#how many times can we fall in love in a night

[strawberrystepmom]

dante x f!reader. established relationship, a minor disagreement that ends up in hurt/comfort. | wc: 1.4k, reading time: ~5 minutes

“I’m coming with you.”

Your remark is firm while you practically chase after Dante who slumps down in the chair behind his desk for the briefest moment, pulling equipment from the drawers of his desk and putting it into his pockets. 

“No, you’re not.”

It irritates you how he won’t even look up, preoccupied with getting out of here. Your jaw slackens, eyes narrowing.

“Why not?”

Now he looks up, his own teeth clenched. 

“Because I’ve said no ten times and meant it every one.” 

He hates fighting with you. In fact, he hates telling you no about anything and you’re all too well aware of it judging by the way you seem to think you can wear his defenses down into a yes right now. 

Disengaging by looking down, he loads a few bullets into his guns which further irritates you. 

There’s no such thing as a truly unexpected job in his line of work. He gets calls at all hours of the day or night sometimes, reporting to wherever he needs to be to take care of business, but you don’t understand why he won’t let you come. It’s midday and he’s clearly playing coy about the threat level of whatever is out there meaning there may be a need for help.

Laughing sarcastically, you stand in place in front of his desk. 

“It amazes me how you are never this serious about a no until it has to do with what I want.”

Whipping his head upward so fast his hair falls out of place against his forehead, the man you love more than any other curls his lip and points all five of his fingers toward you, eyes wide.

“And it amazes me that you’ve never bothered to wonder why I'm so serious about it. How many times have we had this exact conversation?" 

There has never been a time where he’s raised his voice at you and he has no plans of starting now but you are seriously testing his patience. 

You fold your arms across your torso and raise your brows adversarially high. "I wish you’d just admit it’s because you think I'm weak and can't protect myself. Your little liability."

Finally, you push Dante to the point of a frustrated, humorless chuckle punctures the tense air of the room. You flinch in place, averting your eyes from him to other corners of the room that seem a lot easier to look at. Walls don't have eyes that pierce to your very soul the way his are right now, feeling them even if you don't see them.

"Will you please stop thinking the worst about me? I know better than anyone you can take care of yourself." 

He scoffs, another ironic chuckle following it. 

"In fact, this isn’t even about you. Have you ever thought for even a second that I keep you away from my jobs because I don't know what I would do if something happened to you? That nobody does?" 

You look up and he looks directly at you, brows furrowed. 

"Yeah, I've been called out about it before. By Trish and Lady and everyone who has ever seen the way I am when it comes to you." He shakes his head, rising from his seat behind the desk, reaching across it and grabbing your trembling hands. "They’ve all had the same thing to say about how you can't be around because my focus becomes keeping you safe."

He looks away from you, retreating to somewhere distant in his mind. 

"I catch myself thinking about a world without you sometimes and it's dark and heavy and...and I know I couldn't do it if I didn't have you."

"Do what?"

"Any of this.” He waves his hand around the waiting room of Devil May Cry dramatically. “Exist."

"Dante..." 

You click your tongue, chest aching at his words. They’re well meant but even the faintest insinuation of him stumbling into the bad shape he was when you first met makes you feel hollow.

"I mean it, sweetheart. You could come up with a hundred arguments and probably already have but I wish you wouldn't waste your time arguing with me about what the truth is. It’s not that you're weak, it's that I'm weak for you."

Now you feel like a real problem, pouting like a little girl while he airs out the truth. “Stop it.”

“No, you stop. Let me tell you how I feel and maybe, just maybe, actually listen to me for once.”

Pushing your fists against your eyes, you take a deep breath and allow the pressure of your knuckles to keep the levy holding back your tears from breaking. You probably look as pathetic as you feel standing there like this, shoulders slumped inward and breaths coming in staggered pants. 

Merciful man that he is, Dante never lets you suffer for long. 

You hear his footsteps round his desk in the  same pattern you memorized a long time ago, his warm arms coming to cradle you even if you won’t look at him. Your body naturally leans against his chest, fists pressed against his shirt, face hidden. 

“You’ve made me a man, not just someone pretending to be half one.” He unburies your face to kiss the tip of your nose, pulling you against his chest to bury your head beneath his scruffy chin. “And you’re one thing I wanna keep safe forever because of it. Is that so wrong?”

Shaking your head no, you sigh in lighthearted defeat. How can you put up a fight, especially when he is safely nestling his beating heart in your hand? You protect it, he protects you. 

It’s not all that bad of a deal when you really think about it. 

“You’re starting to give me a stomach ache,” you joke, lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes to kiss him. It’s a little brush of lips against lips, far less searing then how you usually approach. 

Still, it says everything. The pair of you remain locked together - two bodies and one shared soul - refusing to part even to continue the conversation. 

“Sorry for thinking the worst.” 

Your apology is only slightly muffled, mashed between his mouth and yours. He parts his lips to reply but chooses to kiss you instead, tongue dipping between lips he could not successfully exist without. You’ve given his world more than color, you’ve breathed life into every last corner of it. The least he can do is tell you so once in a while. 

Smiling against your lips, he stops for a breath and backs away enough to look down at you. 

“Let me know next time that happens so I can get ahead of it, okay?”  

A lighthearted reminder, sealed with another small kiss. The tension in the room gradually soothes itself, minute by passing minute. The safety of his arms even improves your mood slightly, your fists pressed against the center of his chest rather than over your eyes. 

“Please stay behind and let me come home to you in one piece.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you fight the urge to insist you need to continue fighting for your place in his life. He’s telling you clearly that you’ve earned it. 

“Alright,” you acquiesce, raising yourself up on tippy toes to kiss him again. 

Opening your mouth to continue speaking he shoots you a look, not venomous or dangerous, but serious. He doesn’t wanna argue about this again. 

You lean into him, big eyes staring. “Fine, God, okay. But you need to call me as soon as you’re done because I don’t know what I’d do without you either and cannot think about it so please don’t make me.”

Dante nods, chuckling. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Later on, after you’re less emotional and he’s home safe and sound, you’ll admit he’s right. You’ll mutter against his hair that he’s not merely a good man but the best one for thinking of you the way he does and that you constantly question if you deserve it or not. He’ll whisper to you that nobody has ever deserved it more, rocking you gently until you fall into a fitful sleep and leaving him awake for a little longer. 

Only then will he find himself alone enough to silently thank whatever force brought you, this stubborn, beautiful woman, into his life to save him. He’ll insist to this same force that he’s only making up for lost time by protecting you from danger to begin with. 

It happens every time.

[wlw-imagines]

Voicemail - Emily Prentiss x Reader (Criminal Minds)

a/n: we keep going!!!!! this is a personal victory for me - i don't think i have ever published this many fics ever

cw: explosion! that is it

summary: You and Emily have been circling each other for years, partners in the field, friends outside of it, and something undefined in between. You’ve both felt it. Neither of you has dared to name it.

Then, a case goes sideways. You’re separated during a raid. Your phone dies. Emily can’t reach you, she realises some important things.

Later on, still panicked, she leaves you a voicemail.

Part of the May Prompts: Day Six, voicemail

It starts like all good things do... quietly.

A missed moment here, a glance held just a second too long. You and Emily have worked together for years. Long enough to read each other’s silences, to finish each other’s reports mid-sentence, to predict each other’s next move in the field without saying a word.

There’s a rhythm to it, it's unspoken, easy. Banter in the car that softens into something warm. Shared takeout in hotel rooms when sleep feels too far away. Conversations in the quiet hum after cases, where the words don’t matter as much as the way she listens.

You notice the little things. The way she always checks your six before her own. How she carries an extra protein bar in her vest because you always forget to eat. The way her hand hovers at your back when the room gets too loud, like she can tell when your skin starts to itch with adrenaline.

It would be so easy to fall into her.

Sometimes, you think maybe you already have. Sometimes, you catch her watching you the same way.

But nothing happens. No lines crossed and no boundaries broken.

Garcia teases you about it constantly. She calls you 'Prentiss-adjacent', which she says is a lifestyle choice. JJ doesn’t say much, but she gives you this look whenever you and Emily brush hands and pretend it didn’t happen. The look that says you know she’s in love with you, right? The look that makes your stomach knot and you always make a choice to ignore.

You tell yourself it’s complicated.

That the team is family. That crossing that line would change everything.

And Emily… Emily never pushes.

Not even when she catches you watching her across the table during debrief. Not when you’re too tired to pretend you’re unaffected and lean against her shoulder on the flight home. Not even when you fall asleep there and she lets you stay.

She’s careful. Respectful.

You wonder sometimes if it’s fear that holds her back, or hope.

There’s a night in El Paso. You’re both up too late, the hotel air is dry and heavy. You’re splitting fries on the edge of your bed with a bad movie playing low in the background. She says something funny, it is dry, perfect, and it makes you laugh, too loud. She watches you. You feel it.

The moment stretches. Lingers.

You swear you could kiss her. She doesn’t look away and you think you will kiss her.

But then she blinks. Smiles. Looks down at the food between you like she didn’t just feel it too.

So you don’t move.

You just sit there. Almost touching. Almost saying it. Eventually, you tell yourself you’re playing the long game.

But some nights, alone in your own bed, you wonder if the game was actually over before you even got the chance to play.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It starts, as all things do in the BAU, with the first body.

Downtown D.C., 6:12 a.m. A parking garage tucked beneath a federal building. The car was rigged to detonate on ignition. One victim, a federal clerk, and a crater where her sedan used to be. The second comes four hours later. A brownstone in Columbia Heights. No warning, no call-in. Just an explosion that flattens two floors and takes a retired teacher with it.

By the time the Bureau pulls the BAU in, there’s already a weight pressing down on the team. It's heavy and suffocating. Bombings are always bad.

Random bombings are worse. There are often no demands. No manifesto. No sense of order. Just chaos in a city built on patterns.

Everyone feels it.

Garcia’s voice is tighter than usual in your ear, her normal routine dampened down. JJ hasn’t smiled once all morning. Hotch is clipped, short-tempered. Even Rossi’s jokes come sharp, brittle around the edges.

And Emily...

Emily keeps looking at you.

Not obviously. She’s too good for that. But it’s there, in the way she glances over during briefings, the way her hand lingers a second longer when she passes you files. In the field, she stands too close. Not protectively, no one on the team treats you like glass, but there’s something unmistakable in the way she watches your six today like it’s imperative. It's an instinct for her now, like breathing.

You don’t say anything. You never do.

It's late afternoon when you're canvassing with Reid, a routine sweep of the area around the latest blast. A witness reported a man pacing behind a hardware store with a heavy duffel bag an hour before detonation. It's probably nothing. Most things are. But you follow the lead anyway.

Reid splits off toward the front. You take the alley behind.

Your earpierce catches your attention, "Now be careful here," Emily's voice is low and guarded, a reminder for the both of you but mostly you. No one needs reminding but she has to say it, just in case, "You're looking for anything suspicious but that doesn't mean you push it."

"On it, Em." You promise, "Nothing yet." And Reid confirms similar news from his end too. "But it might be that we find a-"

And then it happens.

You feel it in your teeth before you hear it. That low, thrumming boom that knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s not right next to you but close enough. Close enough that the windows rattle, the sky flashes, and you’re thrown backward by the shockwave. Your ears ring. Your vision skews.

You hit the pavement hard. Brick scrapes your cheek. The scent of burning insulation fills your nose. Smoke rolls over you like fog, thick and chemical. You try to call it in, “This is-" A cough rips through you, "I’m-” There's a crackle in your voice, as the radio dips, "Em, I-" The radio dies in your ear.

Back at the mobile base, everything goes still. A blast, followed by your radio cutting out, silence. Emily doesn’t move at first. Doesn't even flinch as she hears your weak voice splutter out her name before being cut off. Her spine is straight. Her jaw locked.

“Was that—?” JJ starts, eyes wide.

Emily already knows.

“Where were they last? Her exact location?” she asks, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Garcia scrambles, her fingers flying. CCTV feeds. Cell tower pings. Anything.

“They were in the alley behind Bloom Street,” she says, breathless.

Emily is already moving.

She doesn’t wait for orders. Doesn’t explain. She just goes.

She's hurtling out the doors, down the street, around the corners. Reid is hovering just round the third corner she whizzes past and she almost slams right into him. There is a quick mental check that he is okay, he is upright with no visible marks - not that she can see. Emily quickly brushes off the immediate guilt that she only had you on her mind, never Reid, but now she knows he is safe. There is no time to speak. She doesn’t speak until she sees you.

You're cradled against the back of an ambulance, EMTs checking your vitals. Your knuckles are scraped raw. There's blood dried along your temple, and your breathing comes shallow, but steady.

You’re alive.

She stops short.

You look up, eyes squinting through the remaining curling smoke and ache. You smile. “Guess I found something, huh?”

She doesn’t smile back. Not yet. She just walks over and crouches beside you. Her hand finds your arm, light and steady, like if she lets go, you might disappear.

You lean into her touch without thinking.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, back at the motel, the adrenaline fades and the quiet closes in. Everyone retreats to their rooms. Reid’s icing his wrist. Rossi pours two fingers of scotch. JJ calls Will.

Emily stares at her phone.

She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, fingers curled tight in the sheets. The lamp glows low beside her. You’re in the room next door. Safe. Breathing.

And yet her hands won’t stop shaking.

She doesn’t plan it.

She just pulls up your number. Hits call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Then cuts to voicemail.

And still, she doesn’t hang up.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Emily has to keep reminding herself.

You may be bruised and exhausted, but you're safe. You’re sleeping off the worst of it in the next room, unaware of how close it got, how close she got to losing you.

She should walk away. She should let you rest. She should wait for morning, when your eyes open and you meet her with that tired smile you always save for her.

Instead, her voice, when it comes, is quiet. Too soft for a woman who’s stared down death more times than she can count. It’s a whisper she doesn’t intend for anyone else to hear.

“I know you’re okay.” She speaks into the waiting voicemail.

She leans her head back against the wall. Exhales like she’s been holding her breath since the explosion.

“I know you’re just in the next room. Breathing. Healing. Probably dreaming about not getting blown up.”

She huffs a laugh. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“But earlier, for a few minutes, I thought... I thought I was going to lose you. And I realized... if I had, I wouldn’t have said it. Not once. Not when it mattered.”

She swallows. Her fingers tighten around the phone.

“So I’m saying it now. Even if it’s the wrong time. Even if you’re not listening. Even if you’ll never hear this. I know you never listen to your damn voicemail but... I don't know, maybe it's a coward's way out...”

A pause. Then, barely a breath:

“I love you.”

She closes her eyes. Lets it sit there in the air between them, even if you’ll never know.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” she continues, quieter now. “Longer than I should’ve. Longer than I’ve let myself admit. But it’s true. It’s always been true.”

Her fingers twitch toward the hang-up button. She doesn’t press it.

“I don’t expect anything. I just… needed you to know. Because if anything ever happened and I hadn’t said it…”

She trails off.

Then softly, “Goodnight.”

She ends the call before she can say more. Before she does something really reckles. If it were up to her, she would knock on your door or curl up in the chair outside it just to listen to you breathe. But she doesn't. She can't.

