#it's fine though this is better! ♥

[solvisun]

121224 ♥︎ drunk tsukishima kei and his insistence of asking you why you love him.

it's already close to midnight when your husband of two years ask you all of a sudden. he's warm, and hazy with alcohol. you're absentmindedly treading your fingers through his soft hair, the floral scent from his shampoo is irresistible. you inhale slowly and plant a small kiss on his scalp.

"why do you love me?" his head buried on the slope between your neck and shoulder, breath a little warm that tingles your skin as he sigh through his nose. you feel his hold on your hip tighten, palm smoothing the crease on your shorts as he travels down to your thighs, giving it a loving squeeze.

you resist the urge to laugh in amusement. you hear your clock from the nightstand tick faintly, the low hum of the ac ebbing and flowing in the silence. you think about the myriad of ways you could respond, yet in all of them, no amount of words will ever reach its essence. no matter how you say it, it will never be enough.

instead, you ask him back, voice low as if you’re whispering, "what's not to love about you?"

he grumbles, and you can almost imagine the little pout surfacing his pretty lips, “do you want me to barf at your sappiness?”

“i’m serious.” you say as you fight a smile.

“prove it.”

“sorry?”

he finally looks at you, a long pause with slow blinking, his hand leaves your thigh, reaches up to brush his knuckles against your cheeks. the ring on his ring finger feels cold against your warm face, light catches gold—are you talking about the ring, or his eyes? maybe both?

you’re a little tipsy yourself. you might as well just kiss him right now because your mouth always fails you to shape your love in the form of words. you’re not eloquent enough to mold a perfect sculpture of sentences, you’re not capable of holding onto a voice but it’s ironic how you’re able to carry a weight of a ton of actions—and you think, maybe he doesn’t need you to be perfect with words.

maybe he just needs you to say it, you love him for all that he is.

you capture his hand, locking your fingers through the gaps and kissing it while holding your stare. such beautiful golden brown who only ever looks at you like this. you don’t want to look away, you want to keep him forever, like he’s a promise you love to keep.

you feign a scoff, “fine. if you want specifics. i love you because you give me challenges, the ones that pisses me off in a good way, the ones that make me a better person, the ones that make me think differently.”

“i love how you argue with me about the smallest things, like which way the toilet paper roll should go, just because you know it gets a rise out of me. i love the way you silently leave the last piece of your favorite snack for me, even though you act like you don’t care.”

“i love that you fold the laundry so badly on purpose just to get out of doing it, and how you mutter ‘you’re welcome’ when i fix it.” you see the slightest of twitch of his brows. guilty.

you rest both your intertwined hand on your chest, hoping he can feel your beating organ.

“i love how you complain about the dishes but still wash the ones i ‘accidentally’ leave in the sink. i love how you steal the blankets at night but always drape them back over me when you think i’m asleep. i love how you sigh every time i forget my keys but still wait by the door to hand them to me, no matter how late i’m running.”

“i love how you can be so stubborn and sharp with your words, but you never let the day end without sitting next to me, even if it’s in silence, just to make sure we’re okay. i love how, after a fight, you pretend to not-so-subtly leave fresh fruit cuts on the counter or let me pick the movie, even though you hate my choices.”

“you choose horror all the time.” he comments without thinking, and you chuckle.

“i love that you can’t handle it. because you can’t help but cling to me after.”

at this point, your voice wavers slightly, the memories tugging at your chest. “i love that, even when we hurt each other, you always find a way to show me you care. you never say it outright, but it’s in the way you stay. you always stay, kei.”

your voice soften as you look at him, his golden eyes searching yours with a quiet vulnerability. “is that good enough of a reason, kei?”

he was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable, before scoffing softly. “you’re so dramatic.”

right as he bury himself in your scent, lips on your neck that inevitably makes you shiver, you can see his ears turn red—and you think it’s the alcohol, but maybe it’s also because of your sappy shitty monologue. maybe its both.

your head feels lighter, a pleasant buzz on your veins and a thudding heart that can’t quiet itself, maybe you want the world to know just how much you love this man— and to make it even more sappier, he’s your world. it should be obvious by now.

you are dramatic. “hehe, that’s why we’re here. that’s why you love me.”

ever since you became his highschool sweetheart, you didn’t change as much. at least, to his eyes, you remain the love he’s always wanted.

and the things you do to him, for him. leaves him drunk with want. your name on his lips sits like a prayer, a letter of promises forever to keep—committed to keep.

the ends of his lips curl into the faintest smirk, his blush deepening as he muttered, “maybe.”

after a few quiet shifts in position, you both comfortably settle in each other’s arms for the night. he closes his eyes and yet, he can still see you in perfect resolution, as if there’s a screen behind his eyelids. replaying the memories with your words ringing his ears.

he remembers his first kiss with you before he falls to sleep. saw your eyes glossy and glowing, he never told you this but, he wanted to marry you by then. wants you to give him that look everyday, wants your beginnings and your tomorrows.

and—oh, he already has it. huh. wow, he still can’t believe you love him after all these years.

© SOLVISUN 2024. thank you for reading!

[hanahaki270]

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ “You Belong to Me” ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

・❥・ Synopsis ・❥・ Having an Uchiha as an ex doesn’t mean anything. Once you’ve managed to make them fall for you, you’re basically stuck with them for eternity.

・❥・ Pairing ・❥・ Sasuke x Fem!reader

・❥・ A/N ・❥・ I finally decided to continue watching shippuden after having it on pause for 5 years.. yeahhh so I’m having a huge obsession with it rn. Also please feel free to send prompt requests for me to write! And I feel like I definitely could have written this out better but I was in a rush and stressed out about Job interviews so mb

♥︎

You finally gathered the courage within you to end your relationship with Sasuke. This wasn’t an easy decision. In fact it was tearing you apart. You still loved him. But the differences between your priorities and his were far too different to the point where they were conflicting with each other.

You might as well have been talking to a wall that day with how blank his expression was after you just announced how you were breaking up with him. The loud silence was killing you inside, does he not care at all?

♥︎

-You wanting to break up with him was like a jab at his ego. The Sasuke Uchiha. The last prodigy of his clan and you wanted to leave him? Though this enraged him, he refused to let you know it. He couldn’t let you have the satisfaction of knowing that this actually affected him.

-After you left the apartment he started to completely trash the place. Everything in it was obliterated into nothingness. But as soon as he went out in public he acted completely fine as if nothing happened.

-Anytime you were around he would make sure you saw him with other girls. He wanted to show you that he could be with anybody he desired without a problem, at any given second. Show you that you weren’t nothing special to him.

-He was lying. Because as soon as you left his vision he treated the girls like shit and pushed them aside after they served their purpose in making you jealous.

-He tried to sleep with random women in the village to further prove that he didn’t need you. (He was really just trying to convince himself) but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. None of them even compared to your beauty. Even the thought of another person lying on the bed you two once shared disgusted him.

-After weeks of this even Sasuke couldn’t believe his own facade. He craved you. He craved your smile, your laughter, Your touch. And is willing to do whatever it takes to remind you that you belong with him.

-He sucked up his pride and begged Naruto to send you two on missions together. So you’d be basically forced to talk to each other . (Naruto uses this against him every now and then)

-During one of the missions, one of your comrades decide to get a little touchy with you. You pay this no mind since you have no interest in the guy, but Sasuke definitely notices it. What’s a worthless ninja doing talking to what’s his?

-A couple of days after that mission, the scenario of another man getting that close to you haunted Sasuke day and night. There’s no way in hell you’d ever willingly decide to be with any other man but him. Right? He needed the reassurance and he needed it now.

-It was 4 am when you opened the door to your apartment after you were awoken by loud desperate banging on the door just to be faced with your ex. He invited himself in, closing the door behind him as he slowly crept towards you.

“Sasuke?”

-He reached for your hand and held it in his, as he focused on you as if there was nothing else in this world. You could tell he developed dark circles since the last time you saw him.

“The day we got together was the day I chose you to be the one I repopulate my clan with. The only one worthy of the surname Uchiha. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

-He noticed how you were at a loss of words so he took this moment to do what he’s been yearning to. He grabbed the back of your head pulling you into a kiss. The kiss was messy and desperate. He kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. And to him, you were.

-Needless to say you were vulnerable to his request and took him back. How could you not?

♥︎

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #16

Your stalker has a severe problem.

That's the conclusion you came to as you opened the door for the fifth time that day to another mailman handing you three more packages. Your living room had become unlivable, a space cluttered with cartons and the unopened remains of packages. At some point, you stopped opening them, but now they were collecting dust and destroying the comfort in your own home.

At first, curiosity had gotten the better of you. Amongst inappropriate gifts like underwear and... toys, there had actually been some useful presents. You secretly kept all the gifts that had been on your to-buy for a while and openly threw away the disgusting ones. You knew better than to accept the stalker's gifts, but since they were valuable, you couldn't help but hold on to some of them.

That was your mistake.

But looking at the neatly stacked packages, spreading from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, you realized your stalker had lost all control. You noticed brand names on the brown packages that you had only glanced at briefly while scrolling through your phone—expensive ones, too. At this point, you feared you couldn't look at anything anymore without it inevitably being sent to your home. You thought you had this situation under control, but apparently, you hadn't.

>> did you like the new necklace?

Heaving a deep sigh you looked at the countless messages, a new one popping up right on time of the delivery. Whoever he was, he was always watching. Though you ignored his constant string of texts—asking about your day, how you were feeling, confessing his love to you, wondering if you would wear his latest gifts—you knew this couldn't go on for much longer.

<< please stop

>> you finally responded :)

<< this needs to stop, I don't need all this junk!

>> but do you like it? i know you kept some of them

Biting your lip, you cursed yourself. Of course he'd notice that you didn't discard everything. That probably only encouraged your stalker to keep sending you more and more, wherever he got the money to afford it. Part of you thought, "Whatever! If he wants to blast through all that money, so be it! Might as well enjoy it!" but what about your morals?

You've been fighting so hard to live a normal life despite having this stalker. The police had given up since he was just too good at hiding his tracks, but he seemed to know everything and always be present in your life. If you let him continue like this, who knows what kind of trouble—legally and morally—you'd get into. What if this was his way of making you dependent and comfortable? This person had no qualms about intruding on your life, but what if he finally snapped? What would happen then? How much worse could this situation get?

<< anyway this needs to stop NOW

>> fine. let's make a deal: i'll send you one more gift >> if you hate it, i'll stop. but if you like it...

<< then what?

>> you'll see ;)

Your finger hovering over the keyboard of your phone, you thought about what your stalker could possibly mean. There was a good chance it would be a gift you liked, and he'd feel confident in the choices he made regarding you. But at the same time, what if it was a god-awful present? What if it was downright horrible? How far would he go, and could you possibly stomach the consequences of his actions because you allowed him to?

<< what if I refuse?

There was no answer this time. It was strange. You were starting to really get paranoid that he was plotting something terrible.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[coichii]

101 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT ✭

—(🎧)—> when your sick, he always knows just how to take care of you

pairing - bf!minho ♥︎ fem!uni student!reader

genre: sickfic, angst, and comfort

word count: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, unhealthy habits, self deprecating behavior & thoughts.

You grab a sip of your water for what feels like the 1000th time tonight.

Somehow, throughout the day, you had picked up a cold. You knew there was some strain of flu spreading throughout your school, but man this one spread quicker than ever.

There’s no time for that though, especially not with midterms coming up right around the corner. So with heavy eyes and a sore throat that you swear is getting worse within a matter of seconds, you continue studying.

You didn’t live on campus. In fact, you lived in a small apartment with your boyfriend, Minho. It was close enough to both your university and his company, so it worked out perfectly. Not having to deal with pesky, disgusting roommates and getting to live with the love of your life instead was the dream.

The sound of keys ringing and the door cracking open was enough to pull you out of your thoughts. Your lover had just came home.

You smile gently as you hear his quiet footsteps grow ever closer to the door, heart bubbling with same excitement as it had when you first moved in. The feeling never went away, not even a little bit.

“Hi baby.” He says, walking in to your shared bedroom and sitting down on the bed behind you. “Still working this late?”

“Well yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” You reply. You wonder if your voice gave your illness away, because you can see his eye brows furrowing as you speak. “Are you sick y/n?”

“I just came down with it. My throat hurts, that’s all. I may not even be sick.” You try not to worry him, lying as you speak. If you’re being honest, your throat hurts like a bitch. But you know him well enough to know that if he knows how bad your feeling, he’ll focus all his energy on making you feel 110% and push off practically everything else.

He hums in response, eyes still searching yours before he’s moving to stand up. “Let me make you some tea then hmm? that should make you feel better.”

“Are you sure? It’s still super later Minho.” You respond, but you know it’s a loosing battle. He could be stubborn when he needed to be, and he is when it comes to you and your health.

“It’s fine. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you. Do you want chamomile?” He asked, not taking no for an answer. You smile as you feel yourself giving in, eyes feeling even more agonizingly heavy.

“Please” you groan out, and he’s leaving to the kitchen. You feel grateful for him as the day and pain catches up to you, finally deciding to close your textbooks and change for the night. Thankfully, you had already showered and brushed your teeth, so there was no worrying about that.

You grab the book you had been reading from your nightstand as you tuck your self into bed, silently waiting for the tea your boyfriend had prepared.

Even though you put up a slight fight about it, you can’t help but enjoy when he treats you like this. You love when he takes care of you, it makes you feel special and loved. It fills you with a special kind of warmth that can’t be described in words. Just pure love.

Just as the pain in your throat felt as if it was getting impossibly worse, your boyfriend came in with a steaming cup of hot chamomile tea, placing it down on the coaster next to you. “It’s really hot so be careful okay? I’m going to go shower now.” He dotes on you, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Ok, thank you so much baby. I’ll probably be sleep by the time you’re done.” And he hums in response, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before heading to the bathroom, clothes in hand.

The tea does a good job with soothing your throat, the sweet, honey taste dripping down your throat perfectly remedying the itchy, scratchy feeling.

You decide to finally get some shut eye as midnight comes around quicker than you thought, placing your book back on the nightstand and trying to get comfortable.

Key word : Trying

It’s hard, especially with the small cough that creeped its way into your throat all of a sudden. It’s keeping you up, the hacking noise disrupting the peace your body needed to finally fall asleep.

It takes longer than you wish it did, but eventually the tea is able to coax your body into sleep, eyes finally getting the rest they desperately needed.

Moments later, Minho joins you in the bedroom, clad in nothing but breezy pajama pants. Getting into bed with you and snuggling close, he knows you’re asleep, but he can’t help but begin to pepper small kisses upon face and hold you tighter.

“Get better, my love.” He drifts off, falling into sleep alongside you.

And you wish you could say you did.

