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jaylalolz · 1 day

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,, YOUR MINE ‘‘ nicholas chavez

warnings : smuttttyyyy

a/n : this is so long i’m sorry

summary : a virgin meets her new priest, charlie, and has unholy thoughts about him.

THIS IS NOT MEANT TO DISRESPECT ANYONE. IF YOU DONT SUPPORT/LIKE THIS THEN DONT READ IT !!!

Maddie sat in the pew, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. She felt the cool wood of the church beneath her and inhaled deeply, trying to focus on the familiar scent of incense and the soft flickering of candlelight. The nave was quiet, save for the low murmur of a few others whispering their prayers. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting hues of red, blue, and gold onto the marble floor.

She knew she needed to go to confession. Her stomach churned with guilt, and her heart raced every time she thought about what she was about to confess. It wasn’t her first time in the sacrament of penance, but this felt different. This was something she had never admitted to anyone, not even herself, until now.

She glanced toward the confessional, its dark wooden frame both inviting and intimidating. Her eyes flickered up to the crucifix above the altar, and she whispered a silent prayer for courage. Her new priest, Father Charlie, was in the confessional today. The thought of facing him in that small booth made her throat tighten, but she had no other choice. The weight of her secret was becoming unbearable.

Maddie had only known Father Charlie for a few months, ever since he had arrived at their parish. He was younger than she had expected—soft-spoken but with a presence that commanded attention. There was a warmth about him, something that made people feel at ease. But for Maddie, that ease had quickly turned into something else. Something she didn’t want to admit to herself, let alone to God.

With trembling hands, she stood and walked toward the confessional. Each step felt heavy, as though she were wading through water. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the door and knelt down inside the small wooden booth, closing the door behind her. The familiar smell of wood polish and candle wax filled her nostrils, calming her for a brief moment.

Through the mesh screen, she could see the outline of Father Charlie sitting on the other side. She heard him clear his throat softly, then speak.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he began, his voice low and calming.

Maddie crossed herself and whispered, “Amen.”

He waited a moment, allowing the silence to settle between them, before he continued. “How long has it been since your last confession?”

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “A month, Father.”

There was another pause, and Maddie could feel his presence more acutely now, even though she couldn’t see him clearly. The confessional felt smaller than usual.

“Go ahead,” Father Charlie said gently. “What do you wish to confess?”

Maddie’s heart hammered in her chest, her hands trembling in her lap. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had rehearsed what she was going to say a dozen times in her mind, but now, in the quiet of the confessional, her carefully planned words scattered like dust.

“Father,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I…I’ve been having impure thoughts.”

There was a moment of silence on the other side, and Maddie wondered if he could hear how fast her heart was beating. She clenched her hands tighter, trying to stop them from shaking.

“Go on,” Father Charlie said gently, his tone encouraging, as though he could sense her fear.

“I…” She swallowed again, her mouth dry. “It’s not just impure thoughts, Father. They’re about…someone.”

Maddie’s face burned with shame knowing she is talking about Father Charlie. She wanted to melt into the floor, to disappear and never have to face this moment again. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, than she did in that instant.

On the other side of the screen, Father Charlie smirked His breathing remained steady, and Maddie wondered what he must be thinking. How could he not be shocked? How could he not recoil at her words? But there was no reaction. No sharp intake of breath, no awkward shuffling. Just silence. Maddie couldn’t bear it anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why this is happening. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time I see him, every time I hear his voice, I…I can’t help it. These thoughts, these feelings, they just…they won’t go away.”

Her chest tightened, and she fought back the tears that were threatening to spill over. She had never felt more ashamed, more humiliated.

After what felt like an eternity, Father Charlie finally spoke, his voice steady but softer now.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said, his words careful. “It takes great courage to confess such things.”

Maddie let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, but her heart still raced. She had no idea what he would say next. Would he condemn her? Would he tell her that her feelings were sinful, that she was wrong to have them?

“What you are feeling,” he continued after a brief pause, “is not uncommon. We are all human, and we all experience moments of weakness, moments when our thoughts stray in ways we wish they wouldn’t.”

Maddie nodded silently, tears beginning to blur her vision. She hadn’t expected compassion. She felt a flicker of relief, though the weight of her shame still pressed down on her.

Maddie wiped away a tear that had fallen, her heart feeling lighter now. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this—a gentle reminder of her humanity, of their shared struggle. It wasn’t condemnation, but understanding.

“Your penance,” Father Charlie said quietly, “is to say three Hail Marys and to spend some time reflecting on the love that God has for you. He knows your heart, Maddie, and He forgives you.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over her for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.

As Maddie stood to leave the confessional, she paused for a moment, her hand on the door.

A week had passed since Maddie’s confession, and though she had tried to focus on her prayers, her thoughts kept returning to that moment in the confessional, her voice trembling as she admitted her feelings to Father Charlie. She avoided eye contact with him at Mass, ashamed of what she had shared, but there was something else too—an undeniable pull toward him, a curiosity about how he had handled her confession so calmly, so compassionately.

After Sunday Mass, Maddie lingered in the church longer than usual, kneeling in prayer but mostly trying to gather her thoughts. The church was quiet now, the soft shuffle of feet and the rustling of coats fading as people slowly filed out. The sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a golden hue over the altar.

She was about to stand and leave when she heard a voice behind her.

"Maddie?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him—Father Charlie. His voice had become unmistakable to her now, carrying a warmth that both soothed and unsettled her.

She turned slowly and found him standing just a few feet away, his black cassock crisp and formal, yet his expression kind and open. He wasn’t wearing the confessional mask of formality. This was just Charlie now—no screen, no distance.

“Father,” she said softly, her heart pounding in her chest again.

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment,” he said, taking a step closer. He gestured toward one of the pews, and she nodded, sitting down as he joined her. There was a moment of silence, and Maddie could feel the weight of it hanging between them. She kept her gaze lowered, studying her hands in her lap, unsure of what he was about to say.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your confession,” Charlie began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “And I believe there’s more to discuss than what we could cover in the confessional.”

Maddie’s heart skipped again, her stomach twisting. She didn’t know where this was going, but the tension in her body made her pulse race. She looked up at him, his eyes calm but serious.

“I want to help you, Maddie,” he continued, his voice gentle. “But I think it would be easier to talk in a more private setting. Not here, where everything feels so… formal.”

Her pulse quickened, and she felt the awkwardness rising inside her. Was he inviting her to…? No, she shook the thought away before it could fully form. He was still her priest, and this was still about her spiritual guidance. There couldn’t be anything more.

Charlie cleared his throat, his eyes shifting slightly as if he could sense her discomfort. “I was thinking,” he said slowly, “if you’re comfortable with it, maybe you could come over for dinner. We could talk more freely there, without the pressure of the confessional.”

Maddie blinked in surprise. Dinner? The idea of sitting across from him in a more intimate setting—without the screen, without the anonymity of the church—made her thighs burn. Her immediate instinct was to refuse, to put up a wall and protect herself from what she knew could happen if she let her guard down.

But then she remembered his kindness, the way he had listened to her confession without judgment, offering compassion where she had expected rejection. Maybe this was an opportunity to finally get clarity, to face the confusion and temptation she had been wrestling with.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” Charlie added quickly, his voice sincere. “This isn’t… this isn’t about anything inappropriate, Maddie. I just think it would help to have a real conversation. I understand if it’s too much, though.”

She met his eyes for the first time since that day in the confessional. There was nothing predatory in his gaze, no ulterior motive—just concern. He genuinely wanted to help her, and despite her fear, she trusted him. That trust, however, made it even more complicated.

“I… I think that might help,” Maddie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Maddie barely touched her food. She could feel Charlie’s eyes on her every now and then, and the knot in her stomach tightened with each glance. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Maddie, I’ve noticed something,” he said, his tone gentle but serious. She looked up from her untouched plate, her heart skipping a beat. “What is it?”

“You’ve been… distracted. During Mass.”

Her heart sank, her breath catching in her throat. She knew what was coming. She could feel it in the air between them. Charlie leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been avoiding eye contact with me lately,” he continued. “And even before your confession… I could tell something was on your mind.”

Maddie’s face burned with embarrassment, and she dropped her gaze to the table, unable to meet his eyes. She had hoped he hadn’t noticed, but of course he had. He was her priest, after all—attuned to the nuances of the people in his care “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment, waiting for her to continue. The silence hung between them like a heavy weight.

“You’re right,” Maddie admitted, her fingers trembling as she played with the edge of her napkin. “I’ve been distracted. I haven’t been able to focus during Mass, and it’s… it’s because of you.”

Her last words hung in the air, and the room seemed to grow even quieter. Maddie dared to glance up at Charlie. His face remained calm, though his eyes darkened with something she couldn’t quite read.

“Because of me?” he asked softly, his voice steady .

Maddie’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, knowing she had no choice but to confess the truth now. She had come here to confront her feelings, to address what had been eating at her, and there was no turning back.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in a unholy way” she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. “Ever since you came to the parish, it’s been… difficult. I know it’s wrong, I know you’re my priest, but I can’t help it. It’s like you’re always on my mind, and it’s affecting everything—my prayers, my faith, my peace.”

Charlie’s expression didn’t change, but his hands clenched slightly around the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. He remained silent, giving her the space to continue.

“I thought maybe talking to you tonight would help me figure out what to do,” Maddie continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “But being here… it’s just making it harder. I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

Her confession was out now, laid bare between them. She could hear her own heartbeat in the silence that followed, could feel the tension radiating through her body, as if the air between them had thickened with unsaid words.

Charlie’s eyes flickered with something—sympathy, perhaps, but also an understanding that ran deeper than she expected. He exhaled slowly, as if gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“Maddie,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “I understand how difficult this is for you. And I need you to know that what you’re feeling isn’t unnatural. These thoughts, these feelings… they happen. To both of us.”

Maddie’s breath hitched. Both of us? Did that mean…?

Charlie leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “I mean that maybe it’s better to… release some of the tension. These thoughts, these feelings—you don’t have to hold onto them so tightly.”

Her breath hitched, and she felt a cold wave of shock ripple through her. “Release the tension?”

Charlie nodded slowly, his voice low and calm, but his words held a gravity she hadn’t expected. “I know you’ve been trying to resist it, Maddie, but sometimes resisting only makes the desire stronger. It’s human nature. Maybe… maybe it would help to let yourself feel it. To stop fighting against it.”

Maddie’s face flushed hot, her heart racing as the implications of his words sank in. She felt a lump form in her throat, and her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

“You mean…” she started, but her voice faltered, unable to finish the sentence.

Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. “What I mean is… it’s okay to acknowledge your desire. There’s no shame in it. It’s natural to have these feelings, especially when there’s such strong tension between us.”

Maddie’s eyes widened, her stomach tightening with a mix of shock and something else—something dangerous that she had been trying to push down since the moment she walked through his door.

“Have you ever…?” Charlie hesitated, but the question hung heavily in the air. “Have you ever touched yourself while thinking about me?”

Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. The question was like a punch to the gut, but it was also the very thing she had been dreading and hoping he wouldn’t ask. The truth was that she had—more than once, in the privacy of her bedroom, late at night when the thoughts she couldn’t suppress became too overwhelming to ignore. The guilt had followed her like a shadow, but the need had been stronger, overpowering.

She dropped her gaze to the table, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of her napkin tightly. She couldn’t meet his eyes, not after that question.

“I…” She started to speak but hesitated, the shame and desire warring within her. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to say the word aloud. “I have.”

The admission felt like a weight lifting from her chest and, at the same time, a heavy anchor pulling her deeper into the dangerous waters they were treading. She had crossed a line, and now she was standing at the edge of something she couldn’t undo.

Charlie exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as if he had expected the answer but needed to hear it from her. His gaze was intense, but there was no judgment in his eyes, only a strange understanding that made her feel both relieved and more vulnerable than ever.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Charlie said quietly, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “You’re human, Maddie. We both are. And these feelings, these urges… they’re part of that. Trying to deny them only makes them stronger.”

Maddie’s head spun, the room suddenly feeling too small, too intimate. She had come here seeking clarity, hoping to calm the turmoil inside her, but this—this was only making the storm stronger. She had confessed her desires to him, and now he wasn’t telling her to resist them. He wasn’t telling her to fight back. He was telling her to let go.

“But…” she began, her voice shaking. “You’re a priest. This… this isn’t right.”

Charlie sighed, his gaze softening. “I know. Believe me, I know. But right and wrong aren’t always black and white. There’s no sin in acknowledging desire, Maddie. There’s no sin in being honest with ourselves.”

Her breath caught as he began to run his hands up her thighs. He kisses up her neck and says, "Tell me you want this, tell me you want me." She pauses to consider whether doing this was the best course of action.She then recalls Charlie claiming it wasn't a sin, so why would he lie about that? Eagerly nodding, she says, "Yes, please, I want you."

Her eyes roll back to her head as he moves to her private area and begins gently massaging her covered clit. He whispers in her ear, making her thighs burn, "I remember those times when you wore those short skirts. It's like you wanted me to bend you over in front of everyone and punish you."

Once more, he begins to kiss up her neck, but this time he sucks part of it. Leaving a dark spot, she groans loudly at the strange sensation. He smirks.

His hand begins to go toward her breasts, giving her skin shivers. He unbuttoned her blouse and said, "Every time I saw you in church, your blouse always unbuttoned around me, it's like you wanted it to happen." She says nervously, "I did it on purpose to get your attention."

His eyes darkened and he looked up at her. She yelps as she felt him clutch her throat. He exclaims, "You're such a slut for me," and presses his lips to hers. Even though she has a million things on her mind, her heartbeat is happening ten times quicker than she is. His thumb resting on the side of her jaw, as he pulled her hair back behind her ear with his other hand.

A fast kiss was exchanged between the two. As their tongues swirled together, he inserted his tongue into her mouth. Maddie felt as though her fantasies were becoming true. His movements sped up till he came to stop and pulled away. Maddie lets out a gasp. "Lay on the bed," he insists.

She approaches his bed nervously and crawls to the middle of it. She spins around to face him. He looks her over. Her stomach churns as she looks at her from top to bottom.

He moves toward the bed and crawls on all fours to her. He looks at her between his eyebrows as he begins to kiss at her legs and continues all the way up to her thighs.

"Hey. I won't do anything that you don't want me to.” He whispers, "Tell me if you're not comfortable” She considers it for a brief moment. concluding that she wants for him to continue. She tells him, "Don't stop," he licks his lips and smirks.

Eagerly he tugs at her skirt. As he tries to slides it down, he realizes there's a zipper on the side. While unzipping her skirt and pushing it until it reaches the bottom of her legs, he maintains eye contact with her.

He presses his nose down into her thighs, planting little kisses on her closeted clit. He groans as she pulls on his hair with a deep moan. He gives her an intense look as he gradually begins removing her underwear. She glances away from him as butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach.

He comments, "You're so gorgeous.. in every way," as he surveys her figure. To prevent her from leaving, he grabs her legs and pins them to the bed. What he provides her, she has to accept. He makes her back arch as he licks her slit.

As if she were the last thing he would ever eat, he puts his head down and begins to devour her. She groans aloud as he gives her a passionate kiss on the clit. He groans louder as she tugs at his hair more forcefully than before.

He approaches her hole and begins carefully putting his finger inside of her. She puts her head down on the cushion, shuts her eyes, and her jaw lowers. He begins to eat her out while fingering her. Sucking on her sensitive clit, he pushes in and out with his finger.

Her tummy begins to feel strange, and her back arches. He smirks as her pussy tightens around his finger. "It's alright, sweetheart.” He comforts her, let yourself go," as she comes undone with a loud groan.

She catches her breath as he emerges from her privates, covered in her juices. He pulls her to him by grabbing a strand of her hair and gives her a kiss. Allowing her to taste herself.

“Your mines now”

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez smut #charlie mayhew #charlie mayhew smut

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barcaatthemoon · 2 days

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the high life || barcelona x teen!reader ||

You get caught after accidentally eating an edible at a party.

"Where is (Y/n)?" Vicky was losing her mind. The only way that Aleia had agreed to let either of you go to this party was if you watched out for each other, and Vicky had lost you nearly an hour ago. One moment the two of you were dancing, and the next, Vicky turned to see you had vanished. That wasn't like you, so Vicky was really starting to freak out the longer that you were gone. "(Y/n)!"

"Vicky, hi." It was obvious that something was very wrong with you. Vicky supported you as she led you outside and away from all the commotion of the house party. Someone would be by any moment now to pick the two of you up, and Vicky hoped that it was someone cool. Vicky didn't know what you could have taken or been given, but it was obvious that you were on something.

"Oh god, I am so dead," Vicky groaned.

"No you're not, we're so alive Vicky. We're alive, and it's beautiful!" you shouted. Vicky facepalmed, wondering if this was how Alexia felt constantly babysitting the younger girls. You were a couple of months younger than Vicky, but a whole year behind her in school. Still, the two of you were close, often being referred to as the "terror twins" of the team.

"We are both so cooked. Hey, (Y/n), I need you to do me a favor and calm down, please. Someone is coming to pick us up, and you don't want to get in trouble, do you?" Vicky asked you. You still seemed to be off in your own little world until you saw Frido's car pull up. Vicky supposed that she could work with Frido, it was better than Alexia. Anybody was better than Alexia with the state you were in, or at least that was what Vicky originally thought.

"Fridolina, oh my god, you're so pretty. I hope that I get a girlfriend as pretty as you one day," you said as you threw yourself into her passenger seat. Vicky sat silently in the backseat, hopeful that Frido wouldn't question her. "If I was older, do you think I could be your girlfriend?"

"(Y/n), shut up!" Vicky hissed from the backseat. You turned to glare at her, very unhappy with how shitty of a wingwoman she was being for you. "Please take us home now."

"Is there anything that you two want to tell me?" Frido asked as she glanced between you and Vicky. Vicky shrunk back shamefully, unsure of how to explain that you had disappeared during the party and Vicky had only just found you in your current state. "Did either of you eat or drink something you weren't supposed to? Perhaps smoked something, even?"

"I'd never smoke, it's bad for you. I just had one of the little snacks they had set out. I'm not a professional, but that was one shitty baker. Those cookies tasted like dirt," you rambled. Frido's eyes widened as she looked solely at Vicky. "Oh, wait, I saved you one. You were dancing for a long time, but then I came back to the dance floor and you were gone. Here you go."

"Nope, I'll take that," Frido said as she snatched the cookie from your hands. You frowned and pouted at the Swede, who seemed unphased. Vicky knew then and there that the two of you were not going back to Vicky's for a sleepover. Vicky was dropped off at her house, but you went home with Frido, who made Vicky promise to come into practice early tomorrow for a meeting.

…

"No, surely you cannot be talking about my Chiqui," Mapi scoffed as Frido filled her and Ingrid in on the situation. You were still fast asleep in Frido's bed. It had been a hassle to say the least to get you to sleep last night. Vicky hadn't taken anything, so after a phone call with Alexia, the other girl had been let off the hook for the time being. You, on the other hand, were practically dead to the world still. "Jesus Christ."

"Mapi, what are you doing?" Ingrid asked as her girlfriend stormed towards Frido's bedroom. Just as Mapi began to make her way down the hallway, you walked out of Frido's bedroom. You looked absolutely miserable, experiencing your very hangover of any type. Your head was pounding, your body felt exhausted, and your mouth had never been so dry before.

"Where do you think you're going you little junkie?" Mapi asked as you just pushed past her. You continued to ignore her as you poured yourself a glass of water and walked into the living room. You sat down on the couch and tried to curl into yourself, but Mapi was relentless with you. "I tell your Mami that I'll look after you, and this is what you do? Just you wait until Alexia gets over here, you are in so much trouble! I cannot believe you would do such a thing. I mean, you are supposed to be representing your town. What kind of example are you set-,"

"Enough, shut up!" you shouted. It was immediately obvious that was absolutely the wrong thing to do. Mapi's fists balled up as she just stormed out of Frido's apartment. Ingrid looked torn between chasing after Mapi and giving her space. Frido looked at you with a disappointed look, one that made your chest hurt just as badly as Mapi's words had.

"She was just upset because she cares about you," Ingrid said coldly. You quickly looked between the both of them before you got up and tried to run off. You made it all the way to the parking lot before you saw Mapi and Alexia talking to each other. You tried to turn around, but Ingrid was right behind you. There was nowhere for you to go, so you just gave up and sat down on the sidewalk.

"Ah, there she is! I bet you thought that you could make a quick break, didn't you?" Immediately, Mapi was in on you again. This time, you weren't left to be yelled at and berated. Much to your surprise, Alexia was the one who stepped in to stop things.

"Hey, calm down. Go with Ingrid, and let me talk to her. She's not going to say anything with you going at her like that," Alexia reasoned. Mapi huffed and puffed, but went to Ingrid anyway. "I hear you had a very adventurous night."

"It was an accident. How could I have known what was in those cookies?" you asked. Alexia sighed as she looked down at you. For the first time in a while, you looked just like you had at your first practice with the senior team. You had done a lot of growing up, but Alexia was reminded how young you really were. You were young, but didn't have the chance to be a normal teenager and make mistakes like everyone else.

"Like you said, it was an accident. You're smart, and you know what's at stake here, so this isn't something you would do on purpose in season. Maria cares about you, and she's scared of what could happen if the club decides to drug test you. You'll be looking at a suspension at best, but you know that already."

"Yeah, I do," you confirmed. Alexia sighed as she glanced at the lobby where Ingrid and Mapi seemed to be fighting. "I can just go back home, I guess. I've caused enough problems already. I don't deserve to be here."

"Yes, you do. You've worked hard, even more than any of us really know. So, when the time comes, you'll take your punishment and work on resecuring your spot. There will be apologies and lots of hard conversations, but none of us want to see you go, not even Maria," Alexia reassured you.

…

"Why don't you go over there and talk to her?" Ingrid asked. Mapi had been watching you for weeks. Your suspension and probationary period were over, and you had yet to even attempt to speak with Mapi yet. It had been radio silence between the two of you since that day at Frido's apartment. Ingrid was tired of it, especially since she could see how badly it was hurting both of you.

"Because she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. I yelled at her, made her feel like nothing. I've never apologized," Mapi said. She felt an almost overwhelming amount of shame every single time that she looked at you. It felt impossible to go over and talk to you. "She won't even look at me. I lost my Chiqui."

"Don't tell me that you're afraid of a 17 year old girl," Ingrid laughed. Mapi sputtered and stammered, but made no attempt to argue with Ingrid. She was afraid of you, afraid that you wouldn't accept any apologies that she could muster up. Mapi had been so mean to you that morning, and she would have kept going if you hadn't stopped her. She didn't even mean any of it, she was just scared and angry.

"She is almost 18 now," Mapi grumbled. Ingrid rolled her eyes and whistled to get your attention. There weren't that many people in the gym left now, just the three of you.

"Chiqui, Maria wants to talk to you," Ingrid said. She walked over to the door and blocked it, meaning neither of you could leave until you talked to each other.

"I am sorry for yelling at you. I don't think you're a disappointment to your home or your Mami," Mapi started. She seemed a bit lost, like she was completely out of her depth. "You made a mistake and that's okay. I've made mistakes, and I should have shown you the same kindness that I had been shown. One day, you might be in my position, and trust me, it's easier to forgive than hold a grudge."

"I'm sorry that I yelled at you," you apologized. Mapi didn't even wait for you to finish before she was rushing over to hug you. You let her pick you up off the ground, even if she was hugging a little too tight. "Put me down now, please."

"Bagheera misses you, so you need to come back with us immediately," Mapi said. You knew that it wasn't just Bagheera who missed you, especially since Ingrid had been bringing you over secretly while Mapi worked on her little passion projects and hobbies. Bagheera had been seeing you at least once a month, but Mapi hadn't really spoken to you in almost three monhs, and it had been driving her crazy.

