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goldfades · 3 months ago

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once i fix me, he's gonna miss me | joe burrow⁹ (part two)

part one!!! | here are the people who commented for a part two on part one @rd14

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.9k (oops... sorry)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had spent months apart, each of you learning to live without the other.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and lots of angst!!! joe finding a new gf, hoe joe 🤗🤗🤗 BUT A HAPPY ENDINGGGG!!! YIPEEEE!!!

Seven months.

It didn’t sound like a long time, not really. Less than a year. Barely two seasons. Just over half of what used to be a full calendar with him—training camps, game days, off-seasons that blurred together with vacations and quiet mornings in bed.

But in reality, it had been everything.

Seven months since you had packed up the life you built and left Cincinnati behind. Seven months of unlearning the habits of loving Joe Burrow, of waking up without him, of forcing yourself to stop expecting a text that never came. Seven months of figuring out who you were outside of being his.

And now, just when you had finally settled into this new version of yourself, life was pulling you back.

Back to Cincinnati. Back to the city that still had pieces of you scattered all over it. Back to him.

It wasn’t about Joe.

You had spent months proving that to yourself, and you weren’t about to start unraveling now. This was about you.

About the job offer that had landed in your inbox three weeks ago, the kind of offer people in sports media fought years for—an on-air analyst role with The Ringer, covering the NFL, sitting at the same table as some of the most respected voices in the industry.

It was the dream. Your dream.

And you weren’t about to say no just because it happened to be in the same city where the ghost of your old life still lingered.

So, for the first time in months, you packed your bags for yourself. Not for a man. Not for a relationship.

For you.

But still, as you stared at your suitcases lined up by the door, heart pounding just a little harder than you wanted to admit, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

What happens when he sees you again?

Joe spent the summer in places that never felt like home.

Hotel rooms, penthouses, beach houses that weren’t his—always someone else’s space, someone else’s idea of a good time. The kind of places that smelled like overpriced perfume, spilled liquor, and bad decisions.

And for a while, that was the point.

His teammates told him this was what life was supposed to be like.

“You’re 27, bro. You should be living.” “You’re Joe fucking Burrow. Act like it.” “Man, you wasted all your good years locked down.”

That last one made his stomach twist. Because it didn’t feel wasted.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he let them drag him to Miami, to Vegas, to private clubs where the rules didn’t apply to men like them. He let women press into him, let them murmur in his ear, let them take his hand and lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

To fill the silence. To drown out the memories. To stop thinking about you.

So, he drank.

Not recklessly—never sloppily—but just enough to take the edge off. Enough to let the vodka burn its way through his chest and dull the parts of him that still felt too raw.

He spent the nights doing what everyone told him he should—wrapped up in women he barely knew, letting them touch him, letting them call him baby in a voice that never sounded quite right.

Sometimes, in the blur of it all, he almost let himself believe he was having fun.

But then morning would come. And he’d wake up in a bed that wasn’t his own, sheets tangled, a warm body beside him that felt wrong.

She would still be asleep, breathing slow and even, and Joe would stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name pressing down on his ribs. It was always the same.

He’d lie there, his head still heavy from the night before, and tell himself this was good for him.

This was healthy. He was moving on. He was living. He was making up for lost time.

But then she would shift beside him, mumble something sleepily, and for a split second, he would forget where he was. For a split second, his body would expect you.

His arm would twitch, muscle memory almost pulling him toward you—except it wasn’t you.

It never was. And in that moment, when the reality of it came crashing down, Joe had never felt more hollow.

So he would slip out of bed. Pull on his clothes. Leave before she woke up, before she could reach for him, before she could make him feel even emptier than he already did.

Then, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a text from one of the guys.

Round two tonight? Another night, another city, let’s run it. Burrow, we’re not letting you sit this one out.

And every time, he would hesitate. Every time, he would think about saying no. But then he’d think about what saying no meant.

Silence. Loneliness.

A bed that really felt empty. And worst of all—thoughts of you.

So instead, he would type out the same thing he always did. I’m in.

And just like that, another night would begin. Another night of pretending. Another night of trying to convince himself that this was good for him.

That this was better than thinking about the one person who used to make him feel whole.

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

It was the one time of year where the entire world faded into the background—where it was just the two of them, preparing for battle in the way only they knew how. Training camp, preseason, the long, grueling days where his body ached and his mind buzzed with too much information—none of it ever felt as heavy when you were there.

Because you had made it easier. You always knew what he needed before he even had to ask.

You knew how to blend his smoothies just right—protein-packed but never too thick, not too sweet, not too chalky, just enough banana to hide the bitterness of the greens he hated but needed. You knew how many calories he needed to maintain weight, which meals gave him the best energy, when he needed something light and when he needed something hearty. You knew when he was too sore to get off the couch, and you’d already have an ice pack in one hand and a heating pad in the other.

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

Preseason was hell. Not just because of the training, not just because every muscle in his body burned by the time he got home, not just because he was still trying to prove he was fully back from the injury—but because this was the first time he was doing it without you.

For the past seven years, the start of the season had always meant you.

It meant waking up to you shaking him gently, telling him his morning shake was ready, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before he even opened his eyes. It meant coming home to meals that were already planned, already balanced, already exactly what his body needed to recover. It meant you running through the nutrition plan with him, tweaking it when necessary, doing the math so he didn’t have to think about it.

It meant structure. It meant routine. It meant you making sure he was okay, even when he was too stubborn to admit when he wasn’t.

Now, none of it was there. And he felt it more than ever.

The moment he walked into his house after practice, exhaustion hit him like a brick wall. His body was done—his legs sore, his back aching, his head pounding. All he wanted was to throw his bag down, take a shower, eat, and crash.

But instead, he just stood there. Because for the first time, he realized how much there was to do.

You weren’t there to remind him to drink his recovery shake. You weren’t there to make sure the fridge was stocked with what he needed. You weren’t there to have a meal ready so he didn’t have to think about it.

And fuck, he had never thought about it. Not once. Because you had always done it.

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with an empty, lifeless hum, and his stomach sank at the sight.

Nothing was prepped.

There were random ingredients, sure. Leftover takeout. Some eggs, maybe. A couple of protein bars shoved in the back. But nothing was ready. Nothing was measured, planned, easy.

And that’s when it really hit him.

You weren’t just gone. You had been holding his life together.

He shut the fridge, pressing his hands against the counter, breathing heavily through his nose. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

For years, he had been able to come home, sit down, and just be.

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

Now, he had to think about what to eat, had to plan it, had to cook it. He had to wash the dishes after instead of finding them already cleaned. He had to remind himself to stretch properly, to ice his ankle, to foam roll before bed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

Because you had done it all. Because you had loved him enough to do it all. And he—

Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head like that could make the thoughts disappear. Like it could make the guilt settle.

But it didn’t. It never did.

So he grabbed a protein bar, ate it standing up, and stared at the empty kitchen like it was mocking him. Like it was reminding him of everything he lost.

The morning you left Columbus, the sky was overcast, the air thick with the kind of lingering summer heat that stuck to your skin. It felt heavy, suffocating, like the world itself knew this wasn’t an easy goodbye.

Your best friend stood by the trunk of your car, arms crossed, shifting her weight like she was trying not to say something sentimental that would make you both cry.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

No. Not even a little.

But you nodded anyway, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You were sure—about the job, about the opportunity, about the fact that moving back to Cincinnati was the next step for you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified.

Because Cincinnati wasn’t just another city. It wasn’t just a place on the map.

It was his city.

It was where you had built a life with Joe, where every street held memories, where every turn would remind you of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You took a deep breath, reaching down to scratch behind Larry’s ears as she sat in her carrier, blinking up at you with wide, judgmental eyes. “Guess it’s just us now, huh?”

Your best friend let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, well, if she could talk, she’d probably tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. She’s been staring at me like I ruined her life since I put her in there.”

“Because you did ruin her life. She was thriving here.”

You sighed dramatically, crouching to peer into the crate. “I get it, Larry. You’re a city girl now. But you’ll be fine.”

She flicked her tail. You took that as reluctant acceptance.

Your best friend leaned in, her voice dropping. “For real, though. If it gets to be too much—if you get there and you feel like you can’t do it, like it’s swallowing you whole—you call me.”

You looked at her, something tight forming in your throat.

You had spent the last seven months healing in this apartment, in this city, with her. She had seen the worst of you—the nights you couldn’t sleep, the mornings you barely got out of bed, the moments when you swore you would never go back to Cincinnati, to that life, to the person you used to be.

But here you were.

And you weren’t sure if you were proving yourself right or setting yourself up to fail.

“Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

She exhaled, reaching forward to wrap you in a tight hug. “Go be great.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, held on a little longer than necessary, and then let go.

It was time.

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

Larry had settled into the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded in irritation but otherwise calm, curled up on the blanket you had thrown there. The GPS said you had just over an hour to go, and the closer you got, the more your heart pounded.

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

You were going back to Cincinnati, to a city that used to feel like home, but no longer did.

Going back to the restaurants you used to love, the streets you used to walk, the stadium that still felt like an extension of Joe himself.

Going back to a version of yourself you had spent seven months trying to bury.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

Maybe you should turn around. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe you had done all this work just to unravel the second you saw him again—because you would see him again. That was inevitable.

You sucked in a breath, reaching for your phone, scrolling through your playlists with one hand until your thumb hovered over a title that made you pause.

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play.

The first beat kicked in, and the song filled the car, the steady rhythm drowning out the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head.

“I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

You huffed out something that was half a laugh, half a scoff.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers against the wheel as the song pulsed through the speakers.

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

So you sang along, let the music wash over you, let the lyrics be a reminder that you had already survived the worst part.

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

It was the kind of week where you moved on autopilot, where you unpacked boxes without really thinking about it, where you got up early, dressed professionally, walked into work like you belonged there—even when people looked at you like you were some kind of open secret.

You knew what they were thinking.

Knew what they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

That’s Joe Burrow’s ex. Didn’t she used to be at every Bengals event? Wonder if she got the job because of him…

You ignored it.

You ignored the careful glances, the way some of your co-workers hesitated before talking to you, like they weren’t sure whether to bring him up or pretend they didn’t know anything.

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

So you held your head high, settled into the studio, studied film, took notes, prepared for your first on-air segment like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into your work, into the statistics, into the plays, into the debates about teams and formations and Super Bowl contenders.

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

And that was when the silence hit you like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t Columbus, where your best friend was always there to fill the quiet. Where you could crash on the couch and vent about your day. Where you could talk about Joe without every conversation feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

This was alone.

For the first time since the breakup, you were truly alone.

And God, it was loud.

The absence of Joe wasn’t just in the city itself—it was in the routine, in the things you used to do without even realizing they were because of him.

Like how you still woke up too early, your body trained to match his schedule, expecting to hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee before heading to the facility.

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

Like how you caught yourself walking toward the fridge with the muscle memory of preparing his post-practice meal—only to stop halfway when you remembered he wasn’t coming home.

Like how you reached for your phone when the Bengals played their first preseason game, fingers hovering over Joe’s contact, because for years, your first instinct was to text him after every game.

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

You were missing the you that existed when you were with him.

The version of yourself that felt certain—who knew her place in the world, who belonged somewhere, who mattered to someone.

You had spent months finding yourself again, carving out your own identity, telling yourself that you didn’t need him to be whole.

But now, back in Cincinnati, back in the place where he existed so loudly—

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

So you curled up on the couch, pulling Larry onto your lap, listening to the faint echoes of the city outside your window, and let the loneliness settle in.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

The first game of the season was electric.

The stadium roared with life, packed with thousands of fans wearing his jersey, screaming his name, riding the high of the first Sunday of football like it was a holiday. The air was thick with anticipation, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins like a drug, the kind of high that made everything else fade into the background.

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

Where every snap, every pass, every perfectly executed play made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he could silence the doubts, the guilt, the quiet gnawing ache that had followed him around since the summer.

By the time the final whistle blew, and the Bengals secured their first win of the season, he was buzzing.

His teammates clapped him on the back, Ja’Marr pulling him in with a grin, shouting something in his ear that was lost in the deafening noise of the stadium.

Joe was smiling. Laughing. Letting the moment consume him, letting it drown out everything else.

And then, out of instinct—out of years of routine—he turned to the stands.

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

After every win, his eyes found you first. No matter how crazy the stadium was, no matter how many cameras were flashing, no matter how loud the world got—he always, always found you.

You, standing there in the family section, wearing his jersey, waiting for him with that soft, knowing smile. You, with your hands cupped around your mouth, cheering louder than anyone else. You, who had been there since before all of this, since before the world knew his name, since before he was anything more than a college quarterback with big dreams.

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

The stands blurred, the celebration around him suddenly too loud, too suffocating.

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

And still, somehow, some way, he had forgotten.

For the first time in seven months, he had let himself exist in a space where you were still his. Where you were still waiting for him, still there at the end of it all, still his person.

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

And in your place, in the section where you used to stand, where you used to belong—

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

She was standing there, blonde hair perfect, wearing a Bengals hoodie that was probably brand new, clapping politely as she smiled down at him.

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

Because Katie wasn’t bad. She wasn’t anything, really. Just another part of the life he had built in your absence. Something easy, something light, something that should have made him feel better but didn’t.

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

She didn’t know what to say to him after a loss. Didn’t know how he liked his breakfast in the mornings. Didn’t know the exact way he liked his shoulder massaged when the soreness became unbearable.

Didn’t know him like you did.

And for the first time since convincing himself this was what moving on looked like, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

The celebration around him felt like static, like background noise in a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore.

Because winning used to mean everything.

But tonight, standing in the middle of the field, looking up at the stands and seeing her instead of you—

He had never felt more hollow.

For the first couple of months back in Cincinnati, you told yourself you were thriving.

You said it like a mantra, like if you repeated it enough times, it would become real. You made new friends—real friends, not people who only saw you as Joe Burrow’s ex, not WAGs who looked at you with thinly veiled pity, not reporters who were too polite to ask what really happened.

They were normal. Kind. Fun. The kind of girls who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, who invited you to wine nights and didn’t bring up Joe once. With them, you could pretend that Cincinnati wasn’t laced with ghosts of your old life. You could breathe.

You picked up new hobbies.

You took a pilates class, went to farmer’s markets on Sundays, tried baking even though you burned half the things you made. You started running again—not because Joe had told you once that he liked how focused you looked when you ran, but because you liked the way it made you feel.

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

You threw yourself into your job, memorized rosters, studied plays, made sure you knew everything about the game so that when you sat in that studio, behind that microphone, no one could say you got this job because of him.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you really did feel like you were thriving.

But then, one afternoon, it all came crashing down.

—

It was a normal day at work. Normal segment. Normal conversation.

Until it wasn’t.

You were on air, talking through some Week 4 analysis, debating quarterback performances with your co-host, when he said it.

Casual. Offhand. Like it wasn’t about to shatter you completely.

"Well, I guess we can trust your take on Joe Burrow—you did have a front-row seat for a long time."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Your stomach clenched, a prickle of heat rising at the back of your neck.

You forced a laugh. A quick, easy, I'm completely unbothered laugh.

"Guess so," you said, brushing it off, moving on like it was nothing.

But inside, you were shaking.

Your hands under the desk. Your breath. Your entire body.

You spent the rest of the segment in autopilot, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to focus on the words, on the script, on anything but the feeling of your past creeping into a space that was supposed to be yours.

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

You barely made it to your car before it hit you.

The unraveling.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached, and then—

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was months of holding it together, of telling yourself you were fine, of pretending you had rebuilt yourself from the ground up—only to realize you had been balancing on a fault line the entire time.

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

You had spent so long trying to reclaim Cincinnati, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t just a remnant of Joe Burrow’s life—that you could exist here, in this city, in this job, as your own person.

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

And right now, in this moment, you weren’t sure if you were anything without him.

Because Joe was the only person who had ever truly known you.

He knew the way your nose scrunched when you concentrated, the way you got irrationally angry when you lost at board games, the way you never finished a drink, always leaving the last sip untouched.

He knew your moods before you did.

He knew how you got quiet when you were sad, how you hated crying in front of people, how you avoided confrontation until you couldn’t anymore—until it bubbled over in sharp words and slammed doors.

He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself.

Like how you sometimes clenched your jaw in your sleep when you were anxious. Like how you had a habit of counting your steps when you walked, not even realizing it.

Like how, right now, you would be breaking down in your car, gripping the steering wheel, feeling completely and utterly lost—and the only person who could make it better was him.

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

December used to be your favorite month.

The lights, the music, the warmth of it all. The way the whole world seemed to slow down, wrapped in twinkling lights and the soft hum of Christmas songs playing in the background.

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

His birthday, tucked right in the start of the holiday season, had always been something sacred to you. It was your thing—the one time of year where you could spoil him without him complaining, where you could go all out, where you could make sure he felt as loved as he made you feel every other day of the year.

You had never held back.

You would spend months planning—picking out the perfect gifts, arranging surprise dinners, making sure every little detail was right. One year, you got him that limited-edition Rolex he had been eyeing but never pulled the trigger on. Another year, you rented out a private cabin in the mountains for just the two of you, knowing he needed to escape the chaos of football for a few days.

Last year—God, last year—you had thrown him a surprise party with all of his friends and family. He had kissed you at the end of the night, hands cupping your face, murmuring against your lips, How do you always know exactly what I want?

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

You put up the tree in your apartment, even though it was smaller than the one you used to decorate with him. You bought yourself Christmas candles, filled your space with the smell of cinnamon and pine, played holiday music when you cooked.

But it all felt wrong.

Because December had always been his month, too. It wasn’t just the holiday season—it was the anniversary of the last time you had ever been his.

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

It had been cold, the city wrapped in the kind of sharp, biting winter that made everything feel harsher. And in a way, it had been fitting—because that night, when Joe had walked out, when the door had shut behind him, the warmth had left your life, too.

And now, a full year later, it was still gone.

His birthday came and went. You didn’t text him. Didn’t even let yourself think about what he might be doing, whether he was happy, whether he even thought about you at all.

But your body knew.

You woke up that morning feeling it like a weight in your chest, like something pressing down on your ribs. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t open Instagram, didn’t give yourself the chance to see what the world was saying about him.

Because it wasn’t your place anymore. Because you weren’t the person celebrating with him.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you told yourself that you were okay, December would always be the cruelest reminder that you weren’t.

That you had once been his world. And now, you were nothing.

You spent Christmas with your best friend, and it should have been nice. It was nice. Warm. Cozy. The kind of Christmas you had always loved.

But it wasn’t his family.

It wasn’t his mom, who had always pulled you into a hug the second you walked through the door. It wasn’t his dad, who would slip you a knowing smile when Joe snuck a hand around your waist at dinner. It wasn’t his brothers, teasing you like you were already part of the family.

And it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Joe, pulling you against him on the couch, wrapping you in one of his hoodies, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. It wasn’t his voice murmuring, Merry Christmas, baby, in the quiet, sleepy warmth of the morning.

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

So, you smiled. You opened presents. You drank hot chocolate and laughed at dumb Christmas movies and let yourself pretend that this was enough.

But when you got home that night, alone in your apartment, staring at your Christmas tree that suddenly felt too big, you let the truth sink in.

December without him was unbearable. And you weren’t sure if it would ever get easier.

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

The past year had been a cycle—of loss, of healing, of learning how to be you again. But tonight? Tonight, you felt like you had finally gotten there.

You had put effort into your outfit, just because you wanted to. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, weren’t trying to impress Joe or prove something to anyone. You had slipped into a sleek, fitted black dress, let your new friends style your hair in soft waves, even wore that deep red lipstick that had always made you feel untouchable.

And when you stepped out of your car in front of the restaurant, that new Chanel bag resting effortlessly on your shoulder, you felt good.

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

Or at least, the version of you that wasn’t still haunted by him.

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

It wasn’t just the shock of seeing you—it was how he saw you. It was the way you walked into the restaurant, laughing at something one of your coworkers had said, your smile easy, effortless, real. It was the way you carried yourself, exuding that same quiet confidence that had once made him fall for you in the first place.

And God, you looked good. Not just good. Stunning.

Like you had stepped right out of a dream, wearing that black dress like it had been made for you, your hair falling in perfect waves, that red lipstick making his mouth go dry.

For a second, Joe forgot how to breathe. Because this was the first time he had seen you in a year. And somehow, you looked okay.

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

Because the last time he had seen you—really seen you—you had been crying. You had been begging him to fight for you, to stay, to want you enough to make it work. And now, a year later, you weren’t the woman who had walked away from him, heartbroken and lost.

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

Your coworkers were leading the way to your table, your heels clicking against the polished floors, your heart light in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. You were okay. You were doing this. You were thriving.

Until your stomach dropped. Because suddenly, you felt it.

That indescribable feeling—the one that came when someone was watching you. And when you turned your head, your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was there.

Joe.

Sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, not alone. You blinked. Your heart lurched. Your ears started ringing. He had a girlfriend.

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from some blonde—long hair, perfect makeup, the kind of effortless beauty that made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

Not when you were still here. Not when you had spent the past year rebuilding yourself just to survive the loss of him. And now, in a single second, everything inside you cracked.

You felt sick.

Not because you wanted him back. But because, for the first time, you were faced with the reality that he had built a life that no longer included you.

That the man you had once known better than anyone—the man you had loved with everything you had—was now sitting across from another woman.

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

Watched the way your face fell, your eyes widening slightly, your body stiffening like you had just been punched in the stomach. And suddenly, he hated himself.

Because you looked like you—strong, composed, pulled together—but in that brief second, he saw it. That crack in the armor. That hurt.

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t moved on.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Yeah, Katie was nice. Yeah, she looked good on his arm. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he needed after a bad game, didn’t know the songs that made him think of home, didn’t know that he couldn’t sleep with the TV on because the noise made his brain race.

She wasn’t you.

And as much as he had tried to convince himself that this was right—that you were the past, that this was his future—he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Because seeing you here, standing across the room, looking like this, feeling like this, made him realize something.

He didn’t want this life without you. And for the first time in a year, Joe felt something worse than heartbreak.

He felt regret. And Joe could feel Katie watching him.

She had been talking—something about how the steak wasn’t as good as the place she went to in LA—but he hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were locked on you.

On the way your body tensed, on the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you smoothed it over like it was nothing. On the way your fingers twitched at your side like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Like you wanted to run. And fuck, he hated that.

Hated that he was the reason you looked like that. Hated that even after a year, he could still hurt you just by existing. Then he felt it.

Katie’s hand sliding up his arm, curling around his bicep, nails digging in slightly as she pressed herself closer. She knew.

Of course she knew.

He hadn’t talked about you much—at least, not in detail—but she wasn’t stupid. She knew you had been important. That you had been in his life for longer than most people had even known his name.

And now, here you were. The ghost she had probably been waiting to meet.

"Joe," she said, sweet but pointed, her voice breaking through his haze. "You okay?"

Her fingers squeezed his arm. He barely resisted the urge to shake her off. He was so close to losing it.

He could feel his patience hanging on by a thread, could feel the way his body was coiled tight, his chest aching with something he didn’t want to feel.

Because it was his late birthday dinner. His friends were here. He was supposed to be happy. But all he could think about was you. And how you were standing there, looking like that, looking like everything he had ever wanted and everything he had already lost.

He pulled his arm from Katie’s grip as casually as he could, pretending to adjust his watch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because every second that passed, the more wrong this felt. The more suffocating the entire situation became.

The dinner had already been irritating—his friends were drunk, the restaurant was too loud, and Katie had spent half the night making passive comments about how he never posted her, about how she just wanted to feel special.

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

The sounds of the restaurant—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the faint hum of music in the background—blurred into nothing, white noise against the sharp, singular reality of you.

Standing there. Looking like that. And worse—looking like you didn’t need him anymore.

That realization settled deep, lodged somewhere between his ribs, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His fingers twitched in his lap. His knee bounced once before he forced it to stop. He was trying, really fucking trying, to play it cool, to keep his face neutral, to ignore the way his body had tensed the second he saw you walk in.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to see you like this—unexpectedly, in a crowded restaurant, after a year of living separate lives. He had told himself that when it happened, it wouldn’t matter. That by the time he saw you again, he’d be fine. That whatever you two had been, whatever had been left unsaid, whatever this was, it wouldn’t affect him anymore.

But he had been wrong.

Because seeing you now—standing there in that black dress, your hair falling over your shoulders in that soft, effortless way he used to push his fingers through when you were tired, your lips painted that deep shade of red that had always driven him insane—he felt like his entire body was betraying him.

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

Because for a split second, before his brain caught up, before reality sunk its teeth into him, he had expected you to walk toward him.

Like you always had. Like you were supposed to. Like this was still your moment, your ritual, your life together.

And then, just as quickly, he saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, the way your lips parted just barely before pressing into a tight line.

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

Because he had spent years learning you, memorizing you, knowing every single tell, every little habit, every reaction before you even knew you were having one.

And that? That fucked him up the most. Because it meant this hurt you, too.

It meant you weren’t indifferent. It meant that even after a full year, he still affected you. And that should have made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

Because the way you had reacted wasn’t the way you used to. There was no fond exasperation, no teasing smirk, no warmth in your expression.

It was shock. Discomfort.

Like you didn’t want to be here. Like he was the thing making you feel sick.

And the worst part? He knew he had no right to be hurt by that. Because he had done this. He was the one who had walked away first. He was the one who had let you go.

And yet, even knowing that, even with the weight of that truth pressing down on him, he still felt something ugly coil in his chest at the thought of you not caring at all.

At the thought of you moving on without him, just as much as he had tried—and failed—to move on without you. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his pulse hammering in his ears, and then—Katie.

Katie, who was still gripping his arm, nails pressing into his sleeve like a silent claim, like she knew. Like she could feel the shift in his body, the way all of his attention, all of his focus, had zeroed in on you.

And then, as if to confirm it, she pulled herself closer, her chin tilting up, her lips curling into something sweet but firm.

"Joe," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the restaurant, "you’re all tense. Relax, baby."

Joe clenched his jaw. Because now? Now, it wasn’t just about you being here. Now, it was about this.

About the fact that he had spent the last year convincing himself that this—Katie, this relationship, this new life—was what he needed. That this was how he moved forward. That this was the best thing for him.

But the second you walked into the room, it had all come crashing down.

And when Katie pressed even closer, her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers curling into his, something in him snapped. Not visibly. Not obviously.

But he felt it.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even the first time since the breakup, he wanted out.

Out of this night. Out of this restaurant. Out of this version of his life where you weren’t in it.

But his friends were here. His teammates. People were watching. So instead, he inhaled sharply through his nose, casually slipping his fingers from Katie’s grip under the guise of adjusting his watch.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when he glanced up again, when his eyes found you across the restaurant, he saw the moment you turned to your coworkers and muttered something under your breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Saw the way you inhaled deeply, steeling yourself, before turning on your heel and walking toward your table like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

You had spent a year healing.

A year rebuilding yourself, re-learning how to exist outside of him, re-training your mind to stop associating every little thing with Joe Burrow. A year convincing yourself that you were okay, that you were better, that you had made it through the worst of it.

And then, in a single moment, it all shattered.

Because he was here. Not just here—here with her.

You felt it before you even saw him. That undeniable shift in the air, the creeping sensation of familiarity that made your breath catch in your throat. And then, when your eyes finally landed on him—on Joe—it felt like something inside you cracked open, raw and bleeding.

Because he wasn’t alone. He had a girlfriend. And it wasn’t just that. It was how he looked.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Like the past year hadn’t touched him the way it had ruined you. Like he had moved on so seamlessly, so effortlessly, while you had spent sleepless nights trying to pick up the pieces of yourself that he had left behind.

