#not to mention he keeps the whole song in his chest voice (as far as i can tell)

[astracora]

The Cat Curse - MC Edition - Chapter 3

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Some hurt/lots of comfort, semi-canon compliant heart condition, spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content), small references to the other boys stories.

Word Count: 4603

Written: 26th December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Snuff, by Slipknot

Masterlist

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Sylus is learning new things about you.

One, you know far more about flowers than he expected. When asked, you'd told him a friend you'd had since college was 'big into the whole language of flowers thing'.

You'd listened to her talk about it for a long time, picked somethings up, and kept a decent knowledge of it for her. "I was never really good at learning at school, but if I want to know something, I retain way more information than I probably need to." You'd huffed a laugh, shrugging your shoulders like it didn't matter.

Like he didn't watch you constantly learn in order to support and understand those you care for.

Art history to keep up with the fish. Pouring over physics books for the prince. Cardiology books in the kitchen worn and earmarked for the doctor. You'd sit and asked him questions about business and his day to day, as well. He's sure there's books by your bed to help you understand him, part of him is curious. The other part wants to let you piecing him together be a constant surprise.

Two, you and the twins cannot be left alone. Not ever.

He's used to the twins causing chaos wherever he goes, they are full of mischief on their best days. Frankly, he's grown too numb to their antics. Though there are the occasional moments when they surprise him.

Handcuffs, a gun that shoots hearts, and you glaring at him with an unimpressed look.

He'd thanked them, internally, for that particular one. Amusement chasing his heart around for weeks afterwards. Until you'd done something else to amuse, and the cycle continued.

He's glad that your album is being filled out again, so many moments that warm his chest. To have a physical manifestation is tickling. An odd sensation he has no memory of ever having before meeting you.

Sylus does however, wish the three of you would stop vanishing everytime he takes his eyes off you for a moment.

Of all the feline traits he enjoys out of you, your ability to vanish into thin air is not one of them. He regrets not taking your hand, keeping you chained to him, even without the evol link. He'd once sent you a photo, asking if you could spot a cat in his base... this game feels harder, and he finds himself irritable that you are here... together. Surrounded by all manner of flowers, that you can rattle off information about, or lean in, close your pretty eyes and inhale, and he is wandering it alone.

Trying to find a flash of white fur, or hear your voice, a song for him. Or at this point, even spot the twins and their ridiculous crow hoodies. A gift from you for when they need to be outside the N109 zone.

"It's more lowkey, and you'll still be wearing house colours."

He's had to forcibly remove them from the two just to wash them. Lest the smell corrupt his entire base.

It's the poison gardens where he finally finds you, Luke and Kieran are daring each other to eat something, belladonna he learns, and he grabs them both by the scruff to pull them away as he advances on you.

Yet he pauses, as he watches you. Crouched in front of the datura flowers, ears drooping, tail in the dirt, staring at them with eyes that look on the verge of tears.

"You two, don't eat anything." He hisses softly to the twins, who mock salute him before racing off again.

There's a feeling around you like he's looking at stained glass. Tragic and hurting, but beautiful all the same. Perhaps more so. He remembers dreams, and yearnings and all the things he wished he'd had time to say. Or do. He has all the time in the world now, he thinks, and he still wishes he could go back to offer you more than he did.

"Kitten." It's soft, so that when he crouches with you, he doesn't startle your heart. You blink up at him and your eyes are glassy and far away, "What's wrong?"

You reach a hand out to the flower, and he grabs it to pull it back, entwining your fingers. You finally focus back on him, head tilted and trying to clear the daze in your eyes. "I..." eyes darting back to the flowers, "got the strangest feeling."

There's a lump in his throat that he can't get rid of. His mind is playing memories that aren't real memories. A wishful dream shared. So he sits, pulling you over. You're aware enough to remember this is a public place, glancing about and settling into his arms when you realise you're alone. "What about?"

Your fingers twitch against his, and he can see your urge to touch them. It's not like that dream though. Here these flowers can hurt you. "A field of flowers in the mountains..." Your brow creases a little, staring at them with pinned ears and narrowed eyes, like they're holding answers you can't grasp with your hands, "They mean devotion." You finally settle on, looking at him, as your tail wraps around his wrist.

Sylus' chuckle escapes him, through the dull edges of sorrow, and through the sharp stab of relief. He finds your frustration endearing to be sure, yet it's the words said to him with glistening eyes, like he doesn't already know that.

So deep in every bone in his body that if there ever comes a day he forgets those flowers, and your lips on his, even if it was nothing but a daydream, he thinks he'll be truly mad. He only hopes if that day comes, you'll tell him about the flowers again.

You don't remember how his heart changed when you told him those flower suited him. So dangerous, and so beautiful, that you still want to touch them even now. He thinks the sickness he has, a troubled heart that beats for you and a soul that cannot quiet when you are near, is probably his greatest joy in this world.

He feels drawn like a moth to a flame. The man that he is, no horns, no wings and no tail, who cannot relinquish his treasure no matter the cost. For as long as you love and want him, he will seek you out anywhere.

Your eyes dart down to his mouth, hesitating, then up again. He leans towards you, but you are overcome. Holding him, kissing him, purring into his mouth. It is a taste unlike any other, and as he falls back, holding you tight as you kiss and devour and satisfy your hunger, he sees the datura's dancing next to him.

----

You're milling around the gift shop, Luke and Kieran following after with a basket. Though their version of following, you realise, is getting lost in aisles, and yelling at you from across the shop. You've seen some old ladies giving them dirty looks, which while you understand, you do return. Even if you do ask them to be a little quieter.

Which they... kind of take on board. Changing to loud whispers. You do have to remove a few things from the basket, three different types of plant pots you don't really need, five cacti, "They look like boss!", and almost an entire shops worth of fudge.

"Hunter! Can we try that?"

Luke is waving some chilli flavoured honey in your face, and though you can't quite fight the way your nose crunches up at the idea, you put it in the basket.

You wish you could blame the cat curse for your inability to handle a degree of spice, but that's just all you. Even if your tongue is way more sensitive right now.

"Grab a local honey from the counter, the others will want some."

Kieran nods and darts off, while you and Luke browse the chocolate selection.

It's a very serious choice. "Which will Zayne like most?"

Luke gives you a look that says you're a fool for asking, "He'll eat them all too quickly for anyone to see those arty wrappers." You both look at each other and nod, "Except for the carrot one."

So you pick up ones with the prettiest packaging so Raffy can have them for inspiration afterwards, and move onto the seed section. Almost getting barrelled into as Kieran returns with the spoils of war, a too large jar of honey that you're sure won't last long between the lot of you.

The seeds are easy, Xavi will enjoy growing almost anything, but you want to get ones for all of them. It's impossible to buy the datura's you still can't stop thinking about, so as you put cala lilies, forget-me-nots and jasmines in the basket. Along with some snowdrops, daisies and lobelia seeds, you ponder over Sylus. Every flower that comes to mind is as beautiful as it is deadly, and as much as you think he'd appreciate those, he wouldn't appreciate the risk to your health for it.

You think about his hand clasping yours in front of the datura, pulling you back despite the deep pit of yearning in your heart to bury yourself amongst the bright red flowers.

Like you belonged there with them. Like they wouldn't hurt you.

Your hand hovers over the poppy seeds, remembrance for the dead, before you pull away and shake the feeling off. Your tail puffing up and then settling as you try to fight the ghost of a feeling.

"Hunter, what about these, they're cute!" Luke waves a pack of bellflowers at you. You blink at the disruption to your thoughts, and look over at him and Kieran. Matching bird hoods pulled back so they can watch you. You tell yourself it's not pity in their eyes, just concern.

You have to stop thinking the worst.

"Bellflowers..." You dig through your memories but the meaning won't come to you.

Luke turns the packet around and looks at the back, "Says, 'unwavering heart.'" He pulls a face but shoves the packet at you.

"Sounds like boss, unkillable." Kieran adds, nodding to himself.

The words don't sit right with you but you decide not to think about it, and instead take the packet from them, they're not wrong. He certainly is unwavering, so you put them in the basket, and grab some gomphrena.

As you walk away with the twins, your feet stop. Turning back around, you grab the poppy seeds.

Caleb deserves flowers too.

-------

Sylus had been forced to stand outside the shop, if you hadn't, you think he would have bought the shop with how long you and the twins were looking  through everything. Plus, you'd wanted to surprise him for once. He expected everything, had a plan for everything, was impossible to sneak up on. Even with all your training, you'd never got the upper hand with the man.

You'd even tried teaming up with Xavi, much to Sy's amusement. He'd hefted you up, catching you easily, and had kissed his affection to both of your heads before heading off to a meeting. Laughing to himself as he went.

Xavier had looked at you with a new commitment in his eyes, you both would get the crow.

Today wouldn't be any different, you know that. Staring at his figure leaning against the wall as you leave the shop. Twins in tow, who are shoving their fingers in honey they didn't even wait to leave the shop to start on. You made a note to get them a dentist appointment... you're pretty sure they've never been.

Sylus is the picture of untouchable beauty, just like the datura. His eyes don't dart around but you know he's clocking everything around him. Ready if he needs to be, tracking escape routes if necessary. You're sure you've never seen him truly relax anywhere but at home. Even then it took a while before he moved the gun from under the pillow to the side cabinet.

You shush the twins, fangs gleaming, and they nod, hanging back as you pull your tail close and press your ears back against your head. Creeping forward, closer, closer, almost-

"Are you done kitten?"

He doesn't even turn to look at you, but his voice is soft with laughter, and you droop a little. "Do you have ears in your back?"

"Just very good ears on my head, beloved. I can tell your footsteps from anywhere." He reaches behind him to take the bag from your metal hand, and then takes your other one in his. Running his thumb over the skin. "So I can always know where you are." Is pressed into the side of your head with a kiss, and you nuzzle him, then pull away as the twins clear their throats.

"Want some honey, boss?"

Sylus screws up his nose as they offer it to him with sticky hands. "How old are you two?"

"Never too old for honey."

He rubs the space between his eyes and decides not to fight that battle, or explain his question. "What did you get, besides a sugar crash for the twins?"

You hesitate for a moment, he's looking at you and not at the bag. Asking permission to peek, wanting you to set or rescind boundaries at will.

You lean into his side as the four of you begin to walk, and nod, "Gifts." He looks down into it, "Seeds... so we can grow them together." His fingers twitch against yours in your grasp, and his eyes lighten and burn as he looks at your offerings.

"And." You pull his hand, hesitating, he stops and turns, and you take a box out of your pocket, almost stuffing it into his chest with how you hand it over. He places the bag down gently, so he doesn't have to release your hand, and opens it. Nestled amongst some craft paper is a hand woven bracelet with a white cat charm. "For you." Your fangs dig into your bottom lip, you taste the nerves and the blood and part of your brain begs you to pull out of his grasp.

Run away.

It was such a silly purchase. He can buy anything why would he-

He's kissing you, warmth on your lips, and hand holding the bracelet against your neck, the grip on your hand is tight and firm. Like he never plans to release you. Not now, not ever. It grounds your nerves, chases away the anxiety, the traitorous voice.

He tastes sweet, and for a dull moment you wonder if he did take the twins honey, before your brain empties, and you let him pull you into the abyss with him.

His smile is still against your lips when you come up for air, but he doesn't pull away, and when you blink your eyes open, he's a burning pyre of beautiful red eyes and shock of white messy hair. He licks his lips, looking at you like he wants to eat you whole. Eyes slightly wet.

"Beautiful." You exhale, prosthetic hand tracing his cheek where he flushes softly.

"Thank you." Sylus speaks, and for a moment you wonder if he will cry, but he simply kisses you once more, sighing into your mouth, and tasting your own.

--------

Work can't seem to wait, as much as he wants to leave it be, he's stuck responding to messages and reading legalese. Sylus leaves you, Luke and Kieran in the living room. You're playing a video game together, and arguing over how to solve a puzzle. He heads to the kitchen with a glass of gin fizz, glasses on, and gets to work.

He thinks he manages about three hours of no interruptions, which is a record where the twins are concerned. He took one break to call the doctor to pick up some ingredients for dinner, and then resumed his work. It's boring and he has to do it. Onychinus, as much as a chore as it can be, is important to him. While he'd love to live a quiet life with you, simple and relaxed, until every threat biting at your heels is gone... he doesn't have the luxury of laying down his weapons.

Ears pricking up, he can feel you. Stepping as quietly as you can up behind him. He wants to laugh but swallows it down, wanting to see what you do and what your goal is. You always grumble when he catches you, and you never seem happy when he informs you that he just simply would always listen out for you.

How could he not hear his own heart after all?

A tail smacks him in the nose, and his tablet is knocked out of his hand. You laugh, gleeful and satisfied, going to rush out of the room.

Unluckily for you, he is faster. EVOL wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap, as you wriggle and laugh. Tail swishing. Your pupils have almost swallowed your iris'.

"Nooo!" You groan, "How are you that fast?"

"Good reflexes, honed from years of practice." He teases, nipping your nose, amused when you nip back. He watches your pupils and your tail. Watches the way you look like you're vibrating, unable to sit still in his lap. "Now why is my troublesome kitten trying to break my work tools?"

The tablet is unharmed, caught in mist, and placed on the side.

Still, it's not like you to go out of your way to break things. Though, looking at your tail, he realises he forgot cats enjoy chaos.

"Bored! You've been in here too long." You nip again, butt your head against him gently. Hand in a fist gently hitting his shoulder. You look up at him where your head is now pressed to his collarbone, shrinking in on yourself to get as much heat from his body as you can, "I feel... odd."

"Odd?"

He watches the question spin in your head, as you worry at your lip with your teeth, he catches your lip before the fangs can draw blood.

"Like I want to run."

"Ah." He points at your eyes, then your tail which has not settled since he's been watching you, and then the twitching in your hand. "Someone has zoomies."

"Excuse me?"

"Zoomies, kitten. Surely you've seen cats before."

You huff, hissing a little, "I've not lived under a rock, Sylus."

He lets out a chuckle and taps your nose, "You need stimulation. I thought your game would work."

Your cheeks heat up, he can feel the change against his skin, and you bite his finger, "I got bored."

"Oh?"

"You weren't around."

His hand tightens on your waist, nose running along your cheek, taking long inhales of your scent like you're a flower in the desert. "I'm sure I can find something for us to do." Your tail stills, and you blink up at him. "Let's entertain my little kitten."

------

"I didn't think you meant the park..."

"Expecting something else?"

You'd be lying if you said no. Sylus was a walking innuendo more often than he wasn't. He was very openly flirty, he said things that made Zayne and Raffy blush often. You're sure only Xavier could be more overt. Still, a park.

You have headphones in, to help manage the noise, and your hand is firmly in Sylus'. Normally you don't leave the house without your prosthetic on, but you don't want the straps on your skin right now, and there's nothing pressing that requires you to need it. The twins are kicking a football next to you, you're not actually sure where it came from.

"They didn't steal that right?" You whisper to Sylus.

"I bought it for them after you showed them that movie, and they wanted to try to? Bend it?"

The unsure look on his face is something special and you fight the urge to laugh at him, successfully, though you're sure he can read it on you because his face softens.

"Hunter, can you play?"

"Caleb showed me a while back, I wasn't very good."

"Not enjoying sports, kitten? How surprising."

You elbow him, snorting, "I can fight just fine, I don't need to be a sportsman."

Still, that feeling in your limbs is still there. Like you're vibrating, on edge, ready. It's almost like adrenaline but it doesn't seem to settle. Like you want to run, and run, and run.

"Play with us then." Kieran kicks the ball to you, and you try to remember how you're supposed to aim.

You releases Sylus' hand on impulse as you test the ball at your feet, thinking about Caleb who laughed as you kicked either too far or not far enough. Never able to control the strength you put into sports. Tennis had resulted in broken windows, football had resulted in balls over fences, you'd gotten injured trying rugby, too aggressive for hockey, and you'd fallen on your face too many times trying to ski.

He'd always laughed and then eased you through the motions, not lost patience with you, always had a hand out to help you move forwards.

Caught up in your memories, you don't notice the dog running up for the ball until it barks right in your face.

Fur on end, leaping up into the air, and a harsh hiss ripping from you in seconds. It's just a dog. Just a dog. You like dogs... you-

The hiss turns into a growl, and then a yowl, as it gets more aggravated at you for reacting, and your tail is up, bristling and shaking. You can feel yourself trembling, the barking feels like it's in stereo. Surrounding you and sinking into you. Tearing through your eardrums and pulling the ground out under you.

Before Sylus can even get to you, the twins are a wall between you and a rogue dog. Both growling themselves, in a way that makes the dog whine and squeal and back off. Neither touch you, but as the owner comes up, apologising profusely for losing hold of their dog, the twins turn to you and herd you away from the area.

The shivering won't stop, but your tail, still bristled, tucks between your legs. Twitching and seeking. Sylus' hand on the small of your back, makes you jump again for a moment before his scent fills your senses and you slump back towards him. Knowing he'll catch you.

Stupid.

Stupid...

"I've got you. It's alright."

He covers your cat ears, and leads you somewhere quiet.

A wooded area, quiet and removed from park goers. After a little while, you think you can breathe properly again and your fur has settled. He is tracing patterns into your back, giving you a point of focus. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for."

"It's stupid."

"You're cursed, kitten. I hardly think being scared by a dog is something stupid. People are scared of them without being cats."

"Hunter!"

"Hunter."

The twins pop up, they have steaming paper cups in hand, shoving one at you. You grab it quickly before burns are added to your problems. The smell of coffee floats up to you, familiar.

"We got hot chocolate, tea and coffee."

"We guessed you'd want coffee but options are good."

Sylus' chuckle moves through you from where he's holding you, taking a hot chocolate for himself.

You wipe at your eyes, and sip the coffee, the heat easing you from the inside out. It takes you to mornings where a coffee is brought to you in bed, eased out of the land of nightmares with soft touches and warm kisses. If you were a more touchy person, you would hug the twins. You're not sure if they'd even want you to, and it's not a conversation for today.

As Sylus sips, and you ease into his side, watching the twins argue over which the other will drink, you offer your thank yous to them all softly. Only to receive unbothered shrugs from the twins, and a nod from Sylus. As though it is not a problem, as though helping you is second nature. As though you shouldn't expect anything else.

It is as you finally feel the world slot back into place, tail curling around Sylus, that he blinks, looking at the twins, and asks, "Where did you get the money for these?"

The twins jump, look at each other, then at you both, as they go to speak, you hear a yelled, "Oi! You two! You didn't pay!"

You get to watch Sylus furrow his brow, sigh like a long suffering parent, and take his card to the stall owner with a pointed look at the twins.

"Thanks boss!"

"Thanks boss."

-------

He's watching you sleep, talking nonsense as your ears twitch. Your hand twitches against his arm as he lies on his stomach next to you, face turned to you. Arm thrown over your waist and your leg thrown over his, foot hooked to keep one of his legs between yours. Trying to keep as much contact as you can with him. Tail around his ankle.

You swap roles often. The guard and the guarded, both too on edge often. When someone else joins your sleep, sometimes you both lie awake and protect. The prince has dragged you both to bed often, seeing the wear around your eyes.

Tonight, he lies and stares at you. Not a guard dog, simply admiring. From the view of the bed, he can see the balcony planter. Full now, of treasures he cannot wait to see bloom to life. You move, rubbing your cheek against the pillow, and wiggle closer. Seeking the heat of him, pressing yourself so close he thinks you're trying to fuse with him.

He sometimes wonders if your split soul is seeking his out to be whole again. If it misses part of the noisy thing that lives in his chest. Changing him willingly. He isn't sure he would ever want to hand it back. It is at home inside of him, just as you are at home in his arms. Just as part of him burns in your chest, even if you can't hear it as loudly as he can.

Sylus knows it is there, and he hopes it reminds you every day that he adores you. That his love is eternal, that he will want you beyond the death of stars.

He changes positions so that he can pull you into his arms, fit you against him, and rest your head against his chest. So you can hear it. His heart and yours thrumming. Dancing and singing for each other. Hoping the sound of your joining will keep you safe in sleep, away from the nightmares that haunt you.

As he takes your hand in his, splaying your fingers over his stomach, he feels the familiar gold sparks of your resonance. Weak and small, hindered by your curse, but there. He thrills, assured and comforted by you seeking him out in every way you can. That even in sleep you seek connection to him. That your power yearns to touch his.

He has gone from seeing hatred in your eyes, to holding you against his chest, kissing your tears away, and protecting you in moments you let yourself be a cared for.

It is not the first time he has fought for a prize. Has hunted and struggled for a treasure. It is, however, the most valuable reward he has ever earned.

And everyday he lives, he is joyed to continue to keep you. Right here, where he can love you.

[inkedinserendipity]

this is a rendog singing appreciation post

because he is really good. he goes off! i mean, the vibes of that whole scene were impeccable - the creaking forest, the crackling of the campfire, the calm of night - but ren's voice goes so hard. vibes, and also technically speaking!

ren's got this gorgeous vibrato on low notes (you can hear it most times he holds a note at the end of a measure for more than a second) that is so warm and so inviting. scratchy, and deep, and always held for just the right amount of time. and he only does it on some long notes, not all of 'em - which is hard to do! holding notes at a constant pitch is harder than hitting vibrato on everything, and he has a beautiful blend of both that he makes seem effortless. (and he holds vibrato on hard sounds too! he hits it on the first "rising sun" which is on an n, which is imo hard to pull off well)

he also has the whole song down pat! there's a brief point (two notes, maybe three?) where he diverges from the melody, but he's still picked notes in the key of the song, which implies he could probably harmonize with the song too. and that is also very hard to pull off!

and just the whole - he has such a unique voice. it's emotive and warm and encompassing. technicals aside, it's a uniquely moving voice and it fits rising sun particularly well.

not to mention he's freaking playing guitar! which means at least part of his brain is focused on notes over the technicalities of singing, which means that all of his skill is instinctive! like he's probably not focusing on vibrato!

like when jimmy said "that's very good!" jimmy was correct! i was shocked when i heard ren singing. like that is Not what i was expecting from my minecraft youtuber!

anyway this is a pitch for ren. PLEASE sing more. please. a cover of the song maybe? for me??

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 6

masterlist

Guys this is my favourite chapter so far PLS ENJOYYY AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK plsss

TW: physical recovery, PTSD, trauma, blood, mentions of death

Summary: you confront the challenges of recovering from the attack, dealing with a broken leg and the necessity of relying on others for care. An unexpected figure emerges to support you.

please listen to this song as you listennnn fits the vibe perfectly

The last thing you remembered was pain—excruciating and unrelenting, tearing through your leg and radiating up your spine. It was all a blur of chaos—those men, the feeling of being overpowered, the crushing weight of helplessness. Then there was Tommy’s voice, the desperate shouts, and… Joel.

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, your breath catching in your throat. The world came back in fragments—the lights above were dim, casting a hazy glow over the room, and there were voices, soft and distant, just beyond your understanding.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a gentle voice cut through the haze, drawing you back to the present. It was Maria, leaning over you, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. She was by your side, a cool rag in hand, gently dabbing your forehead. “You’re safe. You’re okay now.”

Your eyes darted around the room, wide and unfocused, trying to make sense of where you were. The space was cluttered with old medical books, shelves stocked with bandages and other supplies, and the faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air. “What… what happened?” you croaked, your voice weak, throat raw from disuse.

Maria’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, anchoring you as she spoke. "You got hurt, but you're going to be okay. We've got you, and you're safe here, I promise." Her voice was calm and steady, laced with a warmth meant to soothe, yet the worry in her eyes betrayed her. It was a quiet, lingering fear, as though things could have taken a far darker turn.

Your thoughts spun in a frantic blur, grasping desperately for fragments of memory. “Is Tommy… is everyone okay?” The words tumbled out, urgent and unbidden, as the chaos replayed in your mind. All you could remember were the screams—Joel collapsing, clutching a stab wound in his leg, crimson pooling beneath him, spreading like a relentless tide.

Was he still alive?

The thought left you cold, a chill sinking deep into your bones, twisting in your gut like a knife. Nausea clawed at your throat, a sickening dread that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Maria reassured you, her voice a soothing balm over the raw edges of your fear. Relief washed over you in a rush, loosening the tightness in your chest. You could breathe again—deep, shaky breaths that seemed to draw you back from the brink, grounding you in the present.

“Tommy just stepped out,” she said, her tone gentle, trying to fill the space with reassurance. “He’ll be right back. He’s been here a lot and… so has—” She stopped abruptly, the pause heavy, as if you were too fragile to hear what came next.

“Who?” you asked, your voice quiet and rough, oblivious to what she was about to say.

Maria’s gaze met yours, hesitant for a heartbeat before she continued, “Joel.”

His name hung in the air, unspoken but heavy with meaning. “He’s been here every day,” she went on, her voice gentle. “Sleeping in that chair, even with his bad back. He only left about an hour ago—I practically had to force him to go home and rest.”