You woke up smoldering hot but shivering at the same time. You look at your clock, groaning as the bright light amplified the small headache that had spread through your entire face. 10 am. You’re usually up by seven.

You silently say a quick “thank you prayer” that you don’t have classes on Wednesdays. Taking a day off of school during exam season is a whole death wish. But with how things are progressing, you’re not sure if you can even go tomorrow without getting 9-1-1 called.

You open your phone, groaning again as the light messes with your headache, but reading who the message is from still causes a weak smile to take form on your face.

—

new message from “linoo❤️🐰”

linoo❤️🐰: Good morning y/n.

linoo❤️🐰: Are you feeling better?

linoo❤️🐰 : I know you don’t have classes today, so you should take it easy.

linoo❤️🐰 : If you want to call or need me to come over, tell me. You know I won’t mind.

you : hey, I just woke up❤️ im fine though.

he texts back within less than a minute

linoo❤️🐰 : your symptoms are gone?

you : well no… they’re worse. but I’m fine !! i promise

linoo❤️🐰 : you’ll call me if it gets worse right?

you : yes :) I promise

linoo❤️🐰 : okay, have a good day. I love you

you : I love you 2 !!

—

You sigh as you place your phone down, mentally deciding to go take a shower. Surely that’ll fix the headache right?

Your head spins as you get out of bed, the world looking blurry and dizzy with specs of gray. It’s hard to walk.

“How the actual fuck did it get this bad so quickly?” You mumble to yourself, stumbling towards the bathroom and turning on the water.

The steam helps a little bit with the tension in your head and the congestion of your nose, but it’s not doing much. Atleast not as much as you need. Your throat was still burning for some relief, and the dizziness hasn’t stopped either. You’re thinking if it gets any worse, you’re probably going to have to go to the hospital.

The shower itself helps a little bit more with alleviating the pain, the warm water cascading down your skin and warming it up inside. But you can still feel it.

You can still feel the pounding of the headache you swear is forming into a migraine practically tearing your head apart, your throat is still screaming you for something warm, and to make matters worse, you think you’re developing nausea too.

Yup, definitely the flu

The flu never stopped anyone though, and midterms are still right around the corner. So with a dry cough and constant sneeze, you were popping advil, and taking a seat at your desk.

“A little sickness can’t me from doing this” you thought to yourself, but it was much harder than you thought.

Suddenly the sun had already set. The moonlight creeps its way inside through the slits in the blinds, but you hadn’t seemed to notice. You didn’t notice the way your eyes were blurred with unshed tears either. Your mind was absolutely buried in the thought of midterms.

I’m not prepared. Im going to fail. I’m a disappointment. I’m so useless, one fucking cough and I end up like this? I don’t even know why I try anym-

“Y/n!” Minho’s voice cuts through the mess swirling through your brain. You look over to where the voice came from and you swear you can see his face crumble the moment he looks at you.

To be fair, you hadn’t looked in the mirror since you took your shower in the morning, but Minho saw something different. He saw disheveled hair, droopy and tired eyes, beads of sweat drooping down your shivering body, and most importantly, tears.

“You told me you would call me if it got worse.” He bitterly spoke, and you felt that cut right through your heart. “I-It didn’t. I’m fine min-“ but he’s cutting you off immediately.

“You’re not fine y/n. You’re literally crying!” He booms, and you can’t help but feel extremely guilty. “Have you ate today? Or at least took medicine?!”

“Uhm, once at like n-nine. Look min I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for not calling you when I was supposed to. B-but my studying. If I stop, I’m not going to make it. I can’t fail min.”

His expression softens at your admission, eyebrows de-furrowing and eyes being replaced by compassion instead of anger and hurt as he walks closer towards you.

“Baby, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. I get it, I love that you want to study. But baby, is it really worth your life?”

Crack

“I know it means a lot, but so do you and your mental health. You can’t push yourself this hard and expect good results. You need to rest.”

Crack

“I love you so much. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Please let me take care of you okay? That’s all I want to do for you love.”

Shatter

You’re sobbing all of a sudden, burrowing your head in his sweatshirt as tears pour as of your eyes like faucets. It’s making your head hurt more, but you didn’t care. You just needed him.

He let you stay there for a while, he knew you needed it. He shushed the small sorries coming out of your mouth, telling you that you didn’t need to apologize. He only pulled you away when you calmed down completely.

“I’m going to get the thermometer. Stay here, my baby.” and he’s off to grab the thermometer you kept on hand from one of the cabinets in the bathroom, coming back with a concerned look on his face.

He quickly rubbed the thermometer along your forehead, reading out your temperature with a sharp ‘beep!’

“101 degrees.” He sighed. “Baby, if this gets any worse, you’re going to have to go to the hospital.”

Your breath hitches and tears spring to your eyes again, which Minho notices immediately.

“Hey, look at me.” He says, using his pointer finger to make you face him. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you feel better okay?”

You nod along, resting your body back into his comforting arms as he massages your tense shoulders. He’s whispering small praises as he does this, and you swear you can feel your headache dissipating slowly.

While even though it’s going to be a while before you’re completely better, or even a little bit, you knew with him, it would all be okay.

As long as you have him taking care of you, comforting you, and loving you, you know you’ll be okay.

back to masterlist

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.  

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.  

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.  

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I��”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

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[formylovetodaryldixon]

"A whole new world." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

For Daryl, it still feels like living in a whole new world with his daughter by his side, but in the hour that he is left alone with Marley, Daryl proves he is the best dad ever.

A/N: Lately I live to create scenarios with Daryl as a dad♥ This is just a short imagine but I hope you like it. If you want to read other stories with dad!Daryl, here are two: "My everything." and "For life." Thanks!

Marley Rose Dixon is five weeks old.

She is so tiny compared to her father, who for those weeks had done nothing but lay on the living room couch with her on top of him, wrapped in a comfortable blanket and on his chest while Daryl patted or rubbed her back gently, earning little sounds like a light laugh or a warm sigh before she fell fast asleep. Daryl had already held Judith when she was born, but there was something particular about holding Marley, like being in a new world, with an almost overwhelming feeling to feel his own daughter that close, protected as only he could do it, being as gentle and loving with her as his parents never were with him.

And when Alexandria fell into a deep sleep during the night, just like now, Daryl took some time after his wife fed Marley, laying her on his chest so she could feel his warmth, one hand behind his head while the other caressed her back.

It was routine, part of his daily life, and he loved the idea of ​​doing it, waiting patiently for his turn to hold her. But when light knocks are heard on the front door, Daryl opens his eyes as he notices that he was starting to fall asleep as well.

“I'll go.” You say softly, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. “You look way too comfortable right now and I wouldn’t want to make you move your ass off the couch.”

You’re joking with him and he knows it, but Daryl scoffs as he crosses his feet over the armrest of the couch just to show you how comfortable he really is.

“I’m takin' care of our daughter, woman. This ain't a vacation, y'know?”

You chuckle before opening the door, and while it’s still a surprise that someone knocks considering it’s already late, that only mean one thing. Your neighbor is on the other side, a young woman who lives with her 8–year–old son.

“Hi, Elena, is everything okay?”

“Hey, (Y/N), sorry to bother you at this hour…” She tries to smile, though the worry on her face is evident, so you wave your hand indicating that everything is okay. “Ryan has been sick for a few hours now, and I thought he would get better if he rested, but he’s actually gotten worse and I was wondering if you could please check on him.”

Your smile falters slightly, because that would be the first time you’d leave your daughter alone with her father.

“Yeah, sure, of course I will. Let me talk to Daryl for a moment and I’ll come over to your house, okay?”

She nods and thanks you before heading back into her house, but when you close the door and turn around, Daryl is already looking at you, noticing your insecurity in a blink.

“Ya want a goodbye kiss? If ya want one ya can come closer, 'cause Marley and I will be fine without ya.” He looks at his daughter, as if she’s really going to answer him. “Ain’t that true, sweetie? We don’ need mommy watchin' us all day. Daddy can take care of everythin'.”

You trust him, completely, but your motherly instincts lead you to worry anyway.

“Okay. I don’t think I’ll be long, but there’s hot water for the milk in case she gets hungry. You know how to do it so it won’t be a problem.”

He scoffs.

“I know damn well how to do it.”

“And I just changed her diaper so I don’t think you will need to do it for a while.”

“Okay.”

“And if she starts crying maybe it’s because—”

He looks at you seriously but with affection.

“Woman, jus’ go, daddy can take care of it.” At least his confidence is reassuring, almost, but you know they’ll be okay. So, with a long sigh, you grab your cardigan from the single couch, your keys from the table near the door, and walk out of the house, leaving him alone in the company of his daughter’s soft breathing. “S' jus' ya and me, angel, so please don’ make daddy worry too much. I don’ want mommy to think I can’t take care of ma own daughter.”

Marley stirs slightly, letting out a small sigh, then falling into a deep sleep. For a moment, Daryl closes his eyes again and the house falls into a deep, warm sleep too, far from terror and danger, but the feeling is short–lived when after a while she starts to whine, first making soft sounds that Daryl tries to soothe as he continues to pat her back, making sounds that would calm her. For a few seconds, Marley does calm down, but the next her eyes squeeze shut tighter, and she cries for a little longer, a little louder this time.

Slowly, Daryl sits down on the couch, his hands supporting Marley’s body on her blanket.

“Okay, angel, I think we’re hungry again.”

He gets up from the couch with his daughter in his arms, gently rocking her on his way to the kitchen. The only light in the house comes from the lamp in the living room, but the moonlight shines through the open window blinds and lights his way as Daryl prepares the milk with an expert hand: pouring the water into the bottle, opening the formula, and so on. Marley continues crying, but not so loud to make her dad worry, and when within a few minutes the bottle has cooled under the sink’s stream of water, Daryl comes back into the living room, setting the milk on the table in front of him to nestle Marley against his arm.

Her blue eyes are open now, scanning the place, but the moment she catches her father’s gaze as he looks back at her, her crying subsides.

“What are ya doin' up so late, lil’ miss?” Daryl smiles, taking the bottle and bringing it to her mouth. The second Marley feels it against her lips, they part to start drinking the milk, her crying fading quickly. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ya need to drink all the milk so ya can grow big and strong. Mommy’s a little short but us Dixons are tall, so I’m countin' on ya to get that from yer daddy.”

After a while and even though Marley’s eyes begin to droop as the milk runs out, Daryl continues to smile at her until her eyelids finally close again, the bottle still in her mouth. Daryl pulls it away from her and places it back on the table before standing up, settling Marley against his chest before pacing around the room, patting her back with a gentle touch. Marley's head is under his chin, and Daryl only has to tilt his head slightly down to rest it against his daughter, keeping her warm against him.

“Ya know, baby?” He says softly, his voice low so as not to disturb her sleep, but eager to share this story with her, even if she doesn’t hear or remember it. “When mommy found out she was pregnant, she was so scared. Mommy has always been a very, very brave person, but at that moment, daddy could see the terror in 'er eyes. Even though I don’ want to, one day I’ll have to show ya the new world we live in now, but despite that, I told yer mommy I wanted to have ya. The idea of ​​havin' a family of ma own never crossed ma mind until I met yer mommy: she came into ma life to remind me to stop existin' and start livin', but the moment I knew ya were in mommy’s womb I felt a new kind of happiness, somethin' I thought I had no right to feel. Daddy loves ya, ma lil’ angel, daddy loved ya since he knew ya existed, and daddy will love ya for the rest of his life. I jus’ hope ya love me too…”

Those last words leave his lips in an even lower voice, almost inaudible, but it’s a wish Daryl has dreamed of ever since he found out he was having a baby.

He places a kiss on Marley’s head, before heading upstairs.

Once in the bedroom, the light coming through the closed window with the curtains open fights against the darkness, light that draws a perfect square over the center of the bed, the place where Daryl leaves his daughter, as soft as he never thought he could be, covering her with her blanket before lying down next to her, on his right side and with his arm under his head to admire her as he has been doing since she was born.

Daryl's hand is significantly larger than Marley's, but he uses his finger to caress his daughter's, her hand slightly closed, smiling at the contact with her soft, warm skin. For him, it is still surprising to see that she’s really there with him, so close and so little. Marley has a small nose, and sometimes she looks like her mom, and sometimes like him. His family often jokes with him, wondering if she will inherit her dad's personality, that explosive temper that they used to make fun of fondly, but that everyone knew he had only used to protect himself from pain. Because everyone knew well that behind that, Daryl was a born leader, a good brother and an uncle, and especially a good husband and now a good father, and yes, he was also intimidating with his silence, but a very protective and loyal person, willing to give his life for his family.

It takes Daryl a moment to close his eyes, but he’s always alert, though the walls of his home are a kind of protection. He’d always been a light sleeper (except since Marley was born, because at that moment Daryl truly felt what it was like to be deprived of that resource), but the moment you walk up the stairs on your way to the bedroom, he can feel you despite the silence that accompanies you.

Daryl rubs his eye with his fist, raising himself up on his arm just as you enter the room.

“Everythin' okay with Ryan, sweetheart?” He asks quietly, in that deep, husky voice.

You nod as you walk over to your side of the bed, sitting on the edge to watch Marley.

“Yeah, it looks like he caught some kind of bug from eating something his mom forbade him to eat, but I gave him some medicine and Ryan will be fine: just that the nausea is pretty annoying, especially in the middle of the night.”

Daryl chuckles.

“It reminds me when ya were pregnant with Marley. Ya kinda hated me for it.”

You smile a little, it’s late but you’re still in the mood to joke with him.

“I kind of still do, but oh well…”

Daryl scoffs before laying back down, head over his arm.

“Shut up. Ya love me.”

You chuckle.

“Of course I love you, silly, if I didn’t I would never have let you get me pregnant.”

Daryl smirks, mischievous.

“I told ya it was a good idea to do it without a condom. We made a very cute baby.”

You squint.

“Yeah. But don’t think that’s going to happen again.”

With that, you get back up to change into something more comfortable before you go to sleep, at least for a little while before Marley wakes up again. Silently, and though you don’t notice until you get back to bed, too immersed in constant tiredness, Daryl follows you with his gaze all the way, admiring your body and your beauty until his eyes meet yours.

“When can I make love to ya again?”

You laugh softly as you lay down on the other side of Marley.

“I think in a few more days we’ll be fine.” You adjust the pillow under your head, rubbing your eye with your fist as sleep begins to overcome you. But before you drift off into a light slumber, you use the energy in your body to look your husband in the eyes. “This is the first time you’ve been left totally alone with her, and you did a great job, daddy, I knew you could do it. I am very proud of you.”

Daryl smiles slightly as he too begins to fight off sleep, but his chest is filled with pride.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

[sugurizz]

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓/𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 +𝟏𝟖 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈!!

