#he looks to the left looks to the right any cars?

[reidsbabyhoney]

second chances | s.r.

the one where Spence regrets everything that’s happened in the past six months.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.3k a/n: this took forever too write because every time i tried writing it i absolutely hated how it came out. i’m hoping i gave them the ending they deserved and that you all love it! also please let me know if there's any warnings I should add.

pt.1 masterlist spencer reid masterlist

The entire car ride home was a blur, and you mean that literally. The tears that coated your eyes never seemed to stop even after you arrived back home. The dull hum of the engine couldn't seem to drown out the noise-deafening pounding in your chest.

You couldn't help but replay every moment from tonight on a loop, the gut wrenching realization that Spencer moved on so quickly, so easily. It felt as if your entire world had been tilted on its axis and you were left to live in a reality that didn't make any sense.

Maya. You hadn't been able to look at her without a sharp pang of jealousy making its way though your chest. The way she spoke to Spencer, so casually, so possessively like you were going to take her from him at any second. But in reality that's what she did to you.

You told yourself that you were fine, that you had enough time to move on and get over that relationship, but its clear you were lying to yourself. Every moment you were in his presence were the few moments of bliss where you could pretend everything with him was normal.

You had loved him. You still did. The harsh truth of that might've hurt worse than tonight's events.

Once you finally arrived home you didn't bother to go inside right away. Turning off the car you sit staring at the dashboard, trying to ground yourself in something, anything but the whirlwind of emotions going on in your mind right now.

As your about to open the door, your phone buzzes in the passenger seat. Picking it up you see it's a message from Penelope.

From: Penny

Are you okay, sweetheart? If you need anything I'm just a phone call away. Please don't let his stupidity ruin your night, we all know how much of an amazing person you are!

A small smile painted its way across your features, though drained and not very genuine.

You quickly texted her back letting her know you were okay and just needed some time to process everything. With that you finally got out of the car making your way inside, preparing for another sleepless night.

-

You had taken the day off. Well technically you didn't request it, it was given to you by Hotch. The team had just gotten back from a long gruesome case and he decided that everyone needed some time to decompress.

It had been a couple weeks since 'The Incident' as Emily has so kindly labeled it. Since then the unkind thoughts hadn't left your mind.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch barely able to focus on the movies playing on the TV. Your mind was a storm of thoughts that blossomed from that night, though not into flowers, more so like weeds that didn't want to fully be pulled from the ground.

You replayed every word he said that night. Every glance, subtle expression. There was no warmth in his tone, nothing that suggested the gentle, awkward genius who had found solace in your presence.

You knew it hurt, but what hurt more was the realization that Spencer wasn't the only thing you lost that night. You were mourning the loss of what had been,  what could've been.

-

The next morning, you showed up at the office. The decision half-hearted, debating on requesting for another day out of the crowded space. You're not sure what you were expecting, for something to just change overnight, or if you needed to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

You walked in to see the team gathered around the bullpen. Derek was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly to JJ, while Penelope was chattering away in her usual high-energy manner. They all seemed fine, but you knew they could feel your emotions. You had always worn them on your sleeve, and the team was nothing if not perceptive.

And Spencer? He was nowhere to be found.

Your heart dropped, but you quickly masked the disappointment with a neutral expression. You couldn’t allow yourself to think about him right now, not with everything else going on.

As you slid into your chair, you could feel their eyes on you every now and then, but none of them dared to speak up. It was only when the elevator doors opened that you saw Spencer walking toward the bullpen. His usual awkward stride was missing, replaced by something… hesitant. His eyes briefly met yours, but instead of the usual spark of familiarity, there was something different. Something strained.

He was carrying a large coffee cup in his hand, but it seemed like he was just holding it for the sake of holding it.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that had been present in his eyes. You barely met his gaze, your stomach doing somersaults at the sight of him.

“Spence,” you said, offering a forced smile. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, but you couldn’t let yourself show it.

“I, uh, can we talk?” he asked, his words tumbling out in that way that was so quintessentially Spencer.

Your gaze flickered around the room, but you didn’t want to make a scene. “Now’s not the best time.”

He nodded, but you could see the disappointment in his face. He hesitated for a moment before turning away and heading to his own desk. You didn’t watch him go, how could you?

-

Hours passed, and the tension between you and Spencer lingered like a heavy fog. Every now and then, you caught his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but every time you met his gaze, he looked away.

You were exhausted. Your mind was scattered. And when you finally gathered the courage to step away from your desk to grab a coffee, it was then that Spencer decided to approach you.

“y/n,” he called out gently, his voice softer now, less urgent.

You paused mid-step, not sure how to respond. His presence was overwhelming, and even though you wanted to retreat, you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

Turning around slowly, you nodded. “Spencer.”

“Can we talk?” he asked again, this time with more sincerity in his voice.

You studied him carefully, unsure whether you could trust yourself to keep calm. “Do we really need to? I think we’ve said everything we need to say.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have. At least not yet.” He paused, looking down at his feet. “Please.”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, and for the first time since that night, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. You didn’t know what had changed, but you knew it was something important. You had loved Spencer for so long, and maybe it was time to let him explain himself.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s talk.”

-

The conference room door clicked shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you felt like you were trapped. The silence was thick, oppressive. Spencer stood by the window, facing away from you, his shoulders tense, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt impossibly wide, like an ocean stretching between two distant shores.

You wanted to scream. To demand answers. To ask why. But you couldn’t, because the truth was, you were too scared of what might come next. The flood of emotions coursing through you felt like too much to bear. And the pain? The pain was undying.

Finally, Spencer spoke, but his voice was soft, almost trembling. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his words breaking the stillness in the room, but they did little to ease the ache in your chest.

He turned slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I’m so sorry. For the way I ended things... for pushing you away.”

His gaze finally met yours, but there was no spark there, no warmth. Just an empty, hollow ache, the same one you felt. The distance between you both was palpable.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was giving you space to breathe… to move on. To get away from the chaos that’s always been a part of my life.”

The words struck you like a punch to the gut. Protecting you? Was that what this was? Did he think he was being noble by choosing to shut you out?

“You pushed me away, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with the rawness of everything you were holding in. “I didn’t ask for space. I didn’t ask for you to shut me out. I was here… I've always been here.” The anger, the hurt, it all poured out of you, and you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “I just needed you to be honest with me. To tell me the truth, not hide behind your fears.”

His face faltered at your words, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble under the weight of your pain. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking as if he hadn’t even meant to say it. “I was scared that if I kept you close, I would ruin everything. That I’d hurt you more. I thought if I pulled away, you’d be better off without me. But all I’ve done is hurt you even more.”

The truth of his words hit you like a wave, but it didn’t bring relief. Instead, it left you feeling raw, exposed. How could he think that? How could he think leaving was the solution? You had been through so much together. But the thought of him choosing to walk away, of him choosing her, it crushed you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Spencer,” you whispered, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. Your heart was breaking, the weight of everything that had happened too much to carry anymore.

“You didn’t just break my heart… you broke me. I was waiting for you. I thought... I thought we could work through this. But you didn’t give me a chance. And now you’re asking me to just… what? To just forget?”

Spencer’s face crumpled as if your words were a physical blow, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He was broken too, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable, scared even. “I don’t want you to forget,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I just want a chance. A chance to prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I’m not the one who left you… that I’m the one who’s ready to fight for us.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping before you could stop it. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore, Spencer. I don’t know if I can trust you after everything.”

He stepped forward, his hands trembling as they reached out toward you. “Please,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve spent every second of the last six months thinking about how much I screwed up, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, erratic, unsure whether it was breaking or yearning for something—anything that might bring you peace. You knew Spencer had made mistakes, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. You had kept yourself at a distance too, not because you wanted to, but because you were terrified of what this might mean. Of what letting him back in might cost you.

“I’m scared, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m scared that if I let you back in, you’ll leave again. That you’ll hurt me again.”

He closed the distance between you, standing just inches away now. You could see the unshed tears in his eyes, the way his face was etched with guilt and regret. He reached for your hand, but instead of pulling away, you let him. You let him hold you, as fragile as it felt, as broken as you both were in that moment.

“I won’t leave again,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. I’ll fight for you. For us. I’ll fight for as long as it takes.”

The raw honesty in his voice, his words full of pain, of hope. It made something inside you snap. The walls you had built around your heart were crumbling, piece by piece. You didn’t know if you could ever go back to the way things were, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something better.

“I’m not asking for things to be perfect,” Spencer continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, the small touch making your pulse race. “I just need you to know that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze then, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, but this time they weren’t just born from hurt. There was something else there. Something like hope. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to see where this goes. If you really mean it.”

His face softened, the tension easing just a fraction. “I do,” he whispered, his hand still gently holding yours. “I mean it. More than anything.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, you let yourself hold on, just for a moment. You weren’t sure where this would lead, or if you could ever truly forget the pain. But for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone. And maybe that was enough.

-

It was one of those quiet mornings that felt like a small slice of heaven. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow through the windows, and the only sound in the apartment was the rhythmic hum of the coffee maker.

The air was still cool from the night before, but the warmth of the morning sun slowly crept in, filling the room with a gentle golden light.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, your bare feet tucked under you, a mug of coffee warming your hands. Your hair was messy from sleep, but you didn’t mind.

You had gotten used to waking up next to Spencer every morning, and the sight of him, still half-asleep, a little rumpled, and incredibly endearing, was one of the small things you’d grown to cherish.

Spencer was at the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he flipped through a pile of paperwork. The clutter of his case files and textbooks was a normal part of your life now, but the way he had rearranged things over the past few months, more neatly than ever before, was a quiet testament to how much he had changed. He wasn’t perfect, but he was working on it. He was trying, and that was all that mattered.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet, pulling your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked up from your coffee, meeting his soft brown eyes. He was still wearing his sleep-filled smile, the one that only appeared after a good night’s sleep, when he wasn’t overthinking or buried under a pile of cases.

“I was wondering… would you mind helping me with something later?” His voice was tentative, but there was something else there now, something more confident. He wasn’t afraid to ask for help anymore.

You’d noticed that shift in him over the past few months, the way he wasn’t afraid to lean on you, to let you in when before he would have kept his distance. It had taken time, but now, when he needed you, he knew how to reach for you without hesitation.

“Of course,” you said with a smile, your heart swelling at how far you’d come since that difficult conversation. “What do you need help with?”

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, glancing down at the paperwork. His fingers hovered over the pile, as though unsure how to ask. “I’m working on this case… and I just need to go over the details. I know you’ve got that… special way of seeing things,” he said with a playful grin, using the affectionate nickname you’d earned after countless cases where your instincts had been spot on. “You’re better at spotting the details than I am.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, playfully teasing. “Oh, so now I’m the expert, huh? I thought you were the genius here.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and he shook his head, walking over to the table and taking a seat across from you. He didn’t even try to hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. “You are the expert,” he said softly. “And I’m just the guy who gets to learn from you every day.”

The words lingered between you, warm and comfortable. You reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his hand in a simple, affectionate gesture. A small smile played on your lips as you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to hold anything back. There was no fear of losing each other, no worry that the cracks would reopen. Everything—every single piece of you—had found a place next to him, and for once, it felt right.

“I’ll help you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Just like I always do.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet sense of gratitude. You knew, deep down, that he wasn’t just thankful for your help with the case. He was thankful for everything—for your patience, for your trust, for the fact that despite all the mistakes and misunderstandings, you were still here. You had come through the storm together, stronger than before, and you could feel it in every touch, in every glance. There was an unspoken understanding between you now. A promise that no matter what came your way, you would face it as a team.

“You know,” Spencer said, his voice low, “I never thought I’d have something like this. Something so... real. So comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had plagued your earlier months together. “I think we’ve finally figured out how to make it work,” you said, your voice steady and full of warmth. “No more pushing each other away. No more running. Just… us.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze softening as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. “I’m not running anymore,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice bringing a warmth to your chest. “I’m staying. For good.”

There was no need for more words. You leaned across the table, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow and full of meaning. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desperation, but one of quiet comfort. One of trust and affection. One that said we’re here, and that was enough.

As you pulled away, you saw the same sense of contentment reflected in his eyes, a peacefulness that had taken months to build but was finally here. You didn’t need anything else, because with Spencer, you had everything you’d ever wanted.

The coffee and case files were long forgotten as the two of you sat there, simply enjoying each other’s company. There was no rush to get to the day, no lingering doubt or fear. Just the warmth of his presence beside you, and the certainty that no matter what the future held, you’d face it together.

all notes and reposts are appreciated!! loving you always xx

divider: @fairytopea

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[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT3 | FC43

part one | part two |

an: this is the most requested part three. i fell asleep so many times writing this but i’m waiting for tate’s new song so it gave me something to do. not proof read.

wc: 8.3k

It was nearly dawn when Franco turned off the engine, but the silence felt hollow. He sat motionless in the cockpit of his car, his hands still gripping the wheel even though he had finished his lap over an hour ago. The empty track stretched before him, a stark grey line splitting the waking sky, and for a fleeting moment, he considered taking off down it one more time, just for the noise.

That had been the only reason he'd even bothered coming out this morning. Noise. Anything loud enough to cut through the thick numbness that had settled over his life the last two years. Even racing—his childhood dream, his only real thrill—felt distant, just another repetition in an endless loop of things he used to care about.

He let go of the wheel, his fingers stiff and aching, and slumped back into his seat. The inside of the car still smelled new, though he’d driven this car all season. But everything in his life felt new in the wrong way, like he was breaking in someone else's skin.

Franco closed his eyes, but there was no escape there either. As much as he tried to avoid it, the image still came easily: two years ago, his wedding day. The hushed gasp of the guests as he had walked back down the aisle alone, the weight of his father-in-law’s hand on his shoulder. And her eyes—his childhood best friend, his first love, his confession to her still raw in his throat. He'd bared his heart, thought he was finally doing the right thing, only to watch her turn him down, her gaze steady and unwavering.

It was strange how clearly he could remember it. She had moved on. He was too late.

And yet here he was, two years later, sitting in the emptiness his choices had carved out. His marriage was the result of the aftermath—inevitable, unstoppable, once her father had coerced him into making it right. He’d been a fool to think he could live with it, that he could somehow build a life out of that hollowed-out choice. But every day he woke up, and every day it was the same. A stranger beside him, a public charade. He was trapped in a marriage more binding than he had ever imagined, one that had closed off any other life he might have had.

A tap on the side of the car startled him out of his thoughts. His agent, Eddie, looked at him expectantly, his face creased with concern. Franco forced himself to meet his gaze, pulling on a blank expression he’d perfected over the last two years.

"You good, man?" Eddie's voice sounded so distant for some reason.

Franco forced a nod. “Just getting in some practice.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You finished over an hour ago."

Franco shrugged, not offering any other excuse. What could he say? That he no longer felt the rush, that even the raw thrill of racing at 200 miles per hour left him feeling nothing? It would be admitting too much. He wasn’t sure he could handle what Eddie would say if he knew.

As he finally climbed out of the car, his gaze drifted toward the track, that endless stretch of asphalt, and for just a second, he felt a flicker of what it used to mean to him. Freedom, purpose, maybe even love. But that had been before her—before he had thrown it all away, thinking he could have her back. And now all he was left with was this: the shadow of a life he hadn’t chosen, the memory of a love that had been real once, and a future he couldn’t bring himself to face.

Franco shook his head, stuffing the thought away. "Let’s just get through today" he muttered to himself, the words a quiet vow.

Tomorrow, he’d put on the act again.

The house was silent when Franco walked in. He closed the door softly, slipping off his shoes out of habit rather than any real desire to keep the peace. She was there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, curled on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her. A book lay open on her lap, though her eyes weren’t moving over the words.

They hadn’t spoken much in days, maybe even weeks, except for the occasional small-talk exchange over morning coffee or at some public event. When they were alone, it was as if they were two strangers who’d agreed on a routine. She looked up as he walked in, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to speak first.

But he didn’t. He simply nodded, moving past her as if it were just another evening in this quiet, loveless house. He heard her shift, a quick intake of breath, and he paused, feeling her eyes on his back.

“I cheated,” she said, her voice flat, almost as if it were a statement she’d practised a thousand times, something she needed to let out before it grew stale.

Franco slowly turned to face her, letting the words settle, though he didn’t feel anything sharp or raw. Instead, there was just the dull, familiar weight of something like resignation. He studied her face, waiting for the anger or betrayal to come, but there was nothing. Just the same emptiness that had been there for two years.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm, resigned.

She blinked, her expression faltering. “Okay?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t expected that response. Her brow furrowed, and she set her book aside, sitting up straighter. “That’s it? Just… okay?”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve already done it.”

She searched his face, a flicker of frustration and hurt sparking in her eyes. “Why aren’t you angry, Franco?” Her voice was louder now, cracking slightly. “Why don’t you care? Why don’t you… love me? What did I do wrong?”

For the first time that evening, he felt something stir. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of distant ache. He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the exhaustion in her face, the years of pretending, of building a life on a foundation that had never been real. And he knew, somehow, that she felt as trapped as he did.

“This isn’t about what you did wrong,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t have it in me to love you, not in the way you want.”

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with frustration. “But we were supposed to be in this together. My father… Your team. The whole world expects it. I have tried, Franco. I’ve done everything I could to make this work. I just wanted you to see me, to try…”

He sighed, looking away. “We’ve been pretending for two years. It’s not that I haven’t seen you—I just don’t think we were ever meant to see each other this way.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She stared at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “So what now? We just keep living like this, sharing the same house, putting on a show for everyone?”

Franco didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do, what the next step would even look like. They were bound together by more than their vows—by the expectations, the pressure, the image of a life neither of them had chosen. He knew she deserved better than this emptiness, the hollow echo of what might have been.

After a moment, he sat down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

She looked away, biting her lip, and for the first time he saw the loneliness in her eyes. "I don’t know," she murmured, her voice quiet. "I don’t know if I ever knew."

She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, and then let out a long, quiet breath. "I’ll speak to my father," she said, her voice steady. “We’ll break it off. There’s… someone else. For me, I mean.”

Franco nodded, feeling only a strange sort of relief. “Okay.”

She gave a small, sad smile, as if she’d expected more—anger, maybe, or regret. “I’ll make sure he keeps the sponsors on your team,” she added, her voice softening. “It’s the least I can do.”

Franco shook his head. “He doesn’t have to. I don’t want you worrying about that.”

For a moment, she looked at him with something almost like sympathy. “Franco… it’s not your fault,” she said.

He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. “What isn’t?”

She looked away, gathering her thoughts, and then back at him, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not your fault you still love her after all these years. Some things… they just don’t go away.”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t find the words to respond. Her words hung between them, exposing something he’d tried to bury, something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. His silence was answer enough.

“She was a very lovely woman when I met her,” she continued, her voice softer, almost wistful. “I’m sure she hasn’t changed. I’m sure you two would be perfect together.”

He looked down, swallowing the ache in his chest. For all their distance, she’d seen more of him than he’d realised, even if they had never truly belonged to each other. Maybe she’d known all along. Maybe that’s why they’d been drifting from the beginning, like two people playing their parts, waiting for the script to finally run out.

He stood up, running a hand over the back of his neck, his voice low. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

She nodded, her eyes full of an understanding that somehow made this harder. “Okay. Goodnight, Franco.”

He gave her a brief nod, then turned and headed down the hall, his footsteps soft against the hardwood. The walls of the house felt like a cage, closing in with every step, but he knew that maybe, for the first time, there was a way out—for both of them.

Franco closed the door to the guest room, feeling the weight of everything settling over him. He felt like a visitor in his own life, just as he had every day for the past two years. He slipped off his watch, set it on the nightstand, and reached for his phone to set an alarm.

Just as he did, his mother’s name lit up the screen. She called him every night, their routine barely wavering since he’d left home all those years ago to chase his dream. He answered, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, finally, you picked up! I thought I’d missed you tonight, hijo.” she said, her voice bright and warm, filling the room with a bit of comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

“Sorry. It’s been… a long day,” he replied, not sure where to start even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, mi amor, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sympathy lacing her voice. She paused, her tone shifting to something lighter. “Well, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

He smiled slightly, settling back against the pillows. “Knowing you, mama, it could be anyone.”

“You flatter me,” she laughed. “But no, this one you’ll want to hear. I ran into your chiquita's mama at the market this morning.”

At the mention of his childhood best friend, Franco’s heart gave a small, involuntary jolt. He kept his voice casual, though he could feel his pulse quicken. “Oh yeah?”

“Guess who’s moving back home?” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “She’s coming back without that boyfriend of hers—what was his name, Angelo or something? Anyway, I don’t know what happened there, but her mama didn’t say much, just that she’ll be moving back in soon.”

Franco fell silent, her words sinking in. She was moving back. Back to the same town, back to where they’d both grown up. It was strange hearing it now, after all this time—especially tonight. He tried to imagine her there, close by, after years of being nothing more than a memory, a lingering ache. She hadn’t been in touch since his wedding. They hadn’t spoken, not really, since that day he’d confessed everything.

“Franco?” his mother asked, her voice pulling him back. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I’m here. Just… surprised, I guess.”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to know,” she said gently. “I don’t know why she’s moving back, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I hope she’s doing alright. I always liked that girl.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He wondered what could have happened to bring her back. She’d seemed happy, at least in the few times he’d seen her in the public eye over the last two years—smiling, vibrant, that spark still in her. Whatever had drawn her back, he doubted it was anything good.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you,” his mother went on, a hint of cheer in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll see her around when she’s back. Goodness knows you two could catch up. I’ll let you get some sleep, though. You sound tired, love.”

“I am,” he said honestly. “Thanks, mama.”

“Goodnight, mi amor,” she said softly. “Try not to worry so much. Things have a way of working out.”

He hung up, setting the phone down on the nightstand, but his mind kept circling back to her, the unanswered questions piling up. Why was she moving home? Why now, after everything?

He lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the quiet gnaw at him. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stirring beneath the emptiness—something that he hadn’t let himself feel since that day two years ago. A flicker of hope, of curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, the faintest hint of longing.

Franco woke up to an unsettling silence the following morning. The kind that felt thick, heavy, and somehow different from the usual quiet he’d grown accustomed to in this house. He rubbed his eyes, groggy, his mind still tangled in the remnants of last night’s conversation with his mother. She was moving back home. The thought had settled somewhere deep, like a stone sinking to the bottom of his chest, and he hadn’t stopped wondering why she’d come back.

He rose slowly, crossing the hall toward the master bedroom to grab his things, but as he reached the door, he noticed it was open just a crack. There was an odd stillness inside, an emptiness. Pushing the door open fully, he froze.

The wardrobes were wide open, their shelves bare, nothing left but empty hangers. He scanned the room, taking in the strange absence of her things: the jewellery stand, her perfumes, even the photos from the dresser—all gone.

On the bed, her wedding band glinted in the morning light, sitting atop a folded sheet of paper. Heart pounding, Franco walked over and picked up the note, her familiar handwriting scrawled across the page in clean, deliberate strokes.

"Go live a life you’ll enjoy. Go get the girl."

He read the words over and over, the reality slowly sinking in. She had really left. It was over, finally—no more strained conversations, no more pretences, no more empty rooms they shared out of duty. She had made the choice for both of them, letting him go in a way neither of them had been able to until now.

He let out a slow, deep breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and regret. She had given him a way out, but he felt a twinge of sadness for the life they’d tried and failed to build, and for the woman who’d known him well enough to let him go.

After a moment, he picked up his phone and scrolled to his agent’s number. It rang twice before Eddie answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Franco? It’s barely morning. You okay?”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, still processing everything. “Yeah. Listen, Eddie, I need you to book me a flight.”

“A flight? Where are you going?”

“Home. To Argentina.” He paused, and for the first time in two years, the words felt right. “I just need to go home.”

Eddie hesitated on the other end. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I’ll figure everything out when I get there,” Franco replied, feeling a resolve he hadn’t felt in years.

Eddie sighed, but there was something like approval in his voice. “Alright, I’ll get it sorted. You’ll be on a plane by tonight.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” Franco hung up, glancing around the room one last time. He pocketed her note, her words still echoing in his mind.

True to Eddie's word, Franco was on a flight six hours later. The journey was a blur of cramped seats, stale air, and the faint taste of regret that clung to the back of his throat. The turbulence was relentless, like some cosmic joke, as if the universe itself wanted to remind him that nothing had ever been easy. He tried to sleep, but the aching pull of everything he’d left behind in that house—his marriage, his choices, his dreams—kept him awake, staring out at the dark sky, thinking of all the roads that had led him here.

By the time he landed in Buenos Aires and caught a car for the long drive north to his family's old village, the exhaustion had crept under his skin, weighing him down like a thousand unspoken words. But the quiet beauty of the countryside—the sun setting over fields that stretched on forever—started to soothe him, even if just a little.

The car ride seemed endless, every minute dragging with the weight of his thoughts. But when the familiar sight of his family’s village finally came into view—cobblestone streets, thatched roofs, the scent of freshly baked bread hanging in the air—something inside Franco began to shift. The city felt miles away, the noise, the crowds, the weight of his past life all falling away as he crossed into the place that had always felt like home.

The moment he stepped through the door of his childhood house, all of that exhaustion seemed to vanish. The house was exactly as he remembered it—warm, full of life, and alive with the kind of energy he hadn't felt in so long. His mother’s soft humming from the kitchen filled the air, the scent of her cooking familiar and comforting in a way nothing else ever had been.

“Mama?” he called, stepping into the kitchen.

She looked up from the stove, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of him. It was like the years had slipped away in an instant, and before he could even move, she was across the room, enveloping him in her arms.

“Oh, hijo,” she said, pulling him in tight. “You’re home. You’re really home.”

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the comforting smells of garlic and simmering stew. It was the same as it had always been. His mother’s embrace felt like a balm, her steady, familiar presence filling up the spaces in his chest that had been empty for so long. He let himself relax into the hug, feeling like he could finally breathe again.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m home.”

She pulled back, looking at him with concern now, her gaze soft but knowing. “You look like you’ve been through a storm. What happened, Franco?”

He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… been a hot minute.”

She stepped back, eyes still lingering on him as she turned toward the counter, gesturing for him to sit. "Come, sit. You must be starving."

As he slid into the chair at the table, his mother’s eyes flickered to his left hand, where the ring had once sat. The absence of it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Franco," she said softly, her voice delicate but insistent, “Where’s your wedding ring?”

He froze, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spot where the band had once been. The question hit him harder than he expected, like a weight on his chest.

He took a deep breath, his words coming out slow, almost reluctant. "I… I never loved her, Mama. Not like I should’ve. Not like I should’ve loved the person I married."

