#i have no idea how to respond to the ask!

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 12] Reunion

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Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

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You know why he’s doing this. He has wit. He wants you to get your mind off the fact that another woman is pregnant with his child. It’s not a fact that can be easily forgotten, but he played his cards just right. Maybe it’s that, or perhaps it’s the fact that you aren’t all that bothered by the revelation. 

In the beginning you worried about your position, but he reassured you that nothing will happen to you. So now you’re just taking the opportunity to see your family, who you’ve so longed to see. Though you’ll admit, you’re nervous. You wonder how different they’ll see you after they see you in the position you’re in. 

You’re much heavier and rounder than before– Not to gloss over the fact that you carry a monster’s babies. Will they be disgusted by you? Frightened? Or will they understand that you sacrificed yourself for their wellbeing? 

Luckily, the worry doesn’t overshadow the excitement that flows through your body. You ask Hina to help you get ready, attempting to look the best that you can today. But you’re also mindful, refusing to wear any jewelry that shows off just how much wealth is in your possession. 

“Why aren’t they allowed in the palace?” You ask as Hina fixes your clothes. She smooths out any wrinkles visible in the clot, ensuring you look your best for the visit.

“King Sukuna doesn’t like peasants that have nothing to offer in the palace.” Hina answers without hesitation, and you almost laugh. You could’ve guessed as much. “Isn’t it nice, my queen? Being able to travel outside the palace?”

“It is. I’m surprised Sukuna allowed it.” You comment, and she can’t do anything but hum in response. She doesn’t have an explanation for that. “I’m assuming I won’t be alone.”

“You’re never alone, my queen.” She responds, which aren’t the words you want to hear. Regardless, you’re excited to be outside of the palace for a couple of hours– Actually outside the walls, not just strolling through the garden.

“We’ll take gifts, no? To make sure they’re well taken care of.” You suggest, as Hina finishes up.

“Yes. They’re all in the carriage.” She informs you. Sukuna has ensured everything is perfect for today while he… You have no idea what he’s doing. He’s probably figuring out how to take care of her, and you try not to think about it.

You try not to think about it because an ugly feeling seeps into your veins, and you don’t want to feel it. You can’t quite describe it, but it’s close to jealousy. But you wouldn’t call it jealousy. 

“Do you think they’ll view me differently?” You question, your hand going over your bump. You already know the answer. One way or another, they’ll think of you differently. 

“You’re a queen now, of course they do.” She says, which isn’t what you need to hear. But she’s right. “However, if you want me to say no, then I’ll say no.”

“No, you’re right.” You sigh. “Whether I like it or not, I’m someone different now.”

“Are you taking Yuuji with you?” She slightly changes the topic, wanting to cheer you up. The mention of the baby makes you smile, and you end up humming in response. You can’t leave him behind while you’re meeting your family, after all, he’s an essential part of your life now. “I’ll tell the servants to get him ready then.”

Needless to say, Sukuna’s presence is still present even when you’re in the carriage. You’re accompanied by three other servants, one of them being Hina. You wanted to be alone with your family, but it’s obviously impossible. You can’t complain though, this is more than what you could’ve asked for. 

“Can we get out of the carriage before we enter the village? I don’t want to draw attention.” You ask, and Hina laughs. She can’t wrap her head around the fact that you don’t want the people of your village to know of your wealth. 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Hina responds, making you sigh. Maybe it’s for the best. Your feet are too swollen to walk and you’re carrying a baby that’s months old. The news of you coming back to the village will soar either way, there’s no point in not trying to draw attention to you. 

“How will you introduce him?” Hina asks, watching as you bounce the baby to keep him calm in the carriage. You smile at the baby who chews on his hands, attempting to soothe the pain in his gums.

“My son.” You answer, hand caressing his chubby cheek. He’s gained a lot of weight in your care, which is relieving to see– You can only hope that your Haru has gained as much weight as Yuuji. 

The rest of the ride is quiet. You feel your heartbeat grow faster, excitement flourishing with the thought that you’re back home. It’s a shame that this is what it took, regardless, you’re happy to be back home.

The carriage comes to a halt, and the door opens. Your eyes fall on the small shack that your family lives in, and your eyes well up with tears. This is it. You’re finally home. 

“I’ll take the baby, my queen.” Hina holds out her arms to take Yuuji from you, and you don’t hesitate before doing so. You need all the balance and support possible before getting out, a task that’s difficult given your current state.

You safely get out, almost having to catch your breath at the simple task. The twins have gotten too heavy, you don’t even want to imagine how hard it’s going to be on you the next couple of weeks. It almost makes you wish for them to come faster… But then you remember the huge responsibility that comes with that, and the pain in your lower back doesn’t seem as bad.

“What’s all the commo–” The door to the house opens, your aunt stopping in her tracks when she sees you. Your eyes well up with tears at the sight of her, and a subtle smile coming to your face. You imagined this emotional moment where you would jump into her arms and hug her until your arms couldn’t hold any more, but you can’t bring yourself to even shuffle your feet. 

She smiles, walking over to you and cupping your face. She holds back the same tears as you do before she engulfs you in a hug. You hear her whisper, “I’m so happy to see you’re okay, my dear.”

“I’ve missed you.” You murmur as you hug her back. And for the longest moment you hold her, just as you imagined; until the cries from Yuuji cut the moment short.

“And who is this?” She asks when she pulls away, eyes falling on Yuuji. You take the baby from Hina’s arms, bouncing him before you tell her,

“My son.” Which she furrows her brows to. Before she can ask any questions you tell her, “He was… Abandoned, and I took him under my care.”

“And your babies. How are you doing?” She questions, hands going to your bump. Now you’re the confused one at her words.

“How do you–” You begin, and she lets out a sigh.

“We’ve gotten some updates from the deity. Before your condition he would often come with goods, but then you became with child and he’d send a servant whenever he could.” She explains, a small detail that Sukuna never mentioned. Something you can’t be mad about.

“How about Haru? Where is he?” You ask, eyes attempting to look inside to find him, but your narrow view provides nothing. 

“Come inside, you can’t be out in the cold like this.” She tells you, even though you have countless layers keeping you warm. You hum in response, following behind her. You worry if everyone will fit inside considering how many servants accompany you.

“Haru! Won’t you come greet your older sister?!” Your aunt shouts as you make your way inside, and you feel your heart race. You pass Yuuji back to Hina, getting ready to hug your little brother.

“Huh?” You hear his confused little voice, the biggest smile coming to your face. Not too long ago that response would’ve taken every last bit of his energy. You walk inside the home, and you watch as your little brother’s eyes widen in amazement.

“Haru.” You smile at him, the tears that have welled up in your eyes managing to spill. The first thing you notice is that his cheeks are chubby again. He’s taller. He’s smiling. He has color again. Life has been brought back to his body. 

He yells your name as he runs over to you, hugging you as tight as he can. His arms can’t hug much considering you’re much rounder. Any other time you’d pick him up and spin him around, but he’s too heavy to pick up right now.

“How are you, Haru? It’s been a while.” You ask him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. 

“I’m fine!” He answers, pulling away from the hug. His eyes stare at your belly before he looks up at you. He can’t help but comment, “You’re big.”

You chuckle. “I am carrying twins.”

“Twins?” He asks, shocked at your words, and you hum in response. Though the amazement fades as his interest shifts, noticing that he’s not the youngest in the room. He points at the baby that Hina holds and asks, “Who’s that?”

“My son.” You respond, and the amazement takes over again.

“You have a whole baby?” He questions and you laugh before nodding in response. Maybe you’ll explain it to him when he’s a little older, but now you’ll just go with that thought. “And you’re having two more?”

“Yeah, it’s about to be a full house soon.” You answer, and Haru’s eyebrows come together.

“Is that why you don’t come around?” He pouts, and you can’t help but share the same reaction as him. If it were up to you, he’d be by your side always.

“You know the deity explained this to us, Haru.” Your aunt steps in, not wanting the cheerful moment to dull down. “We should be glad that she’s here.”

“Fine.” He huffs and puffs. “Glad you’re here, I guess.”

“Now don’t get an attitude with me.” You attempt to be serious, but you can’t help but have a lighthearted tone. You just got back home, you can’t start scolding him just yet.

He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry, making you roll your eyes. A laugh follows quickly after, realizing that you’re finally home. You’ll be gone soon, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll make sure that you enjoy every last second in your home.

“If you get an attitude then I won’t give you the gifts I brought with me.” You tell him, and his ears perk up.

“What did you bring?” His tone becomes more cheerful, making you laugh.

“What didn’t I bring?” You respond, and you look back at the servants that have accompanied you. You don’t have to speak, they already know that you want them to bring everything in. 

Haru hugs you again and tells you, “I’m happy you’re back.”

“I’m happy to be back.” Your hand ruffles his hair, feeling a tug in your heartstrings at the sheer reminder that you’ll be gone just as quickly. 

“Why don’t you take a seat, dear? Your feet must be killing you.” Your aunt speaks up, and you laugh. She read your mind. “You look like you’re about to pop any day soon.”

“I’m due in the spring.” You answer, taking up on her offer and taking a seat. 

“Spring is just around the corner.” She points out, and you sigh. That’s the last thing you want to think about. 

“How about you guys? I hope things have been good in my absence.” You change the topic, though you already know the answer. Your aunt told you all you needed to know about their situation. Sukuna has kept them well.

“With the deity coming around, things have been flourishing.” She tells you, and you sheepishly smile. You’re happy knowing that your sacrifice was worth it. Not only is your Haru doing great, but they’re seeing abundance at a rate that your family has never been able to achieve. “And you, my dear? How are things with the deity?”

“They’re… Good.” You say, not wanting to explain the ups and downs of your life with Sukuna. You certainly don’t want to confess the ruckus that your life is in right now.

“What’s the name of your baby?” Haru asks as he sits down beside you. He cuddles up next to you and you welcome him with open arms.

“Hina, please take a seat.” You tell her, noticing that she stands still as she holds the baby. You watch her sit down before you turn your attention to Haru, “His name is Yuuji.”

“Why is he trying to eat his hand?” He then questions as he watches the baby shove his hand in his mouth.

“His little teeth are coming out, and it hurts.” You explain, and Haru furrows his brows.

“Your baby’s weird.” Haru responds, making you giggle. You shouldn’t laugh, but you can’t help it.

You pinch his cheek before pointing out, “You were just like that too. You were a big crier too!”

“Nuh-uh!” He yells, and you squint your eyes.

“What do you mean nuh-uh?! You were a baby, and I was the one taking care of you!” You scold him, and he sticks his tongue out at you. You lightly hit him in the back of his head for his reaction, making him whine in response.

No matter how big the age gap, he’s still your sibling. The arguing won’t stop, no matter how big or small he is– You wonder if that’s how the twins will be with Yuuji. You hope it is.

It hurts when you have to go your separate ways. It takes everything in you to not cry when Haru bursts into tears. You try to reassure him that you’ll see him again soon, though you’re not sure. You’ll make sure you see him again, even if it’s the last thing you do. The thing is that you know it won’t happen until after you give birth to the twins.

The ride back home is quiet. Yuuji sleeps and you try to hold back the tears to not… You can’t even think of the reasoning. Maybe Sukuna is rubbing off on you. You don’t want to look weak in front of Hina. 

The sun has set when you get back to the palace, and while it’s typically quiet during this time, there’s over twenty servants around. You don’t pay attention to it until you reach your room and notice a woman scrubbing the floor. 

“Hina, bathe Yuuji and bring him back to me.” You order, and the woman hums in response before quietly exiting. You stare at the servant that diligently does her task, and you ask, “Where’s Sukuna?”

“My queen!” She yelps before bowing down to you. You almost roll your eyes, but you shouldn’t. You should be used to this treatment by now. “I don’t know where King Sukuna is.”

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“King Sukuna ordered for the palace to be scrubbed down before your arrival.” She answers, and you hum in response. That doesn’t answer a thing, if anything, your curiosity is piqued.

“Right. Carry on then.” You tell her before entering your room. You try not to think too much about it, perhaps he just wants to prepare for the birth of the twins. However, that’s in spring and it’s going to be a while. The palace will be dirty again by the time it happens.

“How was it? Are you happy now?” You’re spooked by him, too lost in your own thoughts to register his heavy footsteps. Oddly enough, Sukuna’s hands hug you from behind, bringing you into his embrace.

“Why are people scrubbing down the palace?” You don’t even bother answering his question. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s rolled his eyes at your lack of manners.

“Why must you know? Can’t I have my place clean?” He responds, making you turn around and face him. You furrow your brows, crossing your arms to let him know that you’re displeased by his answer. He finds it cute as he looks down at you– Oh, you really think you’re intimidating like this when you’re simply tiny compared to him.

“What are you hiding?” You ask.

“Just told them to clean up everything so you wouldn’t see a drop of blood.” He ends up saying, and you furrow your brows. There’s a servant in every corner of the palace, so it definitely wasn’t anything pretty.

You should be squeamish by his response, but at this point you’re used to his antics. As horrid as it is to say. You can’t particularly be mad either since… You have a feeling that you know what he was doing.

“Must have been a massacre then.” You comment, and he’s about to nod in agreement, but he won’t. You’re still a soft little thing, even if you’re tougher than when he first met you.

“You haven’t answered my question.” He points out, and you sigh.

“When can I see him again?” You ask, a question that tells him all he needs to know. He knew this would happen which is why he didn’t want to let you go out, but he had to allow it.

“I don’t understand your attachment to that insolent human.” He scoffs a comment that he regrets making the moment he looks down at you and sees tears welling up in your eyes. He sighs before saying, “I guess after the twins are here.”

“They’re my family too.” You end up saying, wrapping your arms around his large figure. It’s an action that takes him by surprise; certainly something that he can’t complain about. He hears a sniffle, and he tries to comfort you to the best of his ability. “I miss them.”

“What? So do you expect me to bring them here?” He tries to joke, a concept foreign to the being. He even lets out a scruffy laugh to get his point across, but you look up at him with teary, yet hopeful eyes. He immediately tells you, “Oh no. Absolutely not.”

[tsunodaradio]

to be honest ⛐ 𝐀𝐀𝟐𝟑

“i’m sorry i had a machine hooked up to me and i couldn’t lie.” 

ꔮ starring: alex albon x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 1.4k. ꔮ includes: romance, fluff fluff fluff. inspired by and references the Does Alex Albon think he is No. 1 at Williams? | The Lie Detector video, secret (not for long, sucker) relationship. ꔮ commentary box: this idea has been clanging in my head for two weeks now, i fear 🐈‍⬛ 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Alex had asked—begged—you not to watch the lie detector test video. 

You agreed, but not without teasing him about divulging some embarrassing secret. You figured it was something along those lines. Maybe they made him choose his favorite cat or reveal his ridiculous pre-race routine. Either way, your boyfriend seemed pretty serious about not wanting you to see that particular piece of content. 

Except it’s been impossible to avoid. 

Your algorithms are unsurprisingly fine-tuned to anything and everything Alex. Clips of his radio messages on Instagram reels, edits of him to Hamilton songs on your TikTok For You page. You’re idly scrolling through your Twitter feed when one particular post catches your attention. 

It’s not even the concept of a reveal that catches your attention. No, that was to be expected. 

What did they mean—Alex asked for it not to be mentioned? 

It’s one thing to keep you from watching. It’s a completely different situation to ask everybody else to stay mum, as if purposefully keeping you out of the loop.

That would make no sense. You try to shake the thought out of your head, try to go back to doom-scrolling, but it nags in the back of your brain. Alex wasn’t the type to hide things from you. The two of you were a secret to the rest of the world, sure, but there were no secrets between you. 

Right? 

You set your phone on Do Not Disturb. You scrub the kitchen clean. You take a scalding hot shower. None of it helps. 

By the time you’re back on your couch, red-faced from the heat of your bath and something else entirely, you make an executive decision. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, you decide. Alex has given you grace for much worse. 

You pull the video up.

The guilt you’re feeling ebbs at the familiar lilt of Alex’s accent. My heart is gonna be, like, two hundred.

He’s not even on the screen yet, but you can imagine the way his boyish smile would curve around the words. He’s not due to visit until much later, so this six-minute video will have to tide you over the feeling of missing him. And your curiosity. That, more than anything. 

For a moment, you nearly forget why you’re watching. It’s so easy to be distracted by Alex’s sheer expressiveness, by the way he’s always just a bit breathless when he’s laughing. You want nothing more than to reach into your phone and will him to be seated right next to you, alleged reveal be damned. 

Have you ever sat on the toilet so long, your legs fell asleep?, he’s asked, and you simultaneously snort with on-screen Alex. 

Many a times, he answers, and it’s registered as the truth. But it’s more because that’s my time to watch TikTok.

You’re all-too aware of that habit. The petty arguments of you slamming on the bathroom door, demanding for your turn, only for Alex to shout back that he’s finishing part 32 of some movie cut up into several videos, and he’ll be out soon, he swears. It’s the type of domestic image that paints how comfortable the two of you have been this past year, even if there was nobody else to see it. 

Did you have a celebrity crush growing up? 

Yes, on-screen Alex responds. When prodded, he adds rather sheepishly, Erm… Emma Watson. 

You knew that, too. When you first found out, you made Alex sit through the fourth movie so you could tease him relentlessly. Fed up, he had tackled you down onto the mattress during the Triwizard Tournament’s Second Task. The ensuing makeout session had been both heated and playful. A part of you can still feel it thrumming beneath your ribs, months later. 

You’re scheming how to orchestrate another Harry Potter marathon just as two things happen at once. 

First, the Alex on-screen gets asked—baited, more like—with a query of And does your girlfriend compete? 

Then, your front door swings open. The man himself calls out like he always does, “Honey, I’m home!” 

It’s an inside joke, one you can’t really dwell on. Your attention is halved. 

You’ve started out of shock, and your phone is playing on full volume. Just enough for your boyfriend to hear his own sputter of My—my what? from what you’d been watching. 

There’s the sound of something crashing in the entryway. Later, you’ll discover it’s Alex having dropped his duffel bag in his own panic. 

He’s at the mouth of the living room in the next second, but you’re too busy going slack-jawed at the scene in the challenge. The polygraph shoots up. The examiner shakes his head amusedly. The man on the screen fucking laughs, goading Alex, So there it is! You’ve got a girl, Albono?

“You’re watching the video!” Alex shrieks accusingly. 

In return, you screech, “You told everyone about me?!”

Alex darts forward. You mentally curse his racer reflexes and his long legs as he throws himself on top of you. He’s blissfully unaware of his own weight, and so you feel winded amid your attempts to fight back. 

“I didn’t—tell about you,” he argues, his arms flailing as he tries to wrestle your phone out of your hands. “That’s all I said!” 

Which is a damn lie, of course. You don’t even see your screen anymore, but you can hear the video playing out. 

Alex being asked, Would you say this is your soulmate? 

Alex, without missing a beat: Yes. Without a doubt, yes. 

The Alex on top of you groans. He buries his face in the crook of your neck like he might be able to run and hide from his answer, especially as the examiner declares, He’s not lying. 

You relent, hitting pause and casting your phone aside. It lands somewhere by the foot of the couch. “I can’t believe you watched it,” your boyfriend petulantly murmurs against your skin. 

“I can’t believe I’m your soulmate,” you shoot back, and he pinches your side in retaliation. 

“Seriously,” he huffs, adjusting his positioning so that he’s not crushing you too much. “What happened to trust, huh?” 

“Slow down, Gabriella Montez.” 

“Stop being a nerd. It makes me want to kiss you.” 

You’re giggling as Alex rolls off you, flopping to the other end of the couch. He’s all lanky limbs and furrowed brows, his glare fixed on your phone like Sky Sports has personally wronged him. You reach out to rub his ankles, and he instinctively relaxes as if his body is fine-tuned to respond to your touch. 

“I’m sorry for watching the video,” you say. 

Alex frowns. “You’re not sorry.” 

You’re not. 

He heaves out a long-held sigh. “I had to do this whole thing,” he grumbles absent-mindedly. “Hid my Instagram story from you and all that…” 

“You what?” 

“Anyway. Anyway.��� Alex clears his throat, his frown curling into a thin pressed line. It’s a rueful kind of grin, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tick for when he’s guilty. “I was going to tell you.” 

“I bet you were,” you hum. 

You’re not mad. Not really. You know he’s been itching to go public, has wanted you in the Williams hospitality suite for God-knows-how-long. That laminated ID card that would proudly proclaim Guest of Alex Albon.

“They still don’t know you,” he offers. This time, he’s reaching out for you. Preemptively trying to soothe some imagined annoyance. Alex tugs you gently until you’re resting between his legs, his face burying in the back of your hair. 

“All they know is that you exist,” he adds, “and they don’t have to know anything else.” 

You feel a pang in your chest, one put there when you’re reminded of just how lucky you are to have somebody so patient. Someone so willing to set aside his wants for your comfort, your peace of mind. 

“Okay,” you say, voice now softer that Alex has his chin hooked over your shoulder. “It’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry I had a machine hooked up to me and I couldn’t lie.” 

You laugh. “As long as you promise to never lie to me,” you note, nudging his ribs lightly. He lets out an exaggerated howl. 

“I would never,” he grumbles, and you know—you know that’s the truth, too. 

You tilt your head slightly, catching the complicated expression on Alex’s face. There’s that hint of insecurity, that touch of guilt, that flash of impatience. But all of it eases up when you lean in, and you kiss the doubt away. 

“I believe you,” you breathe against his lips, and he’s already smiling before he pulls you in for more. ⛐

BONUS —

[seitmai]

Steve cleared his throat after exchanging a look with Sam. “So, to recap, you were looking for Alpine and she was just… snuggled with a complete stranger?” He waited for a beat. “In the middle of a sidewalk at night?” “Yes, that’s exactly what she did,” Bucky said through his teeth. His friend was old, but not hard of hearing. 