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ── Bby Boo Joo is a M E N A C E but I know a lot of us noticed him being all soft and tender (like 1% of the time) but oh well, I can work with that 💪🏼. So here’s some of the ways Jaekyung expresses his…feelings? Ig. kinda his love language.. in a way 💕…

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐒𝐊.

Also thanks for the inspo and sorry ik this ask was sent long ago 🤧. U can call me Hana but I’ve been thinking about Yuna as a new alias…idk.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: established relationship, Physiotherapist F! Reader, shared house, implied power dynamics, hints at sex/ SEXUAL content.

Living in Jaekyung’s penthouse sure made life easier for both of you. It slowly aquainted you to each other, bodies and minds. You slowly got used to his mannerisms, little habits and his little pet-peeves. The sense of pride it gave you to feel like you knew him more than anybody else sure gave you a tiny ego boost. especially him desiring you whenever his body needs it…

♥︎──♥︎ He checks on you randomly. Casually pretending to walk by your room and just making sure you’re there. He does it almost whenever he’s home with you. Sometimes getting a bit sly with it so you don’t really notice him. But you slowly learned it was his way of checking up on you, making sure you’re around him -you know- just in case…

♥︎──♥︎ He hates you not being home, especially when he’s back from overtime training. Whenever he’s feeling stressed, uneasy or just in a sour mood, he’d rather you be around him or at least somewhere he knows.

He made it obvious the one day you were away til a late hour at night. He came home from his evening workout, didn’t find you there and instantly texted you.

‘I’m home. need you to check on my shoulder.’

♥︎──♥︎ He always complains about his feather-light sleep, but snoozes like a baby whenever you’re in his bed. The nights before his matches are surprisingly best for him. He gets the best sleeping quality after he pounds the juices out your poor pussy. He wakes up before you for sure, but his cute disheveled morning hairs are sure proof of a healthy healthy nap.

♥︎──♥︎ He likes it better when you make the food. His cocky ass always claims he’s fine making it himself but eats twice the amount whenever it’s you cooking his meals. He’d pretend he’s tired and not in the mood whenever he craves your cooking cause…his ass can’t simply ask for something lol. Yet he gets all giddy and blushy when his fav smoked eel dish is ready.

♥︎──♥︎ He hates to see you in any pain. Always saying it’s just for himself though…You know, just because he wants you always safe and ready to keep him in peak condition. and NOT because he actually cares or anything.

Yet why does he still gets annoyed at you getting the slightest scratch? He frowns when he notices you wearing band-aids, having a bruise or even some random shallow cuts on your hands and he’d instantly grab your arm, staring into your eyes and asking you how’d you get the injury.

♥︎──♥︎ He likes randomly noticing you…*ahem* underclothed. booty shorts definitely trigger his inner perv. He stares at your ass when you’re standing in the bathroom, doing your skincare freshly out of a quick nighty shower. So damn shameless when he stares. Almost undressing you with the raven eyes and thick lashes. So annoying…

You usually end up taking another shower that same night, only with his thick cum flowing down your thigh the second time :3

♥︎──♥︎ He can sense whenever you’re feeling down…IRONICALLY? Sounds like a joke with Jaekyung being the dick he is LOL but trust me on this one.

He almost has a sixth sense whenever you’re sad, scared, stressed out or just if something inconvenient happens to you in general. He’d never admit it -obviously- but it bugs him if he ever caught you teary-eyed. It gets him uneasy and you can tell when his mood sometimes matches yours..

Uhhh smells like love in here *insert Jaekyung stuffing his nose with toilet paper scraps*

♥︎──♥︎ He hates when you struggle to do something by yourself instead of asking him for help. (paying bills, dealing with packages, paperwork etc…) Says they’re just ‘bs problems’ and he can solve them for you much quicker and better than you could. He’d do it himself or even pays someone to do it instead.

Besides, he’s not kidding when he says he wants all your focus on him so he’d rather everything around you gets taken care of just so you can be there for him at all times.

♥︎──♥︎ He doesn’t mind your outside life but would definitely notice when you’re all cute and dolled-up for some reason.

It’s not only about the dolly looks to be fair. He’d bend you over the kitchen counter in your stained apron and fuck you dumb or suck your tits in your goofy pattern pjs on one of his long sleepless nights…

But the time he notices you spraying your cherry fragance in the bathroom, your perky breasts sticking shyly through your dress and a shiny jewel dangling from your ankle bracelet always gets him tight in his boxers.

He walks in with his glossy eyes, same naugthy grin you see when he’s in that mood..

‘Tomorrow’s my back check-up. Better not be late.’ He steps behind you, arms lazily crossed above his chest.

You nodded and made your way through the entrance, catching a honeyed voice behind you.

‘Hey Doc. I’ll drop you by'...

…His white McLaren got you there way ahead of time. so ahead that you ended up clawing at the door close to you, the little ankle bracelet jiggling over Jaekyung’s back and your shaky arms wrapped shut around his shoulders. Begging him to let you cum in fear of missing on your little night out...

[starbunii]

Can I get Baizhu, Venti, Scara, Ei, and Tenko Chabashira with a gf who's deathly terrified of storms/thunder and lightning? Like, every t8me she sees/hears it, her breath audibly hitches but she tries to pretend it's fine? I think I'm not ok, bestie 😭

# . storms 𓂃 ♥︎

𝜗𝜚 ┈ baizhu, venti, scara, ei, tenko x reader (seperate) ! ｡

notes: dude im the exact same way, thunder is litrally so scary it makes me cry everytime lasjfsf

headcanons ノ fluffノfem! reader ノcanon universe

second person pov !! please enjoy! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

-- ♡ --

baizhu

he's immediately taking you to the kitchen, making a calming tea as you're wrapped up in a little blanket

changsheng is waiting there with you, gently licking the tears off your cheeks, slithering on your shoulders in a way that tells you everything is ok

he'll take you to the living room after, making sure everything is well-light as he gently soothes you while you drink your tea

he's brushing your hair out of your face, telling you it's ok as he squeezes you tight, ensuring that you're safe and as close as possible

venti

he doesn't really realize what's wrong at first, only waking up once he realizes you're out of bed

he finds you down in the cellar, huddled up by wine barrels in a little blanket. you're shaking and crying and his heart just can't take it

venti will sit with you, nuzzling close as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. he'll even pull out the lyre if you want him to, singing soft songs to get you to relax

the two of you will be found sound asleep long after the storm is over, snuggled up together. at long last, you're calm and restful

scara

scara gets it. he's terrified of the sound of thunder too. it reminds him of his mother; of every single thing he's gone through. he hates it; he hates how it reminds him of his past behavior, of who he once was..

the two of you are stuck in bed, clinging together, whimpering at every strike of lightning and clap of thunder. you're on the verge of tears, and so is he

he's practically gripping at your waist while you tug at his hair, the two of you ensuring that you stay together

eventually, you two finally talk things out, fighting through tears. after a long, anxious conversation about the weather, you're both able to fall back asleep

raiden ei

if it's thundering, she's probably upset about something. does that add another layer of fear? i don't know, you tell me

obviously, she's upset about something. something big. but once she sees that look on your face...the tears streaming down your face, the shaky hands, the way your lip trembles ever so slightly...oh, she just can't take it

the weather clears up almost immediately as she rushes to your side, hugging you tightly as her fingers card through your hair. she's fussing over you as though you've just been terribly injured

even when you're not scared anymore, she's still clinging to your side the rest of the night, even (attempting) to make dinner as an apology. it's not edible, but...it's the thought that counts?

tenko

when she sees you crying, she is immediately trying to pick a fight with whoever made you upset (yes, even if it is the sky)

upon realizing it's just the thunder and lightning outside, she quickly pulls you into bed, holding you close and rocking you gently

she's not very good at comforting people, and being so close to a girl (even if she is her girlfriend) makes her just oh-so nervous. but she's more than happy to be your knight in shining armor, protecting you from the scary storm outside

she'll yelp a bit at particularly loud strikes of thunder, but will immediately giggle after, both because of her own silliness and to make you feel a little better about being scared

starbunii 2024 — all rights reserved. do not redistribute or translate to any other platforms

[shyamanuensis]

Break Ups - boyfriend!series

It’s a week before Valentine’s Day and you’ve decided to pull the pin on your relationship. This is how your now ex would handle it…

𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔥 -

♥︎ “Who?” It’s the way he answers whenever someone asks him where you are or what’s happened between the two of you. Does he want to talk about it? No. Will he ever? Absolutely not. It’s fairly obvious the two of you ended not on great terms - for the last week he’s gone out of his way to avoid you as if you’re carrying a medieval plague and rolls his eyes whenever your name is mentioned. Mature - real mature.

♥︎ Although he acts as if the breakup hasn’t affected him, once it actually sinks in (this takes a week or so), he can’t help but cry himself to sleep. Leander thought it would be a one-off thing, but no - he’s caught Garreth for 4 nights in a row now with teary eyes half asleep clutching at his pillow for temporary comfort and warmth.

♥︎ Party animal? Sort of. In the last week, he’s turned up to classes with hangovers the size of Hogsmeade and managed to sling back more shots than the entire of Gryffindor house combined. Does it make him feel better? Hell no - but at least now he’s not crying himself to sleep at night.

♥︎ That ball happening at the end of the month? The one you were meant to be going to together as a Hogwarts power couple - yeah he’s already asked another girl to take your place as his date. He couldn’t bring himself to actually see it through though so on the night, he ditches her and tries one last attempt at getting you to slip into that figure-hugging dress he spent hours upon hours having to hear you rave and ponder over walking between the 19 different stores you were determined to try everything on in.

♥︎ Could you return to being just friends? Perhaps. It takes a while. There’s a level of trust and understanding you both need to work through, but his greatest challenge when the two of you start talking again is remembering the fact he can’t just take hold of your hand whenever he wants to.

𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔰 -

♥︎ Aloof. Apathetic. Absentminded. Yeah that boys not on another planet but in another universe altogether. It makes it easier though - well as least that’s what he’s told his friends. The less opportunity he has to think about or run into you, the quicker he’ll mend.

♥︎ Irrespective of his attempt at forgetting you; he’s also tried to ask for forgiveness. Was he the reason the two of you ended things? Who really knows, but he’s got the moral mindset instilled within him that a true gentleman apologizes so he does the only way he knows how to. Flowers. Which would be sweet, but he’s enchanted them to not leave you alone until you finally accept their presence and place them in a vase of water.

♥︎ That gift he’d brought you for your birthday in a few months time? You still get it. Returning it would be a hassle and he’s convinced that it would be a waste for something so carefully curated and selected to go to anyone else.

♥︎ Does he date again? No. At least not for a while. Well until after graduation. Is he fine with you dating? Of course. He’s only ever wanted to see you happy; but can he bring himself to go through a potential heartbreak all over again for the sake of romantic and intimate company - no. Not while your lack of presence still haunts him.

♥︎ Out of habit; he’ll still pull your chair out for you to take a seat or open a door so that you can walk right through without having to lift a finger. He’s the perfect trope of a gentleman through and through and won’t let this roadblock in the friendship the two of you had before dating ruin his behaviour towards you.

𝔰𝔢𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔫 -

♥︎ How is his life going? If you ask him absolutely amazing. He’s free, he’s single, he’s ready to mingle. Has he taken that photo of you out of his wallet yet? No. That’s not going anywhere.

♥︎ Speaking of being single, he’s managed to make out with a dozen other women in the last 7 days by using nothing other than his pure charm to win them over but has he slept with any of them? Eh - no. He secretly likes the fact that his bedsheets still smell like you.

♥︎ Dueling has become a bit of a problem. He’s what others are calling volatile and aggressive. Lucan and Hecat have both spoken to him about toning it down but the words have gone in one ear and out the other. That last confringo he cast sent 2 students to the infirmary and almost burnt down the clocktower.

♥︎ The reason those other boys who have approached you once have never spoken to you again? Yeah that reason is Sebastian. He’s managed to threaten all but one into staying away from you. The one he didn’t threaten merely needed a dirty look shot his way.

♥︎ How long does the grieving process last for a Sallow some may ask? Oh it’s never longer than 14 days. Why? Because by this stage you’ve both come back to your senses and have realised that you’re like oxygen to fire and that the mutual level of unhinged passion which burns between you both is the reason you’re back beneath him in bed; craving the way his hands, lips, and tongue feel against your body. Fuck - fuck - fuck.

ps: thanks to @slytherinlives for the chat regarding this and @eva-fitzgerald for putting up with my brainstorming.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Wip Wednesday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard and @typicalopposite for this one (thank you my loves!). I have gotten quite a few things that I'm writing, and y'all had me motivated for new things with your asks, so thank you sooo much for that! ♥ But for this one I'm going with my priest!Tommy AU, so here's the first scene complete. If some stuff looks familiar it's bc I posted snippets a few days ago!

Buck loves LA, but he hates days like this one, where it feels like the whole city is a greenhouse. The heat is sticky and humid, clinging to his skin and making him sweat in his uniform. All he wants is a cold shower and a minute to breathe. And, okay, maybe a cold beer wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Instead, he’s crammed in the back of the 118 fire engine, heading to San Pedro for one more call. And Buck loves his job, he does, but they’ve been on back-to-back calls for the last three hours. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna melt” He whines, and Eddie smirks at him from the front seat (he had won rock paper scissors fair and square, the bastard), pushing his sunglasses up his nose. His Texas-raised ass does just fine with this horrible weather, and Buck hates him for it. 

“Yeah? Better start working hard to go to heaven then, cause you would not survive the eternal flames” He quips. Buck crosses his arms, too stubborn to let himself be influenced by the collective chuckle.

“I already work hard to go to heaven, don’t I? Saving lives and stuff” He says with a shrug, absolutely not pouting, thank you very much.. 

“I don’t know, Buckaroo.” Chim says, a playful smirk on his face. “When was the last time you set foot in a church? That’s supposed to be a big deal for the guy upstairs”

“Well, if that’s the dealbreaker, we’re all screwed” Hen says dryly, even though she doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Except for Cap, of course.”

Bobby chuckles from the driver’s seat, taking a turn to the right and stopping the truck. 

“Well, here’s your chance to make up for it” He says, and Buck comes down from the engine to find out they pulled up to a small stone-walled church. 

The doors are open, and most people are outside or at the very back of the church, chatting agitatedly, their eyes widened as most people when they find themselves witnesses to a 911-level emergency. It’s a sizable crowd, he thinks, considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon (which, as far as his Episcopalian-raised knowledge goes, is not a church day). 

