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ittybittyfanblog · 10 months ago

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Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man. Anyway, enjoy! This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega, a little over a mile away from your apartment, for about, three? five minutes—no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets are any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar?

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even is this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they're in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were.

But then, what are they here for? The dangers you're more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack.

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle.

“Now, now— the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip.

“I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.”

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur.

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you.

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin.

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips.

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen.

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City.

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All hold significant power, all hold ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn.

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval.

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp—then, “sir.”

All in reverence.

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference.

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters.

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.”

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I suppose that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.”

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response—but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to.

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger.

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection.

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial.

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man—no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear.

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust.

Having been awake for longer than your captors are aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience.

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?”

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.”

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you.

In short, you have no idea where you are.

Fuck—this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own.

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic—

Wait a minute. Sylus.

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore.

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin.

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity.

And here, the opportunity presents herself.”

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.”

You feel it before you hear it.

“Perhaps not.”

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room.

Suddenly—

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise.

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness.

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You—”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool—lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him—as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction.

You meet his eyes. “You came.”

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.”

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud.

“Luke. Kieran.”

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.”

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly.

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state, at least.

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer.

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin.

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.”

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out.

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?”

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.”

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.”

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look.

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.”

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three.

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake.

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed.

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor.

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for.

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for—and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him.

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from.

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of.

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is now stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel.

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets.

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them.

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM.

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.”

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.)

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed.

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh.

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe.

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler.

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.”

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes.

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?”

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly.

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.”

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian.

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his.

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose.

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you—half-lidded and tender.

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.”

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.”

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.”

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace fic

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r3musmoony · 1 year ago

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Happy disability pride month to

wheelchair users

crutch users

cane users

walker users

people who use other mobility aids not mentioned

people who don’t use mobility aid

people with diagnosis/es

people without diagnosis/es

people looking for a diagnosis/es

people not looking for a diagnosis/es

people that can’t afford a diagnosis/es

people with supportive families

people without supportive families

people who’s family situation is questionable/confusing

people who need their families support

people who don’t need their families support

people who identify with cripplepunk

people who don’t identify with cripplepunk

people who aren’t sure if they can identify with cripplepunk

people who’s disabilities are mis-portrayed in the media

people who’s disabilities are never portrayed in media

people who’s disabilities are portrayed in the media but in stereotypes

people who’s disabilities are common

people who’s disabilities are uncommon

people who’s disabilities are rare

people who’s disabilities are invisible

people who’s disabilities are visible

people who’s disabilities are debilitating

people who’s disabilities aren’t debilitating

people who’s disabilities affect them daily

people who’s disabilities don’t affect them daily

people who need mobility aids but either can’t afford them, don’t want them, or can’t get them due to unsupportive environment/families

people who have cool looking mobility aids

people who’s mobility aids look ‘medical’ or ‘boring’

people who decorate their mobility aids

people who don’t decorate their mobility aids

people who name their mobility aids

people who don’t name their mobility aids

ambulatory wheelchair users that can walk far

ambulatory wheelchair users that can’t walk very far

ambulatory wheelchair users that use other mobility aids

ambulatory wheelchair users that don’t use other mobility aids

permanent wheelchair users

wheelchair users with paralysis

wheelchair users with muscular atrophy

cane users that also use crutches

cane users that only use canes

people with multiple mobility aids

people who colour coordinate with their mobility aids

people who love their mobility aids

people who are neutral about their mobility aids

people who don’t like their mobility aids

deaf/HoH people

visually impaired people

people who use braces

people with genetic conditions

people with chronic pain

people with acquired disablilities

people who became disabled later in life

people who became disabled young

people who have always been disabled

people that deal with ableism

people that can work

people that can’t work

people on welfare

people on NDIS

people that ‘fall through the cracks’

people that can hide their disability

people that can’t hide their disability

people who also struggle with mental health

people who don’t struggle with mental health

people that take lots of medications

people that don’t take any medications

people that can’t afford medication

people that can’t take medication

homeless disabled people

people below the poverty line

people above the poverty line

people with other disabled friends

people with no disabled friends

people that served in the army

people that are independant

people that need carers

people that like their carers

people that don’t like their carers

#cripple punk #disability #disabled #cpunk #cane user #chronic pain #cripplepunk #actually disabled #mobility aid #wheelchair user #crutch user #disability pride month #disability pride

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mydearmando · 2 months ago

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“it only leads to trouble” - john walker x fem!reader

pt. 1 of the “touch” mini series

pt. 2 here

pt. 3 here

summary: you suppose it’s natural to touch people who you live and work with. you touch everyone on the team. walker does, too. so you don’t know why it bothers you so much when he touches you.

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: thunderbolt!reader, reader has spider powers (similar to spider-gwen’s), physical fight scene, mentions of violence, idiots in love (but they don’t know it yet), tension, that’s it for now

author’s note: babes I’ve never posted a fic before. i’ve written a few, but they’ve never made it to actual posting. there are so few john walker fics and he gave me a brainworm, so I had to help fill the void. please enjoy. also this picture makes me laugh 🤭

The most annoying habit of John Walker’s was his tendency to touch people.

You saw it amid battle, when he helped Ava launch towards a target. Or when he and Bucky went back to back, spinning and folding around each other, each using the other to cover their back.

When he trained with Yelena, the two of them adjusting each other’s stances for improvement.

When he played video games with Alexei, and they celebrated a win, grabbing each other by the arms and shaking hard while yelling in victory.

When he interacted with Bob, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he looked over at what the quiet man was reading or eating.

It was natural to touch people when you worked together and lived together, you reasoned with yourself. You trained with Bucky, shared food with Yelena, cuddled under the same blanket with Ava during movie night, and listened to Alexie when he grabbed you by the shoulders and attempted a pre-battle pep talk.

You touched everyone on the team. And Walker did, too. So you don’t know why it bothered you so much when he did it.

Maybe it was the way that he touched people that bothered you. He wasn’t hesitant, like Bob; considerate, like Yelena; brief, like Bucky; or fatherly, like Alexei.

No, John Walker didn’t just touch people. He grabbed them.

With his militial history and the super-soldier serum, you figured it made sense that each action he took was underscored by a certainty and strength. When John Walker acted, it was with confidence, however false. Beneath his skin, there was a thrumming of power—a poorly-contained vigor that released in bursts of energy and might. He was like a spring mouse trap, both physically and verbally, constantly braced and prepared to launch fists or words.

The comfort and self-assurance in his actions bled over from battle into daily life, and his daily life happened to include the rest of the team, which also happened to include you.

Before John Walker, you never had a problem with touch. Before he made a habit of adjusting you in training, grabbing you without warning and moving your arm this way, kicking apart your legs that way, or correcting the way your hip was angled, all in the name of a better fighting stance. You’d stand there in shock, the heat from his hands—really, his paws—bleeding through your training gear.

Before he made a routine of stepping into your personal space, leaning down to mutter quips or snarky comments in your ear about something or someone in a low husky tone. You froze in the presence of his sturdy body, his chest milimeters from your back, squeezing the air out of your atmosphere.

You shivered.

There were other things that bothered you about Walker, too.

Like how he made a habit of being a self-confident asshole.

He bickered, took Yelena and Ava’s verbal bait that launched the three into never-ending arguments, and was incapable of controlling his words and volume when he was frustrated. Some days he tried—was able to bite his tongue—but you could see the lingering aggression in the way he clenched his jaw and flexed his large hands, neck twitching minutely to the side, blue eyes looking up to the sky as if to help himself calm down.

He was capable of having a shitty attitude that bothered most of the team on a good day, and on a bad day he was similar to an overly strong, downright petulant man-child.

And honestly, you were pretty good about hiding your… touch problem with Walker. You got along with him pretty well, all things considered, and had found it pretty easy to stay out of his way and have a somewhat congenial relationship with the blonde super soldier.

He was just annoyingly large, and he was fucking tall, and overall he made you very, very uncomfortable. As long as you avoided taking his snarky bait and stayed, as a general rule, about 5 feet away from him at all times, you were in the clear of all confrontation—verbal and physical—with John Walker.

*****

It came to a head in Nuuk.

The team had been sent to Greenland to investigate a distress signal coming from an old, underground, abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D. testing site. The quinjet, piloted by Bucky, was heading towards the uninhabitable north, the location of the testing site, when the radio started picking up local calls.

Something was happening in the capital city, and Bucky had to quickly re-route there.

You awoke to the creaking of metal as the quinjet took a sharp turn, rubbing sleep quickly from your eyes. It had been a rough night last night, plagued with nightmares that kept you in a continuous loop of falling asleep and waking up soon after, heart pumping too fast to be able to fall back asleep. Then, when you eventually would, it was back to a nightmare again. A vicious cycle that resulted in dragging yourself out of bed at mission call time with bags under your eyes and a drained body.

You scanned the jet to find Bucky and Yelena at the helm, discussing some form of approach. Alexei was sitting in a jump seat a few seats down, pumping his fist to what he called his “hype playlist”. Ava was asleep beside him, undisturbed by the movements and low singing of the oldest super soldier.

The final soldier you noticed last, standing towards the back of the jet, one arm raised and his fist wrapped in a fabric ceiling handle, stabilizing himself as he stood.

He looked every part of a weary soldier, you thought, as he stood there. There was a looseness in his form, as he swayed on his feet with the movements of the jet, but a tightness in how he clenched the handle holding him upright. As though his body was tired, but he wouldn’t allow himself to relax, forcing himself to stay up while everyone else on the team sought rest in the few moments before the inevitable battle.

You observed him in the low light, details difficult to make out, but his silhouette clear. The way he stood wide-stanced, his tactical gear emphasizing his lean yet sturdy silhouette. He was bulky, but not overly built—athletic with enough muscle to pack a finishing punch or jump 30 feet into the air. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of the jet.

How annoying, you thought, that someone as frustrating as John Walker was allowed to be so tall.

It was only when your eyes decided to trail from his broad shoulders upwards that you noticed that he was looking at you.

Your eyes met briefly, his blue eyes darkened by the way his brow furrowed as he looked at you. How long had he been looking at you? More importantly, how long had he been looking at you, looking at him?

“What, is something wrong?” He asked, mouth downturned.

You blanched. “No, no. Just… tired.”

Walker scoffed. “Dunno how you can be tired when you slept the whole way here.”

And there it was. A snappy retort. Normally you wouldn’t bite, but sleep had been so hard last night, and you really weren’t in the mood, and—

“How do you know I slept the whole way here? Were you watching me?” You accused, leaning forward in your jump seat and resting your forearms on your knees, tone sharp.

You could see his bicep tighten as he twisted his wrist, re-wrapping his hand around the ceiling handle and tensing. Successfully baited.

“I didn’t have to watch you to know you were sleeping. Your snoring gave it away.” He clenched out from between his teeth, brow furrowing further.

Brain still riddled with sleep, you gave up on cleverness. “You’re such a—“

“Girls, you’re both pretty,” came Yelena’s uninterested voice from the cockpit. “Now please, stop bickering so we can plan what the hell we are going to do when we land.”

You sighed and leant back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from Walker.

He, however, had different plans.

You heard his heavy footfalls on the metal floor as he took a few steps closer to where you sat. You willed yourself not to look up.

“I’m such a what, Bug?” He asked lowly, teasing in a quiet voice, quiet enough for it to be missed by everyone else.

Blood boiling, eyes narrowed, and a scowl on your face, you looked up quickly. And you really, really shouldn’t have.

Walker stood above you, his head tilted to the side and slightly downwards. His lips drew into a mocking smirk when he saw your facial expression. Surely revelling in the fact that the immature nickname had successfully gotten under your skin.

Up close like this, you felt the air grow thinner. His mass nearly blocked out the rest of the jet around you, his shoulders taking up a stupid amount of space. His blue eyes—lighter up close like this, you noticed—flickered across your face, soaking up your rare show of frustration.

“Say what you were going to say,” he murmured teasingly, lips returning to his signature annoying smirk that had your fists tightening and your face flushing.

Your eyes flickered to Walker’s lips, pink and plush, and suddenly the air was too stuffy with the smell of him this close, and his breath was too warm across your face, and—

Cheeks burning, you lifted your forearm and used it as a bar to push firmly against his chest, attempting to put some space between the two of you. It did nothing, as he was built like a brick wall and hardly moved from your pushing alone. However, he backed away once your arm made contact with his chest, understanding your intention.

“Get out of my face, Walker,” you murmured, crossing your arms again and leaning back in your seat.

As you closed your eyes to avoid looking at him for too long, you missed the disappointed look that crossed his face. You had given up, and John found himself unsatisfied.

*****

The fight in Nuuk didn’t take long to handle. Jailbroken and reprogrammed Stark bots swarmed the small city and attacked the team upon arrival. They were fast and their guns were powerful, but they were fragile due to age and the many years they were left to rust.

After some initial fighting, Yelena and Bucky had left to intercept the control center, found by Ava underneath the city. Which left you, Alexie, and Walker fighting the remaining bots on the street level.

You shot a web towards a nearby window ledge 4 floors up, tugged, and launched yourself into the sky with your legs first, toes pointed, colliding with a bot and kicking its metal head clean off. Landing swiftly on the window ledge, you surveyed the field.

There was Alexei, barging into a crowd of Stark bots. He threw his arms outward as he stormed through, clotheslining most of them and ripping the others apart with his hands. A loud bellow, part laugh and part war cry, emerged from him.

A little closer, on the sidewalk in front of the building you perched on, you saw Walker fighting a different crowd of bots.

A group approached him from the front, unleashing their bullets upon him. He launched his shield in an arch, cutting through the group with minimal effort. You had picked up his shield before—that was no easy task, to throw it with that much power.

Another few bots approached him from both sides, causing him to unholster his gun and shoot one side down before swiftly jumping up and side kicking the remaining bots on his other side.

He landed on both feet and sharply shrugged his shoulders forward, huffing like a bull. He did that a lot during fights, you had noticed, almost as though he was re-igniting his adrenaline. His blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, helmet long gone. Wiping a hand across his brow, he smeared more sweat and dirt upon his forehead and face. He was covered in dust, and you figured you probably were too.

He looked like an animal.

You felt your muscles tighten.

Before you could get lost watching him, a trio of bots on a hoverbike approached you, firing bullets. You shot a web onto one, and grabbing the web with both hands, you pulled it away from the hoverbike before ramming it back into the unit, sending the whole group smashing into a building across from you.

You returned your attention to Walker, where he was fighting off a larger horde of bots, launching his shield, shooting his gun, and throwing his fists. You had to give it to him, despite your argument earlier—he was taking on double the bots you were in your tired state.

The bots around Walker began to multiply, swarming him from all sides and causing his movements to become slower. One grabbed onto his side, and swiftly Walker caught his shield, swung it around his chest, and, gritting his teeth, smashed the shield into the bot’s head.

They were gaining on him, and fast. He had resorted to grabbing them with his empty hands and breaking them anyway he could—smashing them into each other, over his knee, and crushing a few heads with his hands alone.

For a moment you were stunned by his movements, his brawny body a blur as he wielded his powerful hands.

Quickly from your position above, you started grabbing assisting your teammate—grabbing bots with your webs, using their bodies to yank some away and then knock others into each other a few at a time. Walker hadn’t seemed to have notice your positioning yet. Your webbing, combined with his calculated fighting, began knocking down the Stark bots’ numbers quick.

One of the last remaining bots latched onto his back, pulling at his face from behind with its mechanical hands. It covered his eyes, surely digging into his skin, and Walker let out a groan as he tried to rip the creature off his face with his hands, shield discarded.

Hurriedly, you shot a web at the creature, yanking it off of him with all of your might, and flung it into the building below you.

The super soldier turned quickly, looking for the source of his salvation. He tilted his head upward, blue eyes squinting in the sun as they found you above him.

For a moment you stayed there, staring at him as he stared back. The fight now finished, he stood—motionless, shieldless—his arms lax by his side as he stared.

Why was he staring?

As you pondered him, you spotted a bot approaching from behind. It carried a large blade, swung backwards over its head with two hands, prepared to strike down upon your ally.

Who was still turned away, looking at you.

Before you could spit out a warning to Walker, on instinct you slung a web at him, landing it right in the middle of his abdomen. He looked down, stunned, and then blinked back up at you as you grasped the web with two hands and pulled.

The bearded soldier stumbled forward a few steps, just enough to miss the blade slicing through the air and sinking into the ground behind him. He whirled around on the creature, accidentally yanking you forward a little by the web still connecting you, and punched it square in its center, sending the bot careening into a concrete wall.

For a moment, you paused—relieved—before glass rained down upon your head as a something slammed into your body from above. You crumpled into a pile with what you soon discovered was a bot, quickly attempting to throw it off. It gained on you, holding you down on your back, and for a few moments you tumbled with the creature, trying to stay on the ledge while keeping its hands from your throat. Eventually, you slammed your foot into its center, kicking the bot up and off of the ledge.

You heard a male voice shout your name—John—and turned to see a large hovercraft careening directly towards you and your perch from above, milliseconds from making impact.

Suddenly, you were jerked by your wrist and yanked from the ledge. Before you could make any sense of direction you collided with a solid surface, hard.

A grunt sounded from above you, and a heavy weight wrapped around your waist.

Head spinning, you looked up to see Walker staring down at you, dirty blonde hair askew from fighting and hanging over his forehead. There was a fine layer of gray dust covering his face, aside from his eyes where he had wiped a strip of skin clean.

His eyes shone even brighter than usual like this, cool glaciers amid the gray cloud around you. They flickered across your face, and up close you could see the results of battle on the soldier’s face. A few small cuts scattered across his face and jaw, interrupting his thick beard. One gash stood out on his forehead, cutting from his temple to above the middle of his right eyebrow. His nostrils were flared and his lips parted as he breathed, chest rising and falling harshly.

He looked tired, but alive. As though despite his weary body, he had more adrenaline to expel. Much more.

Enough to yank you across 30 feet and 4 floors.

As if suddenly realizing your position—your body held up against Walker’s, his left arm wrapped around your middle—you scrambled away hastily, pushing at his chest until he released you onto your feet.

You avoided making eye contact with him as steadied yourself and attempted to ignore the heat crawling across your cheeks. Brushing off your suit, you focused your attention on your waist—as though you could brush off the scalding ghost of his arm wrapped around you, and the way his hand had splayed across your side, his fingers lightly digging into your flesh to find purchase.

You looked up to find Walker glowering a little, eyes locked on to your hands as he watched you clean yourself, his brow furrowed and mouth set in a frown.

Maybe you were a little too hasty in wiping him off.

His foggy eyes flickered back to yours before he scoffed.

“Jesus, you’d think I groped you or something,” he said lowly, gesturing at your body vaguely before rolling his eyes and turning towards where Alexei was finishing off the last of the bots.

Speechless, and still a little shocked—or disturbed—you followed behind him. He rubbed at his neck for a moment and you stared at his hand. The same one that was currently branded into your side.

You wiped invisible dust off your waist again.

When the dirty blonde pulled his hand away from his neck, you noticed that a pink flush had taken its place, running from his neck up to his jaw.

Another moment before, “You’re welcome, by the way,” was thrown over his shoulder.

You stopped.

“What?”

“You’re welcome,” he shrugged, still walking forward. “Y’know, for saving your life?”

A laugh you couldn’t help burst forward sarcastically. “I saved your ass twice before that, so if you saved me, fine, but know that you were only able to because I saved you first.”

He continued walking. But you hated feeling like you had been ignored.

“Twice,” you added.

Walker stopped, causing you to nearly collide with his back. He whirled around and stared down at you with a scowl.

Damn his height and damn him, you thought, infuriated at his immediate attitude.

Two sets of narrowed eyes met, each flaming and daring the other to say something. He held your gaze for a moment longer before he faltered, glancing down at your mouth, which you were sure was set in an unattractive frown.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled sharply through his parted lips, your sight flickering to his pearly teeth.

“Whatever,” you watched his mouth form around the word, quieter than you had expected. Defeated. Then, “Sorry.”

And with that, John Walker stormed off, leaving you feeling both disgusted by him and his touch, and disgusted by yourself and your actions.

if you made it this far, ily 💙🫐

blog makeover to come soon

#thunderbolts #marvel #fanfic #thunderbolts fanfic #john walker #john walker x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts x you #yelena belova #alexei shostakov #ava starr #bob reynolds #bucky barnes #new avengers

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ellipsus-writes · 4 months ago

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Ellipsus Digest: March 18

Each week (or so), we'll highlight the relevant (and sometimes rage-inducing) news adjacent to writing and freedom of expression.

This week: AI continues its hostile takeover of creative labor, Spain takes a stand against digital sludge, and the usual suspects in the U.S. are hard at work memory-holing reality in ways both dystopian and deeply unserious.

ChatGPT firm reveals AI model that is “good at creative writing” (The Guardian)

... Those quotes are working hard.

OpenAI (ChatGPT) announced a new AI model trained to emulate creative writing—at least, according to founder Sam Altman: “This is the first time i have been really struck by something written by AI.” But with growing concerns over unethically scraped training data and the continued dilution of human voices, writers are asking… why?

Spoiler: the result is yet another model that mimics the aesthetics of creativity while replacing the act of creation with something that exists primarily to generate profit for OpenAI and its (many) partners—at the expense of authors whose work has been chewed up, swallowed, and regurgitated into Silicon Valley slop.

Spain to impose massive fines for not labeling AI-generated content (Reuters)

But while big tech continues to accelerate AI’s encroachment on creative industries, Spain (in stark contrast to the U.S.) has drawn a line: In an attempt to curb misinformation and protect human labor, all AI-generated content must be labeled, or companies will face massive fines. As the internet is flooded with AI-written text and AI-generated art, the bill could be the first of many attempts to curb the unchecked spread of slop.

Besos, España 💋

These words are disappearing in the new Trump administration (NYT)

Project 2025 is moving right along—alongside dismantling policies and purging government employees, the stage is set for a systemic erasure of language (and reality). Reports show that officials plan to wipe government websites of references to LGBTQ+, BIPOC, women, and other communities—words like minority, gender, Black, racism, victim, sexuality, climate crisis, discrimination, and women have been flagged, alongside resources for marginalized groups and DEI initiatives, for removal.

It’s a concentrated effort at creating an infrastructure where discrimination becomes easier… because the words to fight it no longer officially exist. (Federally funded educational institutions, research grants, and historical archives will continue to be affected—a broader, more insidious continuation of book bans, but at the level of national record-keeping, reflective of reality.) Doubleplusungood, indeed.

Pete Hegseth’s banned images of “Enola Gay” plane in DEI crackdown (The Daily Beast)

Fox News pundit-turned-Secretary of Defense-slash-perpetual-drunk-uncle Pete Hegseth has a new target: banning educational materials featuring the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. His reasoning: that its inclusion in DEI programs constitutes "woke revisionism." If a nuke isn’t safe from censorship, what is?

The data hoarders resisting Trump’s purge (The New Yorker)

Things are a little shit, sure. But even in the ungoodest of times, there are people unwilling to go down without a fight.

Archivists, librarians, and internet people are bracing for the widespread censorship of government records and content. With the Trump admin aiming to erase documentation of progressive policies and minority protections, a decentralized network is working to preserve at-risk information in a galvanized push against erasure, refusing to let silence win.

Let us know if you find something other writers should know about, (or join our Discord and share it there!) Until next week, - The Ellipsus Team xo

#ellipsus #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #u.s. politics #anti ai

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moonchild9350 · 6 months ago

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Perfect Copy

summary: Hyunjin brings home a clone of himself, one to take over his daily life at work and home when he's gone for the tour. Everything seems to be great....that is until it's not.

pairing: idol!Hyunjin x fab!reader x clone!Hyunjin

genre: established relationship, sci fi au, angst, fluff, smut-18+ MDNI

word count: 9k

warnings: fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't), creampie, squirting, multiple rounds and other things I don’t want to spoil!

notes: this fic is one of my favorites that i wrote! I'm thinking of making it an anthology series with three chapters per se. Let me know if you'd like to see it as so! And as always let me know what you think of this fic!

If you enjoyed, please comment, like, and reblog ♡

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, edit, report, or use this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Masterlist | Perfect Love

You were pacing the floor of your room, your hands behind your back as your mind raced. The phrase “what should I do,” repeated over and over, so much so it was all you could hear.

The house was empty, the silence loud and clear as your feet touched the padded floor. The sun was shining through your window, the sound of a dog barking in the distance and children playing at the park across the street. The atmosphere outside was completely different from the one inside.

Not too long ago, you got off the phone with Hyunjin, your boyfriend, after he shared some disturbing information that would change the dynamic of the household forever…or at least the foreseeable future. He was bringing his clone home to join the household at the company’s request.

You were too stunned to speak as he explained each band member was required to have one, the company going as far as to add an addendum into their contracts stating so.

When you asked why, Hyunjin just explained that the clone would be here when he’s gone on tour, ready to continue operations at the company as scheduled, saving time and money for the company.

What could you do?

The decision was already made and Hyunjin and his clone were on their way here, to the home you both shared.

It’s not like you’ve never heard of an idol having a clone to help out with their career, matter of fact it was more common than people thought. The appeal was there, as a clone would be able to attend events and carry on with the idol’s daily life as if it were nothing, allowing the idol to simultaneously complete other tasks that were needed of them.

The world had mixed reactions about the idea, some in favor of the thought, allowing idols to not be overworked, while others found the idea not so appealing. You yourself was somewhere in the middle, understanding why an idol would want the extra help as you were dating one yourself but also found the idea of a clone of Hyunjin walking around eerie.

You continued to pace the floor, back and forth, back and forth, until you heard the door open and close. You could hear Hyunjin speaking with someone, his voice carrying through the small apartment.

Taking a breath, you braced yourself and walked into the hallway, coming face to face with Hyunjin and well…Hyunjin.

“Hey babe!” Hyunjin said, coming up to you and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You shuffled behind Hyunjin a little as he turned to face his clone. “Well here he is! Or I guess here I am?” He said with a chuckle.

The clone raised his hand as if to say hi before placing it at his side again, his eyes fixed right on you. You lowered your gaze not sure where to look as he continued to stare at you.

“Well let’s all go sit down and chat,” Hyunjin said, breaking the awkward silence that briefly filled the room.

You followed him to the couch, sitting down next to him as his clone took the seat opposite both of you. The clone sat up straight in his seat, his hands placed delicately in his lap as he waited for Hyunjin to speak.

You took a moment to take the new member of the household in, observing his looks to see if he resembles Hyunjin at all and you must admit, he could pass off as your boyfriend. His hair was long and brown, sitting perfectly at his shoulders, his eyes a beautiful chocolate brown. He even had the little freckle underneath his left eye, the pretty beauty mark very much present and distinctive.

The only difference was his unblemished skin, new and perfect just like a brand new baby. His movements were stiff and uncertain, as if they hadn’t been used in a while, which they probably hadn’t.

Hyunjin’s clone looked around, his eyes drifting across the living room, taking in his new surroundings. You were so caught up in observing the clone that you were startled as Hyunjin clapped his hands next to you.

“Well welcome me! Thats weird to say,” Hyunjin chuckled as he slapped his thigh.

You and the clone just stared at him, unsure of what to say or do.

Hyunjin coughed before settling back in his seat, feeling the awkward tension in the room.

“Okay…tough crowd. My clone will be living here from now on. He’ll be in and out of the house to go to the company and fill in for me while I’m gone, and he’ll be here for you if you need anything.”

Hyunjin’s clone then smiled, his dimples showing just like on your Hyunjin. His smile, his mannerisms was so much like your boyfriend’s it was unnerving. It was becoming too much for you.

“I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you mumbled as you got up, retreating to the safety of your bedroom.

You went and sat on the bed, your head down in your hands as Hyunjin walked in.

“Baby?” Hyunjin asked as he came to kneel in front of you. He gently began rubbing your legs attempting to soothe you.

You looked up and say the concern in your boyfriend’s face. Softening your features you said, “I’m just….overwhelmed. He’s just like you, it’s eerie.”

Hyunjin nodded agreeing with you. It was eerie, he’s not going to lie. It was a weird feeling seeing himself standing there. He needed you to be okay though and comfortable with the clone while he’s away.

“It’s okay, I just have to get used to him being here is all,” you continued attempting to smile.