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

Not the kind of happiness you had memorized—the quiet, real, content kind that came when he let himself breathe around you. Not the kind of happiness that was soft and easy, that came from forehead kisses in the morning and whispered inside jokes.

No, this was performative.

This was the kind of happiness you pretended to have when you were trying to convince everyone—including yourself—that you were fine.

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing that this wasn’t real, it still hit you like a knife between the ribs. Because while you had spent the last year trying to be better, trying to move forward, Joe had spent it trying to erase you.

Like you never existed. Like the seven years you had spent together were just some forgettable chapter in his life, one he could close and move on from without looking back.

And that? That was unbearable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms damp as you curled your fingers into fists under the table. You felt like you were spiraling, like you were seconds away from breaking right here, in the middle of this crowded restaurant, in front of everyone.

No. No, no, no.

You refused. You had spent too long putting yourself back together just to fall apart now. So you inhaled sharply, forcing a small, tight smile as you pushed your chair back.

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

You nodded, already reaching for your bag, voice light, too casual. “Yeah, I just—ugh, I think something I ate earlier isn’t sitting right. I’m gonna head out.”

They nodded, accepting the excuse easily, offering quick well wishes as you grabbed your things and turned for the door. And you didn’t look back.

Not once. Not even when you felt the weight of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when every single step felt like it was dragging you further away from the life you had once lived with him.

Not even when, for the first time in a long time, you realized that no matter how much you had tried to heal, there were some wounds that time just couldn’t fix.

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

It happened fast. One second, you were there, and the next, you were gone, slipping through the restaurant like you couldn’t get out fast enough. And fuck—fuck, he hated that.

Hated that you looked right at him and then turned away. Hated that you had left, just like that, without even acknowledging him.

Like he was nothing. Like he had never existed in your life, either.

It made his hands twitch, made his jaw tighten, made his stomach coil with something sharp and awful and unbearable.

It made him move.

He barely heard Katie calling his name. Barely registered the way his friends were still laughing, still drinking, still living in a reality where everything was normal.

Because nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since you had walked out of his life. And for the first time in a year, Joe didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push it down. Didn’t try to convince himself that he was fine. Instead, he stood up, threw some cash on the table, and went after you.

Joe pushed through the restaurant doors just in time to see your taillights disappear into the night.

Gone.

Just like that.

And it felt like he was right back there again—standing in the middle of your living room, hands shaking, heart in his throat, watching as you begged him to just say something. Just fight for you. Just be the man you needed him to be.

But he hadn’t. He had let you go. And now, a year later, he had done it all over again.

His chest ached, his ribs felt too tight, his pulse was hammering so loud in his ears that he barely heard Katie calling his name behind him.

But then she touched him—her fingers curling around his wrist, her voice dripping with confusion and irritation.

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

He ripped his arm away so fast that she stumbled back a step.

"Are you serious right now?" His voice was rough, raw, his body vibrating with something he couldn’t contain anymore.

Katie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I am serious. You just humiliated me in there! You followed your ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant when I was right there—on your birthday dinner, Joe."

She said it like it mattered. Like any of this fucking mattered. Like this wasn’t the single worst night of his life. Like he cared.

Joe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face, feeling like he could burst out of his own skin.

"Jesus Christ, Katie," he muttered. "You knew. You always fucking knew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

"That this—us—was nothing." His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His hands were shaking, his chest felt too fucking tight, and suddenly, everything came out. "You knew I was never over her. You knew you were never—never fucking her."

Katie flinched like he had slapped her. And maybe, in a way, he had.

Because he never said it. Never admitted it. Never acknowledged the fact that he had spent the past year trying to force himself to be okay, to be normal, to be the guy who could move on.

But it had always been bullshit. It had always been a lie. Because he had been living in a fucking delusion thinking that he could be with someone who wasn’t you.

And now? Now, he was standing outside a restaurant, watching the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away from him again, and he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Katie’s eyes were burning. She was angry, but worse—she looked humiliated.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she spat. "You let me think—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. "You know what? Fuck you, Joe."

He barely reacted. Because nothing she said, nothing she could say, would make him feel worse than he already did.

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

"You need to go," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the Uber app with shaking fingers, ordered her a ride, and barely looked at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.

She scoffed. "Seriously? You’re not even gonna drive me home?"

Joe clenched his jaw, staring down at the pavement. "I can’t."

And that was the truth. Because if he got in his car right now, he knew where he was going.

He didn’t remember the drive. Didn’t remember putting the car in gear, didn’t remember making the turns, didn’t remember how his foot even got on the gas.

One second, he was standing in the cold outside the restaurant, and the next—

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

The one he only knew about because of some casual conversation in the locker room, when one of his teammates had mentioned running into you near downtown.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t thought about coming here. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his breath was uneven, and he was here.

His knuckles were white. His mind was blank. His heart was breaking all over again.

And for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow didn’t know what the fuck to do.

Joe stood outside your door, heart hammering against his ribs, hands curled into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt like he understood.

All of it.

The songs, the poems, the movies that had once felt dramatic, exaggerated, over the top. The grand gestures, the desperate pleas, the kind of heartbreak that knocked a man to his knees.

Because this—this—was the lowest he had ever been.

Worse than losing a game. Worse than getting injured. Worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because he had lost you. And he couldn't live like this anymore.

Couldn’t keep pretending that he was fine, that he had moved on, that he didn’t miss you every single second of every single day. Because the truth was, he did.

He missed everything.

Missed the way your voice sounded in the morning, still laced with sleep, soft and warm and home. Missed the smell of your shampoo when you curled against his chest. Missed your laugh, your stupid little quirks, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even said a word.

He missed loving you. And he missed being loved by you.

Because no one—not Katie, not any of the women who had tried to take your place, not a single person in the past year—had ever come close to what you were to him.

And maybe it had taken him too long to realize it. Maybe he had been too fucking stupid, too proud, too scared to fight for you when he should have.

But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could win, before he could convince himself that he had already ruined everything beyond repair—

He knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet of the night, and for a second, all he could hear was the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

Standing in front of him, still in that black dress, your hair a little messier now, your eyes red-rimmed, like you had spent the last hour doing exactly what he had been doing—falling apart.

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

And before you could say anything, before you could slam the door in his face, before you could tell him to leave—

He broke.

“I—” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It all came out—rushed, jumbled, messy, barely coherent, but real.

“I can’t—fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I—I don’t know how to make this right, I don’t even know if I can, but I have to try because I can’t—” His breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, tears burning his eyes as he forced the words out. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up without you. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. When I haven’t been since the second you walked away.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

But Joe couldn’t stop. Because if he did, if he gave himself a second to think, he might break down completely.

So he just kept going.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he choked out. “I—I should have fought for you. I should have been the man you needed. I should have—fuck—I should have never let you think for a second that you weren’t the most important thing in my life. Because you were. You still are.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn’t even try to stop it.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you so much that I don’t know how to—how to breathe without you. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His throat was closing up, his chest heaving, his heart fucking shattering, and all he wanted—all he wanted—was to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to show you how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Because this was your decision now. So he just stood there, completely open, completely raw, completely yours, and waited.

Waited for you to slam the door in his face. Waited for you to tell him that he was too late. Waited for you to break his heart all over again.

But there it was again—that ache.

That deep, unbearable, all-consuming ache that only Joe Burrow had ever been able to pull from you. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? That no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you had tried to move on, he was still Joe.

He was still your Joe.

And now, he was standing in front of you, breaking apart at the seams, giving you everything he should have given you a year ago. His eyes were glassy, his breath uneven, his entire body taut like he was waiting for you to destroy him.

And you could have.

You could have slammed the door in his face. You could have walked away, left him out in the cold, given him a taste of his own medicine.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you had never stopped loving him.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could catch up with your heart, you stepped forward and pulled him in.

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

A sharp breath shuddered out of him as he buried his face into your hair, his body sinking against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for so long—like he had been starving for this.

His arms circled you, strong and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go, like he needed to hold onto you to keep himself standing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as your tears finally spilled over.

Because fuck.

This was the first time in a year that you had felt this. The warmth. The safety. The rightness of being in his arms.

You hated how good it still felt. How much you still wanted it.

Joe tightened his grip, his arms pressing you closer, his body trembling slightly as he mumbled more apologies, more I should have fought for you, I should have never let you go, I should have never—

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.

And for the first time in a year, you really looked at him.

His face was different. A little more tired, a little more worn, his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more defined, but his eyes—his eyes—were still the same. Still that impossible shade of blue, still holding that same intensity, that same Joe-ness that had always made you weak.

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

All the months of heartbreak, all the lonely nights, all the pain—it all blurred for just a moment. Because the only thing that mattered was him.

And then, you let him inside.

Joe looked around, taking in your apartment, the newness of it, the little things that weren’t his, that weren’t yours and his.

And then, finally, you both sat on the couch.

There was no space between you—his thigh pressed against yours, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to speak.

Because if he was here, if he was really going to do this, he needed to hear everything. He needed to understand what he had done.

So you told him. You told him everything.

“You broke me, Joe.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “You really, really broke me.”

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

“I spent months—months—trying to figure out what I did wrong,” you continued, your throat tightening. “Trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for you. Why you couldn’t just try. Why you let me walk away when I was begging you to fight for me.”

Joe’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing was uneven, like he was barely holding it together.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheek. “I had to learn how to exist without you. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Joe let out a slow, ragged breath. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your hands gripping your knees. “Because while I was trying to survive losing you, you were out there—” You hesitated, shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. “You were living. You were drinking, partying, fucking around with people who weren’t me. You had a girlfriend.”

Joe flinched, his jaw tightening. “She was nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

You blinked, breathing through the sharp ache in your chest. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I haven’t thought about this moment a million times,” you admitted, voice softer now. “Because I have. But if you think I’m just gonna let you back in, like none of it ever happened, you’re wrong.”

Joe sat up, nodding, his hands clasped together tightly. “I don’t expect that,” he said, voice low but steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I—” He let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart clenched.

Joe turned to face you fully, his knee bumping yours, his expression desperate and real and so fucking raw.

“I never stopped, not for a second,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could live without you. I thought I could move on, that I could distract myself, that I could convince myself that I made the right choice. But I didn’t.” His hands curled into fists. “I ruined the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

Your chest felt like it was being squeezed, your body so tired of carrying all this pain.

Joe swallowed hard. “I will do anything to make this right. Anything.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “But you have to tell me how.”

You hesitated, inhaling deeply, your fingers twisting in your lap. And then, finally, you said it.

“You have to try.”

Joe nodded instantly, like there was no hesitation, no doubt, no fear left in him. “I will.”

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m not just gonna let you back in.” You met his gaze, steady despite the storm inside you. “I need you to prove that you mean it. That this isn’t just guilt, or nostalgia, or regret.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Joe. I’m not gonna be your safety net. I’m not just something you can come back to because you’re lonely. I need you to prove that this time, you’re not gonna leave when things get hard.”

Joe shifted forward, his voice so sure, so certain.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time in a year, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

The next few weeks felt new.

Not in the way falling in love for the first time does—full of naive excitement, full of the rush of this is forever without ever questioning what forever actually means.

This was different.

This was love with edges, love with history, love that had been broken down to its very foundation and rebuilt with hands that knew how fragile it was.

You and Joe didn’t fall back into old habits, didn’t slip into the comfort of what once was. Because what you had before hadn’t worked, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

You weren’t together every second of every day. You weren’t just Joe’s girlfriend anymore. And maybe that was exactly what you had needed all along.

Joe never stopped trying.

He took you on real dates again, ones that weren’t just convenient dinners after practice, but ones he planned—a private table at your favorite restaurant, a weekend getaway, tickets to that concert you had mentioned in passing months ago.

He brought you presents—not extravagant, expensive gifts, but things that showed he listened to you. The signed first edition of that book you’d been searching for, the rare vintage jersey you casually mentioned once, the perfume you used to wear back in college but stopped because you thought it was discontinued.

He gave you space when you needed it. And when you talked, he listened.

Really listened.

And that gave you hope. Because this? This was the old Joe.

The one who had loved you before the fame, before the pressure, before the weight of the world had sat heavy on his shoulders. The one who had once promised you the world and had meant every word.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he would keep that promise.

And Joe had never been happier.

He hadn’t realized what he had until he lost it. Until he spent a year trying to pretend like life without you was still life at all. And now that he had you back, he would never, ever lose you again.

So he did what he should have done the first time.

He showed up for you. For everything.

For your job, which he saw now wasn’t just something you did, but something you loved, something you were good at. He watched every segment, sent you texts after each one, grinned when you debated your co-hosts on-air like you were born for this.

For your hobbies, the ones you had picked up when he wasn’t around—reading late at night, running at sunrise, perfecting your French braiding skills just because you could. He watched you bloom into a version of yourself he hadn’t seen in years.

And he realized—this was you.

The you that had existed before the NFL, before the noise, before the expectations. And fuck, he had missed you.

Not the girlfriend who had once made his life so seamless, so easy, so comfortable.

But you.

The woman who never let anyone take her for granted. The woman who had built a life outside of him. The woman who had once loved him enough to let him go when she realized he wasn’t ready to love her the way she deserved.

Joe had spent years thinking he wanted someone who fit perfectly into his life. But the truth was, he didn’t want a trophy wife.

And you had never wanted to be one.

He wanted this. You, with your own ambitions, your own life, your own dreams.

And now, he had you back. Not because you needed him.

But because you had chosen him.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that he was worth that choice.

Three months had passed, and somehow, this felt normal again.

Not in the way it once had—not in the suffocating, all-consuming way where your life revolved around Joe and his schedule.

This was better.

This was right.

And tonight, for the first time in over a year, you were his date to an NFL event. The NFL Honors, to be exact. The kind of night that used to feel like pressure, like you had to be perfect, like you were a reflection of him rather than your own person.

But not this time.

This time, it was just a date. A night out. A moment to celebrate him and everything he had fought to reclaim this season.

You would have been excited, had it not been for the fact that you were currently doing your makeup in a moving vehicle.

“You’re gonna stab yourself in the eye with that thing,” Joe mused, eyes flicking to you in the passenger seat as you struggled to apply mascara.

“I wouldn’t have to if someone had given me more time to get ready,” you muttered, carefully swiping the wand through your lashes.

Joe scoffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Are you kidding me? You literally had hours. I was ready thirty minutes before I even came to get you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head back for another coat. “Yeah, well, some of us have more to do than just put on a suit and fix our precious curls.”

Joe smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “You love my curls.”

You ignored him, reaching for your lip liner, only to fumble and drop it between your seat and the center console.

“Fuck,” you hissed, shifting to try and reach it.

Joe took the opportunity immediately. “Damn, you that excited for tonight?”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the seat in defeat. “Joe, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he mused, one hand on the wheel, the other casually adjusting his watch, looking way too pleased with himself. “All dressed up, sitting next to me, getting flustered… You sure it’s the event you’re excited for?”

You turned to glare at him, your face already burning, and the second he saw it—that blush—he grinned.

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Joe reached over and gave your thigh a small squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel, still grinning. “Yeah, but you love it.”

And the worst part?

You did.

You knew he was going to win before they even announced it.

There had been a lot of speculation, sure, but there was no doubt in your mind.

No one had fought harder than Joe. No one had come back from a worse season to prove himself the way he had.

So when they called his name—Joe Burrow, Comeback Player of the Year—you barely heard the crowd over the sound of your own excitement.

You were on your feet in an instant, clapping, beaming, so proud.

And when he turned toward you before heading to the stage, his hand brushing against yours in a silent moment of acknowledgment, your heart clenched in the best way.

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

Joe took the stage, adjusting the mic, the gold trophy shining under the lights.

“Uh—wow,” he started, shaking his head slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

The crowd laughed, and he let out a small exhale, gripping the trophy a little tighter.

“I’m not gonna stand up here and act like this season was easy,” he admitted, his voice steady but raw, real. “It wasn’t. At all. I went through a lot—personally, professionally, mentally. And honestly? There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back up here again.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

You knew how much it had taken for him to get here.

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “But I had a lot of people in my corner. My teammates, my coaches, my family. And—” He paused, just for a second, and then his eyes found yours.

“And someone who reminded me what I was fighting for.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

It was just a moment—a split second where it was just you and him in a room full of people.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting his weight, nodding once. “This is for all the people who never stopped believing in me. And to anyone going through something they don’t think they’ll come back from—keep going. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Joe gave a small nod, turned, and walked off the stage.

And when he got back to your table, the first thing he did was lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

And yeah.

He really, really had.

The night felt easy.

The way it always had, before everything got complicated. Before the pressure, before the expectations, before you had to fight for something that should have been effortless.

Now, it was effortless.

Joe was next to you, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of pasta while he rambled about the upcoming Super Bowl, going on about the defensive schemes and how the media was making too big of a deal about certain matchups.

Larry sat perched on the counter, her tail flicking every now and then, eyes trained on Joe like she actually cared about football, which was something Joe found endlessly amusing. He had already started referring to her as his cat, despite the fact that she had only tolerated him in the beginning.

“She loves me more than you now,” he had said just last week, smirking as Larry curled up next to him on the couch.

And you had just rolled your eyes. "Not a chance."

Now, standing here, making dinner in your quiet apartment, it felt like you had never left each other’s orbit. Like no time had passed at all.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You were just here. With him.

You turned toward the fridge, reaching to grab the parmesan, when you felt it.

A tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you turned back. And everything stopped.

Joe was on one knee.

Your breath caught, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared down at him, frozen.

His hands were slightly unsteady, his fingers wrapped around a small, velvet box. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his lips parted like even he couldn’t believe he was doing this right now.

But his eyes—his eyes—were sure. There was no doubt. No hesitation.

Only love.

Joe exhaled sharply, running his free hand over his face before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I had this whole plan. I was gonna wait until after the summer, do some big, romantic thing, maybe take you on a trip, make it perfect.” He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “But, uh—yeah. Clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the ring box. “Because the truth is, I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about this since the second you took me back, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I bought this ring the week we got back together. I didn’t even fucking hesitate. Just walked into the store, told them exactly what I wanted, and bought it right there. Because I knew.”

Your chest ached.

Joe let out a small, nervous laugh, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I knew the second I lost you that I had made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I knew that I couldn’t do life without you, that I didn’t want to do life without you. And I know—I know—I have spent the last year proving that to you. But let me prove it for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurred, tears spilling over as you let out a soft, choked breath.

Joe’s voice wavered slightly, his own eyes looking glassy. “I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we always planned. I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we should do. I want to marry you because I choose you. Every single fucking day. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.”

Your hands were trembling now, your lips parting as you tried to breathe.

Joe swallowed hard, shaking his head. “You are the love of my life. You always have been. And I am done wasting time.” His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, please, for the love of God, put me out of my misery and say yes.”

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, your whole body trembling, your face wet with tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Joe’s face broke into the biggest, purest smile you had ever seen.

And then you were falling to your knees in front of him, your hands grabbing his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was everything—every promise, every ounce of love, every second of waiting for this moment.

Joe kissed you back instantly, his hands shaking as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as possible, like he could never get enough.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for the first time in forever, you said it back without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

Joe grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger before he could drop it, and then exhaled dramatically.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “That would’ve been awkward as hell.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as Joe pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Larry watching in the background like she knew exactly what had just happened—

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joe shiesty #joey b #jb9 #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #nfl fic #nfl players #nfl imagine

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #degrees of lewdity #dol #harper the doctor #dol harper #harper x reader #yandere harper #dol harper x reader #yandere drabble #yandere degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity imagines #yandere dol #dol imagines

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mixingandmelting · 2 months ago

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Hey! So kinda new here but I LOVED your take on how they would react to their s/o thinking Damian's adorable. Everytime he comes up I get in full protective older sister mode and it is so hard to find fics like that (kinda thinking about writing it myself). But I would really love to see how do you think it would be for Damian to meet his brothers' partners and actually get along with them.

All his life he's been mostly surrounded by terribly traumatized people who seem to be allergic to express their feelings (most of the times at least), it's always been hard for him to actually be a kid. So I think that maybe meeting a person he can trust, is kind of mentally stable and just fun to talk to would actually allow him to let his guard down a bit. Not saying he would act fully like a child bc you know ✨️trauma✨️ but idk I guess it would be interesting to see him feeling safe and not needing to prove himself or put on the whole "I'm not a kid" act

Anyway, english is not my first language so I do apologize if that paragraph is just a big mess and hopefully you could actually understand my rambling, sorry about that too.

A/N: treating it as a prequel to the aforementioned post here!

w/ Dick:

He heard about you. From Oracle, Steph, Tim, even Jon. Yet despite what they told him, he held no expectations for you. Just with Starfire, he saw you as temporary, a flame soon to be put out like his brother’s other exes.

And he made sure to let you, meeting you for the first time in the Manor when the two of you coincidentally are left alone to chill in the living room on your day visiting the place.

“I hope you realize you’re not Richard’s first nor will you be his last.” The teen states. His eyes never leave the page he’s currently on regarding the etiology of cows as he sits on the couch across from you.

“And?”

…And?

He continues to insult you, questioning if you were truly unable to comprehend what he’s trying to get at only to suddenly find himself debating with you about what Batcow’s breed could possibly be.

“You can’t rule out all dairy cattle when certain breeds are also brought to the slaughter house.”

“That’s true but considering her size, she would be leaning towards beef cattle. Also there are certain breeds that have the red and white coat like hers.”

How it happens, he doesn’t know. Especially when his goal was to exert his superiority, doing everything he can to get under your skin to show he’s above you. But you don’t bat an eyelash to anything he says. Rather, you’re wanting to know more about him, responding to him how you would respond to anyone else who is similar age as you.

And it seems like he isn’t the only one to have realized how quickly he’s gotten comfortable with you once you got dragged out for a “girls talk” by the girls. Whatever that is.

“I thought you didn’t want to get along?” Dick asks, entering the room and plopping himself right next to the youngest Bat.

“More like your s/o is either non-human or can manipulate the mind.” Damian scowls and swats at the offending hand that attempts to ruffle his hair.

But even without the knowing smirk the eldest shoots at him, he knows that isn’t the case.

So when you promise you’d bake sweets whenever the two of you meet, he takes you up for it. Now he uses it to his advantage to annoy his older sibling whenever he comes over to visit, enjoying how the eldest son of the family miserably sulks for having your attention taken away from him.

w/ Jason:

It’s either you’re a saint or lacking a brain. That’s what he assumes when the eldest of the family yells to everyone in the Batcave that their second oldest brother, the trouble-maker and black sheep of the family, had finally found himself a significant other.

He most definitely didn’t expect you to be… collected and reserved when he casually breaks into Todd’s unit to demand for assistance (it’s not him needing help), only for his eyes to meet wide and surprise yours.

“Who are you?”

“Uh, I should be the one to say that to you. Not the other way around buddy.”

Shots are fired, both sides fully suspicious of each other with him trying to exert dominance while you manage to counter and land hits of your own in the battle of words. And to the bitter end, he will never admit how he’s thrown off guard and has his pride extremely hurt at the very start, your eyes’ glint and your voice vocalizing recognition as whom, what Todd apparently refers to him as, “the pain in the ass” before he was able to realize you’re the s/o Richard had been talking about (the argument he gives later on after gloating to family how he was the first to actually to meet you was how he didn’t think Todd would be dating someone normal considering all his history with others and hook-ups).

As it should be known when putting two stubborn people in the same room, it’s either go big or go home. That’s why he sits down at the table and drinks the cup of tea you place in front of him. The one that you made in the midst of the verbal argument which “only” you refuse to back down despite there already being a winner. Not because you give him snacks and you’re decent with steeping tea with loose leaf tea.

The argument shifts to gossiping, and soon, Jason arrives while the two of you spill the tea with each other regarding the latest Batfamily’s love-drama.

“Oh, you’re back!”

The way Damian nearly does a double take at the sight of the man genuinely smiling with joy, captivation, and enamor though it only lasts for a second at him noticing who else was sitting at the table with you. He’s glad to say the least he’s able to find someone he could gossip about his family’s dilemma with romance while gleefully able to get at the man for all the times his buttons were pushed.

w/ Tim:

Trust Drake to keep you hidden for this long, successfully in completely masking your presence from the whole family. He didn’t even know you existed, nonetheless Drake having a significant other in general, leaving him to quite literally not have an opinion on you.

The only way he finds out is the person in question kissing who he now knows is you purely by accident where the two of you were in the middle of a date and he was subbing in for patrol. He had the biggest grin when witnessing all this as he realized he just got his hand on his nemesis’ biggest weakness (he does make a face at the public display of affection though). And what better way to cement it by finding out more about you.

As per tradition, the first thing he does is follow you to where you live. Then proceed to break in and wait for you to come home the following week.

“You’re Drake’s significant other?”

“What the fuc-fudge, why is there a kid in my apartment?!”

He gets fed up and presses harder with the interrogation as you won’t stop calling him kid, kiddo, bud, and worst of all: sport. He’ll give it to you how you don’t easily bend to peer-pressure, keeping the playing field even and leveled where you ask him back questions of your own. But he doesn’t fall for your tactics to sidetrack him when offering refreshments and beverages.

What’s your relation with Timothy Jackson Drake, how long have you known him, where did you meet him. The strange part is how you answer them truthfully. Sure you keep to the barebones, which he would ask a follow up if he deems as “important” but now he’s questioning Drake’s tastes in people, wondering if the latter is into those without awareness.

“You do realize you’re giving out information to someone you just met, right?” He crosses his arms, an eyebrow raised. It’s not out of concern for the two of you, he’s merely mocking how weak the relationship seems to be. He tilts his head when you suddenly look sheepish, almost bashful.

“Well…about that…”

It’s starting then things don’t go as planned. One, you had already known about him as the “demon spawn” who had taken the position of Robin. And two, the two of you start bonding over knowing your BF’s most humiliating moments.

It gives Damian the greatest satisfaction to see how his sibling’s facial expression falls into horror as he slams the door open only to see him in the middle of writing notes on the one story of how he attempted to skate through the rain to impress you and fail.

#dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin dc #red robin x reader #tim drake #damian wayne #dc imagine

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live-laugh-lenney · 2 months ago

Text

number one fan | george clarke

summary; yn is the biggest supporter at wembley stadium for george during his appearance at the sidemen charity match.

word count; 2.9k

** warnings; slight mention of sex but just pure, sickening fluff. **

just a little something quick, short and sweet to celebrate the charity match - the atmosphere was unreal and i'm so glad to say i was there to witness george scoring his goal at wembley. the best day of my life and i would do it all over again. <33 (i am going to include the day of the charity match in my current WIP fic - bestfriend!george/boyfriend!arthur - so i will go into more detail about this day in that!). let me know what you think. enjoy! x

The atmosphere of Wembley Stadium felt suffocating to YN.

But it was a good kind of suffocating if the word ‘suffocating’ had a positive connotation to it.

It was electric, filled with so much anticipation, filled with bubbling excitement as people gathered from all over the country, with some travelling from all over the world, to support their favourite content creators in something that would be classed as historic for those in the career path of social media.

The loudness and the intensity of an almost full stadium, as the minutes on the screens ticked by till kick-off, was slightly overwhelming for her and she could feel the familiar feeling of nerves bubbling low in her belly and it felt a little strange for her to have been there for a football match as opposed to a concert. Because the last time she had been there was for a Harry Styles concert during a London heatwave yet, this time, it was a whole different experience. This was Wembley Stadium, the home of English football, and she was eager to experience the unique vibe it offered for the next three hours, ready to soak in every moment.