As they rush up the church’s steps, he notices half of the crowd are the usual elderly ladies, but half of it are people around their 20s and 30s, and a few teens, which surprises Buck. They’re all whispering fiercely to each other and keep stealing glances inside the church. One of the ladies approaches them, relief clear in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God you got here so fast!” She says, wringing her hands together. “It’s Mrs. Bellini, you see, she has low blood pressure, and this weather…”

“Ma’am” Bobby cuts her off as gently as possible. “Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, it was father Kinard.” She clarifies, leading them inside. “He’s already tended to her forehead, but he didn’t want to risk moving her until you arrived to check her situation.”

The church is relatively small, but the ceiling is high, and their footsteps echo against the walls. It’s a lot cooler inside, and Buck lets out an involuntary sigh of relief as they get out of the intense sunlight.

The woman leads them to one of the front pews, where they find another lady who’s sitting down, looking pale and sheepish. There's a white gaze pressed against her forehead, and a small red stain seems to have formed against it. Sitting by her side is a man dressed in white robes, a green-colored long scarf-looking thingy around his neck. 

He stands up when they approach, and Buck’s taken aback, because he’s ridiculously tall; a little taller than Buck, even, and that’s no easy feat. His features are sharp, a jawbone that could probably cut through glass, and he has a cleft on his chin (why did Buck notice that, he wonders? Is it weird to notice a priest has a cleft?). He’s looking at them with widened blue eyes that are filled with concern. 

“Father Kinard? I’m Captain Nash.” Bobby says, and the man nods sharply, his stance almost militarily. "Can you tell us what happened?" 

"He is exaggerating is what happened" The woman quips, her voice a little trembling, but her glare towards the priest is very firm. Father Kinard, however, doesn't seem intimidated. 

"Calling 911 after you passed out and hit your head is not exaggerating, Gloria, and you know that" He says gently, then puts a massive hand on her bony shoulder. "I'm your shepherd, I have to make sure my sheep are doing alright, don't I?" 

Buck smiles a little at that; it shouldn’t sound that endearing, but it does, and even the lady seems convinced, because she shakes her head resignedly, and doesn’t protest when Chim takes her arm and wraps the pressure cuff around it. 

“She fell unconscious during service and hit her head on the pew.” Father Kinard elaborates, still looking at Mrs. Bellini worriedly. “I figured the heat brought her blood pressure down, so I asked everyone to step outside and called 911 immediately. I applied pressure to the wound and it seems to have stopped the bleeding. I made sure to keep her awake and she’s not showing any signs of confusion or dizziness.”

He knows it’s not polite to stare, but Buck can’t help himself. It’s not common for someone to give them this level of information with so much calmness when they arrive on a call. Usually they try to gather what little snippets they can through tears, yelling and fainting over the sight of blood. But father Kinard is collected and eloquent in what he says, and Buck's astounded. 

“And you're right, her blood pressure is a little low. The wound looks fine, though.” Chimney says, gently removing the gauze to inspect the cut. “Wow, looks like your priest cleaned this up real well, didn't he, Gloria? My job is already done for me.”

“Father Kinard is great whenever anyone gets hurt.” Gloria gushes, and the priest blushes under the attention, shrugging sheepishly.

“I had first aid training in the army.” He says, and when they all turn to him with widened eyes, he gives them a wry smirk. “Which was obviously before I joined the seminary.”

“Well, you were trained well, father.” Hen says approvingly, inspecting the wound herself and dabbing at it with a cotton swab covered in anti-septic. Gloria flinches a little, but sits still as Hen gets it cleaned and then places a band-aid over it. “This won't need stitches, it's very superficial. How are you feeling, Mrs. Bellini?”

“Oh, I'm perfectly alright now.” She says distractedly, her eyes turning back to her priest. “But I am so ashamed you had to stop service because of me, father! I'm very sorry! And for such a small thing too.”

“We’re lucky it was small, but it could have been bad. I wouldn’t risk it.” Father Kinard says patiently. “And don't worry about the service, Gloria, it was after Communion; we'd already done the greatest bits anyway.” He winks at her, a blinding smile on his face. 

Buck doesn’t get the joke, but apparently it’s funny, because both Eddie and Bobby chuckle at it. Chim is removing the cuff from Gloria’s arm and patting it jovially. 

“Well, looks like you’re all set, Mrs. Bellini.” He tells her. “If you experience any dizziness or headache, you should look for a hospital, but otherwise, you’re fine.” 

“And thank God for that!” Father Kinard adds with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, squeezing Gloria’s shoulder with genuine affection. “And thank you, first responders, as well. Come, I’ll walk you out before giving Gloria a lift home.” He says, and then strides along them to the back of the church, the smile still lingering on his face.

Buck has a hard time reconciling this laughing priest to the buttoned-up, serious-faced ministers he knew in childhood, from the few times his parents made him attend church. This man is full of joy and confidence, Buck can tell right away, and he just thinks he’s so cool. 

“You quite literally have nothing to thank us for, Father.” Bobby adds warmly, smiling at Kinard. Buck knows his captain has a close relationship with church, and he seems completely comfortable striking up a conversation with the priest. “You had done half our job for us before we were here.”

He shrugs modestly once more, walking alongside Bobby, and Buck is irrationally envious of his boss for a second or two. They stop by the church’s entrance, and the man extends a hand to Bobby. 

“Thank you, captain…” He says, trailing off, and Bobby firmly shakes his hand, smiling warmly. 

“Nash. Captain Bobby Nash. Your blessing, father.” Bobby asks respectfully, and the priest makes a cross sign over his head. 

“God Bless you and your team, Captain Nash. May He keep you safe in your very necessary jobs.” He says warmly, and then turns to Hen. “And thank you, firefighter…”

Buck watches in increasing despair as her, Chim and Eddie introduce themselves to the priest, shaking his hand, and realizes that soon it’ll be his turn.

He thought the church was cooler than the outside, but all of a sudden he's feeling hot all over again. Should he ask for the man’s blessing? He didn’t offer it to the others, and they didn’t ask, but should he? Is he even allowed if he’s not a Catholic? Does he even want the man to touch his sweaty forehead? 

And then the priest looks at him with that crunchy smile, an inexplicable blush creeps up to his cheeks. Buck thanks God - yes, he’s fully aware of the irony, and he does not find it funny - that he can blame it on the heat and his heavy uniform (never mind that father Kinard's clothes also look heavy and he's still perfectly composed, but Buck definitely won't think about how he'd look all sweaty).

“Thank you, firefighter…” He says, trailing off and extending a hand, and it takes Buck a second to realize he's supposed to shake it and offer his name (not his phone number. Definitely not his phone number).

“Evan. Buckley. Buck!” He blurts out like a complete idiot, and wonders if it's wrong to wish for a five scale fire so they can rush out of there.

Father Kinard raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk on his curved lips. That's when Buck notices he's still shaking hands with the man, and he lets go clumsily. 

“My, that's a mouthful” Kinard says, and Buck almost blurts out that he has something else that's a mouthful before his eyes clock the white collar around the man's neck. 

As it is, he just snickers awkwardly and mutters a goodbye, his voice high-pitched and strained.

Buck's at the truck before anyone else, mentally preparing himself for being teased all through the shift they just started. 

His only saving grace is that, as much as he made a complete fool of himself in front of father Kinard, it's not a problem. Buck'll never have to see the man again, will he? So it's not like it matters.

Naturally, the priest shows up at the station the next day.

Np tagging @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @fairytalegonewronga03 @laundryandtaxesworld @mmso-notlikethat and whoever else would like to do it!

[00valentina-writes00]

how would Ellie respond to seeing you after a self harm relapse?

♡♥︎ “I’m Here” ♥︎♡

Warnings: depression, self-harm, bruises, mental health struggles, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, angst, comfort, tear jerking

Ellie hadn’t seen you in days. She was worried, but she’d let you have your space. You always needed your moments to recharge, to gather yourself. She understood that, but still, the silence in the air between you both lately felt heavy—too heavy.

You were always such a rock for her. She never had to explain herself; you always understood when she needed space. You never pushed her when her moods swayed, even though she pushed herself to stay strong for you.

But this time? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

When she finally showed up at your apartment, her heart skipped a beat. The door was slightly ajar, and it felt like the air in the room was different, still. She stood at the threshold, hesitating before stepping inside. There were no sounds, no usual music blasting or the smell of dinner you promised to make last week.

Ellie called your name softly, stepping in.

The living room was quiet, but Ellie spotted your figure curled up on the couch, a blanket covering most of you. You didn’t even glance up at her, your eyes staring down at the coffee table, face pale.

“Hey, babe,” Ellie’s voice cracked a little, trying to sound casual, but the unease in her stomach tightened. She didn’t push it. She crossed the room slowly, cautious, her footsteps soft as she knelt beside you. She was close enough to catch a glimpse of the dark bruises along your arm, the faint marks of skin where they shouldn’t be. You were wearing long sleeves, but Ellie noticed.

Her throat tightened, a cold sense of dread curling around her chest.

“please—look at me,” Ellie whispered.

You flinched, your fingers curling around the edges of your sleeve, pulling it down like it could hide everything she already knew. But Ellie wasn’t fooled. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, traced the bruises and fresh cuts, the way your knuckles trembled.

“You…” Her voice wavered, the lump in her throat making it harder to form words. “You didn’t—”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off, your voice flat, lacking the usual warmth she was used to. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, unable to meet hers. “I’m just… I just needed to—”

Ellie’s heart shattered at the sight of you trying to hold it together. She reached for your arm, gently tugging it toward her to get a better look at the damage, her fingers brushing against the raw marks. She noticed the way your eyes squeezed shut as if her touch was too much, but it didn’t stop her.

“Don’t,” you muttered, pulling away from her.

Ellie’s face tightened, but she didn’t force you to look at her. She knew you well enough to understand when you needed to retreat. But damn it, it hurt. The silence that followed was thick, and the longer it stretched, the harder it became for her to keep it together.

“I hate this,” Ellie finally admitted, her voice breaking. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I don’t need you to pity me,” you snapped, though it lacked the usual sharpness. “I don’t need anything right now. I just… I just need to not talk about it.”

Ellie was quiet for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back the wave of emotions that threatened to drown her. She wanted to scream, wanted to demand why you hadn’t told her, why you felt like you had to suffer alone. But none of that would help. Not now.

Her hands shook, but she kept them steady as she reached for you again, this time gently brushing your hair from your face. Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, and it only made her feel worse.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Ellie said softly, her words laced with pain. “You never have to hide from me, you know that, right?”

“I’m not hiding,” you muttered, but even as you said it, the lie was obvious. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it. How to stop.”

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat. The pain was real in your voice, something deeper than physical scars. She swallowed hard, trying to push through the wave of frustration, sadness, and helplessness.

“I know,” she whispered, her hand cupping your cheek softly, urging you to meet her gaze. “I know it’s not easy. But I’m here, okay? Whatever you’re going through, whatever part of you thinks you need to do this… I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened, and your eyes fluttered shut as if she were too much to take in. Ellie saw the vulnerability in you—heard the quiet sob that escaped your throat before you could swallow it down.

“I don’t want to drag you down with me,” you admitted quietly, voice cracking. “I can’t… I don’t want you to see me like this. I can’t stand it.”

Ellie’s heart broke in that instant, her fingers brushing against your skin, trying to reassure you in the only way she knew how. She felt the weight of your words settle in her chest, the heavy feeling of helplessness rising within her.

“You’re not dragging me down, babe,” Ellie replied, her voice soft but steady. “I’m here because I love you. Because I want to be here. It’s not a burden. You’re not a burden.”

You pulled away from her touch, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything you’d been holding onto finally cracked through your walls.

“I don’t know how to stop,” you whispered, barely audible.

Ellie bit her lip, moving closer, her hand brushing your hair back, tucking the stray pieces behind your ear. “I can help. We can help each other.”

You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes as you let yourself crumble under the pressure. “I’m so tired of fighting this. It’s like no matter what I do, I keep falling back into it.”

Ellie’s hand rested against your back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles as she let you unravel in front of her. It was breaking her to watch, but it was also something she had to accept—this was part of you, a part she couldn’t fix for you, but a part she would never abandon.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Ellie said quietly, as if her words could somehow shield you from the storm of your own thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not going to let you face this alone.”

Your head dropped to her shoulder, your breath shaky as you let the weight of everything spill out. Ellie held you close, not pushing you to explain, not demanding anything from you but the space to be there, with her.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she murmured, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, okay? And I’ll be here when you need me. But I need you to know… you’re worth more than all of this. I see you. Not your scars, not the shit that’s going on in your head, but you. You’re worth fighting for.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But the quiet presence of Ellie, her steady breath against your skin, the way she held you like she was anchoring you to the world… it made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you could make it through this.

“I don’t know how to let you in,” you whispered, barely a breath against her.

“You don’t have to,” Ellie responded, her voice firm, steady. “You just need to trust that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe her.

The silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t as suffocating as before. It was soft, comforting, like a gentle promise that you didn’t have to fight the battle on your own. Not anymore.

As you clung to Ellie, feeling her warmth surround you, something inside you shifted. It wouldn’t happen overnight. But maybe, just maybe, you had enough left in you to try. For her. For yourself.

And she’d be right beside you, every step of the way.

[llovely-12]

Sweet dreams

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Im Nayeon x female reader

Warnings: Tenth member reader, reader is the maknae💜, mentions of hate comments,

Story: Bad dreams plaque your mind. Nayeon wakes you up and comforts you.

Authors note: I just love Nayeon so much. Enjoy the read ♥︎

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Whimpers escape your mouth. The clock reads 3 AM. Your sleep has been very different the last few days.

Usually, you never got a bad dream. Your dreams were often filled with things that you had experienced once. It was nice seeing events in your dreams that have happened before. Reliving some of the best moments you had.

Yet the last few days were different. Netizens started to comment on one of your performances. Those comments were filled with hate and disappointment. You don't even know why they started hating on your performances. Some said it's because of your lack of dancing. Others commented on your body weight.

The comments hurt, but you wouldn't dare to act on them. There were always these heroic stories of idols clapping back at the haters, but you simply couldn't. You were never in such a position before.

The other members quickly caught onto the hate. All of them were furious. They were worried about their youngest band member. The K-pop industry is not for the weak. They knew it, and you knew it too.

Jihyo, Nayeon, and Jeongyeon almost exploded when they saw the comments. They almost wanted to make an official statement, to do something, anything. But you didn't let them. It wasn't of your interest to make a bigger scene out of this. In the end, they were just some stupid comments. Those would vanish in no time.

You found the most comfort in Nayeon. The two of you are sharing a room within the Twice dorm. Her side of the room is always messy and chaotic. She just lights up most of your moments with her energetic laugh. If there is a moment we're you feel down, Nayeon is always there to support you.

A hand shakes you firmly. You wake with a gasp and turn to the person who woke you from your nightmare plaqued dream. It's Nayeon. She's clearly tired herself, but also worried. The bad dreams started a few days after you received the hate comments. Nayeon would always comfort you when you woke up in the middle of the night, crying from the nightmare you just had.