"I'll have to ask Alexia," you told her. Mapi brushed it off, already having been told by Alexia to fix things with you countless times. The team didn't feel right without Mapi's influence on you.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni imagine #barcelona imagine #barcelona x reader #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni imagine #teen!reader

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alchemistc · 2 days

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Tommy slumps further into the couch cushions, and the looks Eddie gives him is - dire, really. Tommy sort of wants to get shit faced and cry a little while cradling this throw pillow - the same one Evan had smacked him with a week ago while they crowded Eddie's too-small couch and Tommy had made fun of Evan for not knowing a single player on the Dodgers.

("You're actively rooting against them, why do you care if I know who they are?"

"Know thy enemy, Buckley," was Eddie's immediate response, and Evan had swung the pillow when he caught Tommy and Eddie fist bumping out of the corner of his eye.)

"Pretty sure it's actually cheating to come to me," Eddie intones, but he's already up and moving towards the cabinet where he keeps the good whiskey.

He settles into the recliner and gestures with the bottle, a very clear 'go on' in his expression.

Tommy thinks about maybe just - drowning himself in spirits and hiding under a rock for the rest of his life.

"I asked Evan to move in with me."

Eddie's brow kicks up. He purses his lip. Nods. His eyes do something that tells Tommy he is actively biting down on whatever it is he's thinking.

"And...you...fought. You fought about Buck ... moving in."

(Six months is such a short time, really. They've just leapt every other milestone like it's their damn job, and - Christ, they'd had keys to each other's places in weeks.)

Tommy narrows his eyes. "You know something."

"Yeah, and that's why this," he gestures vaguely in the direction of Tommy, fully pouting on his couch and commandeering too large a surface area for Eddie to actually join him there, "is cheating."

Tommy would love to point out that he just doesn't have a shit ton of friends willing to listen to him bitch about an argument he's trying to figure out without fucking imploding the whole goddamn thing. He'd love to point out that he and Eddie have already set these boundaries and Tommy is aware he's pushing it.

Tommy tilts his head against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. "Well if we can't talk about it, at least get me drunk."

Eddie hands him a shot glass and stands to go grab them both beers.

---

"So the thing is," Tommy says, slumped against Eddie's side and gesturing in front of himself. His hands are - they're a little blurry. Thank God he isn't on call. "The thing is."

He's got a hangnail that's been driving him nuts for weeks. He's already got a layout in his head for how to make Evan's wardrobe fit in his closet. Half of Evan's kitchen lives in Tommy's already, and he'd - he'd been sure they were in the same page.

"The thing?" Eddie asks, and - Christ, it's not like Eddie's having an easy time with any of the - anything. He's definitely overindulged right along with Tommy. Thank fuck they're not maudlin drunks, just what they need is two PTSD riddled idiots filled up with liquor and bemoaning their lives.

"What thing?"

"The thing, Tommy."

Right. The thing. "I love him," Tommy says, and Eddie's eyes go wide like he doesn't already know this. But Tommy - Tommy's said it in range of Eddie's hearing, right? He's - he's said it.

(The lone braincell shared between them whispers that Tommy has said it, once, to the curls atop Evan's sweaty head while Evan was still passed out on his chest. Fuck braincells.)

"Uhuh."

"What uhuh?"

You don't ask someone to move in with you when you still haven't worked up the courage to say I love you to someone's face, is the thing. And Evan's said it - happy and carefree and open even when Tommy just kissed him to distract him from Tommy not saying it back. He has to know, right? Tommy's said it in every other way he knows how.

"Listen, bro code broken, man, Buck's fucking terrified to mess this up with you and the whole 'you haven't said the words' has been, like, messing with his head for weeks, dude. And now outta the blue, hey move in with me? He's trying desperately not to assume you did something terrible and are using this to cover it up."

"He told you that?"

Eddie scoffs. He actually says 'pshhh', and rolls his head towards Tommy. "No." He enunciates too much. The 'o' is way too long in that word. It's a two letter word, how did he make it sound like seven syllables?

Tommy wants another shot, but Eddie had clearly not meant for that whiskey to be shared and it'd already been more than half gone when he pulled it out. There's...maybe half an ounce left. Fuck.

"Then how...?"

"I already broke bro code for you, dumbass. Can't you read between the lines?"

"Is this like the couch thing?"

The mindfuck of trying to decipher Eddie and Evan's little shared looks while Evan announced that Tommy's couch was his favorite couch had been -

He's getting off track.

He hasn't said the fucking words. He's in love with the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful, filthiest fucking man he's ever known and he hasn't said the words.

"Hamster wheel," Eddie says sagely, like that means a damn fucking thing, but Tommy's already fumbling for his phone. Texting that is out of the question, and he doesn't want to call while he's... more drunk than he'd care to admit.

Tommy shoves Eddie off his shoulder, and only gets a little spinny when he stands. He's a forty year old man, he can absolutely ask his boyfriend to pick him up from... his boyfriends best friends house and help him sober up so he can have a conversation.

"Water," Tommy says, and Eddie snorts.

"Toooo late."

Tommy feels about five years old when he shoves at Eddie's face before retreating to the kitchen.

---

"Tommy," Evan says, bent low over the couch, and Tommy blinks himself awake, regretting every drop of whiskey he'd drunk last night. He'd - there'd been water. An attempt at typing out a message. A slap fight in Eddie's kitchen when he decided to chow down on the last of the casserole Evan had left behind three days ago. More water.

This couch is way too fucking small for him. He's - he's still got one shoe on, and a blanket crumpled haphazardly over one leg. His head is pounding.

Evan looks - concerned. Maybe still a little annoyed. Fond.

"Ev," he manages, moving to sit up and regretting it when five million bees make a home right there against his frontal lobe. Smoke clears that out, right? He remembers Evan being super fucking proud that that had worked.

Evan holds up a glass of water that Tommy takes gratefully. He doesn't drink it nearly as slowly as he should.

When he's done, Evan stands, and - God his legs are long. Tommy loves those fucking legs - loves the hair that catches against his calluses on his way up towards the promised land, loves the strength behind them when he snaps his hips forward, loves the way they feel all wrapped around him when they're -

"We are not anywhere close to the sort of resolution necessary for that look," Evan says, and Tommy sighs. Because they haven't talked about it. Because they'd yelled and smacked their hands against counters and the explosion had sent them careening off in different directions and Tommy hasn't told him.

"Angry sex can be fun," Tommy wheedles, a little unnecessarily because he doesn't actually want - and on Eddie's couch to boot, which is absolutely not what he's angling for.

"I'm not mad at you," Evan says, and Tommy gives him an unimpressed look. "Okay, I'm mostly just - confused."

Fair enough. Tommy's been confusing. Tommy's been -

Tommy curls a hand around the meat of Evan's calf and tips his head against Evan's thigh. "Can we not do this in Eddie's living room?"

---

He doesn't want to admit that it took Eddie breaking all sorts of friendship rules for Tommy to even grasp the point of Evan freezing the fuck up when Tommy had mentioned his lease. He doesn't want to admit that he's fucking terrified, all the time, about the feelings in his chest that never quite settle, that bubble up at the strangest times because every-fucking-thing reminds him of Evan. He doesn't want to admit that he'd just leapt that hurdle in his mind even though Evan has been very clearly marking every other step with metaphorical (and sometimes literal) sticky notes.

Evan hands him his tea and immediately starts picking at the paper sleeve on his cup of coffee.

"I'm not afraid of losing you," Tommy starts, which is - the opposite of the point he's trying to make, and Evan's grimace tells him it's a bad place to start. "I mean that's not why I asked."

Evan is still grimacing. And that's - Christ, he hadn't even planned it, it was just - he'd been there, digging through Tommy's sock drawer, his shit tumbling out of his overnight bag at the end of the bed and his book on the history of perfume in the bedside table and his crock pot stewing something that smelled heavenly, thirty feet away, and he wanted that always, wanted that forever, wanted more than anything to enjoy all the little moments that came before he spent the money in savings hed been setting aside since successful date number five when he'd wondered if Evan had ever thought about getting married.

"You think I asked out of convenience, right? Your stuff's already there, might as well?"

"I'm not leaving things there on purpose."

"I want you to leave things there on purpose. I want all your things there, on purpose. Even when you move my milk to the fridge door and my sugar stash to the wrong pantry shelf and even when you replace my toothpaste because it doesn't have the right enamel protection."

His lip quirks. That had been a near argument too. Tommy was particular. Tommy didn't do great with change. Evan's changed damn near fucking everything, for Tommy, and he's never been more grateful for a single thing in his fucking life.

Tommy curls a finger around Evan's wrist, and his gaze darts up through his lashes. They're long, and distracting, and Tommy wouldn't mind shoving this disagreement to the side so he can brush his lips across the paper thin lids of his eyes, but -

"I missed some steps, getting there," Tommy admits, and Evan bites his lip like he's trying to hide a smile.

"My fault, a bit. I - I could see why you might have just assumed we were scaling 'em two at a time."

"Evan," he says, and breathes a sigh of relief when his free hand darts out to smooth the veins on the back of Tommy's hand.

"Next week is six months," he says, like Tommy doesn't fucking know that, and his thumb sweeps over Tommy's knuckles. "So, i -if you have anything you wanna say before then, you got a week before you can ask me again."

(Six months is the blink of an eye, actually, but Tommy hates every blink that doesn't include Evan in it.)

"You got plans?" Tommy asks, and Evan's face pinkens.

"If you're lucky I'll even tell you them."

"It's a date."

#bucktommy #eddie&tommy #bucktommy fic

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hgfictionwriter · 16 hours

Text

Discovery - Part Four

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's feeling the lowest she has in a long time. Things are at the tipping point and she needs to choose to either confront things head on or lose you forever.

Warnings: G!P content. Heavy angst. Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts; themes of rejection and self-loathing; self-sabotaging behaviours. Language.

A/N: Chapters one, two and three.

“I can’t believe you. I’ve waited all day to hear from you - and nothing. After everything that happened, you just leave in the middle of the night and just dead silence. Are you kidding me, Jess?”

“First you give me the cold shoulder all evening without any explanation as to why. Started by a conversation you began, might I add. I tell you I love you. We kiss and you literally throw me off of you.”

“Yes, I was upset and I didn’t want to talk. But you just ghost me all day? I know you withdraw when you’re upset or overwhelmed, but you don’t even have the decency to check in with me or give me some kind of an explanation?”

Jessie sunk into her seat on the couch as she read your messages again. She’d been staring at them on and off for the past hour and felt paralyzed, unable to act.

She’d managed to make it to training this morning, but she was certainly worse for wear. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had dark circles under them from a mix of sleep deprivation and the time she’d spent crying. Her teammates immediately clocked her upset and some fawned over her trying to suss things out and help, but she was largely unresponsive.

She just wanted to do her drills to keep her mind off of you and the absolute disaster she’d created.

Coach recommended she talk to the sports therapist, and while she nodded her agreement, she had no intention of rushing. She already knew what they’d say and she wasn’t interested right now. If she was willing to do those things, guess what, she wouldn’t be in the fucking predicament in the first place.

So here she sat at home this evening, in self-imposed solitude and catatonic. The apartment was dead quiet as she flipped between scrolling distractedly through her phone and re-reading messages with you and looking at pictures of the two of you.

She needed to respond. But it seemed no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t figure out what to say. Nothing was remotely adequate. She let out a shuddering breath as she continued to remain inert.

Her heart raced as another message came in from you.

“I’d like to think we’d built enough of a connection and you have enough respect for me to at least acknowledge me and respond. I’ve been sitting here making up excuses in my head for you all day, but reality is, you just choose not to talk to me.”

She let her head fall heavily back against the wall with a dull thud. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists as she felt herself start to tear up yet again.

The end felt inevitable, but underneath all of her fear and anxiety it isn’t what she wanted. It would be easier perhaps. Just close herself off again. Be single again for god knows how long. She was exceptional at pushing people away and pretending it didn’t matter.

Then, maybe, when it felt safe again and the hardship she was currently experiencing was just a distant memory, she would hope to meet someone as incredible as you again. But for what? So she could compare them to you? Miss you? To fuck it all up again?

She released a slow, steady breath and brought her phone back up to reply.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I was at training earlier and I guess I just didn’t know what to say.”

“She lives. Well, thank you for replying... So. Do you know what you want to say now?”

She sighed in frustration.

“No.”

She shouldn’t be so curt.

“I wish I did.”

“Well. That’s very helpful.”

“I have some things I want to say. But if you’re not interested in hearing them or trying to resolve anything, I suppose there’s no point.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“I want to know.”

“Do you actually? Because, frankly, even if I told you how I feel last night, I’m not that interested in humiliating myself further or wasting my time if we’re not on the same page.”

Jessie’s chest constricted painfully as she read your message. She never used to consider herself a selfish person, but seeing the toll she’d taken on you, she couldn’t deny it. She wiped angrily at a stray tear at the corner of her eye.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to feel that way and I’m sorry I’ve caused it. I do want to hear what you have to say.”

“I don’t want to do this through text. It’s going to fucking suck but I want to talk in person.”

Jessie sat forward to the edge of the couch and leaned her forearms heavily against her thighs as she studied your message.

She was scared. She didn’t want to do that. Still, she owed you that, the truth, and so much more. And even if you left hating her, she had to make sure you knew it really was all her - you’d been perfect and all of this rot branched from her.

And if it really was the end, she couldn’t resist seeing you one more time.

“Okay. Where and when?”

—————

Jessie’s hands were cold and clammy as she walked down the hall to your apartment. She breathed heavily before catching herself and steadying them. She compulsively opened and closed her fists as she waited for you to answer.

When you opened the door, your expression was a far cry from the one she was used to seeing greet her. Instead of seeing a bright or warm smile, you looked tired and weary.

Guilt radiated through Jessie; she caused this single-handedly. She was supposed to make you happy, bring you comfort, make you feel safe and loved. Instead, she left you looking like a shell of yourself. Slowly at first, small nicks here and there, before a catastrophic and now lingering blow.

“Come in,” you said with only the slightest inflection in your voice. You stepped aside but didn’t make eye contact as Jessie entered.

“I, um, got you this,” Jessie said after she set her shoes aside and took off her backpack. She pulled a vinyl record out of it and handed it to you. She met your discerning gaze briefly before dropping it to the record in her hand. “I know you’ve been looking for it, so…”

You tentatively took it from her, a frown on your face as you examined it.

“Thanks,” you said flatly.

She knew it wouldn’t fix things or make things up to you - not by a long shot - but she had the faintest hope you would be more receptive.

When she forced herself to look up at you again, she saw you still studying the record. Eventually, your frown deepened and you looked at her almost accusingly.

“I don’t get you,” you said. “You barely talk to me these past couple of days and you act all cagey but then you do this? It doesn’t make sense.”

Your face faltered briefly before you grew stoic once more. “Some days you seem to really like me. Really care for me and understand me and we connect so well. And then others it feels like you can hardly stand to look at me.” A flash of emotion appeared on your face and disappeared just as fast. Your voice strained vaguely before you steadied it. “Never mind touch me.”

Jessie swallowed and dropped her gaze in shame. You went on, your voice cracking.

“I’ve tried to be really patient. But after the other night…I’ve done a lot of thinking and I can’t help but admit how hard it’s been.”

You sighed heavily and set the record down on a nearby table before returning and folding your arms tightly against yourself and leaning back against the wall. Your brow was heavy with a frown.

“And I know you've been trying." Your voice grew taut. "Prior anyway. And that's probably what makes it the worst. It's been hard for you, too - to be with me." Your face fell and your lip trembled briefly as you looked away.

Jessie's heart ached as she watched you battle with your emotions. All of the fear and worry she'd let dominate her fell away, replaced with an overwhelming need to hold you and make you feel better.

"It hasn't been," Jessie beseeched, taking a step forward but stopping when your gaze flicked back to her, warning.

"Do you think I’m stupid?" You said sharply. "I know you can’t stand to touch me. At first, I kept trying to give myself, and you, the benefit of the doubt - but the other night really proved that not only do you most definitely not find me attractive,” you laughed acerbically, “I think I might actually even repulse you.” You stared at her a moment, letting your words hang in the air and feigning amusement before choking back a sob. You visibly clenched your jaw before you forced another empty laugh. “That’s a fun one. My therapist’s about to get a ton of business from me.”

You took a shuddering breath and your voice cracked as you spoke. "I already know how this ends.”

“That’s not at all what’s happening or how I feel,” Jessie protested. She pressed the heels of her palms firmly into her eyes and grit her teeth. Her voice strained with burgeoning emotion. “Jesus Christ. That’s not it at all."

Your face screwed up and you gave a sad shake of your head as you stared her down.

“Stop. Just stop with the vague excuses. Just be honest with me. I don’t need you to confirm it, but don’t lie and tell me otherwise. I can tell,” voice breaking at the end. “Every time you pull away. How uncomfortable you can be when we’re even remotely physical. You can’t stand to kiss me for any length of time. I can feel you just waiting to pull away, like you’re fucking counting down the seconds until it’s over.” You started sobbing. “It’s horrible. Knowing you don’t want me like I want you.”

Jessie took a step toward you and you recoiled. She couldn’t help but think - maybe much like how she had with you times before.

“And don’t give me this whole ‘you’re shy’ or ‘you’re awkward’ thing again. I deserve more than your excuses.” Your voice grew softer. “And it’s not your fault you feel the way you do. You can’t control who you’re attracted to. Sometimes there can be an emotional connection and the physical just isn’t there. I don’t blame you. But I do blame you for dragging this out." You sniffled, wiping agitatedly at a tear that rolled down your cheek before giving her a defiant stare. "So just do what you should’ve done from the beginning.”

“It’s not you,” Jessie started and immediately saw the way you tensed up, ready to argue. She spoke quickly and urgently, her voice pleading for mercy and understanding. “It’s not you. I promise. It’s me - and I know how that sounds. But you were never the problem. I need you to know that.”

You looked ready to explode and Jessie knew it was now or never.

"It's me. I-it's my body. And I've been terrified that you won't accept me," she stammered through, hands to her chest as her gaze remained rooted to the floor. Her lips parted and her shoulders rose and fell as her breathing began to quicken. She swallowed and found the courage to look up at you to see a scrutinizing, but perplexed expression on your face.

"I'm not like you," Jessie said softly, "or most girls. Physically." She held your gaze for a second, to let you begin to process, but to give her time to think as well. She could see you were confused, but you waited quietly for her to go on. "I-I," she started, before stopping to take a steadying breath, her shoulders relaxing as she did so. "I've always been different."

She was slow to proceed and you spoke tentatively, all accusations and harshness now gone.

"What do you mean? How so?"

Jessie swallowed, eyes transfixed on the floor once more. She scratched at the back of her neck so harshly that it hurt.

"The reason I can't be physical with you is because what you would see, and feel," she looked up at you as she exhaled, "isn't what you would expect." She studied you as you processed her words. "That's why I asked you if you'd slept with guys," she finished timidly, embarrassment and shame creeping in despite her efforts.

Your mouth fell open to speak, but nothing came out. You frowned and visibly struggled with what to say next. Jessie's mouth was dry, but she had to take the next step.

"Even though I'm a girl, I have...what a guy has," she said quietly.

Your mouth opened wider to speak, but still nothing came out. You held up a poised finger, cuing her to wait. Eventually you found your words. Jessie held your gaze despite how difficult it was.

"Are you telling me that you have...," you trailed off, your gaze settling on her crotch momentarily before looking up at her, a tinge of pink already on your cheeks, "...a cock?"

Jessie released a slow, shuddering breath through her nose as she continued to hold your gaze. She nodded.

"Yes."

She saw your eyebrows raise as you looked away and her words and emotions just came out in a torrent.

"So if you think I've been struggling, you're right, but that's why," she said bitterly, tears in her eyes already. "It really had nothing to do with you. You've been so perfect. And it's been killing me to lie to you. And to hurt you. But I've been so scared - and I just," she took a shaky breath, "I know I'm not what you signed up for. You didn't deserve any of this, but I was being selfish. I wanted you. And I didn't want to risk losing you, so I just kept lying and the longer I waited, the more impossible it felt to tell you." Jessie's voice broke and she wiped her nose before pulling her arms in tightly against herself.

"And in the end I fucked it all up. And I hate myself for hurting you the way I have. Hearing how I...," she trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you before clenching her jaw tightly. "Hurting you is probably the worst thing I've ever done." Her voice grew high as she fought through her emotions. "And I don't deserve your forgiveness. I would gladly take it, but I know I don't deserve it. You deserve far better than someone who would hurt someone they love the way I've hurt you."

Your brow furrowed as she finished and Jessie swallowed once more, clearing her throat before speaking. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it back the other night. I really wanted to." She gave you a desperate look. "I know it must seem like I have zero integrity, but, I couldn't tell you I love you without telling you," she paused, gaze falling briefly, "all of this." She looked back at you, taking in a slow breath. "I really do love you. And I want so much more for us, but I realize now that even if you were okay...with me...well, with the way I've gone about everything, I've probably ruined any chance for us."

Her face fell as more tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I just need you to know that you shouldn't feel badly about yourself, because you were never the problem. It was always me."

"This is a lot for me to process," you said slowly, thumb grazing idly along your arm. You glanced over at the couch for a moment before glancing back at her. "Um, why don't we sit down."

Jessie sniffled, overcome with surprise that you'd invite her in further. It took her a moment to comprehend it, but soon nodded eagerly. She followed you wordlessly to the couch, remaining standing as you took a seat. You looked at her expectantly before gesturing to the spot next to you.

She was mindful of the space between you. She didn't want to sit too close and inadvertently imply that things were suddenly fine. She sat stiffly, back straight, hands on the tops of her thighs as she deferred to you on how to proceed. She glanced at you in trepidation, waiting, but when you didn't say anything for several moments she spoke again.

"I completely understand that this is a lot to process," she validated with a fleeting glance. "While I've been thinking about nothing but this for months, this is all new to you."

"Yeah," you said quietly, still very much in your thoughts.

"And I want you to know that you don't owe me anything," she said. "I completely understand if this is too much for you or not what you want. No hard feelings." She almost laughed at the last statement as she sat here, congested and teary-eyed. There would be a lot of feelings, but not hard feelings. She rubbed her forehead. "And I understand if there are hard feelings towards me. I'm sorry I was such a coward. I just-" she shook her head quickly, dismissing the thought. "Never mind."

She heard you exhale gently and she peeked over at you. You were initially still, but soon shifted, surprising Jessie as you turned subtly towards her.

"Don't get me wrong. I have a lot of questions. And I still have a lot of confusing feelings and hurt. But - I meant it when I said I love you. So it's hard to see you hurting like this." You scratched at your temple before looking up at her. "Did I do something to make it harder for you to tell me?"

Jessie turned to you fully, a stern look on her face. "No," she said adamantly. "You were," she shrugged listlessly, "you really were - are - amazing. I guess I just let old fears and baggage control me."

"What do you mean?" You asked tentatively before holding up your hands and speaking quickly. "And if I ask something that's too much - just say so. I don't want to make you more uncomfortable."

Jessie frowned deeper. "You're too good for me," she said simply. "You shouldn't give a shit about whether I'm uncomfortable or not. But, let me be clear - for once - I will answer any question you have for me. Some will be easier to answer than others, but I want you to know everything. If you want. That's what I wanted all along, but I was just too scared."

"Well, if you love someone - you care about their boundaries and how they feel," you said plainly. Jessie looked at you and you looked away nervously, clearing your throat before turning back. "And. Backtracking. You...love me?"

Jessie smiled for the first time today. It was an emotional, watery, sad smile. But it was a smile. "Yes. I really do. And it's been absolute torture the past couple of days not talking to you - I know it's all my fault though."

You frowned, thoughts almost visibly churning before you set your gaze on her again.

"Wait. But I'm not your first girlfriend. So...was it like this every time?"