Hahaha I can't with the old joke😂

“A sweet stranger who said you were the hottest man she had ever seen in her life?” Sam smirked. Yes, that was what you said and Bucky hadn’t forgotten it. Nor would he admit to his friends how nice the compliment made him feel the more he repeated your words in his mind. “And she snuggled with Alpine? Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

Of course Bucky hasn't forgotten and Sam is a "picture or it didn’t happen" guy 😅

Bucky made a face. Why would he make something like that, or you, up? Did he really not believe him?  “Why the hell would I take a photo of her? That’s something a creep would do, and I’m not a creep,” he snapped, thinking about it while Sam chuckled. Grumpy with his share of issues, yes, but he was not a creep. “But there were security cameras outside of her building. Hacking the system wouldn’t be too difficult if you really wanted to see what happened.” “You’re not going to hack anything,” Steve said, trying to be the voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the worst crime committed if he did. “I think Sam meant the picture thing as a joke.” “No, I didn’t,” Sam said.

They crack me up with all the discussion about pictures, no pictures or Hacking to get pictures 😂 I feel like this discussion is so spot on for the dynamic of the 3 of them 😅

“Listen, I’m not saying this… dream girl or whatever you want to call her doesn’t exist, but I do have to ask.” Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did she really boop you on the nose?” If Bucky clenched his jaw any tighter he would’ve cracked his teeth. “She did. Twice.”

To be fair that does sound so silly that it sounds fake 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

 Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sam didn’t bother hiding it. Why did he trust these punks with anything? “Okay…” Sam held his side as his laughter died down. “I have to meet her so I can ask where she got the balls to do that and say ‘you’re welcome’ for accidentally letting Alpine out so you two could meet.”

Valid 😅

“Well, with that attitude…” Sam mumbled, which Bucky pointedly ignored. It wasn’t like he was trying to be pessimistic, but getting his hopes up wouldn’t help either. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like Alpine isn’t the only one who liked her.”

Oh we have a Sherlock Holmes on out hands 🤭

Steve tried to catch his eye. “Do you like her, Buck?”

And Steve is so sensible about it 🥹

Sam sighed when Bucky didn’t respond. “Can you message her? Tell her Alpine’s trying to get out to see her?”

That would be a good opener

Alpine batted her paw against his chest and meowed, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “What would you suggest, Al? That I just walk you up and down her sidewalk with you until she comes out?” Silence filled the living room. Was he really asking his cat for advice on how to see you again? Jesus fucking Christ, he needed help and he was already seeing a therapist.

I don't think it's so wrong to ask Al in this case, it was her fault to begin with this situation, I think she would have great intel🤷🏻‍♀️

Steve shrugged after a minute went by. “...It’s not a bad idea.” Sam snorted. He was enjoying this way too much. “Or you could just start by finding her on social media like a normal person since she at least gave you her name.”

There are decades between them and it shows in exactly that moment 🤭😅

Sam’s smile fell. “It’s weird to add her on social media, but it’s not weird to walk up and down her sidewalk like a wolf stalking its prey or talk about hacking the cameras of her building?”

He is calling them and their old ways out rn hahah

And if he couldn’t figure out a way himself, he had a feeling Alpine would take matters into her own paws.

Yes!! Queen Alpine 👏🏻

Late Night Recap

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tells Steve and Sam about his encounter with you.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Mention of drunk reader, humor, attraction, Sam and Steve are good friends, a bit of grumpy!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay? And he has a crush).

A/N: Based on an anon ask and a continuation of Late Night Shenanigans. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Steve and Sam sat across from Bucky on the couch, blankly staring at him once he finished his story. He stared back with a scowl and was pretty sure Alpine was scowling at them, too, daring them to tell him that he was making the whole thing up about what happened earlier. That he didn’t encounter a beautiful drunk stranger snuggling with his cat. That you didn’t seem at all intimidated by his presence. That he couldn’t get your smile or voice out of his head.

Wait, he didn’t tell them that last part and he sure as hell wasn’t going to.

Steve cleared his throat after exchanging a look with Sam. “So, to recap, you were looking for Alpine and she was just… snuggled with a complete stranger?” He waited for a beat. “In the middle of a sidewalk at night?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she did,” Bucky said through his teeth. His friend was old, but not hard of hearing. 

“A sweet stranger who said you were the hottest man she had ever seen in her life?” Sam smirked. Yes, that was what you said and Bucky hadn’t forgotten it. Nor would he admit to his friends how nice the compliment made him feel the more he repeated your words in his mind. “And she snuggled with Alpine? Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

Bucky made a face. Why would he make something like that, or you, up? Did he really not believe him?  “Why the hell would I take a photo of her? That’s something a creep would do, and I’m not a creep,” he snapped, thinking about it while Sam chuckled. Grumpy with his share of issues, yes, but he was not a creep. “But there were security cameras outside of her building. Hacking the system wouldn’t be too difficult if you really wanted to see what happened.”

Was that creepy? It wasn’t like he was trying to get feed to watch you or to see your beautiful face again. It was to prove to Sam that he wasn’t lying about what happened, nothing more. Not that he had anything to prove. He was telling the truth. It wasn’t his fault if Sam didn’t believe him.

“You’re not going to hack anything,” Steve said, trying to be the voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the worst crime committed if he did. “I think Sam meant the picture thing as a joke.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sam said. 

Steve held a hand up when Bucky’s fists curled. “What he means is we’re surprised because, besides you, Alpine doesn’t usually cuddle with people right away. She likes us, but it took her time to do that.”

“Yeah, well, she’s obviously different,” the brunette mumbled, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “Alpine really liked her.”

Alpine purred in agreement, bringing a small smile out of the former assassin. Though part of him still wondered if you put some sort of spell over his cat to get her to warm up so quickly, he knew that wasn’t it. She was a good judge of character, so she had to take a liking to you since you were a friendly person. It was either that or she decided that you needed her to look out for you. And by extension that meant he had to look out for you, too. Someone had to.

Fuck, now he did feel like a creep with that train of thought.

“Listen, I’m not saying this… dream girl or whatever you want to call her doesn’t exist, but I do have to ask.” Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did she really boop you on the nose?”

If Bucky clenched his jaw any tighter he would’ve cracked his teeth. “She did. Twice.” 

Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sam didn’t bother hiding it. Why did he trust these punks with anything? “Okay…” Sam held his side as his laughter died down. “I have to meet her so I can ask where she got the balls to do that and say ‘you’re welcome’ for accidentally letting Alpine out so you two could meet.”

“You’re not going to meet her or ask her anything,” Bucky said, looking up at the ceiling. “Because I probably won’t see her again.”

It didn’t make sense why his heart ached so much at the thought of not crossing your path again. He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Fairy tales and meet cutes or whatever they were called didn’t exist in his world, not for people like him.

“Well, with that attitude…” Sam mumbled, which Bucky pointedly ignored. It wasn’t like he was trying to be pessimistic, but getting his hopes up wouldn’t help either. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like Alpine isn’t the only one who liked her.”

Steve tried to catch his eye. “Do you like her, Buck?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, his friends would latch on that he was possibly interested in someone. He hadn’t dated anyone since Leah, and his relationship with her hadn’t lasted long. Was the universe giving him a chance by putting you in his path, or was he reading too deeply into it? It had to be the latter. 

Sam sighed when Bucky didn’t respond. “Can you message her? Tell her Alpine’s trying to get out to see her?”

Bucky almost laughed because he could see the feline trying to sneak out to find you. “I didn’t get her number.”

“Wait, you didn’t ask for her number or give her yours?” Steve asked.

Bucky finally lifted his head and fought the urge to say that he wasn’t the suave guy he used to be. “She was drunk, Steve. I didn’t ask since there’s a good chance that she might not even remember me,” he answered, which somehow felt worse than the thought of not seeing you again. Call him crazy or selfish, but he wanted you to remember him. It was only fair since you were affecting him so much.

“Well, you know where her apartment building is,” the blonde smiled. “That’s a start.”

“But not her apartment number,” he sighed. 

You were alert enough not to give away that piece of information, which he appreciated. Though you joked that it was how “true crimes” began, did you have any idea how many laws he had broken over the years? No, how could you? If you knew, there was a chance you wouldn’t run straight inside.

Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done over the years, it didn’t change that he didn’t get your phone number or your apartment number before you parted ways.

Alpine batted her paw against his chest and meowed, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “What would you suggest, Al? That I just walk you up and down her sidewalk with you until she comes out?”

Silence filled the living room. Was he really asking his cat for advice on how to see you again? Jesus fucking Christ, he needed help and he was already seeing a therapist.

Steve shrugged after a minute went by. “...It’s not a bad idea.”

Sam snorted. He was enjoying this way too much. “Or you could just start by finding her on social media like a normal person since she at least gave you her name.”

Bucky sat up, his cheek twitching. You had given him your name. “But wouldn’t that be weird to add her as a friend?” he asked.

Because, again, there was a chance you wouldn’t remember who he was. It would give him a chance to see photos of you if you shared them. Maybe get a feel for some of your likes and dislikes. Where you hung out. If your relationship status said “single” like he hoped.

…Was he venturing into creepy territory again?

Sam’s smile fell. “It’s weird to add her on social media, but it’s not weird to walk up and down her sidewalk like a wolf stalking its prey or talk about hacking the cameras of her building?”

“And that’s the end of this conversation,” Bucky said, shooting both of them a glare to drop it.

“You’ll see her again,” Steve smiled, quickly adding, “Now that’s the end of the conversation.”

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. It would not be the end of that conversation, not now that Steve and Sam knew he was interested in someone. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and said that he found Alpine all by her lonesome, but he didn’t want to keep you a secret. 

He wondered how you were doing. Did you have your water and aspirin like he suggested? Would you feel okay in the morning? Did you hope to see him again? He just had to find a way to see you, if only so you could see “Queen Alpine” while you were sober.

And if he couldn’t figure out a way himself, he had a feeling Alpine would take matters into her own paws.

I swear, he will see his girl again. Because, yes, you are his girl. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[callikari]

YOU'RE MY FAVORITE ╰┈➤ kind of problem 。。。

PRECIS 。 he doesn't hate you (but he think he likes it that way.)

西村力 x fem!reader 1218 fluff highschool au opposite attract ─ kissing teasing emotional vulnerability skinship

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

nishimura riki hates mornings, loud people, and unnecessary affection. so of course, fate seats him next to you.

you — with your sparkly pens, cherry lip gloss, and the habit of being genuinely nice to everyone, including him. you talk too much, always smile like the world isn’t exhausting, and keep offering him gum even though he never says thank you.

(he always takes it.)

“you should smile more,” you say one morning, tapping the corner of his mouth with your pen. “you’d look cute if you didn’t look like you hate everything.”

“i don’t want to look cute,” he mumbles.

“too bad. you kind of do.”

he chokes on his water.

you treat him like someone worth taking care of.

when he shows up with damp hair, you push your umbrella into his hands without asking. when he skips breakfast, you press half your sandwich into his palm. you say his name like it’s normal to look at him gently, like it’s not strange to care even when he doesn’t make it easy.

and somehow, he doesn’t push you away.

riki acts annoyed. at your chatter. your energy. the way you remind him to drink water like you’re responsible for him now.

but then it’s picture day, and you’re fixing his tie like it’s second nature, murmuring something about how “you’d be helpless without me,” and he just… lets you. doesn’t move. doesn’t stop you.

when you pat his chest lightly after, like you’re proud of how he turned out, he has no idea what to do with that.

“look at you,” you say. “pretty boy.”

he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

he gets a paper cut during class and barely reacts, but you notice.

“riki. you’re bleeding.”

“it’s fine.”

you dig through your pencil pouch. “i’ve got bandaids—want rilakkuma or space rockets?”

“…rilakkuma?”

“thought so.”

you stick it on for him, then tap it once like sealing a deal. “good as new.”

he doesn’t respond. just leaves it on for the rest of the day.

“drink water,” you tell him, holding out your bottle.

“i’m not a toddler.”

“didn’t say you were. but dehydration makes you cranky.”

he glares at you, but takes it.

(he pretends not to notice the lip gloss mark on the rim.)

when you find out he’s been skipping meals, you start showing up with something wrapped in foil.

“what’s this?” he mumbles.

“something with actual nutrition, for once.”

“you’re acting like i’m five.”

“you’re acting like you don’t need it.”

he eats it anyway.

(you cut the crust off the next day without comment. he doesn’t complain.)

“you’re kind of like a cat,” you say once, watching him swat at a paper ball someone threw at him.

“what?”

“you pretend you don’t like people, but you keep showing up. and you’re grumpy when you’re hungry. and—” you grin— “you’re secretly affectionate when no one’s looking.”

“take it back.”

“never.”

you boop his nose. he mutters something under his breath and doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of lunch.

one day he shows up late, hoodie on, eyes heavy. you don’t ask questions. just tug him toward the empty music room and sit him down.

you pull out a cookie from your bag. press it into his hand.

“eat first,” you say quietly. “then nap. i’ll wake you up before class.”

he looks at you like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. he eats in silence. and when he finally closes his eyes, you drape your jacket over him and keep watch.

he says your name softly, right before he dozes off.

that afternoon, he finds you by the back steps.

“why do you baby me?”

you look up from your phone. “what?”

“i’m not some charity case,” he mutters. “you don’t have to do all this.”

you shrug. “i know.”

“then why?”

you blink at him, like the answer’s obvious. “because i like you.”

he freezes.

“like, not just ‘you’re tolerable’ like. i actually like you. and you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, so i do it for you.”

“…oh.”

“you okay?”

he hesitates. “you like me?”

“yes, riki.”

“…like, really?”

“you’re exhausting,” you sigh. “yes.”

he stares. then: “can i hold your hand or are you gonna turn this into a whole thing?”

you smile. “i mean, i could—”

he takes your hand.

you stop talking.

he’s still grumpy. still rolls his eyes when you make a big deal out of nothing. still pretends he’s unaffected when you fix his hair or lean your head on his shoulder.

but he lets you do it all.

and when he calls you “sunshine” under his breath — quiet and honest, like the word is just for you — you pretend not to hear it, just so he’ll say it again.

he’s not good at affection. not the way you are. his hands get awkward, his words feel clumsy, and he never knows if he’s doing enough.

but he tries.

he starts carrying an extra granola bar in his bag — not for himself, but for you, when you’re running late or forget to eat. he won’t say it’s for you, but he slides it across your desk when you’re too tired to smile and mumbles, “you always feed me. figured i’d return the favor.”

you beam at him like he just handed you the sun.

he nearly explodes.

one day, it’s cold and rainy and you show up to school shivering, jacket forgotten. at lunch, you come back from the vending machine to find his hoodie draped over your seat.

you look at him.

he doesn’t meet your eyes. “it’s not a big deal.”

“riki—”

“just wear it.”

you slip it on. it smells like fabric softener and him.

“you’re warm,” you tell him.

“shut up,” he says, ears red.

when you forget your umbrella, he waits outside your classroom after school, pretending he was “just passing by.” walks you home without a word. you don’t bring it up, and neither does he. but the next day, he hands you a compact umbrella, still in the wrapper.

“keep it in your bag,” he says. “you forget stuff.”

you blink. “you bought this for me?”

“don’t make it weird.”

you smile anyway.

he starts noticing the little things — how your hands get cold easily, how your hair gets tangled when it’s windy, how you forget to take breaks when you’re stressed.

so he does what he can.

throws a scarf at you in the morning. pulls you toward the shade when it’s too hot. slips your favorite snacks into your bag with no note, no explanation, just a quiet kind of care.

it’s not perfect, but it’s him. trying.

and you notice. of course you do.

“you’re getting good at this,” you whisper one day, threading your fingers through his as he walks you home.

“at what?”

“being mine.”

he squeezes your hand. doesn’t say anything.

but when you get to your door, he kisses your forehead — awkward, fast, barely a brush — and mutters, “you’re my favorite, okay? just… don’t tell anyone.”

you grin. “your secret’s safe with me.”

(he kisses you properly a week later. still shy. still soft. but this time, he doesn’t pull away.)

taglist is open :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @manaah02 @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @ijustwannareadstuff20

vi says :: i worked hard on this so i hoped you enjoyed it TT

© callikari — all rights reserved

[pb5luvr]

azzi’s savior

a/n: this might be controversial but yall need to chill on shyanne getting waived. people are acting like she’s never gonna be able to play basketball again damn.

3rd POV

it all started with a movie night, a normal occurrence for the uconn women’s basketball team. it was the end of the week and to wind down, the team piled into someone’s dorm, eyes glued to a the tv, passing around popcorn. this week, deciding to spice things up, kk had suggested they’d watch a scary movie.

“yeah! we haven’t watched any scary ones recently!” ice said excitedly.

“i’m down for whatever,” aubrey responded.

azzi, tucked into paige’s side already, frantically looked around the room to see if anyone had another idea. to her dismay, everyone was on board with this whole scary movie idea. paige, sensing her girlfriends discomfort, gently nudged azzi’s shoulder.

“hey,” she said softly making azzi look up at her, “we don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to.”

“i’ll be fine,” azzi shook her head, “it’s just a movie, i know none of it’s real.”

“alright, but if you ever wanna leave, let me know,” paige said, turning her head back to the tv as kk started the movie.

as the movie played, azzi had tried to convince herself that she was fine. even though after every jump scare she tucked her head further into paige’s neck, she was determined not to be a wuss and finish watching the movie. paige, more focused on azzi than the movie, would squeeze azzi just a little tighter everytime she jumped.

eventually, the movie finished and azzi was determined to get out of there as fast as possible. she practically dragged paige out of kk’s dorm as she beelined for her own room. she was already dressed in her pajamas for the night so all she needed to do was brush her teeth and take 17 melatonin gummies to hopefully get her to sleep.

when her and paige finally got comfortable in bed, azzi’s eyes stayed open, scared that if she closed her eyes for even a second, she would open them to some creepy girl standing over her. paige knew her girlfriend was scared. she also knew that azzi was petrified of the dark, so, she offered to sleep with a night light in an attempt to soothe azzi’s fears.

“i’m not five paige,” azzi protested when paige asked if she wanted to sleep with a light on.

“i know, but i want you to actually get some sleep tonight,” paige responded.

“it’s just an embarrassing fear,” azzi said, “i’ll be fine.”

or so she thought.

even with paige’s hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back, arms protectively around her, azzi couldn’t fall asleep for the life of her. suddenly, azzi sat up and reached for the bottle of melatonin gummies that sat on her night stand. clearly the two she had already taken weren’t doing the job.

“woah, slow down partner,” paige said, pushing azzi’s hand away from the container.

“i can’t fall asleep though,” azzi said, getting frustrated with her fear.

paige frowned as azzi went to lay her head back on paige’s chest.

“what can i do to help baby?” paige asked softly.

“i don’t know, tell me about your day or something, hearing your voice makes me feel better,” azzi said.

paige smiled softly before starting to rant about her day. to her—and azzi’s—relief, azzi had drifted off the sleep and knowing that her girlfriend was okay, paige finally fell asleep as well.

it was two am when azzi had woken up from her short slumber. thankfully, she hadn’t had any nightmares, but she really, really had to pee. and she was not about to go alone.

“paige,” she whispered, gently shaking her awake.

paige stirred a little before opening her eyes, just a bit, “what? what’s wrong?” she asked.

“i have to pee and i don’t wanna go alone,” azzi said softly, vulnerable.

paige stretched her arms out and rubbed her eyes before swinging her legs over to edge of the bed to stand. azzi smiled to herself, wondering how she got so lucky that her girlfriend would do anything for her. azzi happily stood up as well before paige reached her hand out and laced their fingers together. just as paige was about to open the door, azzi swore she heard something in the hall.

“wait,” she stopped paige, “did you hear that?”

paige listened for a second, “no? i think you’re just hearing things baby.”

azzi stayed still for a moment before deciding that maybe she was just hearing things and let paige open the door. azzi clutched to paige’s side as paige led them down the hall to the bathroom.

“i swear to god if you’re gone when i come out of this bathroom we’re breaking up,” azzi said firmly.

paige let out a soft laugh, “i would never leave you az.”

when azzi finished, paige laced their fingers together once more before leading azzi back down the hall to her room. out of the corner of her eye, azzi saw something standing and shot her head in that direction before letting out a scream and throwing herself into paige.

turns out, it was just ice.

still, azzi swore she felt her soul leave her body.

“what? what’s wrong?” paige asked confused and oblivious, still instinctively wrapping her arms around azzi.

“oh my god ice you scared the shit out of me!” azzi mumbled loudly, her head still tucked into paige’s neck.

“i scared you?” ice said, her hand on her chest, “you just screamed bloody murder!”

all azzi could do was let out a deep sigh before she lifted her head from paige’s chest.

“can’t a girl just get some water in her own dorm anymore?” ice mumbled as she brushed past paige and azzi.

“you good now?” paige asked, holding back a smile.

azzi shot her a death glare, “yes i’m fine,” she said as she dragged paige back to her room, “let’s go.”

when the two got back to azzi’s room, paige laid on the bed while azzi sat up with her arms crossed. even though paige knew how bad azzi’s fear of the dark was, she still found azzi’s reaction just a little funny.

“it’s not funny,” azzi said as she turned to face away from paige.

“c’mon you have to admit it was a little-” paige started before azzi cut her off.

“no it wasn’t paige,” azzi shot back, “now don’t tell me it was funny again or else i’ll start crying, seriously.”

