tight around him. "Shit, you tryna make me nut already?"

Cherise whimpered, her head spinning from the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming pleasure building between her thighs.  "Jey, I—"

"Ohhh, baby…" He groaned, gripping her waist, his pace turning rougher, deeper, his hips snapping into hers, pushing her higher “and higher. You ‘bout to cum for me, huh?"

“Yesss Daddy, fuck—“

"Go ‘head, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb pressing right against her swollen clit, circling slow, knowing exactly what it would do to her.  "Lemme feel it.  Cum all on this dick, mama."

Cherise snapped.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through her like a wave, her back arching, her mouth parting in a wrecked, breathless cry.

"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—fuck!"

Jey groaned, feeling the way she clenched up around him, the way she soaked him, dripping down his thighs, leaving a messy, filthy wet spot beneath them.

"Mmm, that’s my girl," he murmured, gripping her chin, tilting her face up so she could see him.  "Look at me, baby."

Cherise barely had the strength to open her eyes, but when she did…The way he looked at her with such admiration, sweet brown eyes shining down on hers with lust , made her body shudder.

Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers, teasing, taunting.  "Yeah, that’s right, mama.  You feelin’ good now, huh?"

Cherise nodded, her body shaking beneath him.  "Mhm…"

"Mmm…" Jey smirked, loving the way she was already falling apart under him. "That’s cute, mama.  But we ain’t done yet."

Before she could even process what he meant, Jey sat back on his heels, grabbing her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. Cherise gasped, her cheek pressing into the pillows as he hauled her hips up, angling her exactly how he wanted.

"Mmm, there we go…" Jey ran his hands over her ass, squeezing, gripping, spreading her open before lining himself back up. "You gon’ take this dick just like that, huh, baby?"

Cherise whimpered, pressing her face into the sheets.  “Yes Daddy..”

"Uh-uh." Jey smirked, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to lift her head. "Keep that pretty lil’ face up for me, mama. Lemme see you."

He tapped the head of his cock against her sensitive folds gaining a few whines from her, then he pressed back inside her.

"Ohhh, fuck Daddy!”  Cherise’s entire body trembled as Jey filled her up again, the new angle making it deeper, making her feel every inch of him.

"Mmm, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby…" Jey groaned, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he started to move—slow at first, long, deep strokes that made her thighs shake.

“P-please…“ She mewled softly, hips bucking from overstimulation at her previous orgasms.

"Uh-huh, I know, baby." His free hand smacked her ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt straight to her clit. "I know you sensitive now, huh?  This what you needed, baby girl?"

Cherise whimpered, her body arching back into him.  "Mmhmm…"

"Mmm, that’s right…" He grinned, rubbing over the spot he just slapped, his fingers trailing up her spine.  "Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, mama. This my pussy now, huh?"

Cherise’s breath hitched.

And then he slapped her ass again.

"Answer me, baby."

"Y-yeah fuck! Yes, Jey it’s yours!”

“Damn right."

Jey’s movements turned rougher, his hips snapping against hers, deep and unrelenting, his thick cock dragging against her most sensitive spots, making her whimper with every stroke.

"Mmm, I love this shit, baby girl…" His voice was low, dark, husky.  "Love watchin’ you take this dick. Love hearin’ you sing for me, mama."

"Ohhh fuck,” Cherise gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as heat coiled tight in her stomach.  "J-Jey, I’m gonna—“

"Mmm, I know, baby girl." He snapped his hips harder, his grip tightening on her waist. "Gon’ give me another one, huh? Gon’ make another mess for me, honey?”

Cherise cried out, her entire body clenching up as the pleasure exploded inside her, her thighs shaking as she came hard, gushing around him.

Jey groaned, feeling the way she soaked his dick, the way she clamped around him.  "Ohhh, fuck, baby…"

His hips stuttered, his rhythm turning erratic as his own release slammed into him.  "Shit baby, you gon’ take this nut, baby, fuck—"

With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud as he filled her up, his arms wrapped around her waist, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.

"Mmm, fuck, baby girl…"

Cherise’s body trembled, her breath shaky, her limbs weak.

Jey chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder.  "Yeah…it’s a good morning now huh, mama?”

Cherise exhaled, her lips curving into a tired smirk.  "Guess so."

♡

Jey should’ve been gone thirty minutes ago.

His phone had vibrated on the nightstand twice, his lock screen lighting up with a text from Jimmy talking about, “Uce, where the fuck you at? You got training.”

But Jey?

Jey was still cozied up in Cherise’s bed.

Still tangled in her sheets, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck like he wasn’t supposed to be halfway across town by now.

Cherise sighed, running her fingers through his curls.  "Joshua…"

Jey hummed, lips pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder.  "Mmm?"

"Ain’t you late?" she teased, her voice still groggy from earlier events, still soft from everything they’d just done.

Jey smirked against her skin, nuzzling closer, pulling her body back against his chest.  "I’on care."

Cherise rolled her eyes.  “Hunter gon’ care when you walk in there late as hell, smellin’ like me."

Jey chuckled, his lips trailing up her neck, slow, teasing.  "And what if I like smellin’ like you, baby?"

Cherise’s stomach flipped.

She bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Boy, get up and shower.”

"Mm-mm." Jey tightened his grip. "I think I like it right here, mama."

Cherise sighed, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to push him off.

Because if she was being honest?

She liked it too.

Liked how warm he was. How comfortable this felt.

Jey sighed against her skin, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before finally rolling onto his back, stretching with a deep groan.  "Damn, baby girl… you really tryna kick me out?"

"I ain’t kickin’ you out." Cherise smirked, propping herself up on one elbow.  "I’m just reminding you that you a whole WWE superstar and you got shit to do."

Jey grinned, reaching over to smack her ass, his fingers squeezing deep into the plush curve of her thigh. "Mmm, you right… but damn, you really got me tryna call out today."

Cherise laughed, pushing at his chest. "Go to work, Jey."

"Aight, aight…" He finally sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching again before standing.

Cherise immediately missed the warmth of him.

She watched as he padded toward the bathroom, completely naked, stretching his muscles with a lazy yawn.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Thick ass…"

Jey heard that.

He smirked over his shoulder, flexing just a little as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I know you watchin’, mama."

Cherise huffed, rolling her eyes.  "Boy, shut up."

♡

Jey stood at the front door, finally dressed, his duffle bag tucked under one arm. Cherise leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to look like she was already missing him.

Jey tilted his head, his eyes roaming over her, lazy, warm, teasing.  "Damn, baby, why you lookin’ at me like you mad?"

Cherise rolled her eyes.  "I’m not mad."

Jey smirked, stepping closer, his fingers tilting her chin up. "Mmm, you mad I gotta leave, huh?"

"Boy, please."

"Awww, look at you, baby girl…" He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek.  "You catchin’ feelings for me?"

Cherise pushed at his chest, laughing.  "Joshua, if you don’t get the fuck out my apartment…”

Jey chuckled, but his hands didn’t leave her hips. “Say you gon’ miss me, baby girl."

Cherise lifted a brow. "You that desperate for validation?"

Jey grinned, making her heart skip a beat. "Ain’t nothin’ desperate ‘bout it, mama.  I just like hearin’ you say it."

Cherise sighed dramatically, shaking her head.  "Fine." She grabbed his keys and tossed them for him to catch  "I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey caught the key with one hand, placing them in his pocket.  "Damn, that was real unenthusiastic, baby."

Cherise smirked. "Want me to write it in a love letter?"

"Nah, just say it nice for me, baby girl." Jey stepped closer, his lips brushing her jaw, his voice dropping to that slow, deep rasp.  "Say it real sweet, mama."

Cherise shivered, biting her lip.

Jey smirked, sensing her resolve melting.

"Mmm, yeah, there it go." He chuckled, low, smug. "You gon’ miss me, huh?"

Cherise sighed, knowing she lost this round. "Yeah, Jey. I’m gon’ miss you."

Jey grinned, pressing his lips to her forehead.  "That’s what I like to hear, baby girl."

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach flipped.

Jey stepped back, adjusting his duffle bag, glancing down at her one last time.  "You be good, aight?"

Cherise smirked.  "I ain’t makin’ no promises."

Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head.  "That’s my girl."

And then he finally stepped out the door.

Cherise watched him go, arms still crossed, fighting the little smile pulling at her lips.

Then she glanced at the couch.

Where his hoodie wasn’t.

She blinked.

…Did she just—

Her stomach flipped.

She turned quickly, grabbing the hoodie from where she definitely hid it behind her back, clutching the thick, warm fabric to her chest.

Her lips twitched.

"Oh well."

Jey could worry about it later.

Cherise sighed as she finally shut the door, pressing her back against it.

Her body still buzzed from Jey’s touch, from the way he had looked at her before he left, from the way he kissed her forehead like she was his—like he would be back.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she pushed off the door, running a hand through her braids.

She needed to clean up.  Maybe take another shower. Definitely eat again after the way Jey had worked her out—

Her eyes landed on the coffee table.

And she stopped.

Her books.

Her notes.

Her pens.

All of it was… organized.

Neatly stacked, everything in place, her color-coded highlighters lined up in a perfect little row.

Her heart skipped.

Because she knew she hadn’t done that.

Cherise slowly stepped toward the table, fingertips grazing the newly arranged pages.

Jey had done this.

Somewhere between ruining her and making her breakfast, he had organized her damn study materials.

She swallowed, blinking down at the neatly stacked notebooks.

She didn’t know why that made her chest feel so… warm.

So full.

It was just a small thing.

But it wasn’t.

Because nobody ever took care of her like that.

Nobody ever stuck around long enough to.

Cherise exhaled, dropping onto the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she finally let herself smile.

And then she reached for her phone.

She had one person she needed to call.

She curled up on the couch, still wrapped in Jey’s hoodie, pulled the thick fabric over her bare thighs, and tapped Trinity’s contact.

The phone barely rang twice before Trin picked up.

“Uh-uh, girl don’t even start."

Cherise blinked, her lips parting.  "Huh?"

"I know that ‘I just got my shit rocked’ voice when I hear it." Trinity’s tone was smug as hell.  "And you sound real damn relaxed, sis. What, Jey put you to sleep?"

Cherise groaned, pressing the phone to her forehead.  "Why do you know my life?"

"‘Cause I know you," Trinity cackled. "Now spill, Cher. Did he put it down or did he put it down?"

Cherise sighed dramatically, a slow, lazy grin creeping across her face.  "Girl."

"Oh, it was like that?!" Trinity gasped, her voice full of amusement.

"Like that," Cherise confirmed, shaking her head.  "I can still feel him, Trin."

“Well then-“ Trinity cackled. "Not my girl walkin’ funny. Jey did not lay you out like that!"

"He did, though!" Cherise buried her face in Jey’s hoodie, muffling a groan. "And then this man had the audacity to cook me breakfast, like he wasn’t just rearranging my spine six hours ago."

"Not the full boyfriend experience!" Trinity squealed, the sound of something clattering in the background.  "Damn! I knew he was feelin’ you, but that’s some real husband behavior."

Cherise bit her lip, stomach flipping.  "You think so?"

"Girl, yes!" Trinity scoffed.  "You think Jey cookin’ breakfast for everybody he smashin’? Nah, sis. You different."

Cherise felt warmth bloom in her chest, but she quickly shook it off, rolling her eyes. "You say that, but this man still play too much."

"Oh, what he do now?"

"Girl, tell me why I was dead ass thinking he dipped before I woke up?" Cherise huffed.  "I reached over, and his side of the bed was empty, and I was like, ‘Welp, I knew what it was.’ But then he walked in with a whole ass breakfast tray like some kinda domesticated Samoan husband."

"Bitch, I know you was ready to be sick!" Trinity cackled.

"I was," Cherise admitted, groaning.  "Like, I was really tryna play it cool in my head, but deep down I was hurt, Trin. Thought he hit me with the ‘Aight, I’mma head out’ after all that."

"See, that’s how I know you like him!"

"I didn’t say all that—"

"Girl, shut up!  You don’t gotta say it!  It’s in your voice!  The way you was feelin’ when you thought he left?  The way you just admitted you was gonna accept it, but deep down you didn’t want to?"

Cherise was quiet.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought," Trinity said smugly.

Cherise groaned again, tugging the hoodie tighter around her.  "I hate when you’re right."

"Mmm-hmm. And I be right a lot."

"Don’t hype yourself up, damn."

Trinity laughed. "Nah, but for real, Cher… You think this could be somethin’?"

Cherise chewed her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t even know, Trin."

"Why not?"

"‘Cause what if I get caught up in it?" Cherise exhaled, her voice quieter now.  "What if I start really feelin’ him, and then he just… disappears?"

"Aht aht, see—" Trinity clicked her tongue. "You do that every time, Cherise.  You don’t even let yourself have shit ‘cause you always think it’s gon’ get taken away."

"And has it not?" Cherise challenged, her voice sharper than she intended.  "Trin, every time I start trusting somebody, every time I let myself think maybe… they prove me right.  People leave."

A beat of silence.

Then, Trinity sighed.  "I get it, Cher. I really do. But girl… what if he don’t?"

Cherise’s chest tightened.

She wanted to believe that.

She wanted to believe Jey was different.

But did she really want to risk being wrong?

"I dunno, Trin," she murmured.  "I don’t wanna overthink it."

"Then don’t," Trinity said simply.  "Just feel it. Enjoy it. And if it turns into somethin’ real, then it was meant to."

Cherise sighed, running a hand down her face.  "I hate that you make sense."

"I know," Trinity teased.  "Now, tell me somethin’—"

"Hmm?"

"You kept his hoodie, or nah?"

Cherise smirked, gripping the thick fabric in her lap. "Oh, this mine now.  He can worry about it later."

"Mmm-hmm," Trinity chuckled.  "That’s what I thought."

They both laughed, the tension slipping away, the easy comfort of best friends filling the silence.

But then—

Knock, knock, knock.

Cherise turned toward the door, her brows furrowing.

"Trin, lemme call you back I think my scrubs got delivered.”

“Okay girl, talk to you later.”

She went to open her door and was met with what could be described as a splash of ice cold water.

Cherise felt the blood drain from her face.

Her stomach twisted, something filled with disgust creeping up her spine as she stared at the man standing in her doorway.

Her ex.

Tremaine.

The same man who once whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who told her he had her back, that he’d take care of her—until she realized she was nothing more than a profit to him.

The same man who pushed her into a world she never wanted to be a part of.

The same man who stole everything from her.

And now he had the audacity to show up here, smirking like he belonged.

"Damn," Tremaine drawled, his dark eyes sweeping over her lazily.  "You ain't even gon' say hi?"

Cherise’s grip on the doorknob tightened.  "What the fuck are you doing here, Tremaine?”

His smirk widened, like he was amused by her hostility.  "Damn, that’s how you greet your man? What happened to all that sweetness, Candy?"

Cherise flinched.

That name.

She hated it. Hated how he said it, hated how he was the reason it existed in the first place.

She never wanted to be Candy.

Not at first.

Not when she was young, broke, struggling, with no parents doing whatever she had to do to make ends meet. It was his idea. Tremaine was the one who planted the seed in her head, who fed her lines about how stripping was empowerment, how she’d be making her own money, how she could do it her way.

But it was never really her way.

Not when he controlled her schedule.

Not when he took his cut of her money like she owed him.

Not when he ambushed her at his boy’s bachelor party, threw her on stage like she was some kinda party trick.

That night? That was the night something inside her snapped. The way they all watched her, laughing, cheering, grabbing. The way Tremaine sat back and let it happen, enjoyed it. The way she realized..he never cared about her at all. And him running off with all of the money she made, that covered all of her semesters of school, truly shown the extent of how predatory he was towards her. 

"Don’t call me that," she spat, her jaw clenching. "You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Tremaine chuckled, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. "Lost it?  Shit, girl, I gave you that name. And from what I heard, you still usin’ it."

Cherise swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms.

Fuck him.

"You still ain’t answer me," she said coldly. "What the fuck are you doing at my door?"

Tremaine tilted his head, studying her. "Just checkin’ in on you, baby."

She laughed sharp, humorless.  "Checkin’ in? Like you give a fuck?"

Tremaine clicked his tongue.  "Damn. You really that bitter over old shit?"

That hit something in her, white-hot anger bubbling up in her chest.

"Old shit?" she repeated, her voice deadly quiet. "Oh, you mean when you—"

She caught herself, stopped before she could say it.

She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of dragging her into old wounds.

But Tremaine saw it—the flicker of rage behind her eyes. And he grinned like he won something.

"Relax, ma," he said smoothly. "Ain’t gotta act so cold.  I just wanted to see how you was holdin’ up. Heard you been busy… entertainin’."

Cherise’s stomach twisted.

There it was.

This wasn’t some friendly check-in.  He came here because he knew.

Somebody had been watching.

Somebody had told him about her and Jey.

And now he was here to fuck with her.

"What do you want, Tremaine?" she asked, her voice edged with exhaustion.

He smirked.  "Ain’t about what I want, shorty.  I just think you need to be careful. Dudes like that? Wrestlers?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "They ain’t built for you. He gon’ chew you up and spit you out just like all the other ones."

Cherise’s heart clenched, but she didn’t let it show. "You don’t know shit about him."

At all. 

The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he cleaned her damn table like he was already invested in her success. The way he listened to her. The way he called her by her name, not the one some man had chosen for her.

He had made her a choice, not a convenience.

"Don’t I?" Tremaine raised a brow. "I know he got you wide open already. Letting him take you out the club. Textin’ you. Stayin’ the night."

Cherise’s breath caught.

"Yeah," Tremaine murmured, his smirk widening.  "I know."

Her jaw tensed. "You spying on me now?"

"Nah." He shrugged.  "But I know people who know people. And those people said you was out here actin’ all cozy with this nigga like you forgot how the game work."

Cherise hated how fast her heart was beating.

Hated how much the words got to her.

"And what game is that?" she snapped.

"Alright, bet." He stepped closer.  "Let me ask you somethin’ how many times he tell you he ain’t like the other dudes?”

Cherise stiffened.

"Mmm. Thought so." He clicked his tongue.  "Baby, I was there when you used to talk big shit about dudes like him. You hated clients who tried to act like they was better than the other ones. And now?" He gestured to her. "Look at you."

