#fic: bolt in the blue

[valeriianz]

FIC UPDATE: Bolt in the Blue | Chapter 16 | Dream x Hob | E | In-Progress | 132k+

Tags: human au, band au, modern setting, touring, slow burn, pining, sexual tension, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort

“I can read your thoughts,” Morpheus speaks over the crowd still cheering and clapping. Hob had been struggling to keep his expression neutral throughout the entire set, and he’d be more embarrassed about his wandering thoughts if Morpheus clearly wasn’t having a good time with it. “Oh, yeah?” Hob feigns innocence, walking Morpheus to his closet of guitars, out of sight of the stage. “What am I thinking about?” Morpheus’ lips do that miniscule twitch, like he’s biting back a smile, as he uncaps a water bottle and takes a long drink. Lowering the bottle, Morpheus takes a breath that rattles, his eyes fluttering open and it makes electricity shoot through Hob’s veins. Morpheus leans down just enough to speak quietly in Hob’s ear, his voice low, tired, husky, certain. “You want to kiss me.”

[Ao3]

[valeriianz]

oh my GOD??!

Pardon this brief Dreamling interlude, but sometimes a fic puts expressions in my head & I simply must make a draw about it.

Bitchy Dream getting called out for bein bitchy over here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42192858/chapters/105931974

by: @valeriianz

[sunsetsandsunshine]

HAIAIAIII !!!

I wanna request a tk fic 😇🫶🏻🫶🏻 so uhmm what about a Ler!Jeanette Ler!Brittany and Lee!Eleanor?? from alvin and the chimpmunks !!

~ 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚟𝚜. 𝙰𝚟𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 ~

🩷💜🩵 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @giggly-cloud 🩷💜🩵

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙰𝙷𝙷𝙷𝙷𝙷 𝙷𝙸𝙷𝙸𝙷𝙸𝙷𝙸 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙳𝙸𝙴!!!!! 𝙰𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝙰𝚃𝙲— 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 😭💔! 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘…“𝚝𝚔?” 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 “𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎” 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎 😇💝💗💕����˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟸𝟹𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛 🐿️🩵

𝙻𝚎𝚛’𝚜: 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚢 🐿️🩷 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 🐿️💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚜; 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜. 𝙳𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕…

𝚆𝙴’𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙶𝙴𝙴𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁: @shut-up-jo @itzsana-kiddingmenow

@aeinzzzketchup @veryblushyswitch @mysteriouslee

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝙸*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚜 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 (𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊 ☝🏾🥸)! 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 :𝟹)

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚘𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚢 ˚*•✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“You…do know Billie is better than Taylor, right?” Eleanor said, grinning smugly at her eldest sister on the couch.

The eldest sister in question huffed out a bitter laugh, meeting the smallest chipmunk’s wicked smile with a sharp glare, “Ihi beheg your pardon, Ellie?” 

Although, the tallest of the three just sighed sadly as her sisters continued to bicker (for, like, the millionth time), sinking into the couch seat slightly as she observed WWIII being displayed right in front of her. 

Before all of this…drama, the three preteen sisters figured it would be best to spend as much time with each other as possible and take advantage of the Summer break.

Since school would hit as soon as Autumn started to roll around, they would have to go on tour, and go to school and a whole bunch of mega important stuff that would keep their hands full 24/7…

So, sitting on the couch and watching TV together peacefully was something they initally planned to do.

And it was peaceful! Veeery peaceful in fact. 

That was until Eleanor randomly started boasting about how the movie they were watching would be 100x better if 'Hit Me Hard and Soft' was the soundtrack.

But the thing was, they were currently watching Back to the Future. Which, if you didn’t know, aired in 1985. So it wouldn’t really make all that much sense if one of Billie Eillish’s album’s was the soundtrack…but Jeanette wasn’t one to question (that much anyway). 

The harmless comment caused the tiiiiinest ounce of outrage from Brittany as she went on and ON listing all the album’s Taylor had whilst mocking about the fact that Billie only has three as of right now. 

Petty sibling arguments at its finest…

“Guys, can we please just watch the movie…?” Jeanette meekly offered as her two sisters glared absolute daggers at each other, “I think it’s getting to the really good part…!”

“You said that exact same sentence fifteen minutes ago, Jennie.” The pink cladded chipmunk deadpanned, “Besides, avenging Taylor is wahaaaay more important than any weird time travel space movie.” 

“It’s called Back to the Future…” The tallest chipmunk muttered as she adjusted her purple glasses.

“Whatever.” The blue eyed teen huffed, “Anyway, Ellie…I think you owe Taylor an apology.” 

“AN APOLOGY?!” Eleanor squawked in awe, “The only person who should be apologizing is Taylor herself! There are waaaaaaay too many people on this Earth that deserve a Nobel Prize in Physics but yet she got one by just existing!” 

The purple eyed teen winced at the comment, sinking into the couch deeper as she saw her older sister get gradually more angry. 

“Wehell, I guess you haven’t read her research as the lead scientist of the Large Hadron Collider at CERN.” The elder glared. 

“No, no I haven’t.” The youngest said snarkingly as she crossed her arms, “I have better things to do with my time. Besides, she gives us blonde’s a bad name and I am not here for it.” 

“Heeeeere we go…” The brunette mumbled knowingly as she went on her phone. 

Brittany’s left eye twitched as she stood up on the sofa, putting a hand on her hip, “Well, at least she can keep a consistent hair color! Your emo music artist changed her hair color to every shade on the rainbow!”

“And?” Eleanor pressed on, “At least Billie looks good in every single one! Taylor being a brunette was just not it and you know it.”

“YOU LITTLE—!” Brittany sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly as her icy blue eyes met sassy emerald green. “I know you did nohot just—”

“I just did.” The younger cut off as she stuck her tongue out teasingly, “What are you gonna do about it?” 

“…Why don’t I show you?” The eldest chipmunk grinned, basically pouncing on her youngest sister as the two wrestled to get the upper hand.

And out of context? It honestly looked like a WWE match.

“GEHET OFF OF ME!” The mint cladded chipmunk screeched.

“Not uhuntil you admit Taylor is better.” The blue eyed teen smiled sweetly. 

And to a random stranger, that quote on quote 'sweet smile' probably looked 100% genuine. But to Jeanette and Eleanor…? 

…That smile had a whoooooole different meaning…

“N-NEVER!” The blonde exclaimed as she pushed her hands on the other’s chest. 

“Fine then. Have it your way.” The strawberry blonde giggled as she tickled the youngest’s sides casually and effortlessly. The green eyed chipmunk let out a loud but short scream as she descended into small giggles, hugging herself as she squirmed left and right. 

“B-BriHIHIT! STAhap IHIT!!!” The youngest squealed. 

“Ihi’m barely even tickling you, Ellie. Don’t tell me it’s that bad~!” Brittany snickered as she changed her scribbling to squeezing her sister’s sides mercilessly. “STAHA— squeak YOHOUR MEEHEAN!!” 

The oldest of the three chipmunks dramatically gasped, moving her fingers to knead at Eleanor’s underarms, “Me? Mean? Ohhhhh no no no no no no no. I’m not being mean…you’re just super ticklish.” 

The younger blushed slightly, clamping her arms down almost immediately whilst kicking her legs on the couch, “H-HUHUSH UP! SOHO AHARE YAHA— hic YOHOU!”

The strawberry blonde chuckled fondly at her sibling’s weak rebuttal, sneaking one of her hands out of the other’s underarms to try and tickle her neck but was stopped as Eleanor grabbed her wrist. 

“I know I am but what are you~?” Brittany scoffed lightly as she stopped her tickling altogether, crossing her arms as she raised a very amused brow. 

The two sister’s made eye contact— one completely amused by the very silly turn of events as the other was waiting for her grave to be buried. “Come on and share…since you wanna be all sassy today: share with the class. What are you, little sister~?”

At that tease, the green eyed chipmunk’s sassiness most definitely just went down the drain and into the ocean for sure.

The youngest let out a small, giggly whine, looking at her immediate older sister at the end of the couch in seek for help. But the only response she got was a mere shrug as she gave Eleanor an apologetic smile. 

Eleanor covered her face in embarrassment, her tail softly swishing against the couch cushion as her giggles became more giddy and desperate, “I-Ihim tihicklish…” She muttered out.  

“Sorry…didn’t hear that.” The pink cladded preteen mused.

“I-I-Ihihi’m tihihicklish!!” The youngest tried again. 

“Whaaaaaat?”

“I-Ihi sahahaid Ihi’m t-tihihicklish!!” 

“Sorry…one more time~? I really can’t hear you—“ 

“IHI’M TAHA— squeak IHI’M TIHIHICKLISH!!!” The blonde basically screamed. 

“Pfft— yeah, I know.” The eldest snickered as she kneaded the other’s hips. 

Eleanor let out a large and loud squeal as she weakly hit the other’s arms and hands, bucking and twisting around to at least make Brittany’s grip on her hips loosen a bit. 

But the blue eyed chipmunk just snickered evilly at the action, casually tickling her where the thigh met the hip, leaving the youngest of the three in absolute stitches. 

Jeanette looked away from her phone and directed her attention to her two sister’s silly situation, smiling happily. Well…at least they were bonding instead of tugging at each other’s throats. 

The purple eyed chipmunk looked towards the hallway, rolling her eyes fondly as  she saw a red blur basically sprinting into the living room. 

“Hey guys!” Alvin said quickly, basically jumping up and down where he stood, “Me, Si and Theo are gonna go skateboarding outside and we were wondering if you guys would wanna— uhhhhhh...wow.” 

As the hazel eyed chipmunk became more aware to what was going on in front of him, a small flustered blush appeared on his face as he tried to not look at the pink and mint duo— who didn’t even seem to notice he walked in (which was very rude by the way…) 

The purple cladded chipmunk raised a brow at her little brother’s facial expression, “Alv, you need something? You said you wanted us to—”

“Nope. Nah. Nada. I don’t need aaaaaanything…” Alvin mumbled out quickly and quietly, averting his gaze from the scene displaying in front of him to not worsen the tingly butterfly feeling in his stomach.

“AHALVIN! DOHON’T JUHU— hic JUHU— squeak JUHUST STAHAND THEHEHERE!! HEHELP MEEHEEHEE!” The blonde cried.

“Ehellie…my dear bahahaby sihister whom Ihi adore dearly. I would absoltuely lohove to hehelp yohou with your current…predicament but, uhm…I hahave places to go ahand plahaces to be. Sooooo aaaaanyways gOODLUCKBYELOVEYOUUUU!!!” And with that, the red cladded chipmunk Usain Bolted out of the living room. 

“AHAHALVIN YAHA— squeak COHOME BAHACK hic HEHERE YOHOU TRAITOR!!!” Eleanor squealed, letting out small hiccups and squeaks that bounced off the living room’s walls.

Brittany shared a knowing glance at Jeanette, causing the tallest of the three to nod quietly, sitting next to her little sister as she thrashed around. “Seems like that spot is really bad…” The glasses wielding chipmunk mused. 

“IHIT IHIHIS! YOHOU squeak KNOHOW MY hic HIHIHIPS ARE A BAHAD SPAHA— squeak!!!”

“That’s not the only thing that’s bad~!” The purple eyed chipmunk said as she traced Eleanor’s sides lightly, “With all your thrashing and squirming, I noticed you have one missing rib…” 

“NAHAHA— hic NOHO IHI DAHA— squeak DOHOHON’T!!!”

The tallest giggled of the three giggled, “Ihi just want to check to make sure—”

“NOHOHOHOH!” 

“Just a quick check—”

“N-NOHOHAHA! AHA STAHAP! STOHOP BEING MEAN!” The youngest screeched as she descended into a fit of loud laughter. 

“You’re mean for not letting me tickle your neck.” Brittany mused as she used one hand to scribble the crook of her baby sister’s neck while her other hand continued to squeeze at her hip, “That’s better~!” The eldest sing-songed. 

The mint cladded chipmunk scrunched up her shoulder in a weak attempt to at least cease some of the tickles, but to her dismay…it just made it way worse. The youngest dropped her hands to her sides, her legs weakly kicking underneath Brittany as her tail wagged, “IHIHIT TIHICKLES!! BEEHEE NIHIHICE!!!” 

“I was gonna be nice~!” The eldest sang, “But since you didn't let me get your neck…I'll just tickle your tummy then.” The blue eyed preteen grinned, wiggling her finger’s near the blonde’s stomach teasingly. 

The younger’s eyes widened in panic at the tease/light threat, grabbing her older sister’s wrists in an attempt to stop her, “N-NAHA hic squeak NOHO! IHIHI HAHATE hic hic IHAT THAHA— squeak THEHEHERE!!!” 

“But…I thought you liked it here?” Jeanette said genuinely as she stopped tickling her sister’s sides. The strawberry blonde rolled her eyes fondly for her immediate younger sister’s…compassion for all mankind. 

It was sickening, honestly…

“She does like getting tickled there, Jean. It’s one of her favorite spots…you know this.” Brittany said as she shook her head. 

“But she just said she didn’t!” The purple cladded chipmunk exclaimed. 

The blondie groaned at her two sister’s conversation…

God, would they just tickle her already?! She was dying in anticipation here!!!

Her two sister’s then looked at her— Brittany glanced at Jeanette as if to say 'I told you so'. 

And that’s when the youngest realized she said alllllllll of that out loud…

Eleanor buried her face into her arms, her face heating up as the dreaded ghost tickles got worse and worse. 

“…So you do like it! You just didn’t want to admit it.” The purple eyed chipmunk clarified as she put one on one together, “And earlier…you were taunting and bickering with Britt so she and I would tickle you, right?”

The younger’s face just went as red as a tomato, causing her older sister’s to fall into a giggle fit with her. “That makes so much more sense now.” The tallest grinned, tickling her little sister’s stomach and sides. The youngest of the three covered her mouth, shaking her head.

Oh this was gonna tickle so bad…

“I think you can laugh louder than that~!” Jeanette hummed, blowing a raspberry in the crook of Eleanor’s neck while dancing her fingers all over her stomach.

The eldest huffed out a laugh in triumph, cracking her knuckles teasingly as she kneaded the younger’s hips whilst blowing a raspberry on the other side of her neck. The blonde screamed with laughter, happy tears building up in her eyes. 

“There we go~! Much better. Don’t you agree, Jennie?” The strawberry blonde snickered. 

“Oho I definitely agree.” The brunette said as she nodded in agreement, “Ahhh tickle tickle tickle~!You’re so tickle tickle ticklish, little sis~!”

“BRIHIHIT!! JEHEHE— hic JEHE— squeak!!! GUHUYS PLAHAHEEEEEASE!!!” Eleanor cried. The two sister’s sighed lovingly, stopping their ticklish torment on the youngest as they sat back on the couch. 

The purple cladded chipmunk wrapped her little sister in a soft but protective hug, planting a kiss on her temple, “Are you alright? Me and Britt didn’t go too far, right…?”

“N-Noho I’m hic goohoohood. Yohou two ahare hic mean, thohough…” The youngest said through her giggle fit, resting the back of her head on Jeanette’s chest, “Wahait…dihid the mohovie ehend already…?” 

“Yes it did!” Brittany chuckled, getting up to grab the remote which was on the couch rest, “Whihich is why we are going to be watching Taylor Swift Reputation Stadium Tour!” The eldest squealed, flipping through the channels to go to Netflix. 

Jeanette and Eleanor shared a knowing glance with one another, rolling their eyes as the concert began to play.

Oh well…Eleanor would just have to get her revenge afterwards. 

'Expect the unexpected' is what her brother Alvin would say, anyway. 

And besides! After they’re done watching…maybe she’ll come to like Taylor’s music.

…Maybe.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Additional Tags: All the Feels!, Sexual Content (not explicit), Some Language (explicit), Madness (which might make some people uncomfortable?), Possible Character Death(s) in the Interest of Plot, The Flash's Identity Isn't the Worst Kept Secret in Central City, (occasional) Panic Attacks. Characters & Tags added with each chapter in order of appearance. Leonard Snart meets Barry Allen at a bar two years before the events of episode one and the explosion of the particle accelerator. This changes things.

Author: @townwithoutheart

[valeriianz]

this was the most unhinged reaction to a fic ive ever received lmao i love you so much 😂💖🥰💀

and if you, too, would like to send me threats of violence, just go read my newest chapter of Bolt in the Blue! lmao

sending @valeriianz extremely sane and normal DMs on this fine Saturday morning as one does

[piastriprincess]

was your soul rediscovered (was your heart rearranged?) ⸻ lando norris x reader .

featuring  lando  norris ,  soulmate  au ,  friends  to  lovers word  count 2.6k author’s  note  thank  you  thank  you  THANK  YOU  for  all  the  love  on  my  oscar  fic ,  this  is  another  one  i’ve  been  workshopping  for  a  bit - lowkey inspired by @binisainz , i love the way she writes lando sm  .  i  promise  yall i  don’t  only  write  friends  to  lovers  !!  anyway  hope  you  all  like  it ,  inbox  is  open  for  requests  or  if  you  wanna  talk  to  me  !!  title  from  maine  by  noah  kahan  .

“Mate, what are you watching?” your best friend says as he steps out of his room. 

You were sprawled on his expensive couch, but you practically bolt up when you hear his voice. “Nothing,” you respond, voice shaky and high-pitched as you try to pause the video, but you’re no match for Lando’s reflexes, honed over years of pushing his body to the limit. He snatches the phone out of your hand — the little gremlin — and starts giggling almost immediately. “Soulmate Theory: Understanding the Red String of Fate?”

“Shut up,” you hiss, cheeks burning as you try to grab your phone from him. Lando’s anticipating that move, though, and he steps just out of your reach, grinning at you with that annoying smile he’s perfected over your years-long friendship. “Lan, give it back.”

You can hear the narrator’s voice, tinny through your phone speakers as the video keeps playing: “The two souls connected by the red thread are destined to be lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstance. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.” You can’t stand the stupid smile on Lando’s face for a second longer, so you jump on Lando’s back. His giggle drowns out the rest of the narration as you finally manage to wrestle the phone out of his hands, stabbing the pause button like you have a personal vendetta against it. 

“Not another word about it,” you warn him, smoothing your dress. He actually manages to keep his mouth shut for about five minutes.

“I can’t believe you buy into that stuff,” Lando scoffs, rolling his shoulders in that cocky way of his as you both exit his apartment building. He pulls open the passenger door, and you slide into his car as he walks around to the driver’s side. “It’s such rubbish.”

You sigh. “I can’t believe you don’t. I mean, look at all the people who found their soulmates. Look at Oscar and Lily! How can you hear all those stories and still believe there’s no such thing?”

“We can’t see it,” Lando shrugs as he hands you the aux cord without even looking. “The red string is supposed to show up if we fall in love with our soulmates, but who could prove it? I could say Tate McRae was my soulmate and no one would be able to tell I was wrong, even her. Unless she fell in love with me and didn’t see it.”

“Please,” you respond tartly, pausing before the punchline. “As if you could ever pull Tate McRae.” You know he’s about to respond, a sassy retort or a punch to the shoulder brewing in his mind, but before he can, you hit play on your ‘Make Lando Shut Up’ Spotify playlist. His eyes widen with delight as On the Floor by J.Lo starts to play, and before you know it you’re both singing along, the conversation effectively forgotten.

⸻

You’re sitting in a booth at Jimmyz, watching Charles Leclerc cross the dance floor with your chin propped in your hand. His tanned skin shines under the pulsing lights, those beautiful blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he speaks rapid-fire French to one of the other drivers. You’re not sure when you started noticing Charles the way you do now. Maybe it’s a stupid crush on one of Lando’s friends, a guy tangentially in your orbit who’s finally single. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s your —

“Just go talk to him, you muppet,” Lando says directly into your left ear, and you jump in surprise, whirling to face him. His hair is damp, a sheen of sweat on his muscular arms. 

“Jesus Christ, Lando. Stop sneaking up on me.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes bright and teasing as he leans closer to you. “Eye sex tends to work better when the other person is looking back at you.”

“Charles will realize he wants my eye sex one of these days,” you counter, sitting back in the booth. “This is eye foreplay.”

Lando grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Maybe you should get some eye experience, to know what you’re doing when the time comes. Wanna have a staring contest?”

You snort, bumping your shoulder against his. “Ew. Freak.” You don’t look back at Charles. He’s not looking at you, anyway. “Think those girls might have a problem with that,” you note, eyes flicking to the gaggle of bleach-blondes Lando left behind at the edge of the booth.

He rolls his eyes. “Please. You know you’re the only one who’s coming home with me.” You allow him a small smile at that, and he grabs your arm, pulling you out of the booth to dance. 

⸻

“Oh my god,” you moan, teeth sinking into the first bite. “I think this pizza is my soulmate.” You’re at a tiny ristorante in Monza, executing your oldest pre-race tradition of taking Lando to Saturday night dinner (he insists that if you pay, it’s all even, despite the fact that he pays for your flights and hotel room and gives you a paddock pass). 

Lando’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, not looking at you. “That’d be a real win for the universe, wouldn’t it?” he replies dryly. 

You give him a pass. He’s still waiting for his food, and he gets fussy when he’s hungry. “I’m serious,” you continue lightly, waving a slice in his general direction. “Try some.” He doesn’t look up. “I should invite Charles here. Maybe we’ll be poly soulmates with this margherita. Do you think if we both ate some at the same time, we’d be able to see the red string going down our throats?”

Lando giggles, finally putting his phone away, and you feel a little swell of happiness in your stomach. “Oh my god, shut up, you muppet.” He reaches for the pizza, about to take the slice from your hand when he goes pale, letting it slip through his fingers. It falls face-down on his plate, untouched. 

“What the hell, Lan?” you grin, but all of a sudden he looks like he’s on another planet, eyes wide and fixed on your face. “You okay?” you ask, concerned, and place your hand on his wrist. The skin burns beneath your fingers.

His eyes meet yours for another second, and then he shakes his head like he’s clearing cobwebs from his brain. “Totally. Just… zoned out for a second, I think,” he says softly.

“Okay,” you say, unconvinced and ready to press him on it, but then the waiter comes back to your table with his pizza, and that strange, charged moment passes.

⸻

You’re sprawled on Lando’s couch under a big blanket, a little wine-drunk as Notting Hill plays on the TV screen in front of you. You’ve seen it a hundred times, since Lando picks it practically every single movie night, but you can’t stop your eyes from getting a little misty when Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts look at each other in the crowded press room, the red string wrapping around the mic stands and chairs from one pinky to the other. 

“See?” Lando tosses a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Hugh Grant was like, totally in love with his wife. She finds her soulmate and leaves him. And the whole time, Julia Roberts was there. His real soulmate, out in the universe, and he marries someone else.”

“That doesn’t lessen the value of the love,” you shrug, throwing a handful from your bowl at his head. He yelps, pieces hitting him in the face. “It just means the person who was made for him was somebody else. You can still be happy with someone who isn’t your soulmate.”

“God. Love’s complicated enough without soulmates messing it up,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch. “I hate soulmates.”

“How do you hate something you don’t believe in?” you ask automatically, expecting his usual anti-soulmate rant. But it doesn’t come, and when you look over at him, he’s avoiding your eyes. 

“Oh my god,” you say, somewhat delightedly. “You do believe in them. You believe in soulmates.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, suddenly very interested in his popcorn bowl.

“I thought you thought they were ‘rubbish,’” you mimic his words from weeks ago, not even bothering to hide your smile anymore. “What happened?”

“They still are rubbish,” he protests. “How terrible is it that we know someone out there is made for us, but we don’t know if we found that person until we’re already in love? Look at Hugh Grant and the ex-wife. They had to know they were dooming their soulmates if they stayed together.”

You frown. “It’s just a movie, Lan. An admittedly great movie, but a movie. Plus, they found the right person in the end.” You motion to the TV, where Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts sit in the park. 

He sits up, eyes flickering over your face restlessly. “What if they hadn’t? If you love somebody who isn’t your soulmate, would you leave them to wait for the real thing? Or would you stay with the person you love anyway?”

“Me?” you ask, and he nods, his fingertips drumming against the arm of the couch. “I dunno. Who knows if I’ll ever find my soulmate, you know? I want to believe I will, but it’s a big world. I guess I’d stay with the person I love.”

He slouches back on the couch as the credits roll. “Yeah. Love’s hard enough without soulmates.”

⸻

“You’ll never believe what just happened,” you laugh. “Are you sitting down?”