“okay, okay,” paige said as she grabbed azzi’s wrist, “not funny, i’m sorry angel.”

“you better be,” azzi mumbled as she reluctantly laid her head back on paige’s chest. even though she was pissed off at her, there’s was no way in hell she would be able to fall asleep without paige by her side.

before azzi got comfy again, she reached out for the container of the melatonin. again.

“azzi,” paige started.

“please?” azzi pouted at her, “just one more. i’m definitely not going to be able to fall asleep naturally after that.”

paige was silent before she finally gave in, “fine, one more.”

azzi happily grabbed one out of the container and popped it in her mouth before laying her head back down on paige’s chest. even though she had paige, her real savior of tonight was that damn container of melatonin.

[v6quewrlds]

&.⠀⠀OFF THE TABLE I⠀⋆⠀JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x single mother!oc. word count⠀⁎⠀4.3k.

series summary⠀⁎⠀in maya's eyes, love has been completely off the table since the birth of her son, miles, six years ago. fate disagrees with maya's point of view, bringing her justin in more ways than one.

author's note⠀⁎⠀these chapters will generally be under 10k words. no idea how long it's gonna be, but i have several parts planned for the future <3 series warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut (none in this part), oc warning [maya atkins], single motherhood, friends with benefits, discussions of guilt, mention of deadbeat dads.

read more⠀⁎⠀justin herbert masterlist⠀⁎⠀part two.

The rumble of the car engine came to a stop as Maya pulled into the driveway of her parents' home. The right index finger of her unmanicured hand was pressed against the start/stop button, and she felt the subtle vibration under her thighs completely halt. She took a moment to gaze at the quiet street, the porch light casting a warm glow on the lawn. Streaks of gold mixed with pinks, purples, and midnight blue painted the sky, hinting at the end of a long week, yet the start of a long weekend.

She collected her keys, leaving her purse behind in the passenger's seat. Her heels hit the concrete one after the other, her muscles tensing as she pushed herself onto her feet. "Bag," she muttered to herself, turning towards the back doors of her recently upgraded Mazda CX-5. She grabbed the handle with her left hand and pulled open the door with a click. The smell of the leather interior melded with the faint scent of Miles' shampoo from his car seat. Her hand reached in to grab the bag she had packed for his weekend with his grandparents. Two of his favorite plushies, his book for the week—Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, his current hyperfixation was Roald Dahl chapter books, and a tablet (parental controlled to hell) with access to only educational content.

The bag slung over her right shoulder familiarly, though the stretch of her blazer pulled at the left. She locked the car with a habitual double press of the lock button on her keys, then turned on her heel to approach the house. Her eyes fell upon the welcome mat, slightly askew from a day of her parents' comings and goings. She corrected it with a gentle nudge of her foot before using her spare key to unlock the door.

"Mom, Dad," she called out, her voice echoing through the hallway. The smell of dinner lingered in the air—something rich and comforting that immediately made her stomach growl. She pulled her heels off, bending over to set them on the rack beside the door. Her feet sighed with relief as they met the cool tile. "Miles," she sang out, a smile playing on her lips. The patter of little feet grew closer, and before she could even straighten up, she was enveloped in a warm, sticky hug.

"Mommy!" Miles beamed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He held onto her tightly, his small body wriggling against hers.

"Hi, baby," she responded, feeling his energy and love in every inch of her being. She knelt down to return his embrace fully, her cheek pressing to his soft hair. "How was school today?"

"Good," he said, his voice muffled against her neck. "We had a pizza party!"

Maya chuckled. "Wow, sounds like a great Friday. Did you save any for me?"

Miles pulled away, his face flushed. "Nope, I ate it all," he said with a cheeky grin, his breathing heavy from the excitement of seeing his mom.

Maya laughed, brushing some lint away from his striped blue and orange t-shirt. "I bet it was real good, huh?" she said, standing up. She bent down to kiss him on the forehead, her eyes catching the glint of the gold necklace her mother had given her for her birthday years ago and saved when she outgrew it, so the necklace was now a permanent part of Miles' collection.

"Where's Papa and Mimi?" Maya asked, setting the bag down near the stairs. They had picked Miles up from school on her behalf, as they always did on Fridays which she used to meet with her clients located the farthest away from her central hub of Los Angeles County.

Miles looked up at her with those same brown eyes she saw in the mirror every morning, his little face a canvas of innocence and curiosity. "Papa is in the bathroom, and Mimi is in the kitchen," he said, pointing down the hall, reaching up for her hand to guide her.

Maya's mother, Brandy, emerged from the kitchen, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her daughter. She was a smaller woman, her natural coils that matched her daughter's were pulled back from her face with an extra-large claw clip Maya recognized as one likely stolen from her collection. The twist out on her 4B hair looked fresh, saturated with her favorite curl cream that smelled of shea butter.

"Maya, baby, how was your week?" she asked, her voice warm and inviting. She turned to face her daughter, dressed in a V-neck top and flared yoga pants. Her arms opened wide, ready to embrace her.

Maya stepped into the warm hug, feeling the stress of the week melt away. "It was busy, but productive," she replied, her voice muffled against her mother's shoulder. "How did the pick-up go?"

"It went well," Brandy said, pulling back to look at Maya. "You look good, baby. Did you finally get some rest?"

Maya nodded. "I had a meeting that ran late, but I managed to squeeze in a quick nap before I picked him up on Thursday." She took a deep breath, the aroma of her mother's perfume bringing a brush of comfort to her senses.

Her father, Raymond, appeared at the top of the stairs. "Look who's here," he boomed, his baritone voice filling the space. "You staying for dinner?"

Maya glanced at her watch, the digital face reading 6:45 PM. "Can't tonight, Dad. I'm heading down to that new place on Melrose for dinner and drinks," she said, reaching out to hug her father, who stumbled as Miles scrambled to hug his leg.

"Oh, okay," Raymond said, his eyes searching hers before he added. "You meeting someone?"

Maya shook her head with a roll of her eyes, "No, working again. The client I'm working with is struggling with menu items, just need to get an idea of what's out there, what's popular…" she responded, watching as Miles turned to run off for the door, presumably eager to dig into his bag of activities.

"Bubba, what do you need?" she called after him, watching as he disappeared into the living room.

"Nothing, Mommy, I got it," he yelled back, immediately following up with a 'rawr' signaling he had found his dinosaur plushie.

Brandy chuckled. "He's in a loud mood today," she said, stepping aside to let Maya into the kitchen. The counters were cleared of the usual clutter, a sign that her mother had spent most of the day cleaning in preparation for Hurricane Miles. "How long do you think you'll be out tonight?"

Maya shrugged. "As long as it takes, I guess. I'll text when I'm on my way home," she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, her eyes scanning over the fridge covered in her son's artwork. And there it was, that creeping of guilt into her stomach. She knew her parents looked forward to their weekends with Miles, but she couldn't help the feeling that she was abandoning him. It was a sinking feeling that she had grown accustomed to over the years, especially when work called on her weekends.

"You're thinking too deep, Maya," Raymond said, his hand landing on Maya's shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "You work hard all week, you deserve a break. Get your work done, go home, sleep in—" before he could complete his thought, her mother interrupted.

"Don't be shy to get some," Brandy added with a knowing smile. Maya chuckled, rolling her eyes. Her parents had always been blunt about their desires for her to find someone, but she was always amused by the bluntness of it all. She hadn't had a serious relationship since Miles' dad, and even that was more of a whirlwind romance that ended with a baby and a lot of unanswered questions.

"I'm just going to check on Miles before I head out," Maya said, making her way to the living room. Her son was sprawled on the floor, the backpack wide open, its contents spilling out like a treasure chest of toys and books. She squatted beside him, her hand smoothing over his hair. "Remember to be good for Mimi and Papa, okay?"

Miles looked up at her with those big, innocent eyes. "I will, Mommy. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, sweetie," Maya said, her voice thick with affection. She gave him another kiss, then stood, her eyes following him as he turned back to his toys to continue playing. She took a deep breath, gathering herself.

"Okay, I'm heading out," she called out to her parents, picking up her purse and sliding her feet back into her heels. "Let me know if you all need anything, okay?"

"We're fine, baby," Brandy said, waving her off with a dish towel. "You go do what you have to do. Enjoy your weekend, honey."

Maya nodded, slipping her phone into her pocket and grabbing her bag. "Love you, Miles," she called out, her heels clicking against the floor as she made her way to the door. She stepped out into the cool evening air, the breeze playing with her hair. She took a moment to appreciate the quiet of the neighborhood before climbing into her car and heading towards Melrose.

The restaurant was already bustling when she arrived, the neon lights flickering in the windows. She stepped inside, the low murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses filling her ears. The hostess, a young woman with a sleek bob, glanced up from her podium. "Just one tonight?" she asked, her eyes scanning Maya from head to toe.

Maya nodded. "Yes, just me. Do you offer food at the bar?"

The hostess smiled, grabbing two menus. "Absolutely," she said, leading Maya through the crowded dining area to the bar. The space was intimate, with high-backed stools and a polished mahogany bar that gleamed under the soft lights. She took a seat at the corner, her back to the wall, and opened her notebook to the page she had reserved for the night's findings.

She scribbled her first observations, namely the lighting—soft and flattering, a good balance between mood and practicality—and the music, a mix of old school R&B and contemporary jazz that created an ambiance that was both nostalgic and modern. The bar was a blend of chrome and glass, with bottles of various liquors arranged with the precision of a museum exhibit.

"What can I get you, gorgeous?" the bartender, a man in his early 30s with a clean-shaven face and a friendly smile, asked as he approached her.

Maya looked up from her notebook and gave him a polite smile. "I'll warn you I'm a culinary consultant, so please forgive me if I annoy you tonight," she said, her voice a smooth blend of humor and apology. "Could I start with a non-alcoholic mojito?"

The bartender grinned. "Not a problem, I've had my fair share of picky customers," he joked, getting to work on her drink. "What brings you here? Just work?"

Maya nodded, watching him mix the mint and lime with soda water. "Always," she replied, her eyes taking in the freshness of the ingredients set in front of him. "I've got a client looking to spice up their menu, and I want to see what's working for others before I make any suggestions."

The bartender slid her drink over, the mint leaves bobbing at the top. She took a sip, her eyes closing as she savored the crispness of the mint and the sweetness of the lime. It was perfect, and she made a note of that. "You're in luck," he said. "We just revamped ours last week. If you're looking for inspiration, I can give you the rundown on what's selling and what's not."

Maya's eyes lit up. "That would be amazing," she said though her head turned at the sound of a guest attempting to capture the bartender's attention. "Come find me when you're free," she told him gesturing behind him. "I'll be here a while," she finished with a laugh.

The bartender nodded and moved off to serve the waiting customer, leaving Maya to sip her drink and continue her observations. She noticed the way the staff interacted with each other and the guests, the efficiency of their movements, and the presentation of the food that was being delivered. She made notes about the cleanliness of the bar and the variety of the non-alcoholic options, something that she felt was often lacking in similar establishments.

As the evening progressed, she ordered a few more items from the menu, each one carefully considered and critiqued in her notes. The bartender, whose name she had learned was Caleb, checked in with her periodically, offering insights into the popularity of certain dishes and sharing a few stories about the chefs that had created them. The conversation flowed easily between them, a blend of professional curiosity and friendly banter that had her relaxing more and more as the night went on.

The low murmurs of the restaurant at the beginning of the night slowly grew to all all-out chatter and laughter as more guests filled the space. Maya's notebook was now a canvas of scribbled notes surrounded by three half-eaten appetizers and an empty mojito glass. Caleb, the bartender, had been true to his word, keeping her informed of the bestsellers and even slipping in some behind-the-scenes gossip about the staff drama.

With the swell of guests, she decided to take a backseat, allowing him to handle the busy crowd. As the night grew later, the restaurant's energy remained high. Taking another look at the menu, she picked out a dessert to end the evening with, lifting her head to begin an attempt to catch Caleb's eye.

Her efforts proved increasingly difficult as Caleb found himself pulled in all directions by guests across a spectrum of intoxication levels, each demanding his attention. She pursed her lips, watching him juggle drink orders and good-natured banter with a skill that suggested he'd been born to this life.

As she sought to capture the bartender's attention once more, she felt a presence beside her. She glanced over to find a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark shirt and dark wash jeans, his handsome face framed by the dusting of his well-groomed facial hair across the lower half. His sandy hair curled perfectly around his ears, thick enough that she could make out layers, but not long enough that it touched his shoulders. Her second glance over his frame brought her a brief moment of shock as she took in just how tall he was. He looked at her with a friendly smile and leaned in, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the din.

"You need the bartender?" the man asked, his voice a rich baritone that resonated through the room. Maya nodded, a bit taken aback by his proximity. "I got you," he said, raising a hand to signal Caleb. The bartender nodded in recognition and held up an index finger, signaling she would be next.

"I'm Justin, by the way," the man introduced himself, extending a hand as he leaned against the bar.

Maya took a moment to appreciate the confidence in his grip and the way his eyes held hers as she took in his athletic build. "Maya," she replied, her voice a touch lighter than she intended. "Thanks for the help."

Justin nodded, his smile never faltering. "No problem. This is the busiest I've ever seen this place." He glanced around the crowded restaurant, his eyes reflecting the lights from the bar.

Maya took another sip of her drink, her gaze lingering on the group of men at the end of the bar. They were all tall and muscular, their laughter booming through the room. "You come here often?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by their presence.

"Not really," he admitted. "But when you're in town with friends, you tend to follow the crowd." He nodded towards the group, who were now looking their way.

The bartender, Caleb, made his way over, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he caught the interaction between Maya and Justin. "Another drink, Maya?" he asked, his eyes darting to Justin before returning to her.

"Dessert this time, then I'm heading out," Maya said to Caleb. "I'll do the cinnamon baklava roll-ups, to go, please. And put whatever his drink is on my tab," she added, gesturing to Justin.

Justin's eyes widened slightly. "You don't have to do that," he protested, reaching for his wallet.

Maya waved him off, her head shaking. "Consider it a thank you for saving me," she quipped, reaching in her bag to find her wallet.

Justin's hand remained outstretched, his eyebrows rising. "I can't let you do that," he said, his voice firm.

Maya chuckled, pulling out her credit card and placing it firmly on the bar. "I've got it," she assured him, her voice steady. "I'll just charge my next client extra to make up for it," she joked, her professional persona slipping slightly to reveal a playful side that matched the lightness in her eyes.

Justin hesitated for a moment before conceding with a grin. "Alright, I'll just get another Blue Moon, thanks, man." He nodded to Caleb, who took the cue to serve him up. "So, while we wait, tell me about these clients you charge exorbitant amounts for your time," he said, leaning slightly closer, his eyes sparkling.

Maya couldn't help but laugh. "It's not quite that dramatic," she said, her cheeks warming. "I'm a culinary consultant. I help restaurants and bars refine their menus, train their staff, troubleshoot, that kind of thing."

Justin nodded. His gaze was genuine, and Maya felt a flutter in her stomach. "That's pretty cool," he said. "Did you go to culinary school or something?"

Maya took a moment to appreciate his curiosity before responding. "Yeah, I did," she said. "But I realized that strictly cooking wasn't for me. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person. I like new challenges, I get to work with different kitchens and concepts. It keeps things interesting."

"So what would you recommend from this menu?" Justin asked, his eyes scanning over the list of exotic cocktails and tapas.

Maya's gaze followed his, her mind racing through the dishes she'd tried so far. "If you're into spice, the habanero-infused guacamole is amazing with the plantain chips," she said, her voice taking on a professional tone. "But if you're looking for something sweet, the churros with the caramel rum sauce are amazing."

Justin nodded thoughtfully, his eyes shifting up to take in her side profile. "I'm more of a savory guy," he said. "Did you try the chicken tacos?"

"I did," Maya said, her smile widening as she motioned to the sample to her right. "They're pretty good. The meat's cooked really nice, not too much heat. Ask for the pineapple salsa on the side to avoid getting them too soggy."

Justin's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he spoke up again. "It wouldn't be too forward of me to ask for your number, would it?"

Maya's heart skipped a beat. She had been enjoying the conversation, but she wasn't expecting this. She took a deep breath, contemplating the implications. "Maybe," she said coyly. "Depends on why you want it."

Justin leaned in, his voice lowering. "Well, I'd love to pick your brain about more of these hidden gems in the city," he said. "And maybe, if you're down for it, I'd like to take you out for a drink. You know, to thank you for the advice and to make up for the fact that I didn't pay for that last one."

Maya felt a warmth spread through her chest, his words carrying an undeniable charm. She studied him for a moment, taking in the confidence that seemed so natural to him. "Alright," she said finally, taking his phone in her hand. "Does this make us even?"

Justin grinned as he watched her type in her number. "More than," he said, taking his phone back and sending her a quick text to confirm they had connected. The vibration sounded in her purse, and she pulled out her own phone to read the simple message:

This is Justin. Looking forward to seeing you again.

Maya felt a thrill of excitement. It had been a while since she'd felt this way, but she couldn't ignore the little voice in the back of her mind reminding her of her responsibilities. She pushed that little voice to the side, taking a deep breath just as Caleb returned with her to-go dessert. She took it with a smile, feeling the warmth flood through the white plastic bag. She stood from her bar stool, taking in the height difference between herself and Justin. Her head tilted up to meet his eye contact, and she couldn't help but appreciate the way he had to look down at her, not in a patronizing way, but as if he were frozen in place, worried that if he broke eye contact, she'd vanish into thin air.

"I should get going," she said, the words feeling awkward on her tongue. "I have an early morning with a client."

Justin nodded, stepping back to allow her space to move in the direction of the exit. "It was nice to meet you. Maybe we can do this again sometime?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

Maya felt a tug at her heart, the kind she hadn't felt in a long time. "I'd like that," she replied, her eyes shining. "Have a good night with your friends."

"You too," Justin said, his gaze lingering on her before she turned to leave. She walked out of the bar, the cool Pacific air taking over the warmth that had settled over her skin. As she got into her car, she couldn't help but open up the message thread again, her heart racing as she reread his words. The simplicity of it—the fluttering flush of crushing—was surprisingly sweet, and she found herself smiling to herself in the quiet of the driver's seat.

Maya made the short trip home, her thoughts swirling around the encounter with Justin. She knew she couldn't get too invested—she had Miles to think about, her career to focus on—but it was difficult to ignore the excitement bubbling within her.

The hours of the next morning melted together as Maya spent the majority of her day with her client. The conversation with Justin lingered in her mind like the sweet scent of cinnamon from the baklava rolls. When her phone buzzed with a message from an unsaved number as she made the drive home, she felt a mix of excitement and trepidation.

It was simple:

How was your day?

Yet her heart skipped a beat as she read the message, recognizing the sender as none other than Justin. She set her phone aside, brainstorming a potential reply as she hit the highway toward Culver City. It was a simple text, but it felt loaded with potential. The weight of her son's importance in her life rested heavily on her shoulders, but for a moment, she allowed herself to indulge in the flirty banter that had been so long absent from her world.

Maya parked in her driveway and took a deep breath before responding.

Busy, but productive.

She texted back, keeping it casual.

How about yours?

Justin's reply came quite quickly after, relating to her woes and easing into a smooth conversation.

The male attention was a welcome change of pace for Maya, whose life had been seized by the relentless grind of single motherhood and career ambition. The conversation with Justin was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that there was more to her than just being Miles' mom.

Have you recovered from my interception last night?

Maya's text echoed in Justin's mind, bringing a smile to his face as he read it in the locker room. He quickly responded, playing along with the banter.

Barely.

He typed.

But I'm willing to let it slide if you give me a chance to redeem myself.

His foot tapped anxiously as he watched those three dots signaling her typing appeared at the bottom of the text thread. The anticipation grew as the message popped up:

Well, if you're feeling generous, maybe we could meet somewhere whenever you're free?

Justin's smile grew. He had hoped their encounter wasn't just a one-off fluke.

I'd like that.

He replied, trying to keep his excitement in check.

I should check my schedule, but I'll get back to you with a few dates.

The schedule in question had nearly two entire weeks blocked off between the start of OTAs and some promotional appearances and photoshoots. He figured he'd take another look at his schedule when he was home, sitting down, and freshly showered without the wandering gazes of his teammates who still circled in the locker room.

So he left it there, gathered his towel, and headed for the showers.

Leaving it there stretched on, the dates left unchecked, the promise of getting back to her forgotten. As the days passed, Maya found herself touching the edge of disappointment, scooching close to tumbling over when she checked her phone for a follow-up or even just an apology for disappearing that never came. She reasoned it was for the best, that she had Miles to focus on, and that maybe, just maybe, she'd dodged a bullet with a tall, charming man who likely had more women in his lineup than he could count.

So she threw herself back into her work, balancing motherhood and her consulting gigs with renewed vigor, trying her best to shake off the sting of "what if?".

[halfpsychic]

Dr. Robby x gn!reader Headcanons

Random thoughts I’ve been having about Robby. No warnings. SFW.

* We all know he’s a real yearner (for Collins in canon). He’s a REAL yearner. Will think about that one (1) moment you had alone for weeks on end. Doesn’t want to complicate things at work so he takes forever to make his feelings known. He lives on scraps for months but he’s good at rationing the memories of those quiet moments with you. When thinking about a subtle touch from weeks ago gets old, you’ll smile at him by his locker when you’re getting ready to leave and that is enough for the next few weeks.

* Subtly tries to get your attention. Asks how your days off were, wanting to know if you hung out with any friends, not so subtly asking if you’re single or going on any dates. Notices when you come in late with frazzled eyes, appears with a cup of coffee or a granola bar in hand for you. He’s physical with his coworkers (the way he manhandles Whitaker…), his hand on your shoulder in a gesture of encouragement or guiding your hands with his through a procedure.

