#it's okay to need to watch something twice!

[raqqtsx0]

If it meant anything. Katsuki Bakugo

AN: running out of ideas guys💔 pls help!

Angst. Word count: ~1.3k

⸻

It always started the same

He’s yelling at someone across the field. His palms are sparking. His eyes sharp, furious scan the room like he’s ready to explode again. You watch from the sidelines, heart aching. Because you used to be the only person he didn’t yell at.

Not anymore.

You still remember the first time you made him laugh.

It was late. After training. You were sitting on the steps outside the dorms, holding a half-eaten energy bar, complaining about how stupid hero calculus was, and how your legs still ached from Aizawa’s circuit run. He just looked at you, rolled his eyes, and said, “You whine like Kaminari but you keep up like me. Pick one.”

You fake gasped. “Was that… a compliment?” He smirked. That smirk is long gone now. He’s not yours anymore. Not that he ever really was.

But he used to sit next to you during lunch. Used to pass you your water bottle without looking. Used to stay after training just to walk back with you even when his quirk was drained and his muscles were shaking.

Now?

Now he stays late with her. You don’t even blame her. She’s kind. Strong. Bright. A real hero in the making. The kind of girl who fits beside him in the spotlight.

You? You’re the one behind the scenes. Watching. Wanting. Wishing. You try not to let it show. You’re good at hiding things. But when he walks into class, laughing under his breath, and she’s the one next to him smiling, elbowing his side like she belongs there—it hurts. More than you ever let anyone see.

Even him. Especially him.

Later that night, you think you’re alone in the common room. You’re sitting on the couch, hoodie wrapped around your knees, barely breathing. The lights are low. Quiet humming comes from the fridge in the kitchen.

And then you hear it. Footsteps.

You stiffen.

“Bakugo.?” you ask softly, barely turning.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, half in shadow, staring at you with unreadable eyes. “You were crying.”

It’s not a question. You turn your face toward the window. “I wasn’t.”

“Don’t lie.”

You exhale slowly, shaky. “Why do you care?” That gets him. His jaw clenches. “Tch. I don’t.”

“Right.” You stand. Try to move past him.

He grabs your wrist. “Wait.” Your breath catches. You look at him. For the first time in weeks, really look.

He’s tired. Eyes shadowed. Sparks low and unfocused. There’s something raw under the surface. Something he doesn’t want you to see but can’t hide fast enough.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” he says finally. Voice low. Rough.

You try to pull your wrist free. “You didn’t ignore me. You forgot me. That’s different.”

He flinches. “Shit,” he mutters. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It felt like that,” you snap, sharper than you mean to. “I used to be someone to you. And now I’m just… nothing.”

“You’re not nothing.”

“Then what am I, Katsuki?”

Silence. Your name hangs in the air like smoke.

He lets go of your wrist. You want him to say something. Anything.

That he chose her because she was easier. That he misses you. That he still thinks about you late at night. That he regrets everything.

But all he says is

“I don’t know.”

And maybe that’s worse than silence.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Okay.”

You start walking toward the stairs. He doesn’t stop you.

Later that night, he finds a note under his door. It’s not signed. But he knows it’s from you.

“I hope she’s everything you need. I wish I had been enough to even be considered.”

He reads it twice. Then tears it up and tosses it. Not because he’s angry. But because he can’t stand how much it hurts to know he let you believe that.

Let you walk away thinking it was never you. When it had been. The whole time.

But by the time he’s ready to say it You’ve already stopped waiting.

[manmuncher777]

MESMERISED

Choso x reader Smut MDNI

See the thing about chose is that he could never just do something once.

If he’s holding your hand, he can’t let go. No, now that he’s holding your hand, he wants to keep holding you until it’s literally impossible

It can just be one goodmorning kiss, no he need two, three, okay maybe a whole make out. But you can’t blame him, he just wants your love

And when he’s finally cum inside you. Oh he definitely can’t do that just once. When he’s sleepy eyes lock on to your pretty pussy, all used and just dripping with him, he can’t just leave it at that. You’ve got him addicted now. He has to do it over and over until he’s shooting blanks. Which leads to your current situation

Your thighs were shaking, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan as Choso hovered over you, his forehead sticky with sweat and pressed to yours. His body trembled — not from exhaustion, but restraint. His cock was still twitching inside of you, buried so deep in the mess he’d already made.

His eyes were glued to your cunt, like a man possessed. Watching the creamy white right that was forming around the base of his still hard cock. Watching as your body twitched at being so full of him. He was mesmerised by the sight, like he was seeing god.

And he wasn’t pulling out.

“Jus’ one more, baby,” he breathed, voice hoarse and shaking with a whimper. “Fuck—just… gotta cum in you again baby. Please.”

You couldn’t help but whimper at his words, you had already cum, twice. It would be mean to deny him, right? But the stimulation was already begging to be to much for you.

Your nails clawed into his back, overstimulated and foggy, brain turned to mush as he rolled his hips slow and deep. You could feel everything. The stretch. The heat. The slick slide of him grinding in the mess between your legs.

“You already did,” you gasped, biting down on a whine when he pushed deeper, grinding his cock in place. “Choso—fuck—I can’t—”

“I know,” he whispered, mouth brushing your jaw, his body twitching with desperation. “I know you can’t, but—shit—I need it. Just one more. Please baby i have to see it again. I swear, I’ll be good after. I’ll stop.”

He wouldn’t.

He kissed you then — sloppy, whimpering into your mouth as he started to thrust, slow and trembling. The squelch of it made you both groan. Your body tried to squirm away, legs twitching, but his hands were locked tight on your hips.

“Let me fill you up again,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Feel so fuckin’ good, so wet—shit—can’t stop. Can’t fuckin’ stop, baby. Need you to be full”

You were crying now, overwhelmed and delirious, but god, the way he was fucking you — like he’d die without it, like he couldn’t breathe unless he was buried in you. His hips moving with a crazed pace— made your head spin. And when he started to twitch again, panting, whining, begging—

“Gonna cum—fuck, I’m cumming, m’sorry, I’m—ngh—take it, take it all—”

He spilled in you again, voice breaking, body shaking like he could collapse at any second. And he stayed there, cock still twitching, still hard.

He looked down between your bodies, where your cunt was dripping now, and let out a broken, needy sound.

“…Maybe just one more.”

[delreystars]

──────── ୨ৎ  FINNY WALKING IN..

──  ˙ ̟  !!    ꣑୧ dad!jj x reader

DAD!JJ AU

cw: smut, p in v, getting caught by children!!, REQUESTED, before she got pregnant!

It starts like it always does—with you in one of his old T shirts, hair in a messy bun, laughing at something he mumbled under his breath in the kitchen. your washing dishes, He’s watching your hips sway.

The kids are occupied. liam's in the backyard. alex is napping. finny is (allegedly) watching a movie.

That’s all the opportunity he needs.

He crowds you from behind, hands already slipping under the hem of your shirt, lips dragging along your neck. “You’ve got five minutes before someone starts screaming again,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat.

“Four, actually,” you whisper back, already breathless.

He lifts you onto the kitchen counter without another word. Kisses you hard—messy, desperate—like he hasn’t had you in weeks instead of just two nights ago. His hands grip your thighs, pushes them apart, his cock already hard and pressed between them through the fabric of his sweats.

“Right here?” you gasp.

jj grins. “This house already knows, baby.”

He pulls your panties to the side and sinks into you in one smooth thrust. you cry out, grabbing onto his shoulders as he fucks into your cunt—deep and fast, just shy of losing control.

“You feel even better after givin' me three babies,” he growls, forehead pressed against your. “the fuck is that possible?” your close already. you both are. It's frantic. Mindless. The kind of sex that feels like survival.

And then— “Mom? Dad?” jj freezes. your eyes goes wide. Standing in the doorway: finny, blinking, holding a juice pouch.

you yelp, yanking jj's shirt down to cover yourself. jj spins, hands up, flushed all over.

“Buddy! ha ha,” he says, trying not to sound as breathless as he is. “You’re, uh.. up early from your movie.”

Finny squints. “Why’s Mom sitting on the counter?”

JJ clears his throat, pulling a dish towel off the handle and tossing it toward you. “She… oh! hurt her back so I was helping her stretch. Grown-up stretches. Super — I mean, very boring.”

“Okay,” the boy shrugs. “Can I have another juice?”

JJ practically launches toward the fridge. “Uh huh. Go take it back to the movie, yeah?”

Finny walks off like nothing happened.

You stare at JJ, still breathless, still flushed, half laughing, half dying of embarrassment.

“‘Grown up stretches?’ Seriously?”

He shrugs, stepping between your legs again, eyes gleaming. “You were stretching for something.”

You smack his chest. “We are never doing it in the kitchen again.”

But later that night, after the kids are asleep?

You definitely do. Twice. And this time, JJ locks the damn door.

[tenebristism]

surrounded

pairing: nam-gyu (player 124) x reader

Nam-gyu goes looking for silver in the squid games, but instead strikes gold rather quickly.

word count: 3,134

dae ho watch yourself...youre next you hunk of a man

also the original was much longer so the other parts will be posted as i finish them

If it wasn’t the kidnapping that tipped you off, the killing certainly did. 

