#i don’t know what i did to deserve this but i know it couldn’t have been that bad to deserve all of this

[cheftsunoda]

reckless — ln4, op81

smau/real life

lando norris x !ex singer reader

oscar piastri x !singer reader

y/n and lando had been inseparable since they were nineteen, building a life together through the highs and lows. but lately, something felt off. as lando grew distant, yn’s suspicions quietly grew—until the truth unraveled…he’d been cheating with magui. instead of confronting him, yn poured her heartbreak into a song—one that ended their relationship for the world to hear. in the aftermath, she found comfort where she least expected it… in the arms of lando’s own teammate.

fc : stassie karanikolaou and various pinterest gals

special request from my love @cmgmikealson 🧡

i am legit posting heal your heart right as we speak so part 4 is posted if you’re looking for it

—

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55, mclaren & 1,294,389 others.

yourusername : life’s been pretty good to me lately<3

—

username00 : so pretty love

username7 : no lando like?

username15 : he usually is first comment 🤨

username5 : im so confused where is her man

username8 : guys he is in the dump relax

alexandrasaintmleux : god you are so beautiful

liked by yourusername

yourusername : come smooch on me pretty

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : what did I walk into?

alexandrasaintmleux: look away cha

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 : Miss you yn!

liked by yourusername

yourusername : miss you carlitos! golf with papà soon?

liked by carlossainz55 and carlossainzoficial

carlossainzoficial : Sí!

liked by yourusername and carlossainz55

kikagomes : my stunning girl

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you to the moon and back

username10 : where tf is lando?

—

‘This chapter's about

How you said there was nobody else

Then you got up and went to her house

You guys always left me out’

—

He grabs his keys from the counter, barely glancing in my direction.

“I’ll be back later,” Lando says, voice flat.

“Where are you going?” I ask, keeping my tone light—casual, like I don’t already feel the distance growing between us.

He shrugs. “Just out.”

No name. No place. No explanation.

I nod, pretending not to care. “Okay. Be safe.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and silence floods the room. I sit there, staring at the space he just walked out of. My chest feels heavier than it should. I could’ve asked again, pressed for an answer—but what would that change? I already know the truth, even if I’m too scared to say it out loud. Something’s wrong. I feel it in the way he doesn’t look at me the same. In how he only kisses me when he thinks I’m not paying attention to the way his mind is somewhere else. Maybe I don’t argue because deep down… I’m tired of fighting for someone who’s already gone.

—

f1gossipgirls

457,296 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Rumors have been swirling for weeks about F1 driver Lando Norris and model/influencer Magui Corceiro, and it looks like things just heated up. The two were seen leaving Magui’s apartment early Tuesday morning, looking very cozy—and definitely not like just friends. Sources say Y/N, Lando’s longtime girlfriend, was not around at the time. The pair kept it low-key, both wearing sunglasses and casual fits, but witnesses couldn’t help but notice the chemistry (and the fact that lando was spotted there overnight).

—

username00 : yn deserved so much better. she gave that man years of loyalty and he gave her betrayal in return. i hope she writes a whole album about this.

username10 : lando leaving his apartment with Magui like we wouldn’t notice?? men have no shame.

username22 : you mean to tell me lando threw away 5 years with yn (the most stunning person on the planet) for felix’ sloppy seconds?

username30 : yn’s silence speaks louder than words.

usernameeee : lando FUMBLED.

—

‘When you told me that I was the only girl

You'd ever want in your life’

The post sits on my phone screen, still open. Lando and Magui, walking out of our apartment like it was theirs. Like I didn’t exist. When I hear the front door open, I don’t move. Just stare at the screen until it turns black. I lock it and set it face down.

Lando walks in, running a hand through his hair like he’s exhausted. “Hey, I’m back,” he says softly.

I look up, trying to sound casual. “Were you with Magui?”

He pauses in the middle of the room. Not long, but long enough.

Then he walks over slowly, kneels in front of me, and rests his hands gently on my knees. “Yeah,” he says, voice calm. “She needed someone to talk to. She was going through something, and I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“There are pictures,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “They look worse than it was. I swear, Y/N. Nothing’s going on with her. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

His eyes search mine like he’s begging me to believe him. He squeezes my hands. “You’re the only one I want. You always have been.”

I nod slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Okay.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

But I still don’t believe him.

Because love shouldn’t come with this much doubt.

And the part of me that used to feel safe with him… doesn’t anymore.

—

‘Each day goes by and each night, I cry

Somebody saw you with her last night

You gave me your word, "Don't worry 'bout her’

The room is quiet except for the occasional sniffle I try to stifle into my pillow. The sheets are pulled up to my chin, but they don’t feel warm—just heavy. Like everything else. My phone is beside me, screen dimmed, waiting for a notification that won’t come. No apology. No explanation. Just silence. I open my Notes app instead, the cursor blinking back at me like it knows what’s coming. I start typing, barely able to see through the blur in my eyes. The words hurt. But they feel true. They feel like mine. I let out a shaky breath, backlit by the soft glow of the screen, when a buzz cuts through the stillness.

Max Fewtrell :

Hey. I know Lando is my best friend but what he is doing to you is so wrong, yn. You’ve been loyal to him for so long. I saw him out with magui again. I wanted you to know. I’m so sorry.

My heart drops. Max never texts me like this. Not unless it’s something important. Not unless he feels like I deserve to know. I stare at the message, my fingers trembling. He lied. Looked me in the eye and told me she just “stopped by.”

I feel something crack quietly inside me—not loud or explosive, just the kind of break you can’t come back from.

—

‘How could you be so reckless with my heart?’

I lie in bed for a while, Max’s message burning a hole in my chest. I keep hoping—praying—there’s a reasonable explanation. That I’m overthinking. That he’s telling the truth. But something inside me shifts. That quiet voice that’s been whispering doubts for weeks gets louder. I can’t ignore it anymore. So I get up. I move through the apartment on autopilot, careful not to make a sound, like I’m trespassing in a home that used to feel like mine. Lando’s bag is by the door, half-zipped, carelessly tossed like everything else in this relationship lately. I kneel beside it, heart pounding. I don’t want to be this person. I never wanted to look. But he made me. Inside, I find his phone charger, his sunglasses… and then a second phone. One I’ve never seen before. It’s not locked. My hands are cold as I scroll through the texts. Her name is right there—Magui—bold and glowing like a warning.

“Miss you already.”

“Last night was everything.”

“Don’t forget your hoodie. I kept it.”

Photo attachments. Her in our kitchen. Her in his hoodie. The same one he wore when he left that day. The same one I folded and left out for him the night before. My breath catches. I can’t cry. Not right now. My body won’t let me. I set the phone down on the counter and stare at it, like it’s some kind of weapon. Because it is. Proof of betrayal. Of everything he swore wasn’t happening.

And suddenly, I’m not heartbroken.

I’m done.

—

‘You check in and out

Of my heart like a hotel

And she must be perfect, oh well

I hope you both go to hell’

I don’t rush.

There’s a strange calm that settles over me as I fold my clothes, one by one, placing them carefully into the suitcase I bought on our first trip together. I don’t slam drawers or throw things. I just… let go.

Piece by piece.

Everything that once felt like home now feels like evidence. The framed photo of us at Silverstone. The hoodie he gave me when I first stayed over. The mug with my initial that he always filled before his morning races.

I don’t take them.

He can have the memories.

I zip the suitcase slowly and glance around the apartment one last time. It looks the same. But everything’s changed.

On the counter, I leave the second phone. Unlocked. Open to the last message from Magui.

And next to it, I place a folded piece of paper.

‘i trusted you. i loved you. she must be perfect, oh well. i hope you both go to hell.’

—

‘Hey, this is a story I hate

But I told it to cope with the pain

I'm so sorry if you can relate’

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri & 4,379,275 others.

yourusername : i got cheated on so alex got me this shirt, we went to ibiza to party and i released my new single reckless out now 🗣️

—

username00 : alex is the best ever

username10 : this is so iconic. the shirt. the cig in ibiza. im in tears.

alexandrasaintmleux : i love love love you- the trip was so fun

liked by yn_ln

charles_leclerc : Glad you girls had fun! Hope you’re feeling better, yn:)

liked by yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

yn_ln : thanks for letting us borrow the jet Charlie;)

liked by charles_leclerc

kikagomes : so iconic FUCK HIM

liked yn_ln

oscarpiastri : Glad you’re healing, YN. He did you wrong.

liked by yn_ln

kikagomes : or fuck his teammate??

liked by yn_ln & oscarpiastri

username17 : OH MY GOD

carlossainz55 : glad to be your tour guide :)

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : 10/10 would recommend

username000 : oh so she won everyone in the breakup

—

36 missed calls from Lando

115 messages from Lando

—

The Monaco streets are quiet this early—just the soft hum of waves below and the rhythmic slap of my sneakers against the pavement. The city’s waking up, but I’ve been up for hours. Running clears my head in ways sleep can’t lately. I round the corner near Port Hercule, pulling my hoodie tighter around me as the breeze cuts through. Just as I hit the incline by the marina, a familiar figure jogs past in the opposite direction—then slows down and doubles back.

“Yn?”

I pause, pulling out one earbud. “Oscar?”

He jogs up, slightly out of breath, curls damp with sweat, that easy smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know you were back.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to steady both my breathing and the sudden flutter in my chest. “Just got in a few days ago.”

He nods, studying me for a beat. “You alright?”

I give a tired smile. “Getting there.”

He doesn’t push. Just offers a quiet, steady presence, the kind I didn’t know I needed until now.

“I was gonna grab a coffee and walk the market after this,” he says, shifting his weight slightly. “You feel like company?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is this a pity invite?”

He grins. “Only if you say no. Then it’ll definitely be pity.”

I laugh—really laugh—for the first time in days. The air feels lighter somehow.

“Alright,” I say. “But I’m picking the playlist next time we run into each other.”

He falls in step beside me. “Deal.”

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, kikagomes, carlossainz55 & 2,278,245 others.

yourusername : never been happier <3

—

username00 : new man??! bets??

username10 : better not see any “you moved on quick” comments because he moved on while they were still together

username5 : what if it’s Oscar???

kikagomes : you’re so cute omggg ily

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux : my angel deserves to be happy 🦋

liked by yn_ln

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & 1,238,255 others.

oscarpiastri : Been pretty productive lately.

—

username00 : mans is soft launching and is so nonchalant

carlossainz55 : Hell of a season for you so far amigo!

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : My good luck charm definitely helps

liked by carlossainz55

username10 : call me delulu but that’s def yn

hattiepiastri : who? what? when?

oscarpiastri : you could’ve just texted bro

hattiepiastri : you never answer your texts

nicolepiastri : or calls

—

The Monaco sun hits hard, even in the morning, but the buzz of the paddock is electric as always—cameras flashing, engines humming in the background, and whispers floating like static. This time, though, it’s not the usual chaos that turns heads.

It’s me.

Walking beside Oscar.

I’m wearing sunglasses, a soft black cap pulled low, and an oversized McLaren hoodie. Not just any hoodie—his hoodie. The number 81 stitched on the sleeve in that unmistakable papaya orange.

Oscar doesn’t say anything when the photographers start snapping. Just glances sideways at me with a small, knowing smile like he expected this.

I shrug. “It was the most comfortable one I had.”

“Sure it was,” he says, gently bumping my shoulder with his.

We pass a few crew members. They nod politely—but their eyes dip to my sleeve.

The whispers start instantly.

“That’s Piastri’s number, isn’t it?”

“Since when are they a thing?”

“I thought she was with—”

“Not anymore.”

Somewhere across the paddock, I catch a glimpse of Lando.

He’s mid-conversation but freezes for a split second when he sees us. His eyes drop to the hoodie, and I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens.

I don’t look away.

Oscar doesn’t either.

He simply says, “You ready?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He grips tightly onto my hand as we walk through.

—

The podium celebration is chaos—in the best way. Champagne rains down like glitter, the crowd is deafening, and Oscar’s smile is wider than she’s ever seen it. There’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. A quiet, humble pride. He climbs down from the stage, face flushed with adrenaline and joy, and immediately scans the crowd.

And then he sees me. Standing just behind the McLaren garage barrier, still wearing his hoodie, tears in my eyes and the biggest grin on my face.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He pushes through the crowd—crew members cheering, pats on the back, cameras chasing him—and walks straight to me.

“You did it,” i breathe, eyes shining.

“I told you I would,” he says softly, almost in disbelief.

And before either of us can talk ourselves out of it, he leans in and kisses me.

Not rushed. Not messy. Just sure.

The kind of kiss that says finally.

Around us, everything blurs. Reporters stop mid-sentence. Phones come up. Paparazzi lenses refocus. Someone gasps—someone else screams.

It’s official. Public. Real.

When we pull apart, Oscar rests his forehead against mine.

“I wanted to do that for a while.”

I laughed, still a little breathless. “Figured. You did win, after all.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But I think you’re still my favorite part of today.”

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc & 10,279,255 others.

yourusername : finally got a man who can handle having a baddie

—

charles_leclerc : the cutout picture has me rolling

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : he told me to leave it out

oscarpiastri : i know how lucky i am to have pulled you;)

liked by yn_ln

oscarpiastri : my pretty girl

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux: my loves!

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

carlossainz55 : oh this is the good luck charm, huh?😉

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

—

☘️🌿🌎☁️🍃🌱🐢

[stylesispunk]

Blind faith | part ix

Priest!Joel Miller x dancer!reader

masterlist| previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: six months of distance doesn't count when everything else seems to fade away when your eyes are locked again across the room.

wc:8k.

warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s, reader in her last 20s) angst, forbidden love (perhaps not so so much now), mentions of politics, mentions of exile, mentions of an injury, fluff.

a/n: Don't hate me. I know it felt rushed. I literally rewrite the whole thing. Next chapter there will be more things to say. I hope you enhoy it AND please share your thoughts with me. Thank you babies.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

There was intimacy in never speaking again. A brain and a heart that held onto memories, silence and the reminiscence of the sidelines of a face that had imprinted in your soul.

Missing you was the point of all. That was an act of love. A pure one. That was the realest proof that he had to show to you, mostly to himself for now. That meant he had loved you. Past and present, at this very same moment. It meant there was room in his body for you. Still waiting and still holding all the love he couldn't wait to show you, to give you and to share with you.

After all he had found the sacred oasis in your lips.

You were the religion he was devoted to.

You were the one.

You would always be the one.

Coming back home sliced joel's heart in two.

It had taken an entire month to recover from that wound on his knee, to being discharged from the hospital. He was finally able to leave that place, a building that still got traces of you carved on the walls he was passing by while Carmen pushed the wheelchair with him on it, whose silence was sharp enough to bleed. He felt ridiculous, broken, but mostly broken because after getting used to you there wasn’t a coming back from it. You meant a before and after in a life, the kind of power that only some magical people hold. Of course, you were one of them, the one who had made him face his own fears and sins while making him aware of himself of a person deserving of magic.

Now that you were gone, the light that had returned back to his life after twenty years had blown off.

“Where did she leave to?” He asked, making Carmen stop the wheelchair just before the hospital’s front doors, her grip tightening on the handles. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, as if whatever she was about to say physically hurt to give voice to.

Then, quietly, “She left, father. That’s enough.”

He didn’t have to ask who. The word hit him square in the chest like a hammer.

“Where?” he rasped; his throat dry.

Carmen sighed and Joel’s heart stuttered, his stomach dropping out from under him.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked for the first time. “She didn’t say. Just… told Billy not to look for her. Said she needed space. Time. Said she needed to remember who she was before everything happened before him. And before you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. That last part gutted him more than he wanted to admit.

He should’ve known it would come to this. Should’ve known there was only so much a person could take before they started running.

Carmen crouched down beside him, her eyes sharp and wet. “I should hate you, Joel. Part of me does. But I know what she saw in you. And maybe one day you’ll pull your head out of your ass and be the man I know she still believe you are. God knows you owe her that much.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, the part of him you’d woken, the good, the hopeful, the goddamn human part, was still clawing its way out of the wreckage.

The sun was just starting to dip when they reached the square. The town had gathered like it was some goddamn festival — banners hung from balconies, old folks holding candles, kids waving tiny flags. Joel could hear music in the distance, a band he recognized from the church playing something somber, something meant to sound grateful and mournful at the same time.

Carmen stiffened behind him. Joel’s stomach turned.

He hadn’t asked for this.

The Cardinal was waiting near the fountain, in his pristine robes, a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face like this was his victory too. People from town clapped as Joel was wheeled into view, a slow, building applause that made his skin crawl. The same faces who used to cross the street to avoid you. The same ones who whispered behind their hands when you passed, who called you cursed, dangerous, a troublemaker for daring to breathe close to him.

And now here they were, raising candles to him.

To a man who hadn't saved a goddamn thing. To a man who had almost got you killed.

Joel’s hands curled into fists on the armrests of the chair, his throat burning.

The Cardinal stepped forward, making some sanctimonious speech about sacrifice, about bravery, about divine justice. Joel barely heard it over the rush of blood in his ears.

Until he said your name.

“—and we give thanks for the soul of that young woman who stood in defiance of wickedness, whose trials remind us of the righteous path—”

Joel’s temper snapped clean in two.

“Shut the fuck up!” he barked, the words tearing from him like a wound breaking open. The crowd recoiled as if struck.

Carmen’s hands grabbed at his shoulders, trying to steady him, but Joel pushed himself up on his good leg, pain lighting through him like fire. He didn’t care. He needed to stand.

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” Joel growled, glaring at them, at all of them. “You people don’t get to say good things. You don’t get to light your pretty candles and call her brave like you didn’t spit on her when she walked these streets.”

The silence was suffocating, thick and brittle. He knew you would be laughing at how ridiculous this show was.

Joel pointed a trembling, furious finger at the townspeople. “Where were you when she was being taking away by that man? Where were you when she was being hunted? When you all watched it let it happen ‘cause it was easier than standing up for her?”

Someone started to speak, some mealy-mouthed excuse, but Joel cut them down with a look sharp enough to kill.

“You treated her like she was a curse. Like she didn’t have the right to be here. And now you want to act like she was a saint? You don’t get to rewrite her story now because she had always been braver than all of you together.”

His voice broke on the last word, grief clawing up his throat.

Carmen watching silently behind him, how he was acting like this.

Joel looked at the Cardinal last. That smug, holy bastard in his spotless robes.

“And you,” Joel hissed. “I told you I didn’t want any of this. I want to lay in bed.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Couldn’t.

Joel turned, leaning heavy on the wheelchair, his leg screaming in protest.

The square stayed deathly quiet. People completed stunned at the priest outburst.

So, Carmen pushed the wheelchair in stunned silence for a few steps before she stopped up to him, one hand hovering near his neck like she wasn’t sure if he wanted her there. Joel didn’t say a word, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, eyes fixed ahead as he looked at the same streets that still smelled like you.

The same streets where you used to walk beside him, hands stuffed in your pockets, while the both of you were falling in love with each other without knowing. The cobblestones still remembered the echo of your laugh. He could swear it.

“I can’t—” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Carmen reached for him then, careful, her face drawn and pale. “Father.”

“Stop calling me father” he blurted out, “I should’ve gotten to her,” he said, the words spilling out, raw and broken. “I should’ve…”

“Joel, she made her choice.” Carmen said softly, though her own throat bobbed with a swallowed sob. “And for now, she needs this time. This space. She lost her family and she needs to grieve them.”

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes.  They stood there in the half-dark, the town’s false mourning echoing far behind them.

“Where is she now?” he asked quietly, not looking up as if Carmen previous answer at the hospital had changed.

Carmen took a breath. “I don’t know.”

It felt like the world tilted under his feet.

“Is she coming back?” Joel whispered.

Carmen nodded, her face crumpling. “Perhaps she will.”

Joel let out a shaky breath that sounded like a sob. Then another. The weight in his chest cracked open wide enough for a flicker of light.

He straightened up, his jaw set. “Okay.”

Six months passed by in a blurry.

Six goddamn months.

The smoke curled between your fingers, the cigarette half-burnt, staining the cold night air like a secret you didn’t want to carry anymore. London’s skyline stretched ahead of you, jagged and glittering, the sounds of late-night traffic humming somewhere below. You exhaled, slow and careful, like you could bleed the ache from your chest with the smoke. It didn’t work. It never did.

You hadn’t never smoked in your life. You never hadn’t had the need to. The smell made you want to vomit but now in these quiet hours when the world slipped into shadows and you were left alone with your thoughts, it felt like the only thing tethering you to your skin. The cigarette, the chipped mug of tea cradled in your other hand. both anchored back to something you hadn’t dared name.

You were teaching now. Little girls with crooked teeth and scraped knees who dreamed of being swans and princesses and stars. You taught them to move, to stretch their arms toward light, to find grace in the mess of themselves. It made you happy. It made you whole, sometimes. But the night came and you found yourself alone in the dark, dark became merciless.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how much ocean you put between you and that town, you couldn’t outrun yourself.

You couldn’t outrun Joel.

The worst part wasn’t even that you missed him. It was the way you missed him. On how your body remembered him without permission, the rough scrape of his beard when he laughed too hard, the solid weight of his palm between your shoulder blades, on your face, or the particular way his voice could drop low enough to make your bones ache.

And it was always the nights that did you in. When you left the light on, though you told yourself it was for no reason. When you made a cup of tea you barely drank, because some ridiculous, fragile part of you still associated that warmth with the safety of sitting on his couch, both of you too stubborn to acknowledge you loved each other back then.

The loneliness wasn’t the loud kind. It was soft, a persistent tug under your ribs, tightening your heart. A name in your throat you didn’t want to say out loud because it would make his absence real.

You tapped the ash from your cigarette, watching the ember spark against the wind. Somewhere behind you, your tiny flat remained cluttered with ballet shoes and notebooks filled with old poems. You hadn’t called Carmen. Hadn’t written. Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being spoken to gently, of being told it was okay when it wasn’t.

In moments like these, reality hit you. The truth behind the pain and tears sliding down your heart. That no matter how many miles you put between yourself and that blood-soaked town, no matter how hard you tried to build a new version of yourself out of the broken pieces — there would never be a home to arrive to again. No more warm hugs from your mother, no more breakfast on Sunday mornings. You had even start to forget the sound of the voice of your brother and the smell of your father’s perfume lingering. 

Every time you woke up gasping from dreams where they were still alive, still waiting for you. Every time a memory snuck up uninvited. Every time you let yourself want things you weren’t allowed to have anymore.

That was the thing about surviving through the grief, it was quieter than anyone told you it would be. A long, thin ache that settled in your bones and never left. You could dance, you could teach, you could fill your lungs with thousands of cigarettes, and it would still be there. The missing. The longing. The what if.

And then there was Joel.

Another ache you carried differently. Because he wasn’t dead. He was somewhere out there, still breathing, still moving through a world you weren’t part of anymore. And you hated how you loved him. Hated how you left him. Hated how every damn cup of tea you made tasted like a memory you hadn’t asked for.

You looked down at the cigarette burning to the filter and cursed softly under your breath. You hadn’t meant to pick up the habit. But then, you hadn’t meant to fall in love with a man like Joel Miller either.

Some things just happened to you. Like grief. Like love.

Your fingers brushed the delicate chain around your neck, a tiny, tarnished silver cross, its edges worn down from years of wear. It was his. You’d stolen from him, when his voice in your ear was the only thing that kept you sane, when he forgot who he was supposed to be and let you be something else entirely. You hadn’t planned to take it. It had been lying on his nightstand, glinting in the low light, days after he’d broken his vows and made love to you like a man starved for something clean, something holy.

You’d slipped it into your pocket before he noticed and it had been in your belongings ever since, so it stayed with you, pressing cool and small against your skin like a wound that would never heal right.

You closed your hand around it now, feeling its shape against your palm, sharp and familiar. The kind of ache you knew how to carry. You tilted your head back toward the night sky.

“I miss you; you damn priest.” you whispered. Just for yourself. For the ghost of him that curled around your ribs and made it impossible to sleep without the lights on.

In two more days, you’d be on a flight back to California.

Back to the courtroom. Back to face Gabriel.

The arraignment would be held in four days and you’d have to stand there and look him in the eyes, the man who destroyed everything you loved, and you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You didn’t know if your voice would hold. If your knees wouldn’t buckle. If you wouldn’t scream.

But you had to do it. Because there was no one else left to. Because your brother’s blood was still fresh in your dreams. And you would have to walk into that courtroom with this cross around your neck, and your mother’s courage in your veins, and try to survive it one more time.

Maybe after that, you’d find a way to go home.

The months passing by weren’t less hurtful for Joel. During this time, he had lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

You.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel, well, he didn’t feel attraction to her. Not even close. But her little daughter, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him father and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose Joel Miller lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel didn’t feel attracted to her. Not even close. But her little girl, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him “Father” and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose tiny laugh he only heard in dreams.

He let Lucía climb into his lap some afternoons, read her passages from children’s books left behind at the church. And for a little while, Joel told himself this was enough. This was penance. This was life. He could end his life doing this.

But you haunted him.

Every night.

In every dream.

In every flicker of candlelight against stained glass.

Your face, your voice, the weight of you in his arms. The scent of your hair on his pillow. The heat of your skin beneath his hands, the rasp of your voice in the dark and in the light.

Like sunshine and moonlight.

It was like your name was carved into the most wounded places of his already cracked heart. The pass of time hasn’t done its worked on healing the shred tapestry. He had picked up the pieces that once feel and he continued a life without even try to reconciliate with its past, with what had happened to him, with the loss.

He had found refuge into religion, he stepped inside of that world blinded by the things he hadn’t found the strength to face, not back then, not even now.

He has just spent life the pain hanging from his limbs while he had recited words to heal others while people believed in him, blindly.

And one night, after the dream came again, you standing in that field outside of town, barefoot, eyes shining in the moonlight as you said Joel, you can’t stay here, he woke up drenched in sweat, his chest tight like something was caving in. The cross you stole, the one he hadn't been able to find, felt like it was burning a hole in his heart.

At dawn, before anyone else had stirred, Joel made his way to the rectory. The Cardinal was already there, sipping his tea like the sanctimonious bastard he always was. The bastard who let people suffer. Who never lifted a goddamn finger.

Joel didn’t knock. Didn’t wait to be invited.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Joel said, his voice rough as gravel. “I’m quitting. The cloth. The church. All of it.”

The Cardinal barely looked up. “You’re angry, Joel. You’ve been grieving.”

“This ain’t grief,” Joel snapped. “This is clarity. I never belonged here. You knew it. I knew it. I stayed ‘cause I thought maybe… maybe God could still see me. But she—” Joel’s throat worked around the words. “She saw me when no one else did. And I failed her. I let you, and this town, and this place, tear her apart.”

The Cardinal sighed, setting his cup down with a clink. “She was dangerous, Joel. You know what she carried.”

