#paired w memory issues

[omezuki]

my least favorite thing ab brain not work disease is i mix up words a lot and i do it with pronouns specifically bc they're all close together and it's so embarrassing and a disaster waiting to happen

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

[alyrasturnz]

I need a angsty fan fic of matt with his gf that are in an argument and he raises his hand to maybe move hair out of his face but she fliches and he imedeately becomes worried that she though he would hit her but she just had trauma from her childhood and when she tries to explain she just breaks down or has a panick attack(maybe even flashback) and then a fluffy ending.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

❐ summary » in the midst of a heated argument, a seemingly insignificant gesture from matt triggers a dramatic and heart-wrenching resurgence of y/n’s deeply buried childhood trauma, unraveling layers of pain and vulnerability that had long been hidden beneath her stoic exterior.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x reader

❐ warnings » arguing, abuse, daddy issues

❐ a/n && w/c » this is not for the weak. (weak = people with daddy issues) •  3.86k

in the dimly lit living room, shadows weave intricate patterns on the walls, casting an almost ethereal glow. you and matt stand facing each other, suspended in a moment thick with unspoken words and a tapestry of lingering emotions. the air itself seems to pulse with the weight of past memories and the silent exchange of unresolved feelings, creating an atmosphere that is both tense and poignant.

the flickering light from a lone candle dances across your faces, illuminating the raw vulnerability etched in your expressions. every breath, every slight movement, seems to carry the echoes of a thousand unsaid things, each one more profound than the last.

the room, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and dreams, now feels like a stage set for a poignant confrontation, where the ghosts of your past linger, watching and waiting for the resolution that may never come.

your voice quivers with a blend of frustration and sorrow as you speak, “you never listen to me, matt! it’s like you’re always somewhere else, lost in your own world.” your hands clench and unclench at your sides, a physical manifestation of the emotional storm brewing within you. your eyes search his face desperately, seeking a glimmer of understanding, but finding only the familiar, distant gaze.

matt’s eyes flash with frustration, his brows knitting together as he retorts, “that’s not fair, y/n! i’m trying my best, but you act like i’m not even here.” his hands gesture wildly, as if trying to grasp the elusive understanding that seems to slip through his fingers. his voice, tinged with a mix of anger and desperation, echoes in the room, amplifying the emotional chasm growing between you.

you cross your arms, a mix of hurt and anger flickering in your eyes. “trying your best? you barely even talk to me anymore. it’s like we’re strangers living under the same roof.” your voice trembles with the weight of unspoken pain, each word a sharp reminder of the emotional distance that has grown between you.

your shoulders tense, as if bracing against an invisible storm, while your gaze pierces through the thick fog of misunderstanding and neglect. the room around you seems to shrink, the walls closing in with the oppressive silence that follows your words, amplifying the chasm that has formed between your hearts.

matt takes a deep breath, his voice softer but filled with a quiet intensity. "do you think it's easy for me? i've been dealing with so much, and sometimes... sometimes i just need space." his words, though gentle, carry the weight of countless sleepless nights and unspoken fears.

his eyes, clouded with a mix of vulnerability and frustration, search for a glimmer of understanding. the room seems to hold its breath, the silence between you thickening as his confession hangs in the air, a fragile thread connecting the raw edges of your shared pain.

the room falls silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. matt steps closer, his expression softening. "i don't want to lose you, y/n. but we need to find a way to understand each other, to bridge this gap." his voice trembles slightly, a testament to the depth of his emotions.

the silence that envelops you both is thick, almost tangible, as if the very air is holding its breath. his eyes, filled with a mix of desperation and hope, search yours for a sign of reconciliation. the room, once a mere backdrop to your lives, now feels like a sacred space where every word, every gesture, carries the potential to heal or deepen the rift between you.

you look down, your voice barely above a whisper. "i just want to feel like i matter to you, like we're in this together." your words, fragile and laced with longing, hang in the air like a delicate thread, vulnerable to the slightest breeze. your gaze, fixed on the floor, reflects the weight of unspoken fears and desires.

the room around you seems to fade, leaving just the two of you suspended in a moment of raw honesty. each syllable you utter is a plea, a quiet cry for connection, echoing through the silence that has settled between your hearts.

matt's frustration boils over, his voice rising. "it's not always about you, y/n! i have my own battles, my own demons. why can't you see that?" his words erupt like a storm, each one charged with the pent-up anguish of his inner struggles.

his eyes flash with a mix of anger and desperation, as if pleading for recognition of the silent wars he fights daily. the intensity of his outburst reverberates through the room, shaking the fragile equilibrium of your relationship. his voice, though loud, carries an undertone of vulnerability, revealing the deep scars etched into his soul by unseen adversaries.

your face hardens, hurt turning into anger. "i do see that, matt. but you shut me out. how am i supposed to help you if you won't let me in?" your voice, though laced with frustration, trembles with the weight of unspoken pain. each word is a carefully controlled explosion, a testament to the emotional battleground within you.

your eyes, once filled with empathy, now blaze with a mixture of sorrow and defiance, reflecting the depth of your yearning to be a part of his world. the air between you crackles with unresolved tension, each breath a struggle to bridge the chasm that his silence has carved into your shared existence.

matt lets out a heavy sigh, "you're so... insufferable!" he yells in anger, causing you to slightly flinch. his voice, raw and edged with exasperation, slices through the air like a blade. the intensity of his outburst reverberates within the confines of the room, each syllable a testament to the turbulent storm brewing within him.

your slight flinch, almost imperceptible, betrays the inner turmoil his words have ignited. the space between you seems to shrink and expand simultaneously, charged with the electric tension of unresolved emotions and unspoken grievances.

but then he angrily brings his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it with full force. his movements are sharp and deliberate, each strand of hair caught in the fervent grip of his frustration.

the act, though seemingly mundane, is laden with the weight of his inner turmoil, a physical manifestation of the chaos that rages within him. the tension in his muscles is palpable, the rigidity of his posture a stark contrast to the vulnerability that lies beneath his anger. the room seems to hold its breath, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken complexities of his emotions.

your mind morphs his face into your dad's face. every shape and every little contour morphing into his features. his eyes, once familiar, now carry the weight of past memories, each line and shadow a haunting echo of your father's visage.

the transformation is both surreal and unsettling, as if the ghosts of your past have come to life in the present moment. the contours of his face blur and shift, melding into the well-worn patterns of your father's expressions, each one a reminder of old wounds and unresolved emotions.

the room around you fades, leaving only the stark reality of this uncanny resemblance, a poignant reminder of the intricate tapestry of your emotional landscape.

the crease of his eyebrows, the wrinkles on his forehead, and the fury in his eyes, everything. each detail, from the furrowed brows to the deep lines etched into his skin, speaks volumes of the anger that simmers beneath the surface.

the intensity in his eyes burns with a ferocity that seems almost palpable, a tempest of emotions barely contained within their depths. the wrinkles on his forehead, like the rings of an ancient tree, tell stories of past struggles and unresolved conflicts, each one adding to the complexity of his expression. the entirety of his visage becomes a canvas painted with the raw, unfiltered fury that now defines this moment.

and most importantly, the way he raised his hand. the gesture, though seemingly simple, is laden with an almost unbearable weight. it is a movement filled with unspoken words and suppressed emotions, a silent testament to the turmoil that rages within him. the lift of his hand, deliberate and fraught with tension, carries the echoes of past grievances and unhealed wounds.

it is as if time slows, allowing the gravity of the moment to fully sink in, each second stretching into an eternity. the significance of this action is not lost on you, as it encapsulates the depth of his inner conflict and the intensity of his unvoiced anguish.

you immediately flinch, bringing your arms up to your head to shield you from what you thought he was about to do. the reaction is instinctive, a primal response born from past experiences and deep-seated fears.

your body moves on its own accord, muscles tensing and heart pounding as you brace for an impact that never comes. the air around you thickens, charged with the electricity of your sudden terror.

each second stretches into an agonizing eternity, your mind racing through memories of similar moments, each one leaving an indelible mark on your psyche. the vulnerability of your posture, arms raised in a futile attempt at protection, speaks volumes of the trauma that lingers, shaping your every reflex and reaction.

your body knew that it was just matt, but your mind played tricks on you. the familiarity of his presence should have been a comfort, yet your mind conjured specters from the past, blurring the lines between reality and memory.

the rational part of you recognized matt's touch, his voice, the essence of his being, yet the shadows of your past wove an intricate tapestry of fear and confusion. it was as if your mind, a master of deception, replayed old scenes with cruel precision, morphing matt's every gesture into a haunting echo of what once was. the dichotomy between your physical awareness and the mental labyrinth you navigated created a dissonance that left you teetering on the edge of sanity.

"please don't," you whispered, tears starting to stream down your face as your heart pounded in your chest. your voice, barely more than a breath, trembled with the weight of unshed sorrow and unspoken fears.

each tear that traced a path down your cheeks seemed to carry a fragment of your shattered soul, glistening in the dim light like shards of broken glass. the plea hung in the air, fragile and desperate, a testament to the storm raging within you.

your heart, a wild drumbeat in your chest, echoed the tumultuous emotions that threatened to overwhelm you, each thud a reminder of the vulnerability and pain that had become your constant companions.

"what? oh my god, no—" matt said softly, though you couldn't hear it with your ringing ears. "no, no, no, baby, no." his voice, laden with a mixture of shock and desperation, barely pierced through the cacophony that filled your mind. the words, though gentle, carried the weight of his anguish, each syllable a plea for understanding and reassurance.

the softness of his tone, juxtaposed with the intensity of the moment, created a poignant contrast, underscoring the depth of his concern and the helplessness he felt in that instant. his repeated denials, like a mantra, sought to bridge the chasm of fear and pain that had suddenly yawned between you, a futile attempt to anchor you both in a reality that seemed to be slipping away.

his heart pounded against his chest, nibbling on his bottom lip as he pulled you closer, your trembling body against his. the rhythm of his heart, an insistent drumbeat, echoed within the confines of his chest, each pulse a testament to the turmoil within.

his teeth grazed his bottom lip, a subconscious attempt to quell the rising tide of emotion. as he drew you closer, your trembling form pressed against him, he sought to forge a connection amidst the swirling tempest.

the warmth of your quivering body, fragile and delicate, became his anchor, a fleeting sanctuary in the midst of chaos, offering a momentary respite from the storm that raged within and around you both.

"no—don't," you whisper, your voice trembling as matt kissed the top of your head, resting his chin atop it. your voice, barely more than a fragile breath, quivered with the weight of unshed tears.

matt's lips brushed the crown of your head, a tender gesture laden with unspoken emotions. as his chin settled gently atop your head, it was as if he sought to shield you from the encroaching darkness, to offer solace in the simplest of touches. the trembling in your voice mirrored the tremors in your heart, each word a plea, a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you both.

"i’m not. i won’t. i would never hit you," he whispered assuringly. though it was useless since you couldn’t hear anything with your labored breaths and ringing ears. his voice, a soft murmur of reassurance, carried a profound sincerity, each word a vow etched in the air.

despite his earnest whispers, they were swallowed by the cacophony of your labored breaths and the relentless ringing in your ears. his assurances, though spoken with the gentleness of a summer breeze, seemed to dissipate into the void, unable to pierce through the storm of your inner turmoil.

the disconnect between his soothing promises and your inability to perceive them underscored the chasm that had opened between your shared reality and the isolating grip of your distress.

your breaths, once steady, now came in rapid, uneven gasps, each inhale and exhale a testament to the mounting panic within you. your shoulders heaved with the force of your distress, rising and falling in a dramatic rhythm that mirrored the tempest in your heart.

tears, unrelenting and bitter, carved glistening paths down your cheeks, each droplet a silent witness to the depth of your sorrow. the physical manifestations of your anguish painted a poignant picture of a soul in turmoil, each breath and tear a cry for solace amidst the chaos.

matt, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in your demeanor. with a gentle yet firm resolve, he withdrew from the embrace, his hands finding their place on your shoulders. his eyes, deep pools of concern and determination, locked onto yours, seeking to bridge the chasm of despair that threatened to engulf you. the intensity of his gaze, laden with unspoken promises and a fervent desire to understand, became a lifeline in the swirling maelstrom of your emotions.

as your gaze met his, the storm within your eyes began to calm, the hardness melting away like frost under the morning sun. the realization dawned upon you, a gentle epiphany that the figure before you was not your father, but matt, steadfast and compassionate.

your eyes softened, the tension in your face easing as the shadows of past fears receded. in that moment of clarity, the lines between past and present blurred, and the warmth of matt's presence began to soothe the echoes of old wounds.

"hey, hey, it’s okay. i’m here. i would never hurt you," he whispered, each word a delicate thread woven with care. his tone, imbued with a profound gentleness, was a balm to your frayed nerves, a soft assurance that sought to anchor you amidst the tempest. the sincerity in his voice, tender and unwavering, was a promise, a vow that resonated deeply, striving to reach the core of your being and dispel the shadows of doubt and fear.

your lips quivered, a silent testament to the turmoil within, as your mind swam in a haze of confusion and distress. each breath you took became a laborious endeavor, the weight of your emotions pressing down upon your chest.

the clarity of thought that once guided you now seemed distant, replaced by a fog that clouded your senses and left you adrift in a sea of uncertainty. the physical manifestations of your inner chaos painted a poignant picture of a soul grappling with the depths of its own despair.

»--•--«

“you’re so useless!” your dad bellows, his voice a thunderous roar that reverberates through the room. with a furious swipe, he sends a flower pot crashing to the floor, shards scattering like the remnants of shattered dreams.

his eyes blaze with an intensity that speaks of deep-seated rage, each flicker of anger a dagger aimed at your already fragile heart. the raw, unfiltered fury in his gaze is a storm unto itself, leaving you to weather the tempest of his wrath.

ou flinch, your body instinctively recoiling as you take tentative steps backward, each movement a desperate bid for escape. the air grows thick with tension, your retreat a silent plea for safety.

yet, your dad's keen eyes catch the subtle shift, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that halts your retreat. the awareness of his scrutiny freezes you in place, the hope of slipping away unnoticed dissolving under the weight of his penetrating stare.

with each furious stomp, he closes the distance between you, his presence a looming shadow of anger. his hand darts out, seizing the back of your shirt with a vice-like grip. in a swift, forceful motion, he lifts you off the ground, your feet dangling helplessly in the air. the sensation of being suspended, caught in his unyielding grasp, sends a jolt of fear through your body, amplifying the already overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

“you’re so incompetent! you’re a disgrace to this family!” he bellows, his voice a tempest of fury that crashes over you. with a violent shove, he hurls you to the ground, your small frame colliding harshly with the cold, unforgiving marble floor.

the impact reverberates through your body, pain mingling with the flood of emotions that surge within you. tears stream down your face, each drop a testament to the deep-seated sorrow and helplessness that grips your heart.

“oh shut it, you’ll get over it!” he scoffs, his voice dripping with disdain. his dismissive words cut through the air like a blade, but they do nothing to stem the tide of your tears. you continue to cry, each sob a raw, unfiltered expression of the pain that his callousness only deepens. the tears flow freely, a silent rebellion against the indifference etched in his voice.

“did i say that you could cry more?” he demands, his voice a sharp edge that slices through the silence. he turns to you, his gaze piercing as you slowly shake your head, the movement almost imperceptible. “exactly! so stop crying, brat,” he snaps, his words laced with an unyielding authority that leaves no room for defiance.

you sniff, the sound barely audible as you quickly scramble to your feet. with a surge of adrenaline, you start running, each step fueled by a desperate need to escape. your feet falter occasionally, causing you to stumble, but you push onward, driven by the urgency of the moment.

“hey! where are you going!?” he yells, his voice echoing with a mix of anger and confusion. he begins to walk after you, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, each one a reminder of the distance you’re trying to put between yourself and the source of your pain.

you try to open the front door, but it's locked, the handle refusing to give. panic surges within you, and your eyes widen as you slowly turn to face your father. his unforgiving gaze meets yours, a silent testament to the authority and control he wields.

“oh, so you want to escape now?” he asks, his voice dripping with a mix of incredulity and mockery. a soft, derisive scoff escapes his lips, echoing in the tense silence between you. his eyes narrow, filled with a cold, unyielding intensity, as he slowly draws his fist back. the motion is deliberate, almost methodical, as if he’s savoring the moment, before he aims it directly towards your face, the threat hanging heavily in the air.

»--•--«

the sudden jolt of his words snapped you back to reality, pulling you from the depths of your swirling thoughts. matt’s eyes, unwavering and intense, continued to bore into yours, as if searching for something hidden deep within your soul.

“hey, it’s okay. I’m here with you. let’s take some slow, deep breaths together. breathe in... and out. focus on my voice and just keep breathing. you’re safe right now,” he whispers, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your mind. you nod softly, trying to follow his instructions and take slow, deep breaths, but the anxiety grips you tightly, making it difficult to find the calm he’s trying to guide you towards.

matt nods thoughtfully, his gaze shifting as he surveys the surroundings. “alright, let’s try something together,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.

“first, look around and tell me three things you can see,” he says, his voice steady and grounding, as he encourages you to anchor yourself in the present.

“y-you, the couch, a-and the tv,” you stammer, each word a struggle, your voice a mere whisper, trembling with the weight of your emotions. the effort to speak seems monumental, as if the simple act of naming these objects is a lifeline to the present moment amidst the chaos of your mind.

“now, listen carefully and tell me three sounds you can hear,” matt said, his voice calm and steady, guiding you to focus on the auditory tapestry of your surroundings.

“i hear- you, th-the clock, and the rain outside,” your voice barely audible, you whisper, each word a delicate thread of sound in the stillness.

you feel the panic slowly ebbing away, like the receding tide, leaving a sense of calm gradually washing over your body.

“you’re doing amazing baby. now, move three parts of your body, like wiggling your fingers or toes. you're doing great, just keep focusing on these steps." matt murmurs softly, his voice a gentle caress against the storm of emotions swirling within you.

you nod, eyelids fluttering shut as your fingers dance with a nervous energy, guiding your trembling hand to your locks, gently tucking them behind your ear in a gesture of fragile composure. you incline your head, eyelids descending as your digits quiver with an anxious fervor, maneuvering your tremulous hand to your tresses, meticulously securing them behind your ear in a gesture of delicate poise.

you exhale a gentle sigh, the tempest within you gradually subsiding as your eyelids flutter open, revealing eyes tinged with a bloodshot hue, remnants of your emotional tempest.

“oh baby,” he murmured soothingly, extending his arms in a welcoming embrace. “c’mere, sweet gir.l”

you offered a gentle smile, advancing towards him with measured steps, encircling him with your arms and surrendering to the warmth of his embrace.

you allowed the silence to envelop you, feeling the tender press of his lips upon your head, as he gently rested his chin atop, creating a sanctuary of tranquility.

“m’sorry about earlier,” he whispers, his voice a soft murmur. “i’ll be around more, i promise, baby.”

“thank you,” you mumble, your words muffled against the warmth of his chest.

[avis-writeshq]

06 — untouchable

summary: “come on, come on, say that we’ll be together/”i’m caught up in you.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn,  warnings: rated 16+ for two mentions of nakedness, short blood mention, brief mention of dead things, mostly canon compliant (s4 e23 ‘amplification’), wc: 4.3k a/n: thank you again to the lovely @astrophileous for beta-reading <3 good luck on your thesis babes MWAH SERIES MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

38 Hours Before the Phone Call – Monday, 8:42AM, BAU Office

Spencer arrives at the office with a stupidly giddy smile on his face. His cheeks are flushed as he grips a hot takeaway cup of coffee in his hands. He taps the cup idly with his fingers, bouncing on the heels of his feet as he steps out of the elevator unable to shake the smile off his face. It’s ridiculous and insane and borderline delusional but he knows it’s far from that. After all, he has a perfectly good reason as to why he is in such high spirits and that reason is you. After years of pining and psyching himself up (only to psych himself out) he managed to actually ask you out on a date. And, he reminds himself with a silly smile, he actually kissed you. And it wasn’t one of those platonic kisses, no, this was an actual kiss to the lips and he couldn’t be happier. 

He thinks back to the previous night, visualising the way your cheeks grew warm and the way your lips felt against his. His own cheeks flush at the thoughts and he remembers committing that version of you to memory. How on earth are you so beautiful? Even while sleep deprived with dark bags under your eyes or unruly hair, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek comments in a teasing sing-songy voice as Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, trying to appear nonchalant. “Ooh, I know that look.”

Spencer chokes a little, wiping his mouth with a tissue in his bag. “What look?”

“Someone got lucky last night,” Derek responds with a grin. “It must be the hair. I heard that long hair gets all the ladies nowadays.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Spencer is quick to deny, walking through the big glass doors of the office. 

“Who got lucky last night?” Emily asks, poking her head out of her little stall. Her eyes flit to Spencer and she grins. “Oh… I see how it is.”