She deletes the log from her phone immediately. No trace, nothing to remind her of the potentially idiotic move she has just made. It will now remain a distant memory that she can choose to ignore. However, she must admit, she feels better for the words being out there in the world.

She feels emotionally spent, and now, after a confession, she can rest.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You wake to sunlight pushing through the thin hotel curtains, pale and golden and warm against your face. Your body aches, deep and dull and everywhere, a patchwork of bruises and stiffness, the sharp memory of being too close to the blast echoing in your ribs.

But you’re alive.

You remember the scramble to safety. The radio calls that did make it through amongst the long silences where you felt so alone. The sound of Emily’s voice over comms, clipped, professional, but trembling at the edges.

You remember her hand on your back when you made it out. The way she held on, just a second too long. The way she didn’t let go even after the medics cleared you.

You push yourself upright, muscles protesting. A bottle of water waits on the nightstand. So does your phone, charging where someone, probably her, left it. There's a quiet hum to the room. No TV, no voices. Just the low buzz of distant city noise.

You rub at your eyes, then tap the screen of your phone.

One new voicemail.

Your heart jumps a little. Emily Prentiss. A timestamp that marks it as a late message. From last night. After the dust settled. After the adrenaline wore off. After you fell into this bed and didn’t move.

You hesitate. You feel the weight of the message as if it had actually weighted down your phone. You're not sure you can deal if it's a butt dial. You need it to mean something.

Eventually, you press play.

Emily’s voice filters through the speaker, it is low, uneven, tired. But something else is there too. Something unguarded.

“I know you’re okay.”

You freeze.

“I know you’re just in the next room. Breathing. Healing…”

You sit back slowly, the phone pressed tight to your ear. Every word is soft, but it hits hard. She doesn’t sound like the agent you’ve worked beside for years. She sounds like someone who almost lost the person she loved and didn’t know how to say it until it was almost too late.

Your throat tightens.

“I love you.”

You close your eyes.

God.

She said it. She really said it. Like the words had been waiting all this time, coiled up and burning.

You listen all the way through. Twice. Maybe even a third time.

You don’t delete it.

Instead, you save it.

Then you get up, carefully, tug on your hoodie, and step into the hall.

Her door is closed. You know she’s inside, her room is always next to yours. You’ve never questioned it. Garcia calls it convenient. JJ calls it obvious.

You don’t knock. Not yet.

Instead, you slide the phone back into your pocket and breathe.

Later. Not now.

She said it first. She said it when she thought it might be her only chance.

And that matters. That means everything.

When you finally see her, when she opens her door later that morning in sweatpants and a faded FBI tee, coffee in hand, hair still damp from the shower, you don’t say anything at first.

But you hug her.

Longer than usual.

And this time, she holds on.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Emily’s been quiet the whole plane journey home.

Not tense exactly, not visibly, but you know her too well not to see it. The way her jaw tightens when you crack a joke. The way her eyes flick to you too often, like she’s checking for damage. Like she’s checking for distance.

She’s giving you space. Or trying to.

She thinks you didn’t hear it. Or worse, that you did, and you’re choosing not to respond. She’s always been good at hiding her fear in the field, but this is different. This is personal. This is her heart, left unguarded in the dark.

And now she’s not sure what’s left of it.

The case had been wrapped by late morning. The bomber’s in custody, the paperwork is filed, and the team splits off in pairs as soon as your feet hit the jet. Some playing cards, others talking, one or two already on paperwork.

Despite her attempts at avoiding you, you and Emily end up in the back seats, alone.

Of course.

She lets her body relax into the leather, arms crossed loosely, head tipped back against the fabric. Her shoulders curve inward like she’s bracing for something... an impact, a silence, a goodbye. You watch the clouds rush past the window.

Then, “I got your message.”

Her eyes fly open. Her head turns sharply. “What?”

You glance at her, lips tugging into the smallest smile. “The voicemail. I heard it.”

Emily doesn’t move. Not at first. Her mouth opens, but whatever apology she’s about to form dies before it makes it out. “I’m s—” she starts, and that’s all it takes.

You shake your head gently. “Don’t be.”

The plane hums.

You shuffle in closer, slow and sure, until you’re in her space, not crowding, just close. Close like you always are, but this time there’s no pretending. No safe distance.

“Because I love you too.”

There. Said. Simple and clear.

Emily exhales, sharp and shaky, like she’s been holding that breath for a year. Maybe longer. “You do?” she says, and it’s not doubt, it’s disbelief. Hope, raw and cracking open.

You nod. “Yeah. I think I have for a while.”

Her lips part, eyes glinting, and you can see it all in her: the fear, the relief, the flood of everything she hasn’t let herself hope for.

Someone wins a round of cards at the other end, there's some laughter, applause.

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

You reach for her hand, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing hers until she laces them through yours.

“You could’ve told me,” you say softly.

She nods. “I know. I just didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You squeeze her hand. “You never would’ve.”

And she believes you.

Because you’re still here. You came back. And this time, there’s no almost. No missed timing. No unsaid thing left floating between hotel rooms and half-glances.

This time, it's real.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It's the next day and the moment you walk into the BAU together, you know you’ve been made.

It’s not the holding hands - you’re not, though your hands did brush on the way in, fingers hovering like it’s second nature now. It’s not even the matching coffees or the fact that you tried to arrive a minute apart on purpose like it wasn’t planned.

It’s the look on Garcia’s face.

She clocks you both from across the bullpen, blinks once, and immediately abandons her desk.

“You!” she stage-whispers, pointing dramatically. “And you!”

You open your mouth to deny, deflect, do anything that might buy you a few minutes of peace but Emily just lifts her coffee and takes a slow sip, as if to say go ahead.

Garcia gasps like you just proposed in the elevator.

“I knew it! Oh my god. Oh my god. When? No, don’t tell me yet, I want to guess. Vegas? The jet? Wait- were you secretly dating during that Seattle case last year?!”

Emily finally smirks, setting her coffee down on her desk. “You’re spiraling, Penelope.”

“That’s because I’ve waited years for this and no one told me!” Garcia clutches at her heart like you’ve both committed high treason. “JJ owes me twenty bucks. She said it wouldn’t happen until one of you almost died again.”

“Technically,” JJ says as she walks up, grinning, “I said it would take another near-death experience. Which it did.”

You groan. “You all bet on us?”

“Not bet,” Rossi says as he strolls past. “We just made… educated predictions.”

“I made a chart,” Garcia says brightly.

You blink. “A chart?”

“Oh yeah. Variables, timelines, body language analysis, shoulder-touch frequency. Spencer helped.”

Reid, from the coffee machine: “Their eye contact increased by twenty-seven percent after Denver. It was a trend.”

Emily chokes on her sip. “You graphed our eye contact?”

“And your coordinated outfits,” Garcia says. “But that part was less conclusive.”

“Wow,” you say. “I feel so… known.”

“Oh, honey,” JJ says, “we’ve known.”

She gives you a look. One you’ve seen a dozen times, in hotel hallways, beside SUVs, during post-case exhaustion when you’d sit too close and say too little. She saw it before you did. They all did.

And now, it’s just out in the open.

Emily reaches for your hand. It is subtle, brief, but steady. You don’t hide it.

“Hey, just so we’re clear,” Garcia says, spinning dramatically on her heel, “I’m officiating the wedding.”

“There’s no wedding,” Emily calls after her. "yet."

“Yet!” Garcia echoes from the hall with a whoop.

[hoiststowline]

_sunstreaker x bartender!reader

prompt: a bot runs an important item up to your place of work.

[a/n: hi!! please check out my lovely friends' versions of this prompt @drabbletron here, & @dommiso here!]

there was a lingering emotion that rattled his processor each time he watched you up the steps into your job, yourself easily ignoring his complaints on the subject. Sunstreaker wouldn’t call it loneliness, but it was a feeling adjacent to the tightness that seizes in his chassis. 

you had extended the sympathetic notion and reminder that it wasn’t as if you thoroughly enjoyed going to work, but it was a requirement and obligation that paid the bills. perhaps the more sour part of it all appeared to be that you had picked up a shift on a weekday that the two of you typically spend together, but Sunstreaker had scoffed when you tried to apologize. 

still, watching you disappear into the glass doors and out of his sight never quite gets any easier. others may observe his snarl as jealousy, when in reality, he was just an impatient ass and needy bastard all around. 

engine revving, he goes to take off in search of something to kill time for the next eight hours, but his wheels never move. gingerly, his rearview mirror tilts, catching the small metal object laying on the passenger seat. Sunstreaker has no idea what the device is, but he can count several times he’s caught you toying with it on drives home, only to shove it back into your pocket. 

curiously, his gaze moves from the leather seat back to the door. 

you hadn’t been behind the bar for more than five minutes when someone asked for a beer, your fingers immediately sliding into your front pocket to grab your wine key, only to find it empty. brow furrowed, you move down the bar to steal a co-workers, if only to get this beer open for the customer right in front of you. 

after cashing him out, your hands slide over your pants, realizing that your bottle opener was not on your person, something that would prove immensely annoying on a Friday night shift. 

“Forget something?”

prompted, you halt your frustrated pat down of your pockets, turning toward the new voice at your left. 

a laugh bubbles in your throat first, but know better than to release it. Sunstreaker’s holoform was not someone you were well acquainted with, only having witnessed such a treat a handful of times. he doesn’t appear all that pleased, your wine key somewhat lost in his hand, but still, he offers it to you. 

“Sunny,” you breathe, either in relief or adoration, the line remains hazy. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much” 

he grumbles a reply when your hand slips into his, retrieving the object from his palm. “It must’ve fallen out of your pocket. It was on your seat.” 

your seat. 

his description of the spot makes your heart skip a beat, but are forced to shelve such a sentiment for later. bringing it up now, especially in public, would not be doing yourself any favors for tonight, as he already was irritated you picked up this shift in the first place. 

“I appreciate you bringing it in.” reluctantly, your fingers fall away from his, if only to avoid the nosey stares from your co-workers. “I owe you one.” 

“How about we leave, and do something else instead.” Sunstreaker looms over the bar, to which you roll your eyes and move to begin counting inventory. “I’m serious, y/n.” 

“What, are you going to sit there all night and pout if I say no?” you return, turning your back on him to see what stock you needed. to some mild horror, upon looking back over your shoulder, Sunstreaker has taken residency on one of the many stools at your front.

“You aren’t serious, Sunny.” 

at your plea, your co-worker slides down your way, all to forward for your liking. “Hi. That’s your boyfriend's ride?”

both yourself and Sunstreaker turn to where they’re pointing, just out the front window to find the yellow lamborghini backed into one of the spots, facing the restaurant. 

“Yes.” Sunstreaker rumbles proudly.

simultaneously, you respond with an annoyed groan. “No.”

is that what organics referred to their partners, boyfriend? all to much having his ego stroked, he was unable to help the small smile that adhered to his holo-form. Sunstreaker liked that title, and admired it even more when someone else referred to you and him as such. 

shuffling away from the other bartender, you try to scrounge some patience to ask in the nicest way possible. “Sunny, can you please go?”

to your dismay, he confirmed the answer you knew he was going to provide. “No. I think I’ll stay.”

Sunstreaker was foolish to ever disregard or question your skill, indifferent to your explanation when you had tried to explain that mixing drinks was similar, but vastly unconnected between your species. watching you bartend was entrancing, and every so often you’d blow him a kiss over your shoulder, seemingly gotten over the fact that he decided to hang around your station. 

your co-worker kept bouncing their gaze between him and the car outside, obviously distracted by his presence, attempting to figure him out, he assumes. Sunstreaker’s evidently permanent scowl likely didn’t help the equation, as how could someone as friendly as you find affection for him. 

he is well aware of your polar opposite personalities, and has heavily dwelled on such an observation before. even the way you chat with who he assumes are total strangers, a gentle twinkle in your eyes as you multitask. you’re a wonder to watch. 

“I pour liquor.” you’d softly laughed at his ogling, catching the way he fumbles with a coaster that had been discarded on the bar. “There’s nothing spectacular about that.” 

Sunstreaker wishes to praise you, the sentiment sits in his mouth, but it never escapes. the effortlessness that you possess is entrancing, and that is not strictly adhered to your occupation. you are so jovial, as if blessed with a never yielding patience for his irksome personality at times. he’s definitely made strides to better behave himself, but surveying you so naturally in your element has him questioning your rationale for putting up with him. 

“Opposites attract,” you’d shrugged in response, a genuine smile on your face, meaning the words you say wholeheartedly.

[slytherin-pen]

Pup

pairing: Fenrys x Reader

word count: 1.5k

a/n: written for day 2 of @sjmxreaderweek friends/family. tried to get a little creative, so you and Fen adopt a new family member 🤍

The war left behind many things. Crumbled buildings, charred forests, and scars. But worst of all, it left behind children with no family left to care for them.

You started working at the orphanage in Orynth after Aelin had been rightfully crowned Queen and the others had settled into their new positions. Aelin had offered to give you the emissary position alongside Fenrys, but you had declined. Something about the children called to you.

It wasn’t glamorous work, but it mattered. Feeding small mouths. Rocking trembling bodies. Wiping away tears. You tried not to fall in love with each of them.

But then there was him. A boy named Dakota.

He was six when a few Bane soldiers found him, crouched and trembling in the hollow of a tree near Allsbrook. When you first saw him, he was tucked into a corner on the floor of the orphanage’s intake room. There was no telling how long he had been out there for, but based on how emaciated he was—it had been quite some time. Matted black hair fell into his green eyes. Dirt and dried blood clung to his face.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. He barely ate. But something about the look in his eyes reminded you of your mate. Fenrys.

That night, you sat beside him in your shared rooms at the castle, cross-legged on the rug, picking at a tray of meat and cheese while Fenrys read a book on the couch. The fireplace cracked gently between you, casting your shadows together on the walls.

“I’m worried about him,” you whispered.

Fenrys looked up from his book, his brown eyes steady on you. “The boy?”

You nodded. “Dakota. He won’t talk. He barely eats, and gods know he needs to. He’s a wolf shifter like you, but they made him shift back as soon as he got to the orphanage. Something about not scaring the other kids.”

Fenrys set his book down, his face softening with sympathy. “He’s mute?”

“I guess so. Me and the other orphanage workers have tried talking to him, even the other kids, but he hasn’t said a word. We don’t know anything about him.” You sighed, your shoulders sagging and pushed the tray of food to the side. “I don’t know what to do. How can I help him if I don’t know what he needs?”

“Take me with you tomorrow,” Fenrys said.

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said gently. “I want to try something.”

The next morning, the orphanage buzzed with the usual chaos. You brought Fenrys in through the back courtyard to avoid overwhelming the children.

Dakota was sitting in his usual spot in the corner of the sitting room, knees pulled to his chest, eyes tracking the movement of everyone in the room.

You knelt beside Dakota. “This is Fenrys. He’s my mate. He wants to try to help you.”

Dakota didn’t answer, didn’t look away. But his gaze sharpened.

Fenrys crouched beside you, then slowly shifted.

One moment, he was a broad, golden-haired male. The next, he was a massive white wolf pressing low to the floor in submission.

Dakota’s eyes widened.