When the all-too-smug businessman had approached you in the subway station, effectively humiliated you, left you with blooming marks all over your face, and walked away with your pride, you didn’t expect he’d give you something after taking, taking, taking. Yet, there it was–a business card. Sure, he’s a businessman, or at least he appeared to be. However, the card he gave you was no ordinary career calling. It was laden with mystery, bearing only 3 symbols and a phone number on the back. 

That card was your downfall, though you wouldn’t know it until later. Now you were in some playground-esque ‘arena’, for lack of better word, with a doll on one end and a crowd of confused people on the other. You were to play children’s games for money. Simple enough, you had thought. What’s the catch?

Before anything even starts, a man darts out of the crowd and into the open space. His jacket reads 456. All eyes latch onto him like he was crazy, shouting and gesturing wildly, spouting nonsense about the fact that moving during this particular game meant death. A spectacle to behold, and you were sure everyone else felt the same. You shift your weight onto one foot. God, these shoes are uncomfortable. Maybe ignoring him was a good idea. Better yet, stay 10 feet away at all times. 

The crowd began buzzing with chatter, words like crazy and dramatic being thrown around in regards to the frantic man up ahead.

Someone bumps your shoulder trying to jostle their way to the front. A man, with greasy hair and judgmental eyes, barely casts you a sideways glance. Then he does a double take. “What?” you gesture, hands raising slightly. It looks like he’s about to say something before his purple-haired friend elbows him, remarking about another girl ahead you could only make out the hair of. The man turns to look at you once more, and to your confusion–and amusement– he nods his head at you and throws you a half assed peace sign. Okay? You nod back slowly, brows furrowed. 

The voice on a speaker pivots your attention back to the sandy space. A woman on the intercom begins speaking. 

“...Let the game begin.” 

“Green light.” 

The crowd shuffles forward. A couple stumble, but regain their footing. Dust kicks up from the movement. You squint through it just in time to catch the doll’s head swiveling back into place. 

“Red light!”

“Freeze!” 

His voice rings clear as day. No one needs to be told twice, and the mass of people stop dead in their tracks. It’s strange seeing so many people coordinated–almost inhuman, the way the silence fills the air. Despite how psychotic as 456 had looked, and as humorous as his speech had sounded, no one dared to find out if his words were the truth. 

“Green light!” 

The crowd washes forward like a wave. 

“Red light!” 

Of course, the sea always withdraws. No one moves. You allow yourself to think about what you’ll do with the cash once you get out of here.

Until, of course, someone stumbles. Your eyes catch her porcelain face out of the corner of your eye. The girl from earlier, who throws the purple-haired man a teasing smile. You can’t make out her words before blood is pouring from her forehead, and her corpse folds onto the sand like a ragdoll.

You flinch. Were you seeing things? Did she just get shot? No one else reacts. It had to be a trick of the eyes. The pounding in your ears grows in volume to the point you can scarcely make out what 456 is saying now. You don’t dare move, even after the horrific death you just witnessed. Were you really just playing the game at this point? Maybe you were just frozen in fear. As these thoughts are assaulting your mind, slowly, realization sweeps over the crowd. A woman turns to look at the corpse. She screams. Just like a row of falling dominos, panic erupts. More shots ring out, and you can’t turn to see it, but you're sure the floor behind you looks like a scene from a slasher film judging by the thump after every shot. Fight or flight kicks in, but you’ve discovered a third–freeze, which may be to your benefit, though you don’t realize it.

The chaos subsides, and the distraught man is proven right.

He suggests–more like commands–smaller people to line up behind anyone bigger. The doll can’t detect motion it can't directly see, he says. As soon as the change to green light is called, you rush forward only to crash into the back of someone else, someone much taller and broader. He cranes his neck to get a look at you, and you get a full view of his player number.

“You,” 124 says as he redirects his focus forward, sneaking along, “Thought you would’ve croaked by now.”

You huff, but don’t have time to reply. “Red light!”  

“Bet you’re glad I was in the right place and time, huh?” he mutters, keeping his volume to a minimum to avoid movement. 

For once, you don’t bite back with a snarky reply in lieu of his reprehensible attitude. Instead, you’re genuinely grateful he was in the right place at the right time. 

“...Thank you,” you breathe, and suddenly you release a grip you didn’t know you had on his tracksuit. “Fuck, I thought that guy was just crazy…”

“Green light!” 

Now with someone in front of you, moving becomes less of a hazard. You relax a bit. Just before the doll’s song ends, 124 lowers his head.

“Red light!”

More shots fired. The person next to you, whoever it was, crumbles into a limp pile right at your feet. 124 doesn’t move a muscle, lucky for you, because your face visibly jolts away. Whether consciously or not, 124’s concealed hand creeps back in an effort to still you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper on the verge of tears, voice unsteady. It’s now, out of the corner of your eye, you become aware of the single-file line that’s gathered behind you. The woman behind you cowers, unable to meet your eyes. Others have done the same–multiple lines of desperate souls trying to avoid their ends are all you can see.

Green light is called again. You glance at the clock. 1 minute and 34 seconds left, and the entirety of you have just crossed the rough halfway point. 

“You think we’ll make it?” Your voice is so subdued it almost misses his ears. 

“Sure,” he replies, maybe more of an effort to keep you composed, for your sake and his. One misstep from you, and you both go down.

“Red light!” 

You almost bump him. So far, so good. Assuming no one behind you slips up for whatever reason, maybe you’ll even make it out alive. You had also assumed everyone was on the same page about mutual preservation until there was a scuffle off to the side. To your left, the row of people suddenly fall forward with yelps and gasps–as if they were pushed. 

“Fucking asshole,” comes the remark from the man in front of you. The entire group, at least as far back as you can see, is shot dead, just like dominos.

Green light. 124 instantly turns to the corpses, and you follow his eyes until they find the purple-haired man from earlier. 230, his patch reads, and despite having just deliberately caused about 10 people’s deaths judging from the smile on his face, he skips along with a bounce to his step. 

“That your buddy?” You say in awe, except it’s more in distaste than admiration. Some part of you does admire him, if only for being so bold as to make enemies so early in the game.

“...Yeah,” he drawls, as if he’s not sure whether to consider him as such. “Know him from a club.” 

This song and dance continues for what feels like hours; red light, crouch behind your human shield, flinch from the noise, slink along behind him. You’re surprised he hasn’t tried to rid himself of you yet. 

After this arduous, bone-chilling tango, he propels forward without warning, and you can see the finish line right in front of you. You follow suit, finished with 30 seconds on the clock. Several others collapse beside you with heaving chests. 

“Easy stuff,” 124 rolls his shoulders with a nod to you as you straighten yourself up. You’re both heaving from adrenaline and trepidation. “You good?”

“Probably?” He inspects your trembling form, coated in a disgusting sheen of shiny sweat, and nods, clearly unconvinced. Easy. Nevermind the fact we’re now in the scope of dozens of shooters. Not like we can die any second.

Something catches his attention. A name being called by the purple guy. You’re almost sure he said Nam-su, and 124 doesn’t spare you a goodbye as he pushes through the crowd to 230, complaining about something all the way there. 

Okay. Bye. You roll your eyes. You didn’t even know the area had a roof until it begins to cast and shadow and swallow all the light you all have. You’re sharply drawn back to reality–the fact that you were currently standing ahead of dozens of corpses, covered in blood, and are currently participating in a game that will kill you if you lose. Panic takes hold of you, and so do ghastly thoughts of death and pain. As your breathing spirals out of control, a hand on your shoulder steadies you. 

“Stay calm,” a smooth, comforting voice says. She–who you can now see is player 120–shakes you gently. Despite being covered in blood herself, her solemn face quirks up in a slight smile for you. “Now isn’t the time to panic. We’ll get out of here, alright? At least we’re alive.” 

“I hope so,” you breathe, and smile at her.

God, I hope so.

Back in the ‘living quarters’, as you’ve come to call them, a somber, eerie silence has fallen over the survivors. Smaller groups had come to form, spanning anywhere from 2 to 10 people. 

Unfortunately, you ended up alone. Your gut was telling you to find someone to stick with. You would definitely be safer with others, but who? Sure, 120 had come to converse, but she had already split off into a group with a few others. You had no idea where Nam-su was, either; not that he seemed the best candidate. 

But it seemed he would be your only, as he nudges your shoulder from the bed beside you. You hadn’t noticed his group chatting right next to you, somehow, with how loud his friend was.

He skips formalities. “Gotta group yet?” 

“I think I caught your name was Nam-su?” You eye him from your seat on the mattress and ignore his previous question. At least be polite. 

Nam-su grinds his teeth, clenches his jaw. He relaxes slightly–a show of assurance on your end. 

“My name isn’t Nam-su,” ‘Nam-su’ says through gritted teeth, clearly trying to maintain his patience. “It’s Nam-gyu. Gyu, not su.”

Nam-gyu gestures with his hands to stress the importance of avoiding this mistake.

“Okay. Nam-gyu, got it,” you tease with a soft, exhausted smile–your first genuine one in a long time. You don’t notice the way he suppresses one himself.