His mother didn’t flinch, didn’t offer a shocked look or try to comfort him with false reassurances. Instead, she simply nodded, as if she had known all along. The silence between them was calm, understanding.

"I knew," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I knew from the start, Franco. I could see it. You were never... you were never right with her."

He exhaled, a small weight lifting from his chest. His mother didn’t judge him. She hadn’t expected him to make some fairy tale of a marriage. She had always known him better than anyone.

"Why didn’t you say something?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

She smiled softly, her hand brushing his cheek. "You had to learn it on your own, cariño. I couldn’t take that from you."

He sat back in his chair, letting her words sink in. This was home. The quiet understanding, the unconditional love. The very things he had been running from for so long. And now, in this moment, he felt like he was finally allowed to come back to it.

His mother leaned in, brushing the hair from his forehead as if he were still that little boy who had left for the big city years ago. "You’ll be alright, Franco. I know you will. You always find your way back."

He smiled, his heart full, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Mama," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think I’m ready to find it now."

His mother studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. The comfortable silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, her voice casual, but with a slight undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place.

“You know, she moved back this morning,” she said, a soft note of curiosity in her tone.

Franco looked up sharply, his stomach tightening at the mention of her. “She did?”

His mother nodded, stirring a pot on the stove. He shifted in his seat, trying to steady the flutter of emotions that were beginning to rise in his chest. She was back. The thought of her living just next door made his heart ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for, especially after everything that had happened. It felt like a sign, but it also felt like a question—one he didn’t know if he was ready to answer.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” he said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. “But I’m sure it’s for the best. She’s probably just trying to figure things out.”

His mother gave him a thoughtful look before turning back to the stove. "It’s not easy, you know. Coming back here after all those years. Maybe she just needs some time. Things haven't been easy for her, either."

Franco nodded absently, his mind already racing, a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. He’d always wondered what it would be like if they were close again—if the years between them could just vanish, and they could pick up where they left off. But that was before everything had changed.

Before he’d made a mess of everything.

“I’ll give her space,” he said after a long pause. “She clearly needs it if she’s come back home. I don’t want to crowd her, not like this.”

His mother looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft and full of the kind of love only a mother could offer. She didn’t press, but Franco could tell she was seeing more in him than he was letting on. She always had that way of reading him, even when he didn’t want to be read.

“I think that’s wise, Franco,” she said quietly. “But don’t wait too long. Sometimes, the right things—people—can slip away if we don’t take the chance when we can.” She gave him a small smile, her eyes gentle but full of a mother’s wisdom. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. The right things... people. Was she talking about her?

He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he had already lost so much—lost the girl he had once called his best friend. His true love. That much was clear.

But he couldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with her. Not now.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t. I’ll give her the time she needs… and then, I’ll figure out what comes next.” He forced a small smile, looking back up at her. “But first, I think I need to settle in here, Mama. Just for a bit.”

She smiled warmly at him, nodding as she moved to set the table. “Take your time, cariño. You’ve earned it.” Then she added softly, almost to herself, “And when you’re ready, you know where she is.”

Franco nodded, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a promise he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. He had to sort through the years of distance, the pain, the confusion, and the mess he had made before he could even think of approaching her again.

That night the house was quiet as Franco prepared for bed, the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones. The weight of the day’s emotions, of the journey—of everything—pressed on him like a physical force, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was still missing.

He stood in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the reflection—a man who hadn’t truly looked at himself in a long time. His face was a little more worn, the years of racing and the strain of the past two had carved lines into his features. And yet, there was a boy in those eyes too—the one who used to laugh freely, who used to dream of more than just what life had given him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the quiet ache of the past two years swirling in his chest again. Where did it all go wrong? He’d asked himself this so many times, but the answer had never been clear. His life had seemed like it was on track, until it suddenly wasn’t. Until it all came crashing down, leaving him here, in his childhood home, looking at a version of himself he didn’t recognise.

Where did it all go to shit?

He turned away from the mirror, needing a moment of peace, a change of scenery. The night air felt crisp as he stepped out onto the balcony, the soft night breeze brushing against his skin. The village was quiet, the distant sound of crickets filling the silence. The stars above him were impossibly bright, as if they had been waiting for him to step out into this space to show themselves.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. The vast sky, the deep silence, the comfort of being home, of being away from all the chaos of the life he’d left behind. He closed his eyes for a beat, letting himself breathe.

Then, he froze.

From across the yard, on the roof of the house next door, a figure was sitting—her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the stars.

Franco didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. The sight of her—after all these years—was like a jolt to the chest, a flood of old memories and emotions crashing over him.

At first, he considered turning back into the house, pretending he hadn’t seen her, pretending the universe wasn’t trying to push him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on her figure, so familiar, so her. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, especially not like this. Not sitting on the roof, in the same place they used to sit together as kids, watching the stars and talking about everything and nothing.

He had no idea how to approach her.

Before he could make up his mind, she spoke, her voice drifting through the night air, quiet but unmistakable. “Staring’s rude, you know.”

Franco’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening at the sound of her voice. It had been so long since he’d heard it, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.

He stayed where he was, still unsure, a little frozen by the way his heart was racing. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

She tilted her head slightly, but didn’t look directly at him. “I always notice,” she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her tone was more playful than anything else.

He let out a small laugh, a bit surprised by her nonchalance. It was just like her to act so casual, even in the middle of something heavy.

“I wasn’t planning to interrupt,” he added, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Just thought I'd leave you to it."

She didn’t respond right away, but he could see the way her gaze flickered toward him, though she didn’t move. After a beat, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “You came home.”

“I did,” he said, his heart racing as he stood there, not knowing where to go from here. “Took me a while, but I’m here.”

She nodded, the soft rustle of her hair catching the starlight. "Good. I didn’t think you would."

Franco swallowed, the weight of the unspoken words hanging thick between them. "I... didn’t think I would either."

There was another pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... heavy, in a way that felt like they were both waiting for something. Waiting for the moment when they could go back to being what they once were. But Franco knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Too much had happened between them, too many years spent apart.

Her voice broke the quiet, her words soft but inviting. “There’s space next to me. You should come up here.”

Franco hesitated for a second longer, unsure, but something in her tone, a subtle pull, urged him forward. He glanced around briefly before deciding to take a chance.

Carefully, he climbed over the small stone wall dividing their balconies, his fingers finding familiar purchase as he pulled himself over. The moment his feet hit the roof, the memories of their childhood came rushing back—sitting on the very same roof, talking about everything and nothing, watching the stars as if they were the only two people in the world.

It felt surreal, like no time had passed at all, even though everything between them had changed.

She was already sitting cross-legged, her back turned slightly toward him, but she patted the spot next to her, silently urging him to join her. He moved toward her, then sat down, the cool roof beneath him grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

When he finally reached the top, she shifted to make room, and before he even fully settled beside her, she was resting her head on his shoulder. It was as natural as breathing, a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d been starved for.

The night seemed to stretch on forever as they sat together, not speaking, just sharing the same space, the same memories that lingered between them like a soft, delicate thread. It was as though the silence held all the things they couldn’t say out loud.

Finally, it was her who broke the quiet, her voice low and tinged with regret. “Sorry I never replied to your letter.”

Franco’s heart stuttered in his chest at the mention of the letter. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, not after everything that had happened. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his voice barely a whisper. “You... you received it?”

She nodded slowly, lifting her head from his shoulder but not fully pulling away. She stared up at the stars, her fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes in the air. “Four days ago,” she said, her voice soft and distant, as though the words were hard to say.

Four days ago.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The letter. The letter he’d written years ago, before everything spiralled out of control, before the wedding, before he called it all off. The letter where he had laid bare his feelings for her—telling her everything he’d never had the courage to say before. Telling her that he loved her. That he’d leave his fiancé for her. That he wanted to be with her.

The letter had been the final step, the desperate confession that he couldn’t hold inside any longer.

“I… I didn’t know,” Franco muttered, his throat tight. “I sent it because I thought you needed to know. I thought you needed to hear it.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t expect you to just��ignore it.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she looked over at him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him ache. “I didn’t ignore it,” she said softly. “I didn’t know about it. Angelo hid it from me.”

Franco froze. Angelo. The same guy she’d been with all those years, the one who had kept the letter from her. The weight of it hit him hard, a cold knot in his stomach. “He hid it?” His voice barely came out above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I only found it four days ago when I was packing.” She paused, as though weighing whether or not to say more, then sighed. “He kept it from me, Franco. Told me it was nothing, just some silly thing from the past. But it wasn’t nothing. It was you. It was everything you were trying to say. And I didn’t even know until hours before your wedding.”

Franco could feel his chest tighten, the words he had written, the words that had been locked inside of him for so long, echoing in the space between them. He had no idea she’d never received it. No idea she had been living in that oblivion, thinking that nothing had changed when, in reality, everything had been laid out for her years ago.

Franco closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. His entire life had been built around the lies he’d told himself, and in the end, he had only hurt the one person who had always been there for him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sky, the stars so far away. “I never stopped loving you,” he said quietly, the confession falling from his lips before he could stop it. “I never stopped thinking about you, even when I thought I should. Even when I tried to move on, I always... always thought about you. About Monza.”

Her voice was soft but steady, a quiet confession in the night air. “I shouldn’t have come to that wedding,” she said, her words hanging in the space between them like a breath held too long.

Franco blinked, his heart stuttering slightly in his chest as he turned to look at her. “Why?”

She sighed, her eyes focused on the distant horizon, her expression unreadable in the soft glow of the moon. “Because I thought I was over you, Franco. I really did. I thought that seeing you get married to someone else, someone who wasn’t me, would help me move on. But when I watched you declare your love for me in front of everyone... it hit me all at once. I felt like I was coasting through a lie with Angelo for two years.”

Franco’s chest tightened at the mention of Angelo again, but he didn’t interrupt. He knew this was something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time, something they had never really spoken about. She took a slow breath, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt as she spoke again.

“I couldn’t give him all of me,” she continued, her voice wavering for the first time, just the slightest crack in her calm demeanour. “When you still had half my heart.”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat at her words. She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the time apart, despite the man she had been with, a part of her had never truly moved on.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the right words to express the swirl of emotions inside him. The guilt, the confusion, the longing. All he could do was listen, his heart aching with each word she spoke.

“Amor…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, trying to find his grounding. “She cheated on me. My wife.” He added as though she needed clarification.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise, but she said nothing. She waited for him to continue, her breath catching in her throat.

Franco stared out at the stars, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t feel much at first. I think I expected it. In some way, I always did. I’d been living in a marriage where I wasn’t really present for a long time.” He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the feeling of his world unravelling. “But... when I found out, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I had already shut myself off from it all.”

She studied him, her gaze soft but piercing. “Really? You didn’t feel... anything?”

Franco’s heart twisted, “I felt guilty,” he admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t feel hurt or anger. I just felt... guilty."

She frowned, the confusion and concern evident in her eyes. “Guilty? Why? You didn’t cheat. You weren’t the one betraying her.”

Franco chuckled bitterly, a hollow sound that felt foreign to him. “No, I didn’t cheat. But I’ve been mentally cheating on her for years now.” His voice cracked slightly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “With you. I’ve been thinking about you. Wanting you. Wondering... what could have been.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between them like an invisible force. The air was thick, heavy with the things they hadn’t said, the things they had both buried for too long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant rustle of the trees, the wind whispering through the leaves. Then, she shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against his, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to reach out. But Franco didn’t pull away. He let her fingers weave through his, and for a moment, they were back to the way they used to be—close, without words, just a connection that had never truly faded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence again. “I didn’t mean to make things more complicated for you. I never wanted you to feel guilty.”

Franco shook his head, his fingers tightening around hers. “You didn’t. It’s my fault. I should’ve been honest with myself. With you. With everyone.”

Her hand found his, her grip soft but reassuring. “We can’t undo the past, Franco. But maybe... maybe we can stop running from it.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something—maybe a sign that they were on the same page, that this wasn’t just a momentary lapse, but the beginning of something else.

Franco’s heart skipped a beat. The ache inside him—this pull, this longing—felt more real now than it ever had before. But he couldn’t let himself get lost in it. Not yet. Not before he figured out what came next.

“Maybe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Maybe we can.”

But for now, they stayed there, hand in hand, watching the stars as the night stretched on—together, but not quite ready to bridge the distance between them. The future was uncertain, but in that moment, with her close to him again, it felt like the possibility of a new beginning was still there.

And maybe that was enough.

She shifted slightly, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she stared up at the night sky, the stars scattered above them like little pieces of a puzzle they couldn’t quite put together. Her voice broke the quiet again, this time more introspective, tinged with a kind of sadness that Franco couldn’t shake. “Why are we like this?” she asked softly, the question hanging in the air between them. “Why can’t we ever get it right? Why does it feel like we keep missing each other?”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat as he turned his head to look at her. He had no answer. No easy explanation for the years of missed opportunities, the broken promises, the things left unsaid. All he could do was let the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke, his voice thick with regret.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his words barely audible, but full of the weight of everything he had kept buried for so long.

Her hand tightened around his, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. She didn’t look at him immediately. She just stared at the stars, letting the night take them both in. But when she did speak, her voice was clear, almost a little too sharp, as if she were trying to distance herself from the ache inside.

“I know,” she said, her words simple, yet filled with the unspoken truth between them.

Franco exhaled slowly, his chest tight with the unrelenting guilt that seemed to follow him wherever he went. “I really don’t,” he added, his tone heavier this time, the words more raw, like they were scraping against his very soul.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes soft but steady as she met his gaze. “But you’ll always have me anyway,” she said, her voice gentle, almost a whisper, but strong in its promise. “All of me. Even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if you feel like you’ve lost me, I’m still here. I always will be.”

Franco closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into him, to hold on to the promise she was offering, but he knew that he had to fix everything first. He had to prove to himself, to her, that he was worthy.

After a long moment, his mind shifted, a question bubbling up to the surface, something that had been nagging at him for a while now. “What happened to Angelo?” he asked, his voice quiet, but urgent with curiosity.

Her gaze flickered away, her expression becoming unreadable for a brief second. She didn’t speak at first, but then, she sighed, her voice small as she turned her head back toward the night sky.

“He proposed,” she said softly, her words hitting Franco like a punch to the gut. “He got down on one knee, right there in the middle of a restaurant, and asked me to marry him.”

Franco’s heart sank. He had imagined the two of them together, but hearing her speak those words, hearing the finality in her tone, made something inside him shift. His breath caught in his throat.

“And you didn’t say yes,” he whispered, the realisation washing over him slowly, painfully.

She shook her head, her fingers grazing the edge of her sleeve as she gathered her thoughts. “I couldn’t bring myself to say yes,” she murmured, her voice distant, like the memory still held weight over her. “I couldn’t lie to him, and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Not after everything. I just... I couldn’t. And when I looked at him, I knew something wasn’t right. I knew that the whole time, I had been lying to both of us, pretending that he was enough when I wasn’t even sure of myself.”

Franco felt his chest tighten, his heart aching with understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if he was apologising for Angelo, for her, or for himself, but it felt like the right thing to say. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just sat there beside him, her head back on his shoulder, her fingers still twined with his. The night stretched on, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but there was something in the air that felt different now. It wasn’t just the weight of their shared history or the unsaid words that hovered between them. There was something else.

Something that, for the first time, felt like the beginning of something new.

After a while, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. “I never wanted to hurt him. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when you’re still here, not when you’ve always been here, Franco.”

Franco closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the curve of her hand. “I understand,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he did. He wasn’t sure of anything right now except that he needed to make it right—whatever that looked like.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the quiet stretching between them, neither of them in a rush to break the stillness. The night air was cool against their skin, and the stars above seemed to twinkle with the same quiet understanding that hung in the air. For the first time in years, it felt like they were both exactly where they were meant to be—together.

But slowly, the rhythm of her breathing changed, softening, slowing. Franco felt it before he saw it, the gentle shift in the weight on his shoulder. He glanced down, his heart softening at the sight of her—her lashes fluttering closed, her face serene and peaceful in sleep. She was completely relaxed, as if the weight of everything had been lifted, even if just for a moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled between them. But as minutes ticked by, he knew it was time to move her. Carefully, he slipped his arm beneath her, lifting her gently, cradling her close. Her head rested on his chest as he stood, her body instinctively curling against him. She felt weightless in his arms, and for a second, he couldn’t believe how natural it all felt.

As he carried her through the door to her room, the familiar smell of her childhood home wrapped around him—the scent of lavender and old wood, a place both foreign and intimately familiar. The room was just as he remembered, simple and cosy, with little traces of her scattered throughout. He looked down at the floor he used to sleep on when they were young The soft, pale light of the moon filtered through the window, casting everything in a gentle glow.

He placed her gently in the bed, tucking the covers around her small frame. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her, his chest heavy with emotion. Everything about this felt so right, so painfully wrong at the same time. He should have been here years ago. He should have never let things get so far. But now, he was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second longer than he meant to, his heart aching with all the things he never said.

Just as he turned to leave, to head back to his own house, her voice stopped him.

“Don’t.”

Franco froze. His hand rested on the window frame , his heart stalling in his chest. He turned slowly, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

“What?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something in her gaze—vulnerable, raw, but full of longing. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Please don’t.”

For a moment, Franco stood there, his chest tight as he processed her words. Don’t go. It was all he needed to hear. She didn’t want him to leave. After everything that had happened, after all the distance between them, she still wanted him here.

He walked back toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to say anything; the weight of the moment, the look in her eyes, said it all. He carefully slid under the covers, settling beside her, the warmth of her body so familiar yet so new.

Without a word, she shifted, curling into him, her head finding its place on his chest, her hand resting gently against his side. Franco wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was real. And it was theirs.

They stayed there, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. No more words were needed. No more distance. Just the two of them, together, holding on to each other like they were afraid to let go.

And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the covers, Franco realised that this moment—this feeling of being home—was everything he had been searching for.

Home.

Her.

It was all synonymous.

She was his home.

the end.

taglist: @sp1rl @yennasaurusrex @ellen3101 @firefirevampire @directioner5life @littlegrapejuice @obxstiles @scopeiguess @newlifeforus @justsisse @zestytimbit @taygrls @charlosvibesonly @sparkleofpizza

[moonchildstyles]

pomegranate

pomegrante part one: harry and y/n are roommates and she doesn't want him to feel lonely

wordcount: 14.2k+

—————

Harry's brows knitted together as he lifted his eyes from the avocado he was slicing, eyes flitting to the television from where he stood at his kitchen island. Truthfully, he didn't know why he kept watching this show when he never agreed with any of the contestants' decisions. More often than not, he came away frustrated when he watched these singles fumble budding relationships in favor of the near-mythical 'something better' they were convinced was out there. He couldn't understand why they prioritized sex with someone they didn't even know existed yet over someone right in front of them, that was more than enough. 

Shaking his head when he saw another shirtless, spray-tanned man with a head of permed curls on the top of his head pull a beautiful girl to the side for a "chat",  Harry directed his attention back to the strokes of the knife under his hand. His sushi bake would be out of the oven soon and he needed to get all of his fix-ins in order before the timer ran out. 

Just as he stowed away his slices of avocado and started on the edamame pods he planned on salting and marinating, the humming of the garage door rolling up rumbled through the house. A slight smile touched at his cheeks, already anticipating the clicking of heels he would no doubt hear before the door leading from the garage to the kitchen would be swung open with a huff. 

(Y/N) had been on a date tonight, and there was no way it had gone well if she was already home. Only an hour away didn't make for a particularly fun night. 

As expected, only moments after the garage had been closed and he heard the slam of her car door, (Y/N) trudged in from the extension with a tired expression on her face. 

"Hey, H," she sighed, already bending over to take her shoes off despite barely making it onto the tile of the kitchen floor.

"Hi, (Y/N)," he greeted, turning around with his avocado slices left behind, "Bad night?" 

He didn't have to see her face to know she was rolling her eyes. 

"The worst." She stood up to her full height—sans high heels, of course—with a flick of her hair. "I should've just stayed home with you. I wouldn't have been bored to near tears with you." 

For a second, Harry felt his heart sitting in his throat. Did she have any idea what it did to him when she talked like that—joked like that? Years into this friendship with no shortage of her sweetened comments, he doubted she did. He just hoped that she didn't notice his cheeks reddening and the way his hands suddenly didn't know what to do. 

"'M sorry," he murmured, "Was he nice at least?" 

(Y/N) shrugged, the silk straps of her top shifting over her smooth shoulders. "Nice enough—he just likes talking about himself, I think." 

Harry's lips thinned at her comment. He couldn't imagine being anything but the best listener for (Y/N); who wouldn't want to hear everything that was going on in her head and the piles of stories, however mundane, she could share? 

"Well, unless you're too tired, we could watch our show? Dinner will be ready soon if y'were still hungry." 

It was the way she seemingly inflated, light in her eyes with her hands brought to her chest all to match the bubbly smile on her lips, that had his heart springing in his chest. 

"You'd share your dinner with me?" 

You can have everything of mine, as long as you keep looking at me like that.

A mild smile curled his lips in hopes of concealing everything bubbling underneath his skin. "Of course. 'S a salmon sushi bake, if that sounds any good to you." 

"That sounds so good, H. You're the best, thank you." 

Her smile was dazzling when she turned it on him. Thank god he had set his knife down, or he would have lost a couple of fingers at this point. 

This time, he couldn't shake the smile that bloomed over his lips, however sheepish it was. "Of course—um, thank you." 

A peal of laughter left her lips as she traipsed out of the kitchen, heels in hand. "You're so sweet. I'm gonna change, but I'll be right back!" 

As if in a swirl of cherry blossoms and white lace, (Y/N) was gone. Along with her went the sparks that flooded his bloodstream and tremors in his fingers. 

God, he'd have thought knowing her since university days he would be used to her at this point. It was as if becoming roommates those couple of months ago did the opposite of acclimating him to her presence. He wasn't sure there was anything about her—the way she looked, the way she acted, the way she talked—that didn't hold even a bit of magic in his eyes. 

The sound of the oven timer going off brought Harry back to real life. Now that he was planning on sharing this dinner with (Y/N), he wanted to ensure everything was perfect. One of his favorite things about living with her was being able to take care of her through simple things like cooking dinner or making coffee in the morning. Every night she went out on a date or took a night off to go out for a girls night, he was there to get the rundown of her time away and feed her toast and water to lessen the blow of the morning hangover as much as he could. He was there for any and everything—even if he wasn't necessarily in the mood to hear about her feelings for another. He would rather be on her side even if she was on someone else's arm, than not be there at all. 

All while (Y/N) was readying herself for a night in with Harry, he was focusing on his knife strokes and mixing the different sauces to be drizzled over the bake. By the time she emerged with a set of pajamas on and her hair twisted out of her face, Harry had crafted the perfect dinner to be shared over an episode of their tropic reality dating show. 

He didn't wait for her before he was putting together her plate, dressed the way he knew she liked, sheets of nori off to the side along with a pair of chopsticks he taught her how to use years ago. 

"There's extra in the kitchen if y'want more," he murmured as he passed the plate to her hands, taking the spot on the couch at her side. 

"This looks so good, H," she beamed, looking at him with something he liked to think of as affection in her eyes, "Thank you again, really. You're already making my night so much better." 

"Good," he swallowed, dropping his eyes to the tip of her nose, "'M glad I could—um—make y'happy."

He could have cringed at the sound of his fumbling words, but that was only cut off when (Y/N) shot him a beaming smile and gave him a hug in the form of wrapping her arm around his own and resting her head on his shoulder for a lingering moment. 

"Wait! Wasn't he paired with Amber an episode ago?"

(Y/N)'s bubbled outrage was the perfect cover to the way his heart had landed in his throat. This way, he could concentrate on anything but himself and the reactions he was having over someone who was supposed to be just his friend.

"Yeah," Harry murmured, wrapping a bite of crispy rice and marinated salmon on a sheet of nori, "He pulled Lissa over for a chat at the start of this one." 

"Of course, he did," (Y/N) grumbled. 

While he would never wish anything but pure joy on her, Harry couldn't help the way his own happiness sprouted in his chest. He would never pass on a night like this.

—————

"Can I lay on you?" 

Harry blinked back to earth at the sound of (Y/N)'s voice over the familiar episode of a long ended reality show they'd already watched hundreds of times. Looking to her end of the couch, she was already slouched into the corner cushion, eyes heavy and hair tucked not a mess away from her face. 

He didn't think before he nodded his head, uncurling his legs to allow her space to lay her head. She murmured her gratitude in a sleepy voice as she stretched across the cushions to rest her head on his thighs. 

It was a familiar move, something that (Y/N) had done many times even prior to their roommate situation coming to fruition. She'd spilled to him more than once that she was a cuddly person—touchy-feely, was the way she put it—taking and loving all of the physical affection she was able to collect. Including from Harry, who always seemed to take the whole thing entirely too seriously. It was cute, she'd said, cute enough she couldn't help but to laugh. 

Tonight, she was already heavy-eyed and loose-limbed by the time she settled against his legs. Her hands were tucked under her cheek, a small barrier between his thigh and her cheek though he could still feel every ray of her warmth no matter what. 

He did his absolute best to stay relaxed despite the instinct to straighten his spine and tense his muscles at the affectionate way she laid over him. He wanted to be the best pillow he could be for her, and that wouldn't be possible if he resembled a wooden plank more than a fluffed case of feathers. 

Harry's win came in the form of a languid sigh that left her lips, (Y/N) practically going boneless against him. 

"You're the best, H," she murmured, just barely audible over the club music sounding from the television. "Thank you." 

Swallowing, he allowed his eyes to glaze over her form without her own watchful gaze on him. Hearing those words attached to that mouth from this gorgeous girl, was going to make him burst. 

"You're welcome," he whispered, urging his eyes to move on from the sliver of her midriff on display from the ruched hem of her top. 

As expected, a breathy laugh came from (Y/N). "You can touch me, you know," she said, twisting just enough to look up at him through flared lashes, "You don't have to keep your hands up like that." 

He hadn't even realized he froze with his limbs hovering over her, resting away as if there were a barrier holding him back. "Oh," he sounded, blood burning behind his cheeks, "Sorry." 

Could he be any more pathetic? Embarrassment surged through his veins. Was there any other way he could make it that much more obvious just how nervous (Y/N) made him? 

In a set of cautious movements, his hands floated back down to her form. He gently settled his palm on the cuff of her shoulder while the other rested near her head, where strands of hair brushed the stretch of his fingers. 

"It's okay," she said, the smile evident in her voice despite Harry not seeing the curl, "You're so silly, H." 

