#don’t ask me why it’s just the first thing I thought of

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake who was raised to not be allowed to ask questions at home and so he just assumes that he’s not allowed to anywhere.

It wasn’t like he was told he couldn’t, it was just that he was often ignored when he did or made to feel like a burden or even straight up stupid when he did. They were too busy to answer questions that could be easily answered if he just thought about it.

It doesn’t help that he’s a naturally curious child and can rattle off a dozen questions in a single minute.

So, when he starts being around and eventually living in the manner he sort of just assumes he’s not allowed to and naturally, this leaves him with a lot of internal turmoil. He does ask questions, but not things that are either able for him to figure by himself or something that he thinks could be a bother for others, things like how to use the new tech that came into the ace or where the fresh linen was.

Bruce at first is impressed by the way Tim adjusted to things so independently and with so little need for guidance, but even when he’s at his lowest he’s able to see how strange it is that Tim seems to put so much stress on himself for things he can get others to do. He assumes Tim is like him and just wants to figure things out himself, determined to solve things on his own.

It comes to a head one day when he watches Tim storm up the stairs while a confused Dick is standing below looking utterly bewildered.

Upon questioning him, Dick explains that he had just been asking Tim if he needed any assistance with his ongoing case as it seemed to be bothering him only for Tim to instantly snap at him about hypocrisy and double standards.

Bruce tells Dick to just give him some space to calm down and instead goes to see Tim himself.

His ongoing my theories since he started to get a clearly head and had talks with Dinah.

Standing next to the door to very clearly show that Tim can leave the conversation whenever he wants, he doesn’t bother trying to hide what he’s doing because no matter how he does it Tim will notice, instead he just stands there a moment until Tim looks up from where he is angrily rearranging his clothes… on the floor… to other parts of the floor.

Bruce holds back a sigh and instead speaks in as steady of a voice as he can, “Ducky, I want us to have a talk, not just about you. Can we please try?”

Maybe it’s the earnest wording and the way he’s invoking himself in the discussion, or the old nickname that Bruce hasn’t actually used for a while, or perhaps both, but Tim deflates like a balloon and goes to sit down on his bed and gives a single nod.

Bruce smiles and something it is so clearly Bruce the person, the parent, the guy whose just trying and not Batman or Brucie.

Bruce sits as well, parallel to him and with as reflex posture he can have with such a tense body, “Tim, why do you feel you can ask for help?”

It’s such an open ended question and Tim can’t help but scoff, his own internal perception making him feel angry at the question and so he snaps, “Because I can’t! You guys never offer help and even when I want to it doesn’t matter because it’s always about what Damian wants for dinner and what times are better for Dick for lunch or- or work! It’s only me doing Wayne Enterprise stuff and I also have to do Drake Industries stuff now and none of you guys help me because I have to do everything on my own-“

Bruce doesn’t want to cut him off but this confirms some things and if so, he needs to do fix some things quickly.

“Ducky, why do you have to do everything on your own? I don’t mean as Robin or Red Robin, but as you, as Tim.”

Bruce can only hope he’s doing this right and that he isn’t pushing in a way that’s going to hurt Tim.

Nothing can stop the way Bruce startles when Tim lets out a guttural scream of pure frustration, standing up and looking so genuinely past it as he shouts, “BECAUSE I ALWAYS HAVE TO! IF I ASK FOR HELP I’LL JUST BE IGNORED OR TOLD IM STUPID OR- OR-“

Tim starts to huff, choking on air as he lets out several years of frustration out only to collapse under Joe helpless he feels.

Staying as still as he can, not showing his concern or his growing heart ache, Bruce leaves a hand palm out out for Tim to take and asks as carefully as he can, “By who, Ducky?”

And Tim, he looks so angry at first and yet when he opens his mouth he sputters and hesitates, trying to say something before thinking better of it a couple times and then… then he just looks defeated as he can’t bring himself to give an example of this because in reality, it hasn’t really happened. Sure there have been times when people have had to deny him, but how rare has that been?

And when has he actually been denied for no reason?

Tim sputters again and this time he actually speaks and says, “But mum-“

Bruce has to hold everything in him back from giving the most heartbroken look because it will definitely be misinterpreted as pity.

Never has Tim look more like a kid even though he’s almost eighteen, he looks like he’s lost in a supermarket and the front counter has called for his parents several times and still he’s alone.

He gives an encouraging nod when Tim goes to speak again and stops, still holding out his hand even as his arm beg isn’t to ache.

Tim manages to say, “If I ask for help then-then I’m being childish.”, right before falling into a ball of himself while also reaching a hand out to grasp Bruce’s.

Bruce himself brings himself to the floor and squeezes Tim’s hand, getting as close as he dares without checking in first but Tim just falls into him.

He can’t deny it’s a bit awkward at first, but eventually he just does what feels natural and cradles Tim to his chest.

A moment passes before either speaks again and it’s Bruce, “Ducky, I want you to know this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have just let you take on so much by yourself and assumed you were okay, I shouldn’t have offered help and shown you that you can ask for it.”

Tim goes to speak and Bruce gives a small squeeze to ask him to wait, luckily Tim understands and lets him continue, “I don’t know everything, I have an idea but I think assuming things is what’s put us in this position in the first place. What I do know is that some things need to change, including how much pressure has been put on you and at the same time, I need you to do something for me. It’s not going to be easy but I know you can do it, Ducky.”

With a sniffle, Tim pulls away from him and looks at him with red eyes, “What is it?”

Bruce smiles, “I want you to try to not assume how we’re going to react to things. More specifically, I want you to do your best to give us a chance to respond to you better or even just differently to how your parents would.”

Tim look ashamed for a second and Bruce knows that expression, it’s the one Tim gets what he feels confused or stupid and so Bruce pulls him close again and says, “You haven’t done anything wrong, Tim. You haven’t made a mistake, it just… you were raised in different way to how we do things, right or wrong. Because Tim, and I’m saying this as clearly and plainly as I can,”

This time he nods along to his words and prays he’s doing the right thing and says, “You are allowed to ask questions.”

Tim starts to sniffle again and Bruce knows he’s done right, “you can ask anything, Ducky, even something small and pointless or something huge and personal or even just something without a definite answer. We’re here to help you, not hinder you.”

This time Tim cries and by all definitions it’s a wail, a heartbreaking and tragic wail of pure emotion as he sobs into his father’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I thought- god I was so angry and it was all my fault and I-I’ll

Bruce shuts that down immediately, “no it wasn’t, we should have done better to show you it was okay before hand. Yes, you did put more power to this than you should have but by all accounts it makes sense, and at the same time-“ because two truths are possible and important, win for Dialectic Behavioural Therapy “-we had a duty to you to notice and act on it. I knew something was up and I didn’t do anything even though I’m a detective and your carer, and that is on me. I admit that.”

Tim just cried harder and tries to shake his head no but then Bruce holds him tighter and he can’t.

He does feel stupid, like he made a big deal out of something small, but it was so big to him growing up and he wanted better but just… couldn’t take the chance.

But Bruce seems to want to understand and in a lot of ways already does, so…

“Okay. Okay, I believe you.”

Bruce smiles and kisses his head, “Thank you, Ducky.”

Dick and Alfred, standing by the doorway, both give each other a nod and start working out how to explain this to the Damian ‘Change Is My Worst Enemy’ Wayne.

[randompiecesofwriting]

Coffee Snob (pt 3)

Summary: Robby removes readers stitches, she brings food to the Pitt as a thank you much to his coworkers glee

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Nothing really just another super fluffy one as things start to get more serious!

Author’s Note: I had absolutely no idea this would grow to be this many parts when I wrote the first one but I am so over the moon with the reception I’ve gotten from the first two parts so I wrote this one too! I’m having so much fun with these two and I’m planning already one more part I think so look out for that! As always please please please let me know what you think! I incessantly reread every comment and reblog with cute tags or extra words they’re my favorite things seriously you all are the best!

Part 1 Part 2

Phone, wallet, keys, phone, wallet, keys.

This was the mantra that resonated through your head as you paced back and forth through your apartment, grabbing anything you could think of to throw into your bag.

Chapstick, hair tie, charger, it all got thrown in.

A book even for while you were waiting, though this had to be a new one since you discovered Robby was keeping the one you were currently reading hostage in his apartment prompting you to now possess a “Robby’s apartment” book and a “your apartment” book. A needlessly complicated system that somehow still worked.

You patted down your pockets making sure that at the very least the essentials were still on you.

Phone, wallet, keys.

With one last look you slipped on your shoes.

Phone, wallet, keys.

Grabbing the door handle you gave the room one last look before turning it.

Phone, wallet, keys

Phone- Robby?

Swinging open your apartment door you came face to face with the familiar physician, warm brown eyes blown open in surprise, fist slightly raised as if to knock on your door.

For a brief moment all the two of you could do was simply stare at one another, the shock starting to ware off as he slowly dropped his arm and the corner of your lips quirked up in a small smile “hey neighbor”

“Hey” he answered softly, another silent beat passing before his eyes snapped to the bag on your shoulder, and the shoes on your feet “headed out?”

“Yeah” you nodded, waving your arm in the air in front of you “finally time to get these out”

He smiled back at that, nodding his head softly “we’re on the same page then, I was just coming to get you”

You furrowed your brow slightly at that, tilting your head to one side in a silent question, had he planned to come walk with you to the clinic?

Seeming to misunderstand your question he shoved his hands into his pockets as he spoke and gestured vaguely down the hall with his head “Yeah I grabbed a removal kit before I left today, come on I’ll get it set up”

Only then did his meaning hit you. He thought you were coming to get him to remove them. “Oh no that’s okay I’m on my way to urgent care”

His smile dropped instantly, eyes scanning over you briefly “why are you going to urgent care? Is everything okay?”

You chuckled softly at his concern, waving him off as you stepped into the hallway and shut your door behind you “yeah I’m fine, just need to get them removed, no biggie”

He seemed almost taken aback by your answer, a frown growing on his face as he brought his arms up to cross over his chest “I can take them out for you”

“Aren’t you supposed to be back on shift in a few hours” You asked with a laugh, the statement being a little hyperbolic but the sentiment behind it all the same “go rest I’ll be fine at urgent care”

His frown only deepened at that, arms tightening in front of him “so you’re just going to let anyone go at you with a blade?”

“Go at me with a blade” you couldn’t help but laugh at his phrasing, smile only dimming slightly as his serious façade still didn’t crack “that’s a bit dramatic don’t you think? Besides I’m fairly certain they all have medical degrees”

“And you know who else does?” He countered quickly “me. They guy right down the hall. Who doesn’t have a wait time and will not charge you”

“Who’s off the clock” You could feel yourself start to get defensive under his disapproving gaze, not realizing how serious he would take this, desperate to make him understand where you were coming from “this stuff is trivial I just didn’t want to bother you with it but if you don’t mind-“

“Of course I don’t mind” he cut you off, his tone almost disbelieving as if the statement itself were absurd “I told you to bother me with things like this”

“You told me to bother you next time I was at the Pitt” Again you were on the defensive “then it was about bothering you with work things while you were at work. You’re off the clock now I don’t want to make you do more work stuff when you don’t have to”

An almost scoff escaped him but the tension held in his stance seemed to fade slightly, brows no longer furrowed quite so severely in frustration “I meant bother me when you’re hurt. Unless it warrants a 911 call come to me” he paused briefly, almost seeming to contemplate his next words before he spoke “I want you to come to me”

You eyed him almost skeptically, watching his face intently, looking for any hint of mistruth “I just feel bad making you work in your free time”

With a dramatic groan he ran a hand through his hair at your words, giving the short strands a quick ruffle before speaking again “you don’t let me take out those stitches and from now on I won’t eat anything you make”

A surprised laugh escaped you at that, your own arms coming to cross over your chest as you mirrored Robby’s posture “what?”

He grinned maliciously at that, nodding slightly as he spoke “I just feel bad making you work in your free time”

You rolled your eyes as your words were thrown back at you “now you’re just being ridiculous”

“Correct” he answered immediately starting to grow smug “this line of logic is ridiculous”

“It’s different” you shot back “I like cooking for you”

He only raised a brow in response, shooting you a pointed look, practically daring you to connect the dots yourself “you’re telling me you enjoy removing stitches in your free time”

He rolled his eyes at that, debating something in his head for a second before speaking, his voice slightly gruffer than before “I like making sure you’re okay in my free time”

You froze on the spot at his words, chest aching slightly as you felt your face start to flush, something Robby seemed to notice as his tone grew smug once more.

“something you did for me just a few days ago when I was sick”

You narrowed your eyes back at him in response, Robby’s expression telling you he knew he had backed you into a corner with that one “I’m making you dinner to make up for it”

He only grinned at that, taking a small step back to allow you room to continue down the hall towards his apartment “you promise?”

Mostly feigning a look of frustration you slipped past him towards his door with a small huff “smug doesn’t suit you Robinavitch”

Robby only laughed in response.

-

This was ridiculous you weren’t nervous to meet Robby’s friends.

That was something people who were dating would do. Something people who were invested would do. Certainly not something a simple neighbor would do.

Maybe if you just thought of them as coworkers that would help.

For better or for worse you couldn’t really dwell on your feelings about the situation, the bags your arms were weighed down with kept you from being able to debate actually going into the hospital for too long.

So fueled more by a desire to rest your aching muscles than anything else you forced your way to the ER of PTMH for the second time in about a week, already regretting the move as a familiar wave of bodies greeted you upon entry.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you made your way to the front desk, bypassing the line of waiting people and flagging one of the nurses who was off to the side doing paperwork.

“You’re going to have to wait in line” she barely spared you a glance as her pen flew across the page.

“No I’m here to see Dr. Michael Robinavitch” You tried to put as much confidence into your voice as you had when you had practiced this interaction earlier.

The move, however, did not have the desired effect as still the nurse’s gaze only came up to quickly sweep you for injuries before returning to her paperwork “As I said you’re going to have to wait your turn in line, a doctor will be by to see you shortly”

“No I-“ you tried to wrack your brain for a way to properly convey that you weren’t a patient, coming up mostly blank leaving you with only one option, one that left you with a too-high-to-be-comfortable chance of completely embarrassing yourself in the process “I’m blue tumbler girl?”

The woman behind the desk froze on the spot, pen hovering just over the surface of the paper as her wide eyes shot up to connect with yours. Your words even had the woman currently dealing with the line snapping to attention, the two woman sharing a silent glance at one another before gaping openly at you.

You tried hard not to squirm under their attention, knowing you were failing miserably in the process and instead deciding to steam-roll ahead “I just wanted to-“ you started to lift the bags in your arm to show them when you were cut off by a loud buzz from the door behind you.

“You can go ahead through that door we’ll let him know you’re here” one of them directed you with a polite smile.

“No that’s okay you don’t have to-“ you tried to protest but the two were already huddled together from behind their desk, rapid fire whispers bouncing back and forth between the two women, both of whom sported expressions you knew would spell trouble for Robby later.

Relieved to at least have their attention off of you, you pushed your way through the door and walked through the hallways back to where you remembered the nurses station to be, coming face to face with the exact person you had been hoping to see.

Dana’s face lit up with a warm smile the minute her eyes connected with yours, dismissing the woman she was talking to quickly and making her way across the room to you, not hesitating to grab one of the heavy bags you were clearly struggling with as she engulfed you in a one-armed hug “hey kid what brings you to the Pitt?”

“Dana” you sighed in relief as you hugged her back “I just wanted to thank you guys for taking care of me last week. I brought food if that’s okay?”

“Of course that’s okay” she waved off your concern without a thought, a steady hand placed on your back to lead you to one of the side rooms as she did so “come on I’ll show you to the break room”

“good I just wasn’t sure if I would just be in the way or if no one would end up wanting it” you gladly followed her lead into the small room, placing the bag you held onto the table.

“please with these animals it’ll be gone in twenty minutes” she shook you off again, working to start removing trays from the bags and set them out for easy access “plus Jianna’s? Better be careful or you’ll spoil them, this couldn’t have been cheap”

“ahhh I-“ you trailed off a bit, suddenly bashful beneath the older woman’s gaze as you helped her “I head chef there so you could say they sort of owe me”

She whistled loudly at that making you chuckle and squirm slightly as she gave you an appraising once over. Eager to turn the attention elsewhere you reached into the bag and plucked one of the drinks from the carrier within.

“Speaking of I came straight from work so no pour over coffee for you today but we do have a kick-ass espresso machine there so…latte?”

Her eyes gleamed as she eagerly took the to-go cup from you and popped the top off, sticking her nose close to the surface and humming softly as she took a deep sniff of its contents. A quick sip later and she was putting the lid back on and bringing up a hand to your cheek, cradling your face in it as she appraised you with a lopsided smirk “I think I’ll keep you”

You laughed through the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as you swatted her hand away “there’s one in there for Javadi too if she wants it. Tell her I said thank you again when you see her”

“You got it kid” she winked at you as she took a deep sip of her drink, heading back out towards the door “I’ll go find Robby and let him know you’re here”

“Oh no you don’t have to” again you were stuck trying to persuade people not to bother Robby during his shift.

And again you were being completely ignored for it “nah kid you’re not slipping away from this one”

“Please I don’t want to be a bother I really just came by to drop off some food”

“Think of it as helping me out then” she countered, resting one hip on the door as she spoke “I don’t want to have to deal with a grumpy Dr.Robby if he knew you’d been here and I hadn’t told him”

You deflated slightly at the argument, knowing you weren’t going to win this one, desperately trying not to put too much weight into her words “Yeah okay I’ll be here”

“That’s the spirit” she chuckled back at you as she pushed the door open and disappeared through it.

You were alone for barely two minutes before the door to the room was harshly pushed open and a familiar looking doctor was storming in.

“Hey what’s wrong are you okay?” Robby flew into the room in a rush, barely giving you time to breathe before he was reaching for your arm and bringing the injury up to his eyes to examine it “was it the cut? Did something happen?”

You were laughing before you could think to form proper words, pulling your arm from the man’s grasp without a second thought “Robby you literally took the stitches out for me last night what could’ve possibly happened in the hours it’s been since then”

“A lot for the record” he glared at you, despite everything the corners of his mouth perking up slightly in amusement “but you know it’s not usually healthy people who come into the Pitt”

“I just wanted to bring you guys some food” you forced some extra exasperation into your tone in hopes of hearing him chuckle as you gestured to the half un-packed bags on the table “It was just supposed to be a quick thank you I didn’t mean to bother-“

You cut yourself off at his look, could see the way he was gearing himself up to tell you once again that you weren’t a bother for coming to see him in the ER, something you felt you could push back on since the circumstances surrounding this trip to the Pitt were drastically different than the ones before.

But hoping to spare yourself the lecture you’ve already received you simply corrected yourself “-interrupt. I didn’t mean to interrupt your busy schedule”

The smirk on his face at your correction was much too smug for your liking but you let him have it anyways, a part of you always happy to let him revel in anything that had him smiling.

Reaching into the bag closest to you, you dug amongst the boxes for a brief moment before finding the one you were looking for, pulling it out and pushing it into his hands with a soft “here”

He looked down at the meal appreciatively, raising a single eyebrow at you in silent question.

“Remember that recipe I told you the other day I was working on? I think I’ve got it nailed down so I wanted to have you try it” you desperately tried to downplay the importance of it, the intimacy of Robby being the first person other than yourself to try a new recipe of yours, silently praying he wouldn’t pick up on how much his opinion of it meant to you.

“Ahhh so you needed guinea pigs”

You snorted at his response, relief surging through you at the joke “Guinea pig singular. Rest of the crew gets regular menu items. I wasn’t going to subject them to untested material”

He grinned at you in response as a soft huff escaped him “just me then that gets the risk of inedible food”

“Perks of being my favorite doctor” the words slipped out of you before you could think twice, a brief panic at being too forward surging through you before you leaned into a joke to deflect the sincerity “don’t tell Dana I said that though”

He chuckled at that with a soft shake of his head, the pink tint coloring his cheeks telling you the deflection didn’t land completely “she’s a nurse so you can argue the semantics of the epithet if need be”

“Good I’m not sure if I’m terrified of her or in love with her”

“Yeah she has that effect on people”

A silence fell over the two of you at that that for the first time with him it felt tense, but thankfully not uncomfortable, neither of you doing anything more than staring at one another before you acknowledged that one of you needed to break it. You nodded to the door behind him “I should head out, gotta start my prep here soon, but you’ll let me know what you think of that yeah?”

“Yeah” he nodded in the affirmative, a soft and dare you say found smile on his lips as he moved out of your way from the door “I take me duty as guinea pig very seriously”

“good it’s always such a hassle to find a new one” you found yourself lingering in the doorway, hesitant to leave just yet “oh and there’s a mocha in the bag for Javadi if she wants it as a thank you for stitching me up”

“You’re going to spoil my staff with all this specialty coffee” despite the comment you could see the appreciation in his eye, the complete lack of heat behind the jab.

You shrugged nonchalantly “gotta win them over, maybe one day I’ll graduate from blue tumbler girl to just coffee girl”

He laughed back at that, his head ducking slightly as he did so, crossing his arms over his chest in the process.

You took a brief second to relish the sound, giving him one last look before nodding and pushing the door open with your hip, resigning yourself with going back to work when your name being called halted you in your tracks, your gaze snapping back into the break room to meet his “Thank you. For the food I mean”

You couldn’t have bit back the grin on your face if you had tried “Anytime Michael”

-

“Whoa what’s all this? You order us food Robby?” Langdon asked, never once questioning if the food was even meant for him, hands already digging into the bag to pull out a box, handing it to Perlah on his left without a thought.

“No I didn’t Y/N my uh-“ he faltered suddenly, the words dying on his lips as he struggled for what to classify you as “Y/N brought it in for us, a thank you for stitching her up”

His tone had the two freezing before him, devious smirks passed wordless between them already making Robby roll his eyes before any words could be said, Perlah piping in eagerly with news “Front desk said blue tumbler brought in bags from Jianna’s”

“So blue tumbler’s name is Y/N” Langdon smirked at Robby who was doing his best to tamp down his exasperation, knowing it would only spur them on further.