“She carried more courage than any person in this town ever did,” Joel growled. “More than you, more than me.”

Silence settled like a blade between them. Joel’s hands trembled.

“I dream about her,” he whispered. “I dream about what I should’ve done. About how I should’ve left with her, should’ve burned this place down behind us. And I can’t… I can’t wear this collar another day knowing I let her walk out there alone.”

The Cardinal’s expression twisted with something Joel couldn’t name, pity? Disgust? Resignation?

“I spent days and weeks asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. That this beating in my heart each time I saw her was a figment of terrible intentions but it felt right, why?”

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

And with that, Joel turned, stepping out into the rising light of morning. The town was quiet, save for the soft cooing of doves and the distant, far-off clatter of a cart’s wheels. Joel breathed it in like a man tasting air for the first time.

The words hung in the air like incense smoke — heavy, sweet, and suffocating.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he turned halfway back toward the Cardinal. The old man’s face was worn, more lined than it used to be, the weight of his own sins settling into the folds of his skin.

“I spent days,” Joel rasped, his voice breaking around the edges, “weeks, asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. If the beating in my chest every time she walked into a room was some kind of sickness, a figment of terrible intentions.”

His eyes burned, throat tight.“But it felt right,” he whispered. “Why?”

The Cardinal, for once, didn’t look smug. Didn’t look righteous. He just sighed, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

Joel felt it, like a stone to the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

The Cardinal kept going, his voice low and steady. “It’s devotion. It’s sacrifice. It’s believing in something you can’t always see, can’t always explain. It asks for your faith. It demands you kneel to it. And it makes sinners of us all.”

Joel looked down at his hands, his battered, calloused hands that had held you like a prayer.

“I’m not a sinner for loving her” he stated.

“No, you aren’t.”

“You told me she was dangerous,” Joel murmured.

“She was,” the Cardinal admitted. “Dangerous in the way the first fire was dangerous to man. In the way storms are dangerous to ships. She was a force that didn’t belong in cages or chapels. She was meant to be loved fiercely or not at all.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache blooming in his chest so sharp it nearly toppled him.

“I loved her,” he confessed, raw and bloodied. “And I let her leave.”

The Cardinal’s expression softened. “Then find her.”

Without another word, Joel turned, the weight of the collar around his neck unbearable now. His hands reached up, unclasping it, and he left it on the table like a final, silent offering.

Then he stepped out into the breaking dawn, his heart pounding like a war drum, and he started walking.

Weeks bled into months the way they always did, quiet, without asking permission.

Joel bought a small apartment just outside of town. Nothing fancy. A two-room place with creaky floors and old curtains that smelled like dust and old rain. The kind of place you’d probably roll your eyes at, saying it needed color, or flowers on the damn windowsill.

But it was his.

The first thing he had owned as a normal, ordinary man.

And if the day ever came, if by some twist of fate, you came back from wherever you’d gone. It would be enough. There’d be a light left on. A door that wouldn’t lock itself. A place for you to land.

He filled the place slowly. A record player he found at the flea market. A secondhand bookshelf with two shelves of battered paperbacks you would’ve picked apart for how predictable their plots were. A coffee cup with a chipped handle he couldn’t throw away. And one night, when the ache in his chest wouldn’t let him sleep, he found himself buying a set of tea cups too.

Just in case.

He’d wake up some mornings and swear he could hear your laugh in the kitchen. Could almost catch the ghost of your voice calling him an old fool. But the place would be empty, save for the old cat from next door who’d taken to visiting him in the evenings.

Joel kept working odd jobs. Carpentry. Fixing fences. Keeping to himself.

The town had changed, in small ways. People didn’t look at him like a holy man anymore. They looked at him like a man who’d chosen to bleed for someone they’d once spat at. And it suited him better. He didn’t want their prayers. He didn’t need their forgiveness. He just needed yours.

Some nights he’d sit on the terrace, watching the sky turn dark and wonder where you were. If you were looking the same moon at the same time, if you still took your tea with too much sugar. If you still hummed that same old song under your breath when you thought no one was listening.

If you missed him. If you’d come back.

And every night before turning in, Joel left the porch light on. Because some part of him still believed you’d find your way home. Because he had no god to pray to anymore.

Only you.

The courthouse smelled like old paper and stale air. Joel sat there, the collar of his shirt tight around his neck even without the old priest’s garb. He wasn’t a priest anymore. Hadn’t been for months. But the weight of that past life still clung to his bones like a phantom limb.

Carmen sat beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his in silent comfort, though neither of them said much. Billy was next to them back straight, jaw tight.

Gabriel sat across the room, in that cold, stiff chair reserved for the accused. His hands cuffed, his face pale but still wearing that same arrogant, hollow expression. He looked like a man already halfway to hell, and Joel, for all his rage and grief, didn’t even feel satisfaction at the sight. Only exhaustion.

The trial had been long. Testimonies. Evidence. And Joel had gotten up there, hands trembling but voice steady, and told them what needed telling. He spoke of the things he’d seen. The things he’d failed to stop. The night he’d seen Gabriel take you away, and how he’d waited too long to follow. How he would carry that until his bones turned to dust.

When he stepped down from the stand, he scanned the courtroom. Some small, stupid, stubborn part of him hoping you’d be there, in the back row or leaning against a wall like you used to, arms crossed, daring the world to challenge you.

But you weren’t.

And he felt it then. That flicker of light threatening to go out.

Carmen squeezed his shoulder, and he almost told her it was fine. That he was fine. That maybe it was better this way, you free, gone, breathing new air somewhere far from this cursed town and its rotting memories.

Then the door opened.

It was a small thing. A shift of air, the creak of old hinges.

But his heart stuttered.

And there you were.

Your hair a little shorter, pulled back with a careless tie. A soft coat wrapped around you, face thinner but eyes still sharp, carrying the kind of storm that made men tremble. A tiny silver cross on a chain around your neck, his cross. And for a moment, he forgot how to properly breathe.

You walked toward the stand; your steps steady even if the ghost of the past clung to you like a second skin. You didn’t look at anyone, not yet.

But Joel was already standing.

Carmen grabbed his wrist, whispering a “Joel,” under her breath, but he barely registered it. The world had narrowed down to you, to the line of your shoulders, the way you held yourself like a woman built of grief and defiance, the kind of person saints would have bowed to if they’d had any sense.

The judge’s voice cut through the thick, oppressive air like a blade.

“Miss… would you please state your name for the court?”

Your voice came, soft but steady, like the echo of a storm long passed but not forgotten.

You said your name, the name some people had tried to strip from you, the one they’d dragged through the dirt and the back alleys of town. But here it still was, on your tongue, yours.

The judge nodded, then leaned slightly forward, his expression carefully neutral, like a man who’d heard every horror the world could offer but still needed to pretend it surprised him.

“Can you tell this court about this man?”

The room seemed to tighten around you, the walls pressing in closer, the cheap wooden benches groaning under the weight of held breath.

You turned your head, slowly, to look at Gabriel.

And God, there was so much in that look. Mostly fury and hurt.

A raw, bone-deep ache for the girl you’d been before his shadow had ever darkened your doorstep. He sat there, his face pale and drawn but his eyes still void of anything human. As if he thought you wouldn’t speak. As if he thought after everything, he still had that power over you.

But you didn’t look away. Not until you were finished.

And then, like instinct, like the world shifting into place, your gaze flickered past the benches, to the figure standing halfway in the shadows, two rows behind Gabriel. Carmen and Billy, but then,

Joel.

And in the hurricane of rage and grief, your eyes softened. For a moment, the weight of the courtroom, the stares, the memories clawing at your skin — they fell away.

It was just him.

And the man who had once carried your body through those church doors like you weighed nothing. The man who’d fought God and his own sins for you.

The man who, despite everything, looked at you now like you were still the same light he'd lost and kept chasing.

Your lips parted, a breath hitching in your throat.

And Joel — his jaw clenched, his throat working around a swallowed word, a tear glinting in the corner of his eye he didn’t bother to hide this time.

The judge spoke again, but for a second neither of you moved. The room still existed, the trial still waited, but the world had shrunk to the space between your eyes and his.

And without meaning to, your fingers brushed the tiny silver cross at your neck, his cross.

Then you nodded.

And you spoke.  Not to Gabriel. Not for the townsfolk. But for the girl you used to be.

And for the man standing in the second row, who’d never stopped hoping you’d come back.

It was late. The kind of night where the streets held that strange, restless hush, not quite silence, but the quiet of a town too old to sleep easy.

Joel carried a paper bag against his chest, the sharp scent of oranges and a bottle of whiskey bleeding through the paper. Carmen had begged him to get some food in the house, something decent, but he knew he’d probably just let it go bad on the counter again.

He was cutting through the square when he saw you.

You were sitting on the old stone bench near the fountain, the same one you’d sat on as a girl, tossing coins into the water, wishing for things you wouldn’t name out loud. Your back was to him, head tipped toward the night sky, a cigarette burning between your fingers like a tiny, defiant star.

For a moment he thought it was another dream. God knew he’d had enough of those in the past six months. Versions of you in every form, laughing, bleeding, ghosting past him without a word.

But then you shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Real. Solid. Breathing.

Joel felt the breath knock out of his lungs. Time didn’t slow; it collapsed entirely, folding in on itself. The ache in his chest, the wound he’d carried every single second of those six months, cracked wide open.

There was the woman of his heart.

The one be belonged to, in body and soul.

You.

"Hey"

“Hey,” you said, soft and almost shy, like it hadn’t been six long, brutal months, like you hadn’t crossed an ocean trying to outrun the ghost of him and the pieces of yourself you left behind.

Joel’s throat worked around a sound he couldn’t name. His hands trembled at his sides. You. Standing right there. That voice he’d heard in his sleep, in his worst nights, in the empty spaces between his ribs.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, taking a step forward, then another, like if he stopped now, he might never get to see you again. “Is it… is it really you?”

You gave him a watery smile, your chin trembling. “Yeah,” you whispered.

And just like that, his world made sense again.

It was his whole goddamn world standing in front of him, across the street in the middle of the rain, hair shorter than he remembered, face thinner, a leather jacket slung over your shoulder but it was his.

And that smile.

That goddamn crooked, stubborn, radiant smile that had sent him to heaven a thousand times and dragged him through hell just the same.

You sat back down by the font; the evening air cool against your skin. The cigarette between your fingers was more for the ritual than the craving, a bad habit you’d picked up again these past months when the nights got too long and the memories too loud.

Joel just stood there for a second, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or some cruel trick of his mind. The same face. The same eyes. That half-smile you used to give him when you caught him staring.

And then, of all the goddamn things he could have told you, he shook his head a little, let out a breath, and said, “Smokin’s bad.”

You laughed. Actually laughed, the sound catching even you by surprise. It was small and rough around the edges but so real it made Joel’s eyes sting.

“Still giving me lectures?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He shrugged, a crooked, helpless grin tugging at his mouth. “Some things don’t change.”

Joel’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he noticed the worn canvas bag sitting by your feet. Faded patches sewn into the side,

"Where are you staying?" He asked.

"I don't know really. Carmen got a boyfriend and I really don't want to intrude at her house. Besides I don’t really don't trust strangers at all either."

"You can stay with me" he said

 "That's bold of you to say" you said.

Joel huffed a soft, almost shy laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… guess six months apart didn’t fix my habit of wanting you near.”

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar little smirk ghosting your lips. “Still bold, father.”

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now, eyes steady on yours. “No pressure, no strings. Just… a place you know you’re safe. And it’s not a stranger’s place. It’s mine.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The cigarette between your fingers burned down to the filter, and you flicked it away, your chest tight in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of tight that came from hearing the one person you swore you wouldn’t need again offering you a soft landing anyway.

“Okay,” you said softly. “But I get the couch.”

He smiled, crooked and boyish, like the years and the blood and the pain hadn’t touched him for a second. “We’ll argue about that later.”

It felt like the night he met you, sleeping on the bench inside the church. When he was still a priest, when he had no idea how much he would get to love you

Yeah, it felt just like that.

The way the world had gone quiet around them, the way time shrank to a moment that only the two of you existed inside. Joel felt it in his bones, in the marrow of every terrible, aching thing he'd carried since the night he first found you curled up on that cold church bench, eyes swollen from sleep.

Back then, he'd been a man of vows and quiet prayers, and you’d been a storm he hadn’t seen coming. Fragile in ways you hated to admit, strong in ways you didn’t even realize. And he’d fallen. God, how he fell.

Looking at you now, a bit more bruised by life, but still carrying that wild fire in your eyes, it felt like no time had passed at all. That same tether still pulled at him, snapping tight around his heart.

“Same look on your face,” you murmured, catching him staring. “Like you’re about to try and save me again.”

Joel’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the knot there. “Didn’t do too good a job last time.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the bench. “You loved me. That was more than anybody else ever did.”

And it was the truth. As jagged and complicated and doomed as it had been, it was love. Raw, messy, aching love.

“And who said I don’t love you still?” Joel said quietly, not bothering to dress it up, not this time. The words sat between you like a fragile, half-healed scar.

You turned your head then, eyes meeting his, and it was all there, written plain across his face. That same broken, stubborn, endlessly loyal kind of love you used to drown in.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving you, but before you could speak, Joel’s voice cut in, low and rough like gravel.

The world tilted, or maybe it was just your heart lurching in your chest. Six months of oceans, of silence, of trying to bury pieces of him deep enough that you could breathe again — and here he was, saying it like it hadn’t been a day.

Your throat tightened. “Joel…”

“I don’t care if it’s reckless,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t care if you’re leaving tomorrow or if you still hate me for what happened. I’ve spent every damn night wishing it was different, wishing’ I could’ve gotten to you sooner, wishing I’d never let you walk away.”

You swallowed hard, your whole-body trembling under the weight of everything you’d buried.

And just like that, the years, the pain, the distance, none of it mattered. It was always going to be you and Joel.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it too much, like staring straight into the sun after months of night.

Only him.

Only the ache of a heart you’d tried to cauterize and failed.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse, frayed at the edges like old lace. You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“Where’s your place then, Father?”

And the title hung in the air like a goddamn curse, bitter on your tongue.

You weren’t even sure if it was meant to wound him, or if it was just the only armor you had left.

Joel flinched like you’d struck him.

For a second, neither of you breathed.

Then, in a voice low enough that it was meant for you and no one else, Joel said,

“I haven’t been a father to anyone in a long time.”

And you finally lifted your gaze, because you had to.

What you found wasn’t a priest. Wasn’t the man in a collar who’d carried you out of that place.

Wasn’t even the broken man you’d left six months ago.

It was him.

“I bought a place,” he told you, as you grab your things following him.

You followed him as muscle memory, like you’d done it a thousand times before. The world outside was gray and swollen with clouds, the air thick with the kind of storm that felt personal. Neither of you spoke in the car, didn’t need to. It was the kind of silence where words would’ve only made the ache worse.

When he pushed open the door to the apartment, you stepped in behind him, and it felt like stepping into another life you might’ve lived.

It was small, yeah. Walls a soft, worn kind of white. A couch that had seen better days. A battered bookshelf half-full. A record player. No crosses. No saints. No confessions.

Just Joel.

You ran your hand along the edge of the table by the door, the tips of your fingers brushing over a cup of cold coffee, a photograph turned face down.

Your throat was too tight to speak, so you didn’t.

Joel shifted beside you, watching you like a man bracing for impact.

“You don’t like it?” he asked quietly.

Your lips parted, a soundless breath leaving you.

You let your gaze travel the room again, a small plant struggling for life on the windowsill.

And you shook your head, voice rough as gravel. “It looks very you, father.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a second you saw it, that flicker of fear and hope warring in his chest.

You were both terrible at this.

Joel swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping for a moment, like the weight of you standing there, saying father in that voice was something sharp he was trying not to bleed over.

“I—uh…” he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he always did when he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “You want a cup of tea?”

You gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but tried to, and nodded once. “Yeah… yeah, alright.”

And without waiting for him, your feet moved, like they already knew this place, even if you’d never been here before. The narrow hallway, the scuffed floorboards, the old records stacked by the table. You walked through the open glass door leading to the terrace, the cool air brushing against your skin, the city stretched out in bruised shades of blue and gray.

The world felt quieter out here.

You rested your hands on the rusting railing, the way the town lights blinked like distant, dying stars. It was so him, a place caught between wanting to be forgotten and quietly hoping someone would notice.

Joel watched you from the doorway for a beat before disappearing into the tiny kitchen, the sound of a kettle filling the silence. He didn’t ask what you were thinking. Didn’t need to.

And standing there, you hated how easily your heart mapped itself back to him.

How your bones still remembered the shape of his name.

He came back a few minutes later, two chipped mugs in hand. You took one, your fingers brushing his. It was ridiculous how something so small could still feel like a wound reopening.

“I didn’t think you’d come back to this town,” he said quietly.

You looked out at the city. “Neither did I.”

And you both drank to that.

The tea scalded your tongue, but you welcomed the sting. Better than the ache swelling in your chest, the one you hadn’t asked for, hadn’t invited back in. You stared out at the dark wash of the sky, the cold air biting at your skin, and you thought about how much you wanted him close.

How badly you wanted to reach for his hand, for his voice, for the steady ache of his presence against the chaos of your heart.

But you still remembered that night.

The sharp edge of his vows breaking between your fingers. The quiet desperation in your voice, pleading him to help you. And the way everything ended that night.

And it was a cruel thing, how love and pain made a home in the same place inside you.

Joel cleared his throat behind you, and when he spoke, his voice was careful, like he wasn’t sure it would hold.

“I bought this place just outside town…” You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“…because I kept hoping you’d come back,” he continued. “That one day you would wander your way here. Or maybe you’d need a place, and you wouldn’t know where else to go. And you’d find this. Find me.”

You closed your eyes, your grip tightening around the mug.

“I quit,” he said. “My faith. The collar. The lies I kept telling myself about what I could and couldn’t have.” His words cracked like splintered wood, rough and aching. “I couldn’t carry it anymore, darlin’. Not when my heart was somewhere else.”

Your breath hitched.

“Because I chose you. And I—I know I can’t fix what’s broke in you. Wouldn’t ask to. But if you let me… I’ll water the cracked places. I’ll wait for flowers to grow there, no matter how long it takes. I ain’t leavin’. Not this time.”

You turned to him then, and he looked like a man stripped bare.

“Aren’t you a priest anymore?” you asked.

He gave a rough, breathless laugh, one that sounded more like a sigh dragged over old wounds. Joel ran a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving yours, and in them, you saw every sleepless night, every silent prayer that wasn’t meant for God.

“No,” he said, voice low, steady. “Ain’t been for a while now.”

The words hung between you like the last fragile thread of something you’d both tried to kill and couldn’t.

“I ain’t a priest, and I ain’t a saint,” he added, a crooked, pained half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just a man who fell in love with you when he wasn’t supposed to. And I’ve been carryin’ that with me like a goddamn cross ever since.”

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed against it. Some part of you had needed to hear it.

The same part that was terrified it would only hurt more.

“Do you still believe in God, Joel?” you asked, because you didn’t know what else to do with the ache between you.

His gaze softened then, something breaking loose in him, and he shook his head slowly. “I believe in you.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t weigh the years or the bruises left on your heart. Didn’t count the nights spent trying to forget the shape of his voice in your ear.

You set the cup of tea down on the little table by the terrace door, the steam curling up like a ghost between you. And you crossed the space.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as if the air itself had turned thick, and he was too afraid to breathe it in.

Your hand came up, fingers brushing his jaw, rough stubble beneath your palm, and you swore you felt him shudder.

You didn’t wait for a sign, didn’t ask permission.

You just kissed him.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was every lonely night, every unsent letter, every goddamn “what if” you’d swallowed for months.

It was grief and longing and the unbearable sweetness of something you’d thought you’d never taste again.

And Joel made a sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and kissed you back like he was a drowning man, and you were air.

His hands found your waist, desperate and careful at the same time, like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or fall to his knees.

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[heartyluv]

I luv luv how you write your stories. Idk if you watched the kdrama when life gives you tangerines cuz I just finished it and it made me bawl my eyes out of every episode. There was this one scene in there that husband said to his wife that when they get old he hopes that she dies first and she teases him saying why is it so you could be with another woman. He responds to her saying he wants to send her off with a beautiful and proper burial that she deserves and would eventually join her. That scene made me so sad. It got me thinking what if you said something similar to the LADS men instead of saying they die first you hope that you would die first cuz you couldn’t live without them and wouldn’t know what to do without them by your side. Specifically Zayne and Sylus cuz they are my favs. I’d believe they’d be a bit upset and they would tell you they don’t want to hear that nonsense cuz they can’t imagine when that time comes they have to be without you that’s how much they love you. Sorry if it’s a bit much and you don’t want to write it. Thank you for your time though.😭💗

Note: I think this is the cutest and saddest thing ever. I haven’t watched a drama is so long, but I’ve heard a lot of good things about this one! The last one I saw was Happiness and it’s was 1000/10, sooo good. Also, I only did Sylus and Zayne since you said they were your favs, but if you’d like the rest of the guys, just let me know! I hope you enjoy, luvly!

Creds to @/enchanthings for the dividers!

Warning: Mentions of dying

Zayne

It’s one of those rare days where your boyfriend is actually free for lunch. When he called you an hour ago to let you know that you could come by if you’d like, you instantly got ready and went out to buy some food from one his favorite places.

You always missed him, especially on days where you were off and he wasn’t. You’d take as much time with him as you could.

As you converse with him while indulging in your meals, you start to tell him about a show you’ve been watching. You even tell him you’re willing to rewatch it with him if he’s interested in checking it out. The more you talk, the more you delve into the story and tell him about a certain part that stuck with you. You found yourself wondering how could I ever do life without Zayne? It was in that moment that you realized you couldn’t, and you shared that with him.

“Whenever we die, it has to be me to go first,” you say nonchalantly as you cover your mouth after taking a bite of your sandwich.

Zayne was multitasking, completing some things on his computer while he ate his own. He froze mid type at your words. “Why would you say such a thing?”

You frown, shrugging your shoulders. “I just couldn’t live without you. I know a lot of people wouldn’t be able to go without their partners, but I really mean it. Like, I can’t even imagine a life without you in it.”

Removing his hands from the keyboard, he turns his body so that he’s facing you head on, all his attention now yours. “And you think I could? Live without you?”

“Not necessarily live without me,” you sip your water, feeling the shift in conversation turn from simple to seemingly serious. “I do think you’re stronger than me and that you could handle my absence better.”

He studies you, making you dart your eyes left and right because you don’t know what to say.

“You’re wrong,” he says simply. “I’m stronger for you. You should know that without you, there is nothing left for me to continue to be strong for.”

“Zayne, babe…” you frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Come here,” he cuts you off. You listen, standing from your chair. He pulls away from his desk as you round it, letting you stand between his spread legs. His hands caress the back of your thighs as you look down at him.

“I don’t want to hear you talk like that anymore. I know you were just sharing your feelings, and I never want you to hesitate to tell me about them. I also know that death is an inevitable thing for all of us, but it’s never something I want to ruminate on when it comes to you. Do you understand?”

“I won’t say anything like that again,” you nod, moving a black strand of his hair from his forehead. “I promise.”

“Good. Live in the moment with me.” He presses a gentle kiss to your stomach that’s covered by your dress. “Besides, I love you too much to let you leave me, no matter how you’d try.”

You chuckle, leaning down to kiss his lips. He doesn’t let you pull away so soon, deepening it as his hand holds you firm by the back of your neck.

“I love you too,” you breathe against his mouth when he finally gives you a moment to breathe.

“Good,” he stares at your lips before looking back into your eyes. He pulls his glasses off, resting them on the desk. “Why don’t you go lock the door so you can show me how much?”

Sylus

You and Sylus lay in your shared bed, talking about a whole bunch of things. It’s usually how the night ends for you two.

He tells you about work, the twins, plans he has for you, even down to what he plans on making you both for breakfast tomorrow. You tell him about your progression in your hobbies, books, shows, and what you’d like to get around to doing with him soon. Sometimes when you talk, you and him will randomly start getting into deeper topics like kids, marriage, and just life in general.

You mention to Sylus how you don’t even remember what life was like for you before you met him and how now, you don’t see a future where he isn’t there.

“Living without you is not an option for me. When it’s time to go, I have to be the one to go first. I just couldn’t deal.” You shiver at the thought.

He looks over at you, his eyes narrowing. The gentle light of the lamp casts a shadow against his handsome face as it sits on the nightstand behind him. You’re resting your cheek on your knuckles, pursing your lips at his sudden silence.

“What?” you smile as he continues to stare.

“Not only are you saying nonsense, but I’m curious as to why you think there’s any instance where I’d remain here without you by my side, kitten. In the event that you’re gone because neither of us had a choice in you staying, there would be no purpose for me.” His voice rumbles and he speaks so simply, like if you were to die right now, you should expect him to be right behind you.

“But the twins—”

“I care for, yes. But you?” His hand comes up to your face, gently holding your jaw like you’re so fragile. “If I ever lost you, I’d lose myself. There is no me without you, I’m sure I’ve told you that. You are the reason I have meaning.”

Your eyes water at that. “There was a you before me though, Sy.” You place your hand on top of his.

“Unfortunately,” he smiles. “But there will never be anything after. It’s either I go first or we go together, sweetie.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” you push out a laugh, trying to suppress the emotions in your chest.

“Neither do I,” he admits, moving closer to you and wrapping you tightly in his arms. “I’d prefer if we don’t have it again. There will never be a world where one of us will have to survive without the other, not if I can help it. Besides, kittens have nine lives, don’t they? You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

You bask in his strength, feeling grounded by the weight of him. You press a kiss to his pec, then his jaw until you reach the corner of his lips. “Oh babe, you know that was sooo corny!”

He releases that rich laugh that has dollar signs all around it, making you laugh too. “I’d reshape universes if I could ensure I’d find you in every one,” he says gently, kissing your forehead. “Nothing is too much for you.”

“You’re so sappy.” Your cheeks subtly ache from smiling so hard.

“And in love. You have yourself to thank for giving me such an experience.”

“You’re more than welcome,” you tease, knowing that he understands the sentiment is mutual.

He presses a firm kiss to the top of your head. “We have forever for me to show you how grateful I am.”

“I really love you, Sy,” you whisper.

“And I really, really, love you,” he adds. “More than you’ll ever understand.”

[scarletmika]

Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, insane amounts of pining (my god I couldn't stop), maid of honor and best man trope, kind of friends to lovers, language, Hangman is Hangman, female reader, reader is very creative and can dance, UCSD info might not be accurate I don't go there, suggestive and steamy but not explicit, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol)

Word Count: 13,515 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Natasha Trace, my best friend…will you marry me?”