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound barely audible. The thought of Joel being here, keeping vigil while you lay unconscious, was almost impossible to fathom.

Why?

Was it guilt that kept him close?

You blinked, struggling to absorb the reality of her words. “Days?” The question tasted unfamiliar, heavy as it fell from your lips, the weight of it settling in your chest like a stone sinking to the bottom of a deep, dark lake.

How long had you been out?

“Yeah, honey,” Maria nodded, her hand smoothing over the blanket covering you, as if to reassure you with the small gesture. “But you’re okay now, I promise. The worst is over.”

With that, you nodded, surrendering to the pull of sleep as it reached out like an old, familiar embrace. You drifted away, slipping back into its depths with Maria by your side.

•••

People had come and gone, each one offering their reassurances and relief that you were okay. Tommy, Ellie, even a few of the patrolmen had stopped by, voices mixing together in a blur of well-wishes and murmured conversations.

But he hadn’t been here—not since you’d woken up. It gnawed at you, that empty space where Joel should have been. Your gaze drifted to the chair, its emptiness almost taunting, as though it knew who was missing. You could picture him there, sprawled out, his familiar form slouched back, the hardness of his jaw catching the dim light, as if sleep might take him at any moment. But the chair remained vacant, a silent reminder of his absence.

You lay propped against a stack of pillows, just as the doctor had instructed, your leg elevated in a makeshift splint. The “cast” was a patchwork of salvaged materials—wooden splints, thick strips of cloth, and pieces of an old brace, all bound together with whatever scraps could be scavenged. Vague flashes of pain flickered in your memory, the white-hot agony as they’d set the bone while you were only half-conscious. Even now, the thought of it sent a shudder down your spine. Everything blurred together—you must have blacked out from the pain. You had no recollection of how you’d made it back to Jackson. Perhaps they’d explain it all once you were stronger, but for now, the mystery lingered, hovering just out of reach.

Now, Tommy and Maria sat beside you, their presence a quiet comfort. The doctor—a woman in her late fifties, her graying hair pulled back in a loose braid—handed you a small bundle of pills wrapped in cloth. “Alright, here are your pain meds,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “Take these every day, okay? And don’t overdo it. If the pain gets too bad, you let someone know.”

You nodded, the instructions making you feel small and helpless, like a child being told what to do.

You nodded, barely listening as the doctor went on.

“Do you live alone, or…?”

“Yeah,” you replied, the word slipping out almost automatically. The reminder hit you like hard, the starkness of it unwelcome.

“Okay,” she continued, her gaze shifting to Tommy and Maria with a practiced look of concern. “You’re going to need someone to look after you for the next few weeks, at least. You’ll be on crutches, and getting around won’t be easy. The fracture was pretty nasty.” She glanced at the injury, her glasses perched low on her nose as she inspected it. “We did our best to set it, but you’ll have to take it slow for a while. The bone needs time to heal—and it’s not like we have proper casts and X-rays anymore.”

Maria's voice broke the silence, reassuring and no-nonsense. "We’ll take care of her, Doc. Don’t worry about that.”

The doctor gave a final nod before leaving, and Tommy and Maria helped you ease out of the bed, every small movement sending a jolt of soreness through your leg. It was a painstaking process getting you dressed and bundled into Tommy’s truck. The ride back was bumpy, every jostle a reminder of just how fragile your body felt right now.

•••

The house was quiet when you arrived, the air cool and still, carrying that unmistakable sense of emptiness that lingers when you return from a long absence. The familiar scent stirred something inside you, a reminder of what was left behind. It took both Tommy and Maria to help you inside, steadying the crutches under your arms and guiding you carefully through your home. Once you were settled on the worn couch, Maria draped a blanket over you.

“We’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Tommy and I will check in every day. Ok?”

You offered a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. The emptiness gnawed at you again, that absence like a weight pressing on your chest. And even though you didn’t say it, you couldn’t help but wonder why Joel hadn’t come to see you—why he hadn’t been there when you opened your eyes.

The question hung unasked in the silence, drifting in the air like dust suspended in the afternoon light.

•••

It was harder than you’d anticipated. True to their word, Tommy and Maria stopped by every day, but it was clear that Maria was struggling. Her pregnancy symptoms had worsened—nausea and vomiting so severe that some days she couldn’t even get out of bed, much less come over to help. Tommy did his best, but he was stretched thin, torn between caring for Maria and trying to be there for you.

When he showed up alone one morning, his face etched with worry as he helped you down the stairs, you knew something was off.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted, his voice softer than usual.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a smile even as you leaned heavily on the crutch, each step sending a dull throb through your leg. It had only been a few days, and you were still getting used to it—the pain meds took most of the edge off, but a deep, relentless ache lingered, a constant reminder of how far you had to go.

“I got some bad news,” Tommy said once you were settled on the couch, his expression hesitant.

A pit formed in your stomach. “What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. You couldn’t help but think of Maria and the baby. “Is it… is it Maria?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, she’s okay. As okay as she can be, anyway. The nausea’s been pretty rough lately.” His voice trailed off, and you could see the guilt etched on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, which looked more disheveled than usual. The dark circles under his eyes told the rest of the story—he probably hadn’t slept in days.

“I know I promised to be here every day, help out with whatever you needed, but… it’s been harder than I expected. She needs me more than I thought, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it here as often.”

“Tommy, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, your voice a little too sharp. The lie came easily, out of habit more than anything. “I can take care of myself.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

You could barely manage to get out of bed on your own, let alone keep up with the daily tasks piling up around you. “Take care of Maria. I understand, trust me,” you said, offering him a reassuring smile, though it felt a bit strained at the edges.

Still, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that crept up inside you, a sense of being a burden that you couldn’t quite shake.

Tommy frowned, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Darlin’, you’re in no shape to be alone,” he said gently. “But don’t worry—there are plenty of folks who can come by to check on you.”

“Who?” The word came out sharper than you intended, a hint of bitterness cutting through. It wasn’t really anger, just a raw insecurity that twisted inside you. You didn’t have anyone—not like Tommy and Maria had each other.

“Well, there’s Ellie… and Joel,” Tommy began, his tone almost cautious, as if even saying Joel’s name might be too much. “He’s… well, he hasn’t come by to see you yet, but—” He hesitated, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

“He hasn’t come to see me,” you repeated, the words falling flat in the quiet room.

It wasn’t a question; it was an unspoken hurt that hung in the air.

“Why not?” you asked, even though a part of you wasn’t sure you wanted to hear the answer. Joel didn’t owe you anything; the past few months you’d spent together had been anything but friendly. So why did you expect him to be here? Why did his absence sting more than it should?

Tommy hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as though searching for the right words, his gaze skirting away from yours. “He’s been… around,” he began slowly. “Been checkin’ in with Maria and me, makin’ sure you had everything you needed. But he…” Tommy hesitated, his voice dropping as he searched for the right words. “He just wanted to give you some space while you adjusted. Thought it might be what you needed.”

It was clear Tommy was struggling with the conversation, likely because of the awkward position he was in—Joel being his brother, after all. But there was something else behind his reluctance, something unspoken. After the attack, Tommy had seen firsthand just how far Joel was willing to go to save you. He’d watched his brother fight with a desperation that bordered on reckless, doing whatever it took to keep you alive.

Now, Tommy saw the truth clearly, piercing through Joel’s carefully maintained indifference toward you. He chastised himself for not seeing it sooner, for how thinly veiled Joel’s façade had always been. The reality of it all came to light after the attack, when Joel’s restraint shattered—he fought for you with a fierce, unyielding desperation, never once leaving your side. In those moments, his cold detachment dissolved, and the depth of his feelings bled through, unmistakable in the way he tended to you, as though keeping you safe was the only thing that mattered.

But it wasn’t his place to say anything; that was a conversation Joel needed to have with you. Tommy could only hope his brother would find the courage to speak sooner rather than later, though a part of him doubted it. He knew Joel too well—knew how stubbornly he kept his guard up, even when his heart was on the line.

“Oh,” you said softly, nodding as if the explanation made sense. “Okay.” You tried to believe him, tried to convince yourself that it was just Joel’s way of being cautious, of giving you the space you needed. But as it always did, doubt crept in, clawing its way up from some dark place inside. Old wounds had a way of reopening, their whispers cutting through the fragile comfort you tried to build.

What if he doesn’t really care? The thought sank its teeth in, a quiet voice reminding you of every time you’d been left behind, every promise that had turned to dust. The doubt was relentless, clawing at the edges of your mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, you were fooling yourself. That Joel's absence was a choice—a choice to keep his distance, to keep you at arm's length, even now.

You looked away, swallowing against the tightness in your throat, wishing you could silence the voices that told you to expect the worst. Because sometimes, it was easier to accept doubt than to hope for something different.

After all, wasn’t it always the same? People keeping their distance, claiming they were doing it for your own good? It was a wound that hadn’t healed, a scar from years of being left behind. You told yourself not to think like that, not to read too much into it—but the hurt had a way of seeping in, even when you tried to hold it back.

If only you knew how much he did care—if only you remembered the lengths he had gone to, the sacrifices he made without a second thought. The men he had killed to save you, his hands stained with blood that wasn’t his own. The miles he trudged, his body battered and broken, fighting exhaustion and pain as he pushed forward because stopping meant losing you. How he had almost bled out for you, a deep wound gushing crimson, his vision blurring as he clung to consciousness with sheer stubbornness, all for the chance to see you breathe again.

If only you knew the hours he spent by your bedside, his rough hand wrapped gently around yours when he thought no one was watching. How he would sit there in the dark, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin, his quiet vigil a testament to the depths of his worry. You didn’t see the way his shoulders sagged with relief whenever your chest rose and fell steadily, nor did you hear the whispered words he spoke when the night was at its darkest—words he could never bring himself to say when you were awake.

If only you knew how his heart shattered the moment he saw you kiss Sam. How the sight of it hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He had to step outside just to breathe, to force himself to swallow the bitterness that rose in his throat. The jealousy burned hot and fierce, a mix of anger and hurt that tore through him as he watched Sam linger too long, his hands on you against your will, and Joel could’ve killed him right then and there.

If only you knew how his heart stopped the very first time he saw you, that instant when his gaze fell on you and the world seemed to quiet around him. It was a feeling that terrified him, a pull he didn’t understand, as though he’d been struck by something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.

“So, you’d be alright with him coming around?” Tommy asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. “He’d just help you up and down the stairs, morning and night, like I’ve been doing. He wouldn’t have to stay a second longer than you’re comfortable with.”

You hesitated, the thought of Joel being here, in your home—your sanctuary—sending a jolt of unease through you. The idea of him seeing you this vulnerable, laid bare, made your stomach twist. It would only confirm what he already thought about you—that you were clumsy, helpless, always in need of saving. And now, because you were his brother’s friend, he was stuck picking up the pieces.

“Tommy, I don’t want him to go out of his way,” you said, forcing your voice to sound steady, though uncertainty laced your words. “I can handle myself,—”

The words had barely left your mouth when your hand slipped, knocking the glass of water off the edge of the table. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, the water spilling out in a widening puddle, and you winced at how your body tensed, too slow to catch it.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that said more than words ever could.

You sighed, slumping back against the cushions. “Fine,” you muttered.

“Good,” Tommy said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’ll be here tonight, then. And Maria and I will still drop by once she’s feeling a bit better.” He flashed you a grin, his eyes warm with relief. “But listen, kid,” he added, his tone growing playfully stern, “if you ever die on me, I’ll kill you myself.”

You returned a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes; your mind was preoccupied with the thoughts swirling in your head. Deep down, you knew you couldn’t keep refusing help, no matter how much you hated the feeling of being a burden.

•••

That afternoon, you did anything and everything you could to distract yourself. You read the same page of a book over and over, the words slipping away before they could take root. You scribbled in an old notebook, your handwriting growing messier with each line, the sentences trailing off into nothing. You even watched the people passing by your window, their faces unfamiliar, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the day.

But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the thought of him coming around tonight lingered in the back of your mind—persistent and unwelcome. It gnawed at you, that quiet anticipation twisting itself into anxiety.

What would he say? Would he say anything at all? How would he act?

You wondered if his touch would linger, like it sometimes did in those fleeting moments when you weren’t sure if you had imagined it or if it had been real. The uncertainty wrapped around you like a thick fog, leaving you on edge, caught between hope and fear. Would he bring warmth or distance? The question hung heavily in the air, refusing to let you find any semblance of calm.

You shifted restlessly, your leg aching from the hours spent sitting still, but you didn’t know what else to do. Nothing seemed to quiet the thoughts racing through your head, the uneasy flutter in your chest. All you could do was wait, counting down the hours and distracting yourself with anything that kept you from thinking about the fact that, soon, he would be here. And you weren’t sure you were ready to face him, to face whatever came next.

•••

You hobbled over to the mirror, the crutches clicking on the worn floorboards with every step. The reflection staring back at you made your breath catch in your throat. You looked awful—scratches and bruises marred your face, a dark purple mottling your cheekbone. Your hair was a mess, barely held together by a loose braid, and your eyes were shadowed with deep, dark circles. You didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror, bruised and battered, looking like a stranger you’d crossed paths with in another lifetime.

You suddenly felt a stab of self-consciousness that took you by surprise, the thought prickling at the edges of your mind. Why did it matter what you looked like right now? You shouldn’t care—but still, the feeling lingered, a quiet discomfort crawling under your skin.

You hadn’t expected to be seen like this, so vulnerable and broken. There was a time when you’d been self-reliant, stubbornly independent, but here you were again, needing someone… needing Joel.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door, breaking the stillness of the room. You glanced at the clock—7:00 p.m on the dot.

It was Joel.

“Come in,” you called out, your voice catching in your throat as you angled your body toward the door.

The door creaked open, and there he was, filling the doorway. Joel stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over you with a quick, assessing look. His eyes flicked to the crutches, the bruises on your face, and then back to your own eyes. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if weighing what to say.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, as though the word itself carried more than just a greeting.

You nodded in response, unsure of what to say, the silence between you heavy with unspoken things. There was an unease that hung in the air, not quite tension but something close to it— And yet, seeing him standing there, his expression guarded but not unkind, stirred something in you - deep and unsettling

“Didn’t mean to keep you waitin’,” Joel added, his eyes lingering on the scratches along your jaw.

He stayed near the doorway at first, the corridor stretching between you like a gulf neither of you knew how to cross. “It’s okay,” you whispered, trying to sound casual, but the tension in your voice betrayed you, your hands gripping the crutches for support. There was too much unsaid, too much hanging in the air between you both.

Joel took a few steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours. That’s when you noticed the limp, the subtle hitch in his stride that he tried to shrug off. Your eyes flickered down to his leg, and your eyebrows furrowed with concern. He was hurt—there was no mistaking the way he winced as he moved, a slight grimace crossing his features that he tried to mask with a tough exterior.

“Just a graze,” he said, catching your gaze before you could look away, his voice dismissive. But the tightness around his mouth, the way his jaw clenched with each step, betrayed him. It wasn’t just a graze, and you both knew it. Did he forget you’d seen him get stabbed? The memory of it was still vivid—how he’d staggered, the blood soaking through his jeans.

You didn’t know what to say. The air between you felt thick and stifling, almost hot, like there was too much pressure building and nowhere for it to go. His presence filled the room, and the space between you seemed to shrink and stretch all at once, charged with everything you weren’t saying.

Joel’s gaze swept over you again, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion etched into your face. It made his chest ache in a way that was almost physical, like someone had squeezed his heart and wouldn’t let go.

When Tommy had told him you’d woken up, the relief had been overwhelming, nearly knocking the breath out of him. But it was quickly followed by a familiar pang of worry—worry that he wasn’t ready to face you, that the things he had said to push you away still lingered too heavily in the air. The memory of his last words to you was a constant knot in his chest, a reminder of how his fear had driven him to build walls between you… and of the bitter regret that came afterward, unyielding and sharp.

That was why he hadn’t come to see you. Every day, he found himself at your door, his hand hovering just inches from knocking, but doubt tightened its grip, pulling him back each time. It wasn’t until Tommy asked him to step in that he finally crossed the threshold. Joel knew the truth had dawned on his brother—the way things had unfolded left little room for secrets. But Tommy had kept his silence, letting the unspoken truth linger between them, and for that, Joel was grateful.

He took another step closer, and you noticed his gaze softening just a fraction. “How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked, his voice quiet and hesitant, as if he wasn���t sure you wanted him to ask. There was a vulnerability in his tone that made your heart race.

He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that, unbeknownst to you, was a silent act of restraint—as if by folding himself inward, he could physically prevent his hands from reaching out to trace the bruise on your cheek or gently comb his fingers through your hair. It was a protective barrier, not against you, but against his own unruly impulse to close the distance between you.

You met his eyes, trying to read the expression in them—trying to make sense of the storm brewing in your own chest. “I’m managing,” you replied, though the waver in your voice told a different story.

“Good,” Joel said, but the word came out rough, like it hurt him to say it. He took one more step, as if testing the waters, trying to bridge the distance between you. But even with the few feet that still separated you, it felt like there was an entire world keeping you apart.

“You ready for bed?” Joel asked, his voice low, but softer than you remembered.

“Yeah,” you replied, your stomach tightening as you remembered why he was here. The weight of his gaze felt heavy on your back as you began the slow journey toward the stairs.

The climb was harder than usual, each step sending a dull throb through your leg, and the silence between you seemed to grow thicker with every inch. Joel was close behind, his hand hovering near your back, as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch you or let you handle it on your own.

You were almost halfway up when your crutch slipped on the edge of the stair, your balance giving way beneath you. You let out a small gasp as you stumbled forward, and in an instant, Joel’s hands were on you—strong, steady, catching you before you could hit the ground.

“Sorry,” you breathed, the word slipping out almost inaudibly as he held you. Embarrassment washed over you, a warm flush rising to your cheeks as his touch made you feel exposed, vulnerable. His grip was firm, his fingers pressing into your arm with a quiet desperation, as though he was afraid to let go. You were close now—closer than you had been that day at the lake, when the water blurred the lines between you. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and heady, pulling you back into a moment you weren’t sure you wanted to escape.

“You’re fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly as though he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t, instead he helped you regain your footing, guiding you up the rest of the stairs with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

When you finally reached your bedroom, you hesitated in the doorway, a strange sense of vulnerability washing over you. Joel’s presence here, in this space that had always been yours alone, made the room feel smaller somehow, more intimate. It was the first time he’d ever stepped inside your sanctuary, and you could see him taking in the details of your world—the faded quilt draped over your bed, the stack of books teetering on the nightstand, their covers worn and pages dog-eared from countless readings. His gaze lingered on the half-open drawer, where a few shirts had spilled out, as if it were a glimpse into your life, a life he had only touched from a distance. You felt a flutter in your chest, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more meaningful.

He turned to you, helping you sit on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist before he stepped back. You watched him as he took another glance around the room, his gaze moving from the old, threadbare rug to the small collection of trinkets on the dresser—little things you’d kept over the years, reminders of the life you’d built even in this broken world.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him—the way his jaw tightened, as if he was struggling to hold something back, the way a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, unkempt and tempting your fingers to brush them away. Your head throbbed, and you wondered why you were thinking these things—was it the medication clouding your mind, or was it something deeper, something you’d been avoiding for far too long? There was a tension in the set of his shoulders, a heaviness to his stance, as though he was carrying a weight that wasn’t his alone, but yours as well.

“You take your meds yet?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence, “Doc said two at night.”

Your brow furrowed, a small frown forming as you looked at him. “How do you know what the doctor said?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he glanced away, his jaw tightening again. “Tommy told me,” he said after a beat, but there was something about the way he said it—too casual, too quick—that made you wonder if that was the whole truth.

The silence stretched out between you, thick with things neither of you knew how to say.

“Yeah, they’re in that drawer over there,” you said, motioning with your hand. Joel walked over, pulling open the old wooden drawer, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he groaned softly as he bent down. The sound made something tighten in your chest—a sudden urge to help him, or to do something, though you weren’t sure what.

He straightened up with a slight wince, returning to you with the two pills in his hand. Just as he reached your side, your stomach betrayed you, grumbling loudly in the quiet room.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Have you eaten dinner?” he asked, his tone almost challenging.

“Not hungry,” you muttered, brushing off the question, reaching for the pills.

“That sound says otherwise,” he shot back, his eyes narrowing. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Too tired to cook,” you said with a shrug, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve had coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t food,” he retorted, the frustration slipping into his voice. He didn’t seem to notice how close he’d gotten, his presence filling the space between you.

“Joel, it’s fine. Just gimme the meds,” you insisted, reaching for the pills. But he pulled his hand back slightly, just out of your reach.

“No,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “Not lettin’ you starve to death. I’ll be back in a bit. You okay here?”

You stared at him, a protest forming on your lips, but the look in his eyes made it die before you could speak. There was a stubbornness there, a refusal to back down. It was the same look he always had when he was dead set on something, and you knew you weren’t going to change his mind.

“Fine,” you muttered, sinking back against the pillows. “But don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I won’t,” he said, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. And with that, he turned and headed for the door, leaving you in the quiet of your room with a strange warmth curling in your chest that you didn’t quite know what to do with. As you listened to his footsteps fade down the stairs, you found yourself staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the thought of him coming back made you a tinge nervous.

You lay in bed, the quiet ticking of the clock blending with the distant sounds of pans clattering downstairs. The noise echoed faintly through the house, and you couldn’t help but think of Joel, moving around down there. The thought of him in your kitchen—cooking, of all things—felt oddly domestic, almost jarringly so. You stared at the ceiling, your mind wandering back to the last few hours, trying to piece together why he was being so… nice.

It wasn’t that you doubted his capacity to care; you had glimpsed his protective nature before, you had seen it in the way he interacted with Tommy and Ellie.

But this—him going out of his way to make you dinner, staying when he could have easily kept his distance, when he could have helped you up to bed and left within minutes—felt different.

You couldn’t help but question his motives. Was it guilt that drove him? A sense of duty? Or was it something far more complicated, something unspoken that seemed to pulse in the silence between you?

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the spiraling thoughts. After all, Tommy had asked Joel to look after you; it wasn’t like he could have said no. But even that explanation didn’t fully quell the uncertainty brewing inside you. The nagging feeling lingered, urging you to confront the reality that maybe, just maybe, his care went beyond brotherly duty.

The smell of cooking began to drift up the stairs, pulling you out of your thoughts. It started as a faint hint of spices, then grew stronger, filling the room with the warm, savory aroma of whatever he was making. Your stomach twisted with a mix of hunger and something you couldn’t quite name, a flutter of nervous anticipation that made you shift restlessly against the pillows.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of the stairs creaking under Joel’s weight as he made his way up, and your pulse quickened. When he appeared in the doorway, you could see the steam rising from the bowl he carried.

“Here,” Joel said, his voice low as he stepped closer, placing the bowl carefully on your lap. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the kind of care that sent a quiet ache through your chest. You felt the warmth of the bowl seep into your skin, a small comfort against the chill that always seemed to linger.

“Joel, you didn’t really need to do this,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. There was something vulnerable in the way you spoke, almost as if you were trying to deflect the tenderness behind his gesture.

It was no big deal right?

“It’s nothing,” he replied, brushing off your thanks as he turned to find a seat. “Just eat.”

You didn’t expect him to stay, but he pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and sank into it, his gaze fixed on you. There was a quiet intensity in the way he watched, a kind of tension that coiled tightly between you both. As you took your first bite, you became painfully aware of the bruises on your face, the dark circles under your eyes, and the tangled mess of your hair. You felt exposed under his gaze, the awareness prickling across your skin.

“Is it alright?” he asked, his voice laced with a softness you’d never heard from him before.

You swallowed, the flavors rich and satisfying, better than you could have hoped for. “Yeah, it’s perfect,” you said, and though the words were simple, they carried a weight you hadn’t expected. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

He gave a half-shrug, his eyes drifting away for a moment, lingering on the worn floorboards beneath his feet. “You kinda have to learn when you’re not just feedin’ yourself,” he said quietly, his voice shifting into a tone that hinted at a past he rarely spoke of. The words hung in the air, delicate yet weighty, creating an invisible thread between you that tugged at something deeper, something unspoken.

You could sense the layers beneath his casual remark, the unguarded glimpse into a life filled with responsibilities and sacrifices. It made your heart race, drawing you closer to the vulnerability he often kept hidden. In that moment, the silence between you felt charged with meaning, echoing the unsaid stories you had yearned to hear.

You saw a flicker in his eyes, a shadow of a life that felt far away and unreachable. He was talking about before, about a time when he wasn’t alone. When he had someone to take care of, someone who depended on him.

“You used to cook for someone else?” you asked, your voice quiet and almost hesitant. “Your… wife?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and a pang of anxiety gripped you. For a brief moment, you feared you had overstepped, that you’d messed up the one time Joel had allowed himself to share even a small piece of his past.

