#i will never stop thinking about how much of this we don’t know about

[abedmajeed]

Who I Am & Why I’m Here 💙

✅️ Vetted by @gazavetters {537} ✅️

Hey everyone, my name is Abdelmajed. I don’t usually talk much about myself, but today, I want to share a little piece of my story.

I was born and raised in Gaza, a place that has always been my home 🏡. I grew up surrounded by my family, my friends, and the streets that I knew like the back of my hand. Life wasn’t always easy, but we had love, laughter, and dreams. I used to think that no matter what happened, home would always be here. But life has a way of changing things in ways we never expect.

Over the past months, everything I once knew has disappeared. The streets that were once filled with children playing are now silent. The houses that held so many memories are now just rubble. And the people I loved—some of them are gone forever. 💔

But I don’t want this to just be a story of loss. I want it to be a story of hope. No matter how much has changed, I refuse to stop believing in better days. I refuse to stop dreaming of a future where I can rebuild, where I can find peace, where I can wake up in the morning without fear.

That’s why I’m here. To share my journey. To connect with people who believe in kindness and humanity. To remind myself—and anyone reading this—that even in the darkest times, there is still light. ✨

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I’d love to get to know you too. Tell me something about yourself in the comments. Let’s build something positive together. 💬💙

✅️ Vetted by @gazavetters {537} ✅️

[cavillscurls]

inescapable

clint “freaky tales” x f!reader

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him.

warnings/tags: MDNI. DARK CONTENT. dubious consent, and finely toeing the line of past non-con. stockholm syndrome. implied that reader was given to clint as a debt. clint is a hit man. explicit smut. unprotected piv. breeding/breeding kink. man-handling. choking. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. dacryphilia. pet names (baby, sweetheart, little girl, (2) princess, don’t know what came over me lol). sir kink. lots of praise despite his roughness. not beta’d and hardly proofread. wc: 1.5k

➻ a/n: we obviously know very little about this character thus far, so please, consider all of this au! i genuinely don’t know what this is! i just had the inspiration, and in these trying times, i cannot shy away from it. this is obviously much darker than what i usually write, so if that’s not your forte, no biggie. i’ll see you for the next one. <3

Time is but an allusion to you now. You’re not even quite sure when you lost track of it.

“That’s it. That’s a fucking good girl, fuck.”

Or when your predicament stopped feeling like a punishment and more like freedom. An escape from a life before, one hardly remembered, that brought nothing but pain, and struggle, and loneliness.

God, you were so lonely.

“I know. I know, baby. It’s so much.”

Even when you had it all, you had no one. Surrounded by those you called kin, meant to uphold you, protect you. But when it came down to it, you were just another pawn in the game. An asset. Something to be borrowed and bartered for the right price, or out of sheer, pathetic desperation.

They never cared for you, did they? Not really.

But he does. He wants you. He protects you. And at what cost? Pleasure that, once discovered, you couldn’t give up for the world. You would be lying if you said that, for some time, the obsession didn’t frighten you. Now, it only solidifies that freeing truth: he will never be like them. He will never let you go. You belong to him, and once you accepted it and all the privileges that came with it, you set your soul to rest.

Your brain is numb, nothing but white noise, and you tingle all over. It’s soothing. As is the weight of him—all of him, broad, and sturdy, and smothering—draped over your back and pinning you into the mattress. He’s shoved a pillow under your tummy, the perfect little angle for him to pound the tip of his cock against the deep spot that makes you see stars. His left hand pins one of yours beside your ear, threaded through the knuckles, and the other is wrapped securely around your throat, keeping your chin propped up enough that you don’t suffocate your face into the pillows.

You can’t see anything, anyways. Eyes glazed over, the luxury of air seemingly less important than the impending buildup in your belly.

You aren’t sure how many times you’ve come now—three, four? How many different ways he’s dragged your body across the too-stiff mattress, and folded it whatever way he pleases to see you squirm and leak all over him.

But this one is your favorite, you think. The heat and breadth of him, warm and everywhere all at once, the heavy sack of his balls tapping your swollen clit with every thrust. The one that makes you mindless, the one that makes you remember why this life, this new life, is so special.

“C’mon, little girl,” his gruff voice, a distant echo, finally breaks its way through the surface. It’s accompanied by a firm squeeze to your carotids, sending your eyes rolling back into your skull. “Talk to me. Tell me how you feel.”

You open your lips, but all that comes is a pool of drool and an indiscernible moan. Your thighs are shaking, and you can feel the mixture of slick, sweat, and come burning friction between your bodies.

You try once more. Long lost is the shame of how brittle or broken you sound; Clint accepts it all, and he never judges you for it.

“S-so g—ahh—f-full. M’so, so full, sir.”

His lips press into the back of your neck, and you swear you can feel them spread into a smile.

“Yeah?” he says, and it’s a little condescending. A little mean, but you don’t mind. Despite his nefarious ways and demanding job, Clint has placed you on a pedestal at the center of his universe. The way he plays you is just a reminder that there won’t be, can’t be, anyone else.

“Feel so fuckin’ full of this cock, huh, princess? Can’t even think straight.”

And you’re nodding, because he’s right. All else has lost its importance. All but the shape of him inside of you.

It hits you suddenly, a slight shift of his hips, and you’re gasping, babbling as if your life depends on it: “I’m g-gonna, I’m gonna come again. Please, p-please sir, can I-can I come?”

He places a wet, searing kiss against your jugular and loosens his grip on your neck to bury his hand in your hair. He yanks up, and your back arches off the mattress, adjusts his thighs so they’re cradling your ass and resumes his ceaseless pace.

Your feet kick desperately against the mattress, tears brimming your eyes and fingers digging into the sheets as you try to starve off an orgasm you know you’ll only see through upon his command, his permission.

“Hold on now, baby. Hold it,” he demands sternly, reaching his other hand around to palm at your tits, a squeal of ecstasy coming off your lips when he pinches one of the hardened nipples. “Just a little longer for me.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip until you taste iron, trying to focus on anything other than the tightly wound wire in your gut and the beast of a man behind you. You can’t help it, the way your slick walls start to flutter around him, dripping down to the base of his cock, and you hear him growl behind you until you’re being smothered again. He knocks the wind out of you, the entire weight of him pinning you down until the legs of the bed frame start to squeak and the headboard hits the wall.

He doesn’t hold you up, this time. Now, your noises are muffled into the pillows, and he drapes one of his calloused paws across the crown of your head, and presses his lips to your ear.

“So good, baby. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he grumbles, his words slurred and heavy. “Gonna fill you up again, yeah? As many times as it takes, right?”

It’s the same spiel every time, only now, instead of panic, the prospect of it makes your heart thrum in your chest. Your belly stir with butterflies. Something like hope, delight.

And you’re nodding again, garbling yes, sir, yes sir, into the pillows, repeating the mantra to yourself—as many times as it takes.

Until your belly swells, and you’re full of him, a piece of him.

“That’s right, that’s it, sweetheart,” he’ll tell you. “Gonna keep you nice and full of me till it takes. Keep you both forever.”

Forever. Forever. Forever. It doesn’t sound so bad now, when you weigh it in an empty head run on nothing but the scent of him. You would want for nothing. You, and whatever this piece of him would come to be, protected, loved even, by a man you are supposed to despise.

“Now,” you suddenly hear him command, and your body does the rest of the work for you. Releasing the flood of euphoria and drenching your trembling limbs in it.

He’s grunting in your ear, cock swelling, and spilling inside of you with a roar. Even when he’s finished, he’s still thrusting into you—slower now, carefully fucking every last drop of his seed inside of you.

Every last drop is precious, he’d tell you those first few times, back when you would scream and thrash in a feeble attempt to get him out of you. As if you could ever conquer a man like him, an unmovable force, austere in his pursuit of anything and everything. He always gets what he wants, and what he wants now—

“Easy. Easy, there, sweetheart.” He’s petting the side of your head, turning it for you so that your cheek is pressed into the pillow and you can gulp down mouthfuls of air. “That’s right, deep breaths. Just gonna stay like this for a little while,” he coos, and you hardly notice the stretch of him, plugged all the way up inside of you, until he wiggles his hips a bit and a residual spurt of come leaks into you. You both groan in unison.

Your eyelids grow heavy as your breaths even out; even with the overwhelming sensation of him still all around you, inside of you, you feel an odd sense of peace. Every muscle in your body was pulled taut, now utterly relaxed, satiated. He must feel you settled, because he begins to trail open-mouth kisses across your shoulder, your neck, the base of your sweaty scalp.

“Have a good feeling about this one,” he whispers, and you shudder when one of his hands squeezes between your body and the mattress, and splays firmly over your belly. “Be all swollen before you know it, princess.”

He nibbles at your earlobe, and you whimper. He chuckles rather darkly in response.

“Yeah, you like picturin’ it, don’t you?”

Maybe it’s conditioned, or self-preservation.

“Yes…. yes, sir,” you sigh.

But you can almost hear it yourself. That semblance of truth come to the surface.

You trail a shaky hand under you, finding his, and laying it atop. If you try hard enough, you can feel the phantom outline of a different body, bigger, accommodating new life.

A new life is all you’ve ever wanted.

You feel yourself slip past the threshold of slumber before you can dwell on it any longer, but for a fleeting moment, you acknowledge that truth once more.

It feels strange.

It feels like home.

[thegoblinpit]

Probably getting my ass blasted for this, but please understand: Americans are indoctrinated from birth. I’m not saying it’s a good excuse. I’m not saying it’s not possible to unlearn what we are propagandized with (I “got better”). But you asked *why* we are like this. It boils down to a few things:

1. Our education system is abysmal. Most Americans I know are just fucking dumb. The ones who are really smart were, like me, raised in fear-mongering, abusive, isolationist, victim-but-simultaneously-savior mentality environments. It is very, very, VERY hard for the average American to acknowledge that the abuse they went through in school was wrong and so was half of their poor quality education. I grew up in a cult, and breaking out, even 10 years after, is an ongoing un-learning process that is extremely painful. A lot of Americans don’t have the heart to undergo that, even if they have the wit to see it needs to be done.

2. We are media illiterate. Hell, a large percentage of us are just fully illiterate. How do you reason with people who only operate on blind faith? How do you explain complex problems and the nuance of countries they can’t comprehend to people who never, not even once in their lives, have had to use critical thinking? Brainwashing is easy when people are not taught to think, and our underfunded and heavily biased education was by design.

3. Americans are terrified. We are constantly inundated with absurd “news” and made to feel helpless. People with a caved in roof have a hard time thinking about their neighbor’s yard. Rampant individualism conditions us to believe that our suffering is our own moral failure, so many Americans project that onto other countries. Eg, “if Spain and Italy can’t figure their differences out, the fuck do I care? They’re weak and dumb if they can’t do it themselves.” (This is ONLY an example, please don’t jump me. I don’t agree with isolationism).

4. Tbh, the common folk are not intended to be informed. Informed people care about other countries. Informed people care about what oligarchs do. Poverty is such a pervasive threat, and 50+ hour work weeks so demanding, and media so bought and paid for, that the average person in the US is clinging to the proverbial driftwood of “taking care of me and mine” out at sea, that becoming informed is never going to be a priority. That’s the way our elites want it.

Once again, I’m not defending USAmericans. I’m fucking embarrassed to be one. It’s absolutely mortifying to meet someone (online or irl) from another country and them know I’m from the laughing stock of the world. But as someone who always asked, “why?” (and was abused for it) in a cult growing up, and then figured out for my own damn self that what was going on around me was evil, I can empathize. To be an American is to be extremely lonely, extremely afraid, and extremely angry, desperate for a scapegoat. Not everyone is introspective enough to break out. Not everyone can bear to see their perception of the world turn to ash in their hands, and then be called an arsonist by their closest loved ones.

But I hope that more Americans find that strength and learn to bear that pain, because the world fucking matters. It’s so much bigger than we can ever understand, and I hope that USAmericans stop fearing being small.

[littelovelunette]

Ok PLEASE hear me out but Sevika x reader where Sevika does something really fucked up but she doesn't realize how bad it was and thinks reader is just ignoring her because she's being dramatic and bcs they're both stubborn they don't talk for weeks until Sevika is sick of it and rants to Ran probably and she tells sev like "dude.. you fucked up bad bro" and since Sevika is just so desperate for r's attention she does the most dramatic apology every with flowers, all of r's fav stuff, probably even a hose Ran insisted on holding to make it look like she's in the rain (r notices and says hi to Ran) but um yk if you'd like ofc

Messy But She Tries

Contains angst

Toxic!Sevika x Fem!Reader

The night Sevika betrayed you was the night she proved she didn’t trust you.

It had started with an accusation—one she hadn’t even given you the dignity of hearing first.

Instead, you had walked into The Last Drop to find her sitting at a corner table, drink in hand, watching you like a predator waiting for you to step into the trap.

Her grey eyes had that cold, assessing gleam, the one she used when she was deciding whether or not to throw a punch.

“You got something you want to tell me?” she asked, low and even, but something in her tone made the hair on your arms rise.

“What?” you frowned, stepping closer.

She exhaled, shaking her head like she was disappointed.

“Word is, you’ve been talking to the wrong people. Piltover types. Enforcers.”

You froze. “What?”

Sevika leaned forward, flexing the fingers of her mechanical arm. “Funny, right? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn you weren’t that fucking stupid. But here we are.”

Your stomach turned. “You think I’d—”

“I think you’re gonna tell me the truth before I have to make you.”

And that was the moment. The moment you realized she had already made up her mind.

She wasn’t asking. She wasn’t looking for clarity. She had set a test, and in her mind, you had already failed.

It didn’t matter that you had never even looked at an Enforcer, let alone spoken to one. It didn’t matter that you had stayed at her side, through every close call, every late night, every fucking wound you’d patched up after her fights.

None of it mattered.

“Wow,” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. It was hollow. Bitter. “So this is what you think of me?”

Sevika didn’t flinch. “I think I need to be careful about who I trust.”

You clenched your jaw. You could see it in her face—the way she was already shutting down, closing herself off like this was just another job.

Another problem she had to eliminate.

“Then don’t,” you said, your voice quiet. “If you think so little of me, don’t trust me. But just so you know, you can take all those allegations of me, stick them up where the sun don't shine. I am done.”

For a second, just a second, you thought she might say something else. That she might take it back. But instead, she picked up her drink and took another slow sip, watching you over the rim.

Cold. Detached. Like she didn’t care.

Like you didn’t matter.

You walked out.

And she let you.

The first few days were the worst.

You kept expecting her to show up. To stop by your place, lean in the doorway with that cocky smirk, and say something half-assed that wasn’t quite an apology but was close enough to mean she wanted things to be okay.

But she never came.

You used to complain about how she smelled like cigar smoke and metal, how her body heat was too much sometimes—but now?

Now the bed felt too big. Too empty.

And she?

She was fine.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered under her breath, slamming her glass onto the bar.

“You’re in a mood tonight,” Ran drawled from her spot beside her. She leaned back, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Let me guess. This have anything to do with that poor girl you ran off a few weeks ago?”

Sevika exhaled sharply through her nose. “Not talking about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Ran took a slow sip of her drink. “Funny, ‘cause you sure as hell won’t shut up about not talking about it.”

Sevika shot her a glare, but Ran just grinned.

"Look, I'm sick of ignoring her," Sevika finally admitted, rolling her drink between her fingers. “But I’m not crawling back, either.”

Ran snorted. “Dumbass, that’s exactly what you need to do.”

Sevika scowled.

“You accused her of snitching,” Ran reminded her, as if she needed the fucking recap.

“Your GIRLFRIEND! The one who’s had your back since day one. And then, instead of fixing it, you let her walk away. So yeah, sweetheart, if you want her back, you ARE crawling. And you’re gonna do it big.”

Sevika groaned, rubbing her face. “I don’t do ‘big gestures.’”

Ran leaned in, smirking. “Then I guess you won't get her back.”

“…What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Ran grinned. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.”

When you heard the doorbell ring, you hadn't expected to see Sevika standing on the other side of the door. But you didn't open the door. Instead, you asked from the other side.

“What do you want?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest.

“Open the door,” Sevika said, voice calculated and calm.

“Can you just fuck off already?” you hissed venomously.

“Not unless you hear me out,” Sevika said, her voice now had an undertone of plea, you could hear that she was genuine so you reluctantly opened the door.

You froze when you saw Sevika holding a fat bouquet of your favourite flowers, they looked so fresh and almost heavenly.