He didn’t move for a long moment. Then, with jerky, unsure limbs, he got on all fours and shifted too.

It was the first time anyone at the orphanage had seen his wolf form.

Small. Jet black fur like his hair. Even in wolf form his malnourishment showed, his ribs and hip bones protruding.

Fenrys didn’t approach. He simply lowered himself impossibly further to the floor and wagged his tail once.

Dakota crept forward, step by step, until they were nose-to-nose.

You could see it then. It wasn’t words or speech, but something different. A language of movement, scent, and sound. Wolves didn’t need spoken words to understand each other.

They played in the courtyard that afternoon.

They weren’t rough or loud. But a quiet, soft tumble of paws and playful nudges. Dakota made a sound—a tiny huff of breath that could almost have been a laugh.

You smiled as you watched them. This was a big step for Dakota. He had yet to play with the other children. He always remained in the corner watching vigilantly for any sign of threats. Your eyes burned as Fenrys rolled onto his back, exposing his stomach and Dakota’s small form gently pounced on him.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Fenrys came with you to the orphanage every morning, unless duty called him elsewhere. The other children grew to love him quickly, but Dakota remained glued to his side.

They ran in the garden together and curled up on the porch under the sun together in wolf form.

At night, you often worked the late shift. You used to hear Dakota’s cries from down the hallway but ever since Fenrys began coming the cries had grown rarer.

You still checked. Still peeked in to make sure he was okay but now you usually found him with Fenrys’s old cloak draped over him.

One evening at home, you sat on the bed with Fenrys’s head in your lap, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“He’s getting better,” you murmured.

Fenrys nodded, eyes closed. “He has something familiar now. His parents were likely wolves too.”

You hesitated before asking what had been on your mind for days. “What do you think about adopting him?”

Fenrys blinked up at you. “Us?”

You nodded. “He’s doing better with you, finally acting like a kid…or a pup.”

You both chuckled.

“But there are so many triggers at the orphanage. The other kids, they’re kind, but they have their own trauma too. Some throw tantrums or objects and it can be triggering. And there is just always so much going on, too much to give him the one-on-one time he needs. I mean all the kids need extra love but when he can’t talk and we can’t be there all the time…I worry.”

Fenrys sat up slowly, the mood shifting from sleepy to serious. “And you think he would do better with us?”

“I know he will. It will be up to him, of course, but he needs to feel safe, and a routine, and if he was with us he could be in wolf form whenever he wanted.”

Fenrys reached for your hand and squeezed. “Then let’s ask him.”

The next day, you brought Dakota into the garden behind the orphanage where Fenrys was already waiting.

You knelt beside Dakota. “Honey, Fen and I want to talk to you about something important.”

He looked up at you with those sharp green eyes. Always watching.

You took a breath. “How would you feel about us adopting you?”

He blinked.

You kept your voice gentle. “You’d have your own room. You could see Fenrys whenever you want. No loud rooms. No restrictions on when you can be a wolf. Just a home and a family who loves you.”

Dakota looked back and forth between the two of you, then slowly wrapped his arms round you in a hug.

When you looked up, Fenrys was already looking at you with the biggest smile on his face.

That night, after finalizing paperwork, you brought Dakota home.

The castle felt different with a child in it. It had been a full house already with you, Fenrys, Rowan, Aelin, and how often their friends stayed over despite having their own homes.

Dakota explored in small doses, sticking mostly to your quarters and the gardens. He still hadn’t spoken, but you and Fenrys had learned his tells. The tilt of his head when he was curious. The twitch of his fingers when he was scared. The way he leaned into you when he needed comfort.

You decorated his room together. Dark navy blue walls like the night sky with stars and a crescent moon. A bean bag in the corner for when he was overwhelmed, and after learning he could read you got him books at various levels.

Fenrys and Dakota often roamed the castle together in wolf form, sometimes startling visiting courtesans. You learned Dakota loved to help cook, so before he and Fenrys went on their evening run through the woods he’d help you prep dinner, sometimes sneaking bites here and there. You’d teasingly scold him, but inside you were jumping with joy. He was finally putting on weight and every bite counted.

One night, as you were tucking him in, Dakota touched your hand and held it to his cheek.

A thank you.

You brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “We love you, pup. Always.”

Weeks turned into months. He started to hum. The same lullaby you sang to him. The same melody Fenrys whistled as he completed reports.

Dakota took to drawing. Quick, scratchy sketches that grew more detailed over time. Wolves. Trees. A trio of figures with linked hands. You, Fenrys, and him.

One evening, you stood in the doorway while Fenrys tucked Dakota into bed. Your mate kissed his brow and pulled the covers up to his chin.

After Fenrys closed the door he pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to your temple.

“He’s like a completely different kid,” he murmured.

You nodded into his chest. “He just needed time and love.”

“Do you think he’ll ever speak?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “I think… he already does. We just had to learn the language.”

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[hazelira]

you left me in a future I built alone

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

Y/N sat on her living room floor, surrounded by pieces of a life that once belonged to them. Once tucked away in the back of her closet, a box had finally come to light. Dust clung to the edges of the cardboard as if time was telling her to leave it alone. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

She flipped the lid open slowly, hands trembling as she stared at the remnants of their shared dreams—pictures, notes, memories—things she’d kept, locked away like a secret heart. Her heart.

A photo of them smiling at a park on a sunny afternoon was pinned at the top. Her favorite picture. It was from years ago, from before he left. The memories that followed were quieter and less colourful. He’d been gone for so long, yet she couldn’t let go of him.

There was a scrapbook of their first anniversary, the first night they’d stayed together, and their first kiss that still felt like it had just happened yesterday. Y/N’s fingers ran over the edges of the pages, tracing the corners of the photos.

The most painful part, though, was the Pinterest board. She’d never shown him, not in the way she wanted to. But it was carefully pinned there—a lifetime of dreams made for them. The Wedding, The Honeymoon, Our First House. She’d imagined it all: the dresses, the flowers, the vows she promised herself she would say.

But that was before he told her the words that shattered the future she thought they were building together.

"You deserve someone ready. I'm not. Don’t wait for me."

Her heart broke as those words returned to her, sharper now, as she looked at their old photo.

Three Years Ago...

“I don’t want to tie you down,” Ni-ki had said, his voice low and careful, eyes avoiding hers. “I have to go. You deserve better than this...”

She remembered how hard she fought against the tears. She wanted to say anything that could make him stay, but in the end, she had done nothing but nod, broken, and watch him walk away. He left with the silence between them louder than any argument could’ve been.

She had waited. Of course, she waited. And in the meantime, she built the life she thought he would return to. She kept that board—those dreams—alive in her heart, even when everything around her felt like it was falling apart. She loved him, him, not just the idea of him. She loved how his eyes softened when he smiled, how his laugh felt like home, and how they fit together like puzzle pieces.

But that wasn’t enough.

“You deserve someone ready.”

And maybe that was the truth she hadn’t wanted to hear. Perhaps she hadn’t been enough.

But tonight, she wasn’t sure she could hold onto any of it anymore.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the screen of her phone, the message thread with him staring back at her. The words were simple. “I’ll always come back, Y/N. I’ll always find my way back to you.”

She closed her eyes and let out a bitter and hollow laugh. He hadn’t come back. Not the way she needed.

The doorbell rang, cutting through her quiet misery. She didn’t want to answer it. Not tonight. Not with the memories of him still fresh and painful.

But there he was, standing on the other side, older. The years had been kind to him, but something was heavy in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that look in a long time.

“Ni-ki,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

He offered her a small, uncertain smile. “Can we talk?”

Present Time...

He sat across from her, his gaze flicking around the apartment like he was searching for something—maybe for the Y/N he used to know or something he could hold onto.

She wanted to say so many things. To ask why he hadn’t stayed. To demand the answer that would have healed her wounds long ago. But instead, the silence filled the space between them.

“Why did you leave?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, but the pain was sharp enough to cut through the years that had passed. She swallowed hard, her heart cracking. “I waited. I waited for you.”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, eyes flickering to the floor. “I wasn’t ready for you. I wasn’t ready for any of this. I still... I’m not sure I am.”

Y/N looked down at the floor, biting her cheek to hold back tears. She felt stupid, foolish, for thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’d come back and apologize for all the pain he caused.

She pulled the box closer, holding it out in front of him. “I kept this. All these things. For us. I thought...” She let out a choked laugh. “If I kept them, you’d come back, and we could... build that future together.”

He didn’t reach for the box. He didn’t touch anything in it.

“I never wanted to be someone you waited for,” he said, his voice softer now but still distant. “I wanted to be the person you needed. But I couldn’t be that for you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. The hurt was so raw. He was right, though. He couldn’t be the person she needed because he wasn’t the person who was ready for her. And that wasn’t her fault.

And it wasn’t her choice.

“You don’t get to come back now and be the man I needed then.”

Her voice trembled as the words left her lips, their finality settling in her chest. She had truly loved him, but sometimes, love wasn’t enough to make someone stay. Sometimes, it wasn’t even about how much you loved them. It was about whether or not they could love you the same way.

She stood, her legs weak beneath her. Ni-ki didn’t move and didn’t reach out.

“I think we both know,” she whispered, “that this isn’t how it was supposed to end. But it’s over.”

She walked past him, not looking back, not even knowing if she could ever forgive him—or herself—for holding onto something that was never hers to keep.

And as he left, the weight of the unspoken truth was clear: you can’t make someone stay. No matter how much you love them.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @pinkglitterpuke!! What was I thinking?! UH YOU LIKE ANGST SO THIS IS MY BDAY GIFT TO YOU! HERE'S SOME TISSUES IN CASE YOU ACTUALLY CRIED!

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[giababyyyishereee]

Finally, Just Us

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

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

You both had been running on fumes for weeks—her with the endless promo shoots and late-night studio sessions, you with work and deadlines and too many alarms. The “I miss you” texts had turned into sleepy “wish you were here” voice memos, and every moment together lately had felt borrowed.

But today was different.

No alarms. No makeup calls. No rehearsals. Just Billie and you, tucked into your quiet little corner of the world.

“Do we… remember how to do this?” Billie mumbled, still in her hoodie and shorts, hair pulled back messily as she leaned against the fridge, watching you rummage through cabinets.

“Make pasta?” you asked.

“No. Be normal people in love.”

You smirked. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been normal this whole time. You, on the other hand…”

She threw a dishtowel at you, laughing.

Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Billie danced terribly to some playlist you threw on. She kept sneaking bites of the chopped veggies before they made it into the pan, and somehow managed to drop an entire spoonful of tomato sauce on the floor—and blamed you for distracting her.

“Maybe if you didn’t wear that tank top,” she said with mock seriousness, licking a bit of sauce off her finger.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help grinning. “You’re impossible.”

“But cute,” she added, booping your nose.

Dinner turned out edible (a win), and you both crashed on the couch with full stomachs and tangled limbs. You picked some movie neither of you really cared about—it was just noise, background to the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the way her fingers slowly traced shapes on your arm.

Halfway through the film, she shifted, resting her head in your lap, eyes fluttering shut.

“You falling asleep?” you whispered, running your fingers gently through her hair.

“Mmhm. ‘S your fault. Too comfy.”

You smiled, heart full. “We can pause it.”

“No… don’t care about the movie. Just stay.”

And so you did. The lights dimmed. The TV kept playing. And the world outside could spin as fast as it wanted—because tonight, it was just you two. Wrapped up in the quiet, finally still.

Together.

[witchygagirlwrites]

How Dare You

Jay Halstead x Reader

He broke your heart years ago yet can’t stay away from you when he sees you at his lowest ( @desimarie12 always coming through when I need her to feed the chaos)

Warnings: Cheating, lying, heartbreak, little smidge of sexual happenings

Jay knew he fucked up. The moment he spotted you in the bar. He hadn’t seen you in a couple years, hell matter of fact last he’d even spoke to you was when you’d called to let him know you saw Mouse when you were permanently placed near Bolivia.

The damn dress you wore hugged the curves he remembered so damn well. Your hair was down loose, laughter falling from your lips. You hadn’t spotted him but damn if he couldn’t sit here all night and just watch you. 

The last time you two were face to face it had been an implosion, he wanted you to stay in Chicago. You’d just made GS-14. You were offered a position on the international team for the FBI. He could still remember that fight word for word “If you love me so damn much than commit beyond being my boyfriend! I can’t fucking put my career second for you, no matter how much I love you!” 

He couldn’t, no matter how he’d felt. He couldn’t. Now here he sat, his marriage to Hailey falling apart, his entire life holding on by a single thread and fate was choosing to mock him one more time.

You stood to head to the bathroom but froze when your eyes landed on him. “Jay” just hearing your voice stopped the world spinning. You shook your head and he could see the wheels turning in your head, clocking exit routes..ways out of this. You were handling facing him like an op. 

“Hey sweetheart” it slipped out before he could pull it back and he realized he didn’t want to. You took a step back, patted yourself down and must have realized you had what you needed because you turned and damn near ran for the door, shoving a few people out of your way in the process.

He stood and followed you, slipping his wedding ring off and shoving it into his pocket. You were waving down a cab when he caught up with you. He called your name and saw your shoulders stiffen before you turned to face him “Hey Jay”

He smiled “Didn’t know you were in Chicago” you shrugged “My brother had a baby, I flew in to meet my nephew. Caught up with some friends” he nodded slowly “How-How have you been?” You rolled your eyes “I’ve been fine since you ripped my heart out and stomped on it, thanks”

“Baby, that's not what happened” he offered and you shook your head “Don’t! You don’t get to call me baby or sweetheart or or princess! Not after I knew,I knew you planned to propose to Erin without even being with her then we dated for how long Jay? I nearly lost my job for you! I took a fucking bullet for you and you still didn’t love me enough”

“Can we just talk? Catch up?” He asked and you shook your head “Why? Couldn’t find anyone else tonight and just assumed?” He took a step forward and when you didn’t move away he reached for your hand “Maybe because I know letting you go was the worse thing I have ever done”

“You can save me twenty bucks and give me a ride to my hotel” you offered and he nodded. “Anything”

Jay listened to you talk about the cases you’d worked, places you’d seen. He loved the passion in your voice. He had always loved that about you, you dug your heels into everything.

He wanted nothing more than to lay his hand across the console, slip his fingers into yours but he had to keep silencing the texts from Hailey. You luckily hadn’t noticed.

 “How have you been?” You asked and he sighed, what was he supposed to say? “I’m losing my fucking mind? My marriage is over. My life changed for the worse the day you left and I don’t know how to walk it back? I’ve killed people and covered up so damn many deaths and crimes” 

Instead he smiled and just gave you the bare minimum of the last few years. You nodded “Sounds like the normal intelligence insanity” he pulled up to your hotel and you unbuckled “Was good seeing you Jay” you leaned across the seat and slipped your arms around him to hug him. 

One moment you were hugging, the next your lips met each other’s. His hand went to grip the side of your face, turning it so he could deepen the kiss and swipe his tongue into your mouth. You whined lightly and god that sound? After this long? It killed him. 