Joel’s expression shifted, a flicker of something deep and raw passing over his features. He shook his head, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself against the words. “No,” he said, the word coming out low and rough. “My daughter.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence pressing down on you both. You hadn’t expected that answer, hadn’t expected the weight it would carry. There was a depth in his voice, a quiet pain that spoke of a love that had been lost, and the hurt that came with it. It hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, like a wound that had never quite healed.

Your chest tightened, a swell of emotion rising within you—part sympathy, part quiet understanding. It explained so much—the way he kept a watchful eye on those around him, the way he cared for Ellie with a fierce yet unspoken tenderness, the protective instinct that lingered even when he kept his distance. You saw it clearly now, the echo of the father he used to be.

“I didn’t know…” you started, the words faltering as you tried to find something, anything, that wouldn’t sound hollow or empty. But what could you say to a man who had already lost so much?

Joel just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he didn’t expect you to say anything. “A long time ago,” he murmured, the edge of his voice roughened by the years. “Feels like a different life.”

And with that, the silence settled in again, but this time it felt different—more like an understanding shared in the quiet spaces than a chasm between you.

The rest of the meal unfolded in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need words to fill the space. You were both absorbed in your own thoughts, though neither of you realized that they kept circling back to each other. Joel’s gaze flickered toward you now and then, watching with a quiet intensity as you ate. He noticed the slight tremor in your hand as you lifted the spoon, the way your brow furrowed with each careful bite. There was a vulnerability in those small, deliberate movements—in you—that tugged at something deep within him.

When you finally finished, you set the bowl aside and offered him a small smile. “Can you…?” You hesitated, feeling the weight of the request, even though it was a simple one. “I need some help getting to the bathroom.”

“Yeah, of course,” Joel replied, practically leaping to his feet, his eagerness almost surprising you. He moved quickly to your side, his hand steadying you as you stood. There was a tenderness in the way he supported your weight, his grip firm but not overpowering.

“Thanks,” you murmured as he helped you down the hall, your voice quiet against the stillness. After brushing your teeth, you leaned on him again as you made your way back to bed, each step a little easier with him by your side.

Back in your room, you sank beneath the blankets, the day’s fatigue and the weight of the medications settling over you like a heavy fog. It was time for Joel to leave, and you could feel the air shift—an almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere now that his task was complete.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, concern lacing his words.

“Yeah,” you replied, nodding slightly. “Thanks again, Joel.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his tone almost dismissive, but there was something softer in his eyes. As he turned to go, his hand reached for the small lamp that cast a warm glow across the room.

“Can you… keep it on?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a quiet admission that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Just… for tonight.”

Joel’s hand froze mid-motion, and when he looked back at you, his gaze softened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Of course.” There was a faint ache in his chest, the idea of you lying here in the dark, alone and scared. It stirred something fierce in him, an urge to stay—to sit by your bedside, to wrap his arms around you and promise that you’d be safe. But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low and gruff again. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you murmured, leaning back and resting your head on the pillow. “Goodnight.” Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, drifting through the quiet room.

He nodded and turned, the soft creak of the floorboards marking his departure. You listened to his footsteps as he walked down the stairs, each one growing fainter. The house felt colder without him in it, the warmth he’d brought with him fading into the night.

Your thoughts drifted back to what had just happened. The way Joel had opened up, even if only for a moment. The glimpse into a past he kept guarded, the vulnerability he’d shown in sharing that part of himself with you. It was rare, and it was real, and you could sense that something had shifted between you.

As you stared at the dim glow of the lamp, a quiet ache settled deep in your chest—a longing for something unspoken, still taking shape in the silence you shared. It lingered in the spaces where words had failed, in the glances that spoke more than you dared to acknowledge. But beneath that yearning, there was also a wall—a familiar fear tightening around your heart, warning you against letting him in again, only to be hurt all over again. The possibility of reopening old wounds kept you guarded, even as the ache for something more refused to fade.

•••

The next few days passed in a quiet, unexpected rhythm—something that felt almost like domestic bliss, though you hardly dared to call it that. Joel came by every morning and evening, helping you with the mundane tasks that had somehow become monumental—getting you out of bed, steadying you on your crutches, making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard. He never said much, never offered any explanations for why he was being this way. But his actions spoke louder than words, a silent devotion that was as confusing as it was comforting.

He made you breakfast and dinner without a word, the smell of sizzling eggs or simmering stew becoming a familiar, almost soothing part of your day. There was a quiet care in the way he placed the plate in front of you, the way he made sure you ate before he’d allow himself to sit down. It was in the little things, the quiet gestures that spoke of a protectiveness you hadn’t expected, but found yourself welcoming all the same.

You noticed how easily you had grown accustomed to it all—the sound of the door turning, signaling his arrival; the faint scent of his shampoo that lingered in the air when he leaned close to help you; the warmth of his hands, rough but steady, as he guided you out of bed in the morning and back into it at night. You found yourself looking forward to the soft murmur of his voice, the way his presence seemed to fill the room without overwhelming it.

And it scared you, just a little—how you had almost become too comfortable, too used to this new normal. There was a part of you that knew it couldn’t last, that eventually, things would have to go back to how they were before. But for now, you allowed yourself to savor it, to sink into the simple pleasure of having someone there, of not feeling so alone.

It was easy to pretend, in those moments when he was near, that the world wasn’t as broken as it was. Easy to forget, if only for a while, that this wasn’t really yours to keep.

Little did you know, Joel felt the same. Each time he came over, it was as if he was easing into a life he hadn’t known he still yearned for—a life where caring for someone wasn’t just a burden but a choice he made every day. In the quiet moments spent helping you up the stairs or preparing a simple meal, he found a strange kind of solace. It was a way for him to show how much he cared without having to say the words aloud, words that felt too heavy, too close to the heart he kept so tightly guarded.

He poured his feelings into the little things—into the way he made sure your coffee was just the way you liked it, the way he lingered an extra moment to tuck the blankets around you at night, or the way his hand would steady your shoulder as you wobbled on the crutches. It was in the way he watched you when you weren’t looking, his gaze softening with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he had any right to feel.

Joel had never been good with words, especially when it came to emotions. But this—this quiet care—was something he could offer, a way to be close to you without crossing the unspoken lines that had kept him at a distance for so long. It was as if, in these simple acts, he could bridge the gap between you, express everything he couldn’t say in a way that felt real, solid.

With each passing day, he found himself wanting more—wanting to linger a little longer, to find more reasons to be near you, to close the distance between you inch by inch, to press his lips against your wounds and soothe the ache beneath them. But even as the lines between you began to blur, he couldn’t help but wonder if you felt it too—the subtle shift, the quiet understanding that had nestled itself in the spaces between the familiar routines. Sometimes, he thought he saw it in your eyes, a flicker of recognition, as though you sensed the change but weren’t yet ready to name it.

•••

Just like the nights before, Joel had helped you into bed after making you dinner. He had left your room a while ago, and now you lay there, your mind racing. The memory of his touch lingered—the way his fingers had brushed against your arm as he steadied you, the warmth of his hand lingering even after he’d pulled away.

The lamp still cast its soft glow across the room, a gesture you’d grown to appreciate. Joel hadn’t tried to turn it off since that first night; it was a quiet kindness, one he hadn’t spoken of, but it said more than words ever could.

You tossed and turned, struggling to find a position that didn’t worsen the dull ache in your leg. You’d only taken one pain pill tonight, ignoring Joel’s gentle reminder to take two, as the doctor had instructed. It had been a mistake. You told yourself you could start cutting down, but the pain pulsed deep in your bones, each throb growing sharper and harder to ignore. Reaching toward the side table, you fumbled for the second pill, but your fingers froze when you realized the glass of water was all the way across the room, just out of reach.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, frustration flaring within you. With a burst of determination, you threw off the covers and opted to hop across the room on one leg, leaving the crutches behind. But the instability of your injured foot and the darkness of the room conspired against you. Suddenly, the floor slipped out from under you, and you fell hard, the impact twisting your leg in a way that sent a shockwave of pain coursing through your body. A sharp cry escaped your lips, the intensity of the agony so overwhelming that tears sprang to your eyes, blurring your vision as the world around you tilted dangerously.

It took a moment for the world to stop spinning, and when it did, you realized Joel was suddenly beside you, his arms wrapping around you before you could fully process what had happened. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he said, his voice steady yet edged with panic. “What were you doing?”

His eyebrows were furrowed, worry unmistakable in his brown eyes as they searched your face for signs of injury. His hands moved to cradle your shoulders, his grip both firm and gentle, as if he was afraid you might shatter at any moment.

“Joel, you’re still here?” you gasped, your voice strained as you tried to focus through the pain.

“Here, let me get you up, slowly,” he said, already lifting you, his movements careful and deliberate. He helped you back onto the bed, then quickly fetched the water and pain pill, bringing them to your trembling hands. You took the pill, grimacing as you swallowed.

Joel’s questions came in rapid succession, his worry evident in every word.

“Are you okay? Do I need to get you to the doc? What the hell happened? Why were you out of bed?”

His voice shifted between concern and frustration, each syllable laced with an urgency that made your heart race.

“It’s nothing, Joel,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction. “I just needed water, and it would’ve only taken a second.” You glanced at him, your brow furrowing. “But… why were you still here?”

His expression faltered, a hint of flustered uncertainty passing over his face. “I—well, I stay,” he admitted, almost reluctantly, his words tumbling out in a way that revealed more than he intended. “Just for a while. Till I know you’re asleep.”

There was a vulnerability in his admission, a softness that contrasted sharply with the tough exterior he usually maintained.

You blinked, taken aback by the confession. “You… wait for me to fall asleep?”

The thought of Joel—gruff, guarded Joel—sitting quietly for hours, just to be sure you were safe, sent something rippling through your chest.

“When I hear you snoring, I know you’re asleep, and I can step out—”

“I do not snore!” you shot back, despite the way your heart quickened at the thought. But the hint of a smile tugged at his lips, softening the hard lines of his face.

“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost teasing.

You scoffed, shaking your head, though the warmth of his words lingered. “Well, thank you… but you don’t need to stay.”

Joel’s eyes darkened with something serious, something almost vulnerable as he said your name softly. “Imagine if I hadn’t been here tonight. You’d have been on that floor till morning.”

The reality of it sank in, the thought of lying there, helpless and in pain, with no one to hear you. You swallowed, the tension in the air thickening, the weight of his concern pressing down on you.

“I think I should stay over,” he continued, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of resolve. “At least for a bit, until you’re more stable on your feet. Only if you’re okay with it.”

There was no denying the sincerity in his eyes, the way his gaze held yours, unflinching and unguarded. The quiet worry etched into his features told you everything you needed to know—Joel wasn’t just offering to help; he needed to be here, to be sure you were safe.

Was this also part of his brotherly duty to Tommy? Or was this something more?

You just nodded, taking another sip of water, the tension still crackling softly in the air between you. “Okay,” you murmured.

“I’ll be on the couch,” Joel said, his voice quieter now, as if he were offering you reassurance rather than just stating a fact. “You need anything, you just holler, alright?”

“Goodnight,” he said, lingering in the doorway for a heartbeat longer, as if making sure you were truly settled.

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, the word barely more than a breath, but it felt like it carried more weight than usual. You watched him turn and walk out, his footsteps fading as he headed down the hall.

As the house fell into a familiar stillness, you lay back against the pillows, letting your eyes close. The sound of Joel settling on the couch echoed faintly through the walls, and you took a small comfort in knowing he was still there, just a shout away. It made the darkness seem a little less daunting, the ache in your leg a little more bearable.

•••

The next morning, as you sat in the kitchen, something caught your eye—a splash of color at the center of the table. Turning your head, you saw a vase filled with roses, their petals a rich, velvety shade of deep red, almost brown, offering a gentle contrast to the morning light streaming through the window. A smile tugged at your lips—a sincere, unguarded smile, the kind you hadn’t felt in a long while.

“Look,” you called softly, glancing toward the stove where Joel was busy cooking. The familiar sight of his broad back moving about the kitchen had become a comfort, a routine you had come to cherish. “Someone brought roses—my favorite.”

Joel glanced over his shoulder, his expression carefully neutral. “Yeah?” he said, though he was well aware of the flowers.

He had been the one to bring them, after all.

“They’re so pretty,” you continued, reaching out to brush your fingers over the soft petals, inhaling the sweet, delicate fragrance. “And they smell amazing. I’ll have to thank Tommy and Maria the next time I see them. They really brighten up the room.” You smiled to yourself, the thought of their kindness warming you. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant, a reminder that even in this harsh world, moments of beauty could still exist.

Joel just nodded, his back turned to you as he poured your coffee. “Mmhmm,” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“They’re real pretty,” Joel said, but as the words left his mouth, his eyes weren’t on the roses—they were on you. There was a softness in his gaze, a warmth that made something flutter in your chest. You didn’t notice it at first, too focused on the delicate petals and the sweet scent that filled the air. You just nodded, your smile widening as you breathed in the fragrance again.

“They really are,” you murmured.

Joel didn’t say anything, merely offering a quiet grunt of acknowledgment as he handed you your coffee. You wrapped your hands around the cup, relishing the familiar comfort of its warmth, blissfully unaware that he had gone out of his way to find those roses for you. He had spent months listening to Tommy talk about you, absorbing all the little details—your favorite things—and carefully keeping them tucked away in his mind.

•••

The day passed in a blur of familiar routines. Joel was out on patrol, as he often was when he wasn’t at your place, leaving you to settle into the rhythm of the day. Tommy and Maria dropped by in the afternoon, filling the house with a brief burst of warmth and lively chatter. You noticed how Maria’s baby bump had grown, her hand instinctively resting on it with each movement. There was a radiant glow about her that made the future feel almost hopeful. You tried to soak in the comfort of their visit, letting thoughts of a future baby wash over you. It stirred a yearning deep within for the dreams you once held—of a husband, a family, and a home filled with love.

That evening, after dinner, you and Joel lingered downstairs longer than usual. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls as you found yourselves drawn into conversation. Joel had become more talkative lately, his gruff demeanor easing into something softer, almost companionable.

You’d asked him about patrol, and he’d shared more than you expected—details of the day, the quietness that hung over the forest, the way the world felt almost too still. There was an openness in the way he spoke, a willingness to let you into his world, even if only a little. It made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate.

But when the night grew late, you finally retreated to your room, slipping under the covers with a lingering sense of unease, one that would often creep up on the dead of night. But tonight, as you lay there, the dark seemed to press in closer than usual.

The memories came back with a vengeance—visceral and hauntint, vivid flashes of pain and terror. You could see the look on their faces, those men who had tied you up, the glint of cruelty in their eyes, the sound of their mocking voices. The memory of your leg snapping, the sharp, blinding agony, and the sight of your own blood pooling beneath you—all of it rushed back in fragments, relentless and suffocating.

You were caught in the grip of a night terror, your heart racing like a drum against your ribs. Sweat soaked through your clothes, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you thrashed against the sheets. You felt trapped, unable to wake yourself from the nightmare, your body locked in the awful, helpless fear that had consumed you then.

In the dream, you were calling out for help, your voice echoing in the darkness, but no one could hear you. It was like screaming into a void, each cry swallowed up by an unforgiving silence. The world around you was twisted and wrong—faces you recognized lay lifeless on the ground, unmoving. Tommy, Maria… Joel. They were all gone, and the sight of them sprawled out in the dirt, blood pooling beneath their bodies, filled you with a terror so deep it felt like you were drowning.

You kept screaming, clawing at the darkness, but there was no one left to answer. The emptiness swallowed you whole, pulling you down, down, until—

Suddenly, a jolt of sensation ripped through the nightmare. Someone was shaking you, pulling you back from the abyss. The darkness shattered into a blur of movement and sound as you struggled to orient yourself. The nightmare's suffocating grip began to loosen, and you gasped for air, blinking furiously to clear the lingering terror from your mind.

“Hey, hey! You’re okay—wake up,” a voice urged, rough and panicked. You blinked up at Joel, his hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently but urgently, his face etched with a fear that was all too real. “It’s just a dream,” he said, his voice low and steady as he tried to calm you.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and unrelenting, as if all the fear and pain of the nightmare were pouring out in a flood you couldn’t control. Your chest heaved with each breath, the sobs wracking your body as you struggled to come back to reality. It was like the terror had followed you, clinging to your skin, and no matter how hard you tried to blink it away, the images still burned behind your eyes.

Joel’s grip on your shoulders tightened, his touch grounding you, anchoring you in the here and now. “Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re safe. It was just a dream. I’ve got you.” He reached up to brush the tears from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, his movements gentle, as though afraid you might shatter.

The tenderness in his gaze felt almost too much to bear, the concern etched into the lines of his face stirring something deep inside you—something raw and vulnerable that you weren’t sure how to face. You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words to explain the depth of the fear that still clung to you. All you could do was cling to the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hands, and the quiet strength that held you together even as you fell apart.

“You were all…” you gasped, the words tumbling out in a broken, frantic rush. “You were all gone… and they—they had me tied up…” The rest of the sentence fell away, your voice faltering as the horror of the dream clung to you, its shadow still lingering in your mind. The words didn’t make sense even to you, but they spilled out anyway, desperate and raw.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, his voice a soothing rumble that felt like a balm against the jagged edges of your fear. If you had been more conscious and less consumed by terror, you might have realized the weight of the endearment he used—how sweetheart fell from his lips so naturally, as if the word itself had been created just for you.

He shifted closer, his hands cupping your face with a tenderness that took you by surprise. His thumb gently wiped away the tears that continued to streak down your cheeks, the contact grounding you in the moment. “I’m here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, I promise.”

His gaze was steady and unwavering, holding you in the present, as if willing you to believe him. In that moment, the world felt small, contained within the warmth of his touch and the low, steady cadence of his voice. It was enough to make you feel anchored, as though the terror that had gripped you was beginning to ebb away, leaving only the thrum of your heartbeat and the safety of Joel’s presence in its wake.

Little did you know, that night haunted Joel just as deeply. It wasn’t just your cries that lingered in his mind—it was the echoes of the past, bleeding into the present. The screams of Sarah, the look of terror in your eyes, even Tess's pained expressions—they all mixed together in the haze of his own nightmares. The memories twisted and blurred into a chaotic swirl of pain, death, sorrow, and loss, each one clawing at him in the darkness.

He’d often wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, the remnants of those horrors gripping him tight. But there was one thing that kept him grounded, something that offered him a small measure of comfort: the sound of your soft, rhythmic breathing drifting through the quiet house. It wasn’t just a reminder that you were safe—it was a reminder that he hadn’t failed this time.

The past still weighed heavy on his soul, but the knowledge that you were there, alive and still fighting, was enough to keep the darkness at bay… at least for a little while.

Your breathing had finally begun to steady, each inhale less ragged than the last. Joel stayed by the edge of your bed, his hand still resting on your shoulder, waiting for you to give some sign that you were okay, that he could go back to the couch downstairs. But instead, your gaze met his, the tears still glistening in your eyes, unspoken words trembling on your lips.

“Could you…” you began, your voice wavering as you struggled to get the rest out. “Could you stay?”

He frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m already downstairs,” he said softly, as though reminding you of his usual spot. “You know that.”

“No, I mean…” You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “Here. With me.”

The request hung in the air, fragile and tentative, but the meaning was clear. Joel’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the surprise flickering there as if he hadn’t expected you to ask.

You caught the hesitation in his eyes, and suddenly, all the harsh words he’d ever thrown at you seemed to come crashing down at once—burden, useless—echoes of moments when you’d felt like nothing more than an inconvenience. Your cheeks burned with shame, and you dropped your gaze, stumbling over your words. “I mean… sorry, that was stupid,” you muttered, the regret already tightening in your throat. “It’s just my meds talking.”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting through the fragile air between you. You looked up, and the expression in his eyes had changed—there was no trace of doubt left, only a quiet resolve. “I’ll stay,” he repeated, his tone gentler this time. “If you want me to.”

You nodded, and Joel didn’t hesitate this time. He moved around to the other side of the bed, his features softened in the glow of the lamp and the pale wash of moonlight that spilled in through the window. He dipped into the bed, settling carefully beside you. Even as he gave you space, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, a steady comfort that made your chest tighten.

You turned toward him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Joel. I know I can be… a lot. I—”

“Hey.” He cut you off gently, his voice firm but soft, as though he was willing away the words before they could take hold. “Don’t do that.” His eyes found yours in the dim light, steady and unyielding, and the way he looked at you made your breath hitch, like he saw past all the broken pieces you tried to hide.

“You’re not a lot. You’re—” He paused, the words catching in his throat as if he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. “You’re someone worth looking after.”

His voice was low, roughened by the weight of things unsaid, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. There was no pity in his gaze, no trace of frustration or burden—just a quiet sincerity that sank deep into your bones.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and gave a small nod, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Okay.”

He reached out through the darkness, and your breath caught in your throat as he brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch warm against your skin.

“Now try to get some rest,” he murmured, his tone soft and almost tender, like a promise wrapped in warmth.

As you closed your eyes, you felt the quiet reassurance of his presence, the way he stayed close enough for you to hear his steady breathing—the rise and fall grounding you, a reminder that you weren’t alone.

Not tonight. Not with him here.

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[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

You are insecure and Peter is oblivious. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: reader had very negative thoughts about body image. mentions of weight and general body image issues. i tried to keep it as neutral as possible so everybody could read and relate, so it can be read as plus!size reader or not.

1.5k words

The position you were in wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable. The physical part felt really nice, actually. Peter was laid on his side, nose nuzzled into your hair while you were in his arms flat on your back. His even breathing was soothing and you felt close and warm. 

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

You had to resist cringing every time you remembered that Peter’s large hand was spread over the bottom of your tummy, likely feeling everything “wrong” about it. He could definitely feel it wasn’t as flat or firm as you would like it to be, even through your thick crewneck. And even though you logically knew it was impossible, you felt the stinging insecurity all over your body, like he was touching you everywhere you hated. Your brain was telling you that through feeling the soft part of your stomach, he could also feel and see where your thighs were too big, where stretchmarks were painted all over your body, and where your skin wasn’t completely smooth. 

He probably would hate my body as much as I do if he could see. The little voice in your head nagged. 

Obviously, you knew that wasn’t true. You knew that everyone had little things that bothered them and yours weren’t even especially unusual. You also knew that voicing these thoughts to Peter would likely lead to you being even more self-conscious and him being confused. Or even worse, him pitying you. You were snapped out of your spiral by Peter’s shifting in position. 

“What’re you thinking of, baby?” Peter whispered. To your horror, his hand started rubbing your stomach over your sweater. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” He laughed the way he does when trying to calm you down, like he doesn’t think it’s funny but it might be less intimidating if you believe he does. You turned your head to look at him. Being this close didn’t allow you to see his full face, but you could see one of his pretty brown eyes, looking at you with far too much love for your heart to handle.

“Not thinking of anythin’ really.” You kept your voice as even as possible and hoped he didn’t hear the nervous hitch in your breath as he reached under the hem of your sweatshirt to touch your skin. You panicked and tried to cover by grabbing his hand in yours and holding it between your ribs, right under your chest. He looked confused but still stroked your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah okay.” He was sarcastic and rolling his eyes but his voice was still light. He brought your joined hands up to kiss the veins on your wrist, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a good few seconds. All while still burning his eyes over your face, letting his pupils linger over a feature before jumping to the next, admiring your whole face with so much care you would cry. 

“What?” You asked, growing shy under his intense stare. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He was still smiling at you like a fool. “So so pretty.” He sing-songed. He urged you to lay on top of him with his arms, but you held fast in your place. Your boyfriend apparently took this as a challenge, because he showed off his real strength by pulling you fast onto his chest. 

“Peter!” You said, scolding and nervous and flustered all at once. 

“What?” He asked smugly, with a look of triumph on his face. You ducked your head out of his eyesight. “Baby, what’s up?” He asked again, more sincere. You still didn’t answer, your anxiety was roaring too loud in your head. You were probably crushing him under your weight. His hands were planted on your hips, likely feeling the extra fat and getting grossed out. He was just too nice to say anything. He was also too far close to your face for comfort, definitely seeing patches of oily skin or blemishes littering your face. It all became too much for you and you tried to roll off of him, but he gripped onto you harder. 

“Peter, let me off.” You kept your voice light but you were panicking inside. 

“Yeah, not happening.” He stayed stubborn as a mule. 

“But I’m heavy, I’ll crush you.” You said desperately. 

“Good.” He rebutted, still acting as if this was a casual conversation. 

“Peter, I’m serious. I’m too heavy for this. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Your voice trailed off, getting quieter towards the end. The whole sentence was soaked in shame that Peter hadn’t yet picked up on. Now, there was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He looked genuinely confused. “What put that dumb idea in your head? ‘Too heavy’ for what, exactly?” He started as if he was about to rant, but cut it short. To your dismay, he pulled more of your weight onto him. 

“It’s not dumb, it’s true. I’m just too heavy” You argued back. He couldn’t really be that oblivious. Anyone with eyes could see it. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” He started sassing, like he actually wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t know that you now were the only deciding judge of something being ‘too much.’” He was being defiant on purpose. 