“Hold on,” Lando’s voice spills through your phone speakers. He’s in Woking for testing this week, so you’re all alone in Monaco, and you hate to admit that just hearing his voice is making you smile. “One second.” You hear him close a door behind him, then the soft oof of him flopping facedown onto the couch. “Alright. I’m sat. Lay it on me.”

“Okay. So. I was on one of those park benches by the beach reading, right? And all of a sudden this little dog runs up to me.” You pause for dramatic effect. “It’s Charles’s dog. And he comes running up after him, all cute and sweaty, and thanked me for catching Leo. And we got to talking, and he asked me if I wanted to grab dinner with him tonight.” You can hear the smile in your voice, sure he’s about to tease you endlessly for it.  “What?” Lando says, sharply, and you have to hold the phone away from your ear a little.

“Jesus, Lan. Volume.” You’re only teasing, but for a moment there’s nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. 

“Well… that’s cool,” he says flatly. You frown. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but it’s not this.  

“Are you serious?” you say, picking at your cuticle. “I thought you’d be happier for me. You’ve been telling me to talk to him for, like, ever. And this was a pretty cute first encounter. Straight out of a rom-com. Maybe I’ll see the red string tonight. Maybe he’s my —”

“Charles Leclerc is not your soulmate,” Lando scoffs dismissively. 

You roll your eyes before you realize he can’t see you. “How would you even know?”

A pause. Suddenly the amorphous space between you feels charged like a live wire. 

“He just isn’t. No way.” Lando says firmly, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Whatever,” you say, but your enthusiasm is somewhat dimmed. “I guess we’ll see on the date. How’s testing going?”

He launches into some story about how Oscar accidentally nearly broke the rear wing by leaning too heavily on it, but you’re not listening, not really. His words, his certainty rubbed you the wrong way. How would Lando possibly know whether or not Charles was the right one for you?

He couldn’t, of course. No one could. You wish you could just ignore it, let it go, but Lando knows you better than almost anyone, and you trust him instinctually. 

Charles Leclerc is not your soulmate.

You hadn’t thought that he was, not seriously at least, but hearing Lando say it so straight-out made the butterflies in your stomach stop fluttering. An hour before you’re supposed to meet Charles at the restaurant, you text him to cancel. 

⸻

“I think it’s going to rain,” you muse, taking a sip of your iced coffee. You’d dragged Lando on an adventure to some cafe overlooking the ocean; your friend had told you it had a beautiful view and the best kouign amanns in the principality. She wasn’t wrong, and although the walk was longer than you’d expected, you’d been congratulating yourself on a Saturday well spent until the sky started growing darker. 

“It’s not going to rain,” Lando says from beside you, voice muffled as his mouth is half-full of one of the pastries. “It never rains in Monaco.”

It’s like the storm was waiting for dramatic effect; just then, the sky opens up, and before you know it the rain is soaking through your shirt.

“Shit,” you laugh, watching the shock evident on his face. “Never rains, huh?”

As you speak, there’s a crack of thunder behind you. You’re not a child, not scared of storms like you used to be, but Lando still grabs your hand as you take off running, searching for the nearest shelter from the driving rain. He pulls you down a side alley, your sneakers skidding on the wet stone as you stop beneath an awning. 

You lean against the wall, panting as you look up at him. His white tee is soaked through and his hair is plastered to his forehead, but he’s grinning at you, eyes bright, so breathtaking that you feel like the wind just got knocked out of your body. “Always an adventure,” he says cheerfully, and you realize he’s still holding your hand. You’re about to wriggle away, to wipe the water off your face, when something catches your eye. You look down at your hands and nearly stop breathing. There’s a glowing red thread, winding from your pinky to his. 

The red string of fate, you think to yourself. The two souls connected by the red thread are destined to be lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstance. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. 

Lando was your soulmate. 

You were in love with your best friend.

“You okay?” Lando asks, and you realize you’ve been silent for far too long. You want to look at him, but you can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the thread. 

“Our hands look good together,” you say dreamily. You can’t keep the smile off your face. “I never realized until just now.”

“Yeah?” Lando says, his voice pitching up slightly. “What changed?”

You look up, finally, and meet his eyes, see the way his tongue darts out to lick the plush pink of his bottom lip. He’s nervous. Does he know? You’re not going to force it, if he doesn’t.

“A new accessory,” you say vaguely, shrugging your shoulders, but your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming at him. 

“Red, by any chance?” he asks, and you know. 

“And joint custody,” you agree. 

His smile lights up his entire face. “Took you long enough.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” you smack his arm, hard, and he just shrugs. You’re understanding his change of heart on soulmates, now. He figured out that he had one. “When did you find out?”

“When you were shoveling that pizza, in Monza.”

You grin, eyes shining with tears. How could you not have guessed it? “Played it off well, there.”

“I’m super smooth,” he agrees, pulling you closer. Your hands land on his chest, like they’ve always been meant to be there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, yeah?” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with one finger.

You’re already leaning in, and when your lips brush against each other for the first time it feels like coming home. “Took you long enough.”

[sukumna]

┌─ HELP ! THE GIRL I TRIED TO KIDNAP GETS TURNED ON !?

triggers. toji fushiguro x fem!reader ੭ perv!reader. dubcon. cnc(ish). degradation. attempted kidnapping. age gap. size kink. manhandling. choking. belly bulge. creampie. breeding kink. pregnancy kink. rough sex. daddy kink. ddlg undertones. OTT porn. grumpy kidnapper!Toji. MDNI.

word count. 2.1k

authors note. i have discovered a new found love for over the top pornhubtittle-esque fics LISTEN IM warning you know this is over da tops lmfao 😭😭. NOT proofread!!

"I’m sorry, but if a hot daddy decided to kidnap me, whisk me away to his secluded cabin in the woods, and give me the full princess treatment? Call me Stockholm royalty because I’m NEVER leaving!”

The post popped up on your feed, and you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. You tapped the repost button with a satisfying click, adding the hashtag #iwish. Because honestly? You did. Life wasn’t awful, but it was just so... ordinary. The dullness of your 9-to-5 had you fantasizing about throwing it all away—not that you ever would. That’s where the idea of a brooding, dangerous man stepping in came into play. Someone so rough around the edges, so obsessed that he couldn’t imagine a world without you. The kind of guy who’d take you because he wanted to, consequences be damned.

It was a harmless fantasy. Or so you thought—until you walked straight into it.

You were so deep in thought, you didn’t notice the human wall standing in the lobby of your apartment building until your face smacked into a back as solid as concrete.

“Oh my gosh—sorry!” you blurted, rubbing your forehead with one hand while using his back to steady yourself. When you tilted your head up, the apology stuck in your throat.

He was huge. Towering, really. His dark blue eyes gleamed with something unplaceable, and the scar cutting down the left side of his face only made him more intimidating.

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” you stammered, flustered. But he said nothing. Just stared down at you, unreadable and silent, like he could see right through you.

“Okay... uh, I’ll just... go.” Your voice cracked as you sidestepped and practically speed-walked to the elevator. Heat burned your cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and the sheer presence of him. You pressed the call button with the corner of your phone, avoiding any more eye contact like your life depended on it. Still, the thought lingered: He looks like the type to kidnap an innocent girl.

You were awful.

But then he stepped into your peripheral vision, right next to you.

You stared hard at your phone, pretending to scroll, though the brightness was turned so far down you couldn’t even see the screen. Not that it mattered. You had no intention of looking at him again. You flicked open Tumblr out of habit, hoping to distract yourself, but of course, the first post that popped up wasn’t helpful.

It was a picture of a girl bent over with the caption: "Daddy doesn’t care if it hurts, baby. Just take it."

Oh, God.

Your thighs clenched as the elevator doors opened. You stepped in quickly, refusing to glance back, but he followed. When he didn’t press a floor, your curiosity—and nerves—spiked. Was he visiting someone? You didn’t think you’d ever seen him before, let alone on your floor.

You stole a glance, and your breath hitched. His sharp eyes were already locked on you, glinting like he was enjoying your discomfort. The scar added to his rugged appeal, and the faint streaks of gray in his black hair made him look effortlessly mature. His build, though—not overly chiseled but solid, with a layer of softness that screamed ‘former athlete turned something far more dangerous.’

A small, nervous laugh escaped you, breaking the tense silence just as the elevator dinged. Floor six. You bolted out, legs moving faster than your brain could process, keys in hand before you even reached your door. But just as you found the right one, a large hand covered yours, stopping you cold.

The world seemed to narrow as you felt the press of a solid chest at your back, pinning you to the door. A rough, calloused hand clamped over your mouth, and the voice you’d only imagined growled low in your ear.

“Scream and I'll fucking bash your head into this door.” His husky voice harshly whispers in your ear. Your body stiffens, a shiver running down your spine as your lips part in surprise. You nod quickly, “Good. Is there anyone in here and don’t lie to me.” You shake your head no as fear and anxiety and something else paralyzes your body and mind. “Unlock it.” The hand covering your mouth cautiously moves to hold you by the neck and he lets go of your hand enough for your shaking fingers to unlock your door. You bite down on your lip as heat pools low in your belly—exactly the reaction you’ve imagined in this scenario so many times. His hand tightens slightly when your fingers slip over the keyhole, and a soft sound escapes your lips before you can stop it.

This is real, you remind yourself.

And isn’t that exactly what you wanted?

“Get inside.” He shoves you in your small apartments and you gasp and suck in a huge breath. You gasp, sucking in a shaky breath as you step forward. Your phone and purse hit the counter with a clatter, but you don’t dare make another move.

The sound of the door clicking shut is deafening. You turn slowly, eyes lifting to meet his. He’s blocking the door, his broad frame casting a shadow that stretches across the room. You should be playing the damsel, screaming for help or scrambling for the emergency stairs just outside—but instead, your feet stay rooted, your heart pounding as you stare up at him, waiting.

He smirks, his boot slamming the door shut with a bang that makes you jump. “Why aren’t you scared?”

You swallow hard, refusing to answer. The space between you disappears in seconds, his footsteps deliberate as he backs you toward the couch. Each step makes your skin prickle with anticipation, your breath hitching when you feel the edge of the couch press against the backs of your thighs.

“You should be scared girl,” he growls, his hand snapping up to grip your neck. The weight of it—rough and commanding—makes your knees tremble. You bite your lip again, suppressing the moan building in your throat, but his sharp eyes catch every flicker of your reaction. He looks down at you with furrowed brows. His leg slides between yours, forcing them apart, and you let out a shaky breath as his thigh presses up against you. The pressure is maddening, igniting a wave of pleasure that you can’t hide. The sound you’ve been holding escapes—a soft, breathy moan.

He chuckles darkly, leaning closer. “You dirty little slut,” he murmurs, his words a low rumble that sends heat racing across your cheeks.

“Please...” you manage to whisper, though even you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Please what?” His grin is predatory, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your throat.

“Begging for more from the man who just threatened you?”

You shake your head, a flustered “No i-i want you to stop.” slipping from your lips, but he arches a brow, smirking as he looks down.

“Then why are you grinding on my thigh?” He chuckles, the hand against your throat shaking you around. Your eyes widen when you realize that he was right, he wasn’t the one rubbing against your pussy, you were the on rubbing against his jean clad thigh.

“Dirty girl...are you looking at my at my cock? Do you want me to take you against this couch?” He mock gasps and you half moan half cry.

“No—I don't want it.” You say in an almost childlike voice. But you do, you want this man who was about to do God knows what to shove his cock in you.

“If you say you want it and I'll be gentle baby.”

You shake you had and bring your hands up to the one wrapped around your neck You try and pull it off you, but he just watches you struggle with a grin. After a few minutes of watching, you cry and scratch at his hand he finally has enough and flips you over the couch. “You asked for it little girl.”

Before you know it, he's ripping your panties off and shoving two fingers into you. You scream.

“Fuck, you're fuckin’ soaked. You hear that? Your pussy’s talk talkin’ to it’s new owner.”

And you do hear it, hell you feel your wetness gliding down your thighs. Your fingers curl into your g-spot and you moan. He’s fucking you better than any man has ever fucked you. You clench around him harder when he finds his rhythm—fast and hard, his hand slamming around the outside of your hole and your clit getting frication from how hard your body drags across the couch.

“’m gonna come!” You moan trying to meet his pace and throw yourself back onto his fingers.

“Fuck—comin’ on a man's fingers and you don’t even know his name.”

And you don’t mean to say it but your so horny and the tittle just slips out from imaging this scenario over and over again.

“’m coming Daddy!” You squeal and your pussy contracts around his fingers. He doesn't even give you a chance to come all the way down before he’s throwing you face down on baby blue rug in your living room, freeing his cock.

“Fuckin’ hell. Aren’t you just the perfect little fuck doll.” He pulls you up by the hips and nuzzles his mushroom tip in between your pussy lips. He rubs from hole to clit a few times and you moan into the carpet, arching your back even more. He feels so big, like it’ll gonna hurt. “Say it again.”

“Daddy!” He shoves the tip in with some effort and before you can think he’s pushing himself balls keep into you. It hurts so good when he pulls halfway out and pushes back in. It’s so girthy, the width of your wrist. It’s too much for you.

“C-can’t take it daddy, ‘s too much!” You cry out, and you know your face looks a mess, mascara running down your cheeks.

“You think I care little girl? I say what, you can push me out I'll stop.”

Sniffling you do as he says, and push but every time your restart he pushes back into you, leaving you a blubbering mess. You can't push him more than two inches and it’s starting to feel good again. You give up when he grinds up against your ass, his hands fondling almost sweetly with your ass as he was watches you.

“Done playin’ hard to get now?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, fuck me daddy.”

Hands on your hips he does exactly that, pounding you so hard into the carpet you know you’ll have friction burns on your face and knees by morning. His heavy balls slap hard against your clit, and you can’t help but imagine all that come stored in them spilling deep into your womb. The thought makes you cream around his cock and Toji almost comes at the sight of the white ring sitting near the base of his cock. Grunting he tightens his grip on your hips flips you over. His hand goes to your clit and he curse at the bulge his cock is making in your stomach. One hand rubbing your clit the other presses down on the bulge.

“Daddy!” You scream, legs wrapping around his haps and heels digging into his ass.

“’m gonna breed this pussy so good little girl. Make you mine.”

“Yes please! Put a baby in me daddy!” You arch your back and roll your eyes into the back of your head as your come hard on his cock. Toji follows suit, spilling his come deep int you. You fall back on the follow utterly fuck out and exhausted. You don’t even try to open your eyes when you feel him start to pull out of you. Instead, you smile and raise your arms “’m ready to go back home with you now.”

[r6eduss]

Would you do a jealous daryl fic? Im pretty open to whatever, I just like it when he gets all riled up.

Play Date.

•Summary: You confess to Daryl, but he doesn’t take it serious, leaving you heartbroken. But when he sees you with Spencer the next day, it sparks jealousy in him he didn’t know he had. (Fem reader)

•Warnings: 18+, No established relationship, angst, fluff

•Word Count: 3.5k

•Setting: Alexandria

•A/N: thank you for the request anon! I’m sorry if you aren’t happy with the results. It took me awhile to write this 🫶🏼 I think if Daryl were actually in a relationship with you, he’d be more trusting so he wouldn’t be as jealous.

The walls of Alexandria were a stark contrast to the world outside. It wasn’t just the literal separation between life and death, safety and chaos; it was the reminder of what life had been before everything fell apart. It wasn’t long ago that the world had been buzzing with electricity, the hum of cities, and the simple luxuries they all took for granted. But now? Now, the very idea of safety felt alien.

You glanced over at the furniture as you walked around the home you had been given, the group clustered around you like a protective herd. You all had been in Alexandria for only a day or two, and even though everyone was supposed to be settling in, there was an air of distrust hanging over the group. Rick, in particular, was on edge, his eyes scanning every corner of the street for unseen threats.

Daryl, meanwhile, looked as out of place as he felt. His clothes were worn and dirty, his hair hanging down over his face, but it wasn’t just his appearance that set him apart from the clean-cut Alexandrians. It was the way he held himself, like a caged animal, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

You’d known Daryl long enough to recognize the signs. He didn’t belong in a place like this, and he knew it. Hell, none of them did. But Daryl? He was different. He’d always been more comfortable in the wild even before the fall, so here, with their pristine houses and manicured lawns, he felt suffocated.

When Deanna invited everyone to the party, Daryl’s reaction was immediate and expected.

“I ain’t goin’,” he grunted, not even looking at you as he adjusted the strap on his crossbow. He was standing on the porch of the house you were all sharing, still on edge about sleeping inside, feeling a need to stay outside and keep watch to protect them from any and all possible dangers.

“Daryl…” you started, your voice soft, knowing that reasoning with him required patience. “It’s just for a little while. We’ve been out there so long, and Deanna’s trying to make us feel at home. I know it’s not what you want, but could you come? For me?”

Daryl stopped, his fingers stilling on the strap, and he turned to look at you, his blue eyes piercing through the shadows of his messy hair. You saw the hesitation in him, the way he always struggled with doing things for others when they weren’t strictly necessary for survival. But you weren’t asking for much—just his presence.

“Fine,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “‘But I ain’t puttin’ on no tie.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

The party was already in full swing by the time you had arrived. People were mingling, drinks in hand, laughter filling the air in a way that felt foreign to the group that had spent so long fighting for their lives. It was strange, surreal even, to see people acting as though the world outside wasn’t in ruins. You noticed how uncomfortable Daryl looked almost immediately, his broad shoulders hunched in his black button up shirt while his eyes scanned the crowd as if he were looking for an escape route.

Daryl didn’t say much, hovering behind you like a shadow, his discomfort evident in every tense movement. People from Alexandria approached you, eager to learn about the new arrivals. They asked questions—about where your group had came from, how long they’d been on the road, and how you were all adjusting. You answered politely, but there was always a part of you that held back, a part that still didn’t fully trust this place.

Daryl, meanwhile, was grateful that no one spoke to him, even if the reason they didn’t was because they feared him. He stayed quiet, following you from conversation to conversation, his eyes flicking between you and the people who approached. He felt out of place, like he didn’t belong among these clean, well-fed people who seemed oblivious to the horrors faced outside those walls. But he stayed because you, the person he loved, asked him to.

Eventually, Deanna approached, her smile warm as she introduced you and Daryl to her husband, Reg.

“It’s so nice to meet you both.” Reg began, glancing between the two of them with a kind smile. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you quickly corrected him, laughing nervously. “Oh, no, we’re not… we’re not together.”

Daryl stayed silent, his heart was racing but he said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say, anyway. The awkwardness of the moment hung in the air for a second too long before Deanna’s smile widened knowingly.

“Well, you make a good team,” she said before moving on, leaving them both standing there in the midst of the party.

You felt a strange mix of emotions swirl inside you—embarrassment, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You glanced at Daryl, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Before you could say anything, Spencer appeared, smiling that easy, charming smile of his as he greeted you. Daryl tensed immediately, his eyes narrowing as Spencer completely ignored his presence and focused all his attention on you, like everyone at this party had done.

“Glad to see you’re fitting in,” Spencer said, his tone just a little too smooth. He leaned in slightly, his body language relaxed but… suggestive. You noticed it, but tried to push the thought aside, assuming you were reading too much into it.

You both made small talk for a few minutes, Spencer doing most of the talking while you nodded politely, trying not to let your discomfort show. Daryl, on the other hand, could see right through Spencer’s act. He recognized the way Spencer’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way his smile was just a little too practiced.

His jaw tightened as he watched Spencer flirt with you right in front of him. It wasn’t that he thought you were his—but the way Spencer looked at you, like you were a conquest, made him feel frustrated, made him feel emotions he’s never felt for anyone before, feelings he didn’t think he was capable of feeling.

“I’m gon’ get a drink.” Daryl muttered under his breath, though he had no intention of actually getting one. Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for the door, needing to get away before he did something stupid. You barely noticed as he walked away, too caught up in Spencer’s conversation. It wasn’t until Spencer asked, “So, do you have a boyfriend?” that your mind shifted to Daryl.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you thought about your feelings for Daryl. You weren’t together, but you couldn’t deny that your heart had long since gravitated toward him.

“No,” you finally answered, voice quiet.

Spencer’s smile widened, and before you could say anything else, he asked, “Then how about we go out sometime?” The question caught you off guard, but you recovered quickly, offering him a polite smile as you shook your head. “I’m not really interested, I’m sorry.” You couldn’t really handle the awkwardness of the conversation, so you began to walk away, but Spencer wasn’t one to take no for an answer. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist a little too tightly, his smile fading into something harder. “Come on,” he said, his tone insistent. “It’s just a date.”

You tensed immediately, your eyes narrowing as you tried to pull your wrist free. “Let go,” you said firmly, your voice was low enough that no one else at the party noticed.

For a moment, Spencer hesitated, his grip tightening. But then he seemed to remember where they were—surrounded by both Alexandrians and people

of Rick’s group—and he released you, his expression shifting back into a smooth, apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” he said quickly, but the red mark on your wrist told a different story.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, heading toward the table with the drinks to look for Daryl. But when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. What you did see, though, was Spencer already chatting up Sasha, his flirtatious smile back in full force.

You sighed, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over you. The night wasn’t turning out the way you had hoped. You wanted to enjoy it, to maybe have a quiet moment with Daryl, but instead, it felt like everything was falling apart.

Needing some air, you stepped outside, the cool night breeze brushing against your skin. It didn’t take long to spot Daryl, leaning against a nearby fence, a cigarette between his lips as he stared out into the darkness.

You approached him slowly, your heart still racing from the interaction with Spencer. As you got closer, Daryl’s eyes shifted to you, and the moment he saw the red mark on your wrist, his entire demeanor changed.

“Wha’ happened?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but you knew there was no point in lying to him. “Spencer grabbed me when I tried to leave,” you really didn’t want to already start problems. “It’s fine. He let go.”

Daryl’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching as he tossed the cigarette to the ground, already turning to head back toward the house. “I’m gon’ kill ‘im.”

“Daryl, wait,” quickly, you stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “It’s fine. I just… I want to spend the night with you. Not dealing with that. Please.”

He stopped, his fists still clenched, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. But something about the way you said it—the way you asked him to stay with you—made him pause. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm the storm inside him.

“If he gets near ya again, I swear…”

You smiled softly, touched by his protectiveness. “I know. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you—and the rest of the group—watching out for me. I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled with the emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to protect you, wanted to make sure no one ever laid a hand on you, but there was something else gnawing at him—something he didn’t quite know how to deal with.

Jealousy.

He didn’t think he had a right to feel it, but it was there, a bitter taste in his mouth. Spencer was younger, cleaner, probably the kind of guy you deserved. And him? He was older, rough around the edges, scarred in more ways than one.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you spoke again, voice steady. “Daryl… you don’t have to worry about Spencer or anyone else. My heart… it already belongs to you.”

For a moment, Daryl froze, his mind going blank as your words sank in. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t be serious. There was no way someone like you—someone strong, kind, beautiful—could feel that way about him.

A defensive scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head while giving your shoulder a playful nudge.

Your smile faltered, and you felt the sting of his actions deep in your chest. You’d laid your heart bare, and he’d brushed it off like it was nothing. But you didn’t let the hurt show. Instead, you forced a small laugh, playing it off like it was a joke.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

Without another word, you turned and began walking back in the direction toward your shared home with the others, your chest tight with the weight of his rejection. You felt like you had taken a leap, only to be pushed away, and now all you wanted to do was disappear.

Daryl watched you go as he lit another cigarette, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t untangle. His jealously, his feelings for you, things he’d never discuss out loud.

After arriving, you realized you were alone in the house. Everyone was still at the party and the silence was too deafening, leaving you unable to shake the pit in your stomach. The night stretched on endlessly as you rested on the worn-out couch, staring at the ceiling, the events of what happened playing on a loop in your mind.

Rejection. The taste of it still burned in your chest. You had put your heart on the line, and Daryl didn’t seem to notice. It had felt like a punch to the gut, leaving you winded and second-guessing everything. He hadn’t even said anything real—just brushed it off like you were joking, and now, the quiet gnawed at you, making you feel smaller by the minute. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and that thought consumed you throughout the night.

The next day passed in a blur. You barely caught a glimpse of Daryl, knowing he was out with Aaron, who had given him a new job as a recruiting partner after he had invited him over for dinner. Every step he took away from you felt like another brick in the wall that was forming between you two. You wrestled with your feelings, considering maybe it was time to let loose.