If you weren't having nightmares, you were having sleepless nights. Your body went through some kind of insomnia. The depressing thoughts troubled your mind until sleep wasn't an option. All of this pulled you down much more than you would like to admit.

Nayeon smiles sadly and pulls you into a hug. Her hands rub over your back in comforting circles. She always made you feel safe. Nayeon always thought it was kind of her responsibility to look after you. She is the oldest of the group, so she naturally would spend her time looking after her band members. Yet it was something different when it came to you. Nayeon definitely had a soft spot for you. She would never admit that, though.

Soft and comforting words leave her lisp as she pulls you deeper into the embrace. You hold onto her shirt like a child. She shushes your small, little sobs, that started after she took you into her arms.

After some time, she lied down beside you, and started to cuddle you.

"It's fine, I promise. Try going back to sleep. I won't leave your side Y/n."

Her voice lulled you back into a state of drowsiness. Your eyes fall shut, and your mouth opens for small snores to escape. Nayeons smiles at the side and cuddles you until you fall back asleep.

After that, she gets up and brings her blanket as well as her pillow over to your bed. She wouldn't leave you in that state of mind. Nayeon settles down beside you and holds your hand while trying to talk back asleep. The two of you soak up each other's warmth and comfort while hopefully dreaming about better memories.

○

[levi-4uckerman]

satoru gojo x reader // like ghosts in the snow // chapter three

Words: 4.7k ♥ the one where u kiss a lil bit ♥ no TWs, just cute Satoru n some light angst/comfort action Previous chapter :33 Next chapper >:33

╰┈➤This is a Flashback Chapter, but i promise i kept it relevant! no world building or unnecessary characters, just good old fashioned bonding :))

✎ reminder that reader has been given the default name 'shiori myoji'!. you have a clairvoyance technique and a two-year old gojo >;3 enjoy!!

...

Tokyo, Japan / January 2015 (see timeline here)

You saw more of Satoru after the ceremony. He’d find you when you were visiting campus grounds, sometimes bump into you on your way into meetings with the Jujutsu council. It made you a little nervous, knowing that he likely wasn’t finding you by accident, but it wasn’t until he’d somehow gotten ahold of your phone number that you started getting really annoyed.

“You’d better be dying,” you rasped, your voice heavy with sleep. It was nearly midnight, and Satoru had called you three times. You only picked up on the third because you were certain it was an emergency— which it was not. 

“Nah,” he replied coolly. “Just lonely. Whatcha doin’?”

“Gojo, it’s nearly midnight. I’m sleeping.” 

“It’s Satoru off-the-clock, babe,” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, cringing as you listened to him go on. “Besides, it’s Friday night. Why are you going to bed at old man hours?”

“I have a migraine,” you grumbled. “Don’t you know about those?”

“Of course, I know about migraines,” he replied, his tone shifting slightly as if offended. “I just don’t let them stop me from living my life.”

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “Living your life? You’re calling me at midnight to bother me. How’s that for living?”

“Aw, come on, Shi-chan,” he teased, and you could almost see him leaning back with that stupid grin on his face. “You can’t tell me you don’t secretly look forward to my calls.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected smoothly.

“Satoru,” you seethed through gritted teeth, “if you don’t give me a real reason for why you’re calling, I’m hanging up.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for you to wonder if he took you seriously, but then he exhaled dramatically.

“Alright, alright,” he relented. “You caught me. I wanted to see if you’d come out for food.”

You stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded. “You called me three times in the middle of the night for food?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ve barely eaten today! Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Your silence must have given you away because he chuckled softly. “You’re predictable, Shi-chan. Always working yourself to death, skipping meals like they’re optional. I’m just doing my civic duty as a fellow sorcerer to keep you alive.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably thoughtful,” he corrected. “So? What do you say? Midnight ramen? My treat.”

“It had better be,” you shot back. “You’re loaded.”

“Okay, fine,” he replied casually. “I’ll throw in dessert. Come on, it’ll help with the headache. Trust me.”

You sighed, debating whether you had the energy to argue. Honestly, the thought of food was tempting, especially since you had skipped dinner.

“Fine,” you relented, tossing your blanket aside. “But only if you promise not to talk the entire time.”

“No can do,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “But I’ll promise to be entertaining.”

“Debatable,” you muttered.

Thirty minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Satoru in a nearly empty ramen shop, wondering how you had allowed yourself to be dragged out of bed for this.

“So,” he grinned at you, twirling his chopsticks expertly. “How’s the migraine?”

You shot him a flat look. “Still there. You’re not helping.”

He laughed, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’ll thank me later when you’re full of delicious ramen and no longer grumpy.”

You huffed but took a sip of broth anyway, the warmth soothing your headache more than you wanted to admit. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to make a habit of this, you know.”

“Of course not,” he asserted, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he didn’t believe you. “But you’ll answer my calls next time, right?”

“Only if you’re dying,” you replied, slurping your noodles.

He smirked. “Guess I’ll have to get creative.”

You groaned, but deep down, you knew that you would answer.

And so it began. Your evening outings with Satoru became more frequent, to the point that he’d started to skip the courtesy call. Satoru would knock, and you’d already be dressed, ready to partake in whatever late-night cravings he had in mind. You told yourself it was just for the free meal, a convenient distraction, but that excuse felt thinner every time you walked out the door with him.

You found yourself lingering on the way he leaned back in his seat, one arm slung casually over the backrest as he told an outrageous story about his students. Or the way his face lit up whenever he convinced you to try something new, his grin infectious enough to make you laugh even when you weren’t planning to.

You liked him. Just a little. Enough that you didn’t mind his teasing quite so much anymore, or the way he always made it a point to walk you back home, even when you insisted that you didn’t need an escort.

One evening, Satoru had something different in mind when he showed up unannounced. His bandages were pushed up into his hair, leaving his eyes bare, and he looked… excited. More so than usual.

“What is it?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Put your shoes on, Shi-chan,” he instructed, waving a hand like he was summoning you. “We’re going out.”

You groaned, crossing your arms. “What are you dragging me into now?”

“Dessert,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

“Dessert?”

“Not just any dessert,” he clarified, his grin widening. “The best parfaits in the city. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Is this just an excuse to feed your sugar addiction?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’m not going alone, so get moving.”

With a sigh, you grabbed your coat and followed him out the door, trying to ignore the way your stomach turned when he held the door open for you, smiling expectantly.

The parfait shop was small and tucked away into a quiet alley, lit by warm, glowing lanterns. The moment you stepped inside, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of fresh fruit, whipped cream, and caramel. You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped you.

Satoru led the way to a booth in the corner, practically bouncing in his seat as he opened the menu. “Look at this,” he enthused, pointing to an elaborate parfait topped with layers of strawberries, matcha ice cream, and tiny macarons. “This one’s calling out to me.”

“That’s enough sugar for three of you,” you muttered, scanning the menu.

“What are you getting?” he asked, leaning over the table. “Ooh, you should try the mango one. Or the chocolate banana. Or the—”

“I can read, Satoru,” you said, cutting him off with a small, reluctant smile. “And I can decide for myself.”

When the parfaits arrived, they were too pretty to eat— almost. Satoru wasted no time digging into his strawberry concoction, humming in satisfaction after the first bite.

“This is the one,” he outright moaned, pointing his spoon at you. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny how good the sweetness in front of you looked. You took a tentative bite of the chocolate banana parfait, and the immediate burst of flavor was enough to make you pause.

“See?” Satoru smirked as he watched your reaction. “Told you.”

On the walk back to your apartment, Satoru insisted on a detour to a nearby taiyaki stand—because, as he so eloquently put it, his daily sugar quota hadn’t been met, parfait notwithstanding. He carried the box of warm, fish-shaped pastries under his arm as you strolled through the quiet streets of suburban Tokyo. His voice filled the air, rambling about something inconsequential, his excitement infectious in the way that only Satoru Gojo could manage.

The gears in your mind turned over as you listened. This felt so familiar, like something you’d watched from a distance long ago. Him, lighting up at the simplest joys. The image of Satoru as a budding adult, walking alongside Suguru Geto, slipped into your mind unbidden. You’d seen him like this before—his shoulders relaxed, his grin easy, his words tumbling out with the same unguarded enthusiasm. Back then, it had been Suguru who tempered his boundless energy, who grounded him just enough to remind him that he was human.

The thought sent an ache through your chest. This wasn’t just nostalgia; it was Satoru searching for something, someone, to make him feel anchored again. Someone to remind him that he wasn’t untouchable. That he wasn’t just the Six Eyes, the strongest sorcerer, but Satoru—flawed, messy, and still yearning for the companionship that had once made him whole. But could that really be you?

And did you want it to be?

When you looked up again, your building was quickly approaching.

“Thanks for coming out,” he said casually, glancing over at you.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” you replied, but your tone lacked its usual bite.

He smirked. “You say that, but I think you’ve been enjoying our little outings.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes focused on the ground again. The truth was, he wasn’t really wrong. You were starting to look forward to these moments—more than you wanted to admit.

“Maybe,” you said softly, and your honesty caught even you by surprise.

Satoru’s smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by something warmer. “I knew it,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

When you reached your door, he handed you the box of taiyaki. “Here,” he said. “In case you get hungry later.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking the box from him. He opened his mouth, and you just knew he was going to say goodbye, so you beat him to it.

“Satoru,” you declared suddenly, a sour feeling gnawing at you from inside. There was something… something you needed to ask. Something you needed clarity on.

He closed his mouth for once, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes were uncovered. Expectant. Like he was waiting on something, too.

“What are we doing?” You spit out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’m not… do you want something from me?”

“What do you mean, Shi-chan?” He asked, his words light but careful. His eyes were scrutinizing. “I wanted dessert. You came with me. Easy enough, right?”

Not convinced, you shook your head. You stepped closer to him, the sour feeling inside you intensifying. “No, it’s not just that. It’s the phone calls, the showing up unannounced, the--,” you gestured around vaguely with your hand. “This. All of this. What is it?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. For once, he didn’t seem to have a quip ready. His silence was as unnerving as it was unexpected, but you pressed on.

“I’m not dumb, Satoru,” You continued. “You don’t just... call people for no reason. You don’t go out of your way--,” you shook the taiyaki box for emphasis, “--for just anyone. So, what is it? Why me?”

Satoru’s jaw ticked almost imperceptibly. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air between you. Satoru ran a hand through is hair, letting out a breath that sounded far too serious for someone like him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I think I just... like being around you. Reminds me of simpler times.”

Those words stuck out to you. Simpler times. Because nothing was ever simple with Satoru Gojo.

And yet, as much as you wanted to laugh, to not believe him, you couldn’t. Your breath hitched, and you didn’t respond. Your thoughts flashed back to high school, seeing him and Suguru slinking around campus late at night. How sometimes they’d pass by your dorms, voices hushed but still loud enough to wake you from sleep. Laughing, like they’d just come back from a party and not a first-grade mission.

“I guess that’s allowed,” you finally muttered after a beat, averting your gaze to the ground. You were blushing fiercely, embarrassed with the assumptions you’d made about an old friend. Maybe he really is just... lonely.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up to see him a few paces closer than he was before. His lazy grin was back, but there was still sincerity written across his features. “Goodnight, Shi-chan. I’ll see you around?”

“Night, Satoru,” You replied with a nod, hating the disappointment you felt when he withdrew. You watched him turn and walk away.

When the door closed behind him, you stood in place. Staring at the polished wood. Chewing your bottom lip.

“What the fuck?” you breathed, wondering if this was becoming something dangerous. For both of you.

You saw less of your six-eyed friend after that conversation. In a cruel twist of fate, the steady rhythm of a budding friendship started to falter as work piled up, missions became more frequent, life happened. The late-night knocks at your door stopped, his texts became sporadic, and a familiar hollowness began to take the place of Satoru’s easygoing, persistent presence.

You told yourself that it didn’t matter, that it was for the best. Sorcerers shouldn’t have distractions, right? Especially ones of your respective statures. Alas, it was hard to ignore the ache of his absence… like a thread constantly pulling at the edges of your thoughts. As much as you wanted to banish it from your mind, it always felt like… something was missing. Something with white hair and blue eyes.

Council meetings kept you busy, the higher ups’ usage of your technique was at an all-time high. Your headaches were constant, the need for a break starting to get desperate. One afternoon after one such meeting, you were merely passing through the Tokyo campus when you started hearing things.

The rumors started small, whispered between both staff and students. Murmured in passing, not even bothering to lower their voices when you approached—because why would they? No one knew about your friendship with Gojo, and the way it fizzled out into nothing. All the same, your chest ached to hear that he wasn’t just busy with work, he was… dating someone. Courting with the intention to marry, even, according to several sources on campus.

Not that you had asked them directly.

You knew that the clan was always pushing him to marry, to find a powerful sorceress from a prestigious line of her own, to produce an heir. The idea of him bending to their will—especially when it came to something as archaic as choosing a wife—was laughable. At first.

Eventually, the whispers changed.

You heard about a woman that he was seeing. A young, beautiful sorceress who had been sighted spending time with him. Casual strolls in the city, dinners at fancy restaurants—all of the things you’d expect of a young clan-head seeking out a potential spouse. You heard that she was from a respected lineage, someone that the greater Gojo clan approved of. Someone they saw as worthy of his name.

You heard that she kind of looked like you.

And again, you told yourself that it didn’t matter. You didn’t care.

But it wouldn’t hurt so bad if that were the truth, would it?

Their words lingered in your mind long after you overheard them.

The image of a woman who looked a little too much like you, walking beside him, laughing at his jokes. A part of you wondered if it was intentional, or if it was some cruel trick of the universe.

So when you heard the knock on your door one unassuming evening, your stomach twisted into a knot. You weren’t expecting anyone, but somehow you already knew by the way goosebumps sprouted against your flesh, and the beating of your heart sped up.

And when you opened the door, there he was.

Satoru Gojo stood on your doorstep, a lopsided grin on his face, his white hair falling messily over his forehead. He leaned casually against the doorframe, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You felt a little naked before him, standing there in your cozy pajama top and bottoms, clearly not expecting visitors. Satoru’s eyes raked over your body shamelessly, but he didn’t comment on your attire. Thankfully.

“Hey,” he said easily, as if he’d just seen you yesterday. “Thought I’d stop by. You know, see if you missed me.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked, tilting his head like your question didn’t make sense. “What? I can’t visit anymore?” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. “Besides, you’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you? What’s up with that?”

You stared blankly at him, stunned by the accusation. “Avoiding you?”

“Yeah.” He gave you a pointed look, still grinning. “No texts, no calls. You ghosted me, Shi-chan. Should I be hurt?”