It felt even stranger for her to have been there for someone she knew personally. The same someone she got to go home with afterwards and the same someone who (almost) everyone in the stadium had come to see and it gave her a feeling of superiority because she was the lucky one who got to kiss him once she saw him after, who got to take him home, who got to give him a massage as he laid in bed, who got to support him and be known as his number one supporter… she was one step ahead of everyone who had come to see him that day and, deep down, she relished in that feeling.

She’d travelled in with the two Arthur’s, since they were coming from the same part of London together and she didn’t want to travel on her own whilst George travelled in on a coach-load of Youtubers prepped in their kits for the day, feeling at ease knowing she could follow them and have her nerves calmed because they’d make sure to keep her mind free of any panic and anxiety she had about the day. Hearing their nonsense on the tube as they nattered about upcoming Youtube video ideas they were looking forward to filming, chiming in on how she really wanted to participate in a ‘Platform Roulette’ whenever they were next planning one and insisting she’d be able to keep up with the rate they drank at, taking pictures and videos of their day so she could document it all on TikTok and so George could use it in a video because, no doubt, he was going to put out a little something to show his gratitude to the opportunity he was given.

As each seat gained an occupant around her, her eyes dragged slowly from row to row as seats were filling up and she still couldn’t comprehend how she was stood in a box, amongst everyone else’s friends and family as they gathered for the huge event, ready to watch her boyfriend run the length of the pitch for under ninety minutes. Behind her, she was graced with Emily and her partner as well as George’s mum and dad, and she felt a lot more relaxed knowing they felt the same way she did; they were all in this together.

“Say hello to TikTok, lovely,” Emily insisted, holding out her phone in YN’s direction so she could wave and give the camera a shy smile and she graciously obliged, saying the sweetest ‘hello’ before Emily saved the video and put her phone back into her pocket, “I’m taking a page out of George’s book today and filming a little ‘day in the life of watching my baby brother play at Wembley’ and we all know the girlies want to see you.”

“I’m sure they only want to see George,” YN laughed, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and situating herself a little more comfortably in her chair so she could still have a face-to-face conversation with George’s family but still have an eye on the pitch as they watched the players warm-up on the grass, and Emily shook her head, “I tend not to look at comments from people, really.”

“Well, you should have a little nosey look every now and then. They love you and George together,” she claimed and YN’s cheeks felt like they were hotting up, “besides, I’d have a few choice words for them if they ever choose to upset you. George can handle himself but I’ve got your back,” she gave YN’s cheeks a little pinch with her fingers and grinned at her playfully, “we love you, George loves you, that’s all that matters right?”

YN nodded shyly.

The way his family had welcomed her in, it felt so wholesome in her eyes. How they made her feel part of the family from the moment he took her back to Bristol for a weekend, how they showed interest in her life and asked her questions about her and her own family, how they gave her so much love for someone they’d only just met. Being sat with them, during a milestone that was huge for George and his career, made her feel so warm on the inside.

“Speaking of George,” YN took a glance across to where he was performing the warm-up in front of the crowd before she looked back to his sister,, “I can’t believe we’re here for him.”

“I remember the day he phoned us up and asked us if we wanted to come and watch,” George’s mum chimed in, looking up from her phone, momentarily taking a break from scrolling through some of the pictures she’d already taken that day, “I think his dad nearly had a heart attack when he mentioned he was playing on this pitch.”

“It’s not every day that your son says he’s playing football at a sold-out Wembley stadium,” his dad exclaimed, completely decked out in merchandise that made YN want to cry over because he looked so supportive, “there wasn’t a chance we were missing this.”

YN understood the significance of how much the opportunity meant to George.

The night before, as they bid farewell to each other, she could sense his anxiety and apprehension. The loving embrace they shared in the entryway of her flat, with his bag packed at their feet, was a poignant moment for both of them. George was visibly nervous and nauseous, knowing he would soon be standing on a stage in front of ninety-thousand people, all gathered for a noble cause. Despite his usual outward display of confidence, the jokes he’d make to bring lightheartedness to any room he was in, George confided in YN about his inner turmoil.

He admitted to shedding tears, overwhelmed by the pressure to perform well and the fear of not measuring up to the expectations of his audience and he likened his feelings to that of 'imposter syndrome', as he prepared to share the stage with the very YouTubers he had idolized in his youth.

At that moment, all George longed for was YN's presence and her growing support. He found solace in her comforting embrace, knowing that her unwavering belief in him would help him overcome his fears and insecurities. As they parted ways that night, YN remained a source of strength and reassurance for George, providing him with the courage he needed to face the challenges that lay ahead.

---

“I just wish you could come with me tonight,” he pouted, eyes glossed over with tears and YN’s heart broke as he stood before her. He looked like a child who was scared to partake in the school play. “I know it’s silly to get so emotional but, I just want to live this moment with you. You’ve been by my side since the beginning of all of this that’s happening in my life. You’ve never let me do things alone, you’ve always held my hand, you’ve always made sure you were there for me.”

“It’s only one night,” she cooed softly, running a hand through his hair and letting her fingers curl in the curls at the back of his head, “I’ll see you in less than 12 hours, you silly boy.”

“I know but I want to live in the moment with you,” he sighed heavily and rolled his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he took an aching swallow, “and I feel so out of place there. Training today, I was amongst the likes of MrBeast and Logan Paul. Speed, as well. It just doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’m checking off a box and that’s the worst way to look at it because they’re my friends.”

“You deserve all of the successes that happen to you, George,” she reminded him and he brought his head back to look at her, her hands cupping his face and he felt comfort in how soft her thumbs felt as they dragged across his cheeks and collected the moisture of his emotions from his skin, “I’m so proud of you, I love you, and I can’t wait to be there tomorrow. Cheering you on with your family, with your friends, with all those fans of yours who have come to watch as you live out your dream.”

“Don’t forget to wear the shirt, will you?”

“Of course not,” she shook her head softly. Her Sidemen FC match shirt, with ‘Clarkey’ written across the back of her shoulders and the number ‘8’ embellished underneath it, was folded up neatly with the rest of her outfit - ripped and baggy jeans and one of George’s zip-up hoodies that she thought would act as some good luck - and she truly felt like she was a WAG and she wondered if this was how Talia, Freya and Faith felt before the first Sidemen match they ever attended. “I’m going to wear it with pride. I don’t think I’ll take it off for a while.”

“What if I take it off for you?”

“Only if you score,” she grinned at him with a glint of cheekiness in her eyes and it was enough to bring a wide, face-splitting grin to his mouth, “seriously. If you score, you can do whatever you want with me when we get back home.”

---

Eighty-eight minutes.

There were two minutes left in the game, two minutes left before chaos ensued as they rushed to get the winner’s podium set up, two minutes left for one of them to gain the winning coal to keep it from a tied eight-all score at the end. To her right was ArthurTV, visibly nervous whilst he chewed on his nails as his knee bounced up and down and occasionally bumped against hers, and to her left was Max, who was oblivious to the heightened atmosphere but had his eyes glued to the players on the pitch and she was certain he was looking for George but, then again, so was she and about half of the fans in Wembley Stadium.

As the clock ticked down, the anticipation grew palpable, each second feeling like an eternity. The stakes were high, and the pressure was mounting for the players on the field. The outcome of the game would soon be decided, and the tension in the stadium was almost tangible.

A corner kick from Tobi, a poor touch from AngryGinge, and suddenly the stadium erupted into cheers and it took YN a brief moment to realise just who was on the other end of Tobi’s cross into the box.

“Oh, my god!”

Arthur turned to YN as everyone around them stood to their feet with their arms punching the air in excitement as they celebrated the ball going into the back of the net, grabbing her shoulders and giving her an enthusiastic shake whilst her own hands came up to cover her mouth in pure shock, her eyes darting from Arthur’s face to the pitch so she could find George to the screen that showed the moment her boyfriend got the final toe-poke touch of the ball as it crossed the line. A desperate lunge to make sure it didn’t skim the post, to make sure they got the winning goal, to make sure it was nestled deeply into the net as confirmation he’d won the game for Sidemen FC with their nine goals to the AllStars’ eight goals.

“As if!”

She couldn’t contain the smile that burst from her lips, her vision landing on George as players in all black had surrounded him as they celebrated together, watching as Chris and Will went over to give him a celebratory hug before they joined the rest of their team before they restarted the game. The way he sauntered around the grass with confidence in every step he took, his eyes scanning the crowd to see if he could find where YN was sitting, giving her a wave and blowing a kiss in her direction once he saw her in the far distance.

“If he’s just won that for the Sidemen, my god,” Arthur sat back down in his seat, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, “he will not shut up about this now, you realise that?”

“I know,” YN grinned proudly, clapping her hands together and letting them fall to her lap, “but I’m okay with that. I’m so okay with that.”

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Theo brought the ball down in the box at the opposite end and slotted it into the back of the net for his Wembley hattrick, which YN couldn’t fault his incredible attempt and considered him the player most worthy to get the only hattrick of the day, but she felt the knot in her stomach tighten at how George didn’t quite become the hero of the game but still managed to make his mark.

---

“Well, well, well.”

She turned on her heels, a bottle of beer held tightly in her hands, and she took in George’s appearance - freshly washed hair that had become fluffy and soft now it had naturally dried, the smell of his shower gel and an even stronger smell of his aftershave that he’d spritzed over himself wafted up her nose and she just wanted to devour him in kisses and take him home so she could have him all to herself. He dropped his sports bag down by the table that his family were situated at, using his foot to slide it underneath so it was out of sight for everyone and not so much of a tripping hazard to those in the room, and she placed her drink down on the tabletop so she could wrap her arms around him in a tight hug. His arms sliding around her waist and he held her tightly to his front, hiding his face in the crook of her neck and goosebumps rose upon her skin at the way his moustache and the prickles of his beard tickled at her bare skin.

“I guess I’m taking this off tonight,” he whispered softly into her ear whilst his fingers toyed with the material of the shirt tucked into her jeans yet swallowing her upper body, “did we shake on that? You’re not going back on your word, are you?”

“I was going to let you anyway,” she responded, hands combing through the mullet he had almost perfected and he lifted his head from her neck to take in his surroundings, “you did so good today. I’m so incredibly proud of you.”

The smile on his face seemed permanent.

He could see his dad, pushing through the crowd, with bottles of beer in his hands as he made his way back to their table. He could hear his mum behind him as she ushered his sister and her partner to get ready to bombard him with hugs and kisses as they professed their pride and their love for him. He could see his friends all huddled together in different corners of the room, how all their families were gathered in this space and talking amongst themselves, photos being snapped and vlogs being filmed from all over the place that he’d definitely be showing his face in.

Yet all his mind would focus on, at that moment, was YN.

“You can go and wander around, you know? We’ll still be here if you want to go and talk to people,” YN insisted, looking up at him as he scanned the room, his arm tightening around her waist as he pulled her closer to his side, “we don’t mind if you do.”

“No,” he shook his head, looking down at her and pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I spent all day with these guys. I want to savour this moment with you.”

“You’re such a softie,” she laughed, sliding her arm around his middle and giving his hip a squeeze, “I still can’t believe you scored a goal out there today.”

“I knew what was on the line tonight,” he said coolly with a smirk twitching at his lips, and he took a swig of the beer from the bottle his dad had handed him to hide the cocky look that pieced his features together in a lustful way, his eyes turning a devilishly darker shade than normal, “what do say about us leaving early?”

“You don’t want to go out and celebrate with everyone else?”

“Not when we’ve got some celebrating of our own to do.”

510 notes · View notes

arbitrarykiwi · 3 months ago

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OH.MY.GOD. i absolutely loved ur nam-gyu fic it was actually insane, it was sooo juicy, so well written, so in character!!! i literally loved every single word i can’t stress this enough😫😫 please write more about nam-gyu!! i would also like to see a more loser side of him since in ur fic he was like sooo suave but i feel like he’s really just. some guy getting minimum wage to promote a fuckass club. ANYWAY! thank u so much!!!

I Like 'em Weird

HEEEYYY!! Thank you soo much for your kind words, catch me crying sobbing and throwing up 😩😩. When I saw this request I got right to work I was so excited. Admittedly this was a bit challenging for me (I’m a sucker for the sugar daddy/sweet talker trope) but I tried my best and I hope you like it!! I had so much fuckin fun 🤭🤭🤭

Warnings: Smut (18+), drug usage, sex while under the influence, awkward! Nam-gyu, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, face fucking, sex in a club, sex in a club bathroom, thigh fucking, choking, squiring, creampie

When you went to the club with your friends, on a Friday night with a plan to get fucked up and laid, they didn’t not think you were referring to the awkward club promoter who hung around the egotistic, purple haired rapper, Thanos, like a lap dog.

You were acquaintances with the rapper, he’s been frequenting the club you often find yourself at with your friends recently. Hell, he’s even bought your whole friend group rounds and rounds of shots- he’s even hit on you a couple times. But he was not your type.

The club promoter that was always next to him, black jacket over his hands, ringed fingers frequently coming up to cover his mouth, glaring at most people around, not trying to have every hot girl sit on his lap or dance on him like his purple haired counterpart part- now he was your type.

When Thanos showed up, beginning to frequent the club a few months ago, you saw more of the odd promoter on the club floor. You knew he worked there as a promoter but he always seemed to be in the back, preferring only the drugs of the scene rather than the whole scene itself.

A few weeks back when you found yourself at this same club, with Thanos walking over from his VIP table to buy your friends drinks, you finally asked him about the black haired shadow he seemed to have. “Oh him? That’s my boy Nam-su!!” Thanos said throwing an arm loosely around your shoulder. “You like him, he’s a charmer isn’t he?” Thanos drunkenly said looking back over to where ‘Nam-su’ was.

He was seated on the sofa, looking around erratically. He was glaring at pretty much anyone who came near him. No girls even looked his way. You and Thanos watched on as he leaned over the glass table in front of him and begins to snort a line of whatever substance was on the table.

Yeah, real charmer.

But something about him made you crave him. You wanted to fuck him. “Yeah….So his names Nam-su?” You ask again, trying to make sure you remember it. “Yep! That’s my boy Nam-Su!!!!!” Thanos calls out loudly, enough it’s apparently heard over the loud music by the so called ‘Nam-su’, who looks up and glares over at the two of you before rolling his eyes.

“Doesn’t look to happy does he?” You ask with an uneasy laugh. One of the bartenders who brings you a drink leans over the bar and laughs “That’s ‘cause that ain’t his name. His name is Nam-gyu.”

So there you found yourself that Friday with a goal in mind. You needed Nam-gyu. So after getting more than a few drinks in your system and your friend dragging you over to Thanos’ little group- you decided to put your plan in action.

He was currently sitting next to Thanos, rolling up a blunt, his hands shaking and his leg bouncing. Thanos was talking up some girls, having took the blunt that Nam-gyu originally rolled for him and Thanos; sharing it among the group of girls who threw themselves at the rapper.

He was pissed to say the least, the blunt he rolled now being wasted and not passed to him. He sat there a scowl on his face as he very obviously mumbled to himself, and conveniently there was a spot on the couch next to him.

You make your way over, sitting down next to him. He immediately looks up, looking at you like you’re crazy. Why the fuck were you coming over to him? He was never really a ladies man, sure he had experience but not with a woman such as yourself. You were way out of his league he thought.

You lean your elbow on your leg, resting your chin in your palm as you look at him. “Mind if I join?” You say in a sickly sweet voice, smiling at him. Instead of flirting or acting as suave as Thanos- he looks at you like you’re stupid.

You can practically read the ‘Why the fuck are you even near me, I’m not sharing my shit with you’ look. You can tell he really doesn’t even realize you’re flirting with him. You groan and reach into your bra, pulling out a bad of weed and a small bag of white powder. “Chill out, I’ll match with you.” You say laughing, offering the substances out.

This seems to catch his attention. He raises an eyebrow conspiratorially, “This isn’t going to get you on some pedestal with him, you’re better off dancing on him.” He says, and oh fuck his voice is so delicious, it’s wavering, a low tone, almost like he’s anxious to be talking to you, like he expects you to only be doing this to somehow get closer to the purple haired rapper.

You laugh, the sounds catches him of guard and makes he heart thump against his chest in a way he despises. “I’m not trying to get on some pedestal with him.” You say pointing over to Thanos, “If anything I’m trying to get on ‘some pedestal’ with you.” You finish, pointing to him.

The words make him think he’s hallucinating, he’s questioning how much drugs he’s done tonight. He’s never been with a girl like you, he’s not even sure he’d know what to do with himself.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He mumbles taking your bad of weed from you. He inspects it, like he’s expecting you to hand him some trash weed. “It’s not weak shit, ‘s good.” You say pointing to it as he takes a nug out and inspects it.

“I dunno. Girls like you usually have shit weed.” He grumbles. You furrow your eyebrows and scoff. “The fucks that supposed to mean?” You ask, he doesn’t answer, only responding with another question of his own, “Can you roll?” He asks it like he already knows the answer and you can’t.

He really was not the ladies man. No wonder you didn’t ever see him leaving the club with a female companion. You decide to not answer him, instead just reaching over to grab your weed back from him. He assumes that you’re gonna take your stash and leave but you don’t.

You grab the cigar off the tray in front of him, the one he was about to begin to roll when you showed up. Beginning to split it, your nails run down the cigar breaking it open dumping the tobacco onto the rolling tray into the pile already accumulated by the past blunts smoked by the group.

He watches on, surprised by how well you do it. He wasn’t too impressed by the girls Thanos usually had rolling- but you? Well it made him less uneasy. But he was still so awkward next to you.

You could see him out of the corner of your eye, beginning to break down the weed with hands that would not stop shaking. Admittedly you loved the visual, his long slender fingers rolling the weed to break it down, adorned with a couple silver rings, it was a real treat. But it was so interesting to see him work like that, like he truly had no idea you actually found him attractive.

You reach over to grab some of the weed he was breaking down, purposefully running your hand along his, your manicured nails dancing along the top of his hand. It makes him freeze, you can see him tense up. You draw your hand back to begin to fill the wrap with the weed you picked up. You think maybe you’re shit out of luck- that he really wasn’t interested. But, when you look up to his face his eyes are trained on where the feeling of your fingers lingered on his hand and the corner of his bottom lip was caught in his teeth.

“I’m not gonna bite y’know…” You say in a soft sweet tone, scooting closer to him so your thighs press against his. You’re shoulder to shoulder. “I know..” he mumbles in response, dusting his hands off and then leaning his elbows on his knees. He’s sat forward, arms hanging down between his knees.

His eyes turn towards you, anxiously darting around your face, tracing the column of your neck, to your collar bone, to where your super low cut dress digs into the swell of your breasts, making it look like your tits we’re nearly ready to fall out of the dress, then down lower to where his eyes lock on to where your bare thigh presses against him.

His eyes then watch on as you expertly roll the blunt, tucking it into itself. You leave a part of it unrolled, your tongue coming out to lick at the blunt. He thinks his heart stopped or maybe his heart beat is all the way in his dick- he doesn’t know. But he watches as your tongue slowly lathes over the wrap, it’s like you’re putting on a show that was only for him. He can feel himself getting uncomfortably hot.

You finish, your eyes turning towards him as you fold down the flap, sealing the blunt, and then passing it over to him. “Is it up to your standards, sir?” You say teasingly, leaning towards him a bit more. You can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows thickly when the nickname falls from your lips.

He brings one of his hands up to his mouth, dragging the skin down, like you would literally be the death of him- like he’s trying to compose himself. You really haven’t done much and you already seem to have an effect on him- oh you’re fucking him tonight.

He snatches the blunt from you, inspecting it. He hated to admit it was good, maybe even better than the ones he would roll, but he wouldn’t tell you that. “‘S good enough.” He says and shrugs. “Woooow” you say laughing, “I see how it is…tough crowd.”

He puts the blunt in his mouth and grabs a lighter. He looks ungodly good with the blunt hanging loosely from his lip as he searches for a lighter. He looks to the table to try and find the lighter he brought- it wasn’t there. Maybe in his pocket? His hands pat the pocket of his jacket and jeans, it wasn’t there.

Then you’re leaning over him, flicking a lighter that you brought and lighting the blunt. When he begins to inhale, his eyes lock with yours, taking in the way you look against the red-orange hue of the flame. When the blunt is lit, you flick the lighter off and slowly lean back.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, settling back into the couch and hitting the blunt. As the smoke slowly flows out of his mouth, he hands the blunt out to you. You move to lean on the back of the couch, one arm propped up. Your chest was pressed into his as you lean even closer to him to grab the blunt. As you put it to your mouth and inhale your eyes never leave his.

He looks at you as if you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Here you were, all up on him, in a cute little leather dress and heels that looked like they were more than his rent for a month, all with a pretty little face to match.

You let the smoke sit in your mouth before letting slip past your lips only the smallest bit before inhaling through your nose. He could feel himself become hot, shifting his hips forward on the couch to adjust his cock that begins to swell against his thigh.

“So you’re a promoter here?” You ask, and suddenly he seems to connect the dots (or at least he thinks he does). You probably wanted free drinks or a vip booth or free cover, but all that- anything he gives out, comes out of his pocket and he hardly had money for the weed he was smoking now.

“Yeah. But I can’t get you free cover, or drinks, or a VIP band.” He says curtly, inhaling from the blunt you handed back to him. You scoff, a bit offended he felt so little of you but with the people he hangs around, and the girls of the scene; you can’t blame him for thinking that.

“I don’t care about that. Was just tryin’ to make conversation with you.” You say pouting. He quirks up an eyebrow and laughs, “Okay, humor me..” he says turning to lean closer to you, “then why are you talking to me, you didn’t want my drugs, you don’t want to get closer to Thanos, don’t want free drinks or VIP, what the fuck could you possibly want from me?”

You take the blunt back as he passes it, inhaling before speaking, “Simple. You’re hot. I wanna fuck.” You say shrugging. He’s not even hitting the blunt and he chokes, sitting up straight and looking at you wide eyed like he hallucinated the whole thing. You laugh at his reaction, it’s a genuinely loud laugh that has you clutching your stomach.

“You…what?” He asks, his voice unsure, like you’re speaking a different language. He did not expect those words. you giggle again, “Here, I’ll put it a different way….” You muse as you lean closer, your faces inches apart. “I. Want. You. To. Fuck. Me.” You say annunciating every word, your free hand that is resting against the back of the couch reaching out to play with a strand of his hair.

“Yeah, okay..” he says swallowing and nodding excitedly. “Let’s go.” He finishes. You shake your head “We still got nearly a whole blunt to finish, we’re not leaving anywhere just yet.” You grin, your hand holding up the blunt. He looks at you like a kicked puppy, pouring.

You roll your eyes “So eager. We can have a little fun while it finishes, everyone here is busy themselves or drugged out of their mind.” You coo to him, he looks at you confused. You laugh softly to yourself, your free hand grabbing the hand that’s resting on his bouncing leg that’s close to you. You guide his hand to your inner thigh, dragging it up your flesh until his pinky finger is brushing against your clothed pussy.

His breath catches in his throat, fuck, you’d be the death of him. His hand turns, his fingers almost immediately fall into a rhythm of rubbing up and down your cunt over your panties. It makes you bite your lip and nod in approval, the small movement of praise and the feeling of your warm cunt beginning to soak through your panties onto his finger makes his cock swell to a large tent in his jeans one that was impossible to hide.

You remove your hand from over his, reaching over to grip his cock over his jeans, massaging the bulge. His head throws back, landing against the back of the couch. “Come on now..” you say, emphasizing your words with a particularly hard squeeze, “still gotta be with it enough to hit the blunt.” You tease handing it over to him.

He doesn’t lift his head, instead he reaches out blindly to grip your hand, fingers wrapping around your hand to find the blunt. He grips it, pulling it to his mouth. You let out a surprised squeak when his hand moves to push your panties to the side, his fingers returning to your bare cunt.

When he feels the warmth of your bare pussy against his hand he lets out a moan around the blunt that he pulls from his mouth. His fingers dip into your folds, just feeling you. You’re already beginning to get wet, allowing his fingers to move easily as he begins to spread your arousal around.

You pass the blunt back and forth, never stopping your ministrations on each other. You couldn’t help but to grind against his hand, catching your clit on his palm with every roll of your hips. You’re dripping over his hand, only making him even more desperate for anything you’re willing to give him. He doesn’t say anything, he literally thinks he couldn’t if he even tried.

Your hand continues to massage his clothed erection, your hand moving up and down over the fabric, cupping the girth of his cock. You knew the possibility of someone looking on and seeing the two of you was high, but the idea only made you wetter. You knew it would be quite a show, and anyone who saw it would be too drunk or high to remember it the next day. So if they wanted to look on, let them.

When you let the last hit you took roll out over your mouth and look over to him to pass him the blunt, you’re met with a delightful sight. He’s leaned back in the couch, head thrown back as he takes the blunt. His legs are spread wide, hips rolling up to meet your hand.

When he hands the blunt back to you, you realize it’s basically at the end of its life so you’re putting it out on the ash tray and scooting closer to him. Your nose trails up his neck until your lips reach his earlobe. “The blunt’s done.” As soon as the words left your mouth his head shoots up and he turns to you.

His eyes trace over your face frantically as if he’s searching for some sign that you backed out of the idea you proposed. “Still wanna fuck?” You ask simply, playing with a silver chain that he has around your neck. He nods frantically, “God, yes..” he says breathlessly.

You giggle and pull him into you by his jacket. When you kiss him you can feel him tense up a bit, he takes a second to relax and when he does he’s melting into you. His lips move with yours, a little messy but it’s so desperate and eager you don’t even care. You’re pulling him impossibly closer to you, your tongue snaking into his mouth.

You begin to stand off the couch, pulling him with you so you two don’t break. When he’s standing fully his hands are on you, on your waist, on your ass, just feeling you. You were like the many porno mags and videos he’s jacked off to, nothing like anyone he’s actually fucked before.

He hardly could pay for his apartment so he normally worked over time at the club you found yourself in for overtime that was hardly worth it. So the girls he usually fucked were shitty hook ups in the ally or even using a glory hole that’s in the club, but you? You were a whole new caliber for him and he wanted to make every moment of it.

You pull away panting, he’s the same. “C’mon.” You simply say and drag him off to the back hallway of the club where the bathrooms were. Once you make it to the hallway, you’re back on him, kissing him with a fury as you guide the two of you into the ladies bathroom.

You two fumble through the door, crashing into the wall of the bathroom. His mouth is doing wonders, you’re addicted to the feeling of his lips on yours and he is the exact same.

The kiss is desperate, like he’s worried you’ll rip away from him and go off into the crowd of the club never to be seen again. You pull him into one of the stalls of the bathroom by the fabric of his shirt. When you have him in one of the bathroom stalls you’re pushing him backwards, his back collides with door, closing the stall.

You’re thankful that the bathroom was decently clean, sure the walls were covered in graffiti and there was most certainly a glory hole carved into the wall of the stall- but the toilets and floor were free of piss and vomit- which is why you picked the girls bathroom in the first place, hoping to get the better end of the bargain between pick of bathrooms.

His hand drops from your hip, reaching behind him to fumble with the lock of the stall, latching it in place. His hand is back on your hip, like he needed to feel you and any moment away from you is like he’d die. You pull away from his lips and you swear you could cum from the facial expression he has alone. His eyebrows are upturned in desperation, his mouth parted as he try’s to catch his breath.

You don’t give him time to, your lips begin to trail down his jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses as you move down his neck. His grip on your hips is like a vice, his nails beginning to leave crescent shaped marks where they dig into the leather fabric of your dress.