* Likes old movies. Meaning anything before (but not limited to) 1980. Cassavetes, Hitchcock, Kubrick (Dr Stangelove), Malick (Days of Heaven and Badlands), Bogdanovich (The Last Picture Show, Paper Moon, Targets), Sidney Lumet, Michael Cimino (The Deer Hunter, Heaven’s Gate, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot), some James Bond movies. Never passes on a Western. Will fall asleep in front of the TV and you have to shake him awake so he can go to bed, which he’ll often protest, claiming he was just resting his eyes. Not entirely opposed to international film (enjoys the occasional Tarkovsky, and it's not pre-80s but you can't tell me Robby doesn't love Wong Kar-wai and In The Mood For Love) but most nights he needs something he can understand with his eyes closed.

* He doesn’t seem like a horror lover but him taking the measles kid’s dad into the Pittfest makeshift morgue makes me think he’d enjoy something like psychological thrillers? Thrillers in general? Funny Games, some David Lynch, The Fugitive, No Country For Old Men, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974). LOVES Heat (1995).

* Reads A Lot. Taking inspiration from Noah Wyle’s various Instagram selfies with books. Will go to tiny bookstores that don’t have any method to their organization, just stacks and stacks of dusty books, and always comes out with an armful. God forbid either of you have to leave the city without the other but Robby will send you selfies with the books he reads. (One time you respond with “that hung smile” and he teases you about it for weeks, after he gets over the initial embarrassment of it.)

* Reads before bed and usually turns his light off after you turn over to close your eyes. When you do roll over, he takes it as his cue to finish up whatever chapter he’s on. He folds up his glasses, the sound of them hitting his nightstand is always a joy to hear because it means he’s going to click off his lamp and wrap his arm around your waist.

* Has a record collection. It’s much smaller than his book collection but still takes up quite a bit of shelf space. Going off of the 1 song he listens to in the show, he gravitates towards r&b, soul, jazz, some blues, some country (Johnny Cash, Kenny Rogers, Townes Van Zandt, etc).

* I love this man but I don’t think he can grill. Burns some hamburgers once and never wheels out the barbecue again.

* At one point he definitely gets a recliner and it becomes his spot. You hate it because you can’t sit with him but that doesn’t stop him from pulling you onto his lap.

* He gets so possessive. Truly cannot stomach the idea of anyone else wanting you, and it’s worse when you’re having an argument and all he can think about is the possibility of you leaving him. If he even thinks anyone else is looking at you he’ll snake an arm around your waist or lean down for a quick kiss. Loves hand holding because it always fends off wandering eyes.

* Before Covid, he’d play poker with Abbot and a few other friends. They were all pretty busy so poker night was limited to once a month at most. Abbot is really good at bluffing and Robby tanks every game because his face turns red when he’s excited or upset with his hand.

* Robby teaches you how to play poker. And various other card games. He'll sit with you at the kitchen table and teach you the rules and the hands. Plays with you to teach you but wins every round. "I didn't say I'd go easy on you."

* When he has a bad day, he gets quiet. He'll lay with his head in your lap just to be close to you. It can be hard to be with an emotionally constipated man at first. He doesn't let you in, he subconsciously self-sabotages his relationships with his lack of communication. His silence has brought many challenges to the relationship. After a while, after the honeymoon phase and many nights going to bed angry, it gets easier. Robby still doesn't like to talk about what's bothering him but he seeks you out for comfort. Maybe he'll talk about the last book he read and how he thinks you'll like it or a record he's been looking for but can't find.

* Has a pair of slippers he wears around the house. It’s been years and they’re starting to fall apart but he refuses to buy a new pair yet. If you buy him a new pair he won’t wear them.

* Eventually takes a lot of candid pictures of you on his phone. He had a film camera he used quite a bit like 15-20 years ago but slowly stopped using it. So he has the photography skills (somewhat) but it takes him a while to get the courage to sneak pictures of you.

* You find a collection of his old photographs and it genuinely shocks you. Since when was he a photographer??? He’d never mentioned it before. He has boxes of photos from his residency (hardly any feature him, though) and lots of Pittsburgh when he first moved there. You beg him to start taking pictures with his film camera again. Another box is filled with photos of you. He likes to document memories this way because it gives him a physical reminder of it happening. Those dates weren’t just a dream. They’re real. He doesn’t spend a lot of time taking photos, though. He’ll snap one or two when the moment is right and not bring it up again. He likes to live in the moment with a little souvenir of it.

* Keeps a little photo of you in his wallet. No matter how long you’ve been dating, catching a glimpse of it when he opens his wallet for his debit card makes his heart stutter.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Father's Faults

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Tim is distracted by his memories of his father, so you find an unprecedented way to keep him focused. After he lashes out at you for overstepping, he realizes that you understand and have your own memories to battle. Rather than bonding over that, you accept what's been between you since you first met.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, domestic violence, Tim and r have a lot of childhood and job-related trauma, angst to fluff, confessions and kisses

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

A/N: @nevereclipse inspired this with magnificent ideas about Tim and a traumatized reader. I hope you like it!!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

There’s a scuff in the dashboard of Tim’s shop. It’s been there for as long as you can remember, but there’s something different about it today. Tracing the ragged scrape marks with your eyes, you try to come up with a story about how it got there or an explanation for its appearance. Anything other than acknowledging the tense silence in the car or your partner's tight grip on the steering wheel.

“7-Adam-100,” dispatch radios, “there’s an active home invasion in your area.”

“7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies, dropping the radio after he finishes.

You don’t speak, opting to look out the window as Tim drives to the address with the blue lights spinning. Part of you feels like you should know what’s bothering Tim, but he’s not exactly easy to read, nor is he willing to admit that something is going on. So, until - or if - you can deduce what’s making him so distant and easily angered this week, you’ll give him the room and the quiet he clearly desires.

“Side gate is open,” Tim says as he parks beside the neighbor’s house. “We’ll use it for entry, split up and clear the house. I’ll go right.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, opening your door.

As you follow Tim through the gate and duck under windows lining the side of the house, you focus on the job. Tim’s back muscles are tense beneath his uniform, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll think about him and let your guard down. Entering the broken back door, you tap Tim’s shoulder before you turn left into a small dining area. With your gun raised, you move quickly but carefully through the room. A crash sounds down the hall, so you press your back to the wall and move toward the noise, keeping your steps light and breathing quiet.

Tim exits a door behind you, and you drop your gun as soon as you realize it’s him. Moving together, you prepare to enter the room where the intruder is shouting demands.

“On three,” Tim whispers, covering the door so you can enter. “One. Two. Three.”

He pushes the door open, stepping into the doorway as you move inside. 

“LAPD!” you announce. “Put your hands up!”

The large man - whose boot likely matches the shoe print on the back door - bares his teeth at you before he turns to the woman guarding her son. They’re both sporting bruises and a wound at the woman’s hairline drips blood down her cheek.

“Let me see your hands!” you demand, stepping toward the man.

Tim doesn’t move, his eyes bouncing between the suspect and the young boy cowering behind his mother.

“It’s my house,” the man says.

“Not anymore,” the woman interjects. “We have a restraining order.”

With his jaw clenched, Tim lowers his gun and steps forward. “Last chance. You walk out with us or you can keep being a coward and we’ll drag you out.”

The man sneers, turning toward Tim as he prepares to lunge. You holster your weapon quickly, pulling your taser out instead. Pointing it at the larger man’s chest, you shake your head.

“Is that your son?” you ask. “Do you really want him to remember you like this?”

He hesitates, then swings. Tim ducks out of his reach at the last second, and you depress the trigger on the taser, sending 1,500-volt pulses through his body as he folds in on himself and collapses.

Tim steps over the man’s leg to cuff him, and you set your taser down to approach the man’s son and his ex-wife. The boy clings to his mother but looks up at your shield with a small smile.

“We’re Code 4, need an RA at this location,” Tim alerts. “One in custody.”

“This card has my number on it,” you say, offering a large cardstock square to the woman before you. “There’s also a list of numbers on the back that can help support you during this time. The domestic violence hotline can give you information about keeping your address private and hopefully preventing something like this in the future.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “He just showed up out of nowhere.”

You pull a tissue off a nearby table and offer it to her, watching her son as she presses it to her bleeding forehead. The ambulance is only a few minutes away, but you kneel to check on the boy.

“Let’s go,” Tim murmurs, hauling the abusive father to his feet.

“I need an ambulance!” he moans. “She tased me.”

“You will be seen, but you’re trespassing.”

“I can’t walk,” he argues.

“Then I’ll drag you,” Tim snaps.

The man stands then, his head hanging toward his chest as he pulls his feet rather than taking normal steps. You notice that Tim has his hand on the handcuffs rather than the suspect’s arm. Tim's past, you remember. Tim has been in this situation before, he knows precisely what this mother and child are thinking, and that’s why he reacted like he did. There has to be more to it, though.

Tim is thinking about something and he endangers himself every time the thought surfaces.

“Bradford is all yours,” Angela says, shaking her head as she exits Wade’s office. “I know he’s going through some stuff, but how do you deal with him when he’s like this?”

“What’s he going through?” you ask, looking through the glass door.

“It’s almost the anniversary of his dad’s death,” she explains. “I understand being a little touchy, but-”

“We took a domestic call this morning,” you complain, pressing your thumb and forefingers against your eyes. “I didn’t realize the date. I should have told him to let someone else handle it.”

“He’s a cop, he can handle the job,” Angela assures you. She looks at Tim and sighs. “I just… none of us can get through to him. It’s like he’s holding himself hostage in his own memories.”

“I- I’ll see what I can do,” you offer.

“Don’t beat yourself up if he won’t talk. And don’t take anything he says this week personally.”

“You ready?” Tim asks, exiting Wade’s office.

“Yeah,” you answer, nodding to Angela as you follow Tim back to the shop. If he’s thinking about his dad too much, maybe you can give him something else to consider.

The corner store is silent as you walk down the center aisle. At midnight, the building is empty, the radio is off, and the cashier sits silently at the register, earbuds in as she stares at her phone. You should find the silence enjoyable after being yelled at by Tim four times in one night. Instead, it makes you uncomfortable, desperate for something to happen.

“Aha,” you murmur when you find the small selection of cleaning products.

It’s probably a bad idea, you think while you fill the small, handheld shopping basket with various items. You tried to get Tim’s mind off his dad, and their strained past, but none of your attempts were successful. He thought about you long enough to yell, accuse you of overstepping, and make vague threats to discourage you from attempting to make small talk with him. But even then, he retreated into his mind as soon as you agreed and fell quiet again.

“Uh,” the cashier mumbles when you place the basket on the counter. “Is this… you good?”

You look at the odd collection of items ranging from candy and a Dodgers sweatshirt to twine and a spray bottle, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tim glances at your bag as you place it on the floorboard of the shop but doesn’t say anything. You’ll let him reach his own conclusions about its contents for now. After double-checking with Angela this morning, you learned that there are two days until the actual anniversary of Tom Bradford’s death, and you plan to help Tim through the next forty-eight hours, no matter what it takes.

Now that you've been reminded of the date, it’s clear that Tim is thinking about his father. His tight jaw, distant stare, defiant act of threatening an abusive father, and how he stands at least a foot away from everyone, even if it’s someone he knows and trusts, it's all indicative of his trauma response. Thinking back to yesterday, you remember that he stiffened when you touched his back during calls, and it all begins to make sense.

Tim has a tell, you discover. When he’s thinking about his past, his nostrils flare. You will never admit to watching him that closely, especially not to someone like Angela or Nell, who are convinced you’re in love with him. Yet, you observed him enough yesterday afternoon and during roll call to confirm your suspicion. Even as you watch him now, his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his nostrils flare quickly.

“What’s your opinion on stop and frisk?” you inquire.

His hand relaxes as he furrows his brows and asks, “As a policing technique or in general?”

“Policing.”

“So, Terry stops. I think that if there’s reasonable suspicion and no bias it is a useful and protective tactic.”

“Interesting. How can you tell if there’s bias, though? And what makes suspicion reasonable?”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“I’m making conversation, getting opinions, learning,” you list dramatically. “Is that so bad?”

“When we’re in this shop, we’re partners. I’m not your personal podcast.”

“That would actually be really nice,” you reply. “Anyone ever told you your voice is soothing?”

“Stop.”

“It’s just a question!”

“Stop.”

You lift your hands in surrender and turn into your seat properly again. Tim drives through a green light, sees a father walking his son into a playground, and the look returns. You sigh and pull your bag open.

“What was that?!” Tim exclaims, swerving slightly as his right hand raises to his face.

“It’s water,” you answer, shaking the spray bottle. “I need you focused. I can’t worry about you or we’ll both get killed.”

“Focused? I am your superior!” Tim argues as he wipes his hand on his pants.

“Then work with me,” you plead.

“What makes you think I’m unfocused?” he inquires.

“You’re thinking about other things. Just… keep your mind in this shop today, and I won’t spray you again.”

“If you like this job you won’t spray me again,” Tim amends.

“If that’s what you need to hear.”

“She bought Wesley a tie with lobsters on it,” Angela tells Nyla.

“My dad has a tie with fish,” Lucy says. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You called?” you interrupt as you follow Tim to the detectives' desks.

“Yeah, we need you to run down a lead,” Nyla answers. “Unless you’d rather hear about Lucy’s dad’s ugly ties.”

“Hey, I chose some of those ties! Father’s Day is coming up if you want to know where I got them,” she offers.

“Oh, I already bought James a gift,” Nyla answers with faux disappointment.

“What lead?” Tim asks.

Standing behind Tim with one hand behind your back, you spray him without anyone noticing. He turns his head toward you, his eyes warning you to stop. You smile, nodding along with Nyla’s explanation.

“I am not a cat,” Tim whispers as you exit the station.

“Then take the hint,” you reply softly.

Nyla’s lead was indeed helpful, and you deliver a new suspect to the station before you return to patrol. In the shop, you hold the spray bottle in your lap as Tim drives. When you move your fingers toward the top, Tim slams on the brakes and snatches it out of your hand.

“You don’t get to decide what I think about!” he exclaims. “If you’re so worried that I can’t do this job right now, then get out and go back to the station.”

“Tim, that’s not what-”

“It is not your business,” he continues. Loudly. You flinch, but he's too mad to notice. “It is not your place to be my therapist and tell me to only think about good things or to stay in the moment. Whatever it is you think is on my mind is not worth this!”

You take several breaths, watching Tim’s chest heave.

“I know it’s almost the anniversary,” you say, forcing your voice to stay level as you press your palms against your thighs. “Your dad… he clearly got to you, your childhood affects you. And that’s okay. I’m not saying to forget everything or let those experiences become meaningless.”

“Then let it go.”

You look down at your hands as Tim drops the spray bottle beside your feet and begins driving again.

“I’m sorry,” you offer after several minutes. “It was affecting you, and I thought giving you something else to think about would help.”

“Not your call,” Tim grumbles.

Nodding, you locate the scuff on the dashboard, staring at it until your vision blurs. 

“How’d that mark get there?” you whisper.

“What?” Tim asks, glancing toward you. “I don’t know.”

“There were marks on my mom’s dash, too,” you say. “Nobody knew how they got there. Nothing we would admit while my dad was around, anyway.”

Tim’s eyes find you again, his gaze different. But you’re still looking at the scratched plastic.

“It was like a switch was flipped,” you confess. “One day, he was at a recital, cheering on his baby. And the next… there were marks on the dashboards and new scars that- that I didn’t ask for. So, I have an idea of how painful the memories can be, how far and how fast they can drag you under until it feels like you’re drowning. I went about it wrong, and I can see that now, so I’m sorry. But my intentions are still the same. I don’t want to sit by while a memory of being hurt keeps hurting you.”

Tim doesn’t reply as he shifts his eyes back to the road. You don’t watch him during the remainder of your shift to know if his nostrils flare or if his breathing returns to normal after his outburst. What you do know is that if Tim is willing to let himself be controlled by memories, you can’t stay close enough to watch it happen.

Scrolling through your notifications as you exit the station, you let your body run on autopilot as you make your way home. You’re nearly across the parking lot when someone says your name. You stop and look up, surprised to see Tim’s full attention on you.

“Lopez thinks you were flirting with me,” Tim says, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“When?” you ask. There are several feet between you, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Well, she says it pretty often, but the spray bottle. She noticed that my back was wet, saw it in the shop, put it together.”

You nod, holding your phone with both hands so you don’t fidget and expose how uncomfortable you are.

“Could we talk?” Tim asks.

“Not if it’s about me flirting with you,” you reply lightly.

Tim’s lips quirk up. “No. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you flirt, and that wasn’t it.”

“Then, what do you want to talk about?”

“What I’m not supposed to think about.” Tim slides his hands into his front pockets and shrugs. “I should talk to someone, not just retreat into who I used to be, dissect what could have been different. I just thought… If I’m going to talk, I need to tell someone I trust. Someone who understands.”

“And that’s me? Last I heard, I was overstepping and needed to let it go.”

Tim nods, stepping back toward his driver’s door.

“But,” you call after him, “if you’ve changed your mind, we can talk.”

Tim’s house is warm, comfortable, manly, and everything you expected. Yet, it’s awkward as you lower onto his couch and watch him move in his kitchen. It’s oddly domestic, but the connection between you and Tim is hanging on by a thread. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says suddenly. With his hands spread on the counter, he watches you. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I… my mind feels like my archenemy some days, and I fight that battle alone. You tried to help, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“No one knows the mess we’re in,” you agree. “The voices in my head say I’m being paranoid, but I know it will pull me under someday if I let it. You don’t have to apologize, Tim. I get it.”

“I don’t know what hurts worse, letting go or remembering,” Tim adds, walking to the couch with two glasses. He sets one in front of you, then sits beside you. There’s not as much distance between you now, but the vulnerability makes it feel like you’re exposed face-to-face.

“You were right,” Tim admits. “I’ve been thinking about what happened when I was a kid, wondering where everything went wrong, trying to identify something I could have done differently. Now that he’s gone, I guess I’ll never know.”

“Tim,” you breathe out, your heart breaking for him. “That was not your fault. None of it was because of you.”

“You’ve never wondered?”

“I didn’t say that.” You lift your glass, holding it between your hands to look down at it. “I used to lay awake at night trying to figure out what part of me was so broken that someone would do that to me. Especially someone I loved and who was supposed to love me.”

“But it’s not our fault,” Tim repeats. “It’s theirs.”

“And we can’t save everyone.”

“We shouldn’t have had to save anyone. Not even ourselves. I think back now, and I don’t remember my dad ever hitting my mom. He was verbally abusive, threatened to go farther, exhausted her emotionally and mentally. I tried to stay between him and Genny.”

“From what I’ve heard, you protected Genny from more than the bruises,” you offer. “You’re an incredible person, Tim.”

Tim smiles, turning his head toward you as his elbows rest on his thighs. “Was that flirting?”

“You’ll know when I’m flirting, Bradford,” you answer with a smile.

“When I was deployed, there were a couple guys whose wives divorced them,” Tim begins. “I found myself wondering why my mom didn’t do that. My dad would disappear for a week or so here and there. She could have left, but she didn’t.”

“I think moms try to fix everything in the only way they know how. If my mom even knew, she never showed it. But, I wondered the same thing. 20/20 hindsight, I guess.”

Tim empties his glass, then says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you inquire, setting your cup beside his.

“The stuff in my locker? No one else would have put it there.”

You duck your chin to hide your smile. “It’s what I wanted when I was stuck in this cycle as a kid. I had panic attacks for a while. Music, something comfortable to wear, something rough to hold and ground myself with, and snacks I wouldn’t get otherwise felt like an escape to a world where I was safe, different.”

“I saw a therapist who told me to find ‘a portal to a better world’ when my PTSD was at its worst,” Tim says, leaning back against the couch, his hand falling toward you. “I was reliving memories that were killing me, and couldn’t figure out how to stop the bloodshed long enough to discover Narnia.”

“Narnia?” you repeat. “I didn’t realize you were a man of taste.”

“Next time, you won’t try to distract me with sports.”

“No. Although, I’d prefer a world where there isn’t a next time.”

“That’s a world we’d have to make.”

You lock eyes with Tim, shifting closer to him as the soft hum of his air conditioner fills the room.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, brushing your fingers against Tim’s.

“Would it sound like I was flirting if I said I am now?” he questions, leaning toward you as he smiles.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But would that be such a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. After all, you trust me and I understand.”

Tim rolls his eyes at your teasing, and when you inhale, preparing to continue, he raises his right hand to your face, holding your jaw. You silence, watching Tim’s eyes.

“I don’t…” he begins. “I don’t want to be crutches.”

“Tim,” you breathe. “We’re not showing each other our scars to learn how to support each other. I’m telling you who I am because you make me better. You help me see who I am now, not who I force myself to see in the mirror. You aren’t my salvation, but I think you could be something.”

“I’ve lived in fear for most of my adult life that I couldn’t love someone, that I could tell them the truth about everything, about me. With you… telling the truth is as easy as breathing.”

“Breathing before, after, or during a panic attack?” you clarify.

“Why are we even having this conversation?” Tim jokes, shrugging. “You’ve been flirting with me for years, you clearly want me.”

“Then I guess it’s up to you,” you reply. “We’re at the edge, Tim. It’s your call. Are we going over the edge or running back to safety?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” Tim requests, pushing your hair over your shoulder.

You hum, dragging your fingers along his forearm. “I thought I was undesirable until I was, like, mid-20s.”

“What changed?” 

You shrug. “Put on the uniform, met a few badge bunnies, I don’t know. I still feel it sometimes.”