“I'm sorry?” Sevika held up the bouquet alongside a huge box of your favourite chocolates, a few shopping bags were dangling from her wrist.

The biggest grin broke on your lips, you giggled, “This is all for me?”

“Mhm,” Sevika gave you the bouquet which you took a whiff of.

“Fresh,” you smiled up at her, “Thank you,” you said shyly before you frowned a little seeing the sprinkles of water as if it was raining.

You squinted over Sevika's shoulder seeing Ran standing in a distance, she was holding a hose of water towards the sky. Ran waved.

You laughed softly, waving back.

“Does that mean I'm forgiven?” Sevika grumbled.

“Of course,” you hugged her which she gladly returned.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 28 - the final countdown

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, fluff

listen to wildflower by 5sos for this chapter!

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the final countdown to the grammys had officially begun. the entire city buzzed with anticipation, and so did you.

a week ago, you weren’t sure where you stood with him. now? now you were spending every day together, waking up next to each other soaking in the last moments before the chaos of the awards.

"morning, rockstar," you murmured, rolling over to face him.

he groaned, burying his face into your neck. "too early for that."

you laughed, running your fingers through his messy hair. "you’re going to be a grammy-winning rockstar soon. better get used to it."

rafe peeked up at you, a sleepy smirk playing on his lips. "you think i'll win?"

"i know you will," you said confidently.

"well then i have you to thank if we do win." he smiled at you. "you're the whole reason flatline came about in the first place."

you smiled, rolling onto your side to face him fully. "oh, so now you’re admitting i’m your muse?"

rafe chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow. "i never denied it." his fingers traced lazy circles against your hip. "you were always the reason behind the music. still are."

your heart fluttered at his words.

you swallowed. "how are you feeling about it all? the awards, the pressure?"

he exhaled deeply, running a hand over your arms. "it's a lot. i mean, we’ve played arenas, done the whole tour thing, but this? this is different. the boys can't believe it either." he met your gaze, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes. "feels like the whole world’s watching."

you reached out, threading your fingers through his. "they are. and they love you."

his lips twitched into a small smile. "not as much as i love you."

your breath caught at his words. it wasn’t the first time he’d said it since you’d let him back in, but every time, it felt just as intense, like he meant it more with each passing second.

you squeezed his hand, your voice softer now. “i love you too, rafe.”

his expression softened, relief, adoration, maybe even a little disbelief. he pulled you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “say it again.”

you smiled, brushing your fingers against his jaw. “i love you.”

he exhaled. “god, i missed hearing you say that.”

you cupped his face, tilting his chin so he had no choice but to look at you. “then don’t give me a reason to stop.”

his grip on you tightened, his voice a quiet promise. “never again.”

for a while, you just lay there, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten.

rafe’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he groaned, reluctantly reaching for it. one glance at the screen and he let out a dramatic sigh. “press junket. label’s breathing down our necks.”

you laughed, nudging him. “well, go. win them over.”

he smirked, rolling onto his back, dragging you on top of him. “i'd rather stay here and win you over. again.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “you already have.”

his hands trailed down your sides. “yeah?”

you leaned down, kissing him again. “yeah.”

"okay" he signed, slowly getting up. "i'll see you after?"

"i'll be here."

"good" he grinned, "see you soon baby."

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a/n: lord this chapter took ME LONGGGG anyway i can't believe this story is almost coming to an end i'm gonna sob

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl@4urvalidation@chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu @babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers @darlingstarkey @sassyvillaintrophy  @pogueprincesa @stylestarkey@sodapopwaldor @jjasmiineee @littlefreak-liz @therealfairybatman @leotapes

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

|| smut MDNI 18+, pinv, no outbreak, talk of infertility, not cheating but def not exactly kosher, baby makin', breeding kink, dirty talk, size kink, boundaries being crossed || notes: forgive me father for I have sinned. this is filthy. but also thinking about a part 2. kinda sorta maybe inspired by some crazy reddit stories. you'd be surprised how many there are like this LOL

You knew this was a crazy idea. Batshit crazy, actually. You were aware. But maybe, just maybe, if you spun it the right way, if you framed it with enough love and logic, it wouldn’t seem so absurd.

See, the thing is, you and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. Trying and, well, failing. It wasn’t until your last visit to the OB-GYN that a simple question—"Has Tommy ever been tested?"—sent everything spiraling. A few weeks of waiting. A single piece of paper. An answer you never expected. It wasn’t you. It was him.

Not that you’d ever blame him. You loved him too much. But no matter how many old wives’ tricks you tried—holding your legs up after he emptied himself into you, orgasms before and after, cinnamon and honey in your morning tea—nothing could change the fact that no amount of effort would make it stick.

Which brings you to now. Sat at the kitchen table in your quaint, cozy home with Joel across from you, a few glasses of wine deep. His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mildly entertained from whatever dumb story Tommy had been telling. You’d needed a glass yourself, just to steady your nerves.

And then Tommy popped the question.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise—somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh—to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

“You…” he started, then stopped. Shook his head. “You want me to—?”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. Just motioned vaguely, like the words were so ridiculous they refused to come out of his mouth.

Tommy sighed, his grip firm around your hand while the other wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah.”

Joel exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two of you, like maybe, just maybe, this was a joke. That you'd all start laughing and point at him with a big 'got ya!'. His lips parted slightly, his forehead creased.

“You’re serious.”

“We wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Tommy said, voice steady.

Joel let out a breathy laugh, hollow and disbelieving. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palms against the table, fingers splaying out like he needed to brace himself.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.”

“We know.”

“Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.”

“This ain’t easy for either of us,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the tension winding between the three of you. “But we wouldn’t ask anyone else. We want to keep it in the family, so…the baby would still be related to me.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

He looked over in your direction, but not directly at you, just at the table. At your hand in Tommy’s.

“And you’re…okay with this?” His voice was different now. Lower. Measured, like he was afraid of the answer.

You nodded. “We’ve talked about it. A lot. Ever since the results came back, we’ve been weighing options, and this—” You hesitated, swallowing, trying to gauge if he was even absorbing a single word. “It makes the most sense. More than adopting. More than a stranger. It keeps things in the family.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his ears tinged pink. He still wasn’t looking at you.

Not until you said his name. Soft. Careful.

His eyes flicked to yours, just for a second. Just long enough for you to see everything—the disbelief, the sheer what the fuck of it all—before he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you said gently, exhaling softly. “Just… take some time to think about it.”

Joel didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he left—no joke, no small talk of the next Sunday night football game could cut through the weight pressing down on the room. Just a stiff nod, a muttered see ya, and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

The following Sunday, it almost felt like the conversation had never happened.

The three of you sat at the sports bar, watching the Cowboys play on the massive screens, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food. Tommy was his usual self, shouting at the refs, leaning into Joel’s shoulder every time the score tipped in their favor. Joel, on the other hand, was harder to read. He was relaxed enough, beer in hand, his usual dry remarks slipping out here and there, but there was something quieter beneath it all—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Not one mention of a baby. Not a single word about what you’d asked of him.

And maybe that was his answer.

When your husband got up, throwing out the excuse of takin’ a leak, the energy between you and Joel shifted. Not in a way you could name—just… thicker. More noticeable.

He sat a seat away, the empty barstool between you like a buffer neither of you had the nerve to close.

You tried to let it roll off your shoulders, but as you sat there, your mind wandered. What if Joel had said yes? What if it worked? Would the baby have his dark eyes, that heavy, thoughtful brow? Would they get that serious little crease between their eyes when they were thinking? His thick hair, his strong hands?

Tommy would still be their father. That was what mattered. That was the whole point. But the idea of seeing traces of Joel—subtle things, the shape of a nose, the curve of a smile…

The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

It hurt, his lack of an answer, of course it did. But how could you blame him? You were asking for too much. Asking him to do something unnatural, something messy, something that could never be as clean and logical as you and Tommy had tried to convince yourselves it was.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as the silence stretched. “Listen, Joel—”

“I’ll do it.”

It was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Your breath caught, as you stared at him, mouth agape. The side of his face gave nothing away as he kept his eyes on the TV as you waited for some kind of smirk, some sign that he was messing with you.

But he wasn’t.

Joel kept his eyes averted, like this was the kind of thing a person could say without looking someone in the eye. He took a long drink from his bottle, then set it down with a dull thud.

“You and Tommy deserve this,” he murmured, rolling the glass between his palms as he stared down at it. “To have a kid.”

Your heart constricted at the sincerity in his voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My life is better ‘cause of Sarah. Don’t think I ever told Tommy that outright, but… it is. I’d love to see him get to have that too.”

You blinked. “Are you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You serious?”

Joel turned to you finally, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since last week before you dropped the bomb on him, “Yeah.” he said finally, “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He was clearly uncomfortable, clearly still working through it—but the fact that he said it at all, that he meant it... that was more than you expected.

To be honest, you knew the baster idea wouldn’t work.

Not that you’d ever say it out loud. Not to your very loving, very kind, very hopeful husband. But deep down, you were pretty sure that by the time Joel had taken care of himself, transferred it into a container, driven it over, and you’d sat back on the bed with your legs up, whatever needed to be alive in there was long dead.

You didn’t bring it up. Couldn’t. Not when Tommy was trying so hard to make this work.

Across from you in the kitchen one morning, another negative pregnancy test sitting between you, your husband sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before reaching for his mug, “If I ask you somethin’,” he murmured, voice low, hesitant, “will you tell me the truth?”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Of course, baby.”

His hand rested on the granite, fingers close enough that you reached out, tracing them lightly with your own. His eyes drifted down to your delicate touch against him.

Then, he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should try…” His fingers twitched under yours. “Ya know. The old-fashioned way?”

For a second, the words didn’t land.

Not until you saw the way his eyes found yours and he was looking at you—serious, thoughtful, like he’d been turning it over in his head for longer than he wanted to admit.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed, pressing his lips together before setting his coffee down. “I just think… for it to stick properly, we might need to try somethin’ more… natural.”

Your mind reeled. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin before you could stop it.

The idea of being with another man…

Tommy saw it. The way your lips parted, the way your breath caught just slightly.

He stepped closer, smoothing his hands over your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his.

“Only if you were comfortable with it,” he assured, voice gentle, steady. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ you didn’t wanna do.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process. “I—I don’t know, Tommy.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “And Joel would flip out if we asked that of him.”

Tommy hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Yeah, he might.”

Might was an understatement.

Joel was over the following day to help with your bathroom remodel, a project the brothers had taken on during the slow season. You were busy finishing whatever odds and ends you needed to get done upstairs when you heard his voice traveling through the house.

Not just his voice—but the volume of it.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

The sound rattled through the house, shaking the walls as you hovered at the top of the stairs, heart pounding.

“Joel—” Tommy’s voice, calm but firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to ‘Joel’ me right now, Tommy, because what you just said—what you just— Christ.” There was the distinct sound of something slamming—a fist on the table? A chair shoved back? You weren’t sure, but it made you wince.

“Look, man, I knew you’d be pissed,” Tommy started, only to be cut off immediately.

“Oh, did you?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You knew I’d be pissed, but you went ahead and asked anyway? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m already crossin’ so many lines with what we’re doin’, and now you’re askin’ me to…to—!?”

You could picture it perfectly—Joel pacing the length of the room, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, winding up, because when Joel was really mad, he didn’t just stand there.

“You’re makin’ it a bigger deal than it is,” Tommy tried, tone even.

Joel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand the part where you just asked me to fuck your wife?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“We ain’t askin’ that, Jesus, Joel, don’t talk about her like—”

“You are absolutely askin’ that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it ain’t!”

Silence. Heavy, tense.

You swallowed hard, gripping the banister, unsure whether to go down there or stay put.

Then—Joel’s voice, lower now, but still laced with disbelief.

“Tell me you didn’t really think I’d say yes to this.”

And Tommy, just as steady as ever:

“I think you wanna say no.” A pause, and you could almost feel the shift in the air between them. “But deep down? I think you’re already considerin’ it.”

Joel let out a slow, sharp exhale, but he didn’t argue.

And a week later, he was back at your doorstep.

There were three rules.

1. No kissing.

That was the hard line, the non-negotiable. Kissing was too intimate— too personal, too close to something else entirely. You could rationalize everything else, strip it down to the mechanics of what needed to happen, but kissing blurred the lines. That made it mean something. And this couldn’t mean anything.

2. No talking about it outside the bedroom. 

No slipping up over dinner, no awkward mentions in passing, no weird jokes over a few beers. It had to stay contained. A thing that only existed in a room with the door closed and the world shut out. Because once it bled into the rest of your life—once it became something you acknowledged beyond those four walls—it would become real.

3. No names

No whispered Joel in the dark, he couldn’t say yours while he was inside you. Names had weight. Names had meaning. And the second you said them, it stopped being about a baby.

So when your ovulation window came within the next few days, you found yourself in your bedroom with the two brothers. When Tommy excused himself from the room—pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out to meet his buddies at the bar like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing in the world— you turned to Joel

Over the years, you’d come to know him, grown comfortable with him. That familiarity should’ve helped, should’ve made this easier. But sitting here now, alone in the bedroom with him, awkward was an understatement.

Joel sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his brows as he stood at the edge of the bed. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

You nodded numbly, tucking your legs beneath you on the bedspread, looking up at him.

He was already tense, broad shoulders squared, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t even in the damn room. He exhaled sharply, then—without ceremony—unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal sent a strange ripple through your stomach, but you forced yourself to focus, watching as he shucked his jeans down to his thighs, taking his boxers with them.

Your breath caught.

Even soft as he was at the moment, he was bigger than Tommy. Thicker.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his stance, one hand bracing against the bedpost while the other wrapped around himself. He wasn’t looking at you. Not even close. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere off to the side, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he started moving his hand.

It wasn’t working.

Minutes passed, the air between you thick and suffocating, but he remained… soft. The tension in his face deepened, brows knitting, his motions growing stilted.

You chewed your lip, watching as his frustration mounted.

“You don’t gotta sit there starin’ at me,” he muttered, voice gruff, like this was somehow your fault.

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m just… tryin’ to think how I can help.”

His hand stilled. “You’re fine. Just–just give me a minute,”

Then suddenly as the idea struck, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes going wide. “What’re you doin’?” His voice was sharp, edged in something that sounded suspiciously close to panic.

You hesitated. “Just… thought maybe it’d help.”

“Well, don’t.” His ears were red. “Keep your damn clothes on.”

You huffed. “Jesus, it’s just a shirt.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but let it go, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Another beat of silence, only the sound of skin on skin filling the air as he fisted himself.

“Can I help?”

His gaze flicked to yours, skeptical. “Help how?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Joel tensed. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“A valid one,” you shot back, tilting your head. “C’mon, there’s gotta be somethin’. What do you like?”

He hesitated, shifting where he stood, uncomfortable. You rattled off a few suggestions, some kinks you’d heard of. He barely reacted.

Then finally, one seemed to slap him upside the head, “Do you like dirty talk?”

His entire body stilled.

His eyes finally, finally found yours.

Bingo.

A slow pulse of heat curled low in your stomach.

You leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “What kind of things do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you, the tension in his jaw loosening, his pupils starting to widen.

“Come on, Joel,” you said, then immediately pressed your lips together, realizing you’d already broken one of your own rules—not even five minutes in.

“Sorry—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “But c’mon, do you want me to talk to you? Or what do you usually say to women?”

Joel’s eyes were suddenly burning into you, his chest rising and falling just a little heavier now. He exhaled sharply, remembering himself as his gaze flickered around the room like he wasn’t sure where to land it, like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would stay clinical—mechanical.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, voice rough. “Usually will tell ‘em they’re bein’ real good for me,” he said, exhaling through his teeth. “Bein’ a good girl.”

The temperature of the room shifted, the air growing heavy, pressing down on you. A slow, pooling ache pulsed low in your belly. His nostrils flared as his eyes found yours again, like maybe he could see exactly what that did to you.

You swallowed, “What else?”

Joel’s hips twitched. He hesitated, his grip flexing around himself, fingers curling just slightly. You caught the bob of his throat, the faint shift of his stance. He was getting there.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Tell ‘em how pretty they look on their knees.” His voice had taken on a new weight—thicker, heavier, his drawl rolling low in his throat. “How sweet they sound when they moan for me. How bad I wanna feel ‘em wrapped around me, drippin’ and ready, beggin’ for more.”