“And you?” 

You give him your name. Nam-gyu nods, staring down at his shoes as he shifts his weight between them. He’s about to say something before a boisterous voice kills any words he was about to speak.

“Nam-su, my boy…” 

“Nam-gyu,” Nam-gyu grumbles.

You both turn to the source of the voice. The same man that pushed the entire row of innocent people, covered in blood as evidence, saunters up to you, shouldering Nam-gyu aside.

“Nice to meet you, senorita,” He says brazenly, and your eyes catch Nam-gyu’s for a split second–a silent but somehow obvious oookay, yeah, yet Nam-gyu doesn’t return it. He’s more interested in the ground as he idles around behind 230. “Welcome to the Thanos world.” 

“‘Thanos world’”? You laugh dryly and cross your arms. “Who are you again?” 

“Thanos, the legend,” Thanos says as if it’s common sense. He makes some strange gesture with his hands and shoots you a somewhat detached, empty grin. Definitely hopped up on something.

“Never heard of you.” 

“That’s okay. Now you know. Anyways-” Thanos slings an arm around your shoulders in  mock alliance, and you stumble against his form- “Maybe you should stick with us. We’ll keep you safe. See, my boy Nam-gyu here’s a little sweet on you-”

“Save me from what? Yourselves?” Sweet on me?

Nam-gyu shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. His sleeves are already too big on him. 

Thanos nods in amusement and taps your shoulder playfully.

“Playing hard to get, I see how it is.” The group of men behind him watches on in his attempt to ‘court’ you. His voice lowers into something a bit more serious. “Listen, senorita. Safety is guaranteed here. We’re in it to win it. Yeah?” 

Your anxious grin slowly crumbles away. You bite your lip. You’re throwing yourself headfirst into a group of deceitful, probably sleazy men. If it came down to it, they would probably toss you to the wolves if it meant they would escape unscathed. You’re the smallest person in this corner by a longshot, just like a rabbit being dragged into a den of coyotes.

Then there’s Nam-gyu. He doesn’t quite fit any of those descriptions, but is still someone to keep an eye on, for other reasons. 

Somehow the circumstances only make your choice all the more appealing. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you blurt, making your way around the two men and planting yourself firmly on a mattress against the wall. The others are practically undressing you with their eyes. A couple size you up. “Whatever.” 

Thanos turns with newfound triumph. As he returns, his tail branches off from his side and meanders over to you. He finally meets your eyes for the first time since the end of red light green light. You notice just how dark they are, like staring into a pit of tar.

“Good thing you’re with us now,” Nam-gyu seats himself at the end of your bed. He slings an ankle over his thigh and leans back. “Don’t think any other groups here can compare.” 

“I dunno. These guys kind of…” You cross your legs upon the white sheets. They’re stained with dirt. “They kind of scare me.” 

Nam-gyu hesitates for a moment. You expect him to laugh in your face, to be just like the others and muddle you into a paste. “Don’t freak out. I’ll make sure they don’t try anything.” 

You nod, a silent thanks, and swing your legs over the side of the bed, inadvertently scooting a bit closer. 

“So why are you here?” You mean it as a genuine question, but Nam-gyu seems a little distraught. 

“Why is anyone here?” He scoffs. “Debt.” 

“Oh. Sorry,” You say dumbly. You don’t know why you’re apologizing to him. It just comes naturally. 

“‘S good.” Nam-gyu turns to you. “You in debt?” 

“Not...Well...” You dig the toe of your shoe into the slick floor as if it’ll give in. “Not because I’m a gambler or druggie or anything. I went to college a few years back.”

“So you’re one of those smart girls? Degree and all?” 

“I guess. If you wanna say it like that.” 

Nam-gyu hums. His eyes are contemplative, yet somehow vacant at the same time when he turns back to the group. “I like smart girls.”  

You laugh. Your hands are sweaty, but not out of fear. 

“You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Thanos is into that shit, not me. Having brainless women hanging off his arm all the time, that kind of thing.”

“You work at a club,” you emphasize. “You’re around those kinds of women…people, all the time.”

“Only for the thrill.” Nam-gyu clarifies, as if he’s any better than Thanos. Maybe he is, with how self-aware he is. It’s jarring. You’ve always thought of friends as being cut from the same cloth. Maybe he has more brains than his friend. Maybe he’s different than he lets on.

“And why exactly did Thanos say ‘sweet on’-”

Suddenly the guards come marching in, guns in hand. Your attention instantly snaps to their pink suits, unsettling black masks, and you and Nam-gyu instinctively back against the wall. For once, you share a fellow feeling–fear. He’s so close you can smell the cigarette smoke on him, probably from yesterday, and see the sweat beading on his forehead. He’s warm. Something stirs in your gut, and you’re disgusted when you recognize it as your good friend oxytocin.

The crowd is riled up. People crowd between the mattresses, cower under beds, crouch next to them. Metal bed frames screech on the floor amongst the buzzing, only amplifying the chaos. Even Thanos’ perpetual leer drops into more of a wide-eyed frown. 

The guards announce the results of the first game. The number on the screen atop the entrance drops with a beeping akin to a slot machine, as if their deaths were just part of a gamble. 

456… 430…399…365. 

91 people. Holy shit.

The guards, unfazed by the way the crowd is shuddering at their very presence, congratulate the survivors for making it through the first game. First gane, you play over and over in your head. More games. How many? Your head feels like it’s underwater, and when an old woman and her, presumably, son, rush into the open space to plead for their lives to be spared, you don’t react. 

More games. More deaths. More-

“What’s the matter with you?” Nam-gyu says shakily, as if he himself isn’t unsettled by what he had just witnessed. His gaze scans you up and down. In the background, everyone joins the pair in begging for mercy, to be released from their newfound purgatory. 

“We’re gonna die in here,” you say, wide eyed, and bring your knees to your chest. The commotion has you even more panicked than you were before. What if the guards start shooting again, for order? The man from before, 456, emerges from his place within the bunk beds and begins to nearly argue with the guards. The guards respond calmly, as if they’re on autopilot and his words mean absolutely nothing to them.

“No damn way we’ll die before getting out of here. Especially without the money.” Nam-gyu claps a hand onto your shoulder and lightly squeezes, ignoring the uproar slowly growing behind him. “I’m a man of my word.”

We, he says, and you have no choice but to believe him.

[chromeheartsbaby]

⊹ ‧₊˚ - 3 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀

“don’t look. just keep walking.”

the flash wasn’t loud, but brooke felt it.

she adjusted her sunglasses and held lumi’s hand a little tighter as they stepped out of the black car. paris was alive, buzzing — not with traffic, but with whispers. whispers that sounded too much like drew starkey. “don’t look,” brooke said again under her breath, tugging lumi gently toward the hotel doors. “just keep walking.” lumi looked up, confused. “are they taking pictures of us?” brooke gave her the softest smile. “they don’t know who you are, baby. we’re just two girls in paris, remember?” but she knew. someone knew. or at least… they were getting close. the energy was off.

they got into the lobby. it was calm, but not really. brooke’s phone buzzed twice before they even made it to the elevator. first from drew. then from a number she didn’t save — but she recognized it anyway. a paparazzi. she opened the message.

attached: a photo. clear as hell. her and lumi, mid-step. not even blurry. it was too clear.

brooke didn’t say anything. she just pressed the elevator button with one hand, and held lumi’s hand tighter with the other. they got to the suite. saint was already flopped across the couch, eating hotel croissants and watching something on tv like it was just any other day. brooke tossed the keycard on the counter.“okay… so, slight change of plans”

saint didn’t even look up. “lemme guess. we’re not allowed to go outside anymore?” brooke didn’t answer right away. she pulled out her phone again, staring at the photo. it had already made its way to a stan twitter account. she tapped into the tweet. 1.2k retweets. 4.9k likes. 187 bookmarks. lumi. was. trending.“auntie brooke?” lumi asked, voice small. she turned to her niece and smiled softly. “nothing for you to worry about. go wash your hands, baby, we’re gonna eat.” saint’s eyes didn’t leave the screen, but he could feel the shift. he finally glanced at brooke. “what happened?”“you don’t need to worry about it either,” she said quickly, a little too quickly. “does dad know?” saint pressed. “yeah. he’s calling your mom now.”

her heart was pounding. she couldn’t even hear the tv anymore. this wasn’t just some fan theory getting out of hand — this was the internet doing what it does best: connecting dots they were never supposed to find. not like this.

she stared at the screen until her eyes burned. her thumb hovered over drew’s contact again. then back. then again. but what was the point? he already knew. and he was probably pacing around that hotel suite trying to fix it, pretending like he didn’t see this coming — pretending like this wasn’t always the risk. they said they’d protect the kids. said it a hundred times. keep their names off the blogs. out of the stan tweets. out of the edits with sad piano music under rafe cameron clips. but lumi was ten. and saint? saint barely knew how to keep his account on private. how were they supposed to explain this? she ran a hand down her face. she wasn’t even mad. not really. she was just… tired. tired of being the one who always had to hold it all together. tired of almosts and maybes and “i miss you” whispered between hotel stays. tired of drew. but never tired of the kids. never tired of loving them enough for both of them. her phone buzzed again. blocked number. probably press. probably someone fishing for a quote. probably too late to stop any of it now. she didn’t answer. just locked her phone, set it face-down, and finally let the silence take over the room.