His hands move around your back and down gripping at the leather of your dress to pull it up over your ass. His hands are against your flesh almost instantly, meeting your ass and gripping at the flesh, squeezing it and kneading it in his large hands

You could feel his pulse as you kissed along the side of his neck, it was erratic and hard, like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. You nipped and sucked at his pale skin, leaving red and purple hues in your wake. Marking him as yours.

“Y-you’re a fucking minx..” he says breathlessly, his head kicked back against the bathroom door. You bite particularly hard at his shoulder, he grits his teeth and growls, a sound that makes your cunt throb. One of his hands pulls back to slap your ass, it’s a hard, sharp sting; the sound resounding through the bathroom. You moan against his skin and arch back into his hands.

He lets out a breathless laugh, like he truly can’t believes that you are on him right now. He wasn’t a virgin, far from it. But the girls he was with were never anything to write home about, always a drugged out one-night stand, him usually doing all the work for her to only do the bare minimum if it meant the girl got drugs.

But you? Oh fuck. He genuinely thought he was dreaming.

“Mhm…I know…” you mumble out between giggles. Your hands run up his chest and up to his shoulders, beginning to push the jacket he had on off his shoulders. He beats you to it though, he’s so eager.

He shoves his jacket he was wearing off his shoulders, taking it off and grabbing it, beginning to move to throw it over the bathroom stall. But you grab it moving to bunch it up and toss it on the ground between you two. “Bitch, what the-“ you can see him about to begin to scold you for dropping his jacket to the floor, his voice angered. But he’s cut off when you drop to your knees

“Oh…” he breathes out, looking down at you in awe. “Yeah, ‘oh’” you mock with a giggle, your hands running up his thighs, and then trailing inward to grip at the bulge in his jeans. Your smile widens as you hear the choked gasp he lets out. “For someone who was so callous and cold with me up until a couple of minutes ago, you’re really hard aren’t you?” You say looking up at him.

He lets out a sound that resembles a growl, looking down at you with the same angry stare but his eyebrows are turned up, the telltale sing of his desperation he’s trying to hide. You make quick work of undoing his button and zipper. You pull his pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock.

You figured he’d be packing, but fuck. He was long and heavy, veins running along the underside in tantalizing lines. It has your mouth watering.

“Fuck you’re huge..” you praise as you run your hands up and down his thighs, leaning in to place gentle kisses along the side, starting at the base of his cock and working your way up. “You’re a dream..” he mumbles out, more to himself than you. It makes you giggle, pulling away before placing a kiss on the tip of his cock, your tongue coming out to lap at the bead of pre-cum that beads at his red and angry tip.

“No, ‘m real.” You hum, placing another kiss to the underside of his tip. He shudders. You turn your head to the side, sticking your tongue out and pressing his cock to it. You slide your tongue back and forth a few times, wetting his cock. “What’s it gonna take for me to prove I’m real?” You say looking up at him with a pout, as you speak your lips brush against his dick.

“Hmm, I know! Fuck my throat.” You say with a grin, looking up at him. You watch as he bites his bottom lip, a muffled moan coming out of his throat. “That should make you know this isn’t a dream.” You giggle as you part your lips, slowly slinking down onto his cock.

When he passes through your soft lips and into your warm mouth his stomach tenses, a groan coming through his closed mouth. You move your head down, taking more of his thick cock into your mouth. Your tongue flattening to lick at the veins on the underside of his dick.

His eyes finally open, looking down at the sight below him and letting out the breath he had been holding. He reaches down, cupping your face to feel how stretched out your jaw was- yet you’re taking him so well. His hand moves to the back of your head, beginning to guide you up and down his cock. Your eyes never stop looking up at him, taking him in your throat so fucking well.

If he were to die right here and now, he would be a happy man. The heaven that was your mouth was something he didn’t know he was aching for, for what seemed like years; even if he just met you- like the solace that was your mouth was the answer to all his problems.

And so he began to take it out on you. Which is just what you wanted. Both his hands meet at your head, cradling your skull as he begins to thrust his cock into your throat. You brace your hands against his thighs, pushing his jeans and underwear down further so you can rest skin to skin.

His hands push you down his cock, letting out a strangled groan as your tongue lathes over the entirety of his dick as he begins to draw it in and out of your warm, wet mouth. His head is thrown back against the stall, his mouth parted, letting all the little gasps and whines he’s letting out be heard for anyone in the bathroom.

His head lolls to the side, his eyes that were screws shut open to look down at you and when he catches your gaze he lets out a breathless gasp, “H-hah….you sure know how to suck cock don’t you?” He rasps out, trying to seem unfazed but his shaky words give him away.

You purposefully begin to make filthy slurping sounds, head pushing down farther than his hands were pushing you. You’re opening your mouth as wide as you can, sinking almost all the way down. You never break eye contact. He watches as your tongue slips past your lips, even with a mouthful of cock, a trail of your saliva beginning to drop from the pink muscle.

All he can think about is the feeling that your tongue would offer his balls and the tightness of your throat around the entirety of his cock. So his hands meet the back of your head again, and push you the rest of the way down.

He’s hunched over you, pressing your nose to his pelvic bone. Your tongue runs over his heavy balls, your throat swallowing around him, it’s an unearthly feeling. His hips grind his cock into your mouth, shivering at the feeling of your warm tongue and wet spit covering his balls and making a complete mess of him.

He pulls you off of his cock by the back of your hair, looking down at you like you just gave him the secret of the universe, “How the fuck do you do that…” he asks in an awkward tone, genuinely baffled, his voice shaking. It makes you laugh, your need for him only growing stronger with his awkward quips.

“I dunno..” you shrug, a trail of spit connecting your plush lips to the tip of his cock. Your tongue darts out to lick at the string, disconnecting it. One of your hands lifts up to begin to pump his cock. Your spit that coats his girth only serving as extra lubrication for every flick of your wrist. “I just do it..” you mumble, looking up at him innocently.

He tosses his head back, both of his hands coming up to drag his face as he groans, trying to catch his breath that he swears you stole from him. “Holy fuck…” he groans to himself, you really are too much for him.

With your hand still moving up and down his cock you place your mouth back on his tip, swirling your tongue around it to collect the salty pre-cum that is spilling endlessly out of his slit. His hand clasps over his mouth as he lets out a choked moan, his other hand coming to rest on the top of your head, gently guiding your movements once more. “Y-you’re so fucking good at this…” he pants out, his hips beginning to thrust into your mouth.

You accept it gratefully, your mouth dropping open wide and taking him deep in your mouth. His eyebrows turn upward as he realizes you really are letting him truly fuck your mouth. He reaches his shaky hands down, cradling the sides of your skull and holding you still as he thrusts brutally into the warm tightness of your throat.

You’re choking around him, even forcing spit out of your mouth to make it infinitely more messy. He looks down at you with clenched teeth, his bottom lip becoming caught between his teeth as he continues his pace, the tip of his cock slipping past the tight ring of your throat every time he surges forward.

He can feel himself getting close, but he doesn’t want to cum in your mouth. No, he’s going to savor this, he wanted to cum deep in your pussy.

He’s grabbing the back of your hair and hauling you to a standing position. You’re spun around and pushed up against the wall of the bathroom stall, his hands are working to bunch your dress even higher. He’s running his hands along your stomach and then down lower. His hands grip at your inner thighs, pulling your ass back against him as he rocks his hard length between the valley of your ass.

You’re panting breathless, your hands braced against the stall as you push back against him. You shake your ass a little, whining when you feel his cock slip down between your thighs. “Close ‘em.” He growls, his hands moving to your hips. You do as he says.

A high pitched whine comes out of your mouth when you feel him begin to draw his hips back, running the length of his cock between the lips of your cunt. Every time he surges his hips forward his thick cock-head catches your clit in the most delicious way.

You can feel your cunt wetting his cock as he fucks your thighs, helping him to slide his cock even more. With his forehead resting against your shoulder blade, you’re hearing every pant, groan, and moan that falls out of his lips. And fuck does he sound so good.

“So fuckin’ wet.” He groans out, his hands holding your hips in a bruising grasp. He shifts his hips ever so slightly, the top of his cock grinding up against your clit, moving back and forth in short motions to keep his throbbing cock-head against your puffy clit. “Please, want you inside me…” you cry out, your eyes looking back over your shoulder. He groans, his hands grip harder at your hips, his movements stalling like he’s trying to contain himself from burying his cock balls deep inside you right then.

“Lemme feel you some more..your thighs are so soft” he says lowly, his head picking up from your shoulder to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His movements continue, “feels so fuckin good, perfect fucking cunt…so soft…” For someone who wasn’t very talkative when you first met, he’s sure running his mouth now. And oh my god, you love it.

He shifts again so he can run your pussy along the entire length of his dick. Your cunt weeps around him, making an obscene mess between your thighs. He’s panting heavily against your neck, lips beginning to kiss along your neck in messy sporadic movements.

All you can do is helplessly rut your hips back against him, dragging your pussy along his cock as he thrusts. It feels so fucking good, every time his tip hits your clit you’re jolting against him. One of his hands moves from your hip up to the top of your dress. He stretches the fabric down, your tits spill out from the fabric, and one of them is instantly grabbed by his hand. He’s squeezing the flesh like it’s a life line.

“Holy fuck…” you call out in a shuddering breath, your knees beginning to feel weak. “Please, f-fuck put it in.” You beg, your head tilting to nudge his face, he tilts his head up and latches his lips onto yours. The kiss is mostly tongue, it’s frenzied and messy but it’s so so hot. He pulls away with a grunt “Fucking impatient.”

He shoves you into the bathroom stall by the back of your shoulder. Your tits are pressed into the cold metal of the stall as he grips the base of his cock, dragging it up and down your pussy, collecting your arousal on the head of his dick.

It’s a phenomenal feeling and when he looks down, one of his hands gripping one side of your ass and pulling, the sight that greets him is even better. Your sopping, wet cunt is clenching around nothing, pushing more arousal out onto his cock. He circles the tip of his cock around your entrance, he sucks in a deep breath- he genuinely has to gather himself so he doesn’t shoot his load right there on your spread pussy, as much as that would be a great sight.

When the head of his cock begins to sink into your tight hole you both let out shuddering gasps. And when he cants his hips forward ever so slightly, his fat tip sinking fully into your cunt with an audible ‘pop’, both of you let out moans.

“F-fuck you’re so t-tight.” His voice is wavering, shaky, desperate- it has you going insane. It’s like you’re squeezing the life out of his cock, and you were. He swore your greedy cunt was sucking him in. His hips surge forward, sinking further into your sopping walls, his arms leave your hips to wrap fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“O-oh my fu-fucking god.” You sob out, it felt like he was splitting you open, but you wanted, needed, more. You’re forcing your hips backwards, making his cock sink into you more. He lets out a surprised gasp, his arms tightening around you as he hisses through clenched teeth, “F-fuck!! S-slow down, girl. S-shit.”

You can’t help the fucked-out grin that spreads across your face as you hear him, it’s a desperate plea, like the consuming squeeze of your cunt would be the death of him. You don’t listen, instead you push your hips back one final time, your ass becoming flush with his hips and thighs.

When his cock is sheathed fully in your spasming cunt he lets out a choked groan, arms squeezing around you so tight you damn near thought you’d break. And you echo, the feeling of the entirety of his cock is so intense. You’re feel like you’re split open, speared on his cock. You swear you can feel the tip of his cock press softly against your cervix.

“Y-you’re so big…” you say breathlessly, eyes rolling so far back you swore you could see your skull. You try to begin moving your hips against him, but he squeezes you even tighter- a squeak coming out of you, your movements halted. “Don’t you dare….” He rasps, his chest heaving against your back, “…fucking move.”

He’s holding you still, he has to regain some ground before you begin to fuck yourself back against him. He’s thinking anything he can to get his mind off of cumming deep into your cunt here and now. He can feel your walls spasming around him, greedily sucking him in like it’s coaxing him to thrust into you.

He sits there a couple moments before unwrapping his arms from your waist and leaning back, his hands finding purchase on your ass. He draws his hips back, the delicious drag of his cock pulling out of your cunt has you resting your head against the wall, hands curling into fists then flattening again as your tried to grasp at something to keep you on this plane of existence.

He draws his cock so just the tip rests in your pussy before slamming back in. He lets out a choked groan, the feeling of your messy walls coating his cock with your syrupy arousal and squeezing around him like a vice is better than any drug he’s ever tried- and he’s tried a lot.

“Tightest fucking c-cunt…” he rasps, his hips positioning into you at a brutal pace, the plush of your ass recoiling against his thighs with every thrust. “Where the f-fuck have you b-been..” he says between thrusts, his breath heavy, “…all this fucking time.” His thrusts are erratic, sloppy even, but it’s so so so good.

You can feel your cunt gush around his dick, with every thrust his cock kisses your cervix in a pleasurable pressure that has you rocking back against him harder. “H-harder, f-fuck, harder!” You cry out, one of your hands coming down to play with your clit.

He sees this and leans back over you, swatting your hand away before replacing it with his. His thrusts speed up, becoming rougher, his cock abusing your cunt. “I-if that’s what you need I want t-to be the one to do it..” he whines into your ear. It has you moaning, arching into his touch and creaming around him even more.

His fingers dance along your clit, the soft feeling of your pussy is surely going to be something he remembers for days to come. You’re so wet his hand slides effortlessly around your silky bud. “I-I’ve fucking dreamed of a pussy like this…” he moans into your hear, his hips jackhammering into you. Every messy thrust creates a wet splashing sound as your arousal coats his thighs and your ass.

All you can do is nod helplessly against the bathroom stall, your hand gripping at his wrist as his fingers work against your sloppy cunt. “And you’re fucking creamin’ around me so much, makin’ such a fuckin’ mess…” his words broken up by his moans, “You’re like right out of a f-fucking porno…” he adds with a particularly high pitched whine as you bare down on him hard.

The compliment is awkward but you couldn’t help it, the idea of him alone in his apartment fisting his dick desperately to porn videos he could only dream of reenacting, and now he’s living it- made you tumble closer to the edge more than you cared to admit.

“F-fuck I’m close.” You sob out, your hand gripping his wrist in a vice like grip as his fingers dance along your clit, massaging it between his two fingers before going back to drawing circles, “H-holy f-fuck I can feel it, squeezing my cock so fucking t-tight.” He choked out, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder as he draws his hips all the way back to only to let them back forwards, slamming into balls deep.

“C-cum in me please, fuck I-i need to feel it.” When the words fall from your lips he lets out a choked sob, “F-fucking h-hell yes, fuck yes I will..” he says, almost like you answered a silent prayer he had. His fingers working faster against your puffy clit, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he pounds your puffy cunt.

“Gonna c-cum so fuckin deep in you…” he groans out, his lips ghosting along your earlobe. You nod desperately, “P-please, oh god, please!” You cry out, the worry of people hearing you is long gone.

His hand that wasn’t playing with your clit leaves your hip to travel up to grab your neck. He squeezes, pulling you up and back against him. It makes his cock drive impossibly deeper. You moan out, it’s a strangled sound that only makes his hips piston up harder into you.

With his fingers working faster against your clit, his cock pile driving your poor cunt, and his hand grasping at your throat enough to make your vision go hazy- you’re hurling towards a powerful orgasm in a split second

You cum and you cum hard. You let out a high pitched moan, your cunt squeezing and baring down on his cock like you’re trying to milk him, almost forcing him out of your pussy with how hard you’re pulsating. And you look down in shock when your release gushes out of you in a violent stream.

“O-oh my god…you’re fucking squirting.” He exclaims breathlessly, still working his fingers against you and thrusting his thick cock into you spraying your cum everywhere. It floods around his cock and sprays to the floor. You shake against him, crying out as you continue to cum. And he’s right behind you.

The sound he lets out is sinful, something that you wish you could have recorded. You feel each thick spurt of cum flood the inside of your cunt in. It’s so warm, filling you up even further than you already are.

His hips rut against you, trying to fuck his cum deeper into you. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your body violently shaking against him. When you look down you see the bathroom tiles are flooded with your release. You can also see the cum that drips out of you onto his cock, covering his balls with even more of a mess.

He drops his hand from your neck to your waist holding you against him as he falls forward, his other hand resting against the bathroom stall, your own hand falling right under his to also steady yourself as your two stand there breathless. You’re sure if he wasn’t holding you up by your waist you’d fall boneless to the floor.

You look back down to where you to connect, the floor covered in a debauched mix of both your cum. You let out a whimper when you watch a thick glob of his cum fall out from you and onto the floor with a ‘plap’ sound.

“You filled me so much cum…” you whine, hips rolling against him. He squeezes you, “Keep s-still, f-fuck.” He hisses, his softening dick over sensitive in your tight pussy. “You fucking milked me….” He retorts, “s’not my fault.” He mumbles.

“Would it be too late to ask for your phone number or was this like a one off thing or…” he begins to ramble. “I let you cum in me, you made me squirt- I’m getting your fucking phone number.” You say laughing. “O-okay good.” He sighs against you.

You think he’s about to pull out, allow you to get dressed and be on your way but no. His hips begin to rock into yours again, “C-can I please make you squirt again… I wanna see it.” He begs, his nose running against your neck.

And when he asks like that, a whiney lilt to his voice. How could you say no?

im literally having so much fun getting through these requests. Requests are still open they will just take some time!!

Next up I got another nam-gyu smut (this time he’s ROUGH!!! Yall like omg the stuff im writing is filthy).

And we also have so much love for the original thangyu request so I got a couple requests for that coming up 😩😩

As always, thank you for reading and sending in requests. Your love is always appreciated 🥺🥲🥲🥺 - <3 kiwi

#nam gyu #namgyu fanfic #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #namgyu smut #namgyu x reader #player124 #player124 smut #namgyu x reader smut #Nam gyu x reader smut #nam-gyu x reader smut #player124 x you #player 124 x reader #player 124 x reader smut #x reader squid games #squid games smut #namgyu x y/n #namgyu x y/n smut

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foldingfittedsheets · 1 year ago

Text

You wouldn’t blame a crowbar for an act of destruction, you would blame the wielder. For this reason I can’t be held responsible for what happened to my friend Charlie’s bed. I was merely a tool that force was applied through.

It happened like this: Brendan, Charlie, and I decided to have a late night movie viewing at Charlie’s house. We watched The Hogfather and Groundhogs day and we stayed up until 4am. Then we were all too tired to drive home and crashed. I got the bed and the boys took the floor.

Four hours later, Charlie’s parents woke up. They learned that Charlie had people over. They. Were. Furious. Because unbeknownst to us it turned out they had swine flu. Charlie should had been quarantining not bringing people to his plague house. They ordered Charlie to kick us out that very moment.

Charlie came to rouse us. I am… not at my best in the morning hours. Four hours of sleep did not leave my disposition gruntled. Charlie began trying to rouse me to pretty much no avail. He pulled the covers off, shook me, tried to take my pillow, but I was a tiny ball of sleepy vicious rage. When he shook me I’m pretty sure I bit him.

I should be clear, I wasn’t really awake. A baseline function was taking place but no real actual thought. I was piloting on pure instinct and the instinct was: need more sleep. Charlie tried everything while Brendan watched in bemusement.

Finally Charlie got the idea that if he physically lifted me out of bed I’d go. He managed to get his hands under my arms and start dragging me off the bed.

Two things happened very quickly. My toes wrapped around the top of the railing to his bed frame, and I went limp everywhere else. Charlie staggered and almost dropped me, because holding a floppy corpse body is much harder than a tensed one, a fact I had learned from many roughhousing attacks by my brother.

He swore and then gamely started trying to drag me backward, thinking it would be easy to dislodge my toes from the bed frame. It was not. I’ve mentioned before that my toes are strong, but Charlie was flabbergasted that their grip on the bed was so strong that he couldn’t drag me away.

I was going on pure stubborn instinct. I did not want to leave the bed. Charlie was fully committed that a 90lb gremlin wasn’t going to beat him in a contest of strength with only her toes. So he pulled. And I held on.

Both of us were shocked when there was a tortured shriek of wood and something in the bed frame cracked. It was loud enough that I actually woke up. The rest of my brain surfaced in confusion to join the lizard brain whose only goal had been not to leave the bed.

I released my toes and took my own weight and Charlie and I stared at the bed.

“You ripped the railing off!”

“Well, no, you ripped the railing off, I was just the tool. If you hadn’t been pulling on me-“

“If you had just let go! What is up with your feet?!”

We griped as I readied myself to leave his plague house, joining his parents in being mad that Charlie hadn’t told us they were sick. I drove home to sleep more.

Over the years of our friendship Charlie still maintained that I broke the bed. I disagreed and think I was only the tool by which he broke the bed. Only you can decide who bears the most sin, the dragger or the dragee.

#story #writing #ffs foibles #ramblies #funny story #Charlie #bed #bed frame #Charlie story #brendan

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noctiva · 2 months ago

Note

Yandere Toby hc-🪽

angel anon I see all ur asks in my inbox… what are we hehe *twirls hair*

Yandere!Toby Headcannons

CW!! Stalking, obsessive behaviour, mentions of death + murder, 18+ content, sexual content

slight NSFW under the cut! minors do not interact!

—

Yandere!Toby thinks he’s doing it all for your sake

Because he knows what’s best for you, and what’s best for you is him.

He knows how to treat you better than anyone else. Knows all of your favourite shows, foods, hobbies, and places to go (maybe only because he sneaks around your house when you think you’re alone, peeking through the windows to gaze at your beauty)

Yandere!Toby leaves you gifts and love notes. Pretty rocks he thinks you’d like, animal bones he cleaned just for you, pretty jewelry and hair clips he stole from his victims. All slipped into your mailbox, or left on your porch wrapped in a ribbon.

Yandere!Toby won’t hesitate to kill, but he’ll do it discreetly - leaving you wondering why all of your love interests just keep disappearing.

Yandere!Toby has snuck into your house once or twice (or three, four, five times) to steal little items from you that he’s sure you won’t miss.

Besides your favourite sweater - he took that too. Stuffing it with a pillow so he can fall asleep cuddled up against your scent, dreaming that one day he’ll have his arms wrapped around your body instead.

(And you don’t want it back, because more often than not he ends up hopelessly rutting against it - the smell of your perfume getting him harder than he’s ever been)

Yandere!Toby is patient at first. Hopeful that you’ll realize the truth eventually (the truth being, that you’ll be happiest with him).

But that patience doesn’t last long, because why don’t you get it? Why are you wasting time with all of these idiots when he’s right here? Showering you with love and appreciation you could never find elsewhere?

Though, he’d never really blame you. You were perfect. The fault was laid on every one else. For distracting you, leading you astray. Keeping you from him, and tainting your mind.

Yandere!Toby keeps trophies from all of the people he’s killed to gain your affection. His favourite being the jar of teeth that rests on his nightstand.

Yandere!Toby has your name carved into the handle of his hatchet. Because he’s doing this all for you. Not caring how bloody he has to get if it means the end goal is your lips on his.

Yandere!Toby likes to watch you sleep.

Likes to see you so peaceful. That’s when you’re the most beautiful, in his opinion. All blissful and unaware.

He could do anything to you. Anything.

But he’d wait. Because if he wanted a limp doll he’d just go back to humping your sweater. He wanted to hear you cry out his name, feel your nails drag down his back.

So the worst he’d do while you were sleeping was snip off a lock of your hair. From the back, so you wouldn’t notice it as quick.

He keeps it in a locket around his neck.

(But he often takes it out to sniff it.)

Yandere!Toby stole a Polaroid camera just to document you.

And when he prints the pictures out, he sticks them right on the wall next to his bed.

Pictures of you sleeping, at work, laughing with friends.

The pictures of you undressing, he keeps in his nightstand. Along with a pair of panties he snagged from your drawer.

He would return them, so that you could wash them and reinvigorate the scent of your laundry soap - but he’s sure that the new stains would catch your attention.

Yandere!Toby knows it’ll only take time. Because one day, you’ll have no choice but to love him - because there’ll be no one else left.

—————————————————————————☆

this is my first time doin a list of headcannons so I hope it’s alright 🙏🙏

thank you for the request!

#toby rogers #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby x female reader #toby rogers x reader #Toby rogers headcannon #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby hc #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta x female reader

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scarletttries · 4 months ago

Text

Write A Kiss Request: Jamie Tartt (Ted Lasso) x Reader ...a kiss for luck

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss for luck for Jamie Tartt

It hadn't been easy for Jamie to return to Richmond. He'd lost the prestige that came from playing for Manchester, the attention that came from being a reality TV star, and the joy that came from walking into the locker room before training. Where once he used to feel sheer confidence the moment he returned to within touching distance of his locker, now he found himself shrinking away from disdainful glances and feeling like nothing he did would be good enough to prove himself.

He hadn't even wanted to leave Richmond; a fact only he, Ted and you really knew. He had wanted to stay and help the team. And he really hadn't wanted to be the one to set up the goal against them that would lead to relegation. He wanted to be a part of your little strange, shared family. More than he could take it sometimes.

The training leading up to today's match had been hard. He'd spent weeks watching as wary teammates thought twice about even passing the ball his way, fearing in a real game he might as well be invisible for all the trust he'd earned. Honestly he'd have thought about leaving Richmond again if he had anywhere else to go. And if anywhere else had you.

It was tiring being the sole shoulder for Jamie's troubles to rest upon as he returned to your club over the last few weeks, providing much needed support for his aching soul. You'd given plenty of pep talks over your time at the club, but one look in Jamie's sorrowful eyes and you knew there was no easy fix to the wounds inside him. Only an enduring friendship could give Jamie the unconditional support he wasn't going to get anywhere in his life.

Jamie appreciated every second of your sweet support, the true friend he'd found in you was the one thing keeping his head above water as the rest of his life spiralled around him. But it wasn't always easy to be your friend when you smiled at him the way you did and made him feel like he was made of sunshine. And it wasn't easy when you put a hand on his and said exactly what he needed to hear until it felt like each fractured piece of his heart was fixing itself back together from your touch. And it was actually really hard to be your friend when you threw your arms around him and enveloped him in warmth, leaning close enough that he had to use every ounce of self-control not to lean down and capture your lips in one easy movement. He thought of it often, what it would be like to finally share those feelings with you, what it might be like to feel you press your lips against his and once again be the best person in his life at accepting him for not only who he is, but who he could be.

In fact that's exactly what Jamie was thinking about as you found him pacing in circles in the boot room before his match that day. The pressure of the game and his team was getting to him, finding himself unwilling to enter that locker room of resentment and instead opting for the safety of thinking about you away from such prying eyes.

"Jamie?" you almost whispered as you entered the room, approaching your friend like a startled deer you didn't want to drive further away. Ted had knowingly sent you after his missing player, sure if anyone could calm his nerves and rally his confidence, it was you. Jamie could never quite resist how softly you would say his name, a far cry from the way it had been bellowed across rooms and fields his whole life.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" He replied equally softly, suddenly feeling guilty for dragging you away from the rest of the team and giving them another thing to judge him for. Sensing his anxiety was only rising, you took a slow step towards him, settling one outstretched hand onto his shoulder and watching as it gradually started to ease away from his ear and back to its normal position.

"You weren't in the locker room so I just came to wish you luck before the game." His eyes were wide and glistening as he looked along the arm that connected you both, finally settling his gaze on you as he let out a hollow laugh.

"I don't need luck, love, I need a miracle. And for about twenty of the boys to suddenly forgive me for years of being a prick." He smirked as his spoke, but it had none of his usual confidence behind it, more cynical and jaded than you liked to see him. You tried to think of what Ted would say, dressing it up with your own affections for the misguided sportsman.