“I still don’t understand why the blue tumbler was that big of a deal” still the annoyance dripped from his words as he muttered them

“Robby you came into work smiling”

“Humming even” Perlah pipped in, eyes already back on the bag of food as she dug through it.

“Humming” Langdon repeated with wide eyes and a wicked grin.

“Thought Abbot was going to have a stroke trying to process what he was seeing”

“And holding a coffee tumbler that was definitely not your own in a death grip” Langdon was looking much too smug for his liking at the observation.

With a deep sigh Robby rubbed tired hands deep into his eyes “I spend way too much time with you people”

“Dana said the coffee you had in there was good shit too. Way better than the stuff you normally drink” Perlah steamrolled ahead as if he had never spoken, finally choosing one of the take-out boxes and extracting it from the bag.

“Dana’s been drinking from a new green tumbler here lately” Langdon pointed out “plus she walked out of here with a cup that looked an awful lot like this one” he said as he extracted a to-go cup from the bag he had been looking in.

Robby almost regretted having to speak up about it now, knowing it was exactly what they were fishing for, running an anxious hand through the hair at the back of his neck as he did so “don’t, that’s a mocha for Javadi”

“How come Dana and Javadi get coffee from blue tumbler lady” Langdon pitched his voice to sound almost petulant, completely ignoring the glare Robby sent his way.

“She’s not supplying the whole floor with coffee”

“Would you look at that he’s already possessive over her” Langdon was downright giddy at Robby’s reaction, eyes cutting down to meet Perlah’s “think Abbot’s heard about that yet”

Robby groaned dramatically and swiped his box off the table as he made his way out the door before the other two could say anything further, muttering under his breath as he left the breakroom “why is he everyone’s go to”

[docrobinavitch]

i can’t recall if i already put in a suggestion, but my idea is a dr robby girlfriend/wife reader

reader deathly afraid of needles but takes injections every week for migraines. michael takes his “lunch break” to calm reader down and help her through the injection.

hiii bestie thank you so much for the request! i took some liberties with this so i hope that's ok. this should've been a relatively short prompt, but i am apparently incapable of writing anything without establishing backstory!

_______

time after time

dr. robby x wife!reader content: 18+ mdni, swearing, needles (obvie), some canon medical stuff, but barely words: 4.8k

It had been Robby’s idea for you to see a neurologist for your migraines. He had been begging you to for as long as he’d known you.

The first time he came home from a shift to find you laying down in the shower with the lights off, it scared the shit out of him.

“What the fuck?” He flipped the light switch on and dropped to the side of the tub.

But you seemed annoyed and groggy as you squinted against the sudden brightness, “Lights off, please.”

He looked at you incredulously, but since you didn’t seem to be dying, he obeyed, “I thought you fell.” He said, sitting down next to the tub and rubbing at his face.

“The sound of the shower and the feel of it against my head is soothing the pain,” You murmured, “Also,” You gestured to the toilet, “Proximity if I need to puke.”

He shook his head, “You could’ve warned me.”

You hummed, “Lost track of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been here.”

“That’s… mildly concerning.” You didn’t say anything else, but he continued to sit there, unwilling to leave you alone in this state, “Would you see a neurologist if I got you a referral?”

“No.” You said immediately.

“Why not?” He asked, though they had already had this conversation. He wondered, though, if asking while you were in the middle of an episode would change your tune.

“I’ve been dealing with it just fine by myself.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, “I’m not sure I would call this just fine. Did you take Advil?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

You didn’t answer, which was an answer on its own.

“I hate seeing you like this.” He said quietly.

“Then go in another room.”

He smirked, you were stubborn. To a fault sometimes. But so was he. He would wear you down. Not that day perhaps, but eventually.

“Can’t leave you here unsupervised when you’re like this. You could slip and fall when you try to get out.”

You sighed, “Well then, I guess we’re at an impasse.”

And it went like that for years, Michael repeatedly asking you to see a neurologist, you refusing.

It wasn’t until a year into your marriage that you finally agreed. Lately the attacks had become more frequent and lasting for longer periods.

Michael had been checking on you when he was home, but for the most part you would shrug him off and go back to sleep. It had been days, now since it started. But you wouldn’t listen when he said maybe you should go to the ER for fluids and meds. So he would leave you, putting a security camera in your bedroom so he could check on you while he was at work.

You had rolled your eyes when you watched him angle the camera towards the bed, “You know, baby, we could be doing much more exciting things with a camera in the bedroom than watch me sleep.”

“Yes,” He nodded solemnly, “And it’s a shame that we can’t do any of those fun things because you refuse treatment—“

You groaned and tugged a blanket over your head, “Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch, that’ll be all.”

He had smirked and pulled the blanket back down, kissing your forehead, “You know how to find me if you need me. I love you.”

When he checked a few hours later and you were off camera, he assumed maybe you were feeling better, maybe had gone to eat something. Or, you had gone to lay in the shower in the dark. He sent off a quick text to check in and then jumped back into another case.

But a half hour later, Dana was coming to find him, “I need you in North 11.”

“Just a second.” Robby was gloved up, watching Collins and Santos drain some blood that had collected around a patient’s lungs.

“I really don’t think you want to wait for this one.” He turned and looked at Dana. Her face was hard to read, but she wasn’t one to insist if it wasn’t important.

“Collins, you got this?”

“Sats are rising,” She glanced up at Robby, “We’ll call if we need you.”

“What is it?” Robby said as he degloved and threw away his robe.

Dana sighed, “Your wife is here. She’s fine.” She added at the look on his face, “Well, not fine. But she’ll live. Status migrainosis.” He nodded, but showed no other reaction, “You don’t seem surprised that she’s here.”

“She’s had a migraine for three days now, mostly bed ridden.”

“And you left her at home?”

He huffed a laugh, “When have you ever known my wife to do something just because I suggested it? Do you think I should have tossed her over my shoulder and brought her here against her wishes?”

“Point taken.”

Robby started walking, Dana trailed a step behind, “She brought herself here?”

“I think she Ubered, but she was pretty upset when she got here, it was hard to understand her. She didn’t want you to know she was here.”

Robby slowed and turned back to Dana, “Why wouldn’t she want me to know she was here?”

Dana gave him a knowing look, “Come on, Robby. You’ve been begging her to see a doctor for years now. The two of you are competitive and stubborn as hell. Her being here means you won.”

He gave a short laugh and began walking again, “Well she can’t be that bad if she’s thinking about winning.”

“As if you weren’t thinking about it, too.”

“How dare you. My beautiful wife is in so much pain she’s in my ER and you think I’m thinking about winning?”

“I don’t think,” Dana smirked, “I know.”

Robby pushed back the curtain to see you sniffling, curled on the bed and around a basin you appeared to have been vomiting in. You wore one of his hoodies which was tugged over your head, the strings pulled tight enough that it partially covered your eyes.

He sighed and pulled a stool close to the bed, “Hey, sweetheart.” He said softly stroking a hand on your bare ankle, “I hear you’re in a lot of pain.”

You glared up at Dana, “Traitor.”

“Sorry, kid.” Dana smiled and backed out, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

With just the two of you now, he could see you struggling not to cry, “The pain’s only gotten worse and worse and I couldn’t stop puking and I got scared.”

“It’s okay, you’re probably dehydrated. It’s likely that this was just your normal migraine, but since the pain’s worse than you’re used to, we’re going to run some tests to be sure.” He started to glove up as he spoke, “We’ll give you fluids and some meds intravenously for the pain while we wait for a spot to open up for CT.”

“Intravenously?” You squirmed away from his touch, “Can’t I just take them orally and chug a bunch of water?”

He eyed you strangely, “They won’t work fast enough that way, you’d probably keep puking them up.”

You rubbed a hand at your face, frustrated as tears began flowing again, “I can’t,” You cried.

“What do you mean you can’t?” He asked gently.

“Needles.” You mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows, “You’re afraid of needles?”

You nodded, still sniffling.

He almost laughed, “How did I not know this? In all the time we’ve been together haven’t you gotten vaccines or bloodwork done?”

You sighed and closed your eyes, tilting your head back against the bed, “If I absolutely have to, I wear noise canceling headphones and a blindfold so I don’t know when it’s coming.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, but it’s stopped me from punching healthcare workers involuntarily. They don’t like it when you do that.”

Robby nods solemnly, “Yeah, I can imagine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed helplessly, “I thought maybe you’d think it was silly.”

“It’s not silly,” He said softly, “It’s a very common phobia.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m a patient you’re trying to soothe.”

He sighed, “Well, right now you are my patient and we have to get those fluids and meds in your body sooner rather than later, so I’m sorry to say, but we’ll have to put an IV in and we’ll have to take some blood too once you’re hydrated—“ You looked at him with horror and he said quickly, “But you probably won’t even feel the second one once you’re hydrated, alright. It’ll be super quick, I promise. And I’ll be here the whole time. I’m gonna go get Dana, okay?”

Robby sighed and walked out of the room.

“How is she?” Dana was immediately next to him.

Robby sighed, “She’s deathly afraid of needles.”

“You’re kidding,” Dana playfully shoved his arm, “You’ve been with her how long and you didn’t know? Some husband you are.”

He nodded and looked at the floor, “I feel awful I didn’t know. It explains why she’s always been so resistant to come here or go to the neurologist.”

“It’s okay, Robby. Happens to the best of us,” She clapped him over the shoulder, “Do you want help with the IV?”

“Yeah, I thought maybe you could do it. I don’t do them often and I don’t want to miss her vein.”

 Dana laughed, “Ah, so if I miss the vein, she can hate me instead.”

“Exactly.” Robby said as they pulled the curtain back around your bed.

You were puking again when they walked in and Robby immediately put a hand to your back to soothe you. It looked like you were vomiting straight bile now, which he imagined was very painful and only further exacerbating your migraine pain.

“Could we… Turn these lights off?” You asked calmly, but tears were streaming down your face and you were shaking.

They couldn’t turn the lights off because you weren’t in a room. “Do we have any private rooms?” He asked Dana quietly.

“Oh, no,” You said immediately, “I don’t want to take that from a patient who actually needs it—“

“You are a patient and you need it.” Robby said, and then turned back to Dana.

“We don’t, but we could put her in the family room. One of them has a little couch she could lay on.”

Robby nodded, “Could you grab a wheelchair?”

Robby fussed over you, carrying you into the wheelchair when you said you could walk. Rubbing your back when you inevitably vomited again. And although Dana would do the IV insertion, Robby disinfected your skin and tied the tourniquet.

Despite your best efforts, you whimpered when the tourniquet tightened. Robby looked up at you, “Did I hurt you?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, worried you’d start sobbing if you tried to speak. You felt silly about how afraid of the needles you were. Anyone else would barely flinch at the thought of it. But it made you feel sick.

Robby came around to your other side, taking the hand that wasn’t about to be poked, “Look at me.” He smiled when you obliged, his eyes warm and loving, “Do you want to know what’s happening or would you prefer not to know?”

You took in a shuddering breath, “Could you distract me, please?”

He held your hand to his mouth, bending his forehead towards yours, “This was supposed to be a surprise, but I booked us an Airbnb in the mountains for Memorial day weekend.”

Your lips turned up just marginally and Robby watched as Dana prepped the IV behind you, “Will there be a hot tub?”

Robby laughed, “Yes, there will be a hot tub and it has an excellent view.”

“That’s good,” You seemed to be relaxing a bit more now, eyes barely opened, muscles deflating, “Because I bought a new bikini last week. I must’ve known subconsciously I would need it.”

He hummed, Dana was getting very close to inserting the needle, “What color is it?”

“It’s blue,” You licked your lips, “I know how you like me in blue.”

He smirked, “I like you in every color.” He said, and at the same time Dana inserted the needle. You jumped just a little, but you weren’t crying anymore.

“All done, sweetheart.” Dana said softly and took off the tourniquet, “You did great.”

Dana left the room, giving them some privacy, and Robby sat in the dark with you for a few minutes.

“You should get back to your patients,” You said, eyes closed.

He watched you carefully, “I’m going to refer you to a neurologist in the hospital. I’ll make sure an appointment gets scheduled where I can go with you. Okay?”

You swallowed and kept your eyes closed, “Okay.”

He leaned over and kissed you lightly, “I love you, I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

“Okay, love you.”

And so, you had gone to that appointment and had been prescribed Aimovig, a medication that needed to be injected once a month. You had tried to argue your way out of it, but the neurologist insisted it would be your best bet at reducing the number of episodes.

“Baby,” Michael whispered to you, “I can do it for you every time, I promise—“

“You don’t know what I’m like when—“ You sighed, cutting yourself off, “I was in so much pain the last time in the ER, I couldn’t put up much of a fight. What if I hurt you or something?”

He laughed, “You think I’ve never had a combative patient before?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m your wife.”

He leaned in closely, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear, “Can we just try it, honey? It might work so well you find it worth it.”

You swallowed tightly and then clapped your hands together. “Fine.”

Robby had given you the first shot there in the neurologist’s office. The neurologist had left the room.

You were already beginning to shake, watching as Robby put on a pair of gloves.

“I’m going to inject it in the back of your arm, so you’re not going to see me do it.”

You felt a wet cotton pad on the back of your arm, “Now, I want you to try something for me.” He said, and you heard the cap of the injection pop off, “Could you sing our first dance song for me?”

You gave a short laugh of surprise, “You’re serious?”

“Humor me.”

Against your will, you were smiling already. Your wedding had been dreamy and romantic, everything you had wanted. You were married, just the two of you, a photographer, and an ordained minister at the top of a mountain. You had both read your vows through tears. Later, you had dinner and dancing in a garden at the base of the mountain with your friends and family. Your first dance had been to Time After Time, but a more acoustic version of it sung by Lennon Stella. The original version with Cyndi Lauper had played in a bar on one of your first few dates and you had had to coax Michael to the dance floor with you. It had been your first dance then and at your wedding. You had thought yourself very clever for that, but you had kept that secret between you and Michael.

“Fine, but only if you sing it with me.”

He chuckled, “Deal.”

You say go slow I fall behind The second hand unwinds If you’re lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting Time after time

You winced at the sting of the needle and your heart rate picked up, “Keep singing.” Michael urged.

If you’re lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting Time after time

As you both finished singing the second chorus, you felt Michael place a bandaid to your arm, “There you go,” He said and gently turned you to face him, “That wasn’t so bad, hm?”

Thirty days had passed since and Michael kept forgetting to help you with the second injection.

“Honey, I am so sorry.” He said that morning, rushing through the house to get ready for shift, “Why don’t you stop by the ER this afternoon and I’ll do it on my lunch break?”

You laughed, not looking up from the novel perched in your hand. It was a Saturday and you were sat at the kitchen table, eating a bagel and sipping your coffee slowly, dressed in only one of Robby’s old T-shirts.

“You forget I have been to the ER,” You swallowed the bagel in your mouth, “I know you don’t get a lunch break, baby.”

He leaned down to kiss you and as he pulled away, booped your nose, “Don’t be a smart ass. Bring the Aimovig and call Dana when you get there, she’ll come find me.”

“Yes, sir.” You mock saluted him and he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t forget it needs to be taken out of the fridge at least 30 minutes before injection.”

“I know.” You said, not looking up from your book.

He paused at the doorway of your home, looking down the entryway, he could see you perched at the kitchen table, your legs pulled tight to your chest. He never understood how you could sit comfortably like that, “You’ll come, right?” He asked, one AirPod in his hand, the other already in his ear, “You won’t pretend that you forgot?”

You looked up from your book to meet his gaze, the beginnings of a smirk on your face. Slowly, you looked to the clock on the wall, “You’re gonna be late.”

He sighed and lightly knocked the heel of his hand against the doorway, “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“I love you, have a good day!” You shouted after him.

“Love you too,” He replied, closing the door behind him.

***

“Dana,” Robby leaned over the desk at the hub, “My wife may be stopping by at some point today, could you come find me when she gets here?”

“Yeah, sure, everything okay?”

He nodded, “She was prescribed Aimovig for her migraines, I told her to come here so I could inject it for her.”

“Why don’t you just do it at home?”

He sighed heavily, “Because I keep forgetting and I think she keeps allowing me to forget to keep delaying it.”

Dana smirked as they began doing rounds, “If she’s delaying it, what makes you think she’d come here of her own free will?”

“She told me she would,” He shrugged, “I can’t keep treating her like a patient or a rebellious child, I can tell it’s getting on her nerves. She said she would come so I’m taking her at her word.”

“Fair enough.” Dana said, “I’ll let you know when she gets here.”

“Thank you.”

***

When you walked into the ER waiting room, you immediately felt your anxiety tick up. Walking to the window, you knocked sharply to get Lupe’s attention. You gave her a wave and a smile and she waved you through, unlocking the double doors that led to the ER.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled shakily as you walked over to the hub where you saw Dana.

“How’s my sister wife doing today?” You asked playfully. You knew about the running joke that Dana was Robby’s work wife. When you found out about it, Robby had worried it would make you jealous, but you had only laughed and joked that you always wanted a sister wife.

Dana looked up and smiled, “Mrs. Robinavitch, we weren’t sure you’d show.”

“Ah,” You leaned against the hub, “You mean my husband didn’t believe me when I said I would come.”

“Oh, can you blame him, kid?”

You clasped your hands tightly in front of you to try and stop the shaking, “Did you know he told me to come in during his ‘lunch break’?”

Dana laughed loudly, “Lunch break? He’s lucky if he has time to stop and take a piss.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Alright, let me go find him, you wait here.”

You nodded, letting the smile fall from your face as Dana left. You were very good at covering up your anxiety when you needed to be, but your breathing trembled and your hands still shook.

“Hey,” A warm hand settled on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, “I’m glad you came.”

You turned to see your husband, “Well, don’t sound so surprised. You asked me to come, I said I would, so I’m here.”

He smiled, “Alright, follow me.”

You trailed behind him through the chaos of the ER.

“Dr. Robby!” You turned at the sound of your husband’s nickname to see what looked like a resident running after him.

“Not now,” He said quickly.

“But, I need—“

“Go ask literally anyone else, I will be with you shortly, Dr. Santos.”

You followed behind him into what you recognized to be the family room. He sighed deeply as he closed the door behind you, muffling the din of the ER.

“I can wait here for you,” You said softly, “If you need to go deal with that.”

“No,” He said and turned to you, smiling, “You have my undivided attention.”

You smiled tightly, “Great.”

“Oh, come on,” He cradled your face gently in his hands and you closed your eyes at his touch, “It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll be very gentle.”

Your eyes watered, but you nodded.

“Did you bring the Aimovig?”

You nodded again, reaching into your bag for it, but your hands were still shaky and as you pulled it out, it fell from your hands. Robby caught it in his hand, eyes focused on you the way they always did when he was worried about you.

“Why don’t you sit down over here?” He guided you gently to a chair, “I brought you some treats.” He pulled out a Polar seltzer can and a small package of Nutter Butters.

You managed a small smile as you took the Seltzer can from him and popped it open, “Thank you.”

He pulled on a pair of gloves while you focused on your breathing, barely taking a sip from your seltzer.

“No Nutter Butters?” He asked mildly, “I thought they were your favorite.”

You take in a shaky breath, “They are, but I am pretty nauseous at the moment. Wouldn’t want to start puking in your ER.”

“I can have Dana grab you some anti nausea meds.”

“No,” You said, “I’ll be fine once it’s done.”

He sat on a stool and rolled over to you, sliding between your knees, “Take a deep breath for me?”

“Michael, I don’t need a diagnosis, I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on with me.”

“Come on, I’ll do it with you,” He slid a hand to your inner knee, “Deep breath.”

You rolled your eyes, but did as you were told. Michael breathed with you, and though you hated to admit it, it was soothing to hear the sound of his breathing in sync with yours. The weight of his hand on your knee and the light circles his thumb made against you grounding.

“Better?”

You nodded, “A little.”

“Good, turn around for me?”

You straddled the back of the chair, taking a deep breath as you felt the wet cotton pad against your skin, “How’s your day so far?” You asked.

He chuckled, “You want to know about my day right now?”

“You act like I never ask you,” You sighed, “I’m asking for you to distract me so I don’t have a full blown panic attack. Who was that resident earlier? I haven’t seen her before.”

“Dr. Santos? New intern.” He pinched the muscle in the back of your arm between two of his fingers and you heard the cap on the injection clatter to the floor. “She’s good. Smart. Observant. Sometimes too ambitious for her own good. More empathetic than people give her credit for.”

You groaned quietly feeling the prick of the needle in your skin, exhaling shakily.

“Just another second, you’re doing so good, baby... And, done.” You felt the bandaid on your skin and heard the snap of Michael’s gloves as he tossed them in the trash.

Then his hands were on you, turning you to look at him, “Hey, you did it. You okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety leaving you in a rush. You felt Robby’s hands on your face again and you leaned into him, “You said I did good?”

He laughed, “Very good,” He grabbed the Nutter Butters and opened the packaging, “Eat.”

Just then the family room door opened and you recognized Dr. Mohan at the door, “Oh, um, Mrs. Robinavitch, I—I didn’t know you were here, sorry to interrupt, I—“

“What do you need, Mohan?” Michael asked and you tried to hide your laugh. It was always like this with the residents. Something about seeing you with Robby really flustered them. You listened as they spoke about a patient and then Mohan was gone.

“What do you do to your residents that they look so goddamn scared whenever they see you with me?”

He rolled his eyes, “Eat your cookie, please, I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

“You’re insufferable when you baby me.” You said, but took a bite of the cookie anyway.

He kissed the top of your head on his way out, “Complain all you want, I know you like it.”

You smirked as you watched him head back into the ER, Dr. Mohan following him closely.