The Hard Deck erupted into a chorus of excitement the minute that Natasha told Bradley Bradshaw yes through a curtain of tears. Bob was cheering right along with them, elated for his two best friends and to know that Rooster had pulled off the proposal he’d been stressing over for weeks now.

The couple had made the rounds in the moments after. Maverick and Penny were the first to congratulate them both, and Bob could’ve sworn he saw tears in their Team Leader’s eyes as he hugged Rooster. Hangman had a snide remark under his breath, but gave the couple both his heartfelt congratulations, followed by Fanboy and Payback.

“Couldn’t have done this without you, Bobby boy,” Rooster clapped his best friend on the back, bringing him into a tight hug before letting Natasha hug her back seater. “Bob’s been helping me plan this for weeks, making sure everyone would be here tonight for the engagement party. The greatest future best man a guy could ask for!”

“Bradley, it can’t be an engagement party without our families,” Natasha had quickly argued back, shooting Bob a bright smile. “But thank you, Bob. It means the world to both of us.”

“It’s what you both deserve,” he’d told them wholeheartedly. “Seeing my best friends happy is all I want.”

“Going back to your engagement party comment,” Bradley cut in, shooting his now-fiancée a cheeky grin as he gestured behind her. “Don’t think I didn’t think of everything.”

Bob laughed along with Rooster the second Natasha turned around, shouting in glee at her family standing directly behind her. She’d thrown herself into her mother and father’s arms, given her sister a tight hug, and a whole new round of tears had sprung as they admired the ring on her finger. Bob nudged his best friend with a grin.

“You did good, Rooster,”

“Oh, this is just the beginning,” Natasha’s attention was turned back to Bradley the second she heard him say that, raising an eyebrow as she missed the sneaky smiles on her family’s faces.

“What else could you have possibly pulled off tonight-”

“Give your man props, Nattie. He knew if he proposed to you without me in attendance, one of us would likely kill him,”

It wasn’t the first time Bob had ever seen you, but it was the first time he’d ever seen you in person. Natasha had shown him many photos of herself and her childhood best friend, the girl she considered more of a sister than anything else, many times before in all their time knowing each other and working together. He’d seen the elementary photos, the awkward middle school photos, the prom photos, and the intermittent photos taken throughout adulthood, anytime the pair of you could find time to see one another.

He hated that, based solely on photos and stories of you, he’d grown the most schoolboy crush in the world on you. He wasn’t sure if there was an “unspoken” code about crushing on the childhood best friend of one of your own best friends, but he felt like it definitely crossed a line.

Rooster was laughing from Bob’s side as you and Natasha practically bounced around in circles together, talking a mile a minute as you admired the ring sitting snugly on her left hand now. With arms wrapped around one another, you’d both turned back to the boys as Bob watched you flash a smile in Rooster’s direction.

“Bradley, nice to finally see you outside of FaceTime screens. And nicely done with the ring, I’m glad you took my advice,”

“Who was I to question the advice of the master?”

Bob felt his breath catch for a moment as your gaze finally turned to him, and he could see you fully for the first time in front of him.

God, you were even prettier up close than in your photos. 

“You must be the infamous Bob that I’ve heard so much about,” Bob wanted to melt under your smile as you flashed your attention toward him. “Thanks for keeping my girl safe in the skies.”

“Well- I’d say she keeps me safe more…”

“Team effort, at least take half the credit,” you’d joked to him, before Natasha had quickly pulled you into conversation once more.

It was stupid, Bob thought, to have a crush on a woman he’d never even met before. He couldn’t help it the entire night as he watched you talk and joke with Natasha’s family, the way you so effortlessly made conversation with the entire Dagger Squad, even though it was the first time you’d met them all. Through photos, videos, and stories alone, Bob had gained a schoolboy crush. But now, as you animatedly explained a story of you and Phoenix from your childhood, he could feel his crush growing from seeing your personality shine.

Thankfully for Bob, he’d barely have to see you. You’d fly home most likely the next day, and the next time he’d see you would be for wedding preparations. That’d be plenty of time to get over his dumb little crush on his best friend’s childhood best friend.

“I’m telling you, it was the funniest night of our entire lives!” Natasha was practically in tears, and so were the rest of the Dagger Squad members as you choked out your words through your own laughter. Bob had a hard time looking away from you as you spoke. “I’m up there on that stage, sold out high school theater guys, ready to give my really intense monologue, and suddenly the set wall just comes CRASHING down with Nattie here clinging onto it!”

“I warned them during set construction that the wall was just begging to fall down!” Natasha laughed, leaning back against Rooster with a shake of her head. “That was immediately the last time I let this one here talk me into helping with the school musicals. Never signed up again, no matter how much she begged.”

“And wait, this was opening night too?” Fanboy chimed in from his space beside Bob as both women gave him a nod. “That somehow makes it even funnier. I can’t thank you enough for bestowing us with the gift of these stories tonight.”

“Yes, yes, consider them a tiny gift for all of Nattie’s friends here tonight,” you turned away from the rest of the squad to look at your best friend, though. “It’s your engagement party, though, so I think it’s time that I gave you your gift.”

Bob could see the smirk on Rooster’s lips as he watched the pair. Bob, along with the ret of their friends, watched intently as well as you dug a key out of your back pocket, dropping it into Natasha’s hand without another word. Bob’s front seater cocked an eyebrow, examining the key in confusion.

“A key…how…nice?”

“Well, I have to make sure someone in this city has a spare key to my place,” Bob felt his breath catch for a second, catching onto your words before Natasha did, as you beamed at your best friend. “To my apartment, over in Logan Heights! If I’m going to be the newest Professor at UC San Diego, I’m going to need a place to live-”

If there was a contest for trying to break the sound barrier with a scream, or even how much one person could cry in a single night, Natasha Trace was pretty close to winning them both. Between her shouts of “YOU’RE MOVING TO SAN DIEGO?” and a lot of loud crying, as Rooster smirked, letting his friends know he knew about this surprise, Bob knew this night had quickly become absolute perfection in both of his friends’ eyes.

Bob also knew that now, his plan to squash his little crush on you had failed before it even had the chance to begin.

He’d managed to avoid seeing you for a few days, but that didn’t mean that Natasha had shut up about you. Every day, while thousands of feet in the air, he’d listened to her ramble on and on about how the pair of you had always wanted to live in the same city together once you were settled in your careers, and she was finally getting her wish. She’d also run about a thousand ideas for how to help you decorate your apartment by him, and somewhere in there had tricked him into agreeing to help herself and Rooster set up your apartment.

“I can’t thank you all enough for the help,” you’d told the three standing in front of you one early Saturday morning, giving them all thankful smiles, before turning to the multitudes of boxes stacked around your living room. “I…frankly have no idea where to start. The boxes are all stacked in their corresponding rooms, and there are a ton of IKEA boxes that need to be assembled in just about every room.”

Rooster clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder, bringing the attention of both women back to the two of them.

“Good thing Bob and I are masters of IKEA furniture,” Bradley put on an air of confidence as he said it. “When Payback and Fanboy got their apartment a few months ago, we were in charge of all the furniture assembly.”

“And given that we managed to build a bedframe upside down, I wouldn’t call us masters,”

It was the giggle you let out at Bob’s comment that brought his attention back to you, an involuntary flush spreading across his cheeks. You gave a mock salute to the pair.

“Well, how nice it is to know I have such capable young men on my side,” you gestured with your head toward the hallway behind you. “I’ll steal Bob for help with the dining room if Natasha, you and your man can handle my bedroom without putting my bedframe together upside down.”

With another laugh shared, Rooster and Phoenix were quickly moving down the hallway toward your bedroom, but Bob caught the over-exaggerated wink that Rooster sent his way before disappearing into what he assumed was your bedroom.

Trying to calm the blush evident on his cheeks, Bob joined you in the dining room directly off your kitchen. You’d already set yourself down on the floor, breaking into the IKEA box laid before you.

“Can you take that so I don’t lose it while getting all these pieces out?” you’d laughed, handing Bob the instruction manual. He took it from you with a nod, quickly flipping through the packet in his hands.

“A ‘GRÖNSTA’, because that’s not a mouthful,” Bob commented under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear as you laughed again. He took a seat on the ground opposite of you,, placing the packet off to the side and helping you take pieces out of the box, while also trying to calm the heat still prevalent in his cheeks. “Doesn’t help that the instructions don’t make any sense.”

“Right? You’d think the Swedes would learn that their pictures aren’t very helpful,” you both shared a laugh as Bob watched you flip open the instructions, grabbing the pieces needed for the very first leg of the table.

It was torture, almost, being around you with a crush that felt so middle school being harbored inside of him. He barely knew you, but every time you talked and joked, he knew he was already digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole.

“You said the other night you’re a professor?” Bob had settled on asking you about yourself. You were Natasha’s best friend, and now you lived here; getting to know you was going to be inevitable. You gave him a slight hum as an answer, intent on screwing in the leg of the table to the tabletop that Bob was holding in place. “What uh, what will you be teaching?”

“I’m a professor in the art department, there’s like a whole slew of classes I’ll be teaching,” you explained to him as Bob held the table steady so that you could screw in another leg. “Music, theatre, dance, and probably whatever else they throw my way.”

You passed the tools off to Bob as you stood, holding the table upright on it’s two legs so that he could screw in the last two from the ground below you. Truthfully, Bob was thankful for the table between you two, because the more he looked at you, the more he couldn’t stop thinking about just how gorgeous you were in person.

“Take it you’re a creative person, then?”

“After some lead roles in high school musicals, followed by a stint on Broadway fresh out of college…yeah I’d say creative is a good word to use,” Bob laughed, moving out from under the table slightly to grab the final leg from just a few feet away, glancing up at you.

“Broadway? My older sister is a big musical fan, she’d go nuts knowing I know someone who was on Broadway, now,”

“Well, you can tell her that I’d be happy to tell her all about it sometime. I’ve got a whole slew of fun stories from different shows,” you gave him another grin, still holding up the unbalanced table. “I’m surprised Nattie didn’t tell anyone about my Broadway stint; she talks about it like a proud mother to whoever will listen.”

Bob found himself locked in place as he laughed at your comment, fidgeting with the last table leg in his hands as he smiled up at you, finding himself locked in conversation easily. Despite his raging social anxiety that Rooster and Hangman desperately wanted to fix, Bob found it entirely too easy to talk to you.

“To be fair, when we’re thousands of feet in the air, we have a few things to focus on for the sake of our lives,” both of you shared a laugh at his comment. “She’d told plenty of stories about you, though. Showed a lot of photos and videos, too.”

“Good, because she’s told me plenty about you,” Bob could see your grin widen, no doubt because of the red flush overtaking his skin at your comment. “Her incredibly smart and kind WSO with raging social anxiety. Not sure I believe that last part, you seem to be doing just fine.”

“On the outside, maybe. Typically, on the outside and inside, I’m about as useful as a newborn baby deer,”

The laughter that you let out as his joke, Bob decided, was now one of his favorite things. He was so entranced by it that he hadn’t noticed you’d accidentally let go of the table until it had fallen back on him.

The gasp you’d let out rang through the room, but it was broken apart by the laughter that seemed to be flowing out of you even harder now. Bob took a second to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose before shoving the table off of him. Your laughter paused for a moment as soon as the two of you locked eyes, before you both devolved into a fit of laughter that had Bob almost curled in on himself.

“I’m so sorry!” you had finally managed to get out words after a solid few moments, wiping tears from your eyes as laughter still broke through your words. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

“Good, because I don’t want to explain to Maverick that I died because of a ‘GRÖNSTA’,” the pair of you devolved into laughter again as you held out your hand for him. Bob took it, despite the full-body flush he felt at simply touching your skin, and let you hoist him back up to his feet.

“Alright, next time I see you, I’m buying you a drink as an apology,” you told him with a pointed look as you moved past him to grab the instruction book.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Ikea,”

“Hey!” Bob laughed as you gasped at his comment, whacking him lightly with the instruction booklet as you grinned at him. “There’s no way we’re making that my nickname!”

“I promise it’s better than any call-sign Hangman will come up with for you-”

“What the hell is happening out here?”

Bob turned on his heel to face the hallway just as you did. Rooster looked lost at what was happening outside the bedroom, as did Natasha, but Bob could see the slightest hint of a smirk on his friend’s face as she looked at him. Bob turned to look at you, just as you looked at him, and you both devolved into another round of laughter that had Rooster even more confused.

Bob Floyd hadn’t stopped thinking about you after that night. He thought about you constantly, how your hand fit and felt in his own, about your laughter, and about that beautiful smile on your face. He was in deep, and he knew it. You never left his mind until he saw you again at the weekly Hard Deck hangout with the rest of the Dagger Squad.

“Well, well, well,” Hangman’s Texan accent was heavy tonight as he turned his gaze away from the pool table before him, and the meaningless game he was playing against Coyote. “Phoenix brought her shadow along tonight!”

Bob turned his head, a smile crossing his lips at the sight of you walking up with Phoenix, two beer bottles in your hands as you rolled your eyes at Hangman’s comments, but Natasha was the one who spoke first.

“I was more so her shadow growing up, followed this one everywhere,” she nudged your shoulder before taking a seat at one of the high tops next to Bradley, smiling widely as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Figured, now that she’s settled in, it was time to start bringing her around to the weekly night out.”

The conversation continued, but Bob’s eyes and grin were glued to you. You made a beeline for his side, leaning against the high-top chair he was seated on and passing him one of the beers in your hand.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant,” you teased him, clinking the top of your bottle to his own. “I did say I owed you a beer next time I saw you.”

“Thanks, Ikea, I’m sure it will numb the pain of that table falling on me,” Bob threw back, laughing as you lightly hit him on the shoulder the second he said that nickname. “Settled in well?”

“All thanks to you guys and that entire day full of furniture building,” you shot back at him, taking a swig of your drink as you turned to watch the pool game in front of you, still leaning against Bob’s chair. It had you close enough that Bob was overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume, and he decided in that moment it might be his new favorite scent.

He then scolded himself in his head for how weird that sounded. This crush was getting out of hand.

Coyote let out a groan as Hangman beat him once again, the latter letting out a loud whoop that had the rest of the Dagger Squad laughing. The pilot’s attention turned immediately to you, a frown appearing on Bob’s lips immediately as he recognized the flirty grin on Jake’s face.

“What do you say, little lady?” Hangman emphasized his accent even more, making a show of gesturing you toward the pool table with the pool cue in his hands. “Want to play a round?”

You hummed from beside Bob, leaning over him to place your own drink on the table as his face immediately flushed at the action. You didn’t seem to notice, stalking toward the pool table and picking up Coyote’s previous pool cue.

“8 ball or 9 ball?”

“9 ball, I’m all about making shots,” Hangman called back, gesturing toward his side of the table. “Payback can rack ‘em for us. What do you say, sweetheart? Ready to be partners with the greatest pool player Miramar’s ever had the pleasure of hosting?”

“Absolutely,” you shock back, and Bob paused in his sip of his beer as your gaze shot back toward him. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. You’re my partner.”

There was a collective laugh through the entire squad at the look of shock on Hangman’s face, that he quickly tried to wipe away and pretend as if your comment hadn’t affected him. Bob froze for a moment, but the inviting smile on your face drew him to your side within a heartbeat.

Hangman and Coyote were a good pairing, but somehow you and Bob managed to be just slightly better than them both. Bob let out a cheer as you sunk the final ball of the game, happily accepting the high five you sent his way as Coyote and Hangman groaned, having come so close yet so far from winning out.

“Nice shots there, Bob,” you shot at him, nudging his shoulder with your own as you placed your cue down on the table. Bob could feel the confidence he’d been feeling the last hour slightly fade at the close proximity to you, at the sweet smile you were sending up at him from your place next to him.

“Yeah uh- yeah, you too, Ikea-”

“Ikea?” Payback questioned as he and Fanboy hopped up to sit on the table next to the dejected Jake Seresin. He pointed between Bob and their newest friend. “Like…the Swedish furniture place?”

You laughed, your hand coming to rest on Bob’s forearm with a squeeze that had his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Inside joke, Payback, and it’s going to stay that way,”

Bob’s friend went to counter them with another comment when Natasha and Bradley returned to the group, an entire tray of beers in hand as Natasha whistled to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright guys, we’ve got another round of beers for the group,” most of them whooped and hollered as Bradley passed them all out, before Natasha turned to Bob and her best friend to hand them the two in her hands with a wide grin. “And two very special ones for our best friends.”

There was a beat of silence as Bob took his drink from Natasha, taking a swig before he felt something on the outside of the bottle. He turned it over in his hands, seeing a piece of paper barely attached by a thin strip of tape, Rooster’s handwriting scrawled across it:

You might be Phoenix’s back seater, but I want you to be my wingman this time: be my Best Man?

Bob almost felt tears in his eyes as he looked up at Bradley, who was waiting with a grin on his face. Overwhelmed with emotion, Bob simply nodded, standing up as he brought Bradley into a tight hug as the rest of the group realized what was happening before them and began cheering.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, YES!”

Bob and Bradley both turned to see you flinging yourself into Natasha’s arms, the pair of you jumping and crying together. His eyes trailed to your bottle, long forgotten on the side of the pool table, with a piece of paper bearing Nat’s handwriting taped to the neck:

It was always going to be you: be my Maid of Honor?”

“You know what they say about the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, right Bob?” It was Bradley’s voice mumbled into his ear with a hint of teasing laced through it, his best friend’s hand clamped down on his shoulder with a squeeze. “It’s almost inevitable that they fall in love.”

Bob never had a second to truly process Bradley’s words before Natasha was getting the attention of the entire group once again, with you still glued to her side.

“It might also be a good time to tell you guys we picked a wedding date…we’re getting married in six months!”

The cheering of the entire group ceased for a moment before everyone seemed to shout all at once.

“WHAT?”

Planning a wedding was hard enough on the Bride and the Groom, and it was hard on the Best Man and the Maid of Honor as well. But to somehow turn it around in only six months, especially when almost everyone involved was a Navy fighter pilot who spent most of their time thousands of feet in the air, it made it even harder.

It was even harder for Bob, as he accepted his ‘schoolboy crush’ had grown into a full-blown crush on you, maybe even borderline infatuation, not even a month later than that night at the Hard Deck.

Bob had been a stumbling, blushing mess when you’d given him your number that night after the announcement. It made sense, given that it was going to be up to the two of you to plan most of the festivities leading up to the wedding. It was hard because, besides Bob’s growing affection for you, he couldn’t get the thought of what Rooster had mumbled to him out of his head.

He’d yet, though, worked up the courage to text you regarding ANYTHING other than wedding festivities planning…which were all conversations you had started first.

“Hard Deck, 6 p.m., don’t be late!” Phoenix called out to Bob as she walked away, tucked under Bradley’s arm as they made their way toward the latter's truck. “Hangman insists on that pool rematch tonight!”

“Let a guy shower first!” Bob called back, waving goodbye to his friends as he climbed up into his truck, wiping sweat from his brow. Another day that ended with over 200 push-ups from Maverick, and he refused to show up to the Hard Deck without showering first. Before he could put his car in drive, his phone went off, and his heart skipped a beat as he read your name across the screen.

Soooooooooo, huge favor to ask you here, Bobby…

Bob did his best to calm the hammering that his heart was doing inside of his ribcage. It was just a simple text, that’s all, asking for a favor. He’d texted you before, and while this potentially may not be wedding-related, he could certainly text you again.

Anything, what’s up?

Anything? God, could he make his pining any more obvious? He didn’t get long to mull over his own words before you’d already typed back to him.

My car is in the shop, and a coworker gave me a ride in today, but she had to leave early. I know I promised Jake that pool rematch tonight…any way you could swing by and pick me up from campus?

I know campus is WAY in the opposite direction from the Hard Deck, it’s totally okay if you can’t!

Was Bob freaking out inside? Absolutely. He knew you worked on UCSD’s campus, but he’d never been to your office; he had no need to go there. The last time he’d also been fully alone with you was building furniture and dropping tables in your apartment, and picking you up meant being alone with you…plus, it wouldn’t give him time to go home and shower, and the last thing he wanted to do was put you off potentially because he was sweating buckets in the San Diego sun all day.

Before he could psych himself out, as if there was a little Rooster on his shoulder coercing him, Bob replied.

Of course, send me your office address.

About a half hour later, Bob was forcing himself out of his truck and up to the doors of the building housing the Department of Theater and Dance, frantically trying to fix his hair so he looked semi-acceptable. He’d already had to convince himself that a fifth layer of deodorant was not needed, nor was a second spray of the spare cologne he kept in his car.

Walking through the doors and into the building you’d given him directions to, Bob realized fairly quickly that he was absolutely lost and had no idea how to get to your office. Spotting a receptionist off to the side, Bob made his way over to her and cleared his throat, asking politely for directions to your office.

“I didn’t think Siren had any meetings on the schedule for today…” the receptionist trailed off as she raised an eyebrow at him. Bob let out an awkward laugh, glancing to her nametag and making a mental note that her name was ‘Sydney’, before answering her.

“Uh, no ma’am, sorry for the confusion. I’m a uh…friend of hers. She asked me to pick her up,”

Sydney’s eyes seemed to widen as she smiled, happily sitting up now in the chair once he’d explained himself.

“Oh! You must be the Lieutenant. Bob, right?” he gave her a nod as she typed something at her laptop before turning back to him. “Siren told me you’d be dropping by and would probably need directions- oh, and don’t mind the nickname, it’s just kind of a little inside joke around here that stuck. Take those stairs up to the second floor, the right side is dance studios, and her office is at the end of the hall to the left!”

With a quiet thank you, Bob followed her directions up the stairs and down to the left, though he could hear the music blasting from the dance studios down the hallway. At the very end of the hall, he saw your name on the plaque outside the one door ajar in the hallway.

With a light push to the door, so as not to freak you out, Bob leaned against the doorframe as he saw you working away at your laptop, singing softly to yourself as your own music played. He smiled softly to himself at the sight, even though inside he was still freaking out over the entire situation.

“So…Siren, huh?”

You jumped slightly at the voice until you turned, seeing that it was just Bob standing in the doorway of the office. He watched as you gave a slight laugh, beginning the process of packing your things up as you explained.

“God, of course, Sydney used that in front of you,” you turned, shooting him another smile as you packed your laptop away. “Context to this stupid inside joke probably helps, doesn’t it? I taught a salsa class my first week here, and this one student of mine thought I was such a good dancer she explained that my ‘dancing was so captivating, like a Siren’s song,’ and the next thing I knew the entire staff was calling me that.”

“Not a bad nickname,” Bob tried to reassure you as you joined him at the doorway with your things. “Better than your callsign being your name…or Hangman turning it into baby-on-board instead.”

You rolled your eyes, taking hold of his arm in your hand and dragging him lightly from the office doorway to lock up behind you, hopefully unaware of the frantic beating of his heart at even the slight contact.

“I’d rather get called that than get named after leaving my wingmen out to dry,” you gave him a pointed look that he laughed at before your features softened into something genuine again. “Thank you for being my hero today.”

“Anytime, Ikea,”

It was only halfway through the night at the Hard Deck when you’d let slip to Penny your nickname at work, and like vultures, the rest of the squad was dying to hear the story.

It was that night that, after living in San Diego for a month and a half, Bob watched the rest of his team officially induct you as an honorary member of the Dagger Squad with your very own callsign: Siren. You were officially one of them, even though you basically had been since the moment you’d arrived in the city.

From that day on, something shifted for Bob. He’d chalked it up to the ease he felt around you, the way you made him feel like he didn’t need to be flashy like Hangman to be liked, and he’d found it easier to finally branch out and text you about things NOT related to the wedding. And slowly, but surely, he was stopping by the campus on his very few rare off days from work to bring you lunch, simply talk to you in your office, or offer you a ride to the Hard Deck, knowing full well your car was parked in the campus lot. 

Bob spent the next weeks slowly, but surely, falling in love with you in every way imaginable, and he knew it. It terrified him how easily you’d secured a place in his heart, and you weren’t even aware you had. Phoenix and Rooster had tried to pry the information out of him many times, wondering why he was so engrossed in his phone all the time or why he was suddenly so smiley, but he kept his lips sealed.

Besides, how was he supposed to tell the woman controlling the fighter jet that could kill him that he was kind of falling in love with her best friend?

It was one of those very rare off days that Bob found himself cleaning out his truck in his driveway, knowing that there were a few jackets and extra pairs of shirts, and pants to change into after leaving base that needed to come out of the car and into the wash. What he hadn’t expected was to find your jacket.

You’d worn it the night before to the Hard Deck, actually needing Bob to pick you up since your car was once again in the shop. The temperature was predicted to drop drastically that night, and since Payback and Fanboy had the bright idea to do ‘late night dogfight football,’ you’d told him that you wanted to ensure you were warm. You must have left it in his car when he’d dropped you off that night.

Bob hesitated for half a second before climbing into the driver’s seat of his truck. What if you needed your jacket? It totally wasn’t an excuse to see you.

Sydney knew him well at this point, simply waving hi to him as he entered the familiar campus building. He’d waved back, giving his thanks as she called out that you may not be in your office at this hour.

She’d been correct, but Bob had been by enough to know you had your class schedule written out on the board by the door of your office.

Contemporary Dance, 11:30 a.m. Room 149

The signs were easy enough to follow, leading him down the hallway toward the area he knew held the multiple dance studios. Your voice was easy enough to pick out as he stepped inside the room, catching you leading your class in front of the full wall of mirrors. He’d never seen you dance until now, but it only took a second to see why they all called you Siren.

You moved in a way that was graceful yet powerful, commanding and yet gentle all the same. Bob had to adjust the way he was leaning against the doorway, cursing himself for the fact that he was enjoying your dancing way too much, and the dirty thoughts in his head were fighting to come to the surface. You deserved more than being thought of in that way. You deserved a proper date, maybe over a nice meal with a walk along the beach. You deserved chivalry, for him to always open every door and walk on the outer edge of the sidewalk to keep you safe. You deserved more than his boyish, improper thoughts. What you deserved was the world, and Bob would give it to you if you just said the word.

You’d locked eyes with him in the mirror as the song and dance with your students came to an end, and his heart soared at the way it seemed your face lit up simply at seeing him. You bid a quick goodbye to your students, ushering them out of the room and onto their next class, before it was just the pair of you left as music still played over the room’s speakers.

“You didn’t text me and tell me you were coming?” you questioned the man, moving through the room to fix things up and put away anything your students had managed to move in the process of the class.

“You forgot this last night,” he held up your jacket. “Just figured I’d bring it back, sorry, I should’ve texted-”

“Bob, you’re more than welcome here whenever you want to come,” you cut in quickly, gesturing toward the far wall where your purse lay. “Thank you, just toss it over with the rest of my stuff.”

Bob did as you asked, now fully in the room with you, as he watched you fiddle with things around the room, moving them back to where he assumed they were before class had started. His hands found their way into the pockets of his jeans, keeping himself from wringing his hands together or from fiddling with the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel over and over again.