Jessie's posture slumped slightly at your question; more-so, the reminder it triggered. That you were the best and she'd treated you the worst.

"No. No, it hasn't been," she admitted as she picked at the fabric of her pants. "I, um, was more open before. And, uh, I guess it backfired. And I've been pretty reserved and nervous about it since."

"Oh," you said quietly, still deep in thought. "But your teammates know, right?"

"Yeah, they all do. Hard for them not to. And they're cool with it, thank God. But otherwise I keep it quiet. It doesn't seem like it, but I'm actually pretty comfortable with that aspect of myself these days. It caused a lot of angst for me for years, but I'm happy with who I am. Relationships though...that's a different matter altogether."

"I'm sorry, Jess," you said gently, pulling a confused look out of her. Again, you shouldn't be worried about her. "That sounds really difficult. That said, do you mind telling me more?"

Jessie turned to you more fully, your knees nearly brushing now. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. You were right that I was far from an open book, but I don't want to be like that anymore. I want you to know everything, if you'd like." She shrunk into herself a bit and waved a hand aimlessly. "And just because I tell you these things, it doesn't mean that I think you'll forgive me or something. I understand that, you know, things could end. But I still want you to know."

Surprise flooded Jessie's system as you took her hand and gave it the faintest squeeze, continuing to hold it after.

"Jess. It's okay. I want to know."

She mustered up a tight smile for you and squeezed your hand.

She proceeded to tell you her story. Filling the gaps she'd craftily navigated during previous conversations. The embarrassment she'd felt. The otherness. The ridicule she'd experienced over the years. The rejection. The objectification. And the eventual defeat; of feeling like no one would get her or love her the way she wanted to be loved.

By the time she finished, a new set of tears had finished falling, but what she noted most of all was how you now held her hand in both of yours.

"Baby," you said softly, as you lifted her hand and kissed it tenderly. Jessie looked at you in surprise as she sniffled.

She'd expected the worst, so when you looked at her with warmth and compassion, it caught her off-guard to not see disgust or rejection.

"I'm so sorry you were made to feel like that. You didn't deserve that at all. Some people are so fucking close-minded and terrible. I'm so sorry you had to experience that," you told her.

Her shoulders hitched as she rode out the dying waves of her emotion.

"Thanks," she managed, her voice still congested and strained. "Now you know how hypocritical and truly horrible it was of me to make you feel the way those girls made me feel."

You tilted your head slightly and gave it a slow shake. "No. It's not the same. I mean, yes, I felt terrible, but you weren't trying to hurt me. And now I can understand where you were coming from."

Jessie shook her head in return. "It doesn't make it right though. So...if you let me, I'll do everything I can to try to make it up to you and try to rebuild the trust I've broken. Totally understand if that's off the table though."

"I," you started, chest rising as you took a large breath before relaxing once more, "still love you. So...no, it's not off the table. I still have to process a lot of this and reconcile some things. And, yes, reality is you hurt me, but everything makes so much more sense now. So. Thank you. For finally telling me."

Jessie nodded. "Thank you for hearing me out."

You fidgeted slightly and she watched you carefully. You felt her eyes on you and spoke hesitantly.

"We, um. Didn't exactly address my initial issue though. I mean, I understand now why you've been so closed off and flighty. But, you know, none of this necessarily means that you, um, find me attractive. Because that could still be a problem."

Jessie gave you a disbelieving look. "Of course I find you attractive. Well, okay," she slowed herself down, "I understand why you thought I didn't. But, now that you know everything else, my attraction to you is exactly why I couldn't be remotely physical with you. It was...a bit too much for me. Let's put it that way," Jessie finished as she looked away sheepishly. When she braved a look back your face was tinged pink.

"Oh. Okay. Well..., um. That's nice to know, I guess," you responded awkwardly.

"I'm sorry. That was probably too much information," Jessie mumbled. She cleared her throat before speaking more confidently. "So, no, you have nothing - at all - to worry about there. I think the bigger question now is if you would find me attractive. Now that you know that my, um, anatomy is different."

You blushed deeper and cleared your throat as well.

"Oh. I mean, you're still you. And, I'm curious-" you held up your hands quickly in defense, eyes closing as you corrected yourself, "-not like those other girls. No. I would never use you like that." You opened your eyes once again, calming yourself. "What I mean is. I'm still interested."

Jessie felt an ember of hope flickering in her chest. You were still blushing, giving her fleeting glances until you fully faced her, now serious and prim.

"You get one more chance," you told her firmly, holding up a finger. "I know a lot will be new and there'll be things to navigate, but I won't put up with you being distant and cagey again. Do not lie to me again."

Jessie nearly beamed. She straightened up eagerly and nodded her head rapidly in agreement.

"I won't," she promised before she took a second look at you. "Are you sure you want to try again?"

Your face scrunched up adorably as you shot her a look.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" You asked, affronted.

"No," she refuted, shaking her head adamantly. "I just want to make sure this is what you truly want. I know I dumped a lot on you just now, so...you are more than welcome to take your time to think. And I definitely don't want you to feel guilty in any way."

"I don't feel guilty," you told her. "And," you exhaled quickly, "as you were telling me about all of your experiences and how you've been treated, all I could really think throughout all of it is that I wished there was some way I or someone could go back and protect you from all of that." You picked at your nails idly. "And, I don't know, that I just wanted to hold you. And kiss you." You gave her another stern look, but it was mild at best. "You're not entirely forgiven yet. But I understand you so much better now. So, I do want to try again."

That heavy, horrible ache in her chest she'd been carrying with her the past while was replaced with a sensation of warmth and lightness.

"You're the most incredible woman I've ever met," she told you unwaveringly. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to make things up to you. I'll make sure you never have a doubt about me, or you, or us, again."

"That's a bold promise," you warned with a hint of a smirk.

Jessie smiled at you undeterred. She gently cupped the side of your face and leaned in, stopping momentarily to speak before giving you a soft, slow kiss.

"And it's one I intend to keep."

A/N: Next up…smut.

Tag requests: @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp @kathleenmikaelson

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #canwnt x reader #woso imagine

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icarusredwings · 2 days

Text

Thinking about what would happen if Cassandra came back for revenge and borderline reset Logan's mental age in order to easily munipulate, but it backfires because Wade will be damned if hes gonna let another bald bitch steal his man. Finding home au what if.

Wade: Heeeyyy

Ororo: What did you do now?

Wade: About that-

Logan, Fully sprinting over: Mr. Wade I found a really cool stick that looks like a gun and I know you like guns so I brought it to you!

Ororo:....

Wade: Oh way to go, Pup! Up top! Down low! From behind! Yeah!!

Logan: *giggles and double high fives him* Im gonna go find more! *runs off in wolverine*

Ororo: ....Waaaaddeee

Wade: I know, I know! That's what I wanted to talk to you about. *puts stick gun in holster* So anyway this witch got mad at me and now he's like tiny on the inside.

Piotr, whos being nosy: Oh was that my sister? Sorry she's PMSing... what ever that means. Mom said it all the time.

Wade: Oh no no- A metaphorical witch. No, Wanda's great. You bring her chocolate then.

Logan: *comes back* I found a sword one!

Wade: Oh my god, I love you so much. You're such a good stick finder. Oh yes, you are! My widdle wild wolvie! Such a good boy!

Logan: *giggles while having his face smooshed*

Wade: But aw no I need two of them...

Logan: On it! *runs off on a mission*

Wade: Heh... kids. But anyway. Sooo... do you have someone who can fix this ooorrrr am I going to have to divorce my husband and become a single father to a 200 year old man?

#finding home au #ororo munroe #cassandra nova #quicksilver #scarlet witch #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool 3 #wolverine #widdlewolvie

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ann1eee · 1 day

Text

Everyone will leave me behind, right?

You overheard Satoru talking to Yuji. Why did he always feel like he was unloved? You didn’t want to leave him behind, ever. You wanted to be a part of his love and his dreams, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell him how you felt. You were his fellow teacher, his confidante, his friend. No way you’d ruin the deepest relationship you’ve had with someone over your feelings, which may or may not be reciprocated.

The battle ended, and the King of Curses had been defeated. Megumi was back, courtesy of Yuji and Nobara. Satoru made it out alive, but just barely.

When you saw the world slash almost hit him, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. There was no way you could accept him being gone, and no way you’d let that happen.

You had launched an attack of your own to divert Sukuna’s slash, which prevented a critical hit for Satoru. This allowed the others to take over, and defeat the King once and for all, whilst you accompanied Satoru out of the battle.

Finally, after all was over, you didn’t waste a single second and spent the whole time by Satoru’s side. You stayed with him at Shoko’s clinic, took care of him and waited for the perfect moment to tell him how you felt.

You waited until he spoke to the students, tossing their letters away since they didn’t need to read them after all. He settled things with the remaining sorcerers, and finally found a moment of peace.

You found him that evening, taking a stroll through the beautiful gardens of Jujutsu Tech. He looked angelic in the soft moonlight, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He beamed ecstatically as he saw you come into view, and walked to you.

You smiled at him and held his hand, leading him to your favourite place in the garden, a secluded spot with a few stone benches and raking vines. You sat close to him and gulped.

“Everything is over now huh?” You whispered.

“We’re all okay. It’s over.” He replied, matching your octave.

“I know what you said to Yuji.” You felt your heart race as you continued.

“I don’t know if what I’m about to say means anything to you, but I want you to know that you’re always going to be a part of my life, Toru. Everytime I picture my future as a sorceress, no matter who else is a part of it, I know for certain you will be. All the uncertainty that we have as sorcerers means nothing to me, because I never considered that you wouldn’t be there. If everyone else thinks of you as ‘The Strongest’, just know that I always think of you as Satoru. I love you, and I always want you to be a part of my life, as I am of yours.”

You stared into his eyes, scanning for any change of emotion, confusion, sadness, maybe even anger. But there was nothing. He turned his head away and looked to the sky.

Confused, and still rattled from your confession, you got up and stood right in front of him.

Your eyes widened as you saw the expression on his face.

Big, fat tears rolling down his temples and into his hair as he stared into the sky. His lips, red with the constant assault of his teeth. My god, you made him cry. You had never seen him cry, and you never would have thought he cried like this.

Your face grew worried as you cupped his cheeks.

“Toru, I’m sorry if that was too much. Please don’t cry?” You tried to console him.

Suddenly, he stood up and wrapped his strong arms around your body. He buried his face into your neck and sobbed quietly. You held him tight, growing more worried by the second.

“Thank you, y/n. You truly don’t know how much that means to me. I want you to be a part of my life as long as I live. You’re my dream.”

You pulled away from him, eyes welling up with tears. You reached out to touch his face, and wiped his beautiful eyes. He smiled at you so softly you could swear he was an angel.

He bent down and kissed you, as if he was waiting his whole life for you. You wrapped your arms around him as you deepened the kiss.

“Let’s go home.”

@kalopsia-flaneur

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yutarot · 10 hours

Text

IN PERFECT SYNC [j.jh smau]

twenty-six — however hard it may be. wc: 0.8k

(written section is below)

“i love this song!!!” jungwoo yells over the scream of ‘stereo love’ blasting from the speakers. you’d already been at the party for an hour, and jungwoo was still yelling ‘i love this song’ at every single damn one that played.

“honestly, one day, that man is gonna realise that haaland does not give a single shit about him.” yuta laughs, huddling into you, johnny and kazuha in order to speak quieter and you still hear him.

“he’s right, jungwoo really is trying wayyyy too hard” johnny says, and you turn to him with a dead expression, panning your eyes down to his ‘i love haaland’ t-shirt.

“righttt….” you reply, and johnny shrugs innocently. “i’m gonna go grab another drink. anyone want refills?” you ask.

before kazuha can reply to tell u she wants another, jungwoo comes charging through the middle of your group, arms drunkenly slinging over yours and yutas shoulders as he sings the words of ‘auld lang syne’, very wrong and very out of pitch.

“oh shittt.” jungwoo yells as he looks at you, his half drank cup of cherry vodka now decorating your very expensive and very white dress. “i’m so sorry!”

you laugh, telling him it’s okay and lying that you can simply wash it out, which eases his very incessantly loud yells of apology.

you wait for him to drag yuta, johnny and kazuha back up near the speakers before you silently slip away to the kitchen to grab a towel to dry yourself.

but your journey to haalands kitchen is short lived, as a hand clutches your arm, pulling you into what seems like a coat closet, the door closing behind you.

a very small, very dark, coat closet.

and there’s someone stood, very close to you.

“i was right. you do look beautiful.”

you recognise his voice immediately.

“it’s literally pitch black in here, jaehyun.” you bicker.

“i saw you earlier, before jungwoo spilt half a cup of cherry vodka down your dress.” he laughs at the mention, drawing your attention back to the wet fabric seeping into your skin and far from the thoughts you were having before.

you can’t see him, but you can feel him. his arms by his side, his chin just above your forehead and his eyes, baring into yours.

you’re very aware of where your bodies are. and you’re very aware when his hand begins to trace the curve of your jaw before pushing the loose strands of your hair from your face, gently brushing the nape of your neck as he moves your hair to the side.

his touch is barely there, but you feel it.

he clears his throat to speak, but there’s nothing he can say to define what this moment means to him.

but all you can think about is the nagging in your head.

speak to him, ask him, now.

“jaehyun?”

“hmm?”

“i need to ask you something.”

his hands drop from your hair, falling instead to the door handle.

your hand goes over his, “what are you doing?!” you whisper-yell.

he laughs. “chill out, yn, the kitchen is empty, we can talk there.”

you’re hesitant to comply, but you’d rather be in there than in the close proximity of that god-forsaken coat closet any longer, as much as the butterflies in your stomach wish for you to stay.

as you get to the kitchen, you finally find a towel, beginning to pat yourself down.

jaehyuns eyes are on you, full of amusement and something beyond.

something you are so incredibly unsure of.

you set down the towel. “you wanted to ask me something?” jaehyun asks.

“oh right.” you nod. “the way you feel about me, it’s not in a relationship kind of way, is it?”

he’s silent for a few moments, leaning back with his elbows on the counter, his fists clenching as he thinks of what to say next.

“no.” he replies.

so you were right.

he doesn’t want you, for you. he just wants to sleep with you.

you’re just another one of his one night stands.

you can’t say you expected this, all his struggle with telling you how he feels, all his words as Y.

and it was all just so he could sleep with you.

you don’t want him to elaborate, but he does. “i’m not ready for a relationship yet, yn. not just with you, but with anyone. you can’t be mad at that, can you?”

he’s right, you can’t. if he’s not ready, then he’s not ready.

but a pang in your heart is the only thing that follows.

and there is nothing that you can do.

nothing but the simple act of acceptance.

so, you accept it.

however hard it may be.

mlist — next

notes; sorry guys… pls don’t hate me…anyways! 4 chapters left im so sad i dont want it to end but i also can’t wait to start ride or die f1 jeno is actually killing me 😊😊 also the notes on that is insane thank u sm?????? i will NAWT let u guys down🙏

taglist — open; @https-yeonjun @chenlesfavorite @therealbobbyshloby @f6llsun @jkslvsnella @nanaxwi @cloudmrk @neocrashed @vernonburger @vividwritess @taeeflwrr @mmjhh1998 @cyjzzl @stareaa @minkyuncutie @mrkleelvr @dudekiss3r @nattan127 @slayhaechan @jaeveil @tynlvr @mslora @nosungluv @grassbutneo @dokyriu @girlz4jaem @axo-l0tl @yyangj3lly @solvrse @m1ng1swife @gentlepeach @xiuriii @soobinbunnie5 @tocupid @apolloxxivmin @ctrlstar @gyuguys @tokitosun @i-kai @flamingi @mrkleelvr @en-dream @queenrachelpink @ssweetreveries @swanyvess @flaminghotyourmom @hyuck-me @cryingforjae @hizhu @starfilledgaze

#nct #nct smau #nct 127 #nct fanfic #nct college au #jaehyun #jaehyun smau #jeong jaehyun smau #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun nct #nct jaehyun #jeong jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic

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nadvs · 1 day

Text

push and pull (part two) (end)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post | part one

» masterlist

When Zach wakes up the next morning, he fully understands the term hangxiety.

His temples pound as he stares at his ceiling. At some point last night, he slipped from tipsy into drunk.

Thankfully, he didn’t get so wasted that he’s forgetting anything. But then again, that means every time he made an ass of himself is a memory etched into his brain.

He remembers welcoming his date. Having a decent time with her. Walking her downstairs. Her lips on his cheek when she kissed him goodbye. Feeling like something was missing, and then, that something wasn’t missing anymore when you came downstairs to let him in.

And he remembers looking over at you across the party. Wishing he was next to you. Feeling crappy for thinking about you while he was with another girl. Knowing he was idiot for thinking he could ignore his feelings for you and date someone else.

Talking to you in the elevator. Crap.

He buries his head into his pillow. Why did he blabber to you like that? His brother would kill him if he knew what he said. He probably already wants to kill him for loudly proclaiming how much he loves him in the hallway. Rafe’s not one for any sort of PDA.

Zach picks up his phone to text you: Trauma dumping to you was just a dream I had, right? Please tell me it didn’t actually happen.

You reply minutes later: you mean in the elevator? definitely a dream.

Despite his embarrassment, he smiles at his screen.

He replies: Sorry about that.

You send another text: it’s no problem. i’m guessing you have a pretty bad hangover.

He replies: Everything hurts.

You text back: make sure to hydrate and rest ok?

Zach smiles again. He can’t help but daydream about you coming over, taking care of him, cuddling him.

He’s worried about the consequences of things going wrong if he got into a relationship with you. But God, does he want you.

He replies: Ok :)

When he eventually leaves his bedroom, he sees Rafe lounging on the couch, still in his pajamas. Surprisingly, his brother actually tidied up.

It gives him hope that Rafe really is trying to improve himself. He’s had his fair share of meltdowns and Zach’s had a front row seat to all of them, watching his brother break down into tears, spiralling into his toxic, self-hating thoughts.

Once he calms down, every time, Rafe talks about how he knows he’s not a good person, that he wants to be better. But then, he sticks to his bad habits. He never gets the help he needs, even though Zach encourages him to.

Nonetheless, Zach never saw the bad in Rafe that he’s so adamant is there. At his worst, he can be violent, drunkenly throwing punches at parties, but Zach knows it’s a result of his emotional scars.

“Shit,” Rafe chuckles when he sees Zach. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” Zach sinks onto the other side of the couch, closing his eyes as he tilts his head back. “You cleaned up for once.”

“Did you just say for once? I’m always cleaning up, asshole,” he mutters, making Zach laugh.

“I hope the neighbors don’t hate us,” Zach says. “The party got kinda loud last night.”

“This guy’s thinking about the neighbors,” Rafe says with a scoff. “The girl you were with looked like she was into you. Bet she would’ve stayed the night.”

“Maybe,” Zach says with a shrug, thinking back to his date.

Then, Rafe says he thinks you might be into him, too, considering he caught you staring. And Zach’s pulse picks up.

He loves and hates hearing that. Because if you really do like him back, it’s exciting, but that makes it even more crushing that he can’t pursue anything.

“Maybe,” Zach echoes.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe laughs, thinking about how good you looked last night. “I’d jump on that if I had the chance.”

“But you don’t have the chance,” Zach murmurs. “If you love me, you won’t jump on any of my friends.”

Zach sits up and looks at his brother.

“By the way, you never said you love me back last night. I’m still waiting.”

“Yeah,” Rafe snorts. “You can keep waiting.”

────୨ৎ────

On Monday morning, you finally get a response from a student you found online who’s selling a used textbook you need.

You’d rather not go by yourself, so you text the group chat: i need to go to a stranger’s house to buy a textbook tonight. is anyone down to tag along so i’m not alone?

To your relief, Zach texts the group a minute later: I got you :)

That evening, you’re knocking on his front door. Instead of Zach, though, Rafe answers.

“Hi,” you say. “Is Zach around? He’s supposed to come with me to pick a textbook up.”

“Haven’t heard him since he got home,” he says, turning to look up the stairs. “I’ll get him.”

A minute later, Rafe comes down, keys jingling in his hand.

“He’s sleeping,” he says. “I can take you. I was about to go for a drive anyway.”

“Cool,” you say. “Thanks.”

You watch him lean over to slip on his sneakers, his frame broad and tall. It’s surprising that Zach, who’s usually reliable, forgot about your plans. And that Rafe, who you’ve come to known as hot and cold, is willing to help you.

He locks the door behind him before you make your way down the hallway together.

“He must be tired after practice,” you say, well aware of the team’s training schedule.

“Yeah, when he’s asleep, he’s out.”

You smirk to yourself, imagining Zach adorably bundled up in his bed. You already know he’s going to apologize profusely once he realizes he accidentally bailed on you.

“It’s only ten minutes away,” you tell Rafe. “I just wanted someone with me since it’s some random guy I don’t know selling it.”

“Zach didn’t offer to just buy a new one for you?” he asks.

“No,” you laugh, entering the elevator. “Why would he?”

Rafe doesn’t get Zach sometimes. It’s insane that he’s not into you, that he sleeps through plans with you, that he doesn’t offer to buy you something that probably only costs a few hundred dollars.

“Want me to?” Rafe asks. You have to laugh.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I already set all this up. Do you always offer to buy girls school supplies?”

He bites his tongue. If Zach wasn’t so adamant about m not being allowed to try to hook up with you, he’d flirt and say yes, he buys all kinds of things for beautiful girls.

“Not always,” he settles for.

The elevator doors open. You enter the parking garage and follow Rafe to his car, settling into the cushioned passenger seat. He starts the engine, then offers the cable hooked up his radio to you.

“Already know you have good taste,” Rafe says. You smile, plugging your phone in.

You’re Zach’s friend, but he figures you can be his friend, too. Because he wants to get to know what he can about you, to flatter you and joke with you and talk to you, even though the night won’t be ending with you in his bed. He has fun with you. He’ll take what he can get.

He backs out of his parking spot, putting his hand against the back of your headrest as he looks through the rear window. You gaze up at his profile, taking in just how handsome he is, how nice his cologne smells.

Rafe doesn’t know the song you put on, but he likes it. He turns forward in his seat, driving out of the garage.

You chat about your days and even though it’s small-talk, it doesn’t feel like it. There’s an ease with Rafe that you can’t really compare to with anyone else.

Still, he’s kind of intimidating, but you naturally want to keep challenging this way he makes you feel, cracking the wall he has up.

When you reach the house at the end of a dark street, Rafe parks in the driveway, turns his key and takes it out of ignition.

“You can wait here,” you offer.

“Nah,” he mumbles. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

With Rafe standing behind you as you knock on the front door, the feeling of him protecting you is intoxicating, making your heart pound harder.

The door swings open and you greet the man you’ve been messaging. He’s holding the textbook you need and when you offer him four twenties, he looks through the bills and shakes his head.

“We said $100,” he says.

“No,” you reply. “$80. You said $80 was good.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I have the texts to prove it,” you laugh in disbelief.

“Really, man?” Rafe mutters. “Just give her the book.”

“$100,” he repeats.

“Forget it,” Rafe says. He steps forward, roughly taking your money out of his hand and pulling you by the waist. “I’ll just get you a new one.”

“No, wait,” the guy calls. “$80’s fine.”

“Get fucked,” Rafe mutters. You follow him to the car, still mentally catching up to what just happened. “Trying to scam you over twenty dollars. What a joke.”

You settle in the car, feeling Rafe’s warm, big hand curl your fingers open so he can give you your money back.

He’s fuming, beyond pissed off that someone would try to trick you like that. He’s glad you didn’t come by yourself to have to deal with this idiot alone. And he’s not sure how Zach would’ve handled it.

“How much is a new book?” he asks.

“Like, $250,” you tell him.

“I got it covered, alright?” he says. “Give me your phone.”

You comply, still a little jarred but appreciating how quickly he swept in to help you. You watch him enter digits, call himself to get your number, then hang up.