It was the way her voice trailed off, taking on a deeper octave than before, that showed him just how close she was to finding the other side of her eyelids. He instinctively began running his thumb along the ball of her shoulder, a circuit that had him skimming her soft skin with the sleeve of her top pushed out of the way. 

There was something about seeing her skin being dented by his touch, a touch that wasn't particularly strong or even rough at all. She wondered if she was able to feel the whorls of his print, the creasing of his knuckle. It was an innocent enough feeling, his hand upon her arm, but he felt his heart beginning to thump. His throat was thick enough he felt his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

This was another facet that only took on a life of its own, the casual intimacy that had been sparked between them now that they shared a home. Laying her head on his shoulder in a passing hug, resting her head on his lap, practically asking him to put his hands on her as she was lulled to sleep. Logically, he was sure this was supposed to get easier as it went, the more it happened the magic was supposed to lessen. But, that just didn't happen.

His heart still thumped heavily. His stomach tightened and pitted and warmed. His...  well, other parts of him appreciate the touching too, even if he resented focusing on those parts of himself.

It felt more than wrong to acknowledge his baser interests in her, not when she was such a kind and loving friend to him. If that boundary between them was meant to be crossed, there were plenty of times both during their university days and the years that followed, that gave perfect opportunities for that line to be wiped away and crossed in favor of something new. Instead, they were still just friends—best friends, even. 

You're not supposed to get hard over your best friend. Not when she was doing nothing but falling asleep in his lap. Not when she was relaxing in her own home in comfortable pajamas—even if they were comprised of a soft t-shirt and pair of shorts just a touch too small that rolled up at the hem, giving more and more skin for his eyes to feast upon. Without a bra, of course. A fact evident in the way her nipples would peak against the material. 

No, he was not supposed to be hard over that. Not to mention the glaring fact that she spent nearly every weekend on a date with someone or going out with the express purpose of having fun and meeting other people. 

There was also, of course, the most prominent issue: he's a virgin. Even if he somehow managed to see more than just a friendship in him, he would have no idea how to take care of her. (Y/N) was someone who had experienced enough physical affection that she no doubt knew what she enjoyed and what she didn't; there was little to no appeal to teaching the one you're in bed with how to do the most basic of acts.

So he would keep his distance, even if the rest of his body refused to get on the same page. 

"Are you okay?" 

(Y/N)'s mumbled voice shook Harry from his thoughts. Blinking back to the real world, she was tipping her head up to look at him with sleepy eyes. 

"Hm?" he hummed, aware of the way his hand had gone still on her arm and his bones had grown stiff. 

"Do you want me to move or something?" she murmured, "So you can get comfortable? Sorry if I made your leg fall asleep." 

Harry's skin warmed to a flushing red. Of course, he would grow restless when she was on his mind. Taking stock of his body, at least he knew he wasn't that hard; any longer in his mind and he may have had a problem. 

"'S alright, 'm alright," he rushed out, "Jus' think 'm getting tired. Sorry." 

She smiled up at him, her hair haloing around her head in his lap. "It's okay," she laughed, "Do you want to go to bed? We can keep watching tomorrow instead." 

That was what he needed at the moment: distance. Some peace and quiet and a moment to get his head on straight. "Let's go to bed," he affirmed, mimicking her soft smile. 

Her movements were lethargic as she moved off of his lap. A curling stretch had her raising her arms above her head, the hem of her top lifting just enough to show a sliver of skin above the waistline of her shorts. Harry quickly retracted his eyes, settling his gaze to his feet instead. 

Turning to him, with eyes slightly hooded and limbs languid, (Y/N) gave him a smile. "Goodnight, H," she mumbled, "Thanks for making my night better."

Collecting him in her arms, Harry didn't have to think before he was reciprocating her hug. The scent of her perfume twisted around him, stray hairs tickling the tip of his nose. Her words echoed in his head. 

He made her night. She made his life. 

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he crooned, melting into her hug for just a moment longer before unwrapping himself from her hold. "'M happy I could help." 

Her smile was sweet as she turned on her socked feet towards her bedroom. "See you in the morning." 

He watched as she pushed open her bedroom door, her eyes glanced over her shoulder at him. Her pretty, pretty eyes. 

"See you in the morning." 

With that, the night ended as she closed her bedroom door behind her. 

Though she stayed just where she was on Harry's mind. 

—————

Harry wiped his hands clean now that the sink was cleared of all dirty dishes. The clock on the stove detailed the time as eleven thirty-two, a half an hour longer than he meant to stay up tonight. But, he supposed that's what happened when he decided to take a nap instead of cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. 

Quiet voices sounded through the living room from the show running on the television though Harry didn't pay it any mind as he swept through the space. (Y/N) was out for a girls night, leaving it Harry's turn to take care of the common spaces to ensure neither of them would have to tidy anything in the morning. Plus, he didn't think it would be very nice of him to leave her stumbling over his pile of shoes when she came home after a night of drinking and crashing on a friend's couch. 

He could still see traces of her scattered about the space in the form of stray glitters from her outfit, a pair of loose hair ties left on the table by the door, right next to her usual handbag ransacked with only a few random items left in it from the essentials she pulled from it to take out on the town with her. He hoped she was having a fun night—she deserved it. 

After cleaning up and turning off the television and lights, Harry retired to his bedroom upstairs. Turning on some music through his headphones, he started on his nighttime routine. It was definitely less extensive than the one he'd seen (Y/N) do night after night, but there were a few serums and techniques he'd stolen from her—including the lavender room spray he was addicted to misting through his room before laying his head down. It turned his dreams decadently sweet, he thought. (Or it could be because he always fell asleep with (Y/N) on his mind, the lavender scent reminding him of her every night without fail).

But, this time, when he laid his head on his fluffed pillow, delicate music filtering through the space from his bluetooth speaker, Harry wasn't ready to go to bed. He had known the evening nap he took wasn't the smartest idea, leaving his limbs restless and eyes wide open. As soon as he knew (Y/N) was home safe in the morning, Harry planned on running all of the errands he'd pushed off this weekend, and a late wakeup time wasn't going to be the most productive move. 

There were only so many things he could think of doing to tire himself out. Scrolling on his phone was a no-go considering how he knew the blue-light would only urge him to stay awake, his book was too riveting to be a useful bedtime story, and going for a run this late wasn't the best option. He just needed to tire himself out. 

Fitting his bottom lip between his teeth, Harry figured there was another option. 

He wasn't quite in the mood at the moment, he could put himself there he figured. He doubted it would take much work, really. 

As if this were a laborious task, Harry kicked his comforter from his hips with a sigh. He reached for his phone on instinct, opening up a familiar application to help color his imagination. Without much ceremony, he pushed his sweats down just enough to fit his hand down his underwear. He would do this quickly, he decided; fast and hard, to put him to sleep sooner rather than later. 

It didn't take long to feel himself harden in his grasp, photos and videos of various couples wrapped around one another and those in solo situations fueling his head. His breathing grew heavy in his chest, mouth falling open as a particularly titillating video of a woman with her hands between her legs filled his screen. 

With the audio still playing, Harry's head fell back against the pillows. His eyes fell closed, a sigh leaving his lips. Pulling his hand from his length, he brought the appendage to his mouth before spitting against his palm. With his hand now slick, the wet pumps of his fist along his cock now filled the air. His toes curled in his sheets, free hand tightly gripping his phone. 

While it wasn't something he wanted to do, it was terribly easy to let his mind wander to the pretty girl that had left him home alone tonight. The fit of her dress had been hard enough to process when he was clear minded, now that was a nearly impossible task. 

The dress was new, a silky piece with embroidered flowers and thick straps cuffing her shoulders. It was tight along the bodice, cupping her breasts and curve of her waist before flaring out along her hips. The hem cut off at the mid of her thigh, leaving the length of her legs on display down to the comfortable shoes she chose for the night. (The high heels from the weekend prior had been shoved to the back of her closet for the time being, the blisters on her feet enough to have her avoiding them at the moment). 

It was a terrible, horrible, repulsive thought to have about his roommate, but Harry knew that all it would have taken was a bend of her hips and he would have seen the curve of her bottom. If he had been bold enough to look, he was sure he would have caught a glance down the bodice of her dress when she came to him to say goodbye for the night. 

His cock twitched at the reminder of her body pressed against him when she hugged him goodbye. If he was a different man and they were in a different situation, he would have grabbed her hips and held her close. He would have found the line of her panties through her dress, felt the curve of her bottom over the silk. 

He liked to imagine she would hold him back, that she would lean into the angles and muscles of his body. He could see her tipping her head, leaving him the room to drop his lips over the curve of her neck and shelf of her collarbone. 

He liked to imagine her wanting him back. That he would be able to satisfy her and take her expertly, tying her to him as he pushed his hand between her legs—or, god, his head—and brought her to the edge. What he wouldn't give to know what the melody of her voice sounded like when steeped in pleasure.

Harry pumped his hand that much harder along his length, the put of his stomach growing tight like the thick bands of muscles on his thighs. His breathing was harsh, wheezing out against his clenched teeth. 

"Fuck," he panted, hips bucking against his hand when he thought of what could have happened had he pushed (Y/N)'s dress up to her middle. Precum dribbled from his tip, streaking down to his shaft and mixing with the slick of his spit. 

He was going to cum, he could feel it. His muscles were bunched tight, eyes screwed shut with his own personal pornography projected against his eyelids. 

"Harry, are you awa—Oh! Oh my god, bye!" 

In a second, Harry snapped from the throes of pleasure just to see the tail-end of (Y/N)'s silken dress flashing out of his doorway. Behind her, his door slammed shut, cutting her words in half. 

She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be spending the night at Rue's house. What was she doing here? 

Oh, god—fuck—she's home. (Y/N) came home and saw him jerking himself off to the thought of her. Shit, fuck, shit.

His movements were fumbling and disjointed as he pulled his pants back up and attempted to wipe his hand of the evidence against a dirty t-shirt that should have been in his hamper. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was he thinking? He was so lost in his head, he didn't even hear the door open? Didn't hear her footsteps stomping up the stairs?

Was he supposed to talk to her? Or were they supposed to avoid each other until someone inevitably broke the lease and they never spoke to one another ever again? 

The latter option hurt his chest, but the former cast his body in a sweat. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, eyes trained on the floor beneath his feet. 

Why couldn't he have just gone to sleep? Why did he have to take that nap and leave him thinking he needed to tire himself out? Why did this have to happen?

Did she know he was thinking of her? He wasn't entirely mindful of his words, had he let out a call of her name? How long had she been home before she barged in?

Harry hung his head, shaking his head as he attempted to spool himself back in. If not for the fact that he was concerned about the fact she'd made her way home instead of staying with her friends, he's sure he would have spent the entire night hiding in his home. But, unfortunately, his heart still beat for her and he needed to know that she was okay, at the very least. 

Summoning the courage, Harry stood from his seat at the edge of her bed, his hands shaking before curling into fists. They were best friends—she'd seen him with his head hung over the toilet with chunks being hurled from his mouth, with greasy limp hair until he figured out the right products for his strands, the puffy-eyed, snot-nosed sobs he let out when he failed his first mid-term their entry year of university. There were few more embarrassing situations to be found in.

He was telling himself that, anyway. 

Steeling himself, Harry moved to push open his door and seek out (Y/N) only to be stopped in his tracks when he ran right into her. 

"Harry!" she bubbled, wobbling in her spot as she reached out to grab his arms. She steadied herself with the grip. "Are you okay? Sorry, I didn't know you were there." 

It was then that he noticed the slur to her words. Her eyes, ever pretty and with only remnants of mascara remaining, were glassy. More than being startled as she ran into him, she had reached for him to keep her steady on her feet. She smelled of perfume, a dark bar's worth of smoke and cologne, and the sting of alcohol. 

"'M alright," he mumbled, reaching for her arm across his chest as he scrutinized "Are you?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, blinking up at him, "Are you?" 

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. She almost made it easy for him to forget what had happened just moments earlier. "'M alright," he repeated, "I didn't know y'were coming home tonight." 

"Oh yeah. I was supposed to," she sighed as if there was a length of story behind her words, "But, Rue got busy, so Kim said I could stay at hers, but honestly I just wanted to come back to you. I felt bad leaving you to have dinner by yourself, and I missed you so I just had her boyfriend drop me off here." 

God, had his blunder even happened? Hearing her say I missed you so flippantly all while clutching his arms and blinking right up at him was enough to bring him to his knees. She wasn't acting at all like she'd just walked in on his private moment. 

"Oh," he sounded, finding his words, "I hope I didn't make y'feel like y'needed to come back." 

She shook her head before he even finished talking. "No, no, no. I wanted to come home—I wanted to be with you. I wish you'd come out with us sometime, you'd have so much fun." 

While Harry was reeling over her words, the sentiments she was sharing so freely, (Y/N) traipsed past him. The ghost of her grip on his arms stuck around in the moments after she left him behind to approach his bed. He turned to face her with his lips rolled between his teeth in an effort to keep anything embarrassing from spilling off his tongue, only to see her slipping off her shoes. 

She left them in an unceremonious pile by his bed when she caught him looking. "What?" 

"What—um—what are you doing?" He hoped he didn't sound as rude as he did in his head. Truly, he didn't know what she was doing, beginning to shed the night while in his room.

Unabashedly, she looked up at him with a flutter of her lashes. "Can I stay here with you? Like a sleepover?" 

His heart stopped in his chest only to leap up to the base of his throat. "A sleepover?" 

"Yeah," she sighed, pulling at the hem of her dress, "Is that okay?" 

Logically, with how intoxicated she was, it was the safer option to keep her with him tonight. In case anything were to happen, of course. 

(There was everything else bubbling in his stomach, too. All the bubbles popping with whispers urging him on to keep her just where she was amongst all of his things, where he can take care of her.)

"Y'can stay," he murmured, offering a soft smile as he gazed at her. "Do y'want me to grab some clothes for you?" 

"Sure," she chirped, already blindly dealing with her hair, "Thank you, Harry." 

He gave her another smile before he left towards her bedroom a floor below. Somehow, within the confines of his home, fresh air entered his lungs and cleared his middled head. Being around her right now was making Harry feel just as drunk as she actually was. 

Maybe she hadn't seen what he was doing when she walked in? While he couldn't imagine he wasn't being completely obvious with his hand at his groin and head thrown back, she may have been too drunk to realize what he was doing. Otherwise, Harry just couldn't fathom how he was being so normal afterwards—asking if she could have a sleepover in his room, even. 

Pulling out a set of pajamas from the stack of laundry on the end of her bed, Harry tried not to dwell as he started back up the stairs to his bedroom. If she didn't want to talk about it, neither would he. (If he had any luck on his side, she might not even remember what she may or may not have seen. The memory might be one of the few that went fuzzy for her). 

Heading back into his bedroom, (Y/N) was sat crossed legged on his bed, eyes decidedly much heavier than when he had left her. Her hair was now tied up and out of the way of her face, shoes and socks in a messy pile on his floor. She perked up when he entered, eyes brightening though still glassy and tired. 

"You're back! You were gone for so long, I was scared you forgot I was home." 

Harry could only laugh at her declaration. How could he ever forget about her, let alone when she was asking to spend the night in his bed? 

"Couldn't forget about you," he admitted, his smile soft as he dropped his eyes from hers, "I hope these are alright to sleep in." 

He passed off the sleep clothes he picked for her, watching as she unfurled the pieces without even looking at them. "They're perfect, H. Thank you so much." 

Standing up from her spot on his bed, she didn't hesitate before wrapping him in a hug. Harry stood motionless for a brief moment, attempting to process the affection. All while clad in the tiny dress he had just been fantasizing about barely twenty minutes prior, the full of her soft body was pressed against his. 

Would he ever not react like a teenager with a crush when it came to her? How much longer would he feel with the racing heart and sweaty palms until his instincts caught up with the reality of her disinterest in him in that way?

Reciprocating her hold, Harry hugged (Y/N) to his chest. She all but melted into him, the effect of the alcohol in her system weighing her down (though he would like to imagine it was because she liked holding him as much as he did her). He was sure she could feel the rapid beat of his heart under her cheek—hopefully a distraction from the touch of his unsure hands hovering across her back. 

"You're so warm," she mumbled against the material of his shirt, the words slurred and nearly unintelligible. "You should've come out with me tonight; I forgot my jacket but I would have at least had you." 

Harry's fingers tensed over her back. The pumps of his heart throbbed down to his fingertips, his lashes fluttering in a blink. She had to stop talking like that; he was already well into losing his mind over her, there was no need to keep piling it on. 

"Sorry," he breathed, the word feeling lame as it fell from his tongue. 

He made no move to recoil from her until she did, making the first move to unwrap her arms from around his middle. His eyes followed her as she focused then on trudging to his bathroom and dressing for the night. She tossed a noncommittal promise to be right back over her shoulder before disappearing behind his bathroom door. 

Left alone, Harry sat on the edge of his bed. He looked at the floor to where her mess of discarded accessories lay in a rumpled pile, a visible cue of her presence. 

She'd never asked to stay in his bedroom like this before. Even on other nights where she clamored home with alcohol in her blood, she'd never stumbled into his room with the intention of having a "sleepover" with him. 

But, of course, the one night she does, is when she walks in on him with his hand down his pants.

The reminder of the moment had a heavy sigh heaving his chest. He wished he was just as drunk as (Y/N), that way he had a chance of possibly forgetting the incident in the morning. Instead, he had a feeling he was going to be dwelling on it for at least another week, if not more. On the plus side, it didn't appear she had any intention of talking to him about it. 

In a clumsy string of movements, (Y/N) made her entrance back into his bedroom with a strong swing of the door. Her clothing was rumpled as she padded across the floor on bare feet. She only barely acknowledged him before she threw herself onto his bed. 

Harry let out a breathy laugh. "Do y'want anything to drink or eat before y'fall asleep?" 

"No," she moaned, wriggling her way into his bedding. "Tired." 

"Do y'need to take off your makeup?" he pressed, standing to help her adjust the layers of sheets and comforter over her form.

"I already did," she countered, tugging the bedding up to her chin as she gazed up at him. Truthfully, he couldn't tell if she really did remove her makeup given the shadows still around her eyes, but if that's the story she was going with, he wasn't arguing. 

"Alright," he sighed, knotting his hands together as he stood beside his bed as if it wasn't his own, "Y'really want to have a sleepover tonight?" 

(Y/N) didn't even blink before she was nodding her head. "Yeah. Your bed is bigger than mine." 

Harry hummed, now seeing the root of her new fascination with spending the night with him. "And y'want me to stay with you?" he asked, wanting to ensure they were both on the same page. 

"Duh," she laughed, turning until she was comfortable with her head on the pillow he'd just been laying against. "Lay down, we're supposed to talk before we fall asleep like a real sleepover." 

While he found humor in the whole situation, his hands still held a slight tremor as he turned down his side—his side—of the bed. 

Was this how he was supposed to do this? How did one share a bed? Other than true sleepovers as a kid, where he and friends would squeeze into beds too small after staying up way too late, there was never a time he'd shared a bed with another. Especially not so with someone he held... extra feelings for. Feelings that he hadn't quite shaken if the way his briefs were just a touch tighter than they should be was anything to go by. 

Working on autopilot, Harry slid into bed. He could feel the dip in the mattress from (Y/N)'s body, a certain warmth spreading across his sheets he'd never experienced before. The scent of her night still clung to her, though now the fragrance of fresh sheets and Harry's own cologne swirled between them. Sleepy blinks were offered to him as he stiffly laid among his bedding, (Y/N)'s tired eyes trained on him.

He swallowed, feeling the weight of her attention on him. "What are y'th—" 

His line of questioning was cut off when (Y/N) sloppily rolled towards him, lying flush against the line of his body. She molded herself to him with a sigh, her head snuggled into the cove underneath his chin. 

"What did you do tonight?" were her mumbled words, slurred and fuzzy against his neck. 

Harry, stunned for the moment, laid still. Those moments with her head laying on his lap or a press of their shoulders together could do nothing to prepare him for this. (Y/N)'s slight shuffle against him was enough to knock him back to earth, his limbs carefully laying around her in a delicate hold. 

"Um, what?" Harry asked, mind having been wiped of the last handful of minutes. 

"What did you do while I was gone?" 

"Oh," he sounded, aware of the way his arm fell across the curve of her waist and smooth planes of her back he could feel through her top, "Nothing really; jus' took a nap and cleaned the kitchen. Nothing exciting—not like you, it sounds like." 

(Y/N) hummed from her hiding place in his neck. "Nothing exciting at all?" she sang, a teasing lilt to her drunken voice. 

Harry swallowed. She wasn't hinting at anything in particular, right? 

"I mean, I started a new book before I took m'nap," he hedged, eyes stuck on the concert poster he had pasted to his wall. "But that's really it." 

She shifted in his hold, pulling out of his arms just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were still swimming and glossy, but she didn't shy away from his gaze. There was a small tick at the corner of her lips.

"Are we not going to talk about it? Because we don't have to, I just want to know." 

His muscles wound tight as he listened to her. She kept her voice decidedly quiet, as if there was anyone else around that could overhear. 

Were they going to talk about it? That wasn't really a decision Harry wanted to make, but he couldn't turn away the option now that it was served up to him. 

"Um," he fumbled, his mouth lagging behind his racing mind, "I—Uh—I... 'M sorry." 

Canting her head, (Y/N) blinked at him. "Sorry?" 

His throat bobbed, tongue suddenly too thick in his mouth. "'M sorry, I... I didn't know y'were coming home, I wouldn't have... you know. I didn't mean for you to see or... hear." 

Please god, he hoped she hadn't heard a thing—that he said or thought. 

(Y/N)'s features cracked into a smile when she finally processed what he'd said. It only took a moment for that smile to bloom into a peal of laughter. 

"Harry, it's not that serious," she got out in-between giggles, "You didn't do anything wrong—it's not like I don't think you do that kind of stuff. I just didn't know if we were going to ignore that I walked in or if we were going to laugh about it. You're not supposed to be sorry for anything; I should have knocked, anyway." 

Harry's mouth went dry. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction this was. Was this only because of the vodka in her system? Or was she really this comfortable with the events of the evening? If it were the other way around, Harry didn't think he would be able to speak let alone laugh at the situation for at least a whole week. 

(Though that could be entirely attributed to the fact that he had that thorny crush on her stuck to the chambers of his heart). 

The lump in his throat cracked and allowed a breathy laugh to come through after a heartbeat. Maybe she was right, it wasn't that serious. It's not like she could have known he was thinking about her. They were both adults, people who were more than able and accustomed to pleasuring their bodies—there was no reason to be weird about it if she wasn't going to be. 

"Jus', should have locked m'door at least," he laughed, joining her as he sagged into the mattress. 

"Yeah," she pressed, settling against him once more now that the seal was broken between them, "I always lock my door, you're too brave." 

He hoped she didn't notice the way his hands pulsed when she so casually brought up her own moments in her bedroom. He wasn't strong enough to broach that subject just yet. 

"Maybe," he agreed, "Sorry, anyway. Not the nicest thing to come home to, that's for sure." 

"I mean," (Y/N) started, her voice breathy as she sunk into his arms, "It wasn't that bad. More embarrassing for you than anything else, I bet." 

The laughter from his chest died down then. His brain caught on her words. "Not that bad?" he parroted, unsure of what or why he was even asking. 

"I mean, you're cute, H. You know that," she said oh-so casually. "I feel bad I walked in and scared you, but I can't act like it was the absolute worst moment of my life or something." She spoke with amusement, a touch of laughter carrying out her words as if this was all so easy. 

"Oh," Harry started, swallowing around his dry throat, "Y'think 'm cute?" 

She rolled into him, tucking herself against him once more. Harry didn't doubt that she was well acquainted with the pounding of his pulse at this point. "Of course I do, you know that. You're, like, the cutest guy I know. I mean," she sighed, voice slurring even more with the dredges of sleep tugging at her words, "you didn't have to stop earlier, if you didn't want to. I could've helped." 

Harry's body stopped working in that moment. Time was moving too fast around him while he was seemingly stuck in that moment. 

What? Is that a normal thing to say? Is this what happens when you share a bed with someone, even if they were only a friend?

His palms grew clammy. "What do you mean?" 

"You know," she yawned, "Just... I know you don't go on dates or bring anyone home or anything, so I could help you if you ever wanted. You're too cute to be by yourself, H." 

What the fuck? What was even happening at the moment? Was he delusional? Or dreaming so intensely he couldn't be sure if it was real or not? But he swore, crossing his heart and all, that this was real and completely happening all while (Y/N) was tucked in his arms with her mouth hovering by his throat. 

And she was offering to jerk him off sometime. Because he was too cute to do it by himself. 

What the fuck? 

"(Y/N)?" 

Harry received no answer. Her chest pressed against his and receded in even paces, puffs of air fanning across the slope of his neck. 

Staring once more at the poster on his wall, Harry didn't feel a single sleepy bone in his body. If he had thought he was restless before, there was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. 

—————

Exhaustion shackled his limbs as Harry moved through the kitchen. Just as he figured, there wasn't more than an hour of sleep in his system, his mind running too fast to allow him any kind of relaxation. Not when there was the extra presence in his bed. 

By the time the sun cracked through his curtains and (Y/N) had rolled to show her back to him, Harry forced himself out of bed. He doubted she was going to have an easy wakeup after the night she'd had, and he was already in shambles, making breakfast essential for the both of them to get through the morning hours. 

That didn't make it any easier, though. A large part of him wanted to stay tucked amongst his sheets, cozy and warm with the best view he could imagine available just before him. Despite that urge, a smaller part of him was still drenched in the complication that came with the slurred words she offered just before dozing off. 

First of all, he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be embarrassed that she noticed he'd never really dated before and definitely never brought home anyone. It was bad enough that he was well aware of his lack of dating and sex life, he wasn't comforted at the idea of (Y/N) taking note. Second, what did it even mean to be too cute to be by himself? It brought a flush to his cheeks, the implication. But, was it really a compliment to be cute? He'd never heard (Y/N) describe any of the people she was interested in as cute; they were always pretty, and glowing, and handsome, and—of course—hot as fuck. 

Harry didn't want to know where he placed on her scale of attractiveness. 

Then, lest he forget, there was the whole offer of her taking care of him. If he ever wanted, of course. 

Even just the memory of her words was enough to have his limbs going robotic as he moved through the kitchen. He was going to burn his croissant if he wasn't careful. It was enough to even overshadow the moment she had walked in on him, it was that monumental to him.

But, Harry had a feeling that she wasn't going to remember much of the night before, let alone a throwaway comment right before falling asleep. And that was going to be better for the both of them.