With Michael gone and your anxiety leaving you, you fully took in the Nutter Butters and seltzer. Your favorite cookies and favorite drink.

You had always been annoyed by his insistence to get you treatment for your migraines. It wasn’t like he had been the first partner of yours to suggest you see a doctor, but he was the first to not give up, despite your stubbornness.

He had pushed, but he had never made you do anything you didn’t agree to. And now, in the face of your silly phobia, he had cared for you with no judgment, and thought to bring your favorite snacks in even in the chaos of his work day.

Obviously, he loved you very much. It had never been up for question, you knew the reason he was so stubborn was because he cared about you and hated seeing you in pain. But still, sometimes, it was nice to be reminded.

After a few minutes, true to his word, Michael returned.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” You said, and reached for his hand, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He smiled at you, “You’re not lightheaded or dizzy?”

“No,” You said and held up the cookie wrapper, “The cookies really helped.”

His grin widened, “Good. You’re cleared to go home, then.” He kissed your forehead and then stood to go, but you pulled him back down.

“If I’m not gonna see you for another six to seven hours, I’m gonna need a better kiss than that.” You smirked.

He chuckled, but seemed happy to humor you, taking your face in his hands he kissed you, long and slow. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, keeping you anchored to him with a hand at the back of your neck. Your toes curled in your shoes when he sucked your lower lip into his mouth and bit down gently.

As he pulled away, just slightly, you were still leaning into him for more, “Was that better?” He asked, cocky grin on his face.

You cleared your throat, sure you were blushing, “Yeah, that was fine.”

“Well I gotta get back to it now. I’ll see you at home?”

“Um, I have dinner plans with some friends in town so I might be back later than you, but yes.”

He nodded, “Okay,” He kissed your forehead again, “Be careful. I love you.”

“Always. I love you. Make sure you eat something, please.”

He nodded to acknowledge he’d heard you, and then he was gone, back in the thick of it.

[littledes1re]

How to disappear | Chapter: one

Summary: after the passing of your mom, you and your dads best friend get close. You find comfort in him and he does the same because he also once lost something. While a relationship between you two sounds wrong and taboo, your feelings grow stronger. But Joel is an old man, guilt and the fear of losing you too, overwhelms him. So he leaves you.

Warnings: Angst, grief, heartbreak, lots of emotions, (fluff as a flashback), joels alcohol problems, dad that doesn’t care for his daughter, age gap! (23 and 61), crying, kind of depression, smut (as a flashback)

A/N: Okey Okey, I may said next week but I was already done with it so finally it’s here. Some dbf and Oldman!joel angst hehehe. Ngl I kinda hurt myself with this one.

Dear joel,

i‘m still thinking about the first time you kissed me, gentle, careful, caring.

I wish you‘d see how much I love you, how much I love being in your presence, how much I love our midnight talks.

We are both broken, something connected us. You made it a reason to leave me, I made it a reason to call you my soulmate.

I feel heartbreak. I cry myself to sleep, tell me..is that better than us comforting each other and having fun?

I miss our conversations, I miss your smile and your ability to comfort me.

Dad is asking why you are distancing yourself.

I love you, always.

Winter felt like forever.

A never ending cycle of dark and cold days, where the world stays still when snow falls. Lingering loneliness creeping up, as you fall for the hopelessness of it all and allowed the weather to dictate your mood while in the back of your mind the soft touches and whispers swam around of someone you where aching to be revolved around with once again.

Joel Miller.

Your last conversation stuck in your mind like the withering words only an enemy can say to you. Repeating itself over and over till there is only a echo of two words. We can‘t.

But there was no flicker of rejection in his eyes as he touched you, no regret as he cuddled you after his release, no shimmer of a different personality you weren‘t aware of, you knew him long enough. At least you thought so.

The aching in your heart and tummy was one that didn‘t go away no matter how much time had passed. The sadness clinged on you, wrapping tightly around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. It was one that grew each day for the past season, now coming to the point that you feel yourself getting sick from it. Flashes of memories startle you while you want to go on with your day. The glimpse of his brown eyes, landing on your face, soft and gentle the way you always knew him. Faints laughs of you two whenever it’s quiet.

And somehow underneath all of this it remembered you of your mom. The day she passed, the darkness that fell on you, the ability to not think straight as your eyes were hurting from crying. The shock not letting up, moving like a ghost trough life, pretending to function. Time would heal, but it didn’t. Time just showed you how to carry the pain without showing it.

You wanted to be small again, cradled by your mother’s hands, soothed by her voice.

“It feels like time has stopped for you and the people around you don’t care. You somehow have to function, but the person was your sole reason to function.” His eyes were emotionless.

Joel stopped crying after five months. He became a vessel of a man who once showed his kindness through actions and words and now someone who shuts everyone off. Grief is not predictable. It changes, buries itself deep beneath the skin and eats you alive. Joel never asked for comfort. But he gave it to you. He thought he didn’t deserve warmth, he thought he didn’t want to feel joy. But he let you feel all of those things.

The rough patch of his beard tickled your skin as you laid on top of him, nuzzling your face into his neck. The tears were dry on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red as a headache started to form. His big hands rubbing circles on your back, soothing you to sleep.

“She is watching over you.”

The line that was crossed was blurred. The day you caught feelings was unknown. You just knew that there had been this silent connection between you two right after he decided to knock on your door to check on you.

“How y’doing, kiddo?”

Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t except it from him. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was distant after your mom’s passing. Maybe it was the fact that both of you lost something.

A man you should suddenly avoid because of his alcohol problems; your dad’s sayings. After his daughter’s passing he developed an alcohol problem, something that was clear whenever he was in your house, his eyes hazy, movements too unsteady. Your heart ached for him, never understanding how people do that to themselves. But after your mom, you did. His actions spoke louder than his words. He still helped your father around the house, with his job, with other things. He was there ,only his emotions were completely submerged, a veil placed over them so no one could recognize his true feelings.

That night, changed it all. He calmed your nerves, gave you the comfort you’ve been aching for the past eight months, and after that he finally let you in his heart. Told you what he was feeling. Guilt, anxiety and anger. His lips were quivering, eyes dark and swollen. Jaw clenched, as if he was trying to bite back the sob clawing up his throat. His breath shaky.

“I should’ve been there.” The only thing that he would murmur and then silence. A rather comfortable and understanding one. You don’t say anything, you just watch. Seeing the same emotions going through him as the day you lost your mom. His eyes would finally lift, and they would shine but not with kindness but with anger and sorrow. You could see it.

“An-and I feel selfish. For now coming in here and telling you this while you also lost someone.”

“Hey, hey. No.” Your hand gently lands on his shoulder, slowly moving to his hair caressing through his curls, while looking at him. His eyes softened, suddenly filling full of worry, bottom lip pouting. Looking at you like a kicked puppy. You felt tears leaving your eyes, landing on your thighs, you wanted to hug him. You knew how he was feeling. You also wanted to give him comfort.

“Don’t even think like that. You’re not selfish for speaking it out. You’re human, joel.”

He tilts his head slightly, you doing the same. A flicker of something knowing passing through your gaze.

“And if you really think thats selfish, then i’m selfish too. For wanting to hear it. You should’t carry it alone.”

For the first time, joel let’s go of the breath he has been holding for a long time. It doesn’t fix anything— but in this quiet moment, something shifts.

A piece of his sorrow, no longer carried alone.

He came over more often. Opened your door, sneaked in your bed and cuddled you, whenever your father was at home, you went to his place. He didn’t care anyway. You two had small road trips, where he drove you to his favourite places, music in the background, your head out of the window, enjoying it. It felt safe, it felt right.

Every worry in your head disappearing when he put your head on his chest. Soft humming and fingertips caressing the skin. Your conversations were not only about loss. They were flowing easily, they were funny.

“This thing is gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying to find the right buttons to put it on silent.

“Ain’t working like that, wait—you have a nokia? Where the hell is your phone?” You asked widened eyes, after you snatched his supposed phone out of his hands.

He snatched it back, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about it? Tommy bought me one because they are easy to use.”

“No, no. S’nice.” You tried to suppress a giggle. And as you swallowed you looked around his house, he looked at you with a grumpy expression.

“What? I can’t keep up with your new generation shit.”

“Oh I bet, I bet. I just find it funny.” You finally giggled, laying back down on his couch, holding your tummy.

“Y’know what’s real funny? You don’t even know half of these movies that I showed you.”

You gasped, sitting up again. His face all smug, a smirk on his lips.

“What? They are cult classics c’mon now—“

“Yeah, for old people.” You rolled your eyes playfully, seeing his face all serious now.

Giggling, you stood up as he abruptly did so too, stretched out his arms to reach for you.

And you knew what that meant. You laughed just more, running around his coffee table and he followed you, trying to grab you. And suddenly he did, throwing you gently on the couch and began tickling you.

“J-joel” you couldn’t breathe from the laughter.

You thought your dad would comfort you and be there for you after what happened, you didn’t think it was going to be joel. But your dad locked himself up, ignoring his dad duties. Leaving you alone, not showing his emotions, not letting you show yours. His demeanour was cold, distant it felt like living with a stranger. You understood why. You understood that he also lost someone, but he never once asked how you are, never once opened the topic of Mom again. Deleted it from his life like it never existed. And while doing that he also deleted you slowly.

Your friends stopped texting, one didn’t know how to comfort you. The other one was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. So you also deleted that topic from them, from your father. Joel was the only one who heard you talking about your mom.

And then he left you. So now, you were completely alone.

But maybe you didn’t really love him. Maybe you just loved his comforting. Maybe you just needed someone and he was there. Would you love a man forty years older than you if your father acted like a father? The way he looked at you, worshipped you, made you feel good. Made you feel special. Took care of you. Something connected you two. Wasn’t those signs of love?

“Hurting?”

“No, think i’m good.” You whispered to him. The stretch was unusual, nothing that you haven’t had before but it felt different. It was with joel.

“S’good, real good.” He nodded his head to you. Under the covers, vulnerable, you two were naked. There were goosebumps all over your skin, and his too. Joel lets you adjust on his shaft, worried eyes scanning your face to see if you show any sign of discomfort.

The atmosphere in the room was calm, lights dimmed and if felt comfortable. The first time you really made out with him and laid your hands on his bulge he stopped you. “Wanna do it right.” He took his time, kissing every inch of your body, teasing you, loving on you. Calling you his pretty girl. Making your eyes almost tear up of how much love he was giving you.

He was extra careful as he started to thrust into you, little breaths leaving his mouth, your hands gripping his biceps. A little moan leaving your lips, feeling the pleasure in your belly slowly fill.

His gaze never left you, he noticed it all. The smile you give him, cheeks flushed, trying to breath right and suppress a loud moan. The way he handled you with gentle hands cupping your cheek, kissing your forehead.

“Joel—please.” A coo leaving his mouth, speeding his thrusts into you.

Joel would bite back a groan, his thrusts sometimes sloppy, sometimes losing the rhythm because it’s been so long. But you didn’t care. You loved feeling him all, you loved being with him.

And when he came his face would twist, you would gently touch his face. He would bury himself into you on last time and then hide into your neck, leaving wet kisses while catching his breath. While you didn’t come, you were still content and satisfied to have him on top of you. But of course he realised it and ate you out for one hour, taking his time, giving you the best orgasms of your life.

You never got an answer from the letter. You never got an answer on your countless texts and calls. He cut you out. And you were trying your best to be angry, you really were. But deep down, the sense of understanding was spreading. You knew how much trouble you two would be going through if your father or anyone in your family found out. Anyone in his family too.

The age gap would let everyone turn their heads in the streets.

Your friends, colleagues everyone would think he is a weirdo. That you are a weirdo.

But then you ask yourself why?

Why did he let you develop these feeling for him? Why did he give you a reason to think that he was in love with you? Why did he comfort you? why did he give you this feeling that everything is going to be fine? Why did he make you believe that there was a connection between you two?

A knock pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Can you help me set the table? Joel is also coming—oh and his girlfriend too, apparently.”

AAA this took so long, but i’m actually proud of this. Please if you see mistakes or want to give feedback, feel free to do so.

Thank you so so much for 900 followers, it’s truly unbelievable.🥹🥹

My Masterlist!!!

Taglist:

@vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @cuntyhunty22 @glitterspark @tikikiki @millerdilfs @lovelystrawberrysblog @millersdoll @mani-pedro @simp4pedro @angelic1angel @hazzzy418 @valitagun @throttlepascal @speaktothehandpeasants @mystickittytaco @whatwouldsookiedo @sage-babydoll @umadirectioner @neobangverse @stvrl1ghtt123 @midnightmischief10 @ccmoonshine @dendulinka6

[little-jana]

"The Wrong Idea"

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Pregnancy misunderstanding (humorous), workplace teasing

Summary: The team thinks you're pregnant... why not have a little fun with them...

a/n: I think it's kinda obvious: I'm officially in my dad!hotch era and have sooo many ideas with this theme! Do you love it as much as I do? Do you want mooooore? 🪻

Being a member of the BAU often meant everyone on the team knew too much about each other. Spending countless hours together on cases and long flights left little room for privacy. Still, you hadn’t anticipated the whirlwind of chaos that erupted the moment they thought you were pregnant.

It started innocently enough, but as the speculation snowballed, it took on a life of its own—and the last person you expected to weigh in was Aaron Hotchner.

It began one morning at work, after a particularly rough case had kept alle of you up most of the night. You were leaning against the counter in the kitchenette, pouring yourself a cup of herbal tea instead of your usual coffee.

JJ appeared beside you, eyebrows raised. “Tea? Since when do you drink tea?”

You shrugged. “Just felt like it today.”

She tilted her head, studying you. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, a little confused by her sudden concern.

“Hmm,” she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

You didn’t think much of it until later that afternoon, when Garcia cornered you at your desk.

“You know, you’ve been looking absolutely radiant lately,” she said, her tone suspiciously sweet.

You glanced up at her. “Uh… thanks?”

“I’m serious,” she said, her eyes sparkling with something that looked a lot like mischief. “There’s just this… glow about you.”

“I think you’re imagining things,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, winking at you before flouncing off.

---

By the end of the day, the comments were piling up.

Emily handed you her snack halfway through the afternoon. “Here, you should eat this. You need to keep your strength up.”

“Why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

She just smiled knowingly and walked away.

Even Rossi got in on the act, offering you unsolicited advice about “balancing work and family life” while Derek kept smirking at you like he knew something you didn’t.

It wasn’t until you overheard JJ and Emily whispering in the break room that you finally pieced it together.

“Do you think she’s told Hotch yet?” JJ asked.

Emily shook her head. “No way. But he has to know, right? I mean, they’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

You froze, you teacup halfway to your lips.

They thought you were pregnant.

At first, you were too stunned to say anything. But the more you thought about it, the funnier it became.

You weren’t pregnant, obviously. But the team had convinced themselves otherwise, and their attempts at subtlety were laughable at best.

You decided not to deny it outright. If they wanted to jump to conclusions, who were you to stop them? Besides, watching them tiptoe around the subject was too entertaining to pass up.

Of course, your plan backfired almost immediately...

The teasing began the next morning, when Derek caught you yawning during the morning briefing.

“Rough night?” he asked, a sly grin spreading across his face.

You shot him a look. “Not any rougher than yours, Morgan.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, you should take it easy. You know, for the... baby.”

The room went silent.

You felt your face heat up as everyone turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from curious to downright amused.

“The what?” Hotch asked, his tone sharp.

Derek froze, clearly realizing he’d overstepped. “Uh… no baby. I was just joking.”

Hotch’s gaze flickered to you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Is there something I should know?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Garcia beat you to it.

“Oh, no, sir,” she said, grinning nervously. “Everything’s fine. Totally fine.”

Hotch looked unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue. "We'll talk later about it."

The rest of the day was a blur of teasing comments and stolen glances. By lunchtime, you were ready to tear your hair out.

Garcia kept hovering around your desk, offering me snacks and bottles of water. JJ asked if you needed help with your workload. And Emily… well, Emily just smirked at you every time you passed her in the hallway.

You did y best to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy. Especially when Hotch kept looking at you like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.

It all came to a head that evening, after we wrapped up a meeting in Hotch’s office.

You were gathering your things when he closed the door behind you, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked, his voice low.

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

“The team seems to think you’re… expecting,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “They’ve got some pretty wild imaginations, don’t they?”

He didn’t smile. “So, it’s not true?”

“Of course not,” you said, shaking your head. “Why would you even think that?”

“Because they won’t stop talking about it,” he said, his tone tinged with exasperation. “And you haven’t denied it.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little guilty. “I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand. I just… didn’t correct them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because it was funny,” you admitted, shrugging.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”

You smiled, stepping closer to him. “But you love me anyway.”

He stared at you for a moment, his expression softening. “I do,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“And for the record,” he added, his voice even lower, “I wouldn’t mind if it were true.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not at all.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, a rush of emotions swelling in your chest. “Well,” you said softly, “maybe someday.”

“Someday,” he agreed, pulling you into his arms.

---

The next morning, when Derek made another joke about baby names, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“Ridiculously accurate,” Emily said, smirking.

You glanced at Hotch, who was standing nearby with his arms crossed. He caught your eye and gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Not this time,” you said, grinning. “But you’ll be the first to know when it is.”

The team stared at you, their mouths falling open.

And for the first time all week, you felt like you had the upper hand.

[mintyys-blog]

…dawgg whahshdd literally the most random thought ever but imagine one day, ONE day bringing it up to Mark how you’re considering getting nipple piercings and wanted his thoughts? ☺️

Like, you look real nonchalant asking about it and I can just imagine the reaction LMAO - Him processing the question, probably sputtering and blinking as he imagined you. With the piercings. Then mark becomes tomato and he just watches you’re neutral expression turned devious with a grin and a giggle. Like you WANTED to fluster him.

OHHH that’d be a fun thing to play on the variants lmao. You treat it like a joke when the marks are all 100% 👍🔥 about it. You alr planned to do it anyway but them wanting it def helps.

NEED YOUR OPINION (AND YOUR HANDS) | mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: nipple piercings, smut, nipple sucking

Mark was sprawled on the couch like usual, socked feet up on the coffee table, hair wild from the shower and a big bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest. It was a rare day off—no supervillains, no explosions, no flying off to space. Just a B-movie about mutant sharks and bad green screen.

And you ruined it instantly.

“So, I’ve been thinking about getting nipple piercings.”

He choked on a kernel so violently you had to pause the movie. He sat up straight, coughing and red-faced, pounding a fist to his chest like he was dying. “I’m sorry—what?!”

You blinked at him like you hadn’t just dropped a nuke in his lap. “Piercings. On my nipples. Y’know, like jewelry? I think they’d look really cute.”

Mark looked like you’d just short-circuited his brain. He stared at you, blinking dumbly while you tapped through pictures on your phone.

“These are so pretty,” you mused aloud, showing him options. “Look—this one has tiny diamonds. Oh, and this one’s got little star dangles. I’d love something with chains, too. Like, super delicate gold.”

Mark leaned over slightly, and you caught the exact moment his eyes registered the photos. His face went crimson so fast you actually giggled. That innocent, lopsided grin you gave him only made it worse.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face, ears glowing. “You’re not serious. You’re just messing with me, right?”

You shrugged. “Dead serious. Why, you don’t like the idea?”

“I didn’t say that!” he said way too fast, then immediately bit his lip. “I mean—I don’t not like it. You’d…look good. Like, really good.”

You leaned closer, voice dipping teasingly. “You picturing it?”

“I’m trying not to!”

You raised your brows. “Aw. You didn’t already imagine what I’d look like with them?”

“Wh—!” His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Okay, that’s a trap. I’m not answering that.”

You snickered and leaned back smugly, pulling your knees up onto the couch. “Mmhm. Thought so. You’re so easy, Grayson.”

“I’m gonna combust,” he whispered to himself, burying his face in a pillow.

Three hours later, you were in the bathroom with a piercing needle, a saline spray bottle, and YouTube open to a DIY piercing video you definitely weren’t following closely enough.

“This is fine,” you muttered under your breath, heart racing. “This is definitely smart and fine and cool.”

The first one hurt like hell, but you powered through with grit and sheer spite. The needle shook a little in your hand, but you got the barbell in—barely—and hissed as you tried to screw the cap on with trembling fingers. “Ugh. Nope. Can’t reach.”

You called down the hall like you were asking him to grab the remote. “Babe! Can you come here a sec?”

Mark walked in with his usual casual saunter, shirt half tucked into sweatpants and a slice of pizza in hand—then froze in the doorway.

You were standing there in just pajama shorts, bralette pushed up, holding your breast in one hand like a war-wounded soldier.

“…I wasn’t ready for this,” he said weakly.

You smiled sweetly. “Can you help screw this on? My hands are shaking.”

His jaw dropped. “You already did one?! You said you were just thinking about it—!”

“I thought fast,” you said nonchalantly. “Just need help with the cap. I can’t grip it right.”

Mark looked terrified to move. “Am I—am I allowed to touch you? Is this like a medical emergency or a sexy trap or both?”

You laughed. “Mark, it’s a titanium barbell. You’re not going to turn me on by touching the metal. It just hurts to reach. Be a good helper.”

He approached like you were a live grenade. His hand hovered for a second before gently taking the end of the jewelry between two fingers, twisting it in slowly, carefully, lips slightly parted in concentration.

“Holy crap,” he muttered under his breath. “This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Careful, doc,” you said, smirking. “I might start calling you Dr. Grayson.”

He visibly faltered. “You are evil.”

You winked. “You love it.”

Once the first one was in, you sprayed it down and grabbed the second needle.

Mark’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait, wait, you’re doing both tonight?”

You snorted. “You think I’m walking around lopsided? C’mon, be serious.”

He watched in awe and low-key panic as you did the second one yourself, breathing through your nose, eyes fluttering shut as the needle slid through. You winced again, but your hands were steadier this time.

After both were in, you stared in the mirror, head tilted thoughtfully.