You pushed against his chest “Jay, we can’t” “Why not?” He asked and you shrugged “I’m leaving in the morning, Chicago isn’t my home any more. Hell we haven’t seen each other in years” “One night baby” he pleaded, lips teasing at the base of your neck the way he knew you loved and when your head fell back, breath hitching slightly he knew you were going to give in. “Fuck it, come up to my room at least”

“You’re single right?” You asked Jay, breaths coming in harsh pants. You could feel the head of his cock teasing at your entrance and mentally kicked yourself for falling into bed with him but damn this man still owned a huge piece of your heart. “Yeah sweetheart” he promised, catching your lips in a gentle kiss so you nodded and spread your legs a little further as an invitation.

He buried his face in the bend of your neck as he slowly pushed into you, a moan leaving you both as he stretched you around him. “Fuck, I missed you” he moaned, leaving wet kisses across your neck anc chest “I missed you too Jay” you managed once the stretch faded.

He pushed himself up on his arms and smiled at you before giving a slow thrust of his hips into yours. A light gasp left you and he chucked low “Those damn sounds, they’ve always been everything”

You were laying across Jay’s chest, one leg thrown over his waist. “My flight leaves at six” you spoke and he laughed “is that you kicking me out?”

You shook your head “Just me telling you i need sleep” he grinned “Then go to sleep baby, I’ll stay here and curl up next to you then head home in the morning” you shook your head and turned to get comfortable. He got up to go use the bathroom and you heard his phone chime a few times in a row. Normally you wouldn’t think anything of it but what if it was a case?

You stepped off the bed and grabbed his jeans. The moment you slipped his phone out the back pocket you saw a text from Hailey..his partner? It read when are you coming home? You immediately felt your stomach drop.

You clicked on the text thread between him and her and the more you read the more nauseous you felt. He was with her. There was texts of him telling her he loved her.

When he came out the bathroom you turned around slowly and his eyes widened when he saw the phone in your hand “Baby, I can explain” you shook your head and threw the phone at him “Get out” you picked up his jeans and threw them but something fell out and hit the floor. 

You and him both stared at it before reality set in. It was a wedding ring. He wasn’t just with Hailey. He’d married her. You picked it up with shaking hands “You could try to marry Erin when you weren’t even with her, you can marry your partner but I’m only good enough for a fuck huh?”

“I love you” he tried and you threw the ring at him “GO TO HELL JAY!! YOU HAVE MADE IT CLEAR TIME AND AGAIN YOU DON'T LOVE ME. YOU NEVER DID”

He took a step towards you and you held a hand up “Get out, goddammit get out. How dare you make me the other woman? How dare you make me an accessory in you cheating? How dare you fucking lie when I ASKED!” 

“I needed you” he tried and when he got close enough you slapped him “Get your clothes and get out. I’m getting mine on and catching a sooner flight. I’m getting the fuck out of Chicago tonight”

He slipped his clothes on and before he walked out the door looked at you “I didn’t lie when I said letting you go was the worst thing I’ve ever done” and he’d done some pretty horrible things. “Get out” you all but whispered. The moment he closed the door he heard what sounded like the bedside lamp crash against it followed by a scream being pulled from your lips he was certain would get security called. He wanted to go back in, comfort you but once again he’d done this.

[am0ralexis]

Falling in Love Slowly at 3AM (fluff) 🩷

You met Alex the way most people met online in 2018—through mutual chaos.

It was a Twitter thread about Toontown, of all things. Some dumb meme about how Cogs were the IRS and Toons were the resistance. He replied with something completely unhinged, and for whatever reason, you followed him back.

It was never supposed to be serious. Just someone to laugh with. Someone who understood being a little too online at 2 a.m. But the thing about Alex was—he was always around. And so were you.

And somehow, it just stuck.

The first call was for Toontown.

“DUDE. DUDE. Get on. I need backup for a four-story Cog building and everyone else bailed.”

You didn’t even know how he had your Discord, but you answered anyway.

“Are you really trying to do a boss battle at 1:40 in the morning?”

“Yes. I am committed to the bit.”

That night turned into three hours of gameplay, chaotic screaming, and gasping laughter when Alex misspelled his own Toon name and ended up running around as “Quacktiy” for the next hour and a half.

It was stupid. And fun. And easy.

You started playing more after that. Toontown, Club Penguin private servers, scribble.io, weird browser horror games that barely functioned. It wasn’t about the games. It was about the calls. The back-and-forth. The “holy shit I’m actually wheezing” kind of laughter. The random midnight messages:

Alex: “I can’t sleep so I’m watching conspiracy videos about Chuck E. Cheese animatronics. Want the link.”

You: “I’m in bed.”

Alex: “Coward.”

You: “Send it.”

He was all energy and sharp jokes when he was awake, but some nights he got quieter. Softer. You’d both be on a call, not even playing anything, just existing in the background of each other’s lives.

“Hey,” he’d say sometimes, voice scratchy and low from too many hours online, “you doing okay?”

And if you said no—he never tried to fix it. He just stayed.

“You wanna call again tomorrow?”

“Yeah. If you’re free.”

“I’m always free for you.”

You didn’t talk about that part. The part where “friend” didn’t quite feel like the right word anymore. Not yet.

It was slow.

So slow you almost didn’t notice the way his voice made you feel safe. The way your chest warmed when you saw his name pop up. The way he sent you music at 3 a.m. and said “this feels like something you’d cry to but in a good way.”

You started looking forward to the quiet calls more than anything else.

Sometimes he’d be half-asleep, mumbling nonsense into the mic.

“You ever think we’re like… weirdly good at this? Like the friend thing.”

“We spend five hours a day on Toontown together, Lex.”

“I know, but like. You get me. That’s not normal.”

He never said what that meant. You didn’t ask.

You just stayed in the call. Because some people were loud in your life for a moment, but Alex? He crept in through the cracks and made a home out of the spaces no one else saw.

He was your 3 a.m. comfort person.

And if you were honest?

You were pretty sure you were his, too.

————-

It was 3:12 a.m. when your phone buzzed.

Not a text.

A call.

Lex.

You blinked blearily at the screen, already halfway under your blanket, but your stomach dropped at the timing. He didn’t usually call this late. Not unless it was serious.

You answered immediately.

“Lex?”

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just breathing.

You sat up straighter. “Lex, hey. What’s wrong?”

There was a pause, then his voice—quiet. Cracked.

“Sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Your chest tightened. “It’s okay. You can always call me.”

Another pause. Then:

“My dad threw my fucking Switch out the window.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I was just playing,” he said, voice rising and breaking all at once. “Literally just playing and laughing and being loud and he said I was annoying and I didn’t listen so he grabbed it and—threw it. Out. The fucking. Window.”

You could hear him swallow hard on the other end.

“I went outside after and it was just in pieces on the sidewalk,” he said, voice trembling. “And like—I know it’s stupid. I know it’s just a console but it was mine. It was the only thing that like—made shit feel normal sometimes.”

You sat in stunned silence, heart aching.

“It’s not stupid,” you whispered. “Lex, it’s not stupid at all.”

He exhaled shakily, and your gut twisted at the sound.

“I just—today sucked, okay? I don’t wanna be annoying, but like…” He sniffled quietly. “This girl I liked laughed when I told her. Like full-on laughed. Then told me she liked someone else. Like I was a fucking joke.”

You pressed a hand to your chest.

“And my brother keeps coming in my room being loud and touching my shit, and my sister’s barely home anymore ‘cause she’s got work or her boyfriend or whatever, and I just—I don’t know.”

You heard him go quiet again.

Then, soft as you’ve ever heard him:

“I think I’m just kinda lonely right now.”

You closed your eyes.

And because there wasn’t a single thing you could do from across the screen except be there, you whispered back the one truth you had:

“You’re not alone right now.”

Another pause.

Then his voice—barely there:

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “You have me. Always.”

He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t hang up, either.

The call stayed open. You stayed awake.

And that night, you just listened—through all the quiet breathing and the pauses and the way he kept randomly mumbling about stupid little things like Toontown bosses and creepy videos he’d never get to show you now.

You stayed.

Because you knew what he didn’t know how to ask for.

Because that night? You were home.

The call had gone quiet.

Not in a bad way—just that still, heavy kind of silence where everything’s been said and now it’s just… there. His breathing was steady, soft in your ear, but he hadn’t spoken for a while.

You didn’t want to push.

But you also couldn’t just sit there listening to him feel like that.

So you went scrolling—through your saved videos, through old Twitter likes, until you found something completely fucking stupid: a clip of some guy screaming “I LIVE IN SPANISH HARLEM BABY” while trying to grind a shopping cart down a rail and absolutely eating shit.

You grinned to yourself.

You clicked Share.

To: Lex

Caption: “this is literally you when you try to stream at 4am and knock your mic over”

Your phone buzzed.

“Did you just send me something?” he mumbled, voice still hoarse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Just watch it.”

You waited.

There was a moment of silence as the video played.

Then—

“…What the fuck—”

And then it came.

That broken, wet, startled kind of laugh. The one that starts as a snort and dissolves into a full-on laugh-cry, like his body didn’t know whether to fall apart or hold it in. Like it hurt, but it felt good.

“Dude,” he sniffled between laughs. “What the fuck was that—”

“Tell me that’s not you, though.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then softly—so softly—

“No. I don’t.”

Another pause. Then, even quieter:

“Thanks.”

You didn’t say “for what.” You didn’t have to.

You just whispered, “Always,” and sat there, listening to the sound of his breath even out again.

After the video broke the silence, everything felt a little lighter.

Still heavy, yeah—but not crushing anymore.

You could hear it in the way he laughed. The way he cleared his throat after, like he was embarrassed for even making a sound that real. The way he quietly asked, “You got more?” like he didn’t want to risk breaking the spell.

You smiled. “Oh, do I.”

That night turned into a spiral of the stupidest, most cursed content you could find. Creepy PSAs that devolved into nonsense. Web cartoons with MS Paint animation and deranged voiceovers. A 2008-era Flash game with sentient salad. Half of it didn’t even make sense.

But that was the point.

He started talking more again. Laughing more, too. At one point he was literally crying from laughter at a video of a seagull getting hit in the face with a hotdog bun while a woman screamed in the background.

“Why does that feel personal?” he wheezed. “That’s like—me. That’s me as a bird.”

“Because you’re loud and dramatic and you’d absolutely start a fight in a Wendy’s parking lot.”

“You get me.”

You played a browser game together after that—something glitchy and chaotic where you had to avoid falling into holes while also throwing cheese at cartoon rats. You both sucked at it. You died within the first two minutes every time.

But he laughed. A lot.

And that meant everything.

It was sometime around 4:47 a.m. when you noticed the silence again—but this time, it was different.

You looked at your phone.

Still connected.

Still in call.

“Lex?” you whispered.

Nothing. Just soft breathing. Maybe a quiet sigh.

You waited a minute. Two.

He was asleep.

You didn’t hang up.

You pulled your blanket around your shoulders, dimmed your screen, and laid back down, still listening to the steady rise and fall of his breath through the mic. The little background noises. The comfort of just knowing he wasn’t alone anymore, even if he didn’t know you were still there.

“Goodnight, Lex,” you whispered.

And you stayed.

Like always.

——————-

It was almost 10 p.m. your time when your phone lit up with a Discord call. No warning, no message.

Just Lex is calling.

You blinked at the screen from where you were curled up in bed, hair in a bun, laptop halfway into an old comfort rewatch.

You smiled and answered.

“Hey—”

“Dude, I have the whole house to myself right now,” he said immediately, voice a little too loud and a lot excited. “They all left. They went out to dinner or some shit and I stayed behind and now I’m just here. Alone. With my own space. I’m basically an adult now.”

You laughed. “Oh wow. A king in his castle.”

“Literally!” he said. You could practically hear him grinning. “I’m drinking a Capri Sun and I just walked around in a towel for like fifteen minutes. I’m living the fucking dream.”

“Proud of you,” you said, giggling. “What are you gonna do with your freedom? Trash the place? Make an unhinged tweet? Run around shirtless listening to aggressive dubstep?”

“…Okay first of all, rude, that’s a Tuesday. But no. I actually wanted to show you something.”

There was a little shuffling on his end. He set the phone down, and you heard his voice come through a little distant. “Okay so like. Don’t make fun of me. But I’ve been learning this song on piano and it kinda reminds me of you.”

Your breath caught. “You play piano?”

“Not well,” he said quickly. “Just messing around. But I dunno. I played it earlier when everyone left and I was like, ‘I kinda wanna play this for her.’ So. Sit tight.”

You heard the creak of the bench. The sound of him settling in.

Then: the first few notes. Soft. A little uneven. But real.

You weren’t sure what the song was—something wistful and gentle, like the end of a rainy day. The kind of thing that made your chest ache in a quiet way. It wasn’t perfect, but it was him. You could hear it in the way he played. Like he was trying to say something without saying it.

It only lasted about a minute before he stopped and let out a breathy laugh.

“That was so cringe. I don’t even know why I did that—”

“No,” you cut in quickly. “That was really sweet.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. I loved it.”

You could hear him smiling through the mic.

And even though there were thousands of miles and a two-hour time difference between you, it felt—for a second—like he was right there. In the same room. Sitting beside you on the floor, shy and proud, trying to impress you without saying he was trying to impress you.

“So,” he said, a little quieter now. “Wanna stay on the call while I fuck around with this? I can play you cursed versions of pop songs next.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Let me just grab another Capri Sun and then I’ll play you the worst version of Bohemian Rhapsody you’ve ever heard.”

And you stayed on the line, smiling at your screen in the dark, listening to him mess up piano notes and yell at his cat—and thinking God, I really like this boy.

——————-

The next afternoon, you were on Discord again—this time with cameras on.

Alex was laid out across his bed in a hoodie, one leg flopped off the edge, hair a mess, the glow of his laptop casting a blue halo across his face. You were in your own room, still in pajama pants, sipping a drink and teasing him while he messed around with some dumb horror filter that made his eyes glow red on camera.

“So if I die, it’s because you summoned something with that cursed TikTok audio,” you said.

“Nah, if you die it’s ‘cause you keep watching true crime videos alone at night and then walking around your house like you’re not about to get haunted.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t haunt you too.”

“I’d let you,” he said without missing a beat. “I’d be like, ‘yep, that’s my ghost girlfriend. She throws shit at me and critiques my tweets.’”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your grin with your sleeve.

That’s when you heard it—muffled footsteps, a knock, and then a familiar voice from just offscreen.

“¿Mijo? ¿Estás hablando con una muchacha?”

Alex froze.

Eyes wide. Face flushing immediately.

His head whipped toward the door like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. “Mamá—¡espérate! Estoy—es—¡es mi amiga!”

Your smile exploded. “Oh my God.”

He turned back to the camera, looking like he was begging you not to say a word.

“Do not start,” he whispered, eyes wild.

Too late.

You were already wheezing. “Estás hablando con una muchacha, Lex??”

“Stop! She’s gonna get ideas.”

From the hallway, you could hear her again.

“Dile que la quiero conocer. Se oye linda.”

(“Tell her I want to meet her. She sounds sweet.”)

“MAMÁ.”

You were dying.

His mom poked her head in the room just enough to wave—smiling wide, clearly thrilled. You waved back, half laughing, half wanting to hide behind your laptop.

“¡Hola!” she said cheerfully.

“Hi!” you called back, grinning.