Once he had twin plates of scrambled eggs with cheese, buttery croissants, and cut up fruit, he was daring to step back up the stairs to his bedroom. He felt like an intruder, knowing (Y/N) was still asleep, wrapped up in his bedding. Even if it was to wake her for breakfast, he felt reluctant to pull her from much needed rest.

Though, as soon as he pushed open the door, Harry realized he wasn't going to have to worry about waking her up. Not when she was already looking at him, blinking the sleep out of her eyes with the creases of his pillow etched in her cheek.

"Harry," she sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at her eye, "You're awake." 

"You're awake," he parroted, "I didn't think I'd see y'until this afternoon." 

She nodded absently, missing the amusement in his voice. "Me neither. Where did you go? I thought you'd left me here." 

It was the pout on her face and the downward lilting of her voice that had him taking a step towards his bed. "'M sorry," he murmured, feeling guilt pinch at his heart, "I was jus' downstairs making dinner. I was about to come get you and see if y'were hungry." 

"Breakfast?" she chirped, waking up that much more at the offer of food. 

"Eggs and those croissants," he confirmed, words coming out in a song as he tempted her with the offer. 

"That sounds so good, thank you," she muttered, voice genuinely warm as her gaze wrapped around him from across the room, "Will you come lay with me for a few more minutes, though? I don't want to get up yet." 

"I can bring your plate up here, if y'want," Harry offered, though they both saw him taking those quiet steps towards her.

(Y/N) simply shook her head. "Just you." 

Those two syllables launched him back to the night prior, where she couldn't continue her night without telling him just how much she had wanted only him through her night of bar hopping. Just him—the one on her mind, supposedly. He was too cute to be by himself.

Harry didn't respond before he was slipping into bed beside her, taking up the dented spot where his body had laid stiffly the night before. She took her spot against his form wordlessly, as if it were a part of the norm to snuggle up to him in the morning. 

"Thank you for letting me sleep in here last night," (Y/N) murmured, her chest expanding against his as she peered up at him through her lashes, "I know I was kind of a mess."

"No, no," he shook his head, "Y'were jus' fine. 'M happy y'came home instead of staying somewhere y'didn't want to." 

A small peal of laughter fanned across his skin. "I think everyone was getting annoyed anyway," she started, "I kept telling them that I shouldn't have left you home alone, so I think they were ready for me to just go back." 

Harry could feel his skin going warm. With his eyes closed, he attempted to keep his breathing from hitching. She was going to kill him one of these days. 

"Y'dont' have to worry about me when y'go out, (Y/N)," he insisted, voice as quiet as the grazing of his hands across her back. "'M fine, you go have fun." 

If not for the fact he was hyper aware of her body and just how close she was, he doubted he would have noticed the small shift she made across the sheets to land further in his arms. 

"You're just," she sighed, pausing between her words, "I don't want you to feel left behind or lonely. You're a good friend and you deserve to have fun and feel good." 

Her proposition that he had pushed to the back of his mind was suddenly roped right to the front. Of course, there was the damper of being such a good friend to her that she felt this way, but there was the rest of the statement to contend with first. 

"I—um—'M fine, (Y/N). Really. 'M actually pretty good company, if y'ask me." He had hoped she would join him when he let out a breathy laugh, but he made the only sound in the room. 

The pause lasted just long enough Harry wondered if (Y/N) had fallen asleep again before he heard her voice: 

"Like last night?" His heart all but stopped in his chest. For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, time seemed to stand still while everything in his body went into overdrive. 

She wasn't supposed to remember that. She was supposed to be too plastered to remember anything, let alone the one moment with her he's ever regretted. What was he supposed to say to her? Was she teasing him, was he disgusted now that she was sober enough to have an opinion, was this one big joke that he was going to hav—

"(Y/N), I—" He started unraveling himself from her before she popped up with wide eyes. 

"No, no, I'm sorry," she rushed out, "That wasn't—I'm not trying to—I'm not making fun of you or, I don't know. I just mean..." She looked at him with uncertain crinkles by her eyes, her lips pursed as if she wanted to speak but had to hold back. 

"'M fine," he started again, sitting up amongst the rumpled bedding, "'M sorry if I ma—" 

"Do you remember what I said last night?" 

As soon as the question tumbled from her lips, Harry swore the room became five degrees hotter. 

"Do you remember?" he attempted to joke, though neither of them cracked a smile. 

She gave a nod. "About... you know. I could... help, if you wanted. So you're not by yourself." 

His mouth ran dry. There was much more power to the offer in the light of the morning with (Y/N)'s clear eyes directed to him. There was no slur of alcohol to her voice or liquid to her bones. 

She was entirely serious. So serious, she was asking him again. 

"You don't have to do that, (Y/N)," he murmured, dropping his gaze from hers. This was too much, to have to decline her—decline her pity offer after walking in on him with his hand down his pants the night before. "Really, 'm alright. I have no problem being... by myself." 

(Y/N) looked away with her lips rolled between her teeth. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. You deserve someone to look after you the way you look after me." 

"I don't think I look after you quite like that, though," he tired again, his light-hearted tone attempting to ease the tension. (Y/N) didn't grab the lifeline. 

"At least let me set you up with someone then?" (Y/N) offered this time, "I want you to meet someone you care about, then. At the very least, then we could double date." 

"I really... I don't want anyone. I'm okay." Anyone, but her was the right thing to say, but that wasn't something he was willing to admit at the moment. 

"There's this girl I know, though," she chattered off, suddenly coming to life, "You would really get along with her, H. She's super pretty, she's tall, and I don't think she likes Italian food, but we could work on—"

 "'M really okay, ser—" 

"No, H, she always loves reading—it's actually kind of funny how much she talks about all these books and—" 

Harry felt his stomach beginning to twist and turn. She could be the nicest woman in the world, this friend of hers. But there were many reasons why he was never going to take (Y/N) up on this offer. 

Starting with the fact that the one girl he had his eye on was right in front of him, and ending with the glaring truth of his virginity. He doubted (Y/N) or any of her friends like her were going to be very invested in that.

"And, not to get gross, but she's super hot. Like her body, H, you have to see her—"

"I'm a virgin." 

A flush ran up his skin, blooming his veins and reddening his skin. Why did he say that? Why did he share that? Is he suddenly an idiot? Was he now lacking a verbal filter and had to say everything that came to mind?

At the very least, (Y/N) finally stopped. The many wonderful and hot attributes of her friend had stopped. There was only a blanket of silence floating between them now. 

His heartbeat sounded in his ears before (Y/N) had any kind of reaction

"Oh," was all that fell from her lips. 

Peeking through his lashes, he was waiting for her to recoil. To look at him a little funny—the way the few that had learned that information looked at him. That moment of questioning how someone could have avoided sex (as if that was what he was up to), then wondering if there was something wrong with him, if there was something hiding under his skin that he was unwilling to share. Most people tried to recover as quickly as they could, brightening and telling him that it was alright. Plenty of people were waiting until marriage, they couldn't blame him of course! 

It was an uncomfortable conversation, one Harry let the other party lead. He never really felt like getting into the why's and the moments that he decided to turn down a potential warm bed. Or why it wasn't within his capabilities to have sex outside of a relationship with trust in the mix, or the fact that he'd never been in a relationship that met those qualifications. 

But, (Y/N) didn't do that. She looked at him with appraising eyes, not in search of something wrong. She looked at him like there was so much to be seen, to the point she couldn't believe it just because he was... him. 

"I didn't know that," she muttered, canting her head, "I always just kind of figured that you weren't." Her eyes widened then. "Wait, I've said so many things, why did you never correct me?"

Harry shrugged, the sheets rustling around him. "I know 's not... normal, so I jus' don't really talk about it. 'S easier if I jus' let y'assume." 

Her expression fell a little then. "I hope I never made you feel like you couldn't tell me," her eyes were soft as she gazed at him, "You know it didn't change anything to me, right?" 

A small smile cracked his lips. "Thanks."

She relaxed a touch then, her muscles untensing from the tension he injected with his admission. "Is it weird to ask you why? Like, why you've waited and everything?" 

"I wouldn't really say I've waited," he clarified, "I jus'... I've met people I wanted to be with and all of that, and I've had opportunities but I didn't take them." He paused, rolling his lips between his teeth; this was one of the harder bits to admit. It sounded silly even to his own ears, even if it was something he believed in. "I've never had anyone I trusted enough to share that... experience with. So I've just never." 

(Y/N) listened intently, eyes clear with a cant to her head. God, even with the harsh beating of his heart as he exhumed his secrets, she really was the absolute prettiest. 

"I get it," she muttered, "It's easier to wait than to spend the rest of your life regretting it." 

"Exactly," he exaggeratedly murmured, "'S like y'live in m'head, (Y/N)." 

His attempt at joking was enough to pull a small laugh from her chest. (Y/N) relaxed further into his bed, carving a dent into his mattress just at his side. Finally, that comfortable silence he lived in with her returned. 

He couldn't believe he'd been so flighty about this whole thing. This wasn't one of the things he needed to be nervous about, not compared to what she had walked into last night. And even that incident was less earth shattering than he made it out to be. 

(Y/N)'s tone was much less trepidatious when she spoke again, a decided difference than even a moment before. "Have you done anything else, though? Or have you waited for the whole thing?" 

"Haven't done anything," he responded, with a heaving sigh, "'M waiting on the whole experience I guess." 

"With someone you trust." 

A small smile bloomed over his features. "With someone I trust." 

A beat of silence passed between them. (Y/N) fiddled with the comforter tangled at her waist. "Can I ask you one more thing?" 

Harry hummed an acknowledgement. He should have agreed to get back into bed with her, he was beginning to consider leaving breakfast for this afternoon in favor of a quick nap. 

"Do you trust me?" 

It was the way she said it less than the actual words she said that had a pang echoing through Harry's chest. Of course, he trusted her; she was his best friend. Though, Harry doubted that was what she was trying to get at.

He gave a small confirmation in the form of a quiet yes. 

(Y/N) twisted in the sheets, looking up at him with clear eyes. Her lips glistened, the tip of her tongue having grazed over the pillows. "I know you said you're waiting and everything, but if you wanted to... change that, and you trust me...we could do whatever you wanted." 

As startling as the proposition was last night, this one inspired a twist in his stomach. This wasn't a drunken idea gone rogue. She was looking at him with a steady gaze and lips worried between her teeth. She was serious. She wanted to "do whatever" he wanted. With him. 

Despite there being no visible traces of pity on (Y/N)'s face, he truly could barely fathom the idea of her offering herself up to him so willingly. Especially after learning that there would be little he could offer in return—his skills were more than lacking. 

"(Y/N), you don't want to do that," he started, "'M alright, I d—" 

"I do," she cut him off, the words tumbling from her mouth without thought, "I do want to, I mean. You know I care about you right, Harry?" 

His mouth ran dry. "I know." 

A small smile touched her mouth. "You don't have to, obviously. I just wanted you to know that if you ever don't want to wait or kind of just want to get the pressure out of the way, I'm here."

 Was Harry going to explode? Was he going to flick through the room like a balloon deflating of helium? Or was his stomach going to swallow him whole and leave behind only the sticky tar of his feelings? 

And she was being so casual about it. She offered it as if there was no gravity to her words. 

"You don't have to say anything, though. Just remember that," she said with a soft smile, sitting up in bed with eyes on the door, "You said break—" 

"I want to." 

As soon as the declaration choked out of his throat, Harry wanted to cringe. He wanted to retract every breath, every thought, every twist of his tongue against his teeth that brought him here. Sure, she was offering, but there was such a thing as being over eager.

(Y/N) paused, glancing back to him. A light graced the hue of her irises. 

"Really?" 

He didn't trust himself to say another word. Harry only nodded. 

"You don't want to wait, anymore?" she prodded, forgetting the cracked door and the food downstairs. 

Now wasn't the time to give her the full list of why this exact moment was a dream come true (just short of having her as his girlfriend and holding her hand as they went to the movies), but she had offered a few good points. 

"I mean," he started, swallowing as his eyes dropped to the tip of her nose in avoidance of her eyes, "I do trust you. If there's anyone I know I wouldn't regret sharing this with, 's you." 

"I suppose we are best friends," (Y/N) added, layering her voice with a smile, "But, you're sure?" 

"I am," he said without a moment of hesitation, "Maybe jus' not... everything? I think that might be a bit much for me." 

"Of course, of course," she rushed out, waving her hands as if to wipe the pressure out of the air, "We'll only do what you want." 

Maybe Harry was a bit too much of an open book, unable to truly hide whatever it was that was running through his head, but he couldn't help the way his eyes immediately dropped to her hands. 

Harry knew just how soft her hands were. He'd seen the hand creams she used every night, and felt the plush skin every time they grazed hands or she made the dangerous decision of just laying a hand on his arm every time he made her laugh just a little too much. There was even once, way back when they'd first started becoming friends, that she had him to compare hand sizes. Even now, he vividly remembered just how soft her palm was against his, the stretch of her fingers that didn't reach up to the tips of his own. It was a memory he held onto and one he couldn't get out of his head at that moment. 

He'd thought more than once what it would be like to have her hand on him instead of his own between the sheets. What the visual of her pretty manicured nails, digits of her fingers, the softness of her palm would look like fisted around his length. He didn't have to know to be certain he wouldn't last very long if he ever had the chance to find out. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the wide smile mold (Y/N)'s features. 

"Really?" she coyly asked, stretching out her fingers from the cover of her sleeves. 

"Hm?" he hummed, forcing his eyes back to her own. 

A peal of laughter fell from her lips as she crawled back to her spot at his side. "My hands. That's all you want?" 

His skin felt flush as he nodded, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth. "Only if you want." 

She hovered above him, the tips of her hair hanging around them like a curtain. She looked like a dream there, only slats of light working across her face. Shadows sliced over her cheekbones and the length of her lashes with the pretty color of her eyes gleaming in the sun and the curve of her lips highlighted. 

He must be dreaming, but he was never this anxious in his dreams. Especially not one so lovely. 

"No one's ever done that for you before?" she asked, taking up a spot on the mattress at his side with her eyes grazing over his features. 

"Never," he confirmed, feeling his stomach stir at the feel of the heat of her body at his side. 

God was this really about to happen? 

"You're okay with me being the first?" Her voice suddenly had dropped a few octaves, a murmur in the air between them. 

He didn't have to think before he nodded. "I want you to be the first." 

Her eyes were bright, sparkling in the slat of light shining through her hair. "Right now?"

"Right now." 

She looked entirely too gorgeous to be normal when she smiled at him. "Just show me what you like, then. I'm all yours." 

His stiffening cock jumped at her words. She needed to stop talking like that if she didn't want him to embarrass himself. 

With that, (Y/N) wiggled her hand under his own on his abdomen, amusement in her eyes. Harry felt his breathing hitch at the simple touch. Just as soft as he thought. 

In an effort to preserve some semblance of his sanity, he closed his eyes before wrapping the length of his fingers around her hand. It was a moment, a full heartbeat pounding through his ears, before he pulsed his hand around hers in an affectionate squeeze and traced her hand down his middle. 

He could feel the tense of his muscles under his shirt, his legs spreading just that much wider. The ghost of her touch was a stark reminder that he never finished the job last night. 

Amongst his rumpled bed sheets, Harry couldn't be sure that this was even real life. Not that he spent any specific amount of time picturing what this first time would be like, but he could admit that he never really thought it would be like this. Not in sweatpants that had a stain from the eggs he had scrambled only twenty minutes prior. Not with his hand being the guiding force down to the waist of his bottoms. Not with (Y/N).

His cock stirred when their joined hands reached the elastic band of his sweatpants. Despite not even feeling her bare skin on his, goosebumps were raised. Was he going to embarrass himself by finishing within seconds? Harry had a feeling that was going to be the scenario at hand. 

(Y/N) wiggled her hand out from under his, hooking her fingers in the waist under her own volition. "You're still alright? With all of this?" 

"Yeah," Harry breathed out, his voice a hair above a whisper in hopes of disguising the tremor. 

"Okay," she said, looking up at him for a brief moment with a reassuring smile, "If you don't want to anymore, though, just let me know. We'll have breakfast and pretend nothing happened." 

His heartbeat sped up at her declaration. He knew he could trust her—with his body, with his delicate feelings, with his life, even. 

Harry didn't move his eyes from her even when she directed her attention to her hand. He watched her as she pushed his sweatpants down, the band falling just far enough down to hit the end of his boxer-briefs. His mouth fell open as he attempted to gain any insight into what she might be thinking, this being the first time he'd ever been this exposed to anyone before. Even with the layer of his underwear on, he'd never been in front of anyone in an undergarment like this. 

(Y/N) didn't give much away, only the cautious pace of her movements indicated the gravity of this moment. She skated her palm over the jut of his hip, easing him into the feel of her touch; he doubted she missed the way his cock jumped. His body reacted readily to each of her touches: goosebumps on his skin, bunched muscles in his abdomen, lungs squeezing in his chest, and the bruising hold of his teeth over his bottom lip. 

His hip was only the first step before she continued her path. She grazed the top of his thigh, nails denting into his skin in gentle pressures. His breath caught when she touched the lump of his cock, enough so that his chest shuddered. She lingered there, going so far as to give a slight squeeze, only causing him to harden more in her grip.

"I'm going to put my hand underneath, okay?" (Y/N) shared, voice quiet before he felt the first touch of her fingertips. 

"Okay," he answered involuntarily, tongue thick in his mouth. He was so gone for her in the moment, it was hard to think straight.

Harry lifted his hips to help her pull down his briefs, leaving them bunched at the mid of his thighs. His cock bobbed free, flushed and ruddy already. He doubted any other person in the world would have gained a reaction like this one. 

This time, he caught (Y/N)'s first real reaction. Her eyes widened, grazing over the length of him as she pulled her bottom lip between his teeth. She laid her hand on his abdomen for a beat, absently curling her fingers in the hem of his shirt she'd only pushed up and out of the way.  

Suddenly, she seemingly shook herself out of her head, looking up at Harry with a blink of her eyes. 

"Is it alright if I move a little?" she murmured, "I want to get more comfortable, if that's okay." 

She asked as if he had the power to deny her of anything, especially something so inconsequential. 

As soon as Harry nodded, she shifted at his side. Kicking the comforter off of her legs, she rolled to lay on her side next to him. He instinctively wrapped an arm underneath her, his palm landing just between her shoulder blades. The cuddling felt a little more inconsequential now that she had a hand traveling down his form, even if the feel of her chest pressed against him was enough to have his blood pumping faster. 

Now that she was settled, (Y/N) resumed her ministrations with both of their eyes trained on the movement of her hand. Harry swore it was just the fact that she was looking at him at all that had the blurt of precum seeping from his head, a pearl glistening in the morning light. 

"Just—um—if I do something you like, tell me and I'll try to keep doing it," she spoke distractedly, a slight rasp to her voice he hadn't anticipated in his fantasies. 

His mumble of okay was lost as soon as he saw her bring her hand to her mouth. He watched on as she dragged her tongue across her palm, slicking the skin before wrapping her fist around his base. 

"Oh, fuck," he let out, barely audible over the heavy sigh that carried out the words. He fought to keep his eyes open, spying the way (Y/N)'s features curled into a smile with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. 

She did a precursory drag of her hand over his length, the pacing slow and aching. Harry could feel every crease and pillow of her palm. God, she was just as soft as he imagined. 

His chest shuddered as he watched her pretty nails sparkling in the light. The pink polish seemingly mimicked the flush of his head, glimmering and sparkling like the slick of her spit over his shaft. If that wasn't bad enough, seeing the fact that her fingers didn't even connect around the girth of him was going to kill him. Were her hands that small or was he bigger than he thought? 

As if hearing his thoughts, a mutter came from (Y/N), "You're so big, H. I had no idea." 

He wanted to say something (was it corny to say "thank you" to something like that?), instead only a rumbling groan came from his chest. The pillows under his head were the perfect cushions when he couldn't handle keeping it up anymore. He was already flushed and warm, muscles too tight for comfort, and stomach tightening into a burn. And she'd barely even started. 

Hearing his reaction was enough to spur her on, dragging her fist over and over his length. Periodically, she swiped her thumb over his crown, spreading the pearls of precum he let out. The slick passes of her hand rang out through his bedroom, competing with the puffs of his heavy breathing as the most erotic sound filtering through his bedroom. 

"Ti-Tighter," he choked out, his arm around her back holding her flush to his side. 

(Y/N) didn't respond, but he immediately felt the vice of her hand tighten that much more around his length. Another string of curses fell from his lips, his throat thick. 

"Is this good?" she asked, turning until she was looking up at him with wide eyes. Her pupils were dilated, darkening the hue of her irises. 

Harry wasn't able to think as he looked at her. She was his dream, the ultimate fantasy. Looking up at him with glossy eyes, her manicured hand squeezing around his cock. And for the first time, he noticed she was rubbing her thighs together as she took care of him. His free hand clutched the mess of his sheets; he wouldn't be surprised if he found holes in the fabric later. 

"So good," Harry breathed, the words broken on his tongue, "So, so good, (Y/N)." 

The smile she gave him was devastating.

Was she crazy? Was she trying to send him over the edge this quickly? He was starting to think so. 

"I was going to ask if you wanted it tighter, but I think we've found it," she teased, entirely too light-hearted for one of the most monumental moments of his life. 

"Y-Yeah," he answered, feeling delirious, "(Y/N), I-I'm close. 'M sorry." 

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, a pinch appearing between her brows, "This is about you, you don't have to be sorry. Cum whenever you want—as long as you feel good, I don't care." 

Her pace was unrelenting, the slap of her hand hitting his base mimicking the beat of his heart. 

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he muttered, voice strained, "Let me—I don't want to make a m-mess on you, I can grab—" 

She shushed him, shaking her head against his chest. "I can handle a little mess, H, it's okay. Stop thinking about me, this is about you." 

Stop thinking about me, as if that were ever an option for him. 

Still the sentiment stuck the same, especially her willingness to allow him to leave any kind of mark on her, including one so primitive. 

He spared a glance down at her. Her features were mostly hidden give the angle and the wisps of her hair in the way, but he could still see the flutter of her lashes as she watched herself getting him off, he could see the pinch of her nose and the gape of her lips. He could see her thighs squeezed tightly together, the shirts covering her modesty turning tight and especially short around her hips. 

God, this was (Y/N) on him. That was her pretty, soft hand on his length. That was her chest pressed to his ribs, only layers away from feeling the heavy beating of his heart. That was her wrapped up in the sheets holding his scent and so eagerly and happily fisting his cock. 

"Shit," he moaned, his voice rumbling and deep as he threw his head back, "(Y/N), 'm cumming, love." 

There was a void in the pit of his stomach that tightened and popped in that moment, unraveling him from the inside out. His balls tightened at his base just before the first rope off is cum spurted from his tip. The mess he'd worried about came to life then, white ribbons projecting as far up to the chest of his top, others dripping down his length and further wetting (Y/N)'s hand. 

Guileless moans echoed from his chest, filling the room as he came for the first time at the hand of another. His body urged him to close his eyes, the visuals before him being too much for his fragile psyche. But Harry fought the instinct. There was no way he was missing even a single frame of this; there was likely never going to be another time he had the privilege of laying with (Y/N) like this, he wasn't going to let anything get in the way. Including his eyelids. 

She didn't slow down as she helped him through the throes, her own breathing turning rough and off-kilter. Her toes curled in her socks, thighs pressed tightly together. 

Harry could have been up in the stratosphere for hours with the way he slumped against the bed exhausted by the time the final drop of his release slithered down his cock. (Y/N) slowed, though she kept going until the final aftershock left his spine and Harry had to pull her hand away before he burst into flames. 

His breathing came in heavy puffs, lips parted and swollen. He didn't need to see himself to know that his cheeks were cherry red with a nose to match, his curls pasted to his temples with sweat, and his eyes just a bit wild. 

Despite pushing her hand out of the way, (Y/N) didn't think before she laced their fingers together. Her touch was a bit sticky now, but there was no way Harry was going to complain. He kept his arm aprons her back tight, fingers denting the soft plane between her shoulder blades. 

He could have laid there for days, feeling the warmth of (Y/N)'s body and her soft hand in his. If not for the fact his cum had begun to dry and go cold. At the very least he needed to clean (Y/N) up—he doubted it was good bedroom etiquette to leave her to clean up after his mess. 

Forcing his eyes open, Harry blindly reached for the tissue box he kept on his bedside table (truthfully, it was for the hay fever he always seemed to have, but the sheets definitely had their convenient uses. Uses he would never admit to, of course). Reluctantly, he peeled (Y/N)'s hand out of his, wiping the streak of his cum marring her palm. 

A breathy giggle fell from her lips. 

"What?" he asked, his voice bubbled and cracked. 

"Nothing," she smiled, "You're just sweet." 

For some odd reason, he flushed harder than he should at something so mundane. 

"Thank you," he peeped, cleaning the stray strings that reached up to her wrist. 

As soon as (Y/N) was free from the traces of him, he took care of his own thighs and the streaks that hit his shirt. The pile of tissues he had to take to the trash made a little mountain on his bedside table by the time he had himself tucked away and sweatpants laying against his hips once more. 

"Um," he started, unsure of what to say after an experience like that. What even qualified as pillow talk, and how did one start it with someone that was just his roommate? "I'll be right back," he settled on, reaching for the mess of tissues, "'M going to cl—" 

"Harry." 

He didn't think before he looked at her. Her eyes were still full of dilated pupils with swollen lips, but the way she looked at him held more tenderness than he thought capable in a moment like this. 

"Stay with me for a second," she requested, her voice a soft coo. 

There wasn't a second thought to be had as he listened to her command. If he thought he was gone for her before, that was nothing compared to the endorphins coursing through him every time she looked at him in that moment. 

(Y/N) didn't wait before she was rolling to wrap him in a hug. It was a bit awkward, the way she had to stretch up to loop her arms around his neck and the way their legs tangled in the sheets. But it was more than worth it. 

Harry had always pictured himself to be the kind of guy that would want a cuddle after sex, but he never could have imagined just how vital this kind of contact would be after something so intense. Despite this being levels below the real act, Harry still clung to her. 

Every time his chest inflated with a whiff of her hair and sullied perfume, she deflated with a breath that fanned across his neck. Kicking free of the sheets, (Y/N) opted instead to curl her legs between his in a welcome tangle. Her warmth radiated through the material of her shirt, a soothing heat that brought him back down to earth. 

He didn't think before the words were being whispered into her hair: "Thank you." 

The smile on her face was audible when she spoke, "You're welcome, Harry." 