“…I look hot as hell.”

Mark, who had not sat down the entire time: “Confirmed.”

You turned to him, smug. “Wanna see?”

His soul left his body. “YOU’RE LITERALLY SHOWING ME ALREADY—”

“No, like with jewelry. Later. I’m gonna get those chains I showed you.”

He made a strangled noise.

You pulled your bralette back down and sauntered past him like you hadn’t just personally restructured his brain chemistry. “Oh, and remind me to order some of that gold saline spray. This cheap one stinks.”

Mark just nodded silently, pizza slice forgotten in his hand.

You paused in the doorway, looked over your shoulder, and whispered like it was a secret: “You should see how good they look under thin shirts.”

Boom. Mark.exe has crashed.

TWO WEEKS LATER…

Mark was scrolling through his phone on your bed when you stepped out of the bathroom in a loose tank top—no bra. He glanced up once, not thinking much of it, until you turned just so, the fabric brushing against your chest and—

Click.

His brain shut off.

There was a soft glint under the shirt. A subtle outline. Just enough to confirm that yes—those were definitely the piercings. And they were healed. And you were showing them off on purpose.

“You’re staring,” you said, voice all silk and mischief.

Mark tried to look anywhere else. He failed.

“You’re doing this to me,” he mumbled, sounding personally victimized. “You planned this.”

You tilted your head. “Did I? Or am I just comfortable in my own home?”

Mark was already halfway under the covers trying to hide his face. “This is bullying. You’re a menace.”

You laughed as you climbed into bed next to him, casually stretching so the tank slipped again and the light hit just right.

Mark peeked. Groaned. “You’re literally killing me.”

“You’ll live,” you purred. He sighed, “I’m not so sure..”

It started the same way all your heated makeouts did lately—with you on top of him, lips tangled, fingers slipping under each other’s clothes. But the second your chest brushed his, you felt the shift. Mark paused. Just for a second.

You pulled back, slightly breathless, lips wet from kissing. “What’s wrong?”

He looked up at you with a flush creeping over his cheeks and a familiar, bashful look in his eyes.

“Nothing. I just…” he exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the curve of your chest. “Are you sure they’re healed enough?”

You blinked, then smiled. Soft. Warm. Affectionate.

“They don’t hurt anymore, Mark.”

“I know,” he said quickly, pushing his thumb across your hipbone, grounding himself. “But you said that like, two weeks ago. And I—I looked it up.”

You snorted. “You Googled it?”

He looked offended. “Yeah? Of course I did! Six to twelve months for full healing? Cartilage tissue? Possible migration if they get irritated too early? I read like three blogs.”

You bit your lip to hide a grin. “So you’ve been suffering all this time out of scientific guilt?”

Mark groaned, head thunking against the pillow. “I just—if I touch them and it sets something back I will never forgive myself.”

Your smile softened into something sweeter. You leaned down, brushing your nose against his. “Hey,” you whispered. “I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

He looked up at you with those wide brown eyes—so full of love and barely restrained hunger. “Okay,” he breathed. “But I’m going slow.”

“Good,” you whispered back, settling over him. “I want slow.”

His hands came up so gently it almost didn’t feel real. Fingers skimming under the edge of your top, knuckles grazing bare skin. He pushed the fabric up, waiting for your nod before fully lifting it off.

His breath caught.

There they were. Delicate titanium. A glint of gold. Nestled through soft, perfect skin. Slightly pink, but healthy.

You looked down at him and asked, so sweet it was cruel, “Well? You like?”

He laughed under his breath, absolutely wrecked. “That’s not a strong enough word.”

Then he sat up, kissed your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck. One hand cupped your side while the other hovered near your chest, thumb brushing just beneath one piercing, not quite touching yet.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin. “You have no idea.”

“Mark,” you whispered, arching slightly into his hand. “Touch me.”

He finally did.

So carefully, so gently, like you were porcelain. His thumb grazed the jewelry first, testing pressure. When you didn’t flinch, he let his hand fully rest there, thumb rolling slowly over the metal, teasing but never rough.

You whimpered, thighs clenching tighter around his hips. “God, you’re so careful.”

“You deserve careful,” he murmured, kissing just above your breast. “And I’m gonna take my time.”

Then he kissed one. Slow. Open-mouthed. Right above the barbell. His tongue barely brushed the jewelry, and your whole body shivered.

You whispered his name, a desperate sound, hips rocking gently against the pressure of his body under you. He kept one hand on your waist and used the other to thumb at the other piercing—light pressure, just enough to make you twitch.

He looked up, lips parted, pupils blown wide. “You tell me the second it hurts,” he whispered. “Okay?”

You nodded, panting. “Yeah. Just—Mark—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kissed and touched and worshipped you. Moving so slow it was unbearable in the best way, teasing you until your legs were shaking and the only thing you could say was his name over and over again.

At one point, he paused just to look at you. Sweaty. Blushed. Piercings gleaming under his fingertips.

“You’re unreal,” he said, voice shaking. “Like—dangerous.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you deep and hot. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

He laughed breathlessly, grinding against you with more confidence now. “Mission accomplished.”

You were already breathless. Chest rising fast. Mark had you under him now—your crop top pushed all the way up, your hands in his hair, your legs tangled around his waist. He had his mouth on your neck, your jaw, your collarbone. His hands were everywhere but not quite there.

Until he glanced up at your chest.

At them.

His pupils blew wide again. Tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Can I—?” he rasped, already leaning down.

You nodded, dizzy. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

He sucked one into his mouth, slowly and reverently, lips parting just enough to slide over the piercing. You weren’t ready for how good it felt—the soft pull, the cool jewelry against his tongue, the wet warmth of his mouth sucking gently and carefully, like he’d been dreaming of this exact moment.

You moaned.

Loud.

Too loud.

The kind of sound that echoed off the walls and made Mark freeze, mouth still latched to your chest, eyes flicking up with sheer awe and panic all at once.

“Holy shit,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re gonna get us evicted.”

You didn’t care. You grabbed his hair and arched into him, gasping, “Don’t stop, oh my God, Mark—”

And he didn’t. He sucked harder.

One hand braced under your back while the other cupped your opposite breast, thumb gently rolling over the other piercing. His mouth was perfect—tongue flicking just enough to make you keen and rock your hips up against him in desperation.

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your moans only got louder. Messier.

He popped off your chest for a second just to look at you—wrecked and trembling and desperate for more.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said, voice wrecked and ragged, before ducking down to suck again, even slower, deeper, watching your eyes roll back like he’d just hit the jackpot.

You were trembling under him now, mouth falling open with each breathy, filthy sound you couldn’t stop making.

And when he dragged his teeth gently—not hard, just enough for pressure—you screamed.

Mark choked. “Baby,” he laughed, pulling back, flushed and amazed and terrified. “We’re gonna get a noise complaint.”

You pulled him back down by the collar of his shirt, already panting against his mouth. “Then make it worth it.”

His mouth was still wet from your skin. He’d just popped off your nipple, flushed and overwhelmed, trying to play it cool—but the second you tugged him back down by the collar and whispered “Then make it worth it”…

Something snapped.

He kissed you hard, teeth clicking, tongue already in your mouth. No hesitation. Just want. Raw and deep. His hips rutted against yours like his body had stopped asking for permission. You were already grinding up to meet him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

Clothes were gone in a blur. His shirt discarded behind him. Your top yanked off, finally exposing the piercings completely—and God, the way his hands trembled as he looked at you, like you were too much and still not enough.

“Can I fuck you?” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Please—baby, I need to.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Now. Right now.”

He was already reaching between you, fumbling with his boxers, swearing under his breath until he got them low enough to free his cock—hard, flushed, leaking.

You were soaked.

Mark lined up, and when he finally pushed in, the both of you groaned, your head falling back against the pillow.

He buried himself to the hilt, slow and deep, like he was savoring it. His hands braced on either side of your head, but his eyes?

Locked on your chest.

On the way your piercings moved with every bounce of your breasts. On the faint shine of the barbell as you clenched around him and moaned again, high and filthy.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, voice cracking. “You feel—fuck, baby—”

He thrust again. Harder. Your hands clawed at his back, dragging him closer, urging him deeper.

“You keep looking,” you whispered, smirking between gasps. “You wanna suck them again while you fuck me?”

Mark whimpered.

“God yes—fuck yes—”

He bent down and took one into his mouth again while still thrusting, rolling his hips against yours in a rhythm that made your brain short-circuit. His tongue circled the piercing while his cock dragged in and out of you—deep, steady, perfect.

Your moan tore out like a scream.

Mark cursed against your skin, mouth never leaving your nipple, like he couldn’t bear to stop. His other hand slid up to cup the opposite breast, thumb stroking the other piercing while his hips snapped faster.

You were close. He knew it.

And he didn’t stop. Not once.

“Scream for me,” he begged, voice wrecked. “Come on, baby—be loud—don’t hold back—”

And when he bit gently—just the faintest graze of teeth on metal—you shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Back arched, thighs trembling, a broken cry escaping your throat that probably did alert the whole building. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

Mark nearly came just from watching you.

But he held on—barely—until you opened your eyes, dazed and glowing, and whispered, “Come inside me, Mark.”

He broke.

A ragged sound tore from his throat as he thrust deep once, twice more—and then he was spilling into you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder, a mix of curses and your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You stayed tangled like that—sweaty, breathless, bodies molded together.

The room was hot and quiet. The kind of quiet that settles only after something loud—the kind that wraps around both of you like a warm blanket, heavy and safe.

Mark was still half on top of you, his cheek pressed to your shoulder, one arm wrapped tight around your waist like you’d disappear if he let go.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, slow and soothing, until he let out a quiet, boneless sigh. His body was still buzzing, still trembling a little—not from exertion, but from emotion.

From how close he’d just felt to you. From how much it meant.

“Hey,” you whispered. “Still breathing?”

He made a weak noise that might’ve been a laugh. Or a groan. “Barely.”

You smiled, turning your head just enough to kiss his temple. “Too good?”

He pulled back to look at you, face flushed, lips swollen, eyes soft in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Baby,” he said, voice hoarse. “Too everything.”

Then he glanced down between your bodies—and froze.

“Wait—hold on—are you okay?” he asked suddenly, sitting up just enough to look at your chest. “Did I… I wasn’t too rough? Are they okay?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. But then your heart melted.

“They’re fine,” you murmured, brushing his cheek. “Still shiny. Still attached.”

But he was already moving—carefully, gently—leaning down to kiss the skin around one piercing, then the other. Reverent. Tender. His hand ghosted over your ribcage, fingers so soft it made you shiver.

“You’d tell me if they hurt, right?”

You nodded. “Of course I would.”

He exhaled shakily. “Okay. Good.”

And then he lay down beside you again, pulling the blanket up over both of you, pulling you tight against his chest like he wanted to shield you from everything.

His thumb traced circles over your hip.

“You know I didn’t just like them because they’re hot, right?” he murmured, almost shy. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know,” you whispered. “But… hearing you say it still makes me melt.”

Mark smiled, soft and sleepy and in love.

You cuddled closer, cheek pressed to his chest. His heartbeat was slow now, steady under your palm.

A few minutes passed before he spoke again—barely above a whisper.

“You make me feel like I’m home.”

You turned your face into his skin, hiding your expression, suddenly too full of warmth to speak.

He rubbed your back.

“You’re so loud, by the way,” he added playfully. “Like, I think I blacked out somewhere around your second moan.”

You snorted. “You’re welcome.”

He grinned. “No complaints. Just… maybe next time we tape a sign to the door?”

You laughed, curling into him, kissed-out and safe and so loved.

“You still thinking about dying if I get anything else pierced?” you murmured against his collarbone.

Mark groaned dramatically. “I swear to God, if you come home with a tongue piercing, I will ascend to another plane of existence.”

“Promise?”

He cracked up, kissed the top of your head, and held you tighter. “God help me,” he whispered. “I’m so gone for you.”

[starkeyvhs]

enviers goin’ to envy

PAIRING: best-friend’s brother!rafe x fwb!fem!reader

SUMMARY: envy gets the best of you when you hear about rafe and a new girl. 

WORD COUNT: 1132

WARNINGS: suggestive content; casually dominant rafe; mentions of sex; light swearing

EDITH SPEAKS: I haven’t written in god knows how long, and even though university was a major contributor, my country’s current status contributed just as enough, if not more. I’m extremely relieved to say that things have simmered down quite a bit, but nothing is certain so I don’t want to get my hopes up. I hope that anyone else who lives near the borders is safe and sound <3

Besides this, I’m really glad I was able to write something after so long! I was watching cmbyn for the very first time, and the reference is right in the first line. When I heard that line, trust, I immediately opened my doc and started writing this piece without even seeing what happened next in the movie :p so yeah! I hope you like reading this 💞💞 feedback is always highly appreciated xx

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

“We almost had sex last night… Eliza and me,”

Well, that caught your attention just as he had intended. 

You lifted your head up from your plate to catch a glance of Rafe from the corner of your eye, and you saw how he was just busy eating, his gaze on his plate, but you could see it: the hink of a smirk on his face. 

There were multiple things going on in your head. The thought on the forefront was what kind of topic this was to bring up on the dinner table? And why was everyone acting so unfazed? Was his sex life a regular dinner topic at their house?

But, besides this extraordinarily loud thought, the other thoughts mainly revolved around two names, which also somehow became the main characters of your life; an entirely unintentional move from your side. 

Rafe Cameron and Eliza Cooper. 

“Wow, sounds interesting,” Sarah rolled her eyes from next to you, going back to eating her greens. You could feel Rafe’s gaze on Sarah and you, so you made sure to not lift your head up even once from your plate.

“Oh trust me, it was more than interesting,” he said, and his pride was dripping from every word rolling off his tongue. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one cares Rafe,” Sarah snapped back, and you mentally thanked your best friend from stopping whatever seizure Rafe’s probable next words would’ve given you. 

“Oh please, everyone’s interested enough,” and Rafe’s gaze was set on you. You could feel his eyes practically seeing through you – all your thoughts and emotions, and exactly just what his words were making you feel. 

You didn’t know what this complex bundle of emotions was inside you, yet you felt Rafe knew exactly what it was. 

“It was at Topper’s party yesterday, we found ourselves in a nice bedroom, things were going absolutely great. I could tell, she really, really wanted me,” 

Wow. Now he was just being straight up evil. 

“Rafe, son, as eclectic as this conversation is, I’d prefer it if it doesn’t happen on the dinner table yeah?” Ward spoke up, and that shut Rafe up the way you had wanted since that mouth of his had opened. 

Everyone fell quiet, the only sound being of forks and knives scraping across the ceramic plates. 

“I think I’m going to ask Eliza to be my girlfriend–”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Your words were quick, cutting smoothly across Rafe’s voice as you immediately stood up from your chair. Everyone looked at you, and you just knew everyone could see how the color had practically drained from your face. 

“You okay sweetie? You look a little… pale there,” Rose said softly. You looked down and you saw how tightly you were gripping the fork in your hand. You let go of it and kept it in your unfinished plate with a light clatter. 

“I’m fine, just- just need to use the washroom,” you muttered, and left the dining table. You could feel everyone’s gaze on you as you left, but Rafe’s– Rafe’s gaze just felt like a laser beam. 

You were quick to enter Sarah’s bathroom, where you stood in front of the mirror, and looked at yourself. 

Eliza? His girlfriend? Was he fucking serious? 

You knew what it was: just a random girl he met, something to make you feel extremely jealous when you broke off your deal with him. 

You thought you could stay away from him. 

Yeah, yeah you could. 

You could 100% stay away from the insanely sexy brother of your best friend, who you had a crush on for as long as you remember. 

What a clown.

That’s what you thought you looked like when you looked at your reflection in the mirror. With shaky hands, you turned the tap on and splashed cold water on your face, as if that water could wash away all the thoughts from your mind. 

Only if it was that easy. 

With your head ducked down, you began to wipe your face off with a towel. 

But as you lifted your face up to look at yourself in the mirror, you realised you were no longer alone. 

“Rafe–” 

Your words got cut off when Rafe’s palms pressed into your sides, the warmth of his chest spreading through your back. 

“Shh,” he hushed quietly, his chin resting in the crook of your shoulder. His arms wrapped firm around your waist and he pulled you into him, the action causing your breath to get hitched in your throat. 

“My girl got so jealous, didn’t she?” Rafe murmured, his lips pressing to the shell of your ear. 

The way he was holding you, the way his chest was pressed right up to your back, and the way his voice was travelling through your ear; you knew you were turning into a mush. 

A mush only Rafe Cameron could make of you. 

When you didn’t respond with anything, Rafe chuckled softly, beginning to press the most gentle kisses to the skin behind your ear. 

“Hm, I know you were,” he whispered, kissing a trail down to the side of your neck. Your body wasn’t under your control anymore, with the way your breathing picked up pace and you leaned your head to the side to give him space. 

“And you know what?” He whispered further, now kissing in the crook of your neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot that made you gasp softly, “that was exactly what I wanted. To see my girl jealous. Now I know she wants me.”

Rafe’s hands were swift to turn you around, so that you were facing him. Your back pressed into the sink behind you, and you were efficiently trapped between the cold sink and Rafe’s warm body. 

He could see you were avoiding eye contact, so a finger came right under your chin to direct your gaze back at him. 

“Am I wrong?” He whispered, his other hand exercising a firm grip on your waist to keep you in place. 

You shook your head, your lips parted just slightly as short breaths escaped them. 

“Good girl,” he murmured softly, and god that praise did something to you. 

And just as you thought Rafe would do something to help with the ache of pure need that lit up every nerve of your body, he let go of you and stepped back. 

“It’s rude to leave your dinner unfinished,” he said, his hand already on the doorknob to open the bathroom door. “Be there in two, yeah?” 

And with that, he left. 

Now, if it would’ve been any other man commanding you this way, you wouldn’t have tolerated it for even a second. 

But this wasn’t any other man. 

This was Rafe.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @r4fe-cam3ron

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 12 - halloween part 1

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was finally time for the long awaited halloween party. kie and cleo had arrived at yours and sarahs dorm to start getting ready in full pre-game mode. the place smelled of hairspray and alcohol, half a bottle of vodka drunk in preparation for the long night.

sarah was sprawled across the floor with a straightener in hand, kie sat on the edge of your bed experimenting with glitter on her face, and cleo was pouring herself another drink.

you leaned against the edge of your desk, sipping slowly from your drink, doing your best to stay present. but your thoughts kept drifting.

specifically to rafe. and his stupid fake wedding and his stupid mixed messages he keeps giving you.

"you okay?" sarah asked, glancing at you through the mirror, eyebrow raised.

"yeah," you said automatically. too quickly.

kie caught it too. " are you sure? you've barely moaned about rafe tonight and thats how i know something is up."

you and sarah shared a quick glance to each other, not missed by the girls.

"okay. what the fuck did that look mean?" cleo chimed in, stopping mid eyeliner.

"is there something you guys aren't telling us?" kie questioned.

"i'll leave this one to you y/n." sarah turned away with a smirk.

you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair freshly curled hair. "ok, promise you guys won't make this weird?"

"you're not filling me with much hope." cleo stood up from doing her makeup.

you paused, letting silence fill the room. "i think i may like rafe."

kie dropped her dress on the floor, "oh. my. god."

"you're fucking kidding me. the same rafe who has a reputation for being a fuck boy? the same rafe who is sarah's brother?" cleo crossed her arms, confusion present in her face.

"i know i know. i don't understand it either. but things have just been, different. and this whole fake wedding thing has got me so in my head and i feel... upset?" you swallowed.

"you're jealous." sarah joined the conversation.

you hesitated, then gave in. "maybe. i don’t know why it’s bothering me this much. i mean- i do. but i hate that it is. i don't want to like him."

kie came over to you, serious now. "y/n, it’s not dumb to feel that way. you had a moment with him. he's been treating you differently and now he’s parading around campus with some barbie for a fake marriage. it’s performative, but it still stings."

"i feel so stupid," you said quietly, "it’s not like we’re a thing. it’s not like i have a right to be upset."

"but you feel upset," cleo finally spoke, turning to look at you. "that’s real. you’re allowed to feel weird about it."

"and jealous," kie added with a smirk.

you let out a groan, falling back against your pillows. "this is a disaster. i was doing so well being nonchalant and mysterious and now i’m just… in my feelings over a stupid fake marriage."

sarah grinned. "i mean, if it makes you feel any better, emily reed is the least exciting choice. literally no one at zeta delta likes her."

you laughed. "that helps. slightly."

cleo gave you a soft look. "so what happens if he sees you tonight? what do you want?"

you sighed. "i don’t know. but i want to look good when it happens."

"now that’s the energy i like to hear," sarah stood dramatically, grabbing her makeup bag. "sit."

you rolled your eyes but obeyed, letting her start on your makeup. "so you guys don't hate me for this?"

"we could never hate you y/n. we just always want the best for you." kie reassured you.

"exactly. and for you to be happy. even if i don't particularly like rafe, i know you see him in a different way than we do." cleo explained, her tone gentle. "and maybe he sees you differently too."

you blinked, caught off guard by the quiet truth of her words.

sarah leaned in, carefully blending eyeshadow across your lids. "he definitely does."

"cheers to that." kie lifted her cup.

when sarah was finally done, she spun your chair towards the mirror. you blinked at your reflection.

"damn,” kie said, leaning in. "rafe’s gonna need CPR when he sees you."

"not that we’d give it to him," cleo giggled. "but the thought is there."

you smiled despite the knot still turning in your stomach.

you were going to show up, look hot, and maybe, just maybe, make him feel a little confused for once.