Alex covered his face with both hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Aw, she’s so cute,” you teased. “I love her already.”

“She’s gonna start asking if we’re dating next and I’m gonna have to move to a different country.”

“Are we dating?” you said, just to watch him panic.

He choked.

“NO—well—I mean—we’re not—I mean, unless you—oh my God—”

You were laughing so hard you nearly dropped your phone.

His mom walked away with a satisfied little, “Muy bonita, mijo,” and he groaned dramatically, flopping backward across the bed.

“I’m never showing my face again,” he mumbled into his pillow. “I’m gonna turn into a PNG tuber or something. This is my villain origin story.”

You just smiled.

Because even with his face red, his hair a mess, and a mom who couldn’t stop stirring the pot, he was still the softest, most endearing thing you’d ever known.

And you were starting to think he might be your favorite person in the world.

It was late again—your usual time.

The call came in while you were brushing your hair in bed, your phone buzzing softly against your thigh.

Lex is calling.

You answered with a grin already tugging at your mouth.

“Hey, loser.”

“No hello, no ‘how are you’?” he huffed. “This is why our future marriage is doomed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh God, not this again.”

There was a pause. Then—

“So my mom wants to know the colors for our wedding.”

You choked.

“What?”

“I’m serious,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “She was like, ‘What are your colors? You should coordinate with her.’ Like we’ve already set a date and everything.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re joking.”

“I’m so fucking serious,” he groaned dramatically, but when your screen lit up and you saw his face on the other end of the call—his hair still messy from the day, hoodie strings pulled unevenly, that soft, sleepy look in his eyes—you realized he was smiling.

Like, genuinely.

“Lex,” you giggled, “what did you say to her?”

“I panicked and said purple and silver.”

You gasped. “That’s actually so cute, what the hell.”

“I KNOW!” he shouted. “I nailed it by accident!”

You laughed until you couldn’t breathe, while he watched you through the screen, shaking his head and grinning like he’d just won something.

And when the laughter died down, there was a pause—one of those quiet ones that always felt heavier than it should.

“So…” you said softly. “Are you proposing or just pre-planning?”

He bit his lip and tilted his head.

“I dunno,” he said. “You wanna elope in Toontown?”

You smiled.

And your heart ached in that warm, terrifying, wonderful way that only Alex made it ache.

——————-

It was 2:41 a.m. when your phone buzzed. Not a text.

A call.

Lex is calling.

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Lex?” you answered, voice rough with sleep. “What’s—”

But he was already breathing hard.

Shaky. Uneven.

You heard it in his voice the moment he spoke—

“Can I—can I just stay on with you for a bit?”

That was all he said at first.

Just that.

You sat up instantly, pulling your blanket tighter around you, heart racing. “Yeah. Of course. I’m here. What happened?”

Silence.

A sniff. Then—

“I didn’t wanna call you like this,” he whispered. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”

You pressed the phone closer to your ear. “Lex… talk to me.”

“My parents were fighting,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Bad. Like—yelling. And I don’t even know what it was about. I was just in my room and then shit was breaking and someone slammed a door and my sister started crying and I just—I didn’t know what to do.”

You stayed quiet. Let him say it.

“And I don’t wanna get in the middle of it again. I always try to calm it down and it doesn’t matter. They just keep going. And I feel so—fucking useless.”

Your chest hurt.

“Then my mom said something like—like this is why we’re falling apart and my name got thrown in there and I just—I just left the room.”

Another pause.

“I’m in the backyard now. Sitting on the steps. It’s cold as fuck and I don’t even care. I just didn’t wanna be inside.”

You swallowed. Voice soft. “Do you want me to talk or just stay on?”

“…Stay.”

So you did.

You stayed there in the dark, phone warm against your cheek, breathing with him. Whispering little things here and there to remind him he wasn’t alone.

“I wish I could be there,” you said once.

“I know,” he murmured. “Me too.”

And after a while—when the breathing evened out and the silence turned gentle instead of heavy—he spoke again. So soft you almost missed it.

“…I knew you’d pick up.”

You blinked back tears.

“Always, Lex.”

You’d both fallen asleep on the call.

His breathing had steadied sometime after 4 a.m., and yours followed not long after—phone still warm against your ear, the sound of his voice like a lifeline lulling you both into unconsciousness.

When you woke up, the call timer read 7 hours, 19 minutes.

You didn’t hang up. You just smiled and whispered, “Good morning,” even though you knew he was still asleep.

You didn’t hear from him for a few hours after that.

Not until the call came in again around noon—sharp, frantic, not like last night.

You answered instantly. “Lex?”

“I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” he said, voice high, tight, panicking. “I’m literally gonna lose it.”

“Hey, hey—slow down,” you said, sitting up. “What happened?”

He didn’t slow down.

“My dad—he came into my room yelling at me like out of nowhere, saying I’m ‘wasting my time’ and I’m ‘too attached’ to someone I’ve never even met and that I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore.”

“What?”

“He said if I don’t stop—if I don’t block you and delete Discord or whatever—he’s gonna shut off the Wi-Fi entirely. Like completely. Like, no internet at all.”

Your chest twisted. “Lex—what the hell—what brought that on?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, but not at you. Never at you. “It’s not like I’m doing drugs or sneaking out or—God, I’m just talking to someone who actually fucking cares about me, and that’s somehow the problem?”

“Breathe,” you said gently. “Lex, just breathe.”

He was quiet for a second—just long enough for you to hear the crack in his voice when he said—

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

Your eyes burned.

“You’re not going to.”

“He thinks just because he pays the bills he gets to decide who matters to me,” Lex said, voice shaking. “Like—fuck that. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. What if I just—what if I left?”

“Lex—”

“I’m serious,” he said. “What if I just got on a bus or something? What if I came to Massachusetts? I’d figure it out. I’d sleep on your floor. I’d get a job. I don’t even care if I have to wash dishes or work at, like, a shitty corner store. I’d be there. With you.”

You blinked, heart hammering.

“Lex…”

“I’m not saying it to be romantic or dramatic or whatever,” he said, rushing now. “I’m saying it because I can’t keep doing this. Pretending like I’m okay here when the only thing that actually makes me feel like a real person is you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you said the only thing that mattered.

“I’d let you.”

That stopped him.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d let you stay. I’d let you figure it out here. You’d have me. That’s enough.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then he laughed—really laughed. A little broken. A little relieved.

“God,” he said, “you’re gonna make me do it.”

Later that night, after hours of spiraling and half-joking about busing himself across the country, Lex went quiet on Discord for about 20 minutes.

You figured he needed a break, or maybe dinner.

But then your phone buzzed.

Lex: “DUDE.”

Lex: “DUDE HOLY SHIT.”

Lex: “Call me. Now. You’re not gonna believe this.”

You answered, laughing. “What, did another seagull get smacked by a bagel?”

“No,” he said, out of breath. “Worse. Better. I don’t know. I just checked my Twitch and YouTube payout dashboards for the first time in, like, forever, and—dude. I have so much money.”

You sat up. “How much is so much?”

“I don’t even wanna say it out loud because it feels fake,” he said. “Like I thought it was all gonna be, like, pennies and change, right? But apparently I’ve just been letting ad revenue stack, and Twitch subs? Dude. I have thousands.”

“Thousands?”

“Like. More than enough for a plane ticket,” he said. “More than enough to make this not some ‘teenage runaway’ bullshit. I could—I could actually go.”

Your heart started racing.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m so serious,” he said. “Like I could pack my stuff, make up some story about visiting friends, book a one-way ticket, and be there in like—two days.”

“Lex…”

“I’m not saying I’m doing it tonight or anything,” he said quickly, like he could hear your breath catch. “But I’m saying it’s not impossible. It’s not just a fantasy anymore.”

You were quiet.

He was quiet.

And then, softer:

“You really wouldn’t mind if I showed up?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I’d be at the airport with a sign,” you said. “And snacks. And probably crying.”

He let out a breathy laugh, quieter this time. More real.

“I feel like this whole time I’ve been sitting here thinking I’m stuck,” he murmured. “Like my life’s not mine yet. But then I talk to you, and it’s like… I could have something else. Something better.”

You swallowed hard.

“I want that for you,” you said. “Even if it’s scary. Even if it’s messy. I just… I want you to be okay.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, in a voice so low it was almost a secret:

“I think okay is you.”

——————-

He called you right after.

His voice was tight. Off. You could hear it in the way he breathed before even saying your name.

“Hey,” he muttered, “so… my sister found out.”

You sat up straighter. “What happened?”

“She was borrowing my laptop,” he said, “and she saw the tab open with flights to Boston and, like, Discord open with our chat. I didn’t close it. I wasn’t even thinking.”

“Oh no…”

“She freaked out,” he said, voice strained. “Like, full-on what the fuck is wrong with you freaked out. I thought she was gonna cry.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you waited.

“She was like, ‘You can’t just up and fly to Massachusetts, Alexis. To meet some girl you met on the internet. Are you insane? You’re gonna end up on fucking Dateline.’”

You winced. “Shit.”

“I tried to explain. I tried, dude. I told her it wasn’t like that. That I’ve known you for years now, that it’s not some creepy scam. But she just kept saying I don’t know you.”

He went quiet for a second. Then, low and hoarse:

“And I told her you’re like… the main thing I have.”

Your breath caught.

“She just stood there, staring at me, and then she said, ‘Mom and Dad will lose their shit, even worse than they are now. Do you really wanna light it all on fire?’ And I—fuck, I didn’t know what to say.”

He sounded small now. Not broken. Just tired. Cornered.

You wanted to crawl through the screen and pull him out of that house yourself.

“I get it,” he whispered. “She’s scared. I don’t blame her. I would be that news story, right? But it’s like… it’s like no one wants to believe this could be good. That you could be real. That something in my life could finally make sense.”

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve.

“You’re real to me,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “That’s the worst part. You’re the most real thing I’ve got.”

You were quiet for a long time after that—just sitting with the weight of it. With everything he wasn’t allowed to want.

Then, barely audible:

“I’m not giving up on it,” he said. “Even if I can’t leave yet. I’m not giving up on you.”

It had been a few days since the blowup.

You hadn’t asked much—just gave Lex space, stayed on call with him when he needed it, sent him cursed videos to make him laugh when he looked tired, and answered every late-night “you up?” without hesitation.

But you could feel something shifting.

And then one night, just past midnight, he called you again.

“Hey,” he said, breathless and weirdly giddy. “Guess what?”

You smiled at your screen. “You finally beat me at Toontown trivia?”

“Okay, rude, but no. My sister talked to my parents.”

You sat up straighter. “Wait, what?”

“She told them about you,” he said. “Like—not in a ‘Lex is throwing his life away’ way. She said you’re good for me. That you’re the calm when everything else is loud. And that I’m better—happier—when I’m talking to you.”

Your breath caught.

“And?” you asked carefully.

He exhaled a laugh. “My dad backed off.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Lex said, sounding stunned even now. “I mean, he’s still doing his classic grumbly disapproval face or whatever, but he didn’t yell. He didn’t take the internet. He just said—‘Alright. Just don’t be dumb about it.’”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You covered your face with your hands and laughed—relieved and dizzy with how easy it suddenly felt.

“Lex, that’s huge.”

“I know,” he said. “And I didn’t even have to fake my own death or move to a second location.”

You snorted.

There was a beat of silence after that, but not an awkward one—just a warm one.

And then, softer:

“I want you to know something.”

You sat up again. “What?”

“I’m getting more views lately,” he said. “Like, a lot more. My YouTube’s picking up. Twitch is actually taking off. I had a stream hit over a thousand viewers today and it freaked me out in the best way.”

“Lex, that’s amazing.”

“I know,” he said, and his voice went a little quieter. “And I’m really starting to feel like… this might become something. Like I might actually be able to do this. Like, for real. And when it does—when it keeps growing—I just…”

He trailed off, then tried again.

“I want you there. All the way through it. Not as a side character. Not as some background person I knew before shit got crazy. I want you with me.”

You swallowed hard.

“Are you asking me to be, like… your girlfriend?”

“I’m asking you to be my person,” he said, soft and sure and a little breathless. “My always. Because you already are.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you wiped your cheek with your sleeve.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’m in. I’ve been in.”

He smiled.

You didn’t have to see it—you felt it.

——————-

By the time his channel passed 100k, it didn’t even surprise you anymore.

You saw it happening before he did. The way his voice shifted when he streamed, how his jokes got sharper, how his edits got cleaner. The sudden flood of new followers, the TikToks people made using his audio. He was blowing up—and you were there for every second of it.

But what made you smile most?

He still called you for the dumb shit.

Alex: “BABE. Did you see this fucking comment?”

You: “Which one?”

Alex: “The one that says I look like if an emo pigeon had Wi-Fi access.”

You wheezed. “Honestly kind of flattering.”

“Thank you. Finally, someone gets it.”

You’d be curled up on your bed while he paced his room with the camera off, dramatically reading you hate comments in weird accents, sending you screenshots of DMs like “what do I even SAY to this person??” and immediately texting “nvm I blocked them lol.”

Sometimes he called just to vent.

“Dude, this creator with like 2 million subs just emailed me asking for a collab and I don’t even know what to say—like do I sound chill? Do I send an emoji? Should I not send an emoji??”

“Lex. Breathe. You’re allowed to sound excited. You’re not a brand, you’re a person.”

“But what if I sound like a loser?”

“You are a loser. But you’re my loser. So go be a lovable little gremlin in their inbox.”

“Holy shit, I love you.”

You’d talk through all of it. The stress. The weird brand deals. The friends who stopped talking to him because he was “too busy.” The ones who only started talking because they saw him getting big.

You were there through it all.

Not just the noise—but the quiet parts too.

The calls where he sounded small and unsure. The ones where he said, “I don’t know if I can handle this,” and you just stayed. Reminded him of who he was before all of it. Of the kid in the hoodie playing Toontown at 3 a.m., and how proud you were of him then, before the clout, before the chaos.

And when he called—nervous and overwhelmed and aching from how big things were getting—you answered every time.

“Lex,” you’d say, “you don’t have to be ready for everything. Just let me be ready with you.”

And that? That was everything to him.