He couldn't help but squeeze her that much harder. "I'm sorry I can't offer anything in return," he admitted, a frown etching its way onto her lips, "I-I could try, I jus' don't think I'll be very good or—" 

She shushed him with a press of her lips to his cheek. It was an act that took his already fragile breathing out of pace once more. The tip of her nose grazed his skin, the plush of her lips hitting right where he knew his dimple to be when he smiled. 

"Stop talking," she laughed when she finally—regretfully—pulled away. "This was all about you, Harry. I'm just happy that you felt good, and trusted me enough to let me do this with you. That's all I need." 

He could only hug her harder. 

Harry would have laid there for hours, happily so, even when he could feel the strength returning to his muscles and the beat of his heart leveling out, but (Y/N) was the first to pull away. She pressed another soft kiss to his cheek before she untangled herself from him. 

Her eyes practically glimmered as she looked down at him. "You said there was breakfast downstairs, right?" 

That was enough to get a full laugh echoing from his chest, his lungs squeezing in the best way possible. 

He was never, ever going to be free of this crush on her. Not now. 

—————

ahhhhhhh thanl u sm for reading! so sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or anything please send them in!

[black--sun]

Shiro’s confidence that he’ll make that book happen brings a small smile to his lips. One he looks away to hide. He didn’t really expect to ever be making long term plans with Shiro again, but he nods with a slight motion. “Yeah. Okay. I will.” He snorts. “I can’t argue with that.” Shiro knows that's not what Ichigo was getting at, but fine. He can play that game. He shrugs. “Well, if it’s a fictional true story, I couldn’t say it’s about you. But enough people know you that they’d probably figure it out. You haven’t really kept a low profile. So if there’s any embarrassing stories you want me to omit, tell me now.” He takes a breath and looks away and adopts the most obnoxious, matter of fact tone he can find. “I’ll try to downplay how obsessed with me you are. And some of the cuddling and hand holding. I’d hate for you to lose face with the criminal population.” Until he says it, it hasn’t really dawned on him how much he’s missed the cuddling and he thinks they only really ever held hands once or twice, but he feels a harsh twinge in his chest just thinking about it.

He almost chokes on his sudden snort. “You’d say yes to a lot of people. You’re right about being the hottest guy I know though.” He sighs. “Grimmjow’s complicated. I don’t know what’s going on there. You know what it’s like after prison, sometimes you can’t find normal work anymore.” It’s not exactly what Shiro asked, but it’s how Ichigo answered.

He doesn’t answer. He’s known that for a long time. It’s also an oversimplification of a much larger issue. Shiro makes it sound like Ichigo could just brush off the price his family is paying and then they’d be together again.

Ichigo shoots Shiro a scowl. “I thought you wanted to be friends.” It’s the only excuse he has for his clingy, intrusive behavior. And maybe he’s the one that needs to make sure Shiro is safe. For himself. Because he worries more than he admits. He looks away and pushes out a breath.

“You move your own product?” That’s a lot more involved than Ichigo was expecting. And okay, if he was still working for Shiro, he could easily see himself doing it, but Shiro is the boss. Isn’t he supposed to be covering his ass? “That’s brave.”

He opens the door once they get to his car. He slides out and shuts it behind him, finding his own car exactly where he left it. He checks it the same way he checked Shiro’s then starts it, pulling out behind Shiro. With all the crawling on the ground he’s done, Shiro’s sweater might have a few extra holes. Especially after trying to wiggle under his own car.

"Oh, you were bein' a smartass?" There's a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone while he rolls his eyes. But it's good to hear that Ichigo is still thinking of his sisters in this. Ever the protector. Has to make sure his sisters are alright, had to interrupt his own life to make sure Shiro gets through this treat.

He smirks slightly about that. "What would it be about? What it's like runnin' around the streets doin' everyone else's dirty work?" He scoffs, but it's good natured. "Whatever, I'm not that hard to figure out. How to understand a back alley drug dealer for dummies." He laughs, amusing himself.

Aiming a look at Ichigo, he arches a brow and disagrees. "I always need a bunch a' guys saying yes to me. Preferably hot ones." Not that he's sleeping with his staff. He tried that exactly twice. The first time was disastrously annoying and it was not a fluke.

It is a fair question, and he wants to argue that, but Ichigo keeps going to answer the question anyway. "I wasn't asking what you think, I was asking exactly what I asked." But he got Ichigo's option anyway and it doesn't surprise him. He notes that Ichigo didn't actually say yes or no to wanting him there, though. He's talking around the answer the same way Shiro did about the shirt. "I already plan on laying low for a while. As much as I can, at least. I think I'll stay in the penthouse for a while. It's a lot safer than the mansion but it'll seem less like hiding." And he can higher some muscle to keep around easy enough, like Ichigo's suggesting, he's stubborn about it. He has always been his own muscle. He's never needed security or guards, but this is getting bigger than he can handle on his own. It's getting bigger than he thinks he warrants, but he has made himself notoriously hard to get rid of.

He doesn't know how to feel about Ichigo trying to keep him and his maybe-boyfriend situation intact. It's good of him, it's the morally right thing to do. The only real problem with it Shiro has is that it's just further proof that he and Ichigo have no chance of being together again. "I'll figure things out with him, you don't need to worry about it." Or he wont. Maybe he'll sabotage his own building relationship and blame it on all the chaos of attempted assassination. His features even out. "All my habits?" This better not turn into a lecture. "He thinks I indulge a little too much sometimes, but otherwise he tolerates it. I doubt he expected anything less from a dealer. Most people don't know I was ever clean, only you. It was always weird for me not to use the product I was sellin'."

He slides into the driver seat and starts the car, then looks over at Ichigo and snorts. "You mean boring?" He shrugs. "I needed something with more cargo space that didn't stand out so much. It's easier to clean, too. Less work for my cleaner."

[usomads]

There's No Going Back // Jey Uso x Reader

**Author's Note: Hiiiii, this is my first ever fic writing so go easy on me 🤭 but if you like this feel free to give me some more suggestions too! Happy reading!**

Plot -> Y/N catches her boyfriend of three years in their shared bed with someone else. When she goes to her best friend Josh’s to gather her thoughts and seek some consolation, she learns that’s not the only thing she’s going to find when she walks in the door…

Pairings -> Jey Uso x Fem!Reader (Y/N) Warnings -> Cheating (made up BF name), Cursing, Hickies, Oral Sex (Fem!Receiving), Fingering, Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Minors DNI

Word Count -> 3.4k Nothing seemed to be going right for Y/N today. It started by her spilling hot coffee on her shirt at 6am, making her atrociously late to her morning meetings at work, followed by her getting written up for said tardiness, then being swamped with paperwork all day. She had yet to eat or drink anything (except for the other half of the coffee she didn’t spill on herself) and she. was. EXHAUSTED. All Y/N wanted to do was relax on her couch with her boyfriend Ben, whom she’d been dating coming up on four years in December, and let everything that transpired today slip from her mind as she laid in her man’s arms. That was not to be though, as the minute she turned the lock to enter her 2 bedroom apartment they shared she immediately sensed something was wrong. The scent in the air was different; she knew she hadn’t gotten any new candles or air fresheners lately so that wasn’t it. Perfume, she thought as she started assembling the pieces together, and it’s not mine. 

Y/N looked around the apartment. There was no sign of anyone here, no trace of another woman. She relaxed partially, still keeping the thought in the back of her mind, but feeling eased because she didn't see any evidence of an affair in her space. But she didn’t need to see it to confirm it, she heard it. A moan. Coming from the bedroom.

“Fuck Ben, I’m so close.” 

She stopped dead in her tracks, the blood in her veins had turned ice cold. No, there was no way, right? Ben wouldn’t throw away three years of our relationship like this. He’d never do that to her, he loved her. Right? This had to be a dream, right? 

Her feet moved before her mind understood what was happening. Y/N was walking on autopilot, directly to the room where she heard the female voice come from. She knew she didn’t need to see it, she had heard enough to confirm her suspicions already. But before she knew it she was standing in front of her bedroom door, and sure enough she was hearing everything she needed to let her know that this wasn’t a dream. Echoing noises of skin slapping, faint moans and groans, and whimpering rang through Y/N’s ear’s, but that didn’t stop her from twisting the knob on the door and silently cracking it open. She saw the unthinkable; Ben, her long-time boyfriend, had a random woman bent over the bed, their bed, and was fucking her in ways that were meant for Y/N and Y/N only. And the sight of it made her want to throw up.

******************************************************************

Y/N couldn’t remember when she left the entryway to her bedroom. She couldn’t remember running out of the apartment and into her car. Hell, she couldn’t even remember sitting in standstill traffic on I-285. But she did do all of those things, because here she sat parked in front of her best friend Josh’s house. 

Josh, who she met years ago at a networking event in collaboration with her company and the WWE, was her go-to person. After that event, they quickly became the best of friends. They’d spend every chance they could together when he wasn’t on the road wrestling for hundreds of thousands of people, much to the disapproval of Ben. Ben never liked how much time Y/N wanted to spend with Josh when he was home, and he sure as hell hated how close the two were. Ben had started many fights with Y/N about Josh over the years and each time she assured him that there was never anything happening between the two; she had always shown Ben she was loyal to him and him only. And look how that turned out.

Before she knew it she was on Josh’s doorstep, the fall air in Atlanta feeling colder than usual to her, as she pressed the button on the Ring doorbell. It felt like hours of her standing there but only a couple minutes later and Josh was answering the door. He was shirtless, with basketball shorts loosely hanging around his waist. His hair was wet, like he had just freshly showered, and he smelled richly of his body wash and aftershave.

“Hey mamas, why didn’t you ca-,” he stopped mid-sentence. Josh knew the woman standing before him for 6 years, he knew everything about her. He knew when she was happy, when she was sad, when she was angry. And he definitely knew something was wrong now. But before he could ask further, she broke down in front of him.

“Ben, he.. I..” Y/N couldn’t even form the words to say it out loud, sniffling and letting out sobs trying to tell him what had happened, but Josh quickly figured it out and ushered her to the couch in his living room. He left her for a moment to grab her a water from the fridge, but immediately came back and sat next to her while she tried to describe the events that just unfolded. 

“I saw it,” she cried, “at first I thought-, at first I thought that m-maybe I was just h-hearing things. B-but he was f-fucking someone else. I-in our b-bed.” Josh opened his arms to her and she nestled her face in the crook of his neck, letting out loud sobs while he listened and embraced her. She doesn’t deserve this, he thought, she doesn’t deserve any of this.

Josh continued consoling Y/N and cooing reassuring words in her ear while she let out sobs against him. Josh had plans tonight to relax and unwind during one of the rare longer periods of time he had off, but now? Y/N was his number 1 priority and he was going to be here all night if he had to, just to make sure she was okay. Josh’s heart shattered hearing her cry over a man who 1. he never cared much for to begin with, and 2.  had broken his best friend’s heart. Josh wasn’t blind to the clear disdain Ben had shown him over the years, but he knew why he hated him so much. Ben saw what Y/N didn’t, that Josh was madly in love with her. Ben was afraid that Josh would try to take Y/N away from him, and if Ben hadn’t been in the picture he might’ve. But none of that mattered now; what mattered was being the person, the friend that Y/N desperately needed to be there for her. 

Lost in his own thoughts, Josh didn’t notice that Y/N had stopped crying and was lifting her head from the crook of his neck. She sniffled, and wiped her cheeks from the tears that coated them.

“Thank you, J. For letting me sabotage your evening and being here for me. I needed that.”

“Baby, you didn’t sabotage nothin’. I had no plans tonight. You know I’ll always be here for you. Always.” That pet name always makes her stomach do somersaults, but after the events of this evening she wasn’t able to react with a blush or a soft smile like she usually does.

“I just don’t understand why,” she vented, “why would he throw away our entire relationship like that? Like, did I do something wrong? Was it me? Was I not good enough for him?” “Y/N-”

“No, Josh, I don’t wanna hear any of that ‘you’re too good for him’ and ‘it’s his fault’ bullshit right now. Three years, Josh, three whole years I was with him, and he decides to fuck some random bitch in our bed all of a sudden? It had to have been me, there’s no way he-”

Her sentence was cut short by the feeling of Josh’s lips on hers. Maybe it was her emotions guiding her, but Y/N instinctively moved her lips in sync with his. Something about the way Josh’s lips felt against her own felt natural, normal even. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, they were friends after all and friends don’t kiss each other like this, but she couldn’t will herself to pull away. What felt like hours of the two sharing this intimate moment together lasted mere minutes, as Josh pulled away quickly realizing what he had just done.

“Y/N, I-i’m so sorry… I wasn’t thinking right, I- I shouldn’t have done that. But hearing you talk down on yourself like that just… I couldn’t take it. You’re just so incredible and I-” It was his turn to be cut off now, by Y/N giving him a swift kiss to stop his train of thought. Y/N’s lips hovered over his for a brief moment, daring Josh to close the distance between the two again. She watched his face show how much he was trying to control himself and giggled for the first time that night, her cheeks once rosy from her tears now turning color over the two’s moment they shared, and finally spoke up. 

“Don’t be sorry, J. If I'm being honest I kinda enjoyed it, and if I’m being more honest…” She leaned impossibly closer to him now, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “I wanna do it again.” That was all Josh needed to hear for him to crash his lips into hers, this time more desperate than before. He craved her, he needed her, and he wanted her to feel it too. His tongue brushed her bottom lip begging for entrance, causing her to smile into the kiss and denying him access. He was not going to let her tease him like this though, taking her bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a tug. The slight pain and mix of pleasure earned a gasp from Y/N, giving Josh an opportunity for him to slide his tongue inside as they battled for dominance. He used this distraction to pull her into his lap, Y/N now straddling his waist, as they continued to explore each other's mouths and bodies. Y/N’s hands were tugging on the ends of his mullet, earning low groans from him while his hand traveled from her waist to her ass and kneading it with his hands as she began to grind into him at a torturous pace. Josh was getting rapidly hard underneath her, and he could feel through the thin material of her dress pants rubbing on him that she was getting turned on as well. Sensing that they were enveloped in the heat of the moment Joshua pulled away, his hands still resting firmly on her ass while hers were still entangled in his hair. “Are you sure about this, Y/N? Because if we do this…”

“What, there’s no going back? We’re past that point now. I want this, I want you, I need you. Please, Josh, I want you to touch me.”

Josh sat up almost too fast, earning a gasp from Y/N and making her giggle into his neck as he lifted the two of them up and carried her to his bedroom. He gently laid her on his bed and crawled on top of her, kissing her softly before trailing his lips down her jaw and to her neck. He licked and sucked on the sensitive skin before finding the spot just below her right ear, where her soft moans she had before began growing louder. He had found her sweet spot, and he was going to make sure he marked it as his. Josh alternated between sucking and biting on the sensitive area until a bruise began forming at the surface. Admiring his work he nipped at Y/N’s ear and began whispering sweet nothings to her. Josh’s words and the feeling of his breath on her neck sent chills down her spine, and even more, her core to grow wetter by the second. She inadvertently bucked her hips at this, causing her to brush his hardening cock through his shorts.

“Relax mamas, Imma take good care of you,” he hissed, “just wanna admire you first.” Y/N lets out a breathy moan at this, while trying to fight every urge within her to not flip them over and take him right now. Sensing how needy she is for him Josh removes her shirt and unclasps her bra, leaving him in awe of the topless woman before him. Y/N, feeling his intense gaze on her, tries to cover herself with her arms but Josh immediately pins them above her head. “Never ever cover yourself in front of me, you understand baby? You’re too beautiful to hide yourself like that.” Y/N tries to nod in response but is immediately stopped by Josh wrapping his lips around her nipple, sucking and biting on it as Y/N throws her head back and tangles her fingers in his hair yet again. He alternates between each one, giving the same amount of attention to both and making Y/N’s head spin with pleasure. Josh is taking his time with her, and she is enjoying every second. He then trails kisses down her abdomen and makes his way to where she needs him most, wasting no time in removing her bottoms and coming face to face with Y/N’s pretty pussy glistening before him, because of him. “Oh poor baby, you’re soaked. Who made you this wet, hmm?” Y/N moans in response, and Josh lightly smacks her thigh. “Answer me, baby. Who did this?” Josh teases, knowing damn well he’s the reason why, but wanting it to come straight from Y/N’s mouth. “Y-you did, Josh. Please baby, do someth- oh fuck,” Y/N’s pleas are cut short by Josh licking a stripe through her folds, collecting some of her wetness on his tongue. “Mmm.. you taste so sweet, baby, you wanna try?” Josh trails two fingers along her pussy, gathering more of her juices before reaching them to her. Y/N doesn’t hesitate to wrap her lips around his fingers and suck her juices off of them, moaning around them as she does so. Josh groans as her cheeks hollow around his digits, feeling his cock harden at the imagination of her mouth around him. He focuses on her clit and continues to guide his tongue in ways Y/N has never experienced before, feeling that feeling in her stomach growing stronger with each flick of his tongue. She frees his fingers from her mouth and starts chanting his praises, as if she were worshiping the way he’s eating her pussy. His name falls from her lips like he’s her god, and her reaction to him only fuels him more. He inserts his tongue into her pussy, fucking her with his tongue and driving her wild. 

“Josh, please, don’t stop baby- oh fuck,” she whines as he adds a finger with his tongue and speeds up his movements, tongue and finger fucking her at a torturous yet unrelenting pace. Her pussy clenches around him, he knows she’s close, and he’s not stopping until his face is drenched in her cum. With his free hand he takes his thumb and rubs circles into her clit, the sensation causing her to arch her back off of the mattress and her thighs to tighten around his head. Before she can warn him the pressure in her stomach explodes, her vision turns white, and she’s shaking and moaning his name as she cums violently around his tongue. Josh had never seen a sight more beautiful than the way Y/N’s body reacts as she’s completely letting go. He wanted to capture that moment in his mind forever, and he wanted to do it again and again. Y/N slowly regained herself, catching her breath and beginning to relax her muscles while Josh licked every last drop of her up like his life depended on it. She shuddered at this, still sensitive from his work on her. After he was sure he had gotten every single drop of Y/N’s essence cleaned up, he proceeded to remove his shorts exposing his long, hard cock. Y/N admired the man before her in all of his glory, instinctively licking her lips as she attempted to sit up and return the favor. “Not tonight, mamas,” Josh cooed, “Tonight’s all about you. Gonna show you how much I love you, baby.” With this his lips found hers, but this time it was different. Something had changed between the two. This was no longer desperation, it was passion. Love. Josh used this moment of kissing her to tease her with his cock, rubbing himself along her pussy, before stopping at her entrance. They broke the kiss; foreheads touching, breathless, and staring longingly into each other's eyes. “No turning back now, right?” “Never,” Y/N whispered as he eased himself into her. The feeling of him stretching her pussy as he slipped inside, the way her walls fluttered and tightened around him and he pushed himself deeper, was unlike anything Josh or Y/N had ever felt before. It’s like they were made for each other, how he fit so perfectly inside of her was something you could only dream of. A series of moans were sung by them both as Josh’s cock completely bottomed out inside of her. After giving them both a second to adjust, he slowly eased his way in and out. Pulling out enough to leave just the tip inside, then all the way back in. Over, and over, and over, and over. Y/N’s hands traveled to Josh’s back and began digging her nails into skin as she threw her head back in ecstasy. Josh’s face found the crook of her neck and peppered kisses along the skin as he continued to make love to her.

“Fuck Y/N, so tight f’me. Feels so good wrapped around me, baby.” His thrusts picked up tempo, but not too fast. Josh wanted to savor this moment; he wanted to live in this feeling of him stretching her out forever, but he also knew it was taking everything he had to hold in his urge to cum on the spot. But his need for her to cum around him right as he was emptying himself into her motivated him into holding on just a little bit longer. He bucked his hips up into her sharply and Y/N arched her back and moaned his name loudly as her nails dragged down his back. Knowing he had now found her spot, he wasted no time in hitting it with every single thrust. Y/N could barely contain herself- she was a mess underneath him. She couldn't utter anything other than Josh’s name, and hearing it only drew him closer to the edge along with her. “I never want to hear you doubt yourself ever again mamas, you understand me?” He grunted in her ear, “You deserve the world baby, and I’m gonna give it to you. You’re mine now, understand?” “Fuck yes, I’m yours baby. I’m yours. Josh, I-” 

“I know, I know, I’m close too princess. Cum with me, I gotchu.”

Y/N lets go more viciously than the last, and the tightening of her pussy as she cums around him is enough to have Josh moaning her name in her ear as he fills her with his cum, still moving his hips as he fucks his seed into her. Y/N is still riding the high of her orgasm, whimpering with every thrust he makes. On his way down from his, he slows his movements inside her and rests his forehead against hers. They’re both dripping in sweat, but none of that matters as they lock eyes and catch their breath. It’s silent, but a comfortable silence. 

Josh pulls out of her and Y/N sighs, feeling empty without him inside of her as he lies down next to her and pulls her into his arms and both close their eyes. Whatever fallout happens from the events of today will have to wait until tomorrow, right now all that matters is them. Both realize the gravity of this moment, both know their friendship just changed forever, and both know that there’s no going back now.

And that’s perfectly okay with them.

[walkinthrudaisies]

Crush

dean winchester x fem!reader

2.6k | angst, fluff

summary: operation, have you and dean actually get along. that is all sam begged and pleaded to happen. though, it worked better than he initially had hoped.

sam believed that if he rolled his eyes anymore, they’d get stuck at the back of his head. he loved you, don’t get it twisted. it’s just that when you and dean were in the same room, things seemed to get a lot more. . . aggravating, to say it lightly.

the winchester brothers had met you around three years ago on a hunt in washington. a pesky demon is what brought you all together. well, it was more or less you and sam. dean was just an added on bonus that wasn’t really a bonus because you wanted to slap him across the face every ten seconds.

you and dean winchester hadn’t gotten along since the jump, and sam could easily vouch for the statement since he’d been in the middle of the lengthy feud for many years. dean was cocky, stubborn, and always had to be right, something you couldn’t stand. as someone who strived on being independent, a man like dean was a thorn in your side.

for years, anytime sam called you to help on a case, or you three were in the same place at the same time, you and dean would always end up in some kind of fight. whether it be his idea was better than yours or dean’s constant need to blare his music in the car it didn’t matter. you would always fight and sam would always dream of cutting his eyes out with a blunt butter knife

this hunt wasn’t any different. a witch had been using the residents of a small town in mississippi as her personal test dummy’s. droppings bodies left, right, and centre. so with a call from sam, you hopped on a bus and met the two brothers at their motel in kentucky, ready to join the hunt.

dean always teased you for not having a constant form of transportation, but you weren’t a douche who rode in a classic muscle car. especially one who was attached to it as a baby is to their bottle, so his digs just went completely deaf to you.

knocking on the winchester’s motel room door, sam greeted you with a gleaming smile on his face. arms extended for a hug, you cuddled into his chest and rested your head by his shoulder, catching a glimpse of dean shovelling a mini pie into his mouth.

when the older brother caught your eye, he just scoffed. hands moving to cross over his chest as you stepped away from sam and did the same.

“we really don’t need her help sammy.” dean practically snarled, mouth tilting up in a devious smirk. “she’s probably already got plans with all her little pals on the bus.”

sam just sighed, already mentally prepared for the kindergarten level digs you two were going to throw at each other. he almost left the room as he watched your shoulders square and your jaw clench. “oh very funny dean.” you retorted, hands resting in your pockets so you didn’t choke the man. “why don’t i just go slash all your tires? then maybe we can be bus buddies.”

“don’t you dare even think about touching my baby!” dean’s finger had lifted in the air in a pointing motion at you, and sam felt his hands lift up and slap against his thighs. “oh dear god, you guys are killing me! there’s people who need are help, and you two fighting like an old married couple isn’t going to help them.”

the sour look on your face when sam mentioned you and dean in the same sentence as married couple could’ve been made as a reaction photo, yet sam and dean didn’t acknowledge it as they led the way outside and to the infamous chevy impala.

nothing could ever prepare sam for the long car rides with you and his brother. it was either copious hours of bickering or a tense silence that had sam so uncomfortable he questioned if walking was a good idea.

this time the silence was so thick, sam genuinely reached his breaking point. Years of breaking up your arguments and having to be the middleman drove him to a dire conclusion; he needed to get you and Dean to like each other.

the plan was truly fool proof. force the two of you to work on the case together and boom, all the arguing and petty fights would be a faraway memory. sam had to contain his grin when he mentioned that interviewing the families is more of a one person job than going to the morgue. his grin didn’t leave his face even as he mentioned that he was better with comforting grieving families than either you or dean.

no words were spoken between you and dean in the car ride towards the morgue. in all honesty, you never knew what to say to the man. he was always angry, finding something to get mad about and always finding a way for it to be your fault.

truthfully, maybe that’s why you hated him. he never let you explain yourself, always jumping to conclusions and blaming you for the smallest things. if it wasn’t for his quick temper and communication issues, you’d probably have a huge crush on the man.

it was dean winchester at the end of the day. and as much of a dick as he was to you, you witnessed those moments he had with sam or with a family member or victim on a case where he wasn’t an absolute dickhead. it was sad really, how much dean hated you. sam spoke up and down that you and dean would be a great duo, yet you never got to prove him right or wrong since his older brother couldn’t go five minutes without arguing with you.

although, something you weren’t aware of was that dean’s thoughts were very similar to yours. he didn’t know why you got under his skin, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about you for weeks after you would leave.

the man knew there was nothing wrong with you. he was just stubborn, and pushing people away before he got too close to them was his specialty. what if you became someone special in his life? what if because of that, you died, and then dean would blame himself for the rest of his life.

it was easier to keep you at an arms length than to get too close, and yeah sam would say he was being childish, but dean didn’t really care. you hating him and staying alive was better than him meaning something to you and that being the reason you were dead.

the trip to the morgue was awkward for the better part. you were trying to rid your mind of any thoughts you had on dean in the car and the man in question was trying his best to remain a good foot away from you. both of you could tell that something had shifted in that stupid ten minute car ride, but neither of you wanted to bring it up.

sam knew something was up when he met with you and dean again. it wasn’t even close to his end goal, but he knew that he was getting close to the feud between you and dean to finally be over.

his final shove was suggesting that you and dean check out the home of moira carlson while he goes to talk to the sheriff in charge of the murders. an argument raged on, but begrudgingly, you and dean left together to go investigate the number one suspects home.

dean had gotten to the home in under ten minutes, and now you found yourself and dean sneaking around the back of mrs carlson’s home to slip in the back door.

a scoff could be heard behind you. and as you turned around, you saw dean with an exasperated look on his face. “jesus woman, can you breathe any louder?”

the pettiness of dean’s complaint just had you rolling your eyes, turning back so you could make your way to where the sliding back door was; unlocked thankfully.

moira carlson’s home definitely screamed evil witch who enjoys killing people. occult items and witchy like items were sprawled around the living and dining room. a big pot in the kitchen alongside weird looking herbs also tipped you off. you would’ve mentioned how cliche all of this was if dean didn’t drop and shatter a statue like a dumb ass.