“Nothing happened last night,” Spencer says adamantly, swiping a hand over his face. “It isn’t like that. Whatever we have is good. It doesn’t need to be–” He coughs quietly as blood rushes to his ears– “to be sexual. I like her. More than physically.”

Emily coos at his confession, twisting around her desk to ruffle his hair. “You’re such a gentleman, Reid.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says through a laugh, swatting Emily’s hands away. “Being a gentleman. Some women prefer it over the whole macho act.”

“Hey, I am plenty gentleman,” Derek says swiftly, holding a finger out. “And chicks dig the macho thing.”

*** 

14 Hours Before the Phone Call – Tuesday, 7:09AM, BAU Office

It was supposed to be a normal morning. It was supposed to be an average Tuesday with your average, run-of-the-mill serial killer with daddy issues but instead, JJ called the entire team in the early hours of the morning, saying to get to the BAU as quickly as possible. 

“Case must be local. JJ said not to bring a go-bag,” Spencer says as they enter the office. 

In moments they were met with a complete arsenal of military personnel, bustling around their desks and storming throughout the office. Others were answering and sending phone calls, demanding for processes to be sped up as Hotch speaks to a group of people in his own personal office, Rossi beside him.

“What’s the army doing here?” Derek asks, his brows furrowed.

“What the hell is going on?” Emily demands, eyeing the uniformed professionals as they splay casefiles across their desks. 

They all enter the conference room where JJ was waiting for them, along with a neatly dressed Asian woman with her hair tied up in a ponytail and out of her face. 

“Guys, this is Dr Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ introduces, filling up styrofoam cups with water and placing them around the round table. 

“Hello. I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” she says as she places pills on a shiny metal tray. 

Spencer frowns at that. “What circumstances?”

Hotch enters the room instantly, gripping a case file in his iron fist. “We need to get started.”

“Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after 2PM yesterday. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. It’s now just past 7AM the next day, we have twelve people dead,” JJ explains as the rest of team look through the manilla files. 

“Lung failure and black lesions,” Derek murmurs thoughtfully. “Anthrax?”

Spencer flicks through the papers, scanning the tox screen. “Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast.”

“This strain does,” Kimura says, an edge of fear in her tone.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets– airports, malls, trains?” Emily asks, turning to Hotch who shakes his head. 

“There’s a media blackout.”

“We’re not telling the public?”

Derek looks over at Emily. “We’d have a mass exodus.”

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi explains.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer says as he sifts through the papers. 

“Or if they wanted attention and didn’t get it, they might attack again. Doesn’t the public have the right know that?” 

“If there is another attack, there’s no way we’ll be able to keep it quiet,” Hotch says urgently. “Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”

Spencer wets his bottom lip nervously, his thoughts drifting to you. You work indoors all day. You’ll be fine, you have to be. “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized,” Kimura explains, “reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. Odourless and invisible.”

Rossi nods, almost as if he wasn’t surprised at all upon hearing the news. “A sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours,” Derek points out, gesturing to the less than positive crime photos in their files. 

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Kimura begins, taking an ultrasound scan of a patient’s lungs and presenting it to the team. “Its the lungs. We don’t know how to com2bat the toxins once they’re inside. And the reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. Our offices will become a small command centre,” JJ tells them.

“We’ll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch adds on.

“General Whitworth is coming here?” Rossi asks.

Hotch nods in the affirmative. “He’s in charge of sit containment and spore analysis. Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Kimura goes on to tell the team, looking at each person.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch says, dishing out responsibilities. “Morgan and Prentiss, there’s a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene. There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

Linda hands a small plastic container, each one having two round tablets resting inside. “We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something.”

Emily lets out a nervous breath as she toys with the rim of the container. “This… is really happening?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch says as reassuringly as possible before knocking his head back and taking the two Cipro tablets. 

“Cent’anni,” Rossi toasts, holding the little container out. “May you live one hundred years.”

*** 

Everyone rushes about, gathering files and resources before the head off to complete their allocated assignments. Regardless of how much is at stake in this certain situation, Spencer feels his heart spike with anxiety. It’s against protocol, sure, but shouldn’t he call you? Tell you to take a sick day and stay at home, or to just stay indoors the entire time you’re at work. Maybe if he’s lucky he could get you into witness protection. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch says slowly, seemingly appearing out of thin air behind him. 

Spencer freezes, his hands pausing as they rummage through his bag in search of his cell. “I’m not.”

“You’re not thinking?” Hotch asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know what you want to do.”

“I can’t just– I can’t just keep her in the dark, Hotch,” Spencer insists, continuing to feel for his cell phone. “She could get infected and–” His mouth runs dry at the idea and he swallows thickly. “If I can protect her, then why shouldn’t I?

Aaron sighs, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows knit together. “I know you care about her and I know you’re worried, but she isn’t on this team anymore. If we all called home and used this information to give them the advantage that other people don’t have… is that really the right thing to do?”

“Don’t give me a moral dilemma, Hotch. This isn’t a hypothetical,” Spencer counters, finally finding the little device buried at the bottom of his satchel. “When I– when the incident with Tobias Hankel happened, she never gave up on me. She went out on a limb for me. I’m returning the favour.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment before finally, “What about the guilt?”

Spencer balks. “What?”

“If she is saved because of the information you gave her… can you imagine the guilt she would feel? She’s a selfless person, Spencer, and knowing her… well, you can guess what she would do,” Aaron says, glancing back to his office where Rossi is waving him over. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. Kimura is waiting for you.”

Hotch is gone before Spencer could say anything. He huffs quietly, guilty after hearing Hotch’s words. Even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he has to accept that his boss is right. The best way to keep you safe is by finding this UnSub before he could hurt any more people. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, stalking out of the BAU offices. Hopefully you’ll forgive him.

*** 

“Dr. Lawrence Nichols? Yeah, I read about him. He was highly respected doctor who studied anthrax prior to the attacks in 2001,” Spencer says as he gets into the passenger seat of Derek’s SUV. He rolls up the sleeves of his dark purple shirt, brushing some sweat from his forehead. “They think that he’s behind it?”

“There was a video of him at a conference with the with the National Defense Committee. He was paranoid after the Amerithrax attacks in 2001, proposing some crazy high budget to ‘protect the people of America’,” Derek explains. “He matches the profile exactly. Prentiss and Rossi are heading to his work. Apparently he got demoted into working with influenza.”

Spencer grimaces as he stares at the overgrowing rose bushes at the front of Dr. Nichols’s house, his nose scrunching up in distaste. Do people not hire gardeners anymore? He squeezes past a few bushes to follow Derek closer to the house, hissing when his hand gets caught on one of the thorns. He shakes his hand out, a scratch already blooming on the back of his hand with small droplets ot blood already emerging. 

He continues to walk into the house as Derek’s phone rings, entering the house through a glass sliding door. The whirring of the fan above him grabs his attention and he frowns. The fan is on but the door is open… someone must have left in a hurry. He takes another step forward, jolting when he hears the sound of glass being crushed under his feet. Shit.

“Reid?” Derek yells, and Spencer jumps. 

“Morgan, get– get back!” Spencer yells, slamming the sliding door shut so hard that the glass shakes. “Get back! Get out of here!”

Derek frowns, tugging at the handle. ‘What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“No, don’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks again, tugging once more at the handle; Spencer is a lot stronger than he expected.

“What’s wrong?”

Spencer pushes his hair out of his face in frustration as he locks the door, turning back to his friend. “I’m sorry.”

It is in that moment that Derek’s eyes turn to the ground, his eyes widening in disbelief as he sees the white powder in the room leaking from a broken test tube with a bright yellow symbol for ‘biological hazard’. 

It feels like hours before Hotch and the military arrive at the house, along with an ambulance and a hazmat team. The stench of Dr. Nichols’s dead body lingers in the air even though the air-con is blasting and the air is circulating through the room. He doesn’t even want to think about the dead animals and test subjects in the cages, his stomach churning at the mere thought. From what he could tell, the doctor was dead three days ago, meaning that he couldn’t have been the one to infect those people at the park. His head is pounding and his throat itches and all of a sudden he can’t breathe. He tells himself to relax but how can he when he very well could die in here? He knows the statistics; only 55% of those who receive aggressive treatment survive. He doesn’t like those odds. 

“Hotch, I really messed up this time,” he says hoarsely into the phone, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.

“Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch says firmly, and Spencer watches as he puts the call on speaker. 

“What– no, I’m staying right here,” Spencer insists, frowning. 

Derek interrupts swiftly, “No, you’re not, Reid.”

“I’m already exposed,” Spencer says, his voice straining as he turns back into Dr. Nichols’s makeshift lab. “It’s not gonna do me any good to stop working the case.”

General Whitworth grimaces in response. “He’s already infected. Now, if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure.”

“My best chance is to stay here, see if there’s a cure, and try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols,” Spencer insists as he searches through the lab for what seems like the millionth time. 

Test tubes, files, and text books litter the lab, a flurry of papers splayed across the floor. The sight of them remind him of the first time he met you when you had ran into him on his first official day at the BAU. You were a swirling rainstorm as you practically slammed your head against his chest, the paperwork you were carrying flying into the air as you toppled over like a house of cards. In that moment, Spencer could have sworn that you were untouchable. You were like a fire, burning brighter than the sun, and he would be damned if he ever made that flame flicker away. 

“Come on, Hotch, say something to him,” Derek tries again, worry laced in his tone.

Aaron hesitates as he considers his options before sighing. “He’s right. His best chase is inside. We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, it’s not going to do me any good. I’m already infected.” Spencer knows that if you were still part of the team that you would be scolding him about being so stubborn. Hell, you’re not even on the team anymore and you still scold him about it. 

As he continues to try and search for more clues and filtering the information he finds through to Derek, his thoughts continuously drift back to you. You and your blissfully unaware state. He thinks of the way you smile and the way you felt in his arms that day. He is sure that the universe is playing tricks with him because the one moment he finally has you, you’re ripped away from him. His mind wanders back to the way your eyes lit up and the way your lips felt against his and in that moment he’s begging. He’s begging whatever higher power there is that he is part of the 55% of people who survive an anthrax attack after treatment. 

“Hey, Reid,” Penelope’s voice echoes through the phone, sad and mopey. It’s unlike her, incredibly uncharacteristic and Spencer chokes out a quiet laugh. 

“Reid? Wow, no, uh… no witty Garcia greeting for me?” He asks, running his fingers through his damp sweaty hair. It’s disgusting and gross and he hates it because he knows that it’s a symptom of the disease. 

Penelope chuckles weakly from the other side of the line. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that so instead he asks, “Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I… I know I can’t call… I know I can’t call (Y/N) or my mother without, uh–” he coughs, wiping his face with the palm of his hand and feeling his clammy skin– “without alerting everyone.”

“What do you need?”

“I– uh– I need you to record a message. Two messages. One for my mother and the other for… for (Y/N). In case anything happens to me.” His voice cracks as he speaks, his hand trembling because oh God, this really could be the end. After everything he went through going to those Narcotics Anonymous meetings, getting clean, going to therapy… this is how it ends?

“Oh, nothing is gonna happen to you,” Garcia says, wholeheartedly believing it. “You’re gonna brilliantly find ut who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

Spencer lets out a nervous breath. “I hope you’re right. But if you’re not, I just… I really want to make sure that they hear my voice. Both of them.”

“Okay. Just– just give me a second,” Penelope mumbles, clicking away on her keyboard. 

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“This– um, it’s for my mum first…” He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even. “Hi, mum. This is Spencer. I just– I just really want you to know that I love you, and– and I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

Penelope presses pause on that message, murmuring, “Okay. And– and for (Y/N)?”

“Is it on?” He asks quietly, coughing as the itchiness in his throat refuses to relent. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter.” His voice catches in his throat as he speaks, tears slipping past his eyes as he tries to choke out the words. “If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

“Reid?”

Dr. Kimura enters the room through the sliding door, clad in a bright red hazmat suit. “Prep the victim for transfer.”

“I gotta go,” Spencer says quickly, hanging up the call and pocketing his phone. 

“Dr. Reid,” Kimura says, walking over to him.

“You look nice,” he says drily, staring at the uniform. It looks very similar to an astronaut costume and if he were in any other situation, he would have started to laugh.

Kimura chuckles quietly. “I haven’t been in this outfit for a while.”

“How… how are the patients doing?” Spencer manages to ask, and suddenly it feels as if all the air is kicked out of his lungs. His head throbs with each attempt he makes to take in a breath and sweat pools at the top of his lip. 

“Let’s worry about you.”

“I actually… I feel fine,” Spencer lies through gritted teeth, the muscles in his shoulders aching with each heave of his chest. 

Kimura nods, her concern palpable. “Okay, if you feel any pain, I can give you something.”

In an instant, the fear of losing all the progress he has made in the past year pools to his stomach and he shakes his head adamantly, ignoring the way the room spins. “No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.”

“We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable and I don’t want to take any narcotics!” Spencer says firmly, and he can see the realisation dawn in Kimura’s eyes. 

“Okay… tell me how I can help.”

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says through heavy breaths, sucking in a mouthful of air with every sentence. 

It isn’t long before the hazmat team has Spencer in a decontamination tent, the smell of sterile plastic filling his nose. They’re hosing him down behind a clear plastic curtain, Derek standing in front of him. The feeling of the cold water splashing against his back is uncomfortable, and Spencer grimaces at the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin. It’s gross and his work shirt is growing heavy from the waterweight, sagging down on his shoulders. The anthrax isn’t helping either. It’s too hot and too cold all at once, it’s too hard to breathe and it’s like his head weighs a million pounds. 

“Go help Hotch,” Spencer croaks out to Derek, shivering as they continue to spray water on his back and front.

“Hotch has plenty of people helping him,” Derek dismisses. 

Spencer shakes his head and regrets it immediately, his head starting to spin. “He needs you more than I do.”

“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.”

“I’m about to get naked so that they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?” Spencer deadpans.

Derek grimaces before finally saying, “What if (Y/N) were here? Would you tell her to go?”

“(Y/N)  wouldn’t mind seeing me naked.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot upwards at Spencer’s less than innocent words, immediately turning away. “We are having a conversation about this later. Take good care of him, please.”

The ambulance is stuffy and cramped, and the scrubs that he has to wear is itchy and uncomfortable. They’re menial thoughts that don’t even matter considering the severity of the situation, and Spencer wheezes out of a cough; a reminder that he might not even live to see the next day. The nasal cannula that is attached to Spencer’s nose isn’t doing much to assist him to breathe, and he coughs again. 

“How are you feeling, Dr. Reid?” Kimura asks as she checks his vitals. 

“My throats a little dry, but other than that I feel– I flee– feel…” He blanks. His mind knows the words but they get stuck on his tongue and he panics. It can’t end like this. He refuses for it to end like this. “Flee– fleel– I–”

Kimura nods in understanding, a sense of urgency behind her words. “Okay. Okay, you’re doing okay. Driver, faster!”

“Call–” Spencer tries again, the words spinning in his head. “Pelen– Penel… low… len…”

Call Penelope, he tries to say, the lights in the ambulance growing brighter and brighter. She needs to give (Y/N) the message, she needs to… she needs to…

All he sees is white.

*** 

The first thing Spencer notices when he regains consciousness is the smell of lavender and oranges overpowering the sterile scent of antibacterial wipes. It’s comforting and familiar and he wracks his brain as he tries to remember where he remembers it from. He doesn’t remember much; only getting into the ambulance and Kimura asking him questions. He shuffles around in his hospital bed, stretching his aching muscles. He forces his eyes open little by little, and he quints at the woman at the end of his hospital bed. 

“(Y/N)?”

“You ass,” you respond tearfully, your voice cracking as you swat him lightly on the arm. “You refused treatment?”

He smiles a little, sitting up on the bed. “Hey, angel.”

“Don’t ‘hey angel’ me,” you sniffle, taking hold of his hand and stroking his palm with your thumb. “You scared me.”

Spencer hums softly in acknowledgement, squeezing your hand back. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. Kimura said that you should be free to go in a couple of days but you need rest afterwards,” you tell him, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You owe me a date.”

“I do,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed and a giddy smile on his face despite where he is. He looks at you, you and his oversized CalTech hoodie. The hoodie in itself is ugly; a muted grey with a half-assed logo slapped to the front and Spencer has hated it ever since he bought it with what little funds he had back in college. Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t hate it so much when you wear it. “You look beautiful.”

You roll your pretty eyes at him, moving your chair closer to him. “Liar.”

“Never,” he whispers. “Never to you.”

You smile at him again, bringing your lips to the back of his hand. “You told me you loved me. Is that true, too?”

“Love,” he corrects you quietly, “and I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Heat rushes up your neck at his words and you beam at him, kissing his cheeks. “I love you.”

He reaches a hand out to hold the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the line from your ear to your jaw. “I love you,” he says into the space between you, before kissing you again. 

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[brain-rot-central]

Up In Smoke

A/N: Basically he smokes weed and has a really good orgasm. That's the whole fic. Very self-indulgent, but whatever. Hope you all enjoy!

Rating: light E Word count: 3.5k Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+, dubcon for being under the influence, drug use, alcohol mention, breeding kink, praise kink, male masturbation, mutual pining, trauma mention, intimacy issues

Summary: The gang finally reaches Baldur's Gate. Astarion isn't handling it so well, knowing he's so close to Cazador again. Tav makes an innocent suggestion that he go down to the shops and find something that can help relieve some of his pent up anxiety.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leans over to further inspect the small clear jar within his hands. Inside, a dried cluster of pungent flowers resides. Their faint smell lingers about the small tavern suite. He shakes the jar slightly, following how each bud bounces between the glass.

They've finally made it to Baldur's Gate, and gods what a relief. Not to say he didn't enjoy getting his hands messy, but there was never quite enough he could do to dig out the dirt caked within his nails. He dreamed of soaking in a hot bath for weeks.

Yet, being back in Baldur's Gate also means something more sinister.

It means he’s closer to confronting him.

His old master.

Cazador.

He panics the night before, screaming whenever he'd slip into trance. Horrid memories play behind his eyes. He feels paralyzed within them – the feeling of a hand closing around his neck, a dagger slicing into his back, shackles around his arms and legs, unable to move within the confines of the coffin he lay in for a year.

Tav wakes him eventually, holding him close within their warm embrace. She lulls him back to sleep until he slips into a more peaceful trance. When they awake the next morning, Tav proposes he go down to the shops and look for a sleep aid, or something that could potentially help quell the overwhelming sense of anticipation building within him.

“I only wish for you to be at peace,” she suggests. “You deserve it. Especially now.”

So, he does exactly that.

Perusing the various carts and shops, Astarion inevitably finds an apothecary. He's been to this one before; many, many years ago. He doesn't quite remember the shopkeeper, but feels as if it's the same woman, just now older. 

She's nice enough, giving a warm greeting as he enters the store. The smell of patchouli incense fills his nostrils and almost instantaneously Astarion feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders. 

He explains, in very vague terms, what it is he's experiencing to the shopkeeper. She holds out a glass jar filled with herbs. When he raises a questioning eyebrow, she clarifies, “This is known to help calm even the most fussy of ogres.” She smiles, nudging the jar closer to him. “Go on, take it. You won't regret it.”

With a quick nod of his head, Astarion pays for the herbs and dips out of the shop, stashing the small jar within a pocket of his armor. He reconvenes with Tav and the others; they're to address some sort of problem with a wizard prodigy at Sorcerous Sundries. He sighs audibly as Gale rambles on about the various tomes and wealths of knowledge the store holds. Gale rarely ever lets up when this sort of mood takes him. He briefly wishes he had a scroll of Silence to cast over the wizard.

With the pompous brat slain, the crew returns to the Elfsong Tavern to share a hot meal. Astarion nurses a glass of wine while the others share various plates of grilled meats, vegetables, and fish. Lae’zel offers him the drippings of her steak; he politely declines, though the smell causes his stomach to rumble. He simply chases the sensation away with more wine.

They return to their shared suite within the tavern. The party makes a joint decision that Astarion and Tav share the private room. They aren't the only two having relations, but they are the more… rambunctious couple. Both retire to the bedroom, Tav drawing a bath for herself while Astarion rests on the edge of the bed, as he is now, studying the small glass jar. 

He dares a quick whiff of the herbs, bringing the jar to his face. His face screws up tight, wincing at the offensive odor. “Smells like a godsdamned skunk,” he scoffs. He stares into the jar again.

Fool’s Tongue. 

He’s partaken before at the behest of a client. It was an important brokerage between Cazador and some far-off noble. There wasn’t much choice in the matter for Astarion. But yet, this encounter was a touch better than the others. To this day, Astarion is unsure if it was due to the drug or the man himself. He recalls the comforting embrace of the nobleman with slight fondness. At least the man tried. Not many others did.

Astarion reaches into the small satchel on his hip and pulls out a wooden pipe. He lifted it from Halsin earlier in the evening at dinner. The wood elf becomes soft once drink is involved, making him all the more easy to target. He’ll return it by morning, Astarion promises himself. He may even leave the druid a small token of appreciation for letting him borrow it, should this all work out.