The room contracted, the air impossibly tight, each breath harder to pull in. Your skin felt hot, your lips parting as you fought to keep your breathing steady. And you knew—knew—your pupils were wide, knew your face was flushed.

Because his was too.

His eyes had darkened, locked on yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. You inhaled deeply, the air between you charged, electric. You reached out, fingers grazing along his forearm. He tensed, muscles flexing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“You wanna take this off?” you murmured, voice quiet but sure, fingers tracing up toward the sleeve of his shirt.

Joel let out a slow breath, something flickering behind his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but then, after a beat, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Your gaze raked over him.

Christ. He was the epitome of masculinity—broad and solid, built like something carved from rough earth, from long years of labor and hardship. His chest was strong, lined with thick, dark hair that tapered down his stomach in a steady trail, leading lower—disappearing into the patch just above where he was hardening in his hand. 

Your mouth was dry, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum in your veins.

You lifted your hands to the hem of your own shirt, pausing just slightly. He hadn’t looked away.

“Okay?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed, gaze dark, unreadable—but after a second, he nodded.

You pulled it over your head, the fabric slipping away, baring more skin than you’d ever thought he’d see.

Joel exhaled sharply, his eyes dragging down your body, heavy and slow, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes. Your nipples pebbled in the open air, a shiver running through you as his gaze settled there, his breath hitching just slightly.

You reached for him again, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his chest, dipping over the planes of his stomach. He was warm beneath your touch and he smelled like pine and musk and something richer, something leathered and sun-baked—something distinctly Joel.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “O—okay,” he exhaled, voice rough. “I think I’m… good,” he added shakily, and you could see his body finally catching up to the filth rolling off his tongue, the thick weight of him fully hard now. You swallowed dryly at the sheer size of him in his palm.

Standing slowly, your hands dropped from his body, but your eyes never left his as you slid your pants down your hips and let them pool at your feet.

Bare. You were both bare.

Your gaze dragged over him, from the broad stretch of his shoulders down to his stomach, the solid cut of his thighs, his cock standing thick and heavy between you. It was the most you’d ever seen of him. The most he’d ever seen of you.

And he was beautiful.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tight as his gaze traveled over every inch of you. Then, wordlessly, you laid back down on the bedspread, opening your legs for him.

He cursed under his breath.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides before he climbed onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. His eyes darted down, locked onto the wetness pooling between your thighs, and his nostrils flared.

“All this from just a few sweet words, huh?” His voice was lower now, edged with something amused but dark, something he hadn’t meant to let slip through.

He shifted forward, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.”

Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?”

The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…”

Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?”

“No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.”

“I know, darlin’.”

You gasped as the thick head of his cock suddenly swiped through your slick arousal, and he hissed, pressing his other hand into the pillow beside your head as he leaned over you.

“Fuck—”

His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked, and something about it made your thighs squeeze around his waist, made the heat coil even tighter in your belly.

Joel lingered there, his cock sliding through your slick, slow and deliberate, teasing against your swollen clit with every pass. The thick head caught at your entrance, nudging just slightly, and a gasp broke from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing in the pillow beside your head, his body wound tight like a spring.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough, strained.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

He pressed forward, just an inch, just enough for you to feel the blunt stretch of him, and your breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “So damn wet.”

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t think—couldn’t focus on anything other than how thick he was, how different he was from Tommy. You felt like you were being split in two, but you wanted more. Every inch only made that need, that hunger, grow.

His hand lifted from his cock, skimming over your hip before settling on your thigh, holding you open.

“Gotta take it slow,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside you. “I can take it.”

His head dropped for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Something about that word, the way it left his mouth—low and full of something dangerous—made your stomach clench.

The stretch was slow, unbearable in the best way as he pushed forward even more, your body giving inch by inch, and you let out a sharp exhale as he filled you.

Joel groaned, deep and low, his fingers tightening on your thigh as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

Jesus Christ.

The weight of him inside you, the way he fit—it was overwhelming, taking up every inch of space, leaving you panting beneath him.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hips flush with yours now, his jaw tight. “You’re—shit, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist, your body working to adjust to the fullness, to the sheer size of him, and then—oh god—then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in.

You moaned, head falling back against the pillows, fingers flexing against the sheets.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening. “That’s it.”

As he began to set a steady pace, a deep thrust in, a gentle pull out, the tingling sensation you knew all too well was rising fast—too fast. It climbed up your spine, coiling tight, and your breath hitched in your throat. The sensation was familiar, so familiar, but not like this. Not from this.

Joel moved with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one stretching you full, dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you with agonizing precision. His cock was thick, heavy, unrelenting—pressing deep, pressing right, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with ease, the calloused pad brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, a touch just firm enough to make you jolt. Your whole body reacted, thighs trembling, an involuntary gasp ripping from your lips.

His breath hitched as he felt it too, and he let out a dark, pleased hum.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate drag against your skin. His thumb moved again, slick and sure, working tight little circles against you. “Now, what was it you said again?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers gripping at the sheets, at him, anything to keep yourself tethered, because the pleasure was coming in hot, hard waves now—building, climbing, making your skin flush and prickle with heat.

“I—I never—” You gasped, voice breaking, lips parting as your back arched into the feeling, as you felt your muscles tighten and clench under him.

Joel leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “C’mon, sweet girl. Use your words.”

Your hips met every thrust, dragging a moan from deep in your chest.

“I’ve never—ah!—never come like this before,” you choked out, breathless and desperate.

Joel swore under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin.

“I–”

“Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

Heat flared in your belly, your legs shaking around him, pleasure tearing through you.

Joel felt it, the way you clenched down around him, and he grinned, breath hot against your mouth as he groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck—that’s it. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your body suddenly snapped. The orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and merciless, every nerve in your body firing at once, blinding you with pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Your breath punched from your lungs as your back arched clean off the bed, thighs trembling, a cry tearing from your lips as waves of heat crashed through you.

Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him, and his mouth hovered just above yours, his breath mixing with yours, the air between you thick and electric.

He felt the way your body fluttered around him, still pulsing with the comedown of your orgasm, dragging him deeper, tighter—trapping him. His breath was heavy, coming in sharp, ragged exhales as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against yours.

His hips kept moving quick and uneven, dragging his cock in and out of your still-clenching walls. He was throbbing, thick and hot inside you, every roll of his hips sending sharp little sparks of overstimulation through your system.

That was when, after coming back to earth, you saw the way his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching whenever you squeezed around him just right. The tension in his face, the way his muscles coiled and flexed with every deliberate movement.

He was close.

You wondered…

Your breath was still shaky, voice unsteady, but you let it slip out, slow and sultry, testing the waters, “You feel so good,” you whispered.

Joel froze for a split second, a sharp breath punching from his lungs as he reeled his head back to look down at you.

"Does it feel good for you?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. “Filling me up? Making me feel so full? So good?”

Joel let out a ragged, wrecked sound, his fingers digging into your skin, gripping you like a lifeline.

And in that moment—fuck the rules.

Because this was anything but clinical now.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, letting your breath fan against his ear as you whispered, gentle, teasing.

“You gonna give me a baby, Joel?”

Joel let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace faltering. His thrusts turned rougher, sharper, his body moving on pure instinct now—chasing it.

And then he snapped.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as heat flooded you. His whole body shook, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came, thick and hot, spilling deep, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was trying to ground himself.

You gasped at the feeling, at the warmth spreading inside you, at the way his body shook above you.

Joel was panting, forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp at his hairline, his breath fanning against your lips, warm and unsteady.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Joel was still inside you, still filling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His breath was heavy, warm against your cheek as he turned his head, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, uneven waves.

“I should, uh…” His voice was hoarse, thick with something he wasn’t naming. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he sat up. “I should probably—”

You shifted slightly beneath him, still sensitive, still pulsing with the warmth of him inside you. Your thighs trembled, the ache delicious, spreading through you like slow heat.

“You can go,” you murmured, voice soft, a little sleepy. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

He hesitated as he looked down at you, your bodies still connected. 

You blinked up at him, lips curving in a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It’s said that if a woman stays lying down after, it increases the chances of conception.” You hummed, stretching slightly, body still warm and loose. “Just want to give it time to stick.”

You felt him twitch inside you, like his body had just caught up to the meaning of your words, and then he was pulling out, hissing under his breath as he eased away from you.

His heat vanished instantly, and a shiver ran through you at the sudden emptiness, the cool air replacing where he’d been pressed so solidly against you. You exhaled, tugging the covers up over yourself, shifting deeper into the mattress, letting your body sink into the afterglow.

Joel, on the other hand, was already moving, and fast.

He turned away from the bed, running a hand through his hair, reaching for his jeans like he needed them back on, needed the barrier, needed to be done with this.

“Hey,” you called softly as he stepped toward the door, one leg shoved into his pants.

He paused, turning slightly, just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

You blinked up at him sleepily, the blankets pulled up to your bare shoulders, your voice softer now. “You okay?”

Joel hesitated. Just for a second.

His hands hovered at his belt, his fingers twitching. His lips pressed together, like he was weighing his answer, like he didn’t trust whatever was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Then, he gave you a short, stiff nod. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

You hummed, unconvinced, watching the way his chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the lingering flush at his throat, the tension in his hands as he buckled his belt like he was fighting something.

“Okay,” you murmured, turning your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded, “And, Joel?”

His gaze flickered back to you, hovering, like he was bracing himself.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the blankets, warmth settling deep in your bones. “Thank you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched where they grabbed for his shirt, his throat working around something thick, something stuck. His eyes dragged over you one last time, heavy, unreadable, before he gave a single, curt nod.

“I’ll see you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Then he turned, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, he was gone.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper&Chill | psh

act 12: First time fighting with him

You knew something was wrong the second Sunghoon didn’t text you good morning.

It was a small thing—maybe even trivial—but Sunghoon, for all his nonchalant ways, never forgot. He always sent a quick, lazy “morning” with some dry joke about how he hated waking up.

But today?

Nothing.

At first, you brushed it off. Maybe he was just busy or had overslept. But when you saw him at uni, leaning against his locker, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world—without so much as glancing your way—your stomach dropped.

Your steps slowed, uncertainty creeping up your spine.

Did I do something?

You wracked your brain, trying to recall if you’d said or done anything wrong. Yesterday had been normal—laughing over dinner, his hand casually resting on your thigh under the table, him walking you home like usual.

So what changed?

You mustered the courage to approach him. “Hey, Hoon.”

He barely looked up, just giving you a flat, “Hey.”

That’s when you knew.

Something was wrong.

Your smile faltered. “Are we still hanging out later?”

A pause.

Then, without looking at you, he said, “Can’t. I’m busy.”

It was the way he said it—detached, uninterested, as if you were just some casual acquaintance instead of the person he kissed breathless just two nights ago.

Your chest tightened.

“Hoon,” you said softly, searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Another short, clipped answer.

Frustration bubbled in your chest. “Okay, obviously something’s wrong, because you’re acting weird—”

“I said nothing’s wrong, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched.

He had never used that tone with you before. Cold. Sharp. Distant.

Sunghoon didn’t yell—he didn’t have to. His indifference cut deeper than any raised voice ever could.

For the first time since you started dating, he looked at you like you were just another person in his life.

And it hurt.

“…Fine,” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I won’t force you.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, refusing to let him see the way your fingers trembled.

The next two days were pure torture.

Sunghoon wasn’t just distant—he was silent.

No texts. No calls. No stopping by your usual lunch spot.

You’d see him in passing—walking through the halls, chatting with his friends, laughing at something stupid—but every time your eyes met, he’d look right past you, like you weren’t even there.

Like you didn’t matter.

And it was driving you insane.

By the third day, you’d had enough.

You stormed up to him after class, grabbing his wrist before he could slip away.

“Okay, seriously—what is going on?”

He turned, finally looking at you, but his expression was unreadable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your blood boiled. “Hoon, don’t do that. Don’t act like I’m imagining things when you’ve been ignoring me for days.”

His jaw tightened. “Maybe I just needed space.”

Your heart squeezed. “Space? From me?”

He didn’t say anything.

And that silence—that awful, heavy silence—was somehow worse than any argument you could’ve had.

You forced yourself to take a breath. “Sunghoon, I don’t know what I did wrong, but can we please just talk? You shutting me out like this—”

“It’s not just about you, Y/N.”

The words were cold, final.

You froze.

“Not everything has to be a big, dramatic conversation.” His voice was eerily calm, but you saw the tension in his shoulders. “I just needed time to think.”

Your lips parted, but you had no idea what to say to that.

Time to think? About what?

About you? About this relationship?

Your stomach twisted. “Do you—” You hesitated, heart pounding. “Do you still want to be with me?”

For the first time since this started, Sunghoon’s mask cracked.

His brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly, as if your question had completely thrown him off.

“What?” His voice dropped, softer now.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I don’t know what I did to make you shut me out like this, but if you’re—if you’re having doubts, if you don’t want this anymore, just tell me.”

Something in his expression shifted.

Then, before you could react, his hand cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“…You really think that?” His voice was quieter now, but there was something raw beneath it. “You think I don’t want you?”

You blinked rapidly, caught off guard by the sudden change in his demeanor.

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to think, Sunghoon. You shut me out, you didn’t even tell me why, and I—” You exhaled shakily. “I hate fighting with you.”

A long pause.

Then, finally, Sunghoon sighed, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“…I got jealous.”

Your breath caught.

What?

He looked away, exhaling through his nose. “The other day. When you were laughing with that guy in class—Jaemin, or whatever his name is.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “You didn’t even notice how close he was to you.”

You stared.

That’s what this was about?

Sunghoon let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It was stupid, I know. But it pissed me off, and instead of just saying something like a normal person, I—” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I handled it like an idiot.”

Your heart ached at the guilt in his voice.

“Hoon,” you whispered. “You could’ve just told me.”

“I know.” His shoulders sagged slightly. “I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t want you.” His gaze softened. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Silence settled between you.

Then, before he could react, you punched him in the arm.

“Ow—what the hell?!”

“That’s for ignoring me for three days, dumbass!”

Sunghoon let out a pained laugh, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, okay. I probably deserved that.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Damn right, you did.”

Another pause.

Then, a little more hesitantly—

“…Are we good?”

You sighed, your frustration slowly melting into something softer. “You’re still on thin ice, Park.”

His lips quirked up. “Fair enough.”

“…But yeah. We’re good.”

Sunghoon let out a relieved breath, then—without warning—wrapped you in his arms.

You stiffened for half a second before melting into his embrace, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your hair.

Your lips twitched. “Maybe don’t ignore me for three days next time, and you won’t have to miss me.”

He groaned. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

You smirked. “Do you, though?”

“…I’ll make it up to you.”

You pulled back slightly, raising a brow. “How?”

Sunghoon smirked, leaning in.

“I have a few ideas.”

Four months in, and this was your first real, full-blown fight.

Not the petty bickering or stubborn silent treatments like before.

This was loud, heated, and ugly.

You didn’t even remember how it started. Something small—probably insignificant in hindsight—but it had spiraled so fast neither of you could stop it.

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N!” Sunghoon’s voice was sharper than you’d ever heard it, his jaw clenched as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly. “Oh, I’m ridiculous? Maybe if you actually listened to me for once, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

He let out a sharp exhale, eyes flashing with irritation. “I do listen to you, but sometimes you just blow things way out of proportion!”

You felt something snap inside you. “Oh, so now I’m just overreacting? You know what, Sunghoon? If you actually cared, you wouldn’t brush me off like I’m some dramatic idiot!”

His expression darkened. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your voice was quieter now, but cutting. “It’s obvious you think I’m just some annoying girlfriend who makes a big deal out of nothing.”

Sunghoon’s fingers curled into fists. “Do you even hear yourself right now? I put up with your mood swings, your dramatics, your constant need for attention—”

Your chest ached.

Put up with?

You felt your throat tighten, but your pride refused to let you back down. “Well, if I’m such a burden to you, maybe you should just break up with me.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flashed, his breath hitching slightly.

The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

But his face hardened.

His next words came out like a cold slap.

“Maybe I should.”

Silence.

It rang louder than your shouts ever could.

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.

Sunghoon stared at you, his own chest rising and falling sharply, as if he hadn’t meant to say it either.

For the first time since this started, you saw hurt flicker in his expression.

But instead of fixing it, instead of taking it back—

He walked away.

And you let him.

The fight left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sunghoon didn’t text. Didn’t call.