Her breath was slow.  Controlled.

"I was never your client," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah?" His brows lifted. "And how you know that? You think he see you different? Think he don’t got boys tellin’ him about you?  Think he ain’t hearin’ about how you move in that club?"

A sharp, cold weight settled in her stomach.

Her silence must’ve pleased him, because he stepped even closer, his voice dropping lower.

Cherise hated that the words slid right into the cracks of her deepest insecurities.

"He got you second-guessin’ me right now, huh?" His tone was mocking.  "But tell me this, Cher… when’s the last time you had a client leave you a lil’ tip, then double back three months later pretendin’ they missed you?"

Her throat felt tight.

"When’s the last time you let one of ‘em up in your bed?"

Her fingers trembled.

"You think he came back for you?" He let out a cruel laugh. "Baby, he came back ‘cause he remembered how you moved on his lap that night.  ‘Cause he knew what this pussy was sittin’ like."

Tremaine saw the apprehension in her face she tried to hard to hide. Knew exactly what he was doing.

The same thoughts she had tried to push away when she woke up thinking Jey had left. The same doubts that whispered to her every time she got too comfortable.

"I ain’t sayin’ this to be a dick," he continued, stepping just a little closer.  "I’m just keepin’ it real with you, ma. You think he gon’ take you serious?  You a stripper. You really think that man want you in the light? You think you gon’ be wifed up? Goin’ to wrestling events, standin’ next to his family? You think you fit in that world?In his world?"

Cherise’s nails dug into her palms so hard they could bleed.

And then—

She smiled.

Slow.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"You still mad you can’t eat off me no more, huh?"

Tremaine’s expression faltered, just a little. "What?"

"That’s what this is about, right?" Cherise took a slow step forward.  "You showed up at my door ‘cause you saw me wit’ somebody who actually sees me. ‘Cause you realized you fumbled a bitch who don’t need you."

Tremaine’s jaw ticked.  "Ain’t nobody—"

"Oh, but you did," she murmured, tilting her head. "Let’s not act brand new, Tremaine. You ain’t come here ‘cause you care.  You came here ‘cause you still see me as yours. As something you owned."

Her voice sharpened.

"You used me."

Tremaine’s jaw tightened.  "Ain’t nobody use you—"

"You took everything from me." Cherise’s voice was ice now.  "You put me in that club. You made me depend on it.  You took cuts from my money like you was my fuckin’ pimp. And then?"

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t let it break.

"Then you took everything I saved. Everything I worked for. You let your boys humiliate me, made me dance at that fuckin’ party, then ran out with all my money."

Tremaine didn’t say anything.

"You left me with nothing," she whispered, her fists clenched.  "And now you at my door, tryna tell me about a man who’s done more for me in one night than you ever did in our whole relationship?"

Tremaine scoffed, looking away, jaw tight. "Man, fuck outta here wit’ that sob story."

"Yeah?" Cherise smirked, crossing her arms. "Then why you so pressed, Tremaine?”

His eyes flickered.

She had him.

Finally, he exhaled, rolling his tongue over his teeth.  "Aight, Cher.  I see you. You feelin’ yourself now, huh?"

"I been feelin’ myself, motherfucker,” she shot back. "You just late to the party."

A long, tense silence stretched between them.

Then Tremaine took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Aight." He smirked. "When he leave? Don’t say I ain’t warn you."

And then he turned, walking down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Cherise slammed the door shut.

Her hands shook.

Her breath came out in quick, uneven bursts.

And when she turned back toward the apartment, the quiet wrapped around her like a noose.

And the worst part?

Tremaine’s words were still there.

Still echoing.

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[hotchnersangel]

Hi Hi! So i saw few of your Aaron fics were based off of songs and Ive wanted an I can see you by taylor swift fic for him for so long.

Specifically the, “I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note, saying meet me tonight.”

ITS JUST SO HOTCH CODEDD

okayyy thanks queen😋

I CAN SEE YOU

Aaron Hotchner

A/n: omg this is my first request so im screaming and kicking my feet right now, i hope i do you justice my love!!!!!!!!! ps, I LOVE TAYLOR AND THIS WAS MY SURPRISE SONG!

cw: implications of sex, dadbod!hotch, pining, kinda objectifying hotch but goddamn hes so hot, bau!reader probably some more but i cant think xxx

Finding your person was never as easy as it came across, in fact, you had a chronic fear that maybe that day would never come. The overriding question of if someone would ever be able to see you so deeply, so intimately and trace your being so intricately with nothing but the kiss of their heart. That was until Aaron Hotchner stood under a strobe light and shon a lifeline when you were in complete darkness, consumed by the ache of your despair.

The relationship between the two of you was… well, flummox. Especially recently; Aaron had become more comfortable around you and it was visible to a watchful eye if you studied every intricacy and atom of his being, which you did. Though, he never let his poker face fall in-front of the rest of the BAU. He was incredibly skilled at the art of deception, which made his yearning of desire towards you that much easier to conceal.

The feeling of his shoulder brushing past yours in the hallway sends one thousand hot electric bolts through your body causing a full body reaction to his touch. Your cheeks mirror a gentle shade of rose as you duck your head down, suddenly finding appeal in the stone flooring. Despite what feel’s like your obvious flirting, Aaron isn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated. There was certainly a tension between the two of you, but of what nature led you to disclose such information. Was it simply lust, was it… friendship? Was it loneliness? Or simply, was it love?

The feeling that you get when he is near you sends goosebumps down your spine. The way your smile brightens just wide enough for it to not hurt when you smile when he is near, or when he cracks a joke which was awfully rare nowadays, though when it happens you feel a warm and fuzzy sensation inside your belly. He makes you feel a sort of creeping sensation… like something is crawling across your chest, maybe a feeling of a fly or nat, but no- realisation kicks in and you are simply faced with the love-bug.

He similarly feels an alike reception of feelings towards you, though verbally he fears he cannot communicate them with you in fear of getting a reply. He tried for so long to deny his feelings, deny deny deny that you even existed in a romantic sense- but everything he ever did led back to you. No matter how many times he ‘picked up’ a girl in a bar, how many times he was goggled by women around him, no matter how many times he found different ways to infiltrate you out of his mind, it would always run back to you.

You are currently sat at your desk, gazing at Aaron Hotchner as he is sat on his desk, filling out paperwork. The way his eyes skim the page so tentatively makes you wonder what they would feel like when they landed on you for a long duration of time… maybe in a scenario where you were alone in the tension between you- with nothing left to yearn upon apart from the worshipping of one anothers bodies. What would he do, if you went to touch him now? God, it’s all you could think about. The feeling of running your hands across his broad chest and big big arms. Those huge, delicious arms.

You can imagine the way his hands could hold you trapped to the wall while his body boxes you in until you have no option but to submit to him. Your eyes catch his as his gaze wanders away from his case files and back onto you. The feeling of drunken giddy fills both of your stomachs as you narrow your eyes daringly at him, a small smirk lifting the left side of his face. His eyebrow perches upwards as he inspects you, like he was reading every invasive thought going through your head and in return… he retaliates with similar thoughts. The way he could caress your body and how the small gesture could make him want you even more, which he never deemed as possible.

He wished you knew how you made him feel, how your cheeks may flush a little more deeper at the confession that he could see you. Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, what each micro-expression of your face meant, what your movements implied about your mood, what you need in each and every moment. He saw everything. He saw you.

You see him walk out of his office, his very large and veiny hand holding a stack of files that would take you two to carry. He walks down each step like he was entitled to the world, like the sight of him in his suit and his necktie wasn’t driving you insane.

You couldn’t help but goggle at the sight of him. He always looked… beautiful but today, well today he looked scrumptious. Like he was sculpted by the greek gods and dressed in robes fit for roman emperors- with a little more coverage, unfortunately. The way his black suit hugged his bulky arms and larger waist made your mouth water. The quick glance over his neck tie was enough to send your mind spiralling into where else that could be used. Tying your hands together maybe? Please.

He walks up to your desk, stopping besides you, arguably closer than he should have. His knee was brushed against yours as you looked up at him through your lashes, your innocent eyes hiding the most hideously devilish thoughts of what you want to do to the man in-front of you.

“Your caseload.” He puts simply, placing the folder down in-front of you. Can he hear the way your heart is racing in your chest? Because you start to contemplate if you’re going through a severe heart condition like AF with this irregular pattern.

“Thanks.” You smile up at him, which he catches and nods in return.

“Oh,” he pauses as he turns to walk away, looking back in your direction and moving his hand on top of yours, the touch unraveling a relentless fire spreading wildly through your body- guiding your hand towards the file.

“Have a thorough read on page 3, there is some serious information.” He singles into you eyes, making the world around you spin. You nod, losing your words as you watch his lean figure clamber up the steps and return to his office.

You open the file, starting on page three- your eyes greeted by a small note written in his cursive hatching. ‘Meet me tonight.’

You stomach flips and suddenly, the rest of the day seems to fall into an extremely long and painful blur, over and over, constant reminders that you had to wait, had to restrain yourself to not climb onto hid body like a child in a wild play. Instead, you stayed composed for the rest of the day until the inevitable time occured and suddenly you wished it was a few hours ago, again.

You swallowed your nerves and followed him subtly out of the building, until he opened his car door allowing you to take a seat before heading to the drivers side. When he does, he looks over to you intently and smirks.

“You can follow my orders?” He speaks with a decided tone of smugness.

“When you have orders I agree with, yeah.” You shoot back, looking at him through your naturally glassy eyes. Your lips softly plumped with the lipstick combination defining them. Which, drove Aaron crazy. The urge to smother his body with your lipstick felt overwhelming but he simply just sat and stared.

“Fuck, I can’t do this any longer.” He sighs and looks at you intensely, his eyes singling onto you with intent.

“Do me instead.” You shrug casually and he lets out a strong sigh, moving forwards until his forehead rests against yours. A deep, breathy sigh escaping from his lips as his hand moves to cup your cheeks.

“Say the word and I will step back and let you out of the car.”

“You clearly aren’t very good at your job if you think that I don’t want this, Mr Unit Chief.” You tease him with a playful grin.

He tilts his head at you, hitting an angle that excites you deeply. The sight before you simply knocking you off your feet. Taking your breath away. All the clichè’s.

“I know you want this,” he repeats and finally attaches his lips to yours. Your body moving into a panicked state, flushed with excitement, nervousness, anticipation and lust. A soft shudder attacking your nervous system sending your body into overdrive, making you wonder if this is a dream or not. But, as you feel Aaron pull away, your lip between his teeth.

He looks at you and says, “I can see you, baby.”

And suddenly, the world around you stopped and the silence carried the passion between you and Aaron Hotchner.

[arxiwon]

Not Yours to Keep 𓍯𓂃

Pairing: Jake Sim x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fake Dating, Jealousy, Slow Burn, Happy Ending

Warnings: Emotional turmoil, jealousy, misunderstandings, mild language, eventual fluff

Synopsis:

Jake Sim has only ever had eyes for his ex. When he asks you to be his fake girlfriend to make her jealous, you agree, hiding the fact that you've loved him since childhood. You tell yourself it’s temporary, just a favor for an old friend—but deep down, you’re selfishly happy, even if it’s all pretend. When Jake’s ex finally wants him back, you convince yourself you never had a chance to begin with. But when you start smiling because of someone else, Jake realizes the one thing he wanted was right in front of him all along.

Jake never saw it coming. Maybe that was the worst part.

It started with a favor—just a simple pretend to be my girlfriend for a while favor. He had asked you so casually, so effortlessly, as if the idea of being with you, even in a fake way, meant nothing. And maybe to him, it didn’t. But to you? It meant everything.

You had loved Jake Sim since you were kids. You had hidden it well, buried it under layers of forced indifference, masking every stolen glance, every skipped heartbeat, with playful banter and eye-rolls. But when he asked—when he looked at you with those desperate, hopeful eyes—you found yourself saying yes before your brain could catch up.

Just for a little while. That’s what you told yourself.

But “a little while” was long enough for you to get used to the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the way he leaned in close when he laughed, the warmth of his fingers lacing through yours at parties just to put on a show. And even though you knew it wasn’t real, even though you saw the way he still looked at her—his ex, the one who had left but never really let him go—you let yourself pretend.

Until, finally, she noticed.

It was at a party, one you hadn’t even wanted to go to. Jake was being extra that night—hands lingering on your waist, lips brushing your ear as he whispered things that made your heart race even though they weren’t meant for you. And then she appeared, just like clockwork. Eyes trailing over the scene, lips pressing together in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Jake stiffened. You felt it, the way his entire body seemed to react to her presence.

And just like that, you knew.

The game was over.

You should have walked away right then. Should have let go before it got worse. But Jake made it impossible. Because he still looked at you like you mattered, still held your hand absentmindedly, still called you at night like he needed you. And maybe, for a little while, he did.

But in the end, he chose her.

Of course, he did.

You told yourself it didn’t hurt. That it didn’t wreck you to see them together again. But the second you were alone, the weight of everything crashed down.

You were just a placeholder. A distraction.

Jake never looked back.

And so, you did what you had to do—you moved forward.

You started smiling again, laughing at stupid jokes that weren’t his, standing a little closer to someone who actually saw you. And that’s when it happened.

Jake saw you. Really saw you. And for the first time, it wasn’t him making you smile.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

You weren’t his anymore. You never really were. But now? Now, someone else had your attention, your laughter, your time—things he had always taken for granted. And fuck, it didn’t sit right with him.

He didn’t understand it at first. The bitterness, the tightness in his chest every time he saw you with him. The way his fists clenched when he overheard your name being said in someone else’s mouth. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But it did.

And suddenly, Jake wasn’t so sure if he had lost his fake girlfriend.

Or if he had lost the only real thing he had ever had.

Jake never thought it would get to this point.

He never thought seeing you with someone else would wreck him like this.

At first, he tried to ignore it. Shrug it off like it was nothing—like it didn’t feel like something sharp twisting inside his chest whenever he caught you laughing with that guy. He told himself he was just being protective, that it was normal to feel a little weird about it. After all, you had been his for a while, even if it was just pretend.

But that excuse didn’t hold up when he saw the way you looked at him.

Because it wasn’t the way you used to look at Jake anymore.

It wasn’t playful or teasing. It wasn’t forced or practiced. It was real.

And that’s when it fucking hit him.

You weren’t his placeholder anymore. You weren’t even waiting for him.

You had moved on.

And it was all his fault.

It started eating away at him. Little things that never used to matter suddenly became unbearable. Like the way you used to sit next to him without thinking about it, and now you chose a different seat across the room. The way you used to lean into his touch instinctively, but now you barely even looked at him.

Fuck, even your voice was different when you spoke to him.

Distant. Guarded.

Like he wasn’t Jake—your Jake—anymore.

The final straw was when he saw the other guy—that guy—drop you off after class, his hand lingering on your back just a second too long, his eyes filled with something Jake recognized all too well.

Because once upon a time, he looked at you the same way.

Jake didn’t even think. He just moved.

Before he knew it, he had grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the guy without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Jake, what the hell?” you snapped, trying to shake him off.

But his grip only tightened.

“We need to talk,” he muttered, his voice low, tense.

You scoffed. “Oh, now you wanna talk?”

Jake ignored the bite in your words, pulling you into a quieter hallway where no one could see the way his hands were shaking.

You yanked your arm away, glaring up at him. “What’s your problem?”

Jake opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Because he didn’t even know what to say. He didn’t have the right words for this—for the jealousy that burned in his veins, for the frustration of knowing he had done this to himself.

For the fear that maybe—just maybe—it was too late.

So instead, he blurted out the one thing he knew to be true.

“I don’t like it.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t like seeing you with him.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jake swallowed hard. “I mean it.”

“Yeah? And what do you expect me to do about that, Jake?” you snapped, arms crossing over your chest. “Drop everything? Wait around for you to figure out what you want—again?”

Guilt surged through him.

Because fuck, you were right.

“I didn’t—” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You flinched, just barely. “Well, you did.”

Jake felt his stomach drop.

You were done. He could see it in your eyes.

You weren’t going to wait for him anymore.

Desperation clawed at his throat. “Then let me fix it.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “You can’t just fix this, Jake.”

He took a step closer. “Why not?”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Because I don’t trust you.”

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

You always trusted him. Even when you shouldn’t have. Even when he didn’t deserve it.

But not anymore.

And maybe that was what scared him the most.

Jake’s voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I was an idiot.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I thought she was what I wanted,” he admitted, his hands clenching into fists. “I thought she was the one. And I didn’t even—” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I didn’t even realize I already had what I was looking for.”

Silence.

The kind that made his heart hammer against his ribs.

Then—

“You don’t get to say that now.”

Jake swallowed. “I know.”

But fuck, he was saying it anyway.

Because he meant it.

And maybe, just maybe—

He wasn’t too late after all.

Jake thought getting you back would be easy.

He thought once he confessed—once he laid everything bare—you’d fall into his arms the way you used to, let him hold you the way he ached to.

But reality hit harder than he expected.

Because you didn’t trust him anymore.

And that broke him more than anything else.

Now, he stood there, watching you laugh with that guy—that fucking guy—again, and it made his blood boil. But he couldn't say anything. Not when he was the one who pushed you away in the first place.

All he could do was wait.

Wait for you to look at him the way you used to.

Wait for you to realize that no one else could love you the way he did.

Wait for you to come back to him.

But fuck, it was harder than he thought.

Especially when his ex was still around.

“Jake,” she whined, linking her arm with his like she still had some kind of claim over him. “Are you even listening to me?”

Jake barely glanced at her, his eyes still trained on you.

You were different now. More guarded. Stronger.

And the worst part?

You looked happier without him.

“Jake,” his ex pressed, tugging on his sleeve. “Let’s go out. Just the two of us, like old times.”

He turned to her then, expression blank. “We were never like that.”

She blinked. “What?”

Jake sighed, pulling his arm away. “We were never just the two of us. You always needed attention from someone else.”

Her face twisted in irritation. “Oh, so now you care about loyalty?”

Jake clenched his jaw. “I always cared.”

Just not about you.