"Well I don't have any miracles for you, but the good news is there's an easy way to get the forgiveness of your team. You could earn it? By getting back in there despite the dirty looks. By showing them that you're not that prick anymore, or at least not all the time." You got a small smile for that comment and used the momentary letting down of his guide to wrap your free arm around him, pulling him closer. "You can prove their doubts wrong, and show them the thoughtful team player I know you can be. Even if you're secretly still the best footballer out there." Jamie let out a cocky laugh as he drank in your cheeky grin, not even bothering to hide the way his eyes fixated on your lips as you smiled.

"Thank you. For everything. I mean it." The fractured sentence seemed to fight its way from his lips, like it masked a thousand words he was holding back for fear of overstepping. His arms hung limply by his sides, unsure if they should respond to your warm touch and if they could ever let you go once they did.

"Can I wish you luck now?" His brow furrowed as you spoke, trying to work out what ploy was hiding behind the mischievous smile you were now sporting.

"Yeah, alright." He replied suspiciously, not expecting you to grip tighter on his shoulders as you leaned in close enough to press your lips quickly against his. It was short and sweet, just a moment of affection that somehow took every bit of air out of Jamie's lungs.

"Come on Tartt, you've got to get back to your team. And then you've got a game to win." His hand reached after you as you sprinted for the door and slipped out of reach, not giving him a moment to react until finally you heard him call after you,

"Wait!! I need more luck!!"

#writing #fanfiction #requests #one shot #jamie tartt love languages #jamie tartt headcanons #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie x reader #ted lasso headcanons #ted lasso #ted lasso jamie

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froggiewrites · 5 months ago

Note

pleaseee if you're up for it, another law x reader smut... the first one you wrote was so good and you capture his character so well !!!!! 🧡🧡

Thank you, anon!! I'll never turn down an opportunity to write more for Law 💙 I hope you enjoy!

Stress Relief

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: Your Captain is working himself to the bone, so you come up with a plan for force him to take a break. Warnings: Smut, AFAB!Reader, Vaginal Sex, Reader's a bit more dominant in this one Word Count: 2.1k

“Law, you’ve been in here for sixteen hours.”

“Okay?” He doesn’t even look at you as his hands move to grab the next paper, which you snatch before he can get it. He doesn’t miss a beat before he quietly shambles another page into your hand, a piece of scrap paper he had been using earlier.

“You haven’t eaten. Or had any water. Or gone to the bathroom.”

“Correct.”

“You don’t see anything wrong with that?”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re also a fucking doctor, Law. You know better. Or you should. I wouldn’t blame anyone for not believing you were, considering how badly you abuse yourself.”

He sighs. “I have a job to do. I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

“You’re never done.”

“Maybe so.”

You roughly run your hands through your hair, frustrated. “I can literally see the vein popping in your forehead. You’re going to stress yourself to death, Law.”

“Is that a diagnosis, doctor?”

“Don’t get cute with me right now! I’m serious! You haven’t slept a full eight hours in weeks, your blood pressure is probably so high your heart is going to burst, you haven’t eaten a real meal in days–” You can’t help the way your breath catches as you continue. He doesn’t care how badly his work hurts him. He’s more than willing to put himself in an early grave if he thinks it’ll bring him even an inch closer to his goal.

He finally looks up at you, eyes softening slightly. “Hey,” he says softly, putting the paper down for a moment to open his arms for you. You easily fall into him, relieved that he seems to have found reason, before he pulls you onto his lap, tucking his chin against your head, and picks back up the paper. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Really. I only have a few more things to do, and then I’ll rest as long as you want me to. We’re in the final stretch now, I promise.”

He doesn’t get it. If you were pushing yourself this hard he would lock you in your room and sentence you to bedrest for days, but he doesn’t care about himself at all. If you don’t stop him, he’ll keep pushing and pushing until he almost collapses.

How can you distract him? Law is stubborn as an ox, though he’d never admit it. It’s nearly impossible to stop him once he’s started, or convince him he’s wrong.

You curl further into him, accidentally brushing your hand against his crotch while adjusting your position, and you can feel the way his heartbeat stutters at the brief contact.

Ah.

Got him.

You press your chest into his, your lips brushing against a spot on his jaw that you know will get his attention. His breath hitches as you grind your hips against his lap, and you can feel how you’re getting through to him.

His voice is tense. “Do you know what you’re doing? Tread carefully, sweetheart.”

You make your voice as sultry as you can. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Captain.” He clenches his teeth as you slowly drag your tongue up his neck. “I’ll do whatever I need to help you.”

“Is that what you call this?” You can feel him try and fail to keep his hand off of your ass, grinding you harder against his bulge. “Helping?”

“Of course it is. You need some relief, Law. I’m more than happy to provide.” Your hand creeps under his shirt, pressing insistently against his chest. “Doctor’s orders.”

He chuckles. “Oh? Did you get your degree since I last checked, doctor?”

In lieu of an answer, your other hand reaches down his pants, and he finally lets out a moan in your ear. He can’t gain control of his breathing, nor can he hide how desperately turned on he is. “Does it matter, sweetheart? I’m right. You need this. You’re wound so tight you might explode. Just let me help you, Law. Please.” You put the perfect amount of whine into your voice, to convince him that he’s really helping you. As reluctant as Law is to take care of himself, he relishes in his ability to take care of you, provide you whatever you need.

“Make it quick,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut as he finally leans back in his chair. Though he keeps up his act that this is such an inconvenience, you can already feel his muscles relaxing beneath your touch. He needs this, needs you, far more than he would ever say aloud.

“Yes, sir.” You pretend not to notice the way his cock jumps in your hand at the title. Best not to push your luck. Instead you press your lips against his pulse, relishing in how quick it is, and gently pump your hand, making his breath stutter. Your other hand gets to work by slipping off his shirt, and throwing it carelessly to some forgotten corner of his office. You take a moment to admire his toned chest, his beautiful tattoo on full display as you gently drag your fingernails down it, tracing the heart. He shivers, and you smile as you notice the slight tinge of red on his cheeks and how mussed his hair is. He truly looks a mess, despite his best attempts to keep it together.

He cracks an eye open. “Why are you still dressed?” You can hear the hunger in his voice, the desire he wants to deny.

You pretend to ponder a moment, humming softly. “Oh, well, since you wanted this to be quick, I figured I didn’t need to add any unnecessary steps. I mean, you really only need my hands, don’t you?”

You can barely stifle a laugh as he tenses again underneath you, looking affronted. “Just your hands?”

“Well, it’s faster that way, isn’t it?”

He glares at you. “Not the most relaxing, though, is it?”

“Well, the doctor suggested the full experience, but my Captain insisted–”

“Ugh. Fine, take your time.” You barely have time to slide your hand out of his pants and swat his hands away from your chest, narrowly avoiding a ripped shirt.

“Ah, ah, ah! Hands to yourself, mister. I’m the one administering this treatment. Just sit back and relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

He sighs, but he parks his hands at his side.

“Good boy,” you say, beginning to unbutton your shirt.

“You’re pushing it,” he mutters, cheeks turning noticeably redder.

You take your sweet time exposing your chest to him, oh so slowly sliding your shirt down your arms to let it fall to the floor. Instead of taking off your bra, you lean forward, subtly pushing your tits together as you brush your lips against his. His eyes are focused downward, and you can see how hard he’s holding himself back from touching you. After a beat, you decide he’s been teased enough, and you fully expose your chest to him. You can see his pupils dilate as he takes in the sight. He’s always affected by you, no matter how many times he’s seen it.

Your hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, popping and unzipping them to give him a small amount of relief. He’s painfully hard, more than ready for you. You want more than anything to rip his boxers off, to ride him until he’s panting and spent beneath you, but you need to make this last. You need to ensure he’s truly and completely relaxed, melted in your hands, so you can finally drag him out of here and trick him into taking care of himself before he comes to his senses and insists on returning to the grindstone.

You return your attention to his neck, nipping and sucking at every spot you know drives him crazy, sure to leave marks he’s sure to get teased for later. You usually take care not to, but the way he moans quietly in your ear, unable to help himself, you can’t bring yourself to stop. You don’t even notice how you’re rutting against his thighs before his hands catch you, and he barely manages to say, “Not fair.”

You manage to still your hips, realizing you’ve worked yourself up enough your breaths are only coming out in small pants. “No, I guess it isn’t.”

“You don’t sound that repentant.”

“I’m not.” Your hands begin to finally slide him out of his jeans and boxers anyway, feeling a little guilty about your freedom to move while he’s sitting still just as you asked. His hands hook under your waistband, and you look up to see his pleading eyes begging you to let him take them off for you. You’ve never been good at saying no to him.

He lets out a quiet sigh of relief as you finally release him, before taking a deep breath at the sight of you fully naked in front of him. You quietly laugh, still baffled by how enraptured he is by you. “You’ve seen it a thousand times. I thought you’d stop being impressed by now.”

His smile is soft and genuine in a way he doesn’t often let himself be. “By you? Never. Every time is like the first.” He leans forward to kiss you, a soft touch offset by his callused hands pulling you forward, his cock insistently brushing against your thighs.

You bring a hand down to line him up with your entrance, before slowly beginning to slide down on his length. You both let out a moan at the feeling of your walls clenching down on him, the relief of finally feeling the warmth you’ve been desperately craving. You give yourself just one moment to adjust, head pressed against Law’s shoulder, before you take a deep breath and start to move.

You start slow, intending to slowly work your way up, but Law does something you never expected: he begs.

“Please, please move faster. Please, I need–”

“I thought you said–ahh!–I should take my time?”

He damn near whimpers. “You took enough time getting to the good part. Please, babe, please.”

“When you ask nicely like that, how could I refuse?” You kiss him sweetly, softly, before picking up the pace, the room filling with the furious sound of skin slapping on skin as his hips meet yours. Your breaths grow quick and shallow as you continue, your moans pathetically needy, though not quite as needy as Law’s. He has given up on your request that he keep his hands to himself, squeezing and rolling your chest as he leaves affectionate nips anywhere his hands don’t cover. As your fingernails dig into his back, you realize you’re both going to be covered in marks by the end of this. At least you can hide yours.

As though he can read your mind, his mouth makes its way up to your neck. You suppose you’ll both have to deal with teasing tomorrow.

You keep up your pace, even as your thighs start to burn, determined to bring you both to the end. Law stops ravishing your chest to help support you, helping you bounce once he feels your thighs start to shake. You can feel him tensing as he desperately tries not to cum before you, one hand reaching down for your clit to try to help you along.

“You can let go, Law,” you pant.

“Not before you,” he stubbornly mutters, eyes clenching shut in concentration. He seems to have forgotten the point of this whole exercise, too determined to ensure you reach your finish as well. You can’t help the giggle that makes its way out. That’s your Law.

Your pace starts to falter as your legs tense further, and you can feel yourself reaching your peak. Law feels it as well, speeding up ever so slightly to bring you over the edge. You come undone in an instant, moaning as you fall into Law, clenching around him. He finally allows himself to let go, shooting into you as he pulls you into a messy kiss, teeth clattering together in his rush to feel you against him.

You both let yourselves relax for a moment, catching your breath, before Law lets out a quiet sigh. “You wore me out.”

You make no effort to hide how smug you are. “Need a nap?”

For the first time ever, you see your Captain filled with resignation. “Fine. …But maybe we get a snack first.”

You grin. “I think we can swing that.”

You’re kind enough not to brag about your victory until after that nap.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece law #op #one piece smut

370 notes · View notes

megalony · 1 month ago

Text

The Ties That Bind Us

This is a new Dark! Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. I hope you will all like it, feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005

Dark! Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: For a while now, Evan has been dating Bobby's daughter, and he thinks things are going great. But when he hears her doubting their relationship, he does whatever he can to keep them together. He isn't about to lose her.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tiredness washed over Evan like the tide rolling across the sand when he entered the apartment. It felt like he was moving on autopilot, desperate to get inside and crawl into his bed that had been calling him for the last few hours that had dragged on into an eternity.

His movements were sluggish when he kicked off his boots and dumped his work bag down by the front door to be dealt with in the morning. He didn't have the time or effort for anything but getting into bed right now.

He reached a hand up to rub at his sore eyes and veered to the left, moving without really looking or paying much attention at all.

He felt like he was moving around the bathroom in a daze, stripping and tossing his clothes in the hamper until he was stood in his boxers and bare feet. Brushing his teeth with his eyes almost closing and his weight resting more on his right foot than his left allmost like he was a flamingo- a certain ADHD habit he had done since he was little.

He moved around the dark apartment with ease, gliding through the darkness like it was his natural habitat, but even in his tired state, Evan noticed a few minor details.

He had seen (Y/n)'s bag hung up beside the front door, and her shoes resting on the rack. He noticed the spare toothbrush in the pot in the bathroom, the one he always kept in the cupboard for when she stayed over.

(Y/n) was still here.

Not that Evan expected her to have disappeared while he had been at work. He had left early this morning but he always told (Y/n) she could stay over as long as she liked. And that he wanted her to be here when he got back.

He loved being able to come home to someone, to not have to come home to the quiet darkness and be left with his own thoughts and an empty bed. Evan loved when (Y/n) stayed over, or when he would go to her place, though admittedly they were here at his loft more than they ever went to (Y/n)'s place. She was practically living here at this point, and that was the next goal Evan was hoping to achieve at some point in the near future.

But it made him smile to know she would be up there as he clambered up the stairs and aimed for the bedroom.

And there (Y/n) was, exactly where Evan expected her to be. She was fast asleep, which wasn't surprising since Evan was sure it was sometime after eleven at night. He hadn't kept track of the time, as soon as the last call was done and he'd showered and scrubbed down, he clocked out and hurried to his jeep to come home.

He didn't have the heart to wake her, not when she looked so peaceful. Burrowed down into the pillow she was practically hugging to her chest with the cover tucked around her like she had formed herself into a cocoon.

Evan tried to be careful when he peeled back part of the cover so he could shuffle in behind her without waking her. It didn't look like she had been asleep for very long. The tv remote was on the edge of the pillow and (Y/n) had one arm stretched across the other side of the bed, considering that she was laid in the middle.

Her hand was next to her phone. Strange. Evan didn't usually notice her sleeping like that, she must have been on her phone and fell asleep, something (Y/n) didn't do very often.

Reaching over, Evan moved the remote and placed it on the side table out the way and he took the time to lean over (Y/n) and attach his lips to her temple for a few seconds. He smiled against her skin and brushed her hair away from her cheek while he stretched his arm over her. His chest merged into her back and he tried not to lean on her too much as he carefully picked up her phone.

He pressed a few more kisses to her temple and then down to her cheek before he finally turned over.

He laid on his back with his shoulders slightly propped up against the headboard and pillow behind him. And his left arm stretched out to rest his hand on (Y/n)'s hip while he unlocked her phone, which wasn't hard when he knew all of her passwords. It was just safer that way.

"Let's see who you've been talking to." Evan muttered to himself as he scrolled to find the last app she'd been on.

After all, (Y/n) must have been doing something or talking to someone if she had fallen asleep on her phone, and it hadn't been Evan she had been talking to. He had messaged her a few hours ago while he was on shift, but she hadn't answered him. Why answer someone else but not him?

She didn't like showing Evan her phone, something which really bugged him because he let her see his phone if she ever asked. He didn't have anything to hide, so (Y/n) shouldn't either. He didn't like it when she messaged someone but tilted her phone away from him. It always made Evan wonder who she was talking to, or if she was talking about him.

Evan didn't like to think about (Y/n) keeping secrets from him. The only secret the pair of them were keeping or should be keeping was the fact that they were together.

(Y/n) was Bobby's daughter, therefore they hadn't told him or anyone else that they had been seeing each other. It didn't seem a safe move until they were certain about this relationship and where it was going. The others at work might think Evan would get special treatment for Bobby, and Bobby was always protective over (Y/n) and grilled and potential partners.

Keeping things secret and to themselves for now was what they had decided on. But Evan was hoping that (Y/n) would move in with him soon, and then they could tell everyone about their relationship.

His fingers danced up and down her hip while he flicked through to her messages.

She had been messaging someone called Anya. Evan had heard of her, one of (Y/n)'s close friends, but he hadn't met her. He'd not really met any of her friends and likewise (Y/n) hadn't met Evan's friends that weren't working at the 118. Curtesy of the privacy they kept around their budding relationship.

Why had she tried deleting some of the messages from tonight?

A frown set into Evan's features as he went into the settings to restore the messages. Nothing was ever permanently deleted, something a lot of people seemed to overlook.

But when he scrolled through some of the messages, it felt like a fire had started to burn deep within Evan's gut and his chest tensed as the frown on his face deepened and burned in intensity.

What had she done?

Why had she sent that stuff about him? Evan's name hadn't been mentioned, but it was pretty obvious who she was talking about. The 'new guy' she had met clearly referred to Evan, but what (Y/n) had sent was wrong.

Why had she told Anya she was unsure about their relationship? She hadn't said anything like that to Evan, she hadn't given him any impression that she was uncertain or that something was off between them. Why was she talking about Evan was if he was some kind of problem? Why was she lying about him?

The more messages he read through, the more panic Evan started to feel. She said she loved him, that was a relief. But she also said he was overbearing. He was starting to become controlling.

Did (Y/n) not understand how deeply Evan loved her, how badly he had fallen for her? Didn't she realise that he was trying to look out for her? He was trying to protect her. He couldn't do that if he didn't know what she was doing or who she was with. He saw people go missing every day. He saw people getting hurt in minor, horrific and strange accidents. He saw people get hurt, disappear, get into trouble.

And Evan didn't want any of that happening with (Y/n). She was Bobby's daughter. Evan had to be extra careful, he had to look after her, make sure she was alright and protected when she was around him.

There were two certain messages that caught Evan's attention and sent his heart rocketing up into his throat.

*You can always leave, you still have your own place, right? x

*Not that easy, he knows my family. He's close, to everyone. x

All of a sudden his mind was wide awake. Sleep was no longer ebbing away at his mind. Instead, paranoia and unbridled anger tormented his system that was overflowing with adrenaline to the point he was starting to shake.

(Y/n) loved him, that much was evident, but Evan didn't like this turbulence and confusion.

She shouldn't be so confused about their relationship when they were meant for each other. (Y/n) was everything to Evan, she was his world. Everything he wanted in a partner was personified in (Y/n). And the fact that she was Bobby's daughter just made things so much better.

Her family was Evan's family. They had the same interests, the same friendship groups and Bobby was like a dad to Evan. He was someone Evan looked up to and thought of as the family he'd never truly had growing up. Everything was as it should be. This was meant to be.

(Y/n) couldn't go around saying things like this to people. She couldn't be talking about ending things when she hadn't spoken to Evan first. She hadn't talked things through with him and let him explain. He could quash all her worries if she opened up to him properly. He could stop those incessant thoughts and set her straight again. If she just understood that Evan was being protective, not overbearing, then she might stop panicking so much and overthinking their relationship that was as strong as ever, if not more.

One thing was for sure, Evan loved her far too much to let her go.

She couldn't be considering leaving him, Evan would physically break if that happened.

After so many horrible, confusing and strange relationships, finally Evan had found something that was stable and certain and true. He had found someone he loved who was exactly what he had been hoping for. Someone who understood him, someone who loved him and didn't want to use him or gain anything from him. Someone who saw him and made him better.

He wasn't going to lose her.

With a deep breath, Evan locked her phone and tossed it on the other side of the bed.

He was going to have to do something. If (Y/n) was questioning their relationship then Evan was going to have to do something to stop those worries and take her mind off it. He would have to cement their relationship in her mind.

He wasn't going to give (Y/n) any reason to leave him. He would find a way to bind them together. Fate had brought them together, and Evan was going to make sure that they were bound to one another.

And he knew just what to do that would bind (Y/n) to him, no matter what.

***

The sound of knocking on the door made bolts of lightening shoot through (Y/n)'s system and she jerked back against the wall, lifting her head from her trembling hands. Her head snapped to the right and looked towards the door, but to her surprise it didn't fly open.

"Babe, everything okay? You've been in there a while now."

Maybe she had been in here a while, (Y/n) wasn't sure anymore. Time was slipping away from her as she sat here on the bathroom floor, her back up against the wall and her knees coiled up to her chest. Her fingers were anxiously tapping against her knees as she stared at the door just waiting for Evan to walk right in.

It wasn't as if there was a lock on the door anyway. Somehow Evan had broken the last lock that had been on his bathroom door and he never got around to fixing it. He lived alone and when (Y/n) stayed over she was his girlfriend anyway, so why would he need a lock?

Moving her trembling hands, (Y/n) tried to run them up and down her face, wiping away the few tears sticking to her skin.

She didn't really know why she was crying. Nothing bad had happened, she wasn't hurt or ill or frightened or hiding from Evan. There was no context for her to be crying, except for the small white stick resting on the floor next to her.

A pregnancy test.

She had to take the test to know for sure, but she had noticed the warning signs. The random bouts of sickness that weren't from any flu or illness or food poisoning. The headaches, the lack of appetite, the slight changes to her body and the fact that she hadn't had a period for two months, only a bit of spotting.

She didn't know what to do if this was going to be positive. (Y/n) didn't know if she and Evan were ready for this, they couldn't be. Not when (Y/n) wasn't sure that the behaviour Evan was displaying was normal.

He got riled up if he didn't know her plans or what she was doing at almost every moment of the day. He hated it if she messaged a close friend but wouldn't tell him exactly who or what she was saying. He didn't like her being at her own apartment without him, he always wanted her with him if he wasn't at work. It was like she was being smothered.

Would a baby change that? Would a baby make Evan calm down, would it give (Y/n) a bit more freedom in their relationship? Would a baby calm Evan down and prove how strong their relationship could be if he got over those paranoias and controlling issues.

(Y/n) always wanted kids. Despite the turbulence in her teenage years after her mum and brother died, she knew a family was still what she wanted. The fire in their old apartment had brought her and Bobby even closer rather than pushing them away. And (Y/n) knew her dad would be thrilled to see her settle down and to have a grandchild to help nurture and be around.

And knowing that Evan would be a part of their family would make Bobby over the moon, even if he had never seen this controlling side to Evan before.

A baby could easily change things for the better… or the worst.

"Babe?"

Turning to the left, (Y/n) wiped her eyes one more time before she reached out for the test. She had waited almost ten minutes, sitting here in turmoil, too nervous to actually look and see what the result was.

The moment she looked at the test, she turned in the other direction and tapped on the door. "Evan… please," She wasn't quite sure what she was asking, but it didn't matter because as soon as he heard her, he pushed open the door.

He wasn't expecting to see her sat on the floor, that much was clear by the panic that etched onto his features the moment he looked at her.

"Hey, why the tears? What's wrong?"

(Y/n) wiped her sleeve along her face before Evan crouched down in front of her. Her breath caught in her lungs when his hands reached out and cupped her face, and the feeling of his thumbs swiping along her cheeks made her heart stutter. He looked so worried, so much concern flooded his face and made (Y/n) feel like there was nothing else on his mind but her. But sometimes that was the problem.

"Look." She tried to control her voice as she reached out for the test and held it out towards him.

That test, that little insignificant white test was the reason (Y/n) was going through so much internal panic and confusion.

She watched through watering eyes as Evan let go of her so he could look down at what she was holding out towards him. His brows furrowed as he stared down at the test and gingerly took it from her as if he thought it might vanish before his eyes.

It was positive. (Y/n) was pregnant. They were going to have a baby, and the proof was in Evan's hands.

"I know we didn't plan this, and- and it's so sudden, but I don't know what to d-"

(Y/n)'s breath caught in her throat when the test was dropped somewhere on her lap and Evan's hands were suddenly back to cupping her face again. The breathless, wide smile on Evan's face took (Y/n) by surprise before his lips were suddenly on hers and the little breath she had left in her lungs was stolen by him. He was kissing her. His smile was beaming. He was happy, not angry or confused or unsettled.

(Y/n) found herself reaching out to grip his wrists, clinging to him as tightly as she could to reassure herself that this was real, that this reaction wasn't part of her imagination.

They hadn't been planning for this, much the opposite. They always used protection, they were careful. (Y/n) hadn't been expecting to think about being pregnant so soon into their relationship. They weren't even moved in together yet and Evan's actions were confusing and worrying. A baby wasn't something they had planned for.

The tears falling from her eyes finally began to cease as Evan shifted from crouching so he was down on his knees in front of her and he leaned in so close that their chests were touching and he was almost wrapped around her like a blanket.

"Maybe it's quick, but that doesn't mean this is bad. A little piece of us running around, that doesn't sound too bad, does it?" Evan brushed his thumbs across (Y/n)'s cheeks as he pressed their temples together and finally opened his eyes to look down at her.

"Not too bad," (Y/n) mumbled softly as she leaned her cheek against Evan's palm and closed her eyes.

She had been panicking about this for a days since she suspected she might be pregnant. She thought of every possibility and every reaction Evan might have. But seeing him smile so brightly and hearing that breathless laugh against her lips made the panic in (Y/n)'s chest simmer down.

Maybe she had been worried about this relationship, but a baby was going to change things. They would just have to wait and see if this was going to cement their relationship or break it apart. (Y/n) hoped for the former.

When she leaned into his touch, Evan lifted his head so he could smother his lips against her temple and take a few deep breaths against her skin. He couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his lips and he didn't want to either.

This is what he'd been hoping for. This is what he had planned for because deep down, Evan knew this would be the glue that would keep them together. This was going to bind them together.

(Y/n) could never leave him or disappear from his life if they had a child together. A baby would tie their fates together forever.

***

The nerves raging through (Y/n)'s system felt like they were beginning to eat her alive. Her foot was tapping incessantly against the floor like she was a drummer with an invisible set and her hand was already clenched tightly in Evan's grip. She wasn't quite sure who was holding tighter, her or Evan. But she knew that his knuckles had long since turned white and the blood was cut off to both their fingertips by now.

The moment the front door opened, (Y/n) felt like her lungs had popped and she wavered until Evan stepped closer so his chest was moulded up against her back.

She tried to put the bravest smile on her face that she could muster and she was silently relieved when Athena opened the door.

"Hi honey," She leaned over the threshold to bind (Y/n) into a hug, but when she looked up, her brows rose and her lips pressed together when she realised who was standing behind (Y/n).

It had been (Y/n)'s idea to have dinner together tonight, and she had asked if she could bring someone with her. It didn't take much for Bobby and Athena to figure that she was bringing someone special around to meet them. The person who had been taking up most of her time recently.

They had clearly seen that she was in a relationship with someone, the calls, messages, going out and not staying at her own apartment. It was clear, and they were happy for her, but they were relieved to finally meet this person.

But Athena hadn't expected it to be anyone they knew.

"Come on in, you two. Your dad's in the kitchen." With a kiss to the side of (Y/n)'s head, Athena ushered them both inside.

(Y/n) kept tight hold of Evan's hand, even as Athena pulled him into a sideways hug before she let them both hurry past her. She had to have Evan close by her or she was going to lose her nerve about going through with tonight.

It was going to be a big bombshell to drop on her parents that one, she was in a relationship with Evan who was like her dad's protege. And two, they were going to have a baby together.

When Evan let go of her hand (Y/n) almost stopped breathing until his hands settled on her waist. She felt him press a kiss to the back of her head as they wandered past the living room and into the kitchen, but that was where Evan let go. He knew (Y/n) was going to go and hug Bobby and he couldn't exactly wrap around her when she did that, no matter how much he wanted to.

He stood in the archway, hands clasped behind his back as he stayed just out of reach but well within earshot. And his eyes followed (Y/n) as she glided across the kitchen and bound her arms around her dad's middle and pressed her cheek against his back.