“I’ve never gotten to see you dance before…I get why they call you Siren,” he swallowed the small lump that seemed to form in his throat, slowly losing his nerve around you like he typically did. “Wish I knew how to do…all that.”

“Well, thank you, contemporary was one of the dance forms I primarily trained in during college,” you shot back at him, spinning on your heel to face him now as you tilted your head. “And come on, anyone can dance, it’s not that complicated.”

“That’s because you’ve never seen me try,” Bob laughed at himself, sheepishly rubbing at the skin on the back of his neck as he looked away from you. “I look like I have two left feet when dancing. Who knows how I’m going to survive this wedding in a few months.”

There was silence in the room before Bob heard you move. His eyes trailed back to you, watching as you grabbed your phone for just a moment, before the sweet sound of Kina Grannis’ voice overtook the room. His eyes stayed glued to you as you came to stand in front of him, holding out your hand with your palm facing the sky as you wore the prettiest, softest smile he’d ever seen.

“Dance with me?”

Bob thought surely that was the moment his heart was going to decide to give out on him, but in gazing at your kind eyes and smile full of affection, he placed his hand in your own and let you lead him.

God, your hand fit in his like it was made to be there.

He silently watched you, allowing you to wrap his one hand around your waist, giving it a squeeze before trailing your other hand to rest on top of his shoulder.

“Take a deep breath,” he followed your instructions as you gave a squeeze to his hand, still wrapped in your own. “Just follow me, I promise it’s not hard.”

Bob found his eyes glued to your feet as you slowly moved him around the room together, mumbling apologies every now and again as he stumbled or stepped on your toes, but you only ever gave him a comforting squeeze to his hand or shoulder. He never dared look up at you, afraid he’d lose all his cool if he had to look you in the eyes in this close proximity.

When he stumbled once more, you gave a small laugh, hand moving from his shoulder to his neck, gently tilting his jaw upwards to look at you.

“I promise it’s much easier if you don’t watch your feet,”

His eyes met yours, and it was like the entire world went silent in that moment, but the music playing through the sound system seemed to get louder.

But I can’t help, falling in love with you.

“There are those pretty blue eyes,” you teased as a blush coated his cheeks in seconds. It brought on another smile to see a similar one on your own, though. “Did Bradley tell you about their bachelor and bachelorette party idea?”

“He said they had an idea, just hadn’t told me yet,”

“Nat told me they thought a big combined party would be best, given that this friend group is just one giant pile of pilots,” Bob laughed, missing the feel of your hand on his jaw as it moved back to his shoulder. “Guess you and I have to get planning.”

“Maverick said Cyclone made it work so that we can all have a week off for it, just have to let them know when,”

“Perfect. Know what else is perfect?” Bob shook his head as your grin widened. “You are dancing perfectly since you stopped looking at your feet!”

Bob’s eyes widened as he looked down at his feet for just a moment, realizing you were right, before looking back up at you. It was like the world was throwing every sign in the world at him as the music seemed to feel louder once again.

For I can’t help, falling in love with you.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat once again, Bob mustered the softest smile for you he could.

“Guess I just have a great teacher,”

The weeks passed, and the wedding was only a month and a half out. You’d flown home with Natasha to your hometown in order to wedding dress shop with Nat’s sister and mother, and every detail had been meticulously planned out for the wedding. The venue had been chosen, a gorgeous little venue in the heart of San Diego just big enough to house the 150 or so guests that had been invited, and just a few blocks walk for the wedding party and family members who would be staying at the Lafayette Hotel San Diego.

The Best Man and the Maid of Honor had finalized the plans for the joint bachelor/bachelorette trip: a week stay in a gorgeous home by the Colorado River and just an hour’s drive from Lake Mead and Las Vegas, plenty of options for relaxing and true partying, just as Bradley and Natasha wanted. It had taken a while for Bob and you to hammer out the details, many dinners had been held in your office after stopping by, and many phone calls that managed to devolve into late-night conversations having nothing to do with the party planning. But Bob wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was hopelessly in love, and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, Bradley had caught on, too.

“Let’s go!” Natasha called out to the boys as they hopped out of Bradley’s truck, already running through the parking lot toward the campus building housing your office. “I want to get on the road before Hangman and the others beat us there. I want the best pick of the bedrooms!”

“Sweetheart, we’re the Bride and Groom, I’m pretty sure we automatically get best pick,” Nat flipped off her fiancé as the boys both laughed. The second she’d turned around, Bradley threw his arm over Bob’s shoulder and tugged him in. “So…want to finally tell me what’s up with you and little Miss Siren?”

Bob shook his head, trying to fight off the flush on his cheeks. The questions from Bradley on the topic had increased tenfold over the last few weeks, and it was getting harder to lie to him.

“We’re in charge of handling a bunch of the backend shit of your wedding, Rooster,” Bob managed to remind his friend as they reached the doors of the campus building. “We spend a lot of time together, that’s all.”

“But you’re in love with her, are you not?” Bob groaned, opening the glass doors and letting Bradley walk ahead of him. “I’m just asking! We can all see it, the entire squad has money in the betting pool for when you two will finally buck up and figure it out. Phoenix has interrogated her so many times and gets nowhere on it.”

“We’re about to leave on your joint bachelor/bachelorette trip, there’s enough love in the air with the two of you. Don’t worry about me and my non-existent love life,”

Bradley made another comment under his breath, but Bob didn’t catch it. His gaze quickly found Natasha at the receptionist's desk, talking to Sydney.

“I’ve been here once, but the building still confuses me. I can’t remember how to get to her office,” Natasha explained to the girl as Sydney simply laughed, waving it off.

“I understand. I used to get confused here all the time. It’s just up those stairs-” she cut herself off as she saw Bob and Bradley approach, her face brightening up at the sight of the former. “Oh, Lieutenant! You guys don’t need directions, he knows where he’s going. I think she canceled her last class of the day, so she should be up in her office!”

Bob felt that flush return in full force as Bradley clapped him on the shoulder.

“Not in love with her my ass,” he gave his shoulder a squeeze after mumbling the words before moving to his fiancée's side, and Natasha was just watching Bob with a cocked head.

“How often are you here, Floyd?”

Bob stumbled for a moment, his hand immediately coming to rub the back of his neck as he tried to find the words. He wanted to say he wasn’t here THAT often…but he knew that was a lie.

Like always, you somehow managed to save the day.

“Oh! I told you guys you could’ve waited in the car!” you’d called out, descending the stairs from your office with your suitcase for the week in hand. You bid your goodbyes to the two students walking at your sides, coming to stand beside Bob as you glanced around the small group with a questioning eyebrow. “I could cut the tension with a knife here. What did I miss?”

“Just…learning some new information,” Natasha settled on, a grin lighting up her face as she hooked her arm through your own, dragging you away from the two boys who could only laugh. “IT’S PARTY TIME!”

An almost 6 hours drive to the booked AirBNB for the week was a slight pain in the ass, but the four of you managed as you all continuously joked that you hadn’t ended up delegated to ride in Hangman’s truck with him. Bob couldn’t help the fact that every so often, his gaze drifted to the backseat in the rearview mirror, to where you and Nat were engrossed in a thousand different conversations that differed from his own and Rooster’s. 

Without fail, you seemed to be looking back at him every time with a small smile that he treasured as if it were the sun itself.

Hangman, Payback, Coyote, and Fanboy had, sadly, beaten the Bride and Groom’s group to the house, but any bitter feelings surrounding it were forgotten as they’d gotten a look at the gorgeous home in person. Nestled in an area of the desert with barely any neighbors and gorgeous views for miles, including the Colorado River just down the hill from the long driveway, no one could harbor any ill feelings about anything as the sun was setting over the mountains and bathing the entire home in red, oranges, and pinks.

Bob had taken his own suitcase and yours, ignoring your protests, and brought them into the house. Everyone seemed to be running about, checking out the amenities, as some people put their claims on the bedrooms already. Natasha had dragged you off in the direction of the game room when Bob caught sight of Rooster whispering to Hangman and Fanboy, all three men watching him with a smirk.

“Hey, baby-on-board,” Hangman called out for him, smirk growing ever cockier by the second. “The rest of us have already staked claim on rooms, and of course, the couple has to share. Only room left is the sofa bed room in the back of the house…think Siren would mind sharing with you?”

If Bob’s eyes could pop out of his head, they would’ve. He shook his head, already knowing by the smirks on all three boys’ lips that this was planned well in advance.

“Guys-”

“Hey, Siren!” Fanboy called out just as you’d reentered the room. You stopped dead in your tracks, cocking an eyebrow at the guys as you waited. “Claims have already been staked on most of the bedrooms, perks of being the first ones here. You don’t mind sharing with Bobby boy, do you?”

“Guys, really-”

“I don’t mind,” you’d cut off Bob’s comment as he turned to you, eyes wide. He wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could’ve sworn he saw a flush cross your own skin as you looked at him. “Really, as long as it’s okay with you, I don’t mind.”

Bob looked back at the boys and their expectant smirks, then back to you, before finally taking a deep breath.

“Yeah…yeah, that’s fine with me,”

The truth was, Bob could barely focus on the entirety of dinner with the squad. He laughed, made jokes, and participated in conversations across the entire table the entire night, but his mind was stuck on the fact that he had to share a bed…with you.

Those nerves didn’t rest even as you both retired to your room for the night. The sofa bed had already been pulled out and made for the two of you. Bob had simply crawled into bed in silence, situating himself under the covers.

You entered the room moments later, having changed in the bathroom down the hall, and sent him a sweet smile as you crawled into your own side of the bed. Lying side by side, heads on their respective pillows, you both simply lay there and smiled toward one another.

“Sorry you got stuck with me,”

“I didn’t get stuck with you,” you’d rolled your eyes at his comment. “I’d take sharing with you over any of those Neanderthals any day.”

“Just promise not to drop any tables on me this trip, okay, Ikea?”

You’d laughed, even as you’d reached your foot out under the covers and kicked him lightly on the shin.

“If I managed to do that, I think I should get an award,” it was his turn to laugh as you flipped over, turning the bedside lamp off before tucking yourself into the covers. “Night, Bob.”

“Night, Ikea-”

“We’ve got to STOP with that nickname,”

He’d fallen asleep comfortably that night at your side, still laughing lightly to himself over that dumb little nickname he had for you that had found a way to stick. He wished his sleep had lasted longer, but it was quite the sight to see you leaning over him and shaking his shoulder with a grin.

“Get up!”

Bob groaned as you moved back to your side of the bed, reaching over to the nightstand to grab his glasses. The second his eyes focused, he checked the time on his phone. Slightly after 5:30 in the morning. Bob let out another groan when he saw the time.

“Why are you awake-”

“Just trust me and come on!”

He’d barely been out of bed and on his feet when you’d taken his hand in your own, dragging him down the dark hallways of the house. He wasn’t even fully awake enough to register your hand wrapped around his own.

The second you’d dragged him out onto the large patio deck of the home, he understood why you’d woken him up so early. If sunset had been pretty from this view, sunrise might’ve been even prettier.

The deep purple hues that crawled across the sky, blending into the fading night sky full of stars over the desert. The beginnings of reds and pink crawling out from the horizon, casting itself over the rolling desert hills and the Colorado River just barely in the distance, close enough he could see the colors reflecting off the water. He’d found himself leaning against the railing, gazing out at the colors for a moment before turning to you at his side, finding you already looking up at him.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

You’d turned back to the view, but Bob’s eyes, full of wonder, stayed locked on you as he spoke.

“Prettier than anything I’ve ever seen,”

You’d stayed out there for awhile, small talk flowing through you, reminiscing on moments with the squad such as that terrible late night dogfight football, or the time you’d all watched on as Rooster handed Maverick’s ass to him in pool at the Hard Deck. Your hands sat on the railing next to one another, just barely touching, as your arms sat pressed up against one another. If Bob had more confidence, if he’d thought that maybe you felt the same for him, he might’ve taken the leap and reached out to take your hand in his own.

Neither of you had any clue how long you’d been out there admiring the view and simply talking. Bob heard a small noise behind you both after a while, glancing behind you both. Rooster simply stood in the patio doorway, a genuine grin on his face as he raised his coffee cup at his best friend with a wink, before leaving you alone together once more.

It was a week of memories that none of them would ever truly forget.

The entire day spent on the shores of Lake Mead was full of laughter, and what Fanboy had nicknamed ‘dogfight chicken’, though it didn’t have any different rules than a normal game of chicken did. You and Bob had reigned victorious through every single round, though Bob wasn’t sure how. His thoughts were flooded with you, and the impure thoughts he was having at the thought that his head was, quite literally, between your thighs as you sat on his shoulders, was driving him insane.

That next morning was worse for his thoughts, when he’d awoken early in the morning to you nestled in his arms, head resting against his chest, and his arms wrapped around you. He’d laid still like that for what felt like hours, both terrified of waking you up and freaking you out with the position you were in, while also savoring every second of it in fear it would never happen again. He’d pretended to be asleep when you finally woke up, letting you be the one to extricate yourself from his arms. Neither of you mentioned it to the other.

One full day and night had been dedicated to the Las Vegas strip and all it had to offer. Rooster was constantly nudging Bob in the side the entire day, reminding his friend that his eyes were supposed to remain on your face, not on the slit of the dress you wore running up and exposing your thigh.

No one knew who had drunkenly suggested it, but somehow they’d found themselves at a Magic Mike show. Plenty of videos had been taken as a form of blackmail as Hangman was subjected to a lap dance from the performers of the show, constantly telling Coyote to ‘piss off about it’ the rest of the night.

That next morning, Bob had woken up to you entangled in his arms once again. And the morning after that.

The Dagger Squad’s final day of the trip was spent together at the home, simply enjoying one another's company as more stories of everyone’s childhood had been shared across the board. Bob had even been roped into a story of him working on his parents' ranch back in Montana at one point, which prompted a whole discussion on whether Bob was technically considered a cowboy or not.

The WSO had found himself frozen in the kitchen that night, simply watching you from the window. You and Natasha sat on the patio together, pointing up at the light pollution-free sky as you seemed to be watching the stars, discussing what could be seen that night, hundreds of thousands of miles above your heads. He’d watched you throw your head back laughing, and that tug in his chest when he looked at you seemed to increase tenfold in that moment.

It wasn’t long later that Rooster was opening his bedroom door, coming to find that it was Bob standing on the other side of the door and knocking frantically.

“Bob-”

“You were right…I’m in love with her,”

“Well,” both boys turned, seeing Natasha had entered the hallway at just the right moment to join her future husband for bed and hear the conversation occurring. Bob’s blood ran cold, fearing the worst, but she simply smiled at him. “It’s nice to finally hear you admit the obvious.”

A long conversation with his best friends came with the feeling of a small weight being lifted off his shoulders, of finally having admitted his feelings out loud. They’d encouraged him to act on it, to tell you how he felt, but Bob couldn’t get rid of the nagging insecurity in the back of his head that he was never going to be good enough for you.

When he’d returned to your room that night and crawled into bed, you were still awake. You had both simply laid there in silence for a moment, staring at one another, and Bob could see the hesitation in your movements for just a moment. You seemed to throw your inhibitions out the window, moving across the bed and slotting yourself into Bob’s arms, curling yourself around him as you buried your head into the crook of his neck.

It threw Bob for a loop. Every night this week, you’d awoken like this, tangled together, but he’d assumed that it had just naturally happened in your sleep, that one of you reached out for the other. But you were awake, you were both aware of what you were doing, and yet you took the leap anyway. Bob chose not to push his luck, not to ask, and simply wrapped his arms around you, closing his eyes with you tucked right against him where he felt you belonged.

“Can I tell you something?” Bob whispered to you after moments of silence wrapped up together, neither of you addressing the compromising position you’d put yourself in.

“Always,”

“You…” Bob struggled for a moment, trying to find his words and the right thing to say. ‘Love’ was dancing on his lips, but his insecurities tugged it back in. When he spoke again, he knew he meant the words, even if it was not what he meant to say. “You’re my best friend. Don’t tell Rooster that.”

There was a pause, then a soft laugh, as you seemed to cling to him tighter, your words and breath ghosting over his skin.

“You’re my best friend, too. Just don’t tell Nat,”

There had been another shift in the relationship between you and Bob in those next few weeks leading to the wedding night, and everyone seemed to be able to see it. A simple confession, albeit not the confession Bob had wanted to say that night, seemed to change everything.

Anytime the group was out together, you both were glued to one another’s side. This time, unlike in the months prior, it was as if the pair of you had to be touching. If you were all walking somewhere, your arm was linked through his with your hand resting on his bicep. The entire group noticed the way that, as you all hugged one another goodbye at the end of a night, you and Bob seemed to linger in one another’s embraces longer than usual.

There was the night at the Hard Deck, laughing over some story Maverick was telling them from the glory days, that Bob felt your hand reach for his under the table, wordlessly slotting itself into his own. That moment replayed in his head every single day and night, even as he fell asleep late into the morning hours with you still on the phone with him.

They were the moments that he couldn’t help but replay constantly, even as he stood in the preparation room of the wedding venue, adjusting his dress whites to ensure that nothing was out of place.

“How are we looking over here, Rooster?” Hangman called out, moving through the room to check on the groom himself. 

“Ready to do this thing,” Rooster told him as Bob joined the pair across the room. Bradley placed a hand on each of their shoulders, his Best Man and his only other Groomsman, all standing together in their matching Navy dress whites, and gave them a thankful smile. “Thank you both for doing this. For being here with me.”

Bob grinned at his best friend as Rooster pulled them both into a hug, before it was go time.

Bradley was already stationed at the altar behind the double doors before them, leaving Bob to stand just behind the doors, ready to lead the charge down the aisle for his best friends to get married. He turned as he heard the voice of Natasha’s sister behind them, taking her place beside Hangman for the walk. His gaze then turned to you as you slotted yourself to his side, and it took everything in him not to whisk you off your feet the second he laid eyes on the form fitting, navy blue dress clung to your body, or the plunging neckline he was desperately trying to keep his eyes off of.

“She’s all set up with her dad back there,” you’d told him softly, winding your arm through his as your hand lay on his forearm, eyes never leaving his own. “We’re good to go the second the music kicks in. You ready?”

“Think Rooster would kill me if I wasn’t, he’s antsy down there,” you’d laughed, and Bob had smiled. His favorite sound in the world. “You…you look beautiful.”

“Right back at you, Lieutenant,”

There were smiles and tears throughout the crowd as you and Bob led the charge down the aisle, taking your places on either side of where Natasha and Bradley would stand. The second Natasha was escorted down the aisle by her father, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, Rooster and you included. Bob found himself watching you, though, as you happily took Nat’s bouquet from her hands through your tears.

They recited after their Pastor, they exchanged their vows, but Bob found his eyes betraying him and glancing at you more often than at his best friends. Every time he looked to you, he found you were already looking at him.

He knew there was no going back the second Natasha Trace and Bradley Bradshaw were pronounced man and wife, that they’d pulled one another into their first kiss as a married couple, and his eyes had drifted to you in the celebration. All he could think in that moment was that he wanted that to be you and him, that he wanted to hold you and kiss you and call you his forever.

It felt like a blur to Bob what happened next. The entire Dagger Squad joined together to perform the Arch of Swords for their best friends, smiles never leaving anyone’s faces. Bob had sat right next to you during dinner, unable to keep his eyes off of you the entire time. Then, you’d rose to your feet and took hold of the microphone passed to you, preparing for the speech you’d spent your entire life writing.

“If you don’t know me, the truth is you probably indirectly do. Because any story that Natasha has told you from any point in her life? I was most likely at every single one of those,” you’d turned to Natasha the second you said that, and Bob could see the tears in both of your eyes. “Natasha, or as many in this room know you, Phoenix, you hit me on the head with a soccer ball in Kindergarten, and I knew from that moment on you would be my best friend. I watched you fall in and out of love with both soccer and softball growing up, witnessed you punch two middle schoolers who broke my heart, and watched you fall in love with the idea of someday flying F-18s for the rest of your life. I’m forever proud to say that I’ve watched you achieve everything you’ve ever wanted in life, and I’m so happy that I’ve gotten to be here for all of it. But most importantly, I’m glad your passion also brought you the love you have always deserved. Bradley, I’m proud to call you one of my best friends in life now, and I could not be happier to know that you two have found one another.”

You’d raised your champagne glass through your tears, as the room followed suit, even as Natasha silently sobbed from her place beside Bradley.

“They say that love is simply just a friendship that caught on fire,” Bob’s breath caught for just a moment, swearing that he saw your eyes flicker to him for just a moment, before you continued to talk. “May it burn bright for many years to come, and fly higher than you both do every day in the San Diego skies.”

There were still the remnants of tears streaming down your face as you took your place beside Bob once again, allowing Natasha’s sister to give her own speech. Bob watched you in silence before, in a leap of faith, reaching his hand out for your own. You took it without a word, squeezing onto it in a vice-like grip and refusing to let go.

The reception was in full swing, and everyone was in party mode. Natasha and Bradley were the stars of the show in their first dance, revealed in their speeches previously to have been taught by none other than you.

The bouquet toss had the entire Dagger Squad erupting into cheers, almost trying to carry you off the dance floor, the second Natasha’s bouquet seemed to find you among the young women in the crowd as if meant just for you.

You. God, you had consumed every ounce of Bob’s thoughts for weeks and months now, and tonight was no different. In the ever-changing landscape that was life, you were like the North Star in Bob’s eyes, his one constant since the moment you’d walked into the Hard Deck.

“As a wedding gift to us, could you just grow some balls and finally ask her out?”

Bob jumped, startled, as Bradley and Natasha appeared at his side from where he stood on the outside of the dance floor. He sighed, seeing the expectant looks on their faces, before glancing back to where you danced with the rest of the fighter pilots you’d grown so close to over the last few months.

“She’s, like, walking perfection on legs, guys. She could do better than the socially awkward fighter pilot that is…me,”

“Except she doesn’t want to,” Natasha cut in. She sighed, resting a hand on Bob’s shoulder before glancing out toward her best friend. “I’ve known her my entire life, Bob, and she doesn’t take to people the way she’s taken to you. She looks for you in every room, she talks about you constantly…she was dying to meet you just from the photos I’d shown you. I’ve never seen her act the way she does when she’s with you, Bob.”

The words sparked a small flame of hope in his chest, a flame just strong enough to push away the insecurities that begged to claw their way out. He looked back at his best friends, the glow of marriage surrounding them, with that flame of hope shining in his eyes.

“What if you’re wrong?”

“What if we’re right?” Rooster cut in, giving him a small shrug. “Maverick said it best to me months ago…don’t think, just do.”

Don’t think, just do. Maverick always knew what to say, didn’t he?

A slower song had begun on the dance floor, and Hangman could see Bob stalking their way. A smirk crossed the man’s face as he took hold of your hand, spinning you in Bob’s direction, before leading the rest of the Dagger Squad off the floor.

Bob stood in front of you, mustering every ounce of confidence he could find in him, as he held out his hand toward you, palm facing the sky.

“Dance with me?”

A smile might’ve been permanently etched into your lips as you took his hand in yours. Bob’s other hand immediately found your waist, his hand resting on your lower back as he tugged you into him as tightly as he could, your other hand resting on his shoulder as the iconic Berlin song played through the reception.

Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say…take my breath away.

Neither of you said a word for a minute, though your eyes never left one another as you simply swayed side to side across the dance floor, fully aware of the watchful eyes of your friends on you from the sidelines.

“You know…” you were the one to start the conversation, somehow managing to pull yourself even closer to Bob. There was a teasing tone to your voice, nose bumping against his for a moment. “I’ve been kind of waiting for you to ask me out for months.”

A weight seemed to leave Bob’s shoulders the second you spoke, his mind finally being calmed with the fact that you did, indeed, return his affections, that it wasn’t all a misunderstanding in his mind.

“Thought at first it broke some kind of friendship code to fall in love with your best friend’s childhood best friend. Then…I got scared you wouldn’t feel the same,” you laughed lightly at his comment, though Bob could see the way you brightened the second he’d said the word ‘love’ in his explanation. “How long…how long have you felt this way?”

“The schoolgirl crush started when I dropped that table on you, even though I thought you were plenty cute just based on the photos Nat had showed me before,” to was Bob’s turn to laugh as your hand traveled up to the nape of his neck, tangling gently in the hair now carded through your fingers. Somewhere behind them, he swears he could hear Fanboy cheer at the motion. “Somewhere in the midst of a bunch of mini lunch dates and dancing with you for the first time is when it changed.”

“I’ve got you beat there,” Bob countered with a laugh, looking down sheepishly. “After I picked you up from work that one time, when the rest of the guys started calling you Siren. It changed for me after that night.”

There was a slight tug on the hair threaded through your fingers, and Bob resisted everything in him not to let out a groan. His eyes flicked back up to you immediately, almost pleading with you not to do that again before he dragged you out of the reception, and he could see the amusement dancing in your eyes at the reaction you received.

“It's not a competition. We know now,” you slid the hand that rested in his own back up his arm, instead cupping his jaw in your hand as a shiver ran through his body. “Though, I thought I was being quite obvious with literally cuddling you in bed.”

Bob’s now freehand found your hip, eliminating any space between you both as if it were even possible. Given their surroundings, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were murmurs about how what was happening was far from appropriate for the setting they were in.

“It should’ve been. We can blame my insecurities for that one,”

He watched you in silence, still swaying to the beat of the song. Your eyes flickered, for the briefest of moments, down to his lips as Bob’s grip tightened from the sight.

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say…take my breath away. My love, take my breath away.

His eyes fluttered half shut, throwing caution to the wind now that he knew he had you, and leaned in. His lips were met with your finger pressed against them, though, and when he’d opened his eyes, your pupils may have been blown wider and your voice may have gained a slight rasp it didn’t have before, but there was clear amusement dancing across your features.

“Trying to kiss me at the wedding of our best friends? How scandalous, you know it’s their night to be the center of attention,” Bob groaned, even as his cheeks flushed, forehead falling to your shoulder. He felt your body shake with laughter before your lips ghosted over his ear. “We’ve waited this long, Lieutenant, what’s a little longer?”

Longer was torture, Bob had decided, but it was a torture spent with you still wrapped around his side. You’d danced the night away into the early hours of the morning with all of your friends, until it was finally time to end what was surely the best night of Natasha and Bradley’s lives.

The newly married couple had bid everyone goodbye before they were off to their own private villa for the night. The wedding party and family made the trek down the road together toward the Lafayette, Hangman and Coyote holding up a very drunk Payback who was belting Celine Dion down the sidewalk.

You’d thrown your head back laughing, hand intertwined with Bob’s as you brought up the rear of the pack.