⊹ ‧₊ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @frankoceanluvr11 @lanaslushworld @silkylovey

kiss kiss ciao © 𝐜𝐡𝐫��𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 - est. 2025 don't copy, don't save, don't try it.

[jerrysghostwriter]

Cracks In the Silence

II x reader

this is gonna be a longer series

NSFW/MDNI

TW: alcoholism, emotional hurt no comfort, eventual smut

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The rain had been pouring down for hours. It didn't storm bad here often, but tonight the thunder shook the walls and lighting lit up the room through the windows. You don't usually mind storms, actually you enjoyed the calm they brought you, but tonight you had a different sense, that familiar feeling. Your nerves felt frayed at the ends, a restless energy taking root beneath your skin.

You haven't been sleeping, not for weeks if you were honest. Some nights you would lie there, spaced out and trying desperately to feel, anything at all, something tangible rather than the itching feeling of emptiness. Some nights you would drink until you could feel every molecule of your own body, inhibitions so numb and your thoughts so fleeting you didn't have time to dwell on them.

And some nights, like this one, you’d just sit on the couch, putting your phone on do not disturb, to “protect your peace” as some said but truthfully you still checked it every hour, checking through all his socials before counting how many days it had been since the last time he left.

‘Seventeen exactly’ you thought just as a knock sounded at the door.

Soft, almost hesitant.

You froze, your heart beating in your chest so hard you swore you could feel the reverberation of it from your chest.

Then came three more knocks, sure this time, louder.

You didn't move at first, hoping maybe you could convince yourself not to open it, to tell him to leave.

It didn't work.

You opened the door slowly, fingers grasping at the hem of the large t-shirt you wore.

There he was.

He looked like hell, as he often did when he came by. His hoodie soaked through, water dripping from the ends of his hair, shoulders slumped like he couldn't hold himself up. His mask was shoved into his pocket, a rarity. His eyes were bloodshot, not in the way of tears streaking down his face but rather the one of too much to drink. You knew what kind of red it was and have seen it plenty of times.

The two of you just stood there in silence, perhaps a bit too long.

Then he exhaled, and it hit you right in the face. The stench of alcohol and his usual cigarettes, something heavier seeming to cling to his clothes.

You didn't move, didn't dare to speak. Just waited for the usual break, the jumble of words he would utter that had you dropping to your knees and doting over him as if he was yours to care for.

“I didn't know where else to go.” there it is.

The way he said it made your stomach twist, he didn't say it out of love, never that. Instead, out of desperation. Something he seemed to need but never wanted.

You looked at him, really looked. His shaking hands, clenched jaw, the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours. He was unraveling, had been for a while, and yet for some reason he always came to you to put his many pieces back together. 

“Jesus II”, you whispered, not angry, but tired, exhausted really.

He flinched back from your words, like they stung him.

Still, you stepped back and let him in.

Not because this was okay, but because you didn't know how to unlove someone who never seemed to love you, never gave you enough to hold onto yet still took everything he could from you, all that you had to give.

He crossed the threshold quietly, like he knew he didn't deserve it, that you didn't deserve this. You followed him into the living room, arms crossed over your chest, watching him with those tired eyes, following his every move, every twitch in his fingers. 

He sank into your couch, still dripping wet, head hung low. He looked like a man on the edge. Of what, you would never know- sleep, passing out, something worse. You had seen him like this before of course. Once, twice, seven times. You lose count eventually.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed over your chest like armor, though you didn't feel protected in the slightest. If anything, the gesture was to ground yourself, the only thing holding you up. Your throat was tight, but not with tears. You had cried enough for him already, to you, crying required hope. Something you lost long ago.

“You only want me when you're broken” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. 

It wasn't an accusation, it was the truth, you both knew it.

And maybe it hurt more that he didn't fight you on it. Maybe it would have been easier if he snapped at you with something cruel or tried to explain himself with those signature empty apologies. But he just sat there, hunched forward, hands dangling between his knees.

It made you feel sick.

The silence was worse than yelling, worse than crying. Silence meant something.

It meant he knew you were right.

Yet it wasn't enough to make him change.

You looked at him, this man that had managed to anchor himself to every tortured part of yourself while pretending he didn't need you at all, you remembered the first time he showed up like this. Frantic. Shaking.  eyes ringed red. You held him through the night while he spiraled, running your fingers along his back and whispering sweet words into his ear.

“I can't keep doing this” you said, not even sure if those words were meant for him or yourself. “You rip yourself apart and then I pick up your pieces and place them back together one by one, and as soon as you're back together good as new you leave, and I let you come right back and do it all over again.” 

Still nothing.

That fucking silence started to splinter something in you, suddenly you flooded with every hellish emotion you had felt because of him.

“I wait, I worry. I lie awake convincing myself I'm worth anything to you” you laughed sharp and bitter. “I don't even feel like myself anymore, hell i spend most of my nights drinking it all away”

You felt the crack in your voice, the grief that carried onto your face.

He finally looked up at you, his eyes glassy and rimmed with guilt met yours like he couldn't stand what he saw in them.

But you didn't look away. It was something he needed to see, he needed to see what he did to you.

Your voice dropped so quiet he had to strain to hear it, “you make me feel disposable, like I'm only here to fix you, only worth your attention when you're too wrecked to give it to anyone else”

His whole body flinched, subtle, but you saw it.

And still, he didn't speak a word.

“I tell myself I'm helping you” you continued, throat tight and tears begging to fall. “That if I hold on a little longer, you will get better. You'll let me in. but you don't. You come here, sleep off the pain cuddled up beside me and then disappear like it means nothing, like I mean nothing.”

He opened his mouth like he finally found some words, like he wanted to respond, that maybe, just maybe, he would say anything to prove you wrong.

But he didn't.

He closed it again and looked down at his hands as if they were covered in something he could never wash himself of.

You stared at him, and in that moment, you felt a splinter of hatred breach your feelings for him. Not for what he did but for how he knew what he was doing. How clearly, he could see the damage right in front of him, yet still he chose to come back, because he knew you would let him.

Because he knew he could.

What did that say about you?

What did it say about the part of you that still wanted to cross the room and hold him in your arms, tell him how it would be okay and how you would be there for him. The part of you that wanted to beg him to stay this time.

You swallowed hard and turned your face away from him.

“Go shower” you said, your voice sore and hollow “you smell like a grimy bar”

He hesitated, like saying something now might help, might fix it.

But again he didn't, he stood slow and uncertain, like he had forgotten how to carry his own weight.

And as he walked down the hall toward the bathroom, you let your back slide down the wall, sinking to the floor and letting your mind scream every word you still hadn't said, lips trembling and a hand pressed to your chest.

And you wondered, for the first time you genuinely wondered what it would take to let him go.  ....................................................

yeaaaaahhhh sorry guys

(wasnt sure if i was gonna actually post this but i feel like i could make something out of it if anyones interrested. It was one of those i couldnt say these things in real life so im gonna make someone im writing do it lol)

[iwoulddieforher]

Green Light | c.novak × a.cabot | 6

the slowburn is slowburn-ing, dear ones. 2.7k words.

this fic is part of a series, the Masterlist of which you can find here

Casey goes home to Charlie and will do anything but accept that she's anxious about them, about him. Alex reflects on what Elliot told her.

warnings for domestic abuse, schizophrenia, battered woman syndrome, implied sexual content (casey/charlie) and anxiety/insomnia

Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in sharp inhales as though stuttering on the edge of a panic she wouldn't allow herself to have.

Her hand had been on the doorknob for far too long. She was standing like an idiot outside of her own apartment, her fingers wrapped around the handle, her heart racing in a way she couldn't stop. She wanted to just go inside, shower, and eat something. Softball had tired her out.

Her logical brain reminded her that since every muscle in her body was tired from the running she had been doing, if Charlie was in a fit, she wouldn't be able to defend herself against him as well as she would've been able to had she not gone. She didn't want to think about things like that. She felt so guilty the second the thought crossed her mind.

How dare she think about her own fiance in such a destructive way?

Irritation at herself made her turn the handle, push the door open softly, and glance around like a terrified, cornered animal.

Charlie was dicing onions.

Casey blinked once, then twice. Charlie turned around, his lips pressed together in the firm smirk that was part of his resting face. Casey had always quoted that as something she liked about him particularly- he always looked like he was smiling, even when he had no reason to.

And then there was his soft voice, saying “Hey, Casey,” and he put the knife down and wiped his hands briefly on a kitchen towel he kept hung over the handle of the fridge. He came over and put his elbows around her shoulders, hands held up high, because he knew she was sensitive to the pungency of onions and didn't want it to get in her eyes.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’ll hug you properly once I’m all done with the onions. French onion soup sound okay for dinner? I have potatoes for the side and we have some chicken left over, I know you’ll need protein. Speaking of which- softball fun today?”