“are you serious!” you exclaimed, whipping around to look at dean’s hunched figure, trying to clean the broken pieces of the statue in a hurry. “can you not be a complete oaf for one damn second?”

the eldest winchester just laughed humourlessly, standing back up with all the broken pieces in his hand. “i’m not the one stomping around like an ogre. she can be home for all we know.”

“coming from the guy with the cinder blocks for shoes.” you scoffed, both you and dean looking down at his monstrous boots. “all of this complaining is really rich coming from you, dean winchester.”

it seemed that at that very moment, dean had enough of your guys’ bickering. with a wild look in his eye, dean flew off the handle in a way that you probably wouldn’t be able to describe in full accuracy ever again. he started off with a disbelieved “really!” and then ranted on for longer than you ever could’ve pictured.

“how is it possible that you think i’m the one always complaining, miss whines a lot.” your eyes buggered out of your head as you looked on past dean. “you know, i’ve been keeping my cool for sammy’s sake but you are really a piece of work. i know i’m not the best person to be around 24/7 but cmon, can you not try and be civil for once?”

he kept going. yet you weren’t focused on whatever dean was saying, for moira carlson, in all of her evil witchy goodness, was coming up behind dean with a spell on her tongue that did not look friendly at all.

“dean.” you muttered, watching as the now ghastly looking woman got closer. he didn’t listen though, just threw his arms in the air and let his hands reside on his hips like a child. “oh so mature y/n. go on and interrupt me-“

“get down you idiot!” your body smacked down to the floor just as the witch threw dean across the room. poor bastard didn’t even have time to turn around. attempting to take shelter behind the sofa, you grabbed on to dean’s sprawled body and shuffled across the floor while trying to shoot at mrs carlson.

somehow, you got the two of you behind the sofa, propping dean in a sitting position before resting your body over the couch so you could take a shot. dean was frantically texting sam, warning his brother about what danger you two were in while wheezing in the air that got knocked out of his lungs.

with a mighty wave of her hand, the witch blew the couch into two pieces. dean’s body slumped back to the floor, too bruised and in pain to allow the man to even move a muscle. a loud cackle could be heard as mrs carlson moved in on dean, ready to deliver her final blow.

she was about to, if it wasn’t for your gun going off at the perfect time and striking her right in her forehead. the woman slumped to the ground beside dean, the man in question shimmying as far away from her as possible before you rushed over and propped him up on the nearest wall.

“oh god.” you mumbled, watching as dean nearly coughed up a lung. you knew he was okay, he took worse beating than this. it was just the fact of seeing him get thrown around like a rag doll that had an emotion bubbling to the forefront of your mind. one you never thought you’d experience towards dean.

waving you off, dean sat himself up straighter and took a deep intake of air. “i’m okay y/n, it’s fine. though you probably just saved my life.” dean all of a sudden had the realization that he didn’t need to be so closed off all this time. you could easily handle your own, and having someone like you would probably be the best thing that ever happened to him.

a sheepish blush rose to your cheeks as dean stared at you longer, and suddenly, you realized that maybe the man wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. deep down, you cared about him. yeah, you two could fight like cats and dogs, but so does everyone. at the end of the day, you would always be there for dean and he’d do the same for you.

“i’m sorry for how i’ve treated you these past couple of years.” your random word vomit had dean snapping his head up, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared at your nervous features. “i know you have your own way of doing things and i shouldn’t pester you about everything. it sucks that you probably still hate me, but can we please work on us-“

“i never hated you.” dean cut you off so quickly it was almost like he couldn’t bare hold down those words any longer. your nervous face turned shocked, and suddenly dean had the confidence to say what he always wanted to. “ever since i was young, every person i’ve ever cared about either leave’s or dies, and i somehow just knew that you were special the first moment i met you.” a somber smile appeared on your face, and you found yourself moving closer and closer to dean as he continued to speak.

“i’m sorry i never gave you a chance sweetheart, but would you give me one now?” you didn’t have to be asked twice, for in an instant you perched yourself in dean’s lap and smashed your lips onto his.

dean didn’t take long to reciprocate your actions. hands moving to go around your waist and nestle in your hair while your own gripped tightly onto his t shirt. dean’s mouth was exploring all the places he wished he could’ve kissed you sooner. your soft lips, all around your face. when he moved on to placing sloppy kisses on your neck, you felt the vibrations of his voice against your skin as he kept mumbling. ‘so perfect’ and ‘you’re so beautiful, everything i could ever dream of.’

unknown to the two of you, sam had just walked in the front door and was ready to defend you all against the destructive witch. though to his surprise — and slight disgust if he was being honest, he stepped into the living room room to see you and dean behind a destroyed couch. the two of you were heavily making out and dean just put it upon himself to wrap his one arm around the underside of your ass, hoisting you further up on his body and giving it a firm squeeze in the process.

“well fuck.” sam mumbled to himself, slightly gagging up his salad from lunch as he watched dean pull your head back by a tuft of your hair and start leaving trails of hickeys down your neck.

“yeah, that’s enough of that.” the youngest winchester just silently mumbled to himself as he walked back outside the front door, leaving you and dean in the middle of a random house to sort out all of your pent up feelings in a way he definitely shouldn’t be seeing.

[loverslodge]

after the date

Bucky was stunned by the way Steve had talked to you. He too felt like a prized pony but there had to be a better way of putting things, weren't there? One of them made you cry. Bucky couldn't remove the sight of your face when Steve said those things. He swore he heard your heart break. Your tears were an added bonus that wrenched his own heart.

Steve was seething. He felt used. He had the same feeling he had felt when he had broken up with Sharon. This was it, wasn't it? This was his life. A famous person, up on a pedestal, just to look good. But something else cracked. When he saw your broken face, he knew he overstepped, he knew he said things he shouldn't have. He didn't mean it like that. But you had left. Left before he could even realize he fucked up.

………………….

The journey back to the compound was eerily quiet. Bucky wasn't talking to Steve and neither did Steve initiate any discussion.

Bucky knew he should say something but he was too pissed off. If he started talking, punches would have flown with them so he kept quiet. Held himself off. He looked down at his hand to see the bag of books with that single rose you had given him in the morning.

Steve was fidgeting in the seat. He was holding the rose you had given him that morning. You had said you show how you feel because you were never good with words. Was this you showing something? Had he missed something?

As soon as the car stopped in the garage, Bucky jumped out and stomped in the compound. Steve ran after him to talk but Bucky had already slipped in the elevator and had gone up to their shared apartment.

As soon as Steve entered the apartment, a punch flew to his mouth, staggering him. He was ready to counter attack but seeing it was an enraged Bucky, he let it go. Steve did deserve a punch after what he did.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you end a perfect date like that?” Bucky needed answers.

“It was the right thing to do. We were slipping way too much into her life. It was a fake date.” Steve went to his room and gently put his rose on the side table.

“Come out here. Talk. I'm not letting this behaviour of yours slide.” Bucky demanded.

Steve stomped out. “You are not my boyfriend to demand this kind of shit from me.”

“Is this what it's about? A pent up 100 year old hold up?”

“No. This is about us not addressing the issues. I was in love with Peggy and not you. You were just there and that kiss was a drunken mistake.”

“I don't care about any of that. Let's call it a mistake, fine. But what was that tonight? You made her cry.”

“I told her the truth.”

“There are ways of telling the truth, Steve. You are the gentle one. What the fuck happened back there? Why did you just jump guns?” Bucky walked very close to Steve. He wanted to slap his face and put some sense into it.

Bucky poked and pushed him with the question again and again because Steve kept on ignoring him.

“I got jealous, okay? I got jealous, thinking that there could have been more candidates and she would have picked someone else over us. Us, Bucky. I don't even care if she chose you. I was happy that it was me and you and not me or you. She accepted us together. But got jealous thinking if someone else had responded before us then she would've gone.” Steve ran his hands over his hair and face.

“So you weren't jealous of me being with her?”

“God no! I really liked seeing you with her. It made me happy to see you happy with her.”

Steve held Bucky by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. Steve was on the verge of tears for what he did to you.

“Then why the fuck did you say that to her?” Bucky asked him in a quiet tone.

“I got angry. I acted rash and dumb. I- shit. I feel so guilty. She was nothing but incredible. Every time there was sadness in her eyes, she would push it aside and smile for us. She did so well the entire day and I ruined it. I ruined her perfect day.” Steve sat with his head in his hands.

“Didn't we jump to this because it was all no strings attached and no expectations? Then why were there strings and expectations?” Bucky wasn't just asking it to Steve but to himself as well.

“Maybe because of her.” They both looked at each other, understanding what Steve was trying to say. “It was all her. She just- she's an angel, Buck. Sweet, kind and adorable little angel. If just looking at her made us think that then imagine how much we felt when we talked to her.”

“She drew strings without knowing. We were so confident in proving that we won't have expectations but her being unconditional about everything just broke our confidence, didn't it?” Bucky stared down at his hands. “She expected nothing. She even went as far as to open herself bare to us without expecting us to do something about it.”

“She was ready to leave us alone once the day was over, did you know that?” Steve looked at Bucky who looked at him with wide eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“I read her memos. She was getting gelato for us in the park and her memo fell out. She was detailed about today. She had written it down. Underline and everything! She really dove head first without asking for anything in return.”

Bucky and Steve sat in silence. Today had brought a lot of clarity to them. One of them being that they belonged together but not alone. They belonged together with you.

Sure, Bucky and Steve have had their moments with each other but they never talked about it. But it seemed like after today, there needed to be a lot of clarifications. Both of them spent hours talking and clarifying.

They were both in bed, next to each other. Still wanting to talk about the most important thing, you.

“So, I know we just started something new but what about Angel?” Steve really did want you in their lives.

“I was thinking the same thing. I know we have us but it feels, I don't know, empty. Today, with her, I felt like we were complete.” Bucky shifted and looked at Steve.

“You know, I felt so much at ease with her. Like she wasn't expecting me to just burst my heart open for her every two seconds. I felt very calm with her. I just wish I hadn't said those things. We would've gotten more time with her. Maybe talk to her. Ask her if she wanted this to be something real.”

“We didn't even get to say goodbye. You know, after the dinner, I was going to ask her if she would be willing to spend another day with us. I've never felt like this before, you know. Except with you. I felt very comfortable with her.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“So we're okay with a third being with us. And we want that third to be her and only her. Correct?” Steve summarized their thoughts.

“Correct. Our Angel. We need to talk to her.”

“Do you think she'll want to talk to me after what I said?” Steve’s voice turned sad.

“Of course she will. We will not let a misunderstanding get in our way. We will win her back.” Bucky was determined.

“You know, I think I know why she came up with this no expectation thing.” Steve looked at Bucky

“Why?” Bucky was curious to know Steve’s interpretation.

“Because no one fought for her. After listening to her story, it's very clear. While she tried her best, when she left, no one was there to tell her to not go. It was as if nobody cared.” Steve had tears in his eyes.

“Then we show her. We show her that we will fight for her. We want her and she is it for us. We will show her. Maybe we can mend her heart the way she's mending ours.” Bucky patted Steve and rubbed his arm to give him confidence.

……………….

It had been two weeks since the date went horribly wrong. You had been in a sad rut since then. Many times tears welled up in your eyes thinking about the time you spent with them.

First three days you spent thinking about how you had been feeling the same way about the two of them. Whatever affection you were feeling for them was, surprisingly, in an equal amount. There was no leaning towards one over the other, it was leaning towards them.

You spent time trying to sort your affections. Two men? How? Is this even right? Are they together? It felt like they were. Was what you did right? Did you get between two people?

But then you slipped back into the dark thoughts not being loveable. Your mind went into overthinking how your past relationships made no attempt in exactly loving you. You aren’t just an arc of rainbow but you are also the rain. They only loved the rainbow.

You had spent two weeks mulling over your idea of love as well. Maybe Steve was right. Maybe you are looking for a broken love. But how could you not? You have become a broken person. You had become this shell of a love that kept on giving but received nothing in return.

It was Saturday and you were sitting in your favourite cafe, working on your laptop. Your table was littered with your heavily sweetened drinks. You might've been on your tenth cup, or that's what you assumed when you thought you were hallucinating two super soldiers swaggering towards you.

“Hey Angel.” Bucky’s dazzling smile was blinding you and your eyes were dry as is.

Bucky’s smooth voice was pulling you more into your dreamland. More like, you had been so stressed and sleep deprived that everything looked like a hallucination.

“Angel, are you okay? Your eyes are very glassy.” Steve crouched down to look at your eyes better. His heart wrenched at the sight of the redness of them and heavy bags under your eyes.

“Buck, I don't think she’s well. Maybe we should take her back to her place and talk to her next time.” Steve was getting very worried about you.

“I'm fine. Nothings wrong. I just…” and you were about to topple off the chair when Steve caught you by your shoulder and leaned you against him.

“Ok, that's it. Buck, grab her things and find her keys, we're taking her home.”

Your eyes were glassy but you distinctly remember Steve picking you up and Bucky smoothing out your hair from your face before they got walking.

Once they reached your apartment, Bucky carried you and your things while Steve had rushed to open your door. Bucky walked in and went straight for your bedroom and laid you down. You tried to get up to change but he just pushed you back on the bed.

“Please. I wanna change. Very uncomfortable.” You were feeling delirious.

“Angel, I don't want you falling.” Bucky held your waist as you made your way to grab your comfiest pjs.

“What are you doing, Angel? Get back to bed.” Steve walked in the bedroom to check up on you but seeing you walking around with Bucky supporting you concerned him.

“Let go. Gotta change.” You wriggled your way out of Bucky’s arms and stumbled into the bathroom, locking it.

“Angel, did you just lock the bathroom? You'll fall down. How are we supposed to help you?” Steve knocked on the door to make sure you’re fine.

“You're supers, you can break in.” You called out from the bathroom. You washed your face and finished your business. You stumbled a little but managed to grab onto the doorknob. You twisted it and stumbled out in the waiting arms of two super soldiers.

“Alright, Angel. Let's go to bed.” Bucky tucked you in the middle of the bed, making sure you have no way of getting up.

The two men were about to leave your room when your soft whisper traveled through the room. “Please don't go.”

Your small plea made them weak in the knees and they almost fell to their feet. You were definitely looking like an angel, laying on your bed with glassy eyes. They took off their shoes and got in the bed, one side each.

Their jeans brushed against your thighs and so you got a bit more aware. You pouted at Bucky and asked them to remove their jeans and shirts because they were making you uncomfortable.

They were shocked by it but did what you asked anyway. They were now laying beside you in just their briefs. You shuffled and turned to Steve who was looking at you just like you had always wished for and so was Bucky.

You put your hands on their cheeks and brushed your thumbs against their cheeks. “Please look at me just like that.” Your hands slipped down and you snuggled into the pillow, falling asleep in the warmth of two men who have been haunting your dreams.

……………………..

Bucky and Steve stayed right where you had asked them to. Tears slipped out of Bucky’s eyes.

“This is because of us, isn't it? We are the reason why she's exhausted. We hurt our Angel. We waited way too long.” Bucky wiped his face but the lump in his throat was there to stay.

“But we're here now. We will make it right. We will take care of her. We will never hurt our Angel again.” Steve brushed some stray hair out of your face.

You shuffled in your sleep and snuggled into Steve who immediately wrapped his arms around you and shoved you deeper in his chest.

“She feels so good, Buck. I don't want to let her go.”

“We don't have to. We will go down on our knees to win her if we have to.”

Although they wanted to stay in bed with you till you wake up, they wanted to clean your apartment for you. So they both slowly got up from bed and were about to slip out when a few laminated papers caught their eyes.

They both walked to look at what it was and their mouths stayed agape. Those were the pressed roses. The same roses that they had gotten her. The roses still looked fresh and pink but pressed. Two roses had Bucky’s name on them and the other two had Steve’s.

“Every time we think she’s human, she does something that makes us think she's an angel.” Bucky walked back to bed and kissed your temple. Steve also kissed your temple before they slipped out of the room and took over the cleaning.

While Steve was cleaning the house, Bucky went to the kitchen to cook a fantastic meal for all. He had noticed your sweet tooth for chocolate so he also decided to make chocolate muffins. You surprisingly had all the ingredients for baking but not much for cooking. Bucky sent Steve to buy ingredients to make lasagna and till then he whipped up cupcake batter.

Bucky occasionally went to your room to check how you were doing. You shifted from one side to another but overall you were sleeping peacefully. Bucky was still only in his briefs and your cute pink apron.

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked around. You knew that it was too good to be true. You must've walked home and went to sleep. Why would they come here? You gave them nothing but grief and made them feel like you were a prize to be won which was untrue. You weren't a prize, never have been.

A smell of vanilla and chocolate hit your senses and you panicked. Who the hell is in your apartment? You tumbled out of the bed and ran in the kitchen to find a very beefy back staring back at you.

“Angel! You're up!” Bucky turned around and gave you a heart-stopping smile.

“Bu- James! What are you doing here?” You were flabbergasted.

“Angel, call me Bucky. I've told you before.” He put the tray in the oven and set the timer.

“But-”

Bucky walked up to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. “Call me Bucky, Angel.”

“Bucky,” you gulped and your voice softened. “What are you doing here? And, um, is it… is it just you?” Your eyes were wide with curiosity and somewhere, at the back of them, hurt.

“Nope, not alone. Steve has gone grocery shopping for lasagna and I think I also told him to bring pizza with him.” Bucky cupped your face. “You asked us to stay, Angel and we weren't going to leave. We came to talk.”

You pried yourself out of Bucky’s arms and stood at a distance. “I- ok, well, once Steve is back, you both can leave. Sorry for all the inconvenience i caused. You don't have to do anything.”

“Angel, what-”

“I'm back! I got the pizza! Lets wake up Angel and get her to eat and-” Steve sensed a tense situation.

“She wants us to leave.” Bucky’s voice had turned into a whisper.

“What?! No! Angel, no! I- we don't want to go. We want to stay, talk.” Steve just started to beg.

“Why? You don't like me, I'm just a burden. Whatever happened to me today is my problem, not yours. Sorry for troubling you but you don't have to be polite. I'll manage.”

You had withdrawn yourself completely. You didn't deserve whatever they were giving you. You shouldn't be getting between them. You shouldn't even think about them. They deserve better than anybody but you.

“Angel? Baby? What are you talking about?” Steve walked closer to you, trapping you between him, Bucky and the wall.

“I'm just telling the truth. You don't have to take care of me. I dont des- you don't need to do this. Don't be gentlemanly. I appreciate you bringing me home but I've been a burden enough. I don't want you to feel obligated about anything.” You were fidgeting with your oversized t-shirt, unable to look them in the eyes.

“There is no obligation, Angel.” Bucky came closer and moved hair strands out of my face.

“You're not a burden. Why would you think that?” Steve put his hand on my shoulder and rubbed his thumb against my clavicle.

“It is true. Otherwise I wouldn't have put the two of you in any of those awkward positions on that day. You accepted because you expected a normal day out and I ended up making you do things against your will.” Tears ran down your cheeks as you looked at Steve. “You were right, Steve, I am looking for a broken love because that's what I deserve.”

Steve’s heart broke hearing you say that and Bucky’s eyes welled up. They had sent you off to the deep end without even realizing. They should've come to you sooner.

Steve and Bucky dragged you back to your room because you were hysterically crying, unable to breathe. They wrapped you up in your blanket. Both of them moved to each side of you and pulled you closer with your back resting on Bucky’s chest and your head resting on Steve’s.

“Angel, if you would please give us a chance to talk. We have a lot to say and it's not what you think. Will you listen?” Bucky asked the question in such a whispered voice, you couldn't help but nod your head against Steve’s chest. Your breathing had calmed down and their touch was very soothing.

“First of all, you are not a burden and you don't deserve broken love. We just- we got jealous.” Steve started putting sentences together. “Bucky held off his jealousy but I couldn't. It made me think that you had a better shot with someone else and my imagination started running wild.”

“Steve thought, and I did too even if I didn't say it out loud, that if someone else had accepted your email request then you would have picked them over us. That idea didn't sit well with us. We wanted you all to ourselves.” Bucky continued.

You sat up straight and looked at them. “But why would you get jealous?”

“Because, Angel, we fell in love with you.” Steve’s confession stopped your heart. You looked at Bucky with wide eyes expecting it to be a joke but the soft smile on his face and a nod told you it wasn't.

“We had accepted your request because it gave us a chance to experience a romantic relationship for one day without strings and expectations. That's what we thought till we actually met you.” Bucky looked at you adoringly.

“We saw you the first time and we thought what we felt was infatuation. But as the day went on, we drowned in your smile, in your laughter and all the little things you did.” Steve moved hair out of my face. “The first time we realized we were falling in love, it was at the park when we sat together. That entire time felt so… domestic, homey.”

“All that time falling in love with you, we forgot you still thought what was going on was fake.” Bucky intertwined your fingers with his. “So when you talked very casually about things, Steve got pissed and said things he shouldn't have.”

“I'm so sorry, Angel. I was being an idiot. I had never felt this way before. So at home with someone and it pissed me off that someone else could've had my home. I got jealous and I got possessive.”

Steve pressed his forehead against yours and Bucky did the same. “We're very sorry, Angel. Please forgive us.”

“But should I say sorry?” You slowly pull away to look at them. “I played with your feelings, didn't i? I should be apologizing for making you think that it was real.”

“So, it wasn't real?” Just one look in their eyes and you knew you had broken their hearts in a million pieces.

“It was! For me it was but I thought you thought I played you and I kinda did if we look at the semantics.” You started to ramble. You wanted to fix whatever this was.

“Angel, if it was real for you and if it was real for us then that means you haven't played us.” Bucky pushed their actual agenda forward. “And even if you were playing with us, which you werent, it would have been a privilege to be played by our angel.”

“Our?” You had been hearing them mentioned as theirs, not Bucky’s or Steve’s but theirs.

“That's what we actually wanted to talk about.” Steve sat up straight. It was time to ask you what they have been meaning to ask. “We have been talking about this, adjusting to this new… idea. We thought it was wrong at first but one of our dear friends helped us figure things out.”

“He means Natasha. Black Widow. Blond hair, murderous eyes, kinda okay face.” Bucky started giving you the context.

“I know who she is and she's hot. Don't put her down like that.” You used to have a crush on her before it had drifted off but you didn't need to tell them that.

“What? I-”

“Buck, not the time.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s chest to stop him. “Back to the point. We thought hard and we only thought of you-”

“Gross.” You made a playful face that earned a chuckle from Bucky and an eye roll from Steve.

Steve pulled you closer to his body, causing you to yelp in surprise. Then you felt a pressure on your back and saw Bucky leaning his entire self on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“We want you to be with us, Angel. Just us three and no one else.” Steve’s chest rumbled with confession and you found yourself blushing. “Would you like that? Being with us? You, me and Bucky?”

“None of that is going to happen if I die under the weight of an old metal person.” You groaned playfully and tried to shove Bucky over, only for him roll on you entirely, crushing you against Steve.

“Bubye Steve. This is the end of the line for me. I'll see you on the other side.” Your muffled speech could be heard through your groans. “Write on my tombstone. Death by Bucky, a heavy cuddler who wouldn't leave his girlfriend room to breathe.”

Hearing you say the last line. They both sprang up and looked at you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did you just say you're our girlfriend?” Bucky asked excitedly. If they had tails, it would've wagged itself off their asses.

You rolled your eyes at them and smiled widely with blush creeping up your cheeks. “Yes.”

They both attacked you in a hug and made sure to leave you room to breathe. You couldn't help but giggle and laugh at their excitement.

“We promise not to mess things up this bad.” Steve kissed your temple.

“But I do want to see the list of men whom you sent the emails to. Gotta know whom to brag against.” Bucky pulled you closer to his chest and kissed the crook of your neck, making you shiver.

All three of you got up from the bed and made your way to the kitchen because your stomach wouldn't stop making rumbling noises.

Once they had fed you well, their words, not yours, all three of you chose to cuddle back in your bed to watch one of the many rom-coms that were your favourites. You looked at both of your sides to see them intensely watching what made you happy.

“Hey guys,” you said, making them look at you. “Thank you so much for looking at me like that.”

“Always, Angel. Forever and always.”

[fandomnerd9602]

Parents & Kids

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

It started out as such an innocent question. Born from the curiosity of one of your twin deer, hybrid boys, Billy.

“ what happened to my father?” he asked his voice rimming with uncertainty.

That question really struck a nerve with your mate your wife Wanda Maximoff-(L/N). You could see the color practically drain from her face as soon as the question left Billy‘s lips.

“Look at that,” you quickly covered, “boys you’re gonna be later for school”

The twins ran for their backpacks. You gave Wanda a reassuring kiss on the lips and touched your forehead to hers.

“I’ll take them to school,” you whispered, “just worry about Natalie, okay?”

“Okay” Wanda whispered back, her voice shaking as small tears made their way down her face, “thank you”

You drop the boys off at their kindergarten class and haul back to the house. You give Natasha a call saying that you and Wanda need to take a personal day.

“I know Chief,” Natasha replies thru the phone. “Wanda told me about it. Take it slow, okay?”

You arrive home to find your doe pacing back and forth, her usually giddy tail is hanging down rather depressingly.

“Natalie is down for her nap,” Wanda explains as she walks up to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. She just collapses against your chest, little sobs escaping her lips.

You wrap your own arms around her, rubbing her back reassuringly. “I know. I know”

“I-I always thought I’d have more time, my buck” she cries against your chest softly. “I-I barely talked about him with you and…and…”

“Wanda, I know,” you reply. “I know about Vision”

“You do?”

“Pietro filled me in on him. Who he was to you and him. I’ve known since before Natalie was born”

“Why did you not tell me?” Wanda asks.

“You were already under so much duress with the pregnancy,” you wipe away her tears with your thumbs, “I didn’t want to add to it”

“How do I tell our boys the truth?” Wanda wonders, her worries leaking through, “d-do I tell them every detail? Do I tell about my captivity? Do I tell them how…how..?”

Your wife tears up. You hold her tight, gently rocking her back and forth.