“With me?”

“No,” you whisper. “But I think you see more than my face. Your turn.”

Tim licks his lips as he thinks. “You know all my secrets now.”

“Then tell me something that isn’t a secret.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to fall in love after Isabel. Not until a few years ago.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

Tim laughs. “What else changed a few years ago?”

You trace your own life back one year, then two, then… “Oh. Me?”

“Oh. You,” Tim repeats. “I was also called Reaper in the Army.”

“That’s so much cooler than falling in love with me. How’d you get that name?”

Tim’s lips are mere inches from you as he asks, “Is that really what you want to focus on right now?”

“Promise you know we’re not crutches?” you request.

Tim takes your hand and says, “I know. You’re clearly more of a walker.”

You huff, but Tim closes the distance - finally - and kisses you slowly. With his hand on your face, your hands joined, and your knees against his thigh, you forget everything except Tim Bradford and the future you want with him.

He pulls back first, searching your eyes before you drop your chin and kiss a scar on his neck. Tim takes a shaky breath as you sit back on your socked feet. You’d felt so out of place when you first arrived, and now you’re not sure you want to leave the comfort and seclusion of Tim’s home and his arms.

“You know we’re not going to be allowed to ride together anymore, right?” Tim asks.

“Yeah. Now we can do so much more,” you reply.

“Such a flirt,” Tim murmurs.

“I’m here for you,” you remind him. “No matter when, no matter what.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. “Prove it.”

[aventurineswife]

Ok I thought of something silly:

There’s an old lady NPC running a grocery stand in Okhema’s Marmoreal Market, Demetria.

Reader and Dan Heng are there to do a little shopping (they have to feed themselves, after all) and Demetria shuffles a few extra pomegranates into their bag, on the house.

Demetria: “For you and your husband.” 😉

Reader’s too stunned to correct her that, yes, they’re in a relationship with Dan Heng, but not married.

…Should I note that pomegranates are often a symbol of fertility? 😅 Nevermind that Vidyadhara are unable to reproduce—

Sweet as Pomegranate

Summary: While shopping for supplies in Okhema’s Marmoreal Market, you and Dan Heng encounter Demetria, an old woman running a grocery stand. After she mistakenly refers to you both as a married couple, you're left flustered, but Dan Heng remains his usual composed self. The encounter ends with the old woman giving you extra pomegranates, and offering her blessings for your "union." Though you're embarrassed by the misunderstanding, there's a quiet comfort in the bond you share, even without labels.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Fluff, Light Humor, Mild Embarrassment.

The bustling Marmoreal Market in Okhema was a mix of colors and scents—vendors calling out to passersby, fresh produce piled high, and the air thick with the chatter of travelers and locals alike. Dan Heng and you moved through the maze of stalls, your destination set but still taking in the sights. The two of you didn’t often spend much time on leisurely shopping trips, but today felt different. Perhaps it was the quiet calm between you, the sounds of the market filling in the spaces of a shared silence.

“Do we need anything specific?” you asked, glancing up at Dan Heng, whose sharp gaze had already scanned the nearby stands for anything of value.

He nodded, his tone as composed as ever. “We’re running low on supplies. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

That was Dan Heng’s way of leaving the choice to you. He didn’t care much about food selection, so long as it kept them fueled for the journey. You smiled, feeling a little more at ease in the lively chaos of the market.

You approached a stall tucked at the corner of the market, an old woman with silver hair and a warm, wrinkled face sitting behind a counter stacked high with fruits. She looked up as you approached, her bright eyes twinkling with something mischievous.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the quiet young man and his lovely companion,” she greeted, her voice carrying a touch of playfulness that immediately put you at ease. “Come to get some fresh pomegranates, I suppose?”

You blinked, your thoughts a little slower to catch up. You weren’t sure how she knew your names, but you didn’t have much time to dwell on it.

“Yes, please,” you said, nodding. “We’ll take a few pomegranates.”

The elderly woman smiled as she carefully plucked the ripe fruits, placing them into a woven bag. Her hands moved with the practiced precision of someone who had spent countless years at this task.

As she reached for a few more, she added in a voice just low enough that only you and Dan Heng could hear, “For you and your husband.”

You froze. The words hung in the air, unexpected and startling. A blush crept up your neck, and you opened your mouth to correct her, but the words caught in your throat. You were too stunned to explain the mistake that had just been made. You glanced at Dan Heng, who remained perfectly composed, his usual impassive expression unreadable.

The old woman didn’t seem to notice your hesitation as she shuffled a few more pomegranates into the bag. “For good health and good fortune, yes? A lovely couple like you deserves to have something sweet.” Her smile was warm, and her eyes sparkled with something playful—or perhaps knowing.

You blinked, not quite sure how to respond. It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable with the idea of being thought of as Dan Heng’s partner. It was just… the husband part. You weren’t married. Not that the idea hadn’t crossed your mind a few times, especially during the quiet moments you shared with him on the Astral Express. But there was a certain weight to the word, something formal and unspoken, that made you hesitant.

But Demetria was already wrapping up the pomegranates, slipping them into a bag with a wink. “On the house,” she said, her tone as light and teasing as ever.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. “No need to argue, dear. Consider it a gift for your lovely union. Blessings for the future, hmm?”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you looked over at Dan Heng, your thoughts racing. How would he react? To your surprise, his face remained as unreadable as ever. There was no sign of discomfort, amusement, or annoyance—nothing to give away what he was thinking. He simply nodded politely, accepting the bag of pomegranates with the same quiet composure he always held.

You felt your heart race, unsure of what to say. Finally, you managed a soft, “Thank you…”

Demetria winked again, then turned to Dan Heng. “Take care of them now, won’t you? A man should always take care of his spouse.” She said it with the kind of certainty that only comes from a lifetime of experience.

Dan Heng, ever the enigma, merely gave a small nod. "I will." His voice was calm, but there was something else in it—something you couldn’t quite place.

Once you were out of earshot, your embarrassment finally broke free, and you turned to Dan Heng with a small laugh. “Well, that was… unexpected.”

Dan Heng’s response was as measured as always. “It’s not uncommon for people to assume things,” he said, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment before he turned away. “We should head back.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at his nonchalant attitude. His reserved nature hadn’t allowed him to clarify anything either—he’d let the old woman’s words hang there, unanswered. But despite the awkwardness of the situation, there was something comforting in the way Dan Heng remained unfazed, even in the face of a misunderstanding.

The two of you walked side by side through the market, the pomegranates quietly swaying in the bag between you, as the weight of the words settled in your mind.

Perhaps you weren't married. But that didn’t make the connection between you and Dan Heng any less meaningful. And maybe, just maybe, you both could share a quiet understanding about it, without needing to define it with labels. For now, you’d leave it as it was—like the fruits you carried, ripe with promise and yet undefined.

And as for the old woman’s blessings… you’d let them be a little joke between you, something sweet, like the pomegranates themselves.

[bettelaboure]

⊹Stolen peck?⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

third part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: mature language, sexual tension, teenage awkwardness and embarrassment, light discussion of intimacy and consent, some emotional sensitivity around academic self-worth

⊹ Summary: the reader reluctantly agrees to be tutored by awkward and quiet Seung-Hyun, she fullfil her side of the deal to be the one teaching him life’s more intimate lessons

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“There’s a lot more to attracting girls than just looking good and throwing out some lazy flirtation,” you said, arms folded. “Sure, that works on some people, but if you want to really be seen — like, remembered — you need more than surface-level charm.”

Seung-Hyun swallowed. “How much more?”

“Kissing, for example.” You leaned forward slightly. “If you’re good at it — and I mean really good — a girl will lose her breath and assume that what you’ve got going on with your mouth is just the beginning. Trust me on that. And I’m going to teach you.”

“Kiss you?” His voice cracked at the end, eyes wide.

You nodded. “Unless you'd rather keep practicing on your textbooks.” Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“N-No. I just... I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I mean, I don’t even know you that well. What if you, like, have some disease? And I didn’t even take a mint, and I kinda don’t want my first kiss to be—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss. A single second. He jolted back like he’d been electrocuted.

“What the hell, Y/N?!”

“You didn’t die, did you? Sit the fuck back down.” You rolled your eyes.

“You kissed me without asking!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That was barely more than a preschool peck. And what did you think this deal meant? I’m not about to hand you a fucking textbook on kissing, flirting, or sex. This is your part of the deal — like the grammar drills are mine.” He opened his mouth, but shut it again. He knew you were right.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you added with a smirk, “my first kiss was in first grade. Some kid with a runny nose smeared his snot all over my cheek. Be grateful you didn’t get that.”

He laughed, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “Sorry, I was just… surprised.”

“It’s okay.” You patted the spot next to you. He sat, more relaxed this time.

“So… was it okay?”

You snorted. “You mean that blink-of-an-eye moment where our lips barely touched? Yeah, sure. I’m Niagara Falls.”

He laughed, hand dragging nervously through his hair. The silence between you both stretched for a few beats before you spoke again.

“I’m going to kiss you again. And this time, longer.”

He looked at you and nodded, slowly.

“Relax. And for the love of God, breathe, Seung-Hyun.”

You shifted closer. His breath ghosted over your face, warm and shaky. You hadn’t expected to be nervous — it was just a kiss — but something about this felt strangely intimate. No tongue. No grabbing. Just… a kiss.

You pressed your lips to his again. He froze, but softened a little under the pressure. He was trying, but not responding. You pulled back.

“Now I want you to kiss me back this time.”

“How?”

“Just do what I did. Mirror it. Your body knows what to do — it’s instinct.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, giving him space to respond. This time, he did — hesitantly, but sweetly. He was picking it up. Fast.

“That was good,” you said softly. “Visual learner, huh?”

He shrugged. “I guess, when it comes to… physical stuff.”

“Figures.” You didn’t know anyone who’d learned to dance from a textbook.

“Ready to move on?”

He nodded.

“Okay. This next one’s like a middle school make-out. Nothing intense. Just follow my lead.”

You explained: kiss for a few seconds, pull back slightly, tilt left. Repeat. Then tilt right. It was a pattern. One he could follow.

He leaned in slower this time. He was watching your mouth, and this time, you could see he wanted it.

Your lips met again, and this time it felt… right. Natural. He responded in rhythm. No overthinking. Just instinct. His hands stayed stiff at his sides, though. You noticed.

Without speaking, you reached for one and guided it to your mid-back. His fingers spread automatically. Warm. Steady. The pressure of his palm pulled you closer.

There was a subtle taste of apple juice on his breath, barely there — like a memory lingering.

You let yourself melt into the kiss. His confidence grew. You felt his hand press firmer against your back. Your body leaned in naturally, mouth beginning to part, ready to go further—

—and then your phone blared, violently yanking you both back into reality.

You scrambled for it, saw the name: Jae-mi. Perfect timing.

“I need to…”

“Yeah. It’s okay,” Seung-Hyun said, straightening his shirt with shaky hands.

“What?” you snapped, answering the phone.

“GUESS WHAT THAT BASTARD YOUNG-BAE DID!” Jae-mi screamed. “You know how I got the whole drama club to vote for me for ‘Best Student’ in the yearbook? Well, guess what, he’s screwing the lead actress and telling everyone I had HERPES in sophomore year. HERPES, Y/N!”

You blinked, stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! I have no votes now! They’re all voting for him! My life is over!”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” you sighed, already grabbing your bag.

“Hurry!”

You hung up. “I have to go,” you told Seung-Hyun.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Girl drama.” You gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you next time.”

—

“So… how was it?” Jae-mi was relentless the next day as you sat on the bleachers.

“How was what?”

“Smart and awkward — Seung-Hyun.”

You smirked, thinking about his flushed cheeks, his warm hands. “It was fine. We didn’t do much.”

Jae-mi raised a brow. “What did you do?”

“Kissed.”

“Like a makeout?”

“Kinda.”

“Tongue?”

You snorted. “Does he look like he can handle tongue?”

“Fair point.” She hummed and went back to her textbook. “When’s your next session?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

—

You stared at the cover of the book on the desk. Your stomach twisted.

“A 7th grade English book?” you said slowly.

“I think it could help.”

“For a 7th grader.” You glared. Was this a joke?

“I talked to Mr. Kim,” Seung-Hyun said. “He gave me some of your test papers—”

“You what? That’s a violation of my privacy!”

“I was trying to help! And I think I found the issue. You’re fine with future tenses. It’s the past and present that trip you.”

You stared at the book again. It looked childish in your hands. Weak. You hated how it made you feel — stupid. Small.

“I don’t want it.”

“Y/N, stop being stupid. It’s just a textbook.”

His words slammed into you. Did he even hear himself? You looked away, blinked hard.

People always said you were dramatic. Overreacting. But something about this just hurt.

“Can we do something else?” you asked, quietly.

He hesitated. “This… this was the plan.”

“I’ll just go, then.” You got up, grabbed your bag. But he followed.

“Wait!” he said quickly. You turned.

“What?”

He looked nervous again, shifting, hands gripping the ends of his sleeves. “What about your part of the deal?”

You stared at him. His flushed cheeks. The way he couldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe you did need to burn off the sting. A distraction.

You put the bag back down. “Okay,” you said softly. “Come sit.”

He did.

“What... what are we doing?”

“Tongue.”

His throat bobbed again. “Oh. Okay.”

You scooted closer. “I’m going to kiss you.”

He was ready for it this time.

When your lips touched, you immediately tasted mint. That little shit planned for this.

He kissed you back gently, awkwardly. One hand hovered uselessly, the other gripped the headboard. You pulled away.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” he admitted.

“That’s okay.” You took one hand and placed it on your back. The other, to your cheek. Warm. Steady.

“You okay with touching me?”

“Do you not want to touch me?”

“I-I…” He exhaled. “I do. I want to know.”

You nodded. “Then trust me.” You leaned in.

This time, when your lips met, neither of you hesitated.

You leaned in again, and this time, Seung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. The nerves were still there—you could feel them in the slight tremble of his fingers on your back—but he kissed you like he was listening. Not just to your words, but to your rhythm, your breath, the way you tilted your head and parted your lips like an unspoken invitation. He took it.

Your lips met and lingered. You deepened the kiss slowly, coaxing rather than commanding. His lips softened under yours, no longer stiff with uncertainty. When you parted your mouth just slightly, he mirrored you. His tongue brushed against yours—a little clumsy, hesitant, but there—and you let him feel what it meant to truly kiss someone, not just perform it.

You reached up and threaded your fingers into his hair, letting your nails gently graze his scalp. He shivered under the touch. Encouraged, he pulled you just a bit closer, hand pressing into your lower back, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. He was learning fast. His other hand, the one cupping your cheek, shifted slightly, thumb brushing against your skin with something that felt almost reverent.

You smiled into the kiss. He tasted like mint and something inherently boyish, like the vague sweetness of fruit and chapstick. You tilted your head and deepened the kiss again, letting your tongue slide over his just briefly before pulling back enough to breathe. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly swollen and parted, pupils blown with surprise—and something else. Want, maybe.

“Good,” you murmured, voice husky from the intensity. “That was good, Seung-Hyun.”

He looked like he was trying to find air. “You’re... You’re really good at that.”

You gave a short, amused laugh. “I’ve had practice.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to your lips again. “Can we... do it again?”

The question came out shy, almost embarrassed, but the way he looked at you told you he wasn’t asking just for technique. You didn’t answer with words—just leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time. Deeper. His mouth responded in kind, more confident now, his hand exploring with more intent, spreading heat wherever he touched. His fingers flexed on your back like he couldn’t decide if he should pull you closer or hold still and memorize everything.

This kiss lasted longer. You felt yourself sinking into it, melting into the way his body molded to yours, his mouth moving with increasing ease against yours. When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t just copying—it was intuitive. He was getting it.

Eventually, you pulled back again, both of you breathing heavily. There was a beat of silence between you, charged and thick.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I just... I didn’t think kissing could feel like that.”

You smirked. “That’s because you’ve never done it right.”

He laughed, eyes bright, cheeks still flushed. “I’m starting to think this tutoring thing might be the best decision I ever made.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t get cocky. We’ve still got work to do.”

His lips quirked into a crooked smile, one that made your chest feel unexpectedly tight.

“Then I’m ready for the next lesson.”

You kissed him again—slow, deep, unhurried. You wanted him to feel it, really feel it. The way a kiss could pull someone under like a current. And he was feeling it.

This time, Seung-Hyun didn’t just react—he responded. His hands were more assured now, one at your waist, the other still cradling your cheek. His tongue moved cautiously, but with intent, matching your rhythm. The room felt smaller, warmer. His body pressed against yours and you let it, your knees nearly brushing.

That’s when you felt it—something shifting between you, not just metaphorically. He flinched slightly, as if even he only just noticed it, and you felt the sudden tension in his muscles.

Your lips broke apart, barely a breath away from his, and your eyes fluttered open.

His eyes were already wide, panicked. He realized you’d noticed.

You bit back a grin, but the slight twitch of your mouth gave you away.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, pulling back suddenly. “I—I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—shit.”

He pushed off the bed so fast it almost made you fall back, stumbling across the room and fumbling to adjust his sweater lower. His face was beet red.

“Seung-Hyun.” You laughed, sitting up properly.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped, waving his hands like you were accusing him of something criminal. “I didn’t plan for that to happen! I swear!”

You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that bubbled up, genuine and amused but not unkind. “Relax. It’s literally a natural reaction.”

He shook his head frantically, already halfway to the door. “I’m gonna go splash cold water on my face. Or jump off the balcony. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Seung-Hyun—” You stood up, crossing your arms with a smirk, but your tone was softer now. “Hey. Come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

He turned back slightly, cheeks still burning. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m laughing because you’re cute when you panic,” you said honestly.

That only seemed to make it worse.

“God. Kill me.”

You stepped forward, stopping a few feet from him, still giving him space. “Look. It happens. Like… all the time. You’re a teenage boy and we were making out. What did you think was gonna happen?”

He opened his mouth to answer but clearly had no idea how to justify himself. You watched the gears in his brain try and fail to spin fast enough.

You shrugged, casual. “I’m not grossed out. I’m not offended. You’re fine.”

He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “I’m never going to recover from this.”

“Seung-Hyun, it’s just a boner. You didn’t confess your love to me or trip in front of the whole cafeteria.”

He peeked at you through his fingers.

“…That’s not comforting.”

You laughed again, walking over to pat his shoulder gently. “Go. Splash water. Breathe. Then come back and we’ll talk about boundaries next time so you don’t sprint across the room like I lit you on fire.”

“Noted,” he muttered, still dying inside.

“Also?” you added, smirking as you turned toward the door. “If you ever want to try kissing like that again… I don’t mind.”

You could practically hear the steam rising from his ears as he fled down the hallway.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[mirai-lunar]

- Variant Sickness -

Invincible Variants x Fem Reader! Sick scenarios with some other random thoughts sprinkled in.

Includes: Sinister Mark, Omni Mark, Mohawk Mark, Veil Mark (Shiesty Mark), No Goggles Mark, Viltrum Mark

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: Dark Themes, Violence, Yandere Behavior

Sinister Mark

-He’s unhinged, but does care in his own way.

-He would prefer it if you at least enjoyed some of your time with him. Doesn’t have to be all the time though.

-Will always carry you normally. Typical hand on back and under legs whenever he picks you up. Won’t carry you any other way so don’t ask.

-Ironically, he does not like when you cry. For any reason. 

-If someone was the cause of your tears then they’re dead.

-But if he was the reason you’re crying then he’ll feel a pang of… something.  

-“Stop crying. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” 

-This roughly translates to: “Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

-He’d wipe your tears away with his gloved thumb. And once you calmed, he’ll go back to his normal behavior. 

-Which is inconsistent. Some days he’s cold and distant. Other days he wants your attention solely on him. 

-He believes he deserves it. After all, you’re his. 

-Won’t admit when he’s wrong. Ever.

-If you end up sick, you won’t get any special treatment from him. He expects you to be able to take care of yourself. 

-If you end up really sick, like bedridden, he just gets...quiet. And looks at you with a frown. You have no idea what’s going through that head of his. 

-You’ll have to tell him to take you to a hospital to get help, and he will. He can’t help you, so someone else should. It’s the one time he’s sensible. 

-Well, kinda.

-He’s not above threatening anyone that tries to touch you, including the doctors that are trying to help. 

-You quickly learn that maybe it’s better to not visit hospitals. That looming presence of his puts everyone, including yourself, on edge.

-Once you’re better, things are back to normal.

-He’s an okay conversationalist. It depends on his mood. Talks with him are usually brief and straight to the point. If you ever ask him why he kidnapped you, he’d have a cold smile before responding.

-“Why? Because I love you.” 

-That makes you frown. You are unsure of his definition of love.

Omni Mark

-Typical hand on back and under legs carry. He’s very gentle whenever he picks you up.

-He hates when you cry. It bothers him a lot. 

-The last thing he wants to do is upset you. If he’s the cause of your tears then he’ll frown before apologizing. If not, then he’ll comfort you.

-He doesn’t demand your attention, but he does enjoy it when your attention is solely on him. 

-He’s a good conversationalist. You can talk to him about anything and he has some type of input.

-Can be terrifying at times though. You’ve seen him fight before, and he’s ruthless. That keeps you up at night.

-How someone can be so uncaring towards others, but gentle to you is mind boggling.

-If you question him about this, he’ll respond simply.

-“Don’t worry about that. Just know that I love you.” 

-How comforting.

-He speaks his mind, but will refrain from telling you everything he thinks. He likes when you see him in a positive light.

-He’ll admit when he’s wrong, but what he says normally has a reason behind it. So it’s difficult to even determine when he’s ‘wrong’.