His ex scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. You’ll come crawling back eventually.”

Jake didn't even bother responding.

His eyes had already found you again.

Because no matter what she said, the truth was clear.

The only person he was waiting for was you.

And no matter how long it took, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jake didn’t know when waiting turned into suffering.

At first, he told himself it was fine—he deserved this, deserved to feel the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him. He watched from the sidelines as you laughed with someone else, as you let another guy into the space that once belonged to him.

And it fucking hurt.

But what hurt more was that he couldn’t blame you.

Because he had been the one to break you. To toss you aside when he thought he had everything he wanted. And by the time he realized you were the only thing he wanted, it was too late.

You were slipping through his fingers, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

So he waited.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.

And still, Jake waited.

He watched you. Not in an overbearing way, but in the way someone watches the only thing that matters to them, hoping—praying—that maybe, just maybe, you’d look at him the way you used to.

But you never did.

Not once.

At least, not until that night.

It was late when he found you alone.

The guy who had been making you smile lately had just dropped you off, and Jake had been watching from his car, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

He wasn’t proud of the way jealousy consumed him.

Wasn’t proud of the way he got out of his car and followed you up to your door, the words already burning on his tongue before he could stop himself.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

You jumped, spinning around with wide eyes. “Jake?”

Jake swallowed hard. “Do you?”

You sighed, pressing your back against the door. “Why do you care?”

He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes,” you snapped, and for the first time in months, he saw it.

That fire. That spark in your eyes that only ever appeared when you were talking to him.

Jake took a step closer. “Because I love you.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake didn’t miss the way your fingers twitched like you wanted to reach for him but refused to let yourself.

“You don’t,” you whispered. “You only want me now because you can’t have me.”

Jake shook his head. “That’s not true.”

You laughed, but it was bitter. “It is. You had me, Jake. I loved you for years. But I was never enough, was I?”

Jake’s chest tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, now you care about fair?”

Jake inhaled sharply. “I made a mistake.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want to be your second choice.”

“You were never my second choice,” Jake said, voice firm.

You blinked. “Then why?”

Jake swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Because I was a fucking idiot.”

Silence.

Then—

“You still are.”

Jake exhaled a short laugh. “I know.”

You stared at him for a long moment before shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

Jake’s heart stopped. “Wait.”

Your fingers tightened around your doorknob. “Jake—”

“I’ll wait.” His voice was desperate now. “For as long as it takes. Just tell me there’s still a chance.”

Your expression wavered. “Jake…”

“Please.”

His voice cracked.

And that was what broke you.

Your walls crumbled, your shoulders sagged, and for the first time in months, you let yourself feel.

“I hate you,” you whispered, but it didn’t sound convincing.

Jake stepped closer. “I know.”

“I should walk inside.”

“You should.”

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Then, before either of you could stop it—

You were kissing him.

It was desperate, angry, messy—months of heartbreak and longing and unresolved tension colliding all at once.

Jake groaned against your lips, hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear again.

“You love me,” he murmured between kisses.

You bit his lip. “Shut up.”

Jake smirked. “You do.”

You tugged at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. “Jake, if you don’t shut up, I’m—”

“I love you,” he interrupted. “I love you, and I’m never letting you go again.”

You exhaled shakily. “You better not.”

And just like that, you were his again.

And this time—

He wasn’t going to lose you.

[jisungiesvzz]

Hii I absolutely loves ur fanfic!! Would u mind doing a jeongin version on unexpected?

I'm sorry this took so long to write! I’ve been having heavy workloads from school and I've also had writers block ugh. Anyways, I hope you enjoy :).

Crossing Lines

Idol!Jeongin x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing lessons, making out, neck kissing

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: please let me know if I missed warnings, otherwise enjoy :)

Versions: Hyunjin // Han // Jeongin

—

The afternoon sun streams through Jeongin's apartment windows, casting golden hues across the living room. You sit cross-legged on the floor, a small velvet pouch between your fingers as you rummage through its contents.

"I still can't believe I forgot my jewelry," you sigh, carefully examining a silver chain with a small fox pendant. "You sure you don't mind me borrowing yours?"

Jeongin smiles from his position on the couch, phone in hand as he scrolls through his social media feed, hoping to run across a good hang out spot near you. "What's mine is yours, y/n. Three years of friendship earns you jewelry-borrowing privileges."

Giving him a soft smile, you hold up one of his earrings to the light, a simple silver hoop that catches the sunbeam and sparkles.

"It's scary how well you know me," you laugh, sorting through more pieces. "Like, you knew I'd forget something tonight."

"That's why I always keep extra stuff around for you," he replies, setting his phone down. "I am fully prepared for Hurricane Y/N."

You playfully throw a small cushion at him, which he catches effortlessly. You can't imagine your life without these little moments—the casual hang outs in his apartment, the inside jokes, the way he always seems to understand exactly what you need.

"Hey, remember that truth or dare game at Chan's party last week?" Jeongin suddenly asks, a tint of curiosity in his voice.

You groan, instantly knowing where this was heading. "Please, not this again."

"I'm just saying," he continues, sitting up straighter, "I was surprised when you said you've never been kissed. I mean, you're twenty-two!"

You feel your cheeks warm, lowering your voice to a near mumble. "So? Some people are late bloomers..."

"It's not a bad thing," Jeongin says quickly. "I just... I don't know, I just assumed you had."

You shrug, suddenly finding the jewelry in your hands incredibly fascinating. "I guess I've just never found the right person... or the right moment."

A weighted silence settles between you, unusual in its intensity. You can feel Jeongin's eyes on you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I could teach you."

The words hang in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. Your head snaps up, certain you've misheard.

"Teach me what?"

Jeongin's expression is unreadable, a mix of nervousness and something else you can't quite place. "How to kiss. If you want."

You feel like the air has been sucked from the room. This is Jeongin—your best friend, the person who holds your hair back when you're sick and who can make you laugh until your sides hurt.

"That would be weird, wouldn't it?" you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, attempting nonchalance though you can see the tips of his ears turning pink. "Only if we make it weird. It's just a skill, like teaching someone to drive or cook."

"A skill," you repeat skeptically.

"Yeah," he says, sliding down from the couch to sit across from you on the floor. "And then when you meet someone you actually want to kiss, you'll be ready."

You bite your lip, considering the possibility. The idea sends butterflies swarming through your stomach, but there's also a strange sense of... curiosity.

"Nothing would change between us?" you ask cautiously.

Jeongin shakes his head firmly. "Nothing. We're best friends first, always. This would just be me helping you out."

You take a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Yes. Teach me." You confirm, your heart pounding through your chest.

Jeongin moves closer, his movements careful and deliberate. "So first, it helps if you face each other," he explains, his voice lower than usual.

You readjust your position, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between you and him. The jewelry laying forgotten on the floor beside you.

"Usually there's eye contact," he continues, and you force yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes—those familiar eyes you've looked into a thousand times—now seem different, deeper somehow.

You tried convincing yourself that it’s just kissing lessons but something about kissing him feels more intimate than it should.

"Then what?" you whisper.

"Then, one person usually leans in. Sometimes both." His hand comes up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, and you feel your breath catch. "Sometimes there's touching. Like this."

His fingers trace a feather-light path along your jawline, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. The sensation sends shivers down your spine.

"And then?" Your voice is barely audible now.

Instead of answering, Jeongin leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips press against yours, gentle and questioning. Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, your hand tentatively reaching up to rest on his shoulder.

The kiss is soft, a brief moment of connection that ends almost as quickly as it began. Jeongin pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

"That's the basics," he says, his voice rough around the edges. "A simple first kiss."

You nod, unable to form words. Your lips tingle where his had been, and you find yourself wanting more—a realization that both thrills and terrifies you.

He's your best friend. Right…?

As if reading your thoughts, Jeongin speaks again. "Then there are... deeper kisses."

"S-show me..." you whisper, surprising yourself with your boldness.

This time when he leans in, there's an urgency that wasn't there before. His lips capture yours more confidently, one hand cradling your face while the other slides around your waist, drawing you closer. You respond instinctively, your fingers tangling in his hair, gently tugging at the strands.

What started as a lesson quickly transformed into something neither of you anticipated. The kiss deepened and you feel yourself being gently guided backward until you're lying on the floor, Jeongin hovering above you, your lips never parting.

When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, you stare up at him in wonder. His hair is disheveled where your fingers have been, his eyes dark and intense.

"Innie…" you breathe, not knowing what else to say.

Without a word, he dives right back in, capturing your lips with a newfound hunger. There's no hesitation now, his movements filled with a hunger you’ve never seen before — his body pressing down against yours making you gasp into his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, any thoughts of keeping distance between you long forgotten.

"There's more I can teach you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with want. Before you can respond, his mouth begins to trail along your jawline, leaving a path of fire in its wake.

"Different types of kisses," he explains between soft pecks along your skin, "are for different sensations."

Your breath hitches as his lips reach the sensitive spot just below your ear. Instinctively, your head tilts to give him better access, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"Like here," he whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Then his lips press against your neck, gentle at first, then with increasing pressure. The sensation is entirely new to you, electric pulses shooting through your body with each kiss.

"Innie," you gasp, overwhelmed by the feeling.

His hand slides up to cradle the other side of your neck, a small smile forming on his lips at the nick name as his thumb gently strokes your cheek, his kisses become more intense. You feel the gentle graze of his teeth, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue against your pulse point, a soft moan falling from your lips as he repeated the action.

"Some people," he murmurs against your skin, "are more sensitive here than on their lips." As if to demonstrate, he places an open-mouthed kiss at the space where your neck meets your shoulder, causing you to arch involuntarily against him.

You're lost in sensation, any remaining thoughts about this being just a lesson completely gone. Your hands roam across his back, pulling him closer as he continues his thorough exploration of your neck.

When he finally returns to your lips, the kiss is different—deeper, more confident, as though he's staking a claim. You respond with equal fervor, the taste of him now familiar yet intoxicating.

As Jeongin pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, a small smile plays at his lips. "So," he says softly, "how was your first lesson?"

"I- I don't know what to say," you softly gasped, still recovering your breath.

Placing a soft peck on your lips, he sits up off the ground, gently taking your hand in his. "Come on. Let's go finish our original plans for the day."

Heart beating through your chest, you let him guide you off the ground and through the front door — the heated moment hanging in the air. A small part of you wishing it hadn't ended.

—

The next evening, you were in Stray Kids' dorm, squeezed comfortably between Jeongin and Hyunjin on the large sectional sofa. Chan had insisted on a movie night—something about needing to unwind after their intense practice schedule—and naturally, as Jeongin's best friend, you were included in the invitation.

What the others don't know is how everything changed between you and Jeongin just twenty-four hours ago.

The memory of his lips on yours, on your neck, makes your cheeks flush even now. You've spent most of today exchanging knowing glances, the anticipation of seeing him again had your stomach in knots all day.

"Everyone good with the movie choice?" Chan asks, remote in hand as he navigates through Netflix.

You barely register what film he selected—some action thriller the group has been wanting to watch. All you can focus on is Jeongin's proximity; the subtle scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body next to yours.

"Y/N, want some?" Felix offers you the bowl of popcorn from across the coffee table.

"Thanks," you murmur, reaching for it. As you settle back with the bowl, Jeongin shifts closer, his thigh now pressed firmly against yours.

The lights dim as Chan starts the movie. Under the cover of darkness, Jeongin's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours between your bodies where no one else can see. Such a simple touch shouldn't send your heart racing, but after last night, everything is different.

Twenty minutes into the film, you're not following the plot at all. How could you, when Jeongin's thumb is tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand? When his breath occasionally tickles your ear as he leans over to whisper some joke about the movie?

By the thirty-minute mark, his hand had moved to your knee, resting there casually as though it belongs. The weight of it burns through the fabric of your jeans.

Halfway through the movie, during a particularly intense action sequence that has everyone's attention fixed on the screen, Jeongin's hand begins to move. Slowly, torturously, his fingers trace upward along your thigh, just far enough to make your breath hitch, gently squeezing the flesh.

You shoot him a warning glance, but the innocent smile he gives you in return is betrayed by the mischievous glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing.

His hand retreats momentarily when Changbin gets up to refill drinks, but as soon as everyone is settled again, it returns—this time sliding to your inner thigh, his touch feather-light but unmistakably close to where you could feel yourself growing needy. Your body responds immediately, heat pooling low in your abdomen, his hand now venturing into territory that makes your pulse quicken and your thoughts get jumbled up.

When his fingers inch higher, gently squeezing your thigh, you nearly jump. It's too much—the darkened room, his members just feet away, completely oblivious, and Jeongin's touch threatening to unravel you entirely.

"Bathroom," you whisper, standing abruptly. Jisung pauses the movie, looking up at you questioningly.

"Just need a quick bathroom break," you explain, forcing a casual smile. "Don't wait up, I've seen this part."

You slip away from the living room, heart hammering against your ribs as you make your way down the hallway. The cool bathroom tiles are a relief under your feet as you close the door behind you, leaning against it and exhaling slowly.

"Get it together," you mutter to yourself, turning to face the mirror — your reflection showing flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Splashing cold water on your face, you hear a soft knock at the door.

"Y/N?" Jeongin's voice is low, just audible enough for you to hear. "You okay?"

Taking a deep breath, you open the door just enough to see him standing there, concern etched across his features—though the darkness of his eyes tells another story.

"I'm fine," you whisper. "We should get back before they—"

Before you can finish, Jeongin has slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The bathroom suddenly feeling much smaller with him in it, the air between you charged with tension.

"What are you doing?" you ask, voice sounding small.

"I couldn't help myself," he admits, closing the distance between you. "Sitting next to you, not being able to really touch you... it's driving me crazy."

"Your members are right outside," you remind him, even as your body betrays you by leaning toward his.

"They're absorbed in the movie," he counters, his hands finding your waist. "Besides, I told them you weren't feeling well and I was checking on you."

"And they believed that?"

A small smile plays at his lips. "Felix gave me a knowing look, but the others are clueless."

Your protest dies in your throat as Jeongin presses you gently against the wall, his body flush against yours. Any restraints from before evaporated into thin air as his lips capture yours in a kiss that's hungry and desperate.

Your hands immediately find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue meets yours. This isn't the careful instructional kiss from yesterday—this is raw need, months of pent-up desire finally breaking free.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch and squeeze the bare skin at your waist. "About you."

Your response is lost as his mouth moves to your neck, finding the sensitive spots he discovered yesterday. The sensation pulls a soft moan from you, which Jeongin quickly silences with another kiss.

"Quiet," he whispers, a teasing glint in his eye. "Unless you want everyone to hear."

The thought of being caught should terrify you, but instead, it only heightens everything—the racing of your pulse, the heat of his touch, the urgency of your kisses.

His hand slides back to your thigh, higher than he dared in the living room, his fingers tracing patterns that make your breath catch. When he presses his hips against yours, you can feel exactly how much he wants you.

"Innie," you gasp as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot below your ear.

“Fuck, y/n.” he grumbles against your neck, softly nipping and licking at the skin there, eliciting more moans from you.

“Innie, ngh, you’re gonna l-leave marks,” you whined, your defiance falling short as you arched into him.

“We should stop,” he mumbles between open mouthed kisses.

You both knew you should, but neither of you make an effort to move.

A sudden knock on the door makes you both freeze.

"Y/N? Jeongin?" It's Chan's voice. "Everything okay in there? Movie's almost over."

Removing himself from your neck, Jeongin clears his throat. "We're fine, hyung. Y/N just felt a little dizzy. We'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," Chan replies, though you can hear the question in his tone. "We're thinking of ordering food after."

Footsteps retreat down the hallway, and you both release the breath you've been holding.

Jeongin's forehead drops to yours, a small laugh escaping him. "That was close."

"Yeah," you let out breathy laugh. "We should get back."

He nods, stepping back reluctantly, but not before pressing one more lingering kiss to your lips. "This isn't over yet," he promises, his voice low with intention.

As you straighten your clothes and Jeongin attempts to fix his hair, you catch his eye in the mirror. The boy who was just your best friend yesterday now looks at you with an intensity that makes your knees weak.

"Ready?" he asks, hand on the doorknob.

You nod, knowing that while you're about to return to a room full of his members and pretend nothing has changed, everything has. The line you crossed yesterday isn't just crossed—it's been erased entirely, replaced by something new and thrilling and completely uncharted.

As Jeongin opens the door, his hand finds yours for just a moment, giving it a squeeze before letting go. It's a promise of what's to come, once you're alone again.

And suddenly, you can't wait for this movie night to end.

[vivimura]

breaking up with riki ─ sfw, 0.935 k wc, i suck at angst but it was heavily requested this is the best i can vomit out i'm sorry

“you know what your problem is?" riki asked softly, but the furrow between his eyebrows was enough evidence of his irritation.

"your problem is you overthink everything." he spoke, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point it began to hurt. "you know what the future holds?" he asks, his voice gentle yet serious. "absolutely fucking nothing. all we got is the present, and right now, i like you. you like me."

you scoffed in disbelief, using every bit of strength in your fibres to bite your sobs back down. 

“oh, i overthink, do i? or, have you considered the fucking possibility that you don’t think enough, nishimura?” you spat out bitterly making the frown between his eyebrows deepen. the tears welled in your eyes made your vision grow blurry, but also frustrated you for reasons more than that. you hated that it made you look weak.

“life isn’t so simple. just because we like something, doesn’t mean that we can have it. it doesn’t work that way. we’re amazing together, but it’s just- so much work. i’m exhausted.”

"you think i don't fucking think?" he almost growls, his grip on your wrist finally loosening as if he realized he was holding it too tightly. "i think all the time. about you, about us, about how fucking hard this is. do you think it's easy for me?"

"it doesn't matter if you think or not, if you're not going to do something about it!" you yanked your hand away from his grip completely when you got the chance, a stray tear finally falling from your right eye. it disappeared when you used the back of your hand to harshly wipe it away.

"love shouldn't be something that makes me feel so drained and tired emotionally. this relationship,” you gestured to the air between your bodies, “just you-, it's so much fucking work!"