[g-n-c-quoi]

a note that, in hindsight, i should have added to my concert etiquette post months ago: if you have to leave, you have to leave. i was fortunate enough in this instance that my symptoms were very mild until i got home, because i came prepared and accommodated myself to the best of my ability, and had a wonderful friend and my incredible fiancee by my side the entire night. but last year, i had a minor health crisis at a different show (that one was the fault of my own actions- don't chug a monster an hour before a standing room only concert if you have heart problems, kids) and had to leave right after the opening act. please don't let fomo get in the way of asking for help and taking care of yourself when needed. my only regret about my experience at this show is that i didn't tell the people i was with immediately when i started feeling the effects of whatever it was that had happened. please don't sacrifice your health and well-being for the sake of a concert- there will be others!

with that being said, i absolutely refuse to allow the most memorable account of my attendance at this show to be such an incredibly negative one, so here are some highlights of the night: - the friend i was with had never heard a single shayfer james song, and had listened to exactly one sparkbird song. i got to see them fall in love with the music they were hearing in real time, and they thanked me extensively for inviting them. - as a disabled person, i'm very accustomed to strangers being, for lack of a better phrase, really fucking annoying about my mobility aids, my wheelchair especially. in this audience, there wasn't a single comment made about it. many people offered to switch places with me to offer me a better view of the stage, nobody made a fuss out of my getting up and walking around periodically (which is HUGE, considering how incredibly cruel people can be to ambulatory wheelchair users). - building off of that last one, the venue handled accommodating the multiple mobility aid users in the crowd incredibly well, allowed myself and my fiancee in a good 15-20 minutes before the doors were opened, and we got to get right up front with no issues. - towards the end of sparkbird's set, i watched someone to my left pull out their phone, search up sparkbird, and add them to their followed artists - i saw so much incredible art and cosplay and some BEAUTIFUL outfits, all of you have better fashion sense than me - i told a crowd of people that i was late to work because of the light that comes through and was not made fun of for it even once. in a crowd that was easily at venue capacity.

it was altogether an incredible, magical, wonderful experience, and i'm so so glad i was able to go

an open letter to whoever must have tampered with my drink last night at the sparkbird/shayfer james concert in st. louis:

genuinely, shame on you. these artists have worked harder than most to foster a genuinely safe environment in every place they create and share their work, from their online presence to their concerts to the very music they make. to walk into that space and inflict harm at all is a violation of not only every moral obligation and social contract i can imagine, but a slap in the face to the community you are participating in by being at the show at all, made even more damning by the fact that i was one of the few wheelchair users at the show, with very little opportunity to defend myself in the event that your intentions were malicious enough to become physical. i can think of no greater insult to the performers on that stage or their devoted fans than the actions you decided to take last night, and you should be deeply and entirely ashamed of yourself.

i admittedly have no idea whether this was substance induced or an allergic reaction, but i am leaning towards the former given my symptoms and their longevity. either way, though- my drink was specifically modified not to contain an allergen of mine, so it would have had to have been altered in some way to produce any kind of reaction, let alone one of this intensity. i am physically fine and expect to recover fairly quickly, but the fact remains that something happened at that show that should not have, and i hope never will again, to myself or anyone else.

(a note: due to the uncertainty of this situation and my general lack of trust in the stl police department i have no intention of contacting authorities regarding this. i will personally contact the venue once fully recovered, and do not expect or wish for anyone to do so on my behalf. i say this because i have a number of close friends who follow me on this blog, several of whom i know in person, and two of whom attended the concert with me. it is not unlikely that one or more of you will want to do something about this, and while i respect that, i would like any action taken to be my own, as some of my current life circumstances could be significantly complicated by anything done regarding this situation, whether intentionally or not. this post is not made as a cry for help, it is an invitation for whoever is responsible to do and be better.)

[xcziel]

has anybody else thought about how jk could easily manage sofia's parts of slow dance or is it just me?

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Why am I even so desperate for this. Out of all the things that I could get stubborn determination over why is it this. Is it because I know the end result would bring me so much silly enjoyment that my brain has sheer will to want to get to that? Why am I. Even so glued to getting a dumb 3D model of him to mess with. Is it cause it gives me something to do? Something to accomplish or fail at or to just not be wasting away time?

[hedgehog-moss]

I need to confess something—my last post presented a deceptively idyllic vision of my hike in the snow. I only posted photos from the tranquil walk home at dusk and neglected to mention that I (once again) got lost in a featureless expanse of snow and briefly became convinced I would never find the road again and would have to dig a little den like an Arctic fox to spend the night.

You see, there's this place where Pandolf really loves to go for a walk on snowy days—it's on top of this plateau here:

^ see the fence in the middle, that curves to the left? Nothing bad can happen as long as you follow it. There are lots of landmarks in this direction, like trees, more fences, and a couple of houses.

In the other direction, however, lies The Nothing.

Here's a photo of Pandolf (eagerly) standing near the edge of The Nothing:

Characteristics of The Nothing: it is vast, and white, and becomes more and more featureless the farther you go into it—

—and Pandolf really, really loves it.

Even when he falls into a surprise hole where the snow is suddenly three times as deep (another characteristic of The Nothing), he'll just push himself out in one great powerful jump and keep frolicking.

Or he'll remain in the spot where the snow is deeper and try his best to bury his entire self into it.

He sometimes gets crazy eyes in The Nothing.

We always start this walk with such good resolutions.

We're definitely staying close to the fence this time! With all the lovely landmarks on the left!

And then, inevitably,

Further notes from my studies: • The Nothing has some small plants and rocks, but using them as landmarks is foolish, as they will eventually disappear. • No matter how many foot-, paw-, and dog-headprints you leave and how deep they are, they will disappear before you are able to retrace your steps, probably because The Nothing is always so windy.

Pandolf thinks this is a great characteristic of The Nothing, as it means he never runs out of immaculate snow to dive into.

The wind and the resulting snow mist are the really treacherous things about this place. These photos were taken in roughly the same spot, a couple of hours apart. In the first one, the fence on the left is clearly visible; in the second one, it has started to melt into The Nothing.

There's always a moment when I end up standing in the middle of, well, nothing, with indistinguishable whiteness in every direction, under my feet, above my head, left, right, and I start thinking about writing poignant farewell messages in my Notes app for my family to find at some point in the future.

One last interesting thing about The Nothing is the way Pandolf reacts when I finally find my bearings again and start walking faster, determined to get back to the safety of the road before it gets dark.

Pandolf then just

It's very different than the playful, energetic way in which he normally buries his head in the snow. This second type of burying is clearly a form of protest—if I continue walking away Pan will reluctantly follow me for 20 or so metres, then flatten himself to the ground again, in the same despondent way.

Hypothesis #1: He is trying to play dead like a possum, hoping I will go "well, I can't lug a dead dog all the way home, I'd better leave him here." And then he'll stay with The Nothing forever.

Hypothesis #2: He is trying to lay as flat as possible so as to become all but invisible against the snow. It's unclear if he knows he is the wrong colour for this.

Hypothesis #3: He is trying to commune with The Nothing, burying words of devotion and friendship deep into the snow and promising to return soon.

Conclusion: I'm sorry, I know that's a very long post, but seeing as each of these photos depicts perfect felicity on Earth, I find it hard to delete any. I also like how I intended this post to be about my long disoriented trek through the snow, wondering if I was going to find the fence or the road again before dark—and then I got distracted by how happy Pandolf was. Which is exactly how I end up getting lost in The Nothing every single time!!

[aligazagaza]

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #373 )✅️

I hope you'll let me tell you a little bit about my home🇵🇸, Gaza🍉. It's a place where we're living through some very challenging times💔🥹. We're under attack from bombs, explosives, and warplanes, and we've had to endure many nights of sleeplessness. It's a difficult situation💔, but we're trying to stay positive🖤. This war has really taken a toll on us. It's destroyed our bodies, our lives, and our souls. It has been so sad to see our homes destroyed, our belongings taken from us, and our beautiful places ruined. It has also changed our situation for the worse. We were living a pretty good life, you know? Peaceful, loving, and full of life. But then, we found ourselves in a really tough spot. Hunger, fear, and terror have become our new normal. My kids and I, along with my extended family, are struggling to make ends meet. We don't have the basic necessities of life, and our living situation is pretty rough. We're in these old, falling-apart tents. It's so hard to know what to do when winter comes. We'll be soaked in the rain and wind, and I'll be at a loss as to how to keep my family safe, from the bombing and from the winter.🥹

I'm really hoping you can help me and my family to live through this awful war.💔

🥹❤️‍🩹https://gofund.me/ed6e9cb6🥹❤️‍🩹

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @just-browsing1222-deactivated20 @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygol @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Girl Dad Caleb

Thank you @erensfeed for the idea!! She was a huge contributor! Gave me so many good ideas, made all of this possible!! <33

Girl Dad!Caleb who goes absolutely crazy when you’re in labor—on the surface he’s smiling and being strong for you while holding your hand, but once everything is over he’s crying and laughing all at once. Girl Dad!Caleb whose face is covered in tears as he carries his daughter for the first time. Your daughter crying made him cry and now that’s making you cry. (You all crode together.)

Girl Dad!Caleb who buys so many apple themed baby clothes that it can fill the bathroom even though you told him not to.

“Caleb! She’ll outgrow them in a few weeks!” “But she looks so cute in them! We can take pictures and keep a memento of how tiny she was!”

Girl Dad!Caleb who cries when your daughter takes her first steps. Your beloved husband frantically grabs a camera and records these precious moments as he then rushes over and kisses the two most important girls in his life.

Girl Dad!Caleb who uses his evol and takes your daughter flying around the house or at the park. He loves hearing her giggles.

Girl Dad!Caleb who keeps on trying to make the first words your daughter speaks to be him.

“Say ‘Dada’! Come on, I know you can do it, Princess.” “Caleb! She’ll say it when she wants!” turns to your daughter, “Say ‘Mama!’”

Girl Dad!Caleb who cooks whatever you and your daughter wants. Pasta? Done. Barbecue? Done. Beef Wellington? Done. A random recipe you saw on tiktok? Done.

Girl Dad!Caleb who keeps trying to put off sending your daughter to school. He wants to be with you guys all the time :(

Girl Dad!Caleb who gets emotional when you finally send your daughter to school. He was all smiles in front of her and now he’s holding you with tears running down his cheek.

Girl Dad!Caleb who always picks your daughter up from kindergarten with you and one day sees her holding a boy’s hand.

“Hold on… Is that boy holding our princess's hand?” “Caleb, it’s finee. Kid probably doesn't even-” “No no. Who does this little Romeo think he is?” “Caleb!”

You had to kiss him to hold him back from beating up the poor kid. (He was joking, he just wanted some attention)

Girl Dad!Caleb who places your daughter’s things in high places so she has to ask him to make her float to get it or ask him to get it for her. He still does that to you too.

Girl Dad!Caleb whose heart melts when he sees you dressing your daughter up in mini colonel clothes. His hat falling over and covering her face when she excitedly waves at him.

Girl Dad!Caleb who can't help but tease your daughter. He’ll make her toys just out of her reach, make her beg him to buy her sweets, accidentally trip her and save her, tell her scary stories at night so she’ll snuggle up to him when she’s sleeping.

Girl Dad!Caleb who always has time for you and his princess. He loves you both and would kill anyone and everyone if he had to.

A/N: Can you tell I’m having Baby Fever? Caleb would be such a great father but he’d always want you and your daughter(or son) to lean on him. Anyways! Stay delusional! (*´∀`*)  Dividers by @omi-resources

[sunniques]

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ?

➺ PAIRING: lee heeseung x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepbrother au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: the story of how your stepbrother’s girlfriend realizes her boyfriend has never really been hers.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, possessiveness, heeseung can lift reader, cucking kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f), oral sex (f), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, creampies

➺ WC: 4.6k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read.

A lot of people find your relationship with your stepbrother cute. How could they not? He’s always so doting and protective like a real brother would be. In spite of being only slightly older, Heeseung takes on a very important role in your life. He constantly goes out of his way to take care of you, making sure you have anything you could possibly need.

Heeseung’s girlfriend never thought too much about the relationship between you two. It was natural that he took the naive college freshman under his wing and constantly had you by his side. Mina found it endearing, actually. The way he worried about you like a mother hen who wasn’t ready for her young chick to go into the world alone is adorable and a good sign. After dating so many inconsiderate losers, she thinks she’s finally chosen the right guy.

But somewhere along the way, Mina starts to grow tired of it. Time has gone by, and you’re no longer a naive freshman who can’t get around without her boyfriend’s help. Of course family is important, but it’s not like you’re entirely helpless. And yet, that’s exactly the way Heeseung acts. He’s always ready to drop everything when you need him. On several humiliating occasions, he’s even left her half naked on his bed just to go to you because you bought something you couldn’t figure out how to put together, or because you wanted to hang out with him.

It’s hard for Mina to admit that she’s a little jealous. Especially because it all seems so ridiculous. There’s no way her boyfriend actually wants you like that. But as time goes on, she thinks that maybe she’s not all that crazy. Especially with the affectionate way her boyfriend looks at you. Despite all this, Mina doesn’t say anything. At least, not until Heeseung starts to bring you along to what were meant to be dates.

“Babe, why do you keep bringing your stepsister? i thought we were going on a date?” It’s hard for her to not sound bitter and annoyed.

“Her roommate is going to visit her parents, and I don’t want Y/N to be alone.” His tone is kind and gentle like always, but it’s also firm and leaves no room for arguments.

What’s worse is that Mina can’t bring herself to hate or blame you. In a way, she understands why her boyfriend is always so concerned about you. You’re so nice and trusting that it would be way too easy for someone to take advantage of that. There’s also the fact that you’ve been more than willing to let them have some alone time, but Heeseung never lets you leave.

It’s all so strange and frustrating that Mina feels like she has to take matters into her own hands. So she does.

The key to Heeseung letting you go is getting you a boyfriend—or at least getting you to start dating. It’s easy enough to find a guy who’s interested in you. That’s never been a problem for you, and all it takes is her showing your picture to the cute guy in her communications class for her plan to fall into place. As luck would have it, you’re also into meeting the guy and going out with him.

Little did Mina know, setting you up with him would be a mistake that would cost her everything.

On the night you’re meant to meet up with her classmate, Mina excitedly goes to her boyfriend’s apartment. It’s been a long time since she got to be alone with Heeseung, and she was going to make the most of it.

She’s dressed in tiny tank top and a cute little skirt that Heeseung loves—it barely hides the lingerie she’s wearing underneath. Mina quietly lets herself into her boyfriend’s apartment using her spare key. Quietly, she tiptoes to his room only to find the door wide open. What she doesn’t expect is to find you sitting on his the edge of bed while Heeseung kneels in front of you.

Mina feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her as his pretty hands rub your soft thighs. You look incredible, clad in a cute little dress with your makeup and hair done to perfection. It’s a mistake for Mina to keep watching, but she can’t find her voice at the moment.

“Seungie, what’s wrong?”

God, Mina hates that you call him that. Mostly because she can tell how much Heeseung likes it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out to meet some guy?” Heeseung sounds almost venomous, but it’s like you don’t hear it. “Who is he? How’d you meet him?”

You tilt your head, pretty lips pulled down in a confused frown. “Didn’t Mina tell you? She set me up with a guy from her class. He’s really cute!”

A chill goes down Mina’s spine. She can see Heeseung’s back tense when you tell him how your date came to be. The air feels almost murderous as he gently squeezes your thighs.

It kills Heeseung that he was almost too late in stopping you from meeting some strange guy in the pretty little dress you have on. He softly rubs your thighs, eyes simmering with anger and desire he doesn’t care to hide. Not anymore.

“Oh, angel.” Your stepbrother murmurs, hands slowly trailing up to your thighs. “You know you’re my favorite girl, right?”

An unsuspecting smile graces your lips. “Yeah. And you’re my favorite guy.”

Heeseung hums in satisfaction as his fingers ghost the edges of your dress. He watches your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t say anything. As always, you have blind trust in your stepbrother. That’s all the indication he needs to get up and push you down on his bed. Heeseung hovers over you, loving how you’re staring up at him with sparkling, wide eyes. He swoops down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

Your heart is racing in your chest as Heeseung forces his tongue into your mouth. Despite the initial shock, you quickly melt into the kiss. He swallows your moans, pulling you closer as he deepens the messy kiss. You mewl into his mouth, carding your fingers through his hair with desire you had never realized you had for him.