He returns your phone and takes his out, taps on your number, and quickly opens up a bank app.

“You really don’t have to,�� you say.

“It’s fine.”

Within a minute, he sends you $250. It’s bizarre how he’s acting like that much money is nothing. Like he’s giving you change he owes you.

Rafe exhales slowly, starting his car again, coming down from the daze. This happens a lot. It’s like he blacks out when he gives in to his impulses.

But what can he do? He has a weak spot for you and he hates the idea of someone doing you wrong, of him not helping you when he’s totally capable of it.

He scratches his forehead. Zach’s words resonate in his head, telling him he needs to cool down and think before he does things. Sometimes his temper flares with no warning.

He’s sure he came off way too intense. He doesn’t know how to apologize for it. Before he can speak, you do.

“Can you come with me every time I have to buy something?” you say lightheartedly. It eases some of the tension in his chest.

“Was that too much?” he says, tone low.

You smile to yourself. You wouldn’t call it too much. He seems like he’s an intense, passionate person. Beneath the surface, Rafe feels more than he lets on.

“You didn’t let a guy con me, then you bought me a $250 book,” you reply with a laugh. “Trust me, you’re good. Thank you.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Zach as you back out of the driveway. Crap I’m so sorry. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Did you come over?

You reply: all good! i figured you were exhausted. rafe went with me.

“Guess who’s awake,” you say, the smile apparent in your tone. Rafe glances over at your profile as you text back.

He hates this about himself, the envy that pushes him to be sure that Zach is so much better than him. That every girl, if given the chance, would pick his brother over him.

“So, you were going to go for a drive?” you say, tucking your phone away. Because of his kind gestures tonight, you’re pretty sure that he likes hanging out with you. “Want company?”

Rafe taps his hand against the steering wheel. Even if this is just platonic, he doesn’t want you to leave his car.

“If I can pick the music,” he says.

“You said I had good taste.”

“Mine’s better.”

You laugh, and because he held your waist just a few minutes ago, you don’t feel apprehensive to touch him. You nudge his shoulder. He smirks.

An hour goes by like a minute. When Rafe and you part, your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing with him.

You talked together nonstop, touching on the most random subjects, finding similarities and differences. You have a deep crush on him. There’s no denying it.

When Rafe watches you step out of his car, he realizes that this isn’t just attraction like he’s used to. He feels like he knows you. And he likes you. It’s exciting and scary.

When Rafe makes it home, Zach is in the kitchen, the whole loft smelling like delicious food.

“You actually remembered how to get home?” Zach teases over the sound of ingredients sizzling in a pan.

“Lost track of time,” Rafe says. He settles on a barstool as Zach stands at the range, trying not to burn dinner.

Zach is glad his back is to his brother, because when Rafe tells him that he was with you that entire time, driving around and talking, his eyebrows furrow in anger and jealousy before he can subdue it.

“But before you lose your shit,” Rafe adds, “it was all friendly, okay?”

“Right,” Zach mumbles. He stares down at the pan, trying to breathe through his prickly frustration. He’s unbelievably mad at himself for falling asleep after practice.

You can do whatever you want, he knows that, but he feels that even though it’s just as a friend, you’re his, not Rafe’s. And his brother getting to spend time with you feels painfully unfair.

────୨ৎ────

The bright stadium lights pool over the deep green soccer field. It’s a cool evening, perfect for a match.

Cold seeps in through your jeans as you sit on the metal bench on the sideline. You have your phone at the ready to film the team as they rush the field for a home game.

You’ve grown to love your job. You found great friends, the TikTok account is earning more traction, and you’ve started to genuinely enjoy coming out to games and cheering on your school’s team.

It’s been almost a week since your night with Rafe. You haven’t seen him or Zach since. You welcome the distance. Liking them both is ridiculously confusing.

Minutes pass. The crowd is getting louder. The team still isn’t out on the field. Your dad runs a tight ship, so it’s weird that they’re late.

You head into the stadium tunnel towards the locker room, curiosity nagging you. A group of players are standing outside the door and you approach Chance.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Something’s up with Zach,” Chance tells you. Alarm rushes through you and you step into the locker room without a second thought.

Zach’s sitting on the bench by his locker, hunched over, surrounded by your dad, the team’s medic, and a few other players.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

Zach looks up at you. His eyes are sunken, his lips parted. And then, he loses consciousness.

When his eyelids flutter open, the brightness of the room is so painful that he has to squint.

“He’s up,” he hears. It’s you. He hasn’t heard your voice in a while. He misses it.

He slowly comes to, realizing he’s in a hospital bed. You’re sitting to his left. The team medic is standing at the end of the bed with a doctor. He’s hooked up to an IV.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“You’re dehydrated,” the medic explains, leaning over to hand a plastic cup of water to Zach. “You’re at Trinity Hospital. You’re okay. Drink.”

Zach weakly picks it up, downing the cool water, his throat feeling raw. He rolls his head to look at you again. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s relieved that you look so concerned for him. That you’re here.

The doctor introduces herself, then explains that Zach was unconscious for so long that she’d prefer to keep him overnight to monitor him.

The news makes everything in him twist with worry and frustration. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want Rafe to spiral.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m alright, though?”

“I’m not worried,” the doctor replies. “I just want to be sure you’re in good shape before I send you home.”

Within a few minutes, the doctor leaves the room. Then, the medic encourages Zach to drink more fluids, calls the coach to update him, and asks if you want to head back together now that you’re sure Zach’s okay.

You politely decline. You’re too worried to leave him alone so fast. And shortly after, it’s just you two in the room, listening to the beeps of Zach’s pulse.

“Dehydrated?” you say playfully, but still worried. “What the hell, Cameron?”

“I know,” he says with a smile. He regrets going hard at the gym today. He’s sure that’s what did it. “Rookie move.”

“I specifically told you to hydrate like, two days ago.”

Zach’s laugh is boyish. He reaches for your hand and squeezes. You remind yourself it’s likely nothing more than a friendly gesture.

“That was hangover advice,” he says. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand.

“It was life advice, actually.” You inhale slowly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He lets go of your hand, remembering you can hear his pulse right now and not wanting to risk you witnessing it beat faster.

“It was way more than two days ago, by the way,” he says. He threads his fingers through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of how bad he must look right now. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at your lap. You’ve been declining all the invitations to hang out in the group chat because the past few days have been so confusing.

Seeing Zach with another girl was painful, and then, you realized just how unimportant you felt to him when he slept through your plans, even though it was by mistake. You need time and space to stop liking him before you can hang out again.

“School’s been kicking my ass,” you lie.

“Do you need help?” he asks. He’d do anything to have you around again.

“Leave it to you to be in a hospital bed asking if you can help,” you mumble. Zach laughs. You try and fail not to fawn over his perfect smile.

“Did I faint in front of everybody?” he says, fixing his hair again.

“Not everybody,” you half-laugh. “But, seriously, everyone was really worried. We all care about you a lot.”

His heart warms. He may be in the hospital, but right now, he’s grateful for having people who care about him. It’s all he ever wanted.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Zach says softly. “And for staying.”

You nod. You were so worried that you told your dad you were going with the paramedics when they arrived, not even considering that you had work to do, that Zach was already taken care of.

“Of course,” you reply. “You said you don’t like being alone, remember? In that dream you had?”

Zach huffs a laugh and looks away, embarrassed as he thinks about that night in the elevator, but still appreciative.

“Did anyone call my brother?” he asks.

“I texted him that I’m with you at the hospital. He hasn’t replied yet.”

Zach nods and thanks you. He tries not to fixate on the fact that you have Rafe’s number. He looks at the clock hanging on the wall to see it’s late in the evening. He figures Rafe’s out with friends or with a girl, not paying attention to his phone.

He wishes he could just talk to him. With every second that passes, he worries more and more about Rafe’s reaction to him being here.

“I should’ve grabbed your phone from the locker room so you could talk to him directly,” you say regretfully. “But I told Chance to get your things for you after the game. Is there anyone else I should contact?”

Admittedly, you’re bracing yourself for him to mention the girl from the other night. Or any girl, really. But he only shakes his head no.

A nurse comes in to remind you that visiting hours are up soon. Zach sits up, visibly on edge, asking her when he can have visitors tomorrow. She tells him 9 a.m.

Knowing he won’t be able to see his brother in person tonight makes him anxious.

After the nurse leaves, Zach frantically asks if he can send a voice-note to Rafe on your phone. You open the conversation and hand your phone to Zach, noticing the nervous way he’s chewing on his lip.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker. “It’s nothing. I passed out from dehydration and I’m at Trinity and they’re keeping me overnight just to be sure I’m good, but the doctor’s not worried.”

His eyes flit to you and he swallows hard.

“This is nothing like the last time, okay? I know your mind’s gonna go there and this is not even close,” he continues. “You can come see me at nine tomorrow. And you better bring me food.”

Zach ends the recording, sends it, and gives you back your phone.

“Thanks,” he breathes. You nod, your eyebrows knitting in confusion and worry.

“Sure,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

Zach scratches the back of his neck.

“When he answers, please tell him that you saw for yourself that I’m okay,” he says. “He might be a little freaked out.”

You agree, not wanting to pry, and start to collect your things. There’s no television in the room and you feel bad that Zach’ll be left alone with nothing to entertain him. You want to help.

You tell him you’ll be right back, then rush downstairs at a vending machine you saw when you came in. After, you drop by the gift shop. It’s closed, the flowers and balloons locked up, but you’re still able to pick up a book sitting on a rack.

You leave behind more than enough cash for the book on the counter and go back to Zach’s room.

“Snacks,” you say breathlessly when you enter, dropping the bags of chips and candy and the paperback on the bed, “and a book. Hopefully, this’ll keep you entertained. And don’t tell my dad about the junk food. You know how he is about an athlete’s diet.”

Zach smiles at you, his eyes soft. With everything you’ve done tonight, you could simply be showing what a good friend you are, but what if you feel something for him, too?

The mention of his coach is reminder enough of why he doesn’t pursue this. It could get messy. But maybe he should be more like his brother. Taking risks. Allowing himself to do what he wants to do.

“I should go,” you sigh, looking at the clock. “Feel better, okay? We don’t stand a chance of winning without you.”

He laughs, his eyes lingering on you.

“Thanks,” Zach says. You turn to leave. He stops you with a gentle, “Hey.”

You stop, turning back to look at him. Zach takes you in, how good he feels when you’re around, how there’s still a little bit of worry written into your cute features.

He won’t tell you that he wants to you to be his girlfriend. Not like this, when he’s hooked up to monitors, stuck in a bed. He’ll do it when he’s out of here. He’ll do it when he can hold your face in his hands and tell you how much you mean to him.

“Seriously, thank you,” he tells you. “You’re amazing.” You smile at him again. If only he knew how much his words mean to you.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

You’re pacing through the parking lot when your phone buzzes. It’s Rafe calling you. You answer quickly. He says your name, his voice strained.

“I’m here. Is it too late to see him?”

“Yeah, visiting hours are over. I’m just leaving now,” you say, looking around the dark lot in case you can spot him. “But, honestly, he’s okay.”

“Does he…” Rafe pauses. “I think I see you.”

You approach each other under the starry sky, meeting by a line of parked cars.

His eyes are glossy. He’s been crying. No wonder Zach was so worried. He must have known the effect this would have on his brother. There’s more to this than you realize.

“Hi,” you say softly, ending the call. “It’s okay. He’s acting totally like himself.”

“He doesn’t have his phone?”

“No,” you say. “But I made sure someone’ll pick his stuff up for him.”

“What happened?”

“Before the game tonight, he was in the locker room and he looked really tired,” you explain. “He passed out, but he was already sitting and someone caught him, so he didn’t hit his head or anything. They have him on an IV and drinking lots of fluids.”

“Okay,” he mutters. “Fuck. I was at a bar and I wasn’t checking my phone… I got into a cab as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” you console him. “He’s good. He was more worried about you than himself.”

Rafe sighs, hands on his hips as he looks down and paces back and forth, hair hanging over his head. You can hear him panting.

“He was worried about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” Rafe asks the question the same tense way he did the night of the party. He’s so closed off, clearly upset at the thought of you knowing anything he doesn’t want you to know.

“I heard the voice-note he sent you,” you admit, “and he said you might be freaked out, but he didn’t tell me anything else. I didn’t ask. It’s not my business.”

Rafe chews on his lip the same nervous way Zach does. For once, you see a similarity between them.

His breathing gets even shallower. He rests his hands on the rear window of the van parked next to him. His body curls forward. His skin is flushed.

You step a little closer, searching his face in the light of the lamps lining the parking lot. He’s distraught.

“Rafe,” you say quietly.

His stare is on the ground, his chest heaving now. Something bad has been triggered in him.

“Hey,” you say.

“You can go home now,” he mutters breathlessly.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you say. You take a risk, placing a hand on his back, feeling it rise and fall quickly.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you say evenly. “I get that this is scary, but I promise you, everything’s okay. Zach is okay.”

Rafe’s chest is tight. His veins are made of ice. He feels like punching something. He hates this familiar loss of control, this shock of the world crumbling around him with no warning.

Yet while he thought that he’d hate someone touching him like this, that he’d hate being so vulnerable, he actually feels a little better.

You continue to rub his back, sweetly and tenderly. The touches he shares with girls are never like this. They’re always superficial, fuelled by lust. But this feels like real, sincere care.

“You took a cab here?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“Did you talk to the driver?”

“What?”

“Did you?” you say. “What kind of car was it?”

It’s all in an effort to distract him, and while Rafe stammers his way through his answers about the driver and the car and the bar he was at, you notice his breathing start to even out.

Minutes later, his heart isn’t racing as fast. His chest isn’t as tight. He can think clearer.

He’s embarrassed, but relieved you were here to talk him down before he ran into the hospital and demanded to see his brother. He now realizes how bad that could’ve gone.

“I don’t…” he stammers. He doesn’t know how to say that this doesn’t happen all that often, that this is a piece of him he typically buries deep from everyone.

“What?”

“You probably think I’m crazy.” Saying the word out loud hurts more than he expected. It’s what he’s felt all his life, that something isn’t wired right in his brain.

“No. I get it,” you say. You shake your head. “I mean, I don’t know what happened, but… I’m guessing he was in the hospital for something before, right?”

Rafe meets your eyes, straightening.

“I get why you’re freaked out,” you say. “I would be, too. Memories can mess with us.”

The way you just calmed him down, the sympathy in your tone, the alcohol swimming in his system are what push him to actually be honest with someone for once in a long time.

“We almost lost him,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Your face falls in sorrow, eyes searching his face. He looks down at the ground, too uncomfortable to meet your gaze again.

“I almost lost him,” Rafe mumbles, his voice thin. Because, really, he knows he would’ve felt the loss the hardest. His brother is the most important person in his life. Always has been.

And to lose him, someone so irreplaceable, someone he was with from the moment he was a living thing, would kill him. Zach’s right, even though he’s joking, that Rafe doesn’t tell him he loves him enough.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” Rafe says.

It was mere months after their mother abandoned them, saying she couldn’t stay with their father anymore, that she did everything she could do as a mom, that she was done.

It left a hole in Rafe that he feels every day. If Zach feels it, he does an incredible job hiding it.

He still doesn’t know what the final straw was. Why fourteen years of her sons’ lives was enough for her. How could a parent decide that they had enough of their kids forever?

She wasn’t the best mom, unpredictable and erratic, but he loved her. There had to be something wrong with her mind for her to act like that. To leave. Something that Rafe is sure skipped Zach and was passed on to him.

“That’s so young,” you say sadly.

“He was really sick for a while.” Rafe’s heart twists thinking about it.

How a freak case of pneumonia had Zach bedridden, his lungs fighting to keep breathing. How mad Rafe was at his brother, as if he did it on purpose. How sure he was that in some twisted way, his mother’s sudden abandonment triggered it.

He still regrets how he acted when Zach was discharged. He couldn’t talk to him for days. He was too angry for scaring him into thinking he was going to lose his best friend, his anchor.

“How long?” you ask.

“Weeks,” Rafe tells you. “And you know Zach. He kept telling everyone he was fine. Even as a kid, he didn’t want people to worry about him.”

“He is like that, isn’t he?” you say with a soft chuckle. Since you met Zach, you quickly learned he dismisses any notion of needing any sort of help. “But I promise, this isn’t one of those cases. I saw for myself. He’s good. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Rafe nods quickly, finally looking at you.

“You’ll see him tomorrow,” you say with a small smile, sad but touched that he opened up to you like this. “Until then, just try to relax.”

Rafe loves the feeling of your hand on him. He can’t remember the last time he loved someone’s touch. If he ever even did.

He’s keeping his promise to Zach. He won’t hook up with you. Because he wants more than that. He wants to know you and for you to know him. He wants you to stay the night, every night. He wants you to be his.

And he needs to be sure you don’t feel anything for his brother.

“Are you and him…” He swallows hard. “Is there anything there?”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion. Zach had told you that his brother was his best friend. You’re sure he would’ve told him if he felt something for you.

If he has to ask, Zach must not talk about you much at all. You’re nothing but a friend to him. Although you do have feelings for him, you were right to be apprehensive from the start. He doesn’t like you like that.

“No,” you finally say.

Rafe nods. At least there’s no unrequited feelings on either side. He must have been reading into things, imagining you looking at his brother a certain way.

“You wanna grab some food?” Rafe asks impulsively.

You agree. Right now, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.

Rafe’s been on a handful of dates before, but sitting across from you at a quiet late-night diner, sobering up, getting to know you more and more makes him feel like he’s living in a dream.

He’s never felt this way about a girl before. Scared in a good way. Slowly, he opens up little by little, peeling back layers of the wall he’s been hiding behind for years.

He shares what happened with his mom. How Zach was the strong one, while Rafe acted out and made his life hell. You take in every word, seeing just how much guilt and shame and pain he carries around.

You open up, too, sharing things you don’t tell many people. He’s a good listener, and the eyes you thought didn’t have much hope behind them at first aren’t cold at all by the end of the night.

It’s one in the morning when you part ways. Rafe shares a cab with you, making sure you get dropped off first, watching you step through the front door.

Everything in him wants to invite you to his place, but things are going to be different with you. He won’t rush into numbing himself with sex like he always does, because he refuses to be numb or absent or checked out with you in any way.

────୨ৎ────

“What kind of grown man forgets to drink water?”

Zach looks up from his orange juice to see Rafe walking into his hospital room.

He chuckles, asking Rafe not to give him shit for this because you already did. The mention of your name makes Rafe’s heart feel lighter in this tense moment.

Because of how good it felt to be so open with you last night, expressing just how important Zach is to him, remembering everything they’d gone through together, Rafe doesn’t shy away from leaning over to hug his brother, who stiffens in his bed.

“Uh, good morning to you, too?” Zach laughs. “Is this a hug? What the hell? Who are you?”

“I love you, too,” Rafe mumbles, pulling back and holding up a paper bag of breakfast for him. “And I got you your food, princess.”

“You try eating hospital food,” Zach replies, taking the bag, feeling ravenous.

Rafe settles on the chair, remembering his brother at fourteen, picking apart at the food they served him with a look of disgust, yet telling the nurses ‘it’s good, thank you’ when they asked if he was enjoying his meal.

Rafe urged his dad to bring his brother home-cooked food almost every day of his hospital stay. It was one of the little ways he showed up for Zach, taking care of him instead of the other way around for once.

“What’d the doctor say?” Rafe asks. “Do you feel better?”

“She hasn’t come to see me yet, but I feel totally fine.” Zach digs into his breakfast. “How are you?”

Rafe looks down at his lap, sighing before he speaks.

“I freaked out,” Rafe admits. Zach stills. “She told me you said I would and you were right. But, man… she knew exactly what to do.”

“It happened when you were with her?” Zach knows what Rafe’s breakdowns look like. He has full-blown panic attacks. He’s nearly inconsolable. He wonders how jarring that must have been for you.

“Out in the parking lot,” he says. “It was just too much. All that shit came rushing back.”

Rafe shrugs, defeated. Sometimes, he’s able to give into the fact that he can do nothing but surrender to the chaos in his mind. He felt safe doing it in front of you last night. He felt safe every second he was with you.

“Are you okay now?” Zach asks. He notices the hint of a smile in Rafe’s face. A brightness he hasn’t seen in him in a long time.

“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I gotta ask you something, though.”

“What?”

“Does ‘off limits’ mean I can’t date her?”

“Date her?” Zach repeats, in disbelief. “You want to date her? Like, commit to her? You don’t commit to anyone.”

Rafe breathes a chuckle, pursing his lips.

“Well, now, I want to.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe looks like he got rid of a ten-ton weight that was sitting on his shoulders. He’s relaxed. He’s content. Zach can’t remember the last time he saw him like this.

Zach became hyperaware of other people’s emotions at a young age. When their parents would argue, he saw what it did to Rafe, who would shut down and lash out. Zach would distract his brother in every way he could.

Then their mom left and it became ten times harder to keep Rafe steady. But Zach did it and he never stopped trying. Because helping others, putting their feelings first, really does make Zach happy.

But right now, he feels really far from happy.

He looks down at his food. He had it all planned out. He’d get in his best clothes, find a nice place to take you, give you a whole speech about how he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for days and how happy you make him and how happy he could make you.

“She feels the same way? Did something happen between you?” Zach asks. His chest is a hole. A pit.

“Nothing happened,” Rafe says, scratching the back of his neck.

It was nearly impossible for Rafe not to give into the impulse to hold your hand in the booth you sat at together last night and tell you how pretty you are and how much fun he has with you.

But he really does want to be a better person. He wants to think before he acts. And that means checking in with Zach that he’s okay with this, considering how tense he is about Rafe getting involved with his friends.

“But I think she might like me, too,” Rafe says. “And I made sure she’s not into you. I guess I was just reading into stuff before.”

That’s the moment Zach’s heart breaks. He licks his lips, his stare low. So, you would’ve just rejected him.

“You really like her?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“Why?”

“Don’t make me be corny,” he groans.

Zach’s head is pounding. He wants to be mad at Rafe. But he had so many opportunities to tell him that he likes you, and he was too chicken to admit it. And now, his brother is falling for you. And he looks so happy doing it.

“You’re gonna have to be corny,” Zach says. “I need to be sure you’re not just messing around.”

Rafe sighs. It’s always Zach doing this, gushing over a girl, freaking out over if she hasn’t texted him back, getting all nervous before a date. Rafe used to tease him about it. He gets it now, though.

“You suck,” Rafe scoffs, tensing up. It’s hard for him to talk like this, but he forces the words out. “I don’t know. I like who I am when I’m around her. And it’s… when she’s in the room, everything’s better, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zach says. He knows. He feels the exact same way.

“Is that corny enough for you?” Rafe says with a scoff. “Are you cool with this or no?”

Zach chews his food slowly only to buy time before he has to speak again. He’s trying to act unbothered and it’s working, considering how in the clouds Rafe seems.

He has no idea that Zach is falling for you. Because he’s too busy doing it, too.

He meets his brother’s eyes. He takes a deep breath. And, because Rafe’s happiness has always been more important to him than his own, he gives him his blessing.

“Go for it,” Zach says. “And don’t hurt her.”

He’s never felt so bitter. He hates that he hopes you’ll have a change of heart. He hates that he feels like he’d treat you better. He hates all of this. But he stays silent.

────୨ৎ────

You’re having a late breakfast when Zach replies to your text asking to keep you updated.

Doctor cleared me. I’m home and I got my stuff from Chance. Thanks for everything.

His message is cold compared to how he usually texts. But maybe he’s just tired from the hospital stay.

You gaze out your window, thinking about everything that happened last night. Rafe isn’t as different from Zach as you first thought. Behind his hard exterior, he’s sensitive and gentle and so badly wants to be loved.

He confessed to feeling like something was missing in him since he can remember. The look in his eyes when you told him that to you, he seems perfectly whole, is one you won’t forget.