"okay,” you said, standing and reaching for your boots. "let’s go."

a/n: oh you guys are not gonna be ready for the next chapter

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333@cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela @deeninadream @moond0llie @dylsdaily @nonbeliever1

[peanutalergy]

Mr. Winston - SR x reader

The BAU doesn't really need your help with the case. Spencer does. tags: post prison! spencer, fem! child psychologist! reader. cm type violence (blood, murder, etc), traumatized child. pre-relationship yearning MAYBE ? maybe fluff also sorry i still don't know how to classify these things. the synopsis doesn't really make any sense because this is kinda spencer's pov but idk guys sorry im really tired. w/c: 1.5k (this was originally 5.4k words but then i reread it and found that i actually hated every single one of them so...) a/n: okay so wow... i had so much fun writing this (let's ignore most of my posts from the past two weeks) THE THING IS i sorta already had a pt2 to this but then i thought well we can't have that without the beginning so i did kinda write this in a rush im really sorry that it's so short and shitty. . . ALSO i really love this reader & i'd love to write more of her but if you don't like it then i don't like it either and i'll never write again if you tell me not to. i do not think this is good by any means. i do hate it but if i stared at the google docs page for any longer i'd go insane.

Spencer doesn’t treat her like she’s made of porcelain because she’d be easily broken (though, she would, but neither of you say that since you can tell how hard she tried to look strong before coming to the precinct). He treats her like she’s fragile because he can’t remember the last time he didn’t break something like this — wide-eyed and shaking, holding onto something soft like it’s the only real thing around.

He was the one who convinced the team to ask for your help when the kid got involved — he always is. They insisted it wasn’t needed, you can deal with her yourself, you’ve always been good with children, or whatever, but your office got a call from him anyway.

No one knows why he sticks around. Maybe it’s the way you hold her; the gentle hand that runs through her hair, much warmer than the tiny fingers with chewed off nails and blood stains. Maybe he’s trying to memorize the tone of your voice — soft and sweeter than the apple juice she didn’t open, rambling about the silliest things you can think of — to imitate it next time he finds himself having to question kids. Maybe it’s the teacup in your other hand (the one he made you) and the way you so casually sip from it. As if this delicacy came to you as easily as taking a breath, while he struggled even with breathing.

Either way, despite his hesitance, he’s always sure to be around if you’re working on a case with them. Watching from the corner in a way that might have seemed creepy if only you didn’t smile so often back at him.

Amelia Murphy, 6 years old.

She sits at the end of the couch, legs tucked up to her chest like she’s trying to make herself as small as a crumb on the untouched sandwich going stale by her side. Spencer stands at the edge of the room, a smile threatening to peek through as he listens to your stories about the stuffed animals on your bed.

“You can’t tell any of his buddies, okay?” she nods, small but enough for you, “Mr. Winston is my favorite teddy out of all the ones I have.”

“Why?” You and the agent have to hide a surprised expression at the sound of her quiet voice, ragged and hoarse, coming out for the first time tonight. 

“Because he’s been with me since I was very, very young.” You chuckle lightly, “I must’ve been around your age when my grandma gifted him to me.”

“How do you know my age?”

You look at Spencer. He takes that as an ask for help (it really wasn't) and moves before you can speak again, still as careful as possible as he sits on the armchair next to the couch and joins in on the conversation like you suggested to him so often. “We don’t, actually.” She doesn’t flinch like he feared she would, so he continues with a soft smile, “I’m sure my friend was just trying to say she was young, like you are.”

Amelia tilts her head, small brows furrowed as softly as she mutters, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods, “We don’t really know how old you are.”

“I’m… six.” Her fingers, miniature sized when compared to Spencer’s, struggle for a second before arranging into a six, “This much.”

You smile and pretend to write it down on your clipboard, “That’s a lot.”

He laughs in half disbelief, half joy when she asks, “Well, how old are you?”

“Do you want to guess?”

“Uhm…” Tiny hand scratching her chin, she examines him like she knows what she’s doing. He looks to you in pure confusion during the seconds she stays quiet. “A hundred?”

He holds back a snort, “Not quite, no. Do you wanna try again?”

During most of the time he talks to her, you stay quiet. He often looks to you, hesitating, asking for some sort of reassurance that he’s doing this right — you always give it to him with a barely there nod and a big smile.

Always, except for the moment he started talking about his job in almost too much detail when she prompted what are you?. Though, that time, he didn’t need your confirmation or denial to figure it out. All it took was a different knit to her eyebrows for him to go back into smaller than regular talking tone, from the bordering robotical lecturing mode.

“I wanna be a model when I grow up.”

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle breathily. Thankfully, she doesn’t take it as an offense like both of you thought she would. She just nods back at you with a proud smile. 

“And do you know what models do at their job?” Spencer inquires.

“They sit pretty in their pretty clothes for the people to watch,” the girl shrugs, speaking in the same way one would say the sky is blue. “Like her.”

He laughs when she points at you. “Being pretty isn’t all she does, though, Amelia. She’s not really a model.”

“She should be,” she whispers and you pretend you don’t hear it.

“Yeah, she should.”

He’s still careful even in the way he looks at her. Like she’d feel his cold hands if he said something too loud, too much. Every time she shows any sort of reluctance, he goes even softer — like he’d learned from uncountable hours of watching you do this over the years.

The very first time you met — interrogating an unsub’s daughter, before all of it happened. Before Mexico and Maeve and Gideon and Dilaudid and Emily. Before his jaw was screwed permanently clenched and his brain painted foggy. When he didn’t think of himself as a ticking time bomb and wasn’t scared of what he saw in the mirror.

Even when he didn’t feel this way about children as well as every other aspect of his life, he admired your work and yourself. So, it only makes sense (to him) that, when he sees himself as some sort of monster, you look like you’ve hung the moon and the stars even though the only thing you’ve ever been is yourself.

“And, uh, Amelia…” he mutters, pointing to the stuffed bunny in her hands, all love stains and frayed stitches, “Your friend over there. Does he have a name?”

She shakes her head, then spins it around to show the bow hidden on the back of its head, “She’s a girl.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m so sorry,” he laughs awkwardly.

“She doesn’t have a name.”

“Is there a reason for that, sweetie?” you ask as soon as there’s a pause from both of them.

He just watches with a grin while you work with her to find names for her teddy.

The markers were Spencer’s idea. He didn’t mean for it to be anything more than a way for her to express herself — you’d both been drawing animals and trees and numbers. Though, when her page became full of red scribbles and what seemed to be portraits of her parents, you realized she might have more to say.

“Who are those people, Amelia?”, he places a hand on her shoulder. She’s so focused on her tiny fingers wrapped around the marker, that she barely shows any reaction to him. When her bottom lip goes wobbly and her hands impossibly shakier, he takes away the paper with a “Okay, that’s enough.”

She fell asleep on his shoulder after half an hour of sobbing while telling what she remembered of the story.

He can’t help the warm feeling that floods his chest when you tell him, “You did a good job.” after getting as much as one can out of a kid who just witnessed her parents’ murder. His expression and words go against it, though. With a small shrug, he mumbles, “Oh, it was nothin–”

“No, don’t do that,” you cut him off, “You did really well.”

“You would’ve gotten her to say a lot more in a lot less time. It takes you an average of five minutes and for–”

“Shut up,” a giggle.

“Would you please stop cutting me off?”

“Not until you admit that you are actually still amazing with kids.”

He sighs. “How’s Mr. Winston?”

“No, no!” you slap his arm playfully, “You don’t get to change the subject by mocking me for my friends.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Spencer raises his arms in defense, a smile brightening his face. “I’m trying to get to know you and your friends better. I can’t do that anymore?”

“Not if you’re mean about it,” arms crossed over your chest and a half fake pout on your lips, you mutter.

“When was I mean?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I can tell from your tone of voice. It gets higher and weirder when you lie. You’re not the only one who knows about psychology here, buddy.”

He just shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m being serious. How are they doing?”

“Well, if you must know, they’re doing amazing.”

“I’m glad.”

It takes 43 (he counted) chimes of the clock on the wall for anyone to say something again. It’s him, in a whisper, “Do you really think she liked me?”

00:09 doctor reid genius guy

Amelia’s aunt just picked her up. She said her bunny was now named Mrs. Winston.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

who would be into creampies in jujutsu kaisen?

Satoru—“Why would I pull out when you were to take it?”—Gojo

Gojo doesn’t even pretend to pull out. He never has. Never will. The second he’s buried in you, the thought of finishing anywhere but inside makes his eye twitch. It’s like his brain short-circuits unless he knows he’s pumping you full. All warm, wet, messy and dripping. He’ll groan into your neck, hips jerking as he empties deep in your cunt. And then stay there, refusing to move. He’ll whisper, “Feel that? That’s all mine. Look how full you are, pretty thing,” while using his cursed energy to hold every last drop inside you. He doesn’t just want to creampie you. He wants you leaking for hours. He wants your thighs trembling as you walk down the hall. He wants everyone to see it.

And if it starts dripping out too soon, he’ll push it back in with his fingers or cock, just to feel you clench around it again.

Ryomen—“Be grateful I’m blessing your womb.”—Sukuna

Sukuna doesn’t ask. He doesn’t warn. He fucks. And when he cums, it’s hard and brutal, forced so deep inside you it hurts. Like he’s trying to claim your soul with it (or breed your cervix directly). He’ll growl through clenched teeth, holding your hips in place as he spills into you, chest heaving with satisfaction. If you so much as whimper, he’ll shove you back down and snarl, “Don’t waste it. I didn’t give you a choice, don’t act like you have one now.” He likes to watch you afterwards—used, filled, ruined. If it drips, he’ll slap your thigh and shove his fingers in. Almost lazy about it like plugging a leaking vessel.

He might even do it again. And again. And again. Until there’s nothing left in him and you’re too full to move.

Toji—“You want me to pull out? Hah. Too late.”—Fushiguro

Toji isn’t the ‘pull out’ type. You know it. He knows it. The second you’re under him—panting, begging, back arching—he’s already decided exactly where he’s going to finish. His thrusts grow harder, rougher, more desperate the closer he gets. And when he finally cums, it’s deep. He groans something low and filthy, like “That’s it, take all of me, let me fill you up, baby,” as his hips grind into yours and his cock twitching inside you. Toji stays there afterward, heavy on top of you, all smug and breathless. He pulls out slow just to watch the mess leak out.

Sometimes he pushes it back in with two fingers, only to hear the squelch. Sometimes he fucks it back in.

Kento—“If I cum inside, I take responsibility.”—Nanami

Nanami treats creampies like a sacred privilege. He doesn’t do it unless he means it. But once he starts, he can’t stop. He’ll fuck you so deep, slow, careful at first. But the second you moan, “Inside, please,” his control snaps like a thread. He buries himself in you, trembling slightly, breath ragged as he fills you with everything he’s got. And then he holds you there. Pressed tight against his chest and still inside, his voice low in your ear as he murmurs, “You’re mine now. You understand that?” He’s not loud. He’s not rough. He’s just so deep, so full of heat and need that you feel branded from the inside out. Afterwards he helps you clean up, but part of him always wants to see the mess he left in you.

Sometimes, when no one’s around, he’ll ask you to show him. Just for a second. Just to remember.

Choso—“I want all of me inside you. Always.”—Kamo

Choso creampies you like it’s the only way he knows how to love. He holds your face, whispers that you’re beautiful, his forehead pressed to yours as he grinds deeper and deeper until he finally spills inside, voice breaking on your name. He doesn’t fuck you to cum. He fucks you to connect. And when he fills you up, he wraps his arms around you and says things like, “I want you to keep it. All of it. I want it to stay inside you.” You feel his cock twitch inside you, his body shaking and breath hitched. If you try to get up too soon, he gently pushes you back down. “Just stay like this,” he says. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you holding me.” He’s soft, but he’s also so possessive in the quietest way.

He’ll clean you up later, but not before staring, blushing and maybe fingering some back in while whispering “One more time, just one more.”

[sapphiccaa]

got you running in circles

arthurtv x reader

cw: suggestive, fluff, flirting, drinking, friends to lovers, submissive arthur xD

an: hey guys!! This is my first fic uploaded directly to Tumblr !!! im super excited to release this because I’m quite proud of it :D

2.1k words

masterlist ★ ao3 link

You peered through the windows of the bar, noticing how dark it had gotten since you arrived. It was mid-summer so the sun usually set quite late anyways. Your first drink was settling into your body nicely, feeling light and airy. The beating music in the room swayed your weight from foot to foot. Arthur, George, and Isaac had all snagged stools at the bar, leaving you to stand. Arthur had insisted you take his stool but you insisted that you enjoyed standing.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit?” Arthur asked. “I really don’t mind.” You hated this, you really didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

A voice behind you spoke, “Just sit on the poor man’s lap.” It was Arthur Hill, who had just returned from the toilet. 

George and Isaac both chimed in, laughing casually and agreeing with Hill. Your eyes met Arthur’s who wasn’t laughing, but rather smiling awkwardly. Oh… he was so cute like this. This will be fun.

“You know what? You’re right,” you said, “Arthur?” Raising a suggestive eyebrow, asking for his permission. 

He puffed out a breath of air and nodded, “I guess yeah I don’t mind.” He moved the hand that was resting on his thigh to the wooden bar top, the other by his side holding a pint. You shuffled to sit across his legs, your back resting against the bar. You immediately recognized the warm stiffness of his thighs under yours, skirt riding up just enough that your bare skin was touching his jeans. 

You turned your head to Arthur, as if to make the moment slightly more intimate, only for him. “Thank you,” you said under your breath. His sweet smile shone back at you, and you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Was he nervous? God, you hoped so. 

You turned your attention back to the other guys who were chatting about Hill’s bathroom trip.

“Why didn’t you lock the stall though?” George asked.

“I thought I fucking did, mate!” Hill fought back, “the door was closed. I don’t see why she opened the door.” He looked utterly perplexed, his words slurring accordingly.

“Hold up,” you broke in, “it was a woman? In the men’s toilets?” 

“That’s the kind of thing I would do,” Arthur said, his gentle chuckles pressing against you. 

Everything was so funny to you now, “What the hell are you talking about, Arthur?”

“Have I not told you this?” 

“No!” you nearly yelled. “Wait, let the other Arthur finish his story first. And then you,” emphasizing this by pressing a finger against his chest, “will tell me everything about this.” You turned back to Hill expectantly. He continued to tell his account, but Arthur shifting around under you was pretty distracting. 

Arthur’s generally giddy drunken exterior was replaced by a flushed quiet appearance. Your attention migrated to the cup in his hand, nearly empty. “Want another?” you whispered, leaning close to his ear. Before he could respond, you leaned back to grab the attention of the bartender. You ordered two stella’s, Arthur waiting patiently under your thighs. “Returning the favor,” you said, handing him his pint, “for the seat.” 

He chuckled, obviously remembering how silly he felt with a pretty girl on his lap. “It’s not a problem, really.”

The night continued on, drinks swung down your throat in succession, Arthur following easily along. At one point, you couldn’t place exactly why it had happened, but one of his palms had found its way around your waist. He must’ve not hated how it felt, keeping his grip clamped to you. His nervous semblance was shedding to a more red-faced giggling Arthur. The hand migrated from a safe hold on your waist to a slippery slope against your hip, near the waistband of your skirt. With every opportunity you were given, you leaned close to his ear and whispered jokes and comments. You wanted these to be just for him, creating a secret ecosystem between the two of you. 

Possibly it was the booze, but there were increasingly more times when Arthur would trip over his words, commonly after you said something that could be interpreted as suggestive. He would keel over a bit, laughing hard and gripping you a bit tighter. Of course it was to make sure you didn’t fall off his lap, but you’ve got to admit, it felt nice to have him hold you like this. 

At one point a woman in a low cut red top approached, offering to buy you a drink. She was quite attractive, you flirted a bit, playing the game of table tennis with your words. There was a moment where she alluded at a threesome with “the cute boy” sitting under you. His breath caught in his throat. You took that opportunity to wrap an arm behind his back, rubbing small circles into his muscles. You swore something shifted below you in that moment, an unmistakable stiffness under my thighs. 

The woman ended up getting whisked away by her friends—hopefully you’d see her again. Even with her gone, the nervous energy radiated hotly off Arthur. He wasn’t laughing at all your jokes anymore, it was probably reaching the point of the night for him where he clocked out mentally. But it felt too early for him. 

You leaned close to his ear once again, “you alright?”. You swear he shivered, so you ran circles over his back again. His eyes met yours and he adjusted his posture, now you knew what was up. “Do you want me off?”

“No.”

You glanced at the phone in his hand and back to his face, “your phone isn’t in your pocket.” You couldn’t contain your smile.

He stuttered his words, “No I… that’s not…Sorry.” 

God he is cute when he’s embarrassed. You wanted to take him home. “I want to take you home with me.” You don’t know why you said that. It was true, but you had no right being that upfront and desperate. 

Somehow you didn’t royally fuck everything up. “Yeah.” Arthur is a no-bullshit kind of guy, he’ll tell you how he’s feeling, and thank god for that. “Now?”

“Why not,” you squeezed his shoulder and then slipped off his lap. After hugging George goodbye, you peered back to see Arthur sitting uncomfortably, unabashedly squirming in the spot, waiting for you. There are so many awful things you could do to him tonight. 

You walked side by side on the pavement, your hands centimeters away from touching as you got closer to the tube station. The train was basically empty when you got on, the late hour attributing to that. You sat close together, closer than was probably necessary, but you didn’t mind the warmth that radiated onto your body. He leaned slightly, his deep breaths felt against your skin. You restrained yourself from fully turning to admire his pretty face. You wanted to make him work for this. 

Not too soon after, you were back outdoors and a two minutes walk to your flat. He started talking about bats, specifically about how he thinks they’re increasing in population in the city of Greater London. 

“I know someone who found a bunch of baby bats huddled in the corner of his shed. I know I’d be freaked out if I found those things living in my home.”

“They’re quite cute though, aren't they?” you said. “They have such big eyes when you look at them up close, really. Those fruit bats.” They vaguely remind you of Arthur when he gets quiet.

His voice pitched up a smidge, “That’s the problem! They are incredibly cute and then they spread their arms and it looks like a monster from hell coming to take you down.” He performed an exaggerated shiver, “Crikey I hate thinking of this, especially in the dark.”

He looked so vulnerable, you wanted to hold him like a small puppy. You gently slipped your hand to touch his inner wrist. It waited a moment and then slid lower, your palms pressing together and fingers intertwining. You could get used to the feeling of his uncalloused hand, larger than your own, holding you sweetly. 

You eventually reached the destination and obviously Arthur fumbled with the front door, pulling instead of pushing. Bless him, he was so nervous. You wanted to calm him down, so you brushed a hand over his shoulder, letting it stretch along his back to accompany him as you walked up the narrow stairwell. 

You could barely react when out of the corner of your eye, Arthur fell, in what seemed like slow motion, on the last stair before your flat. He landed on both knees, hair fluffed up a bit, and wincing at the impact. He looked up at you, on his fucking knees, catching his breath with his mouth hanging slightly open. 

You couldn’t help myself, “You look quite cute. Like this,” you finger reaching to tap below his chin, pushing up. His jaw closed with the motion and then opened back again, borderline drooling. “You’re going to be fun for me tonight, won’t you?”

Arthur gulped, “I don’t know why this is doing so much to me.”  Never breaking eye contact, you slipped your hand higher to cup his cheek, so so sweet like this. 

“Get up.”

He stood up no problem, quick on his feet. Was he going to keep being this good once you got into your flat? You entered, Arthur shuffling his shoes off and waiting for your next instruction as you locked the door. 

“So what do you wanna do,” he said in a single breath.

“Want to see my bedroom?” you asked like a little kid. He nodded with a drunken smile, so you grabbed his hand and led him until you were face to face in your locked lamp-lit room. 

The light glowed on the curves of his features, highlighting his cheeks and brow bone. You brushed a hand over the sunny light, trying to push more warmth into his skin. He leaned against the palm, allowing himself to use it as a crutch for his head. Two fingers rubbed small circles into his temple, you kept eye contact like this, no words had to be spoken to appreciate this moment. The corners of his mouth curled into a tight smile, teeth exposing from his excitement. Naturally, he stuck his tongue out to poke your hand with it. He probably expected you to react like he always did when Chris did the same to him. Instead, you paid no attention to it, continuing to brush paths on the side of his head. He chuckled, scrunching his nose which you couldn’t help but find irresistibly cute. Guess he wasn’t done being a little shit, because he stuck his tongue out again, this time running it up your exposed palm in a drawn-out motion, covering as much surface area as possible. When his dark pupils locked into your eyes, you could tell this wasn’t a joke anymore. Sweeping your hand down, two fingers touched his plush bottom lip. With barely any motivation, his jaw fell enough to let you intrude. Skimming your fingers over the tip of his tongue, he allowed more of himself to open up. You didn’t pry too much, the pads of your fingers laying just past the line of his teeth. 

“You’re good,” you said. He didn’t say anything but his face visibly blushed, blinking hard at you. “Do you want to sit on my bed?” He nodded eagerly. “No outside clothes,” you curled fingers under the collar of his soft beige shirt, “you were in the bar with these.” 

Arthur glanced down at the hand touching him fairly innocently, shocked at the insinuation. “Makes sense, yeah,” he rushed out, reaching to push his shorts off. You turned away and went to find your pajamas. It’d be quite nice to get him to properly unwrap you. As you faced away from him, you slipped your skirt and top off, spending extra time unclasping your bra and dropping it on the floor. You peered slightly to the left, trying to catch if he was watching in your periphery. He was standing awkwardly in his black boxers, hands clasped in front of him, possibly trying to hide something. 

You finished dressing and brought yourself back to him, one hand on either of his upper arms.

“I can keep these on, yeah?” He giggled nervously. 

“Of course.” You wanted to call him something cute but you weren’t so sure what it would be yet. You rubbed both hands down the expanse of his arms, it’s often easy to forget how built he was under all of his clothes. He glanced down shyly, getting embarrassed from the attention. You leaned close to his ear, “You’re beautiful.” His forehead fell forward and leaned on your shoulder, seeking support. “Is this too much?” you whispered.