"Hey, there you are." Bobby reached down to squeeze her hand and he set down the spoon in his hand and took a step away from the oven, not wanting any accidents to happen.

When he turned around, he reeled (Y/n) into his chest and kissed her temple. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Good, I'm good."

"So, did you bring your date?" The words were whispered against (Y/n)'s ear and Bobby grinned when (Y/n) hummed and took a step back so she could look up at him. But she didn't get chance to say one word before another voice entered the conversation.

"Hey Bobby." Evan tucked one hand into his back pocket and curled his other hand around his hip as he slouched against the wall to his left.

A grin lit up his face when he watched the confusion morph into surprise on Bobby's face and his lips parted as he held a hand out in Evan's direction.

"Buck, what're you… y- you're (Y/n)'s date?" A bundle of emotions flurried through Bobby's voice as he looked from the bashful expression on Evan's face to the worried smile his daughter was glancing up at him with.

Oh. So this was why she hadn't mentioned a name thus far whenever she said she was going to meet up with someone or staying over at a 'friends' place. She hadn't wanted to bring up Evan's name in case it caused some controversy. Dating him could cause conflict, especially if they only had a few dates which went wrong. Then things would really be bad for Evan and her dad at work.

A quiet "Surprise," left Evan's lips as he pushed off the wall and stepped into the kitchen, resting his hand on (Y/n)'s lower back as he moved to stand beside her.

He was a little more than shocked when Bobby rested a hand on his shoulder and actually continued to smile at him. Part of Evan had been expecting a lecture, a cross word or a word of warning that he should have told him straight away or asked him first before starting to go out with (Y/n). A smile wasn't what he was waiting for.

"This is a surprise. Why don't we all sit down, foods almost ready."

(Y/n) could feel the panic slowly dwindling away when the four of them sat down and began to eat.

It wasn't going as bad as she thought, and even though her dad was asking Evan quite a few questions, he wasn't upset. He wasn't giving them the third degree for not explaining sooner, he wasn't asking (Y/n) why she didn't tell him or why she was going out with Evan of all people. He wasn't inquiring and part of (Y/n) wished he would.

Maybe if her dad got upset or vented, then (Y/n) would feel better. She wasn't sure why she felt so uneasy about everything. Evan was happy, he was glad about the baby, more accepting than (Y/n) thought he would have been. He was taking this in his stride when usually he didn't like change and had to take time to adapt to new things. It was almost as if he was anticipating or hoping for this, and that was lovely.

It was lovely that he was happy and involved and eager straight away rather than deflecting or backing away from her.

But he was still overwhelming.

He was still overbearing and when she realised last week that he knew the password to her phone and laptop, she subtly tried to change them. If he noticed he hadn't said anything, but (Y/n) didn't know what to make about that either.

She hoped that if they went ahead with moving in together and trying to start this new family that maybe Evan would relax.

If she lived with him he might not be so worrisome about where she was during the day and what she was doing. He might not want to check her every move and text if she lived with him. He might calm down and be more settled and this baby might give her a new sense of freedom and bring something more to their relationship.

After all, (Y/n) had seen Evan when he was around kids and he was the best version of himself. Seeing him with a child of his own was going to be magical, he was going to be the best dad out there and that was the thought that kept (Y/n) going and made her want to smile when she looked down at her stomach that had yet to change shape in any way.

(Y/n) found herself drowning out of the conversation for a while until Athena reached over and rested a hand on her arm, bringing her back to reality with a bang.

"You know, when you said you were seeing someone, I would never have guessed that it would be Buck." The smile on Athena's face showed she wasn't being rude or insinuating, she was simply shocked.

She wouldn't have thought they would have gone together, or that they would have kept their relationship a secret. Athena knew Bobby had mentioned a few times that Buck seemed more preoccupied, less eager to spend his entire life at the station and he actually wanted to go home now. Bobby saw it as a good thing.

He was glad Evan's focus wasn't entirely on wearing himself thin at work and that he was finally settling down and being happy with someone. It was clear Evan was happier recently, that he was messaging and calling someone and cancelling plans to be with them. He was doing things for himself rather than pleasing everyone else and covering all the shifts at work. Bobby was happy for him.

"You two seem good for each other." Athena's comment caused (Y/n) to look down at her plate and she tried to smile but it was hard with every emotion washing over her and knocking her down.

She could feel Evan's hand gliding across her thigh beneath the table and the way his fingers danced along her skin made her take a deep breath. She wasn't sure what his intention was or what he was trying to do, but when he settled for gripping her thigh and dragging his thumb along her side, she let herself relax.

Her head lifted and she looked across the table at her dad when he cleared his throat and looked between them both. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"We didn't wanna make things awkward, dating the Captain's daughter is kinda big… like crossing a line."

Evan reclined in his chair and slouched down a little but he kept looking between Bobby and (Y/n).

He had wanted to tell Bobby for a while now, but at the same time, he was slightly nervous. Bobby was his mentor, the man he looked up to and aspired to be like. He was the father figure Evan had never had in his life. Going and dating Bobby's daughter felt like he was intruding and stepping over an invisible line drawn between them.

He didn't want to do anything that would upset Bobby or make him think that Evan was being rude or uncaring or selfish. And he didn't want Bobby to worry that he might have to pick sides or act differently around Evan at work. Dating the Captain's daughter could cause trouble.

Bobby might have to declare this to his own superiors in case of emergencies or anyone finding out and complaining or pretending that Bobby was giving Evan special treatment. It might cause rifts or problems with them working together.

But Evan felt better for telling Bobby because if this went well then things would get even better. He had the girl of his dreams, they were having a baby and now he had a cemented family around him who he loved and was intergrated with.

"And you don't seem to like any of the guys I bring home." (Y/n)'s voice was quiet but she tried to add an air of humour to her words.

She could feel the fire igniting within her stomach when she watched her dad tilt his head back and laugh.

Part of her had been hoping that her dad wouldn't be happy. She expected- or wanted- him to say that this was too close home, that if something went wrong with this relationship then Bobby would have to pick a side. He would have to choose between agreeing with his daughter or siding with the person he classed as family.

She wanted him to say that he worked with Evan and it was a conflict of interest and would cause problems at work. She wanted him to give her a reason to back away from Evan, but deep down, she knew that wasn't going to happen.

If she wasn't pregnant, she would wish for a reason to part from Evan so it wouldn't be her fault and so she wouldn't have to hurt him. Finding a reason now didn't make a difference because she couldn't drag herself away from Evan.

They were having a baby and (Y/n) wanted to go through with this, she couldn't get rid of this baby and this was going to connect her to Evan forever. She couldn't start out by separating and trying to raise a child without being together.

It would be so much easier to try and do this together because she couldn't deny that she loved Evan, even if he was giving her reason to worry about this relationship. She loved him, he loved her more than words could say and this baby deserved a chance at some sense of normality and a loving family. (Y/n) was just going to have to work harder to make this family proper and to dampen down Evan's overbearing nature.

"I'm not that bad." Bobby looked over at Athena before he sighed when she gave him that certain look with one arched brow and her chin tilted down towards her chest.

So maybe he was a bit of a frightening parent at times, but it was only because he loved (Y/n). She was his daughter. He had almost lost her once, Bobby wouldn't risk losing her again or seeing anything bad happen to her, he had even more reason to want to protect her now, from anything.

Leaning forward, Bobby set his elbows down on the table and ran his hand along his chin as he laughed and nodded before he looked over at Evan.

"When you first joined the station, yeah I would have been angry at you getting with my daughter."

He didn't have to say it for Evan to know what he meant. He would of had a big problem with Evan getting with (Y/n) when he was a probie at the station because he had a problem. Evan had slept around, he had flings with a lot of women before and after he joined the station and he did it for the sex, not the company or to find a relationship with any of them.

Bobby wouldn't of allowed Evan to get with his daughter and make her one of his trophies, one of the women he bedded and then forgot about. He wouldn't let Evan string her along.

But Evan had evolved since then, he was finally looking for a proper relationship and wanting to better himself and commit to someone.

Bobby just didn't see the full change that had evolved in Evan. He didn't see how the lack of commitment Evan once showed had twisted into an obsessive need to control whatever relationship he committed to. He didn't see how Evan wanted to give himself to one person and focus on that relationship to the point that he obsessed over it.

He didn't see how Evan became paranoid that he wasn't enough and how he needed to know what (Y/n) was doing because he thought if he didn't then he couldn't protect her and he couldn't trust her to be without him. He didn't see Evan's panic and how it made him shout and punch the walls when (Y/n) didn't tell him who she was messaging or where she had been or when she went out somewhere without telling him first.

Bobby saw the good changes, but he didn't see the darker nature flaring to life. (Y/n) felt like she was the only person who saw that side of Evan and sometimes, in the dead of night, she wondered if she was imagining it all.

No one else saw it. What if it was all in her head and Evan was truly being protective over her? What if she was blowing this all out of proportion? She couldn't push Evan away and tell her dad or anyone else if this was just her imagination getting out of hand.

The smile that lit up Bobby's face made (Y/n) curious and made Evan hopeful. "But now… now I think there's no one else I'd rather have looking out for my daughter. I know you're good for her."

(Y/n) sincerely hoped her dad didn't see the wince she tried her best to hide. He didn't know how wrong he was.

"Thanks Bobby, that's- that's relieving to hear."

"Oh?" Athena set down her fork and reached out for her glass of wine instead, looking at the couple with a curious smile because she heard the enlightening tone to Evan's voice. And she could see the grin spreading across his face.

Evan looked bashful as he flashed his teeth and tilted his head down so he was looking at his plate. He knew (Y/n) wanted to be the one to tell them. She had tried to ask Evan if they could break the news slowly, if they could tell of their relationship first and bring up the baby another day.

But Evan thought it was best to let it all out in one go. It would be easier to get everything off their chests now, to tell their good news so then they could tell the rest of the team and then their friends. And (Y/n) could tell her friends and Anya and make it clear that their relationship was solid and there was nothing to fear or worry about.

"We have something to tell you." (Y/n) couldn't help but lean to the right, resting her head on Evan's arm as she felt the panic rising inside of her.

She needed the support he gave, she needed some of the confidence Evan had because he seemed to know that everything would be okay, but (Y/n) wasn't so sure.

This news was going to make her parents so happy but (Y/n) didn't know how to think about it herself. She wanted this to be a fresh start, but she couldn't quite believe it. Not until she had witnessed Evan's attitude and demeanour change for the better, then she would calm down.

She felt Evan's hand curl around her thigh and it was like he was engulfing around her like a security blanket when he leaned against her arm and his lips attached to the side of her temple.

"I'm- I'm pregnant, we're having a baby." (Y/n) could barely breathe when the words passed her lips and she watched their expressions change.

She watched the light sparkle in her dad's eyes as his smile punctured up through his cheeks and Athena was already up out of her seat, laughing through a smile.

"Oh honey congratulations!"

(Y/n) felt like she was moving in a daze when she got up from her chair so she could hug Athena. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders when Athena reeled her into her chest, hugging her so close that (Y/n) felt like she was going to be tucked into Athena's chest right next to her heart. She had been a mother to (Y/n) ever since she married Bobby.

She felt a lump forming in her throat like all the words she wanted o say were getting clogged up in a bundle before she could say any of them.

She heard her dad mutter "You're really pulling out all the surprises tonight, huh?" as he pulled Evan into a tight hug.

If only they knew.

(Y/n) wavered on the spot when Athena let her go and moved over to congratulate and speak to Evan. She wanted a pair of arms back around her, someone to hold all her pieces together when she felt like she was falling apart. Her head was swimming with panic and confusion and love and uncertainty.

It was a relief when she saw her dad weaving around the table to get to her. His smile was warm and inviting and made (Y/n) feel like a child again and when he enveloped his arms around her, she could of cried.

She meshed her head into his chest and bound her arms around his middle, tucking herself against him.

He always knew what to do. Her dad was always good like that, even when her mum died, even when he started drinking, Bobby still had that sense of control and calmness about him. He still knew what to do, how to make amends and make things right and progress with their lives. He knew how to make (Y/n) feel safe and secure again when she felt like the world was ending.

She needed that, she needed her dad to tell her what to do and how to make everything right.

(Y/n) wanted her dad to make this situation better. She wanted him to talk to Evan, to tell (Y/n) if having this baby and being with Evan was the right thing to do.

"I'm gonna be a grandad." Bobby couldn't seem to stop the blinding smile from lighting up his face as he looked down at his daughter.

Their family was changing, adapting and this was something he had always hoped for. He always hoped (Y/n) would find someone to be happy with and have her own family with and Bobby knew his girl was going to be one of the best mums out there.

But when he looked down at her, something tugged at his heartstrings. Something churned and bubbled up and twisted in Bobby's stomach when he saw his daughter's expression.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. Those beautiful eyes he had looked into hundreds of times weren't full of love and hope like he expected.

Her eyes were close to watering. Her smile was wobbling and the slight twitch in her nose and the way she bit down on her lip were all tell-tale signs that she was getting nervous. She didn't look thrilled by this news that shouldn't have been so damning as it seemed. Panic was bubbling away in those eyes. She looked at him like she did when she was little and she thought she was in trouble for something. Like when she was too afraid to leave their new apartment after the fire and Bobby had to work hard in stages to get her back out into the world.

She was looking at him like she needed to reassurance again, like she needed him to do something to make this all better. What was Bobby supposed to make better? How was he supposed to help her? Why wasn't she so happy about this new change in her life?

"Sweetheart, is everything okay?" Bobby kept an arm secured around (Y/n)'s waist and carefully ushered her a few feet away from the table until they were stood near the patio doors.

"Course." Her voice wasn't convincing and (Y/n) knew it. There was a wobble to her tone that showed she was verging on tears.

"You know you can tell me anything, if you're worried or if there's something else playing on your mind. Talk to me."

Bobby's tone made (Y/n)'s knees tremble and she looked out towards the garden, hoping to fight off the tears threatening to fall.

She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She was having a baby, this was a new exciting experience and this was going to be great for their family. But it was so soon, so sudden and unexpected and combined with Evan's strange behaviour, it was worrying.

What was she going to do if Evan's behaviour continued to get overbearing when she had the baby? What if she couldn't get him to relax or relent or curb his possessive side?

(Y/n) tightened her hand around Bobby's arm and leaned into his side as she started jittering from foot to foot. Her dad would know what to do, if she explained about Evan's behaviour, he might know how to talk to Evan and try to get him to calm down. He might know how to approach Evan and what to do next in this situation.

But before (Y/n) could get the words out that were on the tip of her tongue, a pair of strong arms bound around her waist and her body froze. She felt a pair of familiar lips nuzzling into the crook of her neck and a broad chest gluing up against her back. Evan. He was wrapping himself around her like a blanket, protecting her, securing her, controlling her.

She reached her hands down to lightly clasp her hands over his arms that felt like cages enclosing around her.

"All good?" Evan whispered into her hair, almost like he was giving her a warning sign and (Y/n) found herself nodding without really giving herself time to think.

"Hm. Just, just so much to work out, my flat, work, telling people," (Y/n) tilted her head back against Evan's shoulder and tried to look up at him but her head was already spinning.

There was so much to think about, so much to talk about and so much that (Y/n) wanted to tell her dad. But she couldn't. Explaining what was wrong was admitting that it was true and (Y/n) didn't want to deal with the fallout.

The smile on Bobby's face remained, but the brightness in his eyes dimmed somewhat.

He couldn't place what it was, but there was something about (Y/n)'s expression that worried him. Something in the way she looked up at him like the frightened child she had once been which made Bobby revert back to that time. He didn't know what was troubling her, but he knew he was going to have to try and bring it up at some point. Not today, but soon.

Something was worrying her, and he needed to know what it was. He needed to help her.

#evan buckley #911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #pregnant! reader #buck imagine #dark! buck #dark! evan buckley

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n0tamused · 7 months ago

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Genshi/HSR Characters as Dragons!

A/n: It has been a bit since my last dragon post, sorry my friends. Gotten a bit under the weather but I think that small reprieve has given me a lot of time to think of these designs! So I really hope you like them. Let me know what you think, or maybe who you'd like to see next in dragon form?

Contents: Diluc Ragnvindr, Sunday, Trailblazers(Stelle and Caelus) x GN Reader (separate), angsty hcs and also fluff, implied religious trauma in Sunday's hcs? Trauma in general.

Words: 2000

Diluc Ragnvindr:

-The esteemed Uncrowned King of Mondstadt is not only famous for belonging to a rich family and being top of the food chain in the industry, but also for possessing a power unlike any other. Dragons and dragon shapeshifters, although not unheard of or rare, have been scarcely seen since the cataclysm. Besides Dragon Dvalin, not many others are present in Mondstadt today

-No one exactly knows whether the Ragnivindr family had dragon people before, as the family seems to have kept their history to themselves, but if secrecy was their goal then what did bring Diluc to display his skill with claws and fang? Some speculate that it is not the Ragnvindr lineage that carries this power, but rather it is his mother that passed down the dragon blood onto her son. Diluc doesn’t talk about it whatever the case is.

-Even in dragon form he is hard to mistake for someone else. He carries himself with power in every step and is always well kept.

-Kaeya used to tease him when they were children, when Diluc didn’t have much control over his draconic form and when he used to stumble from being a kid one moment and being a small hatchling the other. Kaeya would pull at his tail only to get smacked by it. But the two boys were inseparable and trusted one another. Kaeya never spilled the secret of his red-headed brother’s abilities

-Not even the childhood friends Jean and Barbara knew of the secret

-Yet, that dreadful night came when Crepus died, and flames soared so high and so hot that not even the rain could quench it.

-It goes without saying that Diluc carries a lot of guilt and trauma from those days and for the first time in his life he found himself truly and utterly alone. He had no one. Crepus was dead, Kaeya betrayed him, Adelinde was just a maid, he couldn’t trouble her and he and any other friend he may have had in his youth have long since drifted apart.

-Grief turned to anger and that anger swallowed him, pushing him onward on the path of vengeance.

-Shneznaya had suffered much of his attacks - well, the Fatui there did, Diluc never risked harming a civilians, and he had saved quite a few hostages that the Fatui had gotten their hands on. In the land of ice, Diluc almost died as well once he came face to face with one of the Fatui Harbingers, and a dragon shifter at that too. He managed to live by the skin of his teeth, dragging his battered self into the snowy deserts that stretched on endlessly

-That incident ultimately sent him back to his home. He had learnt much and suffered plenty, it was time to let the winter turn to spring.

-Adelinde and Elzer had sent him many letters, he knew, he received most of them. Yet he never had the heart to respond to them..

-He came back a new man, scarred both in flesh and soul, yet a small piece of him was… content, maybe numb too. The cold of the nation Tsaritsa governs over certainly took its toll on him.

-If truth be told, he didn’t expect to return from the trip and he certainly didn’t think he’d ever form any sort of notable relationships in his personal life. He didn’t look for them nor did he particularly look forward to any either. His wound always felt too fresh to let anyone close

-Yet you just managed to do just that. Get close enough into this barricade he built around himself, and you helped put soft linen around his wounds, holding him close when he yearned for touch, leaving him be when he yearned for the cold.

-It took a while, but a rose in the wall of ice began to bloom. Flowers, no matter how delicate, always find cracks to grow in, even stronger than on solid ground.

-Diluc is quite protective of you, very much so, but he is not pushy with it. He understands boundaries and he himself is not a fan of always hovering over someone’s head or being in someone’s space. He does have his ears and good eyes, not just his own, that would alert him should any harm come to you

-You did find some of his feathers around the winery. At first you didn’t know they were his, so you just picked it up as it was still a rather impressive feather, yet it became even more precious once you learnt it belonged to him. Diluc didn’t understand why you’d keep it or regard it with so much admiration, but he wasn’t going to voice whatever protest he had that soon died on his tongue

-He reveals his dragon form to you even later, in the lush grass around the Dawn Winery during one dusky evening. Winter was coming so the air was chilly and breezy. You wanted to watch the sunset and to eventually stargaze, but Diluc wanted you warm while you did that, and soon his dragon form was lying behind your back, his warmth seeping into you and keeping you comfortable.

Sunday:

-Not every eye that is open is seeing, and not every eye that is closed is dreaming, so who are we to judge another? Sunday, the dragon in rule over the Land of Festivities, had long since ascended past a simple ruler. His current form alone demanded a certain form of delicate respect, a cautious one at that.

-No one remembers how he may have looked like before, if he had eyes or if those had been claimed by the Harmony or ▇▇▇▇

-Aeon of Harmony keeps their eyes closed, and in doing so rids themselves of any subjective thoughts. All are equal, and together we are stronger, such is the mantra of Harmony and Sunday was adept at putting that image forth. People were happy, people were content.

-How many wings does Sunday have that are his own? Only two pairs. One pair meant for flight was crippled, cut short, and the other pair shields his eyes from the world. He now only moves and flies when THEY wish he flies, when THEY allow it, when THEY deem it necessary, and not anytime else. These wings are a burden and a blessing. They’re not his own but he hates to think they’d hurt him should he make some error - not that he would, he won't allow himself an error. No..

-Sunday inhabits his dragon form a lot of times, which, in a way, is also dictated by THEM. The only time he is human is when he goes behind the screen to listen to people confessing their bad deeds and their sins, bestowing his blessing and forgiveness unto them and guiding them back on the right track. THEY are merciful, he says, you have been forgiven.

-His words of advice and the action he took to ‘renovate’ the Land of Festivities(Dreams) have gained him much support and love and even many more followers where he previously had less. People generally did like the Oak family, they also loved his sister. She was the pearl of the Oak family, the sun, and he was the moon and the sea.

-The colorful pair of horns on his head is said to come from the Harmony as well, it is THEIR blessing to Sunday, to look more formidable yet more approachable. It is THEIR gift. People know and people see this as a sign that he is the true leader they should follow. Many have become more easy to get to do certain things - most of them good yes, like behaving and upholding the rules while in the Dreamscape, but other actions came as hidden tactics from THEM to harvest the necessary power needed for the next step.

-Sunday has become lost in this grand scheme of things, and even the thought of the next morning became a thought too far to consider. He barely has time alone and to himself, he can never escape the eyes of THEM.

-He hates to trouble you. You two have drifted apart it would seem, yet from time to time Sunday would find you visiting him, wishing to give him company at least for a little while. And silently he prays he can indulge you - he wants to, he misses you, your warmth, your presence, your voice, your touch. He is welcoming to you. You have an idea of what’s happening: stress, work, duty - it is a response that he offered one too many times, but there was more, something you couldn’t dig up. It was a thorn in your side, you couldn’t get it out.

-So you sit with him, sharing some words and stories over dinner, tea and cakes. Other times you lay with him, his ear to your chest, listening to the gentle drumming of your heart, a lullaby that is the last thing able to have him sleep soundly.

-He dislikes for you to see him in his dragon form, he considers it broken although it looks angelic in the eyes of the majority, but as it is the form he is found in a lot of the time it is unavoidable. Yet you are the only person he allows to touch him, besides his sister.

-Touch him, pet him, do as you wish. He is there for you.

Trailblazers:

-Double trouble, Baseballer of the Cosmos, the Nameless, the…*looks at smudged ink writing* Yes, the esteemed Trailblazers!

-You may have heard many stories about them, but once you get a look at them in reality, you’ll see just how amazing they are. The world is vast, yet they seem to shock everyone with their…otherworldly appearance.

-They both claim they weren’t like this before - they were two different people, but now they’re not and they do not remember how it all came to be this way. It is odd, but they’ve gotten used to it.

-Despite the appearance, Stelle is the more aggressive of the two and usually packs a more meaner bite, headbutt or a nastier scratch of the claws. Caelus is more shy, despite him looking more scary, he is sheepish and a tad bit more naive. But both of them are determined to get to the bottom of their story and to get back to their own bodies. The stellaron within them also seems to have something to do with their current predicament.

-There were times where they were glad for it, as they could provide each other with company and comfort, their heads nuzzling their cheeks together or tangling their necks when they go to sleep in the dragon form.

-Going in human form is rather complicated, neither of the two like it as one would have to be “dormant” while the other roams the world. The dormant one is able to hear most of what goes on outside, but they’re stuck roaming the subconscious like a heliobi - roaming through hazy memories and corridors. They have gotten used to each other's company so much that it is odd to be “alone”.

-They both love the express a lot and their significant other - which also puzzles them as to how they even have one to begin with.. but alright, they’re not arguing against it nor are they dissatisfied. It is funny how, at times, one of them can get sassy with the other when it comes to dates and things, sometimes even jealous.

-But it is cute, and it works out in the end.

-At times there are situations where it would be better for either Stelle or Caelus to go (battle - Stelle; something more diplomatic - Caelus), so the two can switch back and forth if really necessary

-Their tail in dragon form is something like a beaver tail, although much fluffier. It can pack a nasty hit if you’re unfortunate to be on the receiving end of their attacks..

Size chart:

Tags: @moonlitreveri3 @lexidraws2 @drowning-in-cabbages @creationsabyss @grimulf-of-the-wilderness @st4rrl1ghtwastaken @the-inquisitive-constellation @voiddance @the-bilkush @fictionally-attached

+ @not-the-darknight (hope you don't mind the tag on there! <3)

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robinminustherichard · 1 month ago

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"The 36 Questions That Lead to Love"

A BuckTommy fix it

T | 13k Words

Read below or on A03

Summary:

After Tommy reads the entire article, he decides that he has to wait at least until his next day off to confront Evan about trying to sneak-lead him to love with a New York Times article from 2015.

Tommy learns a lot about Buck, a little bit about himself, and enough to know that he never should have walked away.

Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

Evan texts Tommy the question on a Wednesday in the afternoon, likely when Evan is on a shift and Tommy is taking a five minute break from yard work. He hesitates for a moment with his reply, unsure of the goal here. Knowing Evan, there's no way he sent it to Tommy by mistake, but he's still feeling a bit like a coward after his latest dead-tilt sprint away from love, so he tries to wiggle out of this anyway.

Did you mean to send that to me? Is what he goes with. Evan takes barely any time at all to reply, and with a wave of frustration-guilt-dread spreading from the crown of his head to his finger tips, Tommy reads Evan's short and blunt reply of Of course I did, Tommy. and tries to come up with something to say that effectively shuts this down yet isn't rude.

I don't know, Evan. Are you sure you want to be talking to me?

This reply takes longer than five seconds so Tommy slips his phone back into his pocket and puts it out of his mind in favor of starting up his lawn mower. It's more than ten minutes later that he feels his phone vibrate again in his pocket while doing a sharp turn at the edge of his grass, but he's determined to finish so it's another thirty minutes on top of that before he answers.

And another ten minutes on top of that because Tommy puts off looking at what he's sure will finally be an acceptance of Tommy's inherent terribleness and Evan giving up on him; and heads inside for the afternoon.

Tommy's wrong, of course, because when has he ever been right about Evan Buckley when it comes to Tommy?

If I wasn't sure I wanted to be talking to you, I'm sure I would have texted someone else. Eddie's name isn't even close to yours in my contacts.

It stings, a bit, but damn if it doesn't make a laugh punch it's way out of Tommy's throat too. Evan is sweet, immeasurably so, but if there's one thing Tommy has managed to do it's drag Evan down to his level now and then.

He's surprised that Evan hasn't double-texted him in the time it's taken Tommy to pluck up the courage to look at the message, and Tommy has to admit that he's a little impressed by the courage Evan's showcasing here. He takes a second to think about an answer to Evan's original question before typing it out, Colonel John Dewalt, and sends it. Evan’s reply is instantaneous.

Military pal?

Tommy breathes out harshly, walking to the sink to grab a glass of water.

He taught me to fly. Haven’t seen or heard from him since I left service.