And maybe it was time to open your options with someone else.

That afternoon, while you sat on the porch, a warm breeze brushing against your skin, Spencer appeared, looking sheepish. “Hey, about yesterday...” His voice was shaky, unsure. He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting to the ground before he finally met your eyes. “I’m really sorry for grabbing your wrist like that. I had too much to drink and I was way out of line.”

You remembered the incident from the party—the way he had grabbed you, too rough, too desperate. But now, seeing the guilt in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pity.

“It’s fine,” you forced a small smile. “You were buzzed. I totally get it.”

Relief washed over his face, and he grinned, more confident now. “So... what about that date?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart still aching for someone else, but the thought of moving on, of trying to distract yourself from the pain, seemed tempting. Maybe you could use Spencer to forget Daryl. “Sure,” you replied, surprising yourself with the ease in your voice.

The date was... fine. That was the best word to describe it. Spencer talked a lot about himself—his job before the fall, his family, the world he missed. He asked you questions too, seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, but as much as you tried, you couldn’t really care. His words barely made a dent in your thoughts, because they were always somewhere else—on Daryl.

But Spencer, oblivious to your disinterest, seemed to think it was a success. He walked you home afterward, his arm brushing yours every now and then. You found yourself laughing at some of the things he said, more out of politeness than anything else, but for a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.

As you approached the front porch, you failed to notice Daryl.

He stood there, not far from the house, just returning from his run with Aaron. He froze, his eyes locked on you and Spencer, his face hardening into something unreadable. Daryl just watched, hands clenched at his sides with his jaw tight.

By the time you reached the porch, you felt tired in more ways than one. As Spencer gave you a final, confident smirk, promising to see you again soon, he finally left. You were lost in thought. The silence wrapped around you, and for a while, you almost forgot about the strange encounter—until you spotted Daryl walking right towards you.

“Hey, Dary—”

Before you could finish, Daryl’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to pull you toward him. His face was a storm of anger, jealousy, and something else you couldn’t quite place. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, like he was barely keeping it together. He dragged you into the house, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the frame. “The hell ya doin’ with tha’ asshole?” he spat, his voice low and accent thick, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? We were just talking.”

Daryl scoffed, pacing like a caged animal. “Talkin’? That son’of a bitch touched ya, now yer walkin’ ‘round with him like it didn’t mean nothin’.”

You crossed your arms, defensiveness rising in your chest. “He apologized. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

His eyes flashed, and you could see the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “Not a big deal? He hurt ya!” His voice was louder now, frustration pouring out of him.

And then it hit you—why he was acting this way. Was he... jealous? The realization made your blood boil. After he brushed you off, now he wanted to care? Now he wanted to feel something?

You snapped, your voice laced with anger. “So what? It wasn’t nearly as bad as you hurt me! So stop acting like we’re together when you clearly don’t care!”

Your words hung in the air, cutting through him like a knife. You watched as Daryl’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. “What?” His voice was quieter now, unsure.

Your heart clenched, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down on you. “Last night,” you began, your voice was softer now, but still trembling with emotion. “When I told you my heart belonged to you... you acted like it was a joke.”

His breath caught in his throat. He remembered. The way he had shrugged it off, laughed it away, thinking you were just messing around. He had never thought, not in a million years, that you could feel that way about him. A girl like you? Loving a guy like him? It was laughable.

But now, seeing the pain in your eyes, it wasn’t funny at all.

“I... I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. “Thought ya were just messin’ ‘round.” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away as you took in the sight of him—this man who had built up walls so high, he couldn’t even see when someone was trying to climb them. “Why would I joke about something like that, Daryl?” you asked, almost pleading. Maybe he was used to Carol’s humor, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved you.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Didn’t think redneck trash would be worth yer time.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The way he saw himself, the way he spoke of himself—it hurt. But in this moment, the vulnerability in his voice, the way he couldn’t even look at you... it was endearing.

“Daryl...” you called softly, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You reached out, gently placing your index finger and your thumb under his chin, tilting his face up until his eyes met yours. The closeness between you made the air crackle with anticipation.

His eyes flickered between your gaze and your lips, nervous, unsure. He bit the inside of his lip, fidgeting with his fingers, and you knew—he was waiting for your next move.

With a steady breath, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, it deepened. When you finally pulled away, you stayed close, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Of course you’re worth my time.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide, his breath shallow. For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to convince himself that this was real. Then, in a quiet manner, he cleared his throat. “I love ya.” The words left his mouth in a very subtle whisper as you felt his breath against your lips.

Your heart stopped, the world seeming to freeze for just a second. He... loved you?

“I love you too, Daryl,” you whispered back, smiling before leaning in to kiss him again.

After a long, tender moment, you pulled back, and Daryl glanced away, embarrassed. “Ya still gon’ hang out with tha’ guy?” he asked, his voice gruff but his tone soft.

You laughed, completely forgetting about Spencer. “No,” you cupped Daryl’s cheek gently, making him revert his gaze back to you. “I have you. That’s all I need.”

@vampiresluv

[mercvry-glow]

In the cool blue

parings. andrew "pope" cody x reader

summary. while staying at the cody house, a small group of rivals takes you, j and nicky hostage while the other are out. pope helps you in the after math.

warnings. based off of season two late episode six/early seven (so spoilers but also eh), reader is at the house with j and nicky when javi shows up, assault, drowning, gun mentions, reader and j get beat tf up, pope is actually pretty chill in this he's a softie today, established relationship, angst and hurt/comfort, general animal kingdom stuff, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. this is now my longest fic 😭 idk what inspired me to get this out but I really hope y'all enjoy bc this is a doozy and my current magnum opus. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 5700+

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

You were stretched out on a lounge chair by Smurf’s pool, your freshly painted toes resting on the edge, a silk robe sliding off your sun-warmed skin. The water glowed that dreamy blue under the patio lights, casting ripples of light across your legs.

J and Nicky were inside, supposedly studying—though judging by how quiet it’d been for the past hour, you figured they were either making out or asleep, but with Nicky banging Craig you didn’t know. Either way, it meant you had the place to yourself. For once, things felt… safe. Even with Pope gone, running one of those jobs he never gave you the full story on.

You liked it better that way.

Until you heard the gravel shift.

At first, you thought it was just the wind. But then came the unmistakable slam of feet on the driveway. Then another. Then voices—low, quick, male.

You sat up.

The voices weren’t familiar. They didn’t carry like Deran or Craig’s. They were sharper. Harder.

You turned, just in time to see movement at the side gate. Four shadows. One of them kicked it open without hesitation.

Your blood ran cold.

You were moving before you even realized it, sandals forgotten by the chair, robe trailing behind you as you bolted across the backyard and slipped inside through the back slider, locking it instinctively—too late.

Before you could even breathe, a glass behind you shattered.

You screamed—just a little, more of a gasp—and darted down the hall, barefoot on tile, adrenaline flooding your veins.

You ducked into the nearest hallway closet, pulling the door shut as softly as you could, heart pounding so loud you swore they could hear it from the kitchen.

Then came the noise.

Boots stomping on tile. Furniture dragging. A bottle shattering.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in a whimper.

“Where is it?” one of the men barked.

“Check the freezer! Smurf used to keep cash in the damn freezer,” another snapped.

Cabinet doors slammed open. A chair was kicked over. Something heavy crashed to the floor and shattered. They were tearing the place apart like they knew something was here—and they wanted it now.

You didn’t dare peek. You couldn’t even cry. You just stayed curled up in the dark, wedged between winter coats and some old duffel bags, praying your knees wouldn’t give out before it was over.

You weren’t cut out for this. You weren’t a Cody. You weren’t like Pope.

You were just the girl he liked to keep close.

And right now, you were alone.

You didn’t even know how long you’d been in the closet.

Seconds? Minutes? It all blurred. Your muscles were locked, knees tucked to your chest, the smell of mothballs and old leather coats clinging to you as loud crashes and shouted curses continued to fill the house.

They were everywhere—kitchen drawers being yanked out, bedroom doors thrown open. You heard the crack of something heavy hitting the wall, then the dull thud of furniture being flipped.

Your fingers gripped the hem of your robe, knuckles white.

“Nothing’s here!” one of them yelled.

Another guy laughed, a low, mean sound. “Bullshit. This is Smurf’s place. There’s always something here.”

They were getting closer.

The voices grew louder. Clearer. Footsteps pounding down the hallway—your hallway. You squeezed your eyes shut.

And then they stopped.

Right outside the closet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You heard someone mumble something under their breath, and then—

Click.

The door handle shifted.

You barely had time to suck in a gasp before the door was yanked open, the bright hallway light flooding the tiny space. You squinted up at a man with a shaved head, a leather jacket, and a small scar across his cheek. He froze when he saw you—half crouched in the back of the closet like a deer caught in headlights, robe pulled tight across your chest, cheeks streaked with silent tears.

His eyes widened, and for a split second, you thought maybe he’d just back off.

But then he smirked.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and oily. “What do we have here?”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

He grabbed your arm, hard, yanking you up to your feet like you weighed nothing. You stumbled, your bare feet skidding on the hardwood.

“Thought this place was empty,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes raking over you like he was trying to figure out if you were worth more than whatever cash they’d been looking for.

You tried to wrestle yourself back into the closet wall, like maybe you could disappear. But he faster, calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vise once again.

“Let go of me!” you gasped, but it barely came out.

He yanked you to your feet with zero care, dragging you forward, your bare toes sliding on the hallway floor. You fought him, pulling back with what little strength you had, but his grip only tightened.

“Don’t make this harder, princess,” he snapped, dragging you through the house as drawers hung open, broken glass crunched underfoot, and the stink of beer and sweat filled the air.

“I didn’t see anything—I swear—” you tried, breath shaking.

“Bet you know where the money is, though,” he shot back.

“I don’t!”

He ignored you, hauling you through the busted slider door and out into the cool night air. Your robe flared in the wind, and you blinked against the patio lights still glowing around the pool. Just minutes ago, you’d been lying there, peaceful, content—now you were barefoot, bleeding from your heels, and being dragged across the stone like some kind of prize.

The others were outside now too. Three men, scattered across the yard, tossing things from the poolside storage chest, upending flowerpots, one of them even kicking at the filter cover.

“She was hiding inside,” your captor called out, shoving you forward a few steps. You stumbled, caught yourself just before you hit the edge of the pool.

“She know where it is?” one asked, barely glancing up.

“She will.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, heart thundering so loud you swore it echoed off the water.

One of them walked up to you slowly—taller, older, colder-looking. His boots stopped just short of your bare toes.

“You got about ten seconds to tell us where Smurf keeps her stash,” he said. Not yelling. Just matter-of-fact. Like he wasn’t asking—he was waiting.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Wrong answer.

The one who’d dragged you out stepped behind you, grabbing your arms tight and jerking you back against him. The edge of the pool was at your toes now. You felt the chill of the water in front of you, the way your balance shifted just slightly.

“Think again,” the tall one said.

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them back. 

Someone would come. 

You twisted in his grip, heels slipping on the wet tile, arms aching from how tightly he held you.

“Please—please, I don’t know anything!” you gasped, trying to plant your feet, but he kept pushing you closer to the pool’s edge.

The taller guy just stared, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“I swear to God, I don’t—Smurf doesn’t tell me anything! I just—I’m just Pope’s girlfriend!”

“Which means you know something,” the one holding you growled, yanking your arms up hard enough to make your shoulders burn.

“I don’t!” you cried out, voice cracking as panic bubbled up into your throat. “I don’t even live here—I didn’t even want to be here, I just—they told me to hang out! I was by the pool!”

“Then you shouldn’t have been hiding like a little rat,” the man sneered into your ear.

Your breath caught. “I was scared,” you whispered. “You broke the door down—I thought you were here to kill someone.”

Another guy—shaggy hair, wide eyes like he was hopped up on something—laughed darkly from the side of the yard. “Might still happen, sweetheart, if you don’t start talking.”

“I don’t know!” You squirmed in the first guy’s grip, finally throwing your elbow back into his ribs. It wasn’t much, but it caught him by surprise and he grunted, stumbling just a step.

You broke free for half a second—just long enough to bolt toward the other side of the pool.

But the tall one was fast. He grabbed a fistful of your robe, yanked you back so hard your legs gave out.

You hit the ground on your knees, palms scraped raw from the stone. Before you could move, a boot shoved your shoulder, forcing you to stay down.

“Try that again, and I’ll throw you in face first,” he warned.

Tears spilled hot and fast down your cheeks now. You shook your head, voice high and broken. “Please—I’m not lying—I swear to God, please just let me go! I didn’t do anything!”

No one answered. The only sound was the water lapping gently behind you, and the soft clink of something metal being tossed into the grass.

They weren’t hearing you.

They didn’t care.

And Pope… Pope wasn’t here to fix it.

You curled in on yourself, trembling. You’d never been this scared in your life. And if they decided to stop being patient?

You didn’t know what would happen next.

Your wrists were burning.

The zip ties they had grabbed bit into your skin as one of them yanked your arms behind your back, cinching them so tight you cried out. “Shut up,” he muttered, like your fear was an inconvenience.

The others had gone quiet. Focused.

The tall one paced near the pool, agitated, eyes scanning the yard like he was waiting for something to appear. The guy who tied you up shoved you down roughly back onto a lounger, rope around your ankles now too. You kicked, once, but it only earned you another curse and a warning glare.

You were helpless.

And then… movement.

From the corner of your eye, past the broken slider door and toward the far patio table, you saw J—slow, careful, almost crawling—edging toward the backpack he’d left out there earlier. It was half-hidden under a chair, just slouched enough that no one had noticed it yet.

But you knew what was inside.

His gun.

Your eyes went wide, lips parting in a silent gasp as you watched him stretch a hand toward the strap, his body low, fingers just brushing the zipper. He was so close—

A shout cracked through the night like a whip.

J didn’t freeze.

One of the guys—shaggy hair, twitchy—was already rushed toward him, tackling him towards the pool. J tried to dive away, but the man cracked him across his ribs, sending him sprawling across the stone with a sharp grunt and into a chair.

“Don’t!” you screamed from the lounger, struggling against the ropes. “Stop it! He’s just a kid!”

“Yeah?” the tall one snapped, stalking toward J now with ice in his voice. “Then he should’ve stayed hidden.”

The man in the brown jacket went to grab some leftover rope as two of his men continued to beat up J. They ignored your cries, focused on getting the teen who knew much more than you did. 

J coughed, curled on his side, one arm over his stomach. He looked at you—eyes wide, scared, like he was sorry. Sorry he got caught. Sorry he couldn’t stop this.

And all you could do was watch, wrists bound, robe soaked with your own tears, knees bleeding from the flagstone.

Inside the house, somewhere deep, a door creaked. Maybe Nicky was still hiding—maybe she’d heard it all.

God, you hoped she stayed hidden.

J was already coughing, barely able to get to his knees when they grabbed him again.

You tried to scream—tried to tell them to stop—but your voice was hoarse, useless against the chaos unfolding feet away from you.

The tall one grabbed J by the collar and hauled him. His shoes scraped across the tile, hands clawing at the man’s arm, but he was no match. Not like this. Not when he was winded and scared and outnumbered.

“J,” the tall one growled, voice calm in that cold, terrifying way, “who else is in the house man?”

“No one… just us,” J grunted, trying to gain his breath back.

Wrong answer.

“Go check the bedroom.” the man, who you assumed to be their leader, said as two of them left to go search the house again. 

The silence was heavy, water sloshing up onto the patio as J’s body stayed on the stone. You curled instinctively, like maybe if you didn’t watch it would stop, but the zip ties bit into your skin again and you could barely even sit up, and it kept you in the moment.

The tall man knelt at the pool’s edge, grabbed J by the back of the shirt, and held his head. “Smurf isn’t here?”

“Sh-She went to meet you…” 

You started sobbing quietly.

“She didn’t show.” 

They didn’t listen to whatever the teen had to say,  and two of them took J into the pool holding him up by his shoulders. 

“Hey, Jay. Where does Smurf keep her money?” the bald man asked, brandeshing his revolver like it was no big deal. J could barely get his answer out before they shoved him under. 

Your heart seized in your chest. “He’s not lying! He’s just a kid!”

They yanked him back up—J came out sputtering, gasping for air like a fish yanked from the deep, hair plastered to his face, chest heaving.

“One more time,” he asked, voice deadly quiet, “Where is Smurf’s money?”

J shook his head, water dripping down his face. “I swear to God—I don’t know—”

Back under.

The splash this time was smaller, like J didn’t even have the strength to fight it.

You were screaming now. Screaming and crying and twisting so hard your skin was raw from the rope, your knees scraped to hell from the concrete. “Please! He doesn’t know anything! Please don’t kill him!”

Finally—finally—they let him up again.

He floated toward the edge, wheezing, barely able to lift his head.

The tall one stood slowly, glanced over at you.

“You believe him?” he asked, wiping water from his hands.

You nodded frantically, eyes wide. “Yes! Yes, I believe him! I swear he’s telling the truth—there’s no money here! I-If it was, it'd be behind the dryer o-or shoe boxes!”

He didn’t move. Just stared at you for a long, uncomfortable second.

Then he said, “Maybe we’re asking the wrong person then.”

Your stomach dropped.

The twitchy guy who’d hit J first turned, stepping closer to you with a smirk, eyes running over your soaked robe, your trembling frame. They had dragged the poor boy out of the pool, beating him a bit more before turning their attention to you. 

“Nah,” he said. “She looks like a real good liar.”

And then the tall one said it—flat, casual, awful.

“Next time, we start with her.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t even think. 

Just cry.

You didn’t even realize how loud you were until the tall one’s eyes snapped back to you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Shut her up.”

Your breath caught in your throat, panic curling deep in your gut.

“No—no, please, I didn’t—” You tried to scramble backward on the lounger, bound wrists twisting behind you, but you didn’t make it far. One of them—the twitchy one—grabbed your ankle and yanked you off the chair like it weighed nothing. You hit the stone patio with a painful thud, cheek scraping the ground, knees buckling beneath you.

“Get off me!” you cried, kicking, writhing in the ropes. “Don’t—don’t touch me!”

But he already had both hands on you, dragging you toward the pool.

“Guess she wants to take a swim,” he said darkly, like it was funny.

“No! Don’t—please, please don’t—!”

You thrashed harder, your robe getting twisted, legs scraping over the edge of the concrete just as your toes touched water. Cold. Too cold.

J was still wheezing, choking on his own blood, on the opposite side, watching in horror as they pulled you closer to the deep end.

“Leave her alone!” he tried to shout, voice wrecked from coughing.

The tall man didn’t even look back. “She wants to run her mouth, she can hold her breath.”

And then you were in the air—ropes tight, arms behind you, no way to break the fall—

Splash.

The cold hit you like a brick.

You sank instantly, robe ballooning around you, legs kicking uselessly as your wrists stayed locked behind you. You tried to swim, tried to surface, but the water kept dragging you down, twisting your body as you fought against it.

Your lungs burned.

You broke the surface once—gasped—only to be shoved back under again.

You didn’t know which of them did it. A hand on your head, a push between your shoulders. You couldn’t see. Everything was bubbles and blur and cold, cold, so cold.

Your scream was just a gurgle under the water.

You were going to drown.

And they didn’t care.

You came up again, coughing violently, gasping through sobs, and someone finally pulled you toward the steps, dumping you like trash onto the slick tile. You coughed, spit, choked on your own breath as you curled onto your side, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Now shut the hell up,” the tall one said, calm again, like none of it meant anything.

Behind him, J was still slumped on the ground, bleeding, soaked, and shaking.

And you—barefoot, half naked, shivering, and drenched—lay there helpless, your body shaking so hard it barely felt real.

You didn’t say another word.

The cold, sharp air felt like it might never leave your lungs. You shivered uncontrollably on the edge of the pool, the water dripping from your hair, your robe clinging to you like a wet sheet. The ropes around your wrists bit deeper into your skin, but you were too numb to even notice it anymore.

Then the door creaked.

You didn’t see her at first, just heard the shuffling footsteps—slow, dragging, someone stumbling.

“No one else in the house huh?,” the tall one said with a grin, eyes flicking over toward the door.

And then, like something out of a nightmare, Nicky was shoved into view.

Her face was swollen, bruised, blood streaking down her cheek from where someone had hit her. She was tied up too, wrists bound, her own robe in tatters from the way they'd manhandled her. She could barely stand, her knees buckling as they shoved her forward, her eyes red from crying, hair in disarray.

“No—no…” you whispered, horrified. Your voice cracked like glass under pressure.

She didn’t look at you, didn’t even try to. She was too dazed, too hurt, and when they shoved her to the ground next to you, she just crumpled, hands still tied, trying to curl into herself as much as possible.

“Nicky, please,” you begged, trying to push yourself toward her, but the ropes kept you in place, your body too weak to get far.

The tall one crouched down in front of J, who they had just pulled out of the pool one last time, was still trying to sit up from where they’d dumped him on the ground after you’d been thrown in the pool. He was shaking now—no longer the kid who thought he could hide a gun, no longer defiant. He was a ragdoll, eyes wide with fear yet dropping with exhaustion as he looked back and forth between you, Nicky, and the crew.

“Think I came all this way for twenty-five grand!?” the tall one said, eyes cold and calculating, smacking J in the face with the money you told them where to find. He drew another gun from his jeans, “Last goddamn time! Where’s the real money?!” The gun was aimed right on J’s face, locked and loaded and this guy wasn’t afraid to do it.

J’s lips parted. He didn’t say anything at first, and the silence was worse than anything else. “I told you I don’t know, I swear!” the blonde boy promised, desperate and pleading. They stepped on his bad leg, the one he hurt in the church hiest, as you and Nicky screamed in pain for him. 

Nicky flinched when one of the men reached down and grabbed her by the arm, lifting her up roughly. She winced but didn’t cry out, just staring at the ground, her whole body shaking.

“Get her out of here?” the tall one said again, voice flat.

J didn’t respond. His hands were shaking, too, but he wasn’t answering.

The crew didn’t wait.

One of them grabbed Nicky, taking her god knows where after she left your sight as the two men kept arguing over the fucking money. J’s scream was guttural, and he collapsed back to the stone, curling in on himself, chest heaving with pain.

You gasped, heart hammering in your chest as you fought against the ropes, but you couldn’t do anything.

J tried to speak, but it was barely a whisper. “Smurf’s got a storage unit on Freemont!”

The tall one stood back, his eyes cold, hands in his pockets. “What’s the number!?”

J said he didn’t know but would take them as long as they didn’t take Nicky, begging them to stop before pushing him into the pool one last time. His body arched, another groan escaping his throat as he struggled to swim, just as you had. He wasn’t able to defend himself, wasn’t able to do anything but take it.

You could feel the heat rising inside you, your stomach twisting in knots. You wanted to scream, to help him, to do something—but you were just tied up, helpless, watching him be broken apart in front of you.

They left after that, leaving you on the floor barely conscious. Taking Nicky and leaving J to drown in the pool his grandmother owned. You tried to crawl toward him, wrists bleeding from the ropes, but your vision went white, then black, then nothing at all.

--

The Jeep rolled to a slow stop in the driveway, headlights washing over the front of the Cody house. The gate was open. The porch light flickered. One of the patio chairs was overturned on its side like it had been thrown or tripped over. Something about the stillness was wrong. Off.

Pope stared at the front door—it hung open just a crack, too quiet, too deliberate. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as his instincts kicked in. He killed the engine and reached down beneath his seat, pulling out his gun. “Stay in the car.” 

Smurf started to follow, her hand already on the door handle, but Pope turned to look at her sharply, eyes already storm-dark. He told her to stay put.

She didn’t listen.

“I said stay in the car!” 

By the time he was creeping up the walkway, gun low and steady, Smurf was already on his heels. Her voice was low but sharp, cutting through the heavy silence—there was no way in hell she was waiting in the damn car while something had clearly gone sideways.

The moment they crossed the threshold of the house, the sight hit them first—The living room was a mess. Chairs overturned. A shattered lamp across the floor. One of the barstools broken in half, splinters fanned across the tile. Picture frames cracked and crooked on the walls.

Pope’s eyes swept the scene, methodical, calculating. Smurf stepped over a smashed photo of Baz and Julia, heart hammering in her chest as her gaze caught the trail—scuffs on the floor, a faint smear of blood. 