“Okay baby, you’ll tell me if you change your mind?” Hyunjin asked as he held your gaze.

You shook your head yes and placed your hands on top of his. Hyunjin smiled and got up, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips. You sighed as his plush lips melted with yours, as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

All too soon, Hyunjin pulled back and grinned. “Let’s go back yeah?”

You nodded and stood up, reaching out to take Hyunjin’s hand in yours. He interlaced his fingers with yours, the softness and warm feeling causing you to feel at ease and led the way back to the living room. The clone was sitting in the same spot still, his head turning toward you both as you entered the room. His eyes drifted to your intertwined hands for a moment before looking back up, his cheeks reddening.

Hyunjin dropped your hand and sat down, turning the tv on in the process. You didn’t know what to do as you rocked back and forth on your feet, your eyes darting anywhere but on Hyunjin’s clone.

“I’ll just…go to the kitchen,” you mumbled as you turned on your heels, making your way to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, you looked around wondering what to do next. You took a look at the clock and noticed it was almost dinner time. 'Might as well cook dinner,’ you thought as you grabbed the ingredients you needed to make lasagna.

You could hear the voices from the tv and Hyunjin and his clone discussing something, but the sound of pots and pans clanging together overpowered them both. It was easy to fall into the safe and familiar routine of making the sauce, placing the noodles down followed by more sauce and cheese.

Carefully, you created a dish worth devouring, smiling as you added the finishing touches before sliding it into the oven. You then went about chopping up lettuce and other veggies, deciding to make a salad for the side.

You were tossing the vegetables together when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. With a yelp, you dropped the tongs you were holding before spinning around to see who it was.

“Easy baby!” Hyunjin said as he held you close, a mixture of concern and pure amusement on his face.

“You scared me!” You exclaimed as you clutched your chest with one hand and lightly slapped his arm with the other.

“I’m sorry,” he pouted, giving you the sweetest puppy dog eyes. “Kiss?”

You sighed and smiled while pressing your lips to his. Hyunjin pulled you closer, his hands drifting down your sides to rest on your ass. He deepened the kiss, shoving his tongue in your mouth to tangle with yours. You let out a moan deep within your throat as he rutted his semi-hardened bulge into your core, his length pressed against you nicely, as a little reminder of what you do to him.

Hyunjin then nipped at your lips and leaned back and gazed at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“We’ll finish this later mm?” Hyunjin said before turning around and walking away.

You stood there stunned, your mind trying to catch up to what you were doing before. The smell of something burning caught your attention and you quickly grabbed an oven mitt to pull the lasagna out to cool. You hurried to set the table, placing the food in the center and called the boys to come eat.

Dinner was a strange affair as you were sitting across from the clone. You stole hurried glances at him while he scarfed down his food, not caring if it was hot enough to burn his tongue. Once he cleaned his plate, he sat back and smiled, seeming completely satiated.

“That was amazing y/n,” the clone said, pushing his plate away.

“Uhh, thanks,” you murmured as you pushed your food around, as you were starting to feel full.

“She’s a great cook huh?” Hyunjin bragged with a cocky grin. “That’s my girl.”

You chuckled and playfully hit Hyunjin on the shoulder, rolling your eyes as he dramatically clutched his arm. As you were teasing him for his theatrics, you missed how the clone eyed you, watching your every move and how you interacted with the real Hyunjin.

“Oh!” Hyunjin exclaimed, recovering from the show he was putting on, “What do we call you while I’m here? Might be a little confusing if we just say Hyunjin.”

All three of you were silent for a moment as you racked your brains for a nickname to call the clone to avoid confusion within the house. After a moment more, an idea popped into your head.

“What about Jinnie?” You suggested, looking from the clone to Hyunjin.

The clone looked at you for a moment as if he was pondering your choice, his facial expression unreadable. Hyunjin was silent as he waited for the clone’s response.

“I love it!” The clone responded, a wide grin spreading on his perfect face.

“Perfect! We’ll call you Jinnie then,” Hyunjin said while grasping your hand in his to give it a squeeze.

The rest of the evening passed without event, all three of you spending it in front of the tv, watching a movie that Hyunjin had heard was really good from Felix. As the movie went on, you began to feel tired, your eyes drooping and body feeling heavy as you leaned onto Hyunjin. You closed your eyes briefly, telling yourself you’d just take a little cat nap while the ending played on the screen.

However, you were jolted awake by Hyunjin, who was gently shaking your shoulder and calling your name. You quickly sat up, shocked you had actually fallen asleep.

“Let’s go sleepy head,” Hyunjin teased as he pulled you up from the couch. “I already showed Jinnie his room.”

You nodded and followed your boyfriend, slipping into your shared bedroom to get ready for bed. As you got ready for bed, going through the motions of getting into your sleep shirt, brushing your teeth and doing your skin care, Hyunjin prepped the bed pushing your stuffies aside and making sure all of your blankets were at the ready.

Hyunjin slid into bed, patting the space next to him. You giggled and padded over, snuggling under the blankets with your boyfriend. He pulled you close and pressed sloppy kisses to your face, causing you to giggle.

The kisses increased until his lips slotted with yours, soft and sweet, until he pressed his hard on into your thigh and bit your lip between his teeth.

“Need you love,” he whispered in between kisses.

His hands slide down your side, tracing the curves of your hips until he cupped your sex. You let out a soft moan as he slid a finger through your panties, pushing it between your folds soaking the fabric.

“Let me hear you love,” he cooed as he stared at your face, taking in how he was making you feel.

Hyunjin slid your panties to the side and pressed his finger directly against your clit before swirling fast but precise circles against the puffy bud. You whimpered against his lips as shocks of pleasure traveled through your core, your hips moving in time with his movements.

“That’s it love, eyes on me,” he said as his fingers sneaked down to your hole and sliding in within your warmth.

He curled his fingers up and rubbed the little gummy spot that makes your toes curl, your fingers digging into his biceps as he fucked you. You kept your eyes on his, feeling your high build up within you with each passing second.

Hyunjin could tell you were going to come, as he fucked you with his fingers, the palm of his hand giving your clit extra stimulation. His cock twitched within his sweats as you panted and moaned, whimpering his name over and over.

“Hyunjin, fuck! Gonna come!” You squealed as you felt the muscles tighten in your core before letting go, the walls contracting around his fingers as you let out a moan.

“Yes, that’s it love. Such a good girl coming on my fingers,” Hyunjin praised, smirking at the squeal you let out.

He withdrew his fingers and hurriedly pushed his sweats down, his cock finally free and dripping with precum. Hyunjin bunched your shirt up, exposing your lower half to him and spread your legs wider so he could fit more easily between them.

You watched him with a hooded gaze as he lazily stroked his cock, spreading the precum around his length.

“Ready for my cock love?” Hyunjin asked as he teased your clit with his tip, waiting for your response.

“Give me your cock baby,” you begged.

“Fuck!” Hyunjin groaned as he pushed in, his cock sliding in with ease with how wet you were.

He immediately set a fast pace, focused on getting you both to your highs. He was a sight to see above you, his eyes set in a fucked out expression as he bit his plush lips over and over. Beads of sweat pooled on his temple, the droplets making their way onto your belly as they fell away.

You let out a loud moan, so loud that you’re sure Jinnie heard in the guest room. You couldn’t bring yourself to care however, as you focused on how your lovers cock felt deep within you, fucking you just how you like it, until your orgasm built once more, threatening to spill over at any moment. -- -- Jinnie was on his way back to his room after washing up when he heard your moans, high pitched and shrill and mixed with deeper, lower ones. He stopped in front of the door to your bedroom which was slightly cracked allowing him to hear and see the activities that were occurring more easily.

He should walk away and ignore you both, but how could he when you sounded so sweet. Jinnie felt his cock swell in his pants, the tent becoming very noticeable. Ignoring the discomfort he felt down below, he focused his eye on the crack of the door and watched. Watched as his double fucked you within an inch of your life. Listened as you moaned and screamed Hyunjin’s name…his name.

He could see your face, how your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your tongue lolling out as you withered around in pleasure. He could see your toes curl as your legs wrapped around Hyunjin’s waist pulling him closer and deeper. He could hear your wet pussy, the squelches it made as Hyunjin’s cock speared you open.

Jinnie was in awe of you. He found himself wanting to be the one fucking you, causing you to orgasm over and over underneath him. He wanted to be the one to hold you tight at night as you slumbered. He wanted to be the one that loves you.

As you came with a loud yell, he decided he would have you, so you could call him yours and vice versa.

As the weeks passed, all three of you settled into your new routines. Hyunjin and Jinnie would go off to the studio, their schedules busy with rehearsals and recordings for the new album and tour. You stayed home most days, working on your sketches for the fashion show that was coming up as you were a fashion designer. Occasionally you would go into the office for meetings.

The boys usually got home exhausted but energetic, yapping about their day nonstop. You watched in amazement as both of them animatedly reenacted some scene Minho and Jisung had recreated. You couldn’t help but think that they were so similar, the way their brains processed what to say or do next, to the way they moved, almost as if they were in sync.

“And scene!” Hyunjin shouted as he took a bow while Jinnie clapped in delight.

“I have no clue what just happened,” you teased, shaking your head in disbelief.

“What?!” Hyunjin whined, a pout forming on his face.

“We were reenacting the scene from that new action movie that just came out. Minho and Jisung were adamant that we learn the moves and lines,” Jinnie explained with an apologetic look on his face.

“Ah makes sense,” you chuckled.

Hyunjin collapsed on the floor and grabbed his water bottle to take a swig. You sat next to Jinnie, feeling slightly more comfortable with him, but still a little on edge. Hyunjin would be leaving soon to embark on the group’s five month long tour, leaving you here with Jinnie. Anytime he mentioned how close the date was, you would freak out, voicing your concerns at being alone with practically a stranger.

However, Hyunjin would dismiss your concerns saying Jinnie isn’t a stranger, it’s basically him. He’d always reassure you that if he didn’t need the clone, he would not have it. Simple as that. But the company wanted the members to use the clones so they can progress in their careers, so there was nothing he could really do.

You understood, knowing his hands were tied, so you put up with Jinnie and tried to get not let his similarities to Hyunjin get to you.

“Should we have one last game night before I have to leave?” Hyunjin suggested. “We can order take out and everything.”

You and Jinnie both agreed and began picking out a game while Hyunjin ordered the food. It wasn’t long before you three were settled on the floor, board game set up with food all around you. The night passed with friendly banter, making you feel even more at ease with the clone.

“Don’t forget my favorite sweatshirts!” Hyunjin called out to you from the bathroom as you rummaged through the drawers.

You were helping Hyunjin pack as he was leaving for the tour the next day. You spotted the sweatshirts he mentioned and groaned, realizing that his favorite sweatshirts were also your favorites and that you wouldn’t have anything to wear for comfort while he was gone.

“Can you leave one here with me please? I need to have something of yours while you’re gone.”

Hyunjin poked his head from the bathroom. “I suppose. Pick whichever one you want.”

You smiled and began to shift through the fabric, deciding on his black hoodie. You gathered the others and carefully folded them before placing them in his suitcase. You gathered his shirts, pants, socks, and boxers, ensuring he had everything he would need while gone. Satisfied with your work you announced to your boyfriend that you were done packing.

Hyunjin came out of the bathroom, carrying his toiletries with a smile. “Thanks love.”

“Of course, anything for my lover,” you cooed. “You have everything you need.”

“Everything?” Hyunjin asked as he set down his bag in the suitcase.

You cocked your head at him, wandering what he was talking about. You slowly backed away as he stalked toward you, a smirk on his face. As your back hit the wall, Hyunjin approached you.

“I won’t have you,” he murmured as he cupped your chin.

You held your breath as he gently pressed his lips to yours, savoring the slow moment. You were going to miss this, miss him. As you clutched onto his shirt, Hyunjin deepened the kiss as he pressed his body closer to yours until there was barely any space left between you two.

You let out a whimper as he disconnected from you, his eyes on your swollen, red lips.

“Can I have my girl tonight?” He softly said, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close.

You nodded your head as you gazed into his eyes, your pussy clenching over nothing at the implications of his words. Hyunjin smiled and then guided you to the bed. He helped you get comfortable before peeling off your clothes, layer by layer until you lay bare for him.

Parting your legs, Hyunjin settled between them, his eyes on your wet pussy. “Let me take care of you baby,” Hyunjin cooed as he leaned down to get comfortable.

He licked up your folds collecting your slick that was there coating your skin. You let out a low moan as he repeated the action again and again until he dived in, his lips wrapping around your clit in earnest. He began to suck gently, rolling your bundle of nerves on his tongue every now and then, causing you to mewl out.

You gripped his hair, holding him to your pussy as he ate you out, his tongue lapping at clit before pushing into your hole to lick at your walls. You couldn’t help but buck your hips into his mouth as he moaned, the vibrations traveling into your core. You watched your lover as he licked and sucked before leaning back, resting his head on your thigh as he placed lazy kisses on the flesh.

Minutes turned to hours as he edged you, playing with your pussy just the way he likes until you were whimpering and begging for him to let you cum. As he looked up at you during a break, he gently stroked your outer thigh, gazing at you with love in his eyes.

“My sweet girl ready to cum?” He asked, his eyebrows raising as he waited for your answer.

“Yes, yes, please let me cum,” you whined.

Hyunjin smirked before turning back to your pussy, eyeing the flesh. You were soaked, your slick coating every inch of your pussy, your thighs, and the sheets below. He parted your folds carefully, exposing your engorged clit. God he loved when he had you like this, needy and begging, your pussy waiting to be devoured so you could come on his face.

He wasted no time wrapping his mouth around your clit, this time sucking hard and fast. You were a mess as pleasure spread throughout your core. Hyunjin searched for your hands and once he found them he interlaced his fingers with yours as he continued to suckle your clit.

You squeezed his hands as you rocked your hips, riding his face as your high built up within. You whispered a litany of Hyunjin’s name, pleading for him not to stop with Hyunjin humming at your demands, as he pressed his face further into your folds.

With a particular suck and roll of your clit against his tongue, your orgasm hit hard and you let out a loud moan as Hyunjin continued to suck to help you ride out your high. Once satisfied, he leaned back and licked his lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. He took you in as you breathed heavy and laid in the mess you made, completely fucked out.

You were in and out of sleep as Hyunjin carefully cleaned you up before he cuddled next to you holding you tight in his arms. You felt at ease as you snuggled in closer to him, listening to the sound of his heart beat. And as you drifted off to sleep, you dreamed that he didn’t have to go on his tour, that he would stay here with you. But of course, that was only a dream which this time would not come true.

“Have a safe flight baby,” you said with tears in your eyes as you straightened out Hyunjin’s scarf.

The day of the members departure was here. Most of the boys were already outside gathering their luggage, but Hyunjin stayed behind in the van to say goodbye to you.

“Aww don’t cry love. I’ll be back before you know it! And we’ll talk on the phone every night.” Hyunjin said as he wiped your tears away.

“You better,” you mumbled with a pout on your face causing Hyunjin to chuckle.

“Now give me a kiss!” Hyunjin demanded.

He pulled you close and slotted his lips with yours, pressing sweet kisses again and again. You clutched onto his sweatshirt, holding tight as he deepened the kiss, a small moan leaving his lips as his tongue tangled with yours. You both were lost in each other, neither wanting to let go, but time had other plans. There was a sharp rap on the window which startled you both causing you to jump away from each other.

“Well I guess I should go,” Hyunjin murmured as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice laced with sadness.

Hyunjin gathered his bags and opened the door to climb out to a sea of fans and flashing lights. He spared you one more glance, giving you a small smile before stepping next to the others. You watched him as the van drove away, away from your lover.

You weren’t sure what to expect over the next five months, but you hoped it would go by quickly.

When you arrived home, you walked into an empty house as Jinnie was back at the building recording songs for the next album. You took the opportunity to get some work done yourself. You grabbed your sketchbook and some snacks and made yourself cozy on the couch. You began to sketch, finishing up some designs on some dresses.

Time passed as you worked, you getting lost in the vision that was being translated on paper that you didn’t hear the door open as Jinnie came home. He was so quiet that you were startled when he sat next to you to peer over your shoulder.

“Whatcha doing?” Jinnie asked, curiosity in his eyes.

“Oh my god!” You screeched as you clutched at your chest. “You scared me!”

Jinnie’s face changed from curiosity to something sadder, his eyes downcast as he fumbled with his fingers. He didn’t mean to scare you, he just wanted to see what you were working on, wanting to be there for you since Hyunjin was gone.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Jinnie said, giving you puppy dog eyes as if he was begging for attention.

You regarded the man next to you. He was dressed in grey sweats and a white t-shirt with his hair in a half up, half down hairstyle…just how Hyunjin was dressed for his travels. Did Jinnie dress like Hyunjin on purpose? You’re not sure but it was weird.

“It’s okay,” you said as you closed your sketchbook. You were definitely not getting anymore work done tonight.

You both sat in silence, unsure of what to say or do…that is until your stomach growled. Jinnie perked up, a grin on his face.

“Wanna order take out?” He inquired, cocking his head to the side.

“Um, sure,” you murmured. “While you order I’m going to go take a shower.”

Jinnie nodded and pulled out his phone, pulling up the delivery app to browse options.

You began to walk to your bedroom before remembering that he doesn’t know what to order you. Turning around you said, “Oh you can order me…”

But you were cut off, Jinnie picking up his head to look at you. “I know what you like.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. He knew what you liked? How was that possible? Hyunjin always did the ordering. Did Hyunjin discuss with Jinnie your likes and dislikes? You looked up to see Jinnie staring at you, with a look on his face you couldn’t quite place. It was slightly unsettling as he didn’t blink, but sat frozen with his eyes trained on you.

“Oh…okay then,” you said before booking it to your bedroom.

Once on the other side of the door, you let out a breath of relief. That was a little weird you must admit and the way he stared at you, like he knew something you didn’t. As your heart rate settled, you padded across the room, gathering the things you needed for your shower.

You turned the water on and stripped your clothes off before getting under the warm stream of water. You emptied your mind, the thoughts of what just occurred leaving your mind and draining with the water that ran down your body. Once your mind was clear, you were able to fully enjoy your shower, the scent of your honey and green tea body wash relaxing you.

You stayed under the stream until the water ran cold. You quickly got out wanting to put on something warm, plus your stomach was rumbling so loud you’re sure the neighbors could hear it. You put on your favorite pjs and passed Hyunjin’s sweatshirt over your head, taking in his scent.

Satisfied and refreshed, you returned to the living room to the smell of comfort food. You walked a little faster, ready to dig into whatever Jinnie ordered. As you entered, Jinnie looked up with a smile and gestured for you to sit next to him.

“Here you go, all plated up and ready for you to eat!” He exclaimed as he set down a plate of food.

You were taken aback, not used to having your plate made, but accepted it nonetheless. As you scooped the first bite of Mac and cheese into your mouth, you let out a moan, savoring the cheese on your tastebuds. This was just what you needed after a day like today.

You both ate in silence, watching the show that Jinnie picked before you came in. He doted on you every second of dinner, making sure you had enough food and drink. If you needed something, he got it for you, not wanting you to get up. Things were okay until he reached out to wipe a string of cheese off your chin, his gaze on you.

It felt oddly intimate, the man who looked just like your boyfriend cleaning your face. You were conflicted, not sure if you should accept the help or push him away. However, before you could decide, he pulled back before sticking the finger he just cleaned your face with in his mouth. You stared in shock as he sucked on the digit, licking the food residue clean.

As he removed his finger with a pop, he chuckled and turned to look back at the tv like nothing happened. You were still frozen in place, your mind trying to catch up to what Jinnie just did. Maybe it was time to retire for the night, before anything else occured.

You thanked Jinnie for the food and excused yourself to lock yourself in your bedroom. Is this what things would be like with Hyunjin gone? You were a mix of emotions, the feeling of confusion, fear, and a little excitement stirring deep within. You began to get ready for bed, wanting to be within the safety and comfort of your blankets. — — Jinnie wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. He knew you would be sad that Hyunjin was gone but he found that an obstacle he could easily remedy. After all he was here. He is Hyunjin, whether you realized it or not. He has Hyunjin’s looks, his mannerisms, characteristics, he is the perfect copy of the man you called your boyfriend.

He began to clean up the mess from dinner, a smile on his face at how it went. He could tell you were impressed as he made sure you had everything you needed. Even though it was only the first day, things were going smoothly, and if he had anything to say about it, he would continue to make sure it remained so.

As the weeks passed, you became used to Jinnie, how he took care of you, gave you company after he was done with work. You weren’t lonely, which you were thankful for. You finished your sketches for work and had delivered them to the team, the next phase of the project fully underway. You spoke with Hyunjin every night, discussing your day and listening to him talk about his performances.

You missed him dearly, expressing so on the phone every night. Your heart swelled as you listened to Hyunjin profess his love to you, promising to come back very soon. Listening to his voice calmed you, making you feel more at ease with the time remaining that he would be gone. Every time Hyunjin ended the call, he’d always remind you to let Jinnie care for you in any way you needed, making you promise that you’d do so.

After speaking with Hyunjin one night, you laid in bed wide awake, your mind on your boyfriend instead of sleep. You needed him, wanted to feel him, touch him as it’s been so long. With a sigh, you began to drift your hands over your body, lightly brushing them over your breasts, circling your nipples causing you to become wet.

You slowly drifted your hands down, slipping it within your panties to touch your aching core. You began to circle your clit, letting out a mewl at the pleasure that your fingers brought you. Your mind drifted to Hyunjin, thinking of how he would touch you, soft and gentle at first before speeding up, bringing you to your high and savoring the little sounds you made as you let go.

Your eyes were closed as you continued to pleasure yourself, your orgasm steadily building at the thought of your lover. Your moans increased in pitch with each passing minute to the point you didn’t hear the door crack open and Jinnie step in.

You rocked your hips against your fingers, moaned Hyunjin’s name like a prayer, your eyes opening briefly just to see Jinnie standing at the door staring at you, a bulge clearly visible in the sweatpants he was wearing. You let out a gasp and removed your fingers from your panties before sitting up.

“What are you doing here?!” You shrieked, pulling your blankets up your legs to cover yourself.

Jinnie continued to look at you with lust in his eyes. He heard you from his room, your sweet moans as you called out his name as you pleasured yourself. He tried to ignore it, but you just sounded too sweet.

“Let me make you feel good,” Jinnie said as he slowly walked toward you. “You need me baby, so let me. Will you?”

Shit, he must have heard you through the walls. You continued to eye him as he stalked towards you, a pleading look on his face. You were still wet, your panties sticking to your skin, a constant reminder to what you were doing before you were interrupted. You were sad at how you weren’t able to orgasm, the need still pooling in your core.

Your mind was so hazy, drunk with lust and filled with need that you wanted to believe Jinnie was Hyunjin. You remembered how you craved Hyunjin’s touch, wanting to fall apart at the mercy of his fingers. Looking at the man in front of you, you thought fuck it and leaned back on your pillow and removed your blankets from your lower half, exposing your soaked core to him.

Jinnie licked his lips, his eyes trained on your covered pussy, your folds clearly visible through your panties. He quickly scrambled onto the bed, laying on his stomach to come face to face with your core.

You watched as he looked you in the eyes before pressing a soft kiss to your covered clit over and over leaving you breathless at the teasing sensation. Jinnie was in no rush as he pressed kisses down your left thigh, then your right before once more pressing a kiss to your clit.

By this point, you were begging, pleading for him to touch you so you could cum, the pleasure so overwhelming from his actions that you felt sparks shoot down your thighs and little flutters in your belly.

Jinnie chuckled as he pushed your panties to the side, finally coming face to face with your sopping folds. You let out a loud moan as he licked up your slit before taking your clit in his mouth and began to suckle the bud. Your fingers tangled in his hair, guiding his head as plunged his tongue into your hole. With each groan he let out, your arousal gushed out, coating his face as he licked up every drop, not wanting to waste your sweet slick.

You were close, the feeling of the band coiling tighter and tighter within you. You gripped Jinnie’s hair tighter, spreading your legs wider so he could continue without hindrance.

“Lemme come, please, please,” you whimpered.

Jinnie let out a hum, acknowledging your pleas. He’d like nothing more for you to come on his tongue. With a few more suckles he heard you let out a moan as you let go, copious amounts of your release leaking out of your pussy to trickle down your ass and coat his chin. He licked you clean, sticking his tongue in your entrance one last time to massage your walls as you came down.

Once he felt your grip slack on his hair, he leaned back, and gazed down at you. You stared back at him, noticing his blown out pupils and raging boner. All you could do was regulate your breathing as you watched him strip, his shirt coming off with ease to reveal his toned abs, followed by his sweats, his cock springing out and slapping his belly.

You took him in, your eyes glued to his cock that was perfectly identical to Hyunjin’s, down to the little mole on the shaft that you loved so much. Jinnie scooted closer to you and lifted your legs up and onto his shoulders before sheathing himself within you.

You moaned at the familiar stretch, your mind blown with how he can feel just like your boyfriend. You didn’t have time to think much as he began to thrust his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your pussy at a fast pace. It was uncanny at how he knew how to fuck you, how to angle his hips so he can reach that spot that makes your toes curl.

Jinnie smirked at you as if he could read your thoughts, gripping your legs tighter as he slammed his hips into yours. You were his, that he was certain, and he was going to keep it that way.

You clenched around his cock as you felt your orgasm build once more, shock on your face mixed with pleasure at the fact that you were going to come again so soon.

“That’s right baby, come on my cock. Come on Jinnie’s cock,” he cooed, bringing one hand down to thumb at your clit.

You felt the pressure build in your lower belly, stronger than it usually was. The pressure was so much that you thought you were going to pee. Before you could mumble for Jinnie to stop, you let go, your orgasm hitting you hard. You tossed your head back as your vision went white, little stars forming in front of you as you heard a ringing in your ears. You felt your release leak out, so much so that you began to panic.

“No no baby, just lay back, you squirted baby and that’s just so fucking hot,” Jinnie moaned as he punctuated each syllable with a thrust of his hips.

His eyes drifted to your pussy, how wet you were, your pussy talking with each drag of his cock within you. You were perfect, your pussy was perfect, and he was going to claim you, mark you as his. With a few more thrusts, he stilled, his pelvis flush to your ass as he came, his cum flooding your insides and mixing with your slick that was now starting to pool on the sheets.

As he came down from his high, he withdrew his cock, watching as his cum seeped from your pussy. He looked up into your eyes, his heart fluttering as you gazed up at him with a look he couldn’t decipher. He started to get up, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome when you reached out and mumbled “stay.”

You were more than satisfied, your lower half full of his cum, your clit and pussy tingling from the abuse it received. Maybe it’s because you were missing Hyunjin, but as Jinnie got up to leave, you reached out to him and said the one word you never thought you’d say. You watched as Jinnie looked in shock, but then love as he scooted next to you, cuddling you close to his body.

As time passed your eyes became heavy, sleep catching up to your exhausted body. And with the sound of Jinnie’s beating heart and warmth he provided, you feel into a deep sleep.

— —

Ever since you let Jinnie in your bed, it’s become a ritual, where he joins you once you’ve showered. He makes sweet love to you, providing you with orgasm after orgasm until you fall asleep, satisfied and exhausted.

You didn’t mind, matter of fact you were ecstatic, your needs being taken care of while Hyunjin was gone. You mentioned to him one night about the arrangement worried he would object. However, he wholeheartedly thought it was okay, happy that you were being cared for in more ways than one.

Jinnie was your savor in Hyunjin’s absence. He took such good care for you, no matter how tired he was from rehearsal. He made your meals, pampered you, fucked you, made sure you didn’t want for nothing. At first you didn’t mind, as it was nice to be doted on, especially in your lovers absence. However, over time you started to notice slight differences in Jinnie’s behavior.

He became more clingy, wanting to be with you whenever he wasn’t at work. However, that even changed when one day he suggested you bring your work with you so you could join him at the studio. When you declined, he felt dejected, his head hung low with hurt in his eyes. You didn’t care however, as you wanted to carry on with life as usual, not breaking up your routine, especially when it came to work.

Things seemed to be okay as Jinnie backed down a little, staying in his lane and just going with the flow. He hadn’t joined you in bed for a few weeks now, wanting to give you your space. You were grateful for it, needing the room to breathe and take time to think.

However, you began to miss Hyunjin even more as month four hit, his absence starting to take a toll on you.