“No,” he said simply.

an: fade to black!! So sorry I’ve never written x reader smut before and I’m scared bahhhhh!! anywho i hope u enjoyed and im always open for suggestions/requests so don't be shy ;) any shares are appreciated!!

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Close Enough

They became roommates sophomore year…not entirely by accident, but not exactly planned either.

It started with an email about water damage in Nika’s dorm. A busted pipe, a soaked mattress, and a two week relocation notice during the first week of the fall semester. You had an off campus two bedroom with a month to month lease and a roommate who had just backed out last minute.

The solution had been so obvious, so easy.

“Just stay with me,” you said. “There’s room, and the rent gets cheaper. It’s not a big deal.”

Nika remembered blinking at you across the locker room, your hair still damp from practice, your smile open and so effortlessly kind. She hadn’t even thought about it. She just said yes.

That was eleven months ago.

Now, there are two toothbrushes by the sink. Your shampoo is her shampoo. Your laundry mingles with hers. Your class schedules are taped to the fridge, side by side, under a magnet that says “Hot Girls Don’t Do 8 A.M.s.”

You’re roommates.

Close ones. Best friends, even. You finish each other’s sentences, bring back snacks without asking, share clothes like it’s second nature. No one questions it…why would they? It’s college. Girls are close. It’s normal.

But for Nika, it’s anything but normal. And definitely not casual.

Because somewhere between shared grocery runs and 2 a.m. ramen on the kitchen floor, she fell in love with you.

She tells herself it’s fine. That it’s manageable. A harmless little crush. The kind everyone gets…fleeting, easy, something you grow out of by graduation.

But it doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens. Grows roots.

It’s in the way her heart stutters when you laugh at something she says. The way your arm brushes against hers when you reach past her for a cereal bowl. The way you hum to yourself in the shower, off key and soft and completely unaware that she’s standing in the hallway, back pressed to the doorframe, trying to breathe through it.

Tuesday morning starts like most of them do: with the smell of coffee and your voice drifting down the hallway.

Nika wakes slowly, eyes heavy, sheets tangled around her legs. She blinks into the soft morning light filtering through the blinds and listens to the small, familiar sounds of you moving through the apartment.

Cabinet doors. The clink of a spoon in your mug. Bare feet on the cold kitchen tile.

And humming. Some melody she can’t place, low and breathy, the kind that lodges itself in her chest like a secret.

She doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t want to break the moment. There’s a strange peace in this…the comfort of proximity. Of knowing you’re right there. Alive. Moving. Hers, in this weird, unspoken way that isn’t real but feels like it could be.

Eventually, she drags herself out of bed, pulling on the hoodie you always borrow…the worn gray UConn one with the fraying cuffs and her number still half visible on the back.

She shuffles into the kitchen, eyes squinting against the light, hair sticking out in five different directions. You’re standing by the counter in pajama shorts and a sleep shirt that hangs off one shoulder, pouring coffee like you don’t even notice the way her stomach flips at the sight of you.

“Morning, sunshine” you say, not turning around. “You want a cup?”

She rubs her face with one hand, trying to keep her voice casual. “Only if you love me.”

“Tough luck,” you grin, finally glancing back at her. “But here.”

You hand her a mug without asking how she takes it. You already know. You always know. It’s a stupid little thing, but it hits her all the same…this soft, intimate shorthand the two of you have created without even realizing it.

She sips the coffee and leans against the counter beside you, eyes half lidded, heart racing in that frustrating familiar way.

“You snored last night” you say, nudging her with your elbow.

She raises an eyebrow. “Did not.”

“I have audio.”

“You’re a menace.”

You just laugh, bright and easy. She wants to bottle the sound, keep it with her always.

Later that week, she hears the door rattle as you come in juggling groceries, a smoothie cup clamped between your teeth, your keys barely hanging on your pinky. Nika bolts up from the couch before she can stop herself.

She opens the door wide and reaches for the bags, her hand brushing the small of your back as she steadies you. You gasp a little, winded.

“I swear” you say breathlessly “this is the third time I’ve almost died trying to surprise you with food.”

“I’d die for a smoothie,” she replies, and it’s too easy…too reflexive. It lands with more weight than she meant it to.

You just laugh and hand her the cup. “Strawberry banana.”

She stares at it for a beat too long, and then at you.

“You remembered.”

“Duh. I live with you.”

Right. You do. You live with her.

You live with her and call it friendship. You steal her hoodies, leave your socks everywhere, sleep with your body curled into her during movie nights and never once ask what it does to her. You smile at her like she’s safe, like she’s never once given herself away with the way she looks at you.

That night, it’s late when you both crawl into your respective beds after a long study session. The apartment is quiet, lit only by the soft, gold glow of the kitchen light left on by habit. Rain taps gently against the windows. The kind of night made for sleep.

Nika’s just settled under the covers when she hears your door creak open.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice soft and scratchy. “My room’s freezing. Do you mind if I crash in here?”

Her heart stutters violently in her chest.

You don’t wait for her to answer…you never do…you just slip under her comforter like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like it’s always been yours, too.

You smell like lavender conditioner and dryer sheets. You’re warm. Tired. Barely even conscious by the time your head hits her pillow.

Nika lies perfectly still.

Your arm brushes hers. Your leg shifts and presses lightly against her calf under the blanket. You’re practically curled into her side, breathing deep and slow, completely unaware of the storm you’ve just started inside her.

She stares at the ceiling. Her hands tremble under the covers. Every nerve ending is screaming.

She should move. She should say something. But her body won’t listen.

You’re so close.

You’re always so close.

She turns her head just slightly, eyes catching the soft curve of your cheek in the dark. Your eyelashes flutter in sleep. You’re mumbling something…half a word, maybe her name. Maybe not.

She presses her knuckles against her mouth, trying to keep the ache quiet.

This shouldn’t feel this good.

This shouldn’t hurt this much.

She lies there all night, wide awake, next to the one person who makes her feel the safest and the most afraid.

By morning, you’ll be gone. Back to your own room. Back to normal.

And Nika will go right on pretending that it didn’t mean anything.

That it didn’t mean everything.

[daeniradraconis]

Right Where You Left Me

So, hello lovelies ✨ I’m currently in Germany watching the Leafs melt down in Game 7, and there is never a better time to post this than during the game. Well, there’s not much to say — hope you enjoy this! I wrote this from an outsider’s perspective, and it’s a little bit of a filler chapter, but we need this to connect a few things for the future.

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, grief and loss, coma, emotional distress, complicated grief, hospital setting, family tension, fragile health

Chapters: 01, 02, 03

Chapter 3: The Quiet Between

The snow hadn’t stopped all day.

Toronto in late December was always a strange mix of silence and noise. Too many cars, too many people—but somehow, days like this felt still. The kind of cold that bit your skin, but numbed your thoughts just enough to be welcome.

Luke Hughes stood in front of William’s condo building, staring up at it like he needed permission to go in. The small velvet box in his pocket felt heavier than it should. Not that it was much more than metal and memory, but that was the problem—memories carried weight no one could see.

He’d debated even coming. He’d told himself it was stupid. That William didn’t need this. But still Luke had ended up here.

He pressed the buzzer. William answered, his voice slightly muffled. “Hey?”

“It’s me.”

A beat.

Then, “Come up.”

William answered the door in a hoodie and joggers, hair longer than Luke remembered and slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times today. He looked... better. Still tired around the eyes, still a kind of shadow beneath his skin, but lighter somehow. 

Luke stepped inside, shaking off the cold. “Sorry for just dropping by. I should’ve texted.”

“You’re good.” William shut the door behind him. “I’m not doing anything important. Just watching bad TV and pretending I know how to cook.”

Luke smiled, stepping into the warm space. “Still burning pasta?”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

They sat on the couch, easy and quiet. It wasn’t awkward. Not really. It had never been awkward between them, just heavy. Grief made everything quieter, more careful. Like walking through a room filled with glass, afraid to knock anything over.

William grabbed two beers from the fridge, tossed one gently to Luke. “You still not twenty-one?”

“Almost.”

William raised an eyebrow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

They talked for a while—about hockey, about Jack, about how surreal it still felt to see Luke in a Devils jersey, skating on real NHL ice. William smiled when Luke told him about his first goal, even asked if he’d kept the puck. It made Luke feel good. He’d known William since he was just a kid. Over the years, William had always felt like an older brother to him. And somehow, even now, that hasn't changed.

Then the silence came. The one Luke had known was coming.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the box.

“I found this the other day,” he said, setting it gently on the coffee table. “I forgot I even had it.”

William stared at it, unmoving.

“They gave it to us after... everything,” Luke continued. “Doctors said they had to take it off her for the scans. So I took it. I don’t know why. I think I just... wanted to hold onto something.”

William didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on the box, like opening it might detonate something inside him.

Luke took a slow sip of his beer before setting it down, his fingers brushing along the rim.

“I don’t know why I took it,” Luke said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I think... back then, I just needed something. You had everything, you know? The house. The dogs. Her clothes still hanging in the closet. Her perfume on the pillows. You were surrounded by pieces of her life.”

He paused, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the coffee table.

“I didn’t have any of that. She was gone, and I didn’t have anything that felt like her. I guess I thought... maybe the ring would help me stay close. Like I could hold onto something real. Sorry…I…I know it wasn’t mine to keep.”

William didn’t speak right away. His fingers rubbed against his jeans, slow, thoughtful.

“Did it help?” he finally asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Having the ring?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

William gave a small smile, almost more breath than expression. “Then I’m glad you had it. You’re right. I had everything else…a little too much, sometimes. It made it harder to let go. But if the ring helped you feel close to her, I think that’s exactly where it belonged.”

Luke swallowed. “Well... it’s yours now. I don’t feel the need to hold onto it anymore. And you signed the papers. I think maybe you need it more now than I do.”

William shook his head gently. “You can keep it, if you want. I’m not sure I can even look at it right now. I’ve had enough of staring at things I can’t change for four years.”

Luke’s voice softened. “Still. Even if you don’t want to look at it right now... it’s yours, Will. You picked it. For her. Maybe one day you’ll want it near. So take it.”

William nodded once. He didn’t reach for the box. Not yet. But he didn’t push it away either.

After a moment, Luke spoke again, his voice more hesitant this time. “I also wanted to say... thank you. For staying. For hoping.”

William exhaled, a soft laugh escaping like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Luke.”

“I do.”

“No.” William turned to him fully now. “Even if I was only her husband for six hours... I was the happiest man alive. And we were together since 2014, Luke. That’s my whole adult life. She was my life. I would’ve stayed longer if I could. God, I wanted to.”

He glanced down at his hands, voice softening. “But yeah, I still feel guilty sometimes. Like… every time I start feeling okay, it’s like I’m doing something wrong—like I’m betraying her just by trying to be happy again. And when I signed the divorce papers last week… Luke, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. In that moment, I felt lower than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Luke’s eyes were heavy with something that looked like grief and compassion at once. “Don’t think of it like that. Please. She would want you to be happy. You held onto her with everything you had—but you can’t freeze your life forever, not for a chance that may never come.”

William looked up.

“We both know what the doctors said,” Luke said quietly. “There’s a point zero two percent chance. That’s not hope anymore, Will. That’s... punishment. And it’s not fair to you.”

William didn’t reply right away. Just stared at his hands again. Finally, he whispered, “It feels like giving up.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “It’s choosing to live. And I know that’s what she would’ve wanted for you. To keep living. To maybe even—” he hesitated, “—have kids someday. If you want. To love someone again. That’s not betrayal. That’s surviving man.”

William blinked hard. He nodded once, slowly.

“Thanks, kid.”

Luke gave a crooked smile. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

William laughed—tired but real. “You’ll always be her baby brother. Doesn’t matter how tall you get.”

Luke’s smile softened, shifting into something gentler. “Every time I wondered how the hell you were getting through this... I’d see you still showing up. Still breathing. Still walking the dogs. Still being you. You never shut us out. I’m grateful for that, Will. For you. For how you stayed in our lives.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that either.”

“I do,” Luke repeated. “I just wish we had more time as a family. All of us. But no matter what happens—whether you get remarried or move away or anything else—I want you to know, you’re always going to be part of this family. Once you’re a Hughes, there’s no way out.”

William smiled, but it faltered with emotion. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to stay composed.

“That means a lot,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence again, but this time it felt full, not empty.

Luke stood up first. “I should get going. Need to catch my flight early in the morning.”

William followed him to the door. As Luke opened it, the cold air rushed in, sharp and clean.

Luke paused at the threshold. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

William smiled. Luke looked and sounded like a man—it still felt surreal.

“Same goes for you, Luke.”

And when the door closed behind Luke, and the apartment fell quiet again, William turned toward the table.

The box sat there, still closed. Small. Simple. Heavy with meaning.

He walked toward it, stood for a moment, and gently reached out.

He didn’t open it. Not yet.

But he took it back.

And for tonight, that was enough.

—

The Michigan house was quiet except for the occasional sizzle from the kitchen, where Jim moved around with ease. The scent of onions softening in a pan wafted through the halls—something simple for dinner, maybe stew or pasta, but warm enough to fill the house with comfort.

Ellen poured herself a glass of wine. She brought it into the living room and set it on the table beside the couch, sighing as she lowered herself into the cushions. Her knees weren’t what they used to be.

She reached for the box that had been sitting on the bookshelf for years. Inside, a small chaos of memories: photos, drawings, crayon-smudged cards with crooked handwriting, and the kind of things you don’t mean to keep but never find the heart to throw away.

She flipped through them slowly, one by one.

There was a photo of Quinn, barely two days old, tucked into the arms of a toddler with wispy curls and a too-serious expression. Eli. Her daughter. Her first. Her light. The little girl who had looked up at her baby brother and kissed his forehead like she already knew she was responsible for something sacred.

“I’m gonna protect him,” Eli had whispered that day, proud, sleepy and sure.

Ellen’s throat tightened. She traced the edge of the photo with her finger.

Behind her, Jim began humming softly under his breath. She heard the gentle clink of the wooden spoon against the side of the pan—the comforting sounds of ordinary life.

She took another sip of wine and picked up a photo of their first Christmas with all four kids. Jack had just turned four and was wearing a Santa hat two sizes too big. Luke was a baby, mostly interested in trying to eat the garland. And Eli—Eli had flour on her cheeks, a candy cane apron, and the brightest smile on her face as she stood on a stool in the kitchen next to Ellen, holding a misshapen gingerbread man in one hand.

“This is my favorite holiday, Mommy,” she had said, looking up at Ellen with sparkles in her eyes. “I love it so much, every year.”

And she had. Every year, Eli had taken charge of decorations, baking, gift-wrapping, even organizing the family movie nights. She made Christmas feel like something out of a storybook.

Now, the holidays felt dimmer. Quieter. Like the lights were still strung up, but the glow didn’t reach as far.

Ellen’s hand paused on a photo that made her laugh under her breath. It was one of the few she’d saved from the skating rink.

Eli, bundled up in a pink jacket, scowling in the center of the ice, her arms pinwheeling as Jim tried to keep her upright. Her expression was unmistakable: betrayal and horror in equal parts.

“She hated it,” Ellen said aloud, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She turned around on the couch in the direction of the open kitchen and showed the picture to her husband. “Our daughter. The only Hughes who hated skating.”

“I remember,” Jim said with a nostalgic smile. “She said her feet weren’t meant for frozen water. And if we ever forced her to do this again, she’d move to her grandparents’ in Florida so she’d never have to experience that cold rink again.”

“She was five and already dramatic.”

“Well, she totally got that from you.”

Ellen shook her head, but her smile lingered. “And she’s still married to a hockey player, Jim. I would never have guessed that.”

Jim’s stirring slowed, and the silence that followed stretched between them, gentle but weighted.

Ellen’s hand found Elis’s wedding photo.

The sun poured through the trees that day—golden, gentle, and somehow full of kindness. William stood at the altar, barely holding himself together. Eli looked radiant, like she always did when she was near William—their love seemed to glow through her.

Quinn had wiped his face three times before the ceremony even started. Jack had given Will a playful shove and whispered something threatening into his ear, trying to cover up his own tears. And Luke—sweet Luke—had held Eli so tightly after the vows that Ellen had worried for a moment he might actually break her ribs.

Ellen pressed the photo to her chest for a moment.

The wedding had been a dream. A soft, perfect blur. And then just a few hours later, it became something else entirely.

She didn’t cry now. She rarely did anymore. The tears had dried up in the second year, and what remained was something quieter. A hollow ache. An ever-present weight.

Ellen turned toward the kitchen again, watching her husband move slowly around the stove. He’d always wanted a daughter. She remembered the day Eli was born—how he had cried when the doctor said, “It’s a girl.” He had kissed Ellen’s forehead and whispered, “I’m gonna be a good dad. I swear I will. She’s gonna be my little princess.”

And she had been.

The accident had taken something from Jim—something she knew she could never give back. He never said it aloud, but she saw it in how he spoke about her less these days, and in the way he’d sometimes sit alone in the garage, staring into nothing for long stretches. Grief had silenced a man who once filled the room.

Ellen looked back down at the photo in her hand.

Her baby. Her daughter.

Not gone. But not here.

Alive in the most technical way, and yet unreachable. For four years, they had visited the hospital, touched her hand, whispered to her like she might hear it. And every time, they left a little more broken.

Near the bottom of the box, Ellen’s fingers paused on another photo — one that made her chest tighten with a fresh, bittersweet ache.

It was a photo Jim had taken nearly fifteen years ago, on a late summer afternoon. The four kids sat at the edge of the old wooden dock behind their Michigan house, their legs swinging just above the shimmering lake. The sun bathed their skin in a honeyed glow, while the water whispered softly beneath them.

Eli was there — so alive, so bright — curled up with a worn copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone resting in her lap. Her braid was loose, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, and she was reading aloud with that gentle intensity Ellen had always loved.

Quinn sat close, arms crossed, pretending to scold Jack — wild as ever — who was half-standing, half-jumping off the dock, his shirt twisted around his neck, wearing that wide grin full of mischief.

Luke, the littlest one with soft golden curls and chubby cheeks, sat right next to Eli, kicking his legs and babbling in that sweet toddler way only he could.

Then, in that photo—forever frozen in time—Luke’s face turned toward Eli. With a bright, clear voice that still made Ellen’s heart tighten, he spoke the word Eli had been waiting to hear for so long:

“HanHan.”

The very first time Luke said her name.

Everyone else called her Eli, short and simple — but Luke’s word was different. Full of wonder and love, spoken like a secret just between them. Eli’s face lit up with a smile that held all the joy in the world.

Ellen’s thumb brushed over the photo, her eyes stinging.

Four years had passed since the accident.

Four years since Eli’s laughter filled the house.

Four years since she slipped into silence.

Four years of holding onto memories like fragile glass — beautiful but easily shattered.

Looking at the picture now, Ellen could almost hear Luke’s voice echoing through the quiet house, calling “HanHan!” as he always did, full of hope and innocence.

She could almost see Eli turning toward him, happiness shining in her eyes, the way she’d drop everything to chase after her brothers, boss them around, love them fiercely.

Tears blurred Ellen’s vision as she whispered to the empty room, “My sweet HanHan…”

The name wasn’t just a memory. It was a thread connecting past and present. The hope that maybe, somehow, Eli was still there — still hearing, still loving, still HanHan to her brothers.

Ellen gently set the photo down and closed the box.

She stood up from the couch and walked toward the kitchen.

Jim stood at the stove, stirring quietly. Ellen leaned against the counter, her wine glass cradled in her hands, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up to her elbows. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it rarely was. After twenty-plus years of marriage, silence could just mean safety.

Still, Ellen’s voice broke the silence gently. “I saw William last week.”

Jim didn’t look up from the stove. “Oh, yeah?”

“When I was at the PWHL conference in Toronto, I decided to grab a coffee with him.”

“That’s nice of you, honey. How is he doing?”

“He looks… better. He finished therapy and seems lighter, I guess. Smiling more. I’m glad his parents convinced him to do it—it seemed to help.” She paused, searching for the right words. “And… he met someone.”

Jim turned toward her, the wooden spoon still in his hand. Surprise flickered in his eyes, but there was no anger. “Oh? Well, I guess we told him last Christmas to get out there and move on. Who is she?”

“Her name’s Lena Gunnarsson. She’s Swedish too and lost her husband, her first love 6 years ago. Same kind of story.” Ellen’s smile was faint, almost fragile. “I guess, grief recognizes its own.”

Jim raised an eyebrow but waited, sensing Ellen wasn’t finished.

“I think that’s why he’s drawn to her,” Ellen said softly, almost to herself. “Not because he’s falling in love, but because he doesn’t have to explain anything. She just… understands him. No explanations, no judgment. It’s safe.”

Jim set the spoon down on a folded towel, folding his arms. “You think that’s a bad thing?”

Ellen exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s exactly what he needs right now. But when I look at him—really look—I don’t see the same spark I used to. Not the way he used to light up when he talked about Eli or the future he dreamed for them.”

Jim nodded slowly, leaning back against the counter. “He’s been through hell, Ellen. No one would expect him to bounce back overnight.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m proud of him. God, I am. He stayed. He waited. He never gave up on our baby, not really.” Her voice cracked. “But I worry… I worry he’s building his future on a foundation of shared pain rather than hope.”

Jim reached out, resting a steady hand on her shoulder. “You mean he’s settling? Because it’s comfortable?”

Ellen nodded. “Maybe. It’s safer to be with someone who knows the ache, who understands the silence, than to risk the messiness of love again. But that’s not really living, is it? That’s surviving.”

Jim exhaled softly, his gaze drifting away as he absently wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“You remember what I told William, don’t you? To let go. To find something new.”

Ellen nodded slowly. “You were right. He needed to hear it.”

Jim looked down at the counter, voice quieter. “But now that it’s happening... it feels strange. Different than I imagined.”

Ellen stepped closer, voice gentle. “How so?”