Meanwhile, Mina can only watch as her boyfriend kisses you with a passion that he clearly never felt for her. It feels like her heart is ripping in half as Heeseung begins to undress you. Tears well up in her eyes when he groans at the sight of the lingerie adorning your body. Mina can see how hard he is from where she’s standing, and the desire in his eyes is very different from the way he looks at her.

“Can’t believe you got all pretty for some other boy.” Heeseung spits as he starts to undress. “Were planning on letting him fuck you?”

You shake your head and go to speak, but you can’t when Heeseung roughly pulls off your lingerie then his own underwear. His cock is thick and big, possibly the biggest you’ve ever seen. It’s twitching and leaking as he looks at you with his dark eyes.

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whine as Heeseung shoves your thighs to your stomach and licks a broad stripe up your wet pussy.

Your stepbrother groans at your sweet taste, thrusting his tongue into your dripping hole. He laps up the juices leaking out of your slit, circling his tongue on your clit for good measure. The noise you let out is downright pornographic and pure music to Heeseung’s ears.

“Seungie!” You keen as you spread your legs and tangle your hands in his messy hair. “I– Fuck!”

Heeseung pulls back with a wet slurp to spread your cunt open with his big hands. “God. You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, angel. Just had to taste it.”

Each one of his words is like a dagger to Mina’s heart and confidence. Wet tears trickle down her face, but she doesn’t say anything as you pull on her boyfriend’s hair. Heeseung only moans and dives back into your slick cunt. He greedily laps up everything that drips out of you, sucking and kissing your clit.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Hee.” You repeat through a needy mewl, making no attempt to stop him. In fact, you buck your pussy into his mouth as he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“Shh, angel.” Heeseung shushes as he flicks his tongue across your swollen bud. “Just relax and let me eat you out. Been wanting to do this for so long.”

Mina swallows thickly, the hurt slowly being replaced by something else. Her eyes grow bigger when she realizes which feeling is taking over. She shifts slightly, feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool in her panties. Mina feels sick that the sight of her boyfriend cheating on her can turn her on, and she thinks that she should leave right now and never return.

But she stays.

Mina licks her lips and continues to watch. Even she can’t help but think how hot you look, whimpering and writhing as Heeseung pushes your thighs apart so he can bury his face deeper in your pussy. He flicks his tongue, slowly descending until he’s lapping at your hole, slowly fucking the wet muscle in and out. Your eyes roll back as your stepbrother eats your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

The sounds coming from your pussy and the way Heeseung messily eats you out has Mina’s own cunt clenching with need. She can feel her underwear start to stick to her cunt as she watches her boyfriend lap up your arousal like a starved man. Mina bites her lip, feeling sick and twisted for being turned on by your pretty moans.

Heeseung suddenly pulls away, but not before he slaps your thigh playfully. He goes to lay on his back all while wearing a filthy smirk. “Sit on my face.”

You bite your lip as a hot flash of arousal pulses through your body. Both your and Mina’s cunts throb at the suggestion. Heeseung sees your hesitation, but doesn’t back down.

“C’mon, baby. Be a good little stepsister and ride my fucking face.” He growls out with dark eyes.

With your pussy dripping, you crawl over to him and kneel over his face. Mina watches with heated eyes as you slowly lower your cunt on her boyfriend’s face. The heat in her stomach grows when she hears Heeseung groan in satisfaction.

“That’s it. I want your pretty pussy suffocating me.”

With that, your stepbrother grabs your hips and pulls your cunt down onto his face with a groan. Mewling quietly, you rub your cunt all over his mouth. Every time he moans or grunts, it sends little vibrations through your pussy. The delicious feeling has you grinding down on his tongue as you chase that feeling. Heeseung eagerly fucks his wet muscle into your hot cunt, already addicted to your sweet taste.

Mina swallows thickly when he sees Heeseung thrusting into the air as he eats you out. His cock is leaking and throbbing with need. Fuck. How she’d like to go and lick all that up, to have him fuck her mouth as he fucks you with his tongue. Mina rubs her thighs to soothe the growing ache in her pussy as she watches you ride Heeseung’s face.

Your eyes roll back when your stepbrother slaps your ass. A loud squeal spills from your lips as Heeseung keeps fucking his tongue up into your cunt. He grabs your ass and kneads it roughly. With one last groan and flick of his tongue, he sits up and takes you with him. The effortless display of strength turns both women on, one containing her moan while the other cries out as she’s pressed back into the mattress.

“Such a sweet little cunt.” Heeseung moans as he buries his face back into your dripping cunt. “Shit, Y/N. You’re fucking soaked down here.”

“Heeseung!” You cry out as he pries your thighs further apart. Your stepbrother shakes his head to grind his tongue against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, you have the hottest little pussy.” Heeseung lifts his head with a groan, lips shiny with your arousal. “Missed eating some good pussy. It’s been so long.”

Mina feels pathetic that her cunt throbs at his degrading words. She bites her lip, hands trailing up her thigh and to her soaked underwear. It’s so filthy and humiliating, but the ache in her pussy is getting to be too much. She slowly rubs circles on her covered cunt as she keeps watching her boyfriend cheat on her.

“Fuck, Seungie.” You mewl desperately. “S-Shouldn’t like having your face buried in my cunt.”

Heeseung smirks into your wetness. He gently circles his tongue on your clit, kissing it tenderly before he gently starts to nip at it with his teeth. Mina shoves her panties aside when you moan out in pleasure. Now she’s furiously rubbing at her bare pussy, wanting to see you cum on her boyfriend’s face.

“But you do, baby. You like me fucking you with my tongue, and I fucking love eating this sweet little pussy.”

Your hips buck up at the words, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you moan for him. Juices drip out of you lewdly, leaking down to your ass and onto Heeseung’s sheets. Your head is swimming with pleasure, and you have to remember that this is all so very wrong.

“You like that?” Heeseung teases you, loving how you’ve turned into putty in his hands. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you like your stepbrother telling you how much he loves tasting your juicy cunt?”

Your back arches when Heeseung sucks your puffy bud into his mouth. “God—yes! Feels so fucking good, Hee! Love having your mouth on my pussy.”

Heeseung growls, the vibrations making your cunt throb as he sucks and licks your swollen clit. Eager to have you cum on his tongue, he slips two fingers into your fluttering hole. Mina follows in suit, unable to take her eyes off the erotic sight of you getting ate out and fingered. Fuck. This was better than any porn she had ever watched. Her hand is dripping with her own arousal, and she can’t even feel disgusted anymore that she’s so turned on by the entire situation.

“Mmmh, shit, Hee.” You whine as the tips of his fingers brush against the gummy spot inside you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Do it, baby. Cream all over my tongue.” He purrs in delight. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Heeseung flattens his tongue on your clit while his fingers grind into the spongy spot in your cunt. Your back arches off the bed, orgasm whiting out your thoughts as you cum around his long fingers.

Mina has to cover her mouth as Heeseung moans along with you. By now she’s shoved her fingers into her sopping pussy, the squelching sound is drowned out from the sounds coming from your own pussy. The filthy sight is driving her wild, and she’s so delirious with arousal that she wishes Heeseung would just fuck you already.

“You’re amazing, angel.” Your stepbrother praises with his fingers still buried knuckle deep in your pussy as he softly strokes your velvety walls. “So soft and wet. It makes me want to shove my dick into your tight little hole.”

Heeseung slowly pulls his fingers out of you, and you can only watched with a lidded gaze as he moves his body between your thighs. His cock is twitching and leaking as he grabs the base. He smacks his cock down on your slippery pussy, dragging his drooling tip up and down your slit slowly. Mina has to press her hand into her mouth harder to stifle her filthy moans. The sight of her boyfriend pressing his drooling cockhead into your soaking pussy is so hot she might just cum all over her fingers.

“S-Seungie—fuck. We shouldn’t.” You whimper as he leans forward and braces his arms by your head.

You and Mina both know you don’t really mean your words. It’s clear that you want your stepbrother to split you open on his big cock. That becomes obvious when you don’t try to stop him as he shoves his cock into your pussy until he bottoms out completely, balls pressing against your ass. Shuddering with pleasure, you scratch your nails up his arms as you sink into the bed.

“Pretty pussy was meant to take my cock.” Heeseung growls, already drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his dick. “Fuck. I know it’s wrong, baby, but I just couldn’t help myself. Your hot little cunt was just begging for my dick. Doesn’t it feel all nice and full having your pussy stuffed with your stepbrother’s big cock?"

Mina starts fucking herself harder when you nod desperately. Your hands go to tangle in his hair as you grind your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Yes! Fuck! Love my stepbrother’s cock stretching me open! Feels so fucking good, Hee!”

Mina knows better than anyone how good you must feel. Although, she imagines you feel must better than she ever did because from the way Heeseung’s fucking you, she can tell he’s doing it with much more enthusiasm and passion. Even his moans are more guttural and full of more pleasure than she’d ever heard. They’re deep as he pulls out until just his tip is spearing you open. Then, he pushes forward, thrusting his cock deep into your fluttering walls.

“That’s it. Tell me how good it feels.” Heeseung leans down, lips brushing against yours. “Don’t be shy, angel. Let me know how much you like this cock fucking you.”

You gasp wantonly and pull him down further to press your lips together. He groans and licks into your mouth easily, tongue slipping past your lips as his cock thrusts deep into your hot, wet cunt. Your hips buck up to meet his, loving how his dick rams into your sweet spot over and over until your sight is painted with pretty little stars.

“Fucking love it, Hee.” You moan between sloppy kisses. “God—I love your cock!”

The coil in Mina’s stomach is close to snapping. By now, her juices are dripping down to her wrist. Luckily, the lewd squelching and sound of skin slapping together drown out any noise she’s making. Heeseung is fucking you so hard and good that she can smell the musky scent of sex from where she’s standing. The erotic aroma turns her on even more, pussy clamping down on her fingers in desperate need of release.

“Tight little pussy feels so good.” Heeseung moans out between the quick pecks he’s giving you. “God, I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

Your heart races as Mina’s breaks all over again. It hurts, but somehow that just turns her on even more. She keeps fingering herself as tears pool in her eyes.

With a low moan, your pussy clamps down on Heeseung’s dick tightly as you go to eagerly kiss him. A soft I love you, too goes unnoticed by Mina, but not by your stepbrother. He groans into your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Mmmh.” Heeseung hums against your lips before he trails wet kisses down your neck. “I love my gorgeous girl. That’s why this feels so good. Even your tight little pussy knows how much I love you.”

His gorgeous girl? Mina thinks deliriously, orgasm dangerously close. It’s something he never referred to her as.

You cry out loudly when Heeseung bites your neck and sucks the skin into his mouth. His hips rock against yours, balls smacking against your ass as his pelvis grinds down on your swollen clit.

“Seungie!” You whine in ecstasy. “I’m getting close.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t let up. In fact, his thrusts seem to get faster and rougher. His cock pistons in and out of your cunt, creating sloppy wet sounds as you get even wetter. His eyes are dark as he pulls back to look at you, all pretty squirming and trembling on his cock.

“Cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet cream so I can fill you up.” Heeseung pants. “Cum on my cock, angel.”

His teeth sink into your neck again, and it pushes you over the edge. Your hot cunt throbs as you squeeze down on his cock. Somehow your pussy only gets tighter and tighter as you get fucked through your orgasm. You tighten your legs around his waist until he can barely pull out, rutting his cock in short shallow thrusts as your climax starts to taper off.

“So fucking tight.” Heeseung hisses by your ear. “Shit, baby. Get ready. I’m about to creampie your cute little pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

With a strangled grunt, he buries his cock to the hilt and shoots his load deep inside your fluttering walls while your pussy softly milks him for every drop of his hot cum. Mina reaches her own climax when she sees her boyfriend cumming inside you. She has to stifle her moans as she trembles and shakes outside the room that’s filled with the smell and sounds of hot sex.

“You’re taking it so well, angel.” Heeseung kisses your jaw tenderly as his fat tip spurts rope after rope of his thick cum into your clenching heat. “Milking my cock like I knew you would.”

He grinds his hips down, cock pulsing as he finishes stuffing you full of his hot, sticky load. Your stepbrother fucks his cum inside a bit more before reluctantly pulling out. Heeseung’s cock throbs as he watches his seed drip from your messy pussy.

He licks his lips, heated gaze never leaving your body. “Let’s do it again.”

You don’t try to protest as your manhandles into a different position. Mina is still coming down from her high when she realizes her boyfriend is still hard and about to fuck you again. She knows she shouldn’t feel excited or aroused by the fact, but she does. Especially when your face is shoved into one of Heeseung’s pillows just before his big cock rails back into your needy pussy.

Heeseung starts fucking you so hard his headboard slams into the wall repeatedly. The harsh sound pairs well with the plop plop plop sound coming from your cunt.

“God, Y/N. You’re so fucking good for me.” Heeseung groans when you clench down on him.

You moan loudly, bouncing yourself back on his cock. “Fu-Fuck, Seungie. This is wrong. We s-shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” Your stepbrother smacks your ass, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “It’s so dirty baby, but I couldn’t help myself. Had to get my dick wet using your pretty little pussy.”

“Mmmh!” You whine out mindlessly, face turned to the side with your ass raised in the air for Heeseung to fuck deeper into your wet hole. “Feels so fucking good!”

“Yeah, it does.” Heeseung’s laugh sounds almost mean as he speeds up his thrusts to fuck his cock harder into your sopping cunt. “Your cute little pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”

His words shouldn’t please you as much as they do, but those lewd words turn you on so much that you can’t stop your cunt from tightening around him as he keeps spearing into you like an animal in heat. They also shouldn’t turn on Heeseung’s girlfriend but that’s exactly what they do. She isn’t angry, only extremely aroused as your ass bounces back on your stepbrother’s pelvis.

“Fuck!” Heeseung groans, fucking his cock right into your g-spot. “You’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You are. So hot that Mina finds herself wishing she could eat Heeseung’s cum out of your pretty cunt. She just knows you taste good, and mixed with her boyfriend she’s sure you must taste even better.

“Seungie, please!” You cry out, dizzy with arousal.

“Shit.” He growls, slipping a hand underneath your hips to rub fast circles on your clit. “Gonna make you cream on my cock again.”

“Heeseung!” You squeal as he picks up his pace, ramming into your squelching pussy as he rubs soft circles into your swollen clit.

Your stepbrother shoves his cock deep into your cunt and grinds, making you squirm and whine as his dick rubs against the spongy spot in your pussy. Your hands twist in the sheets. He flicks and pinches your puffy clit. God, do you look good, and so does Heeseung. Mina is groping one of her tits while the other hand goes to play with her pussy again. Briefly, she thinks she wouldn’t mind having a video of you two fucking so she can watch it over and over again.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You moan against the pillow.

“Do it, baby.” He encourages you, free hand coming down to slap your ass hard. “Cum all over my cock. Want to feel your hot cunt squeeze me.”