Placing the pipe down onto the comforter, Astarion begins to unlatch his cloak. He lays the jar of herbs down next to the pipe and stands, letting his cape fall to the floor. He works on his armor next, until he’s down to his underthings. Bending down, he begins rummaging through his pack on the floor for his camp clothing. He slips them on, leaving his shirt untucked, and sits back down on the bed.

Astarion picks up the pipe and lays it between pressed-together thighs. It acts as a makeshift support, allowing him to open the glass jar of herbs and retrieve a single nugget. Closing the jar, he places it back down onto the bed, and begins breaking the herbs into smaller pieces to fill Halsin's pipe.

Raising the pipe to his lips, Astarion summons a small flame to the tip of his finger. He stares down the length of the pipe, mustering the resolve to continue. He hears Tav’s voice in his head, as well as that of the old shopkeeper. With a sigh, he brings his finger to the herb, pulling gently on the pipe until it begins to burn.

Smoke fills his lungs a bit too quickly, and he rips the pipe from his mouth. He coughs loudly and a bit dramatically, before finally taking a gasping breath in.

“Astarion!” Tav calls from the washroom. He can hear the sound of water sloshing around in a tub. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, darling!” he calls back. “Not to worry,” he adds in a mumble under his breath, mostly to himself. He surveys the contents of the pipe, bringing the mouthpiece to his lips once more. Again he summons a small flame to the herb, inhaling more shallowly this time as to not scorch the back of his throat.

He holds in the hit, leaning back onto the bed. Outstretching his arms he lets the pipe rest gently on the bed as he blows out the smoke. He coughs softly – better than the first time.

A few moments pass without so much as a sound. Astarion begins to wonder if perhaps the herbs are stale. It isn't until he rolls over that he notices the first sign.

The bed is soft. Inviting. Astarion is acutely aware of how the pillow top envelopes his form. He lays flat on his back again, sighing. His eyes slip closed. An unusual warmth rushes over him, tickling his skin. It feels like he's laying in the sun and suddenly he's transported back to the forest. To the morning after.

He remembers waking up to the morning sunlight bathing his skin. He wakes up slowly, slipping back into his leathers. Tav still sleeps; he moves as swiftly as possible to not wake her. She was beautiful, even then. Naive, yes. He didn't have the best of intentions. But, she was beautiful. And infuriatingly pragmatic.

Another sensation begins to light. Astarion doesn't recognize the feeling right away. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, a surge of heat rushing to his face. He swears his chest thumps with the beating of his undead heart. He stares into the lines of the ceiling, tracing the patterns of wood lining the wall. His eyes fall upon a knot; they slip closed again.

Tav straddles his lap while he lays out on the ground. Astarion’s hands hold her thighs, guiding her hips as she rocks back and forth over him. He travels up the expanse of her abdomen, passing over her navel and up to her swaying breasts. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in loose curls, his gaze continuing upward toward her face. Redded by the blush running across the bridge of her nose, her mouth hangs open in a silent gasp. She meets his gaze through heavy lids.

Astarion feels the flitter of a dormant ember ignite within his lower belly. His back arches off the bed as a gasp slips past his lips. This can’t be what he thinks it is… could it? No, certainly not. He’s surely lost the ability to feel this way without necessity. Without a performance. Without it being a bargaining chip of some kind.

A pulling behind his navel has his hips twitching in response and he feels warmth begin to pool between his legs. Gods, is he…

Aroused?

Is this truly unprovoked arousal that he feels? Astarion sees visions of Tav glistening after a bath; droplets of water sliding down tanned, freckled skin. He moans aloud and again his hips buck. His cock is beginning to stir, each rub against the confines of his leathers having him sliding his hands closer and closer to their waistband. He turns his head toward the direction of the washroom.

Astarion groans as his hand runs over the bulge in his pants and it dawns on him momentarily that it is, indeed his cock hardening at the thought of Tav naked. Her skin flushed from the warm water of the bath, hair wet, nipples pert, hips, thighs, cunt-

He's pulling his pants down quicker than he can manage, letting them pool around his ankles on the floor. He hisses as his fingertips brush the swollen length of his arousal, and he dares a quick glance between his legs. His cock has a reddish hue, similar to after he sups of Tav. It pulsates against his lower abdomen and he cautiously wraps a hand around his shaft.

It's not often he performs acts of pleasure upon himself. Usually his mind cages him off – scolds and berates him until he's too ashamed to continue. But with the influence of the Fool’s Tongue swimming within his consciousness, the voice is silent. The only thing Astarion feels is pleasure. Lust. Want. And openly; he openly wants to pleasure himself. And by the Gods, does it feel good.

He pulls up his shirt with the opposite hand to expose more of his abdomen and takes a few experimental jerks of his length. They're soft and slow; unhurried movements as he bathes in the pleasure rushing over his body. His eyes slip closed as he gives himself over to the sensation, hips bucking up each time his thumb passes his frenulum. Behind his closed lids he sees Tav again, kneeling between his legs, ready to take him within her inviting mouth. He moans wantonly as he focuses for a moment on his tip, trying to replicate the feeling of her suckling the head of him.

The door to the washroom opens, jolting Astarion from his thoughts. He makes no effort to cover himself, but instead waits patiently on the bed for Tav to discover the scene awaiting her. She exits the bathroom, running a towel through her hair, seemingly unaware of what has been occurring during her absence.

“I was thinking maybe we could mingle a bit with the others before calling it a night,” Tav suggests. She stands before the room's mirror, running a hand through her dampened locks. “How does that sound, Astar-” The rest of her sentence dies back in her throat as she observes him laying on the bed. “Oh,” is all she manages; a soft, strangled sound rising up from her chest.

He pants as he looks her over; she's wearing a simple, short beige dress. No brassiere, so her breasts fill the top of the dress naturally. It cinches at the waist with two drawstrings, while the rest flares out. The hem of the dress comes to right above her mid thighs, and Astarion swallows the sudden uptake in saliva pooling within his mouth. His cock twitches in his palm. “Y-you suggested I go to the shops,” he tries to explain. “Find something to help ease my trepidation.”

“I guess it was a success.” Tav replies, stepping closer. “I don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Astarion catches a true blush rising to her cheeks as she studies him. As she stands before him, the scent of her arousal dances below his nose, and he groans. “It was, very,” he answers. “That d-dress is… nice,” he adds.

Tav smiles, stepping before him. “Is it?” she asks in a sultry tone. She grabs the hem of the dress and begins slowly pulling it up her thighs. “What about it do you like?”

Visions of her riding his lap flood his mind's eye. Astarion tosses his head back as he envisions taking her from behind, against the wall, on the floor – animalistic mating rituals between them both; rough, hard, fast. He can't help but suck in a sharp breath as he opens his eyes again to meet Tav’s gaze. He tries to answer her but no sound comes out.

With a smirk, she climbs onto the bed over him, hovering just above his cock. “What about the dress do you like, Astarion?” Tav reiterates. She's sure to leave her hips as far away from his hand as possible; she's aware of his intimacy issues, how delicate this situation is. She leans over him to place chaste kisses over his forehead. She smiles against his skin as he resumes tugging at himself with soft jerks of his hand.

“The convenience,” Astarion replies in a whisper. His desire is mounting, threatening to burn out of control unless release finds him soon. Tav laughs, and briefly drops her hips over the hand pumping his cock. They both moan as his knuckles brush between her slick, sending Astarion's mind reeling. “You're… you're n-not wearing-”

Tav nips gently at the pale elf’s ears, reveling in the instinctive bucking of his hips into her core. “No, I'm not,” she teases. She feels Astarion shudder beneath her and she licks the shell of his ear, moving quickly down to kiss the underside of his jaw. Tav brushes her center over his fingers again, this time deliberately passing over the tip of him.

He swallows thickly as a gasp escapes his parted lips. As hot as the thought of Tav riding his cock makes him, the shackles of his subconscious are threatening to yank his chain. “I can't, not all the way,” he pleads. Ghastly hands are threatening to enclose around the column of his throat. “Just this, please.”

Tav pulls away from him momentarily, her brow knit in concern. She studies his eyes – ruby red gems hooded over in lust. She nods, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Just this, then,” she says reassuringly.

Astarion sighs in relief and continues stroking himself in earnest, knuckles brushing now and again against her sex. He groans as her arousal mingles with his, slickening the palm of his hand to create a luscious glide. “Gods, how I wish I could,” he groans out.

“Could what?” Tav teases. Her breasts are pushing against his chest as it heaves with labored breath. She returns attention back to his ears, licking along its shell to nip gently at the tip.

Astarion's eyes roll to the back of his head as his body convulses in pleasure. “T-take you,” he admits through a shuddered breath. He twists his hand over the head of his cock in a specific rhythm, pulling a guttural groan from the back of his throat. “I think about it often.”

“Do you?” Tav raises a hand to cup the back of his head. She leans over, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “So do I,” she whispers. “It's not fair, you know. Having experienced you prior. Only to be cut off and denied any more.”

“You're one to talk,” he replies. He stares up at Tav, his mouth hanging agape. “D-do you think it's any easier for me? To want so carnally, only to have to deny myself?” He slides a hand up her thigh to hold her waist, guiding her down onto his core. They both sigh at the sensation as he takes the same hand and now threads it through her hair, pushing their foreheads together. “To see how the others look at you, knowing I cannot yet claim you for myself. It's… maddening,” he breathes against her lips.

Tav sighs. “Yet, here I am… in your lap. And not theirs.” She captures his lips in a chaste kiss, though Astarion surges forward. She slackens her jaw to allow him better access; like a man starved he explores the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue intertwining with hers.

He breaks the kiss with a pull of her bottom lip. “I promise that one day I will,” he speaks against her lips. Astarion pumps himself faster, feeling the coil behind his navel wind tighter. “And when I do, you’re not to leave my bed for days.”

Tav pulls her head back, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Days?” she reiterates, feigning innocence. “Do you wish to mate me, Astarion?” 

His back suddenly arches off the bed, a gasp slipping past his lips. His knuckles brush against her sex again. “Yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Fully, properly, lavishly.” He's babbling now. Logic escaping him, replaced by a tempting carpet of depraved carnal lust that threatens to unravel at the seams.

Tav kisses him gently again. “Should I tell you a little secret?” she asks. She doesn't wait for a response before continuing. Sliding her face again to Astarion’s ear, she says quietly, “What if I were to tell you that you already have me?”

He blinks up at her in bewilderment. “H-how would that be?” he stammers. “I've barely done anything. I can hardly touch you without-”

“Because it's you,” Tav explains. “It's you I think of when I'm alone.” She shakes her head. “No one else.”

Astarion rushes forward again, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “...The Gods truly made you just to ruin me,” he says, pulling away with a huff. He closes his eyes as he twists his wrist over the swollen tip of his length again, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you close?” She speaks softly to him, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Would telling you how good you are to me help?”

The coil winds tighter in his lower belly at her praise. He hums, cock twitching in his palm, pre-fluid now gathering at his tip. “A-almost,” Astarion stammers again. “M-my ears, touch them again, please.”

With a giggle, Tav dips her head into the crook of his neck, kissing along his skin leading up to his ear. She rubs at his other with her opposite hand, lavishing delicate attention to each of their tips. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are when you reach your peak, Astarion?” she pants into his ear. “The way your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, how your eyes roll to the back of your head.” She watches him throw his head back, his hand picking up speed as he strokes himself. Tav dips her head again to his neck, nipping gently at the exposed column of skin.

“I'm going… if you keep, a-ah,” Astarion insists, breathing ragged. His chest is heaving, the influence of the Fool’s Tongue and overwhelming lust threatening to consume him. He's on the edge, right at the precipice, almost there, just a touch more-

Tav drops her hips over him again and he seizes, hips bucking wilding up to meet her. She latches onto his neck and sucks, hard enough that he knows a mark will be present by morning. Suddenly Astarion is falling over the cliff, mouth dropping open in a drawn out groan. His vision blanks, thick ropes of his release paint his lower belly as he jerks himself through the last of his orgasm.

She kisses the tip of his nose as she climbs off, picking her towel up from off the floor. Astarion lay on the bed panting, the room still spinning around him. As he comes to, he opens his eyes to meet Tav, who holds out the towel to him. “Did that feel good?” she asks, curiously.

He nods before replying, “Quite. I've used Fool’s Tongue before, but it was nothing like this.”

“Hmm,” she hums as he takes the towel from her. “Perhaps I should join you, next time?”

He huffs a quick laugh as he wipes the release of his belly, giving Tav a genuine smile. “That would certainly be something.”

[simplyvyn]

224 DAYS WITH YOU.

Nagi, lying for love? Thats not like him. But it is him. And he will love you today, tomorrow and forever. Even if it is just a fragment of his memory.

Seishiro Nagi x reader | wc 3.7k

Warnings: fluff to angst, ooc Nagi, implied fem! Reader, sick! Reader, some parts of this oneshot may not be similar to the original series i was gonna make, reader has like parent issues but it can be ignored

You were minding your own business at your class, there were only a few of your classmates in the classroom. Guess you were early. The door opened, a white haired boy entered, he was with a purple haired boy. You didn't mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, they were only two steps from your seat.

"Reo, give back my nintendo switch."

"Not until you ask someone out. I can't believe you haven't even tried having a date. Let alone a crush at all."

"But 's such a hassle.."

"Just pick anyone! At all!"

And so he did.

Looking around for a few seconds, you felt his eyes land on you, even if you weren't looking. He wasn't gonna ask you, right?

Until the door opened, your teacher came in and the lesson started. The whole class, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You think it was from that white haired boy- what's his name anyways? Nagi was it?- Nagi Seishiro? Yea, that. Anyway, whenever you check him, his head seems to be plopped down on his forearms, on top of his table like he's sleeping.

Class ended and you stood up. Every student in your class left as you fixed up your items in your table, everyone seems to be in a rush.

"Hey. You." You startled when someone spoke, you look up at the voice and noticed Nagi. When you look up he asks you the golden question. Or request.

"Go out w' me."

You? You already ended things with your last boyfriend, thinking that he was your last. You only have at least a few months. You made sure nothing special will be left attached to you once you're gone.

"U-uh, yea, sure. Where exactly?" You asked as you held your bag in your arms. "Just the mall, lets go to the arcade?" That does seem kind of cute. So why not? After all this all will be fake anyways. You heard everything.

After that conversation, you asked for his number and waited for school to end. Eventually school ended and you went home.

You entered your cosy abode, taking off your shoes and putting it aside on the shelves. "I'm home." You spoke.

You were all alone.

You just took of your shoes with a sigh, putting them aside and going upstairs to your bedroom. Going back, the least thing you expected as of today was a date. You adming Seishiro Nagi had looks. But would having a date with him really matter?

Speaking of the date, you never asked when it is, did you? You decided to chat him.

Y/N: Hi Nagi! I didn't actually got to ask you, when is the date exactly? TT

You thought he'd probably reply late since he might be doing some soccer stuff so you scrolled down to your social media. To your suprise, a notification popped up from Nagi

Y/N: Hi Nagi! I didn't actually got to ask you, when is the date exactly? TT

Nagi: Tmr, after school. Is that good?

Y/N: Yea, sure! ^^

Nagi reacted heart on your message.

Time seemed faster than it usually did. Class ended, and you two eventually were off on your date. You two went to the arcade immediately and played alot of games. He even played a claw machine and got a stuffed toy for you!

Eventually you two had your last tokens and spent it on a shooting game.

"You're very noob at this." Nagi commented.

"I don't do stuff like this much!"

His hands went out of his pockets and got behind you and held the shooter as you held the shooter.

He was so close to you, you can even smell him not in a creepy way, you know. The next thing you know he finished the game for you and you both even got alot of tickets. You both decided to give the tickets to a kid instead. After all, Nagi already got you a stuffed toy.

You both decided to just eat on Mcdonalds for simpler vibes you know.

"Hey Nagi."

"What" he spoke while munching his food.

"Why did you take me out? Not to be a creep but i heard you and Reo's conversation about it."

He pauses for a moment to swallow his food and to think. "Cause you're pretty."

You didn't expect that answer. You heard that little compliment most of the time, but from him why does it feel like your stomach your stomach just did backflips thirty times at sonic speed?

"I see. I'm guessing by tomorrow he will give you back your nintendo?" You said.

"Probably."

After the two of you ate, he insisted on paying for the food and you left some tip. You both went outside and you excused yourself to go to the restroom so you can drink your meds.

Gladly you did bring your meds and you have a water bottle so you drank your meds. You went out of the restroom as you see Nagi waiting on a bench.

"Lets go." You said and he stood up.

While you two were walking, he stopped.

"Are you taking the bus?" He asked

"Oh yeah."

Do.. you have money?"

"Of course i do."

"Oh okay." You didnt notice the slight disappointment in his eyes as he scratches the back of his neck.

"By the way, can you take a picture of me?" You ask and he nodded, he brought out his phone and you held the stuffed toy he gave you in your hands.

Click!

"Send it to me, okay? Oh! Thats also for proof if Reo asks you for some." You said as you both look on to the picture.

"Well, I will leave now. I don't wanna miss the bus." You turned around and took your step before you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Be safe. Chat me when you get gome, alright?" He said. Your eyes widen at his words before smiling at him.

"I will and you too." You said as you wave goodbye at him and so did he.

28 DAYS

Its been about what? A month since your date? If it is then why do you still keep each other updated? Right, Nagi told you that Reo said you guys need to last longer to make it look real. But its not really.. I mean. It's fake, right? Right now you're chatting him all night. At rare times, you vc with him and play minecraft or roblox. Even Reo is believing this whole relationship. But hey! Today, spending time with Nagi is quite fun.

— "Hey N/N.. lets play roblox.. i don't have anyone to play a horror game with.." LIE. But for Nagi, you accept. "Sure! But you go first. I get scared easily." You took with a note. "Pshh, basic."

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56 DAYS

Time flies quite fast, its shocking really. Nagi has a soccer match tomorrow, he insisted you go. Who were you to decline? People will be shock if you, the Mr. Genius lover, to not go to his match? So you did. You cheered your heart out for him. He even kind of seem motivated, it scared Reo a bit. But hey, they won! Nagi was a bit more happy than he usually did. His best friend noticed it but he, himself, didn't.

— "Hey, N/n. Don't forget i have a match tomorrow, y' better wear my jersey, okay?" Nagi reminded to you while tying his shoes for practice. "Yea yea. i always do anyways. Stay safe when you go home, okay? I need to go home now." "Alright, Buh bye." He said and you kissed him on the cheek. + motivation for practice you know.

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84 DAYS

Out of curiosity Reo asked, Nagi seemed so out of character rather than he usually was. Why? Then it made Nagi think, now that he mentioned it, he seems like he is. He also dont know why. He didn't even know when it started. Reo said it started when he stopped playing games alone at night. Then it hit him. He stopped playing games alone when you came. When you came, he stopped playing alone and thats when he started being not like himself. He felt better than before. Not like what he was before was bad but this feeling was better. He wanted this feeling forever.

Reo asked what he saw in you. He saw everything. Everything he wished he'd seen sooner. Other than striving for seeinv people lose, he had only realize feeling this kind of comfort and joy is quite calming. Chill. He likes it

— "Why're you asking me this, Reo..?" Nagi look at Reo with a sigh as he leans more to the couch inside Reo's penthouse. "What? Can't his best friend find more about your relationship?" Reo asked as he played video games on the TV, Nagi paused. It came to realization to him again. What did he see in you? If it was your pretty face, it would be lust. Nagi Seishiro is not about lust. He eventually got more close to you.

"Maybe 's because shes really comforting." Reo also paused to look at Nagi. "Or maybe because her voice soothes my ears. Like shes singing a lullaby." Then Nagi looks down. "Or maybe i genuinely like her because her presence is very chill."

"Or maybe you can focus on the game now? You just killed us!" Reo answered.

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112 DAYS

It was raining at your school. How could it rain when its about to be summer? Gosh, you didn't even have an umbrella. You didnt have any options left honestly. It was like your unlucky day on this time. Woah will you look at that! Nagi's there! He took you home and let you sleep in his apartment. Today, you met his pet Choki. You were still abit taken aback of him having a pet cacti. Is he that unsociable? But hey, Nagi said his pet liked you, you we're happy about it. You two even watched Netflix and just chill for a while. And even ate ramen. You had to feed him because he was lazy.

Eventually the day after that, you two prepared for school together. You had cooked pancakes for the two of you while he showers. While he eats, you shower. He even helped you put on your shoes while you dry your damp hair. And then you two went to go to school together.

— Why did he even help you? You didn't ask for it anyways, he offered to help. You only accepted it because you do need it. And he wasn't particularly busy. And now he's beside you, walking you to school. You didn't even notice the your hand was brushing against his. Now he wants to hold yours. Your hands feels cold brushing against his warm hands. "Hey N/N?" "Hmm?" "Can i hold your hand?" He asks "My hands are cold though.." you answered. Gently he held your hand. "Then i will make them warm."