Your frustration boiled over. How could he stand there, acting so normal, like he hadn’t done anything wrong? Like he didn’t even realize—

“I thought you were avoiding me,” you snapped, crossing your arms.

That made him pause, his grin faltering for just a second. “Huh? Why would I do that?”

You shook your head, your emotions threatening to spill over. “Forget it.”

“No, no, wait.” He frowned now, stepping closer. “Seriously, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze. “I heard things, Satoru.”

He raised an eyebrow, confused. “Things?”

“About you.” Your voice cracked despite your best effort to keep it steady. You turned your face away from them as you added, “And her.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his confusion plain on his face. Then, he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh, that?” he said, still chuckling. “That’s what this is about?”

Your stomach dropped at how easily he dismissed it. “What do you mean, ‘that?’”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You seriously thought I was avoiding you because of her? Come on, Shi-chan. Don’t be ridiculous.”

You clenched your fists at your sides. “Maybe it’s not ridiculous to me.”

“Shi-chan,” he insisted, his tone laced with exasperation. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even someone I’d consider dating.”

“Then what—”

“She’s a pawn,” he interrupted in a serious voice. “A face to keep the clan off my back. They’ve been hounding me about marriage again, and she’s just… convenient.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “Convenient,” you repeated, your voice hollow.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, taking another step closer. “She knows the deal. And trust me, she is being well compensated for her time.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that?” you asked, your frustration bubbling over.

“Because I didn’t think it mattered,” he replied with a frown. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t care,” you scowled, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “But you can’t just show up here like this, expecting me to—”

“Clearly you do,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so pissed off right now.”

You snapped your gaze upwards, glaring at him. “I’m not pissed off!”

“Oh, you definitely are,” he mused, a hint of his usual teasing slipping through.

“Satoru,” you hissed, your fists clenched at your sides. “Do you know how humiliating it is to hear something like that secondhand? To have people whispering about you and some perfect sorceress, and I—”

You stopped yourself, biting your tongue before you could say too much.

“And you what?” he questioned, his voice quieter now and his expression unreadable. “Go on, Shi-chan. Say it.”

You shook your head, looking away. “Forget it.”

“Not a chance,” he declared, inching into your space, his voice dropping even lower. “You’ve got something to say? Say it.”

Your chest heaved, the words clawing at your throat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them. Instead, you looked up at him, your anger dissolving into something more vulnerable, rawer.

“Why are you here, Satoru?” you asked finally, barely above a whisper

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “And I’m not dating anyone. If I was, you’d be the first to know.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost hesitant smile, “that if there’s anyone I’d want to spend time with, it’s you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Satoru shifted, scratching the back of his neck. “So, are you going to invite me in, or do I have to keep defending my non-existent girlfriend on your doorstep?”

But your mind was stuck on those words. If there’s anyone I’d want to spend time with, it’s you.

“Satoru,” you said, wishing you could wash the taste of his name out of your mouth. “You can’t say things like that to a woman. It’s… dangerous.”

Satoru blinked at you, clearly caught off guard by your response. Then, in true Gojo fashion, he tilted his head and smirked, his expression equal parts teasing and curious.

“Dangerous?” he repeated, his tone lighter now but edged with something more serious. “Why’s that?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. “Because,” you muttered, your voice just above a whisper, “they might start thinking you mean it.”

“And what if I do?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his, wide with disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back. His gaze was steady and searching.

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back. “Because you’re Satoru Gojo. You flirt with everyone. You don’t mean half the things you say.”

He frowned, his hands sliding into his pockets as he tilted his head again. “You really think that?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto the wall you were so desperately trying to keep between you. “It’s not like you’ve ever given me a reason to think otherwise.”

He sighed, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone.

“Why does it bother you?” He said quietly, a pointed look on his face. “Whether I’m dating someone or not?”

You froze, the question throwing you off guard.

 “I… It doesn’t,” you stammered, your heart racing. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate for you to—”

“To what?” he pressed, stepping closer. “Spend time with you? Talk to you? Care about you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a step back, your legs hitting the edge of the couch. “Satoru, don’t.” You said, your voice low. Quiet. Nervous.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you. “Don’t ask why you’ve been avoiding me? Don’t ask why it bothers you so much that someone said I might be with someone else?”

“I’m not avoiding you." Your voice was weak, your hands gripping the back of the couch for support.

He laughed then, but it was humorless, sharp. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying!” you snapped, your frustration bubbling over. “I just—”

“Just what?” he interrupted. “Just don’t care? Just don’t want to admit that maybe you feel something for me?”

Your cheeks burned, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words to refute him.

“That’s what I thought,” he retorted, his voice almost gentle now.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, looking away.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softening further. “But I’m not wrong.”

You felt his presence closer now, his warmth radiating in the small space between you. When you finally looked up, his blue eyes were piercing, unguarded in a way you’d rarely seen. His face had changed since high school. Still full of boyish charm, but… older now. Handsome. Matured. Not the teenage heartthrob of the Gojo clan that girls were clabbering over each other to flirt with.

And now, his attention was all on you.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice trembling. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long.

You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest as his gaze dropped to your lips. “This is a bad idea,” you whispered, though your words lacked conviction.

“Probably,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, rueful smile. “But I’m full of bad ideas.”

And then he kissed you.

It was tentative at first, as though he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, the world around you fading until all you could feel was him—his warmth, his intensity, the way he seemed to pour everything he couldn’t say into the way his lips moved against yours.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingling in the quiet room, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your waist.

“Shi-chan,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Just… tell me.”

You hesitated, your heart screaming one thing while your mind warned you of another. But as you looked up at him, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name, you found that you couldn’t say the words.

Instead, you leaned into him again, sighing in relief when he didn’t pull away.

His lips met yours again, this time with more certainty, and your world tilted on its axis. Every warning your mind screamed at you—this is wrong, it will only end in heartbreak—was drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sensation of his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth.

You gasped softly against him, and the sound broke something loose in him. His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, his other hand sliding to cradle the back of your neck. You felt his tongue against yours, tasted his spit as his fingers tangled in your hair. It sent a shiver down your spine that burnt away whatever resolve you had left.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t want this. But as his kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second, all logic crumbled. There was only the searing heat of him, the way he smelled faintly of something sweet and familiar, and the feeling of his thumb brushing softly against your jaw, grounding you even as everything else spun out of control.

Every nerve in your body was alight, every ounce of restraint you thought you had vanished, replaced by the overwhelming need to stay in this moment, in this feeling, for as long as you could.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears. His eyes searched yours, wide and unguarded, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. His lips were red and slightly swollen, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just run a marathon.

“This isn’t—” you started in a breathless whisper, but the words caught in your throat when he cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones with a tenderness that sent another shiver through you.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and raw. “But… does it matter?”

Your throat tightened, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, heavy and warm. You didn’t know how to answer him, and maybe he didn’t expect you to.

Instead, he leaned in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his hands steady and sure against your skin. “Tell me this isn’t right,” he whispered, almost pleading now, his voice breaking just slightly.

But you couldn’t. You didn’t.

And so you kissed him again. Because in that moment, it felt right enough.

.

.

This is Chapter 3 of a multi-chapter fic to be crossposted to AO3. Taglist below as requested. @starlightglimmersworld @mccookiemonster @leilakaro @certainduckanchor @itsbellablue-blog @shokosbunny @megumisthirdog @thegh0stwife @54fangirl @misslovingpearl @idkuluka @bitchycloudstrawberry @pinkpunkdynamite @theclassbookworm @okaywitheverything

[coichii]

I SAW MOMMY KISSING SANTA CLAUS ✭

—(🎧)—> when your silly husband gets a little too festive for Christmas (but you love him though)

pairing - husband!dad!changbin ♥︎ fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.4k

warnings: they have 3 kids. Somi - 9, Do-won - 7, and Nari, 5. unedited & fluffy asf!

series note : hello !! welcome to part three of my winter series, “winter records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for each member :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “winter” feeling ! this story is based off of “ I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus!” by The Jackson 5. enjoy !!

If daddy had only seen, mommy kissing Santa Claus last night!

“You look ridiculous, baby.”

“What! I look fabulous.”

What were you taking about? The silly Santa costume that your husband, Changbin had randomly decided to buy on impulse while shopping.

The white, dusty beard was connected to his face by a single strap, the red felt of his outfit mixing well with his complexion. He looked so ridiculous, but so adorable at the same time.

“Nari is going to freak out when she sees you.” You giggle, walking closer to him and stroking his silky, faux beard. “Are you going to put the presents under the tree like this?”

He laughs at your question, bringing one of his warm hands over the one you have stroking his beard, placing it into his hand and kissing the back. “And what if I do?”

“Then Nari will really freak out.” You chuckle, removing you hand from his grasp you you can pick up the purse laying on your shared bag. “Cmon, let’s go get the rest of those presents.”

“W-Wait, let me change first.” He stutters, tips of ears turning red. “Why? I thought you wanted to wear it.”

“It’s embarrassing.” He blushes, moving to take the fake beard off. You smile at him, finding his reaction utterly adorable. It makes the marriage band he has around his ring even more valuable to you.

You can’t even put in into words how much of a great father he is.

He’s so caring, attentive, and so much more. Caring for your 5 year old, Nari, and coaxing her back to bed when she has nightmares, helping your middle child, Do-Won with his 2nd grade homework, giving advice to your eldest daughter, Somi. He did it all.

He takes amazing care of you too, cooking meals regularly, taking you out on a date every week, offering to pay for you to take a trip to the spa while he takes care of the kids. Even while working so hard as an idol, he always took the best care of you and your kids, and you love it.

◂—♥︎—▸

“Feels like we’ve been shopping forever.” You groan, sloppily following behind Changbin as he pushes along the full and heavy shopping cart, leading you with a lot more energy in his body than you have in yours.

“We’re almost finished, sugar. I just want to find a few more things for the kids.” He explains, peering down the doll aisle before turning in.

“Baby, I love you. But the cart is so full, people are going you’re shoplifting.” You rest your hands on your hips, pouting your lips out slightly as Changbin looks at you.

You can be pretty stubborn when you want to, but seeing the stupidly adorable pout on your husband’s face was doing things to you.

“But babyyyy,” he starts, whining. “I want to Christmas tree to be full underneath.”

You could positively melt at the look of his face, and he notices the falter of your stance, sighing defeatedly. “Finee.”

“Wait no, sorry. We can continue shopping, baby. I see it’s making you happy. I just don’t want them to spoiled.” He smiles at your defeat, looking back at the row of various doll clothes and accessories.

“They’re not going to be spoiled, honey. Trust me. Now which one of these glasses looks better with the dolls dress.”

◂—♥︎—▸

Your house couldn’t have been any more Christmas themed if you tried.

Lights all over the house, Christmas tree decorated to the brim with red and green ornaments (with assistance from 3 little helpers), holly and tinsel littered throughout. It was “Christmasified” to the brim, and you loved it.

Christmas held a special place in your heart, it was the day he had proposed to you after all.

It was a snow blizzard, just his luck. He had plans to take you out and propose to you somewhere on the water. A place where you can watch the snowflakes fall delicately on the surface like ballerinas on tippy toes.

Ever since then, the bitter cold season has always had a warm place in your heart, meaning things that the prickly hot of summer could never.

It means home, and you love that.

“We’re going to have to hide these until Christmas.” Changbin sighs as he looks around for an area to hide the colorfully decorated boxes bags from the kids view. “Jagi? Do you think under the bed will do?”

You take a peek underneath, seeing enough space to put all the presents under. “Yup! Should be good.”

He nodded, taking the love wrapped present and shoved them underneath the frame of the bed. You watched him with a warm smile, taking in the sight even though it’s one you’ve seen time and time before.

Nothing would beat the feeling though, the feeling of the domestic tranquility that he brought you.

Nothing could.

◂—♥︎—▸

A noise loud noise coming from downstairs and 3 am is certainly not a welcoming one.

It startles you out of your sleep, instinctively causing you to turn to the other side of the bed where your husband lays, but it’s cold and empty.

Getting out of bed, your heart beating fast and strong, you work your way out of the bedroom and downstairs, not failing to check on the kids before doing so just to make sure they were safe.

Practically tiptoeing to avoid creaking, you make your way downstairs, peering your head around a convenient corner.

Then, there you see it.

It’s your husband, clad in his silly Santa Claus costume he had brought not to long ago.

He looked utterly adorable as he carefully placed the presents underneath the sparkling lit up tree, not forgetting to sign each kids name upon their respective gifts before so.

You also notice a plate littered with cookie crumbs, broken carrots, and an empty milk cup to the left of him.

Oh how you love this man.

“Hey, Santa.” And he jumps at the sudden noise, whipping his head around to find you leering behind the wall.

“You scared me, sugar. I’m almost done placing these under the tree, if you want to help?”

You make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his strong body and squeezing tight.

“I love you, Changbin.” Voice and tone softening, pressing your head into his chest. “You’re seriously the best thing I could ask for.”

“I love you too, my baby.” He places his hand on head, stroking the soft strands softly as you stand there, absorbed in each-other and the sound of fire cracking in the distance.

You lift your head up and place your lips on his, feeling the hand he had placed on your hair moving to your waist.

It’s sweet and daunting, something that’s been the one of your favorite parts of your marriage. The soft, tender, and sweet.

The feeling of being warm and fuzzy, wrapped in a blanket woven with love and comfort is what you felt whenever he kissed you.

It could be an intimate moment or a somber one, but it always gave you the same kind of warmth inside, and you loved it.

A creak of wood mixed with a small gasp takes you out of both your thoughts and the kiss, turning your head around towards the stairs.

There stood Nari, holding her hand over her mouth with the most shocked look in her eyes.

“Daddy! Daddy! Mom’s kissing Santa Claus!” She shouted, pointing towards him and attempting to scream once more, but you run up to her in time to stop her.

“Shhh! Somi and Do-Won are still asleep!” You shush, sighing as you crouch back up from where you were silencing her with the palm of your hand.

Changbin stands frozen, a blush and awkwardness written all over his face. You giggle, seeing as Nami’s eyes drift from Changbin to the glittering stack of presents underneath the tree.

“Ooh! Can I open them now? Mommy pleaseee.” She whines, and she looks positively adorable. “Not without your siblings, Nari. It’s time to go to bed.”

She groans and whines as you pick her up, cradling her in your arms.

“Uhm. I’ll see you later, ba— I mean Santa!” You stammer, walking up the stairs and sighing once more.

He watches as you make your way up the stairs, feeling his heart swell at the cute moment of you with Nari.

His little family, the same family that woke up the next morning, eyes filled with amazement and joy as they opened up their various gifts.

The comfort and joy it brought his heart is incomparable, not matching with pretty much any joy he’s experienced.