And for the first time since you started dating, he didn’t come looking for you.

You told yourself you didn’t care.

But the way your eyes kept darting to your phone? The way your chest tightened every time you passed his usual spots on campus?

You cared.

The worst part was the what-ifs.

What if he really meant it? What if he really thought you were too much? What if this was the fight that actually ended things?

Three days passed in radio silence.

By the fourth day, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You found him in the library, headphones on, eyes glued to his laptop.

The sight made your stomach twist—he looked perfectly fine. Like your fight hadn’t even happened.

Like he didn’t miss you at all.

The thought stung.

You didn’t even bother lowering your voice. “Are we just not talking now?”

Sunghoon blinked up at you, slowly pulling out his headphones.

“…What?”

You crossed your arms. “You heard me. Are we seriously just going to ignore each other forever?”

His gaze flickered to the side. “I figured you didn’t want to talk to me.”

Your fingers clenched. “Are you kidding me? You literally walked away first.”

He exhaled through his nose, shutting his laptop. “I was pissed, Y/N. You said—” He hesitated. “You said I should just break up with you.”

Your breath caught.

“…And you said maybe you should.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I meant that?”

“I don’t know, Sunghoon. Did you?”

His brows furrowed, like the idea alone irritated him. “No. I didn’t.”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“Did you?”

Your lips parted slightly, realization crashing over you. “No,” you admitted. “I didn’t.”

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand down his face. “Then why the hell did we let this go on for four days?”

You swallowed hard. “Because we’re both stupid?”

For the first time in days, his lips twitched slightly.

Then he shook his head, exhaling. “I hate fighting with you.”

Your chest ached.

“…Me too.”

Sunghoon studied you for a moment, then reached out—pulling you into his arms, right there in the middle of the library.

You stiffened for half a second before melting into his warmth, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I didn’t mean it,” he murmured against your hair. “Any of it.”

Your throat tightened. “Me neither.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, teasingly—

“You are dramatic, though.”

You pinched his side. “Shut up, Park.”

His laugh was quiet, but real. “I missed you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in.

“I missed you too.”

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever

bold can’t be tagged

hi!! will slowly but surely post parts of hyper&chill since exams are coming!! but since i miss them extra today >< i decided to post hehe enjoy!!

love lots! - rierie

[shxuga]

Whispers of the Deep III | Twisted Wonderland

Jade × Floyd Leech x Female!Reader | Pirate AU | Part I | Part II

After several encounters with the tritons, you started to believe they weren’t actually that bad. I mean, sure, they were still an imminent threat. No matter how much the scale symbolized some kind of protection, their intense stares and sharp smiles made your prey instincts scream at you to run. But, of course, you didn’t. Otherwise, you would have missed out on all the vital information they had gathered in their latest research.

"I don’t get it. Why would you think the legend of a mermaid princess who becomes human for love would be useful to our situation?" You bite off a small splinter between your teeth while feigning boredom, watching the sky—though not at all uninterested in how the moon is slowly starting to fade, a victim of the lunar cycle. You try to ignore the way Floyd tugs at your bare toes, avoiding eye contact, but it’s hard when his nails prick your skin and the cold, rough texture of the scales on his hands tickles you.

You want to laugh, scream, and kick him. All at the same time.

But since you're a rational person—and not the barbaric stereotype the naval troops made sure to spread—you simply sighed and spat out the splinter in the opposite direction.

"Don’t you think there’s something romantic about how this bond started?" Jade says, and unlike his brother, he remains in a particularly deep spot near the shore. You figured it out almost from the beginning, but Jade was definitely the more cunning and enigmatic of the two. Always smiling, always analyzing, always saying things that disturbed you and made you want to stop trying to guess his true intentions. He gave you chills.

Sometimes, you wondered how different things would have been if you had torn the scale from him instead. But, of course, Jade was always two steps ahead of everyone (or two strokes? Because, you know, it’s not like he has feet...), so even though you weren’t a complete threat when they dragged you out of your boat that night, he never stopped being cautious.

"You do realize that this 'bond' was born from an attempted murder, right?" You looked at him with all the rage your single, not-at-all-intimidating eye could contain.

And he had the audacity to laugh—like he always did when making comments designed to irritate you, as if talking to a pet.

"You’re such a silly little thing, and that’s exactly what makes you cute." …That’s what his eyes seemed to say.

You wanted to punch him.

"Oh, come on, little shrimp! We already apologized!" You pulled your foot away just in time, right before Floyd tried to bite you. He frowned and pouted, making a second attempt to grab your foot. "You keep complaining about it, but I never heard you say sorry!"

You made a face that, on another occasion, would have made Floyd laugh, but today he was determined to torment you.

"What? Don’t you remember my offering on the first day? That was basically my way of saying sorry."

Then, you snapped out of it. This conversation made no sense!

"Wait, I didn’t do anything! From the very beginning, I never intended for this to happen!"

"Yeah, yeah, no way you expected that ripping off my scale would bind us like this." Floyd pursed his lips. You didn’t like his insinuation.

"Exactly. How could you have known that tearing a scale from a mermaid or a triton would result in this?" Jade sighed, sounding far too amused for someone who supposedly pitied you. "It was just a curious coincidence that your attack actually worked because, again, you had no idea. Right?"

Damn snakes…

You made a rather unfriendly gesture for someone you had technically allied with and stormed off the shore, your heavy steps kicking up sand around you. You heard Floyd laughing and Jade reminding you not to be late for their next meeting.

One month.

A whole damn month.

It had been a whole damn month since you set foot on this island, and you still had no clue how to break the damn bond! Much less had Rosehearts made any encouraging progress on the repairs. Well, it was to be expected. You couldn't trust the word of a carpenter who could only count to ten. Ace was very skilled at fixing things, but his illiteracy always got them into trouble when it came to estimating timelines.

In any case, your research with the tritons was just as stranded as the ship. These meetings every two days were supposed to be for survival and sharing the fruits of your research—not to discuss sappy love stories or be those two's entertainment! Somehow, no one in the crew had noticed your nightly escapades for an entire month, but it was only a matter of time.

When you returned to the ship, you climbed aboard carefully, making sure to avoid anything that could reveal you had just come back.

"Where have you been going all this time?"

It was only a matter of time—you knew that. But you never thought it would be this soon. You didn’t think twice. You lunged at the shadow of the poor bastard who made the mistake of confronting you and dragged him to the bay.

"H-Hey! What the hell is your problem?!" You released Deuce when you were far enough from the ship. "Are you insane?! If the captain finds out—!"

"If the captain finds out, you’ll lose your tongue," you declared. He shut his mouth.

"How long have you known?"

"Three days…"

You stared at him.

"Did you follow me?"

"N-no…"

You unsheathed your knife.

"O-okay, fine! I’m sorry!" he exclaimed, alarmed. Then, fearing for his tongue, he quickly added, "But I always lost track of you… so I don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going…"

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. Just me."

It had been worth running circles around the shore and jungle as a precaution in case someone was following you.

"Deuce, you cannot tell anyone about this. Do you hear me?"

Deuce tilted his head, like a puppy being scolded too harshly.

"Why?"

This is what you feared. His curiosity. His damn, relentless curiosity. As much as you liked the idea of sharing your suffering with someone, you weren’t willing to risk it. The deal was to keep the secret between the three of you. You didn’t even want to think about the consequences of breaking the agreement.

"Are you… having secret meetings with a lover?" Deuce continued, completely unaware of the potential danger of this conversation.

You looked at him, exhausted. Your interactions with Jade and Floyd drained you, and having to start your day early in the morning, pretending you hadn’t spent hours sneaking from one end of the island to the other, was driving you insane. You didn’t even bother denying his words.

"Just… don’t say anything. Please."

"Alright… I promise."

Deuce might not have been the brightest guy, but he was loyal. You could only hope he wouldn’t accidentally spill your secret—or else, you’d have to feed Floyd’s insatiable appetite with something more than just trinkets and dried meat…

• • •

You were fed up.

So, so fed up!

How was it possible that every single piece of research on mermaids and mermen always ended the same way? Tragic stories of forbidden love. True love! Love that allowed the mermaid princess to obtain a pair of legs so she could walk alongside her beloved on land! Love that made the prince magically grow gills so he could explore the depths of the ocean with his mermaid! And, as the cherry on top, every legend ended with a...

"And they lived happily ever after."

It made no sense.

In the past, you would have thought it was all utter nonsense. Any sailor with half a brain knew how deceptive and dangerous mermaids were. They were predators, gifted with beauty and a hypnotic voice to lure in their prey with ease. Where did all these romantic ballads that this town dared to sing even come from?

Yeah... a month ago, you would have been completely convinced of that without a shred of doubt.

But even for someone as skeptical as you, it was impossible not to recognize the humanity in Jade and Floyd. They weren’t just beasts that killed for pleasure… They had feelings, interests, fears, and even dreams. And though you tried to keep an emotional barrier between you, it was hard to ignore how, without realizing it, you had stopped seeing them as mere threats.

Maybe it was the scale’s fault.

Or maybe not.

You had no way of knowing. Azul, with his mysterious shack and all his answers, had disappeared. Almost as if the sea had dragged him far from the shore, leaving no trace behind.

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was the scale what softened your perception of them? Was that why, little by little, you had started seeing them as almost equals? As if they were simply… people. People who exasperated you, irritated you to no end, and had fun at your expense. People who, despite everything, had now become part of your reality.

And that thought was even more terrifying than any story of mermaids devouring sailors.

"Hey, shrimpy~. Are you listening to me?"

And speaking of sailor-eating mermaids... By the time you snapped out of it, two days had passed, and night had fallen—along with your energy. At this point, you didn’t care about anything anymore. You simply let yourself collapse onto the sand near the shore and gazed at the moonless sky.

"I already told you, I didn’t discover anything important." You sighed, too tired to stop Floyd from nibbling on your toes.

"But that doesn’t mean you didn’t discover something." Jade pointed out, as perceptive as always. "With such a vague explanation, there’s no way to know if what you don’t consider important actually is for us."

You ignored him. You weren’t about to give them more reasons to mock you by telling them all those romantic fantasies. You tried to change the subject.

"How is it that I’ve been tangled up with you two for a month, and I’ve never heard you sing?"

You didn’t get an immediate response, which surprised you. You pushed yourself up from the sand, only to find two mismatched pairs of eyes staring at you in shock.

"Did I say something wrong?" You asked cautiously.

Jade blinked, and for the first time, he seemed at a loss for words.

"No, it’s just that…"

"It’s the first time you’ve shown interest in us!" Floyd squealed, splashing salty water excitedly.

Oh, shit.

Floyd continued:

"It’s always “the scale” this, “our bond” that..."

The mocking tone in his voice made you frown. You quickly retorted:

"That doesn’t mean I’m interested in you two! I just found it strange, that’s all."

Jade smirked, tilting his head with curiosity.

"Don’t be shy. If you want to hear us sing, all you have to do is ask."

You bit your lip, feeling a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cold water Floyd was still splashing around. There was something about the way he said it, the mischievous glint in his eyes...

"Go to hell. I was just asking."

But you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Why did the idea of hearing them sing make you nervous?

That night, you decided to return to the ship much earlier than usual, feeling betrayed by your own mind and heart.

True love? What nonsense...

Damn it, you were doomed. The only comfort you found was blaming it all on the scale.

The sky was still very dark when the town and the bay, where the Rosehearts was anchored, rose in the distance. You stopped dead in your tracks, stunned by the thick mass of smoke and fire engulfing much of the coastline. You started running, recognizing how an enormous, imposing ship had launched a surprise attack.

The naval guard’s flag waved proudly atop the mast, welcoming you to what seemed to be a battle just beginning.

You climbed the Rosehearts’ rigging swiftly, gripping the rope tightly, avoiding being thrown into the sea by the ship's violent jolts every time it was struck by a cannonball.

Once on deck, a bloodbath greeted you. Screams and groans. The screech of steel clashing. The splintering of wood under enemy fire. Everything was chaos.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Just as you were about to take a direct hit, the familiar scent of gunpowder and a small explosion revealed your captain, armed with his prized pistol, shooting left and right at any poor bastard unfortunate enough to cross his path.

"Hey, catch!" Mr. Trey appeared as well, tossing you one of his swords so you could join the battle.

"See?! I told you she didn’t run away!" You heard Cater shout from somewhere on the stern as he fought off three sailors at once. "You owe me ten silver coins, Acey!"

"Ah, damn it!" Ace exclaimed a few feet away, kicking several sailors overboard.

This was hardly the time for such conversations, but as always, your crew found a way to turn even a violent attack into a full-fledged circus act. You sighed, unsheathing your sword. From the other end of the ship, Deuce waved at you after stabbing someone.

There’s no place like home.

You joined the battle, fighting with everything you had. Your movements were swift, precise. But the number of enemies seemed endless; for every man you struck down, more and more invaders poured in from the enemy ship. Many had fallen, but your crew was constantly at a disadvantage. The naval guard had finally caught up with you, and they weren’t interested in peaceful arrests. They must have planned this for weeks—it was the only explanation for such a well-orchestrated attack.

A sharp blade sliced through your side, making you stagger. Another hit, this time to your leg, sent you to your knees. A burning pain spread through your body as hot blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the wood damp with seawater and gunpowder. You collapsed onto your side, the world spinning. The sounds of battle grew distant, muffled. You vaguely sensed your crewmates and captain shouting your name, but it was hard to make anything out with so much happening around you. Blood seeped through the cracks of the ship, falling into the sea.

The fire around you cast an intense glow on the scale at your neck. Feeling yourself at the brink of death, you clutched it in your fist, praying for something.

Anything.

A miracle.

And then... you felt them.

Two swift presences gliding through the waves. Something stirred in the depths—something wild and ancient. A howl tore through the night. A guttural scream, somewhere between human and beast. And the sea turned red.

Shadows emerged from the foam with inhuman fury. Jade and Floyd moved like a scarlet storm. Claws, teeth, the glint of merciless eyes. Against these unexpected reinforcements, the naval guard never stood a chance. Men fell into the water, their screams cut short. A true massacre that put all those terrifying man-eating siren legends to shame.

You weren’t sure how much time passed. Seconds, minutes, or perhaps an eternity. All you knew was that, suddenly, there was no more noise. Only the soft murmur of the waves.

Your body was slowly sinking into unconsciousness when you felt strong arms wrap around you.

It was Floyd. Your bond, your other half. Your strongest and most powerful connection.

He carried you away from the slaughter, deeper and deeper into the darkness of the sea. You wanted to protest, wanted to tell him to let go, that you couldn’t… but you were too weak. Too tired.

The cold water enveloped you like a shroud. Oxygen left your lungs. Even though this was the second time he had dragged you into the depths in a life-or-death situation, unlike the first, this time you felt no fear. His presence, his touch, his very being filled you with calm and peace.

Damn scale…

And then, in the dim light, you felt his lips. A fleeting brush at first. Then, more firm. It was as if something inside you shattered and rebuilt itself at the same time. Heat... light. The water was no longer your enemy. With a trembling exhale, you breathed. Your lungs didn’t fill with water but with something else... something ancient and miraculous.

When Floyd pulled away, his wolfish grin shone even in the ocean’s darkness. You looked at him, speechless, still processing everything that had just happened.

"I knew it," he murmured, triumphant.

True love.

The legends didn’t lie, after all.

You looked down, where the scale should have been securely tied around your neck. You went silent, realizing that the small, glowing appendage had embedded itself into your collarbone, as if it were now part of you.

You resurfaced with the dawn, a considerable distance from town, where Jade awaited you. His body was stained with blood and flesh that surely wasn’t his. Still dazed, you stepped out of the water, checking how the wounds on your leg and side had vanished like magic. A splash sounded behind you. You turned on your heels, feeling as if your body was no longer entirely your own.

And then, you saw him.

No gills, no scales, standing on two incredibly long, trembling legs—Floyd had taken human form.

You dropped to your knees, still unable to believe how so many magical events were unfolding one after another. Then, you averted your eyes, realizing that the miracle had given him legs but not… uh, something to cover himself with.

Floyd blinked, perplexed. Then, he grinned.

"Well, shrimpy… this sure is interesting."

"How curious…" Jade murmured, studying his brother’s new form with a hand on his chin. A cunning, pearly-toothed smile quickly took shape on his lips. "Do you think if I offer my scale, I’d become part of all these miracles too?"