"that's work i'm willing to do-”

"-and i'm not!" you finally snapped and yelled. your eyes bulged when you took in the gravity of your own words.

silence lingered in the air for what felt like an eternity, but was just a few moments. there was a bead of sweat rolling down the side of your forehead, your heart beating so fast and loud that you could hear it in your ears. the look on riki’s face was indescribable.

his eyes widen momentarily, then narrow as he processes your words. his jaw clenches, a muscle twitching visibly. in a flash, he steps closer, his voice low and intense. "well, fuck me, you've finally said it out loud, haven't you?"

your hands formed tight fists, every raging thought bubbling in your mind suddenly disappeared for some reason. it felt like your knees would give out any second now, but you stayed there, as still and silent as a beautiful, teary-eyed doll.

he stared at your tears for an age, his face expressionless. his eyes flickered between your left and right orbs, as if trying to find some truth. some explanation. deep down, he knew he was fooling himself. he already knew.

he laughed bitterly at your silence and shook his head. "unbelievable. after all this time, all these fights, you're just... done? just like that?" he bites his lip harshly to hold back his own tears. he felt a strange emptiness in his chest, a feeling he hadn't felt before. "no more willing to put in the work."

not bothering to wait for your reply, he sighed heavily and turned away, his hand reaching up to run through his hair. "just-.. go home." his voice was flat, emotionless. it was an effort to keep his breathing steady.

you let out a shaky exhale and memorised his side profile as if you were seeing it for the last time. your eyes drooped down as your head bowed in utter sorrow, the soft gray carpet on the floor of riki’s bedroom came into your view.

it was the same carpet. one which you’d once talked on for hours straight, played games you loved, play-fighted, kissed each other and sometimes even more. it was beginning to feel like those things would be nothing but a memory anymore.

you wiped your tears away, turning around to pick up your purse from his bedside table with shaky steps. riki’s heart squeezed, but he just watched you from the corner of his peripheral vision. he watched your back, your shoulders slightly hunched as if you were bracing yourself for something.

when you turned around, riki almost broke down completely when he saw the look on your face. the quiver in your lips, the bags under your eyes. the spark he once saw in your eyes when he first met you now reduced to dullness and tears. he nearly opened his mouth to stop you, but his words died down. he knew he had to let you go.

you didn't dare to look into his eyes and walked to the door of his bedroom. your fingers trembled as you reached for the handle of the door. when you pulled it down and opened the door just a little, it felt so unreal that you couldn't tell if this was a dream.

the urge to turn around and say something, or just look at him was nearly eating you alive. but you didn’t trust yourself enough to run into his arms if you saw the state of him. you had to do this, for yourself. just as you were about to leave, you whispered a small, “b-bye,”

click, shut the door, and possibly the longest, most meaningful period in riki’s life.

mlist comment, reblog & follow!

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Oh boy, I am ready for the angst *rubs hands* and the dancing!!

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

First I want to say that I am here for the reader rifling through Michael's drawers, YES girl, channel Daphne for Dean!! But I really love this little bit here because of the way you described Michael's gaze on her. Yes, we hate Michael... but goodness it was such a wonderful poetic line and all I want is that 😭

Also I love the little detail of Dean going out with a girl named Vanessa and especially the part where he thinks that she would:

"twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn't really remember much of what she said..."

It's so good because my mind immediately shot to the idea that Dean is already subconsciously comparing the women/girls he's going out with to the reader. And on the inside I was doing this:

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.” “Oh, I’m distracting?” You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him. It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

The boys running into the reader at the club was so wonderful, and there's really something beautiful about the way you build the scene with the dancing, the drinking, the people playing cards, and the description of the outfit the reader wore is stunning! I love the dark lipstick, dress, hat combo that shields her face is just everything I want- but above all, I really loved the banter you had between the reader and Dean.

The give and take with the dialogue is beautiful. This piece especially, because I literally needed to take a moment after reading it and the way Dean looked at the reader. 👀

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine. “Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

Oh my word IT'S HAPPENING!!! The tension! 😱

Also, I'm a complete sucker for a dance scene. I've written them a few times, and there's something so magical and intimate about them. You wrote this one between Dean and the reader so beautifully, because you made it filled with attraction, but you also made it a little melancholy when the reader is remembering a part of her life when she was happy in her marriage. The almost kiss is KILLING me lol

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said. It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression. Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.” Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

Alright, it's official Alex my soul has left my body. It's been nice knowing you 🤣 I knew this would happen someday when I read one of your fics lol

Ohhh my word this chapter was so good! The historical fiction vibes are just so impeccable, and the entire scene with the reader and Dean in the club is going to live rent free in my head the rest of the year! Cannot wait to revive and read the next chapter lol!! 💗

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy. 

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt. 

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself. 

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.” 

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife. 

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.   

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards. 

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you. 

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise. 

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled. 

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face. 

“Want me to do better?” he teased. 

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all—the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.  

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked. 

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” 

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.  

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened. 

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps. 

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

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[supernotnatural2005]

"I got you" - Drabble

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You're feeling low and Dean is there to comfort you.

Word Count: 834

Warnings/tags: Mentions of depression, feeling low, fluff, sweet Dean.

AN: I've been feeling a little low lately and I guess this transpired into a little Drabble. Also this is for anyone else who can relate and would love a comfort cuddle from Dean ❤️

Masterlist

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet.

Dean had always thought of silence as a bad sign. It meant something was wrong, something lurking just out of sight. And right now, that something was you.

You had been with them for years now, a constant presence in their lives. You weren’t just another hunter passing through, not just someone they worked with. You were family. And for Dean, more than that, even if neither of you had ever put a name to it. He just knew that without you, things didn’t feel right.

For days now, you had been slipping away. Not physically, but in a way that scared him more. You weren’t talking much. You barely ate. You moved through the halls like a ghost of yourself, your usual spark dimmed into nothing. His jokes—the dumb ones that always got at least a scoff or an eye roll—didn’t even earn a glance.

At first, he told himself you just needed space. That maybe you were tired, or still shaken up from the last hunt. But then space turned into isolation. And isolation turned into something darker.

Even Sam had noticed, and if Sam was bringing it up, Dean knew it had to be bad.

“She’s not okay, Dean,” Sam had said the night before, voice low, concern written all over his face. “I tried to talk to her, but she just brushed it off.”

Dean had nodded, pretending he wasn’t already losing sleep over it. Pretending that every time he saw you drifting further away, it didn’t scare the hell out of him. Because it did.

And now, standing in the doorway of your room, that fear settled deep in his chest.

You were curled up on your bed, knees drawn to your chest, staring blankly at the wall. The lamp beside your bed was still on, casting a dull glow, but you hadn’t moved. Hadn’t so much as flinched at the sound of the door opening.

Dean had seen you hurt before. He’d seen you bloodied and bruised, stitched you up after hunts gone wrong. But this? This was different. This wasn’t something he could fix with gauze and whiskey.

He had known this was something you struggled with, something that had nothing to do with monsters or demons. You had told him once, in a quiet moment between hunts, that it wasn’t always about the job. That sometimes, your mind just turned against you. That there weren’t always reasons or triggers, just days when you felt stuck, when everything felt too heavy, when even breathing felt like a chore.

Dean had listened. He’d heard you. But he had never seen it like this.

He hesitated for only a second before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him. The room felt cold. Maybe it was just in his head, or maybe it was the fact that you had barely moved in days, barely been here even when you were physically present.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Dean Winchester, king of smart-ass remarks, suddenly speechless. But words didn’t feel right, not now.

So instead, he moved to the bed, toeing off his boots before climbing in behind you. The mattress dipped under his weight, but you didn’t react. Carefully, he eased himself closer, slipping beneath the covers and pressing his chest against your back. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, pulling you into him like he could keep you from slipping away completely.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Just silence. Just the faint sound of your uneven breathing. Then, finally, your shoulders trembled.

Dean felt it before he heard it—the sharp inhale, the way your fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket like you were holding on for dear life. And then the dam broke.

A choked sob tore through you, and that was it. He turned you in his arms, tucking you against his chest, holding you tight as your body shook with everything you had been holding back.

“I got you,” he murmured, voice low and steady. One hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as the other rubbed slow, soothing circles along your back. “I got you, sweetheart.”

You gripped his shirt, your tears soaking into the fabric, and he just held you. No empty reassurances, no telling you that everything was fine. Because he knew that wasn’t how this worked. He knew you weren’t okay. But that didn’t mean you had to go through this alone.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Dean pressed his lips to your hair, lingering for just a second longer than he should have. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was keeping you here, keeping you with him, even if he couldn’t fight this battle for you.

And as he held you close, feeling your body slowly relax against his, he silently promised himself—whatever it took, however long it took—he’d be right here.

Because you were his. And he wasn’t letting you go.

AN: I know this is a little more dark and gloomy compared to what I usually write, I guess this is just an expression of reality in some fiction. For those who have experienced this or are going through something similar, you're not alone ❤️

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[ssentimentals]

nini hii!! i just saw your prompts list rn and can i request for prompt no. 55 with vernon and reader? i really really enjoy reading your works 🫶🏼 thank you so muchhhh 🩷

hihi love! aw, i'm glad you're loving my works and of course you can request it, thank you for doing so! 💜

prompt: mutual pining (+ oblivious)

'it's alright, vernon. i don't want to keep you from having fun,' you try to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. 'i'll be alright here.'

vernon ignores you, waving to all your friends, who hurry for the safari tour. the one where you would've also gone if you didn't trip and twist your ankle. the one where vernon could've easily gone but for some reason he chose to stay with you. it's- sweet. incredibly so. it's also very confusing and very, very bad for all the butterflies inside your stomach because you really can't give them any hope, you can't let them think even for a second that vernon might like you back.

'just a sec,' he goes to another sofa and snatches two pillows from it. 'i read that we need to keep your foot elevated, so..' carefully, like he's holding something precious, vernon places your leg on top of the pillow, looking at you with his big bambi eyes to check if it's aright. 'it's good like this? i can add one more pillow if you want.'

'no, it's good.'

you're desperately trying not to think of vernon reading on google about twisted ankles and how to treat them. he's doing this because he's nice and that's what nice people do, right? but all your friends are gone, your mind supplies, all of them are gone but he stayed. with the way you're sitting, you have a perfect view on the kitchen, where vernon diligently prepares ice for your ankle. it hurts but pain is rather dull due to medication they gave you at the hospital; what hurts you more is ruining vernon's holiday. 'i'm so sorry,' you let out, not being able to hold it in.

vernon pauses and closes the fridge, turning to you. 'for what?'

'for ruining your holiday. for holding you back. you are supposed to go and enjoy the safari with all the guys but instead you are here stuck with me,' your voice cracks in the end. 'i'm sorry, i know this is not how you pictured this trip.'

vernon doesn't say anything when he comes back. he stays silent as he wraps an icepack around your swollen ankle, covering it few towels so it can stay in place. he doesn't utter a word as he brings you water and granola pudding, shuffling your pillows so sitting would be much more comfortable. 'did you ask me to stay?' he suddenly asks, startling you. 'did you ask me to stay with you here?'

'no,' you answer, a bit confused.

'no, you didn't,' vernon agrees, nodding. 'i am here because i chose to be here. you're not ruining anything for me, you're not holding me back, so please stop apologizing. i want to be here.'

it feels like a punch in the gut. it feels like this is an admission of something bigger and you're too scared to go there, to breach that territory. vernon is kneeling in front of you, adjusting the ice pack and his hands grazy your skin softly. 'don't you want to be with our friends?' you ask even though that's not what you actually wanted to ask.

vernon seems to know it too by the way he looks at you. 'i'd rather stay with you here.'

butterflies are rising and you can't do anything to stop them. hope flares up in your chest and you want to squash it, tell it that it's too fucking soon, that-

'why did you come here?' he asks, maintaining eye contact with you. 'your best friend is not here and i know for a fact that you'd rather stayed at home instead of coming here. but you are here. why?'

because of you, you want to say. because i wanted to be close, because i stupidly thought that maybe if we spend more time together you will like me back. what comes out is: 'why did you stay?'

vernon chuckles. his hand caresses your leg lightly, lovingly. 'for the same reason you came here,' he finally answers. 'because of you.'

there's lump in your throat and it's a bit hard to swallow. later you will bring all the pain medication for making you emotional. 'you'd rather spend this day with me and swollen ankle than with the guys?' you ask in a trembling voice.

vernon looks at you like only you exist in this world. for him it is like that, but you don't know it yet. 'i'd choose you either way. any way. always.'

swollen ankle throbs, but it doesn't really matter when vernon's lips are on yours and he kisses you like what he said is all true. and it is.

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[megalony]

Officer In Jeopardy

This is a new Luca imagine from Swat, curtesy of a lovely anon request. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

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Swat Masterlist

Summary: It's (Y/n)'s first week back to work after maternity leave. But it goes to a bad start when an accident happens and (Y/n) ends up hurt and in danger on a mission.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A quiet tune hummed at the back of Luca's throat in a vain attempt to try and keep himself awake, but he could feel his eyelids flagging and his view of the bathroom was starting to blur and become obscured.

He let out a small grunt before he went back to humming and looked down at the little girl in his arms. Every few seconds, he jostled his arms up and down, moving Lottie up and down while he kissed the back of her head and hummed into her hair.

He trailed his lips down to kiss her cheek and tilted his neck so he could check and see if she was still awake or not. She had suddenly gone rather quiet in his arms.

It had to be sometime around one in the morning.

It seemed like fate that this was the week (Y/n) was finally going to go back to work after her maternity leave, and now Lottie had a cold. The nine month old had been coughing and croaking for two days now and she had been sick rather a lot today.

Luca didn't care that he and (Y/n) had to be up at seven and it was well past midnight already. He didn't care that he had been in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity but what was probably half an hour now. All he cared about was making sure his little girl was settled and going back to sleep.

He and (Y/n) had managed an hour or two of sleep before Lottie woke them up, again, as she was clearly disgruntled and in pain.

She had been crying and coughing so Luca had given her some medicine but she suddenly started to croak and wheeze and while she was like that, there was no chance of her going to sleep. He had resorted to the bathroom to try something new.

Luca filled the sink with boiling water, put some vapour drops in the water, lathered Lottie in vapour cream to try and clear her airways. And now he was holding her over the sink, getting her to breathe in the steam to clear her chest.

He thought she would scream at him and wriggle and sob, but the steam seemed to help straight away. Her coughing got worse but in a good way, it was deeper and allowed her to take proper breaths.

Almost half an hour Luca had been doubled over the sink with his daughter in his arms, and he felt like he could sleep standing up. But she was keeping him awake on his toes, if he stopped bouncing her in his arms for more than ten seconds, she would whine and bat at his hand to make him continue.

"That's it babygirl." He spoke quietly, grinning when he realised she was asleep. Her head lolled onto his bicep and she snuffled, croaking as she dozed off in his arms.

Her chubby cheek pressed into his arm and her small hands flopped over Luca's arm that was bound around her middle while his other arm was beneath her legs and bum to keep her in a sitting position, hovered over the sink. She had been kicking her legs out for a while like she had been trying her best to stay awake, but she had finally settled down.

He could feel each croaky breath she took beginning to even out against his arm and her runny nose trickled onto his bicep. Her small, thin wisps of hair tickled Luca's upper arm but he didn't mind.

His body seemed to have locked in place and his arms had gone numb from how long he had been holding Lottie.

Since the moment she had been born, all Luca wanted to do was hold her and never let her go. He cradled her in the dead of night even after she had fallen to sleep. He picked her up as soon as he came home from work and he barely set her back down.

All of Luca's life, only two things had been set in stone. He wanted to follow his father and grandfather's tradition and make it into Swat. And he wanted a family.

Part of him never believed he would get the family he'd always dreamed of, no one ever seemed to stick by him long enough and he never met anyone who managed to make his heart feel full. Just when he thought his luck was running out, (Y/n) came into his life.

They worked together in Swat, Luca finally had a partner who understood the job and how hard it made life and how to balance life and work. And now they had Lottie, and Luca didn't want to waste a single moment or miss any aspect of her life. Even the sickness and sleepless nights.

"Okay baby, here we go." He spoke more to himself than to Lottie as he carefully straightened up and lifted her with him so they both weren't doubled over the sink anymore.

He turned Lottie around in his arms until she was facing him and he leaned back, clicking his spine into place as he settled Lottie on his chest. Her head fell just beneath his chin and she slumped against his upper chest with her palm pressed over his collar bone. Her little legs curled up until her knees were imbedded in Luca's stomach and pressed up against her own tummy and her other hand moved until she had her thumb tucked into her mouth.

Luca made quick work of draining the sink and turning the light off before he trudged out of the bathroom. It was time for them to get some sleep.

"You can stay with me," He kissed the top of her head and made his way to his and (Y/n)'s room. They had a crib attached to the side of the bed so they could tend to Lottie during the night and feed her rather than having to get up and go to the nursery to settle her, where she would be once she was sleeping through the night.

But Luca wasn't going to bother settling her in the crib, she could stay tucked up in his arms for now. He didn't want to put her down and have her crying out for that sense of comfort again. And it would be easier to have her on his chest if she didn't manage to settle for the rest of the night. He could easily soothe her this way.

When Luca padded back into his room, he carefully eased himself back down onto the bed, making sure Lottie stayed motionless against his chest. He laid out on his back next to (Y/n), inhaling slowly to adjust to the new weight on his chest. Lottie snuggled up until her head was pressed right beneath his chin near his Adam's apple and her small fingers started to scratch over his collar bone like she was making sure he wasn't about to set her down.

He could hear each snuffly, croaky breath she took as her breaths fanned against his bare chest. Usually he would have given her a pacifier but when she wasn't breathing well and her nose was blocked, that didn't seem like a good idea.

A smile worked its way onto his face when (Y/n) pressed her face up into his shoulder and draped her leg over his, rubbing her foot against his lower leg. And her arm looped over his frame until her hand settled on Lottie's back and she slowly began rubbing circles on their daughter's back to keep her settled.

"She sounds better." (Y/n) murmured into Luca's shoulder that felt blistering hot from the vapour steam he and Lottie had been standing over. Luca felt like he had been stood in a sauna, but it seemed to have done the trick in clearing Lottie's chest.