Jinnie started to notice a change in your behavior, noticing that you seemed more sad than usual. Thinking you needed to be pampered he planned a movie night filled with your favorite snacks.

You joined begrudgingly, not really wanting to be next to him, but also not wanting to hurt his feelings. You chose your snacks and grabbed a blanket to cuddle up for the movie.

Halfway through, Jinnie turned to you and placed a hand on your knee. “Y/n, what’s wrong?”

You looked at Jinnie and said, “I’m just missing Hyunjin,” which was the truth. Your mind was actually on your boyfriend and what you two would be doing right now if he was home.

“Oh y/n, don’t you get it? I am Hyunjin,” Jinnie said.

You were taken aback at his response. The way he was looking at you as if he needed you to understand what he said, to how his hand was still on your knee made you feel uncomfortable.

“You’re not Hyunjin,” you countered, narrowing your eyes at the clone.

“Why of course I am,” Jinnie said with a confused face.

You slowly began to unravel yourself from the blankets and stand up to back away slowly. Something isn’t right. The clone truly believes he is Hyunjin. You didn’t know what to say so you continued to back up until you reached your room. You fumbled for the doorknob and finally finding it, you gave it a twist and quickly stepped inside. After closing the door, you locked it, the click it made making you feel a little more safe.

You walked to your bedside and found your phone, dialing Hyunjin’s number immediately.

“Hey baby!” Hyunjin answered enthusiastically.

You felt the opposite of happy however. “Hyunjin, I’m scared,” you voiced, a slight tremble evident in your voice.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Hyunjin asked, his enthusiasm now turned to concern.

“Jinnie just said that he is you. I really think your clone thinks he’s the original you.”

Hyunjin was quiet, the line silent as the seconds passed on. Finally, Hyunjin responded, “Baby, what are you talking about?”

“You heard me!” You shrieked, desperation in your voice. “Isn’t there something you can do?!”

“Okay, okay, calm down love. I’ll talk with the manager and see what we can do okay?”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but at least it was something. “Okay,” you softly said.

“Okay, good,” Hyunjin paused for a moment, listening to whoever was talking to him on the other side. “Listen love, I gotta go. I’ll talk to the manager and then let you know what they say. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said and hung up.

Now what were you going to do? You couldn’t stay in here forever, although it was tempting. Maybe just for tonight? Yeah, that would work and then tomorrow you can face the nightmare that was right outside your door. — — “Good morning baby!” Jinnie said as he gestured for you to sit, as he had made a huge spread for breakfast.

You cautiously sat down and grabbed some toast, nibbling on the corners as you eyed the clone.

“I was thinking we could go to the park today. I have an empty schedule today.”

You really didn’t want to go anywhere with this clone, but for your safety, you may have to play along.

“Okay,” you agreed half heartedly.

Jinnie’s face lit up at your answer and continued to eat his breakfast. After you finished your toast you got up and walked to the couch, plopping down on the soft cushions. You waited for Jinnie to finish, not wanting to be in the same room with him if you didn’t have to.

However, all too soon, he finished his meal and came to stand beside you waiting for you to get up. Sighing you followed him out of the door, your mood the total opposite of his. You stayed silent as he chattered away filling your day with him.

— —

And so it went day after day, you making sure Jinnie was happy, and unsuspicious. You didn’t let him into your bed anymore, not feeling safe with the prospect. Each night, Hyunjin would reassure you everything would be alright and he’d be home soon, in less than a week in fact. You wanted the days to pass quickly, so you wouldn’t have to be in the house by yourself with Jinnie anymore.

Jinnie slowly started to notice the change, after you turned your head away as he tried to kiss you. He stared at you confused, his eyes trying to catch yours. He tried to kiss you again before you pushed him away. He felt a fire build in his chest at your refusal. Don’t you want, no need him? He’s your boyfriend after all.

“Can I not kiss my girlfriend?” He questioned, reaching out for you.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” you said, not sure what he would do next.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re my girlfriend!” He said with a chuckle.

“You’re not hyunjin!”

This again. Jinnie was tired of hearing you say that. When would you understand he is Hyunjin, the one and only. He is Hyunjn, your boyfriend, the love of your life. Glaring at you, he stepped closer, watching as you stepped back in fear.

“I. Am. Hyunjin.”

Three words, each punctuated in a menacing tone. You were afraid, not sure what he would do. You slowly backed up toward the door, wanting to keep a safe distance between you and the clone.

“Where are you going baby? Why are you running from me?” Jinnie asked, his face falling into a pleading look.

“Stay…stay back!” You shouted as you got closer to the door.

Jinnie began to shake his head, his hands reaching up to grasp at the strands of hair. He dropped them suddenly and rushed towards you, his voice loud and pleading.

“Please baby! I love you! I am Hyunjin! Why are you turning me away?”

You were about to let out a blood curdling scream when Jinnie stopped in his tracks, his face scrunched up in confusion. He tried to move, but found he couldn’t, his eyes on yours. A few more seconds passed before he collapsed on the floor in a heap, his eyes staring straight ahead.

What just happened? You were staring at the clone in shock, too scared to move. Suddenly, you heard a key in the door and stepped away so you wouldn’t get hit. The door opened quickly and Hyunjin stepped through concern on his face as he took in the scene before him.

“Y/n!” He said as he ran to you, engulfing you in his arms for a hug.

You clutched onto his shirt, breathing in his scent that was so familar to you. Hyunjin is here. The real Hyunjin. Your Hyunjin. You buried your face in his chest and began to sob tears of happiness. You were happy this nightmare was over. — — After that eventful day, someone from the company came to take Jinnie away. Hyunjin explained that he was able to get in contact with the manager who spoke with the engineers on possible solutions to your problem. They suggested a system shut down, deactivating the little chip that was implanted in the clones head.

The whole process took thirty minutes, the perfect amount of time for Hyunjin to get from the airport and back to you. He listened as you explained everything that happened, how Jinnie assumed the role of Hyunjin, as he thoroughly was convinced he was the original.

He became obsessed with the role, wanting you to believe it too, which obviously you knew it wasn’t true. After you were done with your tale, Hyunjin cradled you to his body, running his fingers through your hair.

“I’m so glad you’re okay love,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to your head.

You hummed in agreement, snuggling closer to your lover. “So what happens next? You know…since you won’t have a clone?”

“Oh I’ll have to just make it work and work a little extra, but it’ll be worth it if it means you’re safe.”

Your heart ached at the fact that he would have to put in overtime to pick up the slack, but you understood his stance. You wanted to be safe and with your boyfriend, with no extras in the house such as a clone.

-- -- Life went back to normal after a while. You had a successful fashion show, your designs impressing the judges and catching the eyes of some of the fashion gurus. Hyunjin was working more, but was handling the process with grace.

He always came home to you with a smile on his face, ready to smoother you with love. You were glad to have someone in your bed again, happy that it was your boyfriend as he knew you the best, loved you the best.

Hyunjin made sure to remind you nightly as he sheathed himself within your walls, fucking you nice and slow as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, as he touched you just right, grinning as you fell apart to his fingers, mouth, cock.

Yes, life was back to normal and the clone was a thing of the past. You were happy to have your ordinary life back, the thought of the clone slowly being pushed into the back of the recesses of your mind. You had to be around the other members clones occasionally, but that you didn’t mind, as they seemed normal and understood their place.

What once was a good idea turned into a nightmare, as sometimes having a copy of yourself can do more harm than good.

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#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios

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oldsoul007 · 4 months ago

Text

stuck here like me

joel miller x reader

summary: After twenty years apart, you and Joel reunite in Jackson, but while he spent decades surviving, you built a life without him—one he can only look at from the outside before walking away in silence.

a/n: angsttttttyyyyy, some fluff, takes place when joel and ellie make it back to jackson to live there, let me know if you want a part two because I reached the limit hehe, enjoy ;)

joel miller masterlist

I spot Tommy before he even makes it up the path.

I know that walk—slow, deliberate, like he’s carrying something heavy and trying to figure out how to put it down. It’s the same way he used to walk when we lost people, back when grief was a daily visitor we learned to live with.

He doesn’t come out this way often. Not unless it’s important.

The ranch is a little ways from town, far enough that most folks don’t bother making the trip unless they’ve got a reason. Tommy’s got a reason.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and step off the porch as he slows to a stop by the fence. He swings off his horse, and I meet him halfway.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, brushing the dust off my hands. Tommy’s mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “Y/n.”

I step into him easily, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He hugs me like it’s nothing, like it’s second nature—and maybe it is, after all this time. After everything.

“Didn’t think you’d make it out here today,” I say as I pull back.

“Yeah, well. Thought I’d check in on you.” His eyes flick toward the house. “Been a while.”

“Two weeks, Tommy. You’re slacking.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh, the corner of his mouth tilting up. But the lightness doesn’t stick. His gaze drops to the ground, hands sliding to his hips.

I don’t notice at first. My mind’s already moving, still caught in the easy rhythm of conversation.

“Well, the kids were just talking about you the other day,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans. “They wanna hang with Uncle Tommy soon—take the horses out maybe, or—”

I trail off when I see the way he’s looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth pulls tight. The lightness in his eyes fades into something heavier.

“We got some new folks in town,” he says carefully. My stomach tightens. “Yeah?”

Tommy hesitates—just for a second—but it’s enough.

“It’s Joel,” he says finally.

My breath catches.

I stare at him, feeling like I’ve misheard. But I haven’t. I know it in the way Tommy looks at me—soft and steady, like he’s bracing himself for impact.

Joel.

My Joel.

The world tilts under my feet.

I hear him, but my body won’t catch up. My breath locks in my chest. I shake my head, staring at Tommy like I can will the words away. “No,” I say, too quiet. “That’s not—”

Tommy’s expression softens. “It’s him, y/n.”

“He’s not alone,” Tommy had added, his voice soft. “Got a little girl with him.”

Something deep inside me clenches so tight it hurts. My vision blurs at the edges, and for a second, I feel untethered—like if I don’t hold on to something, I might just float away.

He’s alive, and he’s here, in Jackson, in the same place as me, breathing the same air, walking the same streets.

For the first time in twenty years.

I don’t realize my hands are shaking until Tommy steps closer and grips my arm. “Hey,” he says gently. “I know this is a lot.”

I nod, but it’s automatic. My throat feels tight, my chest too full.

Tommy hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should say more. But in the end, he just squeezes my arm once before letting go. “You okay?”

No. But I don’t say that.

Tommy shifts his weight, the heel of his boot scuffing against the dirt. “He asked about you.”

My heart jolts painfully against my ribs. “What did you say?”

“Told him you’re doing fine.”

I press my lips together, nodding.

Tommy watches me closely. His eyes soften. “Y/n—”

“I’m fine.” My voice is too quick, too thin.

Tommy’s mouth twitches like he’s about to say something else, but in the end, he just sighs.

“You don’t have to see him,” he says quietly. “If you don’t want to.”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

Tommy hesitates for a second longer, like he’s waiting for me to crack. When I don’t, he steps back toward his horse and grips the reins.

“I’ll be around,” he says.

I nod. “Alright.”

He swings back into the saddle. His eyes linger on me a beat longer before he clicks his tongue and guides the horse down the path. I stand there, arms crossed against the chill, watching him disappear toward the tree line.

The breeze shifts through the dry grass, brushing over the porch steps. I hear the faint sound of the horses in the stables, the quiet creak of the weathered barn door swinging in the wind.

Joel is in Jackson. And he asked about me.

I head back toward the house, the screen door creaking under my hand as I push it open. My hand is still on the doorframe when I pause, looking out toward the horizon.

I know this land better than I know myself. The stables, the hills beyond the creek, the trails that lead into the woods. I’ve walked them a hundred times.

But now it feels different.

Like maybe there’s a ghost in these hills.

—

I don’t see him. Not at first.

“He’s not alone,” Tommy had added, his voice soft. “Got a little girl with him.”

A little girl.

That’s what pulled me toward town, even when I knew I should stay put. I didn’t even remember leaving the ranch, but somehow I was here now, standing just outside the square, breath hitching in my throat as my eyes caught him.

Joel.

He was talking to Tommy, his back to me, but I knew him like I’d seen him just yesterday. Broader now, a little more gray in his hair, his shoulders tense beneath his worn jacket.

And next to him—there she was. The girl. Maybe fourteen. Freckles, wild brown hair, arms crossed over her chest with the kind of defiance only a kid could wear so comfortably. Joel stood close to her, protective. Always protective.

My chest squeezed.

I should leave. I should turn around, go back to my house, pretend this moment never happened. But I don’t.

I stayed frozen there, my boots planted firmly in the dirt. I could’ve turned back. Maybe I should have. But then Joel shifted, like he felt me, and when he turned—

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say my name but can’t. His face flickers through a thousand things at once—shock, disbelief, something deeper, something broken. His hands twitch at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for me or run.

The world shrinks to just the two of us.

His face… the years were carved into him like stone. Deep lines at the corners of his eyes, at the crease of his mouth. But those eyes—they hadn’t changed. Dark brown, the same way they used to soften when he looked at me.

“Y/n.”

It wasn’t a question. Just my name, rough and low and familiar.

My breath hitched. His eyes swept over me like he was trying to take me apart, piece by piece. My knees locked to keep from swaying under the weight of it.

I took a step toward him, then another. Joel didn’t move at first—he just stared, his eyes sharp and dark. And then his jaw tightened, and he crossed the distance between us in three long strides.

And then his arms were around me.

I stumbled into him, my hands pressing against his back as his arms locked tight around me, one hand curling at the back of my head. My breath hitched as his chin dropped against my shoulder.

“Hey,” I whispered against him.

He breathed out, his chest rising and falling hard beneath my hands. His arms stayed locked around me, one hand splayed against my back like he was grounding himself. My fingers curled into his jacket.

We stood there too long. Longer than anyone would call just a casual hug. But neither of us let go. His heart thudded against mine. My eyes burned.

Finally, Joel’s hand slid from the back of my head, brushing down my hair. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands framing my arms. His eyes softened, but there was something sharp in them. Something guarded.

Joel’s jaw tensed. His hands flexed around my arms, but he didn’t let go. “Tommy said you knew.”

“I did.” My breath hitched. “I just… I didn’t know if you’d want to see me after all this time.”

Joel’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked over my face, searching, and then his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure me out.

A small voice broke the silence.

“Uh… hi?”

Joel’s head turned toward the girl standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. She was watching us with open suspicion, one eyebrow raised.

Joel’s hand dropped from my arm. His posture shifted slightly, more guarded now, his protective instinct flaring up the way it always did when Sarah was nearby. My stomach squeezed painfully at the thought.

Joel’s gaze lingered on me for half a second longer before he spoke.

“Ellie,” he said. His voice was steadier now. “This is y/n.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “You know each other?”

Joel’s gaze sharpened. His mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We know each other.”

Ellie’s eyes slid toward me. “How?”

Joel hesitated. His jaw flexed. “It’s… complicated.”

Ellie snorted. “Figured.”

Joel’s hand dragged down his face, weariness etched into the lines of his face. His eyes met mine again, dark and searching.

I glanced toward Ellie, then back at him. “She yours?”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly. His mouth parted like the question had caught him off guard. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “She’s not mine.”

Ellie made a face.

Joel shot her a look. Ellie just shrugged.

“She’s… with me,” Joel said after a beat, his voice low. “Been taking care of her.”

My heart twisted painfully.

“She’s lucky to have you,” I said softly.

Joel’s jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on mine for a long moment. “I don’t know about that.”

Ellie made a scoffing noise. “Yeah, well, I’m still alive, so he’s doing something right.”

Joel’s gaze sharpened toward her. “Ellie.”

She held up her hands, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Joel’s eyes softened just a fraction as he looked at her. My chest squeezed at the sight. That protectiveness—that quiet steadiness—it was still there. Still Joel.

Joel’s eyes slid back toward me.

I hesitated. My hand twitched toward my chest—toward the thin gold band on my finger—but I stopped myself before it could catch his eye.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said quietly.

Joel’s eyes softened, something flickering beneath the guarded expression. “Yeah.” His voice was low. “Me too.”

Ellie shifted impatiently.

“Yall should get settled,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Jackson’s a good place. Safe.”

Joel watches me a second longer, his jaw tight, like there’s something he wants to argue, something he wants to say. But instead, he nods.

I turn before I do something stupid—like let my heart remember what it was like to be his.

I avoid him after that.

It’s not easy. Jackson isn’t a big place, and people talk. I hear his name in passing, see glimpses of him from a distance—helping with patrols, talking with Maria, fixing up some old building with Tommy. The girl, Ellie, is always nearby, a shadow at his side. She reminds me of Sarah in some ways, the way she carries herself, the sharpness in her eyes.

But I don’t go near him.

I don’t trust myself to.

The hug was a mistake. I should have turned and walked away the moment I saw him, but I didn’t. I let myself feel something I buried a long time ago, something I had no right to hold onto anymore. And Joel… Joel felt it, too. I could tell in the way he held me, in the way he didn’t want to let go.

I can’t let it happen again.

So I stay away.

I stick to my routines, my family, my home. I keep my head down, and for a while, it works. Until it doesn’t.

—

It happens a week later.

I’m standing near the garden beds in the middle of town, hands resting on the edge of a planter as Maria talks. The smell of soil and cold air hangs between us.

“So, we’ll need someone to cover the north patrol this week,” Maria says, arms crossed over her chest. “Could use someone who knows the area.”

I glance toward the street where my kids are playing with a couple of the other town kids. Their laughter cuts through the crisp air, sharp and clear.

“I don’t know, Maria,” I say, quiet but steady.

Maria’s gaze follows mine. “They’re old enough now,” she says, voice soft. “You know they’ll be fine.”

My stomach knots. I know that. But it doesn’t make it easier.

“You’ve done your part,” Maria says. “Hell, you’ve done more than your part. But Jackson’s safer with you out there.”

I’m opening my mouth to respond when I feel it—someone watching me.

It’s not loud or obvious. Just a shift in the air, the way my skin prickles under the weight of a gaze I know too well.

I turn toward the street, and there he is.

Joel stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, broad shoulders tense beneath the worn canvas of his coat. His face is unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are heavy and sharp, searching me for something I’m not ready to give.

Maria’s gaze flicks toward him, then back to me. Her expression sharpens. “Think about it,” she says, tone clipped. Then she gives Joel a look before stepping away.

I don’t move until she’s gone. Then I force myself to turn toward him fully. “Hey.”

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Been tryin’ to find you.”

I shift my hands to my jacket pockets. “Been busy.”

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah,” he says, but there’s doubt in his voice. “Guess I just thought… after all this time… you might wanna talk.”

My gaze flickers toward my kids again. I force myself to keep my expression even.

“There’s not much to say.”

Joel tilts his head, studying me with that quiet intensity that always made it hard to breathe. “That why you been avoidin’ me?”

My chest tightens, but I keep my face neutral. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

His brows lift slightly. “Right.”

The weight of his gaze is unbearable. I glance toward the street again, toward the sound of my kids’ voices, and it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something sharp.

Because I have a husband. A family. A life.

But Joel doesn’t know that. And I don’t tell him.

Because the moment I say it out loud, the moment I name it, everything between us will become real again. He’ll look at me the way I know he will—like I’ve slipped through his fingers all over again.

So I don’t say anything. I just shove my hands deeper into my pockets and shift my weight. “I should go.”

Joel watches me, his jaw tightening. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess you should.”

I turn and walk away before I do something stupid.

Before I tell him the truth.

I try to keep my distance after that. I really do.

But Joel has never been the type to let things go.

—

The next time I see him, it’s late. The town is quiet, the sky thick with stars. I’ve just finished putting my kids to bed when I step outside for air, wrapping my arms around myself as I breathe in the cold. The past week has been suffocating—knowing Joel is here, knowing I can’t let myself get close.

And yet, somehow, he still finds me.

I hear the scuff of boots before I see him.

“You always did like the quiet,” he says, voice low and rough.

I turn, and there he is—leaning against the wooden railing of my porch, arms crossed. He looks older in the moonlight, more worn than he did all those years ago. But he’s still Joel. That part of him hasn’t changed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, but my voice lacks any real conviction.

Joel huffs a soft breath. “Yeah, well… got the feelin’ you weren’t gonna come find me.”

I sigh, pressing my hands to my face before letting them fall. “Joel—”

“Just talk to me, y/n.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You can’t just—see me again after twenty years, hug me like that, and then disappear.”

I close my eyes briefly, willing the lump in my throat to go away. When I look at him again, his face is softer—like he’s pleading, like he’s just as lost as I am in all of this.

I sink down onto the porch steps. For a moment, I think he’ll leave, but instead, Joel exhales and eases down beside me. We sit in silence, the night stretching wide around us.

“Didn’t think I’d ever find you again,” he admits after a while. His voice is lower now, almost hesitant. “Hell, didn’t think there was anything left worth findin’.”

I swallow hard, staring at my hands. “I stopped wondering a long time ago,” I say quietly. “Had to. Didn’t see the point in hoping for something that wasn’t gonna happen.”

Joel nods slowly, like he understands. Like he lived through the same kind of grief. “Guess I shoulda known you’d make it,” he says. “Always were tough.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “I wasn’t tough, Joel.”

“You were,” he insists. “You are. You… You saved me more times than I can count, you know that?”

I glance at him, startled. “Joel—”

“You did,” he says again, voice thick. “Even when you didn’t know it.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “After Sarah… I wasn’t sure I was gonna keep goin’. Didn’t see the point. But you—” He pauses, shakes his head like he’s searching for the right words. “You kept me human. Kept me from bein’—”

The kind of man he became.

He doesn’t say it, but I hear it anyway.

I blink back the burn in my eyes and look away. “I should’ve been there,” I whisper. “I should’ve—”

“No.” Joel’s voice is firm. “There wasn’t anything you could’ve done, y/n.”

I clench my jaw, swallowing against the ache in my chest. “I still think about her.”

Joel’s breath shudders. “Me too.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the last. I stare out at the town, at the flickering lights in the distance, at the life I built. A life Joel was never supposed to be part of again.

“I miss her,” I admit.

Joel nods, his voice barely audible. “Me too.”

We sit like that for a while, side by side, ghosts between us.

I know I should end this here, should get up and go inside before I let myself get too close again. But I don’t.

Because for the first time in twenty years, I don’t feel so alone.

—

Joel doesn’t show up at my house again right away.

For a while, things stay the same—I see him in passing, hear his name spoken in town, feel his presence like a shadow I can’t shake. We don’t talk about that night on the porch. Maybe we both know it’s better that way.

So when I open my front door one evening and find him standing on my porch, I’m not surprised.

I am, however, completely unprepared.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

I grip the doorframe like it might hold me upright. “Joel.”

His gaze drifts past me, into the house, and I know he’s taking it all in—the warmth of the fire, the sound of laughter from the other room, the smell of dinner lingering in the air. A home. A life. One that isn’t his.

One that never could be.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asks after a moment, his voice light, but there’s something beneath it, something heavier.

I hesitate, just for a second, before stepping aside. “Yeah. Come in.”

Joel moves past me, slow, his eyes sweeping over everything—the framed drawings on the wall, the worn blankets draped over the couch, the little boots by the door. His jaw tightens. I can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists before he forces them loose again.

He’s seeing everything he never had. Everything he lost.

And then—

“Daddy, look!”

I freeze.

Joel does, too.

My son barrels into the room, waving a wooden toy in the air, and runs straight into the arms of the man who walks in after him—my husband.

I feel the air shift before I even turn to look at Joel.

Because I know what he’s seeing.

My husband laughs, ruffling our son’s hair, his smile easy, warm. He’s kind, steady, everything I needed when the world felt like too much. He doesn’t hesitate when he lifts our son into his arms, doesn’t flinch when our boy clings to him, laughing.

Joel watches it all, silent.

I force myself to breathe.

“Y/n?” My husband looks up, finally noticing Joel. His brow furrows. “Who’s this?”

I swallow hard, ignoring the way my hands feel unsteady at my sides. “This is Joel,” I say carefully. “An old friend.”

Joel’s face doesn’t change. He just nods, his voice even when he says, “Nice place you got here.”

My husband nods back. “Thanks. Been a long time since y/n had any old friends show up.” He chuckles, bouncing our son once before setting him down. “She doesn’t talk much about the past.”

I feel Joel’s eyes flick to me. I don’t look at him.

“That so?” he murmurs.

My husband claps a hand on Joel’s shoulder, always friendly, always welcoming. “You should stay for dinner. We’ve got plenty.”

Joel doesn’t move for a long moment. I wonder if he’s going to refuse, if he’s going to say something, if he’s going to—

But then, he just shakes his head, offering the smallest of smiles. “No, I should get going, just wanted to stop by.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t name. Something deep, something that aches.

I wonder if he’s thinking about all the things he never got. A home. A family. A son who runs into his arms without fear. A wife who waits at the door, smiling when he comes home.

Joel’s gaze lingers for a second longer before he steps back toward the door. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

And then he’s gone.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my chest tight, my heart unsteady.

I don’t go after him.

Because I know—just as well as he does—some things aren’t meant to be spoken out loud.

—

I hadn’t been on patrol in years.

Maria had asked—no, begged me, really—about a dozen times to come back on the rotation. My kids were older now, the ranch wasn’t as demanding, and I wasn’t getting any younger. She said it would be good for me to get back out there. Said I’d be helping the community.

But every time she asked, I just found an excuse. I didn’t want to leave my family behind, didn’t want to risk being away from them for too long. They were my everything, my anchor.

But eventually, I relented. Maria practically wore me down. And so, here I was, gearing up for a patrol, reluctantly pulling my vest on and checking my gear.

I watched my three kids in the living room, the boys, already getting into some roughhousing, while my little girl, sat on the couch, clutching her stuffed bunny. She was so small, so fragile, even after all this time.

She was sensing the shift in the air, stood up and waddled over to me. Her little hands reached for my legs, and she looked up at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “Mama, I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice small but heart-wrenching.

My heart clenched in my chest as I bent down to scoop her up, holding her tight against me. “I know, sweetie,” I murmured, kissing her forehead. “But I have to go. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

I kissed her forehead, whispering, “Be good for Daddy.”

My boys, still half-distracted by their wrestling, looked up.

My husband stepped into the room just then, his eyes soft as he walked over to me. Without a word, he pulled me into a kiss, brief but full of unspoken feelings.

“Come back safe,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against mine for a moment.

“I will,” I said again, pulling away, my heart aching.

I turned to leave, one last look at my kids as they waved from the door.

“Be safe, Mama!” They shouted.

“I will, I promise,” I called back before heading out the door.

They waved from the window, and I waved back, trying to smile. My oldest hand was resting on my youngest little head, her face pressed against the glass.

—

“I’ll be fine,” I said to myself, as much as anyone else, as I checked my rifle. It wasn’t the patrol I minded—it was the thought of facing things I didn’t want to face again.

Jackson’s streets were quieter than usual as people prepared for the oncoming winter, most already taking refuge inside their homes. My boots crunched against the snow as I made my way to the stables, where the patrols usually gathered.

I should’ve known something was off when I saw Maria standing there, looking tense as she talked to a familiar figure. Joel.

Great.

My stomach twisted into knots when I saw him.

Joel was standing by one of the horses, adjusting the straps on his gear. He looked different—harder, with a rougher edge than I remembered. His eyes had the same weight to them, the same depth, but his body was broader, more solid, like he’d taken years of wear and tear and only gotten tougher.

Maria caught sight of me and gave a small wave. “Hey, y/n, thanks for doing this. Joel’s new at patrol. Thought you could show him around the area.”

I nodded curtly. “Sure. No problem.”

Joel turned at the sound of my voice, his eyes locking onto mine almost immediately. There was no surprise there, no flicker of recognition at the moment. It was as if he was already expecting me to show up, though his expression softened just a bit when our eyes met.

“Y/n,” Joel said, his voice as rough as I remembered.

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say, or if I even wanted to speak. The tension between us still hung in the air like an unspoken apology, the years that had passed only thickening it.

Maria handed me a map and some supplies before giving us both a nod. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just make sure to stick to the area. Stay close to town.”

I barely acknowledged her as she walked off, my attention already on the horse I’d need to ride. I kept my gaze trained forward, refusing to meet Joel’s eyes again.

Joel mounted his horse first, adjusting his gear, the weight of his gaze lingering on me.