-Whenever you fall asleep at a table or on the floor at night, you’ll wake up in your bed in the morning.

-If you end up sick, you’ll have to assure him that you’re fine. And he’ll take your word for it. 

-Will still keep a close eye on you though.

-“You’re not eating.”

-You looked up from your food when you heard his comment.

-“Oh. Well I forgot to mention I can’t smell anything. Or taste anything.” You mixed the soup with your spoon. “I think that has something to do with the cold. I should be fine though-”

-“If you don’t eat, I’m taking you to get some help.” 

-You quickly finished your food. 

-You'll also get special treatment from him while sick. Lots of check ins, and soft kisses. 

-You try to push away from him so he won’t get sick, but he seems unbothered. 

-“I doubt I can catch anything you have.”

Mohawk Mark

-Carries you normally, but you’ll be thrown over his shoulder a lot when he’s in a rush. 

-No warning on his part either. You could be in the middle of something important and he just grabs you.

-Loves when you compliment him. But why are you complimenting him anyway? His ego is big enough.

-If you end up sick, he’ll be kinda rude about it. 

-“Could you sneeze somewhere else? I don’t want whatever the fuck you have.” 

-You’d frown before responding.

-“Can you even catch what I have?”

-He isn’t risking it. It’s the one time he wouldn’t kiss you. You could have a simple cold but he’ll treat you like you have the plague.

-If you end up even worse, fever sky-high, he’d panic.

-Shit Shit Shit!

-Best doctors he can find, along with a little threat sprinkled in.

-“If she dies, I’m killing every single one of you.”

-You get better. And scold him afterwards.

-“Stop threatening people Mark, those doctors were just doing their job.”

-“Just making sure you were a priority. Also a thanks would be nice.”

-Always speaks his mind. Always. 

-He’s a pretty good conversationalist. He actually has some sense in that head of his once you filter out all the crazy.

-He demands your attention a lot. However if you call him out on that, he’ll deny it. 

-Don’t pressure him into admitting anything. You’re usually met with a snide remark or an eye roll if you do. 

-He won’t ever admit that he’s wrong. 

-Also you have no privacy. 

-“Hey, where’d you put my- Stop screaming it's just me. Where’s my suit?”

-”Mark! Bathrooms are locked for a reason! Get! Out!!”

-He says that it’s all about him. But he does value your opinion.

Veil Mark (Shiesty Mark)

-Loves your smile. When you smile, he smiles. Though you can’t really tell when he’s smiling-

-How he carries you depends on your mood. It’s usually the typical carry, but if you’re lazy he’ll offer a piggyback ride. 

-If you can’t reach something, for example something high on the top shelf, he’ll grab it for you. But sometimes he’ll just lift you up and you can grab it yourself. 

-He’s a great conversationalist. Loves to talk, so you can ask him about anything. If you’re friendly with him, then a lot of playful banter would ensue. 

-“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You jokingly ask him. He’d laugh before responding. 

-“Fuck no.”

-Always speaks his mind. 

-If you end up sick and you brush it off as nothing, then he won’t worry about it. He’d still help you out though. 

-But he wouldn’t kiss you.

-“No offense but I don’t want anything you’ve got.” He’d tell you. You’d either frown or agree with him. 

-Now if you’re really sick? He’s concerned. 

-“Oh fuck, you’re not looking too good. You okay?” He asked you.

-“Yeah…just feeling under the weather. I need to sleep it off.” 

-“You slept all yesterday too. Let’s at least get you checked out.”

-You get special treatment from him when you’re sick. Though he’s probably not the best at it. 

-“Thanks for the soup,” you told him. As you put the spoon in your mouth your face went blank.

-“Is there something wrong?” He asked. You smiled. 

-“The middle is ice cold.”

-Whoops.

-Well he’s trying, so you can’t be mad at him. 

-Once you’re better it’s back to the usual routine.

-He’ll admit when he’s wrong. It’s not a big deal for him at all. 

-Loves when your attention is on him. It’s a huge ego boost. If you ignore him though then that’ll leave him upset. 

-All he wants is just some of your attention, is that too much to ask?

No Goggles Mark

-Carries you normally when flying, but is open to trying new things.

-Occasional piggyback carry when he’s not flying, and you can even sit on his shoulders if you want.

-Loves when you laugh. It’s his favorite thing about you. If you rarely laugh then he’ll try to make you laugh more often. 

-If you refuse to laugh though, that’ll leave him sad. 

-“Awww, you never laugh. Am I really that bad a boyfriend?”

-“You kidnapped me….?!” You reminded him. 

-He knows. He just thought you’d be happier by now. 

-He loves to talk, so he's the best conversationalist. Always speaks his mind, and talks to you about everything.

-Though you may not be able to get a word in edgewise before he decides to do something. 

-He desperately wants your attention. You’re his favorite person after all. If you ignore him too much, then he’ll act out.

-He’ll probably fly faster so you’re forced to grip his neck tightly. Or he’ll do something heinous so your attention is solely on him. 

-So give him attention to prevent these things. 

-If you end up sick then he’s concerned for you. Special treatment? Yes. Lots of kisses and lovey-dovey stuff like that. He doesn’t care if you're contagious. 

-If you’re really sick…then he panics. 

-If you’re in his world, then he’ll probably ask his dad for help. If you're in your world, then that’s a guaranteed visit to the emergency room. 

-Speaking of his father, Omni-Man doesn’t really like you.

-“Mark. You should have picked someone more…compliant. She’s a distraction.”

-“I think she’s great! You just don’t know her well enough yet Dad!” 

-Anyway, he’ll admit when he’s wrong. He knows he’s not always right. 

-Also quick to apologize too. He doesn’t like when you hold grudges against him. He loves you too much. 

Viltrum Mark

-Carries you normally. Hand on back and under legs. It’s effective, so why change it? 

-However, if you ask him to carry you another way then he might consider it.

-He loves when your attention is on him. Whenever he has your undivided attention, it always leads to other things. Whether it be some honest conversations or just some passionate romance.

-He’s a good conversationalist with you specifically. Normally he doesn’t talk a lot, but that never stops him from speaking his mind. He will always speak his mind. 

-He’s just more action-oriented. Prefers to hold you against him and kiss you more often than he says he loves you. 

-It’ll be difficult for him to admit when he’s wrong, because he's pretty adamant. 

-But if you bring up some good points in an argument that even he can’t overlook, then he’ll consider your words. 

-Any sign of sickness from you, I mean just a cough, and it’s off to visit the doctors. 

-Especially if he took you to his world. Viltrum has amazing healthcare, and he’s not risking you getting sicker. 

-If it’s on your world then you’ll still have a hospital visit, along with a remark from him about how incompetent the doctors are here. 

-“I think you just scared them,” you told him. You vividly remembered how he floated slightly off of the ground before leaning in to speak to one of the doctors face to face. That specific doctor left the room with pure terror in their eyes. “You can be pretty intimidating.”

-You rarely end up bedridden, because he normally notices the symptoms right at the beginning. But on the rare occasion that you’re really sick, then he’ll be worried.

-He’ll do a good job at hiding that fact though. You could feel like you're dying and he’d have the most calm expression before speaking to you. 

-“You’ll be alright. Just trust me.”

-That’s pretty comforting to hear.

-Once you’re better, you’re under a lot more scrutiny from him. He needs to make sure that never happens again. After all, he loves you.

~

I wrote this while sick. Hm, wonder where I got my inspiration from…

[i-like-forcefem]

what's your favorite forcefem premise? (like, circumstance in which the forcefem occurs, if that makes sense)

Incredibly hard question!

Tonally my preference always goes to Humiliating yet Loving- but premise wise there's nothing but amazing things to choose from-

But if I had too pick right now...

Losing a Bet! Which gets escalated as "he" seems to like it~

I love it when there's plausible deniability at the start, "it's not like I want this! They're making me do it!" And the bet is a very simple, grounded, and silly way of it!

Then I love it when it slowly escalates!

Not due to anyone putting on a lot of force- but because the girls boundaries slowly get pushed and pushed and she's not pushing back

She's enjoying this- a lot- she'll never admit it- but she doesn't need to

The look on her face when she first put on a skirt is all the forcefemmer needs as a go ahead to plan what makeup she'll need to buy for her~

The bet, is in my eyes, the most elegant trans wishfufillment scenario out there, I don't think I've ever since an execution of it that I didn't love

And gently pushing someone's boundaries as escalation is just good manners~

[raelemond]

Hi. I was wondering if you could point me to resources or forums that’ll help me explore kink. I’ve been holding myself back for a long time and now I don’t even know where to start or how to find community

hi anon, sorry it took so long for me to respond, I've been traveling!

there are a few things you can do. I'll start with what i did, but this is going to vary by country and location. I recommend you start by making a fetlife profile. fetlife is basically kinky facebook, but you don't have to put any information you don't want to on it - I'd just recommend not using a picture of your genitals as your profile picture, those tend to get autobanned from groups.

then, go look for "events" and filter by location - try nearby cities if your area doesn't turn up at first. what you really want is a "munch", which is going to be a group meeting in a public space for kinky people to mingle. you can also filter by education, but I recommend munches first, just to meet people so you can get an idea of what the community is like.

depending on your city, munches can differ by age (35 and under is typically called TNG/The Next Generation - I personally dislike what they stand for, but it's an option depending on your age), interests, gender/sexuality, and location. some are free, some ask you to purchase food from the venue, some ask for donations, and some cost money. the majority take place at bars, which can be an obstacle.

as someone new coming in, particularly if you're young and/or seem to be a woman at first glance, you might get a lot of attention. I'll just suggest that you do NOT play alone with anyone immediately, and people trying to encourage you to stay isolated from the community is a bad sign. anyone trying to say their way is the One True Way is a bad sign.

I played with someone at my first party, which I had been invited to via the munch. At the party, there were DMs who could help if anything went bad.

if searching like this doesn't get you results, I'd suggest going to a local sex toy store, or other adult store, and ask about local kink communities, if any exist. unfortunately my kinky student from Brazil stopped coming in, or I'd ask how to find a community there because she said it's much harder to find people.

I'd also think about what you're interested in and what your limits are. when I first showed up at 18, I freaked people out by saying "I'm up for anything" - in my head, that meant I was interested in discussing most things, or dipping a toe in, but I didn't know how deep kink could go. The boundaries of "anything" were spanking, flogging, and caning for me, along with D/s stuff I barely understood. so, to avoid my mistake, I definitely recommend having some specific things you want to try and ask questions about.

before the lacigreen weirdness happened, she was a really competent sex educator (if not the best for medical advice) so I'm going to point you to this video for a really brief overview. the only thing she gets wrong is that she misses one of the words in BDSM - it's an acronym that stands for six words: bondage, discipline, Dominance/submission, sadism, masochism.

the words kink and bdsm are often used interchangeably, and they mostly are, but you can be into kink without being into D/s, for example.

please feel free to send more specific questions if you want!

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Something Sweet

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Part Two: Something Sweet (2300+ words)

I didn't expect anything to come from it.

One of my closest friends Maisie - who worked at my bakery with me - came up with the idea on a slow afternoon.

It started as a bit of a joke - just filming something fun to pass the time.

Maisie grabbed her phone and filmed the process of me making a small vanilla sponge cake - and dressing it up with a pink crumb coat, and fresh strawberries.

She spun slowly around me as I worked, catching shots of me mixing the batter, sliding it into the oven, and later, piping the delicate swirls around the cake's border before placing the strawberries just so.

At first, I was awkward in front of the camera, but eventually I loosened up - it was just my best friend filming me after all. I slipped into a casual commentary about how to get the perfect piping swirl and which nozzle to use, proudly showing off my nerdy baking side.

We ended the video laughing, each grabbing a fork and digging into the cake, each flashing a smile and thumbs-up to the camera before stopping the video.

Afterwards, I went home and fell asleep, thinking nothing more of it.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning, Maisie came barreling into the bakery, clutching her phone - our usual coffee orders noticeably absent from her hands.

"Two million!" She blurted, instead of her casual good morning paired with my iced strawberry matcha.

I blinked at her, half asleep - it was early, so early the bakery had yet to open to customers, "what?"

"Views!" She shouted, shoving her phone in my face. It was the silly TikTok we'd filmed yesterday. She quickly swiped to another app, showing me our Instagram, "and 10,000 likes! And it's still climbing. You're famous now. London's very own cake girl!"

I stared at the screen, stunned.

"I literally just piped swirls," I mumbled.

Maisie laughed like I was being ridiculous, "well Y/N, the internet's in love with your piping then.

Before I could respond, a knock echoes at the bakery door.

I raise an eyebrow at Maisie, silently asking the question - who could that be? No one else is scheduled today. She shrugs, just as curious.

I step toward the door and spot a women standing outside, wrapped in a deep red scarf, clutching a matching bag against her chest. Her breath fogs the glass as she peers in. When our eyes meet, she offers a small wave.

Frowning slightly, I reach into my pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of my key clipped to my lanyard. I unhook it with a click and twist the lock open.

The door creaks open with a gust of wind that smells like wet pavement and winter air.

"Hi there," she says quickly, smiling in a way that feels both nervous and determined. "I'm so sorry to bother you - I know you're not open yet, but I saw your TikTok last night and it's my daughters birthday - and I just know she would love something like that. I was hoping to talk about a custom cake?"

I blink. She's older than I expected - maybe late forties - with kind eyes and lipstick that matches her scarf. Her fingers are red from the cold, clutched tightly around the strap of her bag like it's anchoring her to the moment.

"Oh!" I say, realising I have yet to reply - I glance back at Maisie, unsure, "we're not quite open for the day yet, but-"

"We can open early - squeeze her in," Maisie says brightly, already stepping around the counter with that breezy confidence she wears like an apron. "Come in, come in. You'll freeze out there."

The woman lets out a relieved breath and nodes, stepping into the warmth of the shop as Maisie hurries around, making sure everything was set up correct.

I waited at the door for a beat longer - my mind flickering of what this could mean for the bakery - understanding the post may have just changed Gracie's Bakery life.

With a smile, I flick the sign over to face open to the outside.

I turn with a twirl and make my way to the front counter, grabbing the claw clip from my apron and quickly putting my hair up.

"Thank you so much," the women says again, as I come face to face with her at the counter, "I've got my daughters birthday dinner tonight and she sent that video of the vanilla sponge - and well, I thought it would be such a great gift for her."

Maisie gives me a pointed look, one eyebrow raised in a way that says see? viral genius. She grabs the clipboard with the order forms and slides it across the counter to me like a magician presenting a trick.

With sly movement, the clipboard finds itself in my hand, "alright lets talk cake." I say with a grin.

"Name?"

"Catherine," the woman says, settling into the space like she's been here a hundred times already. "Catherine Leigh."

"And for the cake?"

Catherina leans in slightly, eyes shining, "something beautiful. Elegant. But with personality, you know? Maybe floral - she loves flowers."

I smile and give a nod, already picturing colour palettes in my head.

"Flavours?"

"Lemon and raspberry, if you can," Catherine says, smiling at me now. "And oh fresh cream - like the video, it just looked so fresh. Light but special."

I nod. "We can definitely do that."

And just like that, we're talking sponge textures and frosting options. For a moment, everything fades - and my dream feels like it has come true.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the next night, the social media posts continued to grow alongside our follower count - I was never one to care for how many followers I received but I knew this would be justice for my bakery.

I was still in dazed shock as I scroll through the TikTok comments on the post.

Then I see a comment that makes my breath catch in my throat.

georgeclarkeey: this looks unreal

I blink. Hard.

Of course I had kept up with his social media - still wanting the best for him but I hadn't checked it in over six months. He had continued to grow since our break up two years ago; collab videos, brand deals, interviews, and meeting the sidemen which I knew he had always dreamed of.

I just didn't expect him to see the video.

I didn't even know he followed the bakery social media TikTok account.

I begin to type out a response and think maybe just liking the comment just to acknowledge it.

But I think back to the times when I felt put down - and I leave it there.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The dream keeps growing - every day the crowd spills though the door, never thinning for long.

Maisie's flat out at the coffee machine, pouring tiny hearts and ferns into foamed milk for anyone who orders a slice of cake or baked dessert from the glass cabinet. Meanwhile, I've been flooded with custom requests -wedding, birthdays, baby showers. It's overwhelming, but in the best way. Like... maybe this is actually happening.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Another week has passed, and Maisie has posted a few more videos and photos on social media, and somehow we end up on food blog of 'Top 5 Hidden Dessert Spots in London". Maisie and I joke that we're famous now, but underneath the jokes is a pulsing hum of something I haven't felt in a long time: pride.

It's a thundering Friday when the door chime rings and my past walks in.

I don't see him right away. I'm wiping down a tray behind the counter, humming to myself a Taylor Swift song when I hear the voice.

"See look Arthur, that's the cake I was telling you about. The TikTok one."

My stomach flips.

I lift my head.

And there he is.

George.

The two years felt like nothing as I recognised him right away - the only difference being he grew in a little more facial hair - but he looks older, more confident.

He's standing in the middle of my bakery, damp hair from the rain, next to a dark brunette who is hanging a jacket up on the coat stand. They're followed in my a third man, clutching a camera in his right hand, as he left hand was brushing off rain droplets.

I freeze in my spot.

George hasn't seen me yet. He's bent down, looking at the display case with the cake slices like a normal customer, chatting with his friend Arthur, totally unaware that he's just stepped into a place he probably didn't mean to find.

Maisie walks out of the back kitchen and freezes herself when she spots the customers.

Maisie never got the chance to meet George as she only appeared into my life a year ago when I opened the bakery - but oh has she heard of him. The first time I had spoke about him was a classic; we were having a girls night with two too many wine bottles when the conversation of our ex's got bought up. Maisie spoke about the dating pool and how she was just having fun since her girlfriend just broke up with her. And well I, expressed how a boy broke my heart and I hadn't been interested in dating since.

Maisie sidles up next to me and mutters, "No way. Is that -?"

"Yup."

"Did you invite him?"

"Nope."

"Do we hide?"

Before I can answer, he looks up. Our eyes meet.

He goes still. His smile falters. His friend Arthur still talking away about something. But there's a beat - just one - but it's long enough for the air to shift.

"Y/N?"

I force a smile. "Hey."

He walks up slowly, the cakes and pastries in the case long forgotten.

"You work here?" he asks, voice soft.

I raise an eyebrow, assuming he knew I worked here - thinking to myself if this was a setup.

"I kind of own the place," I say. "Welcome to Gracie's Bakery."

A smile reaches his lip, "oh the same name as your - "

Before he can continue the sentence, I shut it down with a response - not wanting to think of certain memories, "yeah you're right."

A small amount of tension emerges into the air, his friend finding a beat to say something, "George you're right this place does look good."

"Not bad for a hobby, " I say, staring at George before I can stop myself.

His smile falters a little more. "And I deserved that."

I shrug, pretending to smooth the corner of a take away box - in case they select some treats. My aim is to try busy myself to leave the conversation - but George doesn't catch on.

"I didn't know this was your bakery, " he says, eyes still on me.

"I figured. Otherwise I doubt you'd have walked in."

His mate, Arthur, still oblivious to the tension calls out, "George, this cake is insane. We've got to get a full one next time." I turn, wondering how he had gotten cake already but see Maisie stood with our sample tray and tongs.

I turn back to my box and George nods at his friend but never looks away from me. He's looking at me, as if he's trying to figure out if I'm still the same me he once knew.

For a moment, I think he might say something else. Something real. His eyes flicks down, then back to mine. Like he's weighing it. Like he wants to step closer but isn't sure if he's allowed.

But instead, he just says, "It's good to see you."

"You too."

He hesitates, lips parted like there's more - always more - but the moment passes. He glances toward Arthur who is looking at the sample tray in amazement, and lets him know with a nod of the head he'll be waiting out front.

George turns back to me, and nodes like we've just completed a transaction instead of shattering every nerve I've been stitching back together for two years.

And then he leaves.

The bell chimes behind him.

The bell chime alerts his friend that he has left, and he realises he only has limited time left in the bakery.

"Oh shoot - can I actually order a full cake of this sample for pick up in a few days?" Arthur abruptly says.

I give a nod, still in shock of the individual who just left.

"Yeah of course, any special occasion?"

"Oh my friends are just reaching a milestone on their podcast." He replies.

We exchange a quick conversation, as I fill out the order form - organising as to what he wants.

Before he leaves, he asks the question, "and sorry I never got your name - the cake baker is?"

I give the boy a smile, "Y/n."

With a simple one word, his face shifts and it's like something clicks in his mind.

"Oh Y/n? - Yeah that makes sense - Oh thank you, I'll be back soon." He stutters out as he hurries to the door.

And I just stand there, confused about it all.

My mind wandering to George.

Wondering is he knew before he came in. Or if the universe is just cruel enough to bring him back like this - sweet, sudden and completely unplanned.

Just like the first time.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

and welcome everyone to Gracie's Bakery!!... you'll find out later why that is the name hehe.

And yes there has been two whole years between this chapter and the first so they haven't seen each other in awhile...

See you next time,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo @madforgeorge @smzyyx @graceln4 @norrizzandpia @heyitsmefall @oliviaohanessian1 @clarkey4life @dopeysunflowers @hey-there9-its-me @ooostarwarsfandom501st @canyouseethesainz

[writingslob]

(Part 3) Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [YANDERE EDITION]

[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING]

[Part 1; Part 2 can be found here!]

Context warning: Cursing, falling

Author's note: Oh, thank god I'm done. This ballooned way past my expectations, so I'm really glad to be done! I hope you guys enjoy!

Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea! [ And to my friends! if it weren't for their love bullying I wouldn't have finished so fast! ]

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Lin Ling was awestruck. 