“Peter, please.” All joking and argumentativeness had left your tone, just leaving shame and sadness. Peter softened at this and encouraged your head up to meet his eyes, holding your jaw firmly so you couldn’t look away. He looked like he was slowly putting pieces together in his head. 

“Baby,” He started, still not breaking eye contact with you. “Is this why you’ve not been letting me touch you as much?” Peter looked so sad, it didn’t suit him at all and you wanted to make it better immediately. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you, that I would think there’s something wrong with you?” On the last sentence he was extra distressed, like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth. 

“I just-” You were trying to articulate your feelings without making this any worse. “I mean, not every part of me is pretty, you know that.” You tried to say it casually but Peter’s expression didn’t lighten at all. Instead, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes got wider, looking like a cartoonishly sad puppy who was denied a treat. 

“I don’t know that, actually.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, threading his fingers in your hair. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” He said the last part like his heart was cracking. And in Peter’s mind, it was. His baby was thinking badly of herself, and even worse, she was thinking he thought badly of her. 

“I mean,” You cringed as the words left your mouth, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. “Not really. At least, there is a lot about me that could be a lot better.” Peter was at a loss for words. You had obviously mulled this over and were solid in your opinion. 

“I don’t think there is. I think you are perfect. I love everything about you.” He said softly, his voice missing its usual teasing tone.

“But-” You started, but cut yourself off. 

“But what?” Your argumentative boyfriend was back. “C’mon. Talk to me, baby.”

“I just-” You gathered your thoughts as best you could. He was really being difficult. There was no way he hadn’t noticed something. You also really did not want to say your insecurities out loud. It was too raw. But you knew Peter, and he wouldn’t back off without you giving something. “My stomach isn’t flat.” You said, as if that was enough argument for you being disgusting. 

“Okay?” He actually laughed at this, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “And?” 

You rolled your eyes, irritated. “And, in general I’m just too big. And my skin isn’t good either. It just doesn’t all add up very well does it?” You resisted the urge to cry, you didn’t want to add that on top of this already stressful discussion. 

“Sweetheart,” He looked exasperated. “I think- I think you’re being really mean and unfair to yourself.” He searched for the right words. “Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, yeah? But you should know, you are not too anything, and there is nothing about your looks or body that is ‘not good.’’ He said every word firmly. “And most importantly, there is nothing, absolutely nothing about your body that I dislike, or that you should worry about me seeing or touching, okay?” His voice was soft during the last few sentences, like he was speaking to a little kid with a scraped knee. It made it a lot harder to resist crying. “Okay?” he said, still looking directly into your eyes. 

“Okay.” You said, watery. You swallowed hard and buried your face in his chest, feeling all too many emotions. “Thank you, Pete.” You didn’t think you could say anything else without falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I'ts alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He stroked the back of your head, still being gentle. “Just do me a favor, yeah?” 

“Mhm?” You muffled.

“Just, make my job easier for me next time. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, okay baby?” He pleaded as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Good. Now cuddle me please.” Demanding Peter was back. “And put all your weight on me, it’s no good otherwise.” 

[aventurineswife]

HEY

how are youuuu?? Hope you’re doing well <33

HOW ABOUT

An Aventurine x reader where like he confesses about like his real name and his past and everything and then like teaches reader about avgin culture ?

Behind the Mask, Beneath the Gamble

Summary: Aventurine opens up about his tragic past and shares the true story behind his persona. He confesses his struggles growing up on the harsh desert world of Sigonia, surviving slavery, and losing his people. As a way of honoring his heritage, he introduces you to the culture of the Avgins, teaching you their dances and sharing intimate details of his upbringing. With a deep connection growing between you two, Aventurine starts to let go of his emotional barriers, showing vulnerability for the first time.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Vulnerable Aventurine, Emotional Growth, Cultural Exploration, Survivor’s Guilt, Trust, Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma (slavery, loss, abuse), Mild emotional angst, Mature themes (survivor’s guilt, emotional barriers).

A/N: OMGGG! HIII WELCOME BACK!! 🫣🤭💖 I'VE BEEN WELL (NOT WITH MY EXAMS AHEM) WHAT ABOUT YOU? I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!! IT MIGHT BE BIT OOC(my memory is horrible and I keep forgetting a lot of things) :') I kept reminded of that one song from Arcane of Powder and Ekko's dance(never watched arcane it btw)😪💔

The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as the faint hum of a starship reverberated around you. Aventurine leaned against the far wall, his signature smirk softened into something far more vulnerable. He had invited you here, away from the grandeur and noise of the IPC, to share something he had never spoken of before.

"You know," he began, his voice quieter than usual, "most people think they know me. The flamboyant gambler. The strategist. The Stoneheart who plays life like a game. But that's not the whole story."

You tilted your head, intrigued but hesitant to interrupt. He glanced at you, his eyes catching the dim light, revealing something fragile beneath the confident exterior.

"My real name isn’t Aventurine. It’s Kakavasha." His voice cracked slightly, and he looked away, as if expecting judgment.

“Kakavasha,” you repeated softly, the name rolling off your tongue like a forgotten melody.

His shoulders relaxed slightly at your tone, though his gaze remained distant. "I was born on Sigonia, a desert world where survival wasn’t a game—it was a daily fight. My clan, the Avgins... we were traders, dancers, dreamers. We had a culture rich with stories, music, and rituals. But none of that mattered to the Katicans who tore us apart. I was just a boy when they branded me."

You caught a glimpse of the faint imprint on his neck, a mark he'd usually hide beneath high collars and his carefully curated image.

“I escaped,” he continued, his voice steady now, though every word seemed like it carried the weight of an entire galaxy. “But not before losing everyone. My family, my people—they’re all gone. And I... I’ve spent my life trying to make sure no one controls me again.”

You stepped closer, your heart aching for the man who stood before you—not as Aventurine, the untouchable gambler, but as Kakavasha, a survivor. "You’ve been carrying this alone all this time," you murmured.

He let out a bitter chuckle, his lips curving into a wry smile. "When you gamble with your life, there’s not much room for sharing." He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours, filled with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. “But I don’t want to keep this from you anymore. You’ve seen past the mask, and... if you’ll let me, I want to show you more.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion. "I’m here, Kakavasha. Whatever you want to share, I’m listening."

His expression softened, and for the first time, he looked genuinely at peace. "Then let me teach you something about where I come from. About the Avgins."

He stepped toward the center of the room, his movements deliberate, almost reverent. "Our dances... they weren’t just for entertainment. They told stories—of our struggles, our triumphs, our love for the stars." He extended a hand toward you. “May I?”

Your heart raced as you placed your hand in his. He guided you into a slow, graceful rhythm, his steps fluid and deliberate. "This one," he said softly, "is the Dance of the Caravan. It tells the story of a journey across the desert, of finding hope even in the harshest conditions."

The movements were intricate but natural, his guidance making it easy to follow. As you danced, he began to hum a haunting melody, his voice low and rich, carrying the weight of his heritage.

When the dance ended, he held your hand for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You’re the first person I’ve shared this with in years," he admitted.

You smiled, your own emotions threatening to spill over. "Thank you, Kakavasha. For trusting me."

He chuckled softly, a genuine warmth in his eyes now. "You’ve gambled on me, and for once, I think I might’ve won something worth more than I ever imagined."

As the ship continued its journey through the stars, the two of you sat together, the weight of the past replaced by the promise of a shared future. For the first time in a long time, Kakavasha—Aventurine—allowed himself to feel hope.

[princessbrunette]

reader upset bc things just aren’t going her way today, she woke up on the wrong side of the bed after not getting much sleep, and her hair didn’t turn out the way she wanted it too, she couldn’t find her favorite skirt and she broke her nail. rafe takes her with him to run errands and handle business, and she’s quiet and upset the whole time and she just needs her rafe but he’s so busy right now. eventually something small happens like she trips over her feet or spills something over herself and had a meltdown, bc we all get overstimulated and have meltdowns sometimes :/

i can’t explain to you how much i relate to this :(( have too many days like this one !!

you’d be quiet for the most part, more quiet than usual but rafe isnt gonna necessarily question it, just chalking it up to being in a bad mood. by the time you’ve made it to the car, everything’s overstimulating you. you don’t like the songs that keep coming on the aux, the car is rumbling too loud, rafes being quiet too so it’s just setting you on edge thinking somethings up, it’s just too much. but worst of all, you were hungry.

rafe had some errands to run, but he’d promised you fries, mentioned casually earlier which he’d probably forgotten about. you were holding onto that fact, knowing being fed would greatly cure a large part of your foul mood.

you’d passed the midway point, rafe completing another task on behalf of his father before you finally speak up— voice croaky from lack of sleep and lack of use. “can we get food now?”

he glances at you, reversing out of his spot, looking over his shoulder with his mouth parted in concentration. “huh? oh — uh, yeah, yeah soon. i left somethin’ in the boat so i gotta go pick it up.” he speaks casually.

for some reason, it’s your tipping point.

“no… you said we’d—” you’d go to argue, but suddenly burst into tears, crying into your hands. once you start, you quickly realise you can’t stop, the overstimulation and every issue you’d faced that day catching up with you. rafe frowns in confusion at you, eyes darting between the road and your hunched over form.

“hey, what are you — why are you crying?” he asks, and you can’t answer— far too upset. he sighs, thinking for a moment you’re being a tad dramatic, so used to being spoiled by him that you’re crying over something so minor. he doesn’t like seeing you so upset though, so he sighs and starts to turn his wheel, the car hitting a U-turn. “alright, hey, alright. i’ll get your damn fries. shit.”

it’s only when you don’t calm down he actually starts to get a little concerned. you cry the entire journey, not lifting your head from your hands— and all he can do is spare you worried glances before ordering your food. he parks in the lot, a wad of napkins from the food bag in his clutch and turns to you.

“look at me, kid. please?” he instructs, and you reluctantly do. blinking through gloopy mascara and sniffling your snotty nose shamefully. he dabs at your face, holding the napkin to your nose and quietly telling you to blow. he then sets it aside, and places the fries in your lap, running his hand over his chin and jaw thoughtfully for a moment.

“m’sorry.” you break the silence, staring down at your fries. he sighs, shaking his head.

“what happened, hm? was it me? did i fuck up?”

“no rafe, just got overwhelmed. im having a bad day.”

he stares at you for a moment, turning his body to face you more. “what do you… what do you want me to do?” he asks, his own finger gently prodding at his chest. he was trying to understand you, trying to be a good boyfriend. you think for a moment, glumly staring at your hands.

“i wanna go home and just be with you.” you sulk. he nods slowly, staring off out the window.

“y’know i got shit to do though, baby. can’t just… drop everything, you know? got people countin’ on me. m’handling shit today. ” he squints, hating that he has to be tough— but makes his voice gentle enough to soften the blow.

“i know.” it comes out as a broken whisper, and he can tell you didn’t like his answer. he stares at you, helpless, before speaking once more.

“eat your fries, and then you’re gonna go lay down in the back and have a nap, okay? think you need one. we’ll figure it out from there, a’ight?” he places a hand on your shoulder, tilting his head down and staring into your eyes, hoping what he’s saying is good enough. you think for a moment before nodding and he smiles, patting your cheek.

“alright, that’s my girl. proud of you, okay baby?”

[rinhaler]

We Can Sit and Talk, Baby, Get It Off

CHAPTER SUMMARY : you can't sleep, and neither can the unexpected guest you find drinking your dad's whiskey in the kitchen.

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+ only, consensual sex, sleepy slow sex, praise kink, sleeping difficulties, alcohol consumption, smoking, panic attack mention, drugs mention, family drama, arranged marriage mention, bullying. 

WORDS : 5.7k

notes : bc i love u guys :3

       LAST CHAPTER┊MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

The whole car ride home was spent giggling and laughing with Yuuji. You sang along to the cheesy pop songs on the radio and slurped the remaining dregs out of your milkshake. There was so much food still left from your order, but Yuuji had an amazing idea. You should heat it up at home and watch a movie in your room.

It's around 11:45pm when you return, you know your parents will be in bed already. You stumble in quietly, still chuckling like children until you find the kitchen and get to work on heating up the food.

It doesn’t take long.

You get some unsavoury looks from the butler; but he isn’t paid to comment or judge so he lets you continue. You stay as quiet as you can as you go upstairs and pick a movie. Yuuji can barely keep his eyes open but he somehow makes it to the end.

The poor boy had an eventful day, he's full of food and ready to sleep. But it isn’t so easy for you. Now that you're back here, everything that happened today is playing on your mind.

Naoya and Megumi are related… And now, they both hate you.

This could only end badly.

Your thoughts are keeping you awake. You toss and turn and can’t seem to get comfortable. Watching Yuuji sleep soundly would almost be infuriating if he didn’t look so adorable. The room plunges into darkness. Black as night and you can barely see your hand in front of your face. You debate getting up, and decide you can’t take lying like this anymore when it was clear you wouldn’t be getting an ounce of sleep unless you black out from exhaustion. The curtains are shut tightly, no wonder it’s so dark in here. You open them ever so slightly to discover the window is shut too. You push it open as far as it can go, an involuntary grunt fleeing from your lungs. Your eyes screw shut as you heard Yuuji stir awake.

“What are you doing?” he wonders. His voice heavy and gritty with sleep. He groggily rubs his eyes and sits upright to look at you.

“Can’t sleep.” you admit.

“Come here.” he tells you. He lies back down on his side as he waits for you to join him. He covers your body with the duvet while you nestle your body against his, your ass on his crotch while your back rests securely against his chest. He coos in your ear, shushing you softly, telling you to close your eyes. You do as you're told and you're rewarded with gentle, feather light kisses on your neck and shoulder. “Want me to help you sleep?” he wonders.

“Mhmm…”

“Take your shorts off.” he instructs.

Your fingers quickly hook into the waistband of your silk shorts you're wearing to pull them off your body. You never wear panties to bed, apparently it’s healthier to do that. When you lie back against Yuuji, he helps you out of your matching silk vest, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable to his touch.

You lift your body a little so he can put an arm underneath you and toy with your breasts. His big fingers alternate which nipple they tug and tease at. The contact is heavenly. You mewl instantly and he continues peppering your neck and shoulder with sweet innocent kisses. His other hand finds its way to your clit. He explores your folds and decides you aren’t nearly wet enough to take him.

“You need my fingers first, okay baby?”

“Yes… Yuuji please, give them to me.” you hum.

You gasp softly as two of his fingers poke around your entrance. His hand flies to your mouth before you can cry out from them both stretching you open. He hushes you some more, you nod in acceptance. The last thing you need is your parents chewing you out for fucking too loudly and disrupting all of the guests staying the night. He shoves his fingers inside of you, expertly working your g-spot. You writhe against him, but he keeps you secure as he holds his arm just below your breasts. He played with your sensitive tits continuously.

You can’t keep still.

He's driving you crazy.

“Yuuji…” you whimpered.

“Not yet.” he almost warns you. It's disappointing, but you suppose he knows best. He’s doing this for you after all. He doesn’t want to hurt you, it’s meant to feel good.

It’s meant to be fun.

He pulls his fingers out of you before flicking your clit lightly.

You shudder at that.

He quickly inserts his fingers again and he feels just how much slick pumps out of you from the gentle attention to your bundle of nerves. “That’s my girl, that’s it.” he tells you. He finger fucks you for a little while longer. Tears are streaming down your face. He’s hammering at your insides so perfectly and at such a consistent rate. You think you’re going to burst.

“Y-Yuuji!” you cry. He can feel you tensing up. He can feel how badly you want it, how close you are to letting yourself go for him.

You sob a little at the loss of fullness in your hole.

But you’re excited again when you feel him shuffling around.

He’s pulling his boxers off. He lines himself up with your slot. The tip of his shaft is practically sucked in by your eager cunt. “Oh fuuuuck,”

“Quiet princess, gotta be quiet for me.” he sinks deeper into you and you feel tears roll down onto your pillow. He begins to roll his hips slowly. “Are you crying?”

“A little,” you admit. You sniff and turn your head as best you can. He begins wiping your tears away and kisses you chastely. “just feels so good Yuuji, I love you.” you tell him.

“Sh, shhh baby. I love you too. I’ve got you it’s okay.” he hushes as he continues rutting into you.

You turn back so that he's spooning you while he fucks you.

It's so perfect.

He fills you up so deliciously you're worried what it will feel like when he removes himself from you. It feels like home to feel him inside of you.

It isn’t rough, heated sex.

It's slow, it's messy, and it's so passionate. He trails wet kisses on your neck. You reach a hand back searching for his; and he finds you.

He interlocks his fingers with yours and you weep a little more. You grind your hips against him slowly, trying to meet his lazy strokes. He carries on holding your hand, but brings both of your fingers closer to your cunt. He uses his two strongest fingers to draw tired circles into your clit. You moan instantly and he grunts gaudily as he feels your insides squeeze him.

“Y-Yuuji. Oh God, Yuuji ‘m gonna—”

“Me too, fuck. Baby, cum with me. Cum with me princess.” he demands.

You cum with a quiet whine. You pant and pant through your high as you continue backing up against Yuuji. He cums right after you. He fills your pretty pussy nicely with his thick creamy seed.

It's so warm and heavenly. It feels nice and snug inside of your wet walls. Yuuji fills the late night air with obscenities as he pumps his heavy load into you. He pulls out of you and you could feel his cum dribble out and onto the sheets below you.

You roll over, smothering him in a brutal, unforgiving kiss.

“That was the best sex we’ve ever had.” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I’m serious. It was so romantic.” you tell him. He brings your face closer to his again so he can kiss you more.

“Are you tired yet?” he questions.

“A little, but I need to go to the toilet first.” you remind him. He shuffles more onto his back and rests his head comfortably into the pillows.

“Go on, hurry up so we can go to bed.”

You do as you're told, legs taking you to the en-suite as quickly as possible for you to pee.

You wash your hands and come back out to find Yuuji fast asleep and snoring lightly. You smile, clambering into bed beside him. You wrap an arm around him and allow sleep to take over your body.

To say you're furious when you wake up would be an understatement.

Your eyes open and you assume it's morning. But when you look to the sky and see it's still pitch black your heart stops.

You roll over to check your phone. A few hours must have gone by at least.

Nope. Thirty minutes.

In fact; it's been 27 minutes if you want to be technical about it. You couldn’t even manage to sleep for thirty fucking minutes before you're wide awake again.

Fuck it, you think to yourself.

You go to the bathroom to splash water on your face before finding the most over the top dressing gown that your mother had also gifted you for your stay. It's sheer material with gorgeous pink fluff on the edges.

It's so dramatic, it hits the floor and trails behind you.

But it’s not often you get to feel this glamorous.

You might as well embrace your pretentious roots while you’re here. You slide on your matching fluffy pink slippers and sneak out of the room, doing your best to be quiet so that you don't wake Yuuji.

You wander the pitch black hallways.

There's no particular destination in mind. Your feet lead you around the manor. You explore rooms you hadn’t even noticed; and corridors you didn’t even know existed.

But still, through all your adventuring, you find yourself atop the main staircase. You're planning to turn around and go back to bed with Yuuji, however the sound of clinking and rustling downstairs piques your interest.

Could somebody be stealing?

Which one of your mother’s guests is causing such a ruckus?

You step down each platform quietly, not wanting to scare the disruptive presence away. The light in the kitcheb shines brightly, and you turn the corner to stand in the door way.

Of course.

Broad shoulders, a toned back and just above shoulder length black hair.

Who else would it be?

None of the other guests would be such a nuisance, so rude, and make themselves so at home in a house that is not their own.

Toji turns around slamming a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler on the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck—!” he startles as he notices you staring at him. “Scared the shit out of me, darlin’.” he tells you.

“Do you have permission to be helping yourself to my father’s alcohol?” you smirk, the simple expression on your face allows Toji to know that you, in actual fact, don’t care what he does with your dads booze.

“Not in so many words,” he begins, cracking open the bottle lid and pouring himself a drink. “But your folks are always so generous with their hospitality.” he teases. He drinks the whiskey like a shot. He slams the tumbler against the counter top so hard a little bit of excess liquid splashes out.

“Help yourself Toji,” you smile. Your slippers shuffle irritatingly across the kitchen tiles as you walk towards the freezer to get yourself some ice cold water.

“Hey,” Toji speaks, the word comes from the depth of his lungs. The volume commands your body to turn to face him. “Want some?” he wonders, shaking around the bottle of whiskey with a wicked grin on his face. “Oh wait, you’re a borin’ good girl who don’t drink nothin’, right?” he teases.

“Right.” you nod.

“I’m sure it’ll help you sleep… That’s why you’re down here, right? Havin’ trouble sleeping?” he guesses, and correctly at that.

You nod, but you raised an eyebrow. Your scepticism is obvious.

“Will it? Really?” you wonder. He shrugs his shoulder and his expression turns to unknowing. But before you give an answer with words, he assumes that your question is acceptance. He grabs another tumbler and slams it down beside the one he’d been using.

“Worth a try.”

You do accept his offer.

And as a result, you find yourself with a tumbler glass in one hand. Toji leads you out of the kitchen by gripping tightly onto the flesh of your arm. You aren’t sure where he was taking you. But he expertly holds his own glass as well as the whiskey bottle in one hand. His grip is bruising, but you're too tired to care.

You find yourself in a cosy little study room.

Presumably your father’s.

It's like a cosy den, a man cave.

He has one of those retro globe drink cabinets beside his desk. Toji lights the logs in the fireplace and the room instantly feels even cosier. You sit opposite each other on the two red leather armchairs while you sip casually at your drinks.

You kick your fluffy sliders off to let your feet feel how soft the white fur rug is on the ground. Sleepy eyes are drawn to a dart board on the opposite side of the room.

It makes you smile.

You remember your father holding you high as a child in his arms so you could play with the dart board in the old house.

“What’re you smilin’ about?” Toji wonders. Your smile drops as your attention is brought back to him.

“Nothing, really.” you shake your head.

“Yuuji?”

“No.”

He hums. Toji takes a swig from his drink and nods in acceptance. This is painful. It's so awkward.

Why does he want to sit here with you?

Why does he want to drink with you?

The alcohol is making your stomach feel raw, but you're somehow finding the strength to ignore it. You clear your throat and look to the crackling fire beside you.

“Do you love him?” he asks you. “Yuuji, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah? I do, very much. Why?”

“Are you the reason he hates Megumi now? Did ya do somethin’ to make him angry at my son?” Toji ponders aloud. You scoff at that. He really has no idea.

Toji has zero fucking clue about his son, and what a monster he is.

“I didn’t do anything.” you hiss before downing the remainder of your drink. You tilt your glass towards Toji, indicating that you want it to be filled again. “He’s been making my life a living hell at uni, y’know? He’s sick. He’s fucking evil.” you alert him.

A parents love for their children is limitless.

You’re sure your claim will go down like a lead balloon.

“Heh, what’d he do? Scowl at you for too long? He’s all bark ‘n no bite that kid, he’s just—”

“Oh he can bite. In the one week that he decided he hated me, he spiked my drink on a night out and I was blacked out for almost two days. That’s what he did. And that is why I’ve been avoiding drinking.” you inform him. His grip loosens on his glass, but it doesn’t fall from his hand. His scar pulls as his lip turns to a scowl, his eye twitches in irritation. “You don’t believe me…” you sigh, “That’s fine. Yuuji believes me, that’s all I—”

“What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else, tell me what else.” Toji asks.

It's quiet.

But the type of quiet that spoke volumes.

He does believe you. You stutter, hesitate. You aren’t really sure what to tell him, or if you should tell him. But he urges you to speak. He needs you to continue. So you do.

You tell him the names he called you on the first day you met him, the vile things he said. You tell him about how you thought all was forgiven when you went out to eat together, but he flipped on you again and destroyed your sketchbook.

And you explain the club incident in gory detail, everything that you could remember and then everything else that you’d been told. You hum and haw over whether you should tell him about his inappropriate touches towards you too. But you’ve come this far, there's no point hiding anything now.

The way he touched your thighs. How he caged you in beneath him. How he dry humped you in the club when he was bullying you.  

Toji puts his drink down. His elbows dig into his thighs and he covers his face with his hands.

He's breathing.

Just, breathing.

You don’t know what to do, what to say. So you say nothing.

You wait. And wait. He sits back upright and lets his body sink into the back of the leather chair. He rakes his fingers through his hair a few times before looking for something in his pockets.

Cigarettes.

He sparks up.

Your father would be furious if he knew, but you aren't in a rush to tell him. And you don’t have the heart to tell him no, to object. He lets the tar coat his lungs before exhaling.

He looks sick.

“He draws you; you know. A lot.” you inform him.

“S’that right?” he speaks, puffing out a plume of toxic smoke.

“Yeah. That’s why he hates me, I think.” you add, taking another drink of your whiskey to wet your dry mouth. Toji’s interest is piqued. He raises his eyebrows as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Both times I complimented his drawings of you in class, that is when he switched on me.”