The squad all said their goodbyes to Maverick and Penny, who’d essentially stood in as Rooster’s family, and to Natasha’s own family, before they’d made their way to the floor blocked off specifically for them. Everyone had thrown out goodnight, disappearing into the private rooms to sleep off their hangovers into the early hours of the morning.

Bob was the last the the Top Gun pilots to still be standing at his door. He’d fished out his own door key, before pausing before inserting it into the lock, glancing down the other end of the hallway.

There you stood, shoes in hand as you leaned against the doorway of your open hotel room. Your eyes never left his, and Bob’s room key found it’s way back into the pocket of his dress whites as he was across the entire hotel room floor in seconds.

Your eyes never seemed to leave one another as you both drifted into the room, Bob’s hand splayed across the edge of the room door, shutting it softly behind you both. The second it was closed, the room was only bathed in the soft, nighttime light of Dan Diego that poured through the curtains and the warm, yellowed glow of the single lamp lighting up the corner of the room.

Bob’s hands found your waist as yours found his neck, and he fell into you as if you were two atoms destined to collide with one another from the moment you met.

Your lips were soft against his, your lipstick already having been smudged off throughout the night from the many drinks passed between friends, but he could taste the cherry and vanilla Chapstick buried underneath. That simple taste elicited a groan from deep inside of him as his desire to simply feel you, to hold you, overtook Bob.

He backed you into the closest wall, right beside the door of the room, and your body immediately arched into him. His hand slid it’s way from your waist down to your thigh, digging into it as he hoisted it up around his own waist, the slit up the dress giving way to allow you to cling to him in earnest.

His hair was a mess as your hands moved into it, your lips never parting. He simply tilted his head, swallowing the moan you let out the second he gripped onto your waist tighter and tugged you impossible closer.

“Pretty sure Fanboy is right next door,” Bob had managed to mumble into your lips, unable to fully pull away from you. You nipped at his lower lip, this time a deep moan leaving him which had you giggling back into the kiss.

“I’ve waited long enough to kiss you, Bob Floyd. I don’t really give a damn if we keep him awake,”

Bob pulled back slightly in the dim lighting, hand leaving your thigh to instead cup your cheek, to simply observe and memorize everything about you. He loved you, he loved you more than he ever thought it was possible to love someone, and he never wanted to forget the look in your eyes right now as you looked at him through lust riddled eyes.

Your hand found his, removing it from your cheek and instead to your back. His breath caught for a second as it touched the zipper at the top, and one single look in your eyes had him tugging it down as slowly and sensually as possible.

Bob could feel your breath catch the second his lips found your neck, leaving a trail across your skin and down to your collarbone as the zipper finally came undone, the pool of navy colored fabric dropping into a heap on the floor.

You’d barely given him a second to truly admire the masterpiece he thought was you as a whole before you’d tugged him back into a kiss, your hands working overtime to gently undo the buttons holding his Navy dress whites together.

His hat was long gone on the floor, and soon every article of his dress whites joined it. He couldn’t help but smile as you laughed, watching him quickly lean down to grab the formal clothing of his and yours, folding it neatly into a pile in the corner. When he’d looked back up, you were standing just inches away, falling back into his arms without another word. His own breath caught, shiver running down his skin at the feeling of your soft, supple skin simply on his igniting a fire in him he’d never felt before.

Your hands came up, adjusting his glasses to sit on the bridge of his nose as they were meant to, and Bob wasted no time in pulling you back into a bruising kiss that had you falling back onto the lush, fancy bedspread behind you both.

As you’d crawled your way back up the bed, head hitting the pillows waiting by the ornate headboard, Bob simply hovered over you, taking you all in fully for the first time, memorizing every square inch of you that existed. He wanted it all committed to memory.

His eyes trailed back to yours finally, to the shining affection and adoration in them, and the words finally tumbled out of his mouth.

“I love you,”

Your hands cupped his jawline, bringing him back down to you to place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips that he sighed right into, leaning into the feel of you that he was already addicted to.

“I love you too,”

The pair of you stayed there for a moment, wrapped up in the sweetest and most loving of kisses that rivaled the passionate moment the moment you’d stepped into the room. Until Bob began to laugh lightly against your lips, the actions bringing a smile to your own face.

“What’s so funny, Lieutenant?”

He shook his head, backing up for just a moment to fully look down at you.

“It’s just uh…you know what they say about the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, don't you?”

Your laughter rang through the room immediately, and he knew Natasha must have said something to you along the same lines of what Bradley had whispered to him in the middle of the Hard Deck. Your hands ran down his shoulder, taking hold of his biceps with a small squeeze.

“Something about how they’re always destined to fall in love. God, how cliché of us,”

Every moment with you flooded Bob’s head in that moment as he looked down at you. From the moment you’d walked into the Hard Deck, to the moment he danced with you, to that fated trip where it all changed, and every moment in between. To now, as you laid almost bare before him, gazing up at him with love written across every inch of your features, as if you’d do just about anything he could’ve asked of you in that moment. And you would, just as he’d do the same for you.

So, his thumb ran across your lips for a moment, before he’d taken the back of your neck in his hand and tugged you upwards into another passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of love his body had into it.

“Yeah…but I wouldn’t have it any other way,”

[adeptustemptations]

"I pledged to love you."

(wc. 1.4k) You feel as if you're worthless lately, struggling to complete daily tasks, unable to finish some, or perhaps just instantly lose motivation to do them. To other people's eyes, your family was picture perfect, and to you? you felt like you were failing everyone.

pairings: sylus, fem!reader genre: angst w comfort c:, reader is married w kids

a/n: short read! it's my first time writing for him (or lads in general), so i hope i was able to capture how he'd act with her :D

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, bathing the place you called home in gold in its glory. And yet, all you could feel was grey.

You stood in front of the sink, staring blankly at a half washed plate beneath your trembling hands. Your hands had started to prune from the water, the suds clinging to your skin now just a reminder of how long you’d been frozen in place. 

Somewhere behind you, the laughter of your children echoed faintly from the hallway. It should’ve brought a smile to your face. Once upon a time, it did. 

Now, it only made the weight in your chest heavier.

You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears, but they slipped out anyway. The sting was quiet. Soft. You didn’t sob. Didn’t fall to your knees in dramatics. You just stood there, barely breathing, feeling like you were slowly breaking apart from the inside out.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me,” you whispered to no one.

You used to handle this. The cleaning, the cooking, the kids’ tantrums, the endless laundry. You used to manage all of it while still having energy left over to kiss Sylus when he walked through the door, to laugh with him on the couch at something cheesy that he says, to feel... like a person.

Now, everything felt like a fight.

Not with him. God. Never with him.

With yourself.

The kids were being too loud again. You knew they were just playing; your daughter chasing her brother around with a plush sword, but the sound grated on your nerves like nails on glass.

“Stop it! Both of you, just stop!” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your son looked up at you with wide eyes, and your daughter’s bottom lip trembled as she slowly lowered the toy. Your chest constricted. You hadn't yelled like that in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, softer now, rushing over and gathering them in your arms. “I didn’t mean it, babies. Mommy’s just tired, okay? I’m sorry.”

They nodded, but the damage was done. They were cautious with you for the rest of the afternoon. And that made it worse.

You barely heard Sylus come in. It was only the sound of his leather shoes being kicked off and his soft humming–always a tune from a song he made up, that made you turn. He was already loosening his tie, already smiling. But the smile faded the moment his eyes met yours.

“Sweetheart?” he said gently, as if approaching a startled animal. “You okay?”

You tried to speak. Failed.

Instead, you turned back to the sink, scrubbing the plate a little too hard, knuckles white. “Yeah,” you managed, voice thin. “Just tired.”

Sylus didn’t press, not yet. He knew better than to push when your walls were up. He walked behind you, kissed the top of your head, and murmured, “I’ll take the kids outside for a bit. You rest.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The door clicked shut minutes later.

Silence encompassed the house. Peaceful. Quiet. 

And then you collapsed to your knees.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there on the cold tile floor, arms wrapped around yourself, tears streaming down your face in silence. The self-hatred felt like acid in your throat. Why couldn’t you just be okay? Why couldn’t you pull it together? Your kids deserved more. Sylus deserved better.

It wasn’t just today.

You’d forgotten your son’s field trip last week. He'd come home disappointed, asking why you didn’t pack his favorite sandwich like you promised.

"I'm sorry, baby," You say, your hands shaking as you gently hold onto his shoulders, "Mommy forgot."

You said you’d take your daughter to the bookstore on Sunday. She waited by the door with her little purse and shoes on for nearly an hour before Sylus gently coaxed her away, murmuring that “Mommy must have fallen asleep.” You had.

And the worst part? You didn't even realize until the next day. Mommy did forget.

Dinner was another disaster. You tried. God, you tried. You followed the recipe exactly, but halfway through you got distracted when your daughter spilled juice across the floor, and then your son started crying because he thought he’d lost his toy, and the food..

The food burned.

The smoke detector didn’t even go off. The shame did.

You stared at the pan, blackened and useless, and your heart twisted violently. You felt like you were failing at everything. Even something as simple as a meal. Sylus got home right as you were throwing the pan into the sink. You turned away from him, ashamed.

But then it got worse.

As you turned, your elbow knocked into the mug, that mug. The one Luke and Kieran gave him on his birthday. It had the words 'WORLD'S BEST BOSSMAN' handpainted on it, something messily made, but Sylus treasured it like it was priceless.

You watched it fall.

Watched it hit the tile.

Watched it break.

“Oh God,” you whispered. “No no no-"

You dropped to your knees, frantic hands reaching for the pieces when- 

“Stop.” Sylus’s voice was soft but firm, and you felt his hand close around your wrist. 

“You’ll cut yourself.”

“I’m sorry–I didn’t mean–God, I didn’t mean to–"

“Y/N,” he said again, kneeling beside you. His thumb brushed along your wrist gently. “It’s just a mug. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” you choked out, the tears falling again. “I mess everything up. I-I burn the food, I forget things, I break things. I’m not the same person anymore, Sylus. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You didn’t marry this.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you. You tried to hide your face, ashamed, but he wouldn’t let you. His hand moved to your chin, tilting it up, his crimson eyes searching yours.

“You think I’m here for perfection?” he said, voice low. “You think I married you because you always got everything right?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your breath hitched when his palm cupped your cheek.

“I married you,” he said slowly, like each word was sacred. “Because you have the kindest heart I’ve ever known. Because even when you’re hurting, you put everyone else first. Because you’re strong even when you feel weak. Because you’re you.”

You sobbed, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, letting everything spill out at last.

“I feel so lost,” you whispered. “I wake up and I already want to cry. I feel like I’m drowning in a life I used to be able to swim through just fine. I yelled at the kids the other day, I forgot so many things I promised them. What kind of mother–what kind of wife–"

“One who’s human,” he whispered, holding you tighter. “One who’s overwhelmed. One who’s been trying to carry everything on her shoulders without asking for help.”

“But I didn’t want to be a weight to you,” you cried. “You already handle so much, Onychinus, and now I’m–"

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he said, pulling back to look at you again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t ever call yourself a burden. You’re the reason I get up every day. You and the kids? You’re my entire world. If something is hurting you, I want to carry it with you, not because I have to. Because I want to.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you felt something crack inside you, not in a bad way. It was like the first breath after being underwater for too long.

“I pledged to love you,” Sylus murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek, “not just when things are easy, but when you’re breaking. When the light in your eyes fades. When the smile doesn’t come easy. That’s when you need me the most. And I’m here.”

You clung to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I love you,” you whispered. “I don’t feel like I deserve you right now, but I love you.”

He smiled against your temple. “I know you do. And I’ll keep reminding you every day that you deserve love, rest, patience, everything.”

The broken mug remained in the trash, forgotten. Dinner was replaced with takeout and quiet laughter on the couch as your kids dozed off nearby.

But something inside you had shifted.

You weren’t better yet. Not completely.

But for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel alone in it.

Sylus had reached for you, even while asleep, even when your thoughts were loud and cruel and dark. Even then, he’d found you.

And that meant... maybe, just maybe, you could find yourself again too.

[marauder-misprint]

hii!!! omg congrats on reaching 1,000 followers! that’s so exciting and i absolutely adore you’re writing, you more than deserve it.

i was wondering if i could request a remus x reader with the prompt from “what were we” “nothing. we were nothing”??? just in need of some good remus angst.

thank you so much !!! congrats again!

Hi! Thank you ❤︎ We love love love Remus angst. And that was my main thought through writing this. "Angst, angst, angst" ❤︎

1,000 Followers celebration

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Not official

Remus Lupin x reader

2k words

cw: angst, smidge of fluff, cheating (not reader or Remus), Y/N

You were the one who ended things with Remus. If you can even call it that. You were never official official, but it was understood. If his arm was around a girl, it was you. If he was kissing a girl, it was you. You were more than friends, less than dating, but it didn’t feel like friends with benefits. It was enough of something that when Stubby Boardman started flirting with you, you told Remus you needed space. 

You walked away from Remus as soon as you told him. You didn’t want to have any awkward conversation that would’ve ensued. You didn’t give Remus a reason for the space, but that was obvious within days as you stood in the corridor with Stubby’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. 

Remus was baffled with how quickly you disappeared from his circle. You had been friends before the first time he kissed you, but now you were never around. He could always find you though. If he could find Stubby, he’d find you. And that rubbed him the wrong way. 

He would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t frustrated with the situation. You could do so much better than Stubby Boardman. Remus would go as far to say that he was better than Stubby, but that only angered him more because you left him for Stubby. Remus knew you better than Stubby would. He understood you. Or he thought he did. He thought you were happy with how things were going between you. 

“No Y/N today?” Sirius asked when he walked into his dorm.

You had made a habit of working on Transfiguration homework in their dorm every Wednesday. You never missed a Wednesday. Until now.

“Obviously…” Remus grumbled.

“Where she at then?” 

“Check under Boardman.” 

Sirius coughed. He stared at Remus, trying to figure out if he was being genuine. Based on his extra grumpiness and slouched posture, it was either the full moon soon or you were with Stubby. Sirius knew the full moon was just last week. He frowned.

“Boardman, huh? When’d that happen? And what happened to you?”

Remus glared at Sirius. He didn’t really want to talk about it, and certainly not with Sirius who easily charmed his way around girls. You were special. You were special to Remus personally. 

He sighed and rubbed his face rather aggressively. “Don’t know specifics about when. At least Sunday? I don’t know. The more I think about it, the less I know. So I’m kind of done thinking.”

“Wow, Remus done thinking? Has someone alerted the Daily Prophet?”

Then James and Peter came into the dorm.

“Oi, have you heard this rubbish about Y/N and Boardman?” Sirius asked the two boys. 

Remus groaned, but patiently waited for their reactions. He couldn’t imagine that he was the only who noticed your absence before today, nor the only one who saw the way Stubby’s hands gripped you. That image was painfully burned into his mind. 

James shrugged before falling onto his bed. “Saw them talking yesterday? What’s the rubbish?”

“I’m assuming the rubbish is the fact that she’s snogging him by the bell tower and not flirting with Moony in here,” Peter said nonchalantly. 

“They’re snogging?” Remus asked, his voice strained. 

It had been mere days. Days. And you were already snogging him in public? That couldn’t be right; it wasn’t right. Sure, your first kiss with Remus had been semi-public – a Gryffindor party – but you weren’t the only ones kissing and it was barely PG-13. Remus tried to recall if you talked to Stubby very much before last week. He just couldn’t picture it. 

“That or he’s trying to dislodge a popcorn kernel with his tongue.”

“That’s just not right,” James said. “By the bell tower? Couldn’t find a nice broom closet or something?”

“Can we… Can we not talk about them?” Remus asked, louder than he meant to and even worse, his voice cracked. He firmly pressed his lips together for a few seconds before adding, “The Transfiguration assignment. Let’s talk about that? Due tomorrow.”

You tried not to look at Remus, but it was something you had to actively do. Your eyes drifted to him out of habit in the Great Hall, during classes, across the library. You always found him. He looked sad. Tired. He usually looked tired, but this was a different kind that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. If you hadn’t asked for space from your almost-kinda-something, you’d ask him what’s wrong and pester him until you got some sort of answer that at least sounded believable. But you had to physically distance yourself from Remus. You knew if you stayed too close, you’d fall into old habits too easily. 

Stubby had already gotten to doing the one thing that Remus never did: he asked you to be his girlfriend. You accepted. You had no reasons not to. Stubby was handsome, smart and moderately funny. He was a decent kisser. He was more possessive of you than Remus was, which makes sense why he wanted to label it quickly. 

Somehow with all the times your eyes went to Remus, he never caught you. Every time you looked away, his eyes were on you. He watched you and missed you. His heart clenched every time he saw you near Stubby, which was often. The boy walked you to classes and sat next to you during nearly every meal and watched you do your homework. Remus had yet to see him with anything more than a closed book in front of him. Remus got nauseous every time you kissed him. He wanted to gag when you hugged him. Just hearing his name was becoming enough to bring on a headache. 

The boys couldn’t ignore how Remus was more melancholy than usual. They didn’t know how to help. He just buried himself in his assignments, putting all of his focus on that so that maybe, just maybe his mind wouldn’t wander to you, and to how Stubby had you. He just didn’t understand what happened between you so he clung to what he could understand: academics. 

You seemed happy. Days passed and you were always smiling when Stubby was around you. You didn’t mind his friends and he got along fine with yours, but you did find yourself missing the chaos that was the Marauders. How could you not? You spent so much time with them over the years. But you knew that they were Remus’ friends before they were yours. 

Stubby was too good to be true. He was good to you. You felt good. But just as you were fully completely settling into your role of girlfriend, the rug got yanked from under your feet. Your Charms class was dismissed early and you walked into the Great Hall. You immediately spotted Stubby. What you saw made your heart stop: him kissing another girl. Great. You stormed up to him and the girl; they broke apart when they felt your presence. 

“Oh, hey Y/N,” Stubby said slowly.

“Fuck you.” You grabbed a cup from the table and dumped it over his head. 

You went to spend your free period in your dorm. Your friends didn’t bother you, but they knew what happened. It didn’t take long for everyone to hear about what happened; gossip spread fast from anyone who witnessed it. 

Remus couldn’t take his eyes off of you for the rest of classes. He was worried about you. You appeared wholly unbothered, but he knew that couldn’t be the case. It had to be bugging you that a guy who asked you to be his girlfriend and had his arm around you every second he could was kissing someone else. And yet you walked from class to class, to your dorm to dinner and back, like you didn’t have a worry in the world. 

He couldn’t not worry about you. He stared at your name on the Marauders’ Map from his dorm. Your marker was in your dorm for most of the evening, mainly stationary. You occasionally paced, but that was something you did when you were thinking deeply on an assignment. Remus allowed himself to work on his assignments, but the map was open next to him. You stayed in your dorm until late. Then Remus watched you leave your dorm and head to the Astronomy Tower. 

Remus packed up his homework. 

“Where are you going, Moons?” Sirius asked from where he reclined on his bed. 

“Astronomy Tower.”

“Why?”

Remus didn’t say anything, but he paused with his hand on the doorknob. 

“Moony… Why?” Sirius repeated, propping himself up and eyeing Remus cautiously.

“Y/N’s there,” Remus said quietly. 

“And you’re going?” Peter asked.

Remus didn’t answer vocally. He just turned the knob and walked out. 

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower, happy to be alone and just looking at the stars. You couldn’t bring yourself to cry though. You just sat in your feelings. Somehow you weren’t good enough to be someone’s. Remus never asked you out and while Stubby did, you weren’t enough for him. You sighed. You were enough for yourself. That’s what mattered. 

You didn’t hear Remus’ footsteps as he climbed the stairs. You didn’t hear him approach you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, still standing a little bit away from you. He wasn’t sure if he was someone you’d want to see right now. He would’ve been a few weeks ago. 

“Been better,” you said. 

Remus took a few steps closer to you before sitting down. You sat in silence for a few minutes. You didn’t know why he was there. 

“Can I ask something?” he asked. 

You hummed, not looking at him. You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the sky.

“What were we?”

You scoffed. He had the audacity to ask that? 

“Nothing. We were nothing.”

“Nothing?” Remus repeated. “We were nothing?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Huh,” Remus said. “I thought we had something.” 

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it?” Your voice cracked as you tried to blink back tears. You still stared at the sky. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“What we had, it was working? Wasn’t it?” he asked.

“No. It was just fun. That’s all I was just fun to you.”

Remus sat up a little straighter. “You weren’t just fun to me.”

You shrugged and said, “Felt like it. You never actually asked me out.” 

“I-I… I thought it was implied. We were together all the time.” 

“But I could never call you my boyfriend. I was never your girlfriend. So what we were was nothing.”

“What if I had?”

“Had what?”

“Had asked you out? Asked you to properly be my girlfriend? Would that had made a difference or would you still have asked for space?” 

You didn’t answer right away despite knowing your answer. You finally looked at him and the look on his face was almost pathetic, like he knew he had had something good and let it get away. You’re sure how you’re feeling is painted across your face. 

“I would’ve seen where it went. If you had asked me, Stubby probably wouldn’t’ve flirted with me in the first place.” 

“What about now?”

You tilted your head and furrowed your brow. “Now?”

“If I asked you out. Now. I know the timing isn’t great, but I’d like to try again. You and me. Real dates. Labels. The whole shebang.” 

“You’re right, the timing isn’t great.” You looked away from Remus.

Him saying that hurt. Why was he asking that now and not a few weeks ago? Months ago? Even years ago? You’ve been around and he’s waited until now, and he picked a pretty shitty time to ask. 

“Do you want-?” he started to ask.

“I need a little time, Remus. But, would you mind sitting here? It’s better than being alone.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll stay.” Remus scooted a little closer to you, close enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder. 

You’d stay like that for a while. Until you were ready to go to bed. 

Remus would ask you for real next week, and you’d say yes. 

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[navybrat817]

Roosted

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader, Platonic Curtis and Female Reader

Summary: Steve falls for you more when you go off on your best friend.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, pissed off reader, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: If you read Hardpack, you know why you're popping off. Oh, these boys. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

“So. What’s up with Everett?” Bucky shook his hair out when he took his helmet off and nodded to Curtis who sat a few feet away on the ground. Dirt never bothered him. “Seems a little broodier than usual.”

Steve took his helmet off, too, his brows furrowed. Curtis wasn't the chattiest racer, that honor went to Jake, but he was unusually quiet today before and after he hit the tracks. Steve would’ve thought he was angry from the scowl on his face, but his eyes told a different story. 

“He does,” Steve agreed. Did something happen at work? Was he okay? “I think he may have you and Levinson beat in the brood department.”

The brunette scoffed. “I’m not that broody, Stevie.”

“Yeah, your personality really improved once Spitfire waltzed into your life,” he half teased. Bucky was sure as hell a lot happier since he got his girl, which made him happy. “But I couldn’t tell you what’s up with Everett since he hasn’t really said a word to any of us today.”

He hit the track like he either had something to prove, or like he was trying to forget.

A knowing smirk crossed his best friend’s face. “You could always ask Daisy,” he said with as much subtlety as a brick to the face.

Clearing his throat when your beautiful face popped up in his mind, Steve did wonder if it would be worth asking. It would give him an excuse to talk to you since you were close to Curtis. His eyes narrowed and unease filled his stomach, but only for a moment. There was nothing to be jealous of since you and Curtis were just friends and Curtis said more than once you both saw each other as brother and sister.

Steve also had no reason to feel jealous since you weren't his girl. 

Well, not yet.

“Maybe,” he said, gripping his helmet tight. 

“C’mon. Just ask her.” Bucky nudged him. “And I don’t mean asking about Curtis. Bite the bullet and ask her out.”

Steve sighed. Growing up with Bucky, girls always paid attention to his best friend, and no one gave him the time of day. He was used to it until the pit lizards started throwing themselves at him, which he didn't want. You were different. He wanted you to notice him, and he wanted to take you out and treat you well. You deserved that.

Bucky nudged him again, snapping him out his thoughts. “Seriously. What have you got to lose?”

Everything.

He shook his head a little. “Maybe I can-”

“Everett, you ASSHOLE!”

Steve stiffened when he heard you yell and turned to look your way so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. Your beauty took his breath away, and seeing fire in your eyes had him falling for you more. It was hot enough for everyone to feel the burn. Ari had to pull Jake out of your path, both of them staring after you with a mixture of shock and concern as you stormed toward your best friend.

Bucky’s smirk slipped off his face, too, staring after you like everyone else. “Oh, she looks pissed.”

“Yeah, she does,” Steve said. You were one of the sweetest riders out there and hardly ever raised your voice. He was half tempted to stop you to see if you were okay, but he didn't when he saw the guilt written all over Curtis's face.

Whatever happened, your best friend likely deserved your wrath and Steve wasn’t about to stop you from unleashing it. 

Curtis shut his eyes once you got close enough. “Daisy…”

“Don’t you ‘Daisy’ me! Get up so I can kick your ass!” you demanded, yanking Curtis by the arm when he didn't move fast enough. 

“She sounds like Spitfire,” Bucky whispered with a wince. “I’m not kidding. I’m pretty sure she has said those exact words to me.”

“Shh,” Steve whispered back, not wanting to miss what was being said. It wasn't right to eavesdrop, wasn't right that any of them were, but he wasn't about to walk away. 

Curtis put his hands up. “Listen, I know you’re upset, and I get it,” he tried to reason with you. 

“Of course, I’m upset! What is wrong with you?! Why the hell would you go off on Princess the way you did?! She should've kicked you in the balls,” you snapped, smacking your best friend hard on the arm. The guys knew all about Princess since some of them overheard you recently teasing Curtis. His boss used to tear up the tracks until he retired. What the hell did Curtis say that had you so fired up? “I might kick you in the balls.”

Curtis instinctively covered his crotch. Steve was pretty sure half the guys watching did. “I said I was sorry.”

A bitter laugh crept from your throat. “Oh, you have not begun to say you're sorry. You are not only going to apologize again, but you are going to give her an explanation as to why you were an asshole beyond the fact that you were in a bad mood. Piss poor fucking excuse and you know it.” You poked his chest. Hard. Curtis didn't flinch, accepting every bit of your anger. “Apologize again. I'm serious. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” he said. 

As angry as you were, you seemed to deflate just as quickly. “I’m so fucking disappointed in you, and you know I’m disappointed since I’m swearing so much.” You slowly shook your head when Curtis looked at the ground. “I just don't get it. You care about her, and I know you do, so why be an asshole?”

Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder when he took a step forward. He thought he heard tears in your voice, and he wanted to comfort you. Bucky was right to stop him. You needed to finish your conversation with Curtis without him trying to rescue you.

“She’s too good for me,” he muttered. 

Steve frowned. Curtis wasn't a bad guy. Far from it. He was a hard worker, too. Why would he think he wasn’t good enough?

“With how you acted, yeah, she is,” you bluntly stated, making your friend’s head snap back up. “Oh, don't you dare stare at me like I just kicked a puppy. I’m being a best friend and telling it like it is.”