꒦・ ┈ • ┈₊˚⑅꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・꒦

140 DAYS.

What's wrong with you. You didn't go to school for at least three days. You weren't chatting him as well. Was he worried? Don't worry, you came to school tomorrow by that time anyways, he had ask you what happened, you said you just have been busy with stuff and needed alot of rest. He understood and said if you needed help, you can call him. You wish you can.. but theres no point in looking for help. No one can help. Nothing can help.

You hate it. You hate it so much how you just need to accept you only have one choice and it is to ACCEPT you don't have any choices. No one can help. Your sick. Life is this, life has 50/50 chances of ruining or fixing your life and how you much you hate it because it broke alot of your relationships and friendships.

— Nagi had been calling you. 17 calls at least in a day. 11 chats per hour. Within three days, you responded to his chats. "I'm completely fine, Sei :> no need to worry just got tired and stuff, will come back to school tom !" He already read it within 2 seconds and he sighed in relief. "Whats wrong?" Reo asked beside him. "N/n is safe." "Of course, you're worried about her." Reo said.

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168 DAYS.

"Hey. Y/N." He called. You turned your head to him as you both walked to class. "Wanna go to the night market later? There's some good food there." He said while scratching the back of his neck. "Oh yea sure!" You answer while smiling at him.

"Hey Shiro." You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watched him play his game and eat. "You haven't loved someone genuinely, right?" Nagi paused. He already did. You did that to him. He just nodded. "If you ever did, will you love them today of tomorrow or even forever? Even if they will leave you soon?" You ask. Silly, he would already do that for you. And you only. "Pretty sure i will." Oh, he will. And he would gladly do that for you. "Then the chosen person for you must be lucky." You are lucky.

Sometimes, you wonder why did fate brought you a Nagi Seishiro. What is he, your soulmate? You were just too late. You didn't have time. You came home with crying eyes, walking to your neighborhood. Why were you even crying? Because you feel guilt for Nagi? Or because your scared you don't wanna leave Nagi?

꒦・ ┈ • ┈₊˚⑅꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・꒦

196 DAYS

Later that day, you asked Nagi to talk with you, thinking to stop the relationship now. But is it really the right thing? Why bother even wondering? Its not like even if its the wrong thing, its better this way. Fate just needs it to be this way so you chat your 'lover'.

— Y/N: "Nagi? Are you still awake? Ik its 10 at night but can we meet up at the night market? Our usual spot there?🥹" Read.

Nagi Seishiro sent a 'thumbs up' emoji.

You were waiting for Nagi at the bench. The night seemed colder than you thought. Or are you cold? You were even shivering, you were holding yourself. Maybe you werent cold. Or was the night cold. You were nervous. Of what?

A jacket was wrapped around you from behind. You turned around and see Seishiro there, he went to you and was about to sit down but you stopped him. You'll make this quick. "Whats wrong?" Nagi asked. This is wrong.

"Look i can't keep up this time Nagi." Nagi tilted his head. Its not Sei? Nor Shiro? "I know this whole thing is fake but we need to stop this relationship." Nagi's eyes widened with fear. "What? Why?.."

"I-.. I just can't do it anymore. Okay? If you need a new fake girlfriend, feel free to do so. Thank you, Seishiro Nagi for an unforgetable experience, i won't forget you." You bow at him. Well neither will he! So don't go bowing at him, no ones leaving!

"N/n.." he called, making you look up at him.

"I am not leaving you." What? No, he can't. You will die soon! Its a pity, he doesn't even know your sickness..!

"Why? Its just fake anyways! Was everything not..?" You ask. It was a mistake and you knew it when he went silent and looked down. "Nagi. Answer my question."

"I love you, Y/N." Nagi finally looked up at you with those eyes. What eyes exactly? Maybe its eyes of adoring someone. Or eyes of searching for an answer. Or eyes of loving you. "I love you so much, Y/N. I don't like this feeling of letting go.. Letting you go."

But you can't deny it either, can you? You also love Nagi. But the only thing that's stopping you is that will he accept that your dying? When your parents heard that you were dying of a young age, they stopped caring for you. Instead, they focused on getting more money. They just kept you buying stuff. Exchanging for their presence.

You don't want that again. You don't want to feel that pain again.

You sigh, then sitting back down again, and pat the seat next you, signalling Nagi to sit down as well. "Can i tell you a secret, Nagi?" He only nodded.

"I'm breaking up with you because.. I'm gonna die soon."

Nagi's eyes widen.

You chuckle slightly "I know I'm sounding insane right now like i can read the future but the doctor said so. Saying i have some lung disease that doesn't even have a cure yet. Today is my 196th day, you met me when i had 224 days."

"Y'know, when i met you, i actually saw in the internet, 224 means Today, Tomorrow and Forever. Meaning, like, One will love you today, tomorrow and forever!.."

You look at Nagi, who was already looking at you the whole time, You slightly smiled. "Crazy right?.."

Please say something, please tell me fate really brought us together, please say that we're meant to love eachother forever.

"Crazy. Very crazy." Nagi answered.

"Y'know what's crazier?" You were surprised Nagi was able to answer you, keeping the conversation in flow. You slightly tilt your head in confusion.

He put his large hand on top of yours. "It's that I'm willing to actually love you today, tomorrow and forever." He smiled looking at your shocked expression. But, you're gonna die soon! Is he even sure of this?..

"I know you will die even if i love you right now but if you've notice.."

"I'm glad i'm mostly the last person your spending time with." You were also glad.

"You're not gonna leave me?" You ask without even thinking.

"I love you so much, Seishiro Nagi but I'm gonna die, and you! I should be nothing to you by now, I'm dying! Are you hearing yourself?" You stood up in shock.

"No, Are you hearing me?" That took you back.

"I'll say what i said better.. I said, I am more than willing to love you today, tomorrow and forever, even if you're gonna die and I'll have to experience it. How are you saying you should be nothing to me by now, when you were everything to me? Even now, I'll make sure you were everything to me, today, tomorrow and forever."

Nagi stood up to face you closer. "Y/N, I am so fuckin' glad that i met you when you still had 224 days. If you're asking me, fate brought this to us, brought us together as if we're soulmates. As if you and i we're meant to love eachother. If loving you means i will get to see you dying soon, then i will keep loving you and have you in a special place inside this heart of mine when you're up there."

"Accept my love for you already and i'll make your remaining days feel like it's special, today, tomorrow, and forever."

Dear, he did.

꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ・ ┈ • ┈₊˚⑅꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ꒷꒦

219 DAYS...

Recently, you just lived in with Nagi, as promised, you two spent everything together and did everything together. Even Nagi asked Reo for help which shocked him, and you even became friends with Reo. What a nice guy. Reo was the one setting you two up on dates and places where to go. Of course, Reo don't know that you will die soon. Its just a little secret between you and Nagi. Other than having dates, you guys also have private moments where you two just in his room, cuddling or kissing. Who knows? But you appreciated every moment you have done with him. Even if its just playing video games.

— "You're still aware that i love you, right?" Nagi asked out of the blue. "Forever. How bout you? You aware that i love you?" "Always." And you chuckle, putting a peck in Nagi's lips which he chases for when you let go. Continuing in a kissing session.

꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ・ ┈ • ┈₊˚⑅꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊┈ • ┈ ・ʚɞ ꒷꒦

223 DAYS

Tomorrow is your last day. By the time of 7 PM, you will surely die. Right now your in a hospital bed. Sitting up, and Nagi was laying his arms on your bed while resting his head in his arms. He seemed like he was waiting for you to wake up.

Gently, you pat his head making him awake and look up to you. "Thank god, your still awake.."

You giggled. "For now. Only have a few hours left till i go up."

"I love you, Y/N." you look at Nagi and he looks at you.

He hold your hand, and puts a ring in your hand.

"Just a ring. A promise ring." Nagi said.

"A promise ring?"

"A promise ring that i will love you today, tomorrow and forever."

Clearly, this is making you tear up. You didn't hesitate and let tears flood your eyes, pouring down your face like waterfalls. Nagi stood up and wiped the tears away your face. You were trying to say something and he just shushes you till you calm down, waiting for the opportunity to let you speak.

Soon, the tears stop falling from your face, you, having a red nose, reddish eyes and Nagi having his hands on your face as you hold one of his hands.

"I'm scared of leaving you.. I don't want to leave you just yet, Shiro.." tears were still slowly falling from your cheeks and Nagi kissed your forehead and the finger with his promise ring on it.

"Yours and my love will always be connected through this ring. So you better keep it in your hands till you go up there, okay?"

You nodded.

Silence was given to you two and you decided to break it.

"I'll always be watching your matches. Cheering for you, y'know."

"And i will know that you will through these rings. Our rings."

"Today, Tomorrow and Forever?" You ask.

"Today, Tomorrow and Forever." Nagi answers.

Ya ill end it there.. I FINALLY FINISHED 224 DAYS W U aka love at first and last sight.. decided to change it a bit, same plot though BEEN MAKING THIS FOR WEEKS BRO IM FRL. Sorry for those who read the series and have been waiting for this.. its very long and i tried to make it not fast paced w/o so much words ok..

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

heart-shaped pancakes

pairing: chris redfield x reader

cw: dd/lg, age gap, p in v, oral, alcohol, breeding kink, daddy kink

a/n: i'm sorry i couldn't do sweet sex like i did w leon (chris does something to me). anyway, i imagine this as re8 chris, but also maybe a lil bit of di/vendetta chris.

wc: 4.1k

Chris shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when you broach the subject to him. He’s pushing 50 and you’re barely 21. Daddy issues. Neither of you grew up with present fathers, and maybe that’s what makes you the perfect match. He can be the man his father never was, he can be the man your father never was, Chris can be your daddy. 

You’re tipsy off Ciroc and lemonade - you can order top-shelf liquor since you drink on Chris’dime. Chris tries not to drink too much because he has to supervise you. He practically carries you out of the bar when he decides you’ve had enough. You can pout and cross your arms at him all you want, but he won’t budge. He struggles not to laugh at you because you look silly when you’re being stubborn. Other patrons probably already think he’s your father. 

When you get into the car, he buckles you in while you babble all your complaints. “You’re so strict. I was just having fun.”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he says, hand on the gearshift because he’s taking you home despite your protests. 

“Okay, dad.” You roll your eyes. Chris can hear it, even though his eyes are on the road. “Sorry, I mean, Daddy,” you say, half-laughing because you’re half-joking. Only half. You’re half entirely fucking serious. Chris almost crashes the car on the way out of the parking lot. 

“Think you’re funny, don’t you?” He’s amused, not aroused according to his brain wherein his better judgment lies. His brain’s not the only organ in his body responsible for his decision making. Blame all the bad decisions on his dick. 

“No, I think you like it,” You taunt. He can feel your eyes studying him. You’re oddly perceptive. It almost disturbs him sometimes. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you say, all sing-songy - thank God it wasn’t karaoke night. “Daddy’s making me go home because I’m his baby girl, and baby girls can’t stay up past bedtime.”

It’s the voice that really gets him. All breathy and light. Sharp inhale, long exhale. Do not play her games. He needs it tattooed on him Memento-style.

“Don’t distract Daddy while he’s driving.” It shuts you up. Neither of you are sure how committed he is to playing the part. His voice is stern - and not quite in the ‘Daddy’s going to spank you’ way. He’s being serious. Either way, you’ve written the word ‘Daddy’ in every corner of his mind in bold Sharpie lettering. He can’t get away from it. 

Chris deposits the car keys on the counter and flops down onto the couch with a sigh. You stand there, waiting, looking lost in your own home. Chris raises his eyebrows at you and pats his lap. “Come here,” he says, looking smug now that he’s gained the upper hand. 

You scurry across the room and sit in his lap awkwardly like you’re taking a picture with Santa Claus and telling him what you want. 

“Do you think we need to have a talk about what you said back there in the car?”

You try to squirm away, but he has a firm grip on your hips. His voice in your ear is still mocking, but his lips are sweet from your cherry-flavored chapstick. From when? Memories blend together when you're lost in the smell of his cologne.

“I was just trying to provoke you.”

“Provoke me to do what?” Yeah, exactly. You’re caught, sweet cheeks. “Did you accidentally reveal a little secret about yourself?” His face is nuzzled into your neck now and he places a kiss to the nape. It’s so unfair, he already has you in his grasp, now all he needs is a confession. 

“And what if I did? Would you be mad at me?” You want so badly to be a tease - you already look the part, wearing a skirt that's dangerously short - but your shyness makes you sound defensive.

“Mad at you? For what?” Your pink cheeks melt his stoic facade so easily.

“I don’t know.” You look down at your hands, you’re fidgeting. “It’s weird, right? I mean, I feel weird that I wanna call you ‘Daddy’.”

“It’s a little weird-”

“See? I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“-but it’s not weirder than anything else you do.”

“Huh?”

“You've got a bed filled with... those whatever you call ‘em… marshmallows?”

“Squishmallows,” you correct him. 

“Thank you. Your squishmallows hog the bed until you wanna have sex, and then they can’t be there because ‘you don’t want them to see anything inappropriate’.”

“Baby Yoda’s too young to see things like that.”

“Baby Yoda’s not real, honey.”

You frown. 

“I’m sorry. He’s real, you’re right,” he concedes when he hears a sniffle come from you. 

“You can apologize to him, not me.”

“Remind me when we go to bed, okay?”

You turn yourself sideways in his lap, so you can snuggle up to him. “So you wanna be my daddy?” You’re quick to adopt your role. He tries to think of a way to tell you he’s not sure, he’ll think about it, but his cock twitches and the decision is made. “I think I already am your daddy, baby girl.”

“Mm yeah,” you mumble and nod. With your head pressed into him like this, you’re rubbing your cheek against his chest like a cat does with its owner - affectionate and adorable, though you end up leaving glittery eyeshadow on his good shirt. “Can we go to sleep?” 

“Yep. It’s way past your bedtime.” A bedtime which has yet to be set. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, knowing he’s going to pick you up and carry you. 

When you’re drunk, Chris usually has to help you put your pajamas on. This isn’t anything new. It’s new when he has to help you into your clothes the next morning, when you’re sober. Tonight, your tank top and shorts are a soft cotton, covered in pink flowers. You fall asleep only after your face has been scrubbed of makeup - Daddy's orders.

You make a face when the damp towelette touches your skin. 

“I know you don’t like it, but you’re gonna be mad if you get makeup all over your pillowcase,” Chris reminds you. (You suck it up for the sake of the pillowcase.)

Before transporting you to bed, he pinches your freshly-washed cheeks. Your skin is soft and the apples of your cheeks are round when you smile.  “You’re so cute,” he says. The truest words he's ever spoken.

“Love you, Daddy,” you mumble as you fall asleep. It’s so sincere and delicate, it sounds adorable when you say it. He could get used to hearing it.  

It’s a good thing Chris is used to lack of sleep because you toss and turn, moving him around like he’s a ragdoll. You push him onto his back and splay yourself across him like a dead starfish, then you turn onto your side so you can hug one of your squishmallows that’s half the size of your body, and you grab Chris’ arm, pulling him with you, so he can be the big spoon. 

You’re a heavy sleeper until he tries to move. If he flips over, so do you. You’re stuck to him, like a sea urchin. He told you that once and you cried. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, baby. You’d be a cute little sea urchin,” he said. 

You wake up bright and early without a hangover. At Chris’ age, you always wake up feeling kind of hungover - achy body, foggy brain, a vague sense of regret. It’s Saturday, which means that Chris is supposed to be able to sleep in for a couple extra hours. His alarm goes off in the form of your mouth on his dick. 

He sits halfway up, balancing himself on his elbows and sees your head peeking out from under the covers. You lock eyes with him, and he squints like he’s trying to read small print. 

“Good morning, Daddy,” you chime. Oh yeah, guess that whole ‘Daddy’ thing wasn’t a dream. 

“Daddy’s trying to sleep,” he says in between yawns. 

“I wanna play,” you say. Your pink lips are dripping with your own drool which you haven’t bothered to wipe off. Does Daddy have to buy you a bib? 

“Have at it,” he says and pats your cheek, giving you the tiniest smile before lying back down. 

For a little girl, you really know how to suck cock, he thinks. You take him as far as you can down your throat. You almost choke. Chris’ eyes open again to see tears in your waterline. 

“C’mere” he says, hoisting you up, so that you’re lying on his chest. He wipes the tears from your eyes before they can fall. 

“Was it not good enough?” His heart breaks hearing your faltering tone. 

“No, no, you were doing so well, baby, but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that.”

Daddy knows best. He never wants to impose rules on you, he can’t be strict with you. He doesn’t control your screen time or force you to eat dinner before dessert. Despite your feisty attitude and tendency to be naughty, you’re a good girl. Though, maybe he does need to limit your daily intake of dick since you continue to push the limits of your windpipe. 

“Kisses?” You look like you’re going to cry if he denies you - not that he would ever do such a thing. 

“Always,” he says before giving you a soft kiss on the lips. It doesn’t take long for an innocent kiss to turn into a full-blown make out session. 

The growl of your stomach interrupts the moment. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” you lie.

“It’s not nice to lie to Daddy.”

Too bad sucking cock is a reward not a punishment. You get a lot of rewards.

“Get up,” he says, giving you a light slap on the ass.

Your smile dares him to do it again. When he does, it only encourages your bad behavior.

He convinces you to get out of bed with the promise of pancakes. You sit at the kitchen counter, kicking your feet, waiting impatiently. 

“Can you make them into shapes, Daddy?”

“A circle is a shape, honey.”

“I want heart-shaped pancakes.”

He sighs, ignoring your complaints. “Syrup?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little bit disappointed at the fact that your pancakes will not have an extravagant presentation. Your frown is quick to disappear when your pancakes arrive. They’re on a frog-shaped plate. The two pockets at the top (the eyes of the frog) hold syrup and blueberries. 

“Can you cut them up?” You hold out your fork and knife. Oh, he forgot, babies can’t have knives. 

Chris walks over silently and does as you ask. He feels more like a butler than a Daddy. 

“Thank you. I love you, Daddy,” you say as he turns to walk away. 

It takes very little to make him smile - at least, when it comes to you. “Love you, too, cutie,” he says. He gives you a peck on the lips and an extra kiss on the forehead, for good luck.

Chris likes being your Daddy, and you catch on fast. 

Daddy. The word becomes a weapon. 

Chris tries not to let you see how much it affects him when you say it, especially in public. You got an earful for saying it within earshot of the cashier once. He already looks old enough to be your father, and he really doesn’t want anyone thinking that’s the case, especially when you’re so handsy - you’ve gotten in trouble for that too. You cannot grope Daddy in a crowded park in broad daylight. 

You’re in line at the pharmacy, getting the essentials: condoms, nicotine gum, and apparently, a giant bag of starbursts. 

“Mm-mm.” Chris shakes his head. 

You pout and thrust the bag at him. 

“I’ve already put on weight. I’m too old to eat all that candy.” It's not like anyone's forcing him to eat it, but he knows himself by now - he will eat the entire bag.

“But, Daddy, please,” you whine and look up at him with your big dewy eyes.

And that’s it. That’s all you have to say. The last time you said that you were begging to blow him. It’s all he can see now. The blood rushes downwards and he knows arguing with you is pointless. He snatches the bag from you and buys it without another word.

You reach for the plastic shopping bag so you can have a snack on the drive home, but Chris puts them out of your reach.

“Bad girls don’t get candy,” he says. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Bullshit. 

“You’re lucky it’s day time because I’d park the car on the side of the road and tell you to prove to me how sorry you are.”

You perk up at that, it seems like you’d like getting on your knees in public. Better take back that threat. 

He lets you off the hook because you have him wrapped around your finger. He’s ‘Daddy’ in name only, you wear the pants in the relationship. 

The protector role he takes on as Daddy comes naturally. He’s lost almost everyone he’s ever loved. The fact that you like him watching over you and keeping you safe makes his life easier. It makes him less paranoid. Now he only has to worry about all of his other loved ones. He makes Claire text him once a day to let him know she’s alive. The one time she forgot - had a very fun night out with her own man - he almost had a heart attack. Jill negotiated her contract down to once a week minimum. 

You effortlessly play the part of baby girl. You were already cute, the only difference is you pretend to be innocent now - you’re awful at acting, but it makes you even cuter when you try. Your favorite activities are coloring, watching cartoons, and taking dick. You’re allowed to watch one episode of whatever show you want before bed on weeknights. Daddy is only strict about bedtime because Chris is exhausted. He nods off while you’re sitting in his lap unless you’re constantly chatting or trying to get in his pants. 

“Daddy, you’re not paying attention,” you say, tugging at his sleeve. 

“We’ve already seen this episode. I don’t need to pay attention.”

“You fell asleep last time. That’s why we’re watching it again.”