Toji’s brows knit. He pinches the bridge of his nose while he holds his cigarette carefully between two fingers. The smoke dances and twirls beautifully as it ascends up to the ceiling like a delicate ribbon. He mutters something.

You don’t quite catch it.

But when you replay his lip movements in your mind, when you really focus on what he just mouthed in your head, you think he said sorry.

“He had a panic attack in my car on Friday,” Toji admits, he takes another puff of his cigarette and picks his whiskey back up.

Really? Megumi?

He doesn’t seem like the type to have panic attacks.

“Breathin’ weird, threw up, even cried a little. The full works.” he carries on. He stubs out his cigarette and tops up his drink.

He needs it.

Those same demons that Megumi tried to drown so desperately in the car that day are his demons too.

He’d inherited them from his very own father.

“That must have been hard for you.” you speak, attempting to sympathise. But you couldn’t deny that you felt smug, happy almost, that Megumi is suffering.

“You know what he told me?” Toji asks you, and you shake your head. “He told me he’s fucked up. He told me he was a fucked up teenager, and he’s even more fucked up now.” he says. Toji’s breathing is erratic. You can see his hand trembling a little as he drums his fingers against his knee.

He can’t handle it.

He needs another cigarette, just one more, one more to settle his nerves.

“Then what happened?”

“I told him he’s not fucked up!” he responds, a little too loudly. He slicks his hair back a little before speaking again. “Well, I told him he isn’t the only one. Everyone’s a little fucked up, right? I told him even I’m fucked up. But he probably already knew that, huh?” he tells you. His foot tapping furiously against the ground as he smokes some more.

You slowly shuffle from the chair to the floor. You crawl over to him and sit by his feet. Like a little animal curling up to its master.

Why are you so drawn to him?

It's nice, he is nice.

He's like an authority figure who actually takes you seriously. Someone who listens to you. Someone who believes you and doesn’t want to treat you like a puppet for his own personal gain.

“But he is fucked, isn’t he? What he did to you is my fault.” he continues you. You rest your hand on his knee and shake your head. But he nods, because what he's saying is true. He blows smoke in your direction.

“He just has some issues clearly, you did the best you could. You didn’t make him bully me Toji.” you tell him.

“Has anyone told you his mother died? My wife, when he was little.” he wonders. You shake your head. “Yeah. I loved her, so it killed me too. So I left him.”

“You—”

“I abandoned my tiny son who needed me so I could do drugs and drink like a lunatic. I couldn’t cope, but it’s not an excuse. I never even apologised to him.” he fills you in, he's coming dangerously close to finishing another cigarette.

You're at a loss for words.

It is his fault.

How could a human being expect to be anything other than fucked up with what Megumi has been through? And to not even receive an apology for it.

Fuck, do you feel sorry for him?

“Well, I said sorry when he was having his panic attack but it wasn’t real. I’ve never claimed to be anything other than a piece of shit so I don’t know what he expects from me.”

“Maybe he expects you to be a decent father and learn from your mistakes, Toji.” you hiss. He laughs at that.

“Y’got me there darlin’.”

You want to stand up. But your liver hurts and you're exhausted. Maybe you’ll just sleep here.

You can crawl back to the armchair, right?

You're finally tired, so tired that you don’t have the strength to make it back to your own bed. Your forehead rests on Toji’s knee. And he smirks when he hears light snores rise from your throat.

He’ll carry you to bed when he’s finished. You’ll be okay here for a little while. He needs more alcohol in him.

He needs to think everything over.

His ears prick when he hears the sound of creaking floorboards drawing closer to the room. Toji is too fucking calm, how could he be so willing to risk being seen with you like this? There's a knock at the door, and when Toji doesn’t respond, they welcome themselves in.

“What the fuck is this?” Megumi asks, staring at your sleeping form, your pretty little head resting sweetly on his knee.

You don’t wake up.

Toji grits his teeth as he looks at his son, his little monster.

“Shut your fucking mouth kid,”

“Have you been drinking together? I’m not shocked, fuckin’ alcoholic piece of shit.” Megumi bites. Toji’s tongue runs along the top of his teeth and he sucks, unsure of what to do now that his devil child is in front of him. Why is he even here? “Knew she was a slut, did she fall asleep sucking you off?”

Toji taps your shoulder lightly and your eyes fluttered open. He grips that very same shoulder when you squeal and back into his legs when you notice Megumi's presence.

Toji shushes you.

Megumi is clever and likes to do everything to you behind closed doors. He’d never risk doing anything in front of a witness, God forbid anyone believe you about his torment over you.

But it's too late.

Toji already does.

“I’ll walk you to your room sweetheart, c’mon.” Toji tells you as he helped you to your feet. Megumi scoffs at that.

“Are you fuckin’ serious Toji? What the hell is going on?”

When Toji is close enough to Megumi he points a finger in his sons face and snarls. He’s furious with him. Through all of each other’s faults, through all of Megumi’s hatred of him, he at least thought his son was a decent person.

They could tolerate each other for a set amount of time. Megumi is smart, he’s calm and collected most of the time except where his father is concerned. But Toji is looking at him now, and he sees himself staring right back.

Megumi is fucked. And Toji is fucked, too.

“I’m takin’ her to bed. I am goin’ to bed. And I don’t give a fuck what you do, but I don’t wanna see that pathetic face of yours until I take you home in the morning. Stay the fuck out of my way.” Toji answers him.

He barges past him with you in tow. Your heart is racing.

It's incredible.

Yuuji stands up for you whenever he can, but Megumi always manages to keep a level head. He's never intimidated. But now, right now when you turn to face him, he looks broken. His eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them and his jaw is clenched.

Megumi is scared.

Megumi is afraid.

Toji did that. He did that to him. And it makes you… smile.

He brings you to your room and tells you to try and get some rest. There are only a few hours you can squeeze in before you have to start getting ready to leave in the morning. You hold onto the door handle. But before you pull it and walk inside your room, you turn to face him again.

“Why are you here?” you ask, curiosity taking over you.

He smirks.

The type of smirk that told you he's about to say something you don’t want to hear.

But his eyes find yours, and he takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone, especially not Yuuji for that matter.” he begins. “It’s pretty obvious your parents don’t like him. Are they tryna keep it under wraps?” he wonders.

“Big time.” you nod.

“I’ll be honest sweetheart, I invited Megumi here too. I was gonna try and push the idea of marrying you both off so I could marry myself into some money.” he informs you. You felt your blood begin to bubble.

Seriously, what fucking century do all of these people you’re surrounded by think you’re in?

First Naoya with his ‘women should be seen and not heard’ notion. And now Toji thinking you’d ever agree to an arranged marriage, with anyone, let alone Megumi.

But your breathing slows as you examine his features.

You’d considered him an authority figure you could trust. Someone who didn’t want to use you as a puppet for their own personal gain. They were the exact thoughts you had in your father’s office.

And now, he's just blown that trust up with his stupid confession in seconds.

But the longer you look at him, you think… At least he’s honest. And at least he listened to you, believed you.

“It’s okay.” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pushing the door open so that it's slightly ajar. You face him once more with a smile on your face, “You’ve never claimed to be anything other than a piece of shit, right?” you tease. He laughs a little, acknowledging your call back to his previous words.

“Right.” he agrees.

“Goodnight Toji.”

“G’night princess.”

Yuuji slept so soundly, he didn’t even realised you’d left and come back hours later.

He wakes up feeling refreshed and packs everything in your room as quickly as he can. The man is desperate to get out of here and return to normality. He smiles at your sleepy, tired body as you do your best to pull on a pair of leggings and a big baggy top. You want to be comfy for the car ride home.

Maybe you’ll be able to sleep for a few hours, too.

You do one last check of the bathroom to make sure you didn’t forget anything and then zip your case securely. Yuuji carries on doing a sweep of the room to be certain nothing of his gets left behind, and he still needs to get dressed.

“I’m gonna go and say goodbye to my parents.” you tell Yuuji.

You're about to head down the stairs when you felt a fist ball into your t-shirt and yank you backwards. Your back is against the wall and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. You’ve been in this exact position one too many times with Megumi before.

He settles a hand on your shoulder to pin you in place while the other rests on your hip, his knee found comfort between your thighs. It's a little too close to your heat; but Megumi is too close to you all together.

“Someone has been interfering and running to tell tales to my dad.” he speaks, the tone telling you everything you need to know.

You aren’t sure if Toji has told him or if he's worked it out all on his own.

And yet, while you're shaking, while you're terrified that no one will come to your rescue and protect you from him again, a wave of power surges through you. Your fists ball into his shirt. That alone catches him off guard.

What has happened to you?

You take the fleeting chance to spin him around, pinning him against the wall.

“I’m not fucking scared of you anymore Fushiguro,” you begin. He tries to shove you away but you push against him harder, “you’re just so desperate for daddy’s approval aren’t you? Want him to want you so badly. I know everything about you now, and he knows you better than he ever has before.” you say calmly with a smile on your face.

“Shut the hell up—”

“You’re just sad, lonely, pathetic. And I repeat, I’m not scared of you anymore Megumi.” you inform him.

You turn to walk away, but he grabs your wrist and forces you against the wall once more. He’s red in the face, a particularly lively vein pulses by his temple.

You’ve done it now. Fuck, you’ve really done it now.

Your eyes screw shut as you prepare for whatever he's about to do to you.

He is scary and intimidating. But you can at least take pride in knowing no matter how hard he tries to keep you down you’ll always get up.

But when both of his hands cup your face and his lips find yours, your breath hitches in your throat. It’s hard and strong, but no tongue. His eyes are closed and yours fly open. You raise your hand, your palm claps against his cheek and his whole face turns away from you. You shove him backwards with so much force his back connects with the wall opposite to the one you’re against. Both of you pant and catch your breaths in the particularly echoey corridor.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” you ask. He doesn’t answer. He’s still panting. Using the back of his hand to wipe away the dampness on his lips.

His eyes find yours again, and he’s lost.

He’s lost in them.

Lost in you.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Do us all a favour and get the therapy you desperately need.” you finish as you finally manage to escape him and descend the stairs.

What was that all about?

You think you better wait until you leave to tell Yuuji what happened.

In fact, you aren’t sure whether you should tell him at all. Your parents stand in the driveway as they watch Yuuji drive around and leave the manor.

He’s happy.

You’re happy.

You’re going home!

This nightmare is finally over.

Megumi stands in the doorway as he watches you leave. Part of him wants some fresh air, but he could have went in the garden for that.

He’s fuming at himself.

Why did he do that?

Why the fuck did he kiss you?

He needs to find Naoya. Whatever his sinister little plan is for revenge on you, he needs to get himself in on it. What he just did will be forgotten, he’ll get himself back on his sadistic little horse. And you’ll both be able to forget that he forced his lips onto you. When he turns around to find his uncle, he’s greeted to the sight of his father instead.

“Move.” Megumi commands. Toji crouches down so he’s eye level with his son. That all too familiar wicked, scar pulling grin etched on his face once more.

“You better leave that girl alone.” he instructs.

“Or what? You’re fucking off to wherever you go for months at a time tomorrow, so you aren’t in any position to stop me.” Megumi boasts, preparing to walk away from him once more.

“Wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Wrong, Megumi. Wrong. I’m fuckin’ movin’ in with you and Tsumiki so I can keep an eye on ya. Ya sick fuck. She told me everythin’. Fucks wrong with you?” Toji alerts him.

Megumi feels his stomach sink. Really? He’s really sticking around?

“She’s a fucking attention seeker, she’s lying to you.” Megumi fibs. The elder Fushiguro shakes his head. Toji gets in his face, real fucking close. So close that Megumi is almost drunk from the smell of last nights whiskey on his lips.

“You. Are. Fucked.” Toji tells him, his face becoming more serious so Megumi knows he isn’t playing around. He couldn’t, he shouldn’t say that to his own son. But he’s right. Toji needs to let him know, he needs to help him get better. Maybe helping his son will help him too.

“You made me, Toji.”

“If I see or find out you’ve done anything to that poor girl, I’ll break your fuckin’ knee caps. Hear me? In fact I might fuckin’ kill you. No wonder Yuuji wanted to rip your throat out.” Toji jeers through his teeth. Megumi can’t believe it.

He's showing more care and adoration for a complete stranger than he had to him his whole pathetic existence.

“Get out of my way.” Megumi relents. Eager to escape his father’s intense glare.

“Nah, we’ve been summoned.” Toji notifies him. Megumi’s eyebrow raises as his full attention returns to his father.

“Summoned? What for?”

“Zen’in clan wants to talk to us,” Toji explains as he slips a cigarette between his scarred lips, “They wanna talk to the princess’ parents too.”

© 2021 fuwushiguro | © 2023 rinhaler

[temis-de-leon]

Day 20 - Kiss on the hand

Characters: Satan x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: emotional intelligence chases Satan, but he's way too fast. Sudden and kind of inappropriate discussion of marriage, established relationship, Satan implied to be taller

A/N: I think this is ooc, but my brain decided to ✨stop✨, so here it is. I still like it, tho

.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hm?”

MC usually liked when Satan fixed his eyes on them. His stare almost had an academic feeling to it, like he was actually observing and trying to answer questions only he knew, but MC never found themselves being scrutinized. He still looked at them with care and fascination and the glint his eyes wore whenever they shared a moment of comfortable silence reminded them of the human sea and the sunrays bouncing on the water surface.

It was a feeling of being home that only he could bring and MC was far too happy indulging in it.

But this time was different.

He was blushing, distracted by a thought in his mind that, judging by his face, was a rather embarrassing one. He mumbled, shook his head and blushed even more. Was he… arguing with himself?

They had to admit, Satan had been acting strange the whole night. Keeping them close, but not engaging in conversation, holding their chin and staring at their lips, but not kissing them. Showing off their relationship before his peers, flaunting MC’s accomplishments with pride without looking at them.

It wasn’t anger, no, Mc would’ve known had that been the case.

Satan was embarrassed about something. Something involving them.

But what?

“What do you mean?” he asked, interrupting their thoughts.

A horrible liar, he was, cheeks tainted in a deep red and voice strained.

“You haven’t looked at me for hours and now you can’t stop staring”

“Why, can’t I appreciate my partner’s beauty?”

A faint flash of aggravation crossed his features and MC was quick to smile and cup his face.

“Something’s been on your mind” they said gently, enjoying the softness of his skin “What is it?”

The song suddenly changed to an ever slower one and he made sure to discretely move them to the farthest corner of the venue. The bride and the groom, both friends of Satan, walked to the centre of the dancefloor amongst cheers and applauses, the very few lights of the room soon focusing on the newlywed couple and leaving the guests surrounded by darkness. Even though it was a warm summer night, MC hugged Satan’s waist and swayed to the music, smiling when he brought them closer and rested his cheek on their head.

“So?”

MC felt him sigh against their chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I haven’t forgot. It’s just… them”

He slightly turned his face, probably looking at his friends, and MC felt their heart give a violent jump. What was he actually talking about?

“Relax, MC” he said when he senses their tensed body, but that didn’t calm their nerves. Their fingers were tingling, cold sweat running down their back and the uneasiness making them tremble.

Please, please, tell them Satan wasn’t going to propose to them during his friends’ wedding.

“I hope your reaction doesn’t mean you reject the idea of marrying me”

They moved away just enough to be able to look at each other, his breath still reaching them. It had a faint smell of alcohol and MC deeply hoped his words weren’t being fuelled by the influence, though he’d been acting weird since the beginning of the night, before they started drinking.

His apprehensive gaze reminded them he had implied a very important question.

“This is the first time you’ve even mentioned marriage” they said, immediately clarifying themselves to not give the wrong impression “Not that I’m saying no, but this is… this is something!”

Despite talking in whispers, the sincerity and borderline ridiculousness of the conversation brought the attention of a couple of guests. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to catch the wedding party’s eye, but MC still looked at their boyfriend in panic.

“Yes, I agree, this isn’t the best moment, but I couldn’t get it out of my head”

The seriousness in his voice dried MC’s mouth. They wanted to be mad at him for bringing up such a serious topic in the worst possible scenario, but a part of them jumped in joy at the prospect of being with him forever. Of an official paper signed by Lord Diavolo making it clear to the rest of the world.

“Forgive me, MC, I shouldn’t have talked about it here and now”

He sighed once more, lifting their hand to his lips and kissing the back softly. His eyes stopped at their ring finger for a brief moment and MC’s breath hitched once more.

They didn’t talk much more for the rest of the party, too tired from all the dancing and the socializing and the discussing about potentially spending the rest of their lives together.

But they held each other and they kissed each other and, once they finally got home, they sat down on his bed and talked, not stopping until both of their faces hurt from smiling.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @craftysclown @mehkers

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part two

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: the playlist is up now and i think it's cute so far!! if you have any song suggestions that should go on it please let me know!

the songs in this part are "Into the Unknown" by Idina Menzel, "Never Enough" by Loren Allred, and "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" by Celine Dion !!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

four months earlier

"Hey, what did I say about breathing, hun?" You turn on your piano bench, stopping your playing abruptly. "You sound strained."

The little girl giggles, shaking her head. "I'm sorry! I always forget!"

"Okay, well, forgetting to breathe won't do you much good, will it?" You ask, smile on your face as you raise an eyebrow at her.

"Probably not, miss."

"Definitely not!" You laugh, placing your hands on your knees to push yourself up from your seated position. "Here's what we'll do. No music, we'll just go through the first verses together without breathing. Go as long as we can, yeah?"

The little girl nods, and you take a deep, dramatic breath before you start your part with the three big interjections so she would know when to start. You smile as you watch her take a big deep breath too before her part comes in, and you continue with her.

"You're not a voice, you're just a ringing in my ear. And if I heard you, which I don't," She giggles at the spoken line, which you know is her favorite. You smile and motion for her to keep going with you. "I'm spoken for, I fear. Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls. I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls."

That's the part where she can't continue, her singing voice fading into a strained whisper as she tries to get it out, but you can keep going.

"I've had my adventure, I don't need something new. I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you..." You don't make it much farther, considering you had started much sooner and had some belted interjections, but you try your best. You both laugh as you gasp for a deep breath when you're done, chest feeling tight.

"Even you can't sing for long without breathing!" She laughs, and you nod.

"See? That's what I'm saying! I lasted just a little longer, but that comes with years of practice, so you've gotta focus on your breathing now, and you'll outsing me in no time."

"Now," You start, walking up to her and grabbing her hand, molding it to be held out flat in front of her. "Hold your hand right here, and every time you breathe, you should be feeling your tummy hit your hand. Big, quick breaths. You got it?" You ask the little blonde girl.

Coryo watches from the crack in the door as she tries it out, and you make sure her hand is in the right place. He smiles a little to himself, seeing how good you are with her. You had just started teaching a few months ago, and you told him you loved it, but he had never stopped by during your lessons before.

"Yes, just like that. Are we ready for music again?" You smile, and she nods, arm held out firmly in front of herself exactly where you placed it.

You gently pat her shoulders and head back over to your piano seat, flipping back to the first page of the old yellowed sheet music in front of you.

He watches your hands as you play at the same time as you sing, looking back over your shoulder to cue her and play her in.

"Big, big voice!" You remind her as she reaches the chorus, wanting her to really push.

"I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you, into the unknown!"

"Yes, good! You're an angel!" You smile when she nails it, pushing into the piano keys.

"Keep going, let's do the whole thing." You encourage her, normally you would do it in small sections to work on little bits and pieces, but you wanted her to try out the full thing at least once before her lesson was done for the day.

With your waiting room at the academy just a little ways down the hall, Coryo is sure he could still hear your accompaniments from there, so he goes to sit and wait for you to be done.

"Alright, you did amazing today! What are we going to work on tomorrow?" You ask, holding the door for the little girl as she walks out with her backpack.

"Breathing!"

"Yes, good. Now remember your hand, where does it go?" Coryo assumes she's showing you when he hears you praise her. "Yes! Good girl. Go through the whole thing ten times tomorrow with your mother, and I'll see you on Thursday, okay?" He stands up when he hears you say your goodbye, grabbing his bag and preparing to go.

"Thank you, miss! See you on Thursday!" He can hear her skipping off down the hall, followed by the main doors opening and closing before he walks over to your training room.

He peeks through the open doorway, watching you gather up your sheet music and put it carefully into your book bag.

"What song was that? I've never heard it before."

You jump, turning quickly and staring at him with wide eyes, which quickly relax when you see your best friend. "Coryo." You laugh softly, shaking your head. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." He chuckles, taking that as permission to come in, stepping in and looking around.

"It's from an old, old movie. I've never heard of it, but the company that composed them for the films had tons of pieces more suited for children." You explain, holding out the unpacked bit of sheet music to him. He takes it carefully from your hand, flipping through the old book, labeled 'Disney' across the front. "Those ones are harder, a bit above her level, but I wanted to try pushing her, and she likes it, which helps." You explain, holding your hand out for him to pass it back when he's done.

"Did you learn many of these?" He asks, tilting his head at you as he hands it back.

"Oh, all of them." You laugh, carefully tucking it into your bag. "I performed one from that same film when I was about... twelve? Yes. Twelve. My teacher accompanied me for the sirens' part."

"Is that what you were singing in hers?" Coryo asks. He's sure he must be annoying, laying into you with question after question, but he was truly interested. He loved hearing you sing- he wanted to know everything you were willing to share about your life. Especially the massive part of it he knew he would never quite fully understand; your music.

"Yes, it is." You nod, cheeks flushing as you close up the piano. "It's so beautiful, I've always wanted to try that part. If she excels at it, maybe I'll accompany her at the gala."

"Oh, right. Where can I buy tickets again?" The music academy had a gala at the end of every year, and the students would all perform something- you were one of very few who got a solo. You'd gotten one every year since you had enrolled officially at five, and every year the people of the Capitol looked forward to it. Tickets were hard to come by, but that's because they were held for family and friends of the students. This year would be your last, and next year, no one doubted you would have a residency performing for the elites. You had done so a few times before, but Coryo could never afford a ticket- though, that never stopped you from offering them up first. Another benefit to be added to the list of things he can afford after he wins the Plinth Prize.

"I have spares, they're all yours if you want them." You smile at him, heading for the door and flicking off the lights. "But you don't have to come."

"It's your last gala, of course I'll come." He insists, closing the door behind himself as he follows you out.

"Yay! Then I'll get you the tickets." You grin, heels clicking as you walk alongside him down the hallway.

"Thank you." Coryo grins. "Hey, do you want to work on that English assignment together tonight? We could go to that coffee shop you like."

"I have rehearsals." You sigh. "Sorry, but maybe tomorrow? After I practice?"

"Rehearsals? Already?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. That was a stupid question and he knew it.

"You're right. That was dumb." He laughs. "Can I come?"

"To rehearsals?" You ask, stopping as he opens the door for you. He nods. "I guess so. You'll just have to hide in the back so Miss Cornelia doesn't see you."

"Alright, guess I'll be hiding then." He smiles.

It doesn't take long to walk across campus to the theater, and you and Coryo part ways when you take the stage entrance.

He walks around to the side of the building, sneaking in through an emergency exit. He can hear you warming up already, your voice carrying through every hall and stairwell in the theater.

When the door at the very back upper level of the theater creaks open slowly, you have to keep yourself from looking or drawing attention to your friend's entrance as you continue with your scale. You were already warmed up from your lesson, but Miss Cornelia always insists you do anyway. Realistically, there was rarely a moment when you weren't asleep that you weren't "warmed up."

"We're starting with 'Never Enough,' " Your instructor tells you, and you nod slightly, taking a final sip of water while she signals for whoever was in the booth today to start the instrumental record. If you were to perform this live, you would have the orchestra there, but it was difficult to get forty people to agree to come practice just for your rehearsals. By now, everyone knew you didn't need it anyway.

You didn't want to start with this song- you didn't even want to perform it anymore, but she liked it. It was below your skill level, by this point, but people liked to hear it. It was a beautiful piece, but ironically, it wasn't enough anymore if you wanted to progress your career.

Coryo pulls out his homework on his lap, finding the sound of your voice very relaxing to work behind.

"Stop- stop!" Miss Cornelia calls out, and you're hardly past the first chorus. The music cuts out, and Coryo looks up from his book. You look at her with a furrowed brow. "You're listening to yourself. Stop that. You know better. Now, start again."

The piano starts, but your argument makes it halt again. "I'm listening because I want to hear something different. I've been doing this song for years, I want to at least improve somehow if I must keep beating this dead horse."

Your instructor raises an eyebrow at you. "Oh?" She asks, dropping her pen down on her notepad. "You think you've perfected it, have you?"

You swallow your fear, nodding slightly.

"Okay, well, you still sound stiff in the bridge, and the final chorus is still under-supported." She critiques you, challenging you with her stare.

Coryo watches the interaction, confused as to what on earth this woman was talking about. He knew little about the technical terms and what she meant, but to him, it sounded perfect. He had heard it before several times- you definitely knew what you were doing.

"I'm not performing this." You reply simply, shaking your head as you reach for your water bottle. You had enough self confidence with your singing to know she was just letting the music fall on deaf ears- so familiar with the piece and your particular voice that she would never find it perfect. "Let me do something else."