Floyd smirked, snatching the knife you usually kept at your side with surprising agility for someone who had just discovered what it meant to have legs. He held it out to his brother with a look of complicity.

"There’s only one way to find out."

For the first time in your life, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The sea had taken many things from you, but it had also given you something new. And it had brought you back to the beginning.

Now… how the hell were you going to explain all of this to your captain?

Sorry guys, maybe the ending was a bit rushed, but I didn’t want to postpone this. For now, I’m wrapping up this story, but more are on the way! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for future stories!

Tag list:@valentinaagarcia @hellfirestarter @brights-place @chloemari-e @snow281 @kimdourden

[cheol-e-kat]

Hiii, I just wanted to start by saying that I recently found your blog and am in love! <3 <3 For your special 3-3-3 bingo I wanted to ask for bodyguard with drunk confession and brave x Scaredy cat, NSFW is praise kink with Seungcheol? Like maybe her dad hired him, they're at a gathering and something goes wrong or she's scared so he has to take her back at her parents place, where she drunk confession? But if you have any better ideas, which I think you may have seeing from your writing, then just change it, I don't mind at all! <3

I hope you have a great day and keep writing, you're so amazing at it!

first, omggg anon you're too sweet & i'm so glad you like my writing ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ weirdly i have had this banner hanging around and idk it seems like it fits your ask, soooo anyway let's see if i can come up with something you like - oh but i think i failed a little on 'scaredy cat', oops

♡ kat

bingo squares: bodyguard + drunk confession + brave x scardey cat + praise kink

Pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary:  y/n has had a bodyguard for some time - and she’s had feelings for him for almost just as long, even if he thinks she’s a brat. But what happens when he goes to a party with her and there’s gunshots?

word count:  1.4 k

genre: fake dating, bodyguard!seungcheol, forced proximity, 

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

Warnings: mentions of guns and shooting, drinking, penetrative sex, explicit language

“so how much is my dad paying you to babysit me?” y/n asked, sipping her drink.

he shrugged, “enough to put up with you,” he sipped his mineral water. 

she arched a brow, “‘put up with me’?” she asked, incredulous, “me? i’m the problem in this equation?”

he pursed his lips, as though he were giving consideration to what she had asked, “you’re…” he trailed off. 

she was ready to punch him in the arm.

he smiled, “you’re more complicated than the kinds of jobs i usually have,” he swigged his mineral water like it would give him some reprieve from the conversation.

she gave a heavy sigh, “complicated how exactly?”

he glanced at her, “you’re kidding, right? where are we right now?” he waved his hand around to demonstrate the location, “you’ve brought me along as your ‘date’ to some friend’s engagement party - never have i ever had that happen before,” he whispered, with a small smile, knowing he had gotten under your skin by pointing out the situation.

“look, if i can’t leave the house without you, why not put you to good use?” she pouted. 

“my ‘good use’ is making sure you don’t get hurt, y/n.”

he had at least stopped calling her by her family name, which had been acutely obnoxious - to her anyway. he’d been virtually living with her for eight months. to her, living with anyone for eight months, meant dispensing with formalities. 

not to mention she had seen him in his underwear. she had been up late grabbing some water and staring into her fridge, thinking about a snack, but she had been eating healthy at the time, which meant she was light on snacks. so she had gone scrounging - and she screamed when she thought she saw a mouse. 

and her screaming meant seungcheol came out of his room to check on her, wearing boxerbriefs and carrying a handgun, which was oddly sexy. 

also, she had pegged him as a ‘boxers-only’ guy. but no, she had definitely gotten a very good idea of what equipment he was packing and the mental picture of his very perky ass seared into her brain. 

she glanced at him, knowing he looked painfully good in the suit he had picked - it went along with her outfit well. 

“you could have just stayed home then, or you could have outed me to everyone here - you certainly know enough about me to make them all at least call me ‘eccentric’,” she leaned on the railing, looking out over the massive party. 

everyone was ‘someone’ or related to ‘someone’. and she was mostly just bored. if seungcheol weren’t there, she would have probably been a nuisance just for fun, reminding the groom that he had slept with half the bridesmaids. something like that anyway. 

but no, for some reason she felt like if she caused even just a tiny scene while he was there, then maybe he would get blamed, or he would go back to thinking she was childish. 

that’s what he had called her initially, a “bored, childish, rich girl” with no clue about the real world. he said it so vehemently that she had slammed her door in his face, and told him to fuck off when he tried to apologize. 

she hadn’t talked to him for a week - she would only communicate via text, even if they were in the same room and alone. which may have proved his point, but he had hurt her feelings. and maybe she had been feeling petty. 

she stole a glance at him - she liked his profile more than she should. she probably liked him more than she should, not just his profile. she liked everything about him. but she was fairly certain he still considered her a tolerable idiot, at best.

which depressed her. and required that she grab another drink from the waiter who came around. maybe several more. and when she was a bit more lubricated and still considering making some trouble, the thin thread of seungcheol approving of her maybe wasn’t quite enough to tether her to reality. 

if anything, it was almost better if she just settled for his disapproval, she reasoned, then she wasn’t chasing some fragile illusion. 

she must have been on the verge of something great though because he suddenly grabbed her and pulled her towards a door. she had no idea where they were headed - they went through offices until they hit a stairwell. she couldn’t have been doing anything so offensive that they were taking the stairs. but when she pulled out of his grip, he was quick to grab her back. 

“for once, just do what i’m asking without arguing,” he said, voice low and sharp. 

she tried to pull away, but he had her in a vice-like grip. and then she heard the sounds - gun shots. and she was frozen for a moment, but she felt the tug on her wrist. seungcheol pulling her, trying to keep her safe. she stopped to pull off her heels and then she was running with him. 

her head swam violently as they exited out into the underground car park. until he grabbed her waist and pulled her close, kissing her, backing her into a wall. she felt the rough cement against her naked shoulders, as his hands rushed to touch her and his mouth rushed equally to kiss her. she wound her fingers in his hair, pulling him close, not caring how needy and desperate she seemed. 

it took several, long minutes for him to break their kiss. he pulled away so slowly, his fingers still gingerly resting on her skin. she watched him for a moment, and she could see it - if she didn’t pull him back, he would talk himself out of it and make an even higher wall between them. 

“don’t stop, seungcheol, you don’t know how much i want you,” she whispered, voice tender and urgent. 

he stayed close, but glanced at the door they had just come through, “we need to go,” he whispered, his fingers still played gently across her skin. 

she didn’t budge. 

“y/n,” he stared, “this - we have to leave,” he stepped closer to her, pressing his body flush against hers, “let’s go home?” he asked softly.

she finally nodded, following him out to the street, walking down a few blocks before grabbing a cab. he didn’t give the driver her exact address. they took a winding way back to her house, going through the back gate and the side door. he didn’t let go of her hand, not even when they were inside, the doors locked and the alarms set. 

he kept her close. when she started to turn on the lights, he stopped her - his hand grasping hers gently and pulling it away from the light switches. 

and suddenly he was near again, pulling her close, kissing her softly, “come put me to bed?” she asked in a hurried whisper. 

he nodded, “anything you want, princess.”

she loved that they both rushed to undress one another, all just to feel skin on skin. he pushed her back gently onto the bed - his fingertips grazed gently against her thigh, as he looked at her. 

“so perfect for me,” he murmured, “so beautiful.”

she flushed brightly, reaching for him, “need you,” she pouted.

he nodded, with a smirk, “i know.”

she bit her lip softly, “we were having a moment,” she caught his hand and pulled him down roughly to join her on the bed. she moved so she straddled his hips - she pressed her hands flat on his stomach, loving his smooth skin. 

she stared at him before leaning down, she kissed him gently, “you’re perfect too, gorgeous, even,” she breathed against his lips, “you’re all i want, all i think about.”

she kissed him again, leaning forward, and reaching down between them, pumping his already hard cock, she lined it up with her dripping pussy and pressed herself back, taking him all the way in.

she moaned against his lips. she sat up slowly, adjusting to the stretch and the feeling of being so full. she rolled her hips slowly before she started riding him the way she had imagined a thousand times. 

she could hear him, the way he breathed hard and urged her own. his hands tracing over her stomach and hips, reaching up for her breasts. 

she didn’t care when they changed positions - when he was behind her, fucking into her, pulling her back towards him, she knew she was arching back towards him. and she came undone, falling back against him - his orgasm following hers - his cum filling her, dripping down her thighs. she gasped softly as they came apart. he pulled her close, falling back onto the bed. 

“please don’t leave,” she whispered into the soft darkness. 

soooo, dearest anon, i hope this is as good as you wanted it to be...it maybe got a little more serious than i meant, but oh well - here we are

♡ kat

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[the-bi-space-ace]

Call When You Need Me

Fandom: The Bad Batch

Relationship: Echo & Hunter

Words: 1,624

Summary: Echo crash lands on a planet during a mission for Rex. His first instinct is to call someone he hasn’t talked to in a while. (Warning for injury and some blood)

I yapped about Hunter and Echo in a post yesterday and now I can’t stop. This could possibly end up being a scene in a larger fic at some point down the line but for now have this angsty yet sweet little moment between these two.

Alternative summary: Echo, you idiot, call your dad!

Echo’s body ached. The last thing he remembered was the ship exiting hyperspace, engines failing, life support plummeting. Then he woke up, back pressed against metal and freezing. He tried to roll over but a yelp tore itself from his lips. When he looked down he saw the problem. a piece of metal stuck in his abdomen, legs pinned under the navigation computer. The mission had been simple, at least they thought it was. Run into the base, nab the information, steal a ship, leave.

He got caught trying to scomp into the ship.

Rex said it would be better with a small team but they were spread thin, they were always spread thin.

The world above him wobbled, vision tilting as he stared up at the ship’s side. From the angle he knew he was lying on the door.

Outside snow blew past the windows of the cockpit, pelting against the metal exterior of the ship.

Groaning, he typed a number into his comm. He didn’t even know whose number it was until a familiar voice called through the chilly air.

“About time. I was starting to think you forgot about us. How’s it going?” Hunter. Why had he called Hunter? His thoughts couldn’t stitch together quite right. Rex was on a mission, too, same planet Echo was on, but his escape would be just as narrow. Don’t deviate from the objective, Echo thought to himself. It was hard enough to escape with his life, Rex was likely long gone by now, however long he’d been out.

He tried to bury that thought before it consumed him.

“Great. Never better.” He knew his voice sounded strained, heard it echo through their open channel, but he grit his teeth to attempt to settle his breathing. The pain was starting to seep in now, the cold worming its way past his back.

It made his metal ache.

Hunter paused, thought. “You okay? It’s just me right now. We can talk.” The offer had stood every time he called, few and far between. Moments alone were rare.

“Remember the last time I was there? It smelled like,” Echo sucked in a gasp, eyes stinging. Protests raged through his gut while his lungs tried to expand. He’d really fucked up this time. “blooming flowers.”

“Wrecker pressed some from that trip. He still has them.” Shuffling on the other end, standing from a chair, the sound of Hunter’s shoes tapping against stone. He must be home.

“Tell him I kept the one he gave me.” Pressed between flimsy and tucked inside the pocket of one of his bags, strapped to his thigh at all times. Before missions he liked to touch it, just once. A reminder.

“I will. What’s going on?” Hunter’s voice had grown gruffer now, so much less calm then when he’d picked up the phone. Echo’s breath came in harsh puffs, rising like smoke through the frozen air. Vaguely, a throb made his head spin. Thick, as if the air was made of water.

“Echo?” Hunter’s voice urged. Not urgent, not calm, but something deeply in between. Something that almost settled the hot coils in his chest.

Almost.

“I’m here. Don’t hang up.” His hand felt the metal lodged in his abdomen, biting back a cry. The cold had numbed much of his body but this was a hot, searing pain, cutting through the frigidity of the planet’s winter.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Where’s Rex?” Through the comm he could hear Hunter typing, the click of keys as he typed a message. To who Echo could only guess. To Rex. To Tech. To someone. How disarming must this be? Somewhere deep down he knew it wasn’t fair to do this but the rest of him didn’t care. He wanted someone on the other end.

Just in case.

“He’s just down the hall.” Echo lied, unsure why he did. This felt like a goodbye. A send off so someone at least knew what happened to him. Worrying Hunter would only make him worse. A soft curse on the other end was quickly covered by Hunter clearing his throat.

“Anyone else around or do I have the rare opportunity to talk to you alone?” Sneaky bastard. Echo let his head fall against the metal door below him.

“I’m all you’re getting today.” Echo bit the inside of his lip as his eyes started to burn. This. This was how it was going to happen. After everything he was going to die alone on this frozen planet. “How’s everyone? Omega doing okay?” He tried not to let his voice tremble but he didn’t quite pull it off. By the pause Hunter didn’t buy it either.

“She’s got a whole four inches taller since the last time you were here. Tech is determined to document every beetle on the island. Wrecker hasn’t stopped trying to lift rocks for exercise. And Cross has figured out how to make a bow and arrow out of sticks. I’ve been stabbed in the ass three times already.” Hunter groaned and a smile spread across Echo’s face as hot tears dripped down his cheeks. “I can’t keep him from stealing your bed much longer, ya know. He’s eyeing it.” No one was laying claim to his bed, not on his watch.

“Those are my pillows. He’ll crush them with his big head.” Pain shot through his hips as he tried to move, breath catching in his throat.

When Hunter spoke it sounded tight. “Guess you’ll just have to lay claim to them again. Spend a damn night here.” Silence was punctuated by Echo’s heavy breathing, harsh, sharp. The blood was pooling around his legs now. He could feel the warmth spread, putting a barrier between him and the icy ship. It was so much more than he anticipated. So much more than he thought. The numbness was working its way into his thoughts now, slowing them even more. “We miss you, you know that.” It wasn’t meant to be accusatory, Echo knew, but he grimaced regardless.

“I’ll tell you what, my next opportunity for leave I’ll be there. Those blankets are mine.” Hunter cleared his throat over what sounded like a message being sent. Thirty seconds later his comm lit up.

Rex: I’m heading your way, hang in there.

“I’ll do my best to keep everyone away from your stuff until you’re here but you know how they are.” Hunter commented as another message came through.

“They, huh?”

“Watch it.”

Rex: Stay awake.

Rex: Tell Hunter I said thank you. Why the hell didn’t you call me first?

Echo chuckled under his breath. “Telling on me? That’s what we’re doing now?”

“When you’re being stubborn.” Hunter murmured back. “He’s going to kick your ass when he gets to you. I only wish I was there to see it.”

“He can’t. He needs me.”

“Wouldn’t stop me.”

“Whatever.” COs always tried to threaten him into behaving better. It wasn’t worth it, Echo would always be himself. Regardless of their disappointment in his more reckless antics.

“Let’s talk my terms for saving your ass.“

“Let’s not.”

“You’ll get here and get out of that armor. It probably needs a good wash.”

Echo rolled his eyes. “Rude.”

“Then you’re letting us feed you. Rations aren’t as good as what we’ve got here. You’ll actually relax. Take a cat nap, lay in the sun, terrorize Crosshair.”

“It’s what he deserves.”

“Hit him in the ass with a pointy stick arrow, please, I’m begging.” Echo let out a laugh at that but quickly regretted it as pain shot up his side, ending in a groan despite the presence of a smile.

“Shit. Don’t make me laugh it hurts.”

“Hopefully plenty of that while you’re here, too.”

Echo groaned but the distraction was nice. It kept his mind off of the feeling of pinned and bleeding. “Gross. You’re getting soft.”

“Let’s see how willing you are to run your mouth when you’re not on the other side of a comm.” With his face pressed to the speaker he could almost pretend the voice was in the room with him. Not what felt like a galaxy away.

“That doesn’t stop me.”

“I suffer endlessly.”

The comm blinked again, this time with another message from Rex. Still frantically trying to figure out why he hadn’t just called, dammit.

“Rex’ll be here in five.” He informed Hunter who let out a sigh, relieved.

“I can drop the call once he has you.”

“Don’t. Please. Just-“ He was grateful for the silence while he thought of what to say. Just talk to me. Stay. Don’t leave me alone. It’s too quiet. All things he thought of saying while he pulled in ragged breaths. “At least stay on the line.”

Hunter made a noise, wobbly, pained, then sniffed. “I’ll always be on the other end. You know that.”