"I think it worked. You should be asleep, you know."

"So should you."

"S'not my first day back in the morning, it's yours." He turned his head to the left so he could merge his lips with (Y/n)'s temple.

Luca wasn't the one going back to work after almost ten months of maternity leave. He wasn't the one who was going to feel strange for going back to disorganised shift patterns and long hours and the routine of extra training. He knew (Y/n) had been training for a while now to get ready for when she came back to work, but training at swat was different to training at the gym.

(Y/n) nodded against his shoulder, peppering a few soft kisses towards his neck as she inched closer to him until she was almost lying on top of him like Lottie was.

She was ready to go back to work. Being with Lottie had been a beautiful change, but (Y/n) knew she was ready to get back to work. Back to her team and the job that made her feel like she was making a big difference.

Both she and Luca would have to work out how to balance work and family life when before, work had been their main and only priority other than each other. It also meant they would have to be careful when they were on shift. They were always cautious, always played by the rules just like everyone else, but they had someone who needed them now. Someone else to come home to and look after.

"Are you ready to work with me again?" There was a slight tone of teasing in (Y/n)'s otherwise sleepy voice and she felt Luca smiling into the top of her head as he chuckled.

"It hasn't been the same without you."

***

"All clear this side Hondo."

A smile fluttered across (Y/n)'s lips when she heard Luca's voice through the ear piece. There was something about the gritty edge to his voice that always made (Y/n) want to smile, especially if he were stood right in front of her and she could see how serious he looked.

It was always strange to see how serious and in control Luca was when they were at work, compared to how laid back and relaxed he became when they were at home.

(Y/n)'s fingers began to drum against the belt strapped around her waist where her gun was holstered. After so long of being home with Lottie and not even thinking about her gun, it was strange to have one back and be carrying one around with her again. It didn't give (Y/n) a sense of comfort, but it did come with a feeling of familiarity that was soothing, like being back with an old friend.

"Nothing over here yet." (Y/n) spoke quietly with her head angled down and her fingers continuing to drum along her belt to the tune playing in the back of her mind.

They were at a conference event, looking after a young woman called Arina. She had given a speech about the ordeals she had gone through and now she was talking to the crowds and meeting fans and signing releases of her book which had just been published.

The team were dotted around the building at various points and stages to try and cover all angles. With the threats Arina had been receiving, they needed to make sure no one was going to try and approach her or risk attacking her here in such a public setting where there could be multiple casualties.

"So, how's Lottie?" Chris nudged her shoulder into (Y/n)'s, earning a smile as the pair of them stood to one side with their backs against the wall and their eyes scanning the large conference room for possible suspects.

"Good, finally getting over her cold I think."

"That's great, and we're still on for Friday right?"

"Oh yeah." (Y/n) nodded, feeling a wave of ease washing over her as she thought about their plans.

With this being her first week back at work (Y/n) and Luca had asked if the team wanted to come over on Friday. They were going to have a few drinks as they all hadn't hung out together since before (Y/n) had Lottie. And Chris had been asking when she could come over again to see her Goddaughter. Chris was one of Luca's closest friends at Swat, they were more like siblings so it was only fitting that she be Godmother to Lottie.

And this had been one Hell of a week to come back to work. (Y/n) was ready to relax on Friday and let loose and be around the team without having to worry or be on their guard all the time.

When she heard Chris murmur "It's good to have you back," it was hard for (Y/n) to contain her smile and remain professional. She discreetly nudged her arm into Chris as a way of thanks.

(Y/n) had been worried when she went on maternity leave. Her and Chris were the only women at Swat, they worked incredibly hard to get where they were now and (Y/n) didn't want that to change or to give that up for a chance at a family. She wanted to do both but she worried when they brought in a temporary replacement that somehow, she might be pushed out and her replacement made permanent.

Being back calmed those worries for (Y/n) and she had found over the last three days that she had gelled back in with the team as if she had never left. It was such a relief.

"Guy at ten o'clock, brown coat." (Y/n) straightened up off the wall as she spoke and leaned in towards Chris. There was someone trying to get away from the crowds rather than get closer which in itself was a suspicious and strange thing to do. Especially when Arina was heading their way now that her conference was over.

The pair of them advanced towards the man, keeping their steps light and steady and (Y/n) poised her hand near her gun on her hip, just in case.

"Tan, a man's coming out the front towards your position, brown coat buzzed haircut. Keep an eye out."

Both (Y/n) and Chris looked around the area the man had been waiting at, glancing to the floor, making sure there were no discarded bags with potential bombs or hazardous substances in them. He hadn't left anything and walked away which was a relief, but to see him leave right before Arina came out was a red flag.

They wandered round a little more, keeping their steps light and controlled and their eyes peeled until they heard Hondo through the radio.

"We're coming out now."

(Y/n) took a deep breath and led the way back towards the front of the crowds. She could just about see Hondo and Street trying to guide Arina out of the conference room and support her through the throng of people trying to gain autographs.

She and Chris did their best to hold people at bay, but it was hard when they were constantly pushing and shouting to try and be seen and heard. There were lots of pens and books being held out to get Arina to autograph them as if she were an octopus with eight hands to use at once.

This was where Luca would of been a good help. (Y/n) knew her husband was a bulky, muscular man and people wouldn't be able to move around him quite as much as they could the rest of the Swat team. Trying to move Luca was like trying to shift a mountain. Once he planted his feet and squared his shoulders, nothing was getting past him.

When someone tried to push into (Y/n), she gritted her teeth and ground her jaw with a deep sigh. Her right arm held out beside her and she shoved the man back behind the black rope that kept the crowd at bay. Trying to push his way to the front wasn't going to work here.

"Get back."

After a few moments, (Y/n) looked across at Hondo and they both shared the same look and the same thought. This was starting to get out of their control with people pushing, shoving, shouting and generally getting in the way when they shouldn't. And a situation not in their control was a bad situation indeed.

"Alright Arina, I think it's time to go now." Hondo rested his hand on her shoulder and tried to incline her to keep moving forwards but she seemed very put out at the implication to stop signing autographs.

When (Y/n) heard Chris muttering something about someone looking shady, she glanced to the left to see Chris was heading towards who she thought looked suspicious. Both her and Street were aiming for the same person, clearly they were going to assess whether he was a threat and escort him out as well.

With the pair of them in that direction, (Y/n) moved forward and stepped beside Arina while Hondo was still trying to make sure no one reached out for her or tried to follow behind them.

It looked like they would have to sandwich her between them to ensure no one grabbed her or made an uncertain move in her direction.

(Y/n)'s left hand rested on Arina's arm while her right hand hovered over the gun strapped to her waist. She tried to keep moving forwards, guiding Arina along with them as they were now close to the exit. All they had to do was get her out and drive her to the hotel where she was staying, then they could all keep her much safer from a secure hotel room.

All the threats that Arina had been receiving didn't seem to have amounted to anything. Whatever group had sent those threats and promised to hurt her hadn't followed through on those promises, which made Swats life easier.

"Hondo we think they're using pens to hide the gas." Luca pressed his hand to his ear piece to try and wait for Hondo's reply as he and Deacon stood with their backs to the doors. Making sure no one got in or out of the building without their say so.

They had been on the phone to the Commander back at headquarters as he and Jess were trying to pin down the group that had been sending the threats.

At those words, Hondo snapped his head forward to look for Arina. He had been so focused on stopping people from getting too close to her that he stopped standing right behind her.

His eyes widened and he surged forward, his eyes locked on the pen that the man in front of her was holding towards her. Nobody held a pen with the nib aimed towards the person they were asking to autograph their things, and the man's thumb was hovering over the clicker. He had the chemical in that pen, Hondo could just feel it.

"Arina don't touch that pen!"

Hondo's words felt like a shock to (Y/n)'s system as she reached her hand out for Arina and tried to pull her back and push her behind her so she wasn't in the way. Her fingers dug into Arina's arm and she shoved her back but it wasn't enough. She couldn't keep Arina from harm and try to stop the assailant at the same time.

The pen in his hand clicked and thrust in (Y/n)'s direction before she could take one step back or hold her breath.

It burned.

Her eyes snapped closed and her body tensed and pulled inwards as it felt like boiling hot water had been poured onto her face. She wanted to scream but the air in her lungs tasted burned somehow and she couldn't make a sound. She couldn't even breathe in, all (Y/n) could do was exhale a cough as her body started to shake and she stumbled to her knees.

"(Y/n)!" Hondo's voice cracked through the air but it sounded strangely fuzzy and distant to (Y/n)'s ringing ears.

Trembling took over her body as she tried to take a deep breath but her chest felt like it was convulsing and her face was still blistering. She could barely open her eyes and her right eye was stinging. Knives were cutting into her eye socket. Nails were scratching up and down her face, marring her skin that was blistering and peeling like dried paint.

Her body crashed to the carpeted floor and her hands immediately moved to grasp at her throat that was tightening by the second.

A strangled sound left her chapped, swelling lips as she tried to suck in a deep breath just as Hondo appeared beside her.

He hovered over her, his hands on her shoulder and the side of her face as he was all she could see like an angel or an omen right before her eyes. He held onto her to stop her from shaking her head from side to side and his eyes narrowed as he snarled, trying to assess the damage.

"Ca- oh- can't-" Each syllable was croaked and hoarse and (Y/n) scratched her short nails into her throat to try and get her panicked point across.

She couldn't breathe.

Tiny molecules of air were scraping past her throat and into her lungs, but it wasn't enough. She couldn't inflate her lungs. Her chest felt like it was tightening and tingling and her body was starting to twinge with the need for oxygen that she couldn't get.

Her eyes went wide as she stared up at Hondo with tears trickling down her blistered skin from the pain and the struggle to open her burning eyes.

"I have a code 3! Repeat, code 3 officer down, exposed to biological substance."

(Y/n) didn't like hearing those words, especially when she knew they were about her. This was her first week back, she couldn't be going off again with illness or getting hurt on shift. This wasn't supposed to happen, they were always careful, always in control.

"(Y/n), (Y/n) look at me." Hondo gripped her chin when she tried to close her eyes and a silent whimper morphed from her lips as she looked up at him through bleary vision.

Her hands didn't move away from her throat, if anything, (Y/n) gripped tighter and scratched at her chest as she writhed in horrible agony. She needed him to do something. She needed someone to make the pain stop or at least give her the ability to breathe. She was going to suffocate.

"Luca, Deak I need the med pack from black betty. Now!"

A rendition of "No, no no!" burst past Luca's lips as he and Deacon set off into a sprint towards the truck.

This couldn't be happening.

He heard Hondo calling out (Y/n)'s name. He said they had an officer down; that could only mean one thing. It was (Y/n). It was Luca's wife who was the officer in jeopardy.

She had been back to work all of three days. This shouldn't be happening. The worst (Y/n) had ever suffered on shift was a broken arm. What had happened to her in there? How had (Y/n) ended up being exposed to biological substances? Had someone managed to smuggle a pen into the building with those chemicals in like the commander had told them about?

Luca slammed the door shut behind him once he climbed up into the truck. His hands were at the point of shaking as he reached out for the wheel and put the keys in the ignition. He didn't like this. Why wasn't he near (Y/n)? Why hadn't he been stationed near her instead of all the way out here with Deacon? He should be there with her right now.

He glanced his eyes to the right, watching as Deacon hurried to find the medical box they always kept in here for emergencies.

"We've got some atripine Hondo." Deacon's hands were almost shaking as he rummaged around in the box and found a pre-filled needle containing the medical antidote that worked for allergic reactions and to counteract hazardous substance intakes.

"We'll be there in ten." Luca spat through gritted teeth as the engine roared to life and he pulled off the curb.

He flicked his hand out, switching on the siren and the lights to make sure people knew to get out of his way. He wasn't slowing down for anything. Luca wouldn't risk losing his wife. He needed to get to her, he needed to get this antidote to her and save her.

"Make it eight."

Those words made the fire inside Luca ignite brighter and he slammed his hand down on the wheel so suddenly that Deacon jumped.

If it weren't for the fact that he was driving, Luca's legs would have been jittering up and down in panic. He seemed to be rocking back and forth in his seat, unable to sit still as if all the thoughts running through his mind were making him vibrate.

His fingers twitched against the steering wheel and he reached out to shift up into a higher gear, almost wrenching the gear stick out of place with his force.

"Come on! Come on move!"

Deacon reached his right hand out and grabbed the door handle to try and brace himself in his seat. They were all used to Luca's driving, he was speedy but cautious and careful, he knew how to beat a time limit without putting anyone in danger. But he was becoming reckless tonight.

He was weaving in and out of the cars on the road, almost nudging bumpers and clipping doors to try and overtake.

No one was moving out of his way fast enough. He had the sirens on and the red and blue lights flashing, if that wasn't enough to get people out of his way then Luca would have to resort to using the speakers and telling them to shift. They had to pull over or slow down and let him pass, he had an emergency and he wasn't going to risk (Y/n)'s life because no one here knew how to move out of the way for the police.

"Luca-"

"I can't lose her, Deak. I can't- fuck, Lottie needs her."

Tears welled up in Luca's eyes as he reached a hand up to wrench the goggles off his eyes and set them back on his helmet. He didn't need them on to blurr his vision that was already struggling with the tears mounting up behind his eyes.

Luca needed (Y/n). He wouldn't be himself anymore if anything happened to her. She was his wife, his world, his everything. He couldn't bring up Lottie without her, he couldn't be a single father. He couldn't continue with this job, this life, if he didn't have (Y/n).

Luca's world was pointless if (Y/n) and Lottie weren't in it.

"Hey, we're not gonna let that happen. Let's get this antidote to her."

"(Y/n) just stay with me okay? Look at me." Hondo's voice was authoritiative and somewhat in control and the gritty, harsh tone to his words made (Y/n) want to comply. Closing her eyes felt like she was going against a direct order so she did everything within her power to keep her eyes open. But it was hard.

Her right eye wanted to close so badly, tears were drenching her face in a vain attempt to get the substance out of her eye and soothe the burning skin on her face. Looking up at Hondo was hard when her eyes were tired and her body was shaking and she was ready to curl up and disappear.

Keeping her eyes open was a hard task to focus on when (Y/n) could feel her body starting to struggle.

Her hands scratched into her throat, leaving small bloodied marks in the process as she tried in vain to somehow scratch her throat into opening up and taking a deep breath.

Her body writhed up and down on the floor and the heel of her boots scraped into the floor to try and steady herself or move or just gain some help and attention. She wasn't breathing well, she was barely breathing at all and it was making her mind cloud over and making every muscle within her body tighten up in panic.

"Alright (Y/n), let's go."

Hondo's sharp words confused her and she let her eyes roll to the back of her head when Hondo started to move her.

He looped her arm over the front of his neck, gripping her wrist as he swiftly rolled over her and pushed up onto his feet, hoisting (Y/n) up onto his shoulder in the process.

Her head hung over Hondo's shoulder and her arms hung limp over his chest and back. One wrist gripped tight in his gloved hand while his other hand held onto the back of her thigh to make sure she was secured over his shoulder. A choked, gasping sound emitted from (Y/n)'s lips as Hondo's shoulder jammed into her chest and jostled a small ounce of air into her system, but it wasn't enough.

"Luca we'll meet you out front. I need that antidote now."

"It's coming!" Luca spat back through the radio as his upper lip curled and he rammed his fist down against the door until his knuckles burned.

Did he think Luca was taking the long way round? Did he think he was idly doing twenty miles an hour in the inside lane? Luca was ramming his foot down against the gas pedal, making Black Betty speed down the highway as fast as the engine would go without overheating or causing him to skid across the road. He was doing everything within his power to get to his wife. It wasn't his fault that he and Deacon had been stationed ten minutes away from the rest of their team in a vain attempt to cover every possibility and angle.

He was doing his best, but if his best wasn't good enough then Luca would never forgive himself.

As soon as he burst out the doors, Hondo quickly dropped to his knees and eased (Y/n) off his shoulders and onto her back on the pavement. They were in plain view of the road so whenever Luca pulled up, they could help (Y/n) immediately.

"Where's Street?" Hondo snapped when he watched Chris run out the doors and skid to her knees to be beside (Y/n).

"Getting the runner. (Y/n), come on you stay with me now, yeah?" Deep, stuttering breaths left Chris's lips as she reached down and grabbed one of (Y/n)'s hands in hers. She held tight until she was almost squeezing all the blood out of (Y/n)'s fingers.

She needed her friend to be okay. The team weren't a proper team without her. Chris couldn't have a life without one of her best friends. She couldn't go through each day not being able to speak or joke around with (Y/n). She couldn't watch Luca drown in heartache that would surely kill him or see Lottie grow up with a broken father and no mother in her life.

(Y/n) did her best to squeeze and pull on Chris's hand but she couldn't find much energy left in her body with how little she was actually breathing.

She couldn't stop her eyes from closing and her head lolled to the left as her breaths became tiny puffs of air that barely made her chest move at all.

"Hondo." The panic in Chris's voice was evident as her free hand moved down to try and turn (Y/n)'s chin and stimulate her, but it didn't do anything.

Her wide, watering eyes watched as Hondo leaned over and started to pull and undo the protective vest (Y/n) was wearing. He tore it open and did the same with her shirt to they had access to her throat and chest which had stopped moving.

"(Y/n) don't do this to us."

No sooner had the words left Hondo's lips that flashing blue lights and a wailing siren caught their attention.

Luca didn't like what he saw. Crowds of people gathered around the front of the conference building. Flashing lights signalling that people were trying to take pictures or record the scene. Hondo and Chris, knelt down on the black carpet on the pavement with panic flooding their eyes and terror written across their usually stoic expressions.

He barely pulled on the brake before he flung the door open and jumped down, swinging the door shut behind him as he pelted across the path with Deacon right behind him. A chorus of "We've got it!" and "Move!" left their lips as they barged through towards the scene.

Luca couldn't feel his knees when they collided with the pavement and he could barely control his trembling hands when he reached out for his wife. She wasn't moving. Her chest wasn't rising and falling with any breath. The inside of her parted lips were starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen. Her skin was bubbling up like heated paint and blisters were forming down the right side of her face and all down her neck.