He tries desperately to keep his eyes open. The fact that you constantly “readjust your sitting position” and your ass - which peeks out of your pajama shorts - rubs against his dick. You have to keep him hard to keep him awake. 

But, Daddy needs a cat nap on the couch so he can prepare for what becomes the typical bedtime routine: a story. 

“Tell me a story.”

“About what?”

“You.”

“You already know everything about me.”

“Nuh-uh. What about a long time ago? Before I knew you.”

“When? I’ve been alive a long time.”

“When you were my age. What were you like?”

That was over 20 years ago. You were born 21 years ago. He feels ancient when he thinks about it like that. He sighs. “Do you want to hear about my time in S.T.A.R.S. or the Air Force?”

“Both of those sound kind of boring.”

“You asked for a story about me, not an interesting story.”

“What about any escapades? Tell me a story about a rendezvous from the olden days?” 

Whoa there, Baby Einstein, you’ve got quite the vocabulary for a little lady like yourself. Chris considers pulling up a dictionary on his phone and reading you that since you wanna be a smart girl it seems. Maybe he can recite the preamble to the Constitution, that’ll put you to sleep.

“The olden days?” He’s almost offended at your remark, “I’m not that old.” There’s a pause. “Fine. I’m old and I need a minute to come up with something.” Oh God, his memory might be going. Daddy’s early onset dementia is showing.

You wait patiently.

“When I was around your age,” Jesus Christ. He sounds like a father. “I had more than a few hook ups in the back of a cop car.”

“As a cop or a criminal?”

“A cop, dumbass.”

“Did you fuck criminals?”

“Not that I know of. I wasn’t one of those corrupt cops.”

“Yeah, you were! You were having sex on duty.”

“Yeah? I’ll remind you of that the next time you call me at work, begging me to come home and fuck you.”

“Fuck is a bad word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“You said it first.”

“What do you want me to call it? Intercourse? Making love? ‘Getting it on’?”

“Practicing making a baby,” you suggest.

“Oh? Is that right? You wanna make a baby?”

Bedtime has been thrown out the window. Chris has you pinned - literally, caged in by his body. He forces you to meet his eyes.He doesn’t give you a chance to run from the implication. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. 

“What if we just pretend? For practice," you say.

“Sure, practice.” He’s all sardonic about it, but he’s dying to put his dick in you. “Swear you’ve been taking those pills?”

“Pinky swear. Girl Scouts honor.”

It’s rare that you’re able to break his composure, but he has to stifle a laugh. You’re quick to make the transition from being shy to impatient, squirming when you don’t get what you want. Chris moves his hands from your wrists to interlock his fingers with yours. 

“Can you be a good girl?” He asks.

“Yes, Daddy” you say, but your coy grin and shifty eyes betray you. Obedience is boring. You’ll push the envelope until you get fucked face down into the mattress. 

Chris scoffs and rolls his eyes - you’re a liar, and he’ll still fulfill every wish of yours. You moan into his mouth when he kisses you and lift your hips, trying to get any friction. Being greedy only gets you further from your goal. 

He takes off your top and leaves your shorts on. When you pout, he mimics your expression and starts sucking on your tits until the pouty lips are parted and your eyes are screwed shut - he teases you until he’s too hard to think straight. 

Maybe you don’t wear the pants in the relationship. At least, not for long. He yanks your shorts down like a warning for how rough he’s willing to be with you. And you love it. Daddy’s little girl can take dick like a champ. You don’t need practice ‘making a baby’. 

You’re wet. No, that’s an understatement - you’re soaked. It’s okay, though, because Chris planned on ruining your panties anyway. He’ll feel less guilty, knowing that you made a mess of them first. He pulls the fabric to the side and pumps two fingers in and out. You moan and he retracts them. 

“You’re so mean,” you whine. 

“You’ve been naughty for the past week, and I’m still rewarding you. I’m not mean.”

You scowl, and he leans in and whispers in your ear, “And, I know you like it.”

You can’t argue with that. 

You’re practically salivating watching him get undressed. The way he pulls his shirt over his head is one thing, but the sound of his belt buckle, the button pop, the zipper pulled down, you could get off on that alone. 

Chris’ underwear comes off and your fingers travel to the hem of yours in response. He gently takes your hands away. “Nope.”

At first, you think he’s going to tease you. Maybe he won’t even fuck you tonight. Maybe it’s a punishment disguised as a reward. No, you realize, he’s going to fuck you with your panties still on. He drags the tip of his dick along your folds and you moan pathetically. It’s cute, really. 

As wet as you are, it takes you a moment to adjust to the size of him. You grab hold of your flannel sheets - (your favorite ones, with snowmen on them despite the fact that winter is long gone) - bracing yourself for the stretch. “Being loose” is definitely a myth because you’re tight every time. Your lip quivers, but your pussy flutters.

You are being good. Until you get greedy. Daddy fucks you slow and deep, the way he likes. You’re needy, still young enough to want a quickie, especially when you’ve got multiple rounds in you. It’s easy when you’re not the one doing most of the work. 

“More, Daddy,” you whine. You get what you want - sort of, it’s always ‘more, more, more’ until it’s ‘too much, Daddy’. 

“Shh… thought you were gonna be a good girl for Daddy. You’re gonna get us in trouble again.”

“I promise I’ll be good.”

“I don’t believe you. Remember how loud you were last time?”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Oh really?”

You nod, pouting. 

He sighs. He can’t even punish you because you get off on that, too. 

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he says, halting his thrusts. You try to force him to keep going with your legs around his hips. “Ah-ah,” he chides you, “pay attention.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says. 

“If you can’t behave, I’ll pull out.” That's the only thing he can threaten you with.

You’ve forced his hand. “No…” you say meekly.

“Yes, and you know what,” he says, moving your legs so that you no longer have a grip on his hips, “I’m gonna give you more, but you’re gonna flip over for me.”

He pulls out and for once you obey, flipping yourself onto your stomach. You point to the pillow you want. He grabs it and slides it under your hips. He lifts your hips and slides his cock inside you. You feel the intense pressure of being stretched out and you whimper into the pillow. 

“Aw, baby can’t take it? Thought you wanted this?” Chris doesn’t slow the pace of his thrusts. 

You shake your head, and he swears he can hear a muffled “I can, I can”, but your voice gets lost in the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Regardless of your sobs, you don’t use your safe word. 

“What is it, baby?” He leans down and whispers into your ear with mock-sympathy, “Crying ‘cause you like when Daddy fucks you like this?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan as you clutch the pillow under your head. You’re getting wetter by the second, your walls clench as you struggle against the pleasure. “Daddy,” you cry, lifting your head a bit to make sure he can hear you. 

“Gonna cum? I know you can. Just let go, I’ve got you.” His tone is gentle, despite the frantic pace of his hips, pounding into yours. You’re holding back on purpose, waiting for a promise. 

“Daddy’s gonna put a baby in you. That’s what you wanna hear? ‘Cause it’s true. Gonna cum inside you, gonna get you pregnant.”

You gush around him. That sent you over the edge. His words were for your pleasure. Or so he thought. 

But you’re coming down from your high and he can’t help but tell you about how he needs to get you knocked up. His thrusts get erratic and his grip on your hips tightens. He cums deep inside of you. A reward for your good behavior. Yeah, sure.

Chris’ real reward comes the next morning when he impresses you with his culinary skills. 

Chris eventually learns how to shape your pancakes into hearts. He swears he can do more with a spatula now than with a gun. He deposits your plate - this one is shaped like a pig - in front of you, and you look at him like he’s performed a miracle. 

“Daddy,” you say, “you did it.”

You hop down and run to the bedroom. “Be right back,” you holler as you fly by him. 

You’re on a mission. You have amassed a large collection of stickers. You insist on decorating everything down to the knobs on the kitchen cabinets with glittery rainbows and Care Bears. When you return, you stick a gold star to Chris’ chest, patting it down to make sure it stays. 

“Good job, Daddy!”

It should feel stupid, maybe patronizing, but you’re strict about your stickers - where they go, who can have one, which ones can and can’t be touched. When he receives your approval in the form of a star-shaped sticker, it makes him melt. It also makes him a little bit hard. Or maybe it’s the way your lips redden as you eat strawberries and the way you wipe off excess juice that falls from your mouth and lick it from your fingertips. 

“What do you wanna do this morning?” He asks, leaning his elbow on the counter casually, pretending not to have an end goal. 

“I wanna play with Daddy,” you say with a smile. 

He's unsure what your angle is - until you wink and run towards the bedroom. It’s his turn for breakfast. Pussy is on the menu. 

[ah-ga-seven]

The Naked Neighbor II

>>PART ONE<<

Pairing: Fem!reader x Choi Soobin

Word count: 16,6k

Genre: Smut, Comedy, Fluff, lighthearted Angst.

Synopsis: Life is dull, until a new neighbor moves in across the street. His name was Soobin, a mysterious loner who lived in his own bubble and was incredibly hard to get close to. One night, as y/n was in her bedroom, she saw Soobin through the window, freshly out of the shower in full view, which accounted for a series of interesting events as she notices a pattern in his nightly routine.

Warnings: mature contents regarding sex and especially voyeurism. Further mentions of drugs and alcohol. This story will also contain mentions of broken homes, parental issues and verbally abusive fights.

(A/N) It's been long overdue, but please read part one again if you haven't freshened up your memory, a lot of details from part one are mentioned in part two!

Soobin pulled you into him, guarding you from the atrocious sight that was too late to unsee.  

Your mother had already covered herself up, as did Soobin’s father who was quickly on his feet.  

“Son…” he tried with a soft voice.  

“Shut the fuck up.” Soobin seethed through his teeth.  

Your mother was quiet, carefully eyeing you to study your reaction but when she saw your face buried in Soobin’s chest she knew enough.  

Your breathing started to intensify but whatever alcohol was left in your system gave you the guts to look your mom in the eye with utter shock and disgust written all over your face. “First my mom, now Isabelle?” Soobin questioned as his blood started to boil even more than before.  

“Son..I-”  

“Please…shut up, nothing you’d say right now would make things better.”  

You ignored Soobin and his dad, still staring at your mother in pure disbelief as she looked at you with big guilty eyes. Being disappointed by her was the default setting of your relationship, but knowing that even a marital status didn’t stop her from getting with Soobin’s dad actually made you sick to your stomach.  

“Soobin let’s go.” You tug at his arm as you break eye contact with your mother, avoiding eye contact with his dad altogether.  

“Come on, let’s go.” You drag him out of the house, hearing your mom call for you but you slammed his front door behind yourselves and speed walked towards your house with your arms crossed over your chest. You were trying to walk faster than Soobin with your heart thumping loudly and irregularly from all the adrenaline but he had already caught up to you, hauling you back by your shoulder.  

“Hey, hey y/n.” He turned you around but you couldn’t dare look into his eyes. For some reason, you felt guilty.  

“Soobin I’m…so…so sorry for what my mom did. I can’t even begin to apologize. If you don’t want anything to do with me I totally get it. I-”  

“Hey, woah. Stop. They’re both at fault. My dad is, just as much as your mom. Nothing we said or did could’ve predicted this.”  

You bite your lip, staring at the liveliness in your house from just meters away. “I don’t want to go back in there,” you whisper, getting choked up. “What do we even say.” You were starting to panic a little. “We can’t stay here either, what if they come after us? I-I don’t w-wanna talk to them.”  

Soobin watched the brims of your eyes fill with tears, making his own widen in response. “Come here.” He pulled you towards him mindlessly, enveloping you in his warm embrace and all you could do was give in. You nuzzled your nose in his neck, inhaling his scent as you wrapped your arms around him too. It calmed you down fast enough because for once you weren’t alone.  

You were not ready for the aftermath of all of this. You never wanted to see your mom again, let alone talk to her.  

“There you guys are…woah…everything okay?” Beomgyu walked towards the two of you from the porch, noticing the tears in your eyes. He froze, not fully grasping reality since he was drunk himself. You quickly untangled yourself from Soobin and shot him a look that he immediately understood. Lie.  

Soobin straightened out his back, giving Beomgyu a reassuring smile. “She’s just emo because she loves you guys so much.”  

Beomgyu’s jaw dropped, smirking as he enveloped you in a hug. “AWHHH, me too.” You inhaled sharply, feeling the cool midnight breeze pierce through your nostrils as all the air got knocked out of your lungs from the tight hold he had on you.  

You awkwardly patted Gyu’s back until he let go of you in the weird chokehold-like hug he had you trapped in. He stumbled a step back, assessing both of you from head to toe. “No drinks?” he asks disappointed, throwing his hand up to his forehead to add dramatics.  

“No.” it was a swift and unified response from both you and Soobin, which had Beomgyu moping.  

“Ugh, well… most people are leaving anyway it's already 3 am.”  

Silence took over the atmosphere for a few painful seconds but it felt like forever in your head. You quickly snapped out of it though. Straightening out your posture after taking a quick glance at Soobin who was lost in thought as well.  

“H-hey. Beomgyu. Can we crash at yours?” you ask giving Beomgyu a hopeful look, hoping his intoxication wouldn’t question you.  

“Why? You literally live here.”  

Shit.  

“I know I just…” you pause for a second, taking a quick glance at Soobin who was giving you just as much of a confused expression as Beomgyu. “I don’t want to be alone in the house with all the mess everywhere.”  

You were a horrible liar. And Beomgyu noticed how you weren’t telling him the whole story. Something about the look in your eyes screamed of desperation. You really didn’t want to be home. And apparently, Soobin’s house wasn’t an option either.  

“Sure.” Beomgyu sighed, deciding not to go against you. He’ll find out later, and from the looks of it, it wasn’t Soobin at fault so who cares.  

You looked visibly relieved, as did Soobin who hooked an arm around your waist so you’d turn to him once Beomgyu stumbled back inside the house without giving the two of you a second glance.  

“Are you okay?” Soobin asked, his gaze softening once your eyes locked.  

“No. And neither are you. I’m in survival mode right now I don’t know what to do or think.” You sigh throwing your head back, kicking a random rock on the sidewalk.  

“Why can’t I have nice things happen to me for once,” you groaned.  

Soobin snorted, looking back at his house with a heavy heart which made his smile drop. If it wasn’t for you he would’ve gone back inside and punched his dad in the face. After everything, he still found new ways to fuck up. Hell, Soobin even started to feel bad for Isabelle.  

He scrunched his nose. “Should we just go to Beomgyu’s now? I’m not trying to linger around much longer for them to run after us.” He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, the sweet gesture pulling you out of the depths of your mind, mustering up your last bit of energy to crack a slight smile for him.  

“Yeah, let’s leave.”  

Luckily Beomgyu’s parents were on a trip to visit Gyu’s grandparents over the weekend cause it saved you A LOT of explaining and well…lying. The spare key was where it always was which made entering his house a no-brainer.  

You turned on the lights and took off your shoes, letting Soobin explore a bit in silence as you made some tea. After a minute he found you in the kitchen, taking out cups from the cabinet to then pour some hot water into both of them. “You really know your way around here.” Soobin remarks, sitting down on one of the barstools at the breakfast bar.  

“Yeah, I basically grew up in this house.”  

“Hmm…” Soobin once again realized the depth of your friendship with Beomgyu. He knew he had nothing to worry about but it was safe to say that he had a slight pinch of jealousy for the history you had with him and your other friends. He wished he could say he knew you better than them. But he didn’t…not yet at least.  

“What’s up?” you place the cup in front of him as you lean on your elbows opposite of where he was standing,  giving him a confused pout when you sense a change in his body language.  

He looked at you with a coy smile, slowly shaking his head as he fiddled with his fingers. “I was just thinking we’re not even that close.”  

You deadpanned at him, blinking in confusion. “You…you’ve seen me naked.”  

He snorted. “I know! But I mean, like I barely know you. The dumb trivial shit. From your favorite movie genres to your most embarrassing childhood stories, I want to know It all. I want to know you.”  

You looked at him with endearment, you could tell how sincere he was as he slipped back into his own train of thought. He has never felt this way about someone before. Liking someone so much so that it makes you openly desperate wasn’t really Soobin’s approach to dating. Usually, he’s the one being pushed around and sought after but you were different. If you’d ask him to jump, he’d ask you how high which basically meant that he was down bad.  

“I like dramas but also scary movies, and when I was seven years old I peed my pants during gym class. Luckily no one noticed but it was still really, really embarrassing.” Soobin looked at you with wide eyes, suppressing an obnoxious laugh that was boiling in his throat. Instead, he just huffed as the corners of his mouth curled upwards.  

“When I was 9 I slipped and fell face first into a puddle in front of my elementary school crush. She just laughed at me and I was so embarrassed that I started rolling around in the puddle to make it look intentional.” Soobin confessed, making you clutch your hand over your own mouth as you doubled over in laughter. He smiled with sparkles in his eyes as he watched your face contort with joy again after everything that happened tonight, and that’s how the rest of the next hour or so was spent. Telling each other stories about yourselves that didn’t matter anymore, though they did shape you into the people you were today. And, truth be told it was exactly the type of distraction that both of you so desperately needed right now.  

It was almost as if you two were going backwards. You were emotionally connecting with a one-night stand after the physical connection was formed, but there was so much more to your relationship already prior to sleeping together, so your dynamic was odd, to say the least.  

It was like hanging with an old friend, who you have a mutual crush on, but don’t know much about even though you’ve already made core memories with him. Hell, you even shared a traumatic night together already.  

Yeah…weird.  

Your conversation went on and on, shifting from the kitchen to the living room and by now the two of you had fallen asleep on opposite ends of the couch with both of your legs entangled.  

The sight was quite adorable from Beomgyu’s point of view who came home just a minute ago. He smiled softly as he draped a blanket over the two of you, leaving to go upstairs to shower and go to bed himself.  

“Dude I can’t believe you dipped like that. What the fuck happened? I get you’re horny and all but your mom literally came home in hysterics asking us where you were. She looked so worried and you didn’t answer your damn phone either.”  

You were awake for all of 5 minutes when you ran into Yeonjun in Beomgyu’s kitchen. You didn’t even know how he or when he got to the house, but you could only assume he came to find you because he was pissed, rightfully so.  

You opened your mouth and closed it again, not really knowing if Soobin wanted people to know about what happened yet.  

“If a lie comes out of your mouth, y/n. I swear to god.” Yeonjun growled.  

You stare at your fingers as you fiddled with them, not even noticing that Beomgyu came downstairs to join the conversation at the sound of Yeonjun’s nagging.  

He stood beside Yeonjun, ears perking up when he heard the shuffles of Soobin’s footsteps as he approached the three of you in the kitchen.  

You look up as you feel his presence next to you, and somehow you feel relief wash over your body. Even though he made your heart beat faster every time he was close to you, you also felt at peace with him in the room.  

“Wanna tell them?” Soobin asks you as he rests his hand on your lower back.  

Yeonjun gave both of you a look after searching for answers in Beomgyu’s eyes, but he just shrugged at his older friend, letting him know that this whole thing was a mystery to him too.  

You pout, raking your hand through your hair as your mouth becomes dry. “We uhm…” you start, but fall silent again trying to collect your thoughts.

“Babe, the suspense,” Yeonjun says crossing his arms to show his lack of patience, and that’s when Soobin took it upon himself to rip the inevitable band-aid off.  

“We walked in on our parents…having sex.” He says before pursing his lips together in anticipation of their reaction.  

You close your eyes at Soobin’s words. Feeling anger boil in your stomach at the thought of the cursed images in your head and the fact that you were going to have to face your mom sooner or later.  

Beomgyu’s eyes dangerously protruded out of his skull as Yeonjun’s hand clasped over his mouth to muffle a bewildered gasp. This is the last thing they expected to come out of your mouths.  

“There ain’t no way…how? What…” Beomgyu was left speechless for what seemed to be the first time in his fucking life and Yeonjun’s gaze immediately softened as he laid eyes on you. “You’re joking, is this a joke? Cause it ain’t funny.” Yeonjun tried to laugh but your stoic response made him realize you weren’t joking at all.  

“Y-your mom? With his dad?” Yeonjun asks pointing from you to Soobin and all you could do was nod avoiding eye contact.  

“Damn guys…that’s fucked. I don’t know what else to say.” Yeonjun says with a pout as he grabs your hand over the counter, squeezing it for assurance as a way of telling you that he’s here for you.  

“…Isn’t your dad like…married?” Beomgyu spits out without thinking. Yeonjun shot Beomgyu a glare but Soobin simply nodded for a lack of knowing what else to say. “Dad of the year am I right,” he says shrugging his feelings away. “I’m dreading going back there,” he adds looking at you to see you lost in thought. “Me too.” Your voice was almost inaudible, and watching you so pained by the whole situation made Beomgyu want to step in and do something to cheer you up.  

“You two can stay here, I just need to figure out what to tell my parents,” Beomgyu suggests, his tapioca pearl pupils seemed to grow with excitement by the thought of having you two move in here but it was short-lived.  