He was too kind. He was attentive and sweet. The shock to her nervous system, the rising action of impending fear, fell and twisted into a coil of guilt and nerves in her stomach. She forced herself to swallow, to wrap her arms around him and force them not to shake.

“Softball was great,” she said, breathless and quieter than she meant too, so she cleared her throat and forced her voice to sound as normal as it could be.

It was so easy for her to force a lie that everything was fine with people at work, with family members, with everyone but him. But everything was fine, everything was perfectly alright, she had a sexy man making her French onion soup and making sure she hit her protein goals in her goddamn kitchen- so why was her heart beating faster than it had ever done while playing softball, and why did she feel like she was going to throw up?

“I just- I need to take a shower,” Excuse yourself. Right, yes, that was the best thing she could do right now. She was about to flip out on him for no reason.

“Alright.” He smiled, leaning down to kiss the side of her jaw and chuckling when she twitched, not realizing the involuntary movement was not out of content but rather a growing toxicity that had begun to eat away at her organs.

“Dinner will be done in around half an hour, okay? I don't mind leaving it on for longer if you’d like to take your time, though.”

“Thank you,” she responded with a laugh that was utterly misplaced. She kissed him on the cheek, quick enough to see his lips jerk up in the smile he always flashed her, but she was gone before he turned to watch her go more properly.

Her eyes stung in the shower. For the first time in what felt like a long while she couldn't bring herself to stand. She curled into a small lump on the polished floor of the shower and dipped her head into the space between her knees when she brought them up towards her chest.

Casey was growing good at excuses, it seemed.

The reason her eyes were so glassy after showering was because soap had gotten in them. Her face was red because the water had been too hot. Her nose was running because she might've picked up a bug at the office.

He asked her about each one, because of course he would. He cared about her. He traced the back of her hand gently with his thumb beneath the table, he accepted it wordlessly and with grace when she told him he was exhausted and didn't feel like talking much at the table tonight. He had cooked but when she stood to do the dishes he told her he’d handle it, because she was exhausted, as she had said.

She sat herself down on the couch, pulling a pillow to her stomach, turning something idle on because he had suggested she just go and watch TV if she wasn't in the mood to sleep yet. She started watching something and when he came in to ask she had to check what it was because she hadn't realized.

The feeling of sobbing into her knees on the floor of the shower with steam curling around her and her own misery burning her eyes did not leave, and she could not suppress the manifestations of it, the exhaustion, the headache, the sore throat from stifling her hiccuping sobs. Still, Casey denied it. Denied herself of believing it. She couldn't handle what it would mean if she recognized that she was scared.

Everything was perfectly fine, so she had no reason to be scared. She hadn't been scared. Because everything was perfectly fine.

Alex pursed her lips in the cab drive home, after waving goodbye to Elliot and a couple other players she knew by association or name but not in any particular way.

It was a sort of small world feeling, that Elliot was friends with Casey Novak; this odd, gorgeous woman who had begun to chip out a place for herself in the wall of the marble corridors of Alex’s mind.

They’d been sitting together at the bar, Elliot ordering more and more beers while Alex nursed a cosmopolitan and wondered if she’d be called in randomly. He’d told her simultaneously a lot, or he must have, because they’d been talking for a while, but she wasn't sure she had gained much knowledge.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, mentally sorting through the scribbles and sticky-notes she had mentally jotted to herself, as if Elliot's drunken word vomit about how he didn't like one of his friends fiance's was a testimony she had to process for a case she was building. Perhaps it would be. No, she didn't want to get ahead of herself.

The mental image, the snapshots her brain had made of Casey and Casey's body as she played softball with wind in her hair and sun shining in her eyes even as her pupils were set on Alex's, was found jumbled amongst the snippets saved from Elliot's commentary. Alex shelved it, for whatever reason. In case she wanted to remember and think about that specific moment again, when Casey had looked exactly like that- when Casey had looked exactly at her like that. It didn't mean anything but perhaps she could use it for motivation if there was anything to be done at all.

He was handsome, Elliot had said, but with a scoff. He had gone to the same college as Casey had, and had worked his way through the tuition fees the same way she had too, so they must've come from similar backgrounds, and they were college sweethearts.

Elliot had said Casey didn't have much dating experience other than him.

He had gone on a short rant about her not recognizing herself as pretty and that had momentarily confused Alex, too, because how could someone who looked like that make the self-deprecating jokes Elliot was supposedly quoting- about being too pale, too flat, too tall. Elliot had complained about it in a general sense, because Olivia did it too, and he was bothered when girls he was friends with were so much more insecure about their physicality than any man he knew was- and he couldn't fix it himself. Alex patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, but she had still been thinking about it- her, Casey.

Elliot had met Charlie once, or at least he remembered that he had attended a game once, he might've been to more without ever being in Elliot’s direct focus to be remembered.

He had said that Casey seemed different in his presence. Her eyes would stray to where he was constantly, and after the game was over she was constantly by his side, even as celebrations were ongoing and all other players- even the ones with partners- had temporarily left them in the stands to jump around together with post-game adrenaline. It was harder to be around her when she was with him. Like when he was there, a dune of sun-blistered sand formed around the two of them, one that no one could grit their teeth and manage to shuffle over.

Elliot had said he’d had a bad gut feeling, the way she was with him. He had told her that she'd recently taken a hiatus from participating in softball matches at all, and during that time when he had seen her, she’d had bandages on her, and gotten incredibly distant.

It was all stuff she’d heard before, seen before, been sympathetic about times prior. It was all concerning. None of it was enough to serve as real evidence, or anything mentionable, even. Things Casey had been talking away.

Alex had to keep reminding herself that she didn't even really know if Casey even had been abused at all. Perhaps the mother was simply traumatized and Elliot didn't like Charlie for taking Casey’s attention when he was trying to enjoy the post-softball hype. She had no way to know what was happening.

It wasn't her place. She should drop it the way Olivia had suggested- move on to someone who her attention could aid.

Alex sighed and sorted her notes into the filing cabinets to reassess when she wasn't tipsy off drinking while on antidepressants and exhausted from a grueling day and the emotional toll her spat with Olivia had been.

The cab driver asked her if she was alright and she said yes, because what else could she say? She couldn't complain that the burden she had placed on her own shoulders was too heavy.

The blonde checked her watch and sighed. Donnelly had told her to get the fuck out of the office and not come back until she’d slept, and that she wasn't going to make any progress stressed and tired and was in the process of burning herself out.

She couldn't slip past the hawk-eyed woman in the DA’s office- but that's what her home office was for, wasn't it?

She could take a nap near three am and wake up at six to go back to work. That sounded like a decent plan- if she even managed to fall asleep at three at all.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

The cab driver’s voice was raspy and hoarse as though he had smoked too many cigarettes or was overcoming an illness of some sort. He looked kind enough, though, scrappy but well intentioned. Alex tried to manage a smile for his sake.

“It’s going to be a long night,” she responded quietly.

They’d been in this position before. Casey wanted to close her eyes and take a deep breath but something stopped her from closing her eyes too long.

Charlie had finished the dishes and came to watch TV with her. They’d changed it from a random channel to a movie he’d rented from the public library recently.

They were both on their sides, her back against his chest, him laying a bit higher up so his chin rested on the top of her head. His hand was toying at her hair the way it often was, his breathing even, his nature calm and loving the way she was used to it being. The way it had been throughout law school, the dating period. Her shoulders were held to tense to feel anything like she had in those moments, though. The ones where she had felt as though she was in the safest and warmest place in the world.

“You alright?” He husked into her ear and she nodded slowly.

“I’m just thinking,” she responded. “I got put on a major case with interdependent aspects. I might be getting home later.”

She winced. The words felt hollow and strange. She had no idea if the trafficking ring’s case and her part in it would affect her working hours at all. She was setting up an excuse she was trying to convince herself she didn't need.

He didn't notice- he was attentive, but he trusted her. He trusted her immediately without thinking about it at all. Didn't question her. Didn't push it.

“I’ll keep that in mind for dinner, then,” was what he replied with, easy in his smooth voice that Casey loved but which made her nerves prickle as though in preparation for a blow she wasn't going to receive just then. “Text me what time you think you’ll be done so I can time it, okay?”

“You’re sweet, Charlie. Let’s hope it doesn't rain soon. You’d dissolve.”

He laughed once, that sound he made in his throat accompanying that she liked so much. She shifted backwards a little, pressing herself against him and trying to relax into the embrace.

His hand, warm and just the slightest bit roughened, slid from her hair to trace the side of her law to her lip, and then down her chin, drawing lines along the side of her figure as she lay beside him. She exhaled through her nose, and felt the tension she had kept in her shoulders begin to dissipate.

“There’s my girl,” he said quietly. “You seemed so tense. The case you're working on must be hard- I won't push you to tell me about it, though, if that's not something you want to bring up. But I was hoping I could get you to relax.”

“I like … I like being your girl.” Casey said quietly, tentatively, and he pressed a kiss against the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah?” He asked, a playful note in his voice, and when she turned her head up to look him in the face her smile was entirely genuine. This was the man she loved. This was her Charlie.

“Yeah.” She confirmed. She laughed when he kissed her again.