Echo didn’t hear the rest. Vaguely Hunter’s voice filtered through the air and eventually someone got into the emergency hatch. He knew it was Rex by the gentle way he handled Echo, by the worried eyes, the scolding in his voice when he talked. He caught glimpses of the two of them talking, bits of conversation as someone else - Cody, it looked like - helped get him lifted out of there. Too dangerous to remove the metal in his gut but the sedative worked well enough to keep him sane.

He’s a handful.

I warned you.

Yeah, well, he’s lucky he’s good at his job otherwise I’d send him back to you.

You better. I need someone to help me wrangle my own idiots.

It wasn’t long until his brain shut down, hiding while his body dealt with the trauma, but while he did he could still hear talking.

Never alone. Never forgotten.

[gemmablue-blog1]

I recently started a brand new adventure of being a “shipper”. I believe this is karma because I judged those who were obsessed with Taylor and Travis. 😬

I have fallen hard into my shipping era and it is not for the weak. It is so mind consuming I at times worry for my mental health.

Hi my name is Gemma and I am a Lukola shipper. My god, the chokehold Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton have on me should be studied. I cant help but be in complete awe of the relationship they have. These two humans share an undeniable other-worldly connection. I have never seen anything like it, the way they look physically different in the presence of one another is something else, their whole existence changes. They shine brighter, they appear more at ease and just blissfully in-tune with one another. Like they physically look different around each other (in a good way) it is wild, I am completely mesmerized. If they are not a couple or never become one, it is really unfortunate because what they have is rare and special. Many will spend their whole lifetime searching for what they have.

I was kind of late to the shipping game so I joined TT to assist in my obsession and do my research. It was fun to see all the edits of the WT and join in on some lives to dissect some clues Nicola was dropping that they could possibly be a couple. I have to admit at times the dissecting was a little “creepy”, but I was still watching! So obviously I wasn’t that creeped out, I was just letting others do the dirty work so I didn’t come off creepy.

But then the “adjacent” shippings began and it all just became a game of “who is right”. Don’t get me wrong, I want my ship to be right but the constant attacks between the different groups of shippers has become toxic and it is unnecessary. Why can’t we just stay in our belief lanes, we’ll be much happier. Isn’t it best to all stay in our own little ship bubbles and just have some light hearted fun?

Then there is this whole side of people preaching a moral high ground and demanding people to stop their shipping… why? Because you think that shipping is going to hurt/ruin Nicola and Luke’s relationship? I am almost certain fans views, beliefs, words, shipping etc. has no effect on Nic and Luke’s relationship, it will only affect how they share it publicly. We are not that important. Then we have the people who feel that they need to defend Nicola and Luke from whats being said or shared, is that needed either? Celebrities don’t need your defending and they don’t ask for it. And sometimes in defending it actually makes things worse. There is no such thing as the best fan award.

Personally, a lot of Lukola blogs I have seen on here have been as respectful as they can be in sharing their thoughts and opinions. They aren’t out there spreading hate towards Nic and Luke, if anything I see them just wanting the best for them. Even if I don’t agree with everything they say, I move past it, it is very rare for people to see things 100% the same, especially when we actually know nothing to be definite. What I do see is just plain hate in their ask calling them names and even demanding they “shut down this blog now!”… Why? Because they believe something you don’t? Notice when I talk about blogs I only have reference to Lukola ones, because those are the ones I read because I am a fan of Luke and Nic and their relationship. I don’t go to ones who are part of other ships and try to convince them of other things, there is no point, thats what they want to believe and be a part of and thats their right.

Anyway, I am in no way above sharing my opinions on the Lukola situationship, and would like to share some thoughts. If you have made it this far and are not a Lukola or will be offended by things I say about the “adjacents” stop reading because all it will do is anger you and most likely prompt you to send me a hate message. Nothing you say will make me stop shipping them.

My beliefs are:

Without a doubt Nicola loves Luke and is highly protective of him. This girl was ready take on a bee who was threatening her buddy Luke. She was not playing. I love that interview, she was so distracted because Luke was being threatened by a bee he is supposedly “allergic” to, that she even moves herself closer to him so she can defend him better 😩... The interviewer is like “i feel like a third wheel” 👀. I can’t, could this be any cuter. We have seen many instances where Nicola has defended Luke directly and indirectly, because you fiercely protect those you love. I feel everything we have seen from her (non-professional) stems from that protectiveness she has for him.

Then there is Luke towards Nicola. I am sorry anyone who says this man is not completely infatuated by that woman is lying. He is an awe of her. Just look at the tapes for evidence, when I said earlier about looking physically different, Luke is literally night and day from what he physically looks like in the presence of Nicola to not. You can’t convince me that man is not madly in love with that woman.

Antonia. I am not a fan. Yeah, I have tried to take the mature approach and be like “oooh she’s young” “i don’t know her” ���people hate her for no reason” “accept she is with Luke”… blah, blaaaah, blaah. No, Antonia wants to be noticed. She has done stuff to troll the fans of her supposed bf. The insinuation post are purposeful, with intent to rile up the crowds. Anyone who says otherwise is lying to themselves. All she has done is cause more harm than good to Luke, shouldn’t a good gf want to do the opposite? She should have used her extra social media exposure to her advantage of showing off her talents and work, but instead she chose to post pictures to prove she was in the presence of her famous bf. You shouldn’t have to try so hard to prove you are in a relationship with someone. Isn’t it interesting that any time Luke and Nic could possibly be linked together, an ambiguous pic drops to hint she is/was there. Why does she have to stay so hidden? Those who say it is to keep their relationship private, then why does she try so hard to publically prove she was there? I am done trying to be mature, the only things I have to go on for my decision to like people I dont personally know is the public image they present, and I don’t like hers.

Jake at times can seem to be stirring the pot, but he has used a lot of his extra exposure to highlight his career. Just through his socials I have come to realize that he is a very talented young actor. I do not believe Jake and Nicola are a couple, it is that simple. I think they were somehow linked together, and then just went with it because of certain cicumstances. I do get frustrated at times because I do feel the dating narrative is pushed by Nicola and it is frustrating to me because I have to read Jakola BS. But then I remember that Nicola is a sassy queen and that’s why I love her and move on. The fact that some can’t see the satire being shared by them of the relationship, is confusing to me. But, we all believe what we want to believe. I do think Nicola and Jake are good friends.

The parallels between Luke and Nic’s lives at this point are too coinsidental to make me believe it’s 100% truth. Both of them date young 20 year olds and receive hate for dating them. Not only do they receive hate for dating but for hanging out with them in their friend groups and get blamed for being immature or creepy because they choose to party or vacation instead of being a grown-up. 🙄. Nah, something just isn’t adding up for me.

Listen, I really know nothing about these people. I just love Luke and Nicola’s love, I just want them to be happy together forever and ever, is that such a bad thing? In the grand scheme of things is it really that bad to want people to be in a relationship that you feel will make them happy…isn’t that shipping? I will be rooting for them until i’m dead and buried.

Until the wheels fall off. Lukola forever ✌🏻.

[bktempted]

Plot Twist. Your fingers are flying across the keys, lost in a messy tangle of your own thoughts. You've been spilling out a chaotic little confession you’d never dare say aloud. Daddy’s presence behind you doesn’t even register, his shadow falls over your shoulder, but you’re too deep in your own head to notice. Lately, your feelings for him have been clawing their way up, hot and restless, and this is your outlet. Writing smut. It’s not like you’d ever do it — you know, fuck him, cross that line, feel his cock for real. That’d be a disaster, an unthinkable mess. But typing it out? That’s safe.

Your latest sentence stares back at you, “...and daddy slid a finger up my pussy, and I came hard, and he growled ‘what a naughty kitten you are’ in my ear.” Okay fine, it’s not exactly Shakespeare. It's not exactly good, either. The words trip over each other, clumsy and raw, but they’re yours, and that's what matters. You chew your lip, debating if “pussy” is the vagina word you're going with this time, when a familiar voice cuts through your thoughts.

“What’s this, huh?” Daddy’s tone is teasing, warm, close enough that his breath brushes your neck. Nooooooooooooooo. Heat floods your face, adrenaline pumping like you’ve been caught with your hand in the biggest cookie jar imaginable. He’s reading it. Oh god, he’s reading it. Your smut. Your stupid, horny, Daddy obsessed fantasy. You slam the laptop shut, but it’s too late. He chuckles, soft and deep, and leans even closer. “Is that how you feel about me, kitten?”

You can’t look at him. Your heart’s hammering, a wild thing trapped in your ribs, and your mouth goes dry. “I - it’s just a story,” you mumble, barely audible, staring at the closed laptop like it might save you. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“Are you sure?” His voice dips, playful but edged with something heavier, something that makes your stomach flip. He slides a hand onto your shoulder and turns you to face him. His eyes are locked on yours, searching, a little amused, a little hungry. “If you really want me like that… maybe we could try. Just once. See if it’s as good as you’re imagining.”

Your brain short circuits. This can't be happening. He’s tugging you up from the chair, guiding you to the couch with that easy confidence he’s always had. You’re trembling, not from fear but from the sheer want that’s been festering in you for too long. He sits you down, knees nudging yours apart, and grins. “C’mon, naughty kitten. Let’s play.”

He starts slow, peeling your shirt up and tossing it aside like it’s nothing. His hands roam your skin — calloused fingertips dragging down your neck, dipping lower, tracing the edge of your bra before he unhooks it with a flick. You’re breathing too fast, dizzy with it, and he notices. “Nervous?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t be. Daddy’s got you.”

That word — Daddy — hits you with a thud, and you whimper, helpless. He chuckles again, sliding your shorts down, leaving you bare and squirming under his gaze. “Look at you,” he says, “Already so needy. Been thinking about this a while, huh?” His fingers tease along your inner thigh, feather light, maddening, until they brush that special place. “Oh, kitten. You’re soaked.”

He doesn’t rush it. He takes his time, stroking you open, one finger slipping inside just like you wrote — except this is real, and it’s so much sharper, so much more. Your hips jerk, chasing the pressure, and he hums approvingly. “That’s it. Take it all in.” A second finger joins the first, curling just right, and you’re gone. Your pussy clenches around him, a broken little moan spilling out as you finish way too fast. He doesn’t stop, though, just keeps moving, drawing it out until you’re shaking.

“Naughty little thing,” he teases, pulling his hand free and licking his fingers clean while you watch, dazed. “Taste as sweet as you look.” He’s undoing his belt now, and your eyes widen — he’s hard, thick, and you’re not sure you can take him, but god, you want to try. He catches your stare and grins. “Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll go slow.”

He eases into you, inch by inch, stretching you until you’re clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. It’s overwhelming, the heat of him, the weight, the way he fills you up. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, “You’re tight. Fuck you feel so good.” He starts moving, steady but deep, and you’re moaning in time with every thrust, legs wrapping around him like you can’t get close enough. He leans down, lips grazing your jaw. “My naughty kitten. Taking Daddy so well.”

It’s not some grand, poetic climax — no, it's messy, desperate, real. You cum again, harder this time, and he follows right after, groaning low as he buries himself deep. You’re both panting as he brushes a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “better than your story?”

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 24

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- hi loves! like & rb! 🤍

Billie’s POV

I opened up the beautifully wrapped present, leaving the bow on the table to the side. I hesitated to open the box out of fear that it might be all of my things returned from her apartment. I was afraid it would break me.

“Go on.” Ellie watched, standing behind me. She rubbed my back soothingly.

I lifted the top, revealing a big album looking book. The black leather cover was adorned with a hand-painted design themed to my album, Hit Me Hard And Soft. It was beautiful. I took my hand and ran it over the cover, feeling the texture of the acrylic paint under my fingertips.

Ellie wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, resting her head on my shoulder. “It’s so cool.”

I stayed silent, holding the book in my hands, staring at it. In the middle of the cover, was a single picture peeking through a little see through window.

The picture was of me, sitting on her couch and writing music. I didn’t even know she took the picture. Seeing it brought me back to that exact day.

“Stop crunching your chips, I’m trying to focus!” I whined, putting my hair to one side. I had been trying to finish Bittersuite all day, but I couldn’t come up with anything good. It all sounded stupid to me.

Not to Remy though. She had been enjoying my singing all day. Most of the time I’d hum or sing random melodies, with random words and gibberish that didn’t make sense, just to get something to write actual words to. Often, she’d fall asleep, or hum along. She gave me such good ideas for lyrics, or helped me decide which version to use.

Today I had been hard on myself though. And she knew it wasn’t helping.

“Billie, why don’t you just take a break?” She looked away from her laptop, wiping her hands off from chip crumbs.

“It’s at the tip of my tongue. I gotta keep going.” I said, frustrated.

She sat behind me on the couch and began to rub my shoulders. I closed my eyes at her touch. “Stop. Your forehead, you’ll get wrinkles.”

I rolled my head back, enjoying the little massage break.

“You’re doing too much. Don’t force it. That’s no fun.”

She leaned back on the couched pulling me down with her. I rested my head on her chest, letting out a deep breath.

“Let’s get some food. You’re not you when you’re hungry.” She laughed. I lightened up and we went out to eat. When we came back, we jammed on her acoustic guitar, and I ended up writing the chorus to Birds Of A Feather. She was always right.

My eyes became watery. I blinked rapidly so it wouldn’t run.

“Open it.” Ellie said, her voice soft.

“I can’t.” I held the book tight.

“Why not? Just do it.” she let go and stood next to me.

“Because. I don’t want to.” I put the book back in the gift box, shutting the top.

Ellie looked at me, perplexed. I walked away, exiting the kitchen.

“Billie, why not?!”

“I don’t care about what’s in there, it’s just going to upset me. There’s no point. If it were really that important she would’ve given it to me in person. I’ve been in LA for over a month and she hasn’t said anything to me, and then she sends a late holiday gift?”

She sighed, following me into my room. “Hey, come here.” She patted a spot on my bed and pulled my hand, forcing me to sit with her.

I dropped my head into my hands, feeling her warm embrace around me. “Tell me… What did she do, Billie?” She sounded concerned, scrambling to make my frustration go away. She genuinely wanted to help me feel better, this sweet girl. And all I could think about was how badly I wish it were Remy touching me. It made me hate myself even more.

“She never- All I wanted was- Anytime I needed her-“ I choked up, unable to get the words out without sounding selfish.

“Slow down. You’re doing great.” She rubbed my back in circles, sounding surprised I’m doing anything other than shutting down right now.

I sighed, reliving the past. “I just fucked up our friendship. I asked for too much. She had a lot on her plate and it hurt that I always had to ask her to make the effort to be there for me.”

Ellie nodded, listening attentively, allowing me to let it all out.

“She doesn’t have a lot. She just has her job, and it’s all she cares about… That’s what caused this huge fight…”

I hadn’t talked about the fight with anyone. Not even Finneas. Reliving it caused so much hurt, so much regret. I told Ellie everything I had been holding in for weeks, crying like a baby in her arms. Everything, except my true feelings for Remy.

I found myself exaggerating some things Remy said or did, in order not to sound like a psychotic bitch. Because, the story only makes sense if you know everything.

Ellie held me tight, comforting me the way I wished Remy would. I tried not to think about it too much, because it made me feel like the worst person alive.

“I get it. You wanted her to put in the same energy you did, and that’s valid.” She said, playing with my hair, once I had calmed down. She was a great listener, a great shoulder to cry on. I could tell she wanted to be more than that, and it warmed my heart.

I felt like a hypocrite. Demanding Remy to love me the way I loved her, and here, in front of me is the sweetest angel, giving me all her love and energy every single day, and I still couldn’t match her.

What I lacked emotionally, I made up for physically, and it made me feel like such a piece of shit.

“I’m sorry, Billie. That’s really hard. Ending a friendship like that… It’s gotta hurt.”

I nodded, staring off into space.

“Do you ever miss her?”

I hesitated, “I miss… before.”

She nodded, trying to understand what that meant. “Like, before the fight?”

“Before I started feeling so invisible.”

She nodded, squeezing my hand. She leaned back in my bed, sinking into the plush mattress. I followed her lead and made myself comfortable beside her.

“I want you to know, I’ll never make you feel like that. You could never be invisible to me. Not in the slightest.” She leaned over and planted a soft kiss near my ear.

My eyes fogged up, a couple tears rolling down the side of my face. She kissed my cheek next, using her thumb to wipe tears away as they fell.

I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to keep thinking about Remy, or her words, or her using her hands to push me into a wall and scream at me, instead of pin me against it and kiss me.

I just wanted to stop thinking about it, stop crying about it. Even if it meant I was using her, in this moment I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel something other than pain.