“No, I’m the worst liar. Thank you for the offer though.” Soobin says scratching the back of his neck.  

“Booo.” Beomgyu huffs giving you both a childish thumbs down, followed by a smack on his arm from Yeonjun. “But I get it. Totally.” Beomgyu quickly corrects himself, rubbing his tingling arm before giving Yeonjun a kittenish angry scowl.  

Soobin scoffed in amusement as you chuckle at the two of them before sharing your thoughts. “It’s going to raise suspicion. Plus, our moms are friends. She’ll call her immediately and I don’t want anyone to find out. This town is too small for something as big as this.”  

“Yeah. If Gyu’s mom knows, Tae’s mom knows, and if Tae’s mom knows Huening’s mom knows, and if Huening’s mom knows, my mom knows, and then the whole town will know.”  Yeonjun says dramatically counting his fingers with each one of their moms added to the list.  

“Then you take after your mom, for sure.” Beomgyu retorts rolling his eyes.  

“Proudly, and what about it,” Yeonjun argues, letting his index finger push Beomgyu’s forehead away.  

“Damn, it’s that serious?” Soobin asked wide-eyed, to which you all just nodded.  

“This town is like a gossip girl spin-off.” Yeonjun chuckled.  

You bite your lip, looking at the three of them. “I don’t think we have much of a choice other than to go home and…deal with it.”  

Soobin anxiously nodded at your statement. Sighing as he threw his head back in defeat. “Can’t wait...”  

You paced back and forth in front of your house for a good minute before entering, but just like you suspected already from the missing car in front; your mom wasn’t home.

You sighed in relief, and quickly inspected the after-party damage but to your surprise, the place was left spotless. You inwardly simped for your friends as you stood motionless in the middle of your living room, taking a mental note to thank Hueningkai and Taehyun for staying behind to clean up.  

You fluffed a random pillow and bit your lip, wondering if Soobin made it past the front door already. Just as you were going up to your room, the front door opened which made you freeze in place in the middle of the staircase. The sound of her heels on the hardwood floor confirmed it was your mom, followed by the sound of her voice.  

“Y/n!” she gasped, not expecting to see you back so soon. You tried to jolt back upstairs but your mom literally launched herself forward in an attempt to grab your ankle, which she did. You nearly tripped over, turning your torso towards her to send daggers at her through your eyeballs. “Really!?”  

“Next time you run away from home at least tell me where you’re going.”  

“That defeats the purpose of running away.”  

“Sweetie…”  

“Don’t sweetie me, I don’t want to talk to you. Let go of me so I can shower and ignore you for the rest of my life.” You were still spread out on the stairs with your mom clasped around your leg like a koala holding on to its sacred branch. It must’ve been a funny sight to see, but you wanted her off. You started to shake your leg with her still wrapped around it, and when you accidentally hit her in the nose she finally let go.  

“Ouch, you little shit.” She let go of you and got back on her feet again, giving you an annoyed scowl.  

“Deserved. Period. Maybe you won’t stick your nose in other people’s marriages now,” you tell her, knitting your eyebrows together to look extra mad. 

“…Oh y/n. Don’t make me the bad guy. I just took the bait. Don’t think I’m the only other woman he’s slept with during his marriage.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes.  

“…What.”  

“He’s a serial cheater. A piece of shit, but a hot one though. I won’t do it again if that’s what you want to hear. I’m sorry you had to see that.” She nodded, blinking slowly like a cat trying to show affection, but you shot her the same unamused glare from before.  

“I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of your mouth mom.” You give her a stoic look, not knowing whether to believe the first or latter part of her twisted apology.  

“Then don’t baby,” she shrugged, straightening out her dress as she walks down the stairs. “Dinner’s in the fridge buttercup.” She yells out before disappearing into the living room.  

You were holding onto the stair railing for dear life, frustration overriding your emotions. It was always like this. She’d brush over every disappointing situation with an insincere apology followed by pretending as if nothing ever happened. It’s like she doesn’t comprehend the depth of her actions and that they don’t just revolve around her alone. She made Soobin’s dad out to be the sole antagonist and even if he did sleep around, it doesn’t make your mom’s part in this whole ordeal any less significant.  

You were used to your mom and her antics. Her inability to feel for anyone but you and herself but it never affected people you cared for before, until now.  

She never stopped to think about how this affects you, Soobin, or Isabelle. How it could potentially wreck Soobin’s already broken home. Even though she knew everything he had been through she still decided to take part in ruining his life some more and that alone made you hate her.  

Angry fumes started to burn your earlobes. She’s not sorry she did it. She’s sorry she got caught.  

You dragged yourself up the stairs, wondering if your ability to feel empathy came from your deadbeat dad who abandoned you as a kid but that thought alone made zero sense.  

Maybe you were adopted.  

You looked at yourself in the mirror, sighing as you splashed some cold water in your face but when you came back up and saw the resemblance you had to both your mom and dad you nearly broke the mirror with your fist. The brims of your eyes filled with tears as you balled your fists on the counter, biting your lip until you tasted iron.  

You stepped out of your clothes and set the water temperature of your shower at a literal lava setting, hoping that the steam would not only clear out your sinuses but your mind.  

You had no idea what to do next, but all that you could really do was be brutally honest with Soobin and hope for the best as you continued to ignore your mothers’ existence. Your heart hurts for him more than ever, especially since he will start feeling the aftermath now that he’s decided to go home.  

Soobin didn’t even hesitate to walk into the house, his non-confrontational nature vanished when he saw his dad on that godforsaken couch, reading with his glasses on the tip of his nose bridge as if nothing happened. He took big strides over to him, ready to yell at his father and demand an explanation but a voice broke him out of his fury.  

“Oh, Soobin. You’re back.” Isabelle smiled at him. “Your dad said you were staying at a friend's? How was the party?”  

Soobin’s dad looked at Soobin with dilated, scared yet strict pupils. He was silently telling him to lie for his sake and looking at Isabelle’s twinkly pupils, Soobin just couldn’t get himself to continue. “Uhm…it was fun. Took a different turn towards the end of the night though.”  

He gave his dad a look with pursed lips and watched as his fathers’ shoulders tensed up. “Oh, what do you mean?” Isabel walked over, setting down a plate with cut fruits for both of them.  

Soobin took a piece from the plate, biting into it as he remained eye contact with his dad. It was a subconscious move to show that his dad had no business being relaxed now that Soobin’s back home.  

He won’t say shit with Isabelle around, just because he cared about her feelings. But once she’s out of view shit was going to go down.  

He forgot Isabelle was still waiting for Soobin to respond so he quickly looked back at her, though she was already onto something.  

“Did you guys get into a fight again?”  

Soobin simply shook his head and that’s when his dad got up, walking towards Isabelle to place a kiss on her temple. “No hon, nothing to worry about. I’m going to take a shower so we can go to your parents later today.”  

“Ah, so you didn’t forget?” Isabelle smiled at him, it was almost pathetic how in love she looked.  

Soobin’s eyes turned sad and looked away as he bit his lip. “Uhm, do you guys mind if I stay in? I have a lot of homework I need to finish.”  

Isabelle looked at Soobin a tad disappointed but nodded, giving him a quick pat on the back. “You always work so hard. Don’t forget to eat okay.”    

Soobin nodded as watched his dad move up the stairs without a word, followed by Isabel who had to get ready as well.  

He sighed, throwing his large self on the couch before realizing what happened here. He stiffened and rolled right off, suppressing a gag as he made his way to the kitchen quickly to quench his disgust with tasty snacks.  

He opened a bag of random sweets, sitting at the breakfast bar as he angrily chewed on the way too sugary biscuits. This house was a ticking time bomb, and he had to get out before he’d get buried in the ruins of it.  

You stared at the mess that was your bedroom with loss. Not knowing where to start with cleaning. Naturally, you moved all the mess to your bed and started putting things away accordingly. Once your sheets were revealed under all the mess, instant butterflies kicked in when you remembered what happened on them last night.  

You bite your lip, slipping into a daydream before you knew it you were already texting him.  

[Y/N, 5:56 PM]: Hi 👀  

[Y/N, 5:56 PM]: How’d it go?  

[Soobin,  5:57 PM]: Hey ☺️

[Soobin,  5:57 PM]: Isabel was home so I didn’t really get a word in. I couldn’t do that to her. I want him to fess up himself yk. Buttt,they left for some dinner a few minutes ago so I haven’t seen him really.  

[Soobin, 5:57 PM]: What I don’t get is how he can lie and pretend so fucking easily. It’s scary. It’s like don’t know who he is anymore.  

[Y/N, 5:58 PM]: ugh, I can’t. this is so messed up...  

[Soobin, 5:58 PM]: And you? How are things with your mom?  

[Y/N, 5:58 PM]: She’s…my mom. So, she gives me one insincere apology and pretends as if nothing happened. She even tried to blame your dad for all of it.  

[Soobin, 5:58 PM]: Damn…how so?

[Y/N, 5:59 PM]: I’ll tell you later, just don’t get how I came out of someone like her  

[Soobin, 5:59 PM]: Hmm ok, and same here. Can we talk about something else? Anything else? I would like some normalcy today.

You sigh, looking at your closed curtains, immediately getting the best worst idea ever. You walked over and ripped them open, seeing Soobin at his desk in front of his window.  

Really…he’s still living curtainless. STILL!?  

You shake your head, looking down at your phone again, and started typing.  

[Y/N, 6:01 PM]: Look up.  

As you press send you excitedly awaited his response and that’s when your eyes locked through your windows. A mischievous smile crept on his cute ass lips. He cockily leaned back in his chair and proceeded to rake his hand through his hair.  

He averted his attention back to his phone and looked your way again when your phone buzzed in your palm.  

You boldly kept eye contact until he lifted his phone up to your view, pointing at it to tell you to look.  

[Soobin, 6:02 PM]: cute jammies, what are those? Teddy bears?  

You looked down at your childish pajama set and felt your ears heat up. You didn’t even realize that you were wearing your most sexless sleepwear and laughed, doing random poses for him as you modeled your cute little outfit.  

Soobin bit his lip, chuckling at your antics with an amused glint in his eyes.  

You quickly grab your phone.  

[Y/N, 6.04 PM]: Don’t leave me hanging, show me your jammies.

Soobin looked from his phone to you with a dumbfounded look, giving you a  sassy smirk before he sent you another message.  

[Soobin, 6.05 PM]: Can’t do that. I sleep nude.

He eyed your reaction from afar and when your eyes got big as you look from your screen to him, he folded in laughter.  

You pout at him, giving him a thumbs down closer to the window this time while mouthing a stretched-out ‘Booo’  

He rolled his eyes at you, getting up to get closer to the window. You didn’t know what he was doing when you cocked your head to the side in confusion, watching him intently with a playful smirk.  

Soobin then lifted up his shirt, showing you his bare chest before sending you a sarcastic flying kiss and it had you rolling your eyes at him this time. He laughed at you. His eyes disappearing into crescent moons as he clapped his large ass hands together with glee.  

Oh it’s on. Mischief took over on your side of the window. You looked around the neighborhood but no one seemed to be around and that’s when you decided to just do what you initially intended to do.  

You maintained eye contact and lifted your top up, showing your bare boobs to him on full display for two good seconds as you mimicked his teasing from before. You dropped your top back down and watched his face go full tomato as his mouth fell agape. You were laughing so hard that you had to double over in order to catch a breath and that’s when your phone started buzzing in your pocket.  

You pick up with giggles, still enjoying the look on his face while he was frantically looking around to check if there were any neighbors out on the streets. “y/n!”  

Your laugh died down slowly. “Ahh, you should’ve seen your face.”  

“Omg, what if someone saw you? Are you crazy?”  

“Look who’s talking, you still don’t have blinds.”  

“It’s a delivery issue, they’ll be here soon” he pinched his eyes shut at a loss for words, looking at you rather lost soon after. “I- you’re insane.”  

“Dude. You mooned me on the first day, I just paid you back. We’re even now.” You smirked, but you watched Soobin grow more frustrated on his side of the window.  

“First off I wasn’t aware and SECOND, No, we’re not.” He growled pressing himself against the window.  

You lean forward to show some cleavage, unbuttoning the first button to give him even more of a show. “Why?” you coyly ask, biting your lip as you pressed your goods against the glass. “How bout’ now?”  

You watched him try to keep cool but the tent that was forming in his sweats was giving you the impression that it wasn’t working. He was flustered, yet didn’t want to lose control so easily.  

He licked his lips, staying silent for a second as he moved his phone from one ear to the other.  

“Get over here so I can suck on those titties.”  

His voice was low, serious, and demanding enough to make your knees grow weak.  

You choke on air, eyes growing wide as you swallow harshly. “U-uhm wow…C-can you give me like…3 minutes.”  

“3, not more.” He smirked at you and all you could do was nod as you watched him hang up the phone and walk out of his room.  

You quickly closed your curtains, changing into leggings and a top as fast as you could before collecting your toothbrush from the bathroom. You sprinted down the stairs, putting on your sneakers and a big ass trench coat that had pockets big enough for your phone, keys, toothbrush, and a set of fresh underwear.  

As your front door closed, his own opened. Soobin watched you cutely run over with soft smiles and giggles exchanged between the two of you. It was…disgustingly cute.  

Once you reached his front porch he lifted you off your feet, crashing his lips into yours as you clung onto his torso by wrapping your legs around his hips.  

The two of you made out as he walked both of you back into the house, crashing your back against the inside of his now-closed front door. You could barely see in the darkness of his hallway, letting your eyes get used to the dim lighting as his lips sensually moved against your own.  

His pillowy soft lips were tracing chaste kisses from your jaw to your chest and that’s when he ripped the coat off of you in one swift motion. His hands hungrily grabbed on to massage your boobs under your shirt when your lips reconnected with his own.  

It was messy but so good as you moaned into his mouth once his cold thumbs rolled against your nipples. “Fuck.” You huffed, rolling your core onto his hips to create the friction you so desperately longed for.  

Soobin grinned against your lips, leaning his forehead against yours as he lead you into the kitchen area. He propped you up on the counter of their breakfast bar and situated himself between your legs again. He bent his neck down to kiss you some more, slowly guiding his hands up and down your thighs. You were so out of breath that you broke the kiss, looking up at him through your lashes. He felt his heart swell as you did, smiling at him shyly before hiding your face in his chest. Damn you were cute. Fucking adorable to be exact.  

He chuckled and toyed with the hem of your top before lifting it over your head. Quickly discarding of the useless item of clothing and immediately got busy with your boobs, kissing and sucking on them just like he promised to. Your eyes lulled back, enjoying the divine feeling as a few strained moans left your lips. He stopped in his tracks, creating some distance to look at your body.  

“Shit.” He cursed, smiling down at you in complete awe of how gorgeous you looked right now. You returned the smile, your fingers nimbly curling around the waistband of his sweats and Calvins. “I want these off…” you whisper in his ear, making every hair on his neck stand up straight as a chill runs down his spine. “I still haven’t sucked your dick.” You confidently state, reminiscing back to what he said to you last night. “Blowjobs can wait” well…not anymore.  

“Then get to it” he mused, patting your hair adoringly as he tilted your chin upwards to look at him with his index finger.  

You paused for a second, “H-here?” you say looking around his large kitchen. It had a similar layout to yours, the only difference was that it had no windows. Thank god.  

“Well we can’t really go into my room unless you’re still into that whole voyeurism thing…so-”  

You shut him up with yet another kiss, pinching his cheeks together with your thumb and index finger as you guided your tongue into his mouth sensually and slowly. He closed his eyes for a second until you disconnected your lips from his, still pinching his cheeks together with a seductive smile on your shiny and absolutely swollen lips.  

“Where do you want me?”  

“On your knees.” His reply was short and hot enough to get you going as you let go of his face until he interrupted you. “But be careful, it’s a tile floor your knees might bruise.”  

You snorted, finding it cute how his sweetness always seemed to shine through even in sinful moments like these. “I don’t mind a few bruises.” You challenge him as you got down on your knees, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes and that visual alone pumped every drop of blood in his body straight to his dick.  

“You’re blue balling me.” He complained.  

“I’m not doing shit.”  

“That’s the problem.” He says and you chuckle lowly, finally pulling down his sweats when his hard, angry, and humongous dick springs free. It hadn’t even been 24 hours but you already forgot how big he actually was, and suddenly your confidence disappeared. Does your mouth even open wide enough to take him?  

“Hey.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay, just go slow. It’s not like I’ll immediately shove it down your throat or anything.”  

“Hot, but no thanks. Not yet.” He scoffed at you playfully and you gulped, holding his shaft tightly. He was heavy in your palm and you weren’t shy to grab his whole sex from below his balls, propping him up for you nicely. He watched you closely, his gaze softening once your eyes found his again. You started collecting some spit in your mouth to then coat his tip with some so you could lubricate his length with your hand, twisting your wrist around to cover more of him. The friction wasn’t much but Soobin’s eyes were already closing, hearing a content sigh escape from his lips.  

You kept your eyes on him, licking from the start of his shaft to his tip to then take it into your mouth slowly. Sucking on just the head as you held his cock in place, eyeing how hot he looked as you slowly started to take him further into your mouth.  

You were fastening your pace and alternated from sucking, to licking and adding handwork when you felt like he needed the extra stimulation. You could tell the buildup was just right as he slowly started to lose control with being gentle, desperately rocking his hips forward from time to time as you did your thing.  

His moans were filling the room, bouncing off the walls in echo’s so soft and hot that it motivated you to take him further into your throat. He took a fistful of your hair, slowly guiding himself in and out of your mouth as he enjoyed the sloppy wet sounds of your suppressed little gags.  

He suddenly pulled out completely, taking over to pump himself really fast as he hovered his tip over your mouth. “S-shit baby, I-I’m-” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, you moaned to motivate him, placing your palms on his thighs, squeezing your eyes shut to prepare for what was to come and that’s when he coated your tongue, and chin with white spurts of his cum.    

You opened your eyes again, watching him see stars as he threw his head back for a second while he pumped out his high. It wasn’t long before you made eye contact though. Your sinful smile with strings of his manliness dripping down your lips almost made him cum a second time. He guided the lost droplets into your mouth with his tip so you sucked on it one last time, letting go with a pop while swallowing his load completely like a big girl.  

“Fuck…y/n, what the hell are you doing to me. Shit.” He kept cursing as he sweetly caressed your cheek again. You giggled and got up on your feet, turning around to rip off a piece of paper towel that was situated behind you on the counter and wiped your face and chest but it didn’t really do much. Soobin had literal twinkles in his eyes seeing the absolute mess he made of you, straight up looking like his personal hentai fantasy. “Damn,” he hummed contently trying to regulate his breathing so he could calm the fuck down.  

“I think I need another shower.” You sigh, looking down at yourself to assess the damage and once you locked eyes you both erupted in laughter.  

He laced his finger through yours, placing a sweet kiss on top of your hand.  

“I’ll lead the way.”  

After round two in the shower and round three under the sheets of his bed you knocked the fuck out. You were still situated on his chest when you slowly regained consciousness, but somehow waking up felt like hell. You were so disoriented and sore that it took you a minute to realize you weren’t in your own bed. You lifted your head from Soobin’s chest to look around but immediately regretted it. Squinting your burning eyes to get used to the obliterating amount of sunlight coming in through the window. How does he even sleep without blinds, you were seriously contemplating on dragging his ass to the nearest Ikea to come up with a temporary solution.  

Lost in grumpy thought you looked up at Soobin who was still sound asleep, his arm was wrapped around your waist tightly, the sheets barely covering him since you stole most of it in your sleep. His bunny lips were parted slightly, and from his breathing alone you could tell he was still far gone in dreamland. You couldn’t help but notice his beauty, softly smiling to yourself as you brush a piece of hair out of his eyes. You decided to let him sleep some more so you rested your head again, pressing your cheek flat against his chest with your eyes fluttering shut in peace but that same peace was soon disturbed when you heard voices coming from the hallway.  

“Is he ok? He usually doesn’t sleep in this late.” Isabelle’s voice was crystal clear and you were immediately alerted.  

Shit.  

Fuck.  

No.  

Please don’t check on him, please don’t check on him.  

“Should I check on him?” she asked again and that’s when you heard his dad’s voice.  

“No, let him sleep. Maybe he studied till late.”  

Your whole body relaxes as you let out a sigh of relief when you hear them walk down the staircase. You sit up, deciding to wake Soobin up because you still needed to have an actual conversation with him about your mothers’ accusations regarding his dad’s infidelity streak throughout his marriage.  

You seriously didn’t even know how to start, but waking him from his slumber was step one.  

“Hey.” You whisper as you shake him gently, but it only resulted in him mumbling something you didn’t quite understand as he stole the covers off of you, fully wrapping himself like a burrito as he turned his back to you. You chuckle, sitting up on your knees to violently shake him by grabbing onto his shoulders.  