“If you’ll be working late soon,” Charlie murmured, his voice tilting downward, “Do you think we could … would you want to? I know you said you were tired, so I don't want to make you feel-”

Casey cut him off with a soft snort and a peck on his bottom lip. “Charlie. You’re so awkward with initiation it’s like we’re still in college together. I feel better now, after just breathing a little bit. I’m all for it.”

He looked at her wide-eyed for a moment and she smirked.

“What, are you going to sit there and stare at me?” Her voice was casual, teasing, lowered into the octave she knew he found sexy. She found him sexy, the way he looked almost like a hound when he gazed at her with those molten eyes. “Take your clothes off.”

And for emphasis, she stood and stripped herself of the t-shirt she had slung over herself after the shower, tossing it aimlessly on the floor behind her, before lowering herself to straddle his lap and help him divest of his own attire.

She told herself her racing pulse was only and entirely because she was aroused by him. There was nothing else to it, only that. Everything was fine.

This was Charlie- her Charlie.

[auraisereigh]

"Lanterns"

chapter twenty- eight

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson f!reader (Star!) Words: 1.4K Blurb: As reunification draws near, a lantern-lit tribute to the fallen is met with quiet resistance. With old scars—emotional and physical—still healing, and her leadership on the line, she must navigate legacy, duty, and the cost of defending the future she’s trying to build.☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. Grief, War aftermath/rebuilding, Mild language, emotional vulnerbilty. Minor mention of bad coping habits

Masterlist ☆ Star's story ☆ Support me ☆ Standalones ☆

"Fen Riorson is known for his leadership skills. You should only fear what that would mean if his children inherited that same skill set."

Recovered Correspondece From Unknown To King Tauri.

----------

The assembly room was empty, save for Xaden, Felix, Liam, and me. If I was going to present my ideas to anyone, it would be them.

I had written it all down—some for Reunification Day, others for our own defense. After a good night’s rest in Brennan’s bed, I finally felt awake again.

“We’re listening,” Felix spoke, breaking the silence. His hand slid toward one of the papers—a sketch of lanterns.

“It’s for Reunification Day,” I began. “I know you and Liam are heading to Lewellen,”—I turned to Xaden—“which makes sense. But I still want to do something meaningful. Nothing loud or public, but maybe… lanterns. For those who fell in battle. For those executed after.” I paused, watching for a reaction.

We couldn’t risk exposure—but doing nothing felt like a betrayal.

I bit the inside of my cheek, meeting Felix’s gaze. Xaden and Liam were less of a problem—they’d be gone. Felix, however, was the one who thought everything through twice.

“You can’t do this on a grand scale,” he said. Not unkindly—just realistic. “If everyone lights a lantern, someone will notice. And we’re still trying to stay hidden.”

I reached for the sketch, ready to toss the idea, but he didn’t let go. “Look at me,” he said. I met his eyes. “Keep this to yourself,” he tapped the paper. My heart sank.

But then—“Light the lanterns you need to feel okay. But tell no one else. We’ll revisit the idea next year. For now, it’s too risky.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at my lips. It wasn’t the full plan, but it was a start.

“Light one for my family?” Liam asked quietly. My chest tightened. I knew that feeling all too well.

“Of course. It would be my honor,” I said. “Your mother helped my father and i more than once.”

Xaden gave him a gentle pat and guided him from the room. When he returned, I shifted gears.

“I want six cross bolts.”

Xaden smirked. Felix looked ready to strangle me.

“You’re joking,” he said flatly.

“Not right now. But over time,” I added casually.

“How do you plan to get six when you only have one?”

I’d prepared for this. “We have one now. But we’re not under threat at the moment. We can start building a second. With our limited builders, it’ll take months. But when more come, we can produce more—station them across Aretia. No place left unguarded.”

I gestured to the notes I’d written. It wasn’t impulsive—it was necessary.

“I won’t make my father’s mistakes,” I added, firm.

Felix sighed, rubbing his beard—his thinking pose.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Xaden approach the old throne. His fingers traced the carved symbols.

“I’ll bring this to Ulices and Suri,” he said. “If they think it’s impulsive…”

I nodded. He folded the notes, slipped them into a sleeve, and left without another word.

“Do you think they’ll approve it?” I asked as soon as the door clicked shut.

He doesn't answer right away. I turned to face him. His hand left the throne’s armrest and he stepped forward.

“I don’t doubt you,” he said simply.

I frowned, unsettled. I walked to one of the tall windows. Below, the city stirred—slowly recovering. It would take years, but it was a beginning.

Xaden stood beside me. “When are you finally going to say what’s been weighing on you?” I asked, still watching the streets.

Silence.

“With Reunification so close, it’s no surprise we’re both avoiding it. You’ll have to sit in a room with people who hate everything about this. About us. About Dad.”

“You’ll see Garrick. And Bodhi,” I added gently.

We’d found where they were fostered. And Liam’s sister, Sloan. But it was still too dangerous to reach them.

“I’ll tell them you’re okay,” Xaden promised.

We stood in silence.

Then I felt his finger trace the base of my neck. “Get that checked again while I’m gone.”

“It’s just a scar,” I said, stepping away.

“Get it checked anyway.”

I smirked. “What about your scars?”

“Healing. No infection,” he replied curtly.

He turned to leave, pausing at the door with a sly grin. “I meant the scratch marks. Not the scar.”

Asshole.

I flipped him off behind his back and turned toward the throne. The weight of it settled in my bones. No one had said whether I still held the title of Duchess. Either way, the answer would come with a cost.

I took a breath and turned away, clearing the table: papers, quills, candle stubs, the Riorson house seal. I tucked them into a basket, putting everything back in place.

By the time I was done, my mind felt clearer. But I didn’t look back at the throne. I just walked out, its presence still heavy in my mind—but now, a familiar weight I’d learned to carry.

☆

Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog@bangtanxberm@hyperactive-bookworm-0@littowl@thebreadisthetruevillian@bwormie@freakishfandomfiend@pookalicious-hq@lagrandeourse@that-girl-reading

[kdt124]

Hey I have kinda sad prompt for you (at least the beginning). One of Mel’s brother/sister dies and leaves a small child around one year old. As Mel is the godmother she now will be in charge to take care of her. Meanwhile, the reader works at abbott for about a year and she and Mel are really close. The reader seeing Mel stress with the new life really steps up to help her. Barb senses what’s going on and totally supports the reader.

I thought it could be a multi part story since it’s a lot to develop but I love your writing and thought you would be perfect for it!

@babytakeittothehead

Title: Little by Little

Word Count: 8k +

Genre List:

• Hurt/Comfort

• Romance (slow burn)

• Found Family

• Emotional Intimacy

• Grief and Healing

• Soft Domesticity

⸻

The Weight

It happened in the middle of the night.

One phone call. That’s all it took to change everything.

Melissa’s voice was quiet when she called you, quieter than you’d ever heard it. Not tearful. Just flat, like she’d unplugged from herself.

“My brother and his wife… they were in a car accident,” she said. “They didn’t make it.”

You sat up, already grabbing your keys. “Mel—”

“They had the baby with them. She’s okay. Just bruised. But…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t have to.

⸻

The next time you saw her, Melissa was standing in the hospital hallway, arms wrapped around a tiny, dazed-looking toddler with curly dark hair and wide, blinking eyes. She wasn’t crying. Just watching everything quietly.

Melissa wasn’t crying either. But her grip on the child—her niece—was iron-tight.

She looked up when she saw you. “She’s mine now,” she said softly. “I’m her godmother. It’s… it’s all already in place.”

You stepped closer. “Then you’re not doing this alone.”

Melissa stared at you for a long beat. Then she nodded.

And that was that.

⸻

The first few days were a fog.

You helped her set up the nursery—turning her spare room into something bright and safe and clean. You were there for the endless stream of forms, check-ins, calls from child services and her family. You stayed late, made food, kept her from forgetting to eat.

The baby’s name was Gia. She was sweet and quiet, with a high-pitched giggle and a tendency to fall asleep on Melissa’s chest while clutching fistfuls of her shirt.

You saw the way Melissa looked at her—like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Like she didn’t trust herself to breathe too loud around her.

“She needs me,” Melissa whispered one night, half-asleep on the couch, Gia curled against her chest. “But I don’t know if I can be what she needs.”

You brushed a hand through her hair. “You already are.”

⸻

Back at Abbott, everyone noticed the change.

Melissa was still Melissa—sharp, capable, getting the job done—but the lines under her eyes were deeper. She was late more often. Distracted. She lost track of her keys twice in one week.

But she didn’t ask for help. Not once.

So you stepped in where you could.

You kept her coffee hot. Quietly ran copies for her. Watched Gia after hours so she could breathe. You started carrying a spare pacifier in your bag, because sometimes Melissa forgot and you never wanted to see that panicked look in her eyes again.

You didn’t make a big deal out of it. Just tried to be the steady thing she could lean on without shame.

⸻

Barb noticed, of course.

She pulled you aside one afternoon, arms crossed, her tone gentle but pointed. “You love her.”