His cheeks were on fire, and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest, but how could he not be!? His queen, his idol—his goddess—was standing right there! In front of him! They were breathing the same air! Oh god, he can’t breathe— 

“Welcome to True Love Recipe at our live venue! I'm your substitute host for today, rank 249th hero in the Association...Eye of Truth, Enlightener!” Huh? Lin Ling turned to Miss Juan, and from her facial expression, he could tell she was just as confused as he was.

Enlightener continues, “Welcome, Nice, Moon. This show is called True Love Recipe. As the name suggests, behind every romance lie hidden stories not known to outsiders.” Miss Juan was growing more frantic, pointing and slamming her hands down on the table. He was stuck in an awkward spot to either go over there and help her or continue to stand behind the couch, waiting like a sitting duck. ‘Damn Nice and his puppy eyes,’ he thought to himself, staying put. 

“So, today, we'll test just how much you understand each other.” Gesturing to them with his cup of tea, Lin Ling can now finally see the mask drop slightly for Moon, her eyes widening. “Nice, how many total commercials has Moon starred in? And what is their total runtime?” Oh, easy, 134 commercials with about 285 minutes and 48 seconds. 

“What kind of stupid, nitpicky questions are those?! Is he asking for a fight or something?” Or not, judging from Miss Juan’s reaction. 

After a beat of silence, Enlightener smirks, “Since your love is so perfect, I'm sure you wouldn't forget such details.” He goads. Getting a bit nervous for Nice, he clapped inaudibly to try to get Nice’s attention while mouthing the answer. ‘134 commercials with about 285 minutes and 48 seconds,’ he mouthed on repeat.

“In total…”

134 commercials with a total of 285 minutes and 48 seconds! C’mon!

“In total, there are 134 commercials.”

Yes!

Nice turned his attention to Enlightener, who stopped mid-sip of his tea to stare at him with shock. “They had a total run time of 285 minutes and 48 seconds.” Behind them, on the big screen, giant pink letters appeared, spelling out the word ‘BINGO.’ Lin Ling let out a stubble-sigh of relief. If he knew his fangirl's knowledge of Moon would come in handy, he would have started stanning her mouth earlier.

Moon turned to Nice, whispering something to him, but Nice responded loud enough that Lin Ling and the Mic could hear. “Of course, you are my girlfriend after all.” He says, his eyes empty as he smiles back at her. ‘Right,’ he thought to himself, with all that happened earlier, the fact that the Moon is his fake girlfriend slipped his mind.

Recovering from his shock, he pressed on, his confidence returning in full force. “For the second stage, let us play a game.” Suddenly, a little spot of light appeared on his chest before a string emerged from the spot, connecting Nice to a small machine in the middle. From the looks of it, it looked like a lie detector. “Truth or dare?” Enlightener smirks. 

“Honesty is one of the most important qualities—”

“Dare.”

“Huh?”

Nice offered him an embarrassed look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but to answer your question,” There was a certain sharp glint in his eyes as he smiled at Enlightener, as if daring him to contest him on this: “I choose dare; I hope you don’t mind.”

Enlightener gritted his teeth, his smirk wavering to a scowl. “Well, Nice, I actually do mind. Before you so kindly interrupted me, I was just about to go on about how important honesty is in maintaining relationships, so tell me.” The scowl has now reverted back to his smirk, but he can’t help but compare it to baring teeth. “Is Moon really your girlfriend?” 

Nice blinks, “Of course she is?”

All eyes turned to the machine. The machine spluttered for a little bit before a giant question mark appeared on its surface. “It’s…half correct?” The man seemed as confused as everyone else (excluding Nice), and at this point, Lin Ling’s lips were raw from how much he was biting them. Everyone turned to Nice for an explanation, but all he did was sigh, as if expecting this outcome. 

“I wanted to do this in a more private place, like at the cafe we had our first date at, or at my apartment, but” he waved helplessly at the machine. “The cat is out of the bag, I suppose.” Standing up, he neatly dusts himself free of any dust before turning to a stunned Moon. Bowing at exactly 90 degrees, he looks her dead in the eyes as he asks. 

“Moon, will you be my wife?” 

Instantly, everyone in the room exploded in shock. Not even Moon can hide her startled “Huh!?” She backs away from him, her hand covers her gaping mouth. Nice smile at her reaction, gently taking both her hands into his own. “I understand if this is a lot to you, but,” Drawing back to his full height, he continues, “I can’t help it. I have fallen for you deeper and deeper every day, and it pains me that you aren’t fully mine, so will you marry me?”

“I-I-”

“Stop!” Enlightener screeched, slamming his cup down on the ground, “Don't get complacent just yet! There's still a third stage you have to pass!” Lin Ling held back on the ground. Of course. The heart screen door to the left cracked open, smoke billowing out, and in the white smoke was the silhouette of…a man?

The man stepped forward into the light, the smoke dissipating with each step he took. Lin Ling can feel his throat tighten up as he finally realizes who it was. 

It can’t be… “Boss?” He muttered to himself. Nice snapped his head over to Lin Ling, but before he could say anything, Enlightener continued. “He was once an entrepreneur, but now he's been pushed into a corner like a trapped beast. He owes all of this to you, Nice! Nice, your entire hero persona is a product of his team's commercials! Not only that, but you've driven him to bankruptcy! You—”

“When are you going to pay me?” Just hearing his voice sent a shiver down his spine. When he was fired, one of the many thoughts going through his head was outside of ‘Holy shit, what should I do? I only have enough money to cover half a month of rent. I am so fucked—’ was ‘At least I never have to work, see, or even think about my boss ever again!’ Think again, past Lin Ling! Because there he is! Standing in… ripped frog armor?

‘What is my life?’ he thought for the 1 millionth and 1 time. As he questioned all his life choices and what led up to this situation, he failed to pay attention before a BOOM and CRACK could be heard. Whipping his head around, he can see Enlightener on the ground, rumbling surrounding him, and a crack in the pony wall behind him. 

Snapping his head back to his ex-boss, black tendrils of fear began to swim around him as his face twisted in anger. “I can't go out of business. I don't want to go out of business!” His inky black hands were shaking with rage. Whipping out a whip made from fear, he bellows, “You owe me a final payment! Pay me!” His whip lashes through the air as he runs towards Nice, his arm raised high, ready to send a devastating blow when-

Nice punches him.

He is knocked out cold. 

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They were back in the van, speeding on through on the busy highway. Lin Ling had his eyes closed, resting his head against the cold windowsill. With such an anti-climactic fight, all the adrenaline has left his body, leaving behind an aching exhaustion. If it weren’t for the bumps in the road waking him up periodically, he would have fallen asleep right then and there.

Nice was curled up by his side, his face agitated. After confirming with Lin Ling that the man he punched was Lin Ling’s asshole boss, he was 1 second away from flying out of the car and giving the man a second round of ass-whopping. It was due to Lin Ling and Miss Juan’s combined efforts that they managed to keep him in the car. Lin Ling didn’t know why he hated his boss so much (perhaps he had experience with bad bosses before?), but he was too tired to ask. So now they ride in silence back to Hero’s tower.

Arriving back at Nice’s barren apartment, Lin Ling lazily threw his shoes on the ground haphazardly, and Nice picked them up and arranged them neatly near the entrance. “Do you have any pillows I can borrow?” He asked, yawning halfway through his question. His eyes were drooping now, and he desperately wished for a bed to crash on. A couch works, too. Honestly, the floor was also looking mighty tempting the longer he looked at it.

“Pillows?” Nice ask from behind, his arms pulling him back into his familiar embrace. “Yeah? I’m going to need them to sleep on the couch.” Nice stared at him before laughing. Lin Ling stares at him in sleepy confusion. If he had the energy, he would have rewound the conversation back in his head to see what he missed. But now, all he can do is stare at Nice so he can explain himself. “Silly little thing,” he coos, grinning, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I have a perfectly sizable bed we can use!” Floating up, he tugs on Lin Ling’s hands, leading him behind the statue toward a bed on the ground, surrounded by water.

You know what? Sure, why not? Lin Ling was too tired to fight. Nice as he pushed him gently onto the bed. Unconsciously letting out a sigh, his tired body sank into the feather-light mattress. He can hear Nice giggle slightly as he burrows his head into the pillow, and like an ostrich, he ignores him completely in favor of pulling the blanket over himself. 

In one second flat, he was out like a light.

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Lin Ling woke up gradually.

The first thing he could register was warmth. The second was someone behind him, their arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing him like a teddy bear. It was… pleasant. Pleasant enough that he was about to drift off back to slumber if it weren’t for the sound of a camera’s shuttering and someone angrily grumbling to themselves. 

“—Stupid Treeman company, stupid Miss Juan, stupid Nice. Lived with the guy for years and yet never once told me he had a boytoy.”

Nice, boy toy? What?

“—Miss Juan has to let me go now with these pics! Ugh, I can’t wait to revisit Bali and take a nice, long vacation there.”

Lin Ling slowly opened his eyes before immediately shutting them, hissing in pain at the sudden flashbang. The person—a girl—cursed out in shock at his sudden movement. He blinked multiple times, his eyes getting used to the bright room they were in. Once he blinked away all the blurriness, he looked to where the person was—

“Moon…?” 

Moon blinks. 

“Moon!”

Nice startled awake as Lin Ling jumped a good foot in the air, landing his ass in the cold water surrounding the bed. His heart was beating out of his chest, and the ice-cold water definitely shocked his system awake. “Moon!” Say something! “Hi! I didn’t know you lived here!” YOU IDIOT.

Both Nice and Moon are now staring, one concerned and one deadpan, at him. Lin Ling's face was hot all over, and he didn’t need a mirror to know he was blushing bright red. “Do you feel okay, Lin Ling?” “This is who you chose to cheat on me with?” They both said it simultaneously. Nice whipped his head in outrage at Moon held up her head while she looked back at her phone, clearly losing all interest in the conversation. “Save it, I don’t care, because!” Her scowl turned into a large grin, and a pop song rang on her phone. “That means I can leave!”

Miss Juan answers the call, “Moon, what is it—”

“MISS JUAN, NICE IS CHEATING ON ME; THAT MEANS HE BROKE THE CONTRACT, RIGHT?”

Lin Ling’s eyes widened as he desperately scrambled out of the stream of water. “Wait! No! We’re not like that!” He tries following, but with her quick strides and Nice pulling him back on the bed, soaking wet and all, he can only stare forlornly as she walks away, screaming into the phone. Or he would be if Nice didn’t put his hand over his eyes, blocking his sight.

Of course, “Nice, can you move your hand?”

Nice hums above him, as if actually considering the question at hand, “Would you continue to look at Moon if I do?” He asked, his tone playful but with a sharper edge. “I mean, yeah?” If she’s in the room and talking with him, what is he supposed to do? Not look at her? Nice hand tighten over his eyes. “Wrong answer!” Lin Ling groans.

“Can you at least let me go to the bathroom? I feel disgusting right now.” 

Nice sighed, as if it physically pained him to remove his hand, letting light enter back into his world. “Fine.” He brightened up again, though, as he began to haul Lin Ling back onto his feet. “Let me show you where the bathroom is! Don’t worry, you have your own toiletries and everything.” Huh, he didn’t even think of that. Stepping into the bathroom, he had to admit it was nice, the white, futuristic, minimalist decor finally working in a room’s favor.

Looking at the fancy toothbrush holder, he spots a bright yellow toothbrush, sharply contrasting with the other two paler toothbrushes beside it. Squinting, he almost rubs his eyes because no way at’s—

“Is that my toothbrush?”

Nice nods. “Mpmh! We got it in yesterday!”

“...please get out.” 

Shooing a stubborn Nice out of the bathroom, he quickly sped through his morning routine. (He grimaced slightly when he stepped out of the shower, realizing he would have to change back into his old clothes as he didn’t bring any fresh ones.)

Stepping out of the steaming bathroom, the white hung loosely around his neck; he was both half surprised and half not when Nice (who was apparently standing guard outside) lunged to his side before promptly attaching himself to him like the needy Koola that he is. He can see a few wet droplets dripping onto his white locks, but he doesn’t seem to mind, letting out a relieved sigh. “You smell good,” he mutters, digging his nose into his throat.

Before Lin Ling could even think up a reply to that comment, his stomach growled, drawing both their attention to it. Nice blinked at his stomach before promptly dissolving into a fit of laughter. It wasn’t even a polite little chuckle or even a giggle, no! It was a full-blown fit of laughter! Lin Ling could only stare in shock as the man laughed himself to tears, holding his stomach in for support.

“What—WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING ABOUT!? I DIDN’T HAVE DINNER LAST OKAY!?”

Nice held up his hand as he desperately gasped for air between laughter. After a full minute of this, Nice was finally able to pull himself together, wiping away the tears from the corner of his eye. “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I was just—” He sombered a little, pulling himself up to his full height. His arms were still wrapped around Lin Ling, but he couldn’t help but shiver slightly. “I just realized I hadn’t felt surprised in a long time.”

And if that didn’t break his heart. Hesitantly, he slowly pulled Nice into his own arms, reciprocating the hug. He can feel Nice’s body freeze, his hands around him like they didn’t know what to do. 

“I’m here.” He says simply.

Nice was quiet for a second before, like invisible strings being cut, all but melted into his hug. “Thank you.” 

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Breakfast was awkward. They sat at the long dining table, Moon on one side, Nice and him on the other end. He was trying to enjoy his breakfast, but with Nice breathing over his shoulder and Moon alternating between glaring at Nice and staring at him hard like he was some kind of puzzle to solve, the food tasted like cardboard to him. 

“So,” Moon starts, her voice cutting through the tense air like butter, “Your Nice’s boyfriend?”

Oh, thank god, a chance to fix this misunderstanding. “Actually—”

“None of your business, nosy. Also, your elbows are on the table.” Or it would be if Nice didn’t cut in, his tone colder than Lin Ling has ever heard it. Awkwardly realizing his elbows were on the table, he hastily changed his posture while Moon huffed, looking him dead in the eyes as she deliberately splashed some sauce onto his white shirt. He can see Nice’s eyes twitch, zeroing in on the stain.

“Uh-huh, anything else, your highness? Perhaps you would like me to cease breathing too, since it’s so rude and untidy.” The tension was back in the air, and it was stronger than ever. Nice rolled his eyes. “You leaving would be pretty great, actually.” He snipped back. This comment was what tipped Moon over the edge as she turned a bright red. Standing up and slamming her hands down the table, she screams, “AND WHO’S FAULT IS THAT!? I DIDN’T SIGN UP TO BE STUCK TO SOME POMPOUS, ARROGANT, ASSHOLE LIKE YOU! I—”

“Actually,” He cuts her off, slicing his Eggs Benedict perfectly in half. “You did. Deal with it.”

Holy shit. Lin Ling whipped his head towards Nice, his mouth gaping wide in horror. “Nice.” He hissed, horrified. Nice, like a liar, calmly turned to Lin Ling, his face the picture-perfect face of innocence that screamed, ‘I did nothing wrong ever in my life.’ “Yes?” His voice honey-sweet. Before he can tell him off for that line, because honestly, what the fuck was that!? The doors burst open, and out came Miss Juan, surrounded by the men in black suits. 

Miss Juan took the chance to survey the room before nodding. “Good, you’re all here. We can get down to business then.” Pulling out her tablet, she continues, “Since Nice is little, you two have been trending on FOMO, so that means we have to capitalize on it!”

Moon's eyes widen in horror as Nice tenses, his hands tightening over Lin Ling’s. “No…you have to be kidding me.”

The shark-like grin on Miss Juan's face tells everyone that no, she isn’t kidding.

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Wreck has been doing great.

His apartment was littered with beer cans; he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed most days, and his phone has been glued to his hands 24/7 for even the slightest chance that Miss Juan or, heaven forbid, Nice himself, finally picks up theirs and answers all his texts and emails. (Most of them came at 3 am when he was drunk off his ass and desperate.)

When he was 22, freshly graduated with a performing arts degree in hand, and his best friend at his side. He thought they could take on the world together. Ha, what a joke. The minute Nice got popular, they tore Wreck from his side and tossed him away like he was just another piece of trash on the street. It’s not like he didn’t massively help contribute to Nice’s popularity or anything, he thought angrily to himself, rewinding the latest video of True Love’s Recipe.

It’s been months of Wreck sitting on his ass in his filthy apartment. (If Nice were still here, he would have wrinkled his nose before he smiled that smile that promised him hell if he didn’t clean up right this second. He would always help.) He was going stir crazy, and nothing helped. Running doesn’t help him (Nice would always complain, but he’d follow him during his route regardless), and none of the recent media has caught his eye (Nice loved shooter games and would deny it every time).

“I can’t help it. I have fallen for you deeper and deeper every day, and it pains me that you aren’t fully mine, so will you marry me?” THUNK The empty beer can slides pathetically off the TV as it glitches, no doubt because of his powers (Nice banned horror movies because of it, even though they were his favorite.) “Yeah right.” He mocks the screen. He’s about to grab the remote to rewind the video again when he hears a ping. A text.

Lunging for the phone, his eyes shake as he opens up his phone. Please let it be Nice, please Nice, please—it was Miss Juan. He sighs, dropping his forehead onto the phone. Fuck, he thought humorlessly, of course. Shaking his head, he opens up the test to see-

“HE’S GETTING MARRIED!? TODAY!?”

There was more, but his vision was blurred. 2 months. 2 months of no contact, no nothing with no prior warning, and 2 months of worrying and sitting on his ass, and this is how he’s supposed to figure out his best friend since diapers is GETTING MARRIED!?

Suiting up and running out of his apartment all went past in a flash. Civilians were screaming as their screens started glitching and buildings began unraveling, but he didn’t care. The only thing running around his mind was Nice and how he was getting married, and he didn’t even think to text him! Even if their entire relationship was fake, doesn’t he, as Nice’s best friend, deserve to know from the man himself!?

Before he knew it, he was at the park where the ceremony was taking place. The music was loud and grating, paparazzi and fans everywhere taking pictures, and ahead of them all, under a white floral wedding arch, stood him.

“NICE!” He roared, pointing his sword at him. All sounds around him fuzzed into background noise, and his vision tunneled in on Nice. He was wearing a suit, obviously tailored to harken back to his normal hero wear. It was white, with gold lining and a flowing, white cape. Nice turned to him gracefully, as if expecting him to show up. 

“Wreck,” He greets back pleasantly, as if he didn’t ignore all his texts and calls from him for 2 months straight. “I should have known you’d crash my wedding. Just because you like Moon too doesn’t mean—” Oh no, you don’t.

In the back of his mind, he can vaguely recall a script attached to the text sent to him earlier, but he didn’t even open it up before rushing straight over here. Good. He thinks viciously as he swings his sword at Nice, rock tendrils sprouting out from the ground, splitting him and Moon up. He advances, lunging himself forward; he swings—Nice blocks it with his arm while the other comes up and tries to uppercut him. 

It was a dance—a familiar dance of sweat and blood, of bruises and cuts. He knows how the song goes; he roughs up Nice, throws out some one-liners, perhaps threatens a civilian or two, but he would always let Nice shine. Let Nice have center stage as he dances in the background, propping him up. Nice always wins. They have danced this dance a million times; they know how this goes.

But, seeing Nice standing proud and tall and happy while he’s been sinking in worry. Something snapped within. Fuck the music, fuck the dance; he wants Nice to pay.

He savors the looks of surprise on Nice’s face as he tanks the punch—his sword slicing through his shoulder. Nice grunts, looking at him with newfound caution. He backs up, his feet off the ground, ready to fly. “What are you doing?” He hissed, Wreck’s laugh. Nice throws a punch; Wreck dodges. “Me? What have you been doing!? My texts, my calls, my emails—all ignored!” Before he can respond, the sound of a portal opens. Moon jumps out, kicking him in the head. 

Moon’s saying something about lifelong regrets or whatnot. Wreck’s not listening. Because right now, right in front of him, a man walks over to Nice, concern clearly visible, and Nice smiles. It’s real. (He hasn’t seen it in years.) 

His vision goes red. 

“YOU!” 

The ground erupts, rocks ensnaring the man in a cocoon. “Lin Ling!” Nice yells. Before he can do anything, the roots take them into the skies, far above the clouds. Moon joins them. Nice, Nice, Nice, standing across from him, angry. Out of all their thousands and one fights, Nice was never angry. He feels like laughing. He feels like crying. “Let Lin Ling go, Wreck.” He says through gritted teeth. His hands are balled up into fists.

“Not before you answer my questions, Nice.” Beside him, the cocoon cracks open, revealing the man—Lin Ling, bound together. He squirms, trying to get out of his restraint. He stills, however, when Wreck points his sword at him, the blade dangerously close to his neck. Nice flinches. “Who is he!? Why haven’t you been answering my texts!? Why do you look so…so” happy? 

Nice looks away, his lips pressed to a thin line. “We can talk after this; just let Lin Ling go.” Wreck tightened his grip on his sword. He can hear Lin Ling gasp as it drew closer to his neck. Yeah, right. “And give you another chance to ignore me!? No. You are going to answer my questions here and now, or God help me, I will kill this man. Nice.”

Nice, flinched back as if he had been struck. “Don’t make me choose, Wreck.”

“WHAT!? SO BETWEEN HIM OR ME, YOU’LL CHOOSE HIM OVER ME!?”

His look gave him all the answers he needed.

Oh

He understands.

He’s been replaced. 

He laughs.

27 years. 27 years of being friends, of being the person Nice turned to for support. When his parents kicked him out, he was there. When Nice went through his depressive episode, he was there. When Nice wanted to be a hero but was too nervous to do it alone, he was there. He was always there. Ready and happy to be his backup dancer. Because all he ever wanted was for Nice to be happy, in the spotlight.