"Not until this is perfect."

"Sorry, allow me to rephrase: I won't be performing this. I'll be doing something else." You insist, bringing the bottle to your lips and Coryo wants to cheer you on for standing up for yourself, but he stays silent.

"Okay." Miss Cornelia replies, clapping her hands together. "What do you suggest? Since you're the professional."

"I Will Always Love You." you offer, placing your water bottle back down, screwing the lid back on. "Or Skyfall, or Human, or Time to Say Goodbye, Memory, With or Without You, Mandy, Praying, I don't know- any of these other songs that I have been working on for years!" you exclaim, speed and volume increasing with every title you throw at her. "Don't you think any of those could be more representative of my range?"

"No." Your instructor shuts you down quickly, pushing her glasses up her nose. "We have been preparing this for your final gala for too long to change it now. That's not fair to the orchestra or the board. The university is expecting it as well."

"It's All Coming Back to Me Now." You demand, and the theater gets so silent in the moment that follows that Coryo is sure you could hear his breathing from the stage if he wasn't already holding it back.

He doesn't know the song, but the deafening silence that followed your suggestion led him to believe it was something difficult or different than what he's used to hearing from you.

"That piece isn't difficult, the orchestra doesn't even have to learn it. I can play for myself on the piano and they will be that much more impressed, no? The hardest part is the vocals and I know I can do it- I've been practicing it for years. My family says it's outstanding." You continue, determined in your every word.

"Your family? Oh, well, that's wonderful. Maybe they should coach you, then. Since they're experts." She scoffs in response. "Like I said, the university scouts are expecting 'Never Enough.' We couldn't change our submission now if we wished to- and even if we could, the unprofessionalism you'd be displaying would be astounding. So no, absolutely not."

You sigh. You don't need that stupid scholarship- you probably won't even need to go to university for anything more than the title you'd get after you graduate. You were essentially promised a residency at the opera house already, but she was right. It wasn't fair to the orchestra to throw something new at them only one semester away from the gala, or remove them from the plan altogether.

"Again." She says, not giving you the chance to fight with her before the music meets your ears again.

You shake your head, waving a hand dismissively at the sound booth. "Let me play it for you, then decide."

Coriolanus could feel the tensity of the situation somehow increase as your coach nodded in unenthused approval.

She was willing to hear you out, that was good.

You take a deep breath, turning on your heel to go over to the piano on the stage. Every footstep masks the pounding of your heart at the small victory, your nerves only spiking when you remembered your best friend was there to listen today.

Oh, but when he hears you play...

He did not expect the intensity at which your voice came in as he tried to make out your hands moving across the keys, eyes straining from the back of the large auditorium to try and hold on to your every word and note. You didn't even have any sheet music, and your eyes were closed as you played. You had certainly been practicing this piece for quite some time.

This was unlike anything he had ever heard you perform before.

"There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than any laws would allow..."

Particularly, he realized, in subject matter.

You were not kids anymore, that much he had to come to terms with very suddenly. He didn't expect you to be so comfortable with the verses leaving your lips, but if you were nervous by them, it was unreadable.

God, this song must be like ten minutes long.

Every time he thinks you're done you're not, and with every high note, every borderline scandalous line, he's not sure how you haven't fainted. Well, no. He knows better than that, but he knows for certain that he definitely would have.

No one in Panem can sing quite like you.

"The flesh and the fantasies, all coming back to me.

I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now."

Coryo wonders if you even know the implications of every word. If you understood and just didn't care, or if you were innocently ignorant. The idea of sex wasn't something you ever spoke of, but he figures himself foolish to hear you sing this with such clear passion and assume that you didn't understand. To sing about heartbreak and lovemaking and complex emotions all in one song and belt it like you felt every word, well, he didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he couldn't hold it anymore.

Coryo, you're both eighteen. If you get it, she gets it. Be realistic.

Maybe that day, homework long abandoned in his lap, your best friend started looking at you just a little bit differently.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[twisted-tales-of-all]

Just as the Kids Predicted

Summary: When the new student mentor catches first-grade teacher Mr. Yang’s eyes, he tries to keep his crush to a minimum. However, when they get too drunk at the annual holiday party and confess their feelings for him as he drives them home, he begins making moves, and a snowstorm during a staff-only workday helps them move things along even faster. Pairing: Yang Jeongin x afab!Reader Genre: fluff, smut, one-shot, collab Tropes: teacher!AU, forced proximity, mutual pining Word Count: 6k Contains: cursing, alcohol consumption, drunken confessions, snowstorm, pet names (babe, baby, love), lots of heavy kissing, sex in a classroom, unprotected sex, handjob, fingering, begging, teasing, praise, temperature play (cold room vs hot bodies), overwhelming orgasm (fem. receiving) A/N: Welcome all to Our first entry to the 16 Days of Smutmas! We hope you've all been enjoying everything so far and will enjoy this piece as well! Also, special thanks to @binniebeams for helping me figure out my banner<3

He never thought that simple things could affect his feelings, but seeing all the kids accepting you as the new mentor brought a smile to his face. Your general kindness to the staff and students alike warms his chest. Your offers of help never fail to cause the butterflies in his stomach to flutter. You affect him in ways the kids use as examples of true love, and he tries his hardest to keep things professional.

And he's done so well so far. Despite the strength of his crush, he breezes through the first four months of the school year without a slip-up. Even when you visit his class daily thanks to little Ethan acting up, he keeps his emotions in check. Even when his first-grade class begins shipping you two together and singing their little songs about your alleged relationship, and he sees you redden at the idea, he doesn't mention how cute you look.

"Morning, Mr. Yang!" Your joyful voice greeting him brings a smile to his face.

"When are you going to use my first name, Miss Y/N?" He teases you by calling you the same way the kids do.

"I'm sorry," You giggle out at his adorable fake irritation, continuing, "It's just a habit after working with the kids all the time."

"I'm starting to think you don't actually know my first name."

You puff your cheeks at his claim, jokingly upset that he'd even think that, but he stands there and waits for you to prove otherwise. To egg him on, you dramatically spin on your heel and walk away. Wondering if his assumption is correct, he follows, calling after you with an underlying disappointment in his voice.

"Oh, come on, Y/N! You didn't actually forget my name, did you?"

Stopping without warning, you turn around to confront him. Before you can speak, however, Jeongin runs into you, unable to stop his momentum quickly enough. You both turn red from embarrassment and stumble over apologies. In your apology, you address him using his first name, so he instantly feels butterflies in his stomach and stops talking.

"See, I didn't forget."

As the first bell rings, he bids you farewell for the time being. He walks over to his class with the joy of a little puppy thanks to the interaction. His class notices and tries to ask about it to distract from the tasks for the day, but he quickly brushes off their questions and starts the class.

Just before the first-grade classes go to lunch, Mr. Yang calls you over to help with a little boy throwing a tantrum. His whole class is so excited when you walk in that you have to scold them, but you look over and find their teacher staring at you as well, making you flustered. Bringing the boy to the far corner to talk, you hear giggles from other students as the teacher tries to remember where he left off. After calming down the boy, Mr. Yang sends them to lunch, leaving the two of you alone.

"Thank you for helping. He always responds better to you for some reason."

"No worries, it's just the job. I'm sorry that your kids get distracted when I come in."

He laughs and waves away your apology, explaining that kids will always be drawn to a new distraction rather than whatever they're learning at the time. Then, he asks whether you'd like to join him for lunch, assuming you don't get another call. You agree, walking with him to the staff lounge to grab your lunch. As you sit together to eat, the vice principal walks in and sees you, using the opportunity to talk to you both about upcoming events.

After reminding you of the schedule for parent conferences and holiday break, she brightens her tone to ask, "And you're both coming to the holiday party, right? It'll be so nice to get all the staff together to celebrate and let loose a little!"

You joke that you can't imagine certain staff members letting loose, even for a party, but you also confirm your planned attendance, "Not sure how long I'll stay, but I'll definitely show up. My car is out of commission right now until I can save up to fix it, so I have to figure out transport first."

Jeongin makes sure to take mental note of your situation before confirming that he'll be there whether he wants to or not, "The other first-grade teachers refuse to let me spend the holidays alone this year, so they'll bring a task force to drag me there if I don't show up."

"They'll drag you?!" Shocked that the teachers who act so nice to you would threaten violence against Jeongin, you can't hold back your reaction.

As the vice principal laughs and leaves the story for Jeongin to explain, she walks away wishing you well. Jeongin sighs at the thought of reliving the story but begins telling it regardless.

"I didn't show up to the holiday party last year. When they asked why, I made the mistake of saying that I've never had a good time at holiday parties before. Now, they're forcing me to join this one to break the cycle."

You can't help but laugh at him as he puts air quotes over the last few words and rolls his eyes after. You come to their defense, claiming, "Well, you don't know until you try. They're just trying to help you have a great time here - don't be too upset with them."

"Not you, too! I guess now I really have to go; even the new mentor is telling me to."

As the warning bell rings, you both finish up lunch. You're pleasantly surprised that you weren't called to a class for the full break, but right as you throw out your trash, you hear your name over the walkie. You respond before wishing Jeongin a good rest of his day.

Since conference week means shorter days for the kids, they get a bit hectic. So, you bounce around between classes all week, and Jeongin only sees you in passing or for a short time when his students act up. Although he can feel the empty feeling in his chest as he misses the small interactions between you, he pushes that feeling down and reminds himself that he'll see you at the holiday party tomorrow.

As the last day before vacation wraps up, you see him in the copy room, so you approach, "Hey, Jeongin, why are you working when vacation is starting?" 

"I have to make sure I have everything ready for when we get back to work. I don't like to leave it for the last minute."

"Oh, that's smart. Get it done now so you can forget about work and have fun tomorrow~!"

"That's my only other stressor. Then, I'll be able to enjoy my break."

Lightly hitting his shoulder for his lame joke brings a cheesy smile to his lips that makes your heart skip a beat. You try to stabilize yourself long enough to tell him that you'll see him tomorrow, but your words don't roll off of your tongue as well as usual. Despite your choppy sentence, Jeongin happily says he'll see you tomorrow, claiming that he's excited to spend some more time with you.

As you go home, you question his phrasing. As you wonder whether he meant the comment towards all of his coworkers or specifically you, Jeongin beats himself up for letting such an obvious flirt leave his lips when he thinks you only see him as a friendly coworker. As you both wrestle with yourself over the conversation, you both land at the same - completely incorrect - conclusion: "We're just friends."

Following this conclusion, you also decide to use alcohol to forget your feelings, and, with the party quickly approaching, it's the perfect opportunity. Drinks with good company always go well. You go to sleep with that idea in mind.

Meanwhile, Jeongin stares at his closet as time ticks by, wondering what the perfect casual party outfit would be. He puts together a few outfits before falling back to the first one he put together - a pair of khaki cargo pants with a simple white turtleneck and a long black coat. He readies the outfit and goes to sleep hoping for a good day.

As you both get ready for the party, you can't get each other off of your mind. Even when you remind yourself it's just a day to drink with friends, his face keeps popping up. Despite his constant reminders that you don't see him the same way, Jeongin can't help picturing how wonderful you'll look.

He arrives right on time to save his coworkers from wondering if he'll show. However, this doesn't save him from constantly checking the door when people arrive, eagerly awaiting your arrival. As he slowly sips from the cup of mystery juice that was shoved into his hands by a fellow teacher, he keeps himself within eyesight of the door at all times, but he didn't even need to.

When you arrive about an hour after the party starts, an eruption of voices welcomes you, "The newbie is here!" "Hi, Y/N!" "Oh Y/N, I'm so glad you're here!" "Ooh, look at Y/N! Who are you dressed all cute for?"

As you laugh off the comments, you curse yourself for choosing the fancier outfit. Despite both of them being similar to what everyone else wears, you should've known they like to tease new employees at get-togethers like this. As Jeongin sees you, he takes a massive gulp from his drink, hoping for the alcohol to keep him from thinking improper thoughts about you.

By the time you reach Jeongin in your circle of hellos, someone already handed you a drink. You take a sip as you approach him, only to find that they threw extra alcohol into your cup. You try to hide the wince from the feeling of drinking such a strong mix, knowing your colleagues will use your reaction to tease you.

"Hi, Y/N. Glad you made it. Did they make your drink too strong? I can go get you a new one, if you want."

"No, no. They want to test me. I saw it in their eyes. I'm not standing down." You tilt the cup towards him slightly as a mini toast before taking another swig and letting the liquid warm your body.

As he watches the effects of the drink flush over your face, he finds that the alcohol is enhancing his feelings for you rather than burying them, so he decides not to drink anymore for the night. This also leaves him the opportunity to be a designated driver for you, since you mention paying for a taxi to get here.

You two spend a lot of time together, with plenty of teasing about being 'the lovebirds' from your coworkers. They also make sure your cup never runs dry, so that they can see what happens when you get properly drunk. Since you know your limits and love playing competitive games, you pace yourself enough to slowly give them their satisfaction, but never fully.

As the party begins dying down, you mention that you should probably call yourself a ride home, but a handful of people get upset about you drunkenly getting into a stranger's car. Silently thanking everyone for giving him an easy way to jump in, Jeongin offers to drop you off at home, stressing that he hasn't had any alcohol in over two hours and that he'd feel better knowing you got home safely. Although you fight a bit at first, you eventually agree, accepting his offer and saying goodbye to the rest of the group.

Despite being mostly stable, Jeongin stays close to you, ready to catch you or offer himself as a crutch if you need one. He opens the passenger-side door and helps you get in, even buckling your seatbelt for you. He's so focused on your safety that he doesn't even register how close he gets to you, but you notice and feel the thumping in your chest quicken. As he walks around to the driver's side, you take a couple of deep breaths in a sad attempt to stabilize your emotions.

As he buckles up and turns on the car, you thank him again for his kindness and enter your address into his GPS.

"Don't even worry. I'd much rather be certain you're safe. I don't know what I'd done if something happened to you tonight. Oh! You live close to me! How convenient!"

You mess with the radio a bit, landing on what might be the only station that isn't playing Christmas music. Even though you don't usually listen to the sappy love songs they play, you've had more than enough holiday cheer today, so you'll take it. Mindlessly, Jeongin sings along with some of the songs, leaving you in awe of his hidden singing talents.

"Wow, I love your singing voice, too." You blurt out, the mix of alcohol and amazement dropping your filter before you can notice.

"Too?" He chuckles, "What else do you love to say it like that?"

With a hazy mind, you forget that you've chosen to hide your feelings and erupt into your confession, "Well, your regular voice, for starters. Your face - especially your smile. Hmm... the way you act with the kids. Oh, even your fun little teases at me. There's a lot to fall for, you know! That's not even scraping the surface."

As you finish, you look up to see that the car has stopped. Looking over at the man next to you, you find him staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed in your direction. Suddenly, it hits you that you just admitted your feelings so strongly, directly to your crush. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth, but you babble out some apologies for your ramblings, insisting that he can forget everything that you said if it makes things easier.

"You like me?" He asks, an excited tone held back for your confirmation. After you nod, he adds, "I've liked you for a while now! I can stop hiding my feelings now, right? Thank you, fate and alcohol, for this moment!"

As excited as the kids at school when the cafeteria gives them cookies, Jeongin pulls back onto the road to finish the trip to your house with a giddy smile. Although it takes a bit longer for you to register his words, his smile contagiously reaches your lips as you recognize that he reciprocates your feelings.

Arriving in front of your home, you hesitate to leave, but Jeongin quickly unbuckles and rushes to open the car door for you.

"You're so sweet, Mr. Yang." You tease him as you exit the car by using that name again.

He pouts, asking you to call him a better name, "Anything but what the kids call me. Please."

Holding your chin to think up a name, you decide to lean into the lovey-dovey angle, "Okay, Innie~. I'll call you cutely from now on, I promise!"

His cheeks flush at the nickname, and he stumbles over his next words, "Ah, thank you. So, uh... Y/N, shall we call this day one? Er, I mean - do you want to date - er... Can I be your boyfriend?"

Out of embarrassment, he looks off to the side, but you ask him to lean in closer to you so you can whisper something in his ear. When he gets close, you leave a kiss on his cheek and giggle as you make your way to the front door, "Is that a proper answer?"

As soon as you're inside, you start dancing happily around your home in excitement. Jeongin smiles brightly the whole drive home and similarly begins excitedly flailing around in the comfort of his house. You both feel childish for feeling so strongly about the start of a new relationship, but neither of you cares since the overwhelming joy feels so great. When Jeongin gets to bed, he faces a bout of insomnia that he hasn't had since childhood - he's so excited for what's to come that he can't fall asleep. Even though he still has nearly a full week before the staff prep day - and he can't even be sure that you'll be there, since you might not have anything to prepare as a mentor.

As young, blossoming love tends to do, Jeongin keeps you on his mind all week long. He can only hope he's taken over your mind in a similar fashion, as the smallest things remind him of you out of nowhere. All sorts of questions come to mind: Does Y/N like sweets? What music is her favorite? Does she have any phobias? Do they prefer calling or texting?

Suddenly, while preparing a smoothie that begs him to wonder about your favorite drinks, Jeongin's phone dings. It isn't his usual text tone, so he grows interested immediately and unlocks his phone to find a message on the school's app. Since vacation started, only messages marked as urgent ping him, so he's even more confused. However, he can't help but laugh as he opens the inbox to see your name. Your email immediately apologizes for surpassing his DND protocols, but it continues on about how you'd like to thank him for driving you home and not having another form of contact. You leave him your phone number, suggesting that texting will be more convenient. Since the work emails are monitored, you leave no indication of anything beyond a friendly coworker relationship, but Jeongin smirks as he finishes reading it. He quickly adds your number to his contacts, saving your name with a heart in the notes.

Thinking up a witty first message, Jeongin lands on referencing your drunken confession: Couldn't wait all week to find out more things that'll make you fall for me?

Within five minutes, he sees you reply, snarkily asking whether he wants to wait all week before talking to his new girlfriend. He has to admit, he might've gone crazy if he went all week thinking about you without being able to reach you. Now that the option is there, he's quite relieved. Especially as the text banter between you two shifts to include compliments and flirts. You lay on your bed, kicking your feet the whole time; His smile never fades as he leans into the phone so intently after every new message.

The day passes quicker as you occupy each other's time, and he nearly forgets to ask about the prep day. When you say that you need to sleep soon, he quickly asks: Oh, before you go, will you be using prep day? I wanted to know whether a beauty would grace my presence on Friday :P

You roll your eyes at his comment before explaining that you sadly do need to prepare more disciplinary notes and good behavior cards, so you will be there. His heartbeat speeds up when he reads it. Giddy at the idea of seeing you again without the kids around, he responds by expressing his happiness and wishing you a good night.

Although you text each other throughout the day, it isn't taking over your lives like yesterday's conversation. You both have plans, so the messages are slow and sporadic, but reading every message brings a smile to Jeongin's face, and his friends point it out quickly. Since they've been friends for over a decade, these friends know Jeongin's cues instantly, even though he initially tries denying their teasing claims that he's finally dating.

"Come on, Jeongin. There ain't no way you can hide that smile. Out with it; who is it?"

With a sigh, he gives in, "You remember how I told you that we got a new mentor for the kids?"

"Told you he liked her!"

"Oh, shut up. Let him talk! We finally got the baby dating, it's a big moment."

"Baby? Big moment? Come on, it's not that big of a deal. They confessed while drunk, and now we're together. That's all. Nothing big."

"Nothing big? Dude, if you got a runken confession, that means she was thinking of you a lot."

"Probably kept it hidden for a while, too."

Taken aback by his friends' thoughts, Jeongin flushes as he entertains the idea of you having a crush on him for a while. Maybe they're right; maybe you liked each other early on and kept hiding it from the other person.

"Mommy! Mommy, look! That's my teacher! Mr. Yang! Hi, Mr. Yang!"

Quickly greeting his student and their mother, Jeongin's mind drifts away from the thoughts of you for a moment, only for the student to bring you up.

"Where's Miss Y/N? Are you not together today?"

As his friends try to contain their laughter, he explains that you aren't always together, even at school. As the kid dives into how you're together whenever you can be, Jeongin stumbles over trying to explain. Luckily, the mother makes up an excuse to pull them away, apologetically waving to Jeongin as they leave. Once out of earshot, his friends let their laughter erupt.

"Dude, even the kids ship y'all! That's so crazy!"

The rest of the meet-up consists of catching up on everything, including a massive focus on the relationship. It wears him out, so he falls asleep almost immediately after lying down. When he wakes, he quickly pulls on a casual outfit fit for the freezing weather to prepare his class materials.

He arrives and greets a few coworkers on his way to the copy machines. Walking into the room, he sees you alone, with your back to the door. Passing you, he slides a hand into the small of your back. You tense up, not knowing who touched you, but you relax when you see his face next to you.

"Morning, Innie. Do you have a lot to prepare?" Although you keep your focus on the machine, you quickly turn on the cute tone and nickname for him, which warms his heart on this cold morning.

"Not too much. I finished most of it before break. Only a few more copies and some work in switching up the classroom decor. How about you, babe?"

You quickly look around to make sure nobody heard him before lightly hitting his shoulder, "Not at work! I don't want them to tease us yet! I don't have much left to do. I can help you organize your room if you'd like."

"You sure you don't want to head home? It'll probably be really cold in the room since the heater doesn't run over break, and I heard that it's supposed to snow today. You're okay driving in it?"

"Oh, don't worry. I don't really think it'll be much snow, and I've handled snow plenty of times before."

As you both finish up in the workroom, he grabs his papers and leads you to his classroom. The clouds in the sky look thicker and darker than earlier, but you don't pay it much mind. Instead, after checking your surroundings for listeners, you joke that his breath shows more since he's clearly the hotter of the two of you.

"I can make your breath show clearer if you want to try me." He rebuts, making your brain freeze at the thought.

He unlocks the room and holds the door open for you as the lightest bit of snow begins falling. He quickly runs through the plans for the change but looks at you and loses focus. Even all bundled up in the cold, you look so cute that he can't resist.

"Can I kiss you? You look so adorable."

After you nod, he holds your face in his hands and leans in to kiss you. Even though people talk about sparks, this feels nothing like that. Instead, it's warm, comforting, and welcoming. However, as it continues and you snake your hands around him, the kiss blends into an urge for more. By the time he pulls away, your body has heated up in anticipation, with your breath pooling thickly into the air as you try to pace it back to normal.

"Told you I could make it clearer." He snarkily jokes, trying to move his focus off of his urges to learn you fully and completely.

Suddenly, something thumps against the door, making you both jump and separate. Jeongin approaches the window to see the cause, finding a snowstorm brewing outside and a pile of snow against the door.

"Uh, Y/N, how long were we kissing?"

You look at the clock to find that its hands have jumped quite a bit, "Maybe 15 or 20 minutes? Why?"

You rush to the door to look outside, but you can't push it open. Your eyes widen as you look at your boyfriend, wondering what to do now.

"We're stuck."

"Fuck. I have some snacks and water, but I don't know how long the storm will last."

With the snow blocking the exit, the room grows colder due to the lack of insulation. You bring out your phone to check how long the storm is predicted to last.

"It's a dead zone. I saw it as a blessing since the kids can't play on their phones in class, but it's the opposite now. And wi-fi is shut off for the vacation to save money, so we just have to wait."

He begins pacing as you curl into yourself on one of the desks, trying to get as much warmth as you can. Noticing you shivering, he stops pacing to offer his coat. You decline, insisting he'll just get cold instead.

"Well, I can hold you instead, then. Is that okay?" He holds his arms open as he waits for your response.

Although you find it a bit embarrassing to accept so quickly, you pull him around you before you can offer a proper verbal response. Whether the urge for warmth or the desire to move forward with your boyfriend drives your quick acceptance is unclear, but the feeling of being in his arms warms you in both your body and soul.

"Thank you, Innie. This really helps."

You settle with your head on his chest, becoming acutely aware of his racing heartbeat. However, he's far too distracted by the fact that you pulled him in between your legs to think about that. A tent begins to form in his pants, and he thanks everything for you being far enough back on the desk that it only hits the material and not your thigh. His luck runs out quickly though, as you become uncomfortable leaning forward and scoot into a more comfortable position. Feeling the warmth hit your thigh, you quickly joke about it.

"You sure are warm there. Share it with me, why don't 'ya?"

Looking up, you watch his face quickly turn bright red at your comment, and you feel his member twitch at your words. Unsure of the meaning behind your words, he looks down and meets your eyes. The lust in your eyes is anything but subtle, and he catches it as soon as he looks.

"Is that really what you want? You want me to warm you up more? The hug isn't enough?" The more he speaks, the more he teases, but all he wants is to confirm your consent.