“You gonna teach me the ropes, or what?” he asked, his voice quieter this time.

“Just stay close and follow my lead,” I said, trying to keep my tone even, but the underlying edge was there.

We started riding in silence, the snow crunching beneath the hooves of our horses as we made our way toward the outskirts of Jackson. My stomach was in knots, the quiet between us stretching longer than it should. The past twenty years felt like a lifetime, and every inch of space between us seemed to weigh a ton.

Finally, as we rounded a bend, Joel spoke. His voice was calm, but I could hear the tightness in it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shake my head, exhausted. “Tell you what, Joel?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” His voice hardened, just a bit, with the question. “Why didn’t you tell me you had kids?”

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now, not like this. The words were already there—sitting on the tip of my tongue—but I forced myself to swallow them.

“It wasn’t your business,” I said, more sharply than I meant to.

Joel’s jaw clenched, and I could see the way his hand tightened on the reins. “It wasn’t my business?” His voice was low but raw. “You think I wouldn’t care? You think I wouldn’t want to know what happened to you?”

I could feel his eyes on me, and I kept my gaze straight ahead. “It’s not like that, Joel.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, his voice thick with frustration. “You didn’t think I deserved to know? Or you just didn’t want me to know the truth? That you went off and got a family, while I…” His voice trailed off for a second, and I could see the way his fingers flexed around the reins, his knuckles white.

“You know what happened to me,” I said quietly, the sharpness in my voice slipping just enough for my vulnerability to bleed through. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want you to know.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but his frustration didn’t subside. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted to be there for you? To help you?”

I shook my head, my breath catching in my throat. “I didn’t need your help, Joel. I needed to move on. I needed something… something normal.”

He scoffed, clearly frustrated, his gaze turning cold. “Normal? Is that why you couldn’t tell me? Because you were so busy trying to create some perfect little life that didn’t include me?”

“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, finally turning to face him. “You don’t get to throw that in my face. You don’t get to act like I owe you some explanation for how I lived my life. You left. You disappeared.”

His face hardened, his lips pressed tight as if he were holding something back. “You think I wanted to disappear? I didn’t have a choice, y/n. None of us did.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. “I couldn’t just wait around. I couldn’t just stand still while my world kept falling apart.”

Joel opened his mouth to say something, but I turned away, refusing to let him see how close I was to breaking.

“I don’t need your forgiveness, Joel,” I said softly. “I just need you to understand that I did what I had to do.”

There was a long, painful silence as Joel rode beside me. I could feel his gaze on the back of my head, but I didn’t dare look at him.

“Yeah,” Joel said after a while, his voice quiet. “I get it.”

But we both knew it wasn’t that simple.

—

The gates creaked open as we approached, the familiar faces of the patrol guards nodding at us. Maria waved from the guard post, her smile genuine, but I could tell she could sense something was off. She always had that way about her.

“Y/n! Joel! Good to see you back in one piece,” Maria said, her voice bright but laced with concern.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I said, forcing a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “No problems out there.”

Joel, on the other hand, didn’t even glance at Maria. He just gave a small grunt and walked past her, disappearing into the gates without another word.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead as I followed behind. The weight of everything was crushing, but I didn’t want anyone to see it. Not now. Not in front of Jackson.

Inside the gates, everything was calm—too calm for what had just happened. The kids were playing in the streets, some people were talking, others were tending to the animals or making their way home. It was a normal evening in Jackson, and I should have felt relieved to be back in the safety of the settlement, but all I could think about was Joel’s words. His accusations. His anger.

And the way he’d looked at me before we left, like I was some stranger he couldn’t even recognize anymore.

I walked past a few familiar faces, nodding and greeting people, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. He wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay. But I had to pretend. For everyone else.

“Y/n,” Tommy’s voice called from behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I turned to see him walking toward me, his face lighting up when he saw me. “Hey,” I said with a forced smile, trying to push the weight of the argument and the silence from my shoulders. “Everything okay here?”

Tommy grinned. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just got back from the stables. We’ve got a new batch of supplies in from the west side. How about you? How was the patrol?”

I didn’t want to talk about it, but I couldn’t avoid it. “It was fine,” I said quickly, trying to make it sound like it had been just another patrol. “We got into a bit of a scuffle, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push. “You sure? You don’t look like you’re fine.”

I forced a smile again, brushing off his concern. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “Alright. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I nodded, stepping away as I tried to make my way toward home. I couldn’t help but glance over at the direction where Joel had disappeared, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But there was nothing. The world was moving on, and I was stuck in this mess of old feelings and unspoken words.

I wanted to make everything okay. I wanted to fix things, to make it feel like it used to. But I knew it wasn’t that simple.

Joel wasn’t the same anymore, and neither was I.

But for now, all I could do was put on the mask and pretend. Pretend everything was okay.

Because there was no other choice.

Days pass. I avoid him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

I have a life now. A family. I can’t just let Joel drag me back into the past.

—

20 years ago

The kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan. I moved around the counter, chopping vegetables, the soft sound of the knife cutting through them mixing with the low hum of the oven. The evening light was fading outside, casting everything in a soft, golden glow.

Sarah in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, doing her homework or reading—something that kept her distracted. Her laughter occasionally bubbled up as she talked to me from across the room. She didn’t mind the quiet either.

I loved these quiet nights—just the simple rhythm of cooking dinner, the familiar routine. It made everything feel right, grounded. As I stirred the pot, I could hear the soft creak of the floorboards behind me, the sound of someone moving closer. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The familiar weight of his presence, the warmth in the air, was enough.

And then, just as I added the last of the spices, I felt his arms slip around me from behind, pulling me in close. His chin rested on my shoulder, and for a moment, everything stopped. The knife in my hand was forgotten as I leaned back into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re making my favorite,” he murmured, his voice low, warm with affection. His breath brushed against the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

I smiled softly, glancing over my shoulder at him.

He tightened his hold a little, like he wanted to pull me into him more. His lips brushed my neck in a soft kiss, lingering for a moment. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of him flood over me, savoring the comfort of this.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he whispered, the words so quiet they almost seemed like a secret just between us.

I felt my heart tug at the simple honesty in his voice. The world outside, everything that had happened, seemed to fade away in that moment, leaving only this—us—together in the quiet of the kitchen.

“I hope not,” I whispered back, turning in his arms, our faces only inches apart. Joel’s eyes softened, the weight of everything we’d been through settling between us, but in that moment, there was nothing else but the peace we’d found here, together.

With a small, quiet smile, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and sure. It was gentle, but it carried the weight of all the things we didn’t need to say. Just us. Just this.

And in that instant, I realized that no matter what else happened, I’d always hold on to this. This small, perfect moment. Just Joel and me, in a kitchen full of the smell of dinner and the quiet hum of life moving on.

—

We were careful. Cordial. Friendly, even, in that way people are when they have too much history and not enough words. We saw each other in passing, at the stables, at town meetings, in the market. He kept to himself most of the time, but I saw how he watched over Ellie, how he was trying, even if he didn’t always know how.

And then there were the moments that caught me off guard.

Like when I’d be in the town square, helping my husband with the livestock trade, and I’d glance up to find Joel watching from a distance. His eyes would flick from me to my husband, to my kids, to the life I had built without him. He never said anything about it, never let his expression betray anything more than quiet observation, but I knew him too well.

I knew what he wasn’t saying.

And maybe that was why, on a cool evening, I found myself walking up to his house with a basket in my hands.

It wasn’t much. Just a small batch of cookies, warm from the oven, the kind I used to make for him before.

I hesitated outside his door. It was stupid, really. He might not even remember. But before I could overthink it, I knocked.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Joel blinked at me, looking more surprised than anything. “Y/n.”

I lifted the basket slightly. “Brought something for you and Ellie.”

Joel glanced down, and for the first time in a long time, something like warmth flickered in his eyes.

“You remember,” he said quietly.

I huffed out a small, nervous laugh. “Hard to forget how you used to hoard these things like they were gold.”

Joel shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Still are.”

Something in my chest ached. This—this easy familiarity, this old rhythm of knowing each other—was dangerous. It made me remember too much.

Before I could linger too long in it, there was a noise from inside.

“Who’s at the door?” Ellie’s voice called out.

Joel sighed, stepping back and nodding for me to come in.

I hesitated.

And then I did.

The house was simple but warm—lived in. A fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of old wood and leather filling the space. Ellie sat on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, whittling something in her hands. She glanced up as I entered, brows raising.

“Hey,” she said, studying me like I was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet.

“Hey,” I replied, setting the basket down on the small table near the couch. “Brought you something.”

Ellie perked up instantly, setting her whittling knife down and leaning forward. “Wait. Are those—” She lifted the cloth covering the cookies, eyes widening. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Joel exhaled, shaking his head. “Manners, kid.”

Ellie ignored him completely, already stuffing a cookie in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut. “Okay, these are so much better than the ones they make in town.”

I smirked. “Well, I was always better at baking than Joel, so that tracks.”

Joel let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “I didn’t bake.”

“Exactly,” I said with a grin.

Ellie perked up at that, something sparking behind her eyes. “Wait, wait, wait—you knew Joel before all this?”

Joel stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited, watching me.

I hummed, tilting my head. “Oh, yeah. Way before.” Ellie’s brows shot up. “How far back?”

I glanced at Joel, but his expression was unreadable. “Before the outbreak,” I admitted.

Ellie’s mouth fell open slightly. “Whoa. So, like, you knew young Joel?”

I bit back a laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t say young—he was already an old man in spirit.”

Ellie choked on her cookie, grinning. “Oh my god. I knew it.” Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”

Ellie ignored him, leaning forward like I’d just promised her the juiciest gossip of all time. “Okay, What was he like?”

I tapped my chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… well, he was stubborn—”

“Big shock,” Ellie deadpanned.

“—and bossy,” I added.

“Still checks out.”

“And,” I drawled, smirking at Joel, “he thought he was so cool, but really, he was just a huge dork.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head. “Y/n.”

I grinned. “What? You were! Always muttering under your breath, acting all broody—” I turned back to Ellie. “You know, I once caught him singing to himself while he was fixing his truck?”

Ellie’s face lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding solemnly. “And not just any song. It was some cheesy ‘80s ballad, and he was really into it.”

Ellie clutched her stomach, laughing. “Joel, is this true?”

Joel sighed heavily, like he was reconsidering his entire existence.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice like I was sharing a secret. “And he used to smile all the time. Like, actual, real smiles.”

Ellie’s laughter slowed as she blinked at me. “Seriously?”

Joel went quiet.

I felt my own smile falter, something heavier settling between us.

I cleared my throat, forcing some lightness back into my voice. “Yeah. He was a good man.”

Ellie looked between us again, clearly picking up on something, but thankfully, she didn’t push.

Instead, she sat back, munching on another cookie. “Huh. You know, I think I like you.”

Joel shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Lord help me.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

For a second, it was easy—too easy—to pretend like things weren’t broken. That Joel and I weren’t standing on opposite sides of something too wide to cross.

—

I should’ve known better than to let my guard down.

That night at Joel’s, sitting with Ellie, laughing, letting the past slip off my tongue like it wasn’t still a wound—it was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. Because now I can’t stop remembering.

The way Joel used to smile at me like I was his whole world.

The way I used to look at him like he was mine.

The way we used to belong to each other before everything fell apart.

And now we live in the same town, breathing the same air, orbiting around each other like ghosts of the past we never buried.

I do my best to avoid him.

I keep myself busy—taking care of the kids, helping my husband on the farm, working in the stables. It’s easy to pretend when my hands are full, when my days are long, when I fall into bed too exhausted to think.

But Joel doesn’t make it easy.

I see him everywhere. Walking through town, talking to Tommy, riding out for patrol. I feel his eyes on me when I pass him on the street, when I’m at the market, when I’m laughing with my kids. And every damn time, I pretend I don’t notice.

But then, some nights, I slip.

Like tonight.

It’s late—spring air thick and cool, the sky stretched wide and star-freckled above Jackson. I’m at the stables, brushing down one of the horses, the rhythmic strokes lulling me into a quiet, distant place.

I don’t hear him at first. Not until his voice cuts through the quiet.

“You always did love the stables.”

I freeze. My heart lurches painfully, betraying me before I can shove the feeling down.

Slowly, I turn.

Joel stands a few feet away, holding a saddle in one hand, the other resting against the wooden stall. His eyes are dark in the dim lantern light, watching me like he’s trying to read the parts of me I keep hidden.

I swallow. “And you always loved sneaking up on me.” His lips twitch like he wants to smile—but doesn’t.

He steps closer, setting the saddle down on the nearby bench. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods, but his gaze flicks over me, like he doesn’t believe me. Like he still knows me well enough to see through the cracks.

Silence settles between us, heavy with things we don’t say.

I turned toward him, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. His eyes flicked down immediately, and I realized too late what I’d done.

The scar.

It stretched over my shoulder, pale against my skin even in the dim light. My husband always told me it had faded, but I knew better. It was still there. A reminder.

Joel went still.

His gaze darkened, brows pulling together, and before I could say anything, his fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should.

“What happened?” His voice was low, rough around the edges.

I swallowed. “Joel—”

“Y/n.”

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the brush in my hand. “It was years ago.”

Joel didn’t say anything, just waited.

I turned away, running a hand down the horse’s mane, grounding myself before I spoke.

“It was before Jackson,” I murmured. “Bandits found our camp. We fought back. I—” I swallowed. “I got lucky.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t lucky.” I forced a small smile. “I survived.”

Something in his expression shifted, something deep and unspoken. He took a slow step forward, his hand hesitating before it finally reached out.

His fingers barely grazed the scar, the lightest touch, but it sent a shiver through me.

I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve stepped back, laughed it off, said something to make it less. But I didn’t.

Because his touch was careful. Reverent. Like he was mourning something he never even knew he lost.

Joel swallowed thickly, his voice quieter now. “Did he take care of you?”

I knew who he meant.

“Yes,” I whispered. Joel nodded, but something in his eyes was raw, something heavy pressing between us.

We stood there for a long moment, neither of us moving, his fingers still hovering just barely over my skin. The air between us felt thick, charged with something we weren’t supposed to name.

Then, just as quickly, Joel pulled back. I cleared my throat, stepping away. “You should get some rest.” Joel exhaled, like he was letting something go. “Yeah.”

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away. I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand over my shoulder—where his touch still burned.

—

It had been a few months since Joel and Ellie settled into Jackson. Things were… good, mostly. Better than I expected, considering everything. Joel and I had found a rhythm again—not quite the way it used to be, but close. Close enough that some days it felt easy to slip into old habits.

He’d come by the stables when I was working, make some dry comment about how I hadn’t changed, and I’d roll my eyes and give it right back to him. He’d show up at my house sometimes, too—usually under the pretense of asking about patrols or Jackson’s defenses—but he’d stay longer than necessary, and we’d find ourselves talking about things that had nothing to do with Jackson. Things like Sarah. Things like the life we almost had.

And it was fine. It was safe. It was a line we both knew better than to cross.

Until today.

We’d just gotten back from a longer patrol—a rough one. A couple of clickers had gotten too close to the perimeter, and Joel had gotten clipped. Nothing serious, but he was pissed. His shirt was torn at the sleeve, dried blood crusting the fabric. He wouldn’t stop flexing his shoulder like he was trying to work the soreness out, and it was starting to grate on me.

“You should’ve let me handle it,” I muttered, brushing down my horse as Joel stood nearby, watching me with that same hard look he always wore after a fight.

“Yeah, and let you get yourself killed?” Joel scoffed. “Not a chance.” I rolled my eyes. “I had it under control.”

“Yeah, sure,” Joel bit out, shaking his head. “Looked real under control from where I was standing.”

I spun toward him, frustration bubbling over. “God, Joel, why do you always have to make it a thing?”

“Because it is a thing!” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. “You think I’m just supposed to stand there and watch you throw yourself into danger?”

“That’s how patrol works, Joel. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes were sharp and dark, cutting right through me.

“Yeah? And where the hell was your husband while you were out here risking your life?”

I froze. My hand stilled on the horse’s reins, my breath catching in my chest. Slowly, I turned toward him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Joel took a step closer, his shoulders tense, his eyes burning into mine. “It means you’ve got a whole family waiting for you back home, y/n. And yet here you are, out on patrol, risking your life every damn day.” His voice was low, rough, like he was trying to hold it together but barely managing. “Why the hell are you still doing this?”

I shook my head, trying to laugh it off. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Don’t I?” Joel’s voice sharpened. “Because last I checked, we’ve been doing this together for months now. And I don’t see him coming out here with you. I don’t see him keeping you safe.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not his job.”

“It should be.” His eyes flashed. I felt the heat rising to my face. “What are you even trying to say, Joel?”

Joel’s face twisted into something complicated—anger and hurt and longing all wrapped up together. He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “You know what I’m saying.”

“No, I don’t,” I shot back, my heart pounding. “So why don’t you just say it?”

Joel’s mouth curled into something bitter. “Fine,” he bit out. “Your husband—he got everything I wanted.”

The words hit me like a gut punch.

Joel took a step closer, his eyes burning into mine. “You think it’s easy for me? Watching you with him? Watching you with your kids?” His voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply. “You built a life with him. A whole life. A family.” His jaw flexed, his voice trembling. “And it should’ve been me.”

My mouth went dry. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it.

“You think I don’t think about it?” Joel’s voice dropped, low and raw now. “About how different things could’ve been if you’d stayed? If I had pulled myself together and told you how I felt before you left?” His eyes darkened. “But I didn’t. And now I get to watch him have the life that I should’ve had with you.”

My chest squeezed painfully. “Joel—”

“No.” He cut me off, his eyes hard. “I need to say this. You think it didn’t kill me? Knowing that you moved on? That you built a life with someone else?” His breath hitched, his eyes sharp with something almost desperate. “That you had his kids?”

I blinked, feeling the sting of tears that I refused to let fall.

“I’m happy for you,” Joel said, but his voice sounded anything but. “Really. You deserve to be happy. But don’t stand here and act like it doesn’t kill me every time I see him put his arm around you. Every time your kid calls him ‘Dad.’” He took another step toward me, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body. “It should’ve been me, y/n. It was supposed to be me.”

My throat tightened. “Joel, you don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?” His voice sharpened again. “Because it’s true?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “Because it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” His eyes searched mine, desperate, angry. “Tell me you’ve never thought about it. Tell me you’ve never looked at him and wondered if it should’ve been me instead.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Joel’s eyes were sharp, his breath shallow. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “That’s what I thought.”

We stood there in the cold barn, the sound of the horses shifting restlessly around us, the storm still lingering in the distance. I didn’t know what to say. What the hell could I say to that?

Joel’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hand flexing at his side like he was barely holding himself together. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I could feel was the weight of what he’d just said sitting between us like a live wire, burning and dangerous.

Joel shook his head, his eyes dark. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know.” Then he turned, his hand running through his hair as he started toward the barn doors.

“Joel,” I said, my voice strained. He stopped, his back to me.

“I…” I trailed off, not even knowing what I wanted to say.

Joel sighed, his shoulders sinking. Without looking at me, he said, “I’ll see you around, y/n.”

Then he walked out, leaving me standing there, heart racing, head spinning, wondering how the hell we were supposed to come back from this.

a/n: part two coming soon…

381 notes · View notes

amyzworldds · 3 months ago

Text

Part Three: Shattered Roads

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Alt Ending

Y/N’s solo debut prep silences Seventeen’s dorm, the boys clinging to her cardboard cutout—until a devastating car accident lands her in a coma. Torn between tour duties and despair, they rally for her recovery. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor, Angst

Weeks had bled into a haze, and Y/N still hadn’t woken. Before the crash, Seventeen was mid-world tour, a whirlwind of stages and screams, with a month-long break planned before the Asia leg. Y/N had seized that gap to finish her solo debut, sy/ncing her promo with their return to the road. But the accident shattered everything—her coma stretched on, and the boys faced a gut-wrenching reality: the tour couldn’t stop. Fans had paid, venues were booked, and the machine of K-pop churned on, merciless.

At the airport, they shuffled through the crowd, a lifeless procession of hoodies and hats. Seungcheol led, eyes hollow, jaw tight. Carats waved signs—“We love you!” “Fighting!”—but the boys’ smiles were plastic, rehearsed. They’d visited Y/N that morning, a ritual now—her hospital room a shrine of their guilt and hope. Her parents were there too, taking shifts, but the boys still came, talking to her still form, singing off-key just to fill the silence. “Y/N-ah, you’d hate this quiet,” Seungcheol had murmured, squeezing her hand. “Wake up and yell at us, okay?”

DK had knelt by her bed, voice cracking, “We’re leaving for tour… don’t be mad we’re not here. We’ll be back fast.”

Hoshi lingered, staring at her bandaged head. “Your standee’s mocking us at home. I’d trade it for you in a heartbeat.”

Wonwoo adjusted her blanket, whispering, “Rest up… we need you back…”

Jun patted her arm, faint smile fading, “No pranks ‘til you’re here to laugh…”

Minghao traced her hand, voice soft, “Dance battle’s on hold—don’t forget…”

On the plane, the usual chaos was dead. No Y/N bouncing down the aisle, chattering—“Hoshi oppa, stop hogging the snacks!” or “Dino-yah, let’s film a tiktok!” Just silence, broken by the hum of engines. Seungcheol stared out the window, replaying her scream. Jeonghan clutched a pillow, eyes red. Vernon scrolled his phone, avoiding crash pics still circulating online. They were ghosts, bracing to fake it for millions.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Two countries down—Singapore, Jakarta—and they’d pulled it off. On stage, they smiled, danced, laughed, feeding Carats the energy they craved. Offstage, they collapsed, calling Y/N’s parents daily. “Any change?” Seungcheol would ask, voice tight.

“Still sleeping,” her mom would say, gentle but heavy. “She’s stable… just waiting.”

DK cried after every call, “She’s missing this—she’d love these crowds…”

Seungkwan nodded, wiping tears, “We’re half a group without her noise…”

Mingyu stared at his phone, her Weverse kimbap post still pinned. “I’d kill to hear her nag me again…”

Wonwoo pushed his glasses up, voice low, “She’d hate us being this quiet…”

Jun fidgeted, “I keep expecting her to jump out, yelling ‘Gotcha!’…”

Minghao sighed, “She’s the pulse… this feels wrong…” They soldiered on, but each show carved deeper into their hollow shells.

--------------------------------------------------------------

At the hospital, weeks had stacked into a gray blur. Then, one quiet afternoon, Y/N stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, the harsh light stabbing. She squinted, head throbbing, the room spinning into focus—white walls, beeping machines, flowers wilting by the bed. Her mind was a fog—flashes of headlights, a scream, the crash. Nothing else. “W-Where… what day is it?” she croaked, voice rusty.

The door creaked, and her mom stepped in, freezing. “Y/N?!” She dropped her bag, rushing over, tears spilling as she hugged her. “Oh my God, you’re awake—you’re awake!”

Her dad bolted out, shouting, “Doctor! She’s up!” Nurses and doctors swarmed, checking vitals, shining lights in her eyes. “She’s stable,” one said, smiling. “Needs rest, but she’s out of the woods—can leave soon.” The head bandage was gone, just bruises and a faint scar left.

Her mom sobbed, stroking her hair. “We were so scared… the boys too—they’ve been here every chance, wrecked. Especially Seungcheol—he still blames himself, even though we told him it’s not his fault.”

Y/N managed a weak laugh, throat dry. “Dorks… all of them. Cheol oppa’s probably crying into his apron still.” She paused, eyes lighting up. “Mom, don’t tell them I’m awake. I wanna surprise those idiots—they deserve a shock after all this.”

Her mom chuckled through tears, nodding. “You’re evil… fine, my lips are sealed.” She texted Manager Kim instead—“Y/N’s awake, don’t tell the boys—she wants to surprise them.” Kim grinned at his phone, replying, “She’s back—oh, they’re gonna lose it.”

Her dad squeezed her hand, teary but smiling. “You scared us, kid. Rest up—your oppas are gonna need oxygen when you pull this off.”

Y/N smirked, sinking into the pillows, already plotting. The tour trudged on without her, but she was awake—and ready to reclaim her chaos crown.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks had passed since Y/N woke from her coma, and though she wasn’t fully recovered—still a bit wobbly, head tender—she was back to her scheming self. The boys remained in the dark, slogging through their tour, and she wasn’t about to let them off easy. “Sorry, oppas, you’ll suffer a little longer—it’s me, Y/N, deal with it,” she muttered to herself, smirking in her hospital room. She’d been resting, regaining strength, and plotting a comeback that’d knock their socks off.

One afternoon, she cornered her doctor, eyes gleaming. “Doc, can I dance yet? Sing? I need to know—I’ve got plans!”

The doctor chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “No dancing—not yet, your body’s still healing. But singing? Go for it, just don’t push too hard.” Y/N grinned, clapping weakly. As a thank-you to the nurses and doctors who’d nursed her back from the brink, she staged a mini-concert right there in her private room. Propped on her bed, she belted one of her album tracks—voice a little raspy but alive—nurses tearing up, doctors swaying. “No posting this, okay?” she winked, mid-note. “It’s a secret—I’m cooking something big!” They nodded, charmed, pocketing their phones as she finished with a dramatic bow, nearly toppling off the bed.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Seventeen trudged through their final tour leg, a robotic parade of forced smiles and lifeless steps. On stage, they dazzled Carats—Seungcheol’s dimples flashing, Hoshi’s tiger roars echoing—but backstage, they flopped onto couches like deflated balloons, texting Y/N’s mom for updates. “Still not awake,” her reply buzzed back, same as always.

DK groaned, sprawling across Mingyu. “It’s been months—how’s she still out? Is she Sleeping Beauty now?!”

Seungkwan snorted, though his eyes were red. “Yeah, waiting for her prince to kiss her awake—maybe we should send San.”

“Hey!” Hoshi yelped, tossing a water bottle at him. “I’d wake her with my tiger charm, but she’d just yell at me for drooling on her!”

Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, voice low, “She’s tougher than Sleeping Beauty… but it’s too long…”

Vernon slumped, staring at the ceiling, “I keep thinking she’ll barge in, yelling about my messy bunk…”

Minghao fidgeted with his rings, muttering, “She’d hate this quiet… it’s not her…”

Seungcheol forced a laugh, hollow. “Maybe she’s faking it—testing how long we’ll cry before she jumps us.” They chuckled, but the fear lingered, gnawing deeper with every show.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Unbeknownst to them, Y/N was orchestrating a masterpiece. Fully discharged but still on the down-low, she’d called Manager Kim, voice brimming with glee. “Oppa, I’ve got a plan—huge surprise, for the boys and Carats! Can we pull it off at their last show?”

“What now, you gremlin?” Kim laughed, already hooked.

“Okay, listen—we fake a technical glitch mid-concert, stop their performance. I hide in a room, lights go out, boys get ushered offstage. Then I sneak on, lights stay off, and I sing a song from my album—boom, surprise! They’ll lose their minds!”

Kim cackled, “You’re evil—I love it. Let’s do it.”

Now, at the final concert venue, Y/N sat in a tucked-away room, makeup artist dabbing at her face, stylist fussing with her outfit—a sparkly number that screamed “I’m back, losers!” She was still a little shaky, but her spirit was ablaze. “They’re gonna cry harder than when they thought I ditched them,” she snickered, peering at her reflection. “Perfect—time to ruin their day in the best way.”

Her makeup artist grinned, “They’ve got no clue—you’re a menace.”

“It’s my love language,” Y/N shot back, stretching her voice with a soft hum. She waited for her cue—two songs from the end—heart pounding with mischief. The boys, oblivious robots on stage, had no idea their Sleeping Beauty was about to wake up and wreck their world.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The boys was mid-“Super” performance, tearing up the stage—Seungcheol belting, Hoshi roaring, Mingyu flexing —when the music screeched to a halt. Lights snapped off, plunging the arena into dark chaos. Carats gasped, the boys froze mid-step, and confusion erupted.

“What the—?!” Seungcheol barked, spinning around. “Did the sound guy fall asleep?!”

“Hyung, what’s happening?!” DK yelped, clutching Mingyu’s arm. “Are the lights gonna spark? What if the stage catches fire?! Carats are out there!”

“Calm down, it’s not a disaster movie!” Mingyu hissed, though he looked spooked too. “But seriously, what’s up? Are we cursed now?!”