Pope moved room to room, clearing each space like the soldier he was, finger resting steady beside the trigger. The whole place was silent. Empty. But it wasn’t abandoned. Something had happened here. Something bad. And it wasn’t over yet.

Smurf made it to the back of the house first. She reached the sliding glass door and stopped cold.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Outside, under the cold glow of the moon, two figures lay in the stillness. One, half in the pool—barely moving. The other crumpled on the concrete like a broken doll. She bolted, flinging the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. “Pope get out here!”

And he was right behind her, and when his eyes landed on the scene, he didn’t hesitate. J was slumped at the edge of the deep end, one arm hanging limply into the water, lips blue, chest barely rising as he coughed out water. His skin was soaked and pale. They ran for him, dropped to thier knees, and hauled the rest him out in swift motion, dragging him onto semi-dry ground

You were collapsed on the pavement not far from him, your wrists still bound, rope burns angry and raw. Your clothes were damp and ripped in some places. Your head lolled to one side, blood matting the edge of your hairline. You were breathing—but it was shallow, strained, like your body was hanging on by a thread.

Andrew dropped beside you, hands still as he checked your pulse, pressed his fingers against your clammy cheek. There was blood, but it wasn’t fresh. Whoever had hurt you. Tied you up. Left you here like garbage. His  jaw clenched as he tore the ropes free with his knife.  

His own heart was racing now—not out of fear, but rage.

Behind him, Smurf was crouched next to J, trying to keep him awake, her expression darkening with every slurred word that came out of the kid’s mouth. Something about a storage unit. Fremont. Smurf’s name. Nicky. And a man—Javi. He’d given them what they wanted. It still hadn’t been enough.

Pope was tense, but not from the sudden adrenaline rush. From fury. From failure. From the sight of you lying there like that, and J barely clinging on.

Smurf pulled off her coat and draped it over J’s  shoulders, and You flinched slightly as Pope tried to move you, a broken whimper escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

The air felt thicker now—like the violence hadn’t left yet. Like it was still sitting heavy over the house, waiting to be answered.

--

You woke to the low hum of an air conditioner and the faint scent of bleach and detergent—clean, sterile, unfamiliar. The world came back in pieces. The pressure in your skull. The aching pull of your muscles. The bruises blooming beneath your skin.

Your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light of a shaded living room. You were lying on a couch, a heavy blanket draped over your legs, the cushions dipping slightly beneath your weight. Your old clothes were gone. Replaced with a big, worn t-shirt that didn’t belong to you and a pair of sleep shorts. The fabric was soft. Smelled faintly like soap and someone else’s cologne.

Specifically the someone next to you.

You turned your head—barely—and saw Pope, sitting silent in the chair beside the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He hadn’t noticed you were awake yet. His eyes were fixed on the floor, brow furrowed, that same stormcloud expression carved into his face like stone.

There was a first-aid kit on the table nearby. A bloody rag beside it. A bottle of water, half-drunk. And your wrists—carefully wrapped in gauze. Clean. Tended to.

He’d done it. You could tell.

His head finally lifted. Eyes meeting yours.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared. Not coldly—but intensely, like he was trying to figure out if you were real or maybe just what to say.

Your throat was dry. Scratchy. Every part of your body screamed in protest, but you managed a slow breath. You swallowed, trying to sit up slightly, and he was there in an instant—hand on the couch cushion near your arm, grounding you, steadying you without touching.

He didn’t ask how you felt. He didn’t need to.

The silence between you said enough.

You blinked at him, struggling to find the words. You remembered the pool. The ropes. The last thing you saw—J’s body going under, your own lungs burning, your screams swallowed by the water.

But you were here now.

 Alive.

Pope leaned back slightly, never taking his hazel eyes off of you. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and gravely.

"You’re safe now."

It wasn’t a comfort. It was a promise.

And in the look he gave you, you knew—someone was going to pay for what happened, every second of it.

The silence lingered, stretching long between you. 

Heavy.

You kept your eyes on him, chest tight and aching in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries. There was this pressure building inside you—like your ribs were made of glass and every breath was another tap against the surface. The weight of it all pressed down until it cracked.

Your lip trembled before you could stop it. A choked breath caught in your throat. And then, without thinking—without asking—you pushed the blanket off and slid off the couch, barefoot and trembling, legs unsteady beneath you.

Pope moved instantly, as if to stop you from falling, but froze when he realized where you were going.

You stepped between his knees and just… folded.

Dropped down into his lap like gravity pulled you there, like it was the only place you could go. Your arms slid around his neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his shoulder and finally let it go.

The sob came out broken and raw, like it had been hiding deep in your chest, waiting for the moment you were safe enough to let it out.

And Pope didn’t speak. 

He didn’t stiffen or push you off. He just wrapped his arms around you, slow and solid, one hand bracing your back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were made of something fragile. He held you like that was his only job now. Like that was all he could do.

Your body shook with each breath, each silent sob that spilled into the fabric of his shirt. You weren’t even sure what part of it broke you—J being thrown into the water, the ropes cutting into your skin, the helplessness, the fact that no one came until it was nearly too late—or maybe just the simple weight of surviving it.

Pope stayed quiet. Solid. A wall at your back.

He didn’t shush you. He didn’t tell you to stop crying. He just held on tighter.

Eventually, your cries softened. Still trembling, but quieter now, worn out from the storm. Your arms loosened, head still pressed to his shoulder, breaths coming in uneven little gasps.

“I thought I was gonna die,” you whispered against him, the words barely audible.

Pope didn’t answer right away. But you felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. The way he breathed in through his nose like he was trying to keep it together, too.

“You didn’t,” he said quietly. “You’re here.” In that soft, impossible voice of his—rough and raw and honest—you could feel the edge of something else underneath.

You stayed like that for a long time, curled against him in the quiet. The sounds outside the windows were distant—cars passing, wind through the trees, the faint hum of someone’s music down the block—but none of it touched you here. Not in this little pocket of stillness, where Pope’s arms stayed around you like he was trying to hold your broken pieces together with his own hands.

Your breathing slowed eventually. You felt the exhaustion in every limb, every bruise, but you didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to let go. The silence between you shifted—less sharp now, more full. Safe.

Your voice cracked when you finally spoke again. "I thought no one was coming."

Pope’s hand moved slowly along your back, not soothing exactly—more like he needed the contact too. He let the silence linger a moment longer before he answered.

"I should’ve gotten there sooner."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were darker than usual, rimmed with something unspoken. Not guilt exactly—something deeper. Regret. Rage. Fear. All the emotions he felt so intensely. 

“You got there,” you whispered. “You found me.”

That mattered. It mattered more than he probably realized.

He looked at you for a long second. You could see it then—the way his jaw clenched, the slight shake in his hand as it rested against your hip. He hadn’t stopped replaying it. 

Finding you like that. 

Finding J.

“I didn’t know what I was gonna see,” he said finally. His voice was low, hoarse. “When I walked in.”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. “They were gonna kill him. And they were gonna take me and Nicky too. I—I thought—”

Your breath hitched and his hand was already on the back of your neck again, grounding you, pulling you gently forward until your forehead rested against his. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t say anything romantic or comforting. Just held you there, close.

“The guy…” you breathed, “he kept asking about the money. Smurf’s stuff. I don’t even know what the hell they wanted from me.”

“You didn’t tell them anything,” Pope said, more fact than question.

You shook your head. “Didn’t know anything important enough. I just… took the beating.”

His grip on you tightened for a second, like the thought of that was too much. Like he needed something to break. But then he took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“You did good.”

You looked at him—eyes puffy, cheeks streaked with tears—and almost laughed, but it came out cracked and sad. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You survived,” he said. “That’s everything.”

And you knew, in that moment, that if Pope had gotten there even five minutes later, he would’ve dragged bodies out of that pool himself. Not to save them. But to make sure they stayed under.

You let your forehead rest against his again, breathing in his warmth, the steady thrum of his presence. Not perfect. Not even close. But steady in the way only Andrew “Pope” Cody could be—quiet, fierce, unmovable when it mattered.

You closed your eyes.

“I don’t feel safe anywhere right now.”

His arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time. And his voice was soft enough it barely reached your ears.

“You are when you’re with me.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[mari-positas]

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[valeriianz]

FIC UPDATE: Bolt in the Blue | Chapter 17 | Dream x Hob | E | In-Progress | 140k+

Tags: human au, band au, modern setting, touring, slow burn, pining, sexual tension, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort

“There is a lot to think about right now, and it’s obvious you two haven’t recognized how sneaking around and making out backstage is not only distracting to both of your roles on this tour, but to those around you. Not to mention those not under our employment. Do you have a plan if this gets leaked?” She brings her hands together, ticking off each question on a finger.  “What are your intentions going forward? Will you make this relationship public? Will Morpheus come out?” She takes a breath. “These are things you need to consider.” Hob’s head begins to spin, his lips parting, unsure what to say but wanting to speak up, when Morpheus’ low, quiet voice cuts in. “I've been in a relationship before.” 

[Ao3]

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: You Should’ve Told Me

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, Romance

POV: First Person (Reader)

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Freshman year of college, you and Paige Bueckers became fast friends after bonding over having the same major and the same schedule. You told each other everything—well except the fact that you’re a stripper in your junior year.

Fic is based of @yailtsv ‘s mood board: Paige w/stripper!gf

I low-key want yail to do a pt.2 to fic….

🏷️: @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

Freshman year, I was awkward as hell—tote bag too full, hair always in a rushed bun, and clumsy enough to spill coffee on someone within the first week of classes. That someone just happened to be Paige Bueckers.

“I am so sorry!” I remember fumbling with napkins, heart sinking as the brown stain spread across her hoodie.

She just laughed, blue eyes full of amusement. “It’s fine. I didn’t even like this hoodie anyway.” She glanced down at my binder full of psych notes. “You’re in Psych 103 too?”

And just like that, we became inseparable.

We sat next to each other in every class, studied together, FaceTimed when one of us missed something. Paige introduced me to her teammates, took me to games, and somewhere along the way, we started telling each other everything. Or… almost everything.

I never told her what happened the summer before junior year.

When my parents found out I liked girls, they didn’t scream. They just cut me off. No more tuition. No more health insurance. No more help. Just silence.

So I found a way.

It started small—cocktail waitress. Then VIP hostess. Eventually, I was offered a stage audition at Club Venus. I said yes.

I told myself I’d quit once I had enough. But then rent came due. Then books. Then food. And now, here I was in senior year, dancing on weekends, midterms on Mondays. Still getting straight A’s, still smiling at Paige in class… still lying.

Tonight, I was working a shift but planned to leave early. I had cupcakes waiting at home and a card for Paige’s birthday. I couldn’t wait to surprise her.

But life? Life had other plans.

⸻

“VIP bachelorette party at table three!” my manager called, shoving a tray into my hands.

I groaned. My set was next. “Tell them I’ll be there after stage.”

He rolled his eyes. “Make it quick, baby. They brought the birthday girl.”

As the lights dimmed and the bass rolled in, I stepped out onto the stage, heels clicking, hair bouncing. I plastered on my best smile, the one that made rent and textbooks possible.

But then I saw her.

Front and center, blue eyes wide with disbelief, was Paige.

Her teammates flanked her—Azzi, Nika, Ice—all grinning, waving dollars.

Paige? She looked like the earth had dropped out from beneath her.

She was frozen, staring up at me as if I’d just confessed to murder.

My stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

I tried to look anywhere but her as I danced, heart racing, cheeks burning. I wanted to bolt off stage and hide, but I couldn’t. Not mid-set.

When I stepped down and made a beeline for the dressing room, Paige was already moving.

“Hey! Wait—wait up!”

“I’m working,” I hissed, not looking at her.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, grabbing my forearm gently.

That’s when the other girls noticed.

“You have to pay to touch!” Amber snapped, stepping between us.

“Back off,” another added. “No touching without permission.”

I opened my mouth to say, “It’s okay,” but then Paige reached into her pocket, pulled out every bill she had—$550—and slipped it into my bra strap with steady hands.

Her eyes locked on mine. “Let’s go to a room, shall we?”

I hated how professional I had to stay as I nodded. Hated how much shame churned in my gut. Hated how I couldn’t even celebrate her birthday right.

Once we got into the private room, the door closed behind us, and she didn’t even sit down.

She paced.

“You’re a stripper? Seriously?”

“Paige—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” My voice cracked. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that. Like I’m something dirty.”

She stopped pacing.

“I don’t—God, that’s not it, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“You could’ve told me,” she whispered, softer now. “We tell each other everything.”

“I couldn’t,” I said. And then it just poured out. “I didn’t have a choice, okay? My parents cut me off after I came out. I had no money, no job, no backup plan. I tried everything else. This pays enough. It pays… enough to stay in school.”

Her face crumpled.

“You’re doing this… just to pay tuition?”

I nodded, blinking fast. “It’s not what I want to do. I just—don’t have any other options.”

I didn’t know it then, but that moment shattered something in her.

“I’ll pay it,” she said suddenly.

My eyes widened. “What?”

“My NIL deals cover everything. I barely touch my stipend. Let me help—please.”

“No, Paige—”

“I mean it. You’re killing yourself for a degree. Let me take care of it.”

“I can’t take that from you.”

She looked hurt. “Why not? You’re my best friend.”

That stung more than it should’ve.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

⸻

I thought that was the end of it.

But then she started showing up.

Every night I worked, Paige was there, always tucked into a corner booth, hood up, arms crossed like a bouncer. She tipped big. Watched bigger. Anyone who even looked like they were gonna get handsy? She was up like a shot, staring them down until they backed off.

My coworkers started calling her “your bodyguard.”

Eventually, her presence became comforting.

When I danced, I knew she was watching—but not in a creepy way. She watched like she was protecting me from the whole world.

A few weeks later, after another quiet shift, she waited outside the dressing room.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” she said, handing me a grilled cheese and my favorite boba. “But I miss our study dates.”

I smiled. “You could’ve said that instead of bribing me with dairy and tapioca.”

We talked for hours that night. About school. About the future. About everything but this place.

Eventually, one night, she just blurted it out.

“I like you.”

I blinked. “You what?”

She stepped closer. “I like you. Like, more than a friend. More than anything.”

“…Even though I work here?”

“Especially because you do. You do what you need to survive. That’s… kind of badass.”

I melted.

⸻

Dating Paige was like finally breathing again.

She never judged me. Never looked down on me. But she never stopped worrying either.

She’d sit at the bar, watching every lap dance like a hawk. If a guy leaned in too close, she shot daggers. If someone tried to touch me, security would swoop in—probably tipped off by a glare from Paige.

And yes, she paid for lap dances. Smirking every time.

“You gonna scold me again, babe?” she’d tease, slipping twenties into my garter. “Or you gonna dance for your biggest fan?”

I hated taking her money. She knew it. But she insisted.

“Think of it as a girlfriend tax.”

Still, I drew a line—no more private room sessions once we were official. I couldn’t handle the guilt. She supported the decision immediately.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she said one night, brushing hair from my face. “Just keep doing what’s best for you.”

The trouble was… I wasn’t making enough anymore. Less tips. Fewer dances. I picked up more shifts, lost more sleep, skipped more meals.

Until one night, I collapsed in her arms.

We were in my apartment. I’d just gotten off work. She brought me tea. I sat down, and before I could even sip it, I started crying.

“I’m so tired, Paige,” I whispered. “I’m tired of selling pieces of myself to strangers while trying to study for exams. I’m tired of dancing when I can’t even feel my legs. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m falling apart.”

She pulled me in, arms tight around my waist. “Baby, you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

“I can’t take your money. I just… I can’t.”

She kissed my temple. “Okay.”

That was all she said.

⸻

A few weeks later, I got a letter from Financial Aid.

Your balance has been paid in full.

I called. They said an anonymous donor paid off my remaining tuition.

I knew.

She didn’t say anything right away. She waited until I was calm. Until I was home. Until we were curled up on the couch and I was smiling again.

“I love you,” she said. “And I’ll always do what’s best for you. Even if you won’t let me say it out loud.”

I cried again, but this time, I didn’t feel ashamed.

Paige was more than my girlfriend. She was my anchor. My protector. My everything.

And if loving her meant letting her be my sugar mama on my off days?

So be it.

“Okay,” I whispered, curling into her side. “Buy me that Lego set.”

She grinned. “You got it, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[invincibledc]

꩜ .ᐟ𝐌𝐲 𝐀𝐱𝐞

𐬺𖦹꧁🃏꧂𖦹𐬺

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Summary: due to his momma Harley, his only guardian he trust, she gives some new weapons. And he knows the only person he wants to show them off to. His only special person.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Genre: crack fic(?)/fluff

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Info: this is an OC I thought of cause I got bored. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. Reader is the twin sister of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome. Yea the title is inspired by ICP. I love ICP.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Word count: 1,307

Rushing downstairs, you barely glanced at Damian, who raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going, sister?” he asked, pausing his ascent to watch you closely.

“To hang out,” you replied flatly, ready to bolt. You knew he would push back, and you were right as he grabbed the back of your shirt.

“Don’t tell me. It’s that sociopath heir of the Joker,” Damian said, disappointment clear in his voice. “You know father wouldn’t be happy to know you’re seeing him.” He released your shirt, allowing you to fix it while he maintained a firm stance.

“Damian, I doubt Dad cares who I’m dating. Plus, Jack isn’t like Joker, and you know that” you shot back, narrowing your eyes and crossing your arms, mirroring his stance. You both stood there, locked in a standoff, neither willing to back down.

“I’m only looking out for my little sister. That’s my priority,” Damian said with unwavering intensity. You scoffed, throwing your arms up in exasperation.

“Dames, it’s not that serious. He lives with Harley, and you know she’s changed. Let it go.” His gaze softened slightly, signaling a tentative victory on your part.

“Fine. But you better call or text me when you reach her apartment,” he conceded.

“Alright, thanks! Bye, Bubba, love you!” You quickly hugged him and stepped out of the manor, accepting your jacket from Alfred. As Damian watched you leave, Alfred patted him on the back.

“I assume you’ve put the tracker in her jacket?”

“Of course Pennyworth,” Damian replied with a smirk before heading upstairs.

☆

The reason you were headed to see Jack was simple—Harley had gotten him new gadget weapons, and he was eager to show you how they worked. He had called you, practically yelling with excitement, his raspy voice cracking as he coughed before calming down.

You could have taken a ride with Alfred, but who would suspect anything ordinary with a fancy limousine pulling up to a regular apartment complex?

Upon arriving, you entered and pressed the buzzer. A buzz echoed, and you recognized that familiar rasp.

“Is that you, puddin’?” His Brooklyn accent came through, and you could hear his mother chuckling in the background.

“Hey, that’s Y/n to you, mister,” you teased. You heard him chuckle in response. “Yes ma’am,” he purred. “Come up so I can see you, babe.”

You hummed in agreement and stepped into the elevator, enduring the strange elevator music. When the elevator jolted slightly and stopped, you instinctively steadied yourself, arms outstretched like in a scene from Jurassic Park.

Once it opened, you made your way to Jack’s door. As you reached to knock, it swung wide, revealing the blonde-haired boy with blue eyes. He swept you up, spinning you around, and laughter spilled from your lips.

“Well, hello gorgeous,” he said in a low voice as he set you down, wrapping his arms around you.

“Hello, Jackie-boy.” You cupped his face, feeling him melt under your touch. Just as he leaned in to kiss you, Harley’s loud voice interrupted you both. Jack groaned while you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“C’mon, sweetie pie, I know you missed your little girlfriend. But no kissing in front of Mommy.” Jack’s eyes widened, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“Mom!” He released you and pushed Harley out of the living room. “Okay, maybe it’s time to tell Aunt Ivy about your new nails.” Harley glanced at her nails as she was pushed into her room.

“You’re so right!” She exclaimed, slamming the door behind her as Jack sighed dramatically.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to you with a smirk. “Now let’s get to work.”

☆

“Okay, this is my axe,” Jack announces confidently, swinging a striking black and red axe that perfectly matches Harley’s aesthetic. He sweeps it over his leftover, resting a hand on his hip with a smirk as you settle onto the couch. He sets down an array of weapons on the table: a hammer, cards, small balls, and clown noses.

“Oooh, so lumber Jack. What's your new name, the lumberjacker?” you tease with a sly smile hiding behind your hand.

“Very funny, babe. But no,” he retorts, swinging the axe with effortless precision, twirling it in the air before catching it and placing it down. “Besides, this hammer can pack a punch.”

As he says this, he glances your way with a mischievous spark, then grabs the hammer. “Here, hold it.” He extends it toward you. You raise an eyebrow, accepting the challenge, but as you grip the hammer, you instinctively yelp, feeling its weight pull you down.

“Th-this is heavy!” you exclaim, glancing up at his smug expression. “Of course, it’s customized to my hand. It’s like phone touch ID,” he retorts, effortlessly lifting the hammer from your hands. He swings it behind his back, arms wrapped around the wooden shaft.

“And it’s inspired by my ma’s old tools,” he states proudly, placing it down next to the axe. He picks up the cards while you return to your seat, brushing your hands off and watching him keenly.

“Isn't that the same set of cards that explode?” you challenge, pointing at them. Jack chuckles, his voice resonating with amusement. “Nah, they blow smoke. If I find myself in a tight spot, I just toss these down and disappear.”

You hum in amusement, and Jack's smile widens at your reaction. “That’s right. I’d test them out, but my momma warned me against it,” he adds, setting them down beside the small white balls. “You know, because of the smoke detector,” he finishes, glancing at the clown noses with curiosity. You pointed with your head at it.

“What’s up with these? Looks like you’re becoming a real clown boy, Quinn,” you remark with a smirk.

“Oh please, these?” He scoffs in mock disdain. “They’re just bombs. I throw them, they stick, and BOOM!” he exclaims loudly, demonstrating the action with his hands, making you chuckle despite yourself.

You shift your focus to the balls. “So what’s the deal with those?” you inquire, pointing at the small, innocent-looking objects.

“Oh, those?” He scoops them up and begins juggling effortlessly, grinning as he spins around to face you. “These are flashbangs the size of ping pong balls.” He throws you a smirk reminiscent of that viral TikTok emoji.

“Wow, so creative,” you clap sarcastically, barely suppressing a grin. Jack frowns before blowing a raspberry at you. “Jeez, babe, so cold—colder than Mr. Freeze. But whatever,” he says, placing the balls down and moving closer to you on the couch.

He plops himself down beside you, pulling you closer until your thighs touch, his arm encircling your back. “I’m really glad you came over. I thought I’d have to drag you out another way,” he says softly, leaning in closer.

You lean in, feeling the chemistry crackle between you. His hand glides down to your waist, giving it a decisive squeeze. Your breaths intertwine as you gaze into his blue eyes, which soften before he closes them. You mirror his action, drawing closer…

“HEY!”

You and Jack jump apart, landing on opposite sides of the couch as Harley appears between you, phone pressed to her ear, her expression a mix of determination and mischief.

“Hey, kid, mind if I feed you some mac n cheese?” Harley asks, her raised brow demanding a response.

“Uhh… no?” you reply with a shrug, watching as her frown disappears. “Awesome! Won’t take long,” she says, striding away while you catch snippets of Poison Ivy’s voice from the other room. “I know, right?! How could she even say that when she’s on her fourth husband?!” Harley exclaims as she heads to the kitchen.

Jack sighs, covering his face with a hand, lost in thought. You glance at him, sensing his frustration.

When will he finally get the uninterrupted time alone with you that he craves?

[rosierin]

some things never change │ suna rintarou

synopsis; the twins & suna decide to watch a horror movie, much to (y/n)'s disdain. later that night, when the darkness stares back at her, she's unable to sleep and asks to stay in her childhood friend's room—suna.

a/n; hi guys!!! thanks so much for the support you've been giving me lately! im starting to recognise some of my regular likers & reposters hehe, y'all are sick <33

this fic is only a short one, but i feel like i've been focusing a lot on atsumu lately, even osamu's got his own story but I haven't given suna any attention whatttt

so anyway here ya go hehe, a lil fic focusing on (y/n) and suna's relationship

also!! this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

She shouldn’t have watched that horror movie.

She didn’t even like them in the first place. Whether it was a mere thriller, downright gory, or whatever lay in between, (y/n) avoided them like the plague.

But on a random Saturday night, when boredom seeped into the apartment like a wet blanket, someone (Atsumu) decided it’d be a good idea to liven things up by putting on Rings.