When you lock your lips with his, it shocks him, but it answers his questions well enough. He lets you lead as you snake your hands under his shirt, the sensation of your cold fingers melting in the warmth of his back egging him on more than either of you expected. He deepens the kiss by gripping your hips, massaging small circles into the soft flesh with his thumbs. Instinctively, you grind your hips, but he holds you still, not wanting to move past the make-out session yet. As you melt into each other, the snow outside has already settled, and the storm quieted. But you'd never know - not when you're both distracted, with the heat of your actions clouding up the window and obscuring the view outside into a blur of grey and white.

The blur of your bodies becomes harder to distinguish where one ends and the other starts as you reach into his pants and set him free. As the air hits him, he winces, but the warmth of your hand quickly combats the cold air. You stroke his length as you continue to kiss, feeling his breath catch in his throat before he breaks the kiss, his head falling back as the sensations of your handjob overwhelm him. Your lips fall to his exposed neck, making him melt further into your touch. As you feel his body slowly lower itself, you stop and tell him to get ahold of himself or lay on the desk himself. He quickly puts his dick back into his pants in response.

Eager to prove himself, he grabs your arms and places them around his shoulders before tapping your legs to get you to wrap them around his waist. He lifts you up and brings you to his desk - one more solid, bigger, and a bit taller. Although you expect him to place you on top of it, he stops a bit before it, letting you down to stand leaning against it. He places a quick peck on your lips before turning you around to lean over it. He kneels down, pulling your leggings down with him. With a hand around you to keep you from leaning too far forward, he uses his other hand to tease you through the thin fabric of your underwear. You cover your mouth to hide the sounds you find embarrassing, but it only makes Jeongin more eager to hear them. Moving your panties to the side, his fingers rub between your folds, using your slick to lube up his digits. Slowly, he inserts a finger, curling it up once it's fully inside. Your sounds become harder to hide as he hits the right places, egging him on. He pulls it out completely, adding another finger as he enters again. The stretch of your walls earns him a barely-muffled moan. He continues moving those two fingers, feeling your body react as you rock your hips against his hand.

Kissing the soft skin on your backside, he coos, "Does it feel good, baby? You just need my fingers to become a total mess?"

Unable to form a full sentence, you simply whine in protest, with one word leaving your lips, "More~."

"Y/N, that's not how we ask kindly. Let's use our words properly, now, love." He halts his motions to let you speak.

"Jeongin, I need more. Please, can you fuck me?" You beg, your breathing heavy in between your words.

"Since you asked so nicely."

Removing his fingers, he undoes his pants, pulling his pants and underwear down together. Holding himself at the base, he runs the tip between your folds, teasing you a bit more. You beg him to put it in, but he doesn't listen. Instead, he rubs his length in between your folds, coating himself in your juices. He ignores your whines and pleas, taking his time to make sure it'll feel good and as pain-free as possible for you both. Although you're truly glad he knows how to prepare properly, your lust wins out, begging and bucking your hips in an attempt to rush him along.

When he finally feels ready, a silence pairs itself with him lining himself up as you both hold your breath in anticipation. As his tip passes through your entrance, a light pain surges through your body as he stretches you out. He praises you as he continues, bottoming out after a while.

"Good job, babe. I'll wait like this. Tell me when you're ready for me to move. You take me so well. You're so warm and tight, hugging me so nicely."

"Jeongin, less talking, more moving." Your lust still finding its way out on top, you know you won't be satisfied until he moves; the pain will fade into the pleasure.

"Are you s-?"

You grind back against him, cutting his words short. Finally taking the hint, he pulls back and thrusts back into you roughly. With your walls tightening around him the whole time, he tries to focus on something other than the sensations so that the experience lasts longer for you both. His grunts fill the room first, louder than you expect. When your moans join, it brings a cocky smile to his lips and some extra determination. He moves faster, hitting all the right places without trying.

"Jeongin, yes!" Just like that babe~ keep going!" The words fall mindlessly from your mouth, encouraging him well as you near your climax.

"Are you close, Y/N? Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock."

The grit in his voice sends you over the edge, and your orgasm overtakes you so strongly that you nearly collapse. Your legs shake as the sensations ripple through you, somehow desperately forgetting how to hold up the rest of your body. Your vision goes white for a moment before returning to you as a blurry mess of color and motion. Noticing the strong reaction, your boyfriend stops his movements and holds you tightly to keep you steady and aware.

In a whisper to limit the toll on your senses, he coaxes you through it, "I'm right here, Y/N. You did so well, and now you can rest and relax. We can lie down for a bit to calm down, okay? Let me pull your pants up for you - there we go. Now, carefully, let's move back from the desk and lie down."

You don't even register when he removed himself from you. Usually, the emptiness strikes you as soon as someone pulls out, but your orgasm must've been too strong for you to notice. As your vision slowly refocuses, you notice that he's draped his coat over you as you lie there together. When you try to move it to cover you both, he gently stops you.

"Shh. Stay here like this for a bit, love. We have time, so you can take as much rest as you want. I'll be right here next to you."

"I wasn't getting up, Innie. I just wanted to share the coat-blanket with you."

"I'm warm enough. I just did a full workout, after all." He pets your head as he reassures you.

A thought pops into your mind that makes you sit up quickly despite your previous statement, "Did you get to finish?"

He shakes his head, "But it's okay. You seemed really overwhelmed, so I wanted to make sure you were okay. It felt really good; I don't need to finish when I had that good of a time."

Although you fight with him over it for a bit, he eventually convinces you to lie back down with him. You cuddle until you nearly fall asleep. To wake yourself back up, you get up to check the door. It's still difficult to open, but you manage to crack it open a bit. Jeongin brings you inside and slides through the opening, and you watch him shovel the snow out of the way with his hands. When he gets the door fully open, you greet him with a kiss before holding his ice-cold hands in yours, trying to warm them up for him.

"The kids will get a kick out of this story."

"Hell, I think they would've tried to plan this themselves if fate hadn't."

[bluesylveon2]

OMG HI I CAME AS FAST AS I COULD WHEN I SAW REQUESTS FOR 400 FOLLOWERS WERE OPEN I LOVED YOUR ORTHO FAMILY DAY ONESHOT!! i was gonna ask for idia + "i wont say im in love" or "once upon a dream" bc both are SUCHHH good disney songs, i hope you can write whichever one seems more fun to you, lots of love!! - ♡ anon

Omg hi!!! Thank you for reading the ortho fic! It was my first time writing for twst and I glad at how it turned out. I chose "I Won't Say I'm in Love" because it just screams Idia 😂. Hope you enjoy anon!!!

Notes: Idia being in denial, mentioned Vargas camp pt 2, fluff, Azul uses one line from the Ghost Marriage, and the housewardens team up on him (it's basically their team-building exercise lol)

Word Count: 975 (I said that these are supposed to be drabbles but now they're oneshots lmao)

Warnings: possible ooc characters and not beta read.

Idia thought the Vargas camp was torture, but it was actually Crowley's team-building camp (with no technology, might he add) filled with some of the scariest people he knew (read: the housewardens) and the Ramshackle Prefect. 

Yes, the Prefect.

Crowley said she needed to attend since she was in the same position as them for Ramshackle. However, Idia knew she didn't have to be there since Grim was her only dorm member. The real reason she was here was to keep the housewardens in check. 

"You're staring off again," Vil's smooth voice caused Idia to jump and take his attention away from the nearby Yuu talking to Crowley. 

“I’MNOTSTARINGATYUU!”

Vil sighed, "I never said anything about the Prefect."

Idia wanted the ground to swallow him whole, "H-how long have you been standing there?" 

Vil crossed his arms, a frown etched on his flawless face, "Long enough for everyone to get stuff for camp except for you," he emphasized his words by pointing out to the vacant field except for the Prefect standing far from them. Vil, annoyed, gracefully walked over to Idia and pressed a manicured finger to his chest, "Look, I'm not sure what Yuu sees in you, but if you hurt her, I will not hesitate to send Rook at you," he said in a brotherly manner. Idia swore that Vil's glare could kill him if it could. 

Idia's hair turned slightly pink, "Whoa, whoa, why would I hurt Yuu?" He was grabbing one part of his jacket when he heard Vil sigh.

"I don't want to see her shed any tears over you, got it?"

Idia opened his mouth to reply but was stopped by Malleus teleporting to him. 

"You are going to hurt the Child of Man?" Malleus frowned. 

Vil rolled his eyes, "Malleus, do you think that Idia is in love with Yuu?"

"Hey!"

Malleus hummed in thought and ignored Idia, "Lilia taught me what love was the other day, and I think Shroud fits the description. He mentioned how humans can turn red, and I assume that Idia's pink hair is a similar reaction."

Idia squealed and feebly attempted to blow out the pink away, but it grew out of embarrassment. 

"Will you shut up! Some of us have better things to do and nap," Leona called out from a nearby tree. He had an annoyed and tired look on his face. 

"Hey, Kingscholar, do you think Shroud has feelings toward the Child of Man?" Malleus innocently asked the lion beastman. 

"I'm literally right next to you!" Idia exclaimed, but it fell on deaf ears again.  

Leona opened one eye and looked at the group, "Do I think? Hah, I know he does. Radish Sprout tries to keep his lovestruck face hidden from Yuu, but we can all see it. He can't conceal his obvious swooning. Honestly, it makes me want to puke."

Idia's hair was a mix of pink and red "I am not trying to hide anything!" He exclaimed, causing Vil to roll his eyes. 

"Hey, guys!" Kalim threw his arms around Idia and Malleus, causing them to stumble a bit, "is there a party going on?"

Malleus shook his head, "No, but we were discussing how Shroud harbors feelings for the Child of Man," he pointed at the said male with his thumb. 

"WHEN DID WE COME TO THAT CONCLUSION?"

Kalim's mouth was open in an o, "Oh, I can definitely see it! There was one time I tried to invite Idia to my party, but he was too busy swooning over the Prefect that he accidentally hit a wall," he sighed sadly. Meanwhile, Idia wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there. 

"What is going on here? We should be looking for food or logs for the campfire!" Riddle looked like steam was ready to burst out of his head, but Azul, who was behind him, didn't look bothered by it. 

"We are talking about how Idia likes Yuu," Kalim brightly smiled that it could rival the sun. 

Azul held back his laughter while Riddle rolled his eyes, "What are we? School girls." He pointed a finger toward Idia, "Don't even think about denying it! Own up to it!"

As a last-ditch effort, Idia looked to Azul, "Azul, we're friends. Disagree with them!"

Azul let out a fake sigh, "Well, I buy many things as a businessman. I don't buy that you don't like the Prefect. To think that Idia, king of all introverts, would fall for the Prefect... I can't see through all my tears of joy," he said, wiping away a fake tear. 

"NOOOOOO!" Idia's hair was now entirely pink, and he tried to hide himself behind his hands. Vil, annoyed (again), grabbed a compact mirror from his pocket and opened it. He angled to where it showed Yuu feeding Grim some tuna. He grabbed Idia's hands and yanked them down, "Hey Idia, look into my mirror and tell me what you see."

Idia briefly glanced at the mirror, and his scared expression turned lovestruck, "It's Yuu feeding the itty bitty kitty," He sighed, causing everyone (including sweet little Kalim) to smirk victoriously. 

"Well, we got our answer. Let's go, gentleman." Vil closed his mirror, startling Idia, and stood up. Everyone else headed out, including Leona, who decided to find another tree to nap in.

In gaining his scenes, Idia scrambled to save himself, "Wait, that doesn't prove anything!"

"Your face said it all," Vil called out.

Idia watched as everyone became small figures until he was alone, "F in the chat for me. I will admit it, but I won't say it out loud," he muttered. 

"You won't say what out loud?" Yuu's voice asked from behind him, a hint of amusement in her voice. 

Idia wanted the earth to swallow him whole and throw him into a pool of lava. 

400 event is still open!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-23. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

[reidsaurora]

hellohello i'd like to order a confetti cupcake with luke alvez and a hint of a "oh shit are we really doing this" kind of relationship/date whatever thank youuu

this is the cutest ever, i'm so happy with how it turned out! hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

"The Mistletoe Mishap" ~ L. Alvez

pairing: luke alvez x gn!reader

summary: "you'd be surprised just how seriously the bau took their christmas in july celebrations."

word count: 922

warnings: a couple swear words, mentions of food, a lil splash of sexual humor at the end, i think that's it!

genre: festive fluff ❤️✨️

extra notes: the icon in the collage is by @delicatejareau (edited to fit the theme of the collage a lil better) and the dividers below are by @anlian-aishang!

beta read by: @dungeons-are-too-cold (thank you, love!)

birthday bash | masterlist | ask box

🧁 Confetti Cupcakes - send me a character + concept/trope/au and i'll write you a blurb!

You'd be surprised just how seriously the BAU took their Christmas in July celebrations.

What started as Penelope bringing Christmas cookies to the office one day turned into watching Elf during their lunch hour, Secret Santa exchanges, and weekly contests to see who could show up in the ugliest Christmas sweater (Spencer was winning so far with his sweater made completely out of tinsel).

However, the one unfortunate part of Christmas in July was the mistletoe hanging over every. single. doorframe.

Sure, mistletoe in the workplace was awkward enough as it was, but it certainly didn't help that there was one person you absolutely couldn't get caught under it with.

You and Luke had been dating for a few months by this point and, thus far, you'd successfully kept it under wraps. But every time one of you stopped in a doorway, your heart began to beat so hard, you thought it would bang its way out of your chest.

Usually, you two found a way to keep enough distance that it would be almost impossible to pass under the mistletoe at the same time. But today? The last day of your Christmas in July celebration? Of course it would be the day you didn't.

You and Luke were the last two to show up at the round table room for lunch and a movie, which you'd gathered was Frosty the Snowman when you heard the familiar theme song upon walking in.

Your shoulder brushed something hard as you entered the room, and for some reason, you just knew it wasn't going to end well when you looked up and made eye contact with whoever else was under the mistletoe with you.

You attempted to make a run for your seat, but a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. "Now, Y/N, you know the rules of mistletoe," Penelope reminded you from her seat. You should've known there wasn't a way out of this, not when Penelope Garcia, self-proclaimed President of the 'Christmas In July Club', was around.

The rules of mistletoe varied a little in the workplace, at least. Some people went for high-fives while others went for hugs. Emily had even gone as far as kissing Tara on the cheek one day, but no one dared to kiss anyone on the mouth yet. So, really, there was no reason to panic, right?

Still, you froze in place, your fight or flight mode clearly not having kicked in yet. Instead, your eyes met Luke's with a look that said, 'please save me,' your hands gripping your lunch bag for some form of stability.

Your chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm, your heart beating hard against your sternum. "Are we really gonna do this?" you silently mouthed up at him, your whole body on the verge of something close to a panic attack.

"Come on, you guys," Rossi teased, "If Boy Genius can high-five people under the mistletoe, you can too."

Chuckles erupted from your coworkers, but not from you nor Luke. Instead, Luke looked down at you, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips, and somehow, as simple a gesture as it was, the soft eye contact was enough to bring you out of your state of panic. You knew that whatever happened, whether he kissed you or not, and whether or not this kiss led to your secret being exposed, Luke had this, had you.

In one swift motion, he had both his hands planted on either side of your face. "Fuck it," he whispered, barely giving you a second to process the words before his lips were on yours.

His familiar scent fell around you like your own protective bubble as he kissed you, his hold on your face absolutely intoxicating. The taste of his morning coffee burned through you, your stomach doing a loop-de-loop at the sensation.

You knew as soon as he pulled away that all eyes would be on the both of you, but you didn't expect half of their jaws to be on the floor.

"Damn," Emily said, flabbergasted. "Is everyone around here getting laid except for me?"

Penelope was the next to speak, which was quite surprising, considering it looked as though her jaw was out of commission not three seconds prior. "Who knew Newbie could canoodle like that?"

Your face flushed as crimson as the sweater your colleague wore. "Penelope," you scolded her, your hands bringing your lunch bag in front of your face, covering the blush that had taken over.

Luke was having none of that, pulling the lunch bag away from your cheeks. "Y/N sure knows," he smirked before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

The blonde all but jumped out of her chair. "Is this a thing? How come no one told me about the thing? Why am I always the last to know about a thing?"

Luke tossed an arm around your shoulders, providing you with a sense of calm and comfort as you thought about your next words. "Technically," you started, "you're all the first to find out about the thing."

"Except Roxy," Luke corrected. "She pretty much knew it was a thing before it actually was a thing."

Next thing you knew, the girls were pulling you over to one side of the room, practically begging for details. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Spencer sharing a fist bump with Luke, a smile overtaking your face.

Oh, how they got on your nerves, but oh how, you loved the BAU.

-> taglist: @1234-angelika @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @danielle143 @esposadomd @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @cwritesforfun @cynbx @juismissing @captainchris-pike @lukeclvez

[redheadspark]

hey :) hope you’re having a great day!!

May I have Benedict Bridgerton from Bridgerton with #19?

A/N - I think this is cute for Benedict! Thanks for requesting this, friend!

All Is Well

Summary - You knew, deep down, all is well with your husband to be at your side

Warnings - Fluff

“You seem distracted, darling?  Anything you wish to speak about?”

“Not at all, mother,”

“Well I should hope you’re distracted, your wedding is around the corner and is the talk of the season,” 

You hummed and nodded your head, taking a sip from your tea.  With the warm sun on your face and the cool air going through from the trees, you were keeping your composure and remaining calm in front of your mother who sat across from you, seeing her chirp self at the subject of your upcoming marriage into the Bridgerton Family.  It wasn’t you who was excited to join the well-known family, but the rest of your own family as well. It was a perk that both families have been friends for years and years, the parents knowing each other since childhood and the children playing with one another as if they were related and cousins.  You, in particular, grew close to your now fiancé.

Benedict Bridgerton, the artist and your soulmate.

You both realized your connection when you had your coming out season, Benedict feeling it in his chest and the blossoming effect in his alert widening with every second as you walked into the ballroom, dressed in a lavender gown and wearing one of your mother’s tiaras.  You felt it then too, instantly finding him across the room and seeing his bright eyes drill into yours. 

It was almost like fate: the pair of you finding one another on the dance floor and being in each other’s arms during the first song of the night.  Violet Brigderton, misty-eyed at the sight of her son holding his soulmate for the first time, seemed out your mother and clasped her arm tightly.

“I think it’s a match made in heaven!” She beamed at your mother, who agreed.

Now, a month before your wedding, the nerves were kicking in with all the arrangements that were made.  Flowers, food, the church, and the reception, it was all too much a time to bear.  Not to mention wanting to make things perfect, in your mother's eyes at least.  If it was up to you and Benedict, it would only be your families in front of the priest at the church.

Then again, you knew that was not going to be a reality.

Thankfully, your soulmate was in your corner with all your worries, mostly because he could hear your thoughts.  You never minded it, you both were close as children and best friends long before you found out you were soulmates.  Benedict could read it on your face and sense it in your tone of voice, you were thankful that he was an attentive soulmate and wanted to make you happy.

But now that he could read your mind, it was a whole new world for him.

Know when you were cranky when you woke up in the morning, which jokes made you laugh and smile, even your more private thoughts when you two were in bed together which helped him bring you immense pleasure.  Not that he would cruelly use that, but he was an amazing soulmate.

You couldn’t wait to marry that Bridgerton man.

Speak of which, you felt an itch in the back of your mind, almost like someone was knocking on the door into your thoughts as your mother was taking another sip from her tea.  It was a familiar sensation, and you knew instantly who was wishing to read your mind.  

I miss my fiancé dearly, and I do hope she’s well with her mother.  

You grinned slightly, knowing the voice far too well and the warm tremor.  You knew he was with his family, mostly his brothers, as they were on a hunting trip and getting some time together before the wedding.  Benedict joked with you that he would rather be painting a portrait of you, almost like a tease for your honeymoon that was coming up, but you persuaded him to be with his family and that time together.  You, being an only child, craved to have brothers and sisters of your own.  Yet you were gaining 7 brothers and sisters through the marriage, all of whom were wonderful to you and already considered your family.  

My darling husband-to-be should be enjoying himself with his brothers.   I voiced in your head, knowing full well he was going to hear it clearly in his mind.  You had to imagine him smiling while riding his horse, attempting to hide it from his brother since they would tease him with no mercy.  You’ve seen it once or twice with those Bridgerton boys, one time especially when it made you blush and Benedict glare at his brothers.

But them meant well, and you were beyond excited to marry in that family in a month’s time.

“How is your fiancé doing?” Your mother asked you out of the blue, you placed your tea cup down and were about to answer when Benedict’s voice once again floated into your mind, softly, like a breeze first thing in the morning.  

How are you, my darling dear?  He asked through his thoughts.  You loved talking to him like this, whether you both were in a crowded room on opposite sides, or sitting side by side and enjoying the peace and quiet of your apartment.  Being around Benedict was calming, like the breeze after rain or the Sundays after darkness.  Benedict had that effect about him, he knew how to make you feel peaceful and loved at the same time.  

“He’s enjoying some time with his brother before we wed,” You replied to your mother, seeing her hum and smile widely at you.  Reaching over, she took your hand in her own and tapped it a few times, you see the happiness in her eyes and feel it in her grasp.

“I’m so overjoyed you two are soulmates, my dear,” She explained, her eyes almost going misty as you squeezed her hand in yours, “I can think of no one else who is worthy of your hand and heart except for Mr. Bridgerton.  I knew you two were always meant to be, I simply knew it.  As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,”

“I’m beyond happy with him, Mother,” You reassured her with a peck on her cheek, “I can only hope Benedict and I will be as happy as you and Father were when you were freshly married,”

Your mother simply beamed, you both reaching for your teas again as you were speaking through your thoughts once more.  The cool and calm air was running along your skin as the soothing taste of your tea touched your tongue.  

All is well, my love.  All is well.  You thought in return.  And all was well, a month later when you two were married in your little church, and two years down the road when you were expecting your first child.  

The End

September Prompt Session

[searchingforplanes]

Lay, lady, lay

WC: 1.6k

Notes: Ancient fluffy-ish blurb from my google docs. Just a simple Sunday morning crumb.

TW: typos, curse words?, mention of pills?, me being repetitive and using song lyrics as endings and titles because I don't own one single ounce of creativity nor talent

‘Matty, can you grab my meds for me, please?’

You scrunch your nose at the sound of your groggy morning voice, cursing the pollen that’s been filling the newly warm spring air and, consequently, blocking your sinuses and keeping you awake all night. 

Fucking allergies. 

Your boyfriend just hums in response on the other side of the bed, eyes glued to his phone while he numbly scrolls away, barely registering that you’re talking to him. You turn your head to take a better look at him: sleepy eyes, messy ringlets, pouty lips, long sideburns and, dulcis in fundo, his slightly hairy chest peeking out from the duvet. 

If your relationship was happening in a fairytale, despite gender stereotypes, right now you would be the evil ogre and him the princess in distress kept captive in your tower, guarded by dragons and whatnot. You don’t even need a mirror to confirm your theory, sleeping beauty by your side looking like a proper snack at eight in the morning while you feel like a truck just ran you over. Prince charming, in this case, must be the sun: the same soft rays that are burning your retinas seem to only caress him in a shower of light, gently tracing the slope of his nose and making his glossy curls glimmer.

You grunt, turning to lay on your tummy and firmly planting your face on your pillow, praying for it to swallow you and keep you there, in the valley of soft feathers and comforters or wherever pillows come from.

The fact that you're thinking about fantasy worlds for the second time in a row since you’ve woken up it’s a clear indicator of how bad of a few hours of sleep you got and how you have a whole lot of creative dreaming to catch up on. You need meds.

Matty’s weak attention span has already faded when you try to gently nudge his leg with your feet, startling him. He turns to finally look at you, putting his phone on the nightstand.

‘Are you trying to suffocate yourself?’ The smirk he’s so obviously sporting makes you want to slap him right across the face. You raise your head just slightly to try and set him on fire with your glance, but the result is poor: Matty full on laugh at the sight of your tired eyes, failing at your attempt to appear threatening. You let your head fall back on the pillow in defeat, mumbling about how bad of a boyfriend he is. 

‘Aw baby, don’t be mad at me, it’s not my fault you’re just adorable with that red nose of yours. Did you escape from Santa Claus’ barn? ’

That was the ultimate dick move. Realising you’re not in the mood for jokes he tries to apologise, scooting towards your side of the bed to envelope you, but you keep your distance, sliding blindly to the edge of the mattress, as far away from him as possible. 

Until you feel nothing underneath you. 

You land on the floor with a thud almost as loud as to grant you a knock on the door from your angry neighbours, but the sound of your failure is soon replaced by the grunts of your boyfriend who’s apparently trying really hard to stop himself from laughing at you. 

Dickhead.

While you wait for him to come and rescue you, because of course he has to laugh in your face just for a moment longer, you start plotting your revenge. Maybe you should just grab one of his ankles and sweep him off his feet, but then again, who’s gonna pick you up with his dead weight upon you? The plan is unviable.

He crouches beside your limp body before you can even attempt to find a plan B, looking down at you with a faint smile until he decides that the time for pity has finally come. He circles your torso with his arms, raising you from the ground until you’re flush against him and your hands are gripping his neck. He then pats the sides of your thighs, inviting you to place them on his hips and you oblige, defeated, the pain in your back overpowering the need to ignore him. For now, at least. 