A staff member bolted onstage, flustered, whispering to Seungcheol, “Technical glitch—backstage, now!” His panic was contagious, and the boys stumbled off, muttering.

“Technical glitch my foot!” Hoshi grumbled, tripping over a cable. “This better not be Hoshi sabotage—I’m too pretty to die in a spark shower!”

Backstage, they piled into a room, sweaty and jittery. “Okay, someone explain!” Seungcheol snapped, pacing like a caged lion. “What’s broken? The fans—Carats—what happens to them?!”

DK flopped onto a couch, dramatic. “First Y/N, now this? The universe hates us!”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Jun muttered, half-serious. “She’s punishing us from her coma…”

“Don’t say that!” Seungkwan whacked him, eyes wide. “She’s just sleeping—don’t jinx it!”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in a hidden room, Y/N was a one-woman hurricane—twirling in her sparkly pink cocktail dress, chaotically “dancing” to no music. Manager Kim grabbed her shoulders, “Y/N, sit down! You’re still recovering—doctor said no dancing!”

She cackled, spinning out of his grip. “Relax, oppa! I could dance Maestro backward and Aju Nice upside down! I’m back—deal with it!”

“You’re a menace,” Kim groaned, throwing up his hands. “Fine, but if you collapse, I’m not carrying you!”

“Pfft, I’d make you anyway,” she shot back, winking. A staff member peeked in, signaling—showtime. Y/N tiptoed out, giggling, “Time to ruin their night—let’s go!” The hall was pitch-black, staff bustling onstage “fixing” things, Carats whispering in confusion. Y/N slipped into position—center stage, mic in hand—unseen, a pink shadow in the dark.

A minute ticked by, staff scurried off, and then—her song kicked in, soft and haunting from her album. She sang, voice ringing clear, and the lights flared up, spotlight pinning her in all her glittery glory. Carats lost it—screams shook the roof, “Y/N! Y/N!” echoing like a tidal wave.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Backstage, the boys were a mess. Seungcheol ranted, “These technicians—do they even test stuff?! We’re mid-tour, and now we’re stuck in a blackout—Carats deserve better!”

“Coups, chill,” Joshua tried, but Seungcheol spun on him.

“Chill?! What if this cuts the show short? Fans paid for this!”

Minghao slumped, “Maybe it’s just bad wiring… or Y/N’s ghost…”

“She’s not a ghost!” Wonwoo snapped, glasses slipping. “But yeah, this sucks…”

Then—the screams hit. Not panic—pure joy. The boys froze as “Y/N! Y/N!” chants roared through the walls, followed by her voice—live, singing her solo track. Seungcheol stopped pacing, “Wait… that’s—?!”

DK bolted upright, “Her song?! Is this a prank?!”

Hoshi peeked out the door—no one there. “That’s her voice—live! She’s here?!”

They locked eyes, disbelief morphing to glee. “She’s awake!” Seungkwan shrieked, and they tore out, sprinting to the stage like kids on sugar.

There she was—Y/N, mid-stage, pink dress twinkling, belting her heart out. Smiles cracked their faces, and restraint vanished. Hoshi led the charge, “Y/N-IE!”—and they swarmed her, a 13-man pile-on. The mic flew from her hand, clattering as she laughed, buried under hugs.

“You’re back! You’re alive!” DK wailed, squeezing her like a teddy bear.

“Our princess—our chaos queen!” Seungkwan yelled, jumping.

“I knew you’d wake up!” Mingyu sobbed, nearly lifting her off the ground.

“Never scare us like that again!” Seungcheol roared, ruffling her hair, tears streaking.

Wonwoo grinned, glasses fogged, “You owe me a book talk—don’t forget!”

Jun laughed, “Prank’s on us now, huh? You win!”

Minghao spun her gently, “Dance battle’s back on—you’re mine!”

Y/N shoved them off, cackling, snatching her mic. “Eww, get off me, you sweaty dorks! I’m a princess—can’t you see I’m mid-concert?! You’re crashing my stage like sasaengs—out!” She waved them away, dramatic, but her grin was pure sunshine.

“Crashing?!” Hoshi yelped, clutching her arm. “We’re your VIPs! We’re staying!”

“Yeah, good luck kicking us off!” Dino taunted, hopping around her.

“You’re back—that’s all that matters!” Vernon laughed, filming the chaos.

“I’ll allow it,” she smirked, then faced the crowd, “Carats, say hi to my annoying members—they missed me too much to stay away!” The arena erupted, fans screaming as the boys bounced like overexcited puppies.

“We’re never letting you out of sight again!” Jeonghan declared, slinging an arm around her.

“Try it—I’ll hide with 13 more standees!” she fired back, and they groaned, laughing.

The concert rolled on, Y/N finishing her song with 13 giddy shadows behind her, their chaos queen reclaimed—pink dress and all.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N barely got through her solo song before Seventeen turned it into a hug-fest. She’d belt a line—“I’m shining bright, oh yeah!”—and DK would snatch her into a bear hug, “You’re back, my sunshine!” She’d wiggle free, hit another note, only for Mingyu to swoop in, “Never leaving you again!”—lifting her off her feet. Seungkwan dove next, “My turn, you pink gremlin!”—and she’d screech, “Let me sing, you dorks!” The mic became a hot potato, bouncing between her and the floor as Carats howled with laughter.

The staff finally intervened, rushing onstage like zookeepers. “Y/N, off—now!” one barked, grabbing her arm. “Doctor’s orders—no overdoing it!”

“What?! I’m fine!” she protested, flailing as they dragged her off. “I just sang three lines—let me live!”

Manager Kim loomed backstage, arms crossed, “You just got out of a coma—no dancing, no chaos! You’re watching, not performing!”

“Boo, you’re no fun!” Y/N pouted, plopping onto a chair, legs kicking. “Fine, let the boys sweat it out—I’ll be the princess in the back!”

The boys took the stage, powering through their set—Super, Clap, Hot—sweat flying, smiles plastered for Carats. Y/N watched, smirking, plotting. “They think I’m done? Cute,” she muttered, eyeing the encore like a hawk.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The final encore hit—Aju Nice—and the boys were jumps, Carats waving lightsticks, when Y/N decided rules were optional. She bolted from backstage, pink dress glittering, and leapt onto the stage like a caffeinated bunny. “Surprise, losers—I’m back!” she yelled, jumping, spinning, and running laps around them.

Seungcheol’s jaw dropped, “Y/N, what are you doing?! Sit down!” He lunged to grab her, but she dodged, cackling.

“No way, Cheol-oppa—I’m alive, let me jump!” She hopped like a kangaroo, mic in hand, belting off-key, “Oneul nan maryaaAaaAA!!!

DK flailed, “You’re gonna collapse! Stop it!” He chased her, arms out, but she zigzagged, giggling.

“Catch me if you can, slowpoke!” she taunted, darting past Mingyu, who yelped, “Y/N-ah, the doctor’s gonna kill us!”

Woozi groaned, still singing, “Someone get her—she’s a liability!”

But Hoshi? Hoshi was her chaos soulmate. He grinned, “That’s my girl—let’s go!” He joined her, leaping like a tiger on a trampoline, “Jump with me, Y/N-ie!”

“Hoshi oppa, you’re the best!” she cheered, and they bounced together, a pink tornado of madness. Carats screamed louder, loving the anarchy.

Seungcheol roared, “Hoshi, don’t encourage her! She’s fragile!”

“Fragile?!” Y/N spun, mock-offended. “I survived a car flip—I’m invincible! Watch this!” She attempted a backflip, wobbled, and Jun caught her mid-stumble, “Nice try, princess—stick to jumping!”

“I’m helping!” Hoshi argued, hopping beside her. “She’s happier this way!”

Minghao sighed, “You’re both gonna end up in casts…”—but he couldn’t hide his grin.

Vernon filmed, laughing, “This is gold—Y/N’s back, and we’re doomed!”

Seungkwan tackled her into a hug, “Stop moving, you pink disaster—I missed you too much to lose you again!”

“Get off, I’m mid-performance!” she squawked, shoving him, only for Joshua to scoop her up, “Time out, chaos queen—sing, don’t sprint!”

“Put me down, Shua-oppa—I’m the encore star!” she flailed, kicking, as Wonwoo chuckled, “You’re starring in a hospital sequel if you keep this up!”

The staff hovered, panicked, but Manager Kim threw up his hands backstage, “She’s unstoppable—let her have it!”

Y/N broke free, grabbed her mic, and belted the final note—“Oneul nan maryaAa!!!”—jumping one last time before collapsing into Hoshi’s arms, laughing. “Told you I’m fine!”

“You’re insane!” Seungcheol yelled, but his smile betrayed him as they swarmed her again, a sweaty, giggling mess.

Carats chanted her name, the boys half-scolding, half-celebrating, and Hoshi high-fived her, “Best encore ever—let’s do it again tomorrow!”

“Over my dead body!” Kim shouted from the wings, and Y/N just winked, “Too late, oppa—I’m back!”

291 notes · View notes

xu-ren · 4 months ago

Text

Memory Loss

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Rick Flag x pregnant!reader

Warning: Pregnancy stuff, memory loss, a bit of body description

A/N: Found this in my drafts and decided, why not. But I'm also gonna make an effort to write a little more from now on! Mildly inspired by the 8 Year Engagement.

*~*~*~

When you are heavily pregnant with his child, Rick loses his memory. "You have been lucky that he had lasted so long without any complications, given his occupation," said the doctor. You don't feel lucky, heavily pregnant as your husband forgot all about you, just you. He could remember everything else, his job at Argus, the members of the Suicide Squad, June, just not you.

You let him stay with you, hoping that the familiar place would jolt his memory. And it's easier than moving all of his things, you tell yourself, unable to confess even to yourself that you would take this shadow of your husband over not having him at all.

He catches you struggling to put on your shoes, so he helps you. It's similar to when he used to, but not as well. He is still so gentle as he slipped your feet into your shoes, but his hand does not linger, and neither does his thumb rub mindless circles on your ankles.

He still calls you darlin' sometimes, but the affection behind it is gone, and it hurts more than it heals, to hear your favourite pet-name fall from his lips without his ocean of love behind it.

The smell of dinner triggered your gag reflex, making you waddle as fast as you can to the washroom. He still rubs your back, but kisses are no longer interspersed between the trail of heat his hands leave behind. He still helps you to sit up on the toilet seat, and hands you your toothbrush and a cup, but he doesn't kiss you as he used to, trying to assure you that he loves you even when you are puking your guts out on a near daily basis. You miss the kiss more than you can say, as well as the wrinkle of his nose at the taste of vomit lingering prominently on your mouth.

"Can I.... lift your belly up?" Rick asked hesitantly, watching as you lift your belly with both arms only to grimace as your lower back twinge, as if angry that you had forgotten about it. Rick used to do that, helping to lift your belly up whenever he could, in the shower, when you stood up, when you were cooking in the kitchen and even when you were just walking around.

"I read that it helps," Rick continues when you don't answer, too lost in your memories of a different time and a different Rick.

"I'm alright, thank you," you answered, smiling at him. A smile that quickly turned into a grimance when your back twinges again. You desperately wanted to accept his help but it feels like a betrayal, to do something so sacred between you and your Rick with this Rick.

You lower your belly gently even as your back and your hips protested before bracing both hands on your lower back. You push your burdened womb out, groaning in relief as you do so, innocently unaware of the way Rick's pants tightened.

He hated this part of him so badly, this part of him that lusted after a married woman, even if your husband was nowhere in sight. You still wore your wedding ring, for goddess sake. You were clearly not over your husband and all he could think about was being your husband, being by your side and helping you.

"Rick?" You call out. You had been struggling to get out of the bath for a while, but after a slip, luckily it was more of a jolt than a fall, you knew that you had no choice but to swallow your pride and ask Rick for help.

It had been your first bath since the whirlwind that your life has become recently and you had forgotten that it was impossible for you to get out of the bathtub alone. Before, Rick had always been there to help, if he wasn't already in the bath with you, running a hand across your back as he held you securely with his other. You would lie on top of him, resting your head on his chest as the warm water and Rick's heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

He appears at the doorway before you can call a second time, drying his hands with a towel from washing the dishes. "Can you.....help me out?" you ask hesitantly, holding out a hand towards him.

"Of course, darlin'," he answers easily as he threw the towel into the sink, approaching you with but a few large strides. He bypassed your outstretched hands to instead grip your forearms, his large hands covering most of your forearms easily with room to spare.

He heaves you up in a single swift move, causing you to huff and pant, trying to catch your breath as your baby kick and pummel your insides. You had no choice but to hold on to Rick's shirt as you swayed your hips back and forth, trying to get used to having the weight of your belly back on your hips as well as your loosen hips. You had been waddling stiffly these days, your hips aching and creaking with every move but it couldn't be helped, with trying to help Rick get settled.

Even through all of that, you could feel the weight of Rick's eyes on you, staring and assessing every part of you. Part of you wanted to hide away, or at least, to get some clothes on so you could hide some of your flaws. You should have just continued to try to get out of the bath, instead of this, letting Rick see every stretch mark, your stretched taut skin rippling with movement from your womb, hair in places you can no longer reach, your darken aerolas and so much more.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Rick breathed out. "How could your husband bear to leave you? If I was your husband, I would never leave you."

Your heart jolted at that, and you desperately wanted to cry. But you have, you have, you wanted to say. Instead, you settled for ignoring the later sentences.

"You flatterer, I would still let you stay even if you told me I look like a beached whale, you know?"

"You don't believe me," Rick breathed out, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are fucking. Breathtakingly. Beautiful. Every single inch of you."

*~*~*~

Will Rick regain his memory? Will he not? Will you fall in love all over again? Who knows? Certainly not me.

#rick flag x y/n #rick flag x you #rick flag x pregnant reader #rick flag x #rick flag x reader #rick flag #suicide squad x y/n #suicide squad x you #suicide squad x reader #suicide squad #x pregnant reader #pregnant reader #x pregnant!reader #pregnant!reader #pregnant

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Monster Mania.

Pairing: Yandere!Vampire!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Werewolf!Wriothesley (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Oral Sex, Mentions of Blood, Non-Human Anatomy, Possessive Behavior, Prolonged Imprprisoment, and Slight Dehumanization.

“Pouting won’t get you out of this.”

“I’m not—” You paused, gritting your teeth as his shoulder pressed uncomfortably into your stomach. In retribution, you did your best to drive your knee into his chest, to let him know he was hurting you without admitting that you were even more fragile than he’d assumed, but if he cared about your attempts at resistance, if he so much as noticed that you’d moved at all, Wriothesley didn’t waver. “I’m not pouting, I’m trying to get away from my fucking stalker and his—” Another fit of thrashing. This time, Wriothesley was kind enough to tighten his hold on your legs. “—fucking dog. Why is that so hard for you two to get that through your heads?”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against your thigh. “Might be how often call us… what was it, again? A stalker and a dog?”

You scowled, crossing your arms. From your current position, slung over his shoulder, the remnants of one of his rope snares still wrapped around your left ankle, you could only see the thin footpath he was following and the dense forest that laid beyond it. The tree canopy was too thick to let you see the sky (something you mourned and Neuvillette adored, considering his fondness for early evening walks), but rays of golden sunlight still managed to pierce the endless sprawl of branches and leaves, marking the first signs of dusk. Neuvillette had still been asleep when you slipped through the door Wriothesley had forgotten to lock when he left for his daily hunting trip, but he’d be waking up soon; you could already imagine him rising from his canopied bed, picture the diluted shock he’d wear as he stepped into your bedroom for his first meal of the night only to find it empty. You weren’t surprised Wriothesley was so eager to get you home. Neuvillette was stoic at the worst of times, but the thought of letting his pet blood-bag get away was one of the few things that could get a reaction out of him.

Not that Wriothesley was much better. He was more level-headed, sure, more likely to let you wear something aside from ivory nightgowns and untangle you from Neuvillette’s arms when his hunger left him in a blood-thirsty daze, but that never stopped him from taking Neuvillette’s side when you found yourself in another petty argument, from standing in the doorway with a smile and a dreamy look in his eyes as Neuvillette fastened a lace collar around your neck, a collar just a touch too small to cover the twin puncture marks at the base of your throat and just a touch too similar to the steel choker that sat at the base of Wriothesley’s throat more often than not. He might’ve been human, something as mortal and as delicate as you were, but he was still a monster. He’d be crushed under Neuvillette’s heel a thousand times before he ever considered showing you mercy.

The shadow of their mansion was coming into view, now – the lonely building just as dark and just as intimidating as it’d been the first time Wriothesley lured inside. It stretched on as far as the eye could see in either direction and towered above you like some awful, looming thing; thick curtains constantly drawn over its many windows and every surface of its exterior constantly covered in a thick layer of creeping ivy. The rotting boards of the front porch groaned under his weight as he approached the front door, and you braced yourself as he cursed under his breath, patting down the pockets of his heavy flannel. You weren’t sure why they bothered keeping the door locked at all – aside from what it took to keep you trapped inside, at least. Neuvillette was the most dangerous thing for the next hundred miles, and Wriothesley was a close second.

The inside of the mansion was just as ominous; any light from the outside world captured and suffocated before it could penetrate Neuvillette’s endless abyss. You squirmed, hoping Wriothesley would at least let you cross the threshold on your own, but he wasn’t so kind, only responding to your silent plea with a playful squeeze to your calf as he made his way past the entryway and down an unlit hall, passing several torn paintings and overturned tables before finally shrugging open the door to Neuvillette’s study. A bottle of red wine sat open and half-drained on his mahogany desk, a small fire smoldering in the stone hearth he only rarely used. Neuvillette sat beside it, dressed in a simple black robe, his eyes blearily focused on the low-burning flames. He looked concerned, but his apprehension faded as Wriothesley carried you into his line of sigh, disappearing completely as you were hauled off of Wriothesley’s shoulder and dropped into Neuvillette’s lap. One of his hands found its way to your waist, its twin cupping your cheek, tilting your head back and allowing him to press a lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Beloved,” he muttered, practically breathing out his pet name for you before turning to Wriothesley. “Thank you, duke. I’m sorry you’ve had to inconvenience yourself for the sake of what should be my responsibility again.”

With a groan, Wriothesley fell onto the foot of the fireplace, shrugging off his coat. Where Neuvillette chose to hide his bloodlust behind a thick veil of unwavering niceties and delicate elegance, Wriothesley leaned into his brutality; broad muscle straining at the confines of his black undershirt, scruff cropping up faster than he could clear it away, his hair an untamable mess of black and grey and his clothes caked in an ever constant layer of mud and wear (save for his metal choker, of course, which was always polished to conspicuous shine). His eyes lit up when he heard Neuvillette ask after him, posture straightening like that of a soldier called to attention. You’d been too generous when you called him a dog. He was a mutt, too mindlessly obedient to ever question his master’s orders. “How many centuries has it been since you’ve had a reason to call me that?”

“It should be four this year.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. You could feel the points of his fangs, still tucked behind his lips but no less dangerous for their momentary concealment. “Don’t you have something to say to him, as well?”

It took a moment to register he was talking to you, another to recognize the hypocrisy of what he was asking you. Your pressed frown fell into an open-mouthed balk. “Absolutely not.” And then, when Neuvillette held strong, “You can’t expect me to thank him for keeping me trapped here—”

“Silence.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bear his fangs or dig his pointed nails into your thigh – he didn’t have to. All it took was that tone. Assertive, but not quite forceful. Lulling, but no softer than the wood and stone of his hellish mansion. Immediately, you shut your mouth. Neuvillette closed his eyes, letting out a raspy sigh before taking you by the hips and turning you in his lap, so that you faced outward rather than into his chest. That was enough to earn Wriothesley’s full attention, perking up as you were perched on the edge of Neuvillette’s lap. “Why don’t we try that again. Do you have anything to say to Wriothesley?”

You glared pointedly at the floor. “Thank you. For bringing me back?”

“And?”

“And...” This was the part you hated the most. If there’d been an alternative – a dungeon they could’ve thrown you into, a brand they could sear into your skin – you would’ve embraced it with open arms. But, that was the worst part about dealing with an captor. He had all the time in the world to make you bask in your own humiliation, and he never seemed to tire of the pasttime. “And, thank you for making sure I didn’t get hurt in the forest.”

As if there was anything out there that could’ve hurt you more than they did. Still, it seemed to appease Neuvillette, who let out an approving hum as he turned to Wriothesley. “What do you think? Be honest, this time. No lesson was ever taught with a gentle hand.”

He took a long moment to look over you, another to wet his lips. Wordlessly, dependent on the pure desperation in your eyes, you begged him not to listen to Neuvillette, to take your side just this once, but your improvised attempts at telepathic communication proved unsuccessful. “It could’ve been more genuine,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. “Didn’t have much nice to say on the way back, either.”

“Is that so?” His fingertips drummed against your side. “Why don’t you join us?”

Wriothesley didn’t hesitate, practically stumbling over himself as he crawled to Neuvillette’s feet. He came to rest on his knees, hand braced against the rug between his thighs and his cheek only a hair’s width from Neuvillette’s leg, as if waiting for permission to press against him. He always looked at his most relaxed there, on the floor, patiently waiting for an order from his master. It was hard to tell whether it was a skill learned through time, or if subservience was just in his nature.

His obedience was rewarded with a breathy chuckle, a hand run through his unruly hair. Wriothesley was more lax with himself than he usually was, letting his eyes fall shut as he melted into Neuvillette’s touch. “Since your tongue is so uncooperative today,” Neuvillette started, leaning forward just far enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “How do you think you can show our dear helper how grateful you are?”

A bolt of cold dread shot down your spine. You moved to stand, to get away, but Neuvillette’s arm wrapped tight around your midriff, keeping you pinned against him despite your resistance. “Neuvi’,” you mumbled, squirming against him. “Please, Neuvi’, I don’t want to—”

“Now you’re going to play nice?” His hand fell to your knee, drawing your legs apart. Wriothesley filled the space before you could clench them shut again, his mouth immediately latching onto the inside of your thigh, his dull teeth burying themselves in the plush of your exposed skin. You cursed under your breath, trying to shake him off, but he held tight, fists curling around your ankles to keep you spread and exposed as Neuvillette watched on, his grin pressing into the crook of your throat. “That’s a little cruel, beloved. Can’t you see how excited he is?”

You could. There was a glassy sheen over his half-lidded eyes, a hunch to his posture that meant he was too distracted with you to care about how he held himself. You’d slipped out in a rush, eager to get as far as you could before Neuvillette woke up. In your haste, you hadn’t bothered to change out of the simple, silken frock you were wearing; a choice you only came to regret as Neuvillette dragged the tattered hem to your waist, as Wriothesley’s attention drifted from your thighs to your panties, the lacey fabric torn away with little more than a curl of his fingers and a throaty growl. That, more than anything, caught you off-guard. It wasn’t a threat, but it was more hostile than anything he’d ever directed towards you before. It wasn’t a sound someone like him, someone like you, should’ve been capable of making.

Neuvillette must’ve felt the way you stiffened against him. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the curve of your throat, just a touch too close to the vein he preferred to drink from, then another into the dip of your shoulder. “Surely, you must’ve noticed how scarce Wriothesley makes himself around this time of the month.” He paused, laughing airily. “He’d already be safely locked away in the cellar, if you hadn’t made him run out and fetch you. I suppose it must’ve slipped his mind while he was looking for you.”

“I don’t—” A tongue, broader than it should’ve been, hotter than it should’ve been, ran over your slit. “But, he’s supposed to be—”

“Human?” You refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge what he was doing to you, but you could feel his teeth ghosting over your skin, their usually dull tips beginning to sharpen into something more pointed, more animalistic. His tongue slipped into your entrance, thick enough to stretch you open with little more than its curling tip, and Neuvillette’s focus fell to your clit, left neglected by Wriothesley’s unwavering concentration on lapping up as much of your (humiliatingly, quickly accumulating) slick as he could. His thumb toyed with the sensitive bundle of nerves as he went on. “He is rather young, as far as immortal beings are concerned. He made an adorable puppy, back when creatures of the night were free to roam as they pleased, but he’s matured since his days of village razing and cattle slaughtering. I think you’ll find he’s learned how to keep his fangs to himself.” Wriothesley nipped gently at the junction of your thigh. You winced and Neuvillette added, “More or less.”

You could only bring yourself to half-listen to what he was saying. Wriothesley was growing more wild by the second, his formerly languid movements now hasty and agitated, little groans and growls joining the wet, disgusting sounds quickly filling the study. You felt claws that hadn’t been there a moment ago dig into your ankles, his already impressive build taking on bulk that would’ve been possible for anything natural, anything human. It wasn’t enough to just look away, anymore – you shut your eyes completely, bowing your head and curling into yourself as Wriothesley ate you out like a man— no, not a man, a beast starved. The cool marble of Neuvillette’s chest was almost a comfort when compared to the raw heat of Wriothesley’s mouth. It might’ve been more soothing, had he not been taking so much joy in your suffering.

“He’s always been prone to getting carried away. I used to have to fetch him at dawn – he could never seem to make it home before the moon set and he was left bare and unconscious in the vineyard of some poor nobleman.” He pulled back, letting Wriothesley’s cold nose grind against your clit in his place. You weren’t free from his touch for very long, though. The array of ribbons that kept the bodice of your frock drawn tight were undone, the neckline loosened and allowed to fall to your shoulders. “I’ve always preferred a more direct approach. The occasional drunkard taken off the street and drained was always enough to keep me sated.” He paused, cupped the curves of your chest. “Until I came across you, of course.”

You felt his fangs scrape over your neck, but he didn’t have time to bite down before you lurched forward, the sporadic movements of Wriothesley’s tongue bringing you to a sudden, unsteady climax. It was abrupt enough, violent enough to make tears swell in the corners of your eyes, to steal a ragged gasp from your lungs despite your attempts to swallow back any pathetic sound your weak-willed body might’ve wanted to make. For the first time, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him, letting your gaze fall onto the black-furred, oversized thing between your legs. He was unrecognizable, black fur and a wolf-like muzzle swallowing any familiar trait you might’ve latched onto. Pointed ears laid flat against his scalp, a grey-tipped tail brushed over the floor lazily behind him as he moved to keep going, to milk every last drop out of you, but Neuvillette reached down and took him by the metal collar now pressing flush against his throat. There was a low, drawn-out whine as he was dragged up and away from your pussy, but Neuvillette’s cruelty was limited to you.

“We spent hours talking about what to do with you, when he first brought you home.” He spoke absent-mindedly, muttering against your throat as he guided Wriothesley onto his knees. Even at only a fraction of his full height, he was tall enough to loom over you, to replace your limited world with a towering shadow of black fur and white teeth. He was panting, his chin glistening with slick and drool, what was left of his tattered clothes torn away in a few aggerated swipes of his claws. You’d been wrong, again – not every part of him was unfamiliar. His eyes were still there, the grey clouded and his pupils blown out but still undeniably his. Still fixed entirely on you.

“I thought he should turn you as soon as possible, but he protested, claimed the transformation would be too much for you.” He bowed his head, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Between you and I, there might be a chance he’s hoping I’ll give in first. He does his best to hide it, but he tends to sulk whenever I choose to feed from you. I think he’s hoping we might both have to rely on him.”

Clawed hands curled around the arms of his chair, the wood creaking under Wriothesley’s weight. For the first time, you let your eyes drift lower, let yourself take in the massive, pulsing cock standing erect against his lower stomach. It looked too big; like a prop, made to only vaguely resemble the real thing. It looked like it could tear you in half.

“Then again, he might’ve grown fond of the idea of adding another wolf to his pack,” Neuvillette added, as you went limp against him. “We’ll have to see how human you feel when the sun rises.”

It was an awkward position, Wriothesley too tall and Neuvillette too unyielding. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around your midriff as his other hand drifted into the limited space between your body and Wriothesley’s, his pale hand curling around Wriothesley’s thick shaft and carefully lining it up with your dripping cunt. Wriothesley bucked into the stimulation, his body lurching forward and his head nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. You felt his breath, warm and humid, fan over your chest, then the rough reverberation of his voice against your skin. “Mate.” It was more of a groan than anything, one long breath that seemed to escape from some unseen vault. It was his voice, but there was something underneath it, too – something more guttural than you would ever want on top of you. “Mine.”

“Ours,” Neuvillette corrected, tightening his hold and drawing you close. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel it, pressing against your throat as his fangs reclaimed lost territory. “Our precious, misguided little pet.”