Cool

Tommy chugs the water and waits, but Evan doesn’t respond. Hours pass and when Tommy is sitting down to a sad dinner for one of chicken and broccoli, he almost considers asking Evan what he really wanted. He doesn’t, and Evan doesn’t send anything more.

It’s two days later that Tommy hears from Evan again, another question out of the blue with no explanation and no lead up.

Would you like to be famous? In what way?

This question is possibly weirder than the first, Tommy thinks, but he finds himself responding anyway. He’s off again today and his yard is done, he finished re-tiling the kitchen backsplash, and he’s kind of bored out of his mind sitting on his couch and watching reruns of Naked and Afraid.

God, no. I don’t even have social media.

Evan types for longer than expected on this one, but his response makes Tommy snort.

Yeah, I think I actually could have guessed that one.

Tommy waits for more, for another question, for an answer. When none comes, he feels the frustration of their last conversation and this weird communication slam into him--he impulsively types out a message and hits send before he can second guess himself.

What are you doing, Evan?

Again, Evan doesn’t respond. Tommy doesn’t even see the little dots on his screen that Evan is thinking about replying.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do with that, so he gets up and goes to the garage to find something to do with his hands. He leaves his phone on the coffee table.

The next question is the first one that Tommy doesn’t get the chance to answer for several hours because it arrives in the middle of back-to-back medevacs and paperwork that Tommy doesn’t get a minute of peace during. When he finally is sitting down to eat dinner before he drives home, Tommy is scrolling through his phone and sees that he has one new text. He must have swiped away the notification at some point earlier and forgotten about it.

Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say? Why?

The question gives him pause, and he can’t help but send one back.

Do people actually do that?

Yes, it’s pretty popular online.

Armed with that baffling answer, Tommy looks over to where one of the younger mechanics is waiting for a truly heinous looking Hot Pocket to finish heating up in the microwave.

“Felix,” He calls, voice rough from being so tired, “Question. Do you rehearse what you’re going to say on the phone before you make a call?”

“To like, doctors and shit?” Felix says, glancing at him before hearing the ding of the microwave and fishing his Hot Pocket out; taking too big of a bite without even attempting to let it cool. Tommy grimaces. “Yeah man, I hate phone calls. They’re the worst.”

“Interesting.” Tommy says, contemplating this as Felix continues to methodically inhale the Hot Pocket. “Why?”

“Dunno. They’re just weird.” Is all Tommy gets before Felix gets called by the head mechanic and races off across the hanger. ‘See ya!”

“Bye.” Tommy calls after him, and looks down at his cellphone. Once again, there’s nothing more coming through from Evan.

The next text technically comes in the next day, but it’s a near thing since Tommy’s phone buzzes at 12:08 AM with it. Normally he wouldn’t be awake, but the shift had really taken it out of him and he stupidly fell asleep on the couch at 7:30 PM. Now he’s watching Naked and Afraid again, contemplating if he wants to work out or just go straight to the shower and try to go back to sleep.

What would constitute a perfect day for you?

This one, admittedly, throws Tommy a bit. Is Evan fishing? Does he want Tommy to say a day with you? What is Tommy supposed to say to that?

Like, a day off or?

Is that your answer?

No, that’s me begging for literally any clarification or context about why you keep asking me these questions.

Tommy sighs, watching someone he didn’t catch the name of catch a fish and celebrate it, blurred out body parts flashing across the screen. Evan doesn’t respond, and Tommy stops himself from send another, sure to be bitchier, second text. He gives up and grabs the remote, turning the TV off and stretching as he stands. There’s no way a shower is going to put him to sleep if Evan Buckley is on his mind; and while jerking off in the shower usually works he doesn’t want to go sadly jerk off about his ex, so he resigns himself to a half-hour workout at midnight on his Peloton.

He moves quickly to his bedroom, plugging his phone into the charger by his nightstand and slipping into the sneakers he keeps by the machine in the corner of the room. He’ll just do a solo-ride, no videos, and he won’t think about Evan one bit for the next thirty minutes.

He fails wildly, of course, and by the time he’s done on the bike he’s just mad, so instead of a sad jerk off in the shower, it’s a frustrated one. Eventually though he’s scrubbed himself clean and stared at the tile long enough that he can confidently get into bed and be ready to fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillows around 2:15 AM. It’s when his mind is going foggy does he realize with sharp clarity that he never answered the question.

He groans into the quiet and stillness of his bedroom before reaching a hand over to grab at his phone and type out a response.

A morning flight with no emergency attached to it. A Faceplant Burrito from Hellbender’s. Live music at a bar near my house, two drafts while I’m there. Finding out the Lakers won. Sex, TV, then in bed by 11:30.

Sleep is pulling at him harder than before, so he sends off the text without thinking too much about it and falls asleep when he sets his phone back down.

In the morning, and for a day-and-a-half after that, there are no further messages.

When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

The latest text comes in while he’s working out at Harbor, and he reads up until When did you last sing... while finishing his set of pushups. He rolls his eyes and lets his phone go dark, counting out his set before he drops to his elbows on the mat and drags the phone towards himself.

You know I don’t sing is what he decides to send back, not letting himself get sucked into the insanity of this again. Evan will give up eventually, he decides, nodding to himself and his maturity in this.

Well now that’s not true. This only works if you tell the truth, Tommy.

Actually, fuck maturity.

What works? What do you mean not true? I think I would know if I was lying about this

I heard you singing while you were making me breakfast, when I dislocated my shoulder. Is that the answer to both then?

Air hisses out of Tommy’s teeth and his face heats up.

You were clearly on painkillers and hallucinating

I don’t think you hallucinate while on ibuprofen

Damn Evan, never letting him get away with it. He doubles down anyway.

Maybe it was Billy Boils haunting you

A man who died over a century ago was haunting me by singing ‘The Dance’ by Garth Brooks?

Tommy let his head fall to the mat, and just breathed in the unfortunate scent of sweat and gym equipment as self-punishment for his unfortunate moment of thinking about Dale Earnhardt that day and getting himself caught singing along to the youtube video of the memorial he had found while waiting for the mashed avocado to set. And for falling for, and failing to run from, a man with a steel trap for a memory and a bratty streak a mile wide.

I am taking that as your answer then.

Tommy’s convinced that the second question, which comes bright and early the next day at 6 AM while Tommy is struggling to wake himself up out of the bunk room at harbor, was sent as some sort of psychological torture device.

If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

And, like, what the fuck Evan? It’s 6:30 AM, is what Tommy thinks. And what Tommy sends back.

It’s okay, take your time. I’m sure as soon as your coffee with seven sugars kicks in you’ll be fine.

Tommy spits out said coffee when he reads that, and sends back six to be petty.

Oh, did you do the caramel creamer then?

Tommy glares at the text, and then glares at said creamer where it’s still sitting on the counter.

When the coffee does indeed kick in and he’s got a few minutes waiting for the shower to warm up before he hops in, Tommy decides he’ll try a new tactic and just be annoying to try and get Evan to finally break.

What happens when I turn 91? I lose the mind and body?

How about a 100 year old with the mind of a 50 year old?

If I choose body do I have to hide from the government because I don’t age?

Tommy lays his phone down and gets in the shower, content to let Evan stew over his texts.

He is, of course, annoyed himself when after the shower there’s no response. It’s worse when an hour of helicopter maintenance passes with no response. It’s the worst when a total of half a shift has gone by and Evan never rose to the bait. Tommy cracks when he’s packing up his stuff to head home for four straight days off and three on call.

Fine. Body of a 30 year old. They won’t let me fly with a 90 year old body.

That finally gets him a response, and he scoffs, but a part of him knows that Evan has also been on shift and is relieved.

Sorry, massive pile up, had to get a lot of bodies out of cars. I’m not surprised by that answer.

Tommy pauses and swallows down whatever response he was going to immediately come up with. He hesitates a moment, but sends back a quick You alright? and sighs when all he gets is a I’m good in response.

The next questions all arrive quickly together, as if it’s the first time in a while that Evan has had time to sit down and send them. There isn’t much discussion between the answers, but a few bring out more than just another question from Evan. Over two days he reads them and reels from them and answers them and still has no idea to what end this is all hurtling towards.

Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

Probably in some convoluted scheme made up by my old coworkers he tries for levity.

Name three things you and I appear to have in common. this is the first one that really brings Evan into it, so Tommy tries to be extra careful on that one and not give himself away too much.

We both are firefighters, we both came out later in life, we both love a Farmer’s Market.

For what in your life do you feel most grateful? this one, on the heels of no response on the last one, gets his hackles up.

The house that I own is his response. It garners no reply.

He’s out at a bar with a few guys who go to his Muay Thai gym when the next few come in.

If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

That one socks him in the chest. Everything slips from his mind to his fingers and is sent off into the world before he can stop it. The next two don’t let him up from his place pinned under a microscope, studied and exposed.

In four sentences tell me your life story in as much detail as possible.

I was born in Washington state, outside of Olympia, but grew up closer to Seattle in a suburb. I’ve been gay a long time but my father would have beaten the shit out of me if he knew. I joined the military and it really fucking sucked under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. I landed in LA at a shitty fire house that isn’t shitty anymore and I led a woman on up until an engagement and then transferred houses and things got better but things got quieter too.

He made a mistake about an hour ago of having a third beer, and it’s loosening him just enough to be reckless with his responses. He knows he shouldn’t, this is his ex, they aren’t even dating anymore; what is Tommy doing handing the codes for his destruction over? What is Evan doing to him?

Evan must decide to have mercy on him, because despite typing for a long time after that, what comes through is just another question.

If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

Tommy laughs, feeling like he’s going to cry, and puts a hand up to the bartender to settle his tab.

The ability to be a better person

After that, Tommy doesn’t hear from Evan for four days. He thinks he’s finally done it--finally convinced Evan that he just isn’t worth it.

Tommy’s been trying to forget about his embarrassing vulnerability when he overhears something that stops him in his tracks. He’s working on some routine checks in his helicopter and there’s two of the mechanics working on the engine. One of them, Alice, is giving advice to James, who always seems to be in the middle of a fight with his wife.

“I’m telling you, try it man. It worked for me and Felicia,” Alice is saying while James is shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” he says, reaching into the engine and tightening something or other, “If they’re questions that lead to love wouldn’t I already be past them?”

“Nah, they’re more than that,” Alice says, talking around a wrench that she’d stuck in her mouth while she reaches for something else in their tool kit, “it’s about learning new things, things you never thought to ask. Like, one of the questions is this weird one about whether or not you would choose to have the body or mind of a thirty year old for sixty years. It’s about asking them things that lead to bigger conversations, so you learn about them and learn to love them deep down.”

“I don’t know, Al, I think deep down she might hate me more.”

Tommy feels like some thick and viscous is pouring over him from the top down, and he stumbles out of the helicopter, almost braining himself on the door.

“Whoa, Kinard, you good?” James asks, reaching out a hand to steady him. James and Alice are both looking at him with concern, and he shakes his head and tries to give them a smile but knows it’s probably pretty grim and not very reassuring.

“Yeah, sorry, totally fine. What, uh, what are you guys talking about?” He asks, aiming for nonchalant and landing somewhere between crazed and desperate.

“Uh,” Alice starts, pulling the wrench from her mouth and wiping her wrist across her lips. “I was telling James about this New York Times article I read a few years back called 36 Questions that Lead to Love . They’re these questions that you ask someone you’re with, or I guess want to be with, in order to get to know them better. Me and my girlfriend did them and there were some good conversations, ya know?”

Tommy is nodding, already pulling his phone out of his flight suit and googling.

“Wow, that is so interesting, Alice. I am definitely going to check those out. Thank you.”

Before she can respond, he’s booking it for the break room and clicking on the link that Google pulls up.

After Tommy reads the entire article, he decides that he has to wait at least until his next day off to confront Evan about trying to sneak-lead him to love with a New York Times article from 2015.

Luckily, Evan never stopped sharing his calendar, so Tommy knows that his second day off lines up with one where Evan has a shift starting at 4 PM.

Tommy knows that on 4 PM shift days, Evan works out in the mornings, eats breakfast, showers, and then spends the rest of the afternoon cleaning until he has to leave at 3 PM to make it to the station on time and give himself a buffer to change and settle in before the shift change. Tommy times it just right and calls him at 2:35 PM.

“Uh, hello? Tommy?” Evan answers with uncertainty. His voice is low and slow and Tommy has gone too long without sex because hearing three words from his ex should not make him slightly horny. He shakes himself and focuses, speaking clearly without so much as a hello.

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?”

“If Buck is surprised that Tommy’s found him out, he doesn’t show it. He answers automatically and without hesitation.

“What’s my purpose when the whole reason I was born didn’t work? Like, what do you do when your supposed purpose gets shot to hell before you turn two?”

“In true Evan Buckley fashion, he has rendered Tommy a little speechless. But in true Tommy Kinard fashion he dredges something up to say. It’s not very elegant, but it works.

“Jesus Christ, kid.”

“Kid, huh? Haven’t heard that one in a while, Daddy.”

“Okay, you never called me Daddy so don’t you dare start now.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

“There’s quiet for a moment, Evan is clearly doing the dishes in the background. Staying on theme with this whole thing, Tommy caves first.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re asking me the 36 questions that lead to love?”

“I would, but you chose to call me twenty minutes before I needed to leave for my shift. I don’t think we’ve got enough time.”

“Evan--”

“Oops, now we’re down to five minutes and I’ve got to grab my bag. Why don’t you ask me later?”

“Before he has a chance to argue, Evan hangs up. Tommy is left just as confused and frustrated as he was before, but unfortunately much more horny.

A few hours later, the next question in “Set II” of the 36 questions arrives on his phone. Tommy debates just flat out calling Evan to argue with him some more, but Tommy knew before and is really starting to accept that if Evan Buckley really wants something, he’s going to chase it doggedly until he’s given an absolute no. And Tommy knows himself enough that he can’t lie and say that he wants to give out that absolute no.

Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

Now at least the element of surprise is gone--Tommy has read through all of the questions at least four times and has spent time thinking about how he would answer them. This one was easy.

Fly coast to coast in a helicopter. I haven’t done it because it’s stupid expensive and the paperwork is insane.

While he’s resigned to answering the questions, he can’t ignore the fact that Evan’s answer had brought him right back to the moment when they first decided to give it a second shot and they had admitted that they barely knew anything about each other. He’s just sitting around on his couch with Ice Road Truckers on, so he pulls up the article again and sends the next question.

What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

Becoming a firefighter, no competition. I was pretty aimless before that, didn’t really have any accomplishments.

Not graduating high school or college?

High school graduation in Hershey, Pennsylvania was boring. Penn State Harrisburg was only subjected to me for less than a year.

Tommy had had no idea whether or not Evan had went to college, and definitely didn’t realize it was Penn State.

Nittany Lions, huh? What even is that

Not sure, they didn’t exactly discuss the mascot origins at parties

Tommy thinks about digging further, but he’s gotten the impression that they aren’t really doing that, so he holds off on his curiosity and anticipates the next question so much that he’s a little annoyed it takes three hours to receive it. They must have had a call.

What do you value most in a friendship?

The ability to take a joke

No wonder you and Eddie got along so well, you both love bullying me.

I don’t know if bullying is the word.

Tommy’s a bit surprised Evan is bringing up Eddie in a friendship lens after Tommy accused him of being in love with the guy.

No, I think bullying is accurate. I do know my best friend pretty well. Not biblically, but. Pretty well.

There it is.

Okay, yeah. I deserved that.

What do you mean? I just want to make it clear, since I have to with everyone apparently, that I’ve never had nor wanted to bone my best friend.

No, no, keep it coming. Punish me baby.

So sue him, he gets testy when he’s being insulted and Ice Road Truckers is really boring.

Ask the next question, asshole.

Tommy, probably for once in his life, lets it go. He sends question number 17 next.

What is your most treasured memory?

Evan types for a while, and then stops typing long enough that it’s clear that he’s gotten caught up in something outside of his phone. Tommy is halfway done with the crossword in the NYT games app when he finally gets a response that reads like the introduction to a novel.

When I worked on a ranch, there was this horse that was being rehabilitated after it was rescued from an abusive situation. It wouldn’t let anyone near it, humans or other horses. It was making its recovery really difficult because it kept injuring itself by pulling away from the trainers and veterinarians, and half the time it was too scared to eat. One day I was writing my usual postcard to Maddie on this big rock near its private fenced in area, and I wasn’t paying any attention--I was mid word when the horse had snuck up on me and sniffed me so hard it knocked the cowboy hat off my head. After that, the horse was stuck to me from sun up to sun down; and it would let the doctors and the trainers near it if I was there. It ate if I sat next to it, it let me brush it and eventually let me ride it. The owner of the ranch told me she had never seen anything like it, and that if I ever wanted to come back I’d have a place there.

Tommy feels a little floored, reading the message. It wasn’t hard to imagine Evan working on a ranch with a cowboy hat on his head, out on a prairie somewhere with a scared horse following him around and learning to ask for care. Tommy doesn’t quite know what to say, and he doesn’t like the direction that particular train of thought is taking him in. He decides to dodge emotion in the best way he knows how.

Ranch hand, huh? Still got the chaps?

Unsurprisingly, Evan doesn’t rise to the bait. He doesn’t answer for a while, but when he does it's just the next question. Tommy figured this one was coming, and he knows what he could say--the time he dealt with a bombing in the military, any number of bad calls he’s had, when he went down on ropes for a recuse and cracked his arm clean in half when he slammed into a cliffside--but it’s almost 10 o’clock and Evan and the nighttime are apparently a very dangerous combination for Tommy.

What is your most terrible memory?

He types out “When I was in the military, we had a bombing...” and “My first loss in the helicopter, it was a twelve year-old...” three times before he sighs at himself and goes for broke. Evan shared that damn story about a scared horse and Hell, maybe Tommy wants to see this through too.

When I was in bootcamp, I got a summons to the main office to take a phone call. It was the Sheriff's office back home. They were calling to tell me that my family was in a car accident. I needed to come home right away because my step-mom and half sister were in pretty bad shape. They died when I was on a plane somewhere over Oregon, twenty minutes apart and just 15 minutes before I landed. When I landed, a deputy picked me up and took me straight to the hospital. It wasn’t until I was standing in front of my father, who was cuffed to his hospital bed, that I learned that he was driving drunk and ran them into a telephone pole.

After it’s sent, Tommy’s hit with a great mass of regret and wishes he could swallow it back up into his chest and never talk about it again. It’s out there though, it’s in Evan’s tender and clumsy hands, and Tommy thinks he knows how that horse felt.

The text box bubbles, and bubbles, and bubbles. Then it stops, and it stays still long after Tommy has dragged himself to the bedroom and fallen asleep.

When he wakes up, the response he’s gotten from Evan is expected and unexpected all at once. Tommy holds off on reading it until he’s halfway through an omelet and ready to stomach this on-going emotional torture of a conversation. Evan’s starting to fall back into his old texting patterns, and a smattering of messages are waiting for him to read like an op-ed piece.

Set II is kind of more emotional, huh.

I’m up next to answer “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?” so I’ll just get into that, maybe make up for making you talk about that.

Which, thank you, Tommy. Genuinely. For sharing that with me, or trusting me with that.

I’m sure that wasn’t easy to share. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you went through that. I know sorry doesn’t cut it, but I am.

Okay, right. My answer.

I thought about dying a lot after I actually, you know, died. For three minutes and seventeen seconds. So, anyway, this question and situation kind of scares the shit out of me. Like it’s really dangerous for me. I never want to know if I’m going to die, because I’ll blow my life up. I’ll spend all my savings and I’ll hug the 118 goodbye and I’ll be gone. Obviously that isn’t good, right, because my family should get to see me before I’m gone forever, but if I know I have an expiration date I can’t continue to just live my life like normal and wait for it to happen. I’d want to get to all the places I never got to see--Mexico City and a good chunk of Route 66 and Grand Teton National park. I’ve got to go see Halliehurst--that’s the horse I mentioned, and Mary; she owns the ranch. I would ask Conner and Cameron if I could spend an afternoon with their son. He’s kind of also my son. Genetically, not legally. I’d beg my parents to tell me where Daniel’s grave is so I could apologize. I’d stop by Texas to see Eddie and Chris and I wouldn’t tell them why I was there. I’d sell everything I have and put it into trusts for Chris and Jee and her brother. I’d forgive my parents, too. I’d tell you I always loved you. I wouldn’t stop moving until the day I couldn’t.

Evan’s words feel like an avalanche, and the sudden sore throat Tommy feels makes him realize that he had started reading Evan’s text out loud in a horse whisper. He’s stuck reading the second to last sentence again and again. I’d tell you that I always loved you, I’d tell you that I always loved you, I’d tell you that I always loved you. Leave it to Evan to take Tommy ripping his chest open and letting him observe his insides and respond in kind with much more dangerous information. He thinks about texting back, but even Tommy “run like your life depends on it” Kinard knows that they’re a little beyond texting.

He swipes into his calendar app and pulls up Evan’s, checking his schedule. He should be getting off shift right about now; so Tommy makes a call. He’s disappointed yet relieved when it goes to voicemail, but he’s determined. He leaves a voicemail telling Evan to come to his place--he’ll have an omelet and coffee waiting for him.

Evan never comes over, but it’s for the best because it’s only twelve minutes later that Tommy gets a call in anyway.

Later, when Evan sees him, neither one says anything about the questions--it’s all work. The 118 is holding the line between the city of Los Angeles and a group of men hell bent on killing at least half of it. They had caught them in the middle of a small pile up outside of the stadium, one of them with a detonator in his hand and his car rigged to explode canisters of deadly gas and release it into the air. The man was too volatile to talk down and S.W.A.T. was too nervous to get his hand off the trigger with a dozen others ready to explode it and complete their mission however they could.

It was decided that they would need to fly the car out of the city, and Tommy’s experience as a military pilot had him at the top of the list to help complete the mission. The helicopters they had wouldn’t be enough to lift it on their own, it would take two flying in a precarious formation until they could set it down outside of the city and the detonator’s range in the desert. Evan wasn’t on shift with the 118 when they headed out to the crash, having been alternating shifts with Chimney to help Maddie in her recovery and pregnancy; but he was with Athena when she caught wind of the plan caught Tommy on the rooftop at sunset he had been told to take off from to avoid two choppers coming from the same direction and arousing suspicion. When they stood face to face, Tommy didn’t know what to say that could convey how he was feeling that morning, how much he wanted to finish their conversation.

“You deserve to hear my response verbally, Evan. I can’t do that right now--not with all of this. But meet me back here and I will then. I’ll know what to say, I promise.”

Evan looked like he wanted to argue, but from the look on Athena’s face behind them Tommy could guess that she had already told Evan that he couldn’t say anything to Tommy to talk him out of this mission.

“What does friendship mean to you?” Is what Evan says, and for an insane moment Tommy thinks he’s speaking in code. “That’s the next question for you. S-so you better have answer for me, when you get back, Tommy. I’m holding you to it.”

Tommy has to laugh at his surprise of a man, always throwing him for a loop.

“Okay, Evan. I will.”

Tommy does think about it, on the way to the road in front of the stadium where the cars around the bomb car have been cleared away and a ground team is waiting to rush in to secure the car to both helicopters. If radio chatter is to be believed, the 118 minus Evan is distracting the group inside the stadium and acting as de facto negotiators for the sake of the city of Los Angeles.

He arrives in tandem with the S.W.A.T. helicopter and he hovers and drops the line, the team below him securing the car for lift off. It seems like everything is going well and he gets the all clear easy enough, confirmation from the other pilot to begin lifting coming through. He hears a loud pop and feels a searing pain in his stomach and up through his back, and feels his helicopter jolt suddenly to the side.

“Kinard! What’s going on up there?” The voice of a S.W.A.T. agent crackles through the radio, and Tommy takes a second to breathe before adrenaline floods his veins and he reigns the chopper in, feeling the car sway dangerously between the two birds.

“I think you’ve got gunmen down there, officer. Get your people out of the road.” Tommy replies through gritted teeth, then calls out to the other pilot to let him know that Tommy is good to go. They begin flying toward their destination.

“Are you hit, Kinard? Can you fly?” The same officer’s voice rings out, and Tommy doesn’t have time for this.

“Mission is a go, Officer.” Tommy calls back, trying to skirt around the bullet hole that he definitely knows he’s bleeding out of. He knows Evan is right next to Athena, and as much as he knows he’ll have hell to pay about getting shot in the first place, if Evan hears him say that he’s been hit, he’ll kick up enough of a fuss to get himself arrested.

“Godspeed, Kinard, Smitherson.” The Officer signs off, and Tommy vaguely registers that Smitherson is the other pilot. Good to know who he’s carrying a deadly chemical weapon into the desert with.

Pushing at top speeds, the get to Joshua Tree in a little less than an hour. It’s pretty impressive that the military has managed to secure some sort of tent that they’ve got ready to surround and seal the car once it’s touched down safely. Tommy’s so relieved to see it that he barely registers when Smitherson comes over the radio and says “Let’s get ready to set ‘er down, Kinard.”

“Copy that, Smitherson.” Is what he manages to say, just glad to finally pull his hands back from pushing his bird as hard as it would go while also managing to give it as smooth a touch as he could manage. He’s been sweating for the entire fight and he knows that adrenaline is the only thing keeping him going. He hopes like hell that they cut the car loose quickly and he can get the bird down as soon as possible. He knows that he doesn’t have much time.

The military cutting the car from the birds and getting it surrounded passes in a blur, and Smitheson is telling them that they are cleared to land. Tommy wants to argue, wants to get back in radio range so he can say what he needs to Evan, but he knows that they don’t have enough fuel.

He pulls far enough away from the excitement and puts his chopper down where they tell him. When his bird is shut down and it’s safe to exit, Tommy pulls his radio off and unbuckles himself; which unfortunately is not a good combo with the group of soldiers that yank his door open. Tommy goes tumbling onto the road he’s just landed on, and the soldiers around him shout in surprise. One of them grabs him and shines their helmet flashlight on him, right in his eyes.

“Pilot, are you hurt?” He yells out, and Tommy’s having some real flashback to his own tour in the military and he is not enjoying it one bit.

“Shot through the stomach,” is what Tommy manages to grit out, and instantly there are hands on him compressing his wound. The voices around him are calling out for medics. Everything past that point is heavy and foggy, and Tommy is loosing the thread of the night very quickly. He thinks to himself, Evan was right, I never would have wanted to know this was happening.

Tommy manages to grab the soldier that spoke to him earlier, and mumbles out a final message before he passes out.

“Tell Evan I’m sorry, and tell Colonel John Dewalt he owes me a dinner.”

After that is just darkness.

Contrary to what you see in movies, waking up from a serious injury is way harder than just miraculously opening your eyes and revealing your love for the person next to you. For one, it’s definitely Howie and Bobby Nash sitting at his bedside talking over him in starts and stops that his exhausted brain can’t make heads or tails of. Two, Tommy might be technically awake, but his eyes won’t open and his mouth won’t move, so he quickly gives in to his body’s desire to fall back asleep.

The next time he wakes up, Tommy does manage to open his eyes, but again it’s not the person he wants to give some crazy bedside confession to at his bedside; it’s Athena Grant, Hen Wilson, and Maddie Han. Athena clocks him first, and her eyes widen.

“Oh no, do not wake up for me Tommy Kinard, I am not dealing with your man about it. You and he are just as crazy as the other, you just go back to sleep until he gets back from the cafeteria.”

“Athena!” Maddie says, scandalized and laughing at once, and Hen calls out ”I’ll call the nurse.”