"Oh God." Luca ran his hand up and down his face before he twisted to face Deacon and promptly took the pre-filled needle from his hands with a gruff "Give it here."

He tore the blue cap from the end and tossed it somewhere on the floor while he did his best to steady his trembling hands. No one else was touching his wife. He would do this. He would help her.

"Straight into the heart."

He didn't need the instruction but he didn't say anything when Deacon pointed as if Luca didn't know where his own wife's heart was situated. With a deep, shuddering breath, Luca punctured the needle through (Y/n)'s chest, trying not to cringe as he felt it pierce through her skin and he jammed his thumb down on the end to get all the antidote into her system.

This had to work. Luca wouldn't know what to do with himself if this didn't help. She wasn't breathing. They would have to start CPR on her until an ambulance could get here and that might not work with this strange toxin running through her veins.

"Come on… please…"

Luca's entire frame cringed and coiled inwards when (Y/n)'s chest jerked and suddenly expanded. A croaky sound emitted from her lips and her lungs managed to take in a deep breath as her throat looked like it was inflating as her muscles finally relaxed and stopped closing up.

She was breathing. It worked.

Dropping the needle somewhere at his side, Luca doubled forward with both hands reaching down to cup (Y/n)'s face as her bleary eyes tried to blink into focus.

"Oh baby," A deep sigh rumbled past Luca's lips before he arched over and pressed a shaky kiss to her temple. His thumbs traced along her cheeks and his nose nudged against her hair as he breathed in her scent and tried to calm himself down.

He wasn't sure which of the team it was who was patting his shoulder, but he didn't particularly care. All he cared about was the fact that his wife was back breathing again.

When he tilted his head down so their temples were pressed together, Luca could feel his lips pulling into a frown that threatened to implement tears when he saw the pain bubbling up in (Y/n)'s eyes. He could see the agony written across her face and when a small whimper left her lips, Luca couldn't stop the tears.

And a shaky breath escaped his chapped lips when he heard (Y/n) muttering his name with a broken tone. He could feel her shaking hand curling around his wrist as she leaned into his touch and tried to calm herself down as much as possible.

"Don't scare me like that again."

Those words made (Y/n) want to sob and she heard Chris muttering something of the same nature while she bound (Y/n)'s hand to her chest as if reassuring herself that her friend was truly breathing again and going to be okay.

"We need to get her to the hospital." Hondo clasped his hand down on Luca's shoulder and squeezed tightly as if to ensure that he too was okay.

They had gotten (Y/n) breathing again, but they had to get her down to the hospital to be assessed properly and for them to make sure that the toxin wasn't going to cause further damage to her system. The longer they waited the more untold damage could be done.

With a nod of his head, Luca carefully slipped (Y/n)'s arm around the back of her neck and inched his arms beneath her frame so he could scoop her up into his arms. His lips attached to her burning temple and he tried to smile when he felt (Y/n)'s other hand moving to grip the black vest strapped over his chest.

He wasn't waiting around for an ambulance. Someone else could drive Black Betty and take them all down to the hospital now.

"S'alright babe, you're gonna be alright now." Luca could feel the team hurrying behind him towards Black Betty and he was grateful when Hondo swung open the back doors so he could climb inside with (Y/n). Deacon took the liberty of taking place as driver while the rest of them climbed in the back with Luca.

They had to get (Y/n) to the hospital now.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Barnes Bakes Chapter 2

A request that turned into a short story. *mudak: moron or blowhard in Russian

Previous chapter Next chapter

From then on, every Sunday night Bucky could expect a knock on his door at about 7:00 p.m.  It was always Y/N, bringing him a new plate of treats to try.  Her bubbly vivaciousness was palpable as she would talk to him and explain what it was she made, then wouldn’t leave until he took a bite in front of her.  First it was classic chocolate chip cookies, then sugar cookies, oatmeal raisin, white chocolate and macadamia nut, and almost every type of cookie imaginable until she moved on to brownies, cake, and now ice cream.

Bucky at first tried to turn it down, but she was persistent, and he would eventually cave and just take the damn treat to make her leave him alone.  He wouldn’t let her see how much he liked her coming by, but would indulge showing her his one bite of trying it in front of her before she left.  After she had come by with mint chocolate chip ice cream, which he really wasn’t that fond of but knew Sam would love so he took it, he closed the door and turned around to find his girlfriend glaring at him.

“Who the fuck was that?” Mandy asked, her arms crossed on her chest.

“My neighbor,” Bucky said, bringing the ice cream into the kitchen and placing it in the freezer.

“No shit, Sherlock.  What’s her name?” she asked.

“Y/N,” Bucky said simply before facing her and crossing his arms.  He hadn’t really told Mandy about Y/N.  It didn’t seem like he needed to.  “She’s a baker and likes to bring treats by.”

“So you know her name and that she’s a baker,” Mandy said, her eye twitching in annoyance.  “What else do you know?  Huh?  Has she been here before?  Are you flirting with her?”

“What?  No, Mandy, god,” Bucky groaned, rubbing his eyes with his flesh hand.  “I helped her move some boxes when she moved in and she insisted on paying me with treats, because that’s what she does.  Nothing inappropriate has happened.  Why can’t you trust me to just, I don’t know, know people outside of you?”

“How well do you know her?” Mandy asked, her voice raising.

“Not well,” he shrugged.

“Where does she work?” she asked, her teeth nearly grinding.

“I think she said that bakery on 5th, but I could be wrong,” he said simply, shrugging again.  “I don’t know her.  She’s just a neighbor who likes to bring me treats.”

“Then why did she call you sweet pea?” Mandy growled.

“She just does, that’s her thing,” Bucky sighed.  “She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Are you really that stupid, Bucky?  Some bitch is bringing you food and calling you nicknames and you’re just ‘neighbors’ and nothing more?” Mandy yelled.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Bucky yelled back.  “I told you this jealousy thing has to stop.  Not every woman I walk by or associate with in my life is trying to steal me away from you.  And you calling her names just because she’s being nice isn’t going to make me feel any better about this,” he gestured between them.  “I’m telling you, Mandy, I’ve had it.  I’m done doing this with you–”

“I’m sorry!” Mandy said, suddenly looking sad and pouty.  “I’m sorry.  I was just insecure, alright?  She’s…nice,” she said it like it hurt her to admit.  “Please don’t break up with me over something like this.”

Bucky sighed heavily.  “Okay, okay.  Just please, no more of this weird jealousy thing.”  He walked over and hugged her.  “She’s just a nice person who lives across the hall from me.  That’s all.”

“Okay,” Mandy said, still not sounding sure but accepting it.

***

The little bell rang over the door and Y/N came out from the back to greet the new customer.  “Hello!” she said cheerfully, watching the woman scowl at the bakery.  “What can I help you with today?” she continued, trying not to let the woman’s dislike dampen her mood.

“What the hell kind of name is ‘She’s Tasty’?” the woman asked, giving Y/N a dirty glance.

Y/N’s eyebrows raised.  “It’s based on the fact that all my bakes are named after a typically female name,” she explained, pointing at the menu above her head that had lists of names, categories and what the dessert was made of under each one.  “It’s just a play on words.  Like, ‘Ooh she’s tasty!’  You know?”

The woman grimaced.  “Right.  Well, I’m not here for a dessert.  I’m just here to talk to you.”

“Uh, okay,” Y/N said, leaning against the counter and frowning.

“Stay away from my boyfriend,” she snarled.

Y/N smirked.  “Okay.  Who’s your boyfriend?”

She looked even angrier.  “Bucky!” she cried indignantly.

“Bucky?  My neighbor Bucky?” Y/N asked incredulously.  “I didn’t know he was even social enough to have a girlfriend.”

“Well, he is, and I’m the girlfriend telling you to back off,” she spat.

“Back off from what, exactly?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head in question.  “I haven’t flirted with him.”

“Yes you are!  You keep bringing him treats!” she said, slapping the counter.

“Okay, hun, just chill out,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes.  “I won’t bring treats anymore, k?  I’m sure I’ve paid him back for helping me move in plenty at this point.”  The girlfriend kept glaring at her.  “I was just being friendly and neighborly,” Y/N continued.  “No need to be jealous of some little treats.”

“Just stay away from him,” the girlfriend snapped, then turned on her heel and stomped out of the bakery.

Y/N rolled her eyes again and walked back to the kitchen.  She hadn’t said or done anything to warrant this type of response, but whatever.  She wouldn’t make Bucky’s treats anymore.  The less drama she had to deal with the better.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.24

Hii guyss, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 23, here it is.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

A throbbing pain pulsed through your skull as you slowly regained consciousness. The world around you was a blur, your limbs sluggish and unresponsive. A sharp chill ran down your spine as you realized you couldn’t move—your wrists and ankles were bound, the rough texture of the restraints biting into your skin.

Your breathing quickened, panic creeping in as you forced yourself to take in your surroundings. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the unfamiliar room. It smelled faintly of something sterile, yet there was an underlying scent of cologne that struck you with an eerie sense of familiarity.

Footsteps.

Your body tensed as the sound grew closer, slow and deliberate, each step echoing like a warning.

Then, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Arthur.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something terrifyingly unhinged, something you had never seen before.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was eerily calm, almost gentle. “Does your head hurt?”

Tears welled in your eyes as reality crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your best friend had done this. Arthur had done this.

“Arthur…” your voice broke as you tried to move, the restraints tightening painfully against your skin. “What—what are you doing? Please—”

He exhaled, tilting his head slightly, as if your reaction pained him. “I didn’t want it to come to this.” His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening. “But you left me no choice.”

You shook your head violently, tears slipping down your cheeks. “No. No, Arthur, you don’t have to do this. Please—just let me go. This isn’t you.”

He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, but in time, you will. I had to do this because you need me. You need my help, and I can’t just sit by and watch you ruin your life.”

Your chest ached at the sheer delusion in his words. “Arthur, listen to me—you’re my best friend, I love you, but not like that. This isn’t the way—”

He cut you off with a sharp glare. “No.” His voice was suddenly colder, more forceful. “You don’t see it yet, but you will. Charles has blinded you. He’s manipulated you into thinking that what you feel for him is real, but it’s not. It can’t be.”

Your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his hands reaching out to cradle your face. You flinched, but he didn’t let go, his grip firm yet oddly tender.

“I can’t live without you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I tried to stop this. I tried to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life, but you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t see what was right in front of you.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “Arthur… what did you do?”

His lips twitched into something resembling a smile, but it was laced with something twisted. “It was surprisingly easy,” he mused, as if he were proud of himself. “I asked one of Charles’ engineers if I could borrow his phone. Told him Charles needed something and couldn’t step away. He handed it over without a second thought.”

Your stomach churned.

Arthur leaned in slightly, as if savoring the moment. “And the hotel? That was even easier. There was this woman at the front desk, so eager to be helpful. I told her Charles needed a copy of his key card and—voilà.” He smirked. “People are so trusting when they think they’re helping someone important.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your chest tightening with fear. “Arthur… please,” you tried again, your voice raw with desperation. “The Arthur I know would never hurt me.”

Something dark flickered in his gaze, his grip on your face tightening for a moment before he finally pulled back. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I know you’re scared,” he murmured, almost sympathetically. “But I promise, you’ll thank me for this one day.”

Terror clawed at your throat.

Because for the first time, you realized—he truly believed that.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. Charles would look for you—you knew he would. He would tear the entire city apart if he had to. But would he be fast enough? You had no idea where you were, no idea how much time had passed since Arthur took you.

You needed to stall.

Swallowing your fear, you forced your voice to stay steady. “What… what are you planning?”

Arthur’s lips curled into a small smile, as if he was pleased you were finally willing to listen. He crouched in front of you again, his hands resting on his knees. “Tonight, we’re leaving,” he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I have everything ready. A safe house, somewhere no one will find us. It’s just you and me now, the way it was always supposed to be.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“I’d rather you be cooperative,” he continued, reaching out to brush a stray tear from your cheek. “But if you fight me, I won’t have a choice. I can’t let you go, chérie. Not when we’re so close.”

Your stomach twisted violently.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, studying you with unnerving adoration. “And when you finally understand that this is the right choice for you, we’ll get married.” His voice was sickeningly tender, as if he was talking about a dream. “We’ll start a family. A real family. Not like the one I have now.” His expression darkened. “A bunch of traitors, all of them. Charles, my mother… they never really cared about me. Not like you do.”

You wanted to scream, to cry, to fight. But you knew that wouldn’t help you now.

You had to play along.

You took a slow, shaky breath, nodding. “Okay,” you whispered, lowering your gaze. “I—I’ll cooperate.”

Arthur’s entire face lit up, and it made your stomach churn. “I knew you’d understand,” he murmured, his fingers lightly tracing over your bound wrists. “I promise, you’ll be happy with me. You’ll see.”

You clenched your jaw, holding back the revulsion crawling up your throat. “Can you untie me?” you asked softly. “It hurts.”

For a second, Arthur hesitated, but then he nodded. “Of course, mon amour.”

He pulled a knife from his pocket, flicking it open with a practiced ease. You held your breath as he carefully sliced through the bindings around your wrists, then moved down to your ankles. The moment you felt the restraints loosen, your muscles screamed with relief.

You flexed your fingers, trying to hide how desperately you wanted to run.

Arthur stood, turning his back to you for just a moment.

And you took your chance.

You sprang to your feet, ignoring the burning pain in your legs, and lunged for the door. Your fingers barely brushed the handle before a strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back with terrifying force.

“No!” Arthur snarled, spinning you around and slamming you against the wall. His grip on your arms was bruising, his breath hot against your skin. “Why would you do that?” His voice cracked, hurt lacing his fury. “I trusted you!”

You struggled wildly, thrashing against him, your nails scratching at his arms. “Let me go, Arthur! Please!”

A sudden noise outside made both of you freeze.

Then—

“YN!”

Your breath caught.

Charles.

His voice was raw with panic, filled with a desperation you had never heard before.

Tears flooded your eyes as you twisted in Arthur’s grasp, screaming with everything you had. “Charles!”

Heavy footsteps pounded against the floor outside.

Arthur’s grip tightened painfully. “No, no, no…” he muttered, his eyes flashing with desperation.

You screamed again, louder, your voice hoarse and broken. “I’m in here!”

The door rattled violently as someone slammed against it.

“YN, hold on!” Charles shouted, his voice nearly breaking.

Arthur cursed under his breath, his grip on you like a vice as he pulled you away from the door.

But you fought harder. Because Charles was here.

And he wasn’t going to stop until he got to you.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly, @meglouise00, @charlesgirl16, @a-beaverhausen, @lol6sposts, @linnygirl09, @weekendlusting

[imsogonesposts]

My Hero

|| ao3 || Finnick Odair masterlist || an: this kinda hurt to write ngl 😭 || requests are open !! ||

summary: Finnick Odair was known for playing hero. That’s why he was always saving you, both metaphorically, and physically. (5 times Finnick saves you, and one time you can’t save him) (wc: 4080)

warning: nightmares, canon typical violence, mention of blood, no happy ending, i think thats all

1.

You tried to calm your rapidly beating heart and your too-loud breaths as you woke up. You had had a nightmare, reliving the events of your Hunger Games from years ago. Except, somehow the memories were worse. Distorted to make what truly happened on those never-ending days into something more violent, more gory. 

You tried to ease yourself, not wanting to wake up the boy next to you, but the thing about Finnick Odair, was that he always seemed to know when something was wrong with you- even when he was asleep, it seemed. 

He turned in bed as you covered your mouth, attempting to stifle your heavy breathing. He wrapped an arm around your waist, lightly rubbing your side as he quietly, asked “you okay?” 

You stayed silent, trying to pretend you were asleep, but even half asleep, Finnick could tell that something was wrong. 

He softly whispered your name before repeating his earlier question, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you quietly replied as he sat up, using his arm to support his weight as he looked over you. 

He softly repeated your name again as you turned over to look at him. You imagined your eyes were stained red from crying, your hair was probably a mess too, but Finnick didn’t seem to mind. 

“Hey, what happened?” He asked a finger lightly tracing your arm. It was a comforting gesture, and right now, it was one of the only things helping to ground you. 

You’re not back in the arena, you’re home, in bed, with Finnick. The dream wasn’t real, this is.

“Bad dream,” you whisper as he frowns. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks as you shrug. 

“I was back in the arena,” you quietly reply. “But everything seemed worse. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Finnick instantly shakes his head no. “Don’t be sorry, I don’t mind. You know that,” he whispers, moving his hand from your arm to lightly cup your face, thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. “I never mind, I just like taking care of you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks as you shrug. 

“Hold me?” You quietly ask as he nods. 

Finnick lowered himself to the bed as he pulled you atop him, your head on his chest, right over his beating heart. It was a calming sound, it always was, and his hand tracing up and down your back only added to the comfort he was trying to bring you. 

“I’d hold you forever if you wanted me to,” Finnick whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he continues to trace your spine with one hand, the other moving to play with your hair. 

2.

The TV was playing in the living room, but neither you nor Finnick were paying any attention to it. You were reading as Finnick laid in your lap, asleep, as Caesar Flickerman showed the citizens of the Capitol Katniss Everdeen’s wedding dress options. You prayed that when you and Finnick eventually got married, your wedding wouldn’t be nearly as publicized as the “star-crossed lovers of District 12’s” were. It would be nice to have something for yourselves for once. 

“That’s right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games and that means it’s time for our third Quarter Quell,” Caesar suddenly announced, pulling your attention away from your book, and onto the screen. Neither you nor Finnick were old enough to have witnessed a Quarter Quell before, but you had heard stories. Namely, what notto do- the stories of Haymitch Abernathy’s��games and the consequences of his win had been told frequently as a cautionary tale, warning to not do anything too extreme to win your games, so long as you wanted your loved ones to live to see another day.

You watched as President Snow made his way across the stage, a boy dressed in white closely following behind him.

You knew that a Quarter Quell most likely meant more work for you and Finnick as victors, you knew that you wouldn’thave liked whatever cruel Quarter Quell idea the original game makers had come up with seventy-five years ago, but nothing could have prepared you for the words that left the president’s mouth. 