Being with him for hours was a wonderful haze. You didn’t want to part. He made you feel heard. It’s a joy that you’ve been lacking for a long time.

Minutes later, Rafe texts you asking if he can take you out to dinner tonight. You smile at your screen. You love how you don’t have to wonder about if he wants you.

The restaurant he drives you to is lavish and elegant. Rafe is unbelievably handsome across the table over the candlelight, his dark button-up making his eyes look all the more blue. Your stomach is full of butterflies, yet a sense of calm fills you when you’re with him.

You pick up where you left off, conversation flowing without any effort. He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. You’re sure you look at him the same way.

When Rafe pulls the car up to your place, in an effort to keep you from leaving right away, he presses his palm against the back of your hand.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, tone low, adorably nervous.

“Of course. Did you?”

Rafe chuckles at the question. Good doesn’t begin to cover it.

“You’re…” he begins.

“I’m what?” you laugh.

He squeezes your hand gently, turning it so he can lace his fingers with yours. The contact is warm, his ring hard but smooth against your skin. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares at you.

“Beautiful,” he says. “In every way.”

His tone is sincere and firm. He says it like it’s a fact.

“And I want to keep doing this,” he says. “Seeing you. If you want to keep seeing me, too.”

“I do,” you say. When he leans forward, his kiss is soft but hungry, making your mind spin.

Zach fakes a headache when Rafe gets home. All he needs to hear is that the date went well. He doesn’t want the details.

────୨ৎ────

You’re wrapped in Rafe’s arms, your back flush against his chest, as music and chatter float through the air around you.

You’re settled on his couch, talking with your friends as the party rages. Rafe’s still getting used to what it means to be a boyfriend, tense and quiet around your friends, but he’d get used to anything if it meant making you happy.

You’ve only been dating a few weeks, but he’s sure if this isn’t love, he’s damn close to it. Aside from his brother, you’re his best friend.

You smile when you feel Rafe’s lips press against the side of your neck. He’s ridiculously affectionate, touching you whenever he can, spoiling you, whispering sweet things to you all the time. He’s completely unguarded.

Zach’s in the kitchen, as far away from you as he physically can be. After the hospital, he hasn’t been himself at all. You can tell he’s trying to be, though, forcing smiles around you.

It makes no sense. He called you amazing that night. But, then, he pulled away. It’s like he’s mad at you for dating his brother, but he refuses to admit it.

You’ve asked him multiple times if things are good between you. He reassured you over and over that they are.

Maybe someone else would believe him, but after you pined for him for so long, you can read when he’s trying to hide that he’s upset. At parties, at casual get-togethers, even at work when you’re making content for the team, he’s absent-minded and disinterested.

And whatever’s wrong, he prefers to hold inside.

Nonetheless, while your feelings for Zach have faded, you genuinely hope he’s happy and that you can be friends with him again one day.

The next morning, you wake up in Rafe’s bed. His arm is around your waist, his breath warm against your back. He’s still snoozing when you slip out of bed to get water.

Zach’s sitting at the kitchen island, staring down at his coffee. It’s almost funny how just over three months ago, you were here for the first time, yearning for Zach to give you a hint that he liked you. Now, you’re falling for Rafe.

“Morning,” you say kindly.

Zach looks up from his coffee. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey.”

You open the fridge, the awful feeling he’s been giving you lately sitting heavy on your heart. He makes you feel unwelcome, which is something you never expected from him.

“Just getting some water,” you say, searching through the shelves. “He’s definitely gonna wake up with a headache.”

Zach tenses. You’re doing for Rafe what he daydreamed you doing for him. Sharing a bed with him, nursing his hangover, touching him and smiling at him and giving him what Zach would die for.

You look so pretty in the morning, your bedhead adorable, your pajamas complimenting your figure. Why won’t his heart just catch up with his mind? He keeps telling himself to get over you.

He notices that you have Rafe’s ring on your finger. He used to imagine you wearing his things. He’d love to see you in his team hoodie. But he never will.

In another world, you’re in this kitchen as his girlfriend, talking about last night’s party, sharing kisses and laughs. But not in this world.

“I never asked you,” you say, your back to him, “how was that book I got you?”

You hope it serves as a reminder for how much you did for him and how much you care about him. It hurts, the way he’s been keeping you at a distance.

Late at night, as your mind drifts away from you when you try to fall asleep, you’ve considered the possibility of Zach being upset because he’s jealous of Rafe and wants to be with you.

But Rafe told you he checked with Zach to make sure your relationship was okay with him and he even said he didn’t feel anything for you. Maybe Zach thinks you’re not good enough for his brother and he’s too nice to actually say it out loud.

“Good,” Zach says.

You grab two water bottles and close the fridge door. One word is all he’s willing to say to you.

You can’t do it again. You can’t ask him for the hundredth time if you did something wrong, just for him to say you didn’t and he’s sorry that he made you feel like you did.

You leave him alone in the kitchen, padding up the stairs. Zach looks down at his coffee again. His eyes are starting to burn with tears.

He wants to remind his brother that they agreed they wouldn’t let people overstay. And you being here for even one night feels like overstaying. He can’t have you and every time he’s reminded of that, it hurts.

He can’t stop thinking about that night in the elevator and wishing that instead of drunkenly rambling about his brother, he rambled about his feelings for you. At least then, everything would have been out in the open long before you really got to know Rafe.

The girl he met through the video messaged him last night, asking if he was up to hang out again. She’s cute and nice. But she’s not you. And it’d be wrong to pursue someone just to numb the pain of not having you.

That’s all he wants. You. And because he was such a coward, he’ll never have you. Maybe at some point, he had a chance. Maybe you would have grown feelings for him if he was honest with you.

But you seem happy. So does Rafe, who actually wants hold you and kiss you in public. He was never like that with any other girl.

Zach realizes that while he was always so sure he coped with everything that life hurled at them better than Rafe, he wasn’t paying attention to how destructive he is to himself. His martyrdom was never a virtue.

He’s too late. He self-sabotaged. He has nobody to blame for his aching loneliness but himself. That’s the most heartbreaking part of this whole thing.

Rafe’s hair is tousled, his smile lazy when you come back to bed.

“Thought you left me,” he murmurs tiredly into your hair, pulling you tight against his warm body. You smile, your cheek pressed against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent.

Rafe’s sure you can feel his pulse on your cheek. He feels like you own every beat of his heart.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” you tell him.

The tension from what happened downstairs leaves your system. You swallow down the tears that threatened to fall when you left the kitchen.

You plant a kiss on Rafe’s chest. You know where you’re wanted. And you’re happiest staying there.

(the end)

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#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader

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hotshotsxyz · 2 days

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no body, no crime

(8x01 spoilers) (buddie adjacent) (518 words) this is. so stupid. and also maybe the most in character thing i've ever written

“Eddie,” Buck says, wide eyed and wild, “I think I tried to kill Gerrard.”

Eddie blinks. He hasn’t been awake nearly long enough for this. “What.”

“Think about it!” Buck sits on the coffee table and holds a mug out to Eddie. “He was yelling at me, right? And I was so mad, I definitely wanted to kill him.”

“You literally saved his life. He woke up yesterday. You know this.” He takes the mug.

Buck flaps his hand dismissively. “Yeah, but that was after. I’m talking about before.”

Eddie scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs. “You’re gonna have to walk me through this one, Buck.”

“Okay, so I’m standing there, and I’m trying not to react, but everything is getting so loud and I’m, like, a second away from clocking the guy and all of a sudden, the saw blade goes flying at him! Does that really seem like a coincidence?”

Eddie takes a long, slow sip of his coffee. “Yes.”

Buck leans back, clearly affronted. “Seriously?” he asks incredulously.

Eddie closes his eyes and sighs. “What do you think happened?”

“I threw the saw at him! Psychically.”

“Buck. You absolutely did not.”

“But what if I did?” Buck whispers, like someone else is going to hear him confess to psychic murder in Eddie’s living room.

Eddie’s going to need so much more coffee. And breakfast. “How, exactly, do you think you’ve developed superpowers?”

Buck shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe it’s like a delayed reaction to the lightning?”

“Was the math not enough for you?”

Buck leans in conspiratorially. “Maybe the math was just the beginning.”

“Okay. Can you throw that pillow at me?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the other end of the couch.

Buck stares at it for several seconds. “Well no,” he admits, “but I’m not mad at you!”

“And you have to be mad for your newfound psychic ability to work?” Eddie prods.

“Weirder things have happened,” Buck says.

“Have they?” It comes out a little hysterically.

Buck stands and starts pacing. “Yoga studio full of pregnant ladies, ghost called 911, cursed bracelet,” he says, counting them on his fingers. “Is it really that crazy to think I might be a little bit psychic?”

Eddie buries his face in his hands. “Even if you were psychic—”

“Ah ha! So you admit it’s a possibility,” Buck interrupts smugly.

“Even if you were, and I’m not saying you are, I really don’t think you’d use your powers to murder someone, not even Gerrard.”

Buck’s nose scrunches. “Eh, voluntary manslaughter at worst.”

“So what, you want to go turn yourself in to Athena?” Eddie asks.

“Can’t, she’s still out of town,” Buck says, as if that’s the only problem with the idea. “Anyway, he lived so, you know, no body, no crime.”

“Buck, I swear to god if this entire conversation was so you could make a Taylor Swift reference—”

Buck tilts his head, like he has to think about it. “No, pretty sure that actually was a coincidence.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Eddie asks.

Buck grins at him. “Ridiculous and psychic.”

#i have absolutely nothing to say for myself #911 #911 spoilers #911 fic #buddie fic #911fic #buddiefic #buddie #fic #abbie writes #this was not the second coda i thought i'd be writing

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97keanu · 2 days

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Premise: Kick-Ass stumbles into your room while escaping a scuffle one night and you just had to make him yours.

Tags/CW: Bimbo/Mean Girl!Reader, Subby!Dave (until he’s not :3c ), Rich girl!Reader, p in v, oral (M + F Receiving), Voyeurism, Mask stays ON!, lots of smut little of plot, dirty talk.

Words: 5.5k

Out of all the open windows in New York, how did Dave get as lucky as to pick yours to jump into?

You fall into your plush pink bed with a pout. You can’t believe you’re grounded on a Friday night, and the sounds of people bustling around on the streets of New York below didn’t help to make you feel better. You look around your room, designer furniture drenched in pinks, creams, and white taunting you like a gilded cage. Tortured, you throw a hand over your face, rolling over in bed to grab your iPod touch that features an endless scroll of all your friends having much more fun on social media.

You glance out your window, the sparkling sky line of the upper east side of New York glittering with fun that you’ve been disallowed from taking part in. It’s open just slightly, letting in the cool late September air into your bedroom. You groan as another text from your besties comes in showing just what you’re missing, a video of them walking down near your street and laughing together.

“We’re like right outside, you should just sneak out.” One sends, tempting you.

You think about it, how easy it would be to just climb out of your window and down the fire escape and try to make it back home before anyone would notice, but you know how many more Friday nights you would miss if you got caught.

You’re just about to text them back about just how miserable you are, and that you can’t risk it tonight, when a new video pops up in the chat.

You’re ready to tell them to stop teasing you with a good time and that you already feel like a prisoner in your own home when you notice that the video takes on a different tone than the last one.

You watch as the pedestrians behind your friends start a commotion, someone in the crowd trying to push through. You hear a polite, yet urgent voice as you get a better look at just who is causing such a stir.

“Sorry! Sorry! Excuse me, folks, coming through!” The man appears to be masked, a green and yellow body suit covering anything identifying.

He moves around your friends and begins to crawl up a familiar looking fire escape.

“Holy shit, is that Kick-Ass?” One of your friends in the video yells before the scene becomes a blur and the video ends.

Kick-Ass? That vigilante everyone’s been posting about?

You barely have time to think much more to yourself as you hear the sound of foot steps pounding up the rusty metal outside your window. You pull back from the bed, almost letting out a half scream as a pair of green gloved fingers slide in the gap in your window. The figure slides it open further before launching his body inside your room with a crash, taking most of the assortment of trivial things off your nearby desk.

“Oh my god!” You clutch your iPod, barely registering that there’s a man in your room and you only have on a pair of panties and a PINK baby tee on. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, I’m sorry,” Kick-Ass looks around your room in disbelief, his bright blue eyes and his pouty plump lips the only parts exposed by his mask. “I just, REALLY needed to get away from those guys!”

He tries to catch his breath, panting for a second before looking over at you and your scantily dressed form.

“Oh, geez, I um,” His soft voice wheezes out in embarrassment for the situation, not able to find any words to make this any better.

”You were?” You raise a perfectly plucked brow, folding your arms over your chest.

“I um,” He tries to find any way that makes him look like less of a perv, but he knows that it’s pretty much useless.

Your iPod keeps Ping!-ing, and finally after giving the stranger in your room one final stare down, you peek at just who’s bothering you.

“OMG he like totally crawled in your window!”

“Like wtf are you guys going to do in there???”

“I know what I’D be doing if Kick-Ass was in MY room.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jessica ur like such a slut.”

“Well, he IS kind of hot.”

“Well, there’s no way he actually went into HER room, it had to be someone else’s…”

A smile twists onto your pretty glossy lips, and you glance up at this supposed crime fighter named “Kick-Ass” before taking a few steps towards him.

“So,” You say, the nervous energy clearly written on his face, despite the mask. “You’re telling me you’re the Kick-Ass guy they’ve all been talking about.”

“Um,” His voice catches, then he clears his throat. “Y-yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“And I would be like, so totally cool for getting to meet you?” You take another step closer, your bare, manicured toes sinking into your plush white carpet with each step.

“M-maybe, I don’t really…” His voice trails off as you continue closer, hands extending to touch gently on his chest over the superhero suit. “…Know…”

“Mhm…” You look up at him, batting those long lashes of yours at him while drawing a circle with one finger over his heart. “I think it’s only fair I get something out of this since you so rudely barged into my room like this.”

“W-what do you have in, um, mind, exactly?” You can practically see the desperation in his eyes as they flick from yours down to your glossy lips.

“Oh, nothing, I just need you to help me prove something to my friends.” You lean up on your tip toes, letting your face get closer and closer to his. “Just a little kiss, well, maybe more…”

You watch as he exhales, shaky and full of want, and his big blue eyes blink with confusion.

“What? A big time superhero like you can’t mind a little attention, can he?” You whisper out, letting each word fall with implied longing.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s not such a good idea…” He must be crazy to hesitate, but he does, trying to pry his eyes from looking at you.

”Think about it, being seen giving a hot girl a kiss will give you major street cred.” You coo, attempting to sweeten the deal. “You’ll like, totally, have saved the day.”

Kick-Ass just looks at your lips for second, as if envisioning himself pressing his to yours. Then his eyes flick back up to yours, their wide eyed innocent stare searching there.

“J-just a kiss?” He can’t help himself from looking at your kissable lips now as he says it, watching as you bite your bottom lip and nod your head.

You’ve got him in your pretty pink manicured hands now, all you have to do is lead him over to your window.

The night air blows your hair back as you open the large window to its fullest extent, which allows you to prop your cute ass up onto the window sill. You hear the sounds of your friends gasping below and whispers as you pull the green masked vigilante towards you. You already know they likely have their phones out, but you don’t care. You watch as Kick-Ass’s eyes go from you to down below, obviously fighting nerves in favor of getting a taste of your cherry lip gloss.

You take his face in your hands, thumbs rubbing up against the fabric of his mask, and you pull him closer, his body moving with yours with a held back eagerness. You know there’s no way he would refuse a girl like you.

His lips touch yours like butterfly wings, softly before yours go in for the kill, crushing into his big, plump lips. Your friends whoops and holler below, and maybe even some pedestrians you don’t know stop to stare as the hero known as Kick-Ass puts his tongue down your throat. You can hardly wait to hear the rumors this will stir up, enjoying the popularity it will bring you at the same time as you enjoy his warm, deep kiss.

You pull away to catch a breath, and look into those dazzling blue eyes, seeing the longing that is rising there and beneath that green suit of his. You turn, looking down at the small crowd below, flashes of cellphones applauding your performance. You kiss your hand, waving it out the window and taking Kick-Ass by the fabric of his suit near his chest, and pulling him back into your room further, leaving the audience wanting more. Your iPod is already blowing up with attention, but right now you have something else you need to attend to, and it’s not your friend's texts.

“Wow…” He breathes out, your pink lip gloss sparkling on his lips and stars in his eyes. “You’re a really good kisser…”

The innocent way he talks makes you wonder if he’s ever even kissed a girl before, making you turn to him and pause.

“Is this,” You say, sweeping your hands on his lower body but not quite touching anywhere too sensitive, yet still making him shudder. “New to you?”

“Maybe, just a little,” He breathes out, letting you press into him until he’s sitting on the edge of your girly pink bed.

“I thought a big star like Kick-Ass would be a hit with the ladies,” You smile while his head leans back from how you’re touching up his chest.

“Nobody’s exactly, um, offered…” He admits, his words slow, distracted by your hands as they reach near his neck.

“Just who is under here…” You whisper, the edge of your fingers slipping under the very edge of that green mask.

“W-wait!” His hands fly up, body suddenly stiff. “We have to keep the mask on.”

You stay there for a moment, not moving, watching those baby blue eyes strain to say something to you that you can’t comprehend. You let your hands slip back down.

“Alright, but I think you’ll have to take the rest off.” You tease him, pulling at the body of the green suit this time, biting your lip while you fantasize about what’s underneath.

—————

Just how Dave managed to trip his way into the most popular girl in the school's bedroom, he’ll never know.

What he does know is that right now you’re looking at him like you want to eat him alive and he can barely contain the urges that he wants to do to you right now. He can hardly think straight with your hands on him, unzipping the Kick-Ass costume and letting the cool night air hit his bare skin. Dave shivers as your warm hands replace the cold and he thinks he might just die right here and right now.

He watches you, your perfect body that any boy at school would die to be touching right now, and he can barely keep his breath steady. God, he’s had a crush on you for so long, and you have no idea that he’s actually the nerd in your history class that you don’t even talk to unless you have to. He’s even talked to Marty and Todd about how hot you are, and they wouldn’t believe it if he had proof that he kissed you at all, let alone the fact that you’ve got his suit off, your manicured hand pressed up against his underwear like that.

“F-fuck…” Dave breathes out, his head lolling against his shoulders, his arms flexing their muscles as he braces against the plush of your pink bed.

“God, you’re so sensitive,” You say to him, a thin eyebrow quirked.

Dave can barely respond as you apply pressure to his cock over his black boxers, his mouth trying to find words and all that it finds is a hum of moans and affirmative “uh-uh’s”.

“You better be careful, you look like you might just make a mess in your boxers if I’m not careful.” Your voice is bratty, teasing him harshly about how easy it was to rile him up.

It was true though, Dave’s large hands curling into the pink bedspread to stop himself from bucking into your hand and finishing himself off then and there. You would think with how much he jacks off he wouldn’t be so close so soon, but he can’t help himself. Not with the way you’re touching him right now, and god, definitely not how you’re looking up at him from where you sit between his legs on your knees.

Your mouth goes over his cock, hot breath bleeding through the silky cotton of his boxers and making him close to losing his mind and his load right then and there. A struggling whimper escapes his mouth.

“I don’t- I don’t know if I can…” He can’t finish his sentence, he has to focus on not coming when you touch him like that.

”Oh, my poor little superhero,” You chide, looking back up at him while you do. “Maybe we should start you off with something a little less intense.”

All he can do is nod his head along. God, you could have told him you wanted him to walk right out that window and plummet down below and he would have. He would do anything right now to please you.

“Lay back on the bed.” You instruct and he complies. “Hopefully you can breathe with that mask on.”

For a second, Dave has no idea what you mean, until you crawl up him, thighs on either side of his body until their on either side of his head. You’re close enough that he can see the tiny lace and bows on your panties from here, and before he can say anything, you’re sliding them to the side. His eyes go wide, and he watches as you reach down and gently touch yourself. Dave’s never seen one in real life, and for a moment he’s mesmerized by how badly he wants his tongue deep inside you.

“Let’s see how well you can eat me out,” You look down at his big blue eyes looking up at you and you can’t help how turned on you are by him looking at you with such worry and want in his dark eyebrows. “Then if you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll touch you…”

He nods. Oh god, how he nods. He wants nothing more than for you to suffocate him between your thighs right now. He needs you to completely use his face up for whatever you need and nothing more. You lower yourself onto his soft lips, and all he can do is take in your scent for a moment. You smell so sweet and so musky, it’s as if every breath of you goes straight to his cock, making it rock hard. His hands come up, gripping your plush thighs and pulling you onto his face deeper. His tongue flops out, taking in your taste before trying to please you further.

Dave hopes he’s doing a good job, he’s never done this before, but it’s been one of his biggest fantasies and porn searches. He tries to keep his tongue at a good speed, taking note of the moans you make, when you pull on the top of his mask ever so slightly as you hump his face to your own delight.

You were right, it is hard to breathe in this mask with your pussy blocking up every other way of breathing. Somehow, it makes it better. The fact that you control when he gets to breathe, that you lift yourself up just enough for him to catch the tiniest breaths of fresh, cool air before letting your weight down on him once more and suffocating him further. All he can do is grip your thighs, everything in his body trying as hard as possible to please you and not reach down and grab his own cock. He knows if he did, he would cum in a jerk or two and he just can’t let that happen, not yet at least.

“Fuck, your face is such a good seat,” You moan as you come closer, his tongue working magic as he tries to remember techniques from wikihow he learned just in case this ever happened to him.

Dave moans when you say this, the vibrations exciting you further. You look down at him, and he watches as you bite your lip while you ride his face, your gorgeous tits bouncing just perfectly. He reaches up, his hands grabbing them and you invite him further by putting your hand on his, pressing him into you more. You close your eyes as his tongue flicks against your clit, moving in circles and sucking when he can. After you give him some air, you come back down and his tongue twists lower, finding your sopping wet hole and diving in, taking a deeper taste. You shiver, your legs constricting against the sides of his head.

He lets his tongue get as deep inside you as he can before coming out and focusing on your clit once more, letting his tongue go flat and lapping up every inch of it. He’s proud of himself for being able to find it so easily, and the confidence gives him the energy to fight the tongue fatigue that’s slowly creeping in. He’s waited to long for this, he’s not stopping until you cum for him.

His eyes slowly open and close as you continue riding his face how you like it. He’s pratically drunk off your pussy, currently living and breathing to make you feel good. It’s like he can’t get you closer to him, his hands pulling at your thighs and waist to try to get you deeper on top of him, his breaths wild and sucking in as much air as possible between sets.

”God, I think I’m going to…” You whisper on top of him and he tries to keep his speed, only increasing enough to push you over the edge without changing up too much (he read somewhere that that’s what you’re supposed to do).

You grind harder than before, letting his tongue suck and circle your sensitive clit over and over and over until you can’t take it anymore. You begin to spill over the edge, your moans increasing, your grip on him harder than before. You feel it unwind in your lower stomach, that blissful feeling of release, those tired and tight muscles giving up and giving in to pleasure.

“Fuck…” You whine out as you finish on his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Your body lets go completely and your legs shake, growing weak as the pleasure fully releases. Dave holds you up with his strong arms, making sure you feel supported as you come down. He can’t believe he made you cum like that, and his tongue laps up all that you give him greedily, that reward he gets for working so hard to make you cum.

You pull off slowly, moving down to sit on top of his aching cock with your hot, wet pussy dripping on his boxers. He almost loses it right then and there, but resists as he comes down from being so engulfed with pleasuring you. You both breathe for a moment, blissful with what’s transpired.

“Well,” You start with a shaky breath. “You definitely don’t need much more practice with that…”

Dave lets out a small chuckle that turns into a whimper as you move your hips against his cock, grinding ever so slightly, his eyes going from blissful existence to full of want and longing in such a short amount of time. He’s totally under your control.