Jim swallowed. “I thought I’d feel relieved. Like a weight lifted. Instead, it’s like... I’m betraying my own daughter. Abandoning a space that should only be hers.”

He glanced up, eyes filled with a mix of sadness and confusion. “It’s not anger, or resentment. It’s... guilt.”

Ellen reached out, her hand covering his. “Jim...”

“I love William. I always have. But this—” He gestured vaguely, “—this feels like I’m letting go of Eli in a way I’m not ready for.”

Ellen’s voice was steady but tender. “Jim, you’re not betraying anyone. You wanted the best for William—because you love him. Because you love Eli. Wanting William to find happiness again doesn’t mean you’re letting Eli go. Eli wanted that for him, honey.”

Jim nodded slowly but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “I know.It’s just… emotions don’t always follow logic El.”

Ellen squeezed his hand. “Yeh, that’s true.”

She took a breath, steadying herself. “That’s why I’m scared for William. Because I think he’s trying to do what’s right, instead of what feels right. Because he’s afraid of loving again, not because he doesn’t want to, but because the fear of loss is still so big.”

They stood quietly, the kitchen filled only by the hum of the stove and the steady rhythm of their breaths.

Ellen finally whispered, “I’m just scared for him. That he’s so afraid of losing again, he won’t let himself love again.”

Jim bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“We just have to trust him. Trust that he’ll find his way. Maybe it won’t be perfect. Maybe it won’t look like what we imagined. But it can still be something beautiful.”

Ellen nodded slowly, still holding his hand.

“I want him to have a future that’s more than just making it through. More than just breathing.”

“Me too, El,” Jim said softly, his voice thick with quiet emotion. “More than anything, me too.”

—

The envelope was still sitting on the counter.

Stephanie hadn’t opened it right away—just stared at the creamy paper like it had personally offended her. Now it was splayed open, invitation on display, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less surreal.

William & Lena

She read it again.

William & Lena.

It didn’t matter how elegant the font was or how understated the navy and gold design looked. To Steph, it was a soft betrayal dressed up in tasteful serif type.

She stood in the kitchen, one hand pressed to her belly like she was physically holding herself together, the other gripping a mug of now-cold tea. Her knuckles were white on the handle. The silence around her buzzed like static.

Mitch stepped in from the hallway, unwinding his scarf and shrugging off the last of the cold outside. He saw her posture first—stiff, braced—then saw the envelope.

He didn’t need to ask.

“Steph,” he said gently, his voice a thread. “You okay?”

She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were locked on the invitation, like if she blinked, it might morph into something else.

“They’re getting married. In Sweden. In August.” Her voice was clipped, deliberate, like if she said it too softly it might sound reasonable.

“It’s like Eli never happened.”

Mitch exhaled, slow. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she snapped. One hand stayed anchored on her belly like a warning. “He’s marrying someone else, Mitch. Just like that. After everything. After her.”

“It’s been almost five years, Steph.”

“Four and a half,” she corrected. Too fast.

Her voice cracked slightly, then hardened. “They’ve been together since they were teenagers. They married each other. And now he’s acting like she’s just a part to be replaced—like some role that can be recast.”

Mitch crossed the kitchen slowly, pulled out a chair at the table, and sat. He rested his arms on the table, calm and quiet, the way you approach someone who’s standing too close to a ledge.

“He’s not replacing her. No one could.”

“Then what the hell is he doing?” she said, each word sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like settling. Like he just got tired of being alone and picked the next safest option.”

Mitch hesitated, letting the words settle before he answered.

“Maybe that’s all he has left in him, Steph. Maybe Lena isn’t some grand, romantic love—but maybe she’s someone he can survive.”

Stephanie scoffed, moving again, pacing like she couldn’t stay in her skin. Her fingers twisted the sleeve of her sweater.

“She doesn’t even know him,” she said bitterly. “Not like Eli did. Not like we do. She didn’t see what Eli brought out in him. The way he used to laugh around her—really laugh. Like he believed in something. Now he just... floats. Like he’s underwater all the time. And this wedding?” She gestured toward the counter, voice rising. “This feels like a checkbox.”

Mitch watched her, letting her unravel, knowing she had to.

“A freaking wedding?!” she went on, shaking her head. “He couldn’t even call. Just had his assistant send out invitations like it’s some goddamn charity gala.”

“He probably didn’t know how to say it,” Mitch offered gently.

“Oh, but a monogrammed RSVP card says it better?”

“Steph…”

“No, Mitch. No.” Her voice was rising now, more broken than loud. “This is not okay. He doesn’t get to rewrite everything just because he’s tired of being sad. He doesn’t get to bury Eli under this new-life package just because he wants to feel normal again.”

Mitch stood slowly. He approached her like one might approach a wounded animal—deliberate, soft, steady—but didn’t touch her. He knew she needed space to bleed it all out.

“He’s not burying her.”

“He is,” she snapped. “He’s remarrying. That’s not some minor thing. That’s not therapy or smiling again or going back to the gym. That’s permanent. That’s him telling the world Eli is behind him.”

Mitch turned to the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. His expression was tired but open.

“Steph, it’s been four and a half years. That’s a long time to stand still.”

“She’s still alive,” she hissed.

He looked at her.

“She’s not gone. Don’t talk about her like she’s gone. Don’t you dare.”

There it was—her line. The edge of her world. But Mitch didn’t flinch.

“I know she is,” he said softly. “But you know she’s not coming back.”

Stephanie shut her eyes. Her jaw clenched so tightly the tendons stood out along her neck. For a moment, she looked like she might scream just to clear the air.

“I hate that you say it like that,” she whispered. “Like it’s just a fact we’re supposed to accept. Like you’ve made peace with it.”

“I haven’t,” Mitch said. “I just... made space for it.”

“She was my best friend Mitch,” Steph said. Her voice was barely audible now. “We were supposed to raise our kids together. We had names picked out. We made stupid Pinterest boards. She would’ve been this baby’s godmother.”

Her fingers found the edge of the counter, gripping it like a lifeline.

“And now I’m supposed to send a gift and wear pastel and clap for this new chapter like none of that mattered?”

Mitch moved to her, slowly, resting his hands on her arm. She didn’t pull away.

“No one’s asking you to pretend.”

“Really?” she said, half-laughing, half-weeping. “Because this?” She pointed at the invitation. “This feels a hell of a lot like pretending. Like we’re supposed to accept Lena as the sequel and call it healing.”

He guided her to sit, crouched beside her, never letting go of her hand.

“Steph. You’re right. It’s unfair. It’s messy and yes, it feels wrong. But maybe for Will, it’s taken everything just to get to the point where he can even try again. Maybe this isn’t a betrayal. Maybe this is the bravest thing he’s capable of.”

Her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed. Her hands trembled.

“I don’t want to see him happy if she’s not there,” she whispered. “Is that insane?”

Mitch shook his head. “It’s not insane. It’s human.”

She looked away. “I just don’t want him to live a lie. He loved Eli in this big, messy, all-consuming way. And now he’s marrying someone who fits into the grief. Who doesn’t make waves. Who doesn’t make him feel too much.”

Mitch exhaled through his nose. “Maybe that’s all he can handle.”

“But is that love, Mitch?” Her voice cracked again. “Or is that just... not drowning?”

He didn’t answer. Just held her hand.

“Does it matter?” he said finally. “If it keeps him alive, if it gives him peace... maybe we don’t get to define it.”

“I want more for him,” she whispered. “Even if he doesn’t want it for himself.”

“I know,” Mitch said. “Me too.”

They sat like that for a long time. The kitchen ticked with the quiet hum of the fridge, the distant creak of winter settling into the house.

Then Steph stirred again.

“And you know what else?” Her tone shifted, sharper now. “She’s going to be one of us. A Toronto WAG.”

Mitch blinked. “Steph…”

“No, I know it sounds petty, but it’s not. You remember what it was like—Eli was part of our crew. She was real. We weren’t brunch-photo wives, we were actual friends. A unit.”

She rubbed at her face with her sleeve, half laughing in disbelief.

“And now Lena gets to wear the jacket? Sit in our row? Be invited to wives’ game night and act like she belongs?”

Mitch watched her with quiet sympathy.

“It’s just a label, baby.”

“You know it’s not,” she said. “You know what that space meant. Eli was the soul of that group. She loved it.”

Mitch wrapped his arms around her. This time she melted into him, boneless with exhaustion.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “But I also know this baby is coming soon. And your hormones are setting fires.”

Stephanie let out a choked laugh, half sob.

“So I’m irrational?”

“I’m saying you already lost Eli once, and now it feels like you’re losing her again. And that’s terrifying.”

She nodded against him, the tears finally free now. Her shoulders shook.

“I don’t want to be this bitter,” she said finally. “I don’t want to hate someone I don’t even know.”

“You don’t hate her,” Mitch said gently. “You just miss Eli so much you don’t know where to put it.”

Mitch whispered, “We’ll go. We don’t have to smile. We don’t even have to stay long. But I think we should go. For William. For Eli.”

“Alright,” she said, voice low. “But we’re sitting in the back. And I’m wearing black. No exceptions.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Black? Like funeral black?”

She gave him a look that was part mischief, part steel. “Exactly.”

He laughed softly. “You’re going to be a real joy at the wedding.”

“Someone’s got to keep things interesting.”

Mitch shook his head, smiling as he pulled her into a gentle hug again. “Deal.”

—

Jack pushed open the hospital door with a soft creak, stepping into the quiet, sterile room where his sister lay still — fragile as a glass sculpture, untouched by time but entirely changed by it. The faint beep of monitors was the only sound, steady and constant.

He stepped inside, slow. Careful. Like if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter.

It smelled like antiseptic and flowers that died three days ago.

Jack swallowed hard, the weight of five years and ninety-seven days pressing on his chest like it wanted to break something inside him. He hadn’t been here in weeks — between the season, the travel, the rehab — but today... today he couldn’t stay away.

He eased into the chair next to her bed, eyes scanning the stillness of her face. Peaceful. Pale. So fucking familiar. And so far away.

“Hey, big sis,” he said softly. “It’s been a while, huh?”

He reached for her hand — warm, soft, weightless — and curled his fingers around it. Holding on to something that felt like her.

“You took a long nap,” he whispered, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, weak and cracked. “Five years and ninety-seven days. But who’s counting, right? Just your favorite brother keeping tabs.”

His thumb ran over the back of her hand, slow and rhythmic.

“I told myself I’d come every other month. Sit here. Talk. Let you know what’s going on. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

He swallowed.

“I just... I hate seeing you like this, Eli. You’re here, but not. Breathing, but silent. It’s like someone hit pause on your life, and we’re all just... waiting. And every time I walk in, it feels like you’re going to wake up. Like you’ll roll your eyes at me and say I’m late or my hair looks dumb.”

He laughed — quiet, rough.

“I don’t want this to be what I remember when I think of you. This frozen version of you.”

He sat back, dragging a hand down his face, then sighed.

“Anyway. Catching you up.”

He sniffed and cleared his throat.

“Mom and Dad are... well, they’re Mom and Dad. You know. Stubborn and weirdly optimistic in ways that make no sense. Dad’s golfing like he’s on the senior tour. He’s either on the course or on YouTube watching some guy named Sven talk about putters. Mom’s pissed because he’s ‘wasting his damn knees’ but she’s been crazy busy, too. She took this new position with the women’s Olympic team — she’s basically coaching the coaches. Yelling at them and bossing them around. She’s so in her element it’s scary. You’d love it.”

He smiled faintly.

“They miss you. I mean, they won’t say it—not directly. But it’s there. Like... Mom still folds your hoodie and leaves it draped over the back of the chair, like you might swing by. And Dad—he keeps your old voicemail saved on his phone. Listens to it sometimes when he thinks no one’s around. Just stands there in the garage like he’s fixing something, but he’s not. He just... misses you.”

His jaw flexed. “They stopped saying your name after the second year. Like if they say it, something will snap.”

A beat passed.

“Luke’s in the NHL now.”

He gave a small laugh.

“I know, right? Baby Luke. He’s fast, cocky, impossible to deal with — so, basically perfect. You missed his first game. You would’ve hated missing it. He had your name inside his glove. We both did. He’s doing great. I mean, I live with him, so I also know that he leaves wet towels on the floor and eats pasta at 2 a.m. straight from the pot like a gremlin, but still. He’s killing it. I’m trying not to murder him. Mostly succeeding.”

Jack exhaled, shoulders slumping.

“Quinn... Quinn’s dating someone. Kinda. It’s a mess. He’s doing that thing where he’s emotionally constipated but still somehow kind of in love? He keeps texting me for advice like I’m some sort of love guru. I’m like, ‘Bro, I’m still figuring out if I’m emotionally available enough to own a plant.’ You’d be yelling at us both right now.”

He grew quiet.

“And then... there’s William.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

“He got married again.”

The words hung there, blunt and bare.

“It was a few months ago. In Sweden. Beautiful place. It was... nice. Really nice, actually. Candles everywhere. That soft, muted golden light you always loved—the kind that makes everything feel a little quieter. Everyone looked gentle, a little sad. Which, I guess, made sense.”

Jack shook his head, a pained smirk curling.

“I told him I was happy for him. And I am. Sort of. But it also felt like watching someone wear a jersey with the wrong number. You know?”

He hesitated.

“She’s not terrible, Eli. That’s what sucks. She’s... gentle. Respectful. She talks about you. Doesn’t pretend you never happened. She gets it, in this weird way. She lost someone, too. I think that’s the thing — they’re not really in love the way you two were. But they’re broken in the same shape. And I guess sometimes, broken finds broken.”

He went still again.

“But she’s not you. She’ll never be you.”

Jack drew in a shaky breath.

“Stephanie came to the wedding with Mitch. Nine months pregnant. Emotional as hell. She wore a black dress. Like, full black. Said it was ‘formal mourning attire.’ Mitch tried to stop her from wearing a damn veil. She was fighting him in the parking lot. You would’ve laughed your ass off.”

His face softened.

“She still talks about you like you’re gonna walk through the door any second.”

He looked at Eli again.

“I do, too.”

A long silence. The kind that settled deep.

“I had another surgery,” he said eventually. “Shoulder again. Missed a small part of the season and the full playoffs. Rehab sucks. But I’m doing better. Next year I’m back. I’ll score one for you. First game. Even if it’s ugly and I trip into the net, it’s yours.”

Jack leaned forward, his forehead almost touching her hand.

“I don’t know what’s left of you in there. I don’t know if you hear me. If you’ve heard anything.”

His voice broke.

“But I love you, Eli. I love you so fucking much. And I miss you. Every day. Every goddamn day.”

And then — something shifted.

A twitch.

Barely there.

A squeeze.

Jack sat up fast.

“Eli?” he whispered.

Her eyelashes flickered. Once. Twice.

And then her eyes opened.

Wide. Unfocused. Fragile as glass.

Jack’s heart slammed into his ribs.

“Eli,” he breathed.

She blinked. Her mouth parted. Confused. Silent.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eli.”

And for the first time in five years and ninety-seven days, Jack Hughes finally felt like he could breathe again.

[wemalyri]

what are enhypen members like in a relationship? jay ver.

pairing: idols!enhypen × fem!reader

w/c: 2,1k

warnings: relationship development, kisses, physical touch, smut under cut

a/n: if you liked it, likes and reposts are welcomed. //posting this while you're waiting for diet pepsi release (I'll post it in a few days I'm sorry yall). also jay is bias wrecking me tbh...

heeseung jay jake sunghoon sunoo jungwon niki

! remember that it's just my vision! we don't know the truth and you may not agree with me

the first meeting

Well.

I honestly feel like Jay has high standards for his woman. He respects every single one, but it’s difficult for him to find the right one. He knows his own worth and wants to find a soulmate, a partner for a life, not someone who he’s not sure of. Jay takes it really seriously and a bit too much romantically (sees romantic relationships through pink-colored glasses due to his lack of experience). I’m not saying he doesn’t know about the difficulties and responsibilities that relationships come with, but he may underestimate it because he doesn’t know how everything happens in real life. So it’s really important for him to find someone as romantic as him.

When he meets you, it’s almost obvious. Jay’s fascinated. Like really. You’re calm, collected, kind. For me, he’s one of the few enhypen members who can actually fall at the first sight. Of course, it’s not love yet, but Jay may already be thinking what ring would suit your finger the best. 

When he meets you, he’s acting like a gentleman (not like he usually doesn’t though). He pulls out a chair for you, holds the door for you, watches you through the entire evening. A little reminder — you just met. I feel like he can get carried away with his dreams, letting his romantic side take control over him.

When the evening in the company of you is almost over, Jay watches you checking your phone. Other friends, who were sitting at your table, start gathering their things. It’s time to leave. Yet, he can’t take his eyes off you, nervously thinking of what to do. Is asking for the number too cliche? What if you say no?

You catch him staring at you and look at him back. He gulps and nervously asks, “Do you have Instagram?”

You smile to yourself at his words, finding him cute, and give Jay your account. He’s the happiest alive.

friendship

It’s the only member I don’t feel like writing a friendship stage for. He’s already head over heels with you, what friendship are we talking about?..

Yet, I can say that he asks you out the same evening he meets you. Jay makes sure you don’t have anyone and starts his plan. I also can say that even though he liked you at the first sight, he won’t rush with things, wanting to make sure you’re the one. He would invite you to different places, watching how you react to certain things and listening to your stories about yourself. He laughs, worries, smiles with you. When you encourage him to talk about himself, he feels loved and heard. The way you listen to his stories from the past, paying attention to details, sometimes asking about his feelings, makes Jay melt inside. When you tap his back in reassurance, he slightly blushes, feeling flustered. 

After a while, he knows everything about you. Full names of your parents, your hometown, names of your favorite plushies from childhood, who was your best friend in the primary school, why you were scared to sleep in the dark, who broke your heart on the prom of high school, why you broke up with your ex in college and why he was an asshole. Jay makes sure to remember every single word you say and the way he succeeds in it causes your heart to beat faster.

his confession

When Jay ensures you're the one, he wants to confess to you in the most romantic way. He doesn't care how much time or money he has to spend to make his confession to you perfect — Jay's ready to spend it all just to make you happy.

However, choosing a perfect way to confess is harder than he thought. Restaurants are already common for you two, late night walks are too simple. Finally, Jay decides on the restaurant with a terrace, where you can see the night sky.

After dinner, he clears his throat to start his speech.  “Y/n, I need to tell you something that you already might know,” Jay started looking at his trembling fingers on the table.  “It was difficult to choose this place. Even though it took me a long time to find it, I still don’t feel that it’s enough for you. I want to give you more. If you asked me to, I would try to find a way to give you this sky,” he chuckled, looking at the stars, “Just for you.” Your heart melted at his words, but you didn’t interrupt him. “You’re really important to me. And I hope you feel the same way,” he took a deep breath before saying, “I like you. A lot.” The smile on your face and a warm, whispered answer made Jay awkwardly chuckle. He felt relieved. “Can I?..” he asked, reaching for your hands on the table. As you gave him a nod, he held your hands, caressing their soft skin. 

relationship

I’m going to say the most obvious thing again, but he’s a gentleman. Everything that he did while not dating you multiplies by ten, when he’s finally your boyfriend. Flowers, gifts, acts of service, his full attention — all of that now belongs to you. However, at the first time of the relationship Jay can be awkward. You make him feel things he never experienced before. He smiles at the smallest things, his world becomes brighter. Everyone around him notices it. He’s not so gloomy in the mornings, and doesn't get annoyed as easily as he used to. He’s more patient with everyone, which makes others question his behaviour. Jay reminds himself everyday to do his best with you. You're the person he wants to stick with for a long time and he wouldn’t forgive himself if messed up. 

His love for you is luxurious. Not because Jay takes you to expensive places, not because he doesn’t care about prices of the presents he gives you. It’s all about the way he feels with you. Jay’s expression of love is romantic, he takes time with you, enjoying every single moment and making sure you’re enjoying it the same way. His confidence boosts when you listen to him, pay attention to his feelings. It’s really important for him — to be heard. Jay wants to be the first person you’d come to after something happens — bad or good. He wants to be your first place the way you are for him.

After some time, Jay gets used to you by his side. He still treats you the same way, but now your presence in his life feels more comfortable. He doesn’t get overwhelmed easily anymore, yet your smile makes him feel like he’s in the right place. 

Another obvious thing — he’s husband material. He’s a grown man — not the one who yaps about it, but the one who shows it through actions. He’s mature. Yet, he loves when you let him be childish sometimes. He’s responsible. Yet, he feels wanted and loved when you suggest cooking for him, taking care of him without a reason. Just because. Just because you want him to feel safe and loved with you.

When the relationship develops, Jay learns a lot of things about himself and relationships. He finds out that sometimes it can be even more difficult than he thought. But he’s ready to overcome those things for you, for both of you. 

I can also imagine him introducing you to his parents… (I’m sobbing rn) When Jay finds out you have to spend winter holidays alone, he immediately invites you to his house. His parents greet you warmly and at this moment when you’re surrounded by love and affection from him and his family, you feel like you’re finally home.

first kiss

The type to prepare in advance. Yet, he’s nervous as fuck. 

Jay makes sure to be attractive enough for you — brush his teeth, use a lipbalm, stare at you for the whole date (not like he doesn’t do it all of the time). He wants it to be romantic, memorable, perfect. He wants you to feel comfortable, wants to make you feel loved and cared about. 

Jay invited you to the restaurant where he confessed to you months ago. The night sky was covered in stars, the moon illuminating everyone and everything. As you were admiring the view, leaning on the railing, Jay was admiring you. “So pretty…” you mumbled, not looking away from the sky. “It is,” Jay answered and you turned to him with a small smile, finding him looking at you instead of the night city. Your cheeks went slightly red, but you prayed it would go unnoticed in the darkness of the night.  Jay brushed away a strand of your hair. The tension between you was evident, making you feel a bit heated. Jay leaned closer to you, stopping to give you a chance to pull away, his presence intoxicating, yet not forceful. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he breathed out heavily, “Can I?..” you nodded and he slowly leaned closer, softly pressing your lips together. So there were — only two of you and your flushed cheeks hidden in the darkness of the night. 