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

You felt your blood turn cold as you looked at the sleeping figure atop you. Chances were, you and Finnick would be going into the arena again. Chances were, you would be going in together. And chances were, they wouldn’t let two tributes out of the arena again. 

“Finnick,” you whisper, lightly shaking his shoulder to wake him up. He smiled as he opened his eyes to be met with your face. You hated how quickly his smile dropped when he saw the look of concern etched across your own face. 

“Hey, hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up as he turns his body to face yours, his hands almost automatically reaching for yours. 

“They announced what would be happening for the next Quarter Quell,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze as you focused on the chipping paint on the wall beside the couch. Finnick had kept putting off repainting it, and now, who knew if you would ever get to see it fixed. 

He squeezed your hands as he noticed your refusal to meet his gaze. “That bad?” He jokes, panic instantly filling his body as he watched your eyes begin to water. “Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he whispered, gently taking your face in between in hands as he began wiping the tears of your face with his thumbs. “We’ll get through whatever it is, I promise.”

He was so sweet you could cry even more. You really didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but you had to tell him at some point. 

“Finnick,” you start.

“Yeah?”

“For the Quarter Quell,” you sniffle, “they’re gonna put two past victors back into the game.” You pause as you watch him think over your words. “They could send us back in,” you whisper, watching as his eyes narrow and shoulders gotense.

“What?” He questions as you nod. 

“I don’t want to go back,” you whisper. “I don’t want you to go back.”

He didn’t want that either. He didn’t want either of you to ever have to step through that arena again, he wouldn’t wish such a cruel fate to his worst enemy.

“I’ll figure something out,” Finnick whispers, pulling you into a hug as you cry into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers, rubbing your back and pressing a kiss to��your shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”

He wasn’t sure how true his words were, but as of right now, his main priority was calming you down and holding you, letting you cry it all out into his embrace. 

3.

The first thing you hear after sleeping in the arms of the man you love, is Katniss’s voice yelling “Run!” You could feel Finnick instantly tensing up, sitting up as if ready to fight an enemy, only to be met with a wall of fog. 

While it was obvious that neither you nor Finnick knew why you had to run from something as harmless as fog, Finnick still began pulling you up, pushing you ahead of him as the two of you ran away from the fog with Katniss and Peeta in tow. 

“What is it?” You heard Peeta ask. 

“Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas,” Katniss replied as you all continued running. 

You could feel the fog slowly catching up to you all as you began to feel a burning sensation in your body. It was on your arms, your legs, too many places for comfort. All the while, Finnick was yelling at the three of you to “keep moving.”

You had wanted to listen to him, you truly did, but slowly it began to feel as if the burning was doing much worse than causing some pain. It was targeting your nerves, making it close to impossible to run without stumbling and twitching.You had wanted to stop for a break, but Finnick had pushed you forward as he ran back towards Katniss and Peeta to help them, as Peeta could barely move due to his earlier injuries. 

You could barely feel anything but pain and worry as you fell down a hill, a few feet away from a body of water. Pain from the fog, and worry that Finnick might not have made it out of the fog, that he might have fallen there, and that you may have lost him forever. 

You wanted to thank every star in the night sky when you, weakly, lifted your head up to see Finnick, Katniss, and Peeta roll down the hill. All injured, but all alive. 

“Sweetheart?” Finnick, weakly, called out, lifting his head as much as he could to look for you. 

“I’m okay,” you replied. 

He let out a slight nod before laying his head down again, mumbling out a small “good.” 

You kept your gaze on him, watching as Katniss and Peeta carried him to the water. You would have been worried by the sounds of anguish coming from him if it weren’t obvious that the water helped with the poisonous gas, otherwise Katniss and Peeta wouldn’t be able to move as much as they were. 

“Hi, baby,” you hear after a few minutes, looking up to be met with Finnick’s warm smile. “I’m gonna take you to water and help fix you up, alright?” 

You weakly nod as he picks you up, carrying you to the water as he gently placed you in the water, waiting as you returned to your normal look. 

“Better?” He asked as you nodded. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, eyes going over his body looking for any signs of injury. “You definitely got the worst of it.”

Finnick shrugged with a smile as he tilted your chin to look up at him. “I’m okay because you’re okay,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

4.

You had been talking with Johanna when you had noticed Katniss running through the forest like a woman gone mad yelling one word, one name, over and over again. “Prim.” 

You ran after her, finally catching up to her as you watched her shoot a bird down, her shoulders still slightly tense. 

“Katniss?” You whisper, so as to not startle the girl. “Are you alright?” 

She nods at you, taking the arrow out of the bird as she wipes it clean. “I’m okay,” she replied. “I thought I heard my sister, but-“ 

A loud scream cuts her off. A scream that sounds like a voice you know all too well. 

“Finnick?” You yell, running into the forest, Katniss quickly following behind you. Finnick had been talking with Wirus, Beetee, and Peeta when you left. Had he gone chasing after you and ended up in danger? Did another past victor find him? One that wasn’t in the alliance?  Was he okay?

The screaming seemed to grow louder as you kept yelling out for him, and yet you couldn’t find him. It wasn’t until a bird fell on your feet that the screaming stopped. 

Oh, it wasn’t really him. And thank god for that. 

“It’s a jabber jay,” Katniss explains, “Finnick’s probably still okay, the Capitol’s just playing a trick on us. It’s not real.”

You pick up the bird with a shaky hand as you nod. Her reasoning made sense, it all made sense, you just had to calm yourself. 

Finnick was okay. He was okay, and you would both escape the arena together. Safe and sound. 

You nodded once more as another scream filled the forest. A deeper voice calling out for Katniss’s help. 

“Katniss, we have to go,” you tell her, pulling on her arm as you try to drag her away from the screaming jabber jays that began following the two of you. And with that, Finnick screaming for your help again. 

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. 

As you half drag, Katniss away from the birds, you finally catch sight of Johanna, Finnick, and Peeta waving at the two of you. Thank god he was okay. Finnick was shaking his head “no,” making an X symbol with his hands, Peeta and Johanna yelling at the two of you, though no words leaving their mouths. Strange, yes, but right now you just wanted to be held in Finnick’s arms as he assured you he was okay.

Katniss and you ran closer to them until you both suddenly ran into a wall, so transparent you couldn’t even see it. You both landed on the floor, looking up to see Finnick’s hand placed on the clear wall, mouthing the question “Are you okay?” You nodded “yes” even though your body ached from the impact of the wall. Johanna began hitting the wall with her ax, but it was obvious her attempts did little to damage it. You were stuck. At least until the hour was up. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, suddenly remembering the girl you were supposed to protect. Katniss nodded as she sat up, moving to closer face Peeta. 

You give Finnick a knowing smile, silently telling him, “see? I told you they were real.”

He only rolled his eyes in response, the hint of a smile tugging on his face before he winked at you. You swore you could get lost in his eyes.

That was, until, the jabber jays found Katniss and you. Slowly, one by one, they began sitting on nearby branches and rocks, before opening their mouths, screams pilling out. Some yelling for Katniss, some for you. You heard the voices of all that you loved: Finnick, your parents, your friends back home. 

You watch Katniss attempt to shoot the birds down, but you knew it was pointless. The game makers probably had anendless amount of jabber jays at their disposal. You wished you could help, but every second the voices seemed to onlygrow louder and louder. You covered your ears, closing your eyes, in hopes of blocking them out, yet that barely did anything. 

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.

Finally, the hour passed, and Finnick kneeled beside you, rubbing your back to let you know he was there. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers as you uncover your ears, finally opening your eyes to be met with his comforting green ones. 

“You’re okay?” You quietly ask. 

He nods. “I’m okay,” he tells you, hand still rubbing your back. “Are you okay?” He knows you’re probably not okay, he can see it in the way breathing, in the fear in your eyes, in the slight shaking of your body, but he wants to take things slow, he wants to help calm you down. 

You shrug at his question. “There were jabber jays,” you told him. “They sounded like you screaming, I thought something happened to you.”

He can feel part of his heartbreak at that as he slowly pulls you into a hug. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, kissing the top ofyour head. “I’m okay, I’m right here,” he begins rubbing your back again as you move your face into the crook of his neck. 

“I heard my parent too, Finnick,” you mumble against his neck. “And my friends back home…it was horrible.”

Finnick wished nothing more than the ability to take the pain away from you. To have been in your place instead so you wouldn’t have to go through such a thing. Or better yet, kill President Snow for ever helping with these games and foreverything he has ever put the two of you through. 

“They’re safe back home, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing the side of your head. “They always interview the family, I promise you your family is safe at home right now, okay?” 

You nod against him, letting his warm embrace calm you. 

5.

“Good morning,” you say, lightly shaking Finnick away from his nap. 

He only groans in response, mumbling something that sounded like “let me sleep.” 

You brush hair off his forehead with a laugh before whispering, “I’m sorry, but I need your help with something.” 

This time, he peeks an eye open, finally meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?” He asks through a yawn, one of his hands moving to rub up and down your arm. 

You nod in response before replying, “there’s a spider in the corner of our room, can you get it out?”

Finnick can’t help but laugh, sitting up and taking in the small room you and Finnick have grown to call your own in District 13. It wasn’t much, you only had a nightstand, a bed barely big enough to fit the both of you, and a small shaky desk, but it was enough. You were safe with him, you were both out of the arena, away from President Snow, you were both married now, and that was more than enough for him. 

“You mean to tell me you won your Hunger Games, and you can’t manage to kill a spider?” Finnick asks with a laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulder before pulling you in to press a kiss to the side of your head. 

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, leaning into his touch as he laughs again. 

“You’re right,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to the side of your head before getting off the bed, “it’s hilarious.”

“It’s near the desk,” you inform him as he nods, ripping a blank page out of the notebook that sat on the desk, picking up a discarded cup, placing the cup over the spider, and sliding the paper under the cup. 

“Can you get the door, sweetheart?” He requests as you get up with a nod. 

He kisses your cheek as you hold the door open for him. “It feels like you’re always saving me,” you joke as he laughs with a nod. 

“I happen to like saving you,” he easily replies. “I can be your knight in shining armor,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and walking out of the room to discard of the spider. “And it makes me feel useful,” he calls out before you close the door with a laugh.

+1

It was a strange thing. One moment, you were holding hands with Finnick, him making jokes to ease your ever-growing nerves, you laughing along as if his attempts were working. Finnick wasn’t stupid, though, he knew his attempts to calm you weren’t working, but no matter how much he tried to convince you, you insisted that you had a strange feeling in your stomach. A bad feeling that something wasn’t going to work out right today.  

One moment, he was swinging your joint hands back and forth, the next the two of you and the rebels were running from the mutts chasing you all. The mutts who stood tall like humans, chasing you with their almost reptilian-like tails, their hollow dark eyes, and their razor-sharp teeth. You could still feel Finnick’s hand in yours as you ran to the main sewer.

If you were a more selfish person, a smarter person, you would have found a way to stay back at District 13, and with that, find a way to convince Finnick to stay with you. Say something like you wanted to have as close to a honeymoon with him as you could back in District 13. Back in your almost too-small-to-move room, back in your slightly worn-out bed. Back home, safe. Without having to see so many people who were part of the rebel group die such a cruel death. Nothing about this was fair. Not one bit. 

You would close your eyes, will all of this away to be just another bad dream as you wake up safe in Finnick’s warm arms again, but every time you close your eyes, you were reminded of those who lost their lives due to the rebellion. The rebellion that you wished more than anything would just end already. Boggs, Jackson, Leeg One.

You feel something, someone, push you towards a ladder as the smell of blood, and roses, and death fills your nostrils. 

“Climb,” you hear Finnick instruct as you nod your head. 

“Finnick-“

“Climb,” he repeated, his tone more stern. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” he says, pressing a quick, haste kiss to your lips as he pushes you towards the ladder again. “I’ll be there soon, baby,” he tells you, turning around to fight off more of the mutts with the trident Beetee had recently crafted for him. You barely register your hands pulling you up the ladder, nor the bottom of your shoes pressing against the ladder as you make your way up. 

One second, Finnick’s lips are on yours, the next, you're atop a platform, watching the rest of the rebels climb their way up, save for one. 

“Where’s Finnick?” You ask before you hear the sound of screaming. The sound of his screaming.

It was like you were in the area again, back with the jabber jays taunting you and Katniss with the screams of those that you loved. Only this time, it wasn’t a distorted audio. This time it was real.

“Finnick!” You yell, making your way back to the ladder. You had to help him, you had to save him. He’s done the same for you countless times. You had to help him, you had to-.

A pair of strong arms pull you back, holding you tight so you wouldn't be able to escape. You thrashed against the person, Finnick’s screams of pain only further motivating your escape as the person, Gale, tells you, “No, he’s not coming back up.”

You didn’t want to believe him. Right now, your heart was overpowering any rational thought as you tried to escape from Gale’s hold. You had to try, you couldn’t let Finnick die. Not like this. Not with so much pain. Not in the water. It may not be the ocean water that he loved so much, but it was water nonetheless. He can’t die, he couldn’t, but especially not in the place he had always considered to be like a second home to him. In the place that would help calm all his racing thoughts, the water which he had practically grown up in. It wasn’t fair, nothing about any of this was. It wasn’t fair that either of you had to enter the Hunger Games at such a young age, that either of you had to go through those horrid games again years later. It wasn’t fair what the Capitol put Finnick through, it wasn’t fair that now he was so far out of reach.

You watch Katniss take out the Holo from her belt, whispering the word “nightlock” three times before releasing it to the sewer. To the mutts. To Finnick. 

“Katniss no,” you choke out through a sob, but the explosion had already happened before you could finish your plea. That’s when Gale finally releases you, letting you sink to your knees, as your sobs overtake you. 

“We can’t stay here,” Katniss suddenly says. You feel Cressida come to your side, rubbing a hand up and down your back to soothe you. The same way Finnick used to. 

That’s when it hits you: you’d never get to feel his touch again. Never wake up in his arms, hear his voice, have him next to you as you both drift off to sleep, you'd never get to tell him you loved him again. You didn’t even get to say it againbefore climbing up the ladder. 

You barely register Katniss and Peeta’s argument as Cressida helps you up, leading you to god knows where. You were only half there mentally, though you doubted anyone could truly blame you. 

Finnick was gone. The weird feeling you had in your stomach was right, and in the most cruelest way possible too. 

“I didn’t even get to say bye,” you croak out through a sob as Cressida continues rubbing her hand up and down your back. Though, it would never bring the same comfort that Finnick’s actions used to. 

[yapper1020]

This is most definitely gonna flop but I wrote this fic about Carmy in therapy today and it's too short to post on ao3 so imma post it here. It's still a bit long and I'm aware the way Carmen talks in this is out of character but my mind would not be stopped. I had to write it like this. I apologize for any typos.

Disclaimer that I have never been to therapy but enjoy I guess lmao.

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"There's uh, there's this thing in my chest. I forget the name of it sometimes. Too busy thinking about my hands to focus on the rest of my parts. It keeps you alive. The heart. It's the center of everything. The powerhouse. Or at least, it's supposed to be."

"How do you mean?" Doctor Scott, his therapist, asks him. And fuck it all really, because is he even therapy material? Is he not too far gone? Natalie doesn't think so. That's who he's here for.

Natalie.

Sydney.

Richie.

The list can go on for days.

And he'll still be here in this room. Wondering if he's worth anything.

"That, uh, that probably sounded confusing," he chuckles, a humorless sound. "I guess I mean emotionally. My heart isn't in charge. Am I making sense?"

"Please, continue."

"Uh, o-okay." Swallows. It feels like glass shredding his throat. The dread. "It's my mind that handles shit. I've always dealt with everything like an equation even though I'm terrible at math...so no, actually. I treat everything like a dish. Clean plate or messy. Sharp corners or abstract shapes. Light or heavy. Big or small. Everything is how it's supposed to be. Even if you hate it. Even if you hate yourself for doing it." A breath. Shuddering and small. "And when a plate is fucked, you abandon it." A finger against a nose. Nail scratching against bone.

"My mother hated me - hates me because I'm something to hate. I'm easy to dislike. I was made to be her punching bag. Acceptance. That's what I did to handle that. I was never meant to be loved by my mother or father. Not in a normal way. Not in a healthy way. Not in a real way."

"Why do you feel like that? Like you were meant to be hated?"

"Because...because I hate myself. I told you, I'm easy to dislike."

"Why do you hate yourself?" He says, writing on his pad. As if he is merely a name on a paper. Is that what he's worth? An easily scribbled, merely incomprehensible note on a doctor's form. Simply and only a patient to people paid to take care of him? Because everyone else has given up?

"I am boring. Lifeless. I am lifeless because I am bloodless and because I am bloodless, I am pale. Ugly. Deformed."

"Is that what you think of your appearance? Or something you were told? By your mother, perhaps?"

"Both." He touches his nose. Squints his eyes. "Uh," a sigh. A cry for help. "I'm not fun to be around. Most times I'm paralyzed in my own mind. My family says I need to calm down. Unwind. Relax. Unclench my ass. I don't fucking know how to do that. Since I was born, everything was high intensity and fast. Very happy or very sad or so terrifyingly angry. Nothing was done small. Nothing was ever fucking calm. I was raised in chaos so therefore I must've have been for it. It must be all that I can be. All that I can create. A creature is born to is born to a certain habitat because that is the only way it can live or try too. Only in those conditions. So if the conditions are violent, the creature is by nature, by its calling, violent. It's the only way it can survive. I was bred to be loveless and unlovable, and cruel, and unkind."

I was born to not know love.

It does not know me.

And I do not know it.

"Everyone runs from an oncoming train. Unless they want to get hurt." He continues.

"Carmen, I can't help but notice that you have a very poor outlook of yourself."

"Most people do." He tries to joke but he's never been one for humor. Doctor Scott does not laugh. Suddenly, "you sound like Sydney," he says.

"What does Sydney say?"

"She tells me I'm unkind to myself."

"She's right."

"She always is." He responds, almost defensively. Shifting on the hard cushion.

"Who is Sydney?"

"My partner." He motions for Carmen to continue but he doesn't, not understanding.

"Who is Sydney to you?"

"My partner."

"No. Not in a work capacity, Carmen."

"Why-why do you ask?"