“Wake uuuuuuuup” you nudge his back with your knee this time and that made him jolt right up, almost making you fall off the bed completely.  

He yelped but you quickly clasped your hand over his mouth as he stared at you in bewilderment. “Your parents.” You whispered as you took your hand off of his mouth and that’s when it struck him. “Fuck.”  

“Yeah.” You stare at his bedroom door for a second and almost scream out loud when you felt his cold hands wrap around your waist. He pulled you closer, moving you under him as he covered both of you with the blanket from head to toe. You were stuck beneath him in his makeshift fort and felt him nuzzle his face in your neck. “Now we’re invisible.” He muttered in his low sleepy voice, making you smile in defeat as you started to play with his hair.  

You felt your heart swell in your chest, realizing just how much of a simp you were. Fuck you might just be…falling in love.  

It’s like he noticed how hard your heart was pounding in your chest because he started rubbing your back in calming up and down motions and then it hit you like a brick wall.  

You haven’t felt this save in a man’s arms since…you were a kid.  

“I don’t want to get up.” He mumbled lost in thought, making you look up at him through your lashes. “Me neither.”  

You reluctantly let go of him, sitting up as you removed the covers from yourself and stared into nothingness for a second. Soobin eyed you carefully, putting his hand on your back for comfort. “You don’t have to talk to him or even look at him, I can easily sneak you out, it’s okay.” He was assuming you were stressed about seeing his dad again after everything but the actual thing you were stressed about was telling Soobin what your mom told you.  

You looked back at him and gave him a soft smile, grabbing his hand as you traced his veins gently. “Soobin I’m starting to really fucking like you.” You whisper with a slight crack in your voice which definitely didn’t go unnoticed.  

He sat up immediately, pouting at you as he pulled you close to him. “Ahwww” he furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t worry okay? Me too. Me three. I do, I really do.” He smiled at you fondly, patting your hair before getting up out of bed. There was something so soft about his masculinity. He wasn’t scared to be affectionate or straightforward. It was one of his qualities you loved most which is what made you so comfortable around him.  

He quickly put sweatpants on and a random shirt he had laying around to then collect your scattered clothes around the room for you, handing them over to you with a shy smile and you instantly melted. You took the articles of clothing from his hold with both hands, and got up to get dressed, contemplating how to start a sudden loaded conversation with him. He watched you carefully, afraid you were going to vanish into thin air for some reason.  

It was scary how much he hated the idea of living here before, and now he couldn’t imagine ever leaving just because he met you. “I wish my mom got to meet you.” It slipped out of his mouth before he could even really think about it but that comment caught you off guard more than it should have.  

“I-” you swallowed harshly. “Me too.” Your eyes turned sad for a second and he immediately regretted what he said. “Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to get all emo on you.”  

Your eyes widened. “Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to miss her Soobin. I really wish I could’ve gotten to know her too, so I could thank her for birthing you. ” you giggled which made  Soobin sigh in relief at your words, giving you a shy smile before he averted his attention to the sudden buzzing of both of your phones.  

Soobin checked his phone, and to his surprise he was added to a group chat with you and your friends, all of them wondering how you two were doing as they spammed both of you with multiple texts. He sighed, showing you the chat once you were completely dressed.  

“They’re asking questions.”  

“Of course they are…” You quickly grab your phone, letting them know that you will talk to them at Uni tomorrow to shut them up for a while. You set your phone down beside you, looking at Soobin as he did the same.  

You bit your lip. “Soobin.”  

“Hmm?” he sat next to you on the bed, biting the inside of his cheek as he waited for you to start talking. “Remember last night when I told you that my mom tried to blame your dad for what happened…”  

Soobins ears perked up, and his body language completely changed, he nodded, waiting for you to continue.  

“While that…of course isn’t completely true, she did tell me that…apparently your dad is like…a serial cheater…” you wish that sentence came out of your mouth more coherently but looking at how Soobin’s whole body tensed up you recon that it wouldn’t have made a difference in outcome.  

“What?” his tone was so different from how he usually talks that it sent chills down your spine. You pouted. “My mom is a lot of things but she’s not a liar…she wouldn’t accuse him of something this big if she didn’t have proof.”  

Soobin closed his eyes, anger filling his whole body as he started to shake. You tried to put a hand on his shoulder but before you knew it he jolted out of the room in a split second.  

Your eyes widened, unsure of what was about to go down but you didn’t hesitate and ran right after him. He nearly flew down the stairs, angrily stomping through the house to find his dad and Isabel at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. 

Both of their eyes widened, and his dad immediately knew something was up. Right then Soobin grabbed him by his collar, easily lifting him off the chair and pushing him against the refrigerator door like a ragdoll. He was seething. Absolutely fuming.

“SOOBIN!” Isabelle got on her feet just as quickly and that’s when she saw you equally as stressed and scared as her. She was even more confused as she locked eyes with you, not knowing when or how you got here.  

“Soobin let go…please” you carefully tried but the sound of your voice made Soobin crash his dad’s back into the fridge even harder this time. “YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!” He spits out. His dad was scared by now but how could he not be? His perfect lie was about to unravel.  “First my mom and now her huh!? Were you going to sleep with this whole town and hope Isabel dies of cancer too so you can fuck up a different family this time!?”  

Oh my god.  

“You’re not even denying it.” Soobin’s voice softened as he watched his father struggle to breathe in his hold.  

He soon let go of him, disgust was written all over his face as he calmly turned to Isabelle, followed by some violent coughs coming from his father’s throat. Your eyes quickly darted to him to see if he was ok, but your attention shifted when Soobin started talking again.  

“I’m sorry Isabelle. But my father slept with y/n’s mother the night of the party, on that couch.” He pointed at the living room cocking an eyebrow as he casually announced the news. And all you could do was watch as Isabelle’s whole world fell apart. You saw something break in her eyes as her gaze redirected to Soobin’s dad who was awfully quiet. Frozen in place with his back still glued to the fridge even though Soobin had already let go of him.  “And apparently there have been many more.” He continued, cocking his head to the side with a bitter smile.  

You couldn’t believe you were witnessing this. Your eyes scanned all of their faces at once as you stood frozen on your feet.  

“Is it true?” you heard Isabelle’s voice crack.  

Soobin wasn’t sticking around for the aftermath, he brushed past them and for a second you thought he was going to leave you there but he dragged you with him into the hallway and that’s when the yelling match started between them.  

You winced as you heard glass break, your eyes widening in shock and disbelief after everything that just went down. “S-Soobin I’m so sorry.”  

He was putting on his shoes, giving you a look. “None of this is your fault.” He said getting back up to look you in your widened eyes. He looked back at the kitchen, hearing the arguing get louder and louder.  

So much for the perfect family his dad tried to create. So much for the empty promises of how things were going to be different this time. But none of it was real. Not when all of this time his dad was living a lie.  

You bit your trembling lip, trying to keep it together when Soobin started to put on your shoes for you, grabbing your coat as he wrapped it around you before holding you at an arm’s length. “I need to go see my sister.”  

His what now? Soobin grabbed his keys, looking at the kitchen one more time before he opened the front door, gently pushing you out and closing the door behind him.  

“You have a sister?”  

“Yeah. She lives like two hours away, but don’t worry. I’ll be back for Uni tomorrow.” He reassured you that he wasn’t going anywhere for too long but the thought of all of this going down without him around felt so wrong. It’s like he was in panic mode. Rushing to escape and get you as far away from this mess as he possibly could.  

Of course you understood. But somehow things were going too fast to process right now.  

“Do we just…leave them alone? I-”  

Soobin opened the trunk of his car, throwing in his jacket before shutting it as you stood there and simply watched him as he paced around. He was completely struck with adrenaline, and you knew there was no way you could stop him from going. If anything, it might do him some good to talk to another family member.  

“Please…drive save okay.” You walked over to him and grabbed his arm to make him look at you and once his eyes landed on you his gaze completely softened. He nodded quietly, pulling you into him. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”  

“It’s…it’s ok.”  

“No, it’s not.” His voice was stern and all you could do was nod, avoiding eye contact altogether.  

He sighed, pulling you into him and nuzzled his nose in your hair, inhaling the perfumy scent of your shampoo once more to calm himself down. Soobin squeezed you in his arms to then let go and kiss you ever so gently, afraid you’d break.  

You reluctantly let go. “Text me when you get there, please…”  

He nodded, smiling at you fondly before getting into his car without another word. He reversed the car out of the driveway and sped off, leaving you feeling empty as ever on the pavement.  

Going home made no sense to you, so your legs took you to the only house that did make sense to go to right now. It started pouring rain in the middle of your way there, but you didn’t care. You were letting the water cleanse you of all the bad energy you just encountered.  

You were worried sick for Soobin, feeling knots form in your stomach as nausea took over. You knew he probably didn’t have a home to return to anymore once he got back and the thought made you feel like it was your fault somehow. He’s been through so much this past year and you knew exactly what it felt like to be alone in a broken home full of lies and secrets.  

You couldn’t help but think of your father. Though your mom’s existence was a good enough reason to leave, you never got a real explanation from either of them. It’s like he was Voldemort. You could never speak of him or ask about him, so you made peace with the whole thing years ago, though it still ate at you from time to time. But this…this whole thing was opening up old wounds that would just leave new scars and you weren’t ready for that. Especially now that you finally felt like you were able to let yourself love someone again.  

Why couldn’t it be easier?  

Your chemistry and dynamic with Soobin came so incredibly natural that it felt like all four forces of nature were trying to sabotage your relationship as some type of balancing act. It was unfair.  

For you, for him, even for Isabelle.  

You were fighting tears the whole way, but when you knocked on Beomgyu’s door and watched his big smile falter when he opened the door for you, you fully broke down.  

“Y/n…” his voice was quiet as he wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry in his arms as he comforted you on the floor of his hallway.  

“You’re soaking wet…did you walk all the way here in the rain? Shit.” He quickly looked around and grabbed his mother’s scarf, wrapping it around you in an attempt to warm you up, but your teeth were still chattering as silent sobs escaped your lips.  

“Let’s get you in dry clothes and then we can talk okay?”  

You locked eyes with him, slowly nodding as you watched his face contort from pure concern to relief.  

“Ok, come on,” he says helping you up.  

“…Soobin?” his sister smiled widely. “You could’ve called! I would’ve made lunch or something.”  

“I’m…I’m not hungry. I actually really need to talk to you.”  

Soobin organized all of his thoughts in his head on the car ride over, he didn’t really know how to break it to her, or how to articulate all the scattered words in his head, but he had to somehow.  

“…Well it must be damn important if you drove all the way here?” she moved aside and led him into the living room, making him sit down on the large sofa.  

He looked around for a second. Feeling how warm, cozy, and loving her home felt just by observing the place. He kicked himself for not coming over more often, but after the move and everything else, he just couldn’t get himself to do so for some reason.  

“Want a tour of the house? You haven’t seen the place since we bought it.” She smiled at him sweetly but the absence in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by her as he played with his fingers in his lap. She moved her weight from one foot to the other, wanting to sit down next to him on the couch but the moment got interrupted by tiny little footsteps on the hard wooden floor.  

“Uncle Bin! Uncle Bin!” his nephew ran around the corner, making Soobin look up from his hands. His eyes lit up in a split second, holding out his arms for the toddler as he launched his tiny body into Soobin’s arms. “Hey little guy, look at you, you’ve gotten so big!” Soobin lifted the kid up and placed him on his lap, rocking him on his knee as he tickled his belly. “I missed you uncle bin!” Soobin melted, squeezing his eyes shut as he showed his dimples while pursing his lips together. Talk about a cuteness overload.  

“I missed you too, buddy.” He pressed his finger into the identical dimple the child had. They kinda looked alike. At least that’s what everyone tells him.  

His sister smiled at both of them and placed her son on her lap but he was fighting her, wanting to go back to Soobin.“Hey, listen, listen. How about you go upstairs and draw Uncle Soobin something really pretty, and then afterwards you two can go get ice cream? Okay?”  

The kids’ eyes had literal beams emitting from them out of excitement. “Okay! But only if you hang it somewhere special.”  

Soobin hands clasped over his chest where his heart was with a smile and nodded. “Of course! I’ll frame it and hang it up.”  

“At home!” the kid chirped, but Soobin’s smile faltered a bit. “Y-yeah buddy, at home.”  

His sister noticed his drop in energy and protectively moved closer to him.  

“Okay, deal!” the kid was easily convinced as he sprinted upstairs, making both Soobin and his sister sigh in relief.  

She averted his attention to him once more, firmly squeezing his shoulder. He seemed to be feeling better already, though the atmosphere got heavier shortly after his nephew left the room.  

“Why are you really here Bin?” she carefully starts.  

“You want the short version or the long version?” he asks giving her a blank stare.  

“Short…no long.”  

Soobin nodded to himself and inhaled sharply, speaking incredibly fast. “Okay so, I met this girl 'cause she almost hit me with her car and she’s amazing, we’re neighbors, by the way, total coincidence. But her mom is… uhm…well single and one time she invited us over for dinner to welcome us into the neighborhood and even though I connected with y/n, I felt like something was up with dad and her mom so y/n threw a party two nights ago, but the drinks were finished so me and y/n were going to sneak into the house and steal some of dad’s whiskey collection but then we caught her mom and our dad fucking on the couch.”  

With an open mouth, Soobin’s sister was trying to follow his story but the randomness of it all overwhelmed her. “Huh!?”  

“Yeah, so dad cheated on Isabel, and I found out that dad has been cheating on Isabel just like he was cheating on mom during her sickness so I kinda snapped and assaulted him in front of Isabel and y/n and now I’m worried that y/n might see me differently but I literally ran away to come here a minute after that all went down and I don’t know what to do or how to go back, I’m actually going insane” Soobin was gasping for air as he uttered that whole monologue in one breath, carefully awaiting his sisters’ reaction by knitting his eyebrows together as he anticipated her response. So much for organizing his thoughts in the car…  

“Soobin.” She closed her eyes. “what was y/n even doing in the house? Dude, I’m so lost you have no idea, and you left her? Right after you reconstructed dads face?”  

“I didn’t hit him. And why aren’t you reacting to the cheating part, aren’t you pissed? I-”  

“Oh baby bro.” she closed her eyes, leaning back on the couch at a loss for words. “Dad has always been and will always be a piece of shit. Nothing that man does will ever surprise me. I’ve known about some of this but I always tried to shield you from it. I guess now that you’re older the puzzle pieces are starting to fit.”  

Soobin just nodded, drifting back into thought. “I can’t believe I almost bought his caring act.”  

“You know, I don’t think it’s an act. He cares for us deeply but…watching mom die fucked him up…badly.”  

Soobin looked up in surprise. “I’m not saying that it’s an excuse, I’m just saying that he started grieving her while she was still alive in the worst way possible and Isabelle is probably just collateral damage…our childhood was great when they still loved each other…when mom wasn’t sick.” A tear tried to escape from his sisters’ eye but she quickly wiped it away, staring at the picture of their mother on the coffee table.  

He was looking at it too, his heart filling with both love and sadness as he studied his mom’s face. He drifted back into deep thought as the two of them stayed silent for a second.  

“Is y/n your girlfriend?”  

Soobin’s head snapped in his sisters’ direction, it’s as if she sensed that he was thinking of you.  

“We’re…pretty new. But it’s heading in that direction. This all just complicates things.” He swallowed harshly, nervously picking at his cuticles again. “I don’t know how I’ll ever go back.”  

“Soobin…she’ll understand.”  

“I know she does, that’s not what I meant. I meant going back to the house.”  

Her eyes got sad as she watched him and moved closer to envelop him in a hug. He fully gave in wrapping his arms around her frame. “You can move here?” she softly suggested.  

Soobin let go of her, raising his eyebrows at the sudden offer. “Huh?”  

“I mean think about it. I have an extra room now, you can go back to your old college and it’s not like you’re moving across the country…I’m sure that whatever it is that you’re trying to figure out with y/n could also work with a little bit of distance.”  

Soobin’s lips parted as he contemplated the sudden offer. It seemed…viable in some way, but he did have to admit that the thought of moving schools again would suck. Especially now that he’s finally settled and made friends.  And you…oh my god. He knew you well enough that the distance would fuck both of you up for sure. But he had to be realistic and chose between staying, being miserable at home for years to come with a potential relationship that could end because of that miserable situation OR running away and chose not to fight that battle.    

“Won’t your husband mind?” Soobin asks, knowing damn well what the answer to that question was already. But he didn’t know what else to say right now.  

“No, of course not. He loves you.” She shrugged, giving him a pat on the knee. “Just think about it okay? Let’s get that little monster his ice cream.”  

Soobin barely responded to your texts, telling you that he’d drive out early in the morning to go straight to Uni from his sisters’ house right before you went to bed. You barely slept, twisting and turning in Beomgyu’s bed as he took the inflatable mattress on the floor. He demanded you to stay over after you told him everything and decided to obey him just because you really didn’t feel like being alone right now.  

After a quick stop at your house in the morning to shower and get dressed you were headed out for your first class of the day already. Going to school felt odd but it was a blessing in disguise cause it offered some type of normalcy after this hectic weekend. Before you got in Beomgyu’s car you stopped for a second to look at Soobin’s house just to see the empty driveway. You knew he’d be at school when you got there but for some reason, you were more anxious than excited to see him.  

You were waiting for him in the parking lot, your eyes lighting up when he pulled up and got out of the car after parking it swiftly. He looked at you with the exact same sparkles in his eyes and wrapped you in his arms for a long, warm hug.  

You sigh contently, holding him at arm's length. He was wearing dress pants and a white loose-fitting button up…to school?  

“You look…different?” you chuckle to break the silence, fixing a wrinkle in the material on his shoulder.  

“It’s the only thing I could find in my brother-in-law’s closet that fit me.” Soobin snorted, leaning his back against the wall.  

“How was it?” you asked with a hopeful expression but somehow Soobin found it hard to look you in the eye.  

“Uhm…” he started, but paused again. “We talked about my parents and…where it went wrong and stuff. My sister made me realize that her death left different scars on our dad than the rest of us.”  

You blinked at him, not fully comprehending but also kind of understanding what he was saying. “After our talk, I spent some time with my nephew…he’s really cute.” He smiled, missing him already, and seeing the look in Soobin’s eyes you couldn’t help but reciprocate his enamored grin.  

“Did you talk to him yet?”  

Soobin shook his head. “He called me like a hundred times but I’m not ready, Isabelle texted me that I was still welcome and that my dad’s staying at some motel in town, so I won’t have to worry about running into him for the time of being.”  

You moved a piece of his hair out of his eyes. “Well…that’s a temporary solution.” You sigh. “We need to come up with a permanent one.”  

“…Yeah…” Soobin didn’t know how to tell you about the offer his sister made, but he also knew that decisions had to be made fast. “I have to get to class.’ He tells you, checking the time on his phone.  

Seeing how absent he was made your heart feel heavier than ever. It’s like his body was here and his mind was somewhere else. You wished there was more you could do. “I’ll see you in our free period, right?” you asked, and he simply nodded, pulling you in to kiss you softly.  

“Did you guys hear about the festival at school, they want us to dress up as characters,” Beomgyu announces showing you guys the post on the school’s Instagram page.  

“Seems fun,” Taehyun adds, followed by Hueningkai’s loud laugh. “Dress up? Like what exactly?” he questions.  

You were not present at all during this conversation, nervously biting your lip as you kept staring at the door, waiting for Soobin to walk in.  

“Hueningie can dress as a lifesize penguin, Tae as some fighter and I can just be a cowboy-themed stripper.”  

“What about me.” Beomgyu moped.  

Yeonjun shot Beomgyu a pained smile. “You don’t need a costume to blend in.” 

The table laughed and averted their attention to you. “Maybe you and Soobin could do a couples costume? Like batman and batgirl or something. That’s cute.” Yeonjun suggests trying to cheer you up. You broke out your trance, giving him and the others a quick smile. “Y-yeah seems fun.”  

Taehyun was losing his patience with you and rolled his eyes. The whole table was trembling just because you kept shaking your leg in nervousness.  

“Dude quit it. He’ll be here.” He said putting his hand on your knee to make you stop. Your head snapped back, instantly halting your nervous tick as you bit your lip. “Sorry. But you should’ve seen him.”  

“Give the guy some rest, he’s probably still exhausted both emotionally and physically.” You nodded, agreeing with Tae as you crossed your arms on the table with a pout on your face.  

“Do you think he’ll move out?” Hueningkai asks, making Beomgyu look at him funny. “Where would he go?”  

“I don’t know. He has a sister, maybe there?”  

You looked up at Hueningkai with dilated pupils letting your shoulders fall and Yeonjun immediately noticed how sad that comment made you. “Oh my god, Kai shut up, can’t you see she’s already going through it.” He pulled you into him and you just gave in, resting your head on Yeonjun’s shoulder as he patted your head like a cat.  

“His sister lives like two hours away,” Beomgyu muttered through his teeth while leaning towards Hueningkai.  