Wriothesley thrust into you as Neuvillette drove his teeth into your skin, both men piercing you simultaneously. Too stunned to scream, you could only silently wonder who would end you first.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshots #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 months ago

Text

Back a Ways Part Two

Part One | Part Three

Notes: I lied it's going to be three parts but part three is also getting posted tonight so y'all don't have to wait

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Surgeon!Reader

Length: 3.7K

Rating: M

Warnings: Fluff; angst; yearning; cursing; slow burn

Summary: "Why would Jack disapprove? Matter of fact—” Everett folds his arms on the table, “Why would Jack care?”

What the hell can you tell Everett? That it’s just a feeling, a hunch? That the way Jack eyed you when you were talking to Dana had been nearly as intimidating as the only time you went against his direct orders when you were a resident?

u can come over

It’s as close as your brother gets to issuing invitations these days. From what you can gather, Everett only sees people a couple of times a week—your parents, and Jack, and a few of the friends he made at the academy. He’s never been the most outgoing guy, but he’d grown more and more reclusive since he’d been honorably discharged. The traumatic brain injury that he’d sustained while serving had only made the scope of who he dealt with on a daily basis even more narrow.

Everett has never tried to explain to you what had happened while he was on active duty. Jack has only made you privy to a thing or two, but you know that he doesn’t want to betray your brother’s confidences.

Pulling up to Everett’s house and seeing Jack’s car in the driveway almost makes you drive away. You haven’t seen him since Dana ratted you out about Wilkins in the ER; haven’t spoken to or texted him since then, either. You consider it as the car idles, your hands twisting on the steering wheel. It’s possible that neither of the guys know you’re out there. Everett likes to have visitors out on his back patio when they come over—having too many people in his house makes him feel ‘penned in.’

But, this is the first time in months that Everett has given you the green light to see him.

You grudgingly pull your car into the parking space in front of his house. You use the spare key to get into the house, kicking your shoes off as you look around. The living room is neat as a pin—mail is stacked on the living room table, sorted into two piles; the couch looks like it hasn’t been sat on for weeks; there’s not a speck of dust in sight.

You look down at your shoes, considering putting them properly on the rack with the others…And then leave them on the floor by the door. It’s a minor show of protest in the face of Everett’s near-compulsive need for order. He’d always been an oddly neat kid, and his time in the military had cemented a hatred for any hint of mess. You reach out, pushing one of the pillows over on the couch before you head into the kitchen.

The coffee pot is nearly empty, and looking into his cabinet, you see two of his mugs missing. You begin to brew a fresh pot before you turn, walking down the hall to the back patio. You peer through the window, catching sight of the back of your brother’s head, and Jack sitting across from him.

You know that the movement has caught his attention when Jack’s focus flickers to you. His gaze doesn’t hold for long as he meets Everett’s eye again, reaching for his mug. You consider going out, but hell—you’ve had a long night, and you don’t think you can face your brother without coffee in your system…Maybe something stronger. If you remember rightly, Everett tends to keep whiskey in the cabinet.

“You gonna hide in here all morning?”

You roll your eyes at the question, not bothering to turn as Jack sidles up to you at the counter.

“It’s been five minutes—and I was making more coffee.”

Jack grunts, bracing his hands on the cool formica. You let your eyes sweep over his hands, savoring the heat of him next to you.

“...He doing okay?”

“The same.”

“Mm,” You nod.

“A little better, maybe.”

“Oh?”

“Sure.” Jack turns, tucking his hands into his pockets as he props his hips against the counter. “You know he’s dating someone?”

It surprises the hell out of you, and you don’t bother to hide it.

“Really?”

“Mhm. Something else the two of you seem to have in common these days.”

It’s a fact, but it feels like an accusation. A hundred answers sit on your tongue—David is a nice guy, someone who understands what you do (but so is Jack); you haven’t been out with anyone for a while, you’re just shaking the dust off (when was the last time Jack went on a date?); you can’t just twiddle your thumbs and wait for a man that will never see you that way—

“Jeez, Queenie—The hell did you do?”

His tired question snaps you out of your spiral, and before you can ask what he’s talking about, he’s stepping out of the kitchen and neatening the nudged pillow. You watch, amused, as he reaches down, putting your shoes away properly.

“Everett needs some mess in his life," You insist. "It’d be good for him.”

Jack grunts as he straightens. “Last thing I need is the two of you at each other’s throats all morning.”

“All morning is a stretch. I’m probably not staying long.”

“No?” His hands tuck back into his pockets as he joins you again. You eye the counter as he faces away from it, picturing his hands pressed there just a moment ago. You’ve thought of those hands a lot of other places—on your hips, sliding under your shirt—

“Night shift getting to you?” He plies.

He doesn’t realize he’s offered you an easy out. You nod, raising a hand and scrubbing it across your eyes for emphasis. Jack grunts in sympathy.

“How’s it been?”

“You know how it is.”

“...Yeah.” Jack nods, shifts beside you again. “You ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Switching to surgery.”

Your brow furrows, a frown pulling at your lips. It’s the first time Jack has spoken to you about your decision, years since you’d sat him down and told him that you’d be switching to a surgical residency and needed his support.

“No. Not once. I…” You trail off, trying to nail your thoughts down as you turn to lean back against the counter. “Being in the ER isn’t for me, Jack. I never got my footing.”

“You kidding me?”

“No, I’m not, and I wasn’t—”

“Queenie—”

“No, Jack. I don’t want you to bullshit me. Not about this.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. You can see the steady waggle of his head as he shakes it, hear him draw in a deep breath.

“I liked it better when you were down where I could keep an eye on you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you can’t stop your rush to get a better look at him. Jack’s head is bowed slightly, lips pursed into a thin line. He doesn’t look at you as he adds:

“When you came to the Pitt, I promised your brother I’d look out for you.”

You just manage to stifle a deprecating, humorless laugh, staring blankly at the cabinet across from you. Of course.

“You’ve made too many promises to that man, Jack. Hell, he’s my brother, I don't even heed him like that.”

“....It’s different.”

And you can’t argue with that. You have a love-hate relationship with your brother, give the man shit, but he and Jack went through hell together. The worst that you had to face with Everett was a united front when he’d broken one of your mother’s favorite vases, and you’d recognized the abject terror on his face (you’d been able to convince her that it had been the dog; Everett had bought your silence with three months’ worth of his allowance money).

“Yeah,” You nod, “It is.” You nudge his arm with yours. “If you’re really that worried, you could come up and see how I’m doing sometime.”

“Right, with the mountain of free time I have.”

“You take bathroom breaks occasionally, right? Come take one upstairs. They can do without you for a couple of minutes.”

“Maybe you come back down, see how you do.”

“What’d I just say about the ER?”

“That was before. You were a resident back then, Queenie. Your instincts are different now, your knowledge is stronger, your reflexes are faster.”

Your mouth works wordlessly for a moment before you shake your head, pushing out a disbelieving laugh.

“Why won’t you let this go?”

“Because it drives me nuts that you don’t see what I see.”

“And what’s that.”

“A brilliant, capable doctor—and a badass.”

His gaze sears yours and you freeze, caught in the intensity that he watches you with. You don’t blink; you’re not entirely sure that you’re even breathing. Jack shifts, and your heart thuds as he turns to face you more fully. He takes one step, and then another, until he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, smell the crisp scent of his body wash.

“You’ve always had it, Queenie,” He murmurs, “But you never gave yourself any goddamn grace.”

Your mouth works wordlessly as you flounder for a reply, stunned heat creeping up your neck and sweeping across your face. Jack’s eyes seem to flicker in focus between your eyes and your mouth, and in the split-second that you’re certain you’ve caught him looking, the world goes still, and quiet.

And then you hear the click of Everett’s back door closing, snapping you out of your fantasy and spurring you to whirl away. You take the coffee pot up with an imperceptibly shaking hand, curling the other tightly around your mug. You laser-focus on it as you pour, forcing yourself to hone in on it—not on your brother’s footsteps, or in the way that Jack is still watching you.

“Thought I heard your voice,” Everett comments. You hum, non-committal, and lift the coffee pot.

“Figured I’d make a fresh pot before coming to say hello. Want some?”

Everett nods, setting his mug down beside yours. He waits patiently as you fill it, stands still as a stone, and huffs a curse when a dribble of coffee lands on the counter as you lift the pot back up a little too quickly. You take a step back, biting back a bratty chuckle as he rips a paper towel off of the roll to swipe it up.

You glance toward Jack, expecting to find a gentle, chastising smile—but Jack’s expression is closed off, jaw set as he watches Everett clean up. He can’t be mad at you for that, can he? It was barely three drops worth—Everett will be over it by the time he swipes it up.

“C’mon,” Everett urges. “Let’s go outside. Less for you to mess up out there.”

You push off of the counter, grumbling, “Don’t bet on it,” As you stride out ahead of them.

As visits with Everett go, this one is far more stilted than usual. Typically, if both you and Jack are there, it’s an easy enough go around—smooth slides between talking about the Pitt, Everett complaining about his neighbors, Jack ribbing him about some op that went well when they served together—round and round you go.

But this time, neither you nor Jack are making much of an effort to engage with one another. Everett is left to act as the conversational conduit, and for a man with a penchant for keeping his mouth shut, the morning crawls by at a snail’s pace. Jack heads out before you do—stands and shakes Everett’s hand, promises to see him next week, to call sooner.

When his gaze flickers to you, you force yourself to study the bottom of your coffee cup, turning it from side to side and eyeing the few drops left.

“…See you at the Pitt.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can muster. You can’t even bring yourself to meet his eye and give him a small smile as you say it. Jack’s footsteps retreat; the door opens, closes behind him. And after a few minutes of silence, Everett lets out the weariest fucking sigh you’ve ever heard.

“Alright, what’d he say.”

You look up then, frowning at the question. Everett’s brows tip up as he waits for your answer. You flounder, shaking your head.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen you so closed off around the guy since you decided to change your residency—and even that wasn’t as bad as whatever the hell this was.”

You slouch down in your seat, setting the coffee cup back down.

“Jack didn’t say anything.” Except rattle the hell out of you and trick you into thinking he was staring at your mouth. “I’m just in my head about something. Sorry, Ev.”

He grunts, leans back in his seat. “...Wanna talk about it?”

It’s your turn for your brows to lift in surprise.

“Wow, I didn’t realize I was that off.”

“Yes or no,” Everett presses. You consider for a moment before you shake your head.

“It’s not…I have a date with a surgeon that I work with.”

“Okay,” He shifts in his seat as his brow furrows. “What’s that got to do with Jack?”

“Just got the sense that he doesn’t approve.”

“That bothers you?” Disbelief is rife in Everett’s tone, and you can’t blame him. You haven’t put so much stock in his opinion—but it’s not the same. “What’s the guy like?”

“David? He’s—” You flounder. “Nice, I guess. Smart, quick…He’s got really nice eyes—”

“I don’t need that level of detail.”

“He’s a good guy.”

“Then why would Jack disapprove? Matter of fact—” Everett folds his arms on the table, “Why would Jack care?”

You let your eyes lower to the table, your hands wringing in your lap. What the hell can you tell Everett? That it’s just a feeling, a hunch? That the way he eyed you when you were talking to Dana had been nearly as intimidating as the only time you went against his direct orders when you were a resident?

“He probably doesn’t. Guess I’m just reading into things.”

“Well whatever it is, talk to him—and soon. Two’a you will put me off having visitors over again.”

“Except for your new girlfriend?”

It’s Everett’s turn to go quiet, and your smile widens. It’s so rare that you’ve been able to catch him out.

“You gonna tell me about her?” You prod.

“...Next time,” He musters, adding, “It’s early,” Before you can argue. You purse your lips, considering.

“Don’t wanna jinx it?”

“Something like that.”

“I respect that.”

“Good. Now get the hell outta my house before you spill any more coffee on my countertop.”

It’s in the spirit of air-clearing. In a quiet moment at the top of your fifth night shift, you grab a Twix from a vending machine and head down to the ER. You expect a quick word, a drop off, maybe a smile to send you on your way with reassurance.

You don’t expect to get roped into two cases in a row—an arm fractured in a car accident, and a stab wound. Any hope of ducking out after the first case is dashed when Jack just nudges your arm and directs, “Let’s go.”

You don’t even have to think. Following him is automatic. And as the two of you run through routine questions, diagnoses, criteria, you realize that you forgot how good this feels—not the rush of the ER, but Jack’s steadiness; his closeness; his encouragement.

As you peel off your gloves and leave Shen to stitch up the patient, you find Jack giving you an approving nod.

“Well handled, Queenie.”

“Thank you.”

“You come down here just to prove my point?”

You can’t help your eye roll as the two of you pump hand sanitizer into your palms and work it in.

“No,” You lean on the denial as you follow him to his desk. “I came to give you this.” You fish into your pocket for the Twix, holding it out. Jack’s lips quirk with a smile.

“You tryin’ to butter me up for somethin’?”

You were trying to cover off for the foul mood you managed to put Jack in while you were both at Everett’s, but the cloud that had hung over his head during that visit seems to have dissipated.

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’, “Just figured I’d take a minute to pop down and annoy you.”

“Well,” He rips the packet open, drawing one of the Twixes out, “You only managed half.”

“Excuse me?”

“You came down, but you haven’t managed to annoy me. The opposite, actually.”

“Really.”

“Really.” Jack holds up one of the Twix in range of you, and waits, his eyes steady on yours. You can’t help the wicked little thrill that runs through you as you lean in, taking a bite of it. His smile widens as you chew, and as he raises the Twix to take a bite for himself.

“Hey, there you are!”

The sound of David’s voice makes you straighten u, turning to spot him just a few feet away.

“Oh, hey,” You greet, swiping a bit of missed caramel off of your lower lip. “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m heading out, but Princess said she saw you heading down here.”

“And…Here I am.”

“Yeah.” David’s gaze darts to Jack before he met your eye again. “We still on for tomorrow morning?”

“Mhm,” You nod.

“Sweet. I’ll be here at 7:30.”

“Cool.”

David nods again, seeming to meet Jack’s eye and give him a small wave before leaving. You turn back to face Jack, folding your arms on the desk as you try to meet his eye—but Jack seems laser-focused on the computer in front of him. The Twix is gone—shoved to the side, behind his keyboard.

“I should head back up,” You manage after a moment, straightening up. “Try not to have too much fun down here without me.”

Jack gives a soft hum, a nod, a murmur of, “Will do.”

You let yourself linger for just a second longer before heading to the elevator, stomach twisting with the feeling that you had somehow managed to annoy him after all.

Going back down near the end of your shift feels like kicking the hornet’s nest, but whatever it is that annoyed him, Jack’s surely had a chance to sufficiently cool off, right?

You duck into the restroom once you’ve changed out of your scrubs, giving yourself a quick once-over. You’d promised to meet David downstairs for your breakfast date, but truth be told, you're beginning to regret agreeing to seeing him that morning. Not because of the way Jack had acted (at least, not completely), but you are tired as hell. You should’ve held off until you had a day off.

You glance back at the sound of the door opening, offering Dana a weak smile.

“Clocking in?”

“Mhm,” She hums. “Clocking out?”

“Yep.” You take up your bag, patting her shoulder. “Have a good shift, lady.”

“Go get some rest. You look like hell.”

You chuckle softly, teasing, “Always the charmer.”

The ER is bustling as busily as ever as you step out onto the floor, looking around for Jack. You spot him coming out of North Two, and damn yourself for hesitating when he catches sight of you in his sweeping gaze. You meet him in the middle, tucking your hands into your pockets as you fight the urge to reach out and pick a piece of lint off of his shirt.

“Doing alright?”

He nods, casting his gaze over your shoulder. You turn your head, following his gaze, and see David waiting for you by one of the exits. You swallow thickly, turning back to face Jack.

“I have to go.”

"Have to?" There's a sharp lean to the way he asks, a resolute tension tightening his handsome features. It's harsh; new to you in a way that's rattling. The judgement in his tone catches you off-guard, and your hands curl into fists in your pockets.

“I’m going to.”

“Well, that’s something different, isn’t it.”

Your mouth works wordlessly as your mind races. You raise a hand to signal David to give you another minute when he calls out to you, unable to draw yourself away from Jack when he looks so goddamn disappointed in you.

“What has crawled up your ass lately?” You hiss.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been so—” You wave a hand toward him, “You keep shutting me out—”

“You shouldn’t keep Wilkins waiting.”

Your head jerks back like the man’s just slapped you, and Jack’s jaw tightens as he averts his gaze. You push out a stunned, affronted laugh, shaking your head as you step back.

“Wow—”

“Queenie—”

“No. No, you’re right.” You turn away from Jack without another word, forcing a smile onto your face when you make eye contact with David.

“Sorry about that.”

“Nah, s’okay. You, uh—” His eyes dart over your shoulder to where you left Abbot. “You ready to go?”

“Yep!” You chirp. You refuse to turn around, to see if Jack is still standing there. For once, you don’t try to shut the rest out, to check if he’s watching. You just move forward. And when David’s hand settles on your lower back to guide you outside, you resolve yourself to have a good time.

You have never been on a more awkward date in your life.

The conversation just doesn’t flow. When you and David are working together, there’s banter, there’s ease, but when you’re alone and there’s no one between you on a table, it’s like there’s this…block.

You chalk it up to the fact that you’re so tired you could cry, that your sleep schedule is all out of whack. And sure, that’s a factor, but you just can’t get Jack out of your fucking mind. You know that the stilted nature of your conversation with David isn’t helped by the few times that you’d checked your phone. But Jack has hardly texted in months, so why should today be any different?

The date ends with knowing smiles, teasing, “See you at work”s before you get into your cars. You buckle in, wave at David as he drives off, and then just sink back in your seat, staring at your steering wheel.

When the tears prickle your eyes, you tell yourself that you’re just overtired—that you need a nap, and some good coffee (because the coffee from the bad cart was watery and flavorless). You push the tears back, shaking your head. Nothing about the date was worth crying over. You’re still in the parking lot at work for christ’s sake.

Just get yourself home. You can have a nice cry in a hot shower.

Last Part

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @cannonindeez ; @gabsgabsvaz

@rhaelintoo ;

#Dr Jack Abbot x Reader #Dr Jack Abbot x You #Dr Jack Abbot/Reader #Dr Jack Abbot /You #Jack Abbot x Reader #Jack Abbot x You #Jack Abbot/Reader #Jack Abbot/You #Back a Ways

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artsninspo · 3 months ago

Text

010 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 009

♠ summary: Lorence is confronted with the realities of her current predicament, unchartered territory with her Boss. Her past and present collide while Terry is away on business. But, when he returns - old habits die hard. ❤️‍🩹 🌶️

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ warnings: NSFW, mature themes

♠ word-count: ~5K

⌖ - Multiple Locations

I walk alongside Joel with a smile as he holds Beau’s leash. The past week and a half he’s kept my dog to keep up with Beau’s physical needs, and allow me rest and recovery. My good boy Beau is having the time of his life with Joel’s kids, but now he won’t stop looking back at me. His usual brisk pace is moderate - it’s like he knows I’m hurt and his exuberance is why we’re a part.

“The wife keeps asking when you’re gonna let him sire a litter” Joel asks as we walk to the dog park.

“You know I’ll want to keep every single one of those puppies or make sure they’re close by and I don’t have six people who want a larger dog” I tell him.

“No working lines?” Joel asks to be funny.

“No, none of Beau's babies will be doing any scary shit” I tell him and he laughs.

“You’re not limping as much,” he says.

“I’m feeling better” I tell him honestly.

“And your wrist?” He asks.

“Seems a bit slower to heal” I admit holding up the brace. “Have you heard anything?” I ask and his expression told me he has.

“Rich’s furious” he sighs, talking about the Boss but since that night on the beach I haven’t seen anger from him.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s his own personal project. Everyone’s talking about how he didn’t even wait to get war ready. He just went in there without protection and a handgun after you.” Joel says with eyes trained on me. He’s capable of sensing deception, and I’m no master at it so I swallow hard to give myself time to choose my words wisely.

“It wasn’t the smartest thing to do” I admit. Joel nods and I don’t realize I’m anxious until Beau puts his muzzle against my hand. I smile looking down and pet his head.

“I’m glad he did, sorry I wasn’t there” Joel says again.

“You’re taking care of Beau and I’m glad you were safe. You followed protocol” I remind.

“Emerson said he saw you and Richmond leave the Monaco accommodation together the night before.” Joel trails openly fishing for information..

“After three years of being a tyrant and an asshole he showed me he can be nice. It was surprising, we walked my routes together. He was trying to help me calm down.” I tell Joel and he nods. There’s no happiness in his expression. I swallow bracing for a lecture and he sighs.

“I know you and I know Terry…” He starts.

“Joel-”

“Let me finish” he says in a tone he doesn’t use often. I stop to look at him. “I know you’re type and Richmond isn’t that.” Joel sighs, letting Beau off his leash in the empty dog park. I watch my dog bound away freely. “Are you listening to me?” He asks.

“Yes, you said Richmond isn’t my type” I repeat beginning to shut down.

“He’s not a fling abroad, or a ‘call me whenever you’re in town’ kind of guy. I’m not judging you Lorence.” Joel says knowing me well.

“Sounds like you are,” I mutter.

“I’m not Lorence, I get it. I do. I’m a man. I get wanting freedom. I get that you’re independent and I respect it. But if you think for one minute whatever’s going between the two of you is something you can put away when you’re done I’m letting you know it isn’t that. I had a feeling Terry liked you but fuck did I underestimate how much. The man was willing to take on fire. He’s not the free spirited type you're comfortable with” Joel says stressed.

“Terry and I aren’t sleeping together” I tell him and he puts his head into his hands, sighing. “What?” I ask.

“That’s even worse” he exclaims.

“How?!” I respond.

“We all put ourselves in danger daily. If you meet a soldier who can keep it in his pants, the man is in love. If the display in Monaco isn’t enough - there it is. You need to be straight with him, Lorence. Tell him what you want and what you’re used to. Because Richmond’s not the kind of man I can say I can confidently protect you from” Joel says having had to play the role of crazy ‘older brother’ for me once or twice.

“He wouldn’t hurt me” I say before I can process it. It’s something I know deep down. Joel looks at me like I’m hopeless. It’s new territory for us and somehow this conversation has aged him. My happy go lucky friend is now a concerned father figure. “I’ll talk to him” I concede wanting nothing less than to air out my attachment issues to Terry. Beau comes back from his patrol of the area and Joel tosses his ball for him. I watch beau bound after the ball and retrieve it with a proud prance completely unaware of life's challenges.

“Lorence I’m not trying to beat up on you, okay?” Joel says and I sigh.

“I know, you're a good friend.” I sigh.

“I think you and Terry would be good together if that’s what you wanted. But I also know it takes you longer to settle and trust people.” Joel says knowing the number of men I’ve kept at arm's length, how many girlfriend requests I've declined over the years. I prefer to keep my romantic life as far away as possible from my personal life.

“I don’t even know how to cook well, Terry’s all distinguished company and social commitments. He’s probably like you and wants kids for his family name and I don’t” I start on all the reasons we wouldn’t work long term aloud.

“Stop it Lorence. You learned how to be an agent, you can learn how to cook but you have enough money to hire a live-in chef or order in every day. I’m not telling you to cut it out or end it. I’m telling you to think. You can’t do things the way you normally do. Rich’s your boss and you’re the best at what you do. Figure things out and move forward accordingly. Dont fuck up your work life for some excitement you’ll want to run from in a week. Maybe have Richmond go off on a tirade or two on you so you can figure out what’s going on between you without whispers. Just clean it up” Joel advises reading me for filth and giving me options. I smile appreciating that he doesn't coddle me.

“Okay” I concede. “Have you ever seen Richmond with women?” I ask, wondering if there was an ex wife or someone else.

“Not seriously, not without a reason” he says.

I raise a brow, “what’s that mean?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Joel says and I give him an exasperated huff.

“So he’s never asked about me?” I ask.

“Oh he did, but he asks about everyone so I thought nothing of it.” Joel says.

“What’d he ask?”

“If you were single, then if I thought pairing you with some of our colleagues would lead to intimate affairs,” he says. I smile at Terrance’s futile fishing expeditions.

“If you were me, what would you do?” I ask Joel.

“I can’t put myself in the shoes of a woman” he says and I push him playfully with my good hand..

“You know what I mean”

“I know you’re happy and your life is full already but I would like to see you with someone. Someone who loves you and takes care of you. Someone that's always there and you can't avoid. I don't know if that's Terrance Richmond but if it is you deserve it all. Just know that he’s not your usual free spirited guy that’s gonna sit around when you don't call back. He’s a grown man and your boss” Joel says and I sigh with a lot more than I bargained for on my plate. Joel pulls me into a caring hug and I know I’m lucky to have him even if it’s not what I want to hear. He’s right. He’s never steered me wrong before and he’s partly to thank for where I am now in life. So I heed his advice.

…

I’ve been sitting in it all day. From the moment I got home to right now, after midnight I’ve been ruminating on my discussion with Joel. I wish he was wrong about me or Terry but I know deep down he isn’t. Terrance Richmond is a grown ass man with his shit together and isn't chasing his peak. By all means he’s already settled and successful. That’s the kind of resume that would usually keep me away. I’m the girl who likes a summer fling or a vacation romance every now and then. I need the predetermined start and end dates to keep me grounded and sane. That way there’s not too much room for distraction - that way I never end up like my mom. I sigh, wishing Beau was here as I sit alone in my house. Typically it’s my safe space but right now it feels haunted with visions of what was and what could be. Terrance grilling with my father, getting along with my mother - us kissing.

I close my eyes wishing it wasn’t almost two in the morning and I could call Sin. I make my way to the kitchen for some melatonin when my phone rings. I frown seeing Terrance is calling.

“Hey” I respond.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” he asks and I frown.

“Can’t sleep” I confess and I hear a car door close.

“What’s wrong, are your injuries keeping you up?” he asks.

“No,” I sigh. “How was your flight?” I ask, hearing a knock at my door. I pull up the security feed.

“It’s me” he says just as I confirm it. It’s like my brain shuts off in a second and I’m heading to let him in. He’s been gone for the past three days. I know now it was to do reconnaissance for what happened in Monaco but we haven’t talked about Monaco since the safehouse. He hugs me gently before putting a kiss on my head.

“Thought I’d drive past your place on my way home” he says, it would be weird if it were anyone else.

“How was your trip?” I ask.

“Could've been better, how are you feeling? If the meds are keeping you awake maybe have them adjusted” he says but I stopped needing my meds two days ago.

“It’s not the medication - I don’t want to be here alone tonight and I realized it after Sin went to bed” I tell Terry.

“I can drop you off there if that's what you want?” he asks.

“Not it's okay” I sigh looking up at him. Finding peace in his light eyes is the very last thing I thought would ever be possible. I feel my nerves settle and he smirks leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“If you want me to stay I can or you can come over to my place” he offers.

“Let me pack a bag” I smiled, letting go of him. I head up to my room and throw everything I’ll need in an overnight bag. I realize I've been advised against lifting and call him. He emerges moments later looking around at my bedroom. I realize the decor isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but I’m still finding my signature style.

“Are all these plants real?” he asks.

“Yeah” I nod, getting my slippers and putting them in my bag. When I look at him he’s looking at the plants with a smile again.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he yawns.

“You don’t like it, do you?” I ask, thinking of my father who still doesn't understand why I have so much ‘dirt’ in my room.

“I didn’t say that” he says coming over to my vanity as I pack my makeup bag. He dips his head sniffing my neck before placing a kiss on the same spot.

“Which one is that?” he asks, looking at the perfume bottles in front of me. I hand him the bottle.

“Sin and I did a perfume workshop in Paris. I made this” I say.

“Is Sin your best friend?” he asks.

“Yup, my mom was the babysitter while aunt Kaye was out, so we’re very close” I explain.

“Pack a swimsuit,” he says.

“Why?” I ask heading over to my drawers to find one.

“I have a pool and water therapy is good for recovery,” he says. Of course he has a pool.

“Of course you have a pool, how else would you come up with sick and twisted water endurance tests for us” I tease getting my swimsuit and putting it in the bag.