Steve smirked. He couldn't help himself. It took guts to call out someone you cared about. It was also nice that you were defending Princess so fiercely. 

Curtis clenched and unclenched his fists. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did, and you better fix it,” you said, kicking a bit of dirt on his boots. “If you don't, I really will kick your ass.”

“I know you will.” Curtis swallowed hard. “Do you really think she’s too good for me?”

There was a hint of a smile on your face, looking more like your normal self. “No I don’t. The only one who thinks she’s too good for you is you. So prove yourself wrong,” you replied, kicking a bit more dirt at him. “Okay, I’m done snapping at you. For now,” you added softly.

Curtis sadly chuckled. “I deserved it and more.”

You looked around, noticing the audience for the first time. “Show’s over, boys,” you teased, your gaze landing on Steve. Your usual smile was back on your beautiful face, and it made his heart race. “Hey, Champ.”

“Hey, Daisy,” he smiled back. He felt a sense of pride since he was the only one you called out. Hell, Hal had his shirt off and you didn't spare him a glance. 

You giggled, but quickly stopped when you pointed at Curtis. “Text me after you apologize to her.”

“I will,” he promised. 

Everyone watched as you walked away, stunned silent by what they just witnessed. 

Hal was the one to finally speak up. “Need some ice for that burn, Everett?” he smiled. 

Curtis snarled, but he didn't look at all embarrassed. If anything, he looked determined after your verbal ass kicking. “Don’t you need to pose in front of a mirror, Carter?”

Hal glanced down at his washboard abs. “I’d rather pose in front of Belle’s camera.”

Laughter filled the air, the atmosphere back to normal. Steve hardly paid any attention since was still staring after you. Beautiful and sweet with a protective streak. He had it bad, and anyone with eyes could see that.

“So, when are you asking her out?” Bucky asked loud enough for Curtis to hear. 

Steve locked eyes with Curtis who had an unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t think the man would stop him from asking his best friend out, but what if he did? Curtis could object all he wanted, but Steve was a determined man. He was a man who would treat you well, too.

Any worry faded when he got a nod of approval.

“I’ll ask her as soon as I see her again,” Steve promised.

Steve would hopefully get his girl, and maybe Curtis would get back in good graces with his girl, too.

These men need to get their asses in gear. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[dissociativewriter]

Heyyyy about the event (congratulations, you deserve it!!!).I would love one with Caleb and intro (end of the world) (extended) by ariana grande (i think it fits them very well), it being non mc reader (they have met since they are children) I would love if it was veryyyy angst, please and thanks:)

hiii anon! thank you <3 i hope you like how this turned out! not sure if its angsty enough but i tried :)

wc: 752

cw: angst, grief, regret, not a happy ending; not proofread

“Hey, pip-squeak!” Caleb’s voice rang through your shared apartment, loud and cheery. You glanced over, watching him closely. His smile was bright as his voice, the widest it’s been in weeks. The Farspace Fleet was hovering over him, you knew, so you were glad he was finally able to relax.

But why couldn’t it be with you?

He sat sprawled on the couch, cradling his phone like a high school girl with a crush.

Or at least, a boy with a crush on a girl since before high school.

You’d grown up together. You, her, Caleb, and Zayne. Sometimes it felt like each other was all you had.

You knew it then, you figured. The way Caleb looked at her. It would never be the way he looked at you.

So, why couldn’t you stop your own feelings?

You grieved when he died. Of course, she got more comfort than you did. They were practically attached at the hip, so she was the priority at his funeral.

So, you grieved in silence.

Then he was back.

Different, but back.

You heard from her how different he was, heard how they could never be the same.

When you finally saw him again, it was like those feelings had never left.

You accepted everything, took care of him, loved him.

And now he was your boyfriend.

Technically.

Though from an outsider’s perspective, you’d think it was she that was dating him.

But no, she had Zayne, so Caleb had to settle for the second best thing: Being her best friend.

And you, of course.

You wondered, if she and Zayne ever split up, ever went through some kind of separation, how fast would it take Caleb to discard you?

For him to stop pretending.

You watched his bright smile, something ugly pooling in your stomach.

What would it take for him to care about you that way?

“I don’t mean to interfere,” Zayne had told you once. “But it’s clear that he’s not treating you the way he should.” You hadn’t said anything then, only looked away from the doctor. He’d long since been able to read you, understanding that you knew what you couldn’t accept. He sighed. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you deserve better. Why waste your time with someone who doesn’t care for you above all else?”

You dropped your head into your hands. You knew what you had to do. It was due to happen for sometime.

You couldn’t grieve in silence forever.

You waited until he finished his phone call with her, grin still plastered on his face. It disappeared, though, when you moved to sit next to him.

Of course it did.

You felt your stomach sink. How had you lasted this long, living like this?

“Caleb, I think we should break up.”

Something passed through his eyes. You hoped it was regret, but the Colonel was getting even better at hiding his emotions.

He agreed. Maybe he thought this would be his chance. He could split her and Zayne up forcefully, now that you weren’t in the way.

You packed your things quickly, leaving to stay with a friend. You left that same week.

Caleb was left with a nearly empty apartment. How had he never realized how much of his life was yours? The things that made him know he was home, they were all yours.

The apartment was too quiet without you.

Caleb didn’t know what to do. The Farspace Fleet was constantly pressuring him, and now there was no one there to relieve it. His plan to finally win over her had failed.

Of course it did.

He knew he had faults, and it seemed the doctor had none. The picture of perfection, Caleb thought sourly. If he didn’t hate Zayne before, he certainly did now. He’d taken everything that was dear to Caleb.

Why hadn’t he done something when he first overheard that conversation between you and Zayne?

Why wasn’t that his wake-up call?

Why did he have to take you for granted?

He texted you, called you, bombarded you with desperate attempts. You ignored all of them, until one night you finally got fed up.

Why couldn’t he let you live and heal in peace? You texted him back a single message;

I’ve already grieved you, Caleb. Now, it’s your turn.

You should have realized you needed me sooner.

The words blurred through Caleb’s watery eyes.

Oh, he realized, this wasn’t Zayne’s fault.

It was his own.

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[mintyys-blog]

THE WEIRD SISTER 2 | kon el kent x batsis! reader

DC MASTERLIST | PART ONE | WARNINGS: manipulation, obsessive behaviour, mention of stalking, mention of attempted murder

The following week, just as the sun began to dip below the skyline, casting long shadows across Wayne Manor’s front lawn, the familiar low hum of flight reached Y/N’s ears. She was already waiting by the steps, her hair perfect, her outfit chosen with the kind of precision only obsession could produce—down to the shade of lipstick she knew matched the mark she left on his neck last time.

Kon landed with a gust of wind, his boots touching the stone driveway with effortless grace. He was in casual clothes—jeans and a soft red hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms, wind-tousled hair falling into his eyes. The smile he gave her was all boyish charm and easy affection.

“Ready, beautiful?”

Y/N lit up like a spark. “Always.”

He took her hand with no hesitation, pulling her close as his other arm wrapped around her waist. She didn’t miss the way his fingers lingered. She never did.

Just inside the manor entrance, Damian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, already looking annoyed.

“Tt. He’s a fool,” Damian muttered under his breath, eyes rolling.

Kon’s ears twitched.

Superhearing.

He caught it—clear as day. A flicker of something crossed his face, a momentary pause, an unreadable shift behind his eyes.

But then he looked back at Y/N.

And smiled.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over hers in a soft kiss, slow and deliberate—just enough to make her sigh contentedly, just enough to prove that he chose her.

She curled her fingers into the front of his hoodie like she never wanted to let go. She smiled through the kiss.

Damian scoffed behind them, disappearing deeper into the manor.

Kon pulled back, still smiling, but there was something cautious behind his eyes now—something lingering.

“Ready to see the stars?” he asked.

Y/N nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “As long as I’m with you.”

He took off into the sky, arms firm around her, the world falling away beneath them.

But that quiet voice in the back of his head—the one that caught Damian’s warning—didn’t fall away. Not completely.

He just pushed it down.

Because when Y/N looked at him like that—like he was her whole world? It was hard to see anything else.

They flew over the glittering skyline, stars beginning to poke through the deepening twilight. The wind rushed around them, but in Kon’s arms, Y/N was steady—weightless, invincible.

He didn’t say much during the flight, and she didn’t push. She just watched him. Studied the way his jaw tightened sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way his grip subtly tightened on her waist, protective and a little unsure.

He heard Damian. She knew it. But he was still here. Still taking her on a date. Still choosing her.

They landed softly on a rooftop just outside the city—private, quiet, surrounded by nothing but open sky and the low hum of city lights. Kon had set it up beforehand. A blanket, a small picnic basket, and a pair of thermoses.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said sweetly, tugging him down beside her. He smiled as he sat, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Figured you deserved something more than greasy diner fries.”

“You think I don’t like greasy diner fries?” she teased, nudging him gently.

“Oh no, I know you do.” He bumped her back. “But I also know you pretend to hate them because you think it’s cute.” She gasped. “Rude. I am cute.” He grinned, eyes gleaming. “No argument here.”

She nestled in beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder as the stars came out full-force. He wrapped an arm around her, and for a moment, everything felt easy. Normal.

But she couldn’t stop the way her eyes kept flicking to his face. Watching. Measuring. Wondering if he was really that relaxed or if the cracks were starting to show. After a while, he spoke. Quietly.

“Hey… what Damian said… does it ever get to you? What your family thinks?” She blinked, caught off guard. For a second, she almost told the truth—that it eats her alive, the way they all look at her like a problem to be managed instead of a person to be loved.

But then she softened her expression, tilting her head up at him with a small smile. “No. They’re just overprotective. You know how brothers are.” He nodded slowly. But his eyes lingered on her, like he was trying to piece something together.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Don’t listen to them, Kon. You’re with me. Not them.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I am.”

And he kissed her again—slow, deep, more uncertain than before. As if somewhere, in the back of his mind, a tiny part of him was starting to wonder. And Y/N? She felt it.

So she kissed him harder. Pulled him closer. Whispered soft things into his ear as they lay back beneath the stars, her hands curled into his hoodie like hooks. Because the tighter she held him, the harder it would be for him to pull away.

Kon flew Y/N back toward Wayne Manor beneath the quiet, star-speckled sky. The city’s twinkling lights stretched below them, soft and distant, like little sparks of life scattered across the dark canvas. Y/N’s fingers were still tangled in the strings of his hoodie, her body warm and close against his. She could feel his steady heartbeat beneath his chest, slow and sure.

She smiled, voice low and coaxing, trying to wrap the moment in a warmth that wouldn’t break.

“My room’s soundproof,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. “No one will hear us. You could stay. Just tonight.”

Kon’s lips brushed over her neck, warm and gentle, and a small chuckle rumbled through him. He pulled back just enough to look down into her hopeful eyes, full of promise and something darker underneath.

“I’d like that,” he murmured.

Her heart jumped. Maybe this was the moment. Maybe this was how it would be. Maybe—

Then his phone buzzed sharply against his side, the sudden vibration cutting through the softness like a knife. He shifted, reluctant, and swiped the screen. The caller ID made his jaw tighten:

Cassandra Sandmark.

His face shifted — the easy warmth draining away to be replaced by something tight and urgent.

Y/N’s smile faltered, eyes narrowing just a little, watching as he pressed the answer button.

“Kon? It’s Cass,” came the voice, strained and quick. “I… I need your help. It’s urgent. Something’s wrong.”

Kon’s gaze flicked between the phone and her face, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m on my way,” he said finally, voice low but decisive.

He turned to Y/N, searching her face for understanding. “Sorry, babe. Gotta go. But maybe next time.”

She barely had time to open her mouth before he leaned in, pressing a soft but desperate kiss to her lips. It was quick, a whisper of contact, but the weight behind it said everything he couldn’t voice.

Then he was gone—rising fast into the night sky, a dark silhouette against the stars.

Y/N stood rooted on the cold stone steps, the wind brushing through her hair, the echoes of his absence louder than the night itself. Her fingers clenched at the fabric where his hands had been moments ago, her breath catching on a bitter taste. No one saw the way her smile cracked and splintered, or the hollow emptiness that settled like a shadow behind her eyes.

Wayne Manor was quiet when she stepped back inside—too quiet, like even the walls knew what had just happened. The hum of the fridge and the low tick of the grandfather clock were the only sounds that filled the space as she made her way toward the kitchen, her steps slow, calculated. Her nails dragged lightly along the marble counter as she entered.

Damian was sitting at the kitchen island, chewing on a turkey sandwich with all the smug indifference of someone who told you so. His eyes flicked up when he heard her.

And then he really looked at her.

Something had shifted.

Her expression was vacant, but tight—like a mask. Her smile was gone, replaced by a stillness that made the air in the room go cold. Her hands were too calm. Her shoulders too steady. She looked like a person who had just made a decision she hadn’t fully admitted to yet.

He swallowed slowly, setting his sandwich down.

“You okay?” he asked, not because he cared—Damian rarely did—but because there was something off about her presence. Like a gun left cocked on a table.

“I’m fine,” she said simply.

Her voice was smooth. Too smooth.

She grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water from the filtered tap, and took a sip. Her eyes didn’t leave the window. The silence stretched too long, the tension building in waves around her like a pressure system closing in.

Damian watched her carefully, like one might watch a snake decide if it was going to strike or slither away.

“Kon left in a hurry,” he said flatly, testing.

Her jaw didn’t move, but her fingers tightened slightly around the glass. “Wonder Girl needed him.”

“Mm,” he hummed, unconvinced. “He does have a savior complex.”

She set the glass down—quietly, perfectly—and turned to leave.

“Good night, Damian.”

He watched her go, eyes narrowed. She didn’t storm. She didn’t flinch. She glided out of the kitchen like a shadow, like someone planning something very, very carefully. And for the first time in a long while, Damian felt a chill creep down his spine. Because whatever had broken inside her…wasn’t going to stay broken quietly.

The door to her room shut with a soft click behind her, and for a moment, Y/N just stood there in the dark.

Then her knees gave out.

She sank to the floor in front of her bed, the tears coming fast, hot, and silent. Her hands clenched in the sheets like she could rip the ache out of her chest. Her shoulders trembled. The carefully built image—the sweetness, the flirty charm, the perfection—crumbled.

And the only thing left was her.

Pathetic. Alone. Second-best.

Hours passed like that.

At some point, her door creaked open again, quietly—almost unsure. Bruce’s silhouette filled the frame, backlit by the soft hallway light. He had a plate of food in one hand, dressed down in a black henley and sweatpants—casual, rare, fatherly.

He had been coming to ask if she wanted dinner. Just something small. Something to check in.

But when he saw her—curled up, eyes red and face buried in the mess of her comforter—he froze.

The stoic edge softened immediately.

“Y/N?” he said, quiet and gentle.

She didn’t answer, just hiccuped against the fabric, shoulders trembling harder as she tried to muffle the sound.

Bruce stepped in, placing the plate down on her desk before coming to sit beside her on the edge of her bed. He didn’t say anything right away, just extended a steady hand and gently pressed it to her shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled hard, trying to breathe, but everything felt like it was squeezing in around her. She turned over, sitting up a little, tears tracking down her cheeks.

“It’s Kon,” she said thickly, voice shaking. “He… he left.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, expression calm but cautious. “Did something happen?”

“He left me for her,” she choked, wiping her face roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Wonder Girl called, and he just—left. In the middle of our night, and he didn’t even think twice.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look surprised, either. Concern, yes. But it was the calm, logical kind that made her feel like a child losing her mind over a broken toy.

“Honey,” he said gently, “he’s a hero. He has duties. That’s something you have to understand—”

“Dad.” Her voice snapped. She shot upright in bed, eyes red and wide with fury. “He left me. For another girl! She called, and he went running to her like I didn’t even matter. He kissed me, and left.” Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t speak immediately.

Because he had known this would happen. Maybe not with Kon, maybe not tonight—but eventually, heartbreak always came for her, and it always hit her like a truck. And when it did… she didn’t bend. She broke.

“You’re not second-best, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now. “And I’m not saying it wasn’t hurtful. But this… it might not be what you think.”

She turned away from him, curling her arms around her knees. “You don’t get it.”

Bruce watched her for a long moment, then exhaled and placed a soft hand on her back. “I might not,” he admitted. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And even though she didn’t say anything else, even though her body stayed curled up and shaking— She didn’t tell him to leave.

Bruce gave her shoulder one last gentle squeeze before standing. She didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. But as he reached the door, he paused and looked back.

“If you want to talk,” he said quietly, “I’ll be around. Okay?”

Still no answer. Just the low, watery sound of her breath, half-choked with another wave of tears she didn’t want to let him see.

He sighed and closed the door behind him, letting the quiet of the hallway swallow him as he made his way back to the dining room.

Alfred, ever watchful, noticed immediately. “Ms. L/N isn’t joining us?” he asked gently, setting a dish down at Bruce’s usual seat.

Bruce just shook his head and sat down at the head of the table. “She’s not hungry.”

Tim, seated a few spots down, didn’t even look up as he took a bite of his food. “Let me guess. She’s crying over Kon, right?”

Bruce didn’t respond. He just rubbed a hand down his face, looking more tired than before. Tim smirked, tone just a little too sharp. “It’s just like before, isn’t it? When she—”

“Tim.” Bruce’s voice cut through the room like a knife. Calm. Controlled. Warning. But Tim kept going, not seeing—or not caring—that line was already too close.

“She has a pattern, Bruce. We all know it. She gets addicted to a guy, loses herself completely, and the second he doesn’t worship her? Emotional spiral. Breakdown. And then—”

“Tim.” Bruce’s voice snapped like a whip now, sharp and unflinching.

The room went silent. Even Damian, who’d been quietly eating across from Tim, paused and looked up, brow arched. Bruce stared at him, his face unreadable—but his voice was low and dangerous. “That is enough.”

Tim looked like he wanted to argue—but the silence was too heavy. The kind of silence that only came when someone was standing on the edge of something deeper.

“She’s not well,” Bruce said finally, quietly. “She’s been through more than you know. So if you can’t offer empathy, then offer her your silence.” Tim looked down. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. Alfred cleared his throat delicately and placed a fresh dish in front of Bruce. The rest of dinner was quiet. No one mentioned Y/N again.

Later that night, long after dinner had ended and the manor had settled into that eerie post-midnight stillness, Tim sat in his room—half-distracted, half-agitated. The blue glow from his phone screen lit his face as he stared at the message he’d typed out, thumbs hovering over the send button.

yo dude, we need to talk. I don’t think you understand my sister

He exhaled through his nose, tapping the screen twice before finally sending it.

Read receipts were turned off. Of course they were. But the message was delivered.

Tim leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, the unease gnawing deeper now. He wasn’t trying to sabotage anything. This wasn’t about being overprotective. It wasn’t even personal—he didn’t care who Y/N dated.

But Kon had no idea what he was walking into.

He didn’t know about the past, about how dark things got when she spiraled. He hadn’t seen her stare blankly at walls for hours after a boy ghosted her in high school. He hadn’t been there the night Bruce had to pull her out of a police interrogation room after she’d been caught on a guy’s fire escape. He hadn’t watched her beg to know what she did wrong—sobbing like the world had ended.

Kon had only seen her smile. The soft voice. The flirtatious, wide-eyed sweetness.

But that wasn’t the full picture. That was just the part she let people fall in love with.

Tim locked his phone, tossed it on the bed, and stood. Part of him hoped Kon wouldn’t respond. The other part knew it was already too late.

Down the hall, the glow beneath Y/N’s bedroom door was still on. And somewhere, behind that door, she was still awake. Plotting. Dreaming. Waiting. And Tim had a sick feeling in his stomach that something was coming. Something bad.

The next morning came fast, the kind of morning that hit hard—gray skies, rain tapping steadily against the windows of Wayne Manor, and a weight in the air like something was coming.

Tim’s phone buzzed just after 10AM.

Kon:

wtf you mean bro?

Tim stared at the screen for a second, then sighed through his teeth and started typing back.

Tim:

It’s better if we talk in person. You free later?

The three bouncing dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared again. Typical Kon—typing, deleting, trying to figure out if this was a joke or some overprotective brother B.S.

Kon:

I mean I guess? You gonna tell me what this is about or just keep being cryptic?

Tim:

Just come over. I’ll explain everything.

He tossed the phone onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. Part of him didn’t even want to have this conversation—Kon wasn’t a bad guy, but he was reckless, and that made him the worst kind of person for someone like Y/N.

Someone who could fall too hard. Too fast. Someone who didn’t understand the difference between love and obsession. If Kon wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t just break her. He’d unleash her. And Tim wasn’t sure any of them were ready for that.

Down the hall, Y/N’s door creaked open. She emerged wearing soft colors and an unreadable smile, humming to herself as if the night before hadn’t ended with her crying herself into silence.

Tim watched her walk by. She paused when she caught him staring. “What?” she asked, voice light. “Do I have something on my face?”

He shook his head. “No. Just… wondering how you’re feeling.” She tilted her head and smiled. “Better,” she said. “Much better.” And that was the problem. She meant it.

Kon grinned as she opened the door, standing there like some lovesick golden retriever, bouquet in hand. “Hey, beautiful,” he said with a flash of teeth, lifting the flowers. “Brought you these.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, genuine surprise lighting her face for a heartbeat. “You came all this way… to give me flowers?” she breathed, her voice soft and airy like it was the most romantic gesture in the world.

He opened his mouth to answer, clearly pleased with himself—

But the warmth of the moment was shattered in an instant.

“Actually,” a voice cut in flatly from behind her, “he’s here for me.”

Her smile cracked, just slightly.

She turned slowly—stiffly—until her eyes landed on Tim, standing further down the hall, arms crossed, clearly trying not to look like the buzzkill he absolutely was.

Kon rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkward now. “Yeah—uh, I mean, I did bring the flowers for you, but I also told Tim I’d swing by to talk…”

Tim nodded, gaze flicking briefly between the two of them. “Just need a minute.”

Y/N turned back to Kon, her face serene and sweet again like nothing was wrong, though her fingers gripped the bouquet a little too tightly.

“Well,” she said with a syrupy tone, “thank you for the flowers.” She leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek—slowly, deliberately. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

Then she turned, brushing past Tim without another word—except for the look she gave him. Cold. Dangerous. Like a warning wrapped in velvet.

She disappeared down the hall, the echo of her steps fading.

Kon watched her go, still holding that dopey smile… until he turned back to Tim and saw the tight expression on his face.

“…Okay,” Kon said, “what the hell is going on?”

Tim crossed his arms tighter, jaw tense as he leaned against the hallway wall. His voice dropped, low enough to avoid echoing—just in case she was still lingering nearby.

“Remember when I said she stalked that guy?”

Kon nodded slowly, brows raised. “Yeah, but—I mean, are you sure ‘stalked’ is the right word? Like, maybe she was just obsessed or—”

Tim didn’t flinch. He cut him off with a single, measured sentence:

“She took photos of him sleeping and tried to kill his sister because she got jealous of how close they were.”

Kon froze. The air between them went thick with silence.

“…You’re joking,” he said, though his voice didn’t sound like he believed it. “She—what? Are you serious?”

Tim just stared at him. There wasn’t a trace of humor on his face.

“Then why hasn’t she been arrested?” Kon asked, stunned. “That’s—dude, that’s not just weird, that’s, like… psycho behavior.”

Tim sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because Bruce. Bruce cleans it all up. Pays people off, scrubs records, reassigns cops who dig too deep. He thinks protecting her means covering for her—‘rehabilitation through family structure,’ or whatever bull he tells himself. But we all know it’s not working.”

Kon ran a hand down his face, taking a step back like the information physically unsettled him. “Jesus…”

“And last night,” Tim added grimly, “she had one of her breakdowns. Which—look, I know that doesn’t sound like much to you—but for her? That’s always the first stage. It’s a pattern. Crying turns to silence, silence turns to scheming, and then someone gets hurt. Usually a girl. Sometimes the guy too. But never herself.”

He looked Kon dead in the eyes.

“She gets scary when she feels like she’s losing someone. And if you’re the one she’s decided is ‘hers’ now? You need to start thinking very carefully about what you do next.”

Kon swallowed hard, thinking of the kiss on his cheek. The bouquet in her hands. The way her smile never quite reached her eyes when she saw Tim. “…Okay,” he said finally, voice quiet. “What exactly am I dealing with here?”

Kon stood there, hands shoved in his pockets now that the bouquet was gone—delivered and received with that soft kiss on the cheek that felt innocent… until now. His brow furrowed as Tim’s words sank deeper, but he shook his head, resisting the creeping chill crawling up his spine.

“Okay, yeah,” he muttered, “that’s all… a lot, but I think you’re exaggerating.”

Tim didn’t flinch. “I’m not.”

“She’s weird, I’ll give you that,” Kon admitted, glancing toward the hallway she disappeared down. “But she’s not dangerous. She’s been sweet. A little intense, maybe, but… I mean, she lit up when she saw me. People don’t fake that kind of excitement.”

Tim stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes hard. “She doesn’t fake it, Kon. She believes it. That’s the problem.”

Kon frowned. “So what, I’m just supposed to what—cut her off? Ghost her? Break her heart and run? You know how messed up that is?”

“No,” Tim said, voice low. “I want you to be careful. I want you to understand that you’re not in some cute, edgy romance. You’re dealing with someone who rewrites reality when it doesn’t fit her narrative. Someone who sees you as part of her script now.”

Kon looked away, jaw tight. “She told me no one gives her a chance. That people treat her like she’s broken.”

“Because she is broken,” Tim snapped. “But not in the way you’re thinking. She’s not sad broken. She’s obsessive broken. Like—’track your location, show up outside your window at 2 a.m., slash your tires because she thinks you’re cheating’ broken.”

Kon opened his mouth to argue, but Tim cut in sharply.

“Who called you last night?”

That caught him off guard. “What?”

“When you were with her. Who called?”

“…Cassie,” Kon admitted slowly. “Wonder Girl. She needed help with a recon mission. Nothing serious, I just—left.”

“How’d Y/N take that?”

“She said she was fine.”

Tim didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.

Kon shifted uncomfortably. “Okay. She was quiet. But she kissed me goodbye.”

Tim exhaled hard. “Yeah. That’s the part that should scare you.”

Kon went still.

Tim continued, calm and cold. “When she doesn’t scream? When she doesn’t cry? When she smiles and lets you leave without a fight? That’s when she’s decided you owe her something. And if she thinks another girl is getting in the way of what she’s built in her head—she won’t blame the girl. She’ll eliminate the girl.”

A heavy silence filled the hall.

Kon finally muttered, “This is insane.”

Tim nodded. “You’re right. And she’s really good at it.”

He let that sit for a beat.