It’s not long before your orgasm hits. You’re screaming into your pillow as your cream coats Heeseung’s big cock. Your pussy clamps rhythmically around his dick. Mina can’t see you, but with the way your toes are curling she can tell your eyes are rolling to the back of your head in pure ecstasy.

“Oh, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Heeseung praises you. His hands move to slap your ass again, making you squeal and tighten again. “Fucking work your little pussy on my cock. Fuck. Need to fill you up again.”

“Want you to stuff me full.” You whine back at him, pussy fluttering at the thought of Heeseung’s cum filling your cunt again.

“Yeah?” Your stepbrother laughs, sounding way too delighted. “Want me to creampie your hot little cunt again?”

“Please!” You whine as Heeseung’s fingers slide over your hip to start working soft circles into your clit again. You writhe back on him, feeling yourself get even wetter at the filthy thought of him shooting his hot load inside you.

“Cum inside me, Hee.” You pant, mewling when his fingers rub your clit even faster. “Want it so bad. Want to feel it.”

“Oh, fuck.” Heeseung groans, hips snapping hard against your ass when he feels how tight you’ve gotten. “You ready, baby? Fucking take it. Take your stepbrother’s cum in your needy little cunt.”

You moan loudly when you feel his hot cum filling your pussy, stuffing you so full it drips out around his cock. Heeseung ruts his spent cock into your sloppy pussy as he pinches your clit, watching as your back arches as a fourth orgasm sweeps through you. You lazily fuck your cunt back into him, loving the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and coating your thighs.

Heeseung pulls out of your warm cunt with a low groan. He’s quick to pull you against his chest and lays you down with him. His face is buried in your hair, eyes closed in bliss as you both try to catch your breaths. You feel his smile in your hair as he cuddles you and murmurs sweet praises against your temple.

Through your drooping eyes, you catch sight of Mina. Her eyes widen when you two make eye contact. You can’t hide your smirk when you see that she was masturbating to the sight of Heeseung fucking you raw. Instead of saying anything, you give her a seductive wink. Mina clenches around her fingers because the wink is full of understanding and promises.

It’s clear that Heeseung was never hers, but maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing.

[matt-murdockk]

Time

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

words: 2.8k

summary: On their wedding night, (Y/n) disappears in Matt’s arms-blipped without warning. For five years, he mourns her, tormented by grief and hallucinations. When she returns, unchanged, he’s convinced she’s not real. (angst mostly with fluff ending)

warnings: angst, cussing, lack of proofreading rip, set in infinity war - endgame timeline (reader getting blipped, etc)

a/n: Listen, my boy Matt is the PERFECT practice for writing angst. I just like to put him in situations and watch him like he's in a fish tank and I'm outside tapping on the glass. This man absolutely cannot catch a break and while I am partially to blame (cause I'm writing it this time), just how Matt is written in general is in a way that it just makes sense to put him through shit. He is a walking amalgam of Catholic Guilt, adrenaline, and poor decision making and I love him so much. This one is a boatload of angst but I threw in some fluff in the ending because well, we deserve good things.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The apartment door creaked open with the softest thud, and then her back hit it as Matt pressed her gently against the wood, lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He was smiling.

That rare, devastating smile he only wore when it was just them.

“You’re supposed to carry me across the threshold, remember?” she whispered, breathless with laughter.

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Matt murmured. “Just wanted a moment alone with my wife first.”

Wife.

The word made her stomach flip in a good way- warm and giddy and ridiculous.

He scooped her up easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back, and she looped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m legally required to now,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the vows. Carry you everywhere. Worship the ground you walk on. Try not to lose my mind over how good you look in that dress.”

“Flawless delivery, Murdock,” she teased. “Truly. I can tell you definitely wrote your own vows.”

He chuckled against her shoulder as he carried her through the doorway into the quiet, dimly lit apartment. Candles flickered. Soft music still hummed faintly from the speaker they forgot to turn off before the ceremony.

And for a second- just one perfect second- it was all stillness. Just them. Just this.

He set her down gently, hands lingering at her waist. They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Everything feeling like it had finally settled into place. She pressed her forehead to his, heart beating a little too fast.

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” he murmured, eyes closing, nose brushing hers. “You’re here. You’re mine. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “We did.”

They stood there for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing the same air. Wedding bands warm against skin.

But then-

She shifted slightly in his arms. Her brows furrowed.

“Matt?”

He straightened a little, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“I feel... weird.”

He tilted his head, concern filtering through his features. “Weird how?”

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s like- I just got dizzy all of a sudden. Like the room’s moving.”

Matt gently guided her toward the couch, helping her sit down. “Okay. Just breathe. You might be dehydrated. Or just- adrenaline crash.”

She tried to smile. “Yeah. Big day. Lots of emotions. Too many speeches.”

She stood too fast. Her hand slipped from his.

“Careful,” Matt said, already reaching for her again. “Take it slow- ”

“I think I need to throw up,” she mumbled, voice shaky.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, already guiding her. “Bathroom’s just- ”

She staggered.

Her balance tipped.

Matt caught her by the waist before she could fall. “Hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay- ”

She didn’t answer.

Her body felt... lighter. Unsteady. Like her weight was shifting in his arms.

He tilted his head, trying to focus on her. “(Y/n)? You with me?”

She looked up at him.

Confused.

Scared.

“M-Matt, I...”

And then her voice just- cut out.

His arms were suddenly empty.

He blinked.

No sound. No step. No breath.

Just... gone.

The faintest warmth lingered against his fingertips- and then something like dust scattered through them.

“What the- ?” he whispered, stepping back. “(Y/n)?”

His hand shook. Her scent was still in the room. Her heartbeat-

No. No, that wasn’t right.

He turned, listening harder, straining his senses.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The silence grew louder. His throat closed up.

“(Y/n)?”

He moved down the hallway. Checked the bathroom. The bedroom. “(y/n), c’mon. Say something.”

No heartbeat. No motion. Not even the creak of a floorboard. Like she’d never been there. Matt’s chest started to cave in.

“Okay, this isn’t- this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Maybe you passed out. Maybe you hit your head. Maybe- ”

His foot bumped something.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

Lying on the floor.

His knees hit the hardwood before he could stop them. “No.”

He crawled forward, hands blindly reaching, as if she might be hidden just out of reach.

“(Y/n)!” His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

Still nothing.

Just the flicker of the candles.

Just the soft sound of ash settling.

“No, no- God, no!” He stood again. Stumbled. Slipped.

“(Y/n)!” He shouted so hard it tore something in his throat. “Talk to me!”

He made it to the front door. Opened it. Nothing. No one. No footsteps. No sounds of retreat. Matt’s breathing picked up. His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone, nearly dropping it before hitting Call.

Foggy.

It rang once. Twice-

Pick up.

The sound of the city outside had changed. He could hear it.

Screaming. Tires screeching. Glass shattering six blocks over. Someone crying for help. Sirens multiplying like wildfire. It all surged into his head at once- too much, too fast.

He pressed his palm against his ear, gritting his teeth. “Too loud. I can’t- ”

Click.

“Matt?” Foggy answered, out of breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be- ?”

“She’s gone,” Matt said immediately, voice fraying. “Foggy- she was right here, and then she just... disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”

“I mean she turned to ash in my hands,” Matt snapped, breath catching. “I was holding her. She said she felt sick and then- then she just... she was gone.”

There was a pause.

“Matt, hang on- wait- ” Foggy’s voice shifted, panic creeping in. “I think... Matt, something’s happening. It’s not just her.”

Matt stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m outside and people are vanishing. Right in front of me. There was a guy walking beside me- just turned to dust. A woman screaming for her kid, and the kid vanished. A guy in a cab just disappeared behind the wheel, Matt. It crashed into a light post.”

Matt pressed a hand to the center of his chest like he could anchor himself to the sound of Foggy’s voice. But even that was drowned out by the chaos around him.

“I can’t hear her,” he whispered. “Her heartbeat- her breathing- it’s just gone. Like she was never here, foggy.”

Foggy’s voice came through again, strained and tense. “It’s happening everywhere. I can’t keep up. There’s shouting, people running- I think half the crowd outside just vanished. I’m not exaggerating.”

Matt stumbled toward the couch, hand landing on the coffee table. “She was right here.”

“I’m coming to you,” Foggy said quickly. “Stay there, Matt. Don’t go outside- Jesus Christ, someone else just- ”

The line crackled. Cut out. Came back.

Matt’s hands were shaking as he reached for the remote.

The TV flicked on.

"...mass disappearances reported in New York, Chicago, London- this is now confirmed to be a global event..."

Footage played- Times Square chaos. Pedestrians turning to dust mid-step. News anchors looking off-camera in horror. Phones on the ground. Car alarms going off in every direction.

“We are receiving reports that approximately half the world’s population has- vanished.”

The camera panned to a child’s stuffed toy, untouched, lying in a pile of ash. Everything was still. Except the noise. And the empty space beside him on the floor.

“She was right here,” he said again, softly. Like it might undo it.

“She was right here.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

five years later

She came back mid-step.

One foot lifted toward the bathroom- and when it landed, everything was wrong.

The apartment was darker. Colder. Rearranged.

The soft glow from the corner lamp was unfamiliar. The kitchen counter had a different crack. The rug was new. The air carried a different scent- like dust and time and a city that had moved on without her.

“Matt?” she called, voice hoarse.

Silence.

She stepped further in. The living room looked lived-in, but not by her. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The coffee table was cluttered with open case files. There was a cane by the door she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded faster.

“Matt-?”

And then he was there. He stood in the doorway like he’d been carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved. Then, quietly- too calmly- he said, “So. You’re back.”

She stopped cold.

“Matt-”

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying her. “Took longer this time.”

“What…?” she breathed.

“Usually you show up around hour thirty-six,” he said, like it was a fact. “Right after the exhaustion hits but before the whiskey does anything useful.”

Her stomach twisted. “Matt, I’m not-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t what you think.”

“No?” His voice was soft, even, lethal. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like every other time I’ve lost my mind and imagined you standing in this room.”

(Y/n) blinked, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Matt, I- I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, no trace of humor. “You wouldn’t.”

“I was just- I felt sick and then it was cold, and everything looked wrong and-" Her words tangled, tripping over each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Matt?”

Nothing.

She took a tentative step forward. “Please. Say something. What happened? What- what’s going on?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through skin without even trying.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Her breath caught. “What- what do you mean, again?”

“I know your routine now,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “You show up, confused. You ask questions. You cry. And then just when I start to believe you might be real- when I almost let myself feel something again- you vanish.”

“Matt, I don’t- ”

“No,” he snapped. “Stop. Just stop.”

She froze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his jaw locked, eyes unreadable.

“You know what it’s like to bury someone without a body, (Y/n)?” he asked. “To sit in this apartment with your ring in my hand, trying to convince myself that ash on the floor was all that was left of you?”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t remember anything-”

“Exactly,” he said, bitter. “You never do. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You pretend like you’re all confused. Like you don’t know what’s happening. And I- I fall for it. Every time. Like an idiot.”

“Matt- please, just listen to my heartbeat-”

“I did,” he cut in. “I’ve heard it before. Right before it disappears.”

Her lips trembled. “I swear I’m not-”

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking, but no less cruel. “You don’t get to come back here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave me bleeding on the floor that night. Like I didn’t spend years trying to claw my way out of what you left behind.”

“I didn’t leave you,” she whispered.

“But you’re dead,” Matt hissed, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin. “You died. And whatever this is- this illusion, this dream- it doesn’t change that. You don’t get to hurt me again.”

He said it like a closing statement. Like a sentence passed down after a trial that never had a chance. But he didn’t stop there.

“You think this is easy for me?” he went on, voice low, cracking at the edges now. “You think I want to keep seeing you in doorways? Hearing your voice when I close my eyes? You think I haven’t begged for it to stop?”

(Y/n) stood frozen, lips parted, tears streaking silently down her face.

“I have spent five years trying to forget the exact way you said my name before you disappeared. Five years trying not to hear it in someone else’s mouth. Five years waking up thinking you might be there- just once- and then realizing that all I’ve got left is a bed that’s too big and silence that’s too loud.”

He was pacing now, hands in his hair, breathing hard, unable to stop himself.

“You were my wife. You were supposed to be the rest of my life. And I had you for minutes. You were ripped out of my arms before I even got to love you properly. Do you understand that? Do you even get what you left behind?”

“Matt-”

“I grieved you like a man who’d never believe in God again,” he growled. “I went back to that night a thousand times in my head-wondering if I missed something, if I could’ve saved you, if I’d just done one thing different-”

“Matt-”

“I begged,” he snapped. “I begged God to bring you back. I lost everything trying to survive you. And now you show up here, looking exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched you, like you’re just picking up where you left off- like you didn’t burn me to the fucking ground-”

“Matt.”

She said it once.

Quietly.

And then she reached for him.

He flinched on instinct, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, gently, deliberately, she took his hand in hers- still trembling from the weight of his words- and guided it up between them.

To her chest. To her heartbeat. Right there. Steady. Real. Alive. His breath hitched. She kept his hand pressed there, fingers wrapped around his wrist like she could anchor him to this one undeniable truth.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not in your head. I don’t know how or why or what the hell happened, but I’m here.”

Matt didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, like he didn’t trust what he was feeling. Like it might stop if he acknowledged it out loud. Then- suddenly- he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into him, hard.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Her hands gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d drop her again. “Yeah, what the fuck. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He laughed once, breathless and half-broken. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They just stood there for a second. Breathing each other in. Trying to recalibrate. Then, against his chest, she mumbled, “You look like shit, by the way.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Matt let out an actual laugh- short, incredulous, almost like it startled him.

“That’s not funny,” he said, wiping at his eyes, still half-laughing.

She smiled weakly. “Little bit funny.”

He shook his head, still not quite believing any of it. “God, I missed you.”

And then he kissed her.

Desperate and real and messy- too much force, too much urgency, like he didn’t trust it to last. His hands found her face, holding her like he needed proof she was solid. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers in his hair, anchoring him to now. To her.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a little bonus content because well it was funny in my head

A few days later

She was curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled, one of his old hoodies hanging off her shoulder. The TV was on, volume low, neither of them really watching.

She was still catching up- on everything. The blip. The aftermath. The years she missed. Sometimes it hit her like a freight train. Other times, like now, it just snuck up and poked her in the ribs.

She turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Wait a second.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “Uh-oh.”

She sat up a little. “So… technically, you’re five years older than me now?”

He blinked. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” she insisted, grinning. “I married a man my age, not some grizzled thirty-something.”

He scoffed. “Grizzled?”

“I mean, I don’t see any grey hairs, but-”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I heard that smirk.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. Failed. “So you’re like… what, thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected flatly.

“Oh no. I married an older man.”

Matt deadpanned, “And I married a time traveler. Guess we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “You gonna start calling me ‘kid’ now?”

He turned toward her, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Only if you want to see how fast a five-year age gap doesn’t matter.”

Her face flushed. “Okay, grandpa.”

Matt groaned. “Regret. Immediate regret.”

She laughed, leaning back into him again, warm and solid and finally, finally real.

“Still married me,” she said, smug.

“Still would,” he replied, without hesitation.

And that shut her up for a minute.