“Swimming is perfect low impact active recovery, that’s why I have a pool” he says as I zip my bag. He takes it with ease adding me to his load and descending the stairs. I lock up and I head to his car with him. I schedule send a text to Sin that I’m with Terrance so someone knows by location. My conversation gnaws at my consciousness as I get in with him.

“If you're having flashbacks from Monaco you can tell me, PTSD is better treated sooner than later” he says resting a hand on my thigh.

“I’m not” I tell him truthfully.

“Lorence, I know what you look like at peace and I know how you look stressed,” he says.

“The car is in darkness” I state matter of factly.

“Not dark enough” he responds.

“So the pretty cat eyes come with night vision?” I ask turning to his shadowy shadowy silhouette.

“I pay attention,” he says at the stoplight. Red hues are cast into the car and I make out worry in his expression.

“I’m just having a bad day,” I confess.

“Anything I can do?” He asks and it makes my heart swell. I lean on his shoulder.

“This is good” I admit and he gives my leg a squeeze. We drive for another twenty minutes in silence. I watch closely and find us in the most expensive residential part of town. I sit upright looking at the gorgeous homes as we enter the gated community. It’s not full of cookie-cutter houses; but architectural feats that are unique in their own way. We turn off the main road into a driveway lined with trees. We drive for another minute before arriving on a lit driveway and a castle-like house. I look at Terrance and wonder how much he actually makes. It makes my home look like a toy. He opens the garage and we drive in. He gets out with my bag and I follow suit. When we enter his home I step back and look around at his manor. It’s not that I didn't expect him to live in a nice place but I definitely didn't expect this. The room is white with black and grey accents all over. There are high ceilings and top of the line furnishings. Not a single thing is out of place and it’s classic but elevated like the man himself.

“Come on, let's take the elevator” he says. Of course he has an elevator. I follow him to a hidden elevator door that seamlessly integrates into the wall.

“DId you buy or build this?” I ask as we step in.

“I built it” he responds, pressing a console that takes us up. But the door in front of us doesn't open. One does to the side of us. He steps out first and by the scent of his cologne I know we’re in his closet. We enter the main part of his bedroom and his bed is bigger than any I've even seen before. “Let me get a shower, then if you're hungry we can get something to eat or drink.” he says leaving me to my own devices.

I’ve never been so out of step, actually Terrance Richmond keeps me in a state of frenzy. If he was a gentleman, he’d have offered me my own room. But we’re past that now aren't we? Joel's warning comes back to me as I change into pj’s instead of the silk negligee I packed. I sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and take it all in. I take off my wrist brace and massage the area as I take stock of his home. Why would he want me when he has all this and my own mother didn't want me? There it is, the thought that’s ruined every single one of my relationships. The pain that’s never really gone and keeps me in safe comfortable solitude. I wipe the silent tears and stand going to his full length mirror to wipe them away. I put on a brave face and sit back on the bed. Terry comes out minutes later smelling heavenly and with black silk pants.

“Your eyes are red,” he says.

“The tiredness hit me” I lie and he nods, pulling back the sheets for me to climb in. I do, facing away from him and he turns off the light. A moment passes before he reaches out and pulls me back against the heat of his bare chest, wrapping his arms around me. It takes a few minutes before our breaths sync and our chests rise and fall in tandem. It’s the most non sexually intimate exchange I've ever had with a man I don't consider family. I place my hand over his and he pulls me even closer.

“Feeling disoriented after a traumatic experience like what you went through in Monaco is normal. You don't have to be strong around me if you feel down” he says. “I know you’re crying - you don't have to tell me why. Just know I’m here” he says before kissing my cheek. He has the patience of a saint putting up with me like this when we should be keeping things light and fun.

“I’m sorry for ruining-”

“Lorence being real with me won't ruin anything” he says.

“Yes it will” I tell him.

“You’ve had a stressful few weeks. From Switzerland to now. In part because of me. You're having a bad day and telling me why won't ruin anything” he says in his usual cadence like he’s commanding time and there's no rush.

“Can we talk about it later? Or never?” I propose and he scoffs letting me go. It’s happening faster than I could have even imagined. He sits on the edge of the bed. It takes me a moment to swallow my fears and try to fix it.

“Tell me a joke, make me laugh” I say to break up the silence and distance but it stretches on. The rejection starts to sting until he clears his throat.

“What do me and elephants have in common?’ he asks, turning to me. It’s a trap, a well laid trap and I can't help but smile.

“You're tall and strong?” I propose not playing into it.

“What else?” he asks with humour in his voice. I shake my head not wanting to give him a complex about his ears anymore than I already have.

“I don't know” I lie.

“We both never forget” he says, subverting my expectations and I laugh relieved to have not said the wrong thing. “And we have big ears,” he adds. I sit beside him and he taps on the sconces above his bed giving us dim light.

“What do you call a cow with no legs?” I ask.

“No clue” he shrugs.

“Ground beef” I respond and he shakes his head. “Your’s was worse” I snicker.

“It still made you smile,” he shrugs.

“I hope you know I didn't mean anything by it. I just felt cornered and was popping off at the mouth” I apologize.

“I know you weren't being malicious. I’ve heard much worse from people I pushed less. It’s pretty wholesome stuff for an agent” he says.

“Here I was feeling bad” I shrug and he takes my chin kissing me softly.

“I’m not someone you have to handle with kid gloves Lorena.” The look he gives me is both scathing and sympathetic. My shoulders fall and I start to feel bad for my emotions today. Here I have this man that’s asking to be there for me and ran into a life threatening situation to rescue me, and I’m allowing the actions of others who never showed me that same concern decades ago ruin things.

“I’m so-”

“Let’s start tonight over” Terry says, cutting my apology off. I can’t help but smile.

“Okay” I nod and he lifts me off the bed and sits me across his lap.

“I missed you” he says, smothering me in quick kisses.

“I missed you too” I take his chin, bringing his lips to mine.

“When you miss me, call me, as long as I’m not in the middle of something I’ll answer” he says.

“Okay”

“Got you something” he says and I sit up.

“Really?” I ask and he nods.

“It’s in the car let me go get it” he says standing and setting me down gently.

“Okay” I agree and he leaves. I look at my bag before going into it and grabbing the negligee. The bathroom lights flick on as I enter. It’s as impressive as what I've seen of the rest of the house. I rid myself of the pajama pants set and put on the night dress. I look myself over before walking back into the bedroom. I sit on the couch in the sitting area instead of the bed and he emerges with two bags. He looks up after setting them down. It takes a moment for him to locate me. His eyes focus on the change and he comes over holding a frame and something wrapped.

“The dress is nice,” he comments, drinking me in with his eyes.

“I don't sleep in pants usually - unless it's winter” I tell him as he takes the seat next to me.

“Good to know,” he says, placing the wrapped square on my lap. He turns on another lamp and I tear the brown wrapping paper. A night scene is in front of me and I smile the moment I recognize it. The beach at night, in Monaco where we sat together. I run my hand over the coarse texture of the sand.

“The artist used sand from the beach,” he says, confirming that’s where he spent the last few days.

“It’s gorgeous” I smile and he does too.

“You like it?” He asks and I nod. Getting this made for me only confirms I was on his mind while he was away.

“I do, thank you” I smile giving him a hug. He kisses my cheek before pulling out the frame housing the caricature art of us. In the chaos of my stuff being cleared out I thought for sure that art piece was left behind.

“I can't believe you had this framed” I laugh looking at it.

“The person at the studio said a frame was the best way to preserve it” he says and I kiss him.

“Now I’ve got to find somewhere to put this. I know where I’m gonna put the canvas” I tell him. “Thank you for thinking of me” I tell him and he seems to take a back.

“Lorena, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you walked into my office wearing that striped blue shirt and grey slacks.” he says stopping time. I turn to him and try to go back to that day. My heart races as I come up short on the memory. “Your hair was straight, parted in the middle and you smelled like flowers” he says. I swallow hard, blinking fast to keep the emotions at bay. My favorite perfume then was Miss Dior. Guilt swells as my appreciation grows and my emotions are a seesaw. “What?” he asks.

“I was doubting the logistics of us today. Not because I don't want to see where things go but … Terrance this is new for me. Not just that you're my boss and the CEO of the company I work for - I have to figure out to toe the line there. But even this; the sharing space … I probably don't make any sense. You already know I avoid uncomfortable situations and I like to run but I know I can't run from you … not that I want to but today it’s felt like my head wa in a pressure cooker” I confess struggling to articulate my complicated feelings and fears. Terry looks at me. His usual expression is replaced by an empathetic one. He reaches for me and places a kiss on my forehead instead of responding with words.

“What do you think?” I ask with a racing heart.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day” he says holding me instead of taking issue with my honest emotions. He’s so different from who I thought I knew him to be.

“You're not upset?” I ask.

“No” he says without needing to consider it. I take a moment before pulling back to look him over. He's resolute in his answer, his hand slides down over my dress resting on my hip. “You’re here now - in my arms, in my home, telling me how you felt, smelling good and looking better. What do I have to be upset about?” he asks, surprising me. “I’m not a CEO in this dynamic,” he says, placing a kiss on my shoulder.

“Your dominance is not something you can turn off” I tell him and he smiles. “I’m not asking you to either but it's there” I tell him and he takes a moment smiling again.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s not productive” he says, keeping whatever it is to himself.

“Tell me”

“There are better ways to clear your head,” he advises. After our walk on the beach, I sit forward ready to hear his advice.

“I’m listening?’ I say and he comes in for a kiss, when he pulls away he gets up and then somehow ends up on his knees in front of me. His eyes tell me where his mind is. I take a breath more familiar with this territory. He kisses each of my inner thighs.

“You have the CEO on his knees” he says, still dominating me in a submissive position. My heart races as passion pools in me. He waits for permission and I nod giving him the green light. His hands slide up my legs and under my thong, grabbing the sides he pulls it off. He scoots me forward gently on the side of my injury, he places kisses on my inner thighs sliding me onto my back comfortably before setting my legs over his shoulders so he’s locked in to my center and I’m locked in his hold. Terry caresses me, upping the tension and kindling sparks I didn't know existed. It leaves searing anticipation igniting all the parts of my body that drive sensory pleasure. He gives me a final look at the same time he takes my hand - our fingers interlock and his head dips out of sight and under the hiked up negligee. His beard tickles my center as he parts my other set of lips with his tongue.

The kiss builds to one of the ones my mouth is used to being treated with. My body’s reaction to him is something new as the tension builds. My hand caresses his waves in a gesture of encouragement and appreciation. There’s nothing to be said as my breaths grow increasingly more shallow. I go to cover my mouth but his fingers don’t release their grip on mine, not allowing the contact to break.

“Be as loud as you want baby” he says, giving me the green light. I swallow my moan and he blows on my clit sending a wave of pleasure through me. My moan is inevitable and when he starts sucking on it I'm finished. I squirm but he has me locked firmly in position giving me more and more.

“Stay still for me baby” he says, sounding so patient. I moan trying to oblige him but it's so much and so good.

“Let me hear you Lorence” he says pausing, before I can obey he adds one of his long fingers into me sucking and fucking me. Taunting me. My nipples are harder than ever. The nerve endings in my core are stimulated to the point of delirium.

“It feels so good” I praise his efforts.

“You’re perfect” he whispers finger fucking me as I come. His eyes are on me as I try to handle the sensations from the orgasmic relief. My body is several degrees hotter and I know he can see my nipples fighting to be seen and tended to under the silk dress. He keeps his eyes on me, letting one of my legs down and allowing me to watch him lap up my pleasure with the same attention to detail as he has for everything else. He's a perfectionist and that was nothing less. I sit up needing to kiss him, I pull him up to meet me so we’re face to face. Terry obliges the heat of his bare chest radiating into me, melting the apprehension away. I wrap my legs around his and feel his manhood poking me in my sternum through his pants. I want more, I need him. His eyes tell me we’re just getting started when the kiss is broken.

“Did you like that Lorence?” he smiles, licking what's left of my orgasm from his lips. His eyes spark as my expression changes. We’re so far gone from like, it’s time to practice making love.

authors note: sound off in the comments and let me know how you felt about getting to know Lorence's softer side and insecurities and how Terry's handling everything on his plate. Also, yes theres more 🌶️ 🌶️ 🌶️ in the next chapter - had to break it up because it was getting too long.

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@hotebonynearby @armani9-9 @wildcardmelaninfreak @blackgurlkillinit @freshbonggwater @biafranbombshell @aunicornmademedoit @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

@xochesstinaxo @babymelaninn. @destinio1

#terry richmond x black female reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond imagine #terry richmond #aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre imagine #aaron fics #aaron pierre x black reader #rebel ridge fanfiction #rebel ridge

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mummyemmatojames · 2 months ago

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33. A New Milestone: Producing Milk for James

Hello, wonderful community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an exciting update on our MDLB and FLR journey. As many of you know, I’ve been “feeding” James—nursing him—about three times a day for a while now: at bedtime to help him sleep, when he fusses, or when he needs comfort. Thanks to your amazing advice (you know who you are!), I’ve taken a big step—I now produce milk! It’s been a wild adjustment for both of us, but I’m loving how it’s deepening our dynamic and even benefiting his health. I’d love to hear from others who’ve gone down this path!

How We Got Here

Nursing has been a cornerstone of our dynamic for months—starting as a dry comfort thing and growing into a daily ritual. James latches on every night to fall asleep, and I’ve been offering it during the day when he’s upset or just needs a quiet moment with Mummy. It’s become such a natural part of us that I started wondering if I could take it further. After reading your suggestions about inducing lactation—taking supplements like fenugreek and blessed thistle, using a pump between sessions—I decided to give it a try. I didn’t tell James at first, just quietly worked on it for a few weeks, pumping a few times a day and tweaking my diet.

About a week ago, it happened—I started producing milk, albeit just a little. The first time was during our bedtime routine. I felt a little let-down as he latched on, and suddenly, he pulled back with this horrified look on his face. “What’s that?” he sputtered, wiping his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh—I explained that it was Mummy’s milk, that I’d been working on it for him. He said it tasted sweet, almost too sweet, and seemed thrown off by the whole thing. I reassured him it was normal and good for him, and after a minute, he settled back in, though he was still a bit wide-eyed about it.

Adjusting to the Change

The first couple of days were an adjustment—James wasn’t sure about the taste or the idea of it, and I could tell it made him feel a bit weird. He’d hesitate before latching, like he was bracing himself, and once muttered, “It’s so different, Mummy.” But I stayed calm and encouraging—“It’s just Mummy taking care of you, sweetheart, like always”—and now, a week in, he seems to be used to it. He doesn’t pull away anymore, and last night, he nursed to sleep without a peep, his breathing slowing as the milk flowed. It’s starting to feel like second nature again, just with this new, amazing layer.

For me, it’s been incredible. I love that I’m not only comforting him but actually nourishing him now. The let-down sensation is a little strange—I feel it most at bedtime or when he’s been fussing for a while—but it’s also so satisfying. Knowing my body is producing something just for him makes me feel even more connected to my role as Mummy. I’ve kept up the supplements and pump a little in the mornings and night to keep things steady, and I’m amazed at how well it’s working.

The Benefits for James

What’s been even more surprising is how it’s affecting James’s health. Paired with the control I’ve had over his snacking—steering him toward fruit and veggies instead of biscuits since the toddler grounding rule stuck— Mummy’s milk seems to be doing wonders. His skin, which used to break out now and then, has cleared up beautifully; it’s smooth and bright in a way I haven’t seen before. He’s in great shape too—energetic but steady, no more sugar crashes from junk food. I’ve read that breast milk can boost immunity and overall wellness, even for adults, and I’m starting to see it firsthand. It’s like the perfect combo: my milk plus our healthier habits are making him thrive.

He hasn’t commented on the changes himself—he’s not one to notice his own skin or energy levels—but I can tell he feels good. Yesterday, he was buzzing around with his train set after lunch, full of life, and I thought, “This is working.” It’s not just emotional comfort anymore—it’s physical care too, and that feels so rewarding.

A Deeper Dynamic

This milestone has deepened our dynamic in ways I didn’t expect. Nursing him to sleep every night with milk now feels like such a complete act of care—he drifts off with this full, satisfied look, and I get to hold him close, knowing I’m giving him something special. The daytime feeds, when he’s fussy or needs a reset, are even more powerful now—five minutes on my chest, and he’s calm, nourished, and back to his sweet self. It’s still about comfort, but there’s this added layer of Mummy literally sustaining him, and I love it.

James seems to have settled into it too. After that initial shock, he’s stopped mentioning the taste, and last night, he even reached for me without me offering first—a quiet sign he’s accepting it as part of us. I think he’s learning to trust that Mummy knows best, even when it’s new and strange at first.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—especially those who’ve induced lactation for your dynamic! How did your partner adjust to the milk, and did you see health benefits like we’re starting to? For those who suggested the supplements and pumping, any tips on keeping it going long-term—I want to make this a lasting part of us. And if you’ve got ideas for balancing this with his little space (like pairing it with his train set playtime), I’m all ears—I’m so excited to keep exploring this.

Thank you for your advice that got us here—I wouldn’t have thought to try this without you. I love my little boy so much, and knowing I’m nourishing him now makes my Mummy heart burst.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

#mdlb relationship #mdlbmommy #ab dl mommy #ab dl lifestyle

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77gigabytes · 21 days ago

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Bittersweet {Barista!Sylus x Reader}

I'M ALIVE FRENS, I SWEAR ╭( ๐_๐)╮

Soooo, this one (and a bunch of others) have been in my notes for ages, and I guess my writing juice only comes once a year and finishes them off...

Right, now I'm trying to flesh out my Model!Sylus x Photographer!Reader - I'm planning for it to be a series so please look forward to it! Hopefully I have enough writing juice to finish it ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

|| Masterlist ||

Amidst the clinking of teacups and the occasional whir of the coffee machine, your pen scritches against the endless amount of HA papers you have to fill. For every mission, every single move, is another report, another piece of paper to fill out.

You sigh, bracing your chin against your hand and gaze out the window. Your finger taps against your cheek in time with the clock.

7:39 PM

Tara’s late.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, Tara whips the door open and slides herself into the chair across from you.

“My goodness, MC, I don’t know why you choose here of all places to do your work.” She carelessly tosses her bag in the chair beside her and slumps into her own chair, “I swear I had to cross three rivers and climb two mountain on the way here.”

You chuckle, “Don’t forget the about the zip-line and the protofield at the start.”

She kicks your foot under the table and fans herself with the menu, “What’s so good about this place anyway?”

You smirk a little, “The barista’s cute.” You joke and nod your head in the direction of the kitchen behind her.

Tara subtly turns her head and pretends to look at the overhead menu in the kitchen before dropping her gaze to where Sylus was tending to other customers.

Her head whips back to you and she begins to fan herself with her hand, “Hooo, please, I’d cross another swamp to get here if that’s the face I’ll see at the end.”

You smile but turn back to your work, “Jokes aside,” you say without looking at Tara, “The coffee’s just the perfect blend of bittersweet. And… I like the atmosphere.” You shrug.

...

Not long after, as Tara finally picks a drink to order, Sylus approaches your table.

“One house special.” Sylus says as he places your cup on the table followed by a plate of cookies.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t order the-”

“It’s on the house, sweetie.” He gives you a wink and a boyish smile before walking back behind the counter to make the other customers’ drinks.

As if holding her breath Tara sighs out, “Gee, killer looks and a smooth voice to boot, no wonder you’re crossing all of Linkon just to do some documents.”

You give her a kick on the shin, “It’s the atmosphere and the coffee.” You argue.

“Sure, sure.”

❖· ────── ·

A few weeks have gone by, and now visiting this little coffee shop on the outskirts of Bloomshore has very much become a part of your daily routine. You can no longer use your work as an excuse to visit the café because you’ve come to visit it even on your days off.

You’ve learnt a few things throughout the weeks:

This is the only cafe in Bloomshore open until 1:30 in the morning. Or maybe even later than that, you’ve never stayed past 1:30.

Sylus must be making a whole lot of money for him to be giving you desserts on the house with every drink you order (You’ve also learnt that it’s futile to protest)

#2 can’t be possible since his coffee shop isn’t exactly overflowing with customers. There must be something else.

There’s two boys - Luke and Kieran, you overheard - who visit every Friday to collect some packages from Sylus. You’ve convinced yourself that it’s just coffee beans, or 'something else'.

But on top of that there was another instance where you realised that there was more to Sylus than what meets the eye.

As usual, you were doing some paperwork and Sylus brought your drink and a choc chip muffin this time.

The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was already time for it to return to the sky.

At this point, only you and a few other customers are left in the café. Some, students glued to their laptops, and others, dozing off on the tables. Either way, it’s quite peaceful tonight and you’ve gotten through two thirds of the report for your last mission. Yehey!

But alas, all good things come to an end.

Your watch beeps just as the tv, previously playing music in the background, switches to an emergency broadcast.

“Attention all. Attention all.” The newscaster frowns a little, “This is an emergency message from the Hunter’s Association - Wanderers have been sighted in the Bloomshore district.” A map pops up on the screen right where the coffee shop is located. The newscaster points to it, “If you are in this area, seek shelter immediately.”

Just as the message repeats, your watch vibrates against your wrist. A similar map is displayed - a live update of where the wanderer is headed - right in your direction.

Overhead, you hear the whir of helicopter blades and the other customers begin scrambling towards the entrance.

You stand at the entrance stopping one customer from leaving, “Stop! Stay calm everyone.” You show your badge to the customers, “I’m from the HA. At the moment, it’s best if we stay in the cafe. Stay under the tables.”

“Screw that!” one of the customers yells and pushes past you.

“Sir! The wanderer is-” You turn to grasp at his arm but not long after he bumps into Sylus, who had come to your side from behind the counter.

He towers over the customer with a stance imposing and unfamiliar as compared to the sweet barista you know.

“I suggest, sir, that you listen to miss hunter over here before you lose your life.” He narrows his eyes at the customer who gulps but still has the audacity to reply.

“If.. If I’m going to die, it sure as hell won’t be here in a coffee shop.” He insists.

Sylus simply gestures to the door, “Be my guest.” He says with a taunting smirk.

You look at him incredulously, “Ugh, why would you-”

“What? I have to honour a man’s dying wish. I would also prefer not to have a death in my coffee shop.”

Just as he finishes the sentence, the small coffee shop rumbles with the roar of the wanderer. The customers scream and scramble in all directions.

You click your tongue and push past him to follow after the customers who ran out in fear.

He just smiles and turns on his heel to follow after you.

Too engrossed in protecting the civilians, you don’t realise that Sylus is trailing behind you taking care of any straggling wanderers coming from behind.

When you hear the shrieks of the wanderers from behind, you see Sylus throwing blow after blow to its body.

Much too smooth and calculated to simply be a barista.

❖· ────── ·

As if that day had never happened, you’re back in your usual spot at the café. At the time of the incident, you were the closest hunter to the scene so naturally, you were tasked with writing up the report.

With your laptop propped on your thighs, your fingers are gliding over your keyboard as you type up the report - noting the time of the incident, to the nature of the incident, to those involved.

Your fingers tap lightly at the keyboard, not enough to input any letters, but to rid yourself of your anxiety. Write too much and the HA will investigate this place, and unfortunately, the packages that you’ve convinced yourself were coffee beans are in fact not coffee beans, but bombs.

Writing as vaguely as possible, you work you lip between your teeth as you eye Sylus from the edge of you laptop. How much can you say without really saying anything at all?

Time flies by with every word you type and every sip of coffee you take. It’s bitter today, but that’s exactly what you need to stay up and finish this report.

Speaking of which… What time is it anyway?

You spare a glance at the clock at the bottom of your screen.

2:32 AM!

You jolt awake and look around the café. Every other table is void of its usual occupant and their belongings.

Sylus lifts his eyes to your figure, noticing your unease, but continues to clean the teacup in his hands, “Do you need something, sweetie? Another cup, maybe?”

You stand up to gather your things, “No. I’m sorry.” You stuff your laptop in your bag, “I didn’t realise how late it was, I-”

He only flashes you a smile, “I don’t mind.” He averts his gaze for a moment, “I have nothing scheduled for tonight, and… and I don’t mind the company.”

You’re frozen in place unsure if he was being courteous or if you were imposing.

Sensing the conflict in your head, he waves his hand and shakes his head, “Sit down,” He walks over to your table and picks up your empty cup, “I’ll make you another drink. You don’t seem to be finishing up any time soon anyways.”

“No, no.” You wave both of your hands in front of you, “I couldn’t. I’m already overstepping my bounds.”

“I insist, kitten.”

Hesitantly, you slot yourself back into the booth and say, “I don’t think I have it in me to finish that report today.” you scratch at your cheek.

“Then, at least stay until I’ve made you another drink.” He’s back behind the counter and shoots you another smile that has your stomach doing backflips, “What will it be, sweetheart?”

“Hot chocolate?” You tilt you head a little.

“Mmmm.” He hums, “Whatever my dearest customer wants, she gets. A warm cup of cocoa to stave of a snowy night, coming right up.” He chimes and the coffee machine whirs to life again.

Shortly after, as you’ve warmed your cold hands against the mug, Luke and Kieran waltz through the entrance.

You glance at the clock - 2:54 AM.

When your eyes return to the two boys, they seem just as shocked as you are that anyone else was still here.

You lift the mug up to acknowledge them and they simply smirk.

“Late night, miss hunter?” One of them says, you’re not quite sure who is who.

You simply hum in response and take another sip of the hot chocolate.

Luke and Kieran make their way to the back as usual, and before they return with the ‘coffee beans’, you’ve emptied your cup and left the shop.

When Sylus leads the twins out (only so they don’t harass you more than you can tolerate) he notices the empty table.

“A special drink for a special lady so late at night, boss man?” Kieran asks.

“Did we interrupt a romantic rendezvous in the middle of the night, boss man?” Luke wiggles his eyebrows.

Sylus merely shakes his head, “Get out of here before I send Mephisto to end the both of you.” He says as he clears your table. Although his voice is dripping in malice, his eyes are soft as he reads the little note you left.

Thank you for the hot chocolate. Sorry for staying so late, I’ll make it up to you. -MC

❖· ────── ·

It wasn’t for another ten days did you make it up to him. Not that anyone was counting…

You felt a little guilty albeit a little flattered by how sweetly he was treating you. But also confused…Does he like you? Is he being nice? Does he do this for others? Is it a ruse with underhanded motives?

Honestly, it’s all so confusing. From how sweetly he was treating you, to the shady deals going on in that dainty little coffee shop. You really don’t know what to believe anymore.

You thought maybe if you stopped visiting for a little while, everything would clear itself up. But the more you restrained yourself, the more thoughts of him surfaced.

With an exasperated huff, you convinced yourself that you were just having caffeine withdrawals and none of the other coffee shops in Linkon satisfied you like the small coffee shop at the edge of Bloomshore. Definitely, the coffee and not the barista… the coffee.

…

When you shuffle into the coffee shop, it busier than usual. So much so that Sylus hasn’t even realised that you’re here.

Why would he though? I’m just like any other customer getting a drink.

You let out a breath. For whatever reason, your traitorous heart is pounding away. By the time you get to the counter you heartbeat is in your ears and you can barely hear yourself say, “One house special, please.”

At your voice, Sylus’ head fwips up from where his hands were holding a milk jug to the coffee machine, “I though my little hunter was injured, or that I was too forward.” he sends you a smile that makes your heart race a little faster.

“Sorry, I was… I was busy.” You avert your gaze and begin to reach into you bag, “I do have something to give you. A little thank you gift, if you will.” You pass a little mug set over the counter.

He quickly wipes his hands on a dish cloth and receives your gift. He opens the set and smirks.

Your brows furrow, “What?” What could he possibly find amusing?

He looks into the mug and reads, “I love you a latte?”

“Huh?” You lean over the counter and grab the mug from his hands. Just as he read, the words “I love you a latte” are printed at the bottom of the mug.

You stare at it, baffled as heat rises to your cheeks “I-”

He chuckles, “This one says, ‘mugs and kisses’.” He looks back at you, “Are you trying to tell me something, sweetie.”

“No! I didn’t know they had those printed at the bottom! I just liked the designs at the front!” You’re leaning over the counter reaching for the mugs.

“You’re more forward than me it seems.”

“Just…just give them back to me, I can return them and get you something else.”

He pulls the both mugs further away from the counter and above his head, “I can’t. This your first gift to me, kitten.” He holds them to his chest, “It would be a waste to return them now.”