But it didn’t matter. 27 years, and it didn’t matter.

“WHAT DID I DO WRONG!?” He screamed. “WAS I NOT GOOD ENOUGH!? WHY WASN’T I GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!?”

“No! Wreck! That isn’t it!”

“THEN WHAT IS IT, HUH!? I WAS THERE FOR YOU! I TRIED SO HARD, AND YET NOTHING. NOTHING I DID OR SAID COULD MAKE YOU SMILE YET.” He swung his sword at Lin Lin. “HE COULD. WHY WAS HE THE ONE TO MAKE YOU SMILE LIKE THAT AGAIN!? WHY COULDN’T I MAKE YOU HAPPY!?

His parents were right, he realized; he couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t even keep his one friend, the one light in his life, happy. 

There were tears in his eyes, and he couldn’t see anything properly. His heart was both aching and empty, and it was all too much. With one last look at Nice, he dispelled the structures around them. Everyone screamed. Moon opened up a portal and clung to his side as everything collapsed between them. 

The last thing he saw was Nice swooping in to save Lin Ling.

And then he fell. 

[heavens-whore]

DEALER

Joel Miller x f!reader x Tommy Miller

Summary: Your dealer boyfriend Tommy asks you to meet with his business partner for a little exchange.

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVER OMG. This has been in the drafts for like a year if you can believe that. I need to thank my beautiful friend Sini (who is unfortunately not on tumblr 💔) for proofreading and encouraging and constructively criticising. I already have an idea for a second part to this so let me know if you want it ! also my ask box is open so come talk to me!!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+, DUBCON, semi-public, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, Tommy getting cucked over the phone; mention of guns, violence/blood, drugs, criminal activity in general

It was another one of those nights. Tommy had come home with a fresh, open gash on his forehead and busted lip. Your heart dropped down to your stomach the second you laid eyes on him. You immediately rushed over, inspecting the wounds with his face in your hands. He assured you it was nothing, that he was fine, but you still practically dragged him upstairs to let you patch him up.

You sat him down on the bed and stood in between his legs, inspecting every scratch on his face like you had a doctorate in medicine.

‘I hate this, Tommy… You know how much it scares me.’ He hissed in pain and winced as you dabbed some disinfectant to the gash, you mumbled an apology

‘It’s fine, sugar. I promise. I’m fine.’ He reluctantly let you clean him up, probably thinking it would shut you up, but his nonchalance always felt like a stab to the heart.

‘I mean it. You never tell me anything and you come home late with all these cuts and bruises. Of course it scares the shit out of me, what do you expect?’

Even though you didn’t say it directly, he knew what you were referring to. You’d had this conversation with him countless times before, like when you had noticed his knuckles all cut up, or the bruises he could hide under his clothes, or when you realized that he carried his gun with him wherever he went. He would just tell you the same things over and over. It wasn’t exactly his dream career, but it’s fine. It’s just business, it’s not as dangerous as you think. This is all just part of the job, it’s what pays the bills. He knew you worried about him anyway, despite how many times he told you not to. He could see that sad glint in your eyes every time he came home late at night to find you awake on the couch, and knew you had pictured the worst. He knew what it meant every time you hugged him a little tighter at the door before he left. You loved him. You needed him. 

He gently grabbed your wrists, his large hands easily encircling them. He gazed up at you with softened eyes.

‘Look at me, sugar. It’s just the job. I can handle it, you know that. I told you that a million damn times.’ He was using that tone he always uses when he wants you to calm down. And it always works. That soft, gentle whisper with the right amount of certainty and assuredness. He could’ve told you the world was ending in that tone and it would’ve been okay. ‘And I know you don’t like seein’ me hurt and all, but I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ all the time. I’m strong, I can take it.’ He said the last part with the hint of a smirk crossing his bloody lips, a subtle tease in an attempt to lighten the gloomy mood that hung in the evening air. 

‘I’m still gonna worry, Tommy.’ He noticed the quiver of your lip and the faint sheen of a tear in your eye that threatened to spill down your cheek. He sighed and pulled you into his lap. Your limbs immediately curled around him as naturally as an instinct, and his responded in kind. He stroked your back soothingly, whispering how much he loved you, how he would always come back to you and would never leave you. He squeezed your thighs, kissed your neck, the comforting whispers turned into little gasps, and the night ended with your clothes on the floor, and the two of you tangled up in each others’ bodies.

Nights like those were a common occurrence- he’d come home all bloody, you’d patch him up, then you’d hold each other until the sun rose. You weren’t afraid of him, you were afraid of what he did. You knew exactly what they would say- what did you expect? You should’ve ran for the hills the second he told you about his whole business. Naive little girl. It could only end in tears, if not much worse. You knew you should’ve ran. But you didn’t. They didn’t know what you knew. 

They hadn’t been there on the night you met, at the bar you worked at. They hadn’t seen the way he protected you from a creepy old drunk customer who wouldn’t leave you alone. They hadn’t seen his charming smile when he met your parents for the first time. The way he shook your father’s hand confidently, and hugged your mother, kissing her cheek politely as he welcomed them into your apartment. They hadn’t seen how he’d slaved all day in the kitchen, preparing a meal that would impress them. The way he wouldn’t let you lift a finger to help him, insisting that you let him handle everything so you could relax. He told them he was a contractor, that he worked for his brother. It wasn’t exactly a lie, that was his front- his “laundromat”.

You’d seen his hands balled up into fists, scars adorning his knuckles from throwing punches, but those were the same hands that brushed away your tears and held you with such tenderness whenever you needed them to. You had overheard strings of foul threats flowing so freely from his lips when he took calls in another room and hoped you were out of earshot, but those were the same lips that whispered sweet nothings to you on Sunday mornings while you were still half-asleep, curled up in his arms.

It was getting late and Tommy wasn’t home. You held out on dinner in the hopes that he might be back in time for you to eat together, but it was another one of those nights. You were standing at the sink, cleaning the small array of kitchen utensils you had used to prepare your own meal when the buzz of your cell phone cut through the silence in the house. His name lit up the screen, and you answered.

‘Hey.’

‘Hi, baby. You okay?

‘Yeah, I'm good. Just finished dinner. You on your way home?’

‘No, uh, not yet. I’m a little tied up here.’

‘Oh… Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah, no, it’s fine, sugar. don’t worry ‘bout me.’

Normally you would’ve rolled your eyes at his mantra, but his tone was hesitant. You knew he was building up to something, and you knew you wouldn’t like it.

‘Tommy, what is it?’ There was a moment of silence and he sighed audibly through the phone. 

‘I uh… I need you to make a delivery for me, honey. You think you could do that for me?’

‘A delivery?’ for a moment it didn’t register. Then the penny dropped, and you fell silent, frozen in place. 

‘I know, baby, I know. I would normally get one of the guys to do it but none of them can right now. I know it’s a lot but I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. Please, baby.’ There was shame oozing from every word. 

‘What am I delivering?’

For a moment there was more silence.

‘It’s probably better if you don’t know.’

The package was hidden in a nondescript grey shoe box, tucked into the corner of the closet, where he had directed you to look. A brown paper parcel, wrapped in layers of tape, giving no indication of its contents. The weight of it felt like a grenade in your hands. It could have been a grenade, for all you knew. You elected to carry it inside the box to avoid suspicions. The chances of anybody seeing you with it were slim, but your mind was spinning with visions of flashing blue lights and cops and handcuffs.

You stopped the car, right where Tommy had instructed you to. The place was exactly as you had imagined it- a dark alleyway, lit only by your headlights and the dull glow from a flickering streetlight nearby. Grimy exposed brick surrounded you on each side, slick with the rain that hammered down on the hood of your car. Aside from the constant drum of the downpour, it was silent, the archetypal place for an interaction like this. You picked up your phone and hit the call button on Tommy’s contact, lifting the phone to your ear. After a few moments, the dial tone stopped and his voice came through the speaker.

‘Everythin’ alright, sugar?’

You peered out at your surroundings through the teary glass of the windshield. 

‘Yeah, um.. I’m here, but I don’t see anybody.’

‘Just wait, he’ll be there soon, okay?’

‘I don’t like this, Tommy. Why does it have to happen at the set of a slasher movie?’

You heard him chuckle lightly through the phone.

‘S’just to keep you safe, darlin’. Don’t want nobody seein’ you.’

You let out an unamused laugh. Right, no witnesses. Perfect. 

A sharp knock on the fogged glass snatched your attention. You dropped the phone and a small scream escaped you. Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears as your hand, slick with sweat, moved to roll down the window. You knew immediately that this was your guy, just from looking at him. He was tall, although hunched over slightly to peer into the car, broad shoulders bending to lower him down. 

‘You Tommy’s girl?’

You stared up at him like a deer in headlights, frozen in the drivers’ seat. You nodded slightly, practically trembling with fear. He opened the passenger door and sat down in the seat beside you. 

You stared at him in silence for a moment, watching his dark brown eyes trail down from your eyes to your lips, then from your lips to your chest, then from your chest to your hips. The sides of his lips curled up into a sly smirk before his eyes met yours again. ‘I knew he was sendin’ me some presents but they ain’t normally this cute.’ You broke eye contact, weary of giving him the wrong impression as remembered what you were here for and reached into the backseat to grab the shoebox.

‘I um.. I have it.. What you want..’ You shoved it towards him, desperate for him to take it, get out of the car, and for all this to be over. His eyes fell slowly from yours to the package in your hands as you offered it to him. He took it from you, took one look at the parcel inside and nodded, seemingly satisfied with it. Then he placed it on the dashboard of the car, and turned back to face you.

‘He tell you ‘bout my payment?’

Payment? Tommy didn’t say anything about that. And shouldn’t he be paying you for the delivery? Dread was filling your stomach as he sucked in a deep breath, evidently reading your wide-eyed expression as confusion. The glint of a pistol caught your eye, the silvery metal glinting in the weak light. You gasped at the sight of it as he took it out of his pocket, and placed it in the cupholder and held his hands up, reading the virginal fear in your eyes. ‘Look, I ain’t gonna hurt you.. Don’t wanna mess up that pretty lil’ face of yours. But I ain’t leavin’ this car without some kinda deal.’ 

With shaking hands, you started to search for the phone you had dropped onto the floor beneath the driver’s seat, seeing Tommy’s name still on the screen- the call was still active. You held it to your ear.

‘Tommy w-what’s this about a payment? How much do you owe him?’

Another moment of silence. Your heartbeat was ringing so loud in your ears, you barely heard his voice coming through the speaker.

‘Just go with it, baby.’

The metallic clink of your passenger’s belt caught your attention, 

‘Tommy, h-he’s-’

‘ know, baby. Just go with it.’

His darkening eyes burned into yours. “Put him on speaker.” 

You obliged, and for the first time, you allowed your eyes to explore him. His mannerisms were like Tommy’s, as was his tall nose and intense gaze. Your thighs were pinned to each other, a guilty fire igniting in the pit of your stomach as you watched his veiny, calloused hands unbuckle his belt while he spoke into your phone, his voice low and gravelly.

‘Sent me a real pretty one, brother. Real cute.’ His voice addressed Tommy, but his deadly gaze was fixed on you.

‘Real sweet, ain’t she, Joel?’ Tommy’s words crackled through the speaker, and your heart dropped. He set you up for this.

When your eyes met back with Joel’s, he patted his lap. You knew what to do, his instructions were clear. You climbed across the centre console shakily, arranging your knees on either side of his thighs. You held yourself slightly above his lap. The thought of another man touching you in this way felt wrong, like a magnetic repulsion was holding you back from him. He rested his hands on your hips, letting out a soft sigh as his eyes roamed your body, your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs. 

‘Work of art, Tommy.” 

‘Yeah, she’s somethin’ else.’

You bit down on your lower lip hard as your heart twisted with angst and fear in your chest. Joel’s hands squeezed at the flesh of your hips, eliciting a soft gasp.

‘Relax, darlin’. I won’t bite.’ 

‘It's okay, sugar. He ain’t gonna hurt you. Promise.’

‘Course not. Your man would kill me if I did.’ You doubted he was exaggerating. With that, he pulled you down into his lap, leaving no space between you. A small whimper escaped your lips, the rough texture of his jeans teasing you through your panties. ‘This the first time you’re deliverin’ for him?’ You nodded. He raised his eyebrows, his intoxicating gaze travelling across your collarbones, down to your chest. Joel took the phone out of your hand and placed it in the cup holder, next to his gun. His hands gripped your thighs and gradually moved up under the hem of your skirt, stroking your skin. He brought his lips to your neck, his facial hair scratching against the skin. ‘Got a lot to learn ‘bout this trade.’ His rough hands travelled up to your centre, rubbing you softly through the fabric. He let out a low whistle, feeling the dampness between your legs. ‘More into me than you let on, ain’t you, darlin’?’  

A soft sigh came through the speaker of the phone, a sound you knew well. 

‘She ain’t as innocent as she looks, brother.’ A sharp pain stabbed at your chest, hearing Tommy’s voice. He’s allowing this? He isn’t infuriated by just the thought of another man’s hands all over you? Touching you in the place only his hands are allowed to go? The thought enraged you, but you only had the resources available. So you rocked your hips and let out the sweet little whimper you had been holding in, Joel’s thickening hardness beneath you caressing every nerve. He let out a small grunt too, the same grin playing on his lips as he watched your hips grind into his. 

‘That’s it. There you go, just relax. Ain’t gonna hurt you.’

His hands snaked around your waist, squeezing it as his lips met your collarbone, decorating it with his light and lustful kisses, fanning the flames that were growing between your thighs. Your head rolled back, he mumbled against your skin, ‘Gonna give you a lil’ souvenir, darlin’.’ He sucked lightly on the skin at the base of your neck, eliciting another soft noise from you. 

‘Best not be markin’ up my girl, Joel.’

‘Too damn late. She likes it, don’t you, sweetheart?’

You nodded, mumbling a soft ‘Mhm,’ loud enough that Tommy could hear, and you knew he did. His groan came through the speaker, and you could see the vision clearly. His head rolling back and resting on the back of the couch, jeans at his knees, and his hand wrapped around the base of his hard cock, but not moving it to savor his release for later. 

Joel’s thick fingers tapped your thigh, directing you to sit up. You lifted your hips, whimpering desperately at the loss of friction.

‘Don’t think I can wait much longer for this.’ He grumbled as he pushed his jeans down to his knees. You looked down to see the huge tent he was pitching beneath your lap, and his hand palming it. His lustful eyes were trained on yours, his jaw slacking as he took in your features, his voice reduced to a desperate whisper. ‘Real fuckin’ pretty.’ 

His fingers tugged at your panties and you let him pull them down, his fingers immediately returned to your heat, your jaw slacked at the sensation of them tracing your clit without the limits of the cotton. ‘Like that, huh?’

‘What you doin’ to her, brother?’

‘Just playin’ with her lil clit.’

‘You like it, sugar?’

Joel saw your mouth opening to reply to Tommy and applied more pressure, eliciting a gasp from you. 

‘I love it.’ your voice came out breathy and ragged from the pleasure as his fingers drew circles around it. 

Joel withdrew his hand from your clit and tugged his boxers down to his knees, letting his erection spring free and slap his tummy. The length of it almost reached his belly button. He wetted his lips with his tongue, his carnivorous eyes gazing up at yours. 

‘You ready for me, darlin’?’

You nodded eagerly, feeling him lining himself up for entry. He pulled your hips back down hard, and you cried out from the stretch of the intrusion and tried to squirm, but his big hands restrained you, holding you still against him. All you could do was whimper desperately, your nails carving deep crescents into his shoulders while your arousal soaked him. Joel picked up your phone and held it up to your jaw.

‘Tell him how big it is.’ His tone was commanding and dominant as his eyes watched your expression intently, watching how your features contorted in both pain and pleasure.

‘So fuckin’ big, Tommy.’

His groan rattled through the speaker of the phone

‘Bigger than mine, baby?’

Joel’s rough hands squeezed your thighs hard.

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck.’

The corners of Joel’s lips twitched up into that same cocky grin as before, his hands travelling up to your hips and pulling them against him, then pushing them back out again, urging you to move. You immediately obliged. You ground your hips slowly against him, still adjusting to his size. Little grunts of pleasure escaped him as he watched you, his jaw tense and clearly holding back.

‘C’mon, darlin’. I’ve heard you can do way better than that.’ The same pain stabbed at your chest, the thought of Tommy going into detail about your sex life to his brother filling your mind with hot, white rage. So you showed him exactly what he had heard about. Your hips moved faster, feeling every inch of his manhood reaching your depths- deeper than Tommy ever could. You let your noises grow louder, let them drip with lust and pleasure, and made sure your boyfriend could hear it through the phone- made sure he could hear the difference. 

Joel’s teeth nipped at the sensitive skin on your neck, his facial hair scratching you lightly as grunts of pleasure rumbled from his throat. He guided your hips with his hands, occasionally bucking up into you, jolting louder whimpers out of you each time his head dug even deeper.

‘Tight lil’ pussy. My brother ain’t stretchin’ you out enough? Feel like a damn virgin.’

Tommy’s voice came through the speaker at that.

‘Tight, ain’t she?’

Joel growled, his dark eyes watching as you swallowed him up over and over again. 

“Won’t be for long.”

He started to buck his hips, fucking you from below. You stopped moving, letting him use you, take what he wanted. Grunts and whimpers fell from both of your mouths, and the windows of your car became cloudier than they already were, save for a desperate handprint and a drop of condensation trailing down from it. Joel was still holding the phone to your ear, letting your noises drip through the phone. The audio was clearly enough fuel for Tommy, his heavy breathing giving you the perfect indication of what the scene was like back home.

‘Fuck, you sound so pretty, baby.’ Tommy’s voice was gravelly and soaked in desire. You gushed down below but not for him. Your eyes met Joel’s again, and you began to move, your hips meeting his half way. His head fell back against the headrest, his predatory gaze trained on you. His rough hand moved from your hip, up under your shirt and his thumb rolled over the stiff bud, before grasping your breast roughly.

‘You gonna tell him how good it feels, darlin’?’ he nudged your cheek with the phone, urging you to speak into it.

Your voice had become a trembling, whining mess. ‘Feels so fuckin’ good, Tommy. So good.’ 

‘Yeah? I fuck you better than he does?’ You nodded in response and Joel nudged your face with the phone again, silently commanding you to verbalise it.

‘Yeah, so much better.’ You heard Tommy groan in pleasure and knew you had to dig deeper to get back at him for getting you into all this. Although a part of you wanted to thank him- it really was better. “Fuck, so much deeper. So much harder.”

Joel’s hips started pumping up into you roughly, his grip on you getting tighter, possibly leaving bruises under his fingertips. You moaned as the pain blended with the pleasure he was giving you as he held the phone back to his own mouth.

‘You gonna let me fill up your girl, brother?’

‘You better fuckin’ not, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.’

Joel’s eyes burned into yours, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. You looked at him and nodded, and he immediately hit the red button on the screen, then tossed your phone to the empty driver’s seat beside you. Both of his hands gripped your hips tightly, and sweat dampened the skin of his thighs.

‘Bounce on it for me.’ You did. The car started to shake with the force of your movements. If this part of town wasn’t so empty, you’d be expecting a knock on the foggy window from a cop. ‘You gonna let me fill you up? Don’t let him scare you, he ain’t gonna lay a finger on neither of us.’

You nodded, picking up the pace of your hips to meet Joel’s quickening thrusts. His tip kissed your cervix over and over and you cried out from the sensation. He snaked his strong arms around your waist and pulled you closer so your chest was flush against his. 

‘You want that? You wanna go home to my brother with it all leakin’ out of you? Bet he’d hate that.’

You nodded, your eyes were locked onto his and you could feel that flame in your stomach turning blue. You whispered, your voice dripping with lust.

‘Wanna piss him off real bad.’

Joel’s teeth gritted as his cock twitched inside you, and with a few more thrusts he erupted, painting your insides white with his release. You fell apart at the same moment, gushing around him with loud whimpers. The force of the orgasm wracked through your body and shook you to your core. He didn’t give you much time to recover before he tapped your thigh, silently commanding you to pull off him. With your body still trembling from the force of your release, you moved back to the driver’s seat and watched him as he tucked himself back into his jeans and buckled his belt. 

‘Pleasure doin’ business with you, sweetheart.’

He picked up his pistol out of the cup holder and tucked it back into his pocket before taking the box and turning to open the door. But your mind weighed heavily with the exchange, so you stopped him.

‘Wait..’ Joel turned to face you, an impatient expression written on his features. ‘..What did I just deliver?’ He stared at you for a moment, not following. ‘The package..?’ He looked down at the box in his hands for a moment before offering it to you.

‘Open it.’

Cautiously, you reached out and took it from him. With slow hands you opened it and started to tear the brown paper wrapping off the parcel, and were met with another paper package inside. But this one was white and blue, with bold letters sprawled across it, spelling out the word “sugar”. Your brows knit together in confusion as you picked it up. 

‘…The fuck is this? Coke?’

You held it up to let Joel see what was wrapped up beneath the paper. He shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Says it’s sugar.’

You stared dumbfounded at the small white bag in your hand. It obviously wasn’t the white powder you thought they sold. And what, Joel couldn’t buy his own groceries? The same vile dread filled your stomach when you concluded that the sugar was just a prop. There was no delivery- your body was the exchange. Joel’s eyes clearly read the realisation on your face and his lips curled up into a smug smirk as he placed a cigarette between them and opened the passenger door, stepping out into the rain.

‘See ya round, sweetheart’