Tommy doesn’t hear anything after that, falling back asleep quickly.

He dreams in fragments, things that don’t make sense--Evan in the helicopter with him, Evan being the one shot, Howie being the person with the detonator. Though, there was a particularly fun one where Evan was very excited and grateful to see him return and met him on that rooftop with an enthusiastic kiss.

When he finally drags himself awake fully, Evan is there. Along with Eddie. Tommy vows before he opens his eyes and lets them know he’s awake to not say anything monumentally stupid about this.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now. Your heart rate is giving you away, man,” Comes Eddie’s voice. Tommy groans.

“Le-et me ha-ave som-e mystery, D-Diaz,” it what Tommy says in response. Well, it’s what Tommy tries to say, it’s really only “mystery, Diaz” that comes out through his desert-dry throat.

“Don’t bully him, Eddie, he’s injured.” Evan says, and suddenly he’s holding a straw to Tommy’s lips. Tommy opens his eyes finally and is looking right up into Evan’s. He feels himself settle and he drinks from the straw.

“What, like you’re not gonna bully him about flying for an hour while shot and not telling anyone?”

“Yes, but I’m going to do it later after he’s more awake. It’s called tact.”

“Yeah well my return flight is tomorrow morning I don’t have time for tact. Tommy, you’re an idiot.”

“I’m gonna kick you out.”

“You can’t, I only get this time to see him before I leave.”

“Well maybe it wouldn’t feel so urgent to see him if you hadn’t stopped being his friend for months before you moved to Texas.”

“Damn, Buck, you’re kind of mean when someone’s in the hospital.”

“Eddie, I swe--”

“Guys,” Tommy croaks, imploring them to shut up and stop contributing to his already significant headache that had made itself known after opening his eyes.

“Sorry Tommy.” They both say, eerily similar in tone in a way that tells Tommy that he isn’t the first to receive a double apology from the two. He’s feeling a little out of it, so he’ll blame that feeling later on what he says next even though he definitely thinks he told himself he wouldn’t do this,

“I’m so stupid for ever thinking you could be in love with Eddie, you’re kind of a bitch to him. You’re much nicer to me, Evan baby.”

There’s silence, sweet silence for Tommy’s pounding head, but then it gets even worse when Eddie lets out a sound that can only be labled as a squawk and start spluttering.

“You WHAT--”

“Hello Mr. Kinard!” a woman in blue comes bustling in and bodily shoves Eddie away from the bed, Evan moving back with him and pushing him out of the room by the shoulders. Tommy can hear Evan saying, “Okay Eddie why don’t you go get some coffee while the nurse checks on Tomm--” and the rest is cut off when they both leave the room and Evan kicks the door shut behind him.

Tommy watches them go and then focuses on the nurse, who is checking his vitals and then starts to go into information on his injuries. Shot, bullet was lodged in his shoulder bone but they extracted it, lost a little blood but weirdly enough the seatbelt seemed to have put just enough pressure on the hole to stop him from bleeding out, a really lucky experience all around.

He was in Palm Springs at a trauma center closer to Joshua Tree, but now that he was awake he could be assessed by the doctor within the hour and then moved back home to Los Angeles in the morning if everything seemed alright. Tommy let her words wash over him and apologized when he yawned three times in a row.

“Don’t worry, honey. From what I hear you saved the city of Los Angeles. I think you’ve earned a nap.” She pats his arm, marks something down on his chart, and then tells him the doctor should be in soon. Before she leaves completely, she looks out the door and turns back to Tommy. “Those two are coming back in. If I were you, I’d close my eyes and get back to sleep.”

Tommy laughs, but when she opens the door he does as she says. He’s not quite ready to face all of the trouble his mouth and actions have gotten himself into right now.

He doesn’t fall asleep immediately, so when Eddie and Evan come back in, he hears Evan’s disappointed “Awh, he fell back asleep,” and Eddie’s answering “Coward, he knows I was going to call him out for saying the most insane shit I’ve ever heard”.

Tommy breathes slowly and uses every ounce of the yoga knowledge he has from that yoga instructor he dated for four months once to keep his breathing in.

“Oh my god, Eddie,” Evan says, sounding bratty in the way only he can pull off, “He’s like, high on pain killers don’t blame him. Also, if you say something to him you have to say something to Maddie because she also made a comment about how it ‘wouldn’t be crazy’ that I was in love with you.”

“Dude, gross. What is wrong with your people?”

“You were Tommy’s friend first,” Evan points out, and Tommy has to hand it to him for that, but Eddie quickly responds with “and you’re the one fucking him so,”

“We aren’t currently fucking!” Is the only defense Evan offers, so Tommy retracts the point he gave Evan earlier.

“Yeah, not according to Chim, apparently you wasted no time christening my house!”

“I am not talking about this with you, also I’m killing Chim and Maddie when I see them again.”

“Oh, now you don’t want to tell me details I don’t want to--”

Tommy starts to go foggy, and he realizes that at some point the nurse definitely pushed more painkillers. He wants to hear more of this argument, but sleep grabs him and swallows him whole before he has the chance to even try to put up a fight.

Tommy finally comes to and feels alert and actually awake the next morning. He realizes he slept right through the doctor check up, and he hopes that means he’ll be headed back to LA today.

This time, he actually gets what he wants. It’s near silent in the room, with only the hum of machines and soft snores coming from a roll-away bed set up on the right side of the room permeating the quiet.

The windows are open and like some choreographed scene in a romcom, Evan is laying on the extra bed; deeply asleep with sunlight trailing through his curls, highlighting his birthmark. His lips are red a slightly open, and his upper half is covered in a hoodie that Tommy knows says Kinard across the back even though he can’t fully see it.

Evan lets out a particularly loud snore and his hand comes up to swat at his nose. Tommy can’t help but be charmed.

He reaches over with a very sore arm to grab a cup of water that has been placed on the table next to his bed, greedily sucking down the water until the straw makes a grating noise when there’s no more liquid in the cup. The noise jolts Evan awake, and before Tommy can blink Evan is flailing (falling) out of the extra bed and throwing himself into the chair next to Tommy.

“H-hey Tommy, how are you feeling?” He says it quietly, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through Tommy’s no doubt disgustingly greasy hair.

“M okay, Evan,” he says, and stretches his neck left to right. He swallows before saying the thing he’s really been thinking of this whole time.

“Friendship is being there, when things are hard.”

Evan looks confused, in the way he usually does when he wakes up, but he smiles before too long and nods.

“Yeah, yeah I agree.”

Evan pushes the call button, and pats Tommy’s hand like he understands just how important it was that Tommy got that out. He probably does.

The doctor bustles in and introduces herself, and tells Tommy how lucky he is, and says that Evan can take him home.

The ride back isn’t too long, just under two hours, and Tommy is eager to stay awake after four days asleep so he and Buck finish out “Set II” and begin on “Set III” of the 36 questions. Evan unsurprisingly has the list memorized so when it’s his turn he easily gets his questions out, but Tommy has to pull the list up again after he’s responded to all of the texts he received during his heroics and healing. It’s weird at first hearing the answers in person; and it’s honestly harder to ask the questions themselves, but Tommy feels good as they do it.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” is how Tommy kicks it off, and Evan answers deeply and thoughtfully, which is at odds with the way he’s shoving a donut into his mouth as he pulls onto the highway.

“For a long time, it felt really conditional in my life. I’ve talked a lot about this in therapy. I felt like my parents never gave me affection and love unless they had to in order to keep up appearances or only when they felt really bad for me, like when I was injured. Maddie was really the only one growing up that gave me love and affection without something having had to have happened first. And that? Sucked. Then I got older and Maddie left, so there was a real love and affection vacuum in my life. Unfortunately that led me to a lot of meaningless sex and hook ups. It wasn’t until I settled in at the 118 and I met Abby that I started to realize that love and affection don’t have to be contractual. Er, well, Abby maybe didn’t help with that actually but she did snap me out of my sex-additct ways.”

Tommy tries hard to say things back to Evan that are genuine and aren’t the first things that come to his head, so for this first one he says, “I can understand that. I’m glad you don’t feel that way any more.” and that gets him a grin from Evan as he pushes his sunglasses back into place and changes lanes, so Tommy thinks he’s doing alright.

Evan has the next question with, “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.” which is one for both of them and breaks up some of the heavy air in a way that Tommy and the hole in his abdomen that is pulsing a bit with all of the emotion coming out of them appreciate. To be fair, Tommy starts but they’re off pretty quickly, alternating. They decide to share five each.

“I appreciate how you chase after things that are important to you.”

Evan nods in acknowledgement before following with, “I really like how capable and calm under pressure you are.”

“I’m amazed at how positive you are, even when you’ve dealt with really difficult things.”

“I like how you can look at something and have a good idea of how to fix it even before you know what’s wrong.” That one makes Tommy’s cheeks heat a little, and he pauses for just a moment before sharing his next one.

“You’re unimaginably sweet, and very selfless.”

“I think that’s two, but okay,” Evan chuckles, “You’re so funny, genuinely. Even when it’s at my expense.”

Tommy doesn’t know what to say to that, so Evan follows up with, “Which, honestly I think I kind of need in my life? Like you aren’t actually mean to me. But I do think I need someone to laugh with me about me sometimes.”

“I like the way you take up space unapologetically. You’re never afraid to be you.”

“I love how solid you are. I had this dream a few times where I got injured on the job and you’d be able to carry me out no problem.”

“Hmm, might have to wait a few weeks for that,” Tommy says, trying to ignore the way that one made his throat tighten. Evan laughs softly and nods. “I really like how observant you are. There are so many things I miss in everyday life but you always seem to be paying attention and cataloguing everything you see.”

“I love the way you love rom coms. It’s kind of amazing to watch you watch one with the intensity you have towards the Lakers.”

Tommy laughs out loud at that one, and looks down at his phone. He asks Evan question number 23, “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

Evan gives him a look, and says “I think you can extrapolate from my earlier answers; but my family isn’t really close and warm. They’re better now, but there was always something off. I just didn’t know it was a dead brother. My childhood wasn’t awful--but it was one that was haunted by a nine year old boy I couldn’t save. So, yeah.”

Tommy swallows, and lets that sit as long as Evan wants it to. He isn’t sure they’re there yet--where they can comment on each other’s childhoods. Evan clears his throat and barrels forward.

“How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”

Tommy is quiet, thinking about how he wants to answer this. He decides that if Evan can be sharp about his childhood brush with death, so can he.

“She died when she gave birth to me. She was too young, only seventeen, and there were complications. I made it but she didn’t.”

It’s Evan’s turn to be quiet, and before either of them can come up with what they want to say, he pulls off at and exit and says “gotta get gas.”

They stop off long enough for Evan to get gas and Tommy to hit the restroom and grab some snacks. He gets back in the car and hands Evan a flavored water and protein bar, and tears into the oatmeal creme pie he got for himself.

“Nice, I love these protein bars,” Evan says, happily ripping open the packaging and taking a bite, “Thanks, Tommy.”

“I remembered,” Tommy says around his snack cake, trying not to choke as some does down his throat.

Evan hums, choosing to actually chew and swallow before talking.

“I used to think that we didn’t know anything about each other, you know.” He says before shoving the rest of the bar in his mouth and chewing and swallowing again. “But, like. With all of these questions

I did realize we knew some things about each other. Yeah there’s a lot we’ve learned and still need to learn, but there’s more there that we knew than I ever thought.”

Tommy lets that wash over him, doesn’t comment. He finishes his snack and chugs half of the Coke Zero he grabbed for himself before pulling his phone out.

“Um, on to ‘Set III’ then?” He asks, suddenly unsure. Evan nods so Tommy pushes on. “Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling...”

“We are in this car feeling...awkward. We are in this car feeling...vulnerable. We are in this car feeling...hopeful?” Evan says the last one with a questioning lilt in his voice and doesn’t look over at Tommy.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees, and he sees Evan’s shoulders relax. Evan nods before asking the next one.

“Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ...”

“My life,” Tommy blurts without thinking, so quickly that Evan’s eyes dart over to him and stay there for a few seconds before returning to the road. “I wish I had someone with whom I could share, uh, my life.”

Evan doesn’t say something, and Tommy is glad. He just lets the answer hang there until Tommy collects himself enough to ask the next question.

“If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know”

Evan tilts his head and glances at the GPS, taps his hands on the steering wheel. It’s the longest he’s taken to answer a question in person.

“W-well,” He starts, voice not very confident, “I think it would be important for them to know that they have a place in my life that’s different than the other relationships in my life. I would want them to know that every relationship in my life is different and doesn’t threaten theirs, and that I want them and only them...in that specific, um, friendship.”

Tommy is honestly kind of impressed at the way that Evan managed to shoe horn that in, and he almost allows it. But he also knows that if they want this to exist beyond just this car and the hospital bed and their text messages, he needs to be ready to have tough conversations.

“Can we talk about it?” Tommy says before he can chicken out. Evan lets out a gusty breath and sags downward.

‘Yeah, please?” He says, sparing Tommy a glance for a s ling as he can manage and still watch where they’re going.

‘That was really, unbelievably stupid of me, Evan. I should have never implied that you were in love with Eddie. I knew it wasn’t true. I think I was just scared because it seemed like in that moment everything was too easy--you agreed to try again and I didn’t even need to do anything to convince you--”

“--Oh I think you did something to convince me,” Evan interjects with an unmistakable leer.

“--you know what I mean. I was just, afraid of screwing it up so I just torpedoed it instead. Which, I know, is counterproductive.”

“Thank you for saying that, Tommy. I want you to know that you never have to worry about that. But, I also want to be honest with you. I did cheat on a partner once. It was stupid, it was a drunken kiss when I knew better. But I need you to know the second I did it I regretted it, and I’ll never do it again.”

That gave Tommy pause, but if he wants to try this he needs to not let small things get to him.

“Thank you for telling me that, Evan. I want to be better, with you. I promise no more accusing you of having feelings that I know you don’t.”

“Thank you. I promise that I won’t say things I don’t mean just to hurt you.”

“Yeah, that’s good with me,” Evan says, and he gently turns the radio up so that there's music softly playing as they venture further into the city that they saved.

“Good, okay,” Tommy chokes out, and it feels like a weight is gone from the car. He looks at the GPS, and they’ve only got about 17 minutes left on their drive. He makes a decision for both of them.

“I think we should have the last questions for later, huh? We’re almost there.”

Evan stays the night because it’s late, and in the morning Tommy is treated to a Faceplant burrito from Hellbenders. It’s sausage and frito and nacho cheese goodness, and if Tommy wasn’t already hopelessly and complicatedly in love with the man, the burrito would have sealed the deal. It’s of course when he’s got half a burrito in his mouth and Evan is watching him with a look that’s half-disgust and half-fondness that he hits Tommy with a question.

“28, Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met”

Maybe Evan knows him too well, and he waited until his mouth was full to give Tommy and excuse to think for a moment.

“Didn’t we kind of already do this one?”

“Yeah, there are some ones with similar points, I think that’s on purpose.” Evan then attempts to eat his own burrito in one and a half bites and theres only the sound of chewing for a moment. Tommy swallows and speaks.

“I really like how thoughtful you are. It’s kind of insane how much you remember about others and act accordingly. You know my favorite foods and brands; you always leave the TV on the channel I watch in the morning. You remember every birthday of everyone in your life and could easily get them a gift that is perfect for them with no notice. Sometimes I think you get wrapped up in things and feel guilty when someone feels slighted, but that’s so unfair to you because you are so incredibly thoughtful all of the other times. It’s okay to slip up once or twice.”

“I-” Evan stutters, seemingly at a loss for words. Tommy is propelled on by a sense of wanting to right a wrong.

“And sometimes it’s not even your fault, because you aren’t working with all the information. Like, I know you felt bad because you thought you forgot our 6-month anniversary. But honestly, I got luckily and was looking and my calendar that morning and calculated it. I never set a precedent that we would be celebrating that. That wasn’t on you.”

Evan is quiet for a long moment, and Tommy almost gets to the point of regretting his words. But Evan’s got a tiny little smile on his face, and he eventually lets out a quiet, “Thanks, Tommy.” so Tommy is counting this one as a win. He decides to keep the questions going since Evan isn’t due in to the 118 until later that afternoon and the stitches in Tommy’s abdomen and shoulder have him grounded for a while yet to come. He pulls the article up on his phone.

“Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.” He says, and then takes the final bit of his burrito into his mouth.

Evan groans and scrubs a hand down his face before shoving the rest of his own burrito in his mouth in a hurry. Tommy smirks but doesn’t comment.

“Okay, don’t judge me too harshly.” Evan implores eventually, laying his hands out flat on either side of his burrito wrapper. “So, you know the bombing and my leg and everything. What I didn’t tell you is that stupid, hot-headed Buck took over after I found out that Bobby was the one keeping me from going back to work. There was this lawyer,”

“Oh, Evan,” Tommy can’t resist saying.

“Oh, Evan is right. I called him and I threatened to sue the LAFD. I thought it would be just a threat and Bobby would finally take me seriously; but they dragged everyone through the mud, and made the 118 hate me. It was awful, and I’m still so embarrassed about it.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that Evan.”

“Why? It was my fault, I’m the idiot who called a sleazy lawyer and almost ruined every relationship I had in my life at the time.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that.”

“What, what do you mean?” Evan asks, sincere and admittedly adorable with his eyebrows pulled together.

“C’mon, anyone who’s met you could tell you that your job means everything to you. There’s no way you would have jeopardized it like that without a really good reason. Were you ready to go back? Did Bobby have a leg to stand on--” he pauses and winces, “--sorry, no pun intended, when it came to keeping you out of the job?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Then there you go. I’m sure you felt justified at the time, and unfortunately you got taken advantage of by that lawyer. And if you’re still hung up on it like this, clearly you learned from it. But, you don’t hurt people on purpose, Evan.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Tommy nods, drinks down the rest of his orange juice, and lets Evan determine if they’ll keep going. He seems to have decided that he doesn’t want to be the only vulnerable one here this morning, so he says “when did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

Tommy tilts his head, honestly trying to remember, and says “I genuinely don’t cry that often.”

Evan just hums and encourages him to continue.

“I think...the last time I cried in front of someone else was when I saw a movie a few years ago. I don’t even remember the movie, but I definitely remember bawling with the rest of the packed theater.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Evan says, grinning slightly. “What about alone?”

Tommy genuinely tries to think of the last time he cried alone, and he feels dread fill him when he realizes when that was.

“Uh, well. It was definitely more recent,” Tommy starts, trying to be delicate, “I think it was...after we, uh, christened Eddie’s house.”

For a moment, Evan is too caught up in his phrasing to feel bad about it, letting out a strangled “you heard Eddie say that--” before finishing with a lackluster, “Oh. Uh. What I said?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Tommy says, lamely.

“No, don’t be sorry!” Evan says, stumbling over his words to get them out in a rush. “It’s okay, that’s the point of these questions right? It’s okay.”

“Right, definitely. Maybe the next one is a little less heavy,” Tommy tries to say to lighten the mood. He looks at the article and zeroes in on question 31 before reading it out to Evan, “Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

“Oh. Well, I mentioned a few already, but those were pretty deep. So, if we want to lighten the mood a little...I really, really, like your body.”

Tommy sputters a bit but can’t help but grin at Evan, who’s sporting a matching one.

“You are so hot, and strong, and the way your hands feel on me makes me a little crazy.”

“Just a little?” Tommy shoots back, feeling the simmering level of horny that has been a constant companion in his life since Evan waltzed into it begging to ratchet up. He has to keep himself in check and not hurtle them towards a repeat of the thing that made Tommy cry on his own just a month ago.

“Or, you know, a lot,” Evan says, grin turning wicked and sharp at the corners, eyes drifting down to said hands where they rested in front of Tommy.

“Christ, Kid, I’m injured, take it easy on me,” is the only thing Tommy can think to say to cool the conversation down. Evan doesn’t help when he bites his lip and shrugs.

“Suit yourself,” he says lowly, getting up to gather their trash and throw it away in the kitchen--swinging his hips just a little more than usual on the way (Tommy is sure of it).

Evan asks, “what, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?” while they’re on the way back from Tommy’s latest physical therapy appointment.

“Drunk driving,” Tommy says, no need to think about that one.

Evan hums, and reaches over to put his hand comfortingly on top of Tommy’s. They let it hang there, and Tommy thinks of a million things he could say--thinks about telling Evan more about Shelly and Annie--but he lets it go. Evan just holds his hand, and hums along to the song playing lowly on the radio.

For the first time in a long time though, Tommy lets himself think about them.

It’s later that night and they’re on Tommy’s back porch listening to the ambient sounds of his neighborhood, trying to catch glimpses of stars in the cloudy sky. Tommy doesn’t have a lead up, so he just asks, “If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

Evan looks at him, and for a moment Tommy thinks that they’re finally going to talk about it, they’re finally going to break through the dam that’s holding back every thing they do and don’t want to say about their relationship. Just when Tommy has prepared himself for it, Evan curves with his answer.

“Probably a lot of things, like how proud I am of Maddie and whether or not I really do forgive my parents. How happy I am that Hen and Karen got Mara back, how awesome Bobby has been for me. How much I admire Athena, how much I think May is going to be a kick ass adult. How much I want Chim to promise me to take care of Maddie. So much happens in our lives that I miss out on so many pockets of time to tell people things. They all just kind of build up in the back of my head. So...probably a lot of things.”

“I can understand that,” Tommy replies, a hint of a joke in his voice, “your life is kind of insane, Buckley.”

Evan lets the joke be what it is and laughs, agreeing before posing the next question to Tommy. He gestures towards the house behind him.

“Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

Tommy thinks about this one, thinks about that morning in the car.

“After my stepmom and half-sister, Shelley and Annie...after they died, and my dad was still in the hospital, I went back to his house and I took everything that mattered to the two of them. Shelley’s perfume that she always wore and these dangly earrings she said her mom gave her; and Annie’s baby book and her favorite bear that I had picked up from a dollar store for her; I took it all and I’ve still got it, along with some pictures of them.”

He pauses and breathes deeply. Just like in the car, Evan reaches over across the patio chairs and grabs at Tommy’s hand, he squeezes it and Tommy continues.

“It’s in a box up in my bedroom closet. I don’t know what to do with it all, but I knew that I couldn’t leave it in that house with him--if he got out of jail I knew he would toss it all. So I kept it in a storage container two towns over until I left the military and then I brought it here to LA with me. I’d run back in a burning house for that.”

Evan looks like he wants to ask a question but is fighting himself not to at the same time. Tommy breathes out slowly and nods. “You can ask.”

“Is your dad still in jail?”

“Yeah, he got fucked because it turned out that the judge on his case was best friends with Shelley’s father. No one really likes that kind of bias in the courts, but if it keeps a mean drunk who took the lives of a woman and her baby in jail, no one bats an eye. He was up for probation once, but I took a few days off to go and talk at the hearing. He was so mad when he saw me, and he had no remorse. I told them in no uncertain terms that my father deserved to die in jail. With any luck, he will.”

Evan is making dinner in Tommy’s kitchen when Tommy asks the next one.

Evan doesn’t respond at first, but he gets up and kneels in front of Tommy’s chair. He’s so beautiful, and his eyes are just a bit glossy, and Tommy feels all at once too exposed and safe.

“Let’s go to bed, huh?” Is what Evan whispers, and Tommy lets him lead them back into the house.

“Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

“Maddie,” Evan says without a hint of hesitation. It’s not until after he’s said it that he pauses his hands and frowns. “Right?”

“Are you asking me?” Tommy says from his position at the island where he’s been regulated to simply watching Evan chop vegetables for their stir-fry dinner.

“Um,” Evan starts and stops, looking unsure. His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “No, definitely Maddie. Of course. Or, well. Maybe Jee-Yun. That one would be pretty scary. I don’t know how I could handle that. I don’t know if I could.”

“Evan--” Tommy starts, but Evan is looking pretty closed off. He doesn’t want to push more than necessary, not with this fragile thing starting to knit itself together in between them.

“Let’s talk about something else, please.” Evan says, and Tommy allows it. For all Evan has clearly considered his own death, it seems like the deaths of those around him are unfathomable.

Tommy shifts the conversation to the latest call Evan had told him about, a fire in a theatre during the second act of Julius Caesar, but he continues to look at the way that Evan’s shoulders haven’t quite come down from his ears yet. Tommy sighs as he listens to Tommy talk about the props and how the person playing the soothsayer had gotten a little too close to a lit candle and had their robes go up in flames; then was stripped almost naked by Hen and Chimney in a bid to get them off.

Tommy has learned so much about Evan in this little experiment of his, but often he’s reminded that these questions won’t be enough for either of them. When he does unravel this elaborate net encompassing them, there’s still going to be them on the other side of it--whether they’re ready for that or not.

Over a week passes and Evan doesn’t ask question 36. After the way question 35 went, Tommy won’t push it; too afraid to shatter the facsimile of peace and healing that’s fallen over his house. Evan is there in between all of his shifts, helping Tommy with his physical therapy and cooking for him, staying in the guest bedroom when Tommy doesn’t protest.

It’s been a good facsimile, all things considered, but it’s slowly eating Tommy alive through uncertainty. Half of him wants to go on pretending forever but the other half keeps him up at night, wondering which morning is going to be the last one Evan spends with him. If Tommy were an outsider looking in, he’s sure he would tell the person in his shoes now that there’s no way Evan would walk away now--he’s spent too much time, invested too much energy into this relationship just to walk away. But being an outsider is a lot different than being in it. He’s too close, too scared to ask what’s next.

Evan wakes up from sleeping off his last shift before two days off when he finally starts to make noise about what’s going to happen now that Tommy is facing down going back to work and integrating back into normal life.

“So, Tommy,” Is how he starts, grabbing Tommy’s empty breakfast plate with own and stacking them in preparation to be taken to the kitchen. He sets them down on the coffee table and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re all healed up, back to work in a few days. I guess I, uh, should start staying back at my house.”

Tommy nods, and hums in agreement, before replying with “yeah, I guess that’s right.”

It feels inadequate, but Tommy never learned how to really fight for what he wants without being given express permission to do so. He wants Evan to ask him the last question. In a fit of courage, he tries.

“Do you want...do you want to ask me number 36? We should finish it, right?”

Evan looks a bit heartbroken, for just a second. His eyes close and his mouth turns downward. His body slumps just slightly forward. It all vanishes as quickly as it came though, and he wipes a hand down his face and then turns to look at Tommy directly, faux casual in the way he poses.

“Yeah, of course. Okay, 36. So it’s ‘share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen’.

“I want to try again, with someone I think could be the love of my life. I hurt them a lot though, and even though we’ve covered a lot of ground, and we know each other more than we ever did, and have gotten to somewhere I think is good, I’m still afraid to ask them outright if they could give me one last chance. What do you think I should do? How do you think I’m feeling about this?”

Evan looks at him, blue eyes and wine-colored birthmark and face full of hope and all. He smiles and blinks quickly, like his eyes have started to sting.

“I think it’s okay to be scared,” Evan says, leaning forward. “I’m scared too. But...please, please ask me, Tommy.”

“Evan,” Tommy starts, “If it’s okay with you I’ve got a 37th question. Will you try again with me? Now, after all of these questions? Do you like the person you learned about enough to try again?”

The look on Evan’s face is like sunlight breaking through the clouds; a grin stretching across his lips with no hesitation, eager determination in his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course, Tommy. I would love to.”

Any other words are quickly silenced by their lips meeting, hands grasping and hips and arms, desperation and homecoming all at once.

If someone needs to know me, Tommy thinks as he pulls Evan impossibly closer, I’ll be safe if it’s Evan.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #911 bucktommy #rob fics

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