“Just… be careful. Be clear with her. Don’t promise anything you don’t mean. And if you start to get scared, tell me. Don’t try to fix it on your own.”

Kon nodded slowly, the reality settling uneasily into his gut.

And from the end of the hall, behind the corner, just barely visible from the shadowed edge of the staircase… A glint of eyes. Watching. Listening. Smiling.

Kon took a deep breath outside her door, raising a hand—only for it to swing open before he could even knock.

“Kon!” Y/N beamed, her eyes lighting up like a thousand-watt bulb. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight as if it had been days instead of hours.

He hesitated for just a second, then wrapped his arms around her waist, giving her a small squeeze back. “Hey.”

She pulled him inside eagerly, barely giving him a chance to take in her expression—like nothing existed in the world but him. Her room smelled faintly of flowers and something warm, like vanilla, soft music playing in the background.

“Look!” she said suddenly, tugging him toward her desk where a tall vase sat prominently in the center. The roses he’d brought her were already carefully arranged, lovingly displayed like they were priceless. “Aren’t they beautiful? I’ve been making sure they get the perfect amount of sunlight. No direct drafts. Changed the water twice already.”

He blinked, surprised. “Wow, you’ve really been taking care of them.”

She smiled, that dreamy faraway look on her face. “Of course I am. They’re from you.” She turned toward him again, her voice soft and warm. “I’m going to dry them out when they die—so I can keep them forever. Maybe hang them on the wall above my bed. That way I can look at them every night before I sleep.”

Kon tried to keep his face neutral, but something in his chest twisted. Not fear—exactly. Just… unease. That kind of intensity wasn’t normal, not after just a few days together. But her eyes were sparkling like this was all so natural. He cleared his throat. “That’s… thoughtful.”

She laughed lightly, brushing his arm with her fingers. “It’s romantic. You know, I used to think I’d never have something like this. Not real. But then you came along, and everything just clicked.” She looked up at him with so much sincerity it felt dangerous. “And now… I don’t have to imagine it anymore.”

Kon smiled—small, hesitant—masking the tension in his shoulders. He remembered what Tim had said.

“If she starts planning…”

“That’s when it’s already too late.”

But she was looking at him like he was her entire world. So he didn’t say any of it. Not yet. He just swallowed the nerves down and said, “Yeah… I’m glad I came.”

“So…” she started, voice light but curious, “is Cassie okay?”

Kon nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She’s fine. Just needed some backup on a quick mission—nothing serious.”

Y/N’s brows pinched slightly, and her eyes softened. “I was worried when you left so suddenly last night.”

He glanced at her, appreciating the honest concern. “Thanks. I know that probably wasn’t easy for you.”

“I get it, trust me,” she said, laughing gently. “My family’s full of heroes. I’d probably be more upset if you didn’t do something.” She winked playfully, but there was something behind it—something deeper. More careful.

There was a pause. Her gaze shifted.

“So…” she began again, slower this time. “Did Tim talk to you about me?”

He looked at her directly now, eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. “Yeah… he did.”

Her smile faded just a little. “Then if you’re going to hear the story… it should be from me.”

She shifted on the bed, drawing her legs up as if bracing herself. “He told me about how you stalked some guy, and tried to kill his sister.”

Y/N gasped sharply, looking genuinely offended. “Okay! I never tried to kill her!” Her hands clenched in her lap. “Gosh, you must think I’m insane hearing it that way.”

He tilted his head, keeping his tone calm. “So what did happen?”

She sighed, brushing some hair behind her ear and looking away. “I had no friends. None. And this guy… he noticed me. He talked to me like I was human. It was stupid, but I thought maybe he liked me too. I did look at his Instagram a lot—but it’s not like I hacked anything! It was public. I just wanted to know more about him.”

Her voice got quieter. “And his sister—she was… odd. She acted like they were dating. Always holding onto him, calling him pet names. It was gross. I said something once when I was helping Alfred cook. I was chopping carrots, and she came in all smug, and I just—snapped.”

Kon raised a brow. “You said something to her. While holding a knife?”

She winced. “Okay, yes. But I wasn’t waving it around! I was just venting. I told her to stop being so possessive. She ran off crying and told everyone I tried to stab her. I didn’t!”

He rubbed a hand across his face, exhaling. “And then?”

“Bruce came,” she said flatly. “Pulled me out of school. Paid the guy’s parents to move out of state. Then it was six months of therapy and being watched like I was a ticking bomb.”

She went quiet, shoulders hunching slightly. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t want to scare anyone. I just didn’t know what normal looked like. No one ever taught me. I was always… alone. Until he saw me.”

Kon watched her closely. The story wasn’t exactly comforting—but the way she told it, the sheer vulnerability—it felt raw. There was no guile. No mask. Just a girl who’d gotten lost in her own need for connection.

“I’m not saying I handled it well,” she murmured, “but I wasn’t dangerous. I was desperate.”

He nodded slowly, his tone careful. “Thank you for telling me.”

She looked up at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

Kon gave a small, sincere smile. “I think you were hurt. And I think you didn’t get the help you needed until it was almost too late. That doesn’t make you crazy.”

Her eyes brightened. She looked like he’d handed her the whole world.

“I just want a chance,” she whispered. “With you, I feel like I can be normal. I want to be better. I’m trying.”

Kon reached out, brushing his fingers over hers. “Then we take it slow. No pressure. Just… honesty.”

She nodded eagerly, her grip tightening slightly on his hand. “Honesty,” she echoed. What he didn’t know, is that everything she had said was a lie.

They stayed like that for a while, curled up beside each other, trading quiet stories and soft laughter. Y/N told him about a half-finished art piece she’d been working on, a strange dream she had the night before, and the way Alfred secretly added cinnamon to the cocoa during winter even though he always denied it. Kon listened, smiling at the little details, enjoying how her voice grew steadier the more she talked.

The tension that had hung between them earlier had faded a little. Not completely — not with everything that had been said — but enough that Kon found himself relaxing again. Her room smelled faintly of lavender and old books, and it was strangely calming, in that way being somewhere safe can be.

Eventually, he glanced at the clock. “I should probably head out. I promised Ma and Pa I’d check in tonight.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly, but she nodded, folding her hands together. “Of course. I don’t want to keep you.”

Kon stood and she followed him to the door, lingering just a little. She kept her expression light, warm — but he could still see the subtle flicker of nerves behind her eyes.

“Will you let me know when you get home?” she asked. Not clingy. Just… hopeful.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I’ll text you.”

“Good,” she said, and the smile that followed was small, but real. “It’s stupid, but it helps. Just knowing you’re okay.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and kissed her — soft and easy, like something that had been waiting to happen. Her fingers curled briefly into the front of his shirt, grounding herself in the moment.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his for a beat, then stepped back. “Drive safe. Or, you know, fly safe.”

He chuckled. “You got it.”

She watched him leave, standing in the doorway just a little longer after he was gone. There was no clinging to the doorframe, no desperate pacing — just quiet, thoughtful silence.

Back in her room, she glanced at the vase on her dresser. The roses were still fresh, their petals open like they were reaching for sunlight. She smiled softly and walked over, adjusting the stems slightly.

“I’ll dry them out later,” she whispered to herself. “It’d be nice to keep something that made me feel good.”

She sat down on the edge of her bed, pulling her phone into her lap. It wasn’t obsessive watching — just the kind of thing anyone would do when they’re newly seeing someone. Hoping for a message. A little ping that says “I’m thinking of you.”

And when the text did finally come through —

“Home safe :) thanks for today beautiful”

— her whole face lit up.

She tucked the phone against her chest for a second, breathing in through her nose. Then she smiled again and started typing back.

“Glad you made it safe. I had a really nice time. Sleep well, Kon.”

Then she set the phone down, turned off the light, and lay back in bed. The silence wasn’t heavy tonight.

Tim didn’t even look up from his book when he heard the door creak open. The way she walked in—quiet, barefoot, steady—was familiar. Too familiar. He kept reading, deliberately turning a page he hadn’t finished.

“Stay out of my relationship, Tim.”

His eyes flicked up. Y/N stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression sharp. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean—controlled, like someone trying very hard to sound calm.

“I just barely managed to convince him,” she added, stepping further inside. “You almost ruined everything.”

Tim sighed and closed the book, setting it gently on the nightstand. “Convince him of what? That you’re not hiding knives behind every emotional confession?”

Her glare sharpened. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” Tim sat back, rubbing his temples. “That’s what worries me.”

She blinked—once, slowly—and shook her head. “Why do you always do this? Why do you hate the idea of me being happy?”

“I don’t hate the idea of you being happy,” he shot back. “I hate the idea of someone getting hurt.”

Her jaw tensed.

Tim softened just slightly, his voice quieter now. “Y/N… you’re not as subtle as you think. You say you’ve changed, but then you show up here threatening me like you’re one bad day away from going off the rails again.”

“I’m not threatening you,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m telling you to stop poisoning things.”

Tim leaned forward. “I told him the truth. That’s not poison, that’s history.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “It’s not fair,” she said, voice cracking a little despite her best effort. “You know how isolated I was. You know how hard it is for me to connect. He’s the first person who’s ever seen me and stayed.”

She looked away, fingers curling into her palms. “I don’t want to lose that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Then don’t,” Tim said finally, a little gentler now. “But if you’re serious about this, really serious, then stop pretending you’re owed him just because he smiled at you. Earn it. Build something real.”

She didn’t respond at first.

“I am,” she said after a long moment, chin lifting stubbornly. “I will.”

Tim nodded once. “Then don’t screw it up. And don’t come in here accusing me when the truth makes things messy.”

Y/N lingered in the doorway for a second longer, her expression unreadable.

Then she turned and left without another word, the door clicking quietly shut behind her.

Tim sat back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.

“…That went better than expected,” he muttered. Then he picked up his book and tried to focus, though the tension in his chest didn’t leave him for a long while.

The fair was louder than she expected. Flashing lights painted the evening sky in dizzying reds and blues, the scent of fried dough and popcorn tangled in the warm breeze, and kids screamed gleefully from spinning rides as music blared from every corner.

Y/N wasn’t used to places like this—too loud, too open, too full of people—but Kon’s hand in hers grounded her. His thumb brushing over her knuckles occasionally was enough to keep her from spiraling into old habits. At least for now.

“You ever go on a tilt-a-whirl?” he asked, grinning as they passed the ride.

She shook her head. “Too many moving parts. I don’t trust machinery built by carnies.”

He laughed, tossing an arm around her shoulder as they walked. “Fair enough. No pun intended.”

They hadn’t made it five more steps before a trio of girls—teenagers, maybe college-aged—spotted them. Specifically, they spotted him.

“Oh my God, wait—is that Superboy?” one of them gasped. “Kon-El?”

Y/N stiffened instantly, her posture rigid even as Kon’s arm stayed comfortably draped over her.

“Hi,” he said with a polite grin, that effortless charisma switching on like a light. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Oh my God,” the second girl squealed. “Can we please get a picture with you? You’re, like, our favorite hero.”

Y/N’s mouth opened to speak—say no, maybe—but before she could, the third girl was already shoving her phone into Y/N’s hands. “Here—can you take it for us? You’ll get the best angle!”

There was no “please.” No acknowledgment of who she was. Just the silent assumption that she’d be fine holding the camera while her boyfriend posed with a bunch of giggling, starry-eyed girls.

She swallowed the bitterness and took the phone.

“Sure,” she said flatly, forcing a smile as she held it up.

The girls crowded around Kon—one throwing her arms around his waist, another leaning close to his chest. Then, just as Y/N clicked the photo, the first girl on his right kissed his cheek.

Her heart dropped.

Click.

She handed the phone back without looking at it. The girl thanked her, not noticing—or not caring—that the photo was nearly unusable. Her finger had conveniently slipped over the lens just as she took it, blocking out most of Kon’s face.

“Oh no, wait—” the girl started.

“Oops,” Y/N said sweetly, already grabbing Kon’s hand. “Guess the moment’s gone. C’mon, babe, let’s go find that shooting gallery you wanted.”

She pulled him away before they could protest.

Kon glanced over his shoulder, confused. “Did something happen with the picture?”

She kept walking. “Nope. Just caught the wrong angle.”

He frowned but didn’t press. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting that girl to do that.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his. “It’s fine,” she said, eyes fixed forward, smile brittle. “They don’t matter. They don’t know you like I do.”

He let the silence settle for a moment before speaking again. “You okay?”

She looked up at him with a practiced calm. “Of course. I’m great. Let’s win something dumb and oversized.” She pulled him toward the game booths, but her mind lingered.

The tension from earlier had mostly dissolved by the time they made it to the cotton candy stand. The scent of warm sugar was almost too tempting to resist, and the pastel clouds of spun sweetness were practically glowing under the string lights of the fair.

Y/N ordered pink. Obviously.

Kon, grinning like a kid, got blue—his already half-eaten before they even walked away from the stand.

“You really like that stuff, huh?” she asked, watching him tear off another chunk.

“It’s not my fault it melts like magic,” he said through a mouthful, reaching toward her stick. “Let me try yours.”

She jerked it away, clutching it to her chest with narrowed eyes.

“Kon,” she said firmly. “Don’t you dare. You have your own cotton candy!”

He raised an amused brow, still reaching. “But yours looks better.”

“It’s literally the same sugar, just dyed a different color!”

“Still,” he teased, “maybe yours tastes sweeter.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “Nope. Not happening. Get your sticky fingers away from my sugar cloud.”

He laughed, backing off with his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, territorial sugar dragon. Message received.”

She took a victorious bite, chin tilted slightly upward. “I am territorial. Especially when it comes to things that are mine.”

His eyes softened at that, his teasing fading into something warmer, quieter. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I’m starting to notice that.”

Y/N smiled behind her pink fluff of sugar, heart fluttering at how gently he said it—like it wasn’t a warning, but a quiet acceptance. Her stomach flipped, half from the sugar, half from the way he was looking at her.

She handed him the tiniest corner of her cotton candy. “One bite. And you owe me.”

He grinned, taking the offering and brushing his fingers against hers on purpose. “Deal.”

As they walked toward the next booth, the earlier irritation from the photo incident dulled beneath the warmth of his presence. Still… she held his hand a little tighter. Just enough for him to feel it. Just enough to remind the world. He was hers.

[golddustwomanwins]

Pastor Art Donaldson x single mom reader

18+

This could be shit for all I know but here ya go.

You moved to town a few months ago, after looking at the small little town and thinking it was perfect for you and your little girl.

It was that town where everyone knew and helped each other. Where you had nosy neighbors which were good at heart, dropping by pie and freshly made casserole. It was something out of a movie.

You settled in pretty quickly, your daughter finding friends in kindergarten and a smile gracing her lips everyday. It was the first time you could take a steady breath, letting it settle in your lungs without having to look over your shoulder.

Most of your weekdays were full with working, picking up Zoe from kindergarten, cooking, reading her a bedtime story and falling exhausted into bed. You were drained, the faucet in the kitchen was leaking for the past week and your car kept making rattling noises any time you handled the accelerator too roughly.

You ignored it. Knowing your daughter was happy and looked after was everything that mattered to you.

Every Sunday she’d beg you to take her to mass, despite you never raising her religiously, she’d always been interested in it. Despite it being the main reason why you had left your ex husband you still indulged her curiosity.

For her sake you took her to mass every single Sunday. And while your lips moved without actually saying the prayer your eyes couldn’t help but stay focused on the towns Pastor.

Reverend Donaldson was popular among the town’s people. Since it being such a small town everyone knew and valued the Reverend and his little community.

He’d help when something was broken, an elderly lady needed her groceries carried, a kid scraped its knee on the concrete. To pinpoint it, Reverend Donaldson was a Saint.

He even stopped by your place once when you were talking to Mrs. Robinson about your broken radiator. Art was quick to offer his help and you being overwhelmed by his innocent offer, agreed it. Like you said, he was a saint.

And he sure did look like it. Golden strands of hair gracing the top of his head like a halo. Skin pale and eyes translucent blue. He was cute. Especially with that concerned look on his face when a townie was pouring their heart out to him. He’d lay a hand on the shoulder, his gentle voice soothing, “God has his plans for you. May his path lead you to your deserved destiny.”

For you it sounded like utter bullshit but you’d never say that out loud. You had seen what utter devotion to a religion could do to people. Still, you liked him. Your daughter was obsessed with him, her cheeks tinting pink as she hid behind your leg as you introduced yourself to him the first time.

His hand was warm and sure as he shook yours.

“If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to reach out to me,” he had said, his eyes dipping to the collar of your dress for a moment.

You’d smiled politely and thanked him, knowing you’d never take him up on his offer. You could do everything alone. You always had. Little did you know that in this town people didn’t take no for an answer.

When the town’s elders giggled and told you to make a move on Reverend Donaldson, since he was a ‘serious catch’, only smiled politely, indulging their gossip only so far that you talked to him once and again.

It had been a bad week. The faucet in the kitchen broke again after you fixed it up, Zoe was particularly whiney for some reason, you’d slipped on a toy and busted your knee against the living room table, and you had bills to pay that seemed impossible at that moment.

Oh, and it was pouring rain, pressing against the windshield of your car. You could hardly see the road in front of you, headlights lighting up the mess of wet concrete and muddy dirt.

The rattling of your truck was loud enough to be heard over the music and the pouring rain but you happily ignored it. Zoe was with a friend tonight and you were looking forward to lay down and get some sleep for a few hours.

You had still over twenty minutes to drive when the rattling noise turned into a suspicious gurgling. Your eyes scanned the dashboard but everything seemed to be fine. You decided to ignore it until your car started to stutter.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, foot on the clutch as the engine slowly gave away. With a final huff your truck gave up, stopping in the middle of the road. You couldn’t help but stare at the path in front of you, now in the dark as the steady sound of rain filled the silence. You leaned forward, groaning, the steering wheel cold against your forehead.

It took everything in you not to cry in frustration. You didn’t know how much time passed while you tried to ignore the insistent sting in your eyes and the way your throat seemed to close off every time you took a breath.

A sudden honk made you sit up. You could see an old mustang in the rear view mirror, stopping right behind your car. The headlights of the car felt like a spotlight on you.

“Go around,” you called despite the fact that the driver couldn’t hear you. He honked again and you made a vulgar gesture with your hand into the backseat. Was this idiot too dumb to understand that your car wasn’t running anymore?

You flinched when someone knocked against your window. You could barely see the person through the pouring rain. The golden hair seemed almost brown now that it was wet, his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold.

Art Donaldson was standing at the side of your car in the pouring rain. You rolled down your window as you stared at him dumbfounded.

“Your car broke down?” He had to yell lightly over the rain. For a moment you could only stare at him. The way the usually carefully brushed strands clung to his head, beads of water rolling over his long nose and plopping down on his slightly blue lips.

“Do you need help?” Reverend Donaldson repeated and you swallowed softly. Your eyes flickered to the dashboard to somehow find an answer. You could decline. But that meant staying in this car miles away from home with no way to leave.

You’d call Jim to come tow your car, he was the local mechanic, but that would surely take hours.

“I’ll take you back into town and we’ll call Jim from there, come on,” it seemed like Reverend Donaldson was making the decision for you.

He pulled the car door open, pulling his jacket off his shoulders to hold it up as a cover for you. The two of you rushed over to his car, Art opening the door for you and getting you safely inside.

Once Art sat inside, he turned the heaters on fully, making you shiver slightly. His eyes caught the movement and his fingers went quickly to turn on the seat heater as well.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did.” There was no room for discussion in his voice. He drove off, slowly rounding around your car. It was weird to be this close to him. The car smelled of rosemary and incense. A crucifix was dangling from the rear view mirror, Jesus judging you condescendingly.

You tried to focus on the road but your eyes kept glancing back at Reverend Donaldson and the way his wet shirt clung to his chest. Were Pastors allowed to do sports? Because holy hell, the abs showing through his shirt needed to be studied and could not possibly be only from genes.

-

Art drove you back to your house, parking the car in your driveway before following you inside.

“I am sure I can find some clothes you could change into,” you mumbled distractedly, rummaging through your dresser, as the kettle whistled slowly on your stove.

“No need, it is fine,” he looked around your living room curiously, dolls and pink pearls scattered around the room. Pink princess shoes and glitter strands on the couch. He barely remembered your home from the last time he was here.

“No, I don’t want you catching a cold,” you dug out some gray sweatpants and a shirt from your ex husband and gave it to him.

His fingers grazed yours as he took the clothes and the contact sent a shocking current through you. You quickly pulled your hand back.

“You can change in Zoe’s room. She’s at a sleepover tonight.”

He nodded and left the room. Ten minutes later you both were sitting at the too small table beside the west window of your living room. You felt self conscious. With the chipped wood on the table, the faded writing on your teacups and the far too small chair Art was sitting on.

Everything seemed so small compared to him. His whole hand swallowed the steaming cup of tea, his knees banging against the table every time he shifted his legs.

“There is no need to be nervous.”

You looked up surprised from your tea. “Why do you think I’m nervous?”

Arts lips pulled into a soft smile. “It is part of my job to read people. To know what they need.”

You tilted your head at him.

One side of his lips pulled up, ending in an endearing, crooked smile.

“You’re doing a good job,” he said, his hand twitching around his cup of tea. Art was watching you intently as if he didn’t want to miss a single thing.

“I am?” You smiled shyly.

Art nodded, seemingly unsure before he reached out with his hand. His pinky grazed your knuckles for a moment.

“Zoe is a great kid. She’s happy and open for her age,” Art said. You trailed the pattern of the wood of the table with your finger.

“Well, I try.”

“I know you do,” his words slipped like warm honey over your skin. You looked up at him then, tilting your head.

“Are you doing it right now?”

He arched a brow at your question.

“Are you saying these things because you think that’s what I need to hear?” You clarified.

“I’m saying it,” Art noted. “Because it is the truth.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his words. Oh no. You could feel it. The dam breaking. You were still laughing but now silent tears were slipping over your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffed. “I dont know why I’m crying.”

You blinked surprised when Art was suddenly on his knees at your side, softly brushing the tears from your cheeks.

“You’re a good mother,” he repeated as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. As if he was courageous enough to creep into the ugly and dark corners of your soul and face your insecurities.

You sank slightly forward, you knew you were going to be embarrassed about it after, and let Art hug you. He whispered sweet prayers into your ear as his hands softly stroked your back.

When you calmed down enough you leaned back and looked at him. His eyes were so open and worried it made your heart tug.

Without thinking you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. The moment you felt those soft plush lips of his you instantly pulled back horrified.

“Oh god, I am so sorry.” Your hand covered your mouth in shock.

“No—“

“I don’t know why I did that,” you went to stand up.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Art grabbed your neck to keep you from moving. You stared up at him with wide eyes and watched the inner tumult inside his blue eyes.

Your lips parted and his eyes dipped before his head moved. He was gentle as he pressed his lips against yours, a soft whimper falling from his throat. Your hands fisted his shirt desperately, hips connecting with friction.

Arts lips trailed along your jaw, soft sounds falling from him as your hands went for his belt buckle. He quickly captured your wrists and you looked up at him.

“I’ll make you feel good, promise.” And before you could say or do something, he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you onto the table. His hands were under the skirt of your dress in a matter of seconds. His hands were warm on your rain dried thighs, his gaze intent on your face.

“Relax for me,” one hand came up to press on your stomach and make you lean slightly back.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Art whispered, his lips trailing hotly along your thighs, knees and hip bones. He placed a kiss on each knee, his grip on you sure but not too tight.

His plump lips trailed a wet path up your thighs, closer and closer to right were you were burning, writhing with pain. You sighed when he kept talking. “I know I shouldn’t, but you in those light sundresses. You know, last Sunday you didn’t wear a bra with your dress,” he groaned into your clothed cunt and you shivered, cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

“I was in a rush and forgot,” you mumbled quietly. “Ahh,” Art licked a long wet stripe over your underwear, “it won’t happen again.”

“Oh it will,” Art murmured, teeth dragging over your panties. “Those perky little tits looked amazing any time you went to your knees and prayed.”

“Fuck,” you moaned at his words, hand flying to his hair. Art looked up at you then, eyes so dark it looked like he was possessed.

His gaze stayed on your face as his fingers tugged the fabric of your panties to the side, slightly slipping through his fingers with all the wetness dripping from it.

“Jesus,” Art breathed as your glistening cunt came into view. His pupils blew wide before he dove forward, hands gripping your hips and pulling you to the edge of the creaky table.

A surprised gasp escaped you that dipped into a moan when his tongue licked your cunt.

“Oh, fuckk, Art.”

“Yeah, Baby. That feel good?” His voice vibrated against you, making you sure in pleasure.

Men had went down on you before but it had never felt that way. Art was fully devoted to eating you out, tongue moving with passion, fingers slipping through your wet lips before sinking into the hilt.

“God, I knew you’d be perfect. Take me like the Angel you are,” Art whispered to himself as he slowly fucked his fingers into you. His mouth kept licking and sucking, teeth tugging gently at your clit and making you see sparks.

“Art,” you whined, hand tugging at his hair and moving his head just the way you liked. Your hips started to rock on the creaky table as you palmed one of your tits, squeezing roughly.

“You can relax with me. I’m here for your pleasure and no one else’s,” Art murmured. “You taste like heaven, baby.”

His fingers fucked faster as he felt your walls starting to squeeze around him, small moans falling faster and faster from your lips.

“Art—I don’t think…I can’t—ahh.”

“You can,” he encouraged you, fingers curling and hitting just the right spot. “You’re always so good to everyone. Be good for me. Please.”

It was as if Art knew exactly what you wanted to hear. Hearing him beg was the last straw and when his fingers slammed into you, this time curling perfectly, you came right on his hand.

“Ohh fuckk, yes, yes, yes,” the breathy words fell from your lips as you arched your back, moving quickly as Art fucked you right through your orgasm.

When the fog in your brain slowly disappeared you noticed a cooling sensation between your thighs. You blinked at Art who was cleaning you gently with a wet cloth.

Once he was finished he tugged your panties back into place and stood up. His hands came up to your head securely and he pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead. The motion almost made you cry again.

“You’re okay,” he whispered and pulled you into his arms. You didn’t dare say anything not wanting him to move an inch.

[b1eedthefreak]

DARYLANDRICKSLOPPYCRAZYTHREESOMEREADERINCHARGEANDTHEYWORSHIPTHEGROUNDSHEWALKSONBORDERLINECOMPETINGFORHERPLEASEEEEEE💔

(btw i love ur writing and am very obsessed)

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Little Competition

⌇daryl dixon x rick grimes x reader

⌇summary: daryl and rick don’t mind sharing… but they sure as hell mind who gets to make you finish first

⌇warnings: smut, threesome, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, possessiveness, praise kink, light competition, dom reader, sub rick & daryl, they’re in borderline worship, filthy filthy filthy

⌇word count: 1.2k

a/n AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. (i love you anon thank you) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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You always knew they had it in them.