I turned slightly, so she’d kiss my lips instead of my cheek, taking her face in my hands. She pulled away, looking at my expression, her eyes sincere.

“You okay?” She whispered, snaking a hand around my waist.

I nodded, desperately wanting her to help me forget. I pulled her face back towards mine.

“You sure?” She lifted away again.

“I’m okay.” I looked her in the eyes. She lingered in the moment, trying to read me the way Remy always did, but she wasn’t great at it yet. “I will be.” I insisted.

She nodded and I immediately crashed my lips into hers. My hands desperately explored her body, loving her smooth skin under my fingertips. My tongue aggressively found its way into her mouth, hungry for more.

I reached for her hand, intertwining it with mine, and sliding it down my sweatpants. I guided her even though I didn’t need to. Her touch felt so good, so satisfying, making me tingle and shiver, at the slightest pressure and motion. I let her hand free, knowing she didn’t need my help.

Moaning into her mouth, I tensed up, feeling every pulse and curl of her fingers.

She nibbled on my bottom lip, trailing her tongue down my neck, and lowering further until she reached my stomach. I pushed on her head, running my fingers through her hair and grabbing a handful. Her fingers slowed down, pulling completely out and rubbing on my most sensitive spots. She knew her way around my body a lot better than my mind.

“You’re getting so wet already…” she pulled down my sweats, tearing down my underwear, kissing my hips and teasing me.

I moaned at the absence of her tongue. “Please- I need you. Bad.” I tightened my grip on her hair, gently pushing her lower. “Don’t make me beg.” I ached.

She smiled, aware of her effect on me. “I won’t do that to you.” Her voice was sweet and soft, like cotton candy, and my body melted at her touch. My lower back arched and my thighs tightened around her face. You’d think she was eating the sweetest, most succulent fruit after a long day under the sun. My other hand held into the bedding, wadding it up into a ball in my fist.

I began to lose control of my reflexes, the sounds that came out of my mouth, and the thoughts in my head. Finally, I was in a state of pure bliss.

[juniperskye]

Real Love to Roommates

Based on a song of the same title: Real Love to Roommates by Everything We Do. This song is about a couple who have grown apart within their relationship. It isn’t that they don’t love one another, but the love they have for each other has shifted…it isn’t the heated passion they once held. Flashbacks are in italics.

Aaron Hotchner x Spouse! GN Reader PURE ANGST Word count: 1135

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, gender neutral reader, some explicit language, heartbreak, couple falling out of love, mutual breakup, no happy ending, no mentions of the BAU or Jack, lyrics are built into the story as dialogue, flashbacks, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Aaron, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” You sighed.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean?

“We’ve grown apart Aaron, things are different now I mean we go to bed at separate times, we watch different shows, we quote different lines. I don't get yours, and you don't get mine anymore. We used to spend so much time together and we don’t anymore.” You huffed.

“That’s hardly reason enough to throw everything away. We can work on this, I know things haven’t been great lately, but that doesn’t mean you should just walk away honey.” Aaron pleaded.

“Babe, I sign your name in cards I write, and I attend the birthdays on my own. I bet you can’t even tell me when we last attended an event together.”

-- “Hey baby, don’t forget my sister’s birthday party is this weekend.” You called, as Aaron was about to leave for work.

“Okay, did you already get her a card, or do you want me to stop on my way home?”

“I already got one honey, it is signed and ready to go, I put from us.” What a lie.

Aaron was surely going to get called away on a case and you’d be forced to attend yet another family event on your own. You weren’t entirely sure when this had started…when he stopped signing for himself, or coming with you, or spending time together, enjoying time spent with family. It had been some time, and you couldn’t help but ask yourself…

Why are you still doing this? Why are you being so complacent when things aren’t as good as they once were?

You’d justify it by claiming work was keeping him busy, it would die down soon. That’s what you always said. Things would calm down soon and then they would go back to normal.

The problem is…you’d been saying that for nearly two years.

--

“We used to be so happy wasting time away, just spending time together. What happened to that? How did we drift so far apart sweetheart? Aaron was speaking so low; he wasn’t sure if you’d even heard him.

“I don’t know baby. I think we’ve just been forced to grow on our own since we’ve been apart so much in the last few years. I’m just worried that we’ve drifted too far Aar. I’m not sure we can make it back from this.” A tear slid down your cheek, and as he moved to wipe it away your gaze shifted to his bare finger.

It hadn’t even sparked an argument when it happened. You realize now that it should have. You both should have been more upset when it happened, but you just didn’t have it in you.

--

“I saw you lost your wedding ring.” You inquired.

“Oh shit, I meant to tell you, we were in the woods chasing an unsub on the last case, it must have slipped off. You know how loose it is when it’s cold out.” He shrugged.

“Oh, yeah. Well maybe we can go in and get you a new one this weekend?” You suggested.

Only you never did make it into the jewelers.

When Aaron and you got engaged, he bought you the most beautiful ring. It had been everything you’d ever dreamt of, so when it was time to get his, the two of you work diligently to find something that he loved just as much…and when you found the one he’d told you it meant everything to him.

And on your wedding day, he’d said it first… “I do.” --

Aaron and you used to split up the chores, agreeing to do dishes and laundry together when you could. He’d mow the lawn and take out the trash…and scrub the toilet occasionally. While you dusted and mopped the house.

Lately that hadn’t been the case. It had actually sparked an argument between the two of you just a few months back..

It had been the most passion either of you had felt for one another in a while. You had both silently hoped that it would be the spark to reignite the flame that had seemingly been snuffed out.

Only it hadn’t ended the way either of you had hoped.

-- “Are you fucking kidding me Aaron? Look I know you have an important job okay. I get it! But all I am asking for is a little help!” You shouted.

“And I am telling you that I can’t right now. Damnit I am sick and tired of having this fight with you. I have work to get done. Do I not do enough for us? For you?” Aaron spat back.

“Yes Aaron you do a lot…but I do everything around the house! We used to split it up so neither of us felt overworked at the end of our day. Remember? We would come home and get shit cleaned up and then enjoy the evening together!” You huffed, completely exasperated.

“I work my ass off every day to make this world a better place, to bring home a paycheck, to take care of you. And for what? You to berate me now?”

“Fuck off.” You sneered. “I don’t need you to take care of me Aaron – you know that…it used to be one of the things you loved about me. So don’t you dare hold that shit against me. Nobody asked you to run around like some sort of superhero.”

With that, Aaron walked out. He made his way to his home office…and that night he didn’t come to bed. He’d slept on the couch in his office and snuck out early in the morning without so much as a goodbye.

That same night, you cried alone in your bed while counting up all the hours you've used on you, on him. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Why were you together anymore? Was love alone enough? --

“When did this bed get so wide?”

“What?” You asked.

Tell me when did you and I go from first dates, and up late…to strangers sharing last names?” Aaron whispered.

“I don’t know Aaron, you swore we would never change, but we did. It was like one day we just woke up and were different.” Tears were freely falling at this point. “We went from real love to…to roommates.”

“I still love you sweetheart…that hasn’t changed.” Aaron reached for you.

“I love you too. I just don’t know if that’s enough.” You took his hand in your own.

That night, you held each other tighter than ever. Both of you afraid that if you let go, the other might just disappear.

--

You knew that the two of you would have to talk about next steps, but for now…you’d share this moment, dragging it out as long as you could.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust@khxna@crimesthatnooneaskedfor

[strangelittlestories]

Once upon a time, I was a Chosen One.

—

The spell spins through the air and I duck just in time. It turns a section of the wall behind me into a fractal skeleton of brick-shards.

—

Since all that was taken away from me, I had always expected to die forlorn, wistful and alone. But I had hoped that it wouldn’t be *today*.

—

The brick skeleton opens its red ribcage to swallow me and I scramble away.

The second mage's spell catches me in the shoulder. My tendons unwrap and attempt to burst out of my skin to strangle me. I push them down with my dwindling anima and they settle grudgingly back into place.

—

I’m getting ahead of myself. You may be wondering how someone becomes an ex-Chosen One. Well, being a Chosen One does not - contrary to popular opinion - make me special. 

I feel the absence of The Embrace constantly; like I’m stuck in the moment on a rollercoaster where your stomach falls away. This does not make me special either. There are a handful of other former avatars scattered about and I know they’re not doing well either (I scry on them from time to time). And besides, we hardly have a monopoly on the churning loss of purpose. 

—

I throw my anima into my fists. I don’t really have any to spare, but I’m done for if I just play defence.

There’s no clever working here, no cunning curse or complex incantation. I just ball up my hand, crush my spirit until it’s solid, then punch it out. The air ripples in a line of force connecting me and the second mage. It catches her in the stomach. I feel agony erupt as she collapses in three different planes.  

It is not nearly enough.

—

I have learned since I left the Mycelial Coven that yearning is a warm and open hearth. All are welcome to sit by the fire at the centre of the yawning void, staring at the flames until they burn the whole world away.

It is worse because I still think it’s correct. We designed The Embrace to be a temporary measure. A distillation of collective power, drawn from a collective of magicians distributed  across continents and consciousnesses.

Sometimes a crisis demands a champion. A single point of focus. A locus of amassed anima from around the world. It is given freely, and this avatar is Embraced; girded in belief, love and enough magic to jumpstart a star.

—

A third mage arrives. He is holding a curse above his head that spreads across the sky like wispy cirrus clouds made of animos (that rancid slurry of tainted spirit). The strands descend and wrap around the three of them, propping up the second mage like a puppet.

They surround me. Strands of sticky, bile-black poison rear up to strike.

I reach for The Embrace to help me. Of course, it is not there.

—

When I accepted The Embrace, I knew it was a once-only deal. It’s too much power to let any one person wield longer than one catastrophe. You get one quest. One war. One singularity. One chapter of the story where you’re the most important person in the world.

And if you survive, you leave the Micelial. That’s the deal. If the collective relies too long on an individual, it makes them a king. If an individual stands above the collective too long, it makes them a god.

So you save the world. You get gratitude. You get support. You get therapy. And you get shown the door.

I still think that is the right call.

But it’s not exactly helpful when you end up back in the life-or-death tangle again.

—

The curse wraps around me like a lover dripping venom.

My tattered anima burns to vapour as I try to stop it seeping into my skin.

I keep reaching. The Embrace is not there. It never will be again. But I reach still, grasping for the place where power once was.

And *something* answers. It offers me infinity. It gives me a price.

There are many sources of strength in the world beyond those made by the Mycelial Coven. The Embrace is only special because it is *benevolent*.

But I do not want to die. So I say to The Something: “Yes.”

[finchyclarkemd]

Breaking Apart

~Angst~

The apartment felt smaller every day. You could feel the weight of it pressing in on you, the air thick with things left unsaid. The space between you and Chris had been growing for weeks now, inch by inch, until it was all you could feel anymore. The silence was louder than anything—louder than the soft hum of the refrigerator, louder than the distant sounds of traffic outside. 

You sat across from him on the couch, the space between you nearly suffocating. Chris wasn’t looking at you, not really. His eyes were focused on the blank TV screen in front of him, his thumb absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, but you could tell his mind wasn’t on anything in the room. It hadn’t been for a long time.

“Chris,” you said softly, testing the waters, but your voice felt too quiet, too hesitant. You didn’t know if you were afraid of the words that might come next or if you were afraid of the silence that would follow.

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could feel him tense, the way his shoulders tightened at the sound of your voice. You weren’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but it felt like the first crack, the first hint of something slipping. But you didn’t know what it was anymore, or even what you wanted it to be.

You leaned forward slightly, the urge to close the gap between you too strong to ignore. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flicked toward you, the briefest of glances, before he returned to whatever was on his screen. He let out a small sigh. “About what?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling inside you. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to reach him, to bridge the distance that had been growing between you both. But each time, the gap only widened, no matter how hard you tried to reach out.

“You’ve been distant,” you said, your voice more fragile than you wanted it to be. “For weeks now. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it feels like you’re… slipping away.” The words hung in the air between you, and you could see him stiffen. He didn’t like that. He never liked when you pushed, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

He shrugged, his eyes still focused on his phone. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t do that.” The words were out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. “Don’t pretend like it’s nothing, Chris. Don’t shut me out.”

He didn’t flinch at the tone of your voice, but you saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the muscles working under his skin as if he was trying to hold everything inside. Trying to keep the storm contained.  

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, finally putting the phone down beside him, but he still wouldn’t look at you. 

You felt the pit in your stomach deepen. He was pulling away again, and you didn’t know how much longer you could let him do it before it broke you entirely. 

“You’re not making it simple, Chris. I’ve been here for months, trying to understand you. Trying to figure out what’s going on, but you won’t let me in.” Your voice cracked as you said it. It was harder than you thought it would be. You had tried so hard to be patient, to be the person he could rely on when the weight of everything seemed too much for him to carry alone. 

He was silent for a long time, and it was worse than any argument. It was the way he didn’t respond. The way he didn’t even seem to care anymore.

“I’m not… I’m not good for you,” he said, the words barely audible, but they hit you like a slap in the face. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. You’d been waiting for something like this, expecting it, but you still couldn’t quite believe it.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh, to let out the frustration in a burst of something, anything, but all you could do was sit there, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. “Of course, you’re good for me. What, you think I’ve been wasting my time with someone who’s not good for me? Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He finally looked at you, but there was nothing there. No warmth. No emotion. Just a kind of emptiness that made you shiver. His eyes, once full of that light you’d come to rely on, were flat, distant, as though he had already shut you out.

“I don’t know how to be the person you want me to be,” he said, almost as if he were confessing something. “I’m trying, but I just… I can’t do it. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I never asked you to be anyone but yourself.”

He stood up, and for a moment, the silence grew thick again. His hands were trembling slightly, and for a brief, terrifying second, you thought he might walk away. Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that was what he needed—just to leave everything behind. But instead, he turned his back to you. The distance between you wasn’t just physical anymore. It felt like an entire lifetime of unresolved fears and regrets had been built between the two of you, brick by brick. 

“You don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. He didn’t turn around, but you could feel the weight of his words. “I’m not good for you. I’m not…” He paused, his shoulders sagging, and you could see how broken he really was. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. Not yet. 

“Chris,” you whispered, standing up, your hands trembling as you reached for him, but he stepped back, like the very touch of you was something he couldn’t bear. “Please, don’t do this. You’re not broken. You don’t have to—”

“You don’t get it,” he cut you off, his voice raw now, as if the words had been clawing at his throat. “I keep pushing you away because I can’t let you love me. I don’t know how to be loved. I don’t know how to let you in without… without destroying everything.”

You took a shaky step toward him, your hands desperate now, but he moved back again, shaking his head like he was fighting against something inside himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so small, it almost broke you. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t be what you need.”

And just like that, the final piece of the wall between you both fell. You were left standing in the middle of the room, watching him back away, and all you could do was watch him walk toward the door, your heart splintering into pieces. He didn’t look back. And just like that, you realised that nothing you said could ever make him stay.

The door closed with a soft click, and the silence that followed was more deafening than anything that had come before. You stood in the middle of the room, staring at the space where he had just been, where he had just walked away from you. From us.  

You couldn’t breathe. Every breath felt like a laborious act, every inhale burning your lungs with the sharp sting of something that had broken but not yet fallen apart. You knew, deep down, that you were no longer in control of this. Whatever was happening between you and Chris wasn’t something you could fix anymore. You had tried. You had tried so damn hard. But you couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.  

The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in on you, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do something to release the pressure building inside your chest, but all you could do was stand there.  

Your phone buzzed on the counter, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet. You glanced over at it. It was a message from him. Chris. You hesitated before you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you unlocked the screen. The message was short.  

I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

You stared at the words for a long time, the suffocating sense of finality gnawing at you. The pain of those words wasn’t that they came from him—it was the hopelessness behind them. The way they seemed to say that he believed he was beyond saving, that you would never be able to forgive him. That you would never want to.  

You ran your fingers over the screen, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to respond, to make him understand that this wasn’t something you could just walk away from, that you needed him, but you couldn’t find the words. There was no answer that would undo the damage, no response that would make him walk back through that door.  

You dropped the phone onto the counter with a shaking hand, the feeling of it slipping from your grasp symbolising everything else that had slipped away in the past few months. You didn’t know how long you stood there, motionless, the world outside continuing as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had.  

The apartment was cold. The space where he used to be—where his laughter used to fill the room, where you had spent countless nights curled up together—was now an empty reminder of the distance that had crept between you. You felt it more now than ever before: the space that had once been filled with connection, with love, was now hollow.  