Now—allegedly—this movie wasn’t actually scary. That’s what Suna had said, anyway.

“It’s corny. Barely makes it as a horror film, to be honest. More like a bad comedy.”

Bullshit.

There was absolutely nothing corny, let alone comedic, about an undead lady possessing old VHS tapes and crawling out of TVs to MURDER someone. 

Didn’t matter what the twins or Suna thought.

It was terrifying.

And now—in the dead of night, when everything was silent—it was even worse.

The room was pitch black, save for the tiny red dot on her television, staring back at her like the sight of a sniper.

(Y/n) glared at it, unblinking, unwilling to look away.

Because if—God forbid—it turned blue on its own, that meant the TV had somehow switched on.

That meant she was coming. 

That meant (y/n) was done for. 

Her heartbeat thumped against her ribs, heavy and panicked.

Then—

Creak.

A floorboard groaned against the stillness of the room, nearly sending (y/n) into a full-blown panic attack.

Nope. Nope.

Enough was enough.

She tossed the covers aside and bolted.

Her feet barely touched the floor as she sprinted into the hallway, the cool air hitting her like a slap.

She stopped there, pressing a hand over her racing heart, trying to collect herself.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Her pulse slowly settled, but her pride took a hit. Because realistically, was she being dramatic?

Absolutely.

But could she be blamed?

Not even a little.

From a safe distance, she cautiously peered back into her bedroom—half-expecting to see Sadako standing in the corner, her long, raven hair hanging lifelessly over her face.

Instead—darkness.

Eerie. Looming. Suffocating.

A shiver crawled up her spine.

Nope.

She was not going back in there.

The twins were most likely asleep. No way was she waking Atsumu up—he’d never let her live it down. And she felt too guilty waking up poor Osamu. 

That left only one option.

Suna.

He was the only one who would still be awake. And the only one who wouldn’t judge her too hard.

Well— that was debatable. 

Regardless, she turned toward his room—the floor suddenly feeling way too open, way too exposed.

She scurried up the stairs to his loft.

And then, standing outside his door, she hesitated.

Would he think she was being ridiculous?

Would he even let her in?

She inhaled. Then—knock, knock.

A long pause.

Then, finally, a sleepy, unimpressed voice from inside:

“This better be a life-or-death situation.”

(Y/n) pressed her lips together, second guessing her choices.

“Rin— it’s me.”

Soft footfalls came from the other side, then it opened, revealing a very tired, very unamused Suna.

She should have known he wouldn’t be so sympathetic.

She barely had the chance to shuffle inside before he hit her with that unimpressed, half-lidded stare, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, blocking the way in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure..."

His low, sarcastic drawl, paired with the slight twitch of his eyebrow made (y/n) shift uncomfortably.

Despite knowing each other for so long, growing up side by side, she had never grown immune to those eyes of his— always tired, always unreadable, but never oblivious.

He held her gaze in silent question, only to huff out a laugh when (y/n) picked absently at a loose thread on her sleeve, blatantly ignoring him.

“Lemme guess," he droned. "You can’t sleep after watching that movie, can you?"

(Y/n) sighed, accepting her fate. 

Of course he knew.

“Yes,” she admitted plainly. She knew there was no point in lying—Suna could read her like a book. Knowing him, he probably saw this coming before she did.

“Can I sleep in your room?”

A smirk tugged at his lips, lazy and taunting. “What are you, ten?”

A pout.

An eye roll.

Then, after a dramatic sigh, Suna stepped aside. “Fine. Get in.”

(Y/n) wasted no time, practically diving into Suna’s bed before he could change his mind. She refused to spend another second alone in her room, haunted by the thought of someone crawling out of her TV.

She tugged the blankets up to her chin, peeking at Suna as he climbed back into bed beside her, moving like he’d been seconds from sleep before she knocked. His hair was slightly tousled, his expression drowsy as he got comfortable.

Then, as soon as the room settled into silence—

Creeeeak.

(Y/n) flinched so hard she nearly jumped out of bed.

Her breath hitched. “Did you hear that?”

Suna didn’t even look up from his phone. “No.”

(Y/n) swallowed, fingers clutching the blanket. “…It came from your closet.”

A slow blink.

Then, finally, Suna dragged his gaze toward her. “Don’t tell me—“

“Can you go check?”

A stare. 

A beat of silence.

“Please?”

“You seriously want me to go look inside my closet?”

(Y/n) nodded, eyes wide and pleading.

Resigned, Suna let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

He threw off the covers and stood up, trudging over to the closet with the enthusiasm of a man being sent to war. Normally, she would’ve bit back, tossed a jab right back at him—but right now, she couldn’t even register his teasing. Her focus was locked entirely on the closet, her pulse ticking anxiously in her throat as she braced for whatever unspeakable horror lurked inside.

She held her breath.

Suna grabbed the handle.

Opened the door.

Stared into the darkness.

Then—his body suddenly jolted back, his face twisting in alarm.

(Y/n) nearly screamed.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her soul halfway to the afterlife—

And then, completely deadpan, Suna turned back around.

“Just kidding.”

Silence hung in the air. The tense kind.

Then, (y/n) launched a pillow straight at his head.

Suna snickered, catching it effortlessly before crawling back into bed. “You make this too easy.”

(Y/n) groaned, pulling the covers over her head, sinking into the plush mattress. “You suck. That was so mean.”

“You’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes at his sass, peeking from the duvet. “I should’ve gone to Osamu’s room instead.”

Suna hummed, lazily scrolling through Instagram reels with slow flicks of his thumb. “You say that, but you never do.” His eyes remained on the screen, the faint glow casting shadows across his face, but the amused lilt in his voice told her he was fully aware of her reaction.

(Y/n) frowned slightly, opening her mouth to respond—but then, something about his words lingered.

Because… he was right.

She always ended up here.

Even as kids, she had always ended up with him.

(Y/n) shifted slightly, glancing over her shoulder. “…We used to do this all the time, huh?”

Suna exhaled, his expression softening into something quieter— softer. “Yeah.”

Suna’s quiet confirmation made warmth bloom in her chest. And that’s when the memories came flooding in—hazy, golden images of their childhood. All the laughs and secrets they shared.

She could almost smell the summer air, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint smokiness of a dying bonfire clinging to her clothes. She could almost feel the heat of a cup of hot chocolate warming her palms, the crinkle of sleeping bags shifting beneath them as they huddled close in the dim glow of a flashlight. She remembered staying up for hours, making up stories, daring each other to peek outside into the dark, until exhaustion finally took over.

The memory was so vivid in her mind, so innocent and sweet that she couldn’t help but smile. Her heart swelled with a bittersweet kind of warmth—the kind that only came with remembering something you could never quite return to.

“Remember that one time we slept in your backyard in a tent?” (Y/n) asked, her voice light with nostalgia.

Suna didn’t answer right away. She watched as he lowered his phone onto the nightstand, screen dimming to black. For a moment, his face was illuminated only by the moonlight pouring through the window, his expression almost pensive. He lay sprawled on his back, one arm resting lazily over his stomach, the other tucked beneath his head. Then, a small huff of laughter escaped him, almost like the memory had tugged it out against his will.

“Yeah,” he murmured, stretching one arm out into the darkness, fingers splaying lazily before curling back in. His hand hovered there for a second, as if feeling the weight of the air, then flopped onto his chest. “You got scared of an owl and made me go inside with you.”

(Y/n) gasped, scandalized. “That’s not how it happened!”

She sat up a little, but Suna only chuckled, slow and amused. His other hand drifted absently over his bedsheets, fingertips tracing the fabric in lazy patterns. His lips twitched, but he didn’t correct himself.

“Go on, then. Tell me what happened,” he drawled, eyes glinting faintly in the dark.

(Y/n) propped herself up on her elbows, clicking her tongue. “First of all, the owl was fine. The real problem was a certain someone telling me stories about a serial killer who targets campers.”

Suna let out a quiet noise of vague acknowledgement, tilting his head back against the pillow. “Hm. I don’t recall.”

(Y/n) scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “You specifically said he only goes for ‘the one who falls asleep last,’ so then I felt so stressed to the point I wasn’t even tired anymore.”

At that, the corner of his lips twitched, like he was trying—and failing—not to laugh. “That does sound like something I’d say.”

(Y/n) huffed, flopping onto her back again. “You’re such a bully, honestly.”

“Did I not wait until you fell asleep first, though?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked any real annoyance. A coy smile crept onto her lips, the hush of an old memory settling over her. “I guess you did.”

“There you go.” He stretched an arm over his head, voice laced with smugness. “And yet I hear no ‘thank you, Rin. You’re the best.’”

“It was literally years ago.”

“And yet here you are, still asking to sleep in my bed.”

(Y/n) turned her head just in time to catch the flicker of satisfaction on his face, the way he barely concealed his smirk in the dim light. She squinted her eyes at him, reaching over to shove his arm, but he barely reacted—just let it happen, too used to her antics to be fazed.

Then the conversation faded, the teasing melting into quiet. The air shifted into something softer, something more intimate. Because really, it didn’t feel like much had changed at all.

They were older now, sure. But they still ended up here, side by side, whispering into the quiet.

(Y/n) exhaled, letting her gaze drift over the ceiling. “Feels like we never really grew up.”

Suna hummed lowly, shifting just a little. His hand twitched like he might reach for something but thought better of it. “Nope.”

Silence settled between them, rich with lingering memories of the past. If (y/n) closed her eyes, she could almost hear it—the sharp, carefree laughter echoing off sun-warmed pavement, the rhythmic splashing of pool water as they tried to dunk each other under, the rustling of grass beneath their backs as they gazed up at the clouds, pointing out shapes only they could see.

Things were different now.

They didn’t spend summers chasing each other through sprinklers or racing bikes until the streetlights flickered on.

Now, their time together looked a little different—late-night drives with the windows down, sitting in parking lots sharing fast food, trading woes about the weight of adulthood over the rim of coffee cups. Deadlines, expectations, the quiet pressure of figuring out who they were supposed to be. Their conversations had shifted from debating which anime protagonist was the coolest to venting about work, school, and the creeping realization that growing up wasn’t as exciting as they once thought.

But beneath it all, they were still the same kids who never ran out of things to talk about, the same unshakable duo who could sit in silence and still feel understood. Some things had changed, but their friendship never had.

The thought made her pleasantly sleepy, wrapping around her like a worn-in sweater.

Maybe it was the weight of nostalgia, or just the way comfort made habit so easy to slip back into, but (y/n) shifted closer without much thought, hooking an arm around Suna's torso like it was second nature. Nothing dramatic. Nothing to overthink. Just something she always did—or rather, used to do.

Suna huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing down at her with a rare kind of fondness. “Aren’t you a little old for this?”

(Y/n) only hummed, unbothered, her grin never wavering. “Maybe. But I don’t see you pushing me away.”

He didn’t. Instead, he smiled, shaking his head in quiet amusement as she nestled into the fabric of his oversized t-shirt. His body was warm—solid, safe, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat a tune she was long accustomed to.

Without a word, Suna reached over, resting an arm over her waist like it was the easiest thing in the world.

(Y/n) let out a slow breath, her body finally unclenching from the tension that stupid horror movie had left behind.

And for the first time that night, she felt safe.

[bambi-lamb]

tv dinner

Summary: Time, space, and all else outside of the bubble that was Wanda Maximoff ceased to exist as soon as she got her hands on you.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, edging, ruined orgasm

WC: 845

A/N: fic is below the cut! happy valentine's day :)

Sitcom voices and canned laughter buzzed softly in the background, low and steady. The sharp blue light of the TV screen was glaringly bright, shimmering in waves against the walls of the room. One of the couch cushions was pressing uncomfortably into your back, some seam or other surely leaving a mark against your skin.

But none of that really mattered. Your head swam with sensation, lightning bolts firing off inside your head and along your spine. Warmth flushed to the surface of your skin, almost feverish in nature. You tried your best to look to the side, sliding your eyes to the left to glance at the woman sitting beside you.

Wanda was the picture of relaxation, leaned back into the couch, eyes firmly fixated on the pixelated images flashing to life on the flatscreen. Her left hand was thrown casually over the armrest.

You squirmed briefly and sighed softly.

Wanda's right hand was anything but relaxed. Her fingers glistened in the blue light, wet with your slick. Her index finger traced careful, soft circles around your clit, ensuring you couldn't get the friction you really needed. The beginnings of a smirk were smeared across her mouth, but she stayed facing forward, seemingly unbothered.

Your legs twitched, cramping from being spread wide open, heels digging into the couch. Wanda's fingers stopped moving, dipping down to catch the steady drip of arousal leaking out of you. Your thoughts were clouding over with every gentle pass of her fingertip.

A high whimper pierced the lassitude and your hips twitched upward. Only when you registered the quiet shushing from Wanda's mouth did it occur to you that you were the one who had made the noise. She'd pulled her hand away, sticky palm petting your thigh softly as you settled back into your torturous pleasure.

"Wanda," you exhaled softly.

She didn't acknowledge you with a response, hand creeping back to its original position until a gentle flow of motion was reestablished. Her index finger, shimmering in sitcom lighting, etched gentle circles into your skin. With the amount of arousal smeared across your pussy and your thighs, you could barely feel her touch. Any concept of friction had been long-lost by this point, but your body couldn't seem to get the message, still sending phantom stimulation up your spine.

Around and around and around she went, rubbing ever-so-softly. Even when you whimpered, she kept at it, her presence keeping you pinned in place. When her fingernail bumped against your clit, you trembled, legs shuddering as you gushed arousal. Wanda paused in her ministrations, fingertip dipping down again to gather more slick before returning yet again, rubbing, the pad of her finger gliding, under-stimulating, over your nerves.

You couldn't quite pinpoint how long it had been, even as the steady tick-tock of the living room clock echoed in your ears. The sun had set what felt like forever ago, and your neck and legs had started cramping a while ago now. It could have been minutes, or hours, or even days. You couldn't be sure.

You shivered, and Wanda pulled back again. You'd been dangling on this precipice for hours now, and you were so sure, so absolutely certain that if she only applied an ounce more of pressure, you would finally be able to come.

Wanda's index finger returned again, making smaller, tighter circles now, but somehow her touch had lightened even further. Her finger painted a mixture of saliva and slick across your sticky skin, and you whimpered, a broken, needy noise.

Wanda hummed something soft and unintelligible, the sound drifting through your head before you could even consider trying to understand her. You could see her lips moving, but you couldn't really hear what she was saying. Her eyes were still locked on the sitcom.

You were pretty certain that you had made a complete mess of not only Wanda's hand, but the entire couch cushion. Even if you had wanted to, you wouldn't have been able to check, your neck sore and stiff as you tried to hold it up. Wanda still seemed unbothered.

Wanda's finger was circling over top of your clit now, the prickling sensation of pleasure building in your stomach.

You squeezed your eyes shut, panting softly as Wanda applied that extra ounce of pressure, eking you slowly over the edge. The orgasm was a whimper of a thing, just barely enough to be felt, but your entire body arched off the couch anyway.

You whined high into the air as you came, pressing into Wanda's gentling touch. Wanda didn't acknowledge the orgasm, still staring at the screen. After a few, delicate, precarious moments of pleasure, she was back to gentle, frictionless circles just around your clit.

You whined again, vying for her attention, legs shaking nonstop now. Wanda tsked softly, or maybe that was the ticking of the clock? After all, she was still humming, or maybe that was just the low drone of the TV dialogue. The moon hung low and fat in the night sky, shimmering and pulsing, dreamlike.

[ohnogemini]

Do No Harm

Hello - its Gem again ✧⭑๋ I wrote this fic about 6 months ago when I was in a weird place and just now got around to edit it and make it presentable. I hope you enjoy ♡⊹

✶ Word Count: 19k (sorry)

★ Genre: !afab reader x Bang Chan

✹ Rating: Explicit 18+ Minors Do Not Enter

❀ Comments: Tropes used: friends to lovers. Mentions of anxiety, depression. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of Ex husband (not skz). Self deprecation. Slow to smut but it gets there. Unprotected consensual sex ; some cursing ; very light d/s dynamics. Please let me know if I left out any big TW/CW.

‎‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹

Nothing could have prepared you for the deep wave of nausea that hits you. The week had moved fast, too fast for your mind to process what occurred. Nothing is particularly shocking about the events; you knew it was coming. Bolting awake without an alarm on Saturday morning, firm, bright light fighting its way through your dark blue curtains, you find yourself lightly gasping and clawing at the damp sheet that’s covering your half naked frame.

Alone. Truly alone, again.

Yanking the sheet off, you rush into your bathroom and flip on the icy water from the sink faucet. The soft churning of the water and its cool contents hitting the porcelain pulling your focus from the pit in your stomach. You pull your hair into a quick bun at the back of your head with the hair tie sitting to your right, still on the counter from a few nights earlier, and stick your wrists in succession under the water, shocking your system into rebooting. You signed the divorce papers late Tuesday evening. Work was busy enough that you hadn’t had a chance to sit and think about it during the day. Two emergency surgeries this week: a large German Shepherd with a broken femur and a young cat struggling to birth on her own. Both were successful, and you’re ashamed to admit that if they were not, you’re unsure how you would have been able to deal with it. By night you were so exhausted from your early mornings that a glass of wine and a plate stacked with an assortment of veggies, cheese and deli meat was all you could muster before falling asleep in bed or on your large, too comfortable couch. TV turned loud enough to drown out your thoughts but quiet enough to lull you to sleep.

The freezing water brings your attention forward and you inhale deeply. A soft shake cascading down your spine as the breath leaves your lungs. Glancing up at yourself now would be a mistake. Instead, you’re softly pushing the tap off, placing your hands on the cool countertop and shutting your eyes to reel your breathing back in.

As if on cue, you hear your phone with its unsettling, cheery ring going off in your bedroom. Not the time, you think to yourself. The phone continues its lively tune until whoever is caught on the other end goes to voicemail. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message. However, the phone barely stops its melody before it starts again.

Aggravation seeps into limbs. How dare someone interrupt my panic? My pain? This moment is for you alone. No one else needs to see or hear how pathetic you feel right now. But what if they can help? It wouldn’t hurt for them to try. But it would hurt. It would hurt you for them to try and fail. Knowing it was foolish for the attempt. It would hurt them to give their all in sweet sincerity just for you to still be a pile of lost puzzle pieces at their feet by the end. You push off the sink and trail your way around the bed to your nightstand, wiping the water from your wrists and hands on your sleep shirt as you reach for your still ringing phone. The contact is there, lit plainly. As is the clock above it that reads 11:38 AM. A rush of guilt, or denial pinches your nose and brows together. You rub your eyes, press the green button, and give yourself a few seconds before lifting the device up to your ear. “Hey,” you try to conceal the shakiness, but anyone with ears can hear it. “Hey Bug, sorry I called you twice, but this is time sensitive. Are you busy right now?” his voice is strained also but nowhere near the same edge as yours. “No. I was just cleaning the bathroom.” A harmless lie. It will make sense of the tiredness in your voice.

“I thought you only cleaned on Sundays?” He’s not pushing, just a genuine question. Of course he remembers that. You roll your eyes slightly. “I spilled some coffee on the floor yesterday morning and didn’t have time to properly clean it. Sue me for not wanting sticky feet.” You’re unsure why you continue the lie. You could have easily just brushed past it and moved on. Deceit never did feel good on you, but in this moment, your endorphins have come down from your rude awakening and the embarrassment is pushing you to cover it up. “Anyways Chris, what’s up?” Just divert it. You can hear a soft laugh from his end. He seems nervous, and you’re not sure why he is but you’re also nervous. You hope your emotions aren’t seeping through the phone. “Well, I know this is really last minute and I know you take your weekends of rest very seriously, but I was invited to my sister’s opening today, and of course I want to support her, but I’m in one of those… ya’know, moods. I was hoping you could come with me so I can show face and also have you as my trusty support to help get me out of conversations I can’t exactly stomach right now.” His words are rushed and straightforward. Laced with ragged breaths and a few uncomfortable fake laughs. You know this feeling all too well. A yielding plea of someone to hold your hand through something so small and mundane to most but overwhelming and suffocating to others.

You pull the phone far away from your face again to take a long-tremored breath. You didn’t mention to him on purpose that Alex and you signed the divorce papers this week. You know he’d worry about you and at the moment you can’t fathom having his soft eyes and voice trained on you. You’re certain he would have done his best not to make a big deal out of it at your wishes, but his character is not lost on you. “What time is it?” you bring the phone back and ask him. “Right now? Uh, it’s almost noon?” he sounds confused. “No Chris, the event. What time is the event? I haven’t showered today, and I need to know what style to dress in.” You sound exasperated but it’s not at him. “OH! So, you’ll come, yeah? It’s at 1pm. It’s casual and I’ve already gotten ready if you want me to come over and help you pick something out? I figured I’d pick you up anyway. Seeing as you’re doing me a favor and all…” “No no, that’s alright. Just picking me up is fine. Is noon too early for a glass of wine? Don’t answer that. I’ll, uh, just get ready right now and I’ll see you in 40?” You lightened your tone and hope he picks up that you’re fine. He is anywhere far from a burden, and you trust he knows that. “Okay perfect, see you soon. And Y/N? Thank you again. I really do appreciate it…” His voice is soft and deep. Softer than at the beginning of the convo, and the sweetness in it creeps down your chest, willing your heart to unfreeze. Even just for a moment. You nod, brush off his niceties, quickly say your goodbyes and hang up, tossing the phone on your bed. Forty minutes is not nearly enough time to tighten all the red string that’s holding together your expressions or emotions, but you’ll just have to make do. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat. What you do have time for is a glass of wine, a bit of cheese and bread, and a shower.

You pull out a freshly ironed pair of black high waisted trousers, a black belt with a gold buckle, a crisp white crop shirt and a black princess vest style top with ties in the front, paired with black boots. The outfit sits splayed out on your bed, and you sigh, rubbing your face with one hand. The fit is as dark and depressed as you. It's not worth rethinking. What is worth it is the glass of wine you pour and bring into the shower with you. Placing it in your designated ‘wine only’ spot on the top rack of your shampoo holder. You hopped into the shower before the water was a decent temperature, so you back yourself against the tile, letting the water rush in front of you with your head leaned back and eyes closed. Can’t let him see your pain today. It’s a fair assumption to think he might already know. Heard from an acquaintance about the week’s events. People never know how to keep their mouths shut especially when talking about things they have nothing to do with. Or worse, everything to do with. The alarm you set earlier on your phone to give you a timing warning goes off. You scramble a still dry hand out the side of your shower curtain and swipe the off button. Shit, 20 minutes. Truly no time to overthink now. The expensive wine in your cup doesn’t deserve this but you down the rest in one gulp and rush through washing yourself, hoping your hair has the decency to dry nicely on your head without having time to style it properly. By the time you’re dressed, you know he’ll be arriving any minute. Shoot him a quick text saying the door is open and start your make up. He can wait, but the bags under your eyes and the paleness of your skin needs to be dealt with. You hear the front door creak open, “Heyyyyy, I’m here!”

“Just a minute, I’ll be right out!” you yell back. One final swipe of a light mauve lipstick to your lips and a glance at yourself in the long mirror on your bathroom door. One could say you look nice, fresh and ready for the day. However, if they took the time to look in your eyes, like really look into your eyes, they would notice otherwise. As you step out into the living room, he is sat in one of your large emerald armchairs scrolling idlily on his phone, one arm leaned against his knee with his head resting in his palm. His eyes bolt up at once upon you entering, and he stands just as fast. “I’ll go change,” you quip out before turning to head back to your room, but before you can fully turn around one of his strong hands gently catches your arm and pulls you back to look at him. “What? Nooo, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter. You look nice, and I don’t think anyone will care or notice.” He has a big, dimpled smile on his face. You blink a few times to stomach the immediate ease it brings you. You wiggle your arm free and step back to look him up and down, gesturing wildly at him and yourself. “Chris, we are basically matching head to toe.”

He's wearing fitted black slacks with a belt, a fresh white tee with a black button up shirt open and black boots. Topped with one of his favorite hats. It couldn’t be any more identical, but his buckle is silver to match the chain bracelet that sits delicately on his wrist. “I promise you its fine. Our plan is to stay incognito as much as possible. Besides, we’re going to be late.” And before you have time to protest again, he pulls your purse off the hook and opens the door, nodding for you to exit. “You look great. It would be a shame to let that outfit go to waste.” His smile dons his teeth this time, and you can’t help but give him a small smile back while slightly rolling your eyes. “Fine, okay. I hope they have good snacks there.” You grab your purse from him and walk through the door, trusting him to turn the locks on the inside before he shuts it.