“What else could Kick-Ass ask for…?” You tease him, inviting him to tell you what he wants next.

For a moment, he wishes he could tell you not to call him that, to say his name, to beg for him in that way, but there’s no way you would be doing any of this if you didn’t think he was the badass that fought in the streets of New York. He couldn’t tell you, couldn’t admit just how much of a nerd he really was, there’s just no way…

”I want to,” He pants, his mouth slick with you and his eyes looking at your lovely tits. “T-those…”

“God, you’re so pathetic, you can’t even form proper sentences after that face fucking, huh?” You look down at him, his big doe eyes mesmerized by your body.

You sigh and give in to his demands, however, lowering your tits to his face. He closes his eyes happily, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with want. He pulls off in a moment with a pop before giving the other attention, the one not being sucked taken by his hands and massaged. You grind into his hips, working slowly so as to not push him over the edge just yet. His eyelids flutter as he looks up at you, his vision not quite seeing you, blurry from his lack of glasses and just how much he wants this.

You pull back, moving down so that your lips can kiss his, vaguely tasting yourself on his. You move like water, slow and liquid smooth, entrancing him further and further with your beautiful body and well placed touch. You let his lips into yours, teeth biting into the soft meat there and teasing, pulling. His moans mix in your mouth while you let your tongue explore inside of him. You come up for air, watching as he looks at you with heavy eyelids softly folding over his pretty blue eyes.

You wonder what he looks like under that green mask, getting turned on by the thought of not knowing. Of letting this stranger fuck you for just stumbling into your room on the right night at the right time. You and your friends have all talked about how sexy it is that someone like Kick-Ass is out there patrolling the streets with that body in that tight green suit of his, but you never thought he would be in here letting you make soft pink kisses down his throat.

His mouth lets out lazy moans as you kiss him there, touching him in all the right places, your hands soft and warm, taking him tenderly with a mix of quick little bites and sucks here and there. You keep him on his toes, keep him wanting more, keep moving your pussy on that hard cock of his only every few seconds to keep him from getting to carried away.

“God, I don’t know if I can take more,” He whimpers out, his hands on your ass, taking handfuls and shaking it.

“Don’t cum until I tell you,” You whisper in his ear, your breath hot and ticklish. “You got that, superhero?”

Dave gulps, eyebrows pulling together as he tries to mind, tries to be good boy, and bites his lip as you work downward, your kisses leaving a trail of pink lipstick down his gentle abs. You slide down, letting your body move until your mouth comes to the edge of his waistband. Slowly, you slip your long nails underneath, pulling his boxers back until his cock pops out with a satisfying bob.

You hesitate for a second, a first for you for tonight. You could feel how big it was underneath the black boxers he wore, but you had no idea it was THAT big. It wasn’t exactly length that scared you, not to say that it wasn't well endowed, but it was the girth that really frightened you. You wondered how you would get your lipstick-messy lips around it, if it would even fit. It made your mouth water in anticipation.

“Is it…” Dave sighs out, moving up onto his elbows to look down at you between his legs. “Is it okay?”

You realize you’ve just been staring at his cock, and your face heats up slightly.

“Oh it’s more than okay.” You say with a smirk, your hand wrapping around it and giving it a light stroke or two.

Dave’s eyes close as you do this, his lips parting as his breath picks up once more.

“Your hands feel so good,” He admits, enjoying himself as you continue, your tongue going to his base and licking back up to the tip, causing him to shudder.

You take his thick, hard tip into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl circles around it while sucking lightly. Dave’s hands grip the bed further, it’s so hard for him not to force his cock all the way in and cum down your throat immediately, it’s all he wants in the world right now, but the way you look up at him with your big doe eyes tells him to wait, to savor every moment your warm mouth is wrapped around his cock leaving pink glittery stains on it.

You let his cock fill your mouth further, taking it in slowly, inch by inch until he’s hitting the back of your throat. You moan softly as you slide it further, his cock just barely fitting, your moan cut off the deeper he goes. You bat your pretty eyelashes at him as you take it deeper and deeper until your nose is against his stomach.

“F-fuck, don’t move,” He stutters out, hand reaching out to grip your hair. “If you move I’m going to cum.”

You say nothing, his hot, hard cock down your throat, throbbing lightly with how badly he wants to cum. You can barely breathe, but you take it, take him forcing your head to stay down until he’s ready. Just when you think you’ll actually suffocate does his hand loosen on your head. You pull back, spit soaking his cock and stringing back to your mouth as you catch a breath.

“God, I’m sorry I’m just so sensitive…” Dave apologizes, feeling bad for keeping you there so long.

You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and smiling.

“I kind of like it when you get a little rough…” You say with a smirk, and Dave can’t believe it.

You stand up from in between his legs, and hold out your hand. He takes it, letting you pull him to his feet and take him back to the window. You’re sure your friends have already left, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want him to fuck you against the window for the world to see just who takes Kick-Ass’s cock.

“Are-are you sure?” Dave can tell what you’re gearing up to do, bend over with your ass out and waiting for him.

“Fuck me,” You exhale, your breath fogging up the glass. “I want everyone to know what a dirty slut I am for superhero cock.”

Even though the thought of himself being on such display frightens him, Dave can’t say no to your juicy ass wiggling and inviting him. He takes his hands on either side of your hips, his cock moving up against your already wet hole, and he slowly enters you. You can’t help yourself but to moan out as you take his thick, girthy cock inch by inch, Dave carefully stretching you out to accommodate.

“You like that?” He wants you to like it so badly, so desperate to please you even though all he wants to do is fuck you like an animal right now.

“Yes,” You moan out, your tits against the cool glass, nipples erect. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

That’s all it takes for Dave to have the courage to really give it to you. He slides back out, slamming back in as deep as he can, your body rattling against the window as he does.

“Oh, fuck!” You exclaim, not realizing just how much of a pounding you would take from him.

He thrusts into you with a fury, slightly sloppy and uncoordinated from lack of experience, but fuck, your pussy just feels so good. He can’t believe how warm, wet, and tight it is, how deep he can get, how much he wants to fill you up there. You know you should have probably made him wear a condom, but you can’t help how much you love raw cock inside of you, and at least you’re on birth control.

Dave’s moans are uncontrollable, his hands gripping your ass until you’re sure there will be bruises. He needs this, needs you so badly it practically hurts. His mouth is full of moans, breaths, and curses as he tries not to let himself cum in an embarrassingly quick way. It’s so hard for him to stop like this, to edge himself inside of you while you let the world see your tits pressed against the glass of your window and your ass taking a pounding from behind.

“God, you’re such a dirty slut,” Dave whimpers out, thinking about how he’s heard something similar in all the porn he watches, hoping you’ll like it.

“Mhhhm, please make me your dirty little cum dump,” You respond, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“I’m going to fuck my load so deep inside you,” He pants, the words harsh and sharp. “And everyone’s going to see what a whore you are for me.”

You can’t help yourself, it’s just too good right now, so you snake your hand between your legs, your fingers circling your already aching clit. You know you’ve already cum once tonight, but how often does one get to be fucked by someone like this?

Dave’s hand reaches out, taking your hair into his hand and gripping it.

“You like that? You wanna be fucked like a dirty little slut?” He can’t hold himself back much longer, his eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock.

“Fuck, yes!” You moan as you feel him beginning to spill inside of you, your own pleasure not far behind. “Keep going!”

Dave can barely hold back, he grips you tighter and grits his teeth as he waits for you to finish. You take every stroke like a good girl, your muscles tight and ready for release again. You quicken your hand, holding your breath while you get closer and closer to cumming.

“Don’t stop, I’m so close!” You whimper against the glass, the thought off all those people down there watching you come undone turning you on even more.

You let bliss begin to take over as his cock hits just the right spots deep inside you, your fingers rapidly keeping pace. You breathe out, your moans uncontrollable and whiny as you feel your cunt tighten around him. Dave can’t take it anymore, his cock thrusting deeper as he feels you cum around it. He spills inside of you, hot cum filling you up exactly where you need it to, the sensation of it happening while you cum at the same time almost making your eyes roll back. Your toes curl as he presses you against the window, cock rutting against you as if he can’t get deep enough. You can feel it throbbing inside of you, finishing off it’s last few spurts of cum before Dave collapses against you, leaving you pinned between him and the window.

You wouldn’t have wanted tonight to end any other way.

For a few moments all you both hear is the sound of your breathing, of your own heart racing in your ears, Dave’s ears losing hearing before the world becomes too real again.

Dave feels that shame of fucking you too hard, too publically, building up inside of him. He wonders if he went too hard, and he finds your ear, kissing right behind it and whispering.

“Was that okay? Did you like that?” His voice is soft as he checks in on you, making sure everything was alright.

You can barely talk, the feeling of Daves massive cock still inside of you, the rush of the whole thing dying down slowly. Your muscles feel useless, and you think if Dave wasn’t pinning you to the window, you would have collapsed right to the floor. The thought of moving anything right now seems like too much.

“Yeah,” You finally breathe out. “It was very good…”

Dave feels relieved to hear that, and slowly he catches on just how exhausted you are. He slowly pulls out of you, his hot cum leaving a trail down your bare legs as he does so. His hands wrap around your center, and he softly lifts you, turning and taking you back towards the bed. You let him do as he pleases, and soon he’s got the covers pull back and you on his chest, breathing softly as you begin to drift off.

You don’t know where Kick-Ass goes in the morning, but what you do know is that you whenever you leave your window open, he’s there to pleasure your every need from now on…

#dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x reader #Dave Lizewski #kick ass fanfic #dave lizewski x mean girl!reader #dave lizewski x popular!reader #my writing #Dave Lizewski fanfic

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joicecubes · 13 hours

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i love the idea of ford and stan healing when they’re on the sea together. i need it. SO BAD. i keep thinking about how one of the last entries ford wrote in his journal was talking about how he wants to repair their relationship and finally make it up to him. if stan gives him a chance.

and stan… oh my god he’s desperate for that!! are you kidding me!! i know to ford it must feel like stan has always held a grudge against him since he came back, and because he feels so unworthy now that he’s come to terms with how he failed the people he loves, it skews his perception of what stan really wants. what he doesn’t realize in doubting whether or not stan also wants to repair their relationship is that stan has yearned for this for his ENTIRE. LIFE. he’s wanted to go back to being what they were to each other as kids from the moment he was kicked out to the moment he remembered who ford was after weirdmageddon. of COURSE he says yes to sailing the world with him. of COURSE he’ll wait as long as it takes to have his brother back, he worked thirty years for this!!

and now it’s just a matter of being there for each other. because neither of them were able to be there in each other’s worst moments. as stan regains memories ford can’t help him reach, he starts realizing just how damaged he became in the time he was homeless. and i’m sure ford’s trauma from bill shows up in ways neither of them expect either! and it must be so healing for them to be each other’s support in the aftermath of their suffering. it must feel like regaining a limb, to have your twin brother back, your best friend. ugh it just kills me.

by the way if ya’ll are looking for fics with this premise of the two of them healing… i highly recommend any gravity falls fics by ao3 user parsnipit. perfect ratio of hurt to comfort. and they’re all about stan and ford. i think about these fics every day no joke someone save me

#please alex hirsch please give us a sea grunkles spin-off i will personally pay you both of my kidneys #sorry if i post a little more infrequently i’ve been unhealthily obsessed with this batshit crackship with my friend #dont ask its too embarrassing how deep in the trenches we are #gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #stanford pines #ford pines #stan and ford #stan twins

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sweetyyhippyy · 2 days

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Figuring it Out Together. Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader. *Fluff*

Summary: Eddie's girlfriend finds out she's expecting, at 17. She goes to Eddie's to tell him the news.

Word Count: 1.1k

TW: Listen, I love a good pregnancy trope. Teen pregnancy. Reader being scared. Mentions of Wayne smoking. Eddie trying his best, but he needs to read the room. Difficult decision of keeping the pregnancy. Eddie giving Wayne gray hairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her throat felt tight as she knocked on the trailer door, waiting on the porch for someone to answer.

She turned to stare at the green and white van parked in the muddy dead grass off to the side of the trailer, which meant Eddie was home and she actually had to have this conversation with him.

The door to the trailer squeaks as it opens, making her turn around.

“Hey, kid. Come on in, it’s freezing out there.” Wayne greets her, opening the door more for her to come in. “You okay? You look like you seen a ghost.” He asks her, throwing his arm around her back to try and comfort her.

She nervously shuffles in, seeing Eddie on the couch with the tv louder than it truly needed to be.

“Hey, sweetheart. I thought you had an appointment after school?” He gets up from the couch, wrapping her up in a tight hug.

A few tears roll down her face as she feels him embrace.

“I did. That’s what I need to talk to you about, Eddie..” She sniffles and wipes the tears from her cheek with her fingertips.

Wayne raises his eyebrow. He wasn’t born yesterday. He knew exactly what this conversation was going to be about.

He clears his throat, making both of the teenagers look at him.

“I’m going to head outside for a smoke. Give you two some privacy.” Wayne grabs his carton of cigarettes and his lighter, looking at Eddie’s girlfriend quickly. He gives her a small nod and a barely noticeable smile before grabbing his coat and walking out of the door.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, rubbing her shoulders for comfort.

She nervously pulls at her bottom lip with her teeth, trying not to make eye contact with him.

“Baby?” He bends down to look her in her eyes, his eyebrows raised quizzically. “You’re scaring me because you’re not talking to me. What’s going on? Did something happen at school? Or at your appointment?”

Her bottom lip quivers as she looks into his dark brown eyes, the dam breaking and fat tears rolling down her face again. She sniffles as she covers her face with her hands, swallowing the sobs she wanted to let out.

“Wh-?” Eddie furrows his brows in concern, wrapping her shoulders in his arms and smashing her into his chest. “Baby, what’s wrong? Please talk to me. You got me thinking you got told you have six months to live or something.” He presses a kiss to her hair, before letting her go.

Her eyes were already puffy from the tears, the whites of her eyes watery and slightly red. “Eddie.” She sighs shakily. “I’m pregnant.” Her eyes look up at him, waiting for him to have a reaction.

His eyes grow wide immediately, his mouth hanging open. After a few seconds of silence, which felt like hours, Eddie sucks in a breath. “Alright… okay…” He nods his head, now chewing on his lip.

“Please don’t be mad. I’ve been crying for the past hour, I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.” She sobs, pulling away from him.

“Wait, I’m not mad. I’m not mad.” He grabs her shoulders softly. “This lands on me too, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure it was my fault anyway.” He sighs heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That night I didn’t have a condom. I was thinking with the wrong head.” He chuckles.

“Oh my god, Eddie.” She pushes his arms off of her, turning and walking away from him angrily. “This isn’t a joke! We are going to have a child! Do you get that?! A tiny thing that is going to require constant care for the rest of our lives!” She yells, frustrated at how Eddie wasn’t freaking out like she was.

“I don’t know how else to deal with this without making jokes.” Eddie follows after her. “I’m just as scared as you are. I just… I just want to be here for you. I know this is a lot scarier for you than it is for me.”

She sinks down to the couch, burying her head in her hands. “Eddie.” She sighs. “What are we going to do? What the hell do we know about having a baby and raising it? We’re kids! We haven’t graduated yet! Oh my god.” She whispers to herself.

“Can you look at me for a second?” He rests his hand on her back, rubbing it in small circles.

She drops her hands from her face, leaning back on the couch, still sniffling.

“There’s lots of people that don’t know what they’re doing and they have kids. We’ll figure it out together. I-if you want to. What are you thinking as far as… keeping it? D-do you want to, um… what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know… I haven’t had much time to think about it.” She rubs at her forehead. “I mean, what do you think? Do you think we can do this? By the time I have the baby it’ll be May. It’s going to be so close to graduation and finals and stuff. I don’t want to drop out, I don’t want you to drop out. We’re going to have to figure so much stuff out. I have to tell my parents, oh god I have to tell my parents.” She huffs, throwing her head back against the back of the couch.

Eddie touches her knee, grimacing to himself. Her parents were not a fan of Eddie by any means, and this wasn’t going to win him any points.

“Despite all that… yeah, yeah I think I want to do this.” She turns to look at Eddie’s face. “I think I want to have your baby.”

“So, a May baby, huh?” He smiles, trying to make her feel better.

She rolls her head to the side, looking at him with a weak smile. “That’s what you took from that conversation? That they’ll be here in May?” She shakes her head, huffing out a small laugh. “Do you really think we can handle this? Being parents at 17?”

“I think we can handle it. We might not have a clue but we’ll be clueless together. And I’ll be here with you through everything, I promise. I’m not going to be some dead beat that’s going to make you do this by yourself.”

She sighs shakily, putting her hand on top of Eddie’s. “I guess we’re going to do this? Add to the teen pregnancy statistics.” She jokes.

“Yeah, guess so.” Eddie says, taking her hand and kissing it. “How about we go tell Wayne? He’ll be easier to tell than your parents.”

“Yeah no kidding. My father might actually strangle you.”

The door opens, Wayne cautiously walking in. “It’s pourin’ out there. Is everything okay here?” He asks, shaking his damp coat out before hanging it up.

“Uh well.” Eddie grunts as he gets up onto his feet, clearing his throat. “Do you want to be called Pop-Pop Wayne, PawPaw Wayne, or the classic Grandpa Wayne?” He tries his best to lighten the mood, using his best southern drawl.

“Oh my god.” Wayne and say in unison.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fan fic #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x fem reader #Eddie Munson x fem! reader #dad!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x fem! reader fic #Eddie Munson x fem reader fluff #Eddie Munson x fem! reader fluff #Eddie Munson Stranger Things

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moeswriting · 1 day

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mine | 3. we'll never make my parents mistakes

pairing: young!no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary: you and joel are finding things out about each other’s pasts and figuring out how to deal with your presents,

or meeting sarah miller and the after effects

warnings: THIS CHAPTER EXPLORES SOME VERY DARK THINGS BUT IS ALSO VERY SOFT, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS; discussion of maternal suicide/postpartum depression, alcoholism, and parental neglect (reader); joel is 22 and reader is 20; reader is described a small amount (has hair, able-bodied, wears feminine clothing, is going to school for secondary english education, has a heavily-detailed background); joel being The Single Dad™; character joins the army, conversation about a dead father and general daddy issues for the Miller brothers, including military PTSD and fraternal death from lung cancer; tommy being a little shit; HEY THESE TWO IDIOTS HAVE SEX!!! (not explicit)

word count: 11.5k

a/n: happy late birthday to my favorite fictional boy, have some trauma <3 this has been a long time coming (u see what i did there? ;) ). to all who have been begging me for the next chapter in my inbox, this is for you <3 . again, just wanna say: please read the warnings on this chapter. i am not usually a “traumatize my characters” kind of writer, but i was feeling feral while writing this over the past few weeks and it kind of just happened… so be warned. (i’m sorry in advance)

series masterlist | last chapter -> | next chapter ->

read this chapter on ao3

Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together

And there's a drawer of my things at your place

You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded

You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes

✦ ✦ ✦

November 1994

It’s a couple days later. A Tuesday. Arguably the worst day of the week and a day that he’s been dreading since the text had graced his flip phone that night.

“... we need to talk”??

It sent shivers down his spine, made him want to run and hide, and never leave his apartment again. Talking wasn’t really Joel’s strong suit– sure, he could sweet talk Mrs. Nelson into giving him a better tip, but talking about how he felt? God, it was like dragging his toddler around a store when she wanted to go home– frustrating and near-impossible.

You’d texted him afterwards, making plans to meet at the diner when his shift was almost over to talk. But the past two days had been an absolute blur.

Sarah had noticed her dad’s change in demeanor and had decided to follow him into it, nonstop crying and small fists banging on the floor and his chest and anything she could take her anger out on. It made sleeping borderline impossible. He has had to sit in her small bed with her laying on his chest until she wore herself out the past two nights.

But here he is, at his usual Tuesday shift just after the lunch crowd has dispersed and he’s hiding in the kitchen while Don gives him a lecture about something that he’s honestly not listening to. He does, however, catch the sound of the bell ringing as someone walks into the diner and then he hears your cheery voice as you speak to someone.

“Go out there, there’s a customer,” Don says as he cleans the grill.

“I–” He cuts himself off. He doesn’t want Don to know about what’s about to happen.

The burly man looks up at him, nearly a foot shorter than him and he still scares the crap out of him sometimes, “It’s your girl, isn’t it?”

Joel clears his throat and sighs, “Yeah.”

“You two been fighting?”

He shakes his head.

Don slices his hand through the air as if to push Joel’s gesture aside. “Bullshit. I can tell.”

“Wha–”

“You been actin’ different. I’ve known you almost four years, Miller. I could tell when you started datin’ her and I could tell yesterday when you came into work that something was wrong.”

Damn Don and his out-of-character perceptiveness.

“Go face her, Miller.” He nods once, a finality to it.

“I-”

“Get out of my kitchen, you coward!”

He pushes him out of the swinging doors and into the dining area. When he sees you, he freezes.

✦ ✦ ✦

You arrive at the diner at three and sit in your usual spot by the window that no one else likes but you. It’s bright. You think maybe that’s why no one likes it, but you adore the way the reflected light warms you down to your toes. It’s quiet– weirdly quiet, like even the building itself is getting ready in anticipation for whatever is about to happen. The only other patron is Mr. Cassini sitting in a corner with a cup of coffee cradled in his trembling hands. You wonder where Doreen is.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cassini,” you yell across the diner.

His face lights up, like it always does when he sees you, “Hello, dear! How are you doin’?”

“Oh, I’m doing as good as I can. How about you?”

“Oh darlin’, I’m doing amazing. Best I’ve felt in years.”

You smile at him, “That’s amazing, Mr. Cassini.”

“Oh, look at me talkin’ you up when you probably have work to do. I’ll let you get to your studying.”

You huff, “Thanks, Mr. Cassini.”

You can hear clattering coming from the kitchen. You suppose that’s where Joel is, or where he’s hiding. You’d tried to get a grasp on how Joel was feeling about all of this when you had been texting him to make the plans to meet here after his shift. Text messages aren’t very good at communicating emotion, but you couldn’t get yourself to call him– face him.

“Get out of my kitchen, you coward,” you hear Don yell in his obnoxiously loud way, a deep chortle following Joel as he exits the swinging doors.

He freezes like a statue, eyes wide and brows raised. Tired is the word that comes to mind– he so obviously hasn’t slept right in days. Bags under his eyes, shoulders slouched, skin paler than his usual tan glow. Maybe he’d seen a ghost.

He looks at you with his evaluating stare. You always wonder what Joel sees when he does this. Does he know how terrified you are?

Turning around, he points a finger towards the counter and grabs a clean glass from the cabinet behind him. You sigh, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and get up to go sit where Joel directed you to. He likes it when you’re closer to him while you visit him at work, especially if it’s slow and he’s bored, but when you need to study or do homework, you sit at the booth by the window– less distractions, you tell him. Really, you just know you won’t get any work done if you have easy access to him and you like the noise of the diner while you’re studying.

He doesn’t turn back towards you until you’re already settled in the tall stool, backpack precariously balanced on the seat next to you. Sliding the glass across the counter towards you, now full of iced tea exactly how you like it, he sighs.

“Hey, sugar.”

His nervousness surrounds him– hand pulling through his sweaty, messy hair, lidded eyes darting around the diner in an effort to find something to distract himself with, teeth worrying his bleeding lower lip between them.

“Hey,” you breathe out. In a way, his nerves comfort you– you’re not the only one.

“I got another few minutes before Don will let me out.”

“I know, Joel,” you mutter.

“Gotta wait for Dorreen to come back from her smoke break too.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He leans on the counter, facing you, “I’m nervous.”

You give him a soft smile, “Me too.”

“Good. Good.” He nods to himself, pushing a straw towards you from the apron around his waist.