“I mean I liked Vis. He was a good family friend,” Wanda tries to explain, “but we were together one time and that’s what led to the boys”

“I have to be honest,” you said with a shrug, “I was always afraid that our boys’ father would come back and take you all away from me”

Wanda lets out a little sad chuckle, “my love for you is deeper than any love I’ve felt for anyone in my life”

You touch your forehead to hers, “our boys deserve to know about him.” You try to formulate, “We’ll just tell them that he died before they were born and never got the chance to know them.”

“But he would’ve loved them too” your doe adds.

“And that this doesn’t change the dynamic of the family we built.”

“Agreed” Wanda says with a sad little smile. You hear the gentle murmurs of your infant daughter from her crib. “Natalie’s up!”

You both rush to the nursery, both of you tending to your daughter’s needs.

School comes to an end. You and Wanda pick up your boys from kindergarten and bring them home. The car ride was unusually quiet.

You gently guide the boys to your couch as soon as you walk through the door. You and Wanda made a quick stop at the Sanctuary before picking them up.

“Billy, Tommy,” you gently tell them, “your momma and I have something to show you-“

“I’m sorry Poppa” Billy says, “I didnt mean to make Momma cry. I just wanted to know who my father was”

“But you’re still our Poppa, right?” Tommy asks. “We think you are.”

You smile, “yeah I’m still your Poppa and you’re still my boys.”

Wanda sits in between the boys, clutching a Polaroid. “This is your father.”

The boys stare at the picture of a blonde haired male deer hybrid. You could tell that he hailed from Great Britain just by his body language and smile in the pic.

“This was Vision,” Wanda explains, “he was…a good friend. Kind, supportive, caring, helped out me and your uncle Pietro when we needed it most.”

“What happened to him, Momma?” Billy asks.

“He died before you were both born,” Wanda replies, her voice dripping with tears and sadness. “But I know he would’ve loved you both”

You wrap your family in your arms and hug them tight, “I know I’m not your birth father but I will always be there for you both”

“That’s why we like calling you our Poppa” Billy replies. A few tears made their way down your face.

Pietro was closer to Vision than Wanda was. The boys would occasionally ask about their birth father but they always reiterated how much they loved you still.

It was circumstances that led to the boys’ birth but it was the love that you and Wanda share that led to a whole family.

A family that you treasure more than anything in the world.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @olsenmyolsen @idkwhatever580 @moonlit-imagines @multi-fandom-enjoyer @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @pinklawyerwinnerzonk

[amastarxoxo]

SYNOPSIS satoru gojo, one of the most popular boy in college, plays on the basketball team, has a large reputation of being a player and dismisses most girls, leaving them coming back for more dk why , and you; a depressing fashion designer major, looking towards being a model. one night at a frat party that your best friend, shoko dragged you to, you went to the bathroom to hide away from the party but…

PAIRING fratboy! gojo x reader

WARNINGS 18+ , lowercase intended , cursing , fluff + angst , strangers to situationship (unfortunately) to lovers(?) , badly written smut , fem! reader , slow burn-ish , drinking/smoking , idiots in love , opposite attract + fell first/fell harder trope , never proofread

11:22PM; you shouldn't be here at all. loud music, drinking, smoking, making out in the corner shamelessly. This is not your crowd. This wasn't your fun, it's your best friend fun.

"oh come on y/n! this will be so fun!" you recall your best friend, shoko, pleading with you for you come tag along with her to go to a frat party that she was invited to once again (for the nth time in the past three weeks) "no thanks shoko. i have work to do." you half lied, you don't really have any work but you have work in the morning since you have no classes tomorrow in the morning.

"just this one time please!" she clasped her hands together in front of your face. that's a lie, one time turns into two, then three, then so on and so forth. but you are so tired and bothered by this point that you don't care anymore. "fine, just this once, but i'm not dressing up for anything." You get up and heads intot he bathroom, through the muffled door you can hear shoko's little cheers of excitement.

And now you regret agreeing in the first place. as soon as you arrived, shoko already left to go to her party animal friend group and started heading towards to kitchen for drinks probably.

11:46PM; you’re felt like leaving, but you didn’t want to leave shoko here with no ride and no conscious to call herself a ride home. plan b; hiding the bathroom. you notice that there’s a basement and a unused bathroom down there. you sneak around people and start heading downstairs.

it quiet, if you exclude the muffled bassed music from upstairs, its clean and empty, the bathroom door is right there. so why do you feel a weird sensation throughout your body not to open the door, much less step closer to the door? you decide to ignore it and approach the door, you didn’t hear anything through the door, well barely at least. you grab the doorknob and open the door.

a random girl. bent over the sink base, a drunk dazed look in the mirror as she moans, a really tall guy, looking around six feet tall, really pretty white hair and white lashes, straight up eating her pussy. you let out a small shriek, the girl barely notices but the guy snaps his head around so fast, you could have sworn he almost broke his neck. you slam the door close and bolted out of the basement.

12:12AM; you’re driving home. fuck shoko, she’ll most likely end up sleeping in another guy’s bed in that house anyways, she’ll live. but you refuse to stay in that house any longer, especially not after what you witnessed. it’s not like you’re new to sex, you never done it but you know about it but also you refuse to actually get a front row seat to real life porn show.

you made it back to the apartment, driving your car into the underground parking lot and heads into the elevator. your mind was spiraling, that reoccurring memory infecting your mind like a parasite. the guy’s crystal blue eyes, shining in a bathroom light, particularly blinding you, filled with shock and panic. you unlock the apartment door and went inside; about ready to shut down for the night.

6:12AM; you wake up at your phone buzzing rapidly on the bedside table, alarming you in your slumber. you slap around the table until you yanked the phone off the charger to turn it on. just to be blinded by the brightness. “fuck…” you mumbled to yourself. adjusting your eyes while still squinting.

“hello?” voice hoarse and dehydrated, “hello? is this y/n?” a male deep voice on the other line. “yes it’s y/n, who is this?” small noises in the background, “this is gojo…satoru gojo, you’re shoko’s roommate, right?” you make a small ‘mhm’. “yea, can you come pick her up soon? she has no ride and is really hungover..” you run your temple in a growing headache.

“uh yea…i’ll be over soon.” you hung up before hearing gojo out. yea you’re already tired of today.

TAGLIST @luvsymai @gojodickbig @sad-darksoul @kaemaybae @yukii-1 @juneslove21 @loverzxi

any tags in blue and italic means your tags aren’t working or aren’t on

previous `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ masterlist `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ next

[sf1enjoyer]

꧁Truth and apologies꧂

Part 3 of the LN4 series:New Start

Warning: implied sexual themes

Word count:1288

Summary: After accidentally colliding into Lando and ignoring him for a few weeks you were at a post race party just drinking your nowhere to be found partying mood away until Lando walked up to you.

@fishyfishersticks

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Over the 2024 season, he grew bold. Too bold for his sake but also matured a lot in such a short time. He was no longer that pleased with something less than a win after his first victory in Miami, and you guys slowly started having little fights because you tried talking some sense into him and telling him that he doesn't always need to win, but he was too blinded by this fight for the championship when he saw that he had a chance to win the title.

Things were okay until one catastrophic race. You were fighting for the first place and you were behind him. You were having a shitty weekend and one wrong move ruined peverything, for both you and Lando. You collided sending both McLaren cars into the wall and he came out furious.

"Lando are you oka-" you tried talking when he interrupted you

"Y/N what the fuck is your problem?"

"Excuse me?"

"God.. you're such a pain in the ass. I'm fighting for a championship and you pull stunts like that!"

"The hell are you on? You turned towards me as much as I did into you!"

"It's your fault you got that close. If you can't overtake someone,keep your position."

Your jaw dropped at Lando's harsh words. You were furious at him because it wasn't only your fault.And what enraged you more was the fact that he didn't have the guts to admit that he was in the wrong too.

"Cry me a fucking river. You're an asshole."

You and Lando didn't speak again that race and refused to give any answers to the question that involved one another.

The following race which was hungary Lando won and you got p2. Sure you congratulates each other but the words were cold and the podium celebration was really awkward. You avoided him just as much as he avoided you.

You weren't going to apologize when you knew he was wrong. You're not saying sorry just to fix something you didn't ruin. Even though your heart told you to but you were too stubborn for that.

Later that night a bunch of F1 drivers organiser and went out to a club,with you being one of them. You got dressed up in a dress,not too

short but showing the right amount of skin for a party. To be honest you were there more for the drinks because you weren't really in the mood to party and you were told that Lando wouldn't be there so you saw it as an opportunity to have a bit of fun to forget about your whole argument which was still heated.

You sat at the bar ,ordered a bunch of shots to down your tiredness and frustration. You heard a familiar voice from your left and when you looked, it was Lando ordering a whiskey. Thequestion is why the hell was he here? You were told he rathered go to sleep with how tired he was. At least that's what Carlos told you.

You downed your last shot and scrunched your nose slightly ,when he spoke up.

"Can't handle your alcohol, Y/N?"

"Weren't you supposed to be sleeping like the whiny baby you are?"

"I was going to do that but getting a drink sounded better at the moment."

You rolled your eyes and sighed

"Oh how lovely,now can you go bother someone else?"

"No." He answered firmly as he took a sip of

his drink

"And why the hell not?"

"Because we need to talk Y/N"

Oh wow he wantes to talk to you after a week of ignoring you and blaming you for his crash.

"What an honor."

He sat there in silence for a bit and finished his drink in the meantime

"I'm serious Y/N"

You order two more shots and pass one to him.

"Go ahead,i guess..."

He sighed

"Look i wanted to say I'm sorry for lashing out on you like that. I was pissed that you crashed into me and i took it too far."

You downed your last shot and shot him a glare

"Yeah go ahead and blame me. Definitely i turned into you on purpose.. Thanks for the apology."

You stand up and go outside of the club with Lando quickly following you and calling after you

"Y/N wait! For fuck's sake... That's not what I meant. Why are you so difficult,Jesus!"

You snapped at him your tone slightly raising

"I'm the one who's difficult? I'm sorry I'm realistic and that your whiny ass couldn't admit that the crash was our fault,not just mine because apparently that hurts your new bought fragile ego. I'm so tired of your shit!"

He took your hand when you walked away and his featured seemed softer. He finally had that glint of regret in his eyes that you haven't seen in so long.

"Y/N you're right. Look i know I'm not the best with words and that i acted like and asshole but i really mean my apology. The crash wasn't just you,it was me as well and I'm sorry that this fight for the championship made me act like I'm better than you and that i have the right to treat you like that.."

You were still pissed so you pulled away again and sent another rude remark his way

He grabbed your hand firmly and pulled you close to him,one hand snaking behind to hold you by the waist so you wouldn't leave again

"Y/N just listen. We can't keep going like this. I hate being mad at you,I hate not talking to you.We're teammates but more importantly, we're friends...and things won't work out if we start a rivalty so just please forgive me."

You look up at him and you see his sincere gaze eating you, making you feel guilty

"Please.."He repeated his words. He was practically begging you to forgive him.

You just looked at him and in that moment it came down on you. One hand on your wrist,the other on your waist and his face so close made you want to kiss him and run a hand through his stupidly perfect curls and oh boy you being slightly drunk didn't make things easier for you.

You felt like it was just the two of you. You just gave in and let your body take the decisions for you so you just pressed your lips softly against his and placed a hand on his cheek

To your surpise he didn't pull back immediately and when he did he had his typical smug smile

"I'll just take it as a sign that you forgive me."

With those words being said he kissed you again but this time more fierce but also soft, moving both hands to hold your waist. You automatically wrapped your arms around his neck and slid a hand into his curls from the back of his head. You didn't expect him to reciprocate this but it was fucking amazing.

You felt those two hands creep lower and then squeezing you gently. It took you slightly by surprise but you did enjoy it.

He slowly pushed you against the wall and he kissed your neck, his lips trailing along your jawline until he found your mouth again. He kisses you hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth in a passionate but sweet way the music and the neon lights of the club and the music fading in the background.

When you pulled back a little ,you desperately reached for your phone to call an uber and you needed it now. You needed to get back to the hotel with Lando as soon as possible.

[i-am-xp-64]

Lost combat the proven

Help help..-

As the car drive to an old wood house, Zachary carried lim who was unconscious to the basement, where he kept Thomas at

"Hey heeyy..look what I got for you Thomas~"

Zachary throw lim on the floor next to Thomas who was tied up, he let out a chuckle as he get an axe but struggled to find any rope

"What the..oh that tab freak! He taken all the ropes for that damn cult again?? Ugh anyway, that kid can just rot there!"

Zachary whined as he put back the axe, he mumble curses as he went up to call tab about it

Meanwhile Thomas did nothing but stared at lim, his son who was hit on the head, he knew lim is an I'm dead so he won't die but he was still worried about him, he tried so hard not to cry so at least he won't scare lim when he woke up, he waited there all tied and afraid, thinking how's the others are like right now

-Meanwhile-

Jett came out of the therapy place early to go check the others as he come across Vicky on the street, he cursed as she approaches

"𝐽𝑒𝑡𝑡?..𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒?"

"Girl shut up..you don't know what we had this week, anyway, you also going to the house?"

"𝑌-𝑦𝑒𝑎ℎ..𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑙𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑔𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛^^"

Jett just sighed as he just nobbed

As they walked near the house, they noticed the door were wide open and there were a little blood on the car road near, Jett looked inside as he called for lim, bit no sounds happened

As jett looking around the house, Vicky go straight to Thomas's and lim's rooms, she alarmed jett that they were not in the house, both panicked as an old neighbor come to the door calling them as they stared

"Excuse me young ones..you two love here?"

"Almost..?"

With out saying anything, the old lady hand them some photos she taken, it was from an old camera but it was showns that lim were taken away and Thomas drive it off, the lady just left as she were nervous as jett and Vicky study the photos to see what's going on

As that, monster, conner and Albert came in, Albert were just came from the surgery and monster helped him walk, meanwhile they were saw conner as he approached and tell monster about the police call that talked around the neighborhood and included their friends, Vicky and jett alarmed them as they shown the photos, monster and conner focused on the photos and others actually surprise to see Albert a little odd

"���𝑟 𝐴𝑙𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑡?..𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒...𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡?"

"𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤..𝐢 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞."

Albert told them everything, including the argument he had with Thomas

"𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭..𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟..𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬..𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦"

"Dude shut it, you think Thomas would randomly say all that of he knew this would happen to you? Get your ass together"

Vicky was confused and Albert were sad, meanwhile conner and monster chat thru about the clues

"This car was seen at the old kidnap case of Thomas before..same car, same details, it could be the same kidnapper who taken or mind control Thomas to kidnap lim."

"I think you're right..i will alarm the cops"

"No don't! If that triggers the kidnapper, they'll kill them both"

"𝐽𝑒𝑡𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡..𝑤𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑝.."

The others talk as they try to make a plan, meanwhile Albert were felt too guilty to even join in, keep remembering Thomas's words and believed that it was quite his fault, but this time, he lift his head up as he thinked

"𝐍𝐨..𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬...𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬..𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝..."

Albert snapped from his thoughts as he ran outside, notice the car tracks that car left and he began to follow them, monster noticed Albert was gone but before she even do anything, Andrew came in, monster didn't stop, ran out to the police department to alarm as others explain the situation

After an hour later, Zachary was pissed as a lot as he stare at the criminal photo of tab being caught this morning

"Ugh!..i knew I should've do this alone.."

But as he slowly approach to the basement, a gun click sound came and Zachary just froze there

"𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞."

Albert said as he pull the trigger

BANG BANG💥💥

Zachary fell to the floor as he been shot on the shoulder and leg, Albert walked pass him as he approach to Thomas and lim

To be continue..

@weirdsillycreature @astrodrawz @victiniiiii

Yeah I couldn't able to fit the full one in this so there will be a next chapter, sorry..😅

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Message Received

jason todd x reader, sequel to Outgoing Call

Big warnings for this one folks. Reader is an addict who relapses, there is a long stretch of fierce self-loathing. Please know yourself and what you can handle. Also, reader's father has died. Again, know yourself and what you can handle.

Also, vomit and swearing.

I don't know how long this is

——————

The night wind whips by as Jason races to Jess’ apartment, ripping through Gotham on his motorcycle. He hopes to god you're still there. He's got one eye on the road, the other on the speedometer. Squeezing the accelerator, he lets the dial tick up five, ten, fifteen miles per hour. He tears past cars and trucks, squeezes into tight spaces, takes turns dangerously fast. It's some of the most reckless biking he's ever done, but he doesn't care. The stakes are high, high in a way they haven't been before. High because this is his fault. Jason has to get to you before you relapse, before you hurt yourself too badly.

Most of his focus goes toward controlling the bike, but he reserves some for trying to figure out how to explain showing up unannounced at your friend's apartment 24 hours after he broke up with you. Over text.

And he only has to come get you because he knows from a bug Bruce placed in Jess' apartment that his text made you fall back into an alcohol habit he didn't know you had.

Jesus. He really fucked this one up.

Jason shakes his head. The excuse is a problem for later. He’ll think one up. Or he won't. It doesn't matter.

The road melts away under his tires, and soon he’s barreling up Jess’ street. He cuts the ignition, jumps off the bike, and scales the fire escape before he even realizes what he’s done. Crouching down, he peers through the windows. Fifth floor, west, rear apartment. Jason’s in the right place.

Through the first window, he has a view of Jess sitting in front of a computer, back facing Jason. He quickly moves onto the next. It’s a living room, empty, and the window is cracked open. Jason gently opens it further and slips inside, landing on the rug. He peers into the bathroom and then the kitchen of the shoebox apartment, but you’re not there. Shit. You must have already left.

He’s back through the window and on the street in seconds. You can’t have gone far, and Jason doesn’t have to guess where you went. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hastily types “bar” into Google Maps. You’re at the first one he walks into.

Jason takes a moment to get his bearings. It's a dive bar, and mostly empty. Only five barstools are occupied, including yours. You're talking to the bartender animatedly, an easy smile on your face. You seem relaxed. To Jason's dismay, there's already a drink in your hand.

Fuck. He's too late. He has to stop you before you do any more damage.

Steeling himself, Jason moves toward you, silently positioning himself on your left side. It takes you a couple of seconds to notice him, but when you do, your eyes travel up his body slowly. When they meet his own your face is mean, your mouth set into a sneer. "Hey, sweetheart," you drawl, tone hard. You bring the glass to your lips.

Jason reaches out to stop you, laying a hand on your wrist. "Baby, don't. Don't do this."

"Fuck you.”

He winces. Not like he doesn’t deserve it.

“Let me take you home,” he pleads with you. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

You turn away from him, let him wait out the silence. Jason sighs, looks to the bartender. “How much has she had to drink?”

The bartender eyes you warily. “Seven shots of vodka in the last twenty minutes, plus that whiskey sour in her hand.”

Fuck. Fuck. He has to get you out of here.

“Sweetheart, we gotta go home,” he tries again, pitching his voice low. “Let me take you back to your apartment.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit at him. Again, you try to take a sip of your drink, but Jason’s arm keeps yours in place. “Get off me,” you hiss at him. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Uh, ma’am, do you know this guy? Do you want him here?” the bartender cuts in, eyeing Jason. “Because if not, I’m gonna have to call the police.”

Jason almost rolls his eyes. Trust his luck to find the one bartender in Gotham actually doing a good job.

The bartender looks at you expectantly. So does Jason. Depending on your answer, things could get complicated. But he’s not leaving without you.

You roll your eyes, then wave a hand at the bartender. “Don’t sic the cops on him, he’s just my ex,” you mutter. Jason swallows down the easy way ‘ex’ had rolled off your tongue. Can’t get upset about that now. The bartender nods, then moves toward another customer, giving you some privacy.

Jason tries a third time. “I’m cutting you off, doll. You’ve had too much, too fast. Let me take you home.”

You glare at him, jaw working. Eventually, you sigh. “You’re not going to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“I’m not going to leave you alone." He won't.

“Fine. Whatever.” You hop off the barstool, flagging the bartender down to close out your tab. “Let’s go home, sweetie!” you say with mock cheer.

Jason follows you outside, briefly checking to see if you had brought a coat with you. You hadn’t, and it’s cold. Cold enough that you’ll feel it with your bare arms and t-shirt. Silently, he shrugs off his jacket, offering it to you.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say in disgusted disbelief. “Don’t make me laugh, Jason.”

Jason sets his jaw, turns onto the street to hail a cab. It’s too far to walk, especially in the cold, and odds are you’re not going to get on the back of his bike.

He observes you from his peripheral vision as he waits. You stare sightlessly at the pavement, expression blank, but your hands are curled into fists and the hair on your arms is standing up. You’re stressed, or cold, or both. Not a lot Jason can do to help.

A taxi pulls up, and Jason gives the driver your address before opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him but slide into the cab. Jason follows, pulling the door shut behind him. You’re pressed against the opposite window, as far from him as you can get in the close space. Jason makes a show of putting on his seatbelt. You roll your eyes at him a second time before copying.

The driver pulls away from the bar, and you set your gaze resolutely out your window. Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what to do next. He’d gotten you out of the bar, but he can’t just drop you off at your apartment. What if you leave again, or god forbid you have some alcohol at home? No, he can’t leave you alone. He has to convince you to let him stay the night. How the hell he’s going to manage that, after he broke up with you, is beyond him.

Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d really gone and made a mess for himself. Not to mention you.

“How did you find me?” Your voice slices into the silence of the cab. Jason’s not expecting you to talk, but he’s had time to think about this one. The bar was close to a safe house, the one he’d been pretending was his permanent apartment when you came over. The one you had seen through, apparently. “I was in the area, you know I’m just around the corner.”

You nod. “What were you doing at the bar?”

Jason holds his tongue. Here is an opportunity to lie again, to say that he just wanted to blow off some steam, or some other shit, and get you off his back. He chooses neither.

“I—I wanted to find you,” he admits. “I don’t know...how I knew,” he hedges, “but I was hoping you’d be there.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to—to talk.” You snort, turn back to the window. “Baby, please,” he starts, “I want to—”

“Stop.” You shake your head. “Stop.” Jason falls silent, stays that way until the cabbie reaches your building.

Immediately, you shuck off your seatbelt and slip out the door. Jason rushes to pay the driver and follow you, catching up by the time you’ve reached your lobby door. “This is your stop, Jason,” you say sharply.

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished. “Listen. I know. I know. But you’ve had a lot to drink, doll. Let me get you upstairs. Please. I want to make sure you’re okay.” This is unfair, and he knows it, but he can’t leave you alone.

You keep silent but step through your building's lobby and onto the elevator. Jason hits the button, and soon enough you’re on your floor, walking to your unit. Surprisingly, you don’t stop him from coming in, finding the click of the key of the lock and gently closing the door behind him.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say tiredly. “What do you want?”

He looks at you helplessly, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth as his words fail him. Sighing, you move toward your bedroom. Unthinking, Jason falls in step behind you, and you freeze, spear him with a look. “You’re a fool if you think I’m going to let you come in here again.”

Jason takes a deep breath. He's been dreading this. “Look, I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry but I—I can’t leave you like this. Please, baby, let me stay the night.”

“Why?” you say disdainfully. “You don’t care about me.”

Ouch.

“I know I said—what I said, but I was wrong. I was scared,” he admits.

You stare at him, narrowing your eyes, saying nothing. Jason takes it for the cue that it is.

“I was scared, and, and I’m scared now,” he says in a low voice. “You had a lot to drink, and on an empty stomach, doll.” And he has to make sure you don’t drink any more tonight. He has to.

You snort at him. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Jason keeps his eyes on yours. “Please,” he asks quietly. He’s not above begging, not for you. “Please let me stay the night.”

Staying still, you exhale slowly, breathing out through your nose. Your hard eyes don’t soften. “On the couch,” you order, then disappear into your bedroom.

Jason breathes a sigh of relief. At least now he can keep you safe.

—

You wake up in your bed.

There is no prelude. You don't get a soft, gradual ascent from your sleep. You aren't awake, and then you are.

Shame cloaks you like a vice.

More pressing, however, is the vomit you can taste in the back of your throat.

You stagger to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and thumbing the lock. Your knees hit the cracked tile of the floor, the toilet lid smacks against the tank, and your face is in the bowl. You heave. The smell is vile, the retching tears your throat apart.

You cradle your head in your arms, elbows resting on the cool porcelain of the seat as your stomach empties itself. You don't move when it's over, although the smell fills your nose and the ends of your hair drip into the toilet.

Fuck. Fuck. You've gone and ruined it all.

Exhaling, you allow yourself to collapse to the floor, not bothering to flush. Curling your arms into your chest, you begin to sob. You'd gone and fucked it all up, just like you'd always known you would.

You knew, you knew, that you would end up back here. Sobriety was a sham. Everyone thought you could do it, but you're the one who has to sleep in your skin every night. You knew you didn't have it in you, that addiction was ground into your bones, a black hole emanating out from your center that you could never keep a lid on. You had always known that there was something awful inside of you that you would never quite be able to manage, and now here it was, crawling up your throat and spilling out into the toilet.

Quick as they started, your sobs leave you in a rush. You stay on the floor, smelling the vomit, staring at your bathroom ceiling. You were never going to be able to hack it.

The doorknob jiggles. "Baby?" Jason calls out cautiously.

"Don't."

That asshole. Of course he's still here, of course he gets to see you like this. It's not enough that he broke your heart over text, where at least you could hide, instead he has to show up in person and see what a mess he's made you.

The doorknob shakes again. “Baby, please—”

“Get out.” You squeeze your eyes shut. Please leave. Leave. Leaveleaveleave—

“No. Not until we talk,” he says stubbornly.

Fuck that. Suddenly, you’re furious, anger ripping through your gut. You greedily latch onto it, using it to distract from your self-loathing. That asshole thinks he can stay, thinks he has any right to be here, after what he did to you?

Fuck him.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you snarl at him through the door.

“I’m not leaving,” he insists. You let out a shocked laugh, then inhale sharply, gritting your teeth.

Fine. Fine. Guess you’re doing this.

You pull yourself to your feet, survey your reflection in the mirror. Jason may have heard your retching, may have seen you at your lowest last night, but you will not, you will not let him see you like that now. You wash your face, run water over your hair to get the vomit out, brush your teeth. Flush the toilet. Your face is puffy but when your eyes are clear, you unlock the bathroom door and throw it open.

“What the fuck do you want?” you snap at him. As always, Jason looks gorgeous, even after spending a night on your couch. Hair a messy bedhead, clothes deliciously rumpled. You want him so bad it makes you sick. Then you think of your own appearance, last night’s clothes that reek of sweat sticking ugly to your skin, hair frizzy and unkempt, and you want to kill him. Fuck this motherfucker for looking so perfect while you look and feel like trash.