⊹ ⋆ ₊❀∿.✧ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮✧∿.❀₊ ⋆ ⊹

The opening went smoothly. A couple rushed glances from him telling you he was at his limit with a certain interaction that you solved deftly with a “Sorry to interrupt, Chris can you show me where the restrooms are?” or “Oh I left my phone in your car, would you mind grabbing it for me? I’m expecting an important phone call.” Giving him reprieve from unwanted questions. He spent a quiet moment with his sister towards the end which left you at a deserted snack table munching on decadent squares of brownies, and crackers perfectly arranged with soft cheese and prosciutto, garnished with a sort of pickled onion. A quiet moment for yourself. You spent your time here closely following his movements and body language. Picking up on the little things people usually wouldn’t notice. His fingers fidgeting with his bracelet. A short shuffle of his shoes, bouncing on one foot to the next. Things you’ve picked up on the years you’ve known him. Little alerts to your mind that he’s in a silent war with himself. 7 years is a long enough time to align yourself with someone’s idiosyncrasies. It especially wasn’t hard for you knowing he shared your same anxieties. You’ve always put each other at ease. In college, pulling the other away from isolating study sessions to take a walk and breathe fresh air. Silently keeping tabs on schedules to leave a favorite sweets or drink on a desk before a daunting exam. It was never implied that it was expected. It was easy. Inevitably when you parted, both off to specialized schools to further your individual career paths it was more than difficult to say goodbye. You weren’t especially far from each other, less than a two hours drive. But eventually the short, happy, safe moments you often shared before were long gone. The hole they left was deeper than you had imagined. You kept in touch during those years apart. Meeting once or twice a month and calling often to check in or distract each other. When you met Alex, however, the meetings slowed to a halt, your attention drawn elsewhere. He was happy for you, understanding your absence and missed calls. You thought you were happy, too.

Your attention is ripped from your thoughts at a soft touch to your lower back, jumping from the contact and almost dropping the last bite of brownie from your hand you turn to see his shocked expression hands up to his sides. “Oh, fucking hell, Chris, you scared me.” Placing your free hand on your chest, you will your heart back into its normal rhythm. His shocked expression turns into an almost gleeful laugh. “I’m so sorry; I thought you heard me call your name.” “I guess I must have been entranced by the flavors of this brownie. Have you tried one yet?” He looks to the quarter piece in your hand and to the table, where the plate that once held the brownies is left barren. “Oh, uh, whoops.” You smile sheepishly and offer the last bite up to his lips. He takes it carefully from your fingers with his teeth, but you don’t miss how his bottom lip drags along one of your fingers for a moment. He closes his eyes as he chews, then they open and crinkle at the corners. “Mm, delicious. Now how about we get the hell out of here and eat something more substantial.” You can tell his eyes are tired and worn down from the social interactions, but the way he looks at you with admiration never changes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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The car ride was comfortably quiet. Both of you relaxing into the gentle hum of the car and nonexistent expectations to be “on” anymore. Shutting your brains off for a moment, taking contented breaths. You agreed that eating at a restaurant would be more than either you could handle now, instead opting to pick up some pizza and go back to your place to unwind before the day’s end. By the time you arrive at your humble apartment, it’s nearly 5pm. You shuffle around in your purse for your keys and swing the door open gesturing for him to enter before you. “Pizza first.” Your lips make a smile out of a thin line. He laughs and dips his head as he walks through the threshold. Closing the door behind you, you hang your purse and kick off your shoes. Turning to see he’s still standing in the entryway, shoes off waiting for your next move. “Go ahead and dig in. I’m gunna go change real quick, this belt is driving me to madness.” You slip past him and make your way to your bedroom. “Do you want to eat at the table or...” “I didn’t skip the restaurant just to sit at an equally uncomfortable chair at home.” You say with a smirk over your shoulder as you enter your bedroom. As soon as your feet hit the cold tile of the bathroom, you’re reminded of your morning long forgotten since you kept your mind busy focusing on Chris’s needs today. Thinking of how you were planning on spending the day quite literally rotting on the couch by yourself - if anyone knew how to keep you from yourself, it would be him.

You fuss with your buckle and pull the belt from your pants in one swoop, coiling it up and setting it on the bathroom counter. Whether or not he knows about the finalization of the divorce papers, you’re not sure. If he does, he’s fantastic at hiding it. Could he have pulled you to this event on purpose? To keep your mind busy when he knows you need it the most. It’s not unlike him to predict what you need before you know it yourself. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you stand still, frozen for a moment, evaluating your indistinct expression. The way you’re sure your shoulders don’t stand as tall as they used to. How your favorite pair of pants digs ever so slightly tighter on your hips. Your eyes glaze over at the silent judgment in your head, and you spot your trusty shower wine glass sitting empty in its space. That certainly needs tending too. Never mind your doom and gloom right now. You quickly undress and throw on a comfortable, plain t-shirt, some black biking shorts and grab your empty glass heading back into the living room. “Ah, there you are.” He beams up at you from his favorite spot on your couch tucked into the left corner, legs up and crisscrossed under his body. The table has two plates, each with 3 slices of pizza barely fitting except one plate, your plate, has a dollop of ranch squeezed onto one side. In front of your plate is a wine glass filled halfway and in front of his sits an unopened beer. “Beat me to it,” you smirk at him and jiggle the empty glass in your hand. He pats the empty cushion next to him – “Least I could do.”

You slide past him and flop down in your seat, setting down your empty cup, grabbing the full glass of wine and taking a long sip. “You did good today. How’s your sister? I only got a quick moment to say hi to her.” He pops the top of his beer off and clinks your glass before taking a swig and sighs, staring up at the blank wall above your TV. Fiddling with the paper label on the bottle. “She’s great. Like usual. I’m really proud of her. Being able to open a second store was never in her plans but she excels at everything.” He sighs again and takes another sip, places his beer on the table and leans back on the couch. That’s all he really wants to say, and you can tell. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about her or that he’s not actually proud, because he is. You’re aware of the pressure he puts on himself. By no means is he doing bad in his career. His life. But you're not the type to assume everything is fine just because things seem to be in order on the surface. You silently place a hand on his knee that’s closest to you and give him a patient smile. His eyes fall to your hand, and he reaches out to grab your fingertips, giving them a quick squeeze. “Eat your pizza before it gets any colder.” His turn for diversion.

You both tuck into the pizza while mindlessly scrolling through a streaming app to find something to watch. Landing on an old classic comedy you’ve both seen a hundred times and could probably recite the lines. The bottle of wine found a spot on your coffee table, nearly empty by now. And you had no intention to stop there. 

It was unlike Chris to drink more than a beer or two. Tonight, after the three beers that were left in your fridge from the last time you had a few people over, he popped a second bottle of wine and poured himself a glass along with topping yours off. To others there would be some concern. To you, nothing but a friend needing a little extra help in the quiet your mind department. However it wasn’t working as well for you this evening. Feet propped up on an ottoman next to the coffee table, your body insisted on sinking heavier and heavier into the cushions. Seeking to be enveloped. Pulled down between cracks where the dust bunnies and, likely, a forgotten hair pin lived. 

You can tell he’s feeling better. Laughing almost a little too loudly at jokes he’s heard before. Lips permanently parted in a delicate contentedness. Hands locked behind his head, leaning back, legs stretched out and spread before him. Relaxed. Comfortable. Seeing him this way makes you feel guilty. As if he should be somewhere else, with someone happier.

Someone who could really help him feel better. Who could hug him tightly without letting their own shadow creep over him. The wine was making your head fuzzy, but where it would usually quiet your emotions, they seem to swirl in your lower belly sticking to anything with purchase. You weren’t upset about the divorce in a common sense. Yes, you had loved Alex, but the stability and togetherness were something you craved the most. It’s not hard to tell yourself now why you latched onto him and the idea so quickly. You were simply afraid of being alone after you and Chris had stopped being so close. Something you’ve never admitted out loud but are aware that your ex-husband surmised after just a few short years of being married.

Sitting here now, next to him, smelling his familiar cologne, hearing his laughter and feeling that easy tranquility that comes with your relationship. It should be enough. So why do you feel this way?

Your eyes sting and your throat tightens as you stare down at your empty glass. Willing the tears back in with an iron grasp on the glass stem in your hand. “Hey hey hey, what’s going on here?” he coos at your side, and before you can turn your head to face away from him, you’re pulled across the cushion to rest your head on his lap. He removes the empty glass from your hand and places it on the table, then lays one hand on your shoulder while the other gently strokes your hair. Something he knows well will help ease you. You sink down into him and squeeze your eyes shut, covering them with the hand that’s not lodged beneath your body. “I figured I’d wait ‘til you brought it up,” he says delicately above you. “Your sister texted me Thursday. Said she was worried about you but wouldn’t tell me why. As I expect you told her not to,” he rakes through the bangs obscuring the view of the hand covering your face and traces a finger over your pointer that’s resting over your eyebrow. “We don’t have to talk about it, but I wish you would have told me.” He sighs lightly.

Your hand frees from your face and balls in front of you placed on his knee - “What is there to tell, Chris? We all knew it was going to happen. I mean, we’ve been living apart for almost 6 months now. All we did was sign the papers and finalize the results of our shitty decisions.” The tears have made their way out, and they seep onto his nice slacks. A physical example of you spreading your disease.

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.” Your fist unclenches and falls palm up on the couch in front of you.

He hums in understanding. “You’re aware that I always worry about you, right?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” You flip your body around onto your back to look up at him.

“How long have you been doing that? Worrying about me? Your career is taking off, no matter how much you want to downplay that, along with Felix joining your company. You’ve moved back closer to your family, which I know pained you to be so far away, and I heard from Changbin last month that Lisa asked to give it another shot. Why do you insist on always keeping tabs on me?”

You shoot up from your place in his lap and turn your body to face him. The tears that were streaming have crawled their way back up as your mind races with confusion and misplaced anger. “You have so much to look forward to, Chris. We’re not stupid college kids anymore. It just doesn’t make sense to me how you continue to give a shit about this sorry sack of shit sitting in front of you.” You sigh and close your eyes rubbing at them with your fingertips. FUCK. You know he doesn’t deserve this, and you’re not even sure why you felt the need to say any of that. In its essence, your friend is just doing what friends do. Being there for each other. For some reason, though, his care always felt different than anyone else’s.

You know why it felt that way for you. But even after so many years, you never let the thought fully develop.

“Are you done?” His hand pulls yours away from your face, and he’s switched his position on the couch to face you. He tilts his head forward and locks eyes with you, his expression a look of ‘now was that really necessary?’ with a small smirk on his lips. “Do you feel like you need a reason for me to care? Did you have a good reason to drop whatever plans you had today to come help me out at my sister’s event?” His eyebrows knit together. You know these are rhetorical questions. You let a breath escape you and lull your head to the side, staring at the empty space between you two on the couch. My reason was ‘it’s you.’ I’d do anything for you. You keep this thought locked tight and away from his ears. “No matter how much I feel like I’m trying to help you I feel like it will never be enough. Or the good kind. The kind that actually helps. I think I’m stunted.” You bring your arm up on the back of the couch and bend it, laying your face in the crook of your elbow. An arm comes out, and his soft hand connects with your back as he rubs small circles between your shoulder blades. It’s been a while since you had prolonged contact with him, and it feels good. You’ve spent a decent amount of time together over the last year but typically just brunches turned into lunches, or him dropping off food to your house for dinner making sure both of you eat well. You still your body and whisper a selfish silent prayer in your head that he doesn’t stop.

“I've never seen any problems with how you care. If I were to look back at the receipts, I'd say 99.9% of all your attempts were successful.” It’s apparent he’s saying this through a smile. You don’t lift your head but mumble into your limb, “And the other .1%?” “Remember that time in our third year at university I was upset my roommate had to move out, and you bought that insane painting from the vintage shop of that lady with a really long neck to put up on his side of the room and keep me company? I still have nightmares about her, I swear." His hand stops its movement on your back while he’s recollecting the painting. Your head pops back up to make eye contact, a mock look of shock on your face. “I thought she was pretty and elegant!” “Her eyes staring off into the distance... or was she looking at you? What was she looking at? Why was her neck so… long...?" he ponders, letting his eyes glaze over while glancing over your shoulder to solidify his point.

The tightness in your chest breaks way to a full belly laugh. Catching him off guard and prompting him to join in the fit. Both of your incessant giggling bouncing off the walls together. “You’re ridiculous you know that?” You say as your hysterics subside, gently slapping his knee. Your bodies had both shifted closer to each other on the cushions during your laughter, and your anxieties have settled again. Safe. Easy. Staring down and fiddling with the hem of your shirt mindlessly, you hum out your comfort. “Bug?” He whispers his silly nickname out for your attention. Still with a half-smile on your face, eyes downcast, picking at a string that should not be meddled with, you respond, “Yeah?” You wait a few moments for a question or statement, but the air stays silent. “Wha-…” Your words are cut off by a clashing of lips. His hand on your cheek guiding you up to face him, his plush lips firm but slightly off mark from aligning directly with yours. Your eyes widen and a hand flies up to catch his wrist. A small but not unwelcome spark flits up your lower back as you start to register what’s occurring. Then the realization fully develops.

Your stomach flips in a somersault. First down to the bottom where it feels alive and floating, prickling the tops of your thighs; then up to your throat where it sticks and tries to strangle you from the inside out. A panic settles there. You pull his hand away from your face and throw yourself up onto your feet as if something just burned you. Confusion and guilt paints his face as his hands both come up to run through his soft, dark brunette hair. One of your hands finds your lips as you turn and pad around to the front of the coffee table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He turns his body to sit straightforward in his spot, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped and not ready to make eye contact. You stare at the top of his head. Brain running as fast as the wine and confusion will allow. That couldn’t have been real. That was in your head, right? His posture says otherwise.

“Please Bug, can we just…will you let me say something?” His eyes come up to meet yours finally. Pleading and looking like he could have just been slapped across the face. Or stabbed in the back by somebody he loves. His eyes cut right through your fog, and you snap back into place. Moving shakily, you grab both your empty wine glasses off the table and make your way to the kitchen, nearly speed walking. Opening the dishwasher and placing them both in, then closing it. He doesn’t follow, and you take a few deep breaths in the open space of your kitchen. A few questions strike you particularly hard in this moment of clarity. 

Where did that come from? 

Did you miss something? 

Does this mean something more than a stupid drunk mistake? You’re certain he didn’t drink that much. Sure, a little more than usual, but 4 drinks are not nearly enough for him to be that far removed from himself. Was that pity? And most importantly,

Why did you stop it?

Every point your mind tries to make, every conclusion to your questions only fuels a deep self-deprecation as you toss around the information in your head. No matter the answer your mind revolts. Unaccepting of any critical thinking.

Sleep. You both just need sleep. This is the only rational thing you can accept. You decide quickly and round the corner back into the living room, stopping just short of the hallway to the rest of your home. “You can stay in the guest bedroom. The blanket that’s usually on the bed is folded and in the closet on the shelf. Just uhm…never mind. I’m… I’m sorry.” Your eyes prickle as you see him still in the same spot, only now his head is in his hands. “Please don’t leave me yet,” he asks earnestly. Low, as if coming from a wounded dog. You couldn’t stay right now. None of the words that would come out of your mouth would make any sense. In fact, you’re scared of what you might say. Selfish. You’re being selfish. Whatever led him to do what he did; his reaction to your abrupt shock, he deserves something from you. “Chris, it’s fine, I just…think we need some sleep,” you lie to him again today. You know neither of you will be getting any sleep, just a few steps from each other’s beds in your little apartment. He sighs into his hands and lifts his head from them, looking forward at the TV screen, long since forgotten, its screensaver bright and cheery, bouncing soft blues and pinks off his features.

You twist the front of your shirt in your hands and bite the inside of your cheek. He looks defeated, and you’re worried that you’re the reason. Five minutes ago, he was doing everything he could to make you smile and be nice to yourself. To help you. As you said to yourself earlier, you knew you would do nothing but hurt whoever tried. There is no other choice now; you just need to turn and walk away. “Goodnight.” You say under your breath and make the move towards your bedroom, taking a quick look out of the corner of your eyes at the barren guest room. Filled only with a bed, one nightstand and a standing lamp in the corner. It feels cruel to send him into the cold like that tonight. You hadn’t had any time to plan or decorate it all that much. No physical hobbies you brought from your old house with your ex to don the walls or fill shelves. Just as empty as you felt day after day. Your room had more warmth at least. More than you deserved tonight. The lamp next to your bed is clicked on already, casting a soft orange glow over your bed. The clothes you wore earlier were thrown hastily toward your hamper in the corner of your room and your white cropped t-shirt sits crumpled on the ground in front of it.

You grab it and toss it properly into the bin then pull your comforter back slipping under its fine and delicate fabric. You pull it up to your chin, curling in on yourself on your side and sinking as far as you can manage into the mattress.

Sleep. You tell yourself again. It’s what you both need.

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The minutes to hours clicked by like thick mud descending a slope. By the time the clock next to your bed reads 3:04 AM, you knew you weren’t getting any sleep. Your body at this point buzzing with anxiety, eyes forcing themselves open despite your protests. Trying to force yourself not to think was impossible. You practice the tricks you’ve learned from years of meditation. Lying on your back focusing all your might and energy to release the tension one limb at a time. Starting at your jaw where the anger was, down to your shoulders where sadness hung, through the hot veins in your arms and out your fingertips where the anxiety lies. Nothing would stop the never-ending cycle of guilt. You tried to drown everything out by zeroing in on the sound of the ceiling fan above your head. Instead, your ears searched for any sound of him moving around. You’d hoped that he was able to sleep, unlike you. Wished for him peaceful oblivion from the uncomfortable position you both were in. You hear the hall bathroom door click shut and see the light from under the door illuminating the hardwood flooring of the hallway.

Seems his night is no different from yours. What could he have possibly told you that would have made sense of his actions earlier?

Is it impossible for you to think he might…love you? Even after all these years of seeing what a natural disaster you are? You let the thought cascade down your body like a warm sunset over a mountain. You’ve had this thought throughout your life many times in many different ways. Too bizarre to be true. Chris, in all his wholesome, thoughtful actions. Putting the needs of others above himself. Letting himself get pushed and pulled by people like you into dim light. Giving, giving, giving. 

And you, a taker. Taking people’s soft looks and touches. Drawing out their pity. Unintentionally, truly. You just seem to bring out the nurturing parts of people when they look at your frail state. Despite doing your best not to. Trying to strive, to do well. Make people proud and not show how desperate you are to keep your head above water.

Could this be one of those moments? Did he just want to make you feel better and not continue to watch you suffer in silence? What would be the goal if this was what he was trying to accomplish. One night of heat and passion to keep your mind busy? He’s just not the type. Thinking this of him makes your stomach turn and guilt pang in your chest. The toilet flushes and you hear the sink turn on. The familiar rush of icy water from the tap. The light dims in the hallway and the door clicks open, followed by his padding footsteps to the guest room. There could be a reality in which you took his words at face value. Whatever he did want to tell you. Honoring the trust built between you. Why instead do you insist that you’re underserving of it? His trust. His love. Determined to continue lying to yourself, pretending you didn’t wish it was Chris who held you when you were stressed after work. Who wiped your tears when a loved one passed. It’s possible you could do the same for him.

Your mind focuses back on the sounds of the house. There’s some rustling coming from the guest room. He might have drifted back to sleep.

You have two choices. Spend the rest of your night ignoring all these thoughts and feelings, essentially leaving him on a proverbial ‘read’ until tomorrow morning where you would surely share an awkward goodbye. Or… just talk to him.

There’s a 50/50 chance he is still awake in his room. What’s the harm in trying?

Your adrenaline picks up as you make the decision. Sitting up and ripping your comforter off your body, swinging your legs over the side standing up quickly. If you don’t move your feet now, you’re scared you won’t make it to the guest room. Just go. Getting to the hallway was a feat in itself, and you slow your steps as you reach the corner of the door. It’s sitting halfway open, and the room is softly lit. The lamp in the corner of the room turned down to its lowest setting. Your nerves catch up to you as you plan on either peaking around the corner or calling in to see if he answers. If you call for him and he’s sleeping, then you’ll wake him from well-deserved slumber. If you peek around and he’s awake, he might see you, and you’ll have no choice but to confront the situation. If you peek and he’s asleep, then you may have a chance to save you from yourself, just grab a glass of water and take yourself back to bed. “Just come in already.” You hear him say.

His voice startles you from your thoughts, and a gasp escapes you. He must have heard your erratic footsteps coming to a halt right before the door. Maybe he’s been listening for you too. Shame covers your brow as you poke your head around the corner to see him sitting up in bed, leaning back against a pillow and the headboard. His shirt is off, and the dim light from the lamp curls around his muscles, forming rich curves and indents immediately muddling your thoughts.

You swallow harshly. “Uh, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep, and I heard you get up a little bit ago. I was just going to grab myself some water, do you want some?” An excuse but not technically a lie. God, I'm pathetic.

“Sure.” He nods, his smile is weak and appeasing. Clearly letting you take the lead in this dance.

You take the opportunity gladly, making your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. Using it again as a spot to gather your thoughts. You grab two tall glasses from your cupboards and fill your cups from the fridge filter. Just let him talk. Listen to him, not yourself.

Stilling your shaking hands, you trail back into the hallway and don’t let yourself stop at the door frame this time. However, you don’t dare come around to his side of the bed, seeing him up close right now in his ‘state’ would fizzle out whatever common sense you had left. You don’t make eye contact, but you can feel his eyes follow you around the bed to the opposite side and sit uncomfortably on the edge shoving your hand out to pass him the water. Taking a long sip from your own and visibly trying to settle your nerves. Being nervous around him is not something you’re used to anymore. In college when you first started hanging out, sure, meeting thanks to your mutual friend Felix, you realized early that he might possibly be one of the most beautiful and kind people you had ever encountered. But you had also decided early on you did not deserve him. Despite how quickly he gravitated towards you. And you to him.

He doesn’t seem nervous right now though, and that confuses you more than anything. He takes the cup from you and takes a small sip, sitting it on the nightstand next to him only briefly taking his eyes off you to make sure it lands on the coaster. You can sense he’s waiting for you to start the conversation, ever the patient man. “I’m… I’m sorry about earlier” is all you can manage right now. Regardless of his resolve to clearly let you take the lead here, you’re lost for words and whatever you manage to think, it’s next to impossible to try and voice them. “Why do you keep saying sorry?” His voice is a little hoarse. The question catches you off guard, and you finally look up from the cup in your hands to meet his eyes. “Because… I don’t know. I just am.” Easier to be vague. His hair is curled and ruffled on his head, making him look soft and almost resemblant to the boyish charm he held back in the day. He doesn’t speak again. His face shows he’s not happy with your answer. “I’m sorry for who I am as a person. I’m sorry I always tend to make situations worse in my personal life. I’m sorry I always make the people in my life suffer from my actions.” The words come out quick and despairing. He sighs and hangs his head, shaking it.

"I’d like to think I’ve never given you the impression that you've made me feel this way towards you.” He puts his hands on the bed to shuffle his body straighter which slightly reveals the top of his black Calvin Klien boxers peeking up over the blanket that rests on his legs. You avert your eyes and stare back down at your water. Maybe a cup of chamomile would have been better. “I can’t help right now if I don’t know what you’re thinking.” He tilts his head to try and bring your focus back up to him. “I don’t know what to think right now, Chris.” It’s true. Your head is full to the brim with thoughts but none of them feel worth sharing. “Just give me anything. The first thought that pops up in your head.” It’s apparent he may not know where to start either. “Why?” 

A simple word. It shoots out of you quicker than you imagined it would. You know it’s not an easy question to answer. But it’s the word that prefaces all the questions you’ve made yourself suffer through the entire sleepless night.

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. He seems at a loss for words just as you. He ponders for a moment before shifting nervously. “Did you not want me too?” “That’s not an answer to my question.” He sighs and his arms come up and behind his head to grab the headboard, leaning his head back and directing his eyes up at the ceiling. You’re not making this easy on him, but you could say the same. You suppose you could make the question clearer, add context. “Why did you want to?” You’re both grown adults. But this conversation seems more difficult than trying to explain to a parent why their favorite vase sits in pieces on the floor. “It felt like it was time.” His arms come back down, and his eyes meet yours, filled to the brim with sincerity. You shake your head. Irritation trying to make its way forward. You pull both legs up on the bed sitting on your knees completely facing him. Hands still gripped tight around the glass of water in your hands.