It felt like pure, indescribable love, and he couldn’t get over it.

Neither could you.

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: part four! are we learning from our previous mistakes? TAKE A WILD GUESS! after this, have one more chapter to go, and i know ive been consistently posting every week, but im afraid that the last part is going to take me a whole extra week to finish (bc ill be out of the country for a sec) so, my apologies! but i hope this long chapter makes up for the extra wait! <3

Wordcount: 6.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“I didn’t say he doesn’t… I just said, he has never actually said it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped, and you immediately regretted saying what you just said.

“No, stop. He has said it. Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

You knew exactly what she was going to say.

She’d alluded to it from the start. Rolled her eyes at him. Made faces of outrageous confusion that told you, how can someone behave like that, without having to say the words aloud. Without making you hear them.

“I’m just saying…” Emily started, and showed you a facial expression that made you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“It’d be better for you to leave him.”

You laughed, like she made a joke, yet so aware that she absolutely wasn’t.

But listen, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, because you knew, you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that it probably was better for you to leave him.

Not a truth you wanted to face though.

There were still too many easy excuses for you to make.

So... you made them.

But Emily’s face remained quite serious.

“Emily. You don’t mean that.” You said on the back-end of a giggle.

“Are you joking? My God, it’d be so much better if you left him. Better for you, better for, well, me. Can’t even tell you he loves you? What is he on?!”

You shushed her, and looked over your shoulder in the general direction of your bathroom and listened for a few seconds. The shower was still going. He couldn’t have heard her.

Good.

Not that Emily’s general opinion was a huge secret. But still. It was nice if the peace could be kept for the night.

“He does tell me that.” you argued, much softer. “Just...”

“Just does it when he’s about to hang up the phone? Just a quick, casual, love ya, when he’s saying goodbye?”

“Well, he–”

“Or does he only say it when he’s about to come?”

“Emily.”

“Oh, God. You’re so beyond help, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore.”

For a moment, you avoided eye-contact. Pressed your lips together and looked around the room whilst your friend tried her best to get it into your head that Joe really just wasn’t it.

“You know you’re in second place.” Emily said, suddenly much more earnestly. “You don’t deserve to be in second place.”

Which was a nice sentiment. A thing a best friend was meant to tell you. A bit like a parent calling their baby a genius because they accidentally made a bit of babbling sound like a real string of words.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath in and giving Emily your best smile. “So is he, so I guess we’re even.”

He wasn’t.

These were two different leagues.

But suggesting that Emily was in first place with you was the quickest way to make her feel appreciated even though her advice went untaken.

It always did.

Emily was a good friend and always gave excellent advice. And you were a good friend because you always listened to what she had to say. Or, you thought you did. Would tell yourself you did.

But then you simply wouldn’t follow any of it.

You hadn’t taken her advice when she’d told you to stop fucking around in a fourteen month situationship.

“I like how this just… works, don’t you?” Joe had said one evening when you were wrapped up on his sofa together. You’d made a comment that someone had flirted with you and had asked if you were single. You hadn’t known what to tell them.

Joe had just shrugged then.

“Let’s not push for something if it doesn’t need it. Something not broken doesn’t need a fix, does it?”

And you’d disagreed then. Had hoped that he’d grow a little protective and would’ve gone, um what do you mean of course you’re not single. For a while you also hadn’t wanted to define anything, because fuck commitment, right? But it had been over a year and Emily said that you should ask him to just fucking label it already.

You hadn’t.

You also hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy wasn’t going to make you happy.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy was ultimately just there for a bit of fun, but not really much else.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you to just leave him already when you told her he had never sincerely told you that he loves you.

“I know you’re smart enough to know that it’s absolutely wild that he’s not said–”  

“It’s because you just hear all the bad things, I’m sorry. I should also tell you about the good shit.”

“Oh, yea? Like what?” Emily challenged, and in the silence that followed, you heard the shower turn off.

“Like... look! Look what he got me!” you said, picking up a bag from a dining table chair.

Your friend looked at it for a moment, blank faced, and then narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Got you? Like, he went out and bought that for you? Or, was that sent to him by the brand, and he just passed it on?”

You looked at the bag you were still holding, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. He still gave it to me.”

It was a nice bag.

“Not exactly the same is it.”

No, it wasn’t. But... you know. You could pretend it was.

“Still counts.”

“Okay. If you think so.”

You didn’t think so, not after what Emily had just said, but you were willing to accept it for the nice gesture, and that was all you cared about. Or, what you told yourself was all you cared about.

“I think so.” You definitively told Emily, breaking into a smile to really sell it.

Just when she was about to roll her eyes at you and maybe try her hand at talking a little more sense into you, Joe called you from the bathroom.

You left Emily on her own for about a minute before joining her again.

“Okay. Let’s go. He’s not coming.” You grabbed your coat and found your bag. The one Joe had given to you, but hadn’t spent a penny on.

“He’s– what?”

“He thought of something that still needs doing. He’s not coming.”

Emily stared at you from where she was sat, watching you hurriedly wrestle your arms into the sleeves of your coat as she slowly caught up to speed.

“So, I’m sorry, but have we just waited for him for ages for fucking nothing then?”

You ignored her tone, finding your phone, your keys, and then Emily’s coat as well.

“Let’s go. If we hurry, we might beat the rain.”

You chucked Emily her coat, and she almost didn’t move her arms in time to catch it. With the front door already open, you gestured for Emily to make her way through, calling, “Bye! We’re off!” into the flat.

Emily, under her breath, very mockingly sing-songed, “Love you!” in that same tone as she walked past you, making her point once more.

You didn’t repeat her, but instead rolled your eyes at what you decided was a joke, and then loudly said, “Don’t wait up!”

You didn’t wait for Joe to answer before you slammed the door shut.

It’s been weeks.

Months, technically, although it doesn’t feel it.

“Please be home, please be home, please be home,” you mutter to yourself as you rush your way down his street. “Please be in the fucking country, for just this fucking once…”

You’d texted and had gotten no coloured ticks from him. So then you’d called, but it just rang for ages before you were eventually sent to voicemail, and that’s something you don’t do. Especially not now. Not about this. Hell would have to freeze over before you’d leave a voicemail message. You could delete a text thread, or a voice note. But, a voicemail? Once a voicemail sends out, there is no undoing that.

Maybe you’re crazy, but what you’re doing now feels safer.

It’s after midnight, dark, the streets wet from earlier rainfall, but you feel wide awake. You’ve got Emily’s words ringing in your ears still, and you’ve not been able to shake them yet.

Her advice.

Or, well, it was more just her opinion. She had expertly dressed it up as a fact, though, which is probably why that one sentence still held you in a vice grip.  

Telling her about how you’d had a few… moments, with Joe, since you’d broken up with him, turns out, was the wrong thing to do.

You just really wanted to tell her about the wine.

The expensive bottle you’d satisfyingly dunked into his kitchen sink.

It’s been weeks by now, but you still think about that all the time. And every time that you do, you feel pure glee spark inside of you.

You thought she’d be the same.

You thought she’d absolutely love it.

But then, after you had told her all about that night, she’d just looked at you with so much disdain and disappointment, it startled you into rambling excuses, none of which sounded true to your own ears, let alone hers. She then had shook her head, and sort of muttered something to herself that you asked her to repeat.

It’s those words that haven’t left the forefront of your mind since.

You didn’t ask Emily to clarify herself. You hadn’t gotten into an argument, either. You had just… moved onto a different topic. A lighter, easier to digest thing to talk about.

It left those words to rein freely, left those words at liberty to inflate themselves until they were all you could think about, and the feeling had clawed at your chest for the rest of the day. The rest of the night.

You hadn’t been able to answer the question, what’s wrong, that you were repeatedly asked until it made you upset.

“Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me what’s wrong! God! You asking me what’s wrong a million times a minute is what’s wrong!”

Something is wrong though.

Obviously.

You just left someone in your bed for this.

Ringing Joe’s doorbell is a quick action, fingers pressing that familiar button before you can have any doubt of what you’re doing. It takes longer than a few seconds before you hear a small beep.

“Joe? I texted you, can you reply to my text?”

A silence follows, and for a moment you think maybe the intercom doesn’t work properly, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you.

“I– I sent you a message, check your phone–”

A loud click of the door unlocking and a loud shrill buzzing sound interrupts you.

“No you don’t have to– just text me back, will you?”

No answer follows, but the loud buzzing persists. After a few more seconds of it, you know Joe’s just holding down the button until you go inside.

That wasn’t the plan. 

With a frustrated grumbling sigh, swearing under your breath, you push yourself into Joe’s building and make your way to his front door.

In the lift you decide you won’t let the doors close properly when they’ll open on Joe’s floor. You’ll tell him from half inside the lift that he just needs to check his phone.

You just want an answer.

But then the lift doors open and one foot steps out as you lean into the hallway, expecting to see Joe waiting by his front door, yet he isn’t.

You make an angry face, nose pulling up and showing your clenched teeth with a frown. You’re in a building where people are asleep so you can’t make any noise, but you absolutely would have otherwise. Joe leaves you no other choice but to get out of the lift, and begrudgingly, you make your way over to his doormat.

When you get closer, you can see how the door’s been left open.

“Hey,” you whisper-yell into the flat, “Joe?”

You get no answer, and take a few careful steps inside to find him standing in his kitchen in a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He’s got his back turned to you, and is seemingly busy cleaning up mess he’s left out from dinner.

It’s the fucking middle of the night.

It’s dark in Joe’s flat, the only light in the room coming from his under cabinet LEDs, and it’s weirdly warm for the time of night, you think.

“Hey, I–” you start, voice low because it’s late, but you quickly get cut off by Joe.

“Did you close the door?”

You blink a few times and watch Joe very carefully load some things into his dishwasher, making little to no noise at all. No plates softly clashing, no rattling cutlery.

“What? No. I–”

“Will you close the door, please?” Joe asks, but it sounds like a demand. Sort of cold, a little detached.

“All I’m here to say,” you try again. “Is that I want you to check your phone...”

Joe stands up straight and finally looks at you. Whilst maintaining eye-contact he slowly closes the dishwasher until it latches, machine clicking shut, and when he then just... keeps staring at you, you throw your head back like an annoyed teenager, and reluctantly do as you’re told.

You go to close his front door.

In the kitchen you hear the tap go, and when you join Joe there again, you can see how he’s filling up a glass with water.

Joe is about to take a sip when he suddenly decides against it and lowers the glass.

“Water?” he then asks, and holds it out to you with a stretched arm.

You’re slightly confused, but you take it, and then watch Joe reach for another glass from a cabinet and fill that one for himself.

“Thanks, but…” you place the glass on his counter and hold two hands up to Joe. “I’m just here because I need an answer to a text.”

Joe, with his mouth in his own glass, sort of looks at you a moment as he gulps water down.

He looks tired.

Which, yea, that checks out.

You fucking woke him up, didn’t you?

There’s so many reasons to declare yourself clinically insane right now, but you’re holding onto the notion that this is actually all totally normal with all of your might. If you pretend to believe it, you might just be able to trick Joe into it as well.

But Joe just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to give the real reason of why you’re there.

“So, if you could just, check that. Answer it. That’d be great.” You force a polite smile and step back. “That’ll be all.” And you turn to leave again.

“You’ve been crying.” Joe stops you in your tracks.

You turn back to him.

“No. Well, yea I was, but that’s not– I’m fine, that was about something else, not this. You don’t have to– stop, I’m going to go, please... respond to my message. I’ll read it when I get in, and that’ll be that.”

“Wait.”

Joe picks up the glass of water you’ve just put down and gives it back to you. When it’s in your hands, he even gives it a little push upward to ensure that you have a sip.

“I’ll go get my phone.”

And he’s so calm and agreeable that it feels rude to do anything else but take a sip and wait for him. You watch Joe walk out of the room to go get his phone, and it’s a lot of opening and closing doors, everything done as quietly as humanly possible. Then, you suddenly notice how hot you feel in your coat. It’s really fucking warm in here.

That’s new.

That’s... weird.

When Joe comes back, he closes the door behind him again and looks at his phone as he unlocks it.

“Why did you call me?”

“Just–”

“I’ll read the text.”

In silence, you stand and watch Joe open his texts and read your message. Messages. There’s several. Then, he starts typing back, and, this is what you came here for, but now that you’re standing in Joe’s kitchen in the middle of the night, having pulled him out of bed for this, you almost want to tell him he’s being an idiot. He can just as easily answer your question in person.

His message sends, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Joe places his down and gives you a tired stare.

“Yea, okay. Th-thanks.”

“Read it.”

It startles you.

“No, that’s…” You’re so stupid. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Read your message.”

You feel like a fucking child that’s being scolded by a parent.

Guilt.

Regret.

Self-inflicted, which makes all of it so much worse.

Every feeling sits dark and sticky and bitterly uncomfortable in your gut, clinging to all the edges, stretching longer until the shadows overtake all of the previous excuses you had for being here.

You shouldn’t have come.

You shouldn’t have gone to wake up Joe over something so insignificant and, well, dumb. It’s embarrassing, and you want to leave.

“You’re here now. I’m up. Read your message.”

You inhale deeply. Hold it there for a moment.

He’s right.

The damage has been done.

You’ve dipped a toe into this strange pond, and now you might as well canon ball yourself right into this uncomfortable mess, no matter how cold the water might be.

The only way out seems through.

You pull your phone from your pocket with a clammy hand, and fucking damn it, you’re sweating underneath all of your layers.

“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Joe just lets his eyes drop to your phone before he looks right at you again, his very stance issuing the orders.

Read the fucking text.

You see the notification and open your phone with face ID. Your own messages to Joe catch your attention first, before you see his reply.

“Were we as good as we’re going to get?”

“What we were together”

“Was that really as good as it can get?”

“Ever?”

You didn’t have to send the same question in various different ways, but that’s what had happened.

Emily’s reaction to the stand alone get-togethers you’d participated in with Joe hadn’t been what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a level of girl power encouragement. For a loud get it girl, or a, yea babe get what you want.

Instead, you’d gotten a sigh and shake of her head, followed by a soberly mumbled, “You really do deserve each other…” that you’d asked her to repeat.

Before she’d always said that Joe didn’t deserve you. That was always the point she tried to get across. The idea she tried to sear into your brain. Joe was beneath you, and you were far above. Always.

And then suddenly, now you are no longer too good for him?

Suddenly you’re on equal footing, and you deserve each other.

What the fuck.

You look at your own messages and realise in that very second that you have no idea what kind of answer you are after from Joe. This isn’t a coin toss situation where you know what side you want that coin to land on the moment it get’s thrown into the air. Fear strikes you lightning fast. No matter what Joe is going to tell you, it’s going to be wrong.

What the fuck are you doing at Joe’s flat?

And why is it so fucking hot in here?