Jason holds something out to you. Pulling your eyes down, you realize he’s offering you a glass of water. You want to hurl it against the wall. Instead, you take it from him, turn, and dump it into the toilet. Handing it back, you stalk past him into the kitchen and get yourself a bottle of water. You’re not taking anything from him.

“Baby,” he follows. “Please, let me—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “Wait. I want to—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Sweetheart.” He starts to sound frustrated. Good. If he wants to stay, he's going to get the fight you're itching for. “Let me finish. I have to—”

“Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”

He’s angry now, you can see it on his face. You feel vicious. “You’re not listening. Listen, you have to listen to me.”

How dare he. “I don’t have to do anything!” you shout at him. “I don’t have to do anything for you, not after what you did to me!”

“I was wrong,” Jason presses on, raising his voice to talk over you. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said that, I was sc—”

“I don’t care!” you scream at him. “You ended it! It’s over!”

“I still care about you!” Jason shouts back, “I care about you, I’m telling you I made a mistake!”

“I don’t care what you think of me now! Too late! I don’t care anymore! You broke up with me!” You will yourself not to cry as your anger surges. “You made your bed, now lie in it!”

“I’m telling you I shouldn’t have done it, I’m telling you I was wrong, I’m trying to apologize! Why can’t you—”

"You can't just take it back! You already did it, it's too late, I don't want to—"

"Shut up!" Jason roars. "Shut up and listen to me, I'm trying to apologize!"

"No!" You stalk towards him, and something in your face makes him take a step back. "I don't owe you anything! You already said everything you need to say. You already hurt me, now I'm never going to trust you again!"

Jason looks like you've knocked the wind out of him. Some part of you grins cruelly. You want to do it again. "You hurt me, so I'm never going to trust you again."

Jason exhales, remains of his anger sliding off his face. You're still breathing heavily, glowering at him, waiting for what he’s going to say next.

"You're right," he says eventually, voice low. "You're right, you don't owe me anything. I—I'm sorry I yelled at you. You don't owe me anything."

You stare at him through narrowed eyes, coming down off your own fury. Jason isn't looking at you, he's looking at the floor, jaw flexing as he chews on the inside of his cheek. He looks...he looks upset.

You slam your eyes shut before you can register the thought. Who cares if he looks upset, you think to yourself harshly. Who cares? The motherfucker deserves it, after what he did. Still, the savagery that burned bright inside you dwindles to a candle with a single wick, threatening to go out entirely.

Maybe he's just tricking you, manipulating you, you try and remind yourself, but you don't really believe it. That was never Jason's style. You crack your eyes open. If anything, he looks even worse now, but he's still not looking at you, not analyzing you to gauge your reaction, to see if his words had any pull. He's not pleading with you anymore, either. Jason must really be upset. Now you have to figure out what to do with that.

You sigh, clearing your throat. Jason flinches and tries to school his expression into place before giving up and meeting your eyes. He doesn't say anything, waiting for you to make the next move. The ball is in your court.

You stare at him for several moments, trying to work out what to do. Jason stares back silently. "I'll leave," Jason says, voice cracking. You open your mouth, then close it, unsure of what to say. "Do you still want me to go?" Jason's face is a mess, but his brow is furrowed as he tries to figure you out, figure out what you want him to do.

You run a hand across your face. Damn it. Damn this asshole for the hold he has over you. The same idiocy that has you reaching for the bottle moves you to offer him another chance.

"I don't want to talk here," you whisper. Jason sucks in a breath, but you talk over him. "We can talk later. Another time."

"Today?"

You shake your head. "No. In a couple days. I'll text you." You leave yourself an out you can slither through if you need it. You won't give him anything else.

Jason's looks like he's going to argue, but you give him a warning look. He shuts himself down. "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. I'll wait for your text."

You nod, exhausted. "Get out of my apartment," you say, but without heat. This time, Jason goes. You shut the door heavily behind him, then rest your shoulder against it as the tears start to fall. You bite your tongue sharp enough to draw blood to keep the sobs inside you.

Fuck him, you think again, but this time with despair instead of anger. Fuck him for sending you back to that place, for shoving you a thousand steps backward. You're faced again with how you slipped last night, self-loathing threatening to pull you under. But you're not on the bathroom floor anymore, and you realize that cleaning yourself up has put you back in control, if only slightly. You take a deep breath, reaching for the strategies you practiced with your therapist. You force yourself into positive self-talk. It’s okay, you resolutely assure yourself. It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everybody slips. This doesn’t have to mean the end. It doesn’t. It doesn’t mean you’re going to fall back head over heels into addiction. You’re not twenty-two anymore. You’re not…where you were, when things got really bad. When you broke yourself on the alcohol because you couldn’t tell when a bad habit became a crutch, couldn’t recognize when a few drinks here and there became active addiction. Your family is much closer now, your mom and your sister are back in touch and they know what you’re struggling with. Your friends and family have supported you before, they’ll do it again.

You put your face in your hands and take deep, measured breaths. You’ve pulled yourself out of active addiction before. You can do it again. That doesn't mean you'll have to, but you can. If you need to.

You stand up off the floor, pick up your water from where you left it on the counter. Take a long drink, then wipe your hand over your mouth. You can do this. You can do this. You can take a shower, find some breakfast, go to work in the morning, and move on. You can text Jason. Maybe.

But first, you need to get through the next fifteen minutes. You pick up your phone and call your mom.

—

Jason sits on a park bench, drumming his fingers anxiously on his thigh. He’s ten blocks south of your apartment, in one of those fancy new city parks Bruce had funded. It’s a cool, crisp fall day in Gotham, and Jason was supposed to meet you here thirteen minutes ago.

He’s been here for nearly thirty minutes. He was fifteen minutes early, nerves driving him out of his apartment and onto his bike. Since he left your place last week he’d waited anxiously for you to text him about meeting up, but after 72 hours of radio silence he’d nearly given up hope. Your text had almost come as a surprise, a terse message telling him when and where. Jason had fired back a reply instantly, he had no room left to be suave. He was just grateful you’d decided to give him a second chance.

And now here he was, searching for your face in the people that walk past, waiting again, hoping you didn’t stand him up.

But no, there you are, moving resolutely toward him with a face that gives nothing away. Jason stands almost before he decides to. As anxious as he is, he’s thrilled to see you again. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face in half.

You nod. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jason waves you off, sitting back down. You eye him before sitting down carefully, perched just close enough to have a conversation with him but no closer. You look at him expectantly.

Right.

Jason takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I—I’m so sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have sent you that text.” He digs his fingernails into his palms. “I—I really care about you, and I got scared, and—”

“If you’re about to tell me that you were scared by how much you care about me, I’m walking out of here right now,” you interrupt with a warning. “I won’t be manipulated.”

“I’m, I’m not trying to manipulate you,” Jason says gently, afraid that you think he ever would. He lies to you when he has to, and he's not proud of it, but he’d never mess you around like that. “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that, doll. I’m telling the truth.” You stare at him, gaze hard. “Honest,” Jason adds, hoping you believe him.

“Are you saying you regret breaking up with me over text, or you regret breaking up with me?” you demand.

“I regret breaking up with you!” The words tumble out of Jason’s mouth. “I messed up, I was a fuckhead who got scared of my own feelings. Not trying to manipulate you,” he adds hurriedly. “Just telling the truth. It’s—it's been a long time since I’ve been serious with someone. Actually,” he takes another deep breath. “This is the only time I’ve been serious with someone. Being with you is the longest relationship I’ve been in to date.”

He stops here to see how you’re taking his words, and to give himself a break. He's doing so shockingly well at sharing his feelings with you, he's almost surprised.

He's glad he showed up for himself. You're worth it.

Jason peers over at you from his side of the bench, trying to gauge where you're at. Your eyes haven't softened, but the line of your mouth has loosened, jaw more relaxed. Jason pushes onward.

"I—I've got some shit, sweetheart," he says quietly, carefully. "I grew up in Crime Alley. My dad wasn't around, and my mother was a druggie. She died when I was ten." He closes his eyes. Jason is so far removed from that life, so distant from that distant past, but it doesn't get any easier to talk about. It's—it's hard. It's still hard.

"I went into...foster care," he says. He has to lie here, he can't chance you putting together the Jason Todd that went to live with Bruce Wayne and the Jason Todd that died tragically two years later. He isn't ready to tell you about that, not yet. He figures he's allowed this much. "At first, it was great with my foster father, but then...it wasn't. I ran away a few years later." Jason maneuvers around the snarled timeline. "I was on and off the streets for a bit there. I got into some...bad shit. But things are better now. I'm trying to be better," he finishes stubbornly. He is, despite what Bruce might say.

Jason can't get himself to look at you, not after depositing all that shit into your lap. Instead, he glares emptily into the horizon until you sigh, then clear your throat.

"Thank you for telling me that," you say evenly. Jason whips his head up to stare at you. "I appreciate you..." You pause, sucking on your teeth as you choose your words. "You giving me some background."

Jason is silent, still. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to breathe until you've finished. Until you tell him...what you want to do next.

If you're even considering staying with him, after all this.

You sigh again, swallow thickly. "I've...you're not the only one who has shit." You go silent, looking away. He waits patiently, guessing at what's coming.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," you say, matter-of-fact. Jason winces, even though he already knew. Still, he has to ask.

"Does that mean...last night..." he trails off.

You look at him steadily. "Yeah. That's what that was."

"Fuck, princess, I'm...I'm so sorry," he says brokenly, guilt spilling out. "I'm so sorry I did that to you."

"Thanks," you say quietly. "Look, I, I want to explain. Uh..." you look away, blinking. "It got really bad when my Dad died. It was really sudden, car accident. Hit and run."

Shit. Jason grips the sleeves of his jacket, tension rippling through his forearms.

"My family just kind of...fell apart, after that. My sister and my mom got really distant, and I was away at college and I just...yeah." You suck in a breath. "A couple of years later, I got into a car accident. It was a DUI. I was okay, but it kind of...woke my sister and my mom up, I guess. They helped me recover."

Jason waits a couple of moments after you go silent, making sure you're finished. "Thank you for telling me," he says, copying you. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, that you lost your father like that," he says gently. "That...that sounds really bad."

You shrug. "We all have our shit, you know?" Yeah.

The two of you fall silent, chewing through your confessions. Jason runs a hand through his hair, across the back of his neck. He didn’t realize you were carrying all that on your shoulders. It makes him view you differently. You’re…tougher, than he thought. You’re made of stronger stuff. He needs someone like that, he thinks. Someone who might understand. Maybe the two of you are well-suited for each other.

That is, if you’re still willing to try.

He clears his throat, and you glance at him. “So, what, uh,” he coughs awkwardly. “What happens now?” Jason holds his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes narrow. Then you sigh, slide over to him. “Now,” you let your shoulders bump against his, “you’re going to take me to the coffee shop across the street and buy me an overpriced latte. As an apology.”

Jason’s heart soars. “Not one of those stupid flavors,” he snorts through a grin.

“Yeah, one of those stupid flavors. It’s going to be a large, and I’m going to add, like, four extra flavor pumps, because you were being such an ass. And I’m getting a cookie.” You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment.

Jason stands up, offering you a hand. “Anything for you, doll.”

You accept his hand, but then surprise him, pulling hard enough to make him stumble, legs hitting the bench. He regains his balance as you laugh at him, hopping up. “That’s right,” you look at him meaningfully over your shoulder. “Anything for me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jason nods at your challenge. Yeah. He can do that.

Satisfied, you slip your hand in his and lead him towards the coffee shop.

----

anyway. that was fun. i hope you had fun.

tagging: @candlewitch-cryptic @somenerdydancer

[studiogrimm810]

hii!! this is my first fic i’m posting here so excuse the not-put-togetherness of this post lol, i just really wanting to share this!! also i would love any and all feedback please!! :)

pairings/characters: sam winchester x you, dean is also there

summary: you get shot while on a hunt and the brothers work to patch you up on the scene

warnings: blood/blood loss, gunshot wound, graphic depiction of retrieving bullet from stomach

word count: idk, i typed this out in a tumblr draft, i’ll do better next time haha

_______

God, if it weren’t for that damn gun…

This was a vamp nest they were hunting and Sam still had brought his gun. Yes - of course it’s good to have extra protection, but if he knew that a vamp would used it against you he would have never brought it.

And now there you were, sprawled out on the icey basement floor, slipping in your own blood. Sam lunged for the vamp as soon as he noticed the creature had his gun, but the monsters trigger-finger was more determined and his heart sunk as he heard the gunshot ring out.

Sam didn’t dare to look over at you until the vamps head was clean off it’s body. The slice of Sam’s machete sprayed a spit of blood across his cheek and he huffed for a second before his memory caught up with him and he snapped his head to where you whimpered on the floor - breaths ragged and pained.

“Hey- hey, hey…” Sam crawled over to you, his hands slipping in the puddle of blood growing beside you. Your mouth gaped open, chin quivering as you tried to get out a word - any words. Sam pressed his hands into the wound and you only gasped because there wasn’t enough air in your lungs to scream.

“I know, honey, I know,” Sam fingered his phone out his pocket and called Dean, putting him on speaker and throwing the phone back down so that he could remain the pressure on your stomach.

“Sammy?” Deans voice flowed through the phone right next to you on the floor. You turned to the phone, seeing Deans name light up the screen and the timer going on the call. It was blurry and you blinked to try and focus but it didn’t help. You realize your eyes were full of tears.

Sam rambled out what had happened, his voice tight with worry and his hands trembling.

“We- we’re in the basement, I need you to get the kit from the car and get down here- now!” Sam’s voice left no room for questions or concerns so Dean didn’t even respond past saying “2 minutes”.

“Look at me, honey,” Sam cooed, tilting his head so that it lined up better with yours but it just made your vision spin more. You felt sick.

“Fuck-“ you mumbled, pressing your head back into the concrete floor. You just noticed your ears had been ringing because now the sound was starting to dull and the buzzing in your stomach started to tickle away into a searing pain.

“Baby, I need you to look at me- can you hear me?” Sam had removed a hand from your stomach and brought it up to your face, trying to snap you out of your shock. The overwhelming weight of the past 60 seconds of reality slammed back into your brain at full force and now your breathing was quick and you tried to sit up to look at the wound. “Woah, okay, baby. Calm down, Dean’s coming with some help and I’m gonna fix you- I’m gonna fix this,” he stated like a prayer, willing it by just his own desperation.

You could hear footsteps clunking around upstairs but Sam assured it was just Dean. Your mind was all over the place, constantly getting reset by the wash of pain ripping through your abdomen. The back and forth of what you tried to focus on felt like your metaphorical neck was about to snap from the emotional whiplash.

‘God, this sucked…’ you thought.

Sam continued to mumble reassurances and praises and you weren’t too sure if it was for him or yourself. He seemed to just be on autopilot. He gently lifted your torso which earned a soft cry from your lips, making Sam want to retreat further into the corner until he couldn’t hear or see or feel the secondhand of your pain.

“I know, honey, I just need to check something,” his voice was soft, or at least he was trying for it to be. You saw his face stiffen and you knew what he was about to say. “There’s no exit wound.”

Your jaw clenched and you closed your eyes. You tried to focus on the pain to gauge to location of the bullet.

“Where- where is it?” You stutter, looking up at Sam. Due to your current consciousness and Sam’s eagerness you can hope that it isn’t fatal.

“Uh- it’s…” he pulled up his hand to point to the side of his stomach, “you’re- you’re gonna be fine.”

He still looked completely freaked and pale, more worried about you bleeding out than from organ damage. He looked up as Dean descended the basement steps, Deans face falling at the sight before him.

Blood. There was a hell of a lot of blood. Sam’s hands were stained and his sleeves soaked. Dean fell to his knees right beside her and ripped open the kit.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean addressed you, smiled softly and looking into your eyes for just a moment, “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Dean pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a pair of scissors then he looked up at Sam, “Sammy, you with me?” Dean demanded, knowing it’s hard for him so see you like this.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m here,” Sam cleared his throat and took the kit, Dean tore the fabric of your shirt and poured the antiseptic over your gaping bullet hole. You cried out.

“Fuck- Dean… maybe a wa-warning next time?” You stuttered out, your hands started to shake and you stared up at the ceiling, your vision blurring.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, working quick.

“Dean- the bullet is still in her,” Sam almost whispered and his face contorted into a cringe. Dean met Sam’s eyes with a sigh. Dean looked down at you and called out your name.

“You know what that means, don’t you sweetheart?” He asked, jaw clenched and hands already stained. You continued to look at the ceiling and just nodded, digging your fingers into your ribs to try and redirect your pain. It didn’t work, but you couldn’t stop. “Sam, tweezers,” Dean ticked his head to the kit that was now besides Sam.

You heard the clanking of metal and your own feared breaths. You wanted to sob but you felt frozen, completely and utterly in shock. The noise around you started to echo.

“-…2…1”

You scream. You scream as the cold tweezers claw their way past your freshly, air-exposed insides. Dean keeps the tweezers clenched on purpose and if you could think straight you would thank him.

Your body tries to squirm away but Sam is holding you in place and again- if you could think straight you would curse him.

Your jaw is clenched so tight that you worry your next injury may be a cracked tooth and your eyes are so screwed shut that you’re starting to see dancing colors and shapes on the back of your eyelids. You can hear Sam’s voice trying to reassure you but you can also feel the stiff metal fishing in your insides for the last piece stiff metal that fucked you over. It was agony.

Sam felt a thick, bunch of worry almost blocking off his windpipe. He could barely get a proper breath and he just stared down at your pain contorted face wishing there was something else he could do besides wait for Deans next instruction. Sams hands were sticky with your blood as he caresses your cheek and he knows that he should wipe off the blood first but he so desperately wants to comfort you and to be something more than what he is now.

Deans expression is stiff, his eyes unfocused and hands almost cramped from how tensely he’s holding himself. He created a mental image of the tweezers in your abdomen, working carefully and slowly, waiting for the… tick! That’s it, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and nodded at Sam, signaling he found the bullet. Dean almost glanced down at you but knew if he did he would loose his sense of collected attention. He positioned the tweezers to open them and latch onto the bullet and began to pull directly out of your flesh.

The motion earned a deep groan to rip through your throat that made Sam want to throw up but once the bullet was out, you all took a moment to catch your breath and look at the pebble that caused you so much pain.

“Honey, hey,” Sam pulled your cheek to look up at him, your eyes were glossy and crossed but you could see him enough, “Dean got it out, you’re gonna be fine okay?” Sam nodded, trying to get you to catch up with him mentally. You slowly lolled your head in an attempt to nod but the weight pressed against your skull like a magnetic ball trying to escape, you groaned again.

“Sam- gauze,” Dean commanded and Sam immediately listened, moving away from you just far enough to reach the requested item. Sam hands it to Dean. “Need a hand, Sammy.”

And Sam listens. It’s a rhythm that the brothers have learned over the many years working together, how to fight, work, stitch. Dean always took the lead while Sam held their ground and that’s exactly how they worked on your wound. Sam cleaned up excess blood and surrounding areas while Dean disinfected and readied a bandage. Quickly, the wound was patched up enough for them to move you and get you all the hell out of that musty basement.

“Think she can walk?” Dean asked Sam while he wiped your blood off of his hands, packing the kit back up. Sam looked down at you, a sweet, open look of wanting to absorb any and all details of your face, he smiled softly at you and shook his head.

“No, I’ll carry her,” Sam said without asking you first, not willing to risk you any more pain. He gently pressed a kiss to your forehead and held it for a moment. “You’re okay,” he repeated, this time for himself.

He slowly pulled away and worked his arms beneath you to lift you and as your body contorted you let out a soft, pathetic whimper. You were too tired to make any real noise.

Sam held you close as Dean lead the way out of a building they never wanted to see again.

[rocknrolldecadence]

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

just count your stars i’m home again

izzy calls you after an argument.

warnings: i don’t think there is any? drunkenness? being high?

a/n: this took forever cuz my phone has been glitching super bad recently (this is why the banner is low quality). also while i was writing this it was called ‘izzy stradlin is adam levine confirmed?’

it was late. the sun had set hours ago, casting los angeles in a deep black shadow with the city lights peeking through the darkness. the tv was on, and you flicked through every channel in search of something to take your mind off things. but it didn’t work. in fact, it made things worse, as you turned on MTV and were met with the ‘patience’ music video staring you in the face. you went to change the channel, but before you could, izzy showed up on screen. his gentle strumming of the guitar made you have to look away. you loved him, but he worried you so much.

you went on to the next channel, a shitty auctioneer’s show they only played in the late hours of the night. “this’ll have to do.” you said out loud, knowing there was no around to hear you. a bottle of jack stood on the kitchen counter. you hadn’t touched it since izzy had left, the image of him taking a swig right before he left burned into your memory. you tossed the idea of having some about in your head, but decided against it. who knows how he’d react?

hours passed, and izzy still hadn’t came home. you were about to give up hope for the night and go to bed when the phone rang. oh god. what’s happened this time? is izzy in trouble? did he caught with his drugs? has he been arrested? the questions ran through your mind a mile a minute. you practically jumped at the phone, scared to know what awaited you on the other end of the line.

“hey baby.” that low voice you loved so much greeted you.

“izzy? what the fuck? where the fuck have you been?” you interrogated him, a mix of anger and relief coursing inside you.

“jeez, you seem scared,” he laughed. “i’ve just been with the guys. writing and shit.”

“and getting high, i’m guessing?” you retorted. did he not care that he’d left you alone for two days, with no word of where he’d gone to?

“i’ve missed you baby.”

“seriously? you left me on my own for two days. i had no clue where you are. i still don’t!”

“i’m… at the whisky right now.”

of course he was.

“are you drunk?”

“does it matter..?”

you scoffed. that was all the confirmation you needed.

“i bet you’re high too, aren’t you?”

“look, babe, i’m sorry.”

“i don’t care if you’re sorry. that doesn’t change the fact you fucking walked out on me!” you snapped. you were relived to know he was okay, but god were you pissed off. there was no sincerity in his voice.

the line was silent for a moment. you waited.

“can you pick me up?”

“none of the guys can drive you home?”

“they’re all too drunk.”

“right,” you sighed. “be there soon.”

you got into your car and started driving to the Whisky A Go Go. It wasn’t very far away, but it felt like an eternity. you pulled up close by and saw izzy sitting by the payphone he had called you from, back pressed up against its stand. you sighed.

you got out of the car and walked up towards him. stopping just a bit in front of him, you said “cmon. get up.”

izzy looked up, staring at you with glassy eyes. clearly, he was too drunk and high to notice you before you started talking.

“huh?”

“i said get up. i’m taking you home.”

“oh… ok.“

that was all it took. izzy got up, albeit with difficulty, and walked over beside you to the car. he stumbled into the passenger seat and gave you a smile when you got in. despite his inebriated state, he was happy to see you. he always was.

as you drove home, he sobered up. and as he sipped on the week old bottle water that had been rattling away in the floor of the passenger seat, izzy realised what a complete dick he’d been. regret crept in quickly. he turned to look at you. through your peripheral vision, you saw him. izzy took a final sip of the water, and cleared his throat.

"hey, uh…”

you kept your eyes focused on the road. "what is it?”

"i’ve been an asshole. i’m really sorry.” izzy spoke. he actually seemed sorry this time.

all you managed to say was "oh.”

"i feel really bad. it’s just- after our argument i was pissed off. and i know i coulda handled it better. sorry.”

you looked at him quickly. he seemed genuine, regret etched on his face. "it’s ok.”

"so you forgive me?”

"i do. just don’t try that shit again.”

"wanna go get takeout?”

"are you paying?”

"of course.”

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

The windows were beginning to fog but Dean didn’t want to risk rolling his down, he didn’t want the fragile soap bubble they were suspended in to pop. This wasn’t something that happened very often. In fact, it had been a long, long time since the last time and he really needed this right now… they needed this. After days of running on little more than caffeine and adrenaline, neither of them were fit to be out in public, let alone in any shape to appeal to someone who could help take the edge off. But that final fight had left them keyed up to a razors edge of sharpness that was likely to do some actual damage if they didn’t do something about it. Sam had called it A-gone-o-philia, or something like that, the last time. Shit that had been before Stanford, he thought. Sam always was the kind of nerd who would look up the name for stuff. Dean had to admit that it had been a little comforting to know that enough other people got turned on by fighting to actually give it an official name. When he was hunting on his own, this had become a kind of post hunt ritual for him, when he was too far out, too far gone, to get cleaned up and find someone willing, hot, and soft in all the right places, to help him feel human again. When he’d be left coming down from it in a hazy mix of shame and loneliness that was fine, when you were alone in your car in the dark. But it was way too quiet out here for him not to hear the sounds of Sam breathing and moving beside him, just a couple of short feet away on the other end of the front seat. He didn’t need to look to know that Sam’s movements were still synced up with his own, the two of them always in lockstep when hunting, without even trying. Didn’t need to see to know that Sam’s head was thrown back, his long neck stretched over the back of the seat as his hips bucked up into his hand, the vinyl singing it’s little telltale songs loud and clear to Dean’s ears. He had his own lap to be looking at in the patch of pale blue moonlight filtering through his window. It was just enough for him to see the dark head of his own cock appearing and disappearing in the tight clutch of his right hand, but not quite enough for his peripheral vision to make out any details about Sam, which was good. The whole moment felt like so many nights when they were kids, sometimes sharing secrets and fears and dreams, but mostly just lying awake in the dark, listening to each other breathe and feeling a little less alone. He shifted his grip so that his thumb could drag over the sweet spot under the head of his dick on each stroke and he bit his bottom lip to hold the resulting noises in. A soft, barely audible, keen from Sam… he was getting close. Dean sped up. It would get weird if Sam finished too much before him. It’s one thing for them both to be jerking off, but something else entirely if it was just him. A quiet grunt and stuttered vibration of movement felt through the seat had him pumping once, twice more before his own thoughts turned liquid and pulsed out onto his hand. His shoulders relaxed as they both panted into the dark, heart rates slowing, brains happily rebooting. Sam shifted and reached over the back of seat. A moment later a couple of thin fast food napkins landed on the seat next to him while Sam used a few others to scrub his own hands as clean as he could. Dean halfheartedly wiped his hand, balled the napkins up and tossed them over his shoulder before starting the car and cranking the defroster. Neither of them said anything while they waited for the glass to clear, they didn’t need to. The world had one less creepy crawling around in the dark, and he and Sam were both still alive, that was all that mattered, it was all that ever mattered.

Sam and Dean jacking off together in the Impala sometimes doesn't even seem like wincest to me anymore

[wrecklesspp]

Bro omfg Ive thought abt tweek dying instead of Craig but yall are literally already getting him RUN OVER BY A FUCKING TRUCK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