“It was time for what, Chris? That doesn’t make it any clearer.” The frustration is plain in your voice and directing it at him feels wrong, yet the voice of reason in your head is not paying any attention. He repositions himself to face you dead on, just as you were earlier. “Our entire conversation on the couch was centered around you, in some sort of wild disbelief, that I care deeply for you. Has it not been apparent over the past, I don’t know, seven, almost eight years that caring for you is not a burden to me? That seeing you sad or stressed or angry pains me to my core? And I know I can’t just take that away from you; I can’t tell it to stop or will it away. But could you at least give me the chance to try and protect you from it? From letting you beat yourself up behind closed doors. Or at the very least let me hold your hand when it all gets too much, just as you would for me?” His words rush past you in a haze. You can’t seem to move, but your hands begin to shake again and your chin quivers. It’s typical of him to know exactly what you need to hear. Nonetheless that unyielding, rattling voice in the crawl space of your mind does what it does best and tries to beat down any accepting thoughts.

He moves closer to you, grabs the cup from your hand and reaches back to set it next to his on the nightstand. His strong hands maneuver your body to sit more comfortably on the open side of the bed, and you let him. Guiding you to rest the side of your body, head against the free pillow to his left and the headboard. Pulling the blanket that was once wrapped around his body up over both your legs and gently clasps your hands in his. He takes a few moments to let you adjust to your new position. Tears welling in the corner of your eyes not yet making their escape. He sits cross-legged in front of you. And you finally let your eyes focus on his striking features. The look on his face the very epitome of being free from pretense or judgement. You clear your throat as his thumbs rub small circles over the tops of your hands. “Is there a world in which I could make you believe me?” He asks. His monologue had shell shocked you. You know he cares for you just as you do him. Hearing it said so plainly and to a deeper extent was not at all what you were expecting. Still, caring deeply for someone and being physical are not mutually exclusive. It still doesn’t explain why…

“It’s not that I don’t believe you Chris. I just don’t understand why. And I care about you too. It’s not a secret that I’d drop just about anything to help you if you’d need it, but I know my reasonings. And still what you said doesn’t explain at all why you would– about the…” Your words trail off. Your lips unsure of the confidence of saying it out loud. “The kiss?” His lips press together, and his eyebrows slightly raise, like he knew it would be hard for you to say. Your face heats and your cheeks turn a light shade of rose. Your mind finally registering that your hands are lightly placed in his. His hands grip a little tighter as if on instinct he knew you might pull away. He’s not wrong. The flush that’s running down your neck into your chest is screaming at you to abort physical contact no matter how good it feels. “Look, Bug; I know things have been a lot lately. In hindsight, the timing for that move might not have been perfect. But I don’t know how much longer I can wait for you to come to your senses.”  There’s a smirk on his lips that begs you to fall in line and understand what he’s trying to say. However, you’re too stubborn for that. “What are you trying to say, Chris?”  Your eyes are like saucers. Big and round. He chuckles in feigned exasperation, his eyes pinched shut accentuated with a big, dimpled smile. He shakes it off and looks up at you through his eye lashes. Sudden sincerity clearly in his expression.

“The year following your marriage to Alex was probably one of the hardest years of my life. It felt like I was mourning. And in a sense, I was. I had lost the last viable chance I thought I had in this life to make you finally see me. You were gone. Out of reach forever.” “I didn’t go anywhere. We’ve still been in each other’s lives...” “I know. I know. I knew we’d still be friends just as we always were. I could call you when I needed to hear your voice. Or meet for lunch when not seeing you every day became such a miserable thought in my mind. I don’t think you realize how many times just a simple voicemail from you, snarky and annoyed that I didn’t answer your call, saved me. Made me smile and laugh when I was unsure if I could dig myself out of a hole that I made for myself.”

“Laughing at my annoyed voicemails. Interesting.” You narrow your eyes in pretend irritation, trying to hide a sly smile from your lips. He leans back and huffs out a breath with a smile on his face, shaking your hands together back and forth. “My point is!” He lets go of your hands and cards his hands through his hair, ruffling the front a bit to sit how he’d like it to on his forehead. You let your eyes dance around his flexed muscles more freely this time. His hands fall back into his lap, and he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his bracelet on his wrist. This time, you reach one hand out and pull his hand away from its busy work and cup his hand between both of yours. You stare down at them folded together. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone in my life that is more deserving of my attention and care…” He says softly and exhales slowly, 

“Or love.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you close your eyes. A familiar sting behind them. You feel his free hand brush past your cheek with his knuckles and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear landing to cup your chin. “Y/N, look at me, please.” You’re afraid to open your eyes because surely the tears will fall. But you let him raise your head, suck in a slow breath and slowly open them. His eyes are trained on yours, earnest and full of adoration. The foundational nature of a kindness one is born into the world with. A simple tear falls from your right eye, and he swipes it with his thumb. “Will you let me show you? Will you let me help fight the thoughts that tell you you’re not?” “Chris, I…” And before you can finish your sentence you’re pulled into his lap. Rounded up into his toned bare chest and cocooned inside his arms. With your seat between his open legs and yours laid across one of his thighs, you curl your arms into your chest with one hand splayed hesitantly on the side of his lower neck and your head tucked beneath his chin. The fantasy of it all sounds like a dream. You let yourself feel it. A world in which his devotion focuses on you. Where you don’t have to imagine yourself without him. One where when you inevitably fall in a pit you’ve created for yourself, and he is there to catch you. He says he wants to show you how you deserve that kind of protection.

But does he deserve what little you have to give? It's plain to see what his intentions are. Even with his arms wrapped tightly around you, the feeling of being frail and frozen inside is still deep within you. Of course, he could make you feel safe and perhaps even truly loved. But at what cost to him?

“What if I can’t be enough for you? If I can’t give you what you deserve?” It comes out of you so small. So weak. Like a tiny branch, not yet ready to hold up the season’s first fresh ripe apple. “Whaddya mean? Was that not you today? My knight in shining black boots, rescuing me from fumbling over my words in countless conversations today at the opening? I think you forget just how strong you can be.” One of his hands that’s resting on your side lightly raps on your ribs eliciting a small yelp and squirm from you.

You pull your head up to look him into the eyes, “If you tickle me right now, I swear to god I will get up and leave this room, Christopher.”

He laughs and tucks your head back under his chin then rocks you both back and forth a few times before settling with one arm still wrapped tightly around you and his other hand on the back of your head.

“You only brought me there to busy me.” You’re back to talking quietly. Body heat is radiating off him. One of your arms is pressed tightly between your side and his defined abs. Your always cold skin, pulling the warmth from his body to put life into yours. “I think it can be described as a win-win.” He pushes his fingers through your hair to massage your scalp in slow circles. “You know it’s been hard for me lately. Hannah’s success has nothing to do with me but, my five-year plan isn't exactly going as well as I'd hoped it would.” Sighing deeply, he strokes your hair. Combing his fingers through and setting the wavy strands back into place after tussling them from his services.You use a finger to lightly trace a small infinity symbol on the skin of his arm that’s directly in your line of sight - “Finish college, move back home, start your business then watch it grow. It seems like it’s going just about as good as I recall you telling me about.”

His deep breath in and out shifts your body,

“To fall in love again,” he says in a whisper.

Your finger stops moving.

“That was part of it too, but I guess I found it hard to tell you. It’s not the easiest to tell the person you’re in love with that you hope you’ll eventually get over them and find someone else.” His hand that was on your head comes down to lock around his wrist caging you in against him again. The last time you spoke about your ‘five-year plans’ was a little over a year into your marriage to Alex. Chris had just bought his first office space, and you remember him calling you absolutely beaming through the phone about it. You laughed together and gave congratulations. The conversation didn’t seem somber to you then. “I really need you to know something, Chris.” You wrap your small fingers around his arm as far as they can reach, and squeeze lightly.

He picks his chin off from the top of your head and pulls back to try and look you in the eyes, but you stop him and pull him back against you. Unable to let his soft eyes waver your resolve to not cry in this moment.

“I really loved you.” You pause to steady yourself before continuing.

“I was sure that after we parted ways and went to different schools, I’d never find someone who could make me feel so safe. Someone who could help me not feel so isolated. I was scared, Chris. Talking to you on the phone, seeing you when we could spare the time, truly grounded me. But the loneliness, the inaccessibility, the inability to reach out to you whenever I felt like I couldn’t even stand on my own two feet… it wore me down…” A breath stutters out from you, and your throat begins to tighten. You can feel your stupid lip start to quiver despite clenching your teeth as hard as you can for a moment. He loosens his arms ever so slightly when he feels you readjust your weight. “I could have told you.” You continue. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you. You can’t convince me that if I did tell you that you wouldn’t have dropped everything to come to me. You would have put a hold on your dreams to protect me from whatever nightmare I caused for myself. And that’s dumb, Chris. That’s really really dumb and selfish of me.” “Y/N, I could’ve-”

“No, you know it’s true. So instead, I did the only thing I thought would help relieve you from the burden and tried to find someone else. And…and all it ended up doing is hurt you even more. No matter how I try, I just continue to salt your wound or push you away.” The resolve you had finally crumbles, and you can feel the hot rush of tears begin their descent down your cheek. You can sense his panic start to set in as his arms unclasp themselves and hastily find their way to your head, fussing with the hair that’s draped around your face, pushing it away over your shoulders. Both hands find your cheeks, and he holds your head in his hands and forces you to look at him. Your hands scramble up to cover your face, but he’s quick to move them out of the way with his arms. Letting them fall limp in your lap you acquiesce to his desire to meet eye to eye.

“Do you still love me?” His eyebrows are knitted together, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious before. His brown eyes are so deep, the question filling the pool to the brim. Your hands reach up again and grab his wrists. Eyes blinking rapidly to force your tears to stop blurring your vision. “Chris, we-“ “Do you love me, Y/N?” His thumbs brush a few stray tears from the apple of each of your cheeks and he studies your face again. His gaze moving from one eye to the other. You pinch your eyes shut for a moment, scrunching your face tight. Then you let it go lax, let a deep breath out through your nose, and open your eyes to lock with his. “I always will.” All at once, the tension and worry in his face gives way as his eyes soften and his lips part. His hands move slowly, pushing any stray hairs that were fighting in your favor to cover your face back behind your ears. They proceed downwards until his fingers are delicately at the back of your neck and his thumbs rub softly on your jawline. A gentle smile paints his soft lips. “You really made me fight for that, didn’t you?” He says through his smile and a light chuckle.

You huff out an annoyed laugh and begin to roll your eyes, as soon as they shut, you feel his heated lips press to your forehead. They stay there as he breaths out. He repeats the kiss a few more times as your hands let go of his wrists and make their way around his waist. Wrapping your arms tight around him, letting the affection spill from his lips.

⊹ ⋆ ₊❀∿.✧ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮✧∿.❀₊ ⋆ ⊹

Warmth spreads across the back of your legs before you can see the reason behind it. It stirs you in a nice way. Your hand comes up and runs through your hair, brushing stray pieces away from your face. Lungs fill deeply, slowly and steadily as you muster the courage to peek your eyes open. The dark blue curtains covering your window are halfway open. Letting a spill of late morning light fall through and onto the lower half of your body. Rolling onto your back you stretch all your limbs out at once in a starfish, wiggling your fingers and toes. You must have slept almost 10 hours. Eyes finally closing around midnight last night and waking naturally this morning when your body was ready. It’s in no rush despite the eagerness you have for the day.

You grab your phone and check your notifications. A few emails, a couple of social media posts from some of your favorite artists and 5 text messages. The digital clock says 10:03 AM but that doesn’t bother you. Your thumb pulls down the bar and sees the sender names of the texts waiting for you. One reads your sister’s name and the other says Chris.

You start with your sister’s. Three messages came in between 1 AM to a few minutes after 3 AM. 

Why weren’t you going to tell me this show was going to make me cry. DANG IT Y/N I CAN’T BE SOBBING LIKE THIS AT 3AM. 

Oh, thank God. The ending was fine. You are forgiven.

You giggle at your phone and type out a response:

If I would have told you, you wouldn’t have watched it. But you liked it didn’t you!

You hit the back button and click on Chris. Both messages came in around 8:30 AM.

The first message is an image. You click on the photo to make it bigger and smile. It’s a selfie of him sitting on the back porch of his parents’ house, his dog Berry sitting in his lap. You can tell he’s giving her good scratches because her eyes are closed and she’s leaning her little head into his hand. His smile is wide and bright. The dimple on the right side of his face prominent and tender.

You click the bottom left button on the screen and save the image to your phone then you click out and scroll to see the message underneath. Berry says Goooood morning! I do too of course. Can’t wait for later, hehehe ^_^ You scroll back up and look at the picture again for a few moments. Your smile deepens and you bite your lower lip clicking into the reply spot. Good morning to Berry and her loyal ear scratcher <3 Me too, see you at 4! You hit send and roll onto your side placing your phone back on the nightstand. You have quite a few hours to get ready and not too much cleaning to do. A nervousness swirls through your stomach but not in a bad way. You lay for a while, thinking and blinking at the rays of light shimmering through the window. It's been a month since you’ve seen Chris. By your own decision. That fateful night, before you fell asleep in his arms, you told him you needed some time to rearrange your thoughts. He of course accepted this, patience is his middle name. He told you he had already waited years and would wait more if he had to.

You didn’t need years to answer the question. The thought alone is simple enough. “Will you let me?” Can you, will you be able to let him love you? Spending years telling yourself and believing that you’re not deserving of it can’t be rewired overnight. Or even over a few weeks. But the beginning of the process must start with you. Will you love yourself enough to accept his love?

What is the condition one must be in to relinquish control over your emotions and let someone else bring your feelings out of you? What you knew for certain was that you were not yet in that state. Hard boiled and stagnant. Walls placed brick by brick around you with exceptionally frail edges.

Pushing the sheet off, you place your feet on the cold hardwood and stand slowly, stretching your arms up above your head, twisting your back to the left and right to smooth out any soft aches. You recall one of the emails in your phone telling you a package had arrived early this morning, find your way out to the living room, and twist the locks to open the front door.

A tall, thin cardboard box sits up against the wall to the side of your door. Excitedly, you slip your sandals on and step out to retrieve it. It’s not heavy in the slightest, you knew it wouldn’t be, but it still surprises you when you lift it so easily. You make your way back inside and push the door closed with your foot, heading straight to the guest bedroom. Placing the box on the bed you open the drawer of the desk in the corner of the room to grab a pair of scissors and start opening it up. Carefully you cut the bubble wrap and pull the painting out. The watercolors grab your vision at once. Every shade of green imaginable. Dark and rich at the forefront, light and feathery towards the top. A landscape of the treetops, of a deep vast forest with a soft mist of fog dipping in between the layers of Redwoods. A vision of home. You had already measured and prepared for its arrival, so you step up onto the bed and fix the painting onto the hooks. Easing back down onto your knees you back up until you reach the bottom of the bed and look up at your new art. It fits perfectly above the headboard and between the tall bookshelves at each side of the bed.

What is self-reflection? was a thought you had many times these few last weeks. What does it look like to move forward? To see yourself make progress and evolve past your former predispositions. It was clear to you that you didn’t have a clue.

The first week after that night you spent every hour at work and at home racking your brain to figure out your plan. Picking apart each negative thought you’ve had about yourself to see if you could find its source and snuff it out. It went nowhere. You spent hours reading articles and motivational books on self-care. All it did was make you feel silly. Out of touch with guides and steps to take.

You weren’t sure if you could call this a deep depression. You had been there before, and it didn’t quite look like this. You spoke with your family and friends often. You loved your job and took pride in your work. Cleaning your home and making dinner weren’t your favorite things to do, but they never truly were in the first place.

It was more of a wrong turn your brain had taken a long time ago. And continued to make for a long time. Set on a track headed for a cliff you knew was coming but never reached. The anxiety building and building but never falling off the edge.Halfway into the second week, you laid flat on your back on the bed in the guest bedroom. Frustrated with yourself and your inability to see the path before you. See the steps you were sure you needed to take. Fresh tears quietly and slowly making their way down your face and onto the baren bed below you. Your phone buzzed next to your head interrupting your thoughts.

A text message from Chris. A habit of his always seeming to know, even when you’re not around each other or haven’t spoken to each other, that you were silently suffering. Wiping the tears away, you pulled your phone in front of you and opened the message.

I saw this pretty thing today and thought of you. I hope you have space on your walls for a new friend.

Attached was an image of his hand holding a small square frame with a dry-preserved Atlas Moth pinned beneath the glass. The beauty and the irony were not lost on you. It was then that you knew you didn’t have to worry so much about what it looked like to move forward.

If you could let yourself enjoy the feelings he gave to you, it would be enough for now. 

The work you wanted to do on yourself would move along with him there beside you. There was no strategy to this. To love. For oneself or for another. The two things weren’t mutually exclusive. You had to take a step back and look at yourself as he would look at you. As anyone would. At the end of the day, you were just as deserving of love as anyone else was. You could say this to a friend or a family member but had a hard time saying it to yourself. 

Instead, you turned your focus to the guest bedroom you were laying in. Walls untouched. Void of color and warmth. You were never one to call yourself a minimalist. The room itself became a metaphor for your unwillingness to let Chris shine brightly the way he wants to for you.

Now sitting here in the bed scanning the room around you, it felt inviting.

You placed each object in the room with care. Bookshelves filled with some of your favorite authors and even a few rows of comic books and old video game cartridges. Shelves on the walls stacked with antique knickknacks that made you laugh and brought you joy. And now your new piece of art that reminds you of home.

Shifting off the bed, you grab the remnants of the cardboard box and wrap and take it to the kitchen. Ripping the cardboard into smaller pieces and placing all the trash neatly into your recycle bin. Chris had suggested a small Italian restaurant for dinner tonight, but you declined. Saying you two would have plenty of time to go out together, and you’d rather spend this Saturday alone with him. 

The rest of your day went by in a flash. With the only things left to do being a quick clean of the kitchen and mopping the floors, followed by a hot shower and pre-cutting the ingredients for dinner. 

Chris requested something to take the chill from his bones caused by the crisp late winter air. You could never call yourself a chef, but one dish your mother taught you and taught you well was Caldo Verde. A comforting Portuguese sausage, kale and potato soup. Homey and rich, the perfect soup to ground you both and warm your bellies. 

Despite not wanting to leave the house, it didn’t mean you couldn’t dress up a little. You gazed at yourself in the long mirror in your bathroom checking your outfit over again. A beige oversized cable knit sweater, plain black mini skirt with a slit up the side of your right thigh paired with matching beige cable knit leg warmers and fluffy closed back slippers. Cute, but not too much. 

Picking up your phone from the counter your stomach swirled once you read the time. 15 minutes to four. You couldn’t help bouncing on your toes a little bit before catching yourself and planting your hands on the counter to reel yourself back in. All you had left to do was be patient for a few more minutes.

‎‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹

Standing in your kitchen you swirled a tall, elegant wine decanter around in front of you. Appreciating the smell and the sound the wine made in its glass container when you hear a few quick knocks on your front door. You close your eyes and press your lips together while sucking in a breath, nerves coursing through your veins. It’s just Chris, stop being so nervous. Get it together girl. 

Quickly you place the decanter back on the kitchen countertop and step your way to the front door. You left it unlocked assuming he would just walk in as he usually has done before so you turn the handle and pause a second, readjusting your skirt one last time before opening it. 

And there he was, standing in the doorway, dimples on full display, one hand behind his back and the other holding a small square green pot with succulents in it.

“Anacampseros Telephiastrum Variegata.” He says in best fancy voice. 

You bring an arm across your stomach and put your elbow on your hand, resting your cheek on your closed fist. Looking at him with a smile and furrowed brows. 

“Otherwise known as ‘Sunrise’. I know you think flowers are cheesy, but I wanted to bring you something. I’ve been practicing saying the Latin name correctly all day.” He chuckles and winks at you. 

You reach out to take the plant from him and grab his now free hand to pull him inside.

“It’s beautiful, Chris. I’ve been meaning to add more color to my selection by the window.” You close the door and hear him set something down behind you and right before you turn around, you feel his arms come around your waist and embrace you from the back. One arm wrapped around your stomach, hand resting on your hip, and the other resting across one of your arms, hand resting on your bicep. 

“Mmmm, you smell so nice. A new perfume?” He says into your neck, taking a deep breath in. 

Your cheeks immediately flush, and you giggle awkwardly at the sudden contact.

“No, not new. I just never have a reason to wear it.” 

“Well, it suits you perfectly.” He rubs his face back and forth on your neck a few times, nose brushing the skin just below your ear then lets go, backing up a pace and picking up whatever was on the floor.

You turn around and see him holding a white gift bag. It’s now that you can appreciate how he looks. He’s wearing a silk black long sleeve shirt with quite a few buttons undone at the top, revealing a wide V of his prominent pectoral muscles, sleeves rolled a few times up and slightly tucked in at the front. Black, freshly pressed slacks that fit him perfectly and of course, shining black, dress shoes. A simple silver chain sits around his neck along with his favorite silver chain bracelet around his wrist. 

Fuck, he looked good.

You take a deep breath and blink a few times.

“Chris, you didn’t have to bring me anything. I feel so silly I didn’t get anything for you!” 

“Oh shush. You’re making dinner for me, aren’t you? That’s enough in itself. Promise. Plus, this is just your new friend.” He hands the bag out to you, and you grab the handles with your free hand and try to peek into the top. 

“I love him. Can’t wait to put him up with all the others. I don’t think I have a moth yet.” You say as you pace your way into the living room and set the bag and plant down on the coffee table. Chris swivels around on his heels and watches you. Arms in front of him, one hand clasped on top of the other and his head tilted to the side.

“You look beautiful.” He says just above a whisper. 

The blush that you were willing away fights its way back to the surface of your cheek bones. You shuffle on your feet and look down, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, too embarrassed to raise your head and make eye contact.

“I love the shirt.” The delicate laugh you let out is absolutely telling of your nerves, and you are positive he can sense it. 

He laughs under his breath and takes the short few steps towards you. 

“It’s really soft, wanna feel it?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You scoff and turn your head to the side as he reaches out pulling you into another hug. Arms encircling you. This time with the side of your face pressed right up against his shoulder. Your arms lay slack for a minute before hesitantly coming up around his waist and locking behind his back.

You take a deep breath and feel that swift sense of relief and comfort wash over your body. All the spikey nerves in your arms and legs fizzling out to make way for a flowing sensation of calm. He hums above your head and runs a hand up and down your back. 

“So, is dinner coming out alright, or do I need to prepare to order some food in?” He asks in a teasing voice.  

You pull back and swat one of his arms. 

“It’s perfectly fine, thank you very much. Speaking of which, go sit your ass down at the table before I accidentally on purpose burn your pieces of bread.” You point a finger at him, and he raises his arms up, his eyes wide and closed-mouthed smirk on his lips. 

Dinner was in fact fine. The soup was still the perfect temperature when you served it despite making it a little earlier than you should have. Chris devoured his bowl and asked for seconds, which you happily obliged. Conversation was easy and light, him asking you about your work week and you asking about how his parents are doing and of course Berry.

He showed you several more pictures of her on his phone before demanding he be the one to clean the table and do the dishes. You sat on a barstool on the onlook of your kitchen, slowly sipping from your wine glass and watching him bounce and dance around the kitchen, acting way too happy for someone who’s cleaning. 

When he was done, you made him go sit on the couch as you prepped snacks for the rest of the night. And along with the snacks, you made sure yesterday to stop by the bakery near your work and pick up two slices of his favorite chocolate cake. 

You glanced at him a few times through the opening in the kitchen and saw he sat on the edge of the couch, leg bouncing, elbows on his knees, worrying his lip and wringing his hands. It made you feel a little better that you weren’t the only one nervous about the night, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around what he could possibly be thinking that would make him on edge like that.

Padding into the living room you placed a platter of assorted fancy cheeses and meats with some pickled vegetables and crackers. He smiled up at you so affectionately as you smirked and quirked an eyebrow then turned back around to grab cake and wine. 