Your mind kept replaying his words, his refusal to let you in. I’m not good for you.

You knew, deep down, that he didn’t believe that. Not really. But it didn’t matter. He’d convinced himself of it, and that was enough.  

You walked to the window, staring out into the night, trying to steady your breathing, trying to convince yourself that it would all be okay, that time would heal everything. But the truth settled heavy on your chest, and you realised it wasn’t the time that would fix this.  

It was him.  

But what if he couldn’t be fixed? What if, in the end, he was right? What if he wasn’t meant to be loved? What if you weren’t enough to save him, no matter how much you cared? The thought tore at you, but you pushed it away. You refused to let that be the answer.  

You grabbed your jacket from the chair, the cold fabric slipping through your fingers as you pulled it on. You didn’t know what you were doing, or where you were going. You just knew you couldn’t sit in the silence anymore. Not now. Not when every second without him felt like an eternity of self-doubt and regret.  You needed to see him. You needed to talk to him. To make him understand that you didn’t want to fix him. You just wanted to love him.  

The streets were quiet, the city lights casting long shadows as you walked aimlessly, your feet taking you wherever they could find solace. Every corner you turned felt like it led you farther from something you could never get back. But the moment you saw his car parked on the side of the road, your heart jumped in your chest. You knew he was inside. You knew he hadn’t gone far.  

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You didn’t want to be the one to chase him. You didn’t want to feel like you were begging him to let you in when he had already made it clear he didn’t want you there.  

But what else could you do? You couldn’t just let him walk away.  

Your hand trembled as you knocked on the window of the car. It took him a moment to look up, his eyes still hollow with exhaustion, but when he saw you standing there, his face softened for a fraction of a second before it hardened again, the walls coming up between you both once more.  

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and guarded.  

“I couldn’t just let you go,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Chris, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I can’t pretend that I’m okay with losing you.”  

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as if you were asking for something impossible. “You should be. You should be okay with it. I’m not what you need. I’ll just end up hurting you, like I always do.”  

“You’re not the only one hurting here, Chris,” you said softly, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you couldn’t say. “I’m hurting too. But I can’t just walk away. Not when I love you.”  

The words felt like they left your chest in a rush, as though they had been trapped inside for far too long. But even as they left your lips, you felt the heavy weight of doubt sink into your bones. Would he believe you? Could he even hear you through all the walls he had built around himself? He closed his eyes, his head resting against the headrest of the seat as he let out a long sigh, the weight of everything between you pulling him down.  

“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes finally meeting yours with a look so broken it made you ache. “I can’t be the person you need. Not when I can barely hold myself together. I don’t know how to be what you want me to be.”  

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you took a step back, feeling the sting of everything crashing down on you.  

“I don’t need you to be anything,” you whispered. “I just need you to stay.”  

But the door stayed closed. And you were left standing in the street, feeling the cold seeping into your bones, as he pulled further away from you—just like he had so many times before.  

The city felt colder now, the air biting at your skin as you stood frozen in place, the weight of his words lingering, suffocating. You stared at his car, the one place that felt like home just hours ago, now the one thing keeping you apart from everything you still wanted to believe in.  

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the beat erratic and harsh, as though it was trying to remind you that you were still alive, still breathing, even when everything around you felt like it was crumbling into nothing.  

You took a step back from the car, the feeling of the pavement under your shoes grounding you for a moment. But even as you stood there, trying to pull yourself together, it felt like your insides were unraveling with every passing second.  

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you could keep fighting for something that was slipping further away. But you couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t walk away without knowing that you’d given it everything you had.  

You didn’t look back when you turned and started walking down the street. Your feet felt heavy with the weight of the unspoken words between you and Chris, but you couldn’t stay there. You couldn’t keep standing in front of him, hoping he would let you in when he had already made it clear he didn’t want you there. Still, a part of you hoped—hoped that something inside him would snap, that he would see you standing there and remember the love you had shared, the one that still lingered in the corners of your heart.  

But the further you walked, the more the doubts crept in. The cold air seemed to match the freezing distance between you both. It was as though the universe had conspired to keep you apart, to remind you that no matter how hard you tried, some things were just too broken to fix.  

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, your hands shaking as you unlocked the screen.  

Chris: I can’t do this to you. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t hate me.

Your breath caught in your throat. The message was more of the same—more of his self-doubt, more of the words that were destroying you both. You wanted to scream. To shout at him that you didn’t hate him, that you could never hate him. That you loved him in a way that went deeper than anything he could understand. But what good would it do?  

The silence between you two was deafening. It was like the longer you stood there, the more the world around you seemed to blur into a backdrop of white noise. You thought about going back. You thought about knocking on his door, asking him to listen to you one more time, to finally hear what you had to say. But you knew it wouldn’t change anything.  

He had already decided. And maybe you had, too.  

The thought struck you like a cold slap to the face—maybe you weren’t enough. Maybe he was right. Maybe you had tried, too hard, for too long, and now it was too late. Maybe there wasn’t anything you could do to make him see that you loved him, flaws and all. Maybe he would never believe it.  

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, each drop like a shard of glass in your chest. You wiped them away quickly, as though the act of doing so could stop the flood, but it didn’t. It only made it worse.  

You stumbled into a nearby café, trying to find some semblance of warmth, of something that could pull you back from the edge. You ordered a coffee, your hands shaking as you paid for it, trying to compose yourself in the moment. But nothing felt right.

There was a quiet hum of chatter around you, the kind of noise that you used to find comforting. Now, it was just another reminder that the world kept moving, while you were stuck in this horrible, aching place. Your phone buzzed again. This time, you didn’t have to look to know who it was. You could feel his presence through the screen, the words that he was too afraid to say in person.  

Chris: I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. It’s just who I am.

You read the message over and over, the words cutting deeper each time. The guilt he carried—the guilt that had been pushing him away for so long—was taking over him entirely. And you were powerless to stop it.  

The barista at the counter called out your name, breaking you from your thoughts, but you didn’t respond immediately. You stared at the message, feeling as though you were suffocating. How many times could you hear the same thing before you believed it? Before you started to think maybe he was right, that you were just waiting for something that would never come? You stood up slowly, walking to the counter and taking the coffee from the barista without saying a word. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel.  

But you did know that nothing would ever be the same.  

You stepped outside and found yourself standing on the same cold street, your breath clouding in front of you. The city seemed louder now, its noise filling the empty spaces where Chris’s voice used to be. The thought that he was still out there, somewhere, probably still sitting in his car or back at his apartment—still trying to convince himself that he didn’t deserve you—was more than you could bear.  

You texted him one more time, your fingers trembling as you typed the words.  

Please. I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to stay.  

You stared at the screen for a long time, waiting for the familiar response that you thought would come immediately. But it didn’t. Minutes passed. And still, there was no reply. The reality hit you like a punch to the gut. Maybe this was it.  

Maybe the love you had for him wasn’t enough to fix him. Maybe the person he thought he was would always be a wall between you both. Maybe you were never meant to be the one who saved him.  

You couldn’t wait forever. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, keep pouring everything you had into someone who couldn’t see it.  But as you stood on that street, staring at your phone with your chest tight, you realised one painful truth: You weren’t ready to let go. You couldn’t let go. And that was the hardest thing of all.  

It had been days. 

Days since you last saw him, since you last heard his voice, since you last stood face to face with Chris and felt like everything between you was still real, still salvageable. Days of endless silence, punctuated only by the cold, unfeeling texts that seemed to make everything worse.  

You sat on the couch again, the very spot where you had once sat with him, where his laughter and warmth had filled the room. Now, it felt empty. Hollow. And it was that emptiness that gnawed at you most—the constant reminder that no matter how much you wanted to bridge the distance, no matter how much you longed for things to go back to what they were, you were just as far apart as you had been before.  But you refused to give up. Not yet.  

The message he had sent a few nights ago still burned in your mind: I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. It’s just who I am.  

It wasn’t just the words that haunted you—it was the tone. The way he had resigned himself to this fate, as though there was no escaping it. He truly believed that he was a burden, that the damage he carried would tear you apart, even if you didn’t see it. He had convinced himself that his love for you wasn’t enough, that nothing could ever be enough to bridge the gap in his heart. And yet, here you were, still sitting here, still waiting. Still trying.  

A knock on the door broke your train of thought. You froze, heart skipping a beat as you glanced toward it, wondering if you had imagined it. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Another knock, this time louder. You stood, hesitating for only a moment before you crossed the room, your heart racing in your chest. You swung the door open.  

And there he was.  

Chris stood in the doorway, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep, his hair messy like he hadn’t bothered to run a hand through it in days. But it was the look on his face that stopped you in your tracks—raw, vulnerable, and more broken than you’d ever seen him.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice faltered, like he wasn’t sure if he was even worthy of being here. The words didn’t come immediately, and for a moment, you both just stood there in silence, caught in the gravity of the moment.  

“I don’t know what to say,” Chris said quietly, finally managing to find his voice, though it was thick with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”  

Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice, and without thinking, you reached for him. You didn’t care that you had no idea how this would turn out. You didn’t care that he had pushed you away over and over again. You just knew that you needed him, and that was enough.  

You pulled him into an embrace, feeling the weight of everything between you both crash down in that one instant. His arms hesitated around you at first, like he wasn’t sure if he could touch you, but slowly, he tightened his grip, as if afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.  

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice muffled against your hair. “I hurt you. I pushed you away. I thought it was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t. I was just afraid… afraid of ruining everything.”  

You held him tighter, the fear that had been simmering inside you now bubbling to the surface. “Chris, don’t you see? You already ruined everything the moment you shut me out. You pushed me away, and now I’m standing here, holding on to nothing but a memory of what we used to be. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to do this alone.”  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there, that you were still here.  

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve been running from everything I feel. From you. From this. I was so scared that I would ruin us, that I would hurt you so much that you’d hate me. I’ve convinced myself that I don’t deserve you. That I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be, that no matter what I did, I would destroy this.”  

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He had spent all this time, these last weeks, fighting himself, fighting the love you shared because he believed he wasn’t worthy. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you, vulnerable and shaking, like he was letting you see him for the first time.  

“You don’t have to be anyone other than yourself,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you wanted to say. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Chris. I just need you to be here—with me. I love you. I need you.”  

His face crumpled at your words, and before you could fully understand what was happening, his lips were on yours. It was soft at first—tentative, like he was afraid to make the wrong move—but it quickly deepened, a desperate need in every touch. Every kiss seemed to say the words that neither of you had been able to say before.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t know how to be what you need,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m willing to try.”  

You closed your eyes, your hand resting over his heart. “That’s all I ever needed. You don’t have to have all the answers. We just have to be willing to fight for this… together.”  

For a long moment, neither of you moved. It was as if the weight of everything had finally settled, and you could both breathe again. The past few weeks of fear, pain, and self-sabotage seemed to fall away in that simple moment of honesty, of vulnerability.  He kissed you again, this time with more certainty, more passion—a promise, a plea, a final letting go of everything that had been holding him back.  

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered between kisses, his hands tangled in your hair as if trying to pull you closer. “I’ll never push you away again. I swear.”  

And in that moment, you knew. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real.  

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally slipping down your cheeks, but they weren’t from the pain anymore. They were from the relief, the overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so far apart after all.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered softly, your voice full of conviction. “We’ll figure it out, together.”  

Chris looked at you then, and for the first time in so long, there was something in his eyes that had been missing: hope. And in that moment, you both broke through the walls you had built. Slowly, but surely, you started to find each other again.  

The days after that night blurred into something softer, something almost easier to bear. But even as you held onto him, clung to him like he was your anchor, you both knew that healing wasn’t instant. It wasn’t a fix you could just bandage over with a kiss, no matter how many times you whispered to each other that everything would be okay.  

The truth was, there were still pieces of you that weren’t whole. There were still cracks where trust had shattered, and silence had turned into walls that both of you had to climb over, brick by brick. It was a slow process—agonising, even—but it was progress.  

You spent more time together in the days following, the kind of quiet time that allowed you both to breathe and settle back into a rhythm. But there was always that underlying tension, that fear of the unknown. You couldn’t erase the past, couldn’t erase the mistakes, no matter how badly you wanted to. But it was easier with him near. Easier to pretend that things could go back to normal, even if the truth was you both had changed.  

It was a lazy afternoon when the conversation finally came. You were sitting on the couch, Chris’s head resting in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns across the floor. The stillness was comforting. But the words that hung in the air between you both weren’t so easy.  

“I never meant to hurt you,” Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes closed as if afraid to face the weight of what he was about to say.  

You stopped running your fingers through his hair and looked down at him, watching the vulnerable expression on his face. You had asked for honesty, begged for it, but hearing it from him still carried the weight of all that had happened.  

“I know,” you whispered, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers. “But you did. And that’s… that’s the part I’m still trying to understand. That’s the part I’m still trying to accept.”  

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with regret. “I wanted to protect you. I thought that if I kept pushing you away, I wouldn’t hurt you. But it never worked. I kept breaking everything without even realising it. And now, I’m scared that I’ve gone too far.”  

You looked away for a moment, your chest tight with the truth of it. You could feel the hurt, the sting of the past few weeks, still lodged in your chest. But at the same time, you knew you weren’t the same person you were when it started. Neither of you were.  

“I think… I think we’ve both hurt each other,” you said quietly. “And I can’t pretend that it didn’t matter. It did. But we’re here now. And I think... I think we can heal. Together.”  

Chris opened his eyes then, and there was something so raw in them—something vulnerable that made your heart ache. “Do you really believe that?” he asked, his voice thick with uncertainty.  

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing against his skin once more, grounding him in the moment. “I do. But it won’t be easy. And I won’t pretend like I’m okay with everything you did. I’m still angry. I’m still hurt. But I can’t just walk away from you. I don’t want to. I want to make this work, Chris. But we both need to do the work. We both need to be better.”  

He sat up then, his body tense, but his gaze never leaving you. “I know I have to change,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “I don’t want to keep pushing you away. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not enough. You are enough. I just… I just don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing you. I don’t know how to stop thinking that I’ll ruin this too.”  

You reached for him, pulling him into your arms again, knowing that words wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap in the space between you. But touch—touch—was a way to communicate everything that words couldn’t.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, your hand tracing his back, offering comfort, offering love. “I’ll be here. But you have to be here with me, too. You have to let me in. For real, Chris.”  

He nodded, burying his face against your shoulder, breathing in the scent of you like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment. You could feel his tears soaking through your shirt, the quiet tremors of the fear that had been eating at him. You didn’t say anything more. You didn’t need to. The air between you both had shifted, and there was an understanding that had taken root—one that had to grow, slow and steady.  

For the next few weeks, the world around you seemed to blur even more. Time passed, but it didn’t matter. You both moved through it in a kind of limbo, learning how to navigate each other’s pain, learning how to talk without the fear of being misunderstood.  

Chris started sharing more with you—his fears, his insecurities, the things he had kept hidden for so long. It wasn’t always easy to hear, but it was real. He showed up, every day, fighting against the urge to run. And when he faltered, when he let the fear creep back in, you were there to remind him that he wasn’t alone anymore.  

There were setbacks. Nights when you both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were doing the right thing, wondering if this was really enough. But there were also moments that made it all feel worth it. Quiet mornings when you shared a cup of coffee and let the world outside fade into the background. Laughter over a silly inside joke that only the two of you understood. The small victories, the moments of tenderness, the moments when he looked at you and smiled like he had never made a mistake.  

One evening, after a particularly quiet night of talking, Chris held your hand tightly, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm as he spoke. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, the words still heavy on his tongue, but this time there was a different kind of conviction behind them. “But I’m going to spend every day trying to show you that I can be someone worthy of your love.”  

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated, just like you had that night at the door. “But you don’t have to try alone. We’re in this together.”  

And for the first time in so long, Chris didn’t pull away. He let himself be held. He let himself be loved. And slowly—so slowly, you almost didn’t notice—the walls began to crumble. The fear, the self-doubt, the distance that had once defined your relationship started to fade, replaced by something quieter, something stronger. Trust. Patience. Hope.  

You didn’t know what the future would bring. You didn’t know if this was the end of the story, or if it was just the beginning of something new. But you knew this: whatever happened, you were no longer afraid of loving him. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t afraid of loving you either.  

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Another angst. I do throughly enjoy writing angst but i think i might write a fluff next 👀

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