Comfortable in his arms, you decide to nuzzle against his neck, ignoring the destination of this little walk until the cold marble of the kitchen counter bites the naked skin of your legs. He has strategically placed you between the kettle and the fridge, you notice, the perfect spot to smooch you in between the steps of preparing breakfast. He does this often, especially when in trouble and desperate for your forgiveness. The bastard knows how to make you soft.

You accept the first sweet kiss to your nose with a grunt, involuntarily starting to warm up to him. He then starts the little routine of his, walking between the two appliances an unnecessary amount of times, purposefully avoiding multitasking to kiss you over and over.

He fills up the kettle, smooch. He takes the butter out of the fridge, smooch. He reaches for two mugs in the cupboard above the steaming appliance, smooch. He goes back to retrieve the milk, smooch.

And then his absolute favourite: toast. He grins like a kid walking back to you with the slices of bread in his hands and you roll his eyes, but you let him have his moment.

‘May I?’

You barely nod, his arms reaching behind your back to place the slices inside the toaster, which is conveniently located behind your back. His torso leans over you in the action, one hand, now empty, coming to your waist while the other turns the lever to the highest setting, just to make sure he has time to get his way with you before having to return to chef duty. 

He smirks before crushing his lips on yours, forceful and bold, his other hand coming around and gripping the thin material of your shirt over your ribcage. He tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue coming out to graze at your lower lip but you physically have to push him off you. Before Matty can even ask what’s wrong you break into a fit of coughs, and it’s like a lightbulb switches on over his head. He places his hands on the counter on either side of your legs and looks at you sweetly. 

‘You out of breath already? Did the allergies get to you?’ 

You mumble in affirmation, your throat too sore to try and speak and curse him out for his lack of attention before. The toaster goes off, triggering Matty to finish his little routine, buttering the toast and tossing the teabags before placing the meal on the kitchen island. 

‘Go eat, I’ll take your pills’ 

You oblige, watching your boyfriend’s boxer-cladded rear make his way to the master bedroom. You munch on breakfast while listening to the screeching sound of the bathroom drawers being opened and almost certainly getting messed up with Matty’s frantic research. 

He returns a couple minutes later with a triumphant look on his face, swinging the blister pack in the air like a trophy. 

‘Open up’

You stick your tongue out and he places the medicine on your tongue, letting it dissolve until the bitter taste fills up your mouth. You take the glass of water Matty slides over to you, raising the corners of your lips in an appreciative smile. He smiles right back and as best as he can, considering he’s stuffed his mouth like a squirrel to catch up with you on his toast. 

‘Can we go back to bed after this? I don’t think I can manage my eyelids being open for much more’  

He grins at this, swallowing hard and reaching for his tea to down it as fast as possible, the prospect of spending the cosy sunday morning under the duvet with you much more appealing than any other plan. So much so that he almost burns his tongue with the hot liquid, eager to answer you. 

‘I’m all yours, darling’

And he is. A perfect Adonis draped on the pillows, still half naked, with burning hot skin that smells like sandalwood, all yours, trapped under the weight of your head on his bare chest. Your ear is pressed against his ribcage, listening to the rhythm of his heart, a deep, constant beat that sounds like it was pulled out from one of his songs. 

‘I’m sorry for earlier, I was kind of a douche’ Matty whispers mere centimetres from your ear.

‘You were, but you can make up for it’ 

He wiggles a bit under the covers, impatient to hear your request.

‘Stay still and sing me to sleep, will you?’ You stifle a yawn right after and you flutter your eyelids close. Finally, your breathing evens out.

‘Sure thing, princess. Any requests?’’ 

‘Blue sunday’ You answer. It’s an unintelligible mumble, but he knows you too well to not expect it. 

So he begins to card his fingers in your hair, alternating scratching at your scalp with tracings of your neck. His voice breaks the silence in the sweetest melody: 

I found my own true love was 

On a blue Sunday

She looked at me and told me

I was the only 

One in the world

Now I have found my girl

My girl awaits for me in tender time

My girl is mine

She is the world

She is my girl

His arms tighten around you as the lyrics reach the end. Content floods your body, you can finally sleep peacefully.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 21.5

im still on hiatus but this was for funsies...a break away from byakuya's pov for a moment hehe

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this is just like wizard of oz if the wizard was junko enoshima. pay no attention to the girl behind the monitors....

featuring a special surprise guest!! :) (:

@digitaldollsworld (^^)//

Content warning tags: passing mention of surgery and blood

< previous - from start - next >

“I am done.”

The voice behind her is dull and gravelly with lethargy, belonging to someone both young and aged. Junko Enoshima hadn’t heard the door open, but she’s hardly startled - she’d been expecting him, after all - and with a flourish, she leans back from the grid of monitors before her and shoves off the desk to spin her chair, knees tucked up to her chest. One, two, three clockwise spins later - a new record, nice - and she slows to a stop, angled perfectly to face the man before her.

And she smiles, as she notes the blue latex gloves still on his hands, the blood splattered up his arms to the rolled-up sleeves of his white dress shirt. “Aw, thanks Zuzu! You’re a treat,” She winks and blows an exaggerated kiss, to no reaction. Not even a half-raised hand to try and catch it. “Was it hard?”

Izuru Kamakura doesn’t respond at first. He’s wiping off the blood - still shiny and slightly wet - off of his pale arms with a stained handkerchief, his hair swaying like a dark curtain around him. “...Not particularly.” He replies in his usual monotone, as if the whole ordeal had been terribly boring to him. ‘Not particularly’ he said, as if the whole process hadn’t taken several weeks, with multiple surgeries - including one where he had left the operating table with his scrubs still on to find a better donor, because the one she had on hand just happened to not be a very good match. “If that is all, I will leave now.”

“Noo, come on! You just got here,” She complains, childishly, needling, despite knowing full well that he’d been here far longer than he originally intended already. Well, it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and all the action was here anyways.  “Don’t you wanna see how your precious juniors are doing?”

He doesn’t reply, but she knows he does. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered turning up in the first place, whether she requested his help or not; they’re just like each other, in that way. Reaching behind her, she grabs a remote, and points it at one of the monitors, and immediately its previous image of the empty second-floor hallway fizzes out, replaced with a replay of the day’s highlights, edited and cut by hers truly.

It opens with a theme song. A lovely little leitmotif that she composed, one for each of her dear classmates, this one full of violin and koto. A quick intro montage of photos they had taken throughout their high school careers, and then-

“No need.” He deadpans, interrupting the opening credits she’d bullied Ryota Mitarai into making. “I know what happened already.”

“Geez, but I made this special for you!” She whines, though there’s no real bite to it. She expected this outcome, so it wasn’t like she made her edits particularly interesting either. “Wish you’d play along a little. Come on.”

Instead of replying, he snaps off his gloves and flicks them and the towel into a nearby trash can without looking. He spins her chair to grab his jacket, pinned between her back and the seat, and tugs it so sharply it actually lifts her up a bit.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a lady,” She sulks, tucking her skirt back down. “I was keeping it warm for you.”

Her only response is an impassioned glance, as he shakes the garment out with a sharp snap.

She watches him prepare to leave, rolling down his sleeves and smoothing out his shirt, pulling the jacket on with a practiced, mechanical grace. “Is it really that much better, being out there?” She grumbles. Outside was a wasteland, shattered remains, rot and destruction. The few people still alive were either on the edge of death, or insane with despair - either way, they’d fallen into a dull, predictable pattern. Starving, stealing, killing, dying, wailing. So much wailing. How strange it was that even these things became uninteresting after so long.

“They all behaved exactly how I expected.” He says, in an approximation for an explanation. He adjusts his cufflinks, thumb swiping over the polished brass. They’d been shaped like Hope’s Peak’s logo, but countless passing touches had nearly buffed out the enamel inlay - they were little more than tiny mirrors now, if she leaned forward and squinted she could almost see herself in them, check for stuff stuck in her teeth-

“Why did you not confront them after they discovered the AI?”

The question interrupts her train of thought, and she blinks, then grins, utterly delighted. “Why? Did I surprise you?”

He levels her with a look, a dark stare from those bloody, bloodshot eyes. “There are several reasons to possibly explain why you behaved this way.” He continues. “The most simple reason, you were distracted-”

“Nope. Glued to the cameras the whole time.”

“The most predictable reason, you wanted them to think they had a chance.”

“Hmm...mayy-be?” She pulls her legs up to sit criss-crossed in her chair, and rocks side to side, hands resting on her ankles as she thinks. “I mean, there are ten of them left. Would be a shame if they gave up already, right?”

“...And, based on your current interests. You thought it would make for a more interesting development. Especially in regards to Togami.”

She smiles, teeth splitting her face. “Congratulations, a hun-dred points to dear Mister Kamakura,”  She sings in an exaggerated falsetto, and claps her hands in mock applause. “I was thinking about it, but then he and Kyoko went and had that absolutely lovely little heart-to-heart in the hallway…how could I possibly interrupt my dearest friends?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes narrow slightly, the corners of his lips pulling into a thin line. A look that screams - or maybe just mutters, in his case - ‘what the hell are you talking about.’ “He smashed her hand in a door. She belittled him for his blindness.”

“Yeah, and? Don’t you know what foreplay is?” He doesn’t scoff, but the just-audible exhale he lets out is pretty close. “Oh, shush. Like you would know anything,” She sniffs. “But anyways, I definitely wasn’t expecting them to reach this stage already. I thought it’d take a few more years at least!” She lets loose a laugh, a sharp, bright sound that gets swallowed up by the dense, packed-foam soundproofing around them. “Letting them get away with Alter Ego was totally worth the show!”

He doesn’t look like he agrees, but then again, those old Hope’s Peak scientists hadn’t included ‘Ultimate Clear Emotion Conveying’ among his repertoire of talents, so maybe he was jumping for joy on the inside right now. “Togami’s blindness was an unexpected development,” He agrees. “But that is all. He hasn’t demonstrated any behavior that couldn’t be predicted.”

“You were pretty intrigued by him before though, weren’t you?” She’d had her suspicions from the start, when Byakuya’s first day after waking up was spent squinting and fidgeting with his glasses, but he couldn’t be called an Ultimate for nothing. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she might’ve even been halfway fooled. 

And the best developments were the ones that hadn’t been planned beforehand. Watching him walk away from the A/V room without even playing his motive disc was such a fun twist that had her raising her brows, even as Mukuro had gotten all pissy, after all the work that she had put into capturing that old butler alive. Even better than that was his breakdowns, when Junko watched him fall into a sinking spiral in his room, muttering to himself and pacing before finally passing out. The difference between his usual hoity-toity self and his total helplessness made for an absolutely delectable kind of gap moe.

“I have no interest in him. Rather, the source of his blindness is what intrigues me.” Izuru corrects her bluntly. “It is unclear what might have caused it. He never displayed symptoms of it prior to the game’s beginning.”

And if she had to be really honest, she wasn’t sure either. “Who knows?” She shrugs. “Spontaneous genetic condition? Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow morning and be totally bald?”

“The Togami family is obsessed with genetics. Sudden cataract development, or anything of that nature, would have weeded out long ago.” He rebuts. His eyes, a deep, ugly, unnatural red that could make Celeste jealous, fix on her for a moment, and then travel up to look at the monitors, pupils shrinking like a cat’s as they dart from screen to shining screen. “Could it have something to do with the memory wipe?”

“No way!” She snaps back to him immediately, almost affronted. “My process is totally perfect. Do you know how many people I tested it on?” Sure, she’d had plenty of lab rats get seizures, comas, go crazy or just straight-up die, but none of them went blind. “If you don’t believe me, you wanna try it yourself?”

Now that was an idea. Maybe if she could induce an artificial amnesia in Izuru, and completely make him forget how he became this way - gosh, but that could be interesting. An Ultimate Hope who didn’t know what his purpose was? Or, better yet, a Hajime Hinata who didn’t know what he really was?

She could almost drool over the idea of it. Seeing the man, the boy in front of her, twisted, despairing, and utterly ruined - how thrilling would that be?

“Do it to yourself.” Izuru replies sullenly, shattering her daydream in an instant, and she pouts. Spoilsport.

They fall into a comfortable sort of quiet for a moment, as Junko turns back to the screens. Without her sister around, she had to take the role of surveillance onto herself, and that was a 24/7 ordeal. But at least it was something to do, she supposed.

Byakuya was making his way to his room from the cafeteria, apparently completely oblivious to how Toko was stalking him from a few meters behind. Hina and Sakura were working off their post-trial grief through vigorous physical activity - swimming, because of course it would be - Celeste was being comforted by Hifumi, and Hiro was chasing after Mondo, who apparently had given up on trying to eat anything and was now meandering aimlessly through the halls, the dead look on his face evident even through some of the grainier footage. Makoto was wandering, probably trying to repair his broken heart by distracting himself with some good old-fashioned adventuring, or maybe Kyoko.

Waaaait a minute. She frowns suddenly, leaning in closer to scan each of the monitors in quick succession, starting from the camera feeds of the third floor, and working down. Wait a damn minute. There was a suspicious lack of pale, skulking figures in her peripherals - just where was her darling detective?

She feels a little thrill of a delicious dread run up her spine. She went through all this trouble to give Kyoko a full wipe - to clean out every last memory that might give the detective a clue to her own identity - and yet here she was, managing to crawl under Junko’s skin like a centipede, a stubborn parasite. There were only so many unsupervised places that Miss Headmaster’s Daughter could be hiding, and Junko couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face; she could always count on Kyoko to make things interesting.

“Hey, Zuzu. You wanna make a bet?” She hums to Izuru. No Kyoko, but Makoto’s pointed cowlick was coming into view on one of the stairway cameras leading into the second floor, soon accompanied by the rest of him. 

“On what?”

“Oh, anything. Which one of them will die next. If one of them will snap and start trying to kill the rest of them…” She rewinds through the camera recordings of the last hour, speeding through the frames until they’re all mere blurs of color and light. Her eyes dart, and spy the pale, round shape of Kyoko’s head, as she walks into the dark entryway of the second-floor boy’s bathroom, not even half-an-hour ago. “If they manage to figure out the details of Togami’s blindness.”

Another bet. Another meaningless wager on top of the hundreds, thousands, millions of other ones that she’s made and won, but this one might actually surprise her for once. She hopes it will.

“How pointless.” He sighs. But despite that, he hasn’t turned to leave yet. And actually, the fact that he responded at all meant that he was, even just a little bit, curious. “What would we wager? We have nothing of value, and nothing we value enough.” “Hmm, true…and it’s not like we care about either of our lives either.” She fast-forwards the cameras, and watches as Makoto looks left and right, nervous eyes casting up and down the hallway, before he enters the second floor boy’s bathroom. She needs to get moving now, if she was going to make sure her darling detective didn’t go and ruin the game too early, and she shoves aside some empty snack wrappers, the pieces of an unfinished puzzle, a book so dog-eared and worn it was on the brink of disintegrating, and Monokuma’s controller to grab the authentic luchador mask that was hanging off the edge of the table. “We got all the time we need to figure that out, after all. So in the meantime, how about you stick around and see how it goes?"

< previous - from start - next >

[vanfleeter]

Dirty Little Secret (Epilogue) // JTK

Characters: Jake x Fem!Reader Warnings: Mentions of labor, spit up. Allusions to sex. Mostly fluff and happy tears.

Author's Note: SURPRISE! Now we officially end Dirty Little Secret.

~8 Months Later~

Soft guitar strums flow through the air but slowly come to a stop. He straightens up, eyebrows furrowing together as he listens. He thought he heard you calling his name. Suddenly your voice rings out again.

“Jacob!”

Springing up from the patio chair, he runs inside and sets his guitar on the counter top.

“Jacob!”

“I’m coming baby!” He calls as he runs up the stairs. He finds you in the hallway and leaning up against the wall while you hold your belly. “Is it time?”

You nod your head. “I already called the doctor and she said to come in.” He beams a smile from ear to ear and you giggle. “I take it you’re excited?”

The rough hairs of his full grown facial hair rub against the side of your face as he gives you a kiss. “Very..” He says. “Now let’s go have a baby.”

—

Flinching in his chair at the sound of his phone ringing, Josh sits up and places his journal on the table in front of him. Jake’s name flashes on the screen as a melodic ringtone fills the quiet void. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you busy?”

��I was writing a new song. What’s up?”

“I need you to stop by the house and grab a duffel bag from my closet and bring it to the hospital.”

“Duffel… Hospital?” Josh mumbles. “Oh god, what happened? Are you two okay?”

Jake chuckles. “We’re just fine, nothing major. Just had a baby.”

Josh jumps up from his chair. “Nothing major?! You had a baby?! When—What—How–Don’t answer that..”

“Can you please stop by the house? I totally spaced on grabbing the bag.”

“I–Uh, okay.. Bag.. Hospital.. Baby.. Oh I’m going to kill you.” Josh says before hanging up.

–

Meeting Josh outside in the parking lot, he takes the bag and slings it over his shoulder. Josh shoves him to the side before shutting the back door of his jeep. “You’re a fucking ass..”

Jake laughs and throws his arm around Josh’s shoulder. “Want to meet your nephew?”

“Oh, it’s a boy?” Josh squeaks. Jake nods his head and leads him inside.

“You can’t say anything to anyone just yet.” Jake says. “You’re the only one that knows so far.” He knocks on the room door. “Babe, I brought Josh up.” Jake says as he and Josh step into the room.

“Come on in.” You call.

Jake pulls the curtain apart and lets Josh go in first. Josh makes another squeaking noise as he covers his mouth with his hands. “Oh my gosh, he’s so little.” He whispers.

Jake leans over his shoulder. “Why are you whispering?” He says, also in a whisper.

“I don’t know..”

Jake scoffs and pats his back. “You can talk normally.”

“Want to hold him?” You ask.

“I can?”

You nod your head and reach out towards Josh. Josh carefully scoops him up into his arms. He grunts a little and twists his body but eventually relaxes and curls into Josh’s chest. You see Josh’s lip quiver a little and you smile.

“He really is tiny.”

“Six pounds and five ounces.” You say as Jake comes to sit on the bed.

“So he’s the reason you two couldn’t make it to the lake this summer?”

Jake nods his head. “Yeah.. We did have this whole thing planned where we’d just show up and surprise everyone but then she got put on bedrest so we scrapped that plan and just ended up keeping the whole pregnancy a secret.”

Josh lifts his head and looks at you. “And here I thought all these months you just didn’t want to spend time with me.”

“Oh Joshy, of course I want to spend time with you. We just wanted something to be just us.”

“And now you.” Jake chuckles. “I haven’t even called Mom and Dad yet.”

“Oh you know Mom is going to yell at you when you tell her.”

Jake nods his head. “And I’m preparing myself for that now.”

“Alright, I gotta know what his name is or I’m calling him Waldo.”

Jake reaches over into the duffel bag and pulls out a blanket that has a name stitched into it. ‘Michael’. Josh squeaks once more and covers the baby face with his hand. “I can’t look at him..” His lip quivered even more and he hugs the tiny babe closer to his chest. “Why me though?”

“You’re my best friend,” Jake says. “It only makes sense to name him after you.”

“But what about Danny?”

“I’m gonna ask him to be the godfather.” You say.

“I guess that’s fair.” Josh says as he shrugs his shoulders. “He may be the godfather but we’ll all still fight over who will be the favorite uncle.” He whispers to the baby.

—

You finish changing the baby’s diaper while Jake naps on the cot by the window. A knock comes on the door and you softly call for the visitor to come inside. You look up as the door opens and the familiar mop head of curls peers around it. You smile as Danny emerges into the room, his eyes already glossed over.

“I wasn’t convinced when you called, still in disbelief even as I heard a woman screaming a couple floors down because I got off on the wrong floor because my brain was so frazzled after you told me you had a baby, but now that I’m standing here and actually seeing it…” His voice trails off, ending his rambling. “You had a baby?”

“Come here,” You say, holding out your hand. “Come meet your godson.”

You pat the empty space on the bed beside you and he gently lowers himself to sit down. Picking up the baby, you hand him over to Danny and straighten out his hat. “You kept another secret from me..” Danny says, making you giggle.

“With the best intentions,” You say. “We only intended on keeping it to ourselves for a few weeks but then weeks turned into months–eventually everyone got busy and when we actually decided to finally tell everyone at the lake, I was put on bedrest so ironically we just stuck with it.”

Danny chuckles as he looks back down at the baby. “Does he have a name yet?”

You nod your head. “Michael.”

“Oh I bet Josh was thrilled.”

“Cried a little but Jake said he balled like a baby in the parking lot before he left.”

Danny nods his head over in Jake’s direction. “How often has he slept?”

“Honestly, not as much as he should be.” You say. “This is the longest he’s slept in the last two days.”

The baby begins to whine a little, grunting and twisting within Danny’s arms. Danny softly coo’s at him, trying to calm him back down. Jake stirs a little on the cot before pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Is he okay?” He grumbles.

You smile and nod your head. “Just a little whiny.” You say run the tip of your finger down the bridge of the baby’s nose.

“Danny’s here..” Jake mumbles as he stands up from the cot and yawns.

Danny chuckles. “Good morning sleeping beauty.” He jokes. “She told me Josh balled like a baby.”

Jake laughs and nods his head. “That he did. Blubbering mess, couldn’t hold it in any longer–I think a few people stared.”

Danny laughs but immediately recoils when the baby flinches. “Sorry, I’m sorry..” He says as he immediately starts rocking the baby.

You never pictured this, but seeing your best friend panicking over accidentally scaring your baby warms your heart. The way he cradles your son and rocks back and forth while he pats his bottom.

“I do have to say, this has got to be the only secret that I am okay with you keeping.” Danny says. “But I swear to god if you two eloped and didn’t tell anyone, I'm giving this baby back and I’m leaving and never talking to either of you again.”

Jake shakes his head as he sits down on the bed. “No, no.. Not married..yet.” He says. “She wants to get straight into planning it as soon as possible.”

“More like once I lose all this baby weight.” You say.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Jake says as he throws his hands in the air. “I’ve been telling you that but she won’t listen to me.”

“Oh I’m sorry–next time the two of you can try carrying a baby for nine months, gain thirty pounds, have out of whack hormones and swollen ankles and back pain. Oh and don’t forget the baby constantly resting on your bladder.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You’re still gorgeous.” He says as he kisses your forehead.

~2 Days Later~

“Careful, careful.” Jake says as he helps you up the stairs. He has one hand gripping yours while he holds tightly to the baby carrier in the other.

“Jake, I’m fine.” You grumble as you step up to the last step leading to the porch. “See? Just fine.”

He sighs and cocks his head. “Quit being bratty.”

“Or what?” You say. He goes to open his mouth but you stop him. “Remember your words mean nothing for six weeks..” He closes his mouth and huffs but you only giggle and unlock the front door.

“Six weeks is pure torture,” He says. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, pfft, I don’t know–maybe help me with the baby?”

“No, I figured I’d just relax on the couch with a beer while you do all the work.” He says as he kicks the door closed with his foot and sets the carrier on the floor.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You say. “Do you care if I go upstairs to shower?”

“You showered yesterday.” Jake says as he unbuckles the baby from the carrier and picks him up.

“Yes well while you were asleep–again–he spit up in my hair and it’s been in this bun ever since.. It’s gross.”

“Next time, pull your hair up when you burp him–like I do.” He says.

After your shower, you step out of the bathroom to hear Jake playing his guitar and the soft tones of his voice as he sings a little lullaby. You continue listening as you get dressed and make your way downstairs to the living room.

Jake has the baby back in the carrier as he sits on the couch with his guitar resting on his knee while he strums a few chords. Jake smiles when he sees but still he keeps playing as you go to sit next to him.

“I can’t stop playing or else he starts crying.” Jake says. “I can only come up with so many tunes.”

You giggle and rest your head on his shoulder. “And to think none of this would have happened if I didn’t wipe ice cream off of your chin.”

“My mouth.” He corrects.

“Oh right, right. Your mouth.” You say, nodding your head.

“There was something about you that I couldn’t resist.” He says as he stops playing. He peers over at the baby but not a peep comes from him and he sighs in relief. Setting the guitar off to the side, he pulls you onto his lap and kisses you. “I can already tell that these six weeks are going to be a very long time.”

“You’ll survive.” You say as you lean to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Soft whimpers come from the baby and Jake hangs his head backwards as you laugh. Climbing off his lap, you go reach for the baby and scoop him up in your arms. “It’s time to feed you anyways–give Papa a little break.”

Jake leans back on the couch and looks around the room. What once was just a simple living room with guitars and instruments is now filled with baby toys and devices. Sitting up and reaching for his guitar, he carries it over to the stand in the corner of the living room and sets it down. Exhaling, he looks around the room once more. He spots the spit up towel resting across the arm of the couch and he goes to swipe it up just knowing that he’ll be the one to need it here shortly.

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