"You smiled."

"What?"

"When you mentioned her. You smiled. For the first time in the forty-five minutes we've been here."

"Well...I only know her fully in a work capacity. I barely know her outside of that."

"What do you know about her outside of that?"

"She is shy. And she's fierce. And she's awkward. And she bottles everything in. I wish she wouldn't. Her nose crinkles when she thinks. Her voice goes quiet when she asks for something. Her jokes are awful but she loves to tell them anyway. She smiles with her nose and her eyes. She's not afraid of me so I fear her power."

"You fear her?"

"I fear what she can do. She tells me when I'm wrong. When I'm being an asshole. She doesn't give me grace. Like Richie or Nat. And I don't think she should, I honestly don't want her to. She meets me toe to toe except...I am the monster and she's the queen. I'm not used to that. I'm used to fighting monsters. Do I sound like a nursery rhyme? I think I do."

The doctor's mouth does not move.

"She can leave me and not be broken. But if she leaves me...I won't ever be whole. Forever indented by the lack of her presence."

"So she means a lot to you?"

"She consumes me. But if I do the same to her, she'll be gone forever. Lost to the grayness of my being. I would never see her again except, she'd be right in front of me. And that would be infinitely worse."

"You think you are a danger to her?"

"I know I am. But I can't let her go and for some reason I can't fucking understand, she won't leave me. She is angry at me. But she won't go. She looks at me like she believes in me. She is stubborn to show me something I can't even fathom. She wants me to learn it. But I don't even think she's aware of what she's doing."

"And what's that?"

"She is trying to show me love. Or she has already shown me it. But I can't process it. So I scream and she does it back. And sometimes, I see her crying at closing and my mind factory resets so I don't have to think of how I'm the cause of it. I ignore pain. Whether from me or others because I only, always, make it worse. And the next day, I treat her with kindness or rather, I treat her with a lack of anger and hope she smiles. She rarely does."

"You always make it worse?"

"When I was five, Natalie got cut. I tried to help, ran to get a band aid. What I didn't realize is that the first aid kit had a pool of my mother's brandy in it. It was on the bandage. It burned Natalie. I made it worse. Yes, I always do." A beat of silence and Carmen rubs at his chest. "I'm tired of talking." His mouth is dry, his eyes are wet.

"Well, you have an hour left but we don't have to talk. We can just sit."

Carmen nods. He talks anyway. "Sydney is hopeful. Sydney is optimistic. I'm a pessimist. We shouldn't work. But we try anyway. And sometimes, it's like flying. Others, it's like falling straight into the abyss. We clash but I don't want to lose her. So I do what I do best."

"What's that?"

"I cook. I speak through food. Vegetables, fruits, meats. They're all letters and seasonings are periods and commas and exclamation points. That is my language. She speaks it too. That is how we were introduced even though I didn't know that we met at the time. She ate one of my dishes. And somehow, impossibly, she was inspired. She sought me out. I think she might regret it." His brow furrows. "Hey, doc. She's the only person other than family I can apologize too, why's that?"

"Maybe because you care about her."

"I care about a lot of people. She's the only one I can speak too. Say what I mean."

"Well, how do you feel about her?" There's a freckle on his nose. An imperfection Carmen finds. He was trained to find imperfections. In dishes and chefs below him and around him. To break them. To surpass them.

I'm gonna smoke this motherfucker!

But never the chefs above him. They were supposed to break him. To mold him. To make him hard and callused and cruel. Except it didn't take them that long to make him that way. Had a natural knack for it, it seems.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, how does Sydney make you feel?"

"Uh, you know that moment after a storm? When everything goes quiet. The earth stops shaking. The sky stops screaming. But it's still wet and dreary, there's mud everywhere. You stay inside because it's warm and you're dry and you're safe."

"Sydney feels like that to you?"

"Sydney is that to me."

"You said you can't process love but I think you are. I believe you are learning."

"It doesn't matter whether I'm learning something good. Because I can't unlearn all the bad. I can't unlearn the way my mother's hands curl around a wine bottle. Or how she snarled like a beast when she looked at me. I can't unlearn the way my father left without so much as a goodbye or even a glance back. I can't unlearn how Natalie's nose flares when she cries. And I can't unlearn how Micheal breathed like two hands were choking his lungs. I can't forget that shit. I am that shit." There's a mirror in the room. Everything about him is red when he sees his reflection. "I am my mother's pleas and her accusations. I am my father's son. I have his eyes. I have his ears, I have his tendency to leave. I am my mother's anger and her wretched uncommon happiness. I am the reason for her rage and the target of her calamity. I am my brother's only hope and his dying wish. I am his disappointment and his pride. I am the thoughts that killed him. I'm the one person my sister couldn't get to stay so I am the root of her unhappiness. I am the reason she stays up at night yet still am one of the partakers of her kindness. I am my family's blood and I carry all their scars. I am the outcast. I carry all the darkness because I am strange and they can't understand me so Ma put all the problems on me because I was already misshapen so why not a bit more stretching and pulling until I no longer have a form but am just merely a fog that travels within the spaces they all long to ignore. Those crevices that ache and moan and bitch, that is where I live. In my family's sorrow. In their every fear. In the reason they give up. I am a Berzatto which means I am heartbroken and lonely and full of a fury I can't control. It is my birthright. It is burned into the mechanical nature of my matter. I am loud and intolerable. I move without feeling. I will tear you apart with my teeth like a bear and I will loathe myself for it afterward. I'll give anyone my all but all of me is not something people usually want. I am without a place and without a purpose to any other human being unless I am serving them."

"Except to your family."

"They're my family. They have to love me anyway."

"Except to Sydney?"

It stumps Carmen. His mouth shuts.

"Would you like to talk about your brother?" He nearly has whiplash.

"My brother...I loved him."

"I know."

"He was everything I wanted to be and everything I didn't."

"Can you expound on that?"

"He'd get into fights a lot. But he had passion. He stood up for himself. People liked him. I so desperately wanted to be liked or understood. Nobody got me. They'd try but not really. Sydney gets me."

"So your brother was your role model, would you say?"

"He was my inspiration."

"And when he died?"

"Everything lost its flavor."

The doctor seemingly understanding that his client speaks in the tongue of a chef more than the tongue of a human taps his pen and asks, "and when could you taste again?"

"Sydney made risotto. It needed acid. But I still thought it was perfect. But I didn't tell her that. I diminished her instead."

"Like your mother diminished you?"

His jaw clenches, his eyes water. "Yes." He admits, brokenly.

"Carmen. You're right. You can't forget the things you witnessed in your childhood and adulthood. You can't forget the way you were treated. But you can change. You can be different. You can break away from the things you learned and become new. You can be the person you want to be."

...

It's cold when Carmen makes it outside.

His lips are dry.

His fingers are numb.

His mind feels loopy.

So when he sees Sydney leaned up against her car, he thinks he might be hallucinating.

He walks toward his hallucination with purpose. She smiles at him and he frowns.

"Sydney?"

"Hey!" She rubs her hands together, bracing against the wind. "How'd it go?"

"It uh," he looks back at the office and squints. "It went." He shrugs, not knowing what to say. It was heavy and it was long. And he's tired. She understands that immediately.

"Yeah, these things can be rough."

"Why are you here?" He asks but not unkindly.

"To drive you home."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Dude, it's like ten fucking degrees, I didn't want you to freeze."

"I wouldn't freeze." He says back, confused.

She sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes. "I wanted to be with you after that shit. Okay? Happy?"

He stares at her. She is the sun, he is the moon. Always on one side of the sky but rarely together. He thinks they should become an everlasting eclipse.

She hugs him. Her arms squeeze him so hard that he feels again.

He sighs.

His nose burns from the chill.

He is home.

[drewsbuzzcut]

Can you write something about Nathan MacKinnon dating Crosby’s sister and Sid finding out and being protective even though Nate is his best friend and he knows Nate won’t hurt her.

A/N: This week has been crazy, so sorry this wasn’t out earlier. Also sorry that this really isn’t that great(I’m not used to writing for Nathan). I might rewrite it… (it’s also unedited🥴) I hope you still enjoy it nonnie🫶

You open your hotel room door only to be left standing there in shock and awe. A huge bouquet of roses and a bottle of champagne await you. It takes a minute or two for you to get your feet to actually move. When you finally get to where everything is, you see a small card. It reads “N.M.” You bite down on your lip, trying to fight off the smile of satisfaction daring to break out on your face. Nathan Mackinnon. The man on team Canada that just won the four nations tournament; the man who is close friends with your older brother; and the man who has been more than a friend.

A knock on the door has you striding over and quickly ripping it open, knowing exactly who is on the other side.

“You just won the tournament and you’re showering me with roses and champagne. You’re such a gentleman,” you chastise him playfully.

Before he can respond, you grip his tie and tug him into your body and away from any prying eyes in the hallway. Your lips land on his, inhaling every breath of air he’s willing to give. Teasingly, he flicks his tongue against your bottom lip, swallowing your soft moan.

“How was the celebration?” You ask after tasting the remnants of beer on his mouth.

“Good. Not as good as being tangled in the sheets together, though,” he hums into the heated flesh of your neck. Nathan palms at the material of your jeans and squeezes at your ass until your whimpers join the sound of his lips on your skin.

“I don’t know. A crowded bar sounds pretty fun compared to just lying around in a hotel bed,” you muse, acting indifferent.

“You won’t be saying that when my tongue is buried in your-“

“Stop!” You squeal and place your mouth on his to shut him up. You’re most likely beet red just because the mere thought of him doing anything to your body.

As you both move in tandem towards the bed, you peer into each other’s eyes. There’s so much tension curling around you and him. It’s thick and tight, ready to be snapped by whoever decides to make the first move.

“I’m proud of you,” you decide to disturb the sheer power of lust looming over you.

Nathan lips form a little grin and you know he’s feeling shy when he looks down. You place a hand on his sturdy abdomen and allow your other to go up to the medal hanging around his neck. You trace the pendant and you cannot deny the pride that fills you to the brim.

“I’m just glad you were here to see it happen,” he states, watching the way you admire the accomplishment resting on his chest. He eventually lifts the medal off of him and hesitantly places it around your neck likes he’s not sure of the move is too bold. You feel your breath hitch in your throat and you’re suddenly overcome with butterflies. The flutter in your stomach incessantly. The sensation makes you feel like a school girl who finally got noticed by her big crush. If your relationship weren’t secret, you’d be giggling and kicking your feet in giddiness.

“Wow, you sure do love us Crosbys,” you joke to break up the different type of tension filling the room.

You wince at the hockey player’s half smile, regretting your lame attempt of a joke.

You’re about to take back your words after the silence becomes too much, but he beats you to the punch.

“I have something I want to give you. It’s in my room.” He tries to sidestep you, but you desperately keep him in front of you. You don’t want to scare him away, or make him feel like you’re trying to rush his feelings. Whatever they are. No one tells you how confusing it is to have a somewhat, romantic relationship with your brother’s best friend.

“The roses and champagne weren’t enough?” You mutter with a forced laugh, trying to hold onto what you feel is flashing before your eyes.

“Nothing is ever enough for you. I’ll be back,” he soothes your worries and presses a chaste kiss to your pout.

You turn to watch him leave as you force yourself to breathe again.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your head snaps over to the door, and you really wish you didn’t look. Your older brother stands in the entryway, sporting an expression that’s a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“Nothing,” you shout without sparing a glance at any of the men in the room.

“Then why is Nathan’s shirt completely unbuttoned, and why is there red lipstick on his face? And your face for that matter,” Sidney points out.

Shit. You forgot about your lipstick, and you didn’t even realize you undid Nate’s shirt. Whenever you reflect on the past 15 minutes, the only thing that comes to mind is the way he touched you and looked at you.

“Oops,” you offer, not even trying to pretend that nothing is going on.

“So what? Are you guys dating?”

“Yes. We have been for a little while.” It’s then you finally look up and find Nathan already staring at you.

“And did any of you ever think to tell me?”

You roll your eyes at Sidney’s question. You’re ready for him to leave, so you can have the long awaited relationship talk with your supposed boyfriend.

“Who are you? Dad? Look, Sid, I love you and appreciate your concern but it’s not needed. You know Nathan. You know he’s a good person, so it shouldn’t be a problem that we’re together. Besides your relationship with him is the one with the age gap,” you sass, pushing him back out the door.

“Fine. I expect to talk more-” his words die out behind the closed door.

“That was a close one,” you say to the younger Canadian boy.

“So we’re together together,” he teases you, his hands finding your hips.

This time you don’t try to hide your smile. “Yeah. I guess we are officially official,” you hum, the air around you much lighter.

“I love you.” It’s whispered softly in your ear as he wraps his muscly arms around your neck.

You swear you can feel how fast your heart is beating, or maybe it’s his heart thundering in his chest.

“I love you.” You attach your mouth to his for the thousandth time that night.

You let out a boisterous laugh, jumping up and down in his grasp. He enjoys your personal celebration, but eventually whisks you away and tosses you on the plush bed. He’s actually glad Sidney popped up. It helped push him in the right direction of finally being yours. No more random hookups whenever you’re both free, and no more wondering if the other feels more.

[soulreader05]

@ladywynne thanks for inviting me yet again.

My blorbo : this motherf*cker.

This guy keeps popping in my dreams, so why not?

1. Was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made them your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you? Like always, my brother dragged me to the movie theaters to watch Dune with him, I barely paid attention like I was half asleep at the start, that was until the loud a$$ soundtrack played during the Harkonnens attack, then I saw him, and then I was interested for a bit. I had to watch it a second time with my brother by that time I was already obsessed with Oscar Isaac.

2. What’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo? He’s a loving protective dad.

3. What’s the thing you dislike the most about your blorbo? He’s part of a monarchy.

4. if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them? I’m too introverted, so instead I’m just gonna put flowers in his beard. (It’s what Tokala would do.)

5. What’s the one thing your fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

6. Is your Blorbo an introvert or Extrovert? The way he interacts with Gurney, and his other military staff tells me that this guy in the modern world would definitely be a golden retriever Extrovert.

7. Describe your Blorbo in 3 words? Rich Space Beard.

8. If your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life? Maybe.

9. Do you talk to your family or in real life friends about your Blorbo? I tell my brother about my weird dune dreams including my oc.

10. is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely? Uh…Colonization, maybe?

11. do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer? Mental and Psychological torture maybe. Dying, not so much. Annoying him would be fun.

12. do you ship your Blorbo with any character? Y/Ns, Canon Characters, Original Characters, Lady Jessica of course.

13. if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them? Yes.

14. would you still love your Blorbo if they were real? He’s a monarch, so I doubt it. Eat the rich.

15. is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon? …

…Does this answer your question?

16. if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be? My take if they kept him alive, would be giving him, Lucy Maclean treatment in the wasteland. If you guys watched Fallout, then you know what I’m talking about, by the end, he’s no longer a Duke, he’s now a pilot helping the Fremen.

17. when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo? No, I did not see that rich prick, this man just randomly showed up in my dreams with my OC.

18. do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo? Gatekeeping is for losers…unless it involves AI.

19. has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry? Yep, I’ve made myself cry plenty of times as I imagine a scenario where my kid OC Tokala gets really upset at Leto for his son, Paul’s actions, his family bringing more war and bloodshed to her people, her home. She hits his chest again and again but it doesn’t really hurt him, Leto just takes her hits and lets her anger out, he pulls into her a tight embrace as she breaks down crying.

20. do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on? I have no clue, Oscar Isaac please save me.

Tags : Anybody who see this. @ominoose @sillymarillly @hoedamn-eron @howaboutcastiel @xxjust-a-kidxx @gingersforeverbox @libblesdoodles

20 Questions

BLORBO ASKS GAME

reblog if you’d like people to send you asks about your Blorbo

was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made them your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

It was immediate. Watching Steven flounder then discovering the tragedy that is Marc. I started on the show, then began collecting the comics.

what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

I loved the representation of DID, autism and childhood trauma.

what’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

We barely got any Jake in the show, and he’s such a fantastic character in the comics. Comic Jake is the only way I can imagine him. Moustache and all.

if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

Not a thing. He’d get a damn hug.

what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

I think every adaptation is unique to that person and they’re wonderful for sharing. I’m a hoe for every crumb I’m not even sorry.

is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

Depends who’s fronting. Steven’s an ambivert: extroverted to avoid the feeling of loneliness, introverted in his hobbies and day-to-day. Marc’s a huge introvert and doesn’t like many people, how Frenchie puts up with him I don’t know. Jake is a natural extrovert, it comes easy to him to find a friend in anyone.

describe your Blorbo in 3 words

Damaged hot mess

if your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

Most likely… kinda. Squinting real hard at you, Khonshu.

do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

My partner can’t get away from my obsession. My brother brought me the same MK action figure Marc's holding in the asylum. It was really unexpected and touching. They let me drag them all over the city stopping in as many comic stores as I could visit.

is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

Mean to animals would make me very sad.

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

Every damn day of the week.

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

I ship him with anyone and everyone, it’s such a problem. I love all ships in all shapes and sizes. All the new ships coming out of Marvel Rivals has sustained me well lately.

if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

Oscar Isaac is one of the best humans alive. I love his face, his personality—everything. He made it easy to love the characters he plays.

would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

Probably. I’d always be rooting for him that’s for sure.

is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

Kind of. How they handled Jake suucked.

if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

Make comics Jake canon!

when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

I didn’t expect to go down as bad as I did. It wasn’t until I started writing him in 1x1 & group roleplays was where I truly fell down the hole.

do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

No gatekeeping allowed in this house! I am thrilled anytime more people discover MK by any means. It’s so much fun seeing new people arrive and interact with the fandom.

has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

Not a fanfic, but episode 5 made me ball. Hit close to home. I’m not one to cry easily so have yet to find a fanfic that will.

do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

Probably, I still have a lot more to write and explore.

Questions posted below empty for easy copy paste:

was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made them your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

what’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

describe your Blorbo in 3 words

if your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

Inspired by the wonderful @psycheetamore Hitting a few others I'd love to see do this! @mystra-midnight @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @faretheeoscar @moonbeammist @therapardalis @weheartchrisevans @silvermoon343