The only way out is through.

You read Joe’s text.

“Darling it’s late, let’s not do this over text”

A non-answer.

You look up at Joe, who is now leaning against his kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts to the side a little and neither of you speak.

It’s oddly unexpected that the guy in his underwear exudes more confidence than the girl bundled up in heavy layers of clothing.

You frown and read the message again.

For a second you debate what to do next. What to say. If this is going to be the end of this interaction, or if it’s going to be just the beginning.

It’s late, though.

You inhale deeply. Slowly.

Then, resign.

“Okay.”

Because honestly, what were you really even expecting from him?

Your soft little defeated okay isn’t what Joe expected though, you can see it in the minor change on his face. The eyebrows that quirk up slightly, his jaw that loosens, the eyes that round out...

“I’ll um...” you say softly, letting your phone sink back into a pocket before pulling at your sleeves to let them cover both hands.

Joe steps forward and bends to look at the clock on the oven behind him before he says, “Well. Since you’re here. Might as well.”

He gestures an arm at his dining table. At one of his chairs. It’s hard, but you do your best to ignore the memories of the last time you were there, sat in one of these chairs. Well, technically, you hadn’t sat in one of the chairs... Joe had sat on one of the chairs and you–

“Am I going to get an explanation of what’s going on?” Joe asks as he pulls out a chair for you.

Finally, you remove your coat.

“It’s a long story.” You say, then think for a moment and add, “No it’s not, actually. Emily said–”

“Ah. Emily.” Joe sits down in a chair opposite. “How is Emily doing?”

“Shut up. She’s fine.” You exclaim, voice a little raised in defense, and you’re immediately shushed by Joe. He holds up a hand as he perks up, and you get the message, lowering your tone as you add, “This isn’t about her.”

“It’s not?”

“No. She just said something. I…” you trail off for a second.

Your head’s a scrambled mess of doubt and insecurities and it doesn’t help that all you’ve done in the past few hours is overthink every single thought that’s popped into your brain. It’s a bit of a journey to retrace your steps and go back to the start of all of this.

“We were talking, and suddenly she... she said something and I’m just… I wanted to know if you think that… if you think what I texted you is true.”

“You just… wanted to know… if I think…” Joe narrows his eyes up at the ceiling as he thinks, slowly repeating your words.

It’s condescending.

Patronising.

Joe’s making fun of you.

“All right, be fucking honest or–”

“No, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the fucking morning,” two already big eyes comically enlargen, but don’t make you laugh. Wrong audience. “But, yea, you’re right. Honest. I’ll be honest.”

You take a deep breath in preparation of what he’s about to say.

Were we as good as we’re going to get?

“Imposing question, though.”

Yea, you’re aware. It’s why you hadn’t been able to sleep and had eventually decided to just get up and out of bed, leave the boy you had in there on his own, and make your way over to Joe’s.

“I don’t know.”

Wild how you feel about five inches tall whilst simultaneously feeling like you’re taking up too much space in the room.

“You don’t know.”

Typical.

“Well. No, I… was it as good, wait, what was it?” Joe looks past you and sees that he’s left his phone on the counter. “Was it as good as it could be?”

You exhale through flared nostrils, frustration forcing your eyes shut for a moment.

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get for us?”

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get... I mean, I think so? I– But–... you tell me. Were we?”

And Joe’s right. It is late. You have spent hours thinking that question over, and you couldn’t answer it when you weren’t as tired as you are now, so it’s useless to even try at this hour.

You shrug, and for a moment, it’s quiet. You don’t know how to go about leaving now. You came here for something you aren’t going to get and so, fucking now what?

“Why um... why have you been crying?”

“Oh, I...” your fingers find your sleeve to rub. “I was asked why I couldn’t sleep, and I... well, I couldn’t really explain, so...”

Joe frowns in confusion, not understanding.

“I don’t know, you try listening to someone say shit like, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help you, fifty times in a row, and try not to fucking snap.”

They’d been tears of angry frustration, mostly with yourself, and they’d actually surprised you. You hadn’t expected to cry, but, you felt hurt by words your best friend said to you, so you guess that does add up, actually.

Something slowly dawns on Joe before he then leans back in his chair and nods, scrunching his nose, and he whispers, “Jasper.”

“Jasper.” you confirm, and it makes you chuckle a little before a yawn breaks it up.

Joe watches you. Lets his eyes take you in. It’s the middle of the night and you’re very clearly going through something, but he hasn’t got the answers to the questions you’re asking him, and he hates it.

Wishes he could help.

Wishes the questions you wanted answers to weren’t so impossible.

Joe watches you yawn. Watches your eyes blink slowly as you stare into space for a moment. It’s so quiet, he can hear his clock tick on the other side of the room. Then suddenly, you smile.

“I told Emily about the wine... about how I was a complete bitch and poured that bottle right down your drain.”

And Joe can’t help but feel more amused at your smile than feel annoyed about his expensive wine being wasted. He won’t let his face show it though.

“Bet she enjoyed that.”

“Yea I thought she would, but... she just... she said that we deserve each other. Whatever that means.”

Joe watches your fingers rub along your sleeves. Knows what that means.

“That’s not true.” he suddenly says, voice low and sincere.

“Oh, right,” you huff a laugh and half-heartedly joke, “I don’t deserve you, of course.”

Joe doesn’t laugh.

“No, I mean... well, yes. Technically.” Before he continues, Joe shakes his head in an attempt get his thoughts in order. It’s late. “But not in the way you just said it. In that... you probably deserve better.”

“Probably?”

“Yea. And so do I. Probably.”

Hmm.

You silently mill that over for a second. Aren’t sure what to make of it. If there’s even anything to agree or disagree with there.

“But, who’s to say. All we know is that we weren’t the best before.”

Joe stresses that last word and then lets the words float in the air for you to draw your own conclusions from. It’s certainly true that you weren’t the best together - hence the break up that eventually happened. But Joe’s expertly sharing the blame, which is not a fun truth to face.

The before saves it, a little.

The before makes it sounds like Joe’s talking about two people who no longer exist. Like, those people are gone. That door is closed. And look at you now. You’re a whole new set of two different people. It’s a different world, and you’ve changed. Grown. Learnt.

Who knows what you’d be like now.

Joe can’t predict the future.

And neither can you.

“Hmm.” you hum, eyes trained on the surface of the table, body flushed with conflicting feelings you don’t know how to put into words. Instead of stumbling through words until you find ones that make sense, you remain silent and pull at your sleeves so there’s more fabric for your fingers to run across.

“Hey,” Joe leans forward a little and catches your attention. “Are you okay? Do I need to be worried about you?”

You smile and let it take over your whole face as you shake your head no before you bring your hand up to cover another yawn.

“No. But I should go. This was never meant to be– she just… I don’t know, Emily got into my head and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

Joe contemplates in silence. Wonders if he’s okay with the idea of you walking out and going home right now, in this state. It’s almost three o’clock.

“I don’t make the best decisions after midnight. Sorry.”

You push your chair back and get up on your feet, the plan being to give Joe a quick polite hug goodbye before you make your way back to his front door.

You’re tired, but you know the second you step outside into the cold air that will make your lungs feel sore, you’ll wake up enough to make your way home without any problems.

But then Joe decides you can’t just go.

You can’t just leave.

He’s stuck.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck in it, together, in this muddy sludge of whatever the two of you have become now. One of you is going to have to step out of their shoes and escape, and Joe thinks it should be you, because you’ve escaped this quicksand of a relationship before. You know how to get out.

It’s weird that you willingly came back.

Keep coming back.

And it’s awful that Joe just keeps inviting you in. Welcomes you with open arms every single time.

But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.

He decides he’s not just going to let you leave, so when he stands up and you go in for a hug, he takes hold of you by your upper arms and starts moving you towards his sofa.

Says, “Come sit for a second.”

And no resistance comes from you. Joe thinks it must be because you’re tired. You’ve cried and you’ve worried and you’ve let all of it eat away at you until you decided to reach out to him, and now, he wants you to stay. He’s not a fan of how, from a certain angle, it looks like he’s taking advantage of the situation, but... you’re both adults.

He’s not doing anything illegal.

Well.

There’s a girl in his bed.

It’s why the flat is warm and why all the doors are closed. Joe shouldn’t have let you inside. Shouldn’t have made you come in and shouldn’t have made you close the door behind you. Shouldn’t have given you a glass of water and shouldn’t have sat you down.

He doesn’t want you to leave now.

There’s a girl in his bed.

And you’ve got a Jasper in yours.

Joe’s closeness to you will come at a price, he’s aware. But it’s one he’s willing to pay. One he’s got the cash for, no problem. Name the sum and he’ll double it.

He’s got you by the arms and is walking you over to his sofa. You are stopped just before you’re about to step onto the area rug.

“Shoes off,” he says, like he gives a shit. You know he doesn’t, but listen to him anyway, and know that taking your shoes off means you’re not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

You get turned around and get sat down, and immediately, you feel far too comfortable. The seat’s too soft. The cushion’s too fluffy. Memories of the hours spent snuggled up on this sofa shoot into the forefront of your mind and you want to warn Joe that it’s not going to take much for you to fall asleep.

But before you can, he pulls a throw blanket from the other side and hands it to you, and you realise that getting comfy and cosy is actually the goal here.

There’s a guy in your bed, who you’ve just… left. Didn’t tell him anything. Just got out, got dressed and left.

You take the blanket from Joe.

It’s probably a good idea to at least let him know something. Send him a text. Let him know you’re okay. But that little voice of reason in your head gets drowned out when Joe sits down next to you and helps sort out the blanket so it covers you both.

“Sit for a second?” you ask through a soft half-suppressed laugh as Joe settles in beside you, your thighs touch underneath the throw. “Am I staying the night?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control what you do. I just want to sit for a second.”

Joe stretches an arm behind you that you think he’s going to rest on top of the sofa, but it moves your head forward a little as it grabs hold of your bicep to pull you in a bit more.

“Joe...” you warn, but it sounds lighthearted and sleepy.

“What?” Joe acts all innocent, but you can hear his amusement when he adds, “Just for a second.”

Joe is still shuffling in his spot, using his other hand to sort the cushion behind him, then pulling the blanket and tucking it under his leg, followed by him using his chin to fix the bit of flipped cotton of his T-shirt sleeve – it’s a lot of faffing for someone who wants to sit for just a second.

He’s nearly done, a centering sigh half way out of him when, suddenly, you feel how he pipes up a little and see how he looks across the room. His phone’s still on the counter, and for a second, Joe debates getting up to go and get it.

You determine on his behalf that he doesn’t need his phone by draping your arm across his stomach and snuggling up.

It’s warm in Joe’s flat.

And this little nest is perfect.

“Fine.” you mutter softly. “Jus’ for a second.”

Joe pauses for a moment as he looks down at how you let your nose brush his arm, your eyes already closed, and he grins as he sinks back down into his sofa.

You don’t make the best decisions after midnight.

Neither does Joe.

Maybe you do deserve each other. Maybe you don’t.

But you deserve this, you think. And you mean that in the best way possible. You deserve to be comfortable, and cosy, and toasty warm in a dimly lit room with a man who smells really nice.

You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.

You fall asleep in the soft glow of the under cabinet LEDs with the knowledge that the next morning is bound to be awkward. But this is still infinitely nicer than trying to fall asleep with Emily’s words on your mind. It’s difficult to think about impossible-to-answer questions when you’re wrapped up in strong warm arms that want you there, so you allow yourself to sink and to drift until dreams fully take you.  

A loud bang of a door slamming shut wakes the both of you with a violent jolt.

Two pairs of tired bleary eyes look around the room, and there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. Your mind scrambles to piece together where you are and what just happened, but all your mind can focus on is how dry and heavy your eyes feel as you blink to adjust to your surroundings.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe croaks, groaning as he goes to sit up. He looks over his shoulder, then rubs a heavy hand across his face before he goes, “Yea…”

You feel disoriented and frazzled, and move to sit up just enough to look over the back of the sofa with squinty eyes to see what Joe is even looking at.

All you see is an open door to the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“What was that?” you ask, thinking maybe something dropped or knocked over somehow. When Joe gets up and walks over to his bedroom to check, you think that’s it. Something fell because gravity finally got a hold of whatever Joe had been precariously balancing on a bookshelf.

But then you hear Joe audibly sigh and dejectedly go, “Yea, she won’t be coming back.”

That takes minute to land.

It’s too early for your brain to comprehend what just happened, but slowly, puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh, that’s fucking detestable, isn’t it?

When Joe walks back out, he’s wearing joggers and is holding a ball of socks, and you hope there’s a different explanation than the correct one you just concocted. He looks at you for a moment, and you can tell by the look on his face that he feels awful.

Right.

Emily can fuck off.

You don’t deserve each other.

You deserve better than this.

Okay, so, yea, admittedly, you aren’t really one to talk, seeing the personal choices you have made over the past eight hours. But the choices Joe has made in that same span of time are just as bad, if not worse.

You decide to give into the feeling of wanting to lay back down rather than to face whatever this morning has on offer for you. You disappear from Joe’s sight, and cover all of your face with your hands that press and pull at your skin.

This is such a mess.

“Emily can fuck off.” You mutter into your own palms, hoping Joe can translate that and connect the dots of your disdain for him in this very moment.

You should leave.

Should check your phone for any messages or missed calls, and you should leave.

Never come back.

Learn your fucking lesson already and never set foot into this flat ever again.

But then Joe leans over the back of the sofa, and with knitted eyebrows that show off every single line on his forehead, he softly asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

You drop your hands.

Look up at him. The kind face. His short hair sleep messy. Jaw line. His mouth.

You should leave.

“Um…”

Oh... oh no.

“Yea…”

Fuck.

So close.

“Yea?”

You almost had it.

“Yea. I could use a coffee.”

Almost.

---

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[within-your-eyes-if]

Phew

Hi everyone!

I'm excited to share that Chapter One's NSFW revisions and additions are officially complete. The core of the vice system is now implemented, and I’m meticulously combing through to polish any areas I might have missed. I've also cleaned up some coding, implemented object arrays to better track your piercings and/or accessories, addressed a few reported errors, and made several other improvements (go me!).

Progress on Chapter 2 continues; the NSFW scenes are still being refined and drafted. These revisions have given me a permanent: ಠ_ಠ (though I'm glad some of you still love the old stuff ♥) — but I'm steadily moving forward. After that, Chapter 3 awaits the same level of treatment.

Looking ahead, my next update might just be a call for beta testers — so stay tuned if you're interested in being part of the fine-tuning process!

Anyway, I thought you'd all like to know how it's coming along. I'm proud of the progress I've been able to make over the last few days. I promise I'm not rushing and am taking care of myself during all this! Thank you for your support and kindness!