Rick, with that cocky, know it all smirk, acting like every damn thing he did wasn’t deliberat, the way he’d wipe sweat off his brow with the back of his hand when he knew you were watching, how he’d lean on the porch railing just so, hips tilted, shoulders wide, that fucking sheriff belt slung low like it was made to ruin you.

And Daryl, oh, Daryl. The quieter one, the rougher one. Like he wasn’t aware of the way his sleeves strained around his arms, like he didn’t notice how your eyes would trace the dip of his collarbone after a long run, dirt smudged across his throat. But he knew. Of course he did. You caught him looking, more than once, from under that mess of hair.

But tonight?

Tonight, there wasn’t a damn thing subtle about it.

“D’you see yourself right now, sweetheart?” Daryl’s voice was low, hoarse, as he pressed you back against the cool wall of your room. His fingers were splayed against your waist, rough callouses dragging over soft skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. “Lettin’ us fuckin’ worship you. Like ya deserve.”

Rick’s breath was warm against your ear, that drawl dripping honey as he crowded you from the other side. “Don’t act surprised. We been waitin’ for this longer than you know.”

Their bodies were heat and muscle and want, pressing you in, trapping you, but you were never safer. Never more powerful than when they were both looking at you like this.

Hungry.

Desperate.

Willing to compete for every moan, every shiver.

“Funny,” you said, sweet as sugar, tracing the line of Daryl’s jaw with a finger. “I thought you boys knew how to share.”

Rick chuckled, dark and low. “Oh, we share just fine, darlin’. But we don’t mind a little competition.”

“That right?” You turned your gaze on Daryl, who just grunted, leaning in like he couldn’t stay away. “So who’s gonna make me cum first?”

The question was barely out before Daryl’s mouth was on yours, urgent, claiming, tasting. His hand slid down to your thigh, hitching it up around his waist, grinding into you like he could prove his worth with sheer friction.

Rick, not to be outdone, was already trailing kisses down your neck, tongue flicking out against your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to make you gasp.

“Don’t go pickin’ favorites now,” Rick murmured, palm splayed over your stomach, inching lower. “We’ll just have to show you why we both deserve ya.”

You could feel the tension in them. The unspoken dare, the underlying current of mine, not possessive of you, no, never of you, but of your attention. Your praise. Your undoing.

Daryl dropped to his knees first, mouth latching onto your inner thigh with a growl. “Gonna get my taste, Rick. Don’t give a damn what order ya think.”

Rick laughed, smug and fond, before following him down, spreading your legs wider with both hands. “Reckon we’ll share this part, at least.”

And fuck.

It was ruinous.

Daryl was all sharp stubble and rough tongue, lapping at your folds like a starved man, groaning against your skin when you tangled your fingers in his hair. Rick was smoother, lazier almost, but calculated, teasing circles around your clit, fingers stroking your entrance with infuriating patience.

They didn’t coordinate. Didn’t need to.

Daryl was reckless. Rick was methodical.

You were their battlefield.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, hips canting forward. “You’re both—fuck—insufferable.”

Rick’s smirk was sinful. “That a complaint, sweetheart?”

Daryl didn’t even pause, just grunted against your heat. “She’s sayin’ we ain’t done yet.”

You were unraveling. Overstimulated already, but greedy for more, because their mouths—their mouths—were working you open like they had something to prove. Like making you come was the only damn thing that mattered tonight.

Rick’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just right as Daryl thrust two fingers inside you, crooking them up with precision born from knowing your body inside and out.

The orgasm hit hard, tearing through you in shuddering waves, and you barely registered your own moans over theirs.

“That’s it, baby,” Rick murmured, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you trembled. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Daryl’s lips found yours again, tasting you on his tongue. “Told ya, Rick. She’s ours.”

But you weren’t done.

Grabbing both their shirts, you tugged them up, breathless but wicked. “C’mon, boys. You think I’m spoiling you tonight? You got another thing coming.”

Their groans were glorious.

Spoiled they absolutely were.

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[randominchident]

'tis the damn season

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. lando noriss x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

You and Lando had to break up months ago, but the holiday season has brought him back to your hometown. One more weekend of love is all he wants, like you used to have, and you’ve never been able to turn him down. Especially since you still love him.

inspired by ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift

You open the door before he can knock.

It’s instinct more than anything. Some part of you still knows the sound of his car on the driveway, the way the gravel crunches just slightly differently under his tires. 

He’s in town for Christmas. To see family. Unwind. Get away from the cameras for a bit. That’s what your friend had told you. There’s a part of you, deep down in your aching heart, that knew he would end up here. At your house. For Lando, all roads lead to you eventually—even months after you’ve broken up.

The door creaks open and… It’s him. Because of course it is.

Lando stands on your porch with a dusting of snow on his shoulders and that same sheepish smile he always used to wear when he showed up at your door after a long flight, just needing to be near you. Just needing to hold you.

Your heart stutters, stupid and soft.

“Hey,” he says, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat.

You blink. “I didn’t know you were in town,” you lie.

“Flew in last night. Mum said you were still here.” A beat. “I hoped you might be.”

You should shut the door. Or invite him in. You’re not sure which would hurt less.

Instead, you say, “You could’ve texted first.”

“I almost did.” His voice is quiet, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to find the version of you he left behind. “But I didn’t want to make it easy to turn me away. I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightens. It's complete silence, except for the rustling tree branches and the low howling of the wind. His smile falters. 

“I know I shouldn’t have come,” he says. “But I couldn’t help it.”

You stare at each other for a moment too long.

Then you step aside.

“It’s cold. Come in.”

The kettle whistles.

He’s leaning against your kitchen counter, coat off now, like nothing’s changed. Like he didn’t walk out of this same house six months ago with eyes rimmed red and hands that didn’t want to let go. Like he hadn’t whispered I’m sorry over and over as he packed up and disappeared from your life. Like having to let him go doesn’t still keep you up at night, even though you know it was the right thing to do.

Fantasising about the life you could have had together has kept you awake for too many nights to count. 

Now he’s in your kitchen again, sipping tea like the last six months never happened. Like no time has passed.

He’s still wearing that damn hoodie—the grey one you used to steal just to feel closer when he was away. He looks at home here. That’s the worst part, because in another life this is his home. But it’s not anymore. You both know that.

You lean against the opposite counter, arms crossed. “You can’t just show up and pretend everything’s the same.”

Lando glances at you over his mug. “I’m not trying to.”

You raise a brow.

He exhales slowly. “Okay. Maybe I am. But just for the weekend. Can we? I’ve just… I miss you. Everything’s shit right now and I just miss you. I know why we aren’t together. I know. But that doesn’t stop me missing you. Loving you, Babe. ”

You don’t answer right away. 

“Lando,” you say softly. “We’re not together anymore.”

“I know,” he says, walking toward you, voice lower now. “But just for a few days... Let me look at you like I used to. We can pretend. Just until I leave.”

You should say no. This will only make the ache in your heart stronger when he has to leave again. But you don’t. You can’t. Deep down you want it too. It's so much easier to pretend there is nothing drawing you two apart. It’s nicer to pretend the media, the cameras, the comments, the travel—all of it—doesn’t make it too hard to love each other like you deserve.

One weekend of unforgotten love is so tempting.

You nod once, barely. He smiles.

You don’t know when he crawled into your bed. Sometime after the second cup of tea, or the third glass of wine. You just remember the way his voice sounded in the dark—quiet, hesitant, familiar. The way he asked if it was okay. The way you didn’t say no. 

Your hands grip his tightly, willing him not to disappear like a dreamed wish. One you’ve had many times before and watched slip away when morning came. When he asked to kiss you, you say yes, and thank the darkness of your bedroom for disguising the tear that rolls down your cheek.

His hands are heavy on your waist, in your hair, roaming your body with a hint of uncertainty and familiarity. Your own hands pull his face to yours and keeps your foreheads leaned against each other. You need the closeness. The certainty that his touch is more than wanton desire—its love. Or, at least, love that once was. That maybe could be again, someday.

You fall asleep wrapped around each other, like muscle memory.

It’s almost noon when you finally stir. Being next to eachother again has let your body finally relax, sleep came easy and lasted longer than normal. Light filters in through the crack in the blinds and illuminates the soft look on Lando’s sleeping face.

He’s warm beside you, one arm under his head, the other curled loosely around your waist like it belongs there. His breathing is slow.

You don’t want to move.

Lando shifts first, mumbling into the pillow, “You still sleep like a starfish.”

You grin, eyes slipping closed again. “You still snore.”

He laughs—that low, sleepy chuckle you used to live for. “Rude. You still hog the blankets.”

“And you still call me babe like nothing’s changed.”

He opens his eyes suddenly, and there it is again—that look. The one that makes your chest hurt.

“Not nothing,” he says. “Just not the part that matters.”

You don’t leave the house all day.

You make pancakes and they are left to burn a little because you’re both busy laughing. Lando steals bites off your plate like always. You wear his hoodie, and he pretends not to notice how at home you look in it. You’re both addicted to the ‘if only’ and talking about it would make it too hard to leave once the weekend is over. Because you both know it will have to come to an end.

By late afternoon, you're tangled on the couch together. A christmas movie plays on low volume, but you’re not watching it. His hand rests on your knee. Yours plays lazily with the strings of his hoodie.

“You look happy,” he murmurs, like he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a cruel one to point out. You’re so much happier here—with him—than you would have been alone. It's a thought that leaves a pit in your stomach.

You glance over at him. “I am.”

He nods. Then adds, quietly, “I missed your smile.”

Your breath catches. You don’t know how to answer that without unraveling. Without begging to go back in time and redo everything.

So you just press your shoulder into his and whisper, “I missed yours too.”

That night, you lie in bed again—you can’t seem to spend more than a few minutes out of each other's reach this weekend—but this time you’re facing each other.

Lando’s voice is soft in the dark. “Do you ever wonder if we gave up too fast?”

You’re quiet for a long time. “I think about it every day. But,” you take a deep breath and find the courage to keep your voice from breaking, “we made the right call. You know that, right?”

He swallows. You hear it.

“I still love you, you know.”

You shut your eyes. “I know.”

And that’s the problem. Because you still love him too. But nothing has changed. The world outside your house is still loud and bright and full of pressure. And you don’t know if love is enough to survive it.

Your life is here, in this small town that used to belong to both of you. His is out there, in the world, thousands of kilometres away from the quiet solace of your bedroom.

“I wish I stayed,” he whispers once you've closed your eyes and leaned into his chest again. Tucked under his chin, his voice is so soft you almost miss it.

You grant him the dignity of pretending not to hear him. The world is too loud for you two to have done anything different than you have.

But here—for now—it’s quiet. And warm. And good.

Just for the weekend.

The next morning, you wake up to snow on the windows and Lando in your kitchen, barefoot and humming something soft under his breath.

He looks at you over his shoulder and smiles. “Morning, babe.”

You lean in the doorway. “You really love calling me that.”

He shrugs, boyish. “Yeah. It still feels right. I can’t pretend it doesn’t.”

He leaves Sunday night.

You walk him to the door, your hands shoved into the sleeves of your cardigan. The sky is grey. The world feels numb, like it’s holding its breath with you.

He doesn’t say much. Just wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to memorise the way you smell.

You don’t say don’t go. You both know he has too. You both know he’d stay if you asked.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. “I’ll text you when I land?”

You nod. “You don’t have to.”

He smiles—that same tired smile from the night he arrived. “I want to.” And then, almost too soft to hear: “Thanks for letting me pretend.”

Your voice cracks. “Travel safe.”

You watch the taillights disappear down the street, like maybe this time they’ll turn around. But they don’t. Before you can even blink he’s gone from view.

You close the door. Go back inside. Turn off the porch lights. Turn on the kettle. 

The house is still warm. The bed is still rumpled. His hoodie is still on your chair. And for a few more days, you’ll pretend that means something. The smell of him on its fabric, like the memory of him at your table, will go stale and fade soon enough. But the sound of his voice lingers in your ear forever.

Because some love doesn’t die. It just comes home for the holidays, then gets packed away and hidden with the Christmas lights.

my first ever lando fic!!! the people asked for smutty fun and instead I wrote mild angst!!! who knows what I’ll do next!!! writing inspiration and motivation is a cruel mistress!!!

[kinkley-love]

the much requested part 2!

(continued from here)

They all stared at him. Tommy didn’t react, just slid into the chair they had left open for Buck. He looked over them. Focused on each of them, met their eyes for a moment before sliding to the next. He looked at Eddie last, and when he got to him, his gaze didn’t shift away.

"I know you’re grieving. We all are. I’m not about to tell you how you can or can’t grieve, or mourn, or process what you need to, with one exception. You cannot do so in a way that hurts anyone else. Especially Evan."

Eddie scoffed. They all turned to him.

"Something to say, Diaz?" Tommy all but spat.

Eddie shook his head. "I just— c’mon man. This has to be a joke. Who do you think you are to do this? You think any of us could hurt him like you did? You haven’t even talked to Buck in what, months?"

Ravi snorted. He knew they had talked. Had done much more than talk.

Eddie side-eyed him. Apparently Eddie was the only one allowed to interrupt. "Seriously, Kinard. Yeah, see? I can last-name you too. You what, steal Buck’s phone to get us all here, and now you’re coming off all high and mighty?"

Tommy didn’t rise to the bait. "I didn’t steal Evan’s phone," he replied calmly. "I explained I needed to talk to you all and asked if I could use it."

Eddie looked taken aback by that. Ravi was pleased to see Hen and Chim didn’t.

"Look. I know you’re all a family, that you all lost Bobby, and I’m not discounting that. But Bobby was a father to him, and Bobby forced Buck to leave him to die."

Ravi looked to the table, stared at the grooves in the wood in front of him. No one really talked about what happened in the lab after they had gotten out. They had all been getting decontaminated, getting checked over; it had taken some time to realize Bobby and Buck hadn’t followed them out. Then Athena was getting called in, and all felt silent until Athena came back out, her face like stone, and told someone to call the coroner. Until Ravi was looking around, frantic, trying to figure out who was missing, who was gone. Until Ravi panicked, because neither Buck nor Bobby were there, but Tommy was there, Tommy was begging for turnouts so he could go to Buck, so it wasn’t Buck who was gone, it was—

Tommy’s voice pulled him back. "And yes, Diaz. Evan did everything he could."

Ravi looked back up, surprised. That emphasis. Wait, had Eddie...

Hen beat him to asking, though she addressed Eddie when Ravi wanted to turn to Tommy. "Did you say he didn’t?"

"No!" Eddie tried to defend himself, but he backpedaled at Tommy’s glare. "Okay, maybe, but not exactly, I just." He switched to the offensive. "Look, you know I wasn’t there. He asked if I thought he’d done everything he could and I just said I didn’t know because I wasn’t there!"

"What the fuck, Eddie." They all turned to Chimney. He hadn’t spoken since arriving, and his words now were even more forceful in their flatness.

"I wasn’t there," Eddie repeated softly.

Ravi couldn’t let that slide. "That shouldn’t matter. Do you think for one second that Buck wouldn’t have done everything in his power to save any one of us, let alone Cap?"

Eddie shook his head, finally cowed.

Ravi took a deep breath, settling himself before he turned to Tommy. "What else do you have? I’m sure there’s a reason you wanted us all here." He didn’t want a dressing down like Eddie had gotten, but if he had done something to deserve it, it needed to be done.

But Tommy relaxed his sharp posture, seeming to deflate. "Look. I don’t want to betray Evan’s confidence, but I can see how much this is hurting him. Before he died, Bobby told Buck to take care of you all, and he’s trying his best. All you have to do is let him."

He turned to Hen, "Don't make plans behind his back or act like he can’t handle being part of difficult conversations."

He turned to Chim, "Don’t order takeout for you and Hen and act like it’s no big deal when you don’t include everyone else."

He glanced at Ravi, who braced himself, but Tommy moved past him to Eddie. "And for the love of God, if you make one more comment about him making everything about himself, I will make sure you never get a moment alone with him again."

Tommy looked over them all. "You’re a family, even if you’ve lost a member. Act like it. Let him cook for you. Let him take care of you. If it gets to be too much, tell him, talk to him, not everyone else behind his back. Understand?"

A chorus of subdued affirmations met him.

"Good." He rapped the table, then stood. "See you around." He took a few steps, then turned back. "Call if you need anything."

Ravi nodded, then watched him go.

(combined with the first part on ao3)

[wendichester]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ bait²,

summary. sam lost his soul and you finally had enough.

pairing. soulless!sam winchester x reader genre. angsty

wordcount. 708

notes / warnings. trauma aftermath, PTSD-ish vibes, guilt, references to past injuries.

ᯓ★ read part 1

You don’t expect him to knock.

But he does. Two soft raps, like he’s afraid the sound might break you.

You open the door because you’re tired of running from ghosts. And because, even now, he’s still wearing the same face.

Sam stands there like a shadow. His eyes are red-rimmed, his shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a hit. You’ve never seen him this small. Not even when he died. Not even when he came back wrong.

“Hey,” he says.

You don’t answer.

He looks down, sucks in a breath like it hurts. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate, then step back. Not because you want him here—but because you need answers. And closure. And maybe some kind of justice, even if it’s just watching him squirm.

He walks in like the floor might disappear beneath him. You stay by the window, arms crossed, pretending it doesn’t shake you to see him again.

Pretending you’re not waiting for him to say something.

It doesn’t take long.

“I remember everything.”

You nod once, slow. “Good.”

“I shouldn’t have—” His voice cracks. He tries again. “I shouldn’t have done what I did to you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

He looks at you, and it’s different now. His eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re alive. Haunted. Full of too much. Like he’s drowning in it.

“I didn’t feel anything back then,” he says, stepping closer. “I thought I understood what that meant. I didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you bite out. “What does it mean now?”

His throat works, jaw clenched like he’s holding back a scream. “It means I hurt you and didn’t care. And now I can’t stop caring.”

You flinch.

“Do you know what it’s like?” he asks, voice rising. “To look at your own memories and want to claw your own skin off? To watch yourself leave someone bleeding, knowing you loved them once—and did nothing?”

“Yeah, Sam,” you say. “I do. Because I lived it.”

He nods, eyes shining, but the tears don’t fall. Not yet.

“I used you,” he says. “I used you like you were a tool. You almost died because I couldn’t feel. Because I made a call like I was a—like I was a computer running a fucking simulation.”

You stare at him. “You’re not saying anything I don’t already know.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m saying it because I need to hear it.”

Silence swells between you, heavy and raw.

He looks away. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Good,” you say, and it lands like a slap.

He flinches. Deserves it.

You swallow hard. “You left me in that clearing to die, Sam. You didn’t even hesitate. You said I was the best option. Like I was a pawn.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. You meant every word. You just didn’t care then.”

He nods again. Looks like he’s barely holding it together.

And for a second, you almost want to close the space between you. Reach out. Touch him. But your fingers remember the blood. Your ribs remember the ache. Your heart remembers too much.

“I can’t just forget what you did,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I should.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You study him. He looks older. Not just tired—wrecked. Like he’s been clawing through every bad memory trying to erase what he can’t change.

“I loved you,” you say. The words come out cracked, fragile.

His eyes finally spill over. Quiet, trembling tears that streak down his face like penance.

“I still do,” he chokes. “God, I still do. But I don’t know how to deserve you again.”

You close your eyes.

That’s the worst part.

Because some traitorous part of you still loves him too. And it hates you for it.

You open your eyes. Look at him. Really look.

And you say, “I don’t know if you can.”

He nods, accepting it. No protest. No begging. Just that hollowed-out pain that sits in his chest like a confession.

“I’ll go,” he says.

And you let him.

Because you don’t owe him anything.

Not now.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But after the door clicks shut, you lean your head against the wall and cry.

Because it still hurts.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[autocrats-in-love]

I love your writing so much! Ok I need a prompt of wounded Hero holding dying Villain in their arms after they sacrificed themselves to protect Hero. How they got into that situation is up to you.

Keep up the good work!!! 💜

This user clarified that they wanted a snippet.

A Deadly Revelation

Be warned: stab wounds, heavy bleeding

The hero was no stranger to death. It followed them around. The hero knew they smelled of it from the way animals reacted to their presence. Sometimes, the hero was sure they could see it in the air. So, yes, the hero had watched people die. By their own hands and by others. But it had been a long time since it had affected them. All that changed when the villain pushed the hero out of the attacker’s way. And now the villain’s head was in the hero’s lap. They were bleeding out from a generous stab wound in their abdomen. The hero had taken off their jacket. They were trying to quell the bleeding.

Where had the attacker come from? Where had they run off to? Normally, the hero would have chased them. But tears were blurring their vision as they held the dying villain. When was the last time they cried?

“We have to go to a hospital,” the hero said.

“No,” the villain said. “I can’t. They won’t treat me.”

“Well, I keep sedatives. We have to-”

“No,” the villain said. 

They reached up and touched the hero’s cheek. The hero hadn’t realized they were hyperventilating. Something caught in the hero’s throat at the touch. They kept their hands on the villain’s wound. What was happening? Since when did the villain care about them?

“Why did you save me?” The hero said. 

The villain smiled through the pain. It made the hero sick. “People need you. And you don’t deserve to die.”

“And you do?” 

“We both know I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

The villain rubbed their thumb across the hero’s cheekbone. It took the hero back. They used to be young. They had been antagonizing each other for decades. The villain had always loved to be a nuisance to the hero. Well, ‘nuisance’ was putting it lightly. One could more accurately say that the villain was actively trying to free the hero of their sanity. Yes, the villain always touched the hero like this. But it had always been in mockery. Now, it was painfully sincere. It was for comfort. The hero hated it. They wanted the villain to make fun of them, at least. Anything to make this feel normal. Anything to distract them from this moment.

“Hey,” the villain said.

“Shut up, I’m trying to stop the bleeding,” the hero said.

“It’s okay,” the villain said.

“It’s not okay. You. . you did this for me. For no reason.”

The villain laughed. It looked painful. The blood was starting to soak through the jacket. “Do you really think that?”

The hero didn’t know what the villain was getting at. “Yeah. You don’t owe me anything.”

The villain shook their head. “Doesn’t matter. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

The hero was shaking now. The villain took their free hand and clamped it over the hero’s. They grunted in pain as it pressed against their wound. The hero knew this wasn’t to help stop the bleeding. This was more comfort. The hero might throw up.

“Yes, you could. Let something happen. It doesn’t matter if I live or die. If I die, it actually makes life easier for you.”

“I would never forgive myself,” the villain said.

The villain’s stare was piercing. Something stirred deep in the hero. Something they had spent a lot of time silencing. The hero looked away. “Just, please, let me take you somewhere.”

“It’s fine. I’ve done what I needed to do.”

The tears dripped down onto the villain’s hand. “No, you haven’t.”

The villain’s grip on the hero’s face tightened. “You know, maybe you're right.”

The hero wiped their eyes with their free hand. They looked back at the villain’s face. There was a shine in their eyes. The hero knew what it meant. They couldn’t find any strength in them to resist. They let the villain guide their face down. The kiss was hot. It tasted heavily of salt. The stirring in the hero exploded across every vein in their body. It stilled their shaking. It warmed them. If only for a moment. 

When the villain gasped and went slack, the hero was ready. They lifted their head. One hand was still on the villain’s bleeding wound. The other was on the villain’s thigh. Pressing a tranquilizer dart into their skin. The hero lifted the villain’s limp body. They tied the jacket under the villain’s waist to keep it in place. Then they gathered the villain up in their arms. They blinked away more tears. Then they steadied themselves and took off as fast as their legs would take them. Maybe the villain was fine with dying. But the hero wasn’t letting them get away that easily. Not when the hero had a debt to them.

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“The Way He Stays”

You sat on the steps of the old gym, chin tucked into your knees, shivering beneath your school jacket. Everyone had gone home hours ago. You hadn’t. Couldn’t.

There were too many voices in your head, and none of them were kind.

Then, like a ghost conjured from the fog, he was there. Geum Seong-je. His hair damp, hands buried in his pockets, the collar of his uniform sharp against his throat.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

He never did.

Instead, he sat beside you — not touching, but close enough that your shoulders almost brushed. Close enough that his warmth bled through the space between your bodies like quiet reassurance.

“Did you eat?” he asked after a while.

You shook your head.

He clicked his tongue, pulled out a crumpled bag of snacks from his pocket, and shoved it toward you.

You didn’t take it.

He didn’t care. He opened the bag, pulled out a piece, and held it to your lips. His fingers hovered, waiting. Not forceful, just patient.

You opened your mouth.

“You always do this,” you said between bites.

“What?”

“Show up. Stay.”

He didn’t answer. But he turned his face slightly toward you, rain dripping from his lashes, and in the curve of his mouth there was something unspoken — something you’d never seen him give to anyone else.

“You scare people,” you whispered. “But not me.”

“Should I?” he asked, gaze steady.

“No.”

You reached for his hand. He let you. His fingers were rough, cold — but they closed around yours with surprising gentleness.

“You make it hard to breathe,” you admitted, “but I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

A beat passed.

Then: “You think I don’t feel it too?”

His voice was quiet. Uncertain, for once.

You looked up. His eyes — guarded, always — had softened. Just for you. Only for you.

And when he leaned in, his kiss wasn’t desperate. It was slow. Careful. Like he was afraid you might vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him back.

Because no one had ever stayed the way he did. Silent. Solid. Unshakable. And in his broken, bruised way, Geum Seong-je loved you more fiercely than anyone else ever could.

No one knew.

Not your friends. Not his crew. Not even na baek Jin, and he knew everything about everyone.

You were Geum Seong-je’s secret — and somehow, that made you feel more important, not less. He didn’t hide you out of shame. He hid you because he was possessive. Because the world didn’t deserve to look at you the way he did.

“Someone’s gonna see,” you whispered.

“Let them,” he said, voice low. “I’ll break their jaw.”

You laughed, soft against his skin. “You can’t fight everyone.”

“Yes I can.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah?” His hand slid up your back, fingers grazing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. “But you keep crawling back.”

“Because I’m just as bad as you,” you said, grinning.

But then the grin faded — because you saw it. That flicker in his eyes. The one that only showed when he was afraid of losing you, even if he’d never say it out loud.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t speak. Just pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in like he needed you to survive.

There was so much he never said — but he didn’t have to.

It was in the way he’d always stand behind you without a word, always watching, always ready. The way his hands only ever shook when they touched your skin. The way he kissed you like it hurt — like loving you scared the hell out of him.

You brushed your lips against his. He kissed you back slowly, fingers gripping your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, barely audible.

“I know.”

“And I’m yours,” he added, like a confession.

Your chest tightened.

This boy — this violent, guarded, impossible boy — didn’t just want you. He needed you. And you needed him, in all the dangerous, destructive ways that made no sense.

But in the quiet?

He was soft.

And in secret?

He was yours.