18+ UNDER CUT

first time

The type to plan it, but not forcefully. It’s like he can feel something’s coming by the way your lips press to his each time longer when you say bye after your date, or by the way you look at each other in silence, tension evident in the air. You’re both careful, communicating without words, yet both of you know what’s coming. That’s why Jay bought condoms and started carrying them around every time you go on a date, that’s why he started telling members that there is a possibility he won’t be back to the dorm tonight. Just… in advance.

When it finally happens, it’s so natural and expected that you don’t even talk about it first. You just make out, slowly like you have all the time in the world, but emotionally, putting your feelings to each other in the kiss.

Wet sounds of the kisses feel your apartment even before you make yourself close the door behind you. Jay presses you to the nearest door — not roughly, carefully. His hand flies to your hair, making sure to hold you close, another one settles on your waist. You hold onto his shoulders, making his stomach flip.  “You should tell members you won’t come back to the dorm today,” you whisper when Jay pulls away to take a breath.  “No need,” he hungrily presses his lips to yours again, “they already know.” You pull away with widened eyes, “Did you plan this?” “No,” Jay chuckles, looking into your eyes, “Just was waiting.”

I feel like Jay is the type to control himself during sex. He mostly focuses on your needs, forgetting about his own even when his hard cock clings to his pants.

His lips traveled down your neck to the collarbone, exploring your soft skin and making you arch your back already. “Gosh, you’re so responsive,” Jay whispers when his mouth is already on your tits. You feel his hardness pressing to your thigh and you make an attempt to tell him about that. “Jay, you-” he interrupts, spreading your legs, clearly understanding that he was already leaking.  “Don’t worry about me. Forget it,” his lips suck on your skin making you gasp for air, “Just let me make you feel good. Focus on yourself.”

When Jay slides inside he’s really careful. He goes slowly even though it’s hard and the way you clench around his dick only makes him more sensitive. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” Jay groans, throwing his head back (did you see that one clip btw—) His dick deliciously hits your G-spot and you whine at the feeling.  “You’re so tight…” Jay groans again, leaning closer to your ear. It makes you even more aroused and your legs wrap around his waist. He needs some good luck. After all, he’s just a down bad man…

+bonus

When you get used to each other, Jay still makes sure to please you in all the ways possible. Sex for him is a chance to express his dedication to you (most of the time), so he’s careful with it. The only thing he wants from you is to be honest with him and open about your needs. You want him to be rougher? He’ll do it. You want to add some spice? He’s up for it. You want to recreate your wet dream? He’s already there. 

He’s that type of man who knows he’s a pleaser for his woman and he’s proud of it. He doesn’t get shy about it as long as he knows you have everything you wish for. 

(you can tell how much jay bias wrecked me by the w/c to the fic (just look at other members' w/cs...))

[yvaineseleneposts]

Not like that... right?

A/N: Sorry about the late post. Yesterday I was watching Eurovision... I don't know why either but that means I had to upload on a Sunday. Have a nice week!

Requested: no

Pairing: Jack Hughes x reader

Words: 3k

Warning(s): none

You’ve known Jack since he was just the lanky kid next door who couldn’t sit still to save his life. Summers were filled with scraped knees and melting popsicles, and winters were battles on frozen ponds where he insisted he was a better skater than you. (He was. You’d never admit it.)

Years later, not much had changed—except everything had. Now, he played for the Devils. You were working your first real job in Jersey. And even though life had grown up, Jack? He still made fart noises with his armpit when he thought no one was watching.

You were watching. All the time, lately.

You two had stayed close through the years. Texts during off-seasons turned into calls. Then weekend visits. Then him dragging you to games, even though you claimed you didn't understand hockey (you understood enough to yell when someone hit him too hard).

Now, it was late. You were sitting on his couch, both of you in hoodies and socks, a Marvel movie playing low in the background. You weren’t watching it.

Jack was halfway through telling a story about Luke forgetting his skates when his eyes flicked to you. “You okay?”

You blink. “Yeah. Just… long day.”

“You’ve had a lot of those lately.”

There’s something about the way he says it—soft, careful—that makes you look at him. His hair's tousled. His sweatshirt is too big on his lean frame, sleeves bunched at the wrists. His gaze lingers a second too long.

You shift. “Work’s been chaos.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

And you do. You always have. But that’s the problem. Because lately when you talk to Jack, your heart does this annoying flutter thing, like it’s trying to tell you something you’re not ready to hear.

So instead, you nod and lean your head against his shoulder. It's familiar. Safe.

Jack doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his arm so you can curl into him a little closer. His hand rests lightly against your arm, fingers tapping a rhythm against your sleeve like he’s thinking.

You let your eyes close. You pretend not to notice how long he sits there like that, silent and still, like he’s afraid to move. Like something’s changed.

You don’t talk about the night on the couch.

Not because it was awkward—Jack never let things get awkward between you—but because something about it felt fragile. Like if either of you mentioned how close you sat or how his hand eventually slipped into yours like it belonged there, it would break the spell.

So you said nothing. He didn’t either.

Instead, you fell back into the usual rhythm. Sort of. You still came over after work, but now you stayed later. You still teased him about his hair, but now he leaned into your touch when you smoothed it back. It was the same friendship, only softer around the edges. Tighter. Warmer.

You were sitting at his kitchen island one Saturday, elbows on the counter while Jack made the world's most chaotic smoothie. He was wearing a backwards cap, an oversized t-shirt that read “LUKE’S BIGGEST FAN,” and shorts that definitely belonged to someone else.

“Why do you even have spinach if you’re just going to pretend it doesn't exist?” you ask, eyeing the untouched bag.

Jack shrugs, dumping in an unhealthy amount of peanut butter. “Optics.”

You laugh. “For who? Me?”

He glances up. There’s something unreadable in his face for half a second. “Maybe.”

You roll your eyes and steal a sip from his smoothie before he can stop you.

“Hey! You don’t even like banana!”

“Exactly. You deserve consequences.”

He grins, stepping closer to try to take it back, but you pull the glass away and hop off the stool. He catches your wrist mid-dodge, just playfully, but then—

You’re close. Like really close.

His fingers stay around your wrist longer than they need to. Your eyes meet. There’s that flicker again. The one that makes your stomach turn traitor.

“I, uh—” You pull back too fast. The smoothie sloshes onto the floor. “Oh no.”

Jack just stares for a second, like he forgot what the hell a smoothie even is. Then he blinks, shakes it off, and grabs a paper towel.

“Classic you,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Chaos in human form.”

You grin, but your heart is doing somersaults. Because you saw it. That moment. You weren’t imagining it, were you?

Later, when you leave for the night, Jack stands at the door a beat longer than usual. His voice is quiet.

“Hey.”

You pause. Turn.

“I’m glad you’re here. Just… always.”

Your chest tightens.

“Me too,” you say. Then you smile, because it’s easier than asking what he really meant.

And what you’re too scared to hope.

Jack invites you to one of his games. Again.

But this time, it’s different. This time, when you arrive at the Prudential Center, your seats aren’t just good—they’re insanely good. As in: “How the hell did you pull this off?” good.

You don’t ask. He grins when you text him a selfie from the glass and tells you to “cheer extra loud or else.” You do. You always do.

You wait for him afterward, standing near the hallway that leads to the locker rooms. You scroll through your phone, trying to look busy, when someone stops beside you.

“Hey,” a voice says. “You here for Jack?”

You look up. A tall guy in a suit, probably some PR rep or staffer, smiles at you in a way that makes your stomach churn—not in the good way. He’s charming. Overly confident.

“Yeah,” you say cautiously. “I’m a friend.”

“You his girlfriend?”

You blink. “No. Just—friends.”

He grins like that’s an invitation. You’re saved—mercifully—by the sound of Jack’s laugh, familiar and bright as he rounds the corner, still in a zip-up warm-up jacket. His expression shifts the second he sees the guy.

“Hey,” he says to you, smile faltering only slightly. “Ready?”

The guy claps Jack on the shoulder, too friendly. “Didn’t know you had such pretty friends hanging around.”

Jack stiffens. You feel it.

“That’s enough,” Jack says, light but sharp.

The guy raises his hands like it’s a joke, mutters something about heading out, and disappears.

You exhale. “Well, that wasn’t gross at all.”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. Just walks beside you, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, jaw tight.

“You okay?”

He glances down. “He was out of line.”

“I’m fine, Jack. He’s just a creep.”

“Still,” Jack mutters. “I didn’t like it.”

You slow your steps. “Why?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Then: “I just didn’t, alright?”

But there’s something in the way he says it. Something hot underneath all that quiet.

You don’t push. You can’t. Not when your heart is already hammering because when he looked at you—really looked at you—right after that guy walked away?

It wasn’t nothing. And maybe he knows it, too. Because when he drops you off at your place later that night, Jack lingers in the doorway.

You look up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jack?”

He swallows. His eyes flick to your mouth. And linger. But he steps back.

“Night,” he says. “Text me when you’re in.”

And just like that, the door closes.

But the feeling? The question he didn’t ask?

That stays.

It starts with rain.

Like, actual biblical levels of rain. Sheets of it crashing against your window, the sky split open by lightning. You’re curled up in bed, phone in hand, texting Jack about how the storm is making your lights flicker when he calls instead.

“Are you good?” His voice is laced with concern, soft and sleepy.

“Yeah. Cozy. Creeped out. Classic horror movie vibes.”

“Want me to come get you?”

You laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’d rather you be here.”

You’re already slipping on your hoodie.

You show up at his apartment soaked through and slightly breathless. He opens the door with a blanket slung around his shoulders like a cape and a mug in one hand.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “Chivalry and hot chocolate?”

He grins. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

You are. Deeply. Disastrously.

Later, you’re both on the couch again, the storm pounding against the windows while a rerun of The Office plays on mute. Jack is beside you, blanket pulled over both your legs. His arm brushes yours. His thigh is warm against yours. Neither of you move.

“You can stay,” he says, voice quiet.

You glance over. “What?”

“Tonight. I mean. If you don’t want to drive back. You can take the bed, obviously.”

“Or we could just—” you pause, immediately regretting it, “—share it.”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you. Really looks.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Okay.”

It’s late when you finally climb into his bed, backs turned like two people pretending they’re not pretending. You can hear his breathing. Slow. Uneven. Neither of you speak. Then, in the dark:

“Remember that summer I broke my wrist?” Jack murmurs.

You smile against the pillow. “You refused to stop playing mini sticks with Luke even though your cast smelled like death.”

“I remember you signed it,” he says. “You wrote: ‘Don’t be dumb, idiot.’”

You laugh softly. “Classic me.”

There’s a long pause.

“I think about stuff like that a lot,” Jack says. “How easy it always was. With you.”

Your heart thuds. “It still is.”

He shifts, like he might turn to face you, but doesn’t. “Sometimes I feel like something’s… different.”

You hold your breath. You want to say, Me too. But instead, you whisper, “What do you mean?”

He exhales, voice just above a whisper. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Goodnight.”

But it does matter. And you both know it.

You lie there for a long time, eyes open in the dark, feeling the space between you shrink with every unspoken word.

And just before sleep claims you, you feel it—Jack’s hand, reaching quietly for yours under the blanket. You let him hold it. No one says a word.

You wake up before him.

It’s early—the light through the blinds is soft, golden, too gentle to be real. For a moment, you forget where you are. Then you remember the warm weight of a hand still clasped in yours. Jack. You’re in his bed. Facing him. You don’t dare move.

He’s asleep, mouth slightly parted, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His hair is a mess, flattened on one side, and the blanket has slipped down his shoulder. He looks impossibly peaceful. And so close.

Your hands are still tangled beneath the covers. You hadn’t let go. Neither had he. Eventually, his eyes flutter open. He blinks once. Twice. Then he sees you. For a beat, neither of you says a word.

“Morning,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning.”

Silence.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you interrupt.

Jack studies you, the way your hair’s a mess, how your cheek is creased from the pillow. You wonder what he sees. You wonder if he feels it too.

“Last night,” he says, “felt... different.”

“It was.”

More silence. Charged this time. The kind that hums between bodies that know exactly how near they are. Your fingers are still brushing.

He sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair. You follow, mirroring him, the blanket slipping down your back.

You’re both sitting now, legs crossed, knees nearly touching.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, not looking at you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He finally turns. “If I’d kissed you last night… would that have been okay?”

Your breath catches. Your heart kicks into gear like it’s running a marathon.

You swallow. “Yeah. It would've.”

Jack’s eyes fall to your mouth. Just briefly. Then back up.

His hand finds yours again—nervous now. Tighter. He leans in, just enough that you can feel the shift in the air.

You tilt toward him. Everything slows.

You feel the warmth of his breath, the brush of his knee against yours. He’s right there. One inch. Maybe less.

Then—

His phone buzzes. Loud. Insistent. A jarring, stupid sound that shatters the moment. You both flinch.

He pulls back, swearing under his breath, reaching for it.

It’s Luke.

You turn away, heart pounding, trying not to look crushed.

Jack answers, mutters a quick “yeah, I’ll call you back,” and hangs up.

When he turns to you again, you’re already slipping out of bed, grabbing your sweatshirt off the chair.

“Sorry,” he says. “That wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you lie, forcing a smile. “We should probably eat something.”

Jack stands too, watching you like you might disappear.

He doesn’t say what you’re both thinking. Neither do you. But the almost hangs in the air like smoke. And it’s not going away.

It happens three days later.

You’ve been dodging each other ever since the almost kiss. Not on purpose—just in the way people do when everything’s changed and no one’s brave enough to say it out loud.

The texts are shorter. Calls end sooner. You still talk, but not like before.

So when Jack texts:

“You free?” “Come over?”

You hesitate but you go.

He opens the door, hoodie on, jaw tight, like he hasn’t slept right in days. You step inside, the silence heavy around you. Neither of you says hi. He doesn’t even ask if you want something to drink, which means this isn’t about small talk.

Jack stands there for a second. Hands in his hoodie pocket. Bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s trying to find the right words and keeps missing.

Then, finally:

“You’ve been weird.”

You blink. “I’ve been weird?”

He stares at you, frustrated—more at himself than at you.

“Yeah. And me. I know. I just—I need to say something and if I don’t do it now, I might never—”

“Jack—”

“No. Just—let me.”

You stop. Let him breathe. His voice is low when he speaks again.

“That night? In bed? I should’ve kissed you.”

You stare at him.

“I wanted to. I still want to. I’ve been wanting to for… I don’t even know how long. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t know if it would ruin everything.”

Your chest is tight. “It wouldn’t have.”

He exhales sharply, like hearing it out loud floors him.

“Then I guess I’ve been an idiot,” he says. “Because I keep looking at you like I don’t know how to stop. And I think you know that. And I think you keep looking back.”

You take a step closer. “I do.”

He looks at you. Really looks.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” he says, barely above a whisper, “if you don’t want this too.”

“I do.”

It’s all he needs to hear.

Jack closes the space between you in two steps. His hand comes up to your cheek, tentative, like he still doesn’t believe this is happening. Like you might pull away. You don’t.

And when he kisses you, it’s not hesitant. It’s everything the silence has been screaming—months, years of unsaid feelings poured into one kiss that feels like coming home and setting fire to it at the same time.

When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, you’re both breathless.

“That was real,” he says.

You nod.

“It always was.”

It starts where the last kiss ended—still standing in the living room, his breath hot against your lips, your pulse hammering in your throat.

Jack’s hand is still cradling your face, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you in with just enough pressure to make your stomach flutter.

Your hands find his hoodie—fists curling in the soft cotton, tugging him closer.

And then he kisses you again. Deeper this time. Slower. Like he’s been dying to do it and now that he’s allowed to, he’s going to take his time.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only to breathe against your mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You rest your forehead against his. “I might.”

Jack chuckles softly, but there’s nothing funny in the way his hands slide down your sides, settling at your hips.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

You blink, dazed. “What?”

“That you wanted this too.”

You press your lips to his again, lingering. “I want this, Jack.”

He exhales like it’s the first full breath he’s taken in months.

The air between you changes. Thickens. He walks you backward slowly, deliberately, until the backs of your legs hit the couch.

You fall into it together—messy, clumsy in the best way. He’s on top of you, weight warm, his mouth finding your neck, then your jaw, then your collarbone.

Your hands slip under the hem of his hoodie. He freezes for just a second—just long enough to whisper against your skin, “You sure?”

You answer by pulling it over his head.

Jack grins, breathless, and then he’s kissing you again, hands everywhere but still somehow gentle. Worshipful. Like he’s afraid to go too far but can't stop himself from trying.

He kisses your shoulder. Your wrist. Your sternum. Everywhere but where your body is aching for him, teasing like it’s a game he already knows he’s won.

“Jack—” you gasp, fingers digging into his back.

He looks up, eyes dark, voice wrecked. “Don’t look at me like that unless you want me to lose it.”

You smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”

That’s the last straw. The rest of the night unfolds in quiet moans and laughter between kisses, long pauses where you just stare at each other like, How did we wait this long?

He touches you like he’s not in a rush. Like he wants to make sure every moment is something you'll remember when you're tangled up in his sheets, heart still racing, breath still catching.

And when it's over—when you're tucked under the same blanket, legs tangled, his arm looped around your waist—he presses a kiss to your temple and whispers:

“This wasn’t just something that had to happen.”

You look up at him.

“It’s something I want again. And again.”

And the way he says it makes you believe that maybe this—you and Jack—was always going to end up here.

Right where you belong.

[lvnleah]

Would you write a bit where Hayden is really nervous about motherhood, like terrified, and maybe has a chat to like Amanda or Katrina Gorry or literally anyone with kids who reassure her about the whole thing and tell her she’ll be fine

not alone | no more secrets.

“She’s so good with her,” you smiled as you watched Kyra run around with Harper as the pair of them chased a ball. “I can't wait for days like this when my little bubba’s older.”

“Are you excited?” Katrina asked you, “You’re 26 weeks, it’ll fly by, before you know it she’ll be here.”

You watched Kyra and Harper laughing together, the sight filling you with a mix of joy and nervous anticipation.

“I think so,” you replied, your voice a little quieter than usual. “But it feels so far away, and also, like, right around the corner. I don’t know… it’s like, I’m so excited, but then I panic. What if I can’t handle it?”

Katrina gave you a soft, understanding smile, her gaze moving from Koby, who was resting contentedly in her arms, to you. “You’ll handle it, you will. It’s normal to doubt yourself, especially in the beginning, but you’re already thinking about it. That’s half the battle.”

You nodded, though the doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. The thought of being a parent, being responsible for a tiny, helpless baby, was overwhelming.

“I just keep thinking about how much everything is going to change.” You sighed, “Like, I’m going to be responsible for a little human.”

Katrina shifted Koby slightly and gave you a knowing look. “Everything is going to change. But not all change is bad. You’ve got people around you who love you. You’re not doing this alone.”

Your eyes drifted back to Kyra as she scooped Harper up dramatically, both of them giggling as she spun the little girl in a circle. You smiled without meaning to, the sight easing something in your chest.

“She’s been… really amazing,” you said softly, almost more to yourself than to Katrina.

Katrina hummed. “She’s been completely smitten with you since day one.”

Your head snapped to look at her. “What?”

“Oh come on,” Katrina laughed. “You really think she offers to do grocery runs with you just because she loves supermarkets? Or that she shows up to every appointment ‘just in case you need someone to drive you home’? That girl would wrap you in bubble wrap if she could.”

You looked away, biting down the flush rising to your cheeks. “She’s just being a good friend.”

Katrina raised an eyebrow. “I know what it’s like dating with kids. It was the exact same situation for me and Clara, but it’s close enough. Just let her in and be there for you.”

“I’m scared I won’t know what to do,” you admitted, your hands resting protectively over the curve of your bump. “Like, what if she cries and I can’t figure out why? What if I mess something up and she gets sick or hurt?”

“You will figure it out,” Katrina said gently. “I promise you will. Every parent has those thoughts. I had them and I still get them some days. You’ll learn her little cues, and what she needs. You’ll learn together.”

“Sometimes I lie awake at night just thinking about if she’ll be okay.” You sighed, “Like, what if she doesn’t sleep, or she hates the car, or I can’t get her to feed right?”

Katrina gave a soft laugh. “You’ll have nights where you cry in the dark with her in your arms, and then mornings where she smiles at you for the first time and everything else fades. It’s hard, but it’s not all hard. And you’re not doing this alone, no matter how much it might feel like it sometimes.”

“I don’t even know how to hold a newborn properly,” you whispered, the vulnerability catching in your throat.

Katrina smiled, “You’ll learn. You’ve got a whole load of support. And me. And Kyra. And everyone else who loves you. You’ll learn. Honestly, they just want to be close to you and feel safe. You already know how to love her. That’s the most important thing.”

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the weight of it all, “I just want to be a good mum.”

“You will be,” Katrina said without hesitation. “Because you already care so much.”

Kyra jogged over a moment later, cheeks flushed and hair wild, carrying a breathless, grinning Harper in her arms.

“She wore me out,” Kyra laughed, carefully lowering Harper onto the picnic blanket beside you. “You alright?” she asked.

You nodded, wiping your eyes before the tears could properly fall. “Yeah. Just… having a moment.”

“No over ice cream right?” Kyra asked wearily, “Because if you start crying and screaming over it like you did the other night then I might—”

You shook your head and cut her off, “No, Ky.” you laughed, “Just thinking about everything. About baby girl. About being her mum.”

“Thank god because I couldn’t cope,” Kyra mumbled, sitting down beside you.

You let out a shaky laugh, your hand instinctively rubbing your belly again as your baby rolled gently beneath your palm.

Maybe Katrina was right. Maybe you would learn. Maybe it was okay to be scared, as long as you kept showing up anyway.