“No, Sylus, I’m serious.”

“And so am I.” He places the mugs on one of the shelves and turns back to you, “Now go sit down, I’ll bring your drink once it’s ready.”

With your head in your hands you take your usual seat.

❖· ────── ·

Your mind spent half the day replaying the events from this morning, so now you’re only a fifth of the way through your report.

You groan and plop your forehead on the table with a thud. You turn your head to the side and rest it atop your hands.

Most of the other customers have left for the night, and Sylus is finishing up, cleaning all his equipment.

Shortly after, he walks over with two take away cups in hand. He’s donned his long black coat and a scarf. “Come,” He says, “You need a break, let me take you somewhere.” He nods to the entrance.

You raise a brow at him, “You’re not taking me somewhere to kill me, are you?” You joke as you gather your things, “I know how to fight, you know?” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh? Shall I take you to spar then, miss hunter?” He says as he hands you the drinks.

With both of your hands occupied, he takes the opportunity to wrap his scarf around your neck. He ties it up and tidies the edges so that your neck is fully covered. Leaning back a little he admires his work with a chuckle and flicks your forehead.

“Hey!”

“Let’s go.” He guides you with a hand at the small of your back.

After a short walk, he opens the car door for you with his other hand at the roof of the car so you don’t bump your head.

You mumble a quick “Thank you.” and adjust yourself in the seat as he walks around to the driver’s side.

When the car rumbles to life and he begins to drive, you ask, “Are one of these for me?”

He gives you a quick glance and can’t resist teasing you with the way your eyes sparkle at the drinks.

“Of course, but you’ll have to guess which one.”

“Mmm.” You take a sip of one of the cups but shake your head as intense bitterness bites at your tongue, “Bleghh. How many shots did you put in this?”

He stifles a laugh with his hand, “Cute.” He mumbles.

…

When you exit the car, he guides you towards a bridge overlooking the city and the river.

in the middle of the bridge, he leads you to a railing and leans against it with his drink in his hands.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?” You tease.

He scoffs, but adjusts your scarf to cover your nose and ears that have gone red from the cold.

“Well, now how am I supposed to drink this cocoa with my mouth covered, Sylus?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, kitten.”

I think this one turned out a little cuter than I expected, but I love it either way hahaha. I hope you enjoyed! ✧(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

-Seven

|| Masterlist ||

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kedreeva · 8 days ago

Note

You asked to be reminded about a banding video

I did! I don't have enough people here to get banding videos of the adult peafowl, nor of the adult quail. But I did get two videos of banding the babies, one of fresh babies and one of a week old baby.

Please be aware the chirping is normal. The birds are mad at being restrained and tipped and not being able to pull their leg back under them when they want to, but they are not being harmed, just inconvenienced and they have opinions about inconveniences.

Also please note- I usually band the RIGHT leg of newly-hatched quail, but i did the left leg because I figured it would be easier to see. Left legs are usually reserved for quail I am not planning on keeping (wrong colors, usually), or for additional "notes" (for example, boys get their bloodline band on the right and year band on the left leg as adults, compared to hens who get both year and bloodline bands on one leg, so I can tell the non-feather-sexable ones apart at a glance). I generally find it easier to handle them and band the right leg, so if you're having trouble with banding the babies, try the other leg.

youtube

The video audio explains what I am doing, and why, but basically you pick the quail up as shown, brace the ankle between your fingers so they can't push against your hand or wiggle out of your grasp, and put on the already-closed zip tie. It should be tightened just until it's tight enough to stay on, but as loose as it can be without sliding off. The older bird is being held differently to prevent it from vomiting water as a defense mechanism, which can kill them if they aspirate any. The younger bird is fresh from the incubator and has not had water yet, so there's no danger.

Zip tie bands NEED to be checked DAILY for signs of over tightening. If they get caught on something, if they sit on them weird, if freak accidents happen, a band can tighten to the point of cutting off circulation. They also need to be checked especially on growing birds, as these birds outgrow bands REALLY fast. Usually day-old bands will last less than a week. Week-old bands will last a week, maybe 2 on a slower quail but probably not. The 2-week bands usually last a couple of weeks, and the 4 week bands, if you make them loose enough, can usually be made loose enough to last into adulthood as a snug adult band. They STILL need to be checked as adults.

You can get pigeon bands, the sort that don't open and close, but rather slip on when the bird is young and growing, and they outgrow the ability for it to slip off again, but these bands are too big and can't go on baby quail until they're close to around 2-3 weeks of age. I don't use those because they're expensive, BUT they are numbered so you can keep records on specific individuals instead of just bloodlines like I do. If I ever find myself in need of tracking individuals instead, I'd get pigeon bands.

#the quails #coturnix quail #asks #anon asks #banding quail

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suku-enthusiasts · 22 days ago

Text

chapter two || You Followed Me? - c. kamo

❛ ❜ Choso Kamo x f!reader (on going)

❝ Kamo “Choso,” a guarded boxer, meets a soft-spoken baker when he starts daily visits after training. Their connection grows slowly—social media follow, sweet diner dates, shared springtime moments—but love comes through quiet acts: tending wounds, pearl necklaces, building a home together. Challenges follow—a big match, media attention, and legal fights,—yet their bond deepens through intimacy, honest conversations under starry nights, and passionate reunions after weeks apart. As they balance family, business, and future plans, Choso sheds his tough exterior and the baker learns to trust in love worth fighting for.❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety.

Uploads every Tuesday

main masterlist | series masterlist | previous

You woke to the sound of pounding. Not the soft kind of knocking you could pretend to sleep through. No — this was the kind of knocking that shook the door in its frame. You groaned, burrowing deeper into your blankets, your curls sticking out in every direction, tangled from sleep. You cracked one eye open, squinting at the pale morning light bleeding through the edges of the curtain.

Who the hell—

The pounding came again — louder this time — followed by muffled voices. With a low, exhausted whine, you shoved the blankets off and swung your legs over the side of the bed, yawning as you shuffled to the door. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the hallway mirror — a mess of thick, frizzy brown curls sticking out wildly around your head, sleep-smudged eyes, an old oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder — and grimaced.

Still, the knocking didn’t stop. “Alright, alright!” you muttered, fumbling with the lock. You cracked the door open — and immediately froze. Your brothers stood there, both looking vaguely frazzled.

Kaito — older by two years, sharp-eyed and already halfway to a heart attack — had one hand braced against the doorframe, brows knitted, lips pressed in a grim line. Haru, your younger brother by a year, leaned around him, messy black hair sticking up in all directions, wearing sweats and a hoodie like he’d sprinted over here straight from bed.

“Morning, sunshine,” Kaito said dryly, eyes scanning you up and down. “Nice hair.” You glared sleepily. “What are you two doing here?”

“More like what are you doing?” Haru said, pushing the door open wider and barging in without waiting for an invite. Kaito followed, shutting the door behind him. You stared after them, still half asleep. “Seriously, what is going on?”

Kaito turned to you, crossing his arms. “How do you know Choso Kamo?” You blinked. “Who?” Haru snorted, exasperated. “Don’t play dumb. The boxer.” You frowned, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t—what are you talking about?” Kaito pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping furiously. A second later, he shoved it in front of your face. There, plain as day, was your Instagram profile — and right at the top of your notifications, bold and unmistakable:

@chosok started following you.

Your stomach dropped. You snatched your own phone off the coffee table, thumbing it open with shaky fingers. Sure enough — there it was. A new follower notification. Him. You clicked into it, heart thudding.

His profile was exactly what you’d expect — black-and-white gym photos, a few grim fight shots, tattoos on full display, the occasional blurry picture of him backstage at a match, jaw clenched, eyes cold. He didn’t post much. Didn’t follow many people either. But now? Now he was following you. You stared at the screen, blood rushing in your ears.

What the hell?

“Explain,” Kaito said, tapping his foot impatiently. You floundered. “I — I don’t know. I mean, he comes to the bakery. He’s been coming every day for a while now.”

“Every day?” Haru echoed, horrified. “Why didn’t you tell us?” You stared helplessly at your brothers. “Because he’s just a customer! He buys coffee, banana bread sometimes — he’s quiet, he doesn’t bother anyone—”

“Doesn’t bother anyone?” Kaito repeated, incredulous. “He’s a professional fighter, [Name]. A dangerous one. Do you even know how many guys he’s put in the hospital?” Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Choso didn’t seem dangerous when he sat quietly in the bakery, sipping coffee and tearing his pastries into tiny pieces like he was bored. He didn’t seem like someone who could snap bones like twigs. He seemed… heavy. Watchful. Quiet. But you had seen the bruises. The scars.

Still, you shook your head. “He’s never been anything but polite to me. Honestly.” Haru flopped onto the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, well, polite or not, you’ve got a literal middleweight champion following your Instagram now.” You swallowed hard, looking back down at the screen. His most recent post was three weeks old — a shot of his fists taped up, resting against his knees in a grimy locker room, veins and bruises stark under the harsh lighting. The thought of those bruised hands, those calloused knuckles, being the same ones that brushed against yours at the counter made your skin prickle. Kaito groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just — be careful, okay? You don’t know what kind of guy he really is.” You nodded numbly, but your mind was already spiraling.

Why would he follow you?

Why now?

You sank onto the couch beside Haru, pulling your knees up to your chest, phone still clutched in your hand.

Kaito and Haru bickered quietly — something about “background checks” and “self-defense classes” — but you barely heard them. All you could think about was Choso — the way he looked at you, steady and heavy, like he wasn’t in any kind of hurry. Like he had all the time in the world.

✦ ✦ ✦

They stayed a few minutes longer, offering a few more heavy-handed warnings, before finally leaving you alone in the apartment — alone with your racing thoughts and the silent weight of Choso’s follow request burning on your phone screen. You tried to brush it off, focus on opening the bakery. You told yourself it was just curiosity, maybe even harmless. But the thought lingered — the way he looked at you, the way he saw you, like he wasn’t in a hurry. Like he had time.

By midafternoon, you’d almost convinced yourself it was nothing. Customers came and went, the scent of warm bread and cinnamon filling the small space, and you kept your head down, hiding behind your work. But still, as the clock ticked closer to 3:00 p.m., your nerves wound tighter, and then — right on schedule — the bell over the door chimed.

You looked up, and there he was. Choso stepped inside like he always did — slow, deliberate. Black hoodie, sleeves shoved up, dark jeans, heavy boots. His dark hair was pulled back into its usual messy bun, the silver hoops in his ears catching the soft light. He wasn’t smiling, but his mouth tilted slightly at the corner when he saw you. Today, though, you didn’t duck behind the counter. You wiped your hands on a towel, heart hammering, and stepped out to meet him.

“Hi, Choso,” you said, voice soft but steady. He nodded, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Hey, bakery girl.” You swallowed and clasped your hands in front of you. “I saw that you followed me on Instagram.”

His gaze didn’t flicker, didn’t shift. Just steady, heavy, watching. “Yeah,” he said simply.

Your throat was dry, but you pushed forward, sweet but confident. “I was wondering what you were expecting from me.” No accusation. Just calm, careful curiosity. You tilted your chin slightly, inviting — but not challenging. You wanted an answer, but you weren’t going to demand it.

Choso stared at you for a moment longer, as if weighing your words. Then he shifted, pulling his hand from his pocket and dragging it over the back of his neck, ruffling his dark hair. “Was curious,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “Wanted to see if you were real.”

“Real?” you echoed, brows drawing together. He nodded once, slow. “Girl like you — thought maybe it was an act. Too sweet. Too soft.” You felt your face heat but kept still, fingers lacing tighter in front of you. “But you’re not,” Choso said, voice quieter now. “You’re real.”

The weight of his words pressed against your chest, heavy and strange and somehow good. “And now that you know?” you asked, voice low, shy but even. Choso smirked — slow and lazy — the kind of look that made your stomach flip. “Now I know you’re the kind of girl who deserves a little more time.” You exhaled slowly, the tightness in your chest easing. “Well,” you murmured, stepping back toward the counter. “If you’re going to keep following me, Choso, you should know something else.” He raised a brow, amused, but said nothing.

You picked up a small to-go box, carefully sliding a thick slice of chocolate espresso loaf inside. You wrapped it neatly, slid it across the counter. “I’m better in person than I am online.” Choso’s eyes gleamed faintly. He didn’t smile — not fully — but his mouth twitched, and his hand, calloused and inked, brushed deliberately against yours as he took the box.

“I’m counting on it,” he said, voice low, steady, and without another word, he turned and walked out, the bell above the door chiming softly behind him. You stood there for a long moment, heart hammering, hand tingling where he’d touched you. You hadn’t said much. But it had been enough.

✦ ✦ ✦

That night, you found yourself curled up on the couch, one hand buried in Mochi’s soft fur, the other lazily scrolling through your phone. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fan and the occasional sleepy sigh from the little dog pressed against your hip. You weren’t really paying attention, flipping through posts without much interest, but your thumb hesitated when you saw his name.

@chosok

You blinked. His account rarely updated — mostly older fight shots, grainy gym photos — but there, at the top of your feed, was a new post. No caption. Just a photo.

The shot was dark and simple: a table in what looked like a dimly lit bar or café, a half-empty coffee cup, a slice of chocolate cake half-eaten on the plate. The composition was casual, almost careless, but there was something familiar about it — the way the slice was cut thick, the way the coffee sat black and untouched beside it. You stared at it, breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat. It wasn’t your chocolate espresso loaf, not exactly.

But it was close. And the fact that he’d posted it now, hours after standing in your bakery, after taking your slice of cake— It felt deliberate.

Your heart skittered in your chest as you stared at the photo, thumb hovering. You didn’t know if you should like it, if liking it would be too obvious — but before you could decide, a little red notification blinked at the top of your screen.

1 new message.

Your stomach twisted sharply, slowly, you tapped it open. It was of course him.

choso: what are you up to

The message was simple — blunt, almost careless in its lack of punctuation — but it sent your pulse racing anyway. You stared at the little bubble for a long second, reading it once, twice. He’d never messaged you before. Never said anything outside the walls of your bakery. Now here he was, sitting on the other side of a screen, reaching out like it was nothing. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. You could ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see it. But the truth was you didn’t want to ignore it. Not really. So you typed back — careful, but not cold.

you: just hanging out with my dog. you?

You hit send before you could second guess yourself. The little typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

choso: not much. was thinking about that cake

You felt your lips tug into an involuntary smile, cheeks heating.

you: i guess that means it passed the test?

A pause — just long enough to make your nerves skitter again — and then:

choso: yeah. might need more proof though

You pressed your phone tighter to your chest, pulse racing. Mochi stirred against your side, yawning, as if sensing your sudden spike of emotion. You reached down to stroke his fur absently, trying to calm yourself, trying not to read too much into it. You should keep it casual. You should be smart. Instead, your thumbs moved on their own.

you: you’re welcome to come back and test it anytime.

The reply was quicker this time.

choso: you offering to bake for me again

You could almost hear his voice in it — low, rough, a little amused. You swallowed hard, thumb tapping the screen.

you: maybe.

You stared at the screen, wondering if you’d gone too far — but then:

choso: you’re dangerous bakery girl

The words made your heart jump — not fear, not even nerves. Just heat, slow and spreading, settling in your chest and cheeks. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you sent a small, harmless reply.

you: and you’re trouble, choso.

Another pause. Longer this time.

When the next message came through, it was slower, heavier.

choso: you scared?

You read it once, twice, heart hammering. You thought about it — the way he looked, the way he watched you, the way he felt like a loaded gun in a quiet room. Sharp, heavy, dangerous in a way you didn’t fully understand.

You should be scared. But you weren’t. Your fingers moved before you could think.

you: no.

The little typing bubble popped up and then disappeared, and you sat there, waiting, breath caught. No reply came — not right away. You stared at your phone for a long minute, the screen glowing softly in the dark, your own reflection ghosted over it. Finally, just when you were about to set the phone down — another ping.

choso: good.

Nothing else. You exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the couch, heart still racing, the little smile tugging at your lips impossible to fight. Mochi shifted again, pressing closer to your side. You buried your hand in his fur, staring at the last message. Good.

✦ ✦ ✦

The street was already slipping into twilight when Choso finally made it to the bakery. He hadn’t meant to be this late — hadn’t wanted to be — but the day had chewed him up and spit him out before he even realized how much time had passed. His body ached, heavy with the weight of a hundred small battles: sparring, conditioning, more bruises layered on top of old ones. The whole day, he’d kept thinking about it — about the clock ticking forward, about you, about the small quiet world you lived in. And now?

Now the bakery was closed.

The lights inside glowed soft and low, spilling onto the sidewalk in a warm pool. The streets around it were quiet, the city winding down to that low, heavy hum that always came with the end of the day. Choso stood on the sidewalk, still, staring at the darkened windows, the Closed sign swinging gently in the breeze. He didn’t move. Just stood there, fists jammed deep into the pockets of his hoodie, jaw tight. Too late.

It shouldn’t have mattered — it was just coffee, just banana bread, just some quiet routine he’d fallen into without meaning to — but it did. More than he wanted to admit. He shifted his weight, boot scuffing against the pavement, ready to turn away, to call it a loss — when he caught a flicker of movement inside. You.

You moved around the shop in easy, familiar motions — wiping down the counters, stacking chairs, your hair pulled back in a loose bun, a few stubborn curls escaping to frame your face. You wore a soft, faded sweatshirt that dipped low at the neck, sleeves shoved up to your elbows, and jeans that clung to the curves of your thighs and hips in a way that was almost cruel. Choso didn’t think you’d see him. But then — like you could feel the weight of his stare — you turned.

Your eyes widened slightly, recognition flashing across your face, and then — to his surprise — you smiled. Small, a little shy, but warm enough to bleed right through the glass. You moved toward the door, unlocking it with a practiced flick of your wrist. The bell chimed softly as you opened it, and the warm, sugary scent of the bakery spilled out into the cool night.

“Hey,” you said, voice soft with something that felt like more than just politeness. “You missed me today.” Choso shrugged, stepping closer, the door half-open between you. He was painfully aware of how rough he must look — hoodie rumpled, jeans scuffed, hands still wrapped from training under the sleeves. He didn’t belong here, not standing in the warm doorway of a place that smelled like fresh bread and vanilla and home.

“Had a long day,” he said, voice low, rough. “Was gonna come earlier.” You leaned your weight against the doorframe, studying him in that way you had — calm, patient, seeing more than most. Your eyes flicked over him, lingering for a second longer on his face, on the faint bruising at his jaw, the way he didn’t bother hiding how tired he was. “You look disappointed,” you said, not unkind, just observant. Choso hesitated, then gave a small, grudging nod. “Yeah. I am.”

There was a pause, the kind that should have been awkward but wasn’t. The air between you was thick, warm from the shop and cool from the night, and for a moment, all he could hear was the distant hum of the streetlights and the low buzz of the city settling in around you. You tilted your head slightly, curls slipping forward to brush your cheek, and gave him a look — sweet, soft, but certain — that made something in his chest pull tight. “Well,” you said, voice light but sure, “I was just about to head upstairs.” You hesitated — just a beat — then smiled again, smaller this time, almost secret. “Wanna come with me?” Choso’s chest tightened.

You said it so easily — like it wasn’t a big deal, like inviting a bruised-up fighter into your space was something you didn’t even have to think twice about. Like you didn’t see all the rough edges he carried with him. For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, staring at you, at the soft flush in your cheeks, the loose, messy halo of your curls, the small, open curve of your mouth. Then he nodded, slow. “Yeah,” he said, voice lower. “Yeah, I do.”

You smiled wider — not huge, not showy, just real — and stepped back, holding the door open for him. Choso ducked his head slightly as he stepped inside, the bell giving a low, final chime behind him. The warmth of the bakery wrapped around him, thick and sweet and familiar. You locked the door behind him, sliding the bolt home with a small click, and turned back, the keys jingling lightly in your hand.

“Come on,” you said, voice soft but sure, nodding toward the back. “It’s just upstairs.” Choso followed without a word, boots heavy on the worn wood floor as you led him through the back hallway and up a narrow staircase. The walls were lined with old photos — some of the bakery in its early days, some newer, candid shots — and he found himself staring at them as you climbed. At the top of the stairs, you pushed open a door and stepped inside, flipping on a small lamp by the entrance. Choso paused in the doorway, taking it all in.

It was small, lived-in, yours. A worn couch piled with soft blankets, a coffee table stacked with books and half-melted candles, a few leafy plants curling toward the windows. The faint scent of vanilla and sugar lingered in the air, soaked into the old wood floors and faded curtains.

Mochi came bounding around the corner, nails clicking on the floor, tongue lolling happily. The little dog barked once — sharp and excited — and immediately ran to Choso, tail wagging furiously. You laughed, stepping out of your shoes and tossing your keys into a small dish by the door. “That’s Mochi. He’s friendly.”

Choso crouched, rough hands offered palm-up, and the little dog sniffed him eagerly before pressing against his leg.

“He likes you,” you said, smiling as you watched him. Choso straightened slowly, scratching behind the dog’s ear absently, his gaze sweeping the room again. It was too soft. Too warm. Too good. Everything about it — about you — was the kind of good he didn’t know how to touch without ruining. But when you smiled at him again, small and a little shy, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Couldn’t even bring himself to want to.

You moved around the small apartment with an ease that made Choso’s chest ache, like you didn’t even have to think about it. You set the plates down on the low coffee table, still warm with the fresh loaf you’d made just for him, a knife already waiting to cut another thick slice. Mochi followed you, circling your legs before hopping onto the couch, tail thudding happily against the cushions.

Choso stayed standing for a moment longer, boots planted on the worn floor, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. He felt too big in this space — too rough and sharp — like a knife left out on a linen tablecloth. But you just smiled up at him, easy and unbothered, like you didn’t notice the way he hesitated. “Sit,” you said softly, nodding toward the couch. “You look like you need it.”

Choso snorted under his breath, but he obeyed, lowering himself onto the couch slowly, sprawling back against the cushions. He sat awkwardly for a moment, legs spread, elbows braced on his knees, before he leaned back and let himself sink into the worn fabric. The couch was old, the cushions soft and broken-in, and he had to fight the instinct to relax — to let his guard down even a little. You handed him a plate, the slice thick and still steaming slightly. Your fingers brushed his as you passed it to him — warm, soft — and he curled his hand around the edge of the ceramic, holding it carefully, like it was something fragile.

You sat beside him, curling your legs under you, plate balanced on your knee, and for a moment, you were quiet — both of you — just sitting there, the soft buzz of the old lamp the only sound in the room. Choso took a bite, slow and deliberate. The cake was still warm, the chocolate rich, the espresso sharp enough to linger on his tongue. He made a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest — not quite a groan, but close — and when he glanced sideways, you were watching him, a small, pleased smile tugging at your mouth. “Good?” you asked, voice light. Choso swallowed, licking a crumb from his thumb before answering. “Too good.” You laughed — low and easy — and something inside him shifted, just a little, the tightness in his chest easing under the warmth of the sound.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You ate in comfortable silence, Mochi dozing between you, his small body pressed against Choso’s thigh. Outside, the city moved on without you — distant, muffled, unimportant. Choso set his empty plate down on the coffee table, wiping his hands on his jeans. You finished a second later, stretching slightly, arms lifting over your head in a lazy arch that pulled your sweatshirt taut over the soft curve of your waist and hips.

He watched you, careful not to let it show too much. “You always live like this?” he asked finally, voice rough but quiet.

You glanced at him, blinking slowly. “Like what?” He shrugged, nodding around the room. “All this.” His voice was soft, almost uncertain. “Quiet. Soft. Easy.” You smiled, small and real. “I guess. I mean, it’s just me and Mochi. I like it quiet.”

Choso stared at you for a long moment, something tight and sharp curling low in his gut. He wanted to say it — I’m not made for this. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t know how to live like this, didn’t know how to sit still and be something other than fists and bruises and blood. That he’d tear through this kind of life without meaning to, that he’d ruin it just by touching it. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t know how to.

Instead, he just sat there, breathing you in — the smell of vanilla and sugar and something warmer underneath it, something you — and let the quiet wrap around him. You didn’t press. You just leaned back into the couch, stretching your legs out, head tilting toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Mochi shifted in his sleep, pressing closer to Choso’s side. Choso stared down at the little dog, at the soft curve of your shoulder barely brushing his arm, at the worn, easy life you’d built in this small, quiet space. And he wondered — for the first time in a long time — what it would feel like to stay.

The quiet stretched between you — warm and easy — but your heart was still racing in a steady rhythm that you couldn’t seem to slow down. You tucked your legs up under you on the couch, the plate long forgotten on the coffee table, and turned slightly to face him. Choso sat back, arm draped lazily along the top of the couch, long legs sprawled, head tilted as he watched you with those dark, steady eyes. You pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt, more out of nervous habit than anything else, and smiled softly. “Do you have any siblings?”

The question slipped out, casual, but you could feel how heavy the air got after you asked it — like the question had reached a part of him most people didn’t bother touching. Choso didn’t answer right away. He shifted, just slightly, his eyes dragging away from you to stare at some spot on the opposite wall. You waited, patient, fingers playing lightly with the edge of your sleeve. Finally, he spoke, voice low and rough. “Yeah. I got a little brother. Yuuji.” There was something in the way he said it — not just pride, but weight, like the word brother meant more than it should.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty,” Choso said. “Still a kid.” You smiled at that, because of course Choso would think twenty was still a kid — looking at him now, sitting there heavy and worn, twenty probably felt a lifetime away. “He still in school or…?”

Choso nodded. “College. First in our family to even think about it.” The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth, softening the hard edges of his face. You filed that away — the way just talking about his brother made him look different, younger somehow.

“What about you?” he asked, tilting his head a little, eyes slipping back to yours. “You got any siblings?” You smiled, a real one this time. “Two older brothers. Kaito and Haru.”

“Older, huh?” You nodded. “Yeah. Well one of them… They’re — they’re protective.” He huffed a short, low breath that could have been a laugh. “Figures. They know about me?” You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “They, um. They might’ve seen you followed me on Instagram.” Choso’s mouth twitched. “They pissed?”

“They’re… concerned,” you said delicately. He chuckled — a low, rough sound — and it made something inside you loosen, made the tightness in your chest ease a little. “They should be,” he said, voice quieter now, more serious. “They’re lookin’ out for you.”

You looked at him — really looked — and it hit you how much older he felt, even though he couldn’t be more than a few years ahead of you. “How old are you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. Choso glanced at you, considering, like maybe he didn’t usually answer questions like that — like maybe he wasn’t used to people asking. “Twenty-six,” he said finally. You smiled. “I’m twenty-four.”

“Two years,” he said, almost to himself. “Feels like more sometimes.” You tilted your head, curious. “Why?” He shrugged, the leather of his jacket creaking softly as he moved. “Had to grow up early. You get used to it.”

You thought about that — about what kind of life shaped a man like Choso. The bruises, the scars, the way he moved like he was always ready for a fight. You tucked a leg tighter under yourself, turning more toward him. “What about your family?” you asked gently. “Your parents?” His mouth twitched, but not in a smile this time. Something darker flickered across his face, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

“They’re gone,” he said, voice flat. “Been just me and Yuuji for a long time.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling heavy between you. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. Choso shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Don’t be. Just how it is.”

You watched him for a long moment — the way he sat heavy in his own skin, the way he didn’t flinch from the silence that followed, didn’t fidget or fill the space with empty words. He lived with it. Carried it like he carried everything else — bruises, fists, the rough life he never asked for, and somehow, sitting here with you — in this tiny, quiet apartment with the scent of sugar and vanilla clinging to the air — he felt more real than he had to anyone else in a long time.

“You don’t talk about yourself much, do you?” you asked, voice soft but steady. Choso smiled then — slow, a little crooked. “No. Not a lot to say.” You shook your head gently. “I think there’s a lot.” He looked at you — really looked — and for the first time since you met him, you saw the wall slip just a little. Not all the way. Just enough to see the man underneath — tired, worn, but still standing.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said, voice low. You smiled. “Neither are you.” He huffed a short breath — something like a laugh — and the tension between you eased, settling into something warmer, quieter. You shifted closer, barely an inch, but it was enough for your knees to brush, for the warmth of him to bleed into you. Mochi shifted in his sleep, a soft huff, but Choso didn’t move away. Didn’t flinch. He just sat there, shoulder brushing yours, in the small, quiet world you’d built — and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to run.

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