“Miller! I need more coffee,” Mr. Cassini’s gravely voice echoes through the empty diner, making Joel jump up from his position on the counter.

“One second, Mr. Cassini–” he holds up a finger directed at you– “I’ll be right back. Gotta do a couple things before I leave.”

You know. You nod.

You pull a book out of your bag, The Secret Garden, desperate to avoid the awkwardness of the quiet. You absorb yourself in the story of Mary as she explores the hidden garden her new caretaker’s late wife once walked, dead and gray. It’s the millionth time you’ve read it– page corners bent and the spine cracked in multiple places. The pages are a dark yellow, almost matching the deep color of the faded cover. On the front page, the name Virginia swirls in a beautiful cursive right above your own name in your not-so-delicate print. The ink of her fountain pen is a deeper black than the one of your ball-point, faded by the twelve years it had sat on the page.

A hand pops into your field of vision and taps on the page of your book, “Ready to go.”

You hum and stash the book into your bag, between your hardback textbooks so it gets better protection from the mess that is your bookbag.

You watch Joel pull his apron off and stuff it under the counter, exposing the parts of his jeans that have gone untouched by the mess of his shift. The square outline around his crotch almost makes you giggle, but you bite your lip to suppress it.

He comes around the counter and, without looking in your direction, pushes open the front door. Following behind him like a puppy, you quickly do the same, throwing your backpack over your shoulder.

He stops suddenly, turning around, looking for guidance.

You sigh, “Let me walk you home.”

“No–”

“What direction is it?”

He looks you up and down, a habit you guess he learned from trying to determine if he needed to make Tommy back down from a fight or not. His hesitation is so blatant, bringing his hand up once, twice, before he points in the opposite direction from the route he takes to walk you back to your dorm. Of course, he was going out of his way to bring you home. That is the most Joel thing you could think of.

“Let’s go.”

You start to walk, determined steps taking you down the street. You turn to look at Joel over your shoulder and he hasn’t moved an inch. Your footsteps falter.

“Really?”

He huffs out a breath, “I– I just–”

You shrug your arms up, exasperated, and slap them back against your sides, “What, Joel?”

“I don’t… I’m not ready to do this yet.”

What?

You furrow your brows and squint in his direction through the waning sunlight.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his curly, sweaty hair, sucks in a large breath, and slurs his words together in one long exhale, “I’m not ready for you to meet her yet.”

Oh. Oh.

“Joel, that’s not– that’s not what I was trying to do. I just wanted to walk you home.”

Now that he’s admitted his secret to you, that other part of him no longer hidden, everything about him is so obviously catered to a four-year-old. His expressions are controlled, but also so kind and open, like he’s keeping his real feelings at bay but wants to make sure you know that you can tell him anything and he’ll listen. His shoulders are hunched over from hard work, but he never falters, he always shows up for you, for Sarah. He’s nervous in everything he does, whether he shows it or not, but he would do anything to make sure his friends and family get whatever they need. He’d fight a bull for you if you asked him to. He’d tear the earth in two for his baby, you can tell.

This is the same Joel you’ve come to like. He hasn’t changed into a whole new person just because you learned he’s a father. He was a father the whole time you’ve known him, which is weird to think about. What else didn’t you know about him?

You continue, dragging your feet back to him, “I would never, ever try to force you into anything– especially when it comes to your daughter. I have no right to demand anything.”

“I do want you to meet ‘er.”

“I want to meet her too.”

“Someday. I jus’… not now. I need to make sure we– I wanna make sure we’ll last before I introduce someone else into her life.”

“And I agree with you.”

“Good.”

“Yup.” You kick a rock in front of you.

You both stare at each other, waiting to see who will break the silence first.

Joel tilts his head in the direction he had originally pointed in, “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

You nod.

The two of you walk in silence to a park down the road. You wonder if his apartment is near.

There are a few benches scattered around the park, surrounded by flowers and shrubs alike. A playground is busy with children as they scream and chase after each other with smiles on their faces.

He flops down on a bench facing a water fountain, far enough from the kids that you’re pretty sure they won’t hear you.

You sigh, pressing your palms into your eyes as you join him, small flakes of wood on the old bench press into the backs of your thighs.

“I’m upset that you didn’t tell me right away– I just want you to know that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Apologizing is good. An explanation would be better.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He crosses his arms, staring out at the glaring sun, “‘Cause I didn’ want you to run.”

You scoff and scuff the concrete beneath you with your sneaker in emphasis, “What makes you think I would’ve run?”

His eyes dart over to you. He gives you a look that screams, “Are you seriously asking me that?” Eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched.

“‘Could tell you were nervous when I first met ya. And I knew you were young and in college and most college-aged girls aren’t interested in gettin’ in a relationship with a dad.”

“Oh, I know for a fact that that is not true,” you huff, mirroring his position– slouched, arms crossed. You knew plenty of women your age who would love the stability and the experience– knew Elaine had had a few chance encounters with DILFs she had met at the bar. She claimed it was some of the best sex she’d ever had.

He scoffs, “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I do.”

Rubbing his hands together, he continues.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to keep her from you forever. I was always going to tell you.”

You flatten your lips into a line. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been nice to know from the get-go.”

He’s looking you in the eye again with a genuinity and softness and places a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll stop apologizing for that for a long time. I just– it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

You sigh, placing your hand on top of his, a smirk starting to take over your lips, “I’m not going to say it’s okay, but I might be willing to forgive you.”

His eyebrows quirk up, “Might be?”

You fix your posture, now sitting taller than him, and look down into his pretty eyes, “You take me out again and I might be willing to look past this indiscretion.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you interrupt before he gets the chance, pointing a defiant finger in his face– “But–! You have to promise me you won’t keep shit from me anymore. We gotta lay it all on the table. I’m not going to do this with you unless you’re honest with me.”

He nods, “I think I can do that– both of those.”

You nod, “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He fixes his slouch so that he’s level with you again, his hand never leaving the comfort of your own.

“But, y’know that means you have to be honest with me too.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

Turning his hand so your palms face each other, he laces your fingers together and squeezes. “I know you’re hiding stuff from me too. Big stuff.”

You hum.

“Why won’t you talk about your family?”

Well, shit.

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’... but we don’t have to do this right now.” His eyes are wide with fear, scared he might have pushed you too hard. Maybe he has. But, it’s weird, for the first time in your entire life, you want to share things about your past.

“No, it’s okay. Might as well,” you reply, taking your hand out of his and rubbing your eyes aggressively with your palms.

Without looking up at him, you start, “I– I don’t really have much family. It’s just pretty much been me and my dad since I can remember.”

“You said your dad lives back in Seattle, right?”

“Yeah. He uh– he isn’t my favorite person. That’s why– that’s why I don’t talk about him.”

He doesn’t say anything, giving you time to think about what you’re going to say next.

“My mom died a couple weeks after she gave birth to me. She– she, uh–”

It’s hard to spit it out. To talk about it. Only a few people knew about what really happened– the rest all just knew she was dead. But you know that Joel should know– know why this is so hard for you.

“She had postpartum depression really, really bad. Couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t shower, couldn’t eat, couldn’t feed me or hold me or look at me– Dad says she was like a statue, like a ghost of herself.”

You can’t get yourself to look at him– can feel the guilt running down your spine and into your bone marrow like it always does when you think of her. You hide your face behind your hands, elbows leaning on your legs.

“She had been so excited. They both were. Just out of college and newlyweds– dad says her pregnancy was the best year of their relationship.”

You gear yourself up for what you’re about to say. You’ve only ever told one person about this before: Elaine, and that was after a year of friendship. You’ve only known Joel for a little over a month. But, you want to tell him– need to tell him.

“But she– she killed herself. Didn’t leave a note or anything, she was just… gone.”

You can’t see his face, don’t want to. You’ve seen enough sympathetic eyes to last a lifetime of grief. “Oh, sugar…”

You shake your head in your hands– you’re not done yet. “Dad was pretty much gone after that. I never remember a time when he was ‘there’, but my grandmother said he used to be different– ‘more alive’.

“I knew he blamed me before he ever said it. He’d drop me off at my grandmother’s house and disappear for days and when she died and that wasn’t an option anymore, he would just leave me at the house with a ten dollar bill for food for a couple days at a time.”

He scoffs, like your father could hear his anger from here. “That’s not fair–”

You cut him off, you don’t want to hear one more person say your life isn’t fair, “And when he was home, he was angry all the time. He has his good days, but he– he’s not my favorite person.

“So, that’s why I was scared when you told me about Sarah,” you continue, “Because I– I don’t exactly have a good track record with the whole ‘family’ thing. And I don’t… I don’t really know anything about being a… maternal figure.”

You can’t say “mom”. Can’t think it.

It takes a moment of stunned silence for Joel to reply, but when he does, he lays a hand on your shoulder, “Baby, I… I wasn’t askin’ for you to jump into being a mother. I wasn’t… I wasn’t even asking you to be a mother at all. I just wanted you to know my priorities, because if this relationship is gonna continue, you have to have a relationship with my daughter.”

“I know.”

“But, I understand now. Thank you for tellin’ me about your mom.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the bench, “Thank you for listening and being patient with me.”

You can feel him looking at you, hear the smile in his words. “I’d wait forever for you, sugar.”

Your cheeks heat up, eyes wide open, and turn to him. The look in his irises tells you that he’s being completely genuine.

“Anyways, I gotta go. I’m not tryin’ to get away from you or this conversation, but my momma has to get home.”

You nod your acknowledgement, standing up. He holds a hand out for you to take and you pull him up from the bench, but you don’t let go– you guide him towards the exit of the park and then he takes the reins from there, leading you in the direction of his apartment.

“Your mom watch her when you’re at work?”

“Yeah, Tommy does too sometimes when he’s not gettin’ his ass beat in alleyways after school,” he rolls his eyes.

You huff out a breath of amusement, “Well, that’s very kind of them.”

You squeeze his hand. It’s calloused from hard work and dry from the hot Texas weather. His larger fingers engulf yours.

“Tell me about her.”

He starts to shake his head, “Oh, we don’t–”

“No, no, I want to know about her.”

He’ll always take an opportunity to brag about his baby girl.

In the few minutes walk, he tells you about Sarah. How she turns five in July. How she smiles with her teeth, showing off her two front teeth that they just pulled. How he very unsuccessfully pulled a Tooth Fairy heist, which resulted in him having to admit to his daughter that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. How she looks just like her mom, but is just so beautifully unique in her own way. How her hair never cooperates with him, so he has to take her to the salon down the street so they can braid her hair. How she likes pink the most and requests the same pink butterfly hair clips every morning despite the large collection of hair accessories she’s amassed. How he loves her with everything in him.

You arrive at your destination, or at least you think so, as you approach a small bakery and Joel takes out his key.

“I rent the apartment above the bakery from the owner. She has a house with kids and a husband so she doesn’t need to stay here, and she’s an old family friend, so she lets Sarah and I stay up here for fairly cheap.”

You smile, “That’s very kind.”

“Yes, but she loves to come visit way more than she’s actually welcomed. She likes Sarah a lot, I mean, most people do because she’s a great kid, but y’know…”

He suddenly perks up, holding his hands up in a “stop” motion.

“Wait– stay here.”

You watch him run up the stairs two at a time, before the door closes behind him. You stay in your spot.

He comes back down the stairs with his seashell in his hand– the gray one with the brown stripes, the one he had so proudly presented to you two days ago on the beach. The one he told you was simple, didn’t need to be flashy to get the job done. The one that was so obviously him that it hurt to think about the last couple of days of avoiding him, of the time wasted.

You cradle it in your palms and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter.

“For what, sugar?”

“For making you think I didn’t want you.”

He sighs, grabbing your wrists and pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t be sorry– wasn’t your fault. I got lots of things to work on, and so do you. We jus’ need to communicate better, like you said.”

You nuzzle your head into his chest. He smells like leather and freshly-cut wood.

He feels like home.

“Yeah, we do.”

✦ ✦ ✦

December 1994

It’s the middle of December when your 21st birthday rolls around.

Elaine throws a party in the basement of your dorm building, approved by your RA as a “floor event” for the end of the semester (which in a way isn’t a lie because most of your dorm floor is there anyways) the day before your birthday. You had convinced Joel to come too, all of your friends swooning over him and winking at you when you introduced them to him. He’s blushing the entire night.

But on your actual birthday, Joel takes you to his apartment for the first time, dropping Sarah off at his mom’s house for the night.

When you first walked in, you think that even if you hadn’t known this was Joel’s apartment, that you could’ve easily picked it out in a lineup. The ceilings are vaulted, popcorn textured walls that are painted an off-white that makes the space look larger than it is, a kitchen off to the right and a bedroom door straight ahead. There’s a painting of horses that Joel has described to you before above the mantle in the living room, it was his dad’s. You can tell he’s cleaned up, because all of the pink toys that he told you were usually scattered all over the floor for him to stub his toe on, which he did constantly, are neatly piled in a basket in the corner of the room. The couch is old, sagging in the middle, but it looks comfortable because of all of the quilts thrown all over the back.

After a dinner of your favorite food, which Joel painstakingly made to perfection, he guides you to the living room couch and hands you a present.

It’s a big cardboard box with a purple bow stuck on top. Before you can even think about opening it, he takes the bow off and puts it on top of your head.

“It’s for your birthday and Christmas ‘cause it’s a pretty expensive gift, and y’know I don’t make a whole lot at the diner, but I think it was worth it.”

You open the box with a smile and what sits waiting for you is a pair of cowboy boots. And they are beautiful.

They’re made of a thick leather that feels smooth beneath your fingers as you pick them up and cradle one of them in your hands. It’s heavy in your grip, sturdy and obviously well-made– stitches tight and leather buffed. The sides are a light purple with white sprigs of lavender stitched into the leather.

“They’re work boots, so they're steel-toed and waterproof. I treated the leather already, but you can bring ‘em to me every couple months and I’ll do it again. Figure that you needed shoes that weren’t your half-destroyed Converse and I love my boots, so I thought, you know, maybe you’d like a pair too,” he chuckles stiffly, carding a hand through his hair.

You’re speechless, to the point that you can’t even point out that he had implied a future two months from now where you’re still dating. There’s about a hundred words you want to say to him, but none of them seem good enough.

Gently placing the boot back in the box and on the floor, you stand up and move in front of Joel and in-between his thighs. He’s looking up at you with wide eyes and you want to devour him whole.

“What’re you doin’, sugar?”

You climb into his lap and smirk down at him, “Lookin’ at ya.”

He grabs the outsides of your thighs and squeezes them, “Oh, really?”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ with a smirk, throwing your arms around his neck. Pushing yourself further into his lap, your nose brushes against his.

If someone asked you what your favorite thing about Joel was, you would tell them that it’s his eyes. Those defined crows feet that kiss the corners of his gorgeous honey-brown irises are enchanting– evidence of a life, so far, well-lived.

You adore him. You–

“I love you.”

He pulls back slightly with wide eyes.

“I– sugar, you don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.”

That’s so like Joel– to think he doesn’t deserve this.

You weave your fingers into the curls that stick to the back of his neck and your smirk turns into a smile, “I’m ready and I love you.”

You nudge his nose with your own and lean in, lips connecting in a simple peck.

“I love you too– so much, sugar,” he whispers, pressing your lips together again.

“Thank you for the boots, Joel. They’re beautiful.”

“I hope it’s okay– gettin’ you one gift. I… you know I’m not exactly the richest person in the world.”

“Oh baby, is that why you’ve been picking up all those extra shifts with Tommy?”

“Yeah,” he draws out bashfully.

You kiss him again, “Miller, it is more than okay for you to give me one gift. In fact, it would’ve been okay if you hadn’t gotten me anything. Just you being here is enough for me.”

“Oh, really?”

He sighs, squeezing your thighs again, pulling you in closer until your chests touch. You can feel him beneath you. Your cheeks heat up.

“Mhm.”

It’s gentle, the way he lays you down on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. He stands between your shaking legs. Your body is buzzing with the electricity of the moment, as he looks down at you with hooded, black eyes– hungry and soft.

He takes his time kissing up your body, starting where your skin is exposed at the top of your pajama pants and making his way up, up, up, in between your heaving, clothed breasts, shirt long gone on the living room floor, and finally up to your lips. He pecks them once and sighs, arms bracketing your head.

He says your name sternly, “Are you sure you want to do this? Because you know, I am very okay with waitin’.”

You look up into those eyes, the ones you fell in love with first, and you know. You know this is what you need.

“Please,” you whine, hips stuttering under his.

He holds your hip down with his large, sturdy hand and speaks softly, “Baby, I need a yes or no.”

“Yes, yes! I’m ready, Joel, please.”

With all the energy you have left in your buzzing and needy limbs, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss that says all the shit that’s always left unsaid. You’re my other half, I don’t think I can live without you anymore, I am yours, You are mine.

And it’s gentle, because that’s who Joel is. A father, a caregiver, a lover– he is gentle. He takes care of you, loving you down to the tips of your fingers, taking his time to savor the taste of you. It’s not perfect– there’s both of your awkward giggles while Joel pulls the condom on and your hisses as he goes a little too fast– but, to you, it’s perfect in all the ways it matters and you’re seeing stars multiple times before Joel finally finishes with a loud and gorgeous moan.

After Joel wipes you both down with a warm washcloth, you’re laying in his arms, playing with the wispy, brown hair just below his cheekbones and he’s humming in delight like a cat purrs.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes closed.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, kissing his chest just above his heart where you wish you could burrow yourself forever. Moving out of this bed is tomorrow’s problem. Today, you can pretend that you’re nestled in his heart chambers as his breaths slow and he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, like even in his sleep he has to keep you close enough to feel your breaths, make sure you’re still next to him.

✦ ✦ ✦

March 1995

It’s not until three months later that Joel agrees that it’s time for you to meet Sarah. You’re not sure why it takes him so long to make that decision, but you try not to think about it too much or else you start to panic and you promised Joel that you would trust him more and this is one of those moments where you just need to tell your brain to ‘shut up’ and trust him. So, you trust him.

It’s a Friday evening. You pick him up from the diner and walk the short trip with your hands intertwined. You can feel the sweat pooling on his palms, despite the cool spring weather, but you don’t let go.

You’ve been to his apartment before, many times in fact, but it’s so different when it’s not just the two of you. Walking into high-pitched giggles and the low groan of the old stand mixer that usually sits dormant on Joel’s counter is odd, but it feels right– like this is how it’s always supposed to be.

Your heart is racing. He pulls you into the apartment and you see her for the first time.

Her light brown curls bounce, confined near her temples by the two butterfly clips in them, as she jumps up and down in her sparkly pink, plastic, princess heels that clack obnoxiously on the tiled floor of the kitchen. She’s wearing a pink, long-sleeved shirt– the red top of Elmo’s head just barely peeking out of the top of her jean overalls. Her tawny-brown, chubby cheeks are pulled taught by her unending smile. She looks just like the numerous pictures Joel has shown you with pride in his eyes, but now, in front of you, she is real.

And it doesn’t scare you. It excites you.

“Papi, is that you,” you hear a graveled, feminine voice cut through the static-filled radio that’s attached to the underside of the cabinet.

And now you’re scared.

Not only is Joel’s little girl in front of you, but so is his mother. Her dark brown hair, already graying at the roots despite her young age of forty-five, is pulled into a braid that runs all the way down to her lower back. She has a blue dress on with intricate white floral designs on the skirt, long and flowing. It moves gracefully as she glides around the kitchen. In a weird way, it is so obvious that Joel is her son.

Sarah’s eyes light up when she spots her dad, hands flying over her head.

“Daddy!”

Joel’s nervous demeanor is quickly discarded, leaving a smile in its wake.

“Guppy!”

She runs to her father, heels clacking and hair bouncing, and slams into his calves. Wrapping her arms around his legs, she squeezes with a grunt. All Joel does is chuckle at her violent affection.

From her position attached to her father’s legs, she turns her head towards you with her eyebrows crossed and a frown on her face, “Who’s that, Daddy?”

You sit on your calves to get down to her level and tell her your name with a smile, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You’re good with kids. It’s why you wanted to be a teacher in the first place, besides the joy you got from sharing your knowledge. You used to babysit for your neighbors constantly (which was a good way to make money, but also an excuse to leave the house when your dad was having one of his really bad days). So, you should be good with Sarah. Right?

Joel nudges her off of him and kneels down to her level as well, “She’s my girlfriend.”

He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t talk around it, because his little girl is smart and he wants to tell her the truth.

She looks you up and down suspiciously with her big brown eyes, “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, baby. She’s my friend that I kiss sometimes.”

Her face scrunches up in disgust, “Ew!”

You copy her expression and whisper, “It is kinda gross sometimes.”

She looks you up and down with her eyebrows furrowed. For a second, you think she might be offended by you calling her father gross; based on what Joel has told you about her, you thought she would appreciate a joke at her dad’s expense, but maybe she didn’t when it came from someone she didn’t know–

Her face lights up and she starts to giggle, hands pulling at her father’s shirt.

“You’re gross, Daddy.”

He looks down at his clothes, covered in grease and sweat and laughs, “I guess I am.”

“I wonder how I can get clean,” he draws out, tapping his chin as if in deep thought. He scoops her up into his arms and starts to rub his face and hair, covered in grime from a long shift at the diner, all over her overalls.

She screeches, her laugh boiling over and filling the little living room. Her smile is radiant.

“Daddy, put me down!” She pushes at his shoulders with her tiny hands, which, of course, doesn’t move Joel an inch, but she continues pushing as hard as she can.

“But, you said I was gross! I’m just trying to fix it!”

“You’re makin’ me gross!”

“What?!”

She looks desperately over at you, grin taking over her chubby face, and reaches for you with the arm that isn’t restrained by Joel, “Help!”

“I’ll help you!” You stand up, grab her arm, and pull lightly, making sure not to hurt her.

“He’s too strong,” you cry out dramatically.

Her voice bounces as Joel jostles her around, “Ask him to stop! Politely!”

She adds “politely”, as if she’s repeating a mantra she’s held close to her heart. It’s endearing and it makes your heart ache for the kindness that Joel has taught and shown his daughter.

You oblige her. “Gross man, can you please let go of the princess?”

He stops suddenly, placing her down on the ground with a stomp of her feet. She prances away from him and over to you, hiding behind your legs.

“Anything for the Queen,” he salutes to you and looks at Sarah with sympathy in his eyes, “I’m sorry, Princess. I thought that you wanted me to get clean.”

She giggles again, wiping her hands down the bib of her overalls, “Daddy, you have to get clean in the shower!”

He throws his hands up in the air, “The shower?! Why didn’t you just say that?”

She copies her dad, throwing her hands up in the air, laughing still.

Turning to you, she curtsies, emulating lifting a skirt with her hands, “Thank you, kind lady for saving me. I’ll ‘emem- ‘emember this.”

She struggles with the word ‘remember’, nose scrunching as she knows she isn’t saying it right, but can’t quite get the syllables around her tongue.

“Anything for the Princess,” you curtsy back at her with your real dress.

Silent up to this point, Joel’s mom finally decides to put her two cents in.

“I like your boots, mija.”

You look down at your feet and see those gorgeous cowboy boots with the embroidered lavender sprigs and the lavender leather on the sides and you’re reminded how much Joel loves you– that this is a moment to celebrate, not to ruin with your overthinking. Joel adores his mother and Sarah– it is a privilege to meet these people.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Miller! Joel got them for me for my birthday.”

She smirks and winks at you, “I know, I helped him pick them out.”

She throws a towel over her shoulder and pops a tray in the oven. Joel and Sarah are talking behind you in soft voices. You can’t really make out what they’re saying, but you don’t really mind. Whatever made Sarah the most comfortable in this situation is good with you.

“Well, they’re beautiful. Thank you for helping him.”

Shutting the oven door with her hip, she pulls another tray from the counter and places it on top of the stove. She does all of this while making direct eye contact with you, like she is so familiar with the space that she could move around it with her eyes closed.