You blinked. “Barb—”

“I’ve known Melissa Schemmenti for most of my life. And I’ve never seen anyone get past her walls the way you do.”

You hesitated. “She doesn’t need romance right now. She needs support.”

“She needs you,” Barbara said simply. “And support can be love.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

But it stayed with you.

⸻

That night, you found Melissa in her kitchen, staring down at a sink full of dishes like they’d personally offended her.

You didn’t speak. Just rolled up your sleeves and started washing while she got Gia into pajamas.

Later, the three of you ended up on the couch—Gia between you, clinging sleepily to a stuffed rabbit.

Melissa looked at you over her head, eyes rimmed in quiet exhaustion.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said.

You smiled softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

She reached for your hand without a word, lacing your fingers together.

Gia stirred, then sighed and settled again.

And in that little bubble of warmth and weariness and something like hope, you let yourself believe—for the first time—that this might become something. That grief and love could exist side by side.

That maybe, just maybe, you’d found your family.

⸻

Part 2 — All the Things That Stay

Gia had been living with Melissa for two months when she said it.

It was a quiet Saturday morning. Sunlight was pouring in through the living room windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. You were on the floor with Gia, stacking foam blocks and half-listening to some cartoon babbling in the background.

Melissa was nearby, sipping coffee in her robe, watching you both with that small, tired smile she’d started wearing more often. The kind of smile that meant she was still learning how to breathe again.

Gia dropped a block on your foot, giggled, and looked up at you with her big brown eyes.

Then she said it—soft, confident, clear as day.

“Mama.”

Everything froze.

Your heart lurched. Melissa stiffened on the couch. Gia, oblivious, just smiled again and reached for your hand.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t want to make it a moment bigger than it was, not when it already felt like the floor had dropped out from under you.

But you glanced at Melissa.

She was staring at Gia like the world had tilted.

Then her eyes found yours—searching, gentle. Not surprised. Just full of a thousand unspoken things.

“She’s been doing that,” Melissa said finally, voice a little hoarse. “At night sometimes. When you’re not here.”

Your lips parted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

You moved to her slowly, heart thudding in your chest. Sat beside her while Gia toddled back to the blocks.

“Melissa,” you said softly. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

She looked at you for a long, long moment. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m starting to believe that.”

⸻

Life didn’t slow down—but it shifted.

You became part of Melissa’s home, not just her support system. You knew the rhythm of Gia’s naps and which sippy cup she’d refuse on principle. You learned how Melissa took her coffee when she was too tired to remember herself. You got used to folding laundry side-by-side, cooking together, laughing into the dishes when Gia got food in her hair again.

One night, after Gia had gone down early and you were both curled up under the same blanket, Melissa reached for your hand and didn’t let go.

“She looks for you in the morning,” she said. “Before she looks for me.”

“That doesn’t mean she loves you less,” you murmured.

Melissa smiled faintly. “I know. I think it just means… she already thinks of you as hers.”

Your breath caught.

Melissa didn’t take it back.

⸻

Barbara noticed.

She gave you a knowing look one morning at school as you walked in, still wearing Melissa’s jacket over your own.

“You look settled,” she said.

You smiled. “I feel it.”

Barbara gave a satisfied nod. “Good. That baby deserves a whole village. And you—” she paused— “you deserve to love someone who lets you stay.”

⸻

You didn’t plan the kiss. Of course you didn’t.

You were both tired. It had been a long day—Gia teething, work piling up, dinner half-eaten on the stove. But you’d made it to the couch. Gia was asleep. The lights were low. And Melissa was next to you, warm and quiet, her hand absently rubbing your knee through your leggings.

You leaned your head against her shoulder.

She rested her cheek on top of yours.

And then, so softly it was barely a breath—

“I’m falling in love with you.”

You turned, wide-eyed.

And Melissa… looked scared. Vulnerable in a way you’d never seen.

“I didn’t mean to,” she added quickly. “I swear I didn’t go into this needing more than help, and comfort, and—God, I didn’t want to burden you, I just—”

You kissed her.

Cut her off gently with your lips.

Slow. Steady. Firm enough to be clear.

When you pulled back, you kept your forehead resting against hers.

“I love you, too,” you whispered. “And it’s not a burden. It’s a gift.”

Melissa let out a breath that sounded like a sob. Pulled you close like she was afraid you might still vanish. And you held her through it.

⸻

Later that night, you climbed into bed beside her—both of you too wired to sleep.

“Is this real?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s real.”

She looked over at the monitor on the nightstand, where Gia’s soft breathing echoed in tiny waves of static.

“She called you mama again this afternoon.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“You okay with that?”

You looked at her. “Mel… I want that.”

A pause.

Then, in the dark:

“I want that, too.”

You reached for her hand under the sheets. Twined your fingers together.

You’d all lost something. But maybe—just maybe—you were building something new, too.

Something strong.

Something that would stay.

[docholligay]

It's so hard when a story comes at it with completely different assumptions than you. The story calls what's going on with Rue love, and true love, and says that's enough to have saved Mytho. I can respect that the story is about that, and understand that, but it feels so meaningless to me. We found out what, like 2 episodes ago. that Rue even knew him when she was little. So we've had no time in invest in what he might mean to her, we're just supposed to take it on faith.

Not for the first time, I worry that this story is so caught up in the idea of its 'reveals' that it forgets that we need to be emotionally invested in what it asks us to care about, I would say 80% of the time I would prefer time to work on an idea to the surprise of it. A surprise can be done with EXTREME skill, but that's not always or even often the case.

Please note I have never seen this and am watching spoiler-free! Please don’t confirm, deny, or explain anything, even if it’s historical or cultural! Thank you! There is a discussion discord here for all your spoilery needs!

[angeloftrumpets]

Thinking about the other f/o 🥹🥹🥹

[luulapants]

25 ways to be a little more punk in 2025

Cut fast fashion - buy used, learn to mend and/or make your own clothes, buy fewer clothes less often so you can save up for ethically made quality

Cancel subscriptions - relearn how to pirate media, spend $10/month buying a digital album from a small artist instead of on Spotify, stream on free services since the paid ones make you watch ads anyway

Green your community - there's lots of ways to do this, like seedbombing or joining a community garden or organizing neighborhood trash pickups

Be kind - stop to give directions, check on stopped cars, smile at kids, let people cut you in line, offer to get stuff off the high shelf, hold the door, ask people if they're okay

Intervene - learn bystander intervention techniques and be prepared to use them, even if it feels awkward

Get closer to your food - grow it yourself, can and preserve it, buy from a farmstand, learn where it's from, go fishing, make it from scratch, learn a new ingredient

Use opensource software - try LibreOffice, try Reaper, learn Linux, use a free Photoshop clone. The next time an app tries to force you to pay, look to see if there's an opensource alternative

Make less trash - start a compost, be mindful of packaging, find another use for that plastic, make it a challenge for yourself!

Get involved in local politics - show up at meetings for city council, the zoning commission, the park district, school boards; fight the NIMBYs that always show up and force them to focus on the things impacting the most vulnerable folks in your community

DIY > fashion - shake off the obsession with pristine presentation that you've been taught! Cut your own hair, use homemade cosmetics, exchange mani/pedis with friends, make your own jewelry, duct tape those broken headphones!

Ditch Google - Chromium browsers (which is almost all of them) are now bloated spyware, and Google search sucks now, so why not finally make the jump to Firefox and another search like DuckDuckGo? Or put the Wikipedia app on your phone and look things up there?

Forage - learn about local edible plants and how to safely and sustainably harvest them or go find fruit trees and such accessible to the public.

Volunteer - every week tutoring at the library or once a month at the humane society or twice a year serving food at the soup kitchen, you can find something that matches your availability

Help your neighbors - which means you have to meet them first and find out how you can help (including your unhoused neighbors), like elderly or disabled folks that might need help with yardwork or who that escape artist dog belongs to or whether the police have been hassling people sleeping rough

Fix stuff - the next time something breaks (a small appliance, an electronic, a piece of furniture, etc.), see if you can figure out what's wrong with it, if there are tutorials on fixing it, or if you can order a replacement part from the manufacturer instead of trashing the whole thing

Mix up your transit - find out what's walkable, try biking instead of driving, try public transit and complain to the city if it sucks, take a train instead of a plane, start a carpool at work

Engage in the arts - go see a local play, check out an art gallery or a small museum, buy art from the farmer's market

Go to the library - to check out a book or a movie or a CD, to use the computers or the printer, to find out if they have other weird rentals like a seed library or luggage, to use meeting space, to file your taxes, to take a class, to ask question

Listen local - see what's happening at local music venues or other events where local musicians will be performing, stop for buskers, find a favorite artist, and support them

Buy local - it's less convenient than online shopping or going to a big box store that sells everything, but try buying what you can from small local shops in your area

Become unmarketable - there are a lot of ways you can disrupt your online marketing surveillance, including buying less, using decoy emails, deleting or removing permissions from apps that spy on you, checking your privacy settings, not clicking advertising links, and...