Finally bringing the rest out on another tray you sat it down and picked up the two plates of cake, handing one to him and sitting down next to him holding out two forks between you. He took one and smiled again at you although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You kept eye contact a little longer before gesturing at the cake in front of him. 

“You still like chocolate cake, right?” You asked while forking a small piece off the tip of your slice and taking the bite into your mouth.

He huffed out a laugh and followed suit. Taking a rather small bite for his standards and dancing the flavors around on his tongue before swallowing and looking back up at you. 

“It’s okay if you’re full. We can save it for later, you know.” You place your fork down on your plate and sit it on your lap. 

You watch as he slowly turns something over in his mind and sits his fork and plate back down on the tray, then reaches over to yours and takes it out of your hands, placing it next to his. His slow movements and hesitancy send a shiver of worry up your spine, and you can’t stop yourself from the comical gulp you make.

He turns his body towards you and reaches out to take your hands in his. His hands are so warm against your icy fingers, and you stare down at them for a second before looking up into his eyes. And there they are. Soft and round. You can’t make out what they portray. Somehow hiding their intel from you. 

The lights in the room seem to fuzz around you. You feel scared. Like he has a secret he’s been holding onto, and you’re the only one in the world who doesn’t know. Your heartbeat picks up as he pinches his eyes shut for a moment and runs his tongue along his bottom lip. 

“Chris, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” You tilt your head and question. A familiar sting behind your eyes and in your throat. 

“Oh god, no. No no no.” He shakes his head and lets out another nervous laugh. 

“Then why do I feel like you’re about to tell me the worst news of my life?” You gulp again and pull your bottom lip into your mouth. 

“Man, I’m really not good at this am I?” He chuckles again and turns your hands over in his so his are on top of yours like he’s grounding himself.

“Y/N, I was so worried these past few weeks. I mean, the amount of pacing I did in my room, I could have run a marathon instead.” He laughs again and runs a hand through his hair before bringing it back down to yours and grips a bit tighter. 

“I was worried you were going to shut me out. You responded to my texts, which gave me hope that wasn’t the case, but I still wasn’t sure if it was you being, well… just your regular self.” 

Your stomach knots. Another chip you had unknowingly taken out of his heart.

“I told you I’d wait for you, and of course I will. I don’t think I’d ever not wait for you. But I… I realized within that time what I didn’t notice before… the pressure I was putting on you. Asking you to take this leap of faith that I could be everything you needed. That you could feel safe with me, and I’d protect you. I can’t just…decide that for you. No matter how much I want to be that for you, it’s not my place to tell you I am what you need…” 

“Chris.” You cut him off gently. His eyes had been staring down at your hands clasped together. You could see the worry lines on his forehead from this angle. And the tears of doubt and worry in your eyes that were trying to force their way to the surface cooled their heat. 

You see him scrunch up his nose then pull his face back up to look at you. 

“I want to show you something.” Standing, you pull him up with you. You turn and keep one of his hands in yours as you walk down the hallway before stopping at the closed guest bedroom door. Turning, you face him with your hand on the doorknob. He looks at the door and then back to you confused.

Opening the door, you click on the light and drag him in along with you. You stop right at the foot of the bed, still holding his hand and sigh contentedly. 

You watch him as his eyes scan the room. The shelfs and books. The soft lavender duvet on the bed with a few decorative pillows. And eventually land on the painting on the wall. A light grin appears on him, but his eyes and brows still etch themselves confused. 

“It looks really nice. But I still don’t understand why...” 

“I’m sorry I made you wait for me again. I really am. I don’t want to continue making you feel that. But, this time it was necessary. I don’t have any concern of your, for a lack of a better word, devotion. It’s never been you who I worry about. It’s myself. You’ve never put any pressure on me, in any sense of the word, since I’ve known you, Chris. You make me feel safe. You always have.” 

You turn and sit on the edge of the bed and bring him with you. 

“My concern wasn’t that you couldn’t provide those things for me. I was afraid that I wouldn’t let you. I mean, for fuck’s sake you know how stubborn I can be.” You look at him with your lips pressed in a thin line and big eyes. 

He laughs, eyes closed and rubs the back of his neck. 

“You said it, not me.” He says playfully.

“What I’m trying to say is: I learned something important during these last few weeks… I need to stop worrying and just live. I need to let myself enjoy the things I love and accept the things I cannot change. Especially about myself. The only way I can stop myself from pushing you away is to remind myself that I am worth it. And I know, I know, you’ll tell me a thousand times over I am, but how can I take your words and believe them if I don’t think them myself?” 

You pause and glance over your shoulder at the painting on the wall. Serene, empty, yet full. The quietness of a deep forest. Just living. His eyes don’t follow you to the painting but stay trained on your profile.

“I can’t promise you in the slightest that I have accepted this overnight or that I’m immediately a changed woman, because that’s just not how change works, I think. But… I can promise you that I will try for you. Forever. Until I get it right.” 

You sigh deeply and bring your face and eyes back to meet his. His eyes are creased, accompanying a smile one could worship. And you intend to do so.

His free hand comes up and cups the side of your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. 

“I love you.” He says softly. 

“I will always love you.” You say, brimming with sincerity as you wrap your free hand around his wrist that’s holding your face. 

His eyes dance back and forth between yours, his smile delicate, as if asking for permission. Without hesitation you lean into him, placing your lips against his. This time you feel just how plump and perfect they are. His nose pressed softly against your cheek. He presses a bit harder and pulls away to reconnect at a better angle. 

You let his hand go and reach out to place your hand on his bare chest right in the middle of the V from his shirt. His free hand comes up to mirror his other hand on your cheek and pulls you closer to him. You feel as though the lights in the room really have gone dark this time. Encasing you and him in a pocket of time.

The heat between you two rises in an instant. He uses his grip on your face to his advantage, tilting your head side to side to press his lips onto yours repeatedly until you can feel yourself go dizzy in the head. Instinctively both your hands grasp at the front of his shirt, pulling him even still closer to you and run your tongue along his bottom lip. You can feel the shutter of his body  as it takes control over him, and he pushes you back onto the bed. You gasp quietly as your lips open for access.

His tongue enters your mouth slowly, tentatively as he rolls it around to find yours. The taste of him sweet like the bite of chocolate cake he savored earlier. Your stomach rolls up into your chest, a million soft wings of butterflies, moths, birds, dancing inside you. His right-hand slips down from your face, down your side to the hem of your big sweater and creeps up below it, brushing along the skin of your hip, sending goosebumps up your skin. 

You gasp again away from the kiss at the sensation. He pulls his hand away and opens his eyes to look at you. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry we don’t have to do this right now; I just got so carried away and I, god you feel so good against my lips.” He says rushed, out of breath. His elbow and forearm lay flat next to the side of your head, and he rests his other hand on the bed next to the hip he was once touching.

You take a second to catch your breath and smile, the most genuine smile you’ve ever had. Bringing your arms up, you wrap them around his neck and pull him down flush against you.

“I don’t think there is anything I’ve ever wanted more in this world, Chris. Now please, I love this shirt but take it off before I rip it off.” 

His eyes go wide, but he quickly recovers and smirks, adjusting his body to get the right angle and pulls your body up the bed so your legs are no longer dangling off the side. Then he gets on the bed and slots his knees between your thighs. Still upright on his knees, and smirk still adorning his face, he slowly unbuttons the last few buttons left on his shirt. 

You can’t help the giggle that comes out of you as your hands come up to cover your bright, heated cheeks as you watch him peel the silky tight shirt off his shoulders, behind his back and down his arms till he swings it above his head, balls it in his hands and sends it flying across the room to the floor. You cover your face as you laugh again at his ridiculousness. 

The bed thumps as his hands come down on either side of your head. You pull your hands down and peek over them. He slowly comes closer, down on his elbows, pressing his body against yours. Hips now connected to yours, slotted between your thighs. Pulling your arms out completely from between your bodies you wrap them back around his neck. Brushing at the hair on the nape of his neck with your fingertips.

The intensity in the air comes back quickly at your new position. He shifts his elbows down a little so he can brush the hair from your forehead and eyes.

“You’re so beautiful. The universe really did its thing when it made you.” He says simply as he kisses the top of your forehead, your nose, your beauty mark, and then connects your lips again. 

This time it’s your body that takes control. Your arms wrapping tighter around his neck bringing his full body weight on top of you. Feeling as if he could take your last breath now from your lips and you’d die happy. 

His tongue asks for entrance immediately, and you let him. Your knees come up and your feet plant on the bed, shifting your mini skirt up your legs, hips involuntarily pushing up against him to feel him beneath his tight slacks. A soft groan in his throat tells you he liked that, so you do it again. He moves his hips along with yours for a better angle, and this time you can feel his hardness pressed to your heat. 

His right hand comes down to resume the work he started earlier and quickly slips beneath your sweater. Running up your side all the way up, forcing your sweater to bunch and ghosting over your breast, all the way up through the hole in the top of the sweater, hand softly grabbing your neck and pushing your face to the side. 

He kisses down your jaw, until he reaches the soft skin of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat as he trails kisses down your pulse point until he stops and nibbles delicately right above your collarbone.

Your arms unlock from his neck and smooth over his strong shoulders. Feeling every muscle as he continues to suck and bite on your neck. A moan escapes you at a particularly hard bite, and he hisses through his teeth while tightening his fingers around your throat. A high-pitched whine from you pulls his attention back as he lets go and leans off you. 

You gasp at the sudden lack of pressure only to look up and see a fire in his eyes staring down at you. Chest heaving, his eyes are lidded, and tongue comes out to brush his bottom lip. The silhouette of his body alone could send you into a coma.

“Take your sweater off for me.” His voice is deep. Your breath still catching up to you and your mind floaty, it takes you a second to realize what he said.

His tone was not lost on you though. Something you’ll have to tuck away for later and unpack with him. 

Pulling your upper body off the bed to sit upright, you quickly acquiesce to his request and yank your sweater up over your head and throw it to the floor while maintaining eye contact as best as you can. However, your hands have a mind of their own.

Your palms come up and lay flat against his lower abdomen, running up the rivulets of his abs followed by your lips, pressing soft kisses one by one around his belly button as your hands continue up and over his chest and down his sides. Your eyes flit closed as you feel his hands run through your hair then find their way against your scalp and tighten against the roots pulling your face slightly away from him. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you from this angle.” He says as he brushes his free knuckles against the side of your face and jaw, your eyes opening slowly to see his gentle eyes scanning your face. A rush of heat dances in your belly, and you are overcome with the sudden urge to please him. To make him feel good, the way he makes you feel good by just existing in your life. 

Your hands find the button of his slacks quickly, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down. His hand tightens in your hair faintly, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your throat. 

“Pants,” is all you can muster. Your hands grab the waistband and try to pull but the snugness of the fit fights against you. Before you can summon the courage to clarify yourself, his hand tightens aggressively as he maneuvers your head to face back up at him.

“Come again?” His face is stoic, except for a brow that’s raised. His composure is so different than he’s ever been with you before. His attitude was always kind, lamb-like towards you. Soft words spoken to a soft shell of a person. But the tone in his words, the severity of this change in him, like he knows your body is craving someone to be rough with you. 

“These pants need to come off.” You tug at the waistband again, but his face remains focused on you. Expression changeless. His eyes bore into you while your mind finally reaches for what he wants from you. 

“Take your pants off… please?” You don’t miss the desperation in your voice. It’s not a new tone for you but the words felt fresh coming from your lips.

“Anything for you baby.” As he releases your hair and pushes your body back slowly until you’re resting on your elbows. 

He backs off the edge of the bed, and you watch as he steps out of his tight black slacks. The dips in his pelvic area creating the perfect tunnel for your eyes to follow down to his boxers. You can tell his eyes are watching yours, but you continue to stare down, mesmerized by every curve his body makes. 

He waits for you to meet his eyes before he makes the next move to pull down his boxers. Your lips part as you see in your peripheral, his cock springing free. You continue to stare at each other for a moment, your heart racing, until his eyes slowly trail down to your legs sitting open in front of him.

A rush of nerves flows down your body at your vulnerable position, and instinctively you move to close your legs, but he quickly reaches out and catches your knees before they can shut. 

“No being shy now. I need to see you.” He says as his hands smooth down your upper thighs to the hem of your skirt. He touches the fabric softly before pushing it further up to expose you more. His hands come up the outside of your thighs before hooking under your knees and pushing them up against your stomach. 

There you are, laid out for him in just your lacy black bra and matching panties with your skirt pushed up and his hands on your body. Your arms feel weak, and your elbows almost give out when you have a moment to really study his face looking down at you. He almost looks pained. His jaw is set tight, and his brows are bunched together. Your stomach swirls, and you feel the patch of wetness on your panties grow.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I’ve had to wait this long to see you like this.” He says as he brings his knees back onto the bed to get closer to you. Between the small gap of your knees your eyes can finally see his cock. Your breath hitches in your throat as you take in its length and size, filled out completely from just looking down at your body.

“Chris, please, I wanna taste you. Let me taste you.” You say, breathless.

He laughs and pokes his tongue into his cheek before pushing your legs closer to your chest forcing you off your elbows and onto your back. 

“No matter how much I loved hearing that from your lips, you’re gonna have to stop saying stuff like that, babygirl, or you’re going to drive me insane. I could come right now from the sight of you alone.” His fingers on your thighs dig into you a little deeper.

Your hands grip the fabric of the bed and whatever little patience or control you thought you might have had slips away. 

“Then kiss me. Shut me up.” You say with frustration.

A small, mischievous smile twists his lips, 

“I plan on it.” He says as his body dips to flatten on the bed. Before you can register what is happening, his plush lips press softly on the thin cotton covering you. A moan escapes you as you feel the heat flood your body. 

“This isn’t going to keep me quiet.” You say under your breath.

His lips come off you, and his hands find their way down your thighs till they both rest next to your center. You feel one of his fingers gently trace their way from the top, down to the bottom of the wetness on the cotton and back up again. The sensation sending a soft shudder down your spine.

“I don’t want it to.” He says as he hooks his finger into the fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to the cold air. A deep breath is sucked into your chest as you feel the first contact of his tongue pressed flat against you. The warmth invades your senses. He keeps it there a moment before starting to lick at you slowly, then increasing in speed and intensity, finding every inch of skin with his tongue. 

This feeling alone has you panting quickly, your fingers digging into the soft bedspread below you. His free hand palms at the flesh on your thigh, massaging it deeply with his thumb until it reaches the edge of you, spreading you out for better access. You yelp as his tongue enters you, and the muscle dances around creating a buzz beneath your stomach.

“Mmmm, you taste fucking fantastic.” He says before attaching his plump lips to your clit, sucking gently.

“Chris.. ohmygod...” Is all you can get out before you feel one of his fingers find your entrance and tease you with it. The combined feeling has you pinching your eyes shut and a whine leaving your throat. Before you can manage to wrap your head around the pleasure coursing through your body you feel two of his fingers thrust themselves inside of you, each finger alternating in a curling motion.

Your head is spinning as you become a mess of heavy breathing and loud moans falling from your lips. His name coming in between harsh inhales. Your legs tremble as his sucking increases in intensity, coiling a knot inside of you so tight that when it snaps, you’re afraid recovering from it will be impossible. 

“I, Chris, I’m..” You mumble incoherently as your legs give out and fall from their hiked-up position to rest over his shoulders effectively closing him in between your thighs. 

“Come for me, baby, come on my fingers. Let me hear you.” He says before reattaching his lips on you and furthering his power and concentration on your pleasure. 

His tongue swirls around your clit, sending you fast over the edge. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you hold it in while the muscles in your body let go and dance under his touch. The feeling courses through you so strongly, when the peak finally subsides your legs instinctively close against his head suffocating him in your center. You hear him moan deeply and his fingers leave you so both of his hands can come around to your hips, gripping you and pushing your body harder against his face.

His mouth on overdrive, he licks, sucks and kisses you into oversensitivity. Your head buzzes at the feeling as your hands find his on your hips, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and bucking your hips further into him. 

“Chris, please, oh fuck,” you muster between your whines. 

His grip tightens on you, and you hear another moan from him, this time louder and deeper sending vibrations through your skin and deep into the bottom of your stomach. You’re positive you’ve never come twice in such quick succession, but your body reacts on its own, sending you straight off the edge from his attention.

Your body shakes, and your hands let go of him to find their way into your hair. You squeeze at the roots and ground yourself into the sweeping sensation all over your body. His hands release your hips and smooth over your stomach and waist feeling your muscles tighten and contract beneath them.

He slows his exertion, seemingly satisfied with your exhaustion and pulls his head away slightly guiding you to drop your tight hold with your thighs. They part and fall to the sides leaving his face unobstructed from your view, if only you could find the strength to lift your head.

Before you can fully catch your breath, you feel him untangle himself from your lower half, grab your panties and skirt, pulling them down and off your legs, and crawl up the bed and over your body until you’re face to face. His eyes are lidded and heavy and the bottom half of his face glistens as his tongue comes out to lick his lips. 

“I hope you liked that as much as I did.” He says with a slightly cocky smile on his lips. 

“For fuck’s sake, Chris.” You huff out jokingly as his body flattens against yours between your legs. His cock hard and warm, pressed flat against your wetness. Your tiredness aside, the sensation sparks through your body, making your breath shudder.

He laughs and connects your lips together. You didn’t even realize just how much you missed the feeling of his soft lips pressed against yours, however busy they were just a few seconds ago. Your stomach stirs again feeling his body weight against yours.

“You’re so tight, baby. We might have to go a little bit slow even after me doing my best to help you relax.” He says between kisses. Your arms wrap around his neck and legs come up to hook themselves around his waist, moving your hips until the tip of his cock is closer to your entrance. 

“I can handle it. I know I can.” You say against his lips.

His eyes close and his brows furrow as you slightly move your hips again in a circular motion. Dragging him along your wetness hoping to edge his patience into taking action. You stick your tongue out and lick his lower lip. His eyes snap back open and in one quick motion you are flipped around until you are laying over him.

“Come on baby, sit yourself down on me. Take your time. I wanna see your face as you work yourself open on me.” He reaches down and cups your ass to get a handful and squeezes. 

Your brain feels foggy, and it can’t believe it’s hearing Chris say these things to you. Using his arms as leverage you push yourself up into a seated position on your knees with him nestled perfectly beneath you. Your hands come up to your bra and go to unhook it, but his hands stop you.

“Leave it on.” His voice is deep again in a way that vibrates your chest. His hands push yours aside and caresses both of your breasts over the lacy fabric, using his thumbs to rub back and forth over your nipples. The fabric is thin, and the contact is enough to make them harden beneath it. You watch his face as he continues his work, feeling your nipples through the fabric, pinching them a few times making you moan and then pulling the fabric down to expose them. 

He ghosts his fingertips over them sending a shiver down your spine. One of his hands comes up to your mouth, softly pressing his fingertips onto your lips until you part them and take them in, gently sucking and licking them. His own lips part as you wet his fingers, and his hips rut up once against you as if working on their own accord. 

A soft “fuck” leaves his lips as he takes his fingers away and rubs them against one of your nipples. Circling it and pinching it, creating sweet shocks of pleasure. You close your eyes and enjoy the feeling until you feel a sharp smack on your ass. You can’t help the excited yelp that leaves you as your eyes snap back open.

“Let me feel you, babygirl,” he says, eyes lidded, looking like he’s right on the edge of his self-control. As if he wants to snap and take over but is fighting himself to let you take the lead. 

A new swirl in your stomach forms and you plant your hands on his chest. You move your hips up and down on him slightly, feeling his length beneath you before lifting yourself off him. One of his hands comes down to grip your waist, and the other to the base of his cock to hold it up for you to do with as you please. 

You waste little time centering and slowly sinking an inch or two down. The hand holding himself quickly pulls away before attaching itself to the other side of your waist. His eyebrows bunch as he fixes his gaze down to where you two meet. You stay there for a few beats, relishing in the stretch and heat of him. It floods all your senses, sending warmth from below your belly all the way up to the tips of your ears.

Not even a moment passes before your body sends desperate shivers down your legs to give in and sink down. You can sense he’s being extremely patient with your pace, his fingers twitching slightly on your skin, begging you to move. You swirl your hips in a circle as you lower yourself fully onto him, unable to resist the urge to let your jaw go slack and your head fall back.

You feel immediately insane. Every inch of your body is screaming to keep yourself filled by him forever. Your hands grip his pecs as you start to bounce on him. You see his expression change rapidly from one of frustration and restraint to pure, uncontained lust. His hands seek your hips and squeeze harshly on the flesh prompting you to pick up your pace. It’s not long before you’re panting and moaning softly above him. Almost unable to keep your eyes open at the pleasure coursing through your body.

Desperate to feel him even deeper than you could possibly imagine you pick your hands off him and sit up arching your back and rolling your hips forward. His hands are quick to react to your new position as they start to roam over your stomach, up your sides and back down to squeeze at your thighs working hard over him. 

Your hands come back behind you and land on his upper thighs to help keep you upright as you continue to bounce on him. However, you know it won’t last long, the power you want cannot be maintained by the strength that you have. 

Moving your face back down to face him you’re stunned by how beautiful he looks beneath you. His skin is glistening above his collarbones and gently across the apples of his cheeks. His mouth is open and his eyes that were once dancing across your body come up to meet yours. 

“Chris, I…” You start before moaning loudly as his hands grab your ass and squeeze.

“Kiss me, please,” leaves your lips as you feel your legs shake.

He groans softly and quickly fixes himself into an upright position and latches his lips onto yours, wrapping his arms around your body. His new position creates a new angle, and you clench around him pressing your body up against his and wrapping your arms around his neck. As soon as he feels you, his body reacts pistoning up into you as best as he can at a bed shaking pace.

His kisses renew your strength as your body starts to move with his, pushing him further into you and hitting the perfect spot over and over again.

"How does it feel, baby?" His lips detach for yours and find themselves at your neck sucking harshly at the skin.

“So.. good” is all you can mumble between breaths.

“Tell me again.” He says firmly, biting down on the space just above your collarbone then quickly licking over the sensitive skin. 

"You feel so good, Chris. I need you. Please." Your words are accentuated by you clenching around him. His hips stutter, and he quickly flips both of you over until you are lying on your back again under him. His hands smooth up your body as he sinks all the way down into you and stops at the hilt.

"You’re so perfect. You feel so perfect. I need you to come for me again, you're going to do that for me, right?" He fixes the position of his body until your legs are pushed up against your chest again, and his body is laying on top of yours. He puts one hand between you to massage your clit with his thumb as the other comes up to caress your face, his elbow perched on the bed beside your head. 

His passion is pouring out through his hips as soon as he starts to move again. You need more though; you need his perfect lips against yours again to seal all the emotion and pleasure. You reach an arm out and wrap it around his neck pulling his face into yours and without missing a beat he licks into your mouth and pulls on your bottom lip with his teeth sending you fast off the edge of your next high.

Your body shakes and pushes itself up against him, willing him to let go with you, to feel him inside of you. 

“Give me what I want, Chris. Please baby.” you whisper in his ear.

Your words spur him on as both of his hands find their way to your face and he kisses you through his release. Sloppy and heated kisses mixed with his stuttering hips colliding with you slowly over and over again until he is satisfied with his depth and pleasure.

He pulls away from your face slowly, leaving soft pecks on your lips until he can look you in the eyes. A tired smile is gentle across your face. Both of your heavy breathing mix in the air together. He takes his time moving his body off yours and onto the bed next to you, pulling you onto your side with one of your arms and legs draped across his front.

His hand runs up and down your arm as you both settle your breathing and bask in the heated air. There’s a serene sort of stillness that has settled around you that only comes from clearing your soul out. 

You hear him hum in contentment above you. His hand on your back rubs up and down your spine. Your breath is soft again, blowing gently across his chest as you lift your head up and place a kiss where your cheek was then crane your neck to look up at his face. His eyes are closed and the glow on his face is ethereal. 

“We still have cake.” You whisper to him with a soft smile on your lips.

His eyes jump open, “Oh fuck, that sounds so good right now.” He’s never sounded so serious about a piece of cake before.

You start to laugh as his body kicks into action, jumping off the bed and swooping you up into his arms bridal style carrying you back into the living room. 

“Chris, our clothes!” You bark out through your laughter as your arms wrap around his neck.

He winks and kisses the tip of your nose, “Nahhh, we don’t need 'em yet.”

Thank you to @thehandmaidenofcreativity for helping me edit this mess! Love you bb <3