“I help papi with whatever he needs and he doesn’t know the first thing about what a girl likes– that’s why I buy all of Sarah’s clothes… and don’t call me Mrs. Miller– makes me feel older than I am. Call me Essie.”

Your face heats up, “Okay, Essie.”

“Momma–”

“You–” she points at Joel, stern look on her face– “are late.”

Joel looks so guilty, you almost think he’s killed someone. “I’m sorry, Momma. Don kept me later than usual.”

“Only reason I’m mad is that you took my time away from meeting your beautiful girl.” She walks up to you and hugs you.

Oh.

You stiffen, not because the hug is unwelcome, it is very welcome, but because you can’t remember the last time you’d been hugged by anyone but Elaine and Joel– by a mother.

And you can feel all the softness of a mother that you never got to have pour through her and to you. You know she knows about what happened to your mom; Joel tells his momma everything, but you hadn’t expected her to be this kind to you. Because you’re you, of course you had expected the worst, that she would hate you, tell you to get away from her son, tell you that you weren’t good enough, but here she is, showing you all the gentleness that she had taught her son to show others. You relax into it.

An embrace can say a thousand words, and you think this one says a thousand and one.

You can feel the heat on your face climbing further down and into your chest, straight to your heart.

“Sorry, Momma,” he mumbles.

She lets go of you and you feel the loss of her. You hope that she’ll show you her kindness again– you crave that affection.

“It’s okay–” she grabs your face and puts her forehead to yours– “You’re here now.”

Her dress swishes behind her as she returns to the kitchen to continue her cooking.

“Thomas is coming over,” she yells, her voice cracking slightly at the end with the effort.

Joel’s eyes go wide, “What?”

Sarah screeches, jumping up and down, which just seems to be her blanket response to excitement, “Uncle Tommy!”

Essie laughs, her whole face lighting up with the force of it, “Your brother wanted to meet your girl.”

You’ve heard lots of things about Tommy from Joel: how he gets regularly arrested for starting fights with people, how determined and head strong he was, how much he loved Sarah, and how massive of a flirt he was. At 17-years-old, Joel’s younger brother was a huge pain in his ass, but he loved him regardless.

“So he invited himself?”

She shakes her head, “No, toro, I invited him when I told him my plans for today before he went to school.”

“But–”

A knock on the door interrupts his protest. There’s the jingle of a key and then the door slams open with a kick.

“Hello, brother!”

Joel’s face falls into a blank stare, “Hello.”

Sarah, ever the aggressive greeter, runs to her uncle with a scream, “Tom-Tom!”

“Sarah,” he yells as he picks her up and spins her around in his arms. Her screeches turn into rambunctious laughter.

Tommy is a handsome young man. He has the same unruly brown curls that Joel does, but his are more structured and lay more securely on the top of his head, unlike Joel’s where it cascades down to his neck. Big, brown eyes and strong, dark eyebrows make him look more innocent than he actually is. He’s got a flannel and a stained wife-beater on.

“Nene, I told you to dress nicely,” Essie yells, leaning out on the entryway to the kitchen.

Tommy’s confident look quickly fades from his face, the same guilty look his brother had just sported taking over, “I’m sorry, Momma.”

She hums and goes back to the kitchen.

“Shit,” tumbles out of Tommy’s mouth.

“Sh–” Sarah starts to repeat, before Tommy claps a hand over her mouth. You can hear her giggling from behind his hand.

“Tommy!”

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to– ack, gross,” he exclaims as Sarah licks his palm.

He deposits her onto the ground and she runs into the kitchen, screaming. He rubs his hand on his dirty jeans.

“Tommy. This is my girlfriend,” he sighs, telling him your name, which Tommy repeats as he takes your hand in his (not the one that was just licked by Sarah) and kisses your hand.

“Well, seems you already know my name, sweetheart. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all these months of Joel talkin’ ‘bout ya.”

What you wouldn’t give to be a fly-on-the-wall when Joel talked about you. You knew he’d never speak badly of you– he never spoke badly of anyone, including Tommy–, but you were curious what he could possibly be saying to them, especially the young man in front of you.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Tommy.”

He drops your hand lightly and looks over at his brother. You think you see him wink, but you’re choosing to ignore whatever you just saw. You do, however, see the blush crawling back up Joel’s neck, as you turn back to him.

Joel takes your hand in his. You lace your fingers through his and squeeze lightly, an acknowledgement of his social awkwardness.

“Well, I’m gonna go see if I can help Momma with dinner, see if she can forgive me for dressin’ like an idiot.”

Joel’s lips form a line, “See ya.”

“Oh, brother, you’ve outdone yourself. Don’t know how you managed it.” He points to you, turns on his heel, and walks to the other room.

“I’m sorry about him,” Joel mutters, eyes downcast to the floor.

You shrug, “It’s okay. He seems nice.”

Guiding your shoulder towards him so that you’re fully facing him, he kisses your forehead, “Tell me if this is all too much, okay? Meetin’ my whole immediate family at once is a lot.”

You shake your head, “Joel, I am honored that I get to meet them. It’s a little overwhelming, but I can handle myself– don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, sugar,” he sighs into your hair.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. Sarah spends the whole meal screeching and throwing food at her dad. Tommy spends the whole meal laughing at Sarah throwing food at her dad. Joel patiently reminds Sarah that she’s not supposed to throw food, which, of course, she doesn’t listen to and continues to throw food at her dad. And you and Essie are in your own little world, discussing everything from your schooling to how she grew up in Columbia, but met Joel’s father when she moved to the States in 1970. She is an amazing listener and an engaging storyteller, face clearly displaying her emotions as she tells you about her brilliant life so far.

Joel tells you on your walk back to your dorm that he’s pretty sure that his mom likes you more than him now. You joke that you like her better than him too. He groans, “My momma’s gonna take my girl from me.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah, sugar, my girl.”

✦ ✦ ✦

April 1995

“Are you ever gonna hang out with me again,” Elaine whines, watching you pull a flannel out of your closet and stuff it in your bookbag next to your books that you’re bringing to study with. It was Joel’s, but it was starting to lose his scent and you were going to demand he wear it tonight so that the leather smell would seep back into the fabric.

“Lane, we hang out all the time.”

Hair fanned out below her in a halo of sorts, Elaine lays on her bed with her head off the side, feet in the air. She scoffs and throws her hands up in exasperation.

“No! That’s not true! You are never here on the weekends anymore and that’s when all the good parties are going on.”

You deadpan, “When have I ever gone to parties with you?”

“You went to some parties!”

“I went to one party and left an hour in because I got completely overwhelmed and started crying after one drink.”

“Okay… but that was freshman year and I bet you could hold your booze much better now that you’re legal.”

“Elaine, baby, sweet girl, love of my life, I do not want to go to a party.”

She pouts and crosses her arms, “Yeah, you wanna go hang out with your boy and his four-year-old all weekend.”

You clear your throat and mutter, “Actually, Sarah is staying with her abuela this weekend.”

Elaine gasps, flipping around and sitting up on all fours, “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” you reply flatly.

“You are going to be in Joel’s apartment all weekend. Just the two of you.”

“Yup.”

“All by yourselves. For an entire weekend.”

“You just said the exact same thing twice and my answer is still yes.”

She bounds over to you and grabs your face in her hands, “Oh, my sweet baby, you are getting your brains fucked out all weekend, aren’t you?”

“Good god, Lane,” you shake her hands off her face and continue your packing.

She hops in place a couple times, her wild hair doing flips as she does, “You are, aren’t you?! Oh my god. This is so great, I cannot wait for you to tell me every detail when you get back.”

You glare at her for a moment and shake your head, “Fine.”

She shrieks, throwing her arms up in the air and running around your small shared room like she’s doing a victory lap.

Pumping a fist in the air, she flops backwards onto her bed and stares at the ceiling, face suddenly serious. But, you’re used to this by now, her mood changes like the wind– she has some of the most intense ADHD you’ve ever seen.

She raises her hand up.

You sigh, “Yes, Elaine?”

“I have a question.”

She sits up again, hands fidgeting in her lap, “What are you gonna do about Joel when you go back to Seattle for the summer?”

“I–” Oh.

You’d been thinking about summer break constantly since the moment you started dating Joel. It’s been a looming threat over everything you two have shared over the past 6 months, a near-constant reminder that you’ll be leaving to go back to your dad’s house in less than a month. You’d just pushed it to the back of your mind. No one ever mentioned it, so you just never brought it up.

But now that Elaine is here, sitting in front of you, confronting you with something you’ve been avoiding for months, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I don’t know.” You sink down into your desk chair, bag slapping on the tile at your feet.

“You really like him– don’t you, baby girl?”

You nod, staring at the floor. Two years of living in these dorms and you’d never noticed how uneven the tile was. You feel your heart beating in your ears.

“You know, you could stay with me and my parents this summer?”

“No, no, I don’t wanna bother them.”

She purses her lips, “Well… I kind of already asked them and they said that it was okay.”

You gasp, turning towards her, “What?”

“Yeah, baby, it’d be like a whole summer of sleepovers, except y’know, you’d have your own room.”

Elaine’s parents were cattle farmers. They owned a small ranch just outside of Austin with a wide expanse of land and multiple small houses throughout. Elaine didn’t live with her parents– she lived in her own small farmhouse about a quarter of a mile down the dirt road that ran through their property. You’d been there before; it was beautiful.

And not having to go back to Seattle: that would be great. If last summer was any indication of your dad’s excitement at you coming home, you had been dreading what this summer would bring.

But here’s an out. A way to avoid your father and his horrible rage. A way to stay near Joel and Sarah. A way to celebrate Sarah’s birthday with her in July like she’d been begging you to.

“Maybe.”

She grins, hands still fidgeting in her lap, but more aggressively like she’s trying to hold herself back from a big reaction to your “maybe”, which you both know just means “yes”.

“Thank you.”

“Don’ even mention it, baby. You’re the love of my life– I couldn’ bear another summer without you.”

Later that evening you're talking to Joel in his apartment over dinner, candles lit between you, Joel snug in your favorite flannel of his. You tell him about Elaine’s idea. He insists that you take her up on her offer. You send her a text that you’re going to stay. She replies with, “!!!” and then another text a few minutes later that reads, “go get sum, bb ;)”.

You make sure Joel can’t see that text.

When you’re done with dinner, you’re doing dishes together. He’s washing, you’re rinsing and drying. When you have dinner here, you switch who does what task– it keeps it fair, that’s what Joel had said when you started coming here a few months ago.

You can’t believe it’s been months with this amazing man. It makes you giddy: that time seems to pass so quickly with him.

He’s been quiet– well, more quiet than usual today. You think it might just be that he misses Sarah, but that theory quickly becomes dust when he finally starts to speak.

He clears his throat and breaks your comfortable silence.

“Talked to Tommy today.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs, “Yeah.”

“And what exactly did you two talk about?”

You know Joel and Tommy have never exactly gotten along. When you’d met Tommy the month before, that had been blatantly obvious. Joel loved Tommy. They both knew it– they’d never say it out loud though. But, their “talking” usually involved Tommy rambling about whatever he wanted and Joel grunting every other sentence so that he knew that he was still listening.

“He, uh– he says he’s gonna join the army.”

Your head whips towards him, “What?!”

He flattens his lips into a line and sniffs again, nodding.

“Was he fucking with you?”

That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with Tommy. He regularly said things he knew would make Joel upset just to mess with him. Once, he had told Joel that his girlfriend at the time was pregnant just after his 17th birthday. Joel didn’t talk to him for a couple weeks after that.

He shakes his head, putting the sponge down into the lukewarm water.

Exasperated, you sigh, “Did he say why?”

“Says he wants to honor Dad or somethin’.”

You’d had discussions about Joel’s dad before. They were few and far-between, mostly because it was obvious that his father made him uncomfortable. He had died just six months after Sarah had been born– lung cancer caused by twenty-five years of smoking a pack a day, according to Joel.

Mark was a Vietnam veteran, left home at 18 to join the war effort. He’d met Essie when he was discharged with a prosthetic limb and a purple heart in 1970. Joel doesn’t know exactly what had happened to his dad in Vietnam, but he knew it was bad. He would wake up in the middle of the night to his dad screaming in his sleep– telling someone to move and then begging God to let his friend live.

Joel says he was terrified of his father, that he treated him like a “man” before he was old enough to have coherent conversations. What that meant was beyond you, but you understood that he wasn’t ready to talk about it and you were willing to wait. You would always wait.

“Do you– do you think he’s going to do it?”

He sighs, massaging his temples, “’M not sure. He… seemed pretty determined.”

Picking the sponge out of the water, he goes back to scrubbing, but now he’s doing it rougher, sponge squashed in his hand, dish squeaking aggressively. His eyebrows are scrunched together and you think you see a glint of something shiny in his eyes.

“Miller, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hands you the plate he was maiming to rinse and dry. You do so as he collects his thoughts.

Two more dishes are washed and dried before he says anything.

“Dad was a lot more gentle on Tommy than he ever was on me. He treated Tommy like his son, but he treated me like a soldier. Tommy had a dad, I had a General.”

He avoids eye contact with you as he continues.

“I think Tommy idolizes him too much, especially now that he’s gone and he never really saw the version of Dad that I did. The traumatized veteran.”

His shoulders shake as he sobs, choking on his words, “I don’t want Tommy to end up like Dad.”

Fuck, if that didn’t make you want to sob too. You hold yourself together for him, at least you try to. You can feel your emotions climbing up your throat, desperate to choke out of you.

You put a hand on his bicep and lean on his shoulder. The dirty water splashes when the sponge falls back into it, flicking water up and onto both of your shirts

A tear escapes his eye and lands on the top of your head, soaking into your hair.

“Did you tell him that?”

Another sob claws out of his mouth, “Yeah. He wouldn’ listen.”

“Well, baby, you did all you could do. Seems like there’s no stopping him.”

He doesn’t say anything. His wet hand wraps around your forearm and pulls it around his back so that you’re hugging him. You squeeze your arms around his waist as he runs his fingers through your hair, clings on to the strands and guides your head to his neck. You can feel the dish water from his hands soaking into your scalp.

You press a kiss to the skin under your lips and he sighs, pulling you in even closer.

“Things will work out. Whatever happens, I’m always here.”

He nods his head into your shoulder. A high-pitched whine tumbles out of his lips involuntarily.

“It’ll be okay.”

Shit.

✦ ✦ ✦

July 1995

Friday, July 14th, 1995 marks Sarah’s fifth birthday. She invites all her friends from preschool and Joel invites everyone he knows would want to be there for his daughter. Joel told you that he had gone to text Tommy to invite him, forgetting that his brother had left for basic training a month ago. He sent him a text anyway– asking him how he was doing. He hadn’t gotten a response yet.

When you walked into the apartment, with the key that Joel had given you a month ago, to help Joel and Essie set up the party this morning, Sarah had stopped you at the door with a smirk on her face and something held behind her back.

“Hello, Queen Sugar!” She curtsies to you with her large puffy, pink dress that Essie had painstakingly spent the last month making her.

You curtsy back with your own dress, the purple sundress you had worn to the beach all those months ago, “Hello, Princess Sarah! May I come in?”

You really know she’s up to something when her smirk turns into a maniacal grin.

“No.”

Hm. Where the hell is Joel?

You get down on your knees so that you’re eye-level with her, “Why not, your highness?”

She finally pulls whatever is behind her back out and holds it out to you. It’s the silver plastic crown with the pink jewels that she had worn on her fourth birthday. The one she wears whenever she’s feeling particularly royal. It’d been slightly too big for her then, but it fit her like a glove now.

“Because you aren’t wearing your crown yet. And you know it’s improper to attend a social event as the queen without your crown!”

Well, you didn’t know that. But you knew now. Joel’s doormat was really uncomfortable to kneel on.

“Well, of course, your highness, how could I forget that?”

She nods her head once resolutely.

“But I must ask, why aren’t you wearing a crown?”

She puts her hands on her hips, “I’ve decided that since it is your first Guppy birthday, your majesty, that you must wear the crown! It’s only fair that I share.”

Holding the crown out in front of her, she declares with determination, “All hail, Queen Sugar!”

You hear Essie’s graveled voice call through the apartment behind Sarah, “Mariposa, come help your abuela with decorating your cookies!”

She plops the crown on your head and runs into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. Well, so much for decorum.

“Hey, sugar.” A hand pops into your vision from the stairs beside you.

He’s got a couple bags of decorations in his left arm and is holding out the other for you to take.

“Hey,” you groan as he pulls you up onto your feet, “You want some help?”

“Nah, I got it.” He urges you inside with a wave of his hand and he walks in behind you.

The furniture that usually is cluttered around his living room is pushed to the walls, so that there’s more space for the kids to play. You notice a basket full of her toys sits in wait in the corner of the room, filled past the brim with pink.

“Lovin’ the crown, baby,” he smiles, setting the paper bags on the couch.

It’s crooked, askew from Sarah’s hasty exit.

“Thanks. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to attend a public event without one because it was ‘improper’.” You put quotes on the last words with your fingers.

“Well, if the princess says…” Coming around the side of the couch, he stands in front of you. You look up at him through your lashes as he adjusts the crown so it sits straight on your head. He’s done it enough with his little girl to know how to get it just right so the tight plastic doesn’t dig into your scalp.

“Thank you,” you whisper and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He chuckles, snaking his arms around your waist, “Anything for the queen.”

You hum as he presses another kiss to your lips, longer this time, soft. You love these moments with Joel– the ones where he’s put himself in the moment, so that he isn’t thinking about the millions of things he needs to get done. But really, you love every moment you get to have with Joel.

“Daddy!” Sarah’s running into the living room with frosting smeared on her hands and all across her cheek and Joel puts himself to work getting it off her in the bathroom as you start to pull decorations out of the bags. Her birthday party this year is Sesame Street themed. When Joel had suggested it to her, she had jumped around the room screeching about all the decorations she needed and where to put them and how she needed to invite Elmo now so he would get his invitation on time. You had been in charge of the return letter from Elmo where he reluctantly declined her invitation with a crude drawing of himself in the bottom corner (Joel didn’t stop laughing at how horrible it looked for a week afterwards, “He looks like he got run over by a semi, baby.”). She wrote him back saying she understood and drew a heart and a smiley face at the bottom.

“Elaine’s gonna be late, she got held up with something.” You tell Joel as you hand him a freshly-blown balloon. He’d gotten the frosting off Sarah and then urged her into a nap so that she could be at full energy for her party.

He chuckles, “Oh, really? And what was that?”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh with a grin, “Robin.”

The mean blonde you had met in November in your dorm room after finding out about Sarah has been slowly worming her way into your heart. While you’ve been spending most of your summer with Joel, Elaine’s been spending most of her’s with Robin, who had stayed on campus this break to take summer classes. At first you’d been hesitant to encourage the relationship, Robin hadn’t made a very good impression, but Elaine seemed really happy, happier than you’d seen her in your entire friendship, and Robin’s grumpy attitude was growing on you.

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, good for her, but not so good for my sleep schedule.”

Turns out living in a house alone with Elaine all summer was great, except for the fact that the walls were a little too thin for your liking. You’d been learning a bit more about Elaine’s sex life than you wanted to know.

You watch as Joel attempts to wrap the string around the knot on the balloon with little success, his large fingers getting in the way of themselves.

“Gimme,” you mumble, holding your hand out.

He reluctantly hands the balloon and string over with a bashful smile.

Deftly, you string the balloon and watch it rise to the ceiling as you let it go. It wobbles back and forth and then finally stays in place.

“You could stay here tonight if you wanted? You’ve got those extra clothes you left in my drawer just in case.”

The drawer.

The drawer had been a very big deal to you when he first offered it casually one night when you’d realized you had forgotten to bring an outfit for the next day.

“You already left a toothbrush here, just leave a couple outfits here too. I’ll clear a drawer for you.”

Joel was very confused when you had started to cry. Through heaving breaths and tears you had explained to him that you had never been given a drawer before.

It didn’t help that you were PMSing really bad that day (which had been the entire reason you had come over in the first place).

You give him a smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You know there won’t be any sex, Joel made it pretty clear the first time you had stayed here when Sarah was home that he was not comfortable with that while she was in the apartment. The wall's thinness didn’t leave anything to the imagination and her room was right next to his. That was okay though, you enjoyed sleeping on the heater that was Joel Miller and that was good enough for you.

“Okay.” You stand up and give him a kiss on the cheek.

He pats your ass as you walk towards the kitchen. You send him a glare back with a smirk.

Everyone starts arriving at four, except your best friend, and you watch as Joel tries his best to wrangle six toddlers to do the activities that he’d planned. He bought some coloring books and told the kids to bring their own crayons because he had thought that maybe that would be a calming activity, but as you had predicted two weeks ago when he told you his plan, it had quickly devolved into drawing on the fold out table and somehow finding markers and drawing on each other. You helped him toss the drawing stuff in his room when the kids were distracted by Sarah telling the story of how you had almost “improperly” walked into her birthday party without your crown on. The kids thought she was hilarious.

Sarah is instantly captivated when Elaine walks through the door, like everyone is when they first meet her.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Sarah squeals, balancing on the balls of her feet.

Elaine gasps, a smile lighting up her face as she hands you her bag to put in Joel’s room, “Oh my god, your hair is so pretty too, baby girl.”

“I’m Sarah Esperanza Miller.” She recites her full name with a smile on her face, proud of her name.

Elaine holds her hand out for her to take, “Hi, Sarah. I’m Elaine Jo MacKenzie.”

She perks up, her whole body suddenly standing at attention. “Wait here!”

Elaine grabs your elbow and pulls you into her body, giving you a light kiss on the cheek while you both watch Sarah run to her room across the house– weaving and dodging through the crowd. She peeks around your body to look at Joel, a dreamy grin on her face.

“She’s beautiful, Joel.”

He smiles, running a hand through his hair, “Thank you.”

She looks up at you, “You’re a lucky motherfucker.”

You laugh lightly, “I know.”

She adjusts the crown on your head.

“It’s crooked,” she explains, nodding when she determines that it’s perfect.

You nuzzle your nose into her hair; it smells like strawberries.

“Thank you.”

When Sarah comes back, she’s hiding something behind her back, an excited smile taking over her chubby cheeks.

She goes to Elaine, pulling her arm out of your own and down so she’s kneeling in front of her.

“Can I touch your hair?”

Joel sighs, “Baby, that’s not–”

Elaine doesn’t break eye contact with her as she answers her, “Of course, you can. Thank you for asking. That was really polite.”

Sarah looks up to her dad, silently asking him for permission and he nods his head.

“As long as she says ‘yes’, then it’s okay.”

Elaine nods too when she turns back to her and Sarah tucks Elaine’s puffy mess of hair behind her ear and sticks a small, pink butterfly clip just above her ear. Joel recognizes it as her favorite hair accessory, one of the only ones that Joel can easily style her hair with.

Elaine gasps, jumping up and finding the nearest mirror, and smiles when she sees herself in it. She delicately adjusts the clip so that it is more secure. “Oh, baby girl, I love it! Thank you!”

Sarah giggles uncontrollably, “I knew it would look pretty on you!”

“Well, of course, you knew– you’re a genius, baby!”

She kneels back on the ground and holds her arms out, an invitation for a hug. Sarah runs into her arms and she huffs with the force of her tiny body colliding with her chest.

You knew that Sarah would love Elaine; her eccentric joy was so magnetic that this automatic connection between the two of them just made sense. She had always made friends easily, but Elaine was an expert at entertaining children.

Sarah runs off to go play with her friends, so Elaine comes back up to take your arm again.

“Hey, we’re matching,” she points out, flicking the big jewel on the crown on your head.

“We are.”

Elaine’s eyes soften as she looks down at you, always taller than you when she actually straightened out her spine (which she so rarely did).

“Sarah’s girls.”

You nod.

Sarah’s girls.

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