Use cash - go to the bank and take out cash instead of using your credit card or e-payment for everything! It's better on small businesses and it's untraceable

Give what you can - as capitalism churns on, normal shmucks have less and less, so think about what you can give (time, money, skills, space, stuff) and how it will make the most impact

Talk about wages - with your coworkers, with your friends, while unionizing! Stop thinking about wages as a measure of your worth and talk about whether or not the bosses are paying fairly for the labor they receive

Think about wealthflow - there are a thousand little mechanisms that corporations and billionaires use to capture wealth from the lower class: fees for transactions, interest, vendor platforms, subscriptions, and more. Start thinking about where your money goes, how and where it's getting captured and removed from our class, and where you have the ability to cut off the flow and pass cash directly to your fellow working class people

[softaestluv]

more! | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Just thinking about Ghost having a shy, quiet wife. The glaring opposite of Ghost, painted in black and blood while you’re adorned in lace and frills. Smooth skin and delicate flesh, warm eyes and a bashful smile. Soft-spoken and so fucking sweet.

No one else knows about you, or that he’s married, not from lack of wanting people to know he has such a pretty dove waiting for him at home, but because he knows all the men on base would eat you alive.

But one day, he forgets the lunch you made him. It takes everything in you to refrain yourself from driving to base to make sure he has something to eat— you know he doesn’t have the healthiest eating habits.

You choose to message him, something he usually responds fairly quickly to. Always at your beck and call just in case his sweet girl needs him, but he doesn’t answer. Your lips are pinched raw with worry by the time you decide to get in your car.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when a sergeant interrupts the meeting Ghost’s in— ‘Lieutenant, um, Mrs. Riley is waiting outside for you.’

Ghost is on his feet in an instant, it must be some emergency if you’re there. He rushes to the hallway, everyone else in the room stumbling behind to snoop through the thin crack of the door, see who their big bad Lieutenant is married to.

And there you are, Tupperware container in your manicured hands, white dress covering your frame with matching ribbons and bows in your hair. The look on your face is anxious, right up until you see Ghost, your eyes softening as he approaches you with wide strides despite the fact that he’s twice your size, hulking and threatening.

“Sweet’art, everything okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, brows furrowing as he does a once over your figure, checking for injury.

You exhale a quiet laugh, “No, baby. You just forgot your lunch, and you didn’t answer your phone so I got worried you would go the whole day without eating.”

He cups your jaw, a smile breaking out on his face. His sergeants are baffled for several reasons— they did not expect their Lieutenant to be married to such a sweet thing, nor had they ever heard their Lieutenant speak in such a soft, hushed tone, never seen him touch something with such care, like you were so fragile in the palms of his hands.

They would’ve thought it was all a joke if it wasn’t for the massive diamond ring on your finger, or the way you pushed deeper into his touch.

“Sorry, dove, just been in a meetin’ all day.”

He stamps a kiss against your lips, lets himself linger just a little longer than he should because he knows the whole room is watching from behind the door.

“Sweetest little wife, aren’t you?”

[whenstarsundress]

you flirt back for the first time:

sylus

you say something like, “you keep looking at me like that, sylus… you’re gonna have to do something about it,” with a shy little smile.

he completely malfunctions. his eyes grow wide, he swallows hard, his heart visibly skipping a beat.

sylus stares at you like he’s trying to determine if you’re possessed. then, quietly, with his voice a little huskier than usual, “that’s new.”

he recovers fast, though. steps closer and gently brushes your hair behind your ear. “is this your way of telling me you want me to kiss you? because i’m listening.”

bonus:

… sylus.exe has crashed.

his lips part and his eyes darken. he stares for a moment, like he’s trying to decide between kissing you soft or ruining your life. eventually, he just breathes, “say that again. i dare you.”

zayne

you casually murmur, “if you’re gonna keep biting your lip like that, at least let me do it for you,” while scrolling your phone.

dead silent. zayne stops breathing. his jaw flexes, his pupils dilate.

“…excuse me?” his voice drops an octave and he looks at you like you just kicked open the doors to a side of you he definitely wants to explore.

he walks over real slow, tilts your chin up and says, “say that again. no, no—i need it word for word, baby. because if i heard what i think i heard…”

bonus:

zayne chokes on air. his head snaps around so fast, his whole brain reboots. “wait. what? you never—?!” he chuckles lowly. “okay, okay. who are you and what did you do with my sweet, shy angel?”

caleb

you’re teasing him during one of his gym sessions and say, “keep showing off like that and i might have to reward you. privately.”

caleb drops the dumbbell. literal pause. he stares at you with wide eyes, mouth slightly open like a golden retriever who just got called a bad boy.

“wait. wait. wait, back up. say that again?” he starts laughing, but it’s nervous, like he doesn’t know how to process it.

he immediately gets 10x more flirty and tries to re-assert dominance with a grin. “okay, but only if you’re the reward too.”

bonus:

his jaw clenches, breath catches and you can feel the tension shift. like something in him just snapped. he leans back, clears his throat and gives a tiny smirk. “you’re playing with fire, and i’m not the type to pull away when i get burned.”

xavier

you’re both deep into a high-risk deepspace operation. he’s focused, assessing potential threats, guns calibrated, his hud flickering with tactical readouts. you, cool as ever, lean in behind him and murmur through the comms. “you look sexy when you’re in control like this. makes me want to follow your every order… after hours.”

immediate system crash. xavier stops walking, literally halts mid-movement in zero gravity like his whole code just corrupted.

“…repeat that,” he says into the comm, voice a little rough, a lot lower than usual. he doesn’t turn to face you. he’s trying to regain composure while actively calculating threat levels.

he doesn’t miss a beat on the mission afterward, but the tight grip on his weapon and the way he refuses to look at you say everything: you broke him.

bonus:

he stammers, short-circuits, then just covers his face and laughs into his hands quietly. “okay. that’s unfair. you can’t just… out-flirt me like that.”

rafayel

you’re watching him get dressed and casually comment, “if you’re going to tease me with that shirt unbuttoned, the least you can do is let me take it off for you.”

rafayel blinks, twice. “what did you just say?” not offended, not teasing. he’s actually stunned.

a slow, devilish smile starts to curl on his lips as he puts down whatever he was holding. he steps toward you and murmurs, “are you seducing me? because i have to warn you… i’m very easy to seduce.”

bonus:

rafayel freezes. for one glorious second there’s silence. then he smiles a bit mischievously. “oh? okay, i see you. someone’s been hiding from me the whole time.” he never lets it go, but he wants more of your flirty side. “you gonna flirt like that again, or was i just blessed once?”

author’s note: sometimes i can’t decide in which direction i want to go with a headcanon, so, i went with a little bonus 😊

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[eyelessfaces]

touch starved bob reynolds who starts hugging you after every mission because it’s a reasonable and justified reason to do it, and an excuse to be able to hold you without it seeming weird

touch starved bob who gets startled when you put your hand over his to stop him from nervously fidgeting, and who feels it in his stomach when you rub your thumb back and forth over his hand to calm him down

touch starved bob who drifts off during movie night and unconsciously ends up with his head resting against your shoulder, apologizing when he wakes up, flustered when you tell him you don’t mind and he can leave it here if he wants and feels comfortable

touch starved bob who reaches for and holds onto your hand for dear life whenever he feels anxious in public settings, because it’s something you’ve established and encouraged him to do

touch starved bob who visibly melts when you push away the front pieces of his hair when they're falling in front of his eyes

touch starved bob who has to make sure his mind is not playing tricks on him when you take his face into your hands and press your lips against his for the first time

touch starved bob who, with all the confidence he can gather, has to kiss you back twice as tenderly, making sure to commit the feeling to memory just in case you wouldn't want to do it again and would think it was a mistake

touch starved bob who always asks if it's okay before touching you when you start dating because he’s scared he’s being too clingy and that his need to touch you might be suffocating

touch starved bob who is nervous the first time you sleep together because he has barely ever had sex sober and he’s unsure how to handle it without the extra confidence

touch starved bob who constantly needs to be kissing you in hope it can be a distraction if he's not doing something right, asking you how you're feeling a bit too often

touch starved bob who whimpers a little too loud when you affirm and praise him, telling him he's doing a good job

touch starved bob whose face turns red when you tell him to sit back and relax when you take the upper hand, feeling he might be a bit too nervous to really fully enjoy the moment if he keeps being in charge

touch starved bob who needs to be held and to be as close to you as possible when you’re done, his head resting over your stomach and your fingers running through his hair as he falls asleep

touch starved bob who attentively watches you sleep beside him when he wakes up the next morning, fighting the urge to push back the strand of your hair that is falling over your face, not wanting to wake you up

touch starved bob who presses himself against you and slides his hand under your shirt to ground himself when he can't sleep because the warmth of your skin brings him back to reality when he overthinks and when things get too tense inside his own head

touch starved bob who always rests a hand at your back when he comes up behind you, resting his chin over your head if he has to stay here

touch starved bob who, no matter how long you've been dating, will always blush under your compliments, and even more over you covering his face with kisses when you want him to believe those

touch starved bob who doesn't even realize how much he smiles every time he touches you or you touch him, as if unconsciously, his body is finally learning what it means to be wanted

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thunderbolts taglist: @majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon @sillymilly17 @yyiikes @snazzynacho