“Oh...sorry.” Hueningkai quickly apologized with wide eyes, awkwardly laughing the pained atmosphere away as he rocked in his chair.  

“Oh, there he is.” Taehyun cutely waved at Soobin who immediately walked over to your table. You lifted your head off Yeonjun’s shoulder, pushing him aside to make room for Soobin.  

“Ha, I see how it is,” he says rolling his eyes and acting all fake hurt but still proceeded to scoot over so Soobin could sit next to you anyway.  

Soobin gave you a quick peck before he unwrapped his sandwich, not noticing the silence that took over the table as everyone stared at him all at once. He lifted his head, looking around just to get flustered by all of your eyes on him. “…Uh…what?”  

“What do you mean what?” Beomgyu huffed, pushing Soobin’s sandwich aside. “what’s your next move?” he continues.  

“And let us know if we can help in any way,” Taehyun adds.  

Soobin suddenly got overwhelmed with all their pitiful faces but you looked at him attentively, waiting for him to speak.  

“I-I don’t know yet.”  

“Well, what are your options? Do you have options?” Yeonjun asks this time.  

Soobin sighed, staring at his hands. “My sister she uh…” he looked at you this time, pausing for a second. “She offered me to move in with her.”  

All of their eyes darted from Soobin to you. You pursed your lips together, swallowing harshly as you turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered but of course, everyone could hear.  

“…I…I didn’t know how. But it’s not like I made my mind up yet, I just…”  

You childishly got up and stormed off to avoid either an emotional breakdown or a temper tantrum, leaving everyone at a loss for words back at the table.  

“Dude,” Beomgyu says wide-eyed, watching a frozen Soobin with a shocked face, still glued to his seat. “She came to me crying last night, worried sick about you. She even opened up about her dad for the first time” Beomgyu wasn’t one to get angry fast but he had a distaste for injustice. “What?” Soobin says turning into a statue.

“You do know her dad left under similar conditions, right?” Tae added.  

“I-” Soobin stuttered, eyes guilty and wide. How did he forget?  

“Oh my god, for the love of god, go! Run after her. Go!” Yeonjun says pulling Soobin out of his seat with all of his strength.  

Soobin didn’t fully grasp what was going on but his feet started to run in your direction automatically.  

He spotted you at the end of the hallway. You were speed walking out of the building, so he decided to take the short route in order to catch up to you outside.  

He ran through the large double doors, making a quick turn so he could grab you. “Y/n wait!” Soobin hasn’t run this fast since PE in high school. He was completely out of breath, pulling you into a random alley around the school building.  

You stared at him in bewilderment, quickly wiping your wet eyes so he wouldn’t notice but it was already too late. “`Y/n…” he sulked, grabbing your face with both hands so he could make you look up at him.  

You sniffed, removing his hands from your face and created some distance. “I want…I want to be alone.” You lied.  

The thing is that you knew what was best for him. You knew that moving in with his sister was what he needed to do for himself, but selfishly you wished he’d stay. You wished his future would be brighter with you in it, but not when there’s a dark cloud following him home every day. How could he heal if he couldn’t move on?    

“I thought that…maybe there was something more there than just…sex,” you whispered. It made Soobin’s eyes widen, taking a step closer to you so he could take your hand in desperation.  

“There is! Trust me you know I’d never hurt you like that. I told you how I felt about you so many times but this…y/n it's’ bigger than us. We’ve barely been in each other’s lives for two weeks”  

Ouch. That one rubbed you the wrong way, but in his defense, it just came out of his mouth miserably.  

“So that’s it then? Soobin…do you know how hard It is for me to open up to anyone!?” Anger started to take over as you yanked your hand out of his hold.  

“…You’re acting like there’s no way we can make the distance work.”  

“You’re the one who made it seem like our time together is forgettable enough to not even explore a different option other than moving across the state! We both know that the shift from being literal neighbors to being cities away is going to kill us.”  

“Well staying in that house is going to kill me!” Soobin raised his voice in frustration, making you take a step back in silence as you looked at your feet.  

“It's not fair,” you mumble as your voice cracks, which made Soobin soften up again.  

He didn’t want to admit that you were right, because admitting meant that he had to just be okay with losing you and he didn’t want that. However, deep down he had already made up his mind. There’s nowhere else for him to go other than his sister, and after everything, a family might just be the thing he needs most right now.  

“Y/n I don’t want us to end like this. I don’t want you to feel like I’m choosing not to stay and fight for you. It’s not that black and white. I can’t be a good boyfriend if I stay under their roof. It’ll consume me.” His voice cracked too as he stared at you with despair.  

You looked back at him, trying your hardest to fight your tears. “Then it’s best if we go our separate ways now before someone seriously gets hurt.”  

Why were you doing this?  

Soobin’s eyes widened. “What?”  

“Like you said, it’s barely been two weeks.” You shrugged. Striking first was always your way to cope so you wouldn’t get hurt. It was your way of staying in control, but it was no use because it already hurt. So. Fucking. Much.  

“Y/n…don’t.” Soobin tried to grab your hand again but you didn’t let him. He watched tears spill from your eyes this time, and right before he could say something else you were already gone.  

Your mom was on her weekly grocery shopping spree and not so accidentally stumbled into the department store. She was going to buy you something in hopes it’d make you less angry at her, even if it was just a little bit.  

She was used to the stares from countless men surrounding her. The sound of her heels and the smell of her perfume announced her presence before she walked into the room. It’s like she ran this town as she greeted every employee.

She was scanning aisle after aisle, hoping to get you a cute bag or something until she spotted a familiar tall figure in the luggage section.  

“Yeah, I know. I still have some unpacked boxes, so I’ll just throw the rest in a suitcase.”  

Your mom moved in closer, eavesdropping on the conversation Soobin was having over the phone with his sister. “Why are suitcases so damn expensive,” Soobin mumbled in annoyance, grabbing the tag of another one behind it.  

Your mom squinted her eyes, moving her cart aside so she could get closer to him. “Going on a trip?” your mom’s voice scared the fuck out of Soobin, he nearly dropped his phone and almost knocked over the whole rack of suitcases as they made eye contact.  

Your mom smiled at him widely, raising an eyebrow still calmly awaiting his response. “I…uh…I’ll call you back.” He quickly hung up the phone and regained composure, straightening out his back after putting his phone in his pocket.  

“I’m guessing you’re the reason my daughter’s been extra sad lately?” She assumed, crossing her arms.  

“Uh..extra? I- What do you mean…”  

“She’s always grumpy. cause she lives with me. But ya know…she hasn’t been eating or sneaking out in the middle of the night so I’m guessing.” She rolled her index finger in the air theatrically to end up pointing it in Soobin’s face. “That it has something to do with you.”  

Soobin licked his lips, not knowing how to get out of this one. “I think it’s better if you talk to her about it.”  

“She doesn’t talk to me. We both know that.” Your mom rolled her eyes, making Soobin even more uncomfortable than he already was as he looked around the store.  

“…Mam, I’m sorry but-”  

“You’re not leaving her, right?” She interrupted him. “Because it looks like…you’re leaving,” she said pointing at the suitcase.  

“You and my dad didn’t give me much of a choice.” Soobin bit back. Your mom raised her eyebrow in pleasant surprise. She liked the fire Soobin had in him. Just because it reminded her of herself.  

“Where are you going Soobin?” Your mother asked sternly.  

“To live with my sister.”  

“Where?”  

“It’s like 2 hours away.” Soobin sighed, but that made all the puzzle pieces fall into place in your mothers’ brain.  

“Soobin. You’re not leaving my daughter like this, not another man. You can’t just pack up your shit and go. She already went through that once. It wasn’t pretty.”  

“She…she broke up with me? And it’s not like I want to. I don’t have much of a choice.” Soobin says in his defense. It was like he was reliving the last conversation he had with you.  

“Oh, you dumbo, do you really think, that someone as in love as her would selfishly make you stay in a situation that would make you unhappy? I might not be mom of the year, but I know my baby.”  

Soobin paused for a second…hold on….in love? He wasn’t quite following anymore, too overwhelmed with the fact that he was even having this conversation with your mom of all people.  

“Let’s go talk somewhere else shall we.” She said looping her arm through Soobin’s. He mindlessly followed her, feeling like he got kidnapped in public.  

It didn’t take long before they made it to a random café, your mom got both of them coffees as they sat down at a table outside. Soobin politely thanked her for the drink, wrapping his hands around his hot cup.  

“First off. I apologize for taking part in…your life going to shit.” Your mom immediately says as she sits down in front of him.  

Soobin’s eyes widened, swallowing harshly. “But just so you know, if it wasn’t me it would’ve been the other housewife next door so…”  

Soobin snorted, bitterly smiling at his cup. “With all due respect, it would’ve made things less complicated if it was the other housewife.”  

Your mom let out a cackle, admiring his sense of humor. “I bet yeah…But I mean it. I’m sorry.”  

He nodded and silence took over completely. Your mothers’ expression switched from playful to worried as she watched Soobin take a sip of his drink. “I’ve never seen my daughter happier than she has been for the past two weeks you know.”  

“I got the impression that you weren’t really around to notice,” Soobin says taking a bite of his complimentary biscuit while remaining eye contact. For an introvert, he was really pushing his social boundaries today, cause he was bolder than ever.  

Your mom scoffed. “I’m a single mom with a daughter in college. Someone has to pay for that tuition, and I can’t really make that happen by sitting around, can I?”  

Soobin raised his eyebrows, nodding to show that he understood. He didn’t want to ask any further questions because he knew that getting answers to how your mom made her money would complicate things even further, but he could definitely guess.  

“Speaking of college. Have you tried the dormitory?” She asked interrupting Soobin’s thoughts.  

Soobin nodded, leaning back in his chair. “They had no available units cause it’s the middle of the semester and even if they did it's too expensive.”  

Your mothers’ ear perked up. “I can help.”  

“What? No. I’m not taking your money.”  

“No, no. I mean…I know someone on the board of your Uni. I could easily make it happen.”  

“…H-how?” Soobin was showing interest now, waiting for her to continue talking.  

“Ever since I found out y/n was accepted into that school I started cozying up to one of the school board members if you know what I mean. To make life a bit easier for us if needed.”  

Soobin couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the revelation, but he had more questions. “Why would he help?”  

“Because he doesn’t want his wife and kids to know what daddy did two summers ago.” Your mom grimaced wiggling her eyebrows, making Soobin cover his mouth in disbelief.  

Shit.  

“That’s evil…but I’m in.” Soobin says with determination in his eyes, mimicking your mom’s mischievous grin.  

“Leave.” You were hiding under your blanket, trying to get Yeonjun to leave you the fuck alone this Friday night. You didn’t even know how he got in here, but you can only imagine that it was your mom’s doing.  

You were still mourning your potential relationship with Soobin and couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he had probably already left without saying goodbye.  

“No.” he groaned, rubbing his forehead. “It’s the costume party tonight. Get your ass up.”  

“I’m not fucking going.” You protest, turning your back towards him like a child. 

“Yes, you are, get up. Fun is what you need. It’s what I need,” he says shaking you violently to get a reaction out of you.  

“I don’t even have a costume.”  

“Yes, you do. I made Beomgyu pick up the batgirl costume for you.”  

“What?”  

“I’m a Virgo, y/n. I think before you do.” Yeonjun winked but you still weren’t really warming up to the idea of leaving your house for a stupid college party.  

“There’s no batgirl without batman.” You mumble bitterly.  

“Now…that’s not very feministic of you.”  You rolled your eyes but Yeonjun’s patience was running thin as per usual. He sighed, ripping the covers off of you. 

“Trust me. Please.” Yeonjun climbed on top of your bed and looked at you with desperate eyes.  

He stared at you fiercely and you stared back, but when he started to pout you gave in, aggressively kicking the air before getting up. “Where’s the fucking costume?” you spit out in defeat.  

Yeonjun’s eyes lit up, giggling like a baby as he pulled the costume out of his bag.  

Luckily it didn’t take too long to get ready, Yeonjun assisted where he could and pushed you out of the front door in no time. He gave your mom a quick wink, who was situated on the couch with a glass of wine in her hand. She raised the wine glass towards Yeonjun and took a sip, smiling to herself as she averted her attention back on the tv once you both left.  

“Woooow, look who it issss, It’s batgirl!” Beomgyu beamed at you, excitedly walking over as he held out his hand for you. He made you twirl around for him once and you could help but crack a smile, especially since he handed you your favorite drink. “You look great!” He screamed over the blaring music.  

“So do you…but uhm…what is…” you tried to guess who he was supposed to resemble but you had no idea to be completely honest.  

“I found out Yeonjun changed his costume to sexy vampire, so I dressed as Buffy the vampire slayer.” Beomgyu chirps wiggling his eyebrows up and down. 

You cackled out loud, showing a genuine smile for the first time in a while. “It’s ok if people don’t get it, he’ll definitely understand, and hate me for it,” he says with a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, you look very handsome Buffy.” You compliment him before you both down the drinks in your hands in one go.

Shortly after you watched Hueningkai and Taehyun approach dressed as the penguin from happy feet and Mike Tyson, the boxer. Tae even drew the gap in his teeth with some black marker and you applauded his eye for detail followed by all of you touching the fluff on Hueningkai’s adorable suit.  

You were thankful for them, just an hour ago you would rather stay in than be here but now that you were actually having fun again you felt so much better already.  

You looked around, raising your eyebrow. “…Hey, where is Yeonjun?”  

Yeonjun’s sexy vampire attire was more than in the way as he ran across campus. The fucking shit he does for his friends is insane. His cape was flying in the air as he ran towards the dormitory building, catching stares and laughs from people all around.  

He got there out of breath, knocking on the door of the room across his own with the little energy he had left. “I’m here.” He announced, and that’s when the door opened with a dramatic swing.  

Soobin’s bottom half was dressed in the batman costume and his top half was well…nude.  

Yeonjun eyes traveled down his body before making eye contact shortly after to snap out of it “…You’re late! WHY did you call me here, she’s already at the party and why aren’t you dressed?”  

“I can’t get in this thing by myself, it’s tight as hell and I can’t zip it from the back either,” Soobin complained as he pulled Yeonjun into his room, closing the door behind him so Yeonjun could help him get dressed in private.  

“Aren't you glad this room comes with blinds” Yeonjun teased as he pulled on the spandex with all his power from one side as Soobin pulled on the other side.  

Soobin rolled his eyes with a smirk finally getting one arm into the suit, followed by the other shortly after. The sight must’ve been a hilarious one to see because the two of them were moaning and groaning, completely out of breath by the time Yeonjun was able to zip up Soobin’s suit.  

“Now let’s hope you don’t have to pee 'cause I’m not helping you do that.” Yeonjun jokes which made Soobin shove him aside with a smirk.  

“Here’s the mask,” Yeonjun says grabbing it from Soobin’s bed. “Now let’s go. I’m dying to see the look on her face once she sees you.”  

Yeonjun was already at the door but Soobin hesitated, looking in the mirror with big insecure eyes as his gaze met Yeonjun’s. “What if she actually hates me.”  

“She doesn’t,” Yeonjun says grabbing Soobin by the arm. “Trust me. She’ll be happy to see you, just don’t forget to mention the fact that you’re staying.” He says giving Soobin aggressive pats on the back before the two of them left for the party.  

You went around the building to get into photobooths and talk to some of your classmates. Everyone was complimenting you on your costume but even though you were usually awkward with compliments, you decided to confidently own it and thank them with a smile. A fake one at that, because even though this thing was a good distraction, Soobin still lived in your mind rent-free.

You avoided the crowd on the dance floor and walked over to the table your friends had already claimed prior to exploring the grounds. “Ok, I’m seriously starting to get worried about Yeonjun. What if he ran into one of his exes?” you say as you sit down.  

“He's over there,” Taehyun announced, pointing at the entrance and that’s when you saw Yeonjun, followed by some masked dude in a batman costume. You looked at your attire and then back to him...and that’s when it clicked when you noticed his unique lip shape.  

It was Soobin.  

Your eyes widened as you stiffened and before you could say anything Beomgyu got up, running off to the dance floor while Tae gave you a motivating pinch on the shoulder followed by a thumbs up from Hueningkai as they followed Beomgyu to give you some privacy.  

You stared at Soobin in disbelief, although, it didn’t quite go unnoticed how good he looked in the skin-tight suit he had on.  

Shit. Shit. Shit.  

Why would they arrange this!?  

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Yeonjun gave you a wink, pushing Soobin down on a chair he pulled out next to yours.  

As Yeonjun disappeared it was hard for you to look at Soobin. You were literally going to kill your friends for doing this. Putting you in matching outfits was one thing but leaving you alone was another.  

Soobin bit his lip, wishing it wasn’t this awkward between you two. “You know…I walked around campus with a spandex wedgie, had Yeonjun dress me and everyone kept looking at me so I would…appreciate it if…you’d talk to me.”

He started to nervously bounce his leg up and down awaiting your response and that’s when you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You looked at him, cracking a smile. “We look…ridiculous.” You start, making Soobin smile at you from ear to ear. “We do.” He looked at the table and then back at you with a shy smile, taking your hand in his own as he sighed. “I’m sorry about…our fight. I never should’ve said the things I did and-”  

“I’m sorry too. I realized I was just…pushing you away.” You interrupted him which made him sigh in relief as he nodded.  

“But I don’t think it changes anything Soobin, like…it’s really sweet that you showed up and it’s even sweeter that your introverted ass went to these lengths to do so but…you’re still…leaving.”  

Soobin looked up with wide eyes, remembering that he still had to disclose the biggest fucking turn of events.  

“I…I’m not leaving.” Soobin says, which made your head snap back into his direction, your shaky pupils looking for more answers in his own as your heart stopped beating.  

“Huh?” your mouth fell agape, and he nodded to assure you that he wasn’t playing with you.  

“It was your mom actually.” Soobin smiled.  

“…My mom?” you raised your eyebrows in surprise.  

“She got me enrolled into the dorms here.”  

“What!? How!?”  

“She…knew a guy.” He vaguely explained.  

“…Of course she did.” You smiled to yourself in disbelief but for the first time in a long time, you were happy that your mom is who she is.

“…Why didn’t you tell me before? The past week had been absolute hell.”   Soobin pouted, squeezing your hand for comfort. “I wanted to be 100% sure. I didn’t want to give you any false hope if shit didn’t work out and I literally got the keys to the place today, you wouldn’t believe it; I live right across from Yeonjun so that’s going to be…eventful.”  

You listened to him speak attentively, with stars in your eyes. Your heart swelling more and more by the second.  

“Once he found out he and Beomgyu set the whole mission of reuniting batgirl and batman in action so…here I am.” He remarks as he opened his arms.  

A smile crept up on your lips, launching yourself forward to kiss him as you swiftly moved onto his lap; not caring who was watching or that you were in public.  

Soobin was startled at your directness at first but immediately relaxed into the kiss once you moved sideways on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, firmly grabbing onto your waist so you wouldn’t slip and slide against him because of your costumes’ as he skillfully yet passionately made out with you.  

You were pulled out of your little bubble as you heard cheering from the dance floor. You both stopped for a second, looking back as you see the boys cheering, clapping, and celebrating as they looked your way and all you could do was laugh at them.  

So maybe you could have your happily ever after after all? 

They minded their business again soon after, but somehow it made you want to join them with all of the adrenaline still rushing through your bloodstream.  

“Come on, let’s dance.” You tried to get up but Soobin stopped you from moving, violently shaking his head. “You’ve awoken the monster.” He says, looking down at his crotch.  

“What?” you stared at him in disbelief. You knew you looked hot, but this…  

You couldn’t help but laugh at the bizarre situation, but he just sulked at you.  

“Y/n if I get up the suit might rip, just so you know.”  

“Well then stop it!” you yell  

“I can’t control it!” he yells back.  

You clasped your hand over your mouth to stop laughing, but Soobin gave you a scowl, throwing his head back in pain. “Well, what do we do about it?” you ask.  

“…”  

He crashed his lips into yours once you made it past the entrance to his new room. He pushed your back onto the mattress, yanking your body down the bed by your legs which made you yelp at his eagerness and the way he was manhandling you. “Soobin the…fucking suits,” you interrupt, making him halt his movements for a while.  

He thought about it for a good second, knowing damn well the two of you would not be going back to that party anyway. He turned you around, giving your ass a hard smack before ripping the suit apart at the hem by your butt. You gasped in shock, but he pushed you back down with an evil smirk, ripping his own suit apart as well to reveal his dick. He pumped himself a few times, spitting on your pussy and his own length to make this more enjoyable for the two of you as he swiped the wetness up and down your slit with his tip.

“You good?”  

You nodded into his pillow, hugging it as you lay on your stomach. He inserted himself gently inch by inch, making the two of you sigh in relief when he bottomed out into you. He eyed your reaction but you seemed to enjoy it, so he started moving slowly, steadily pumping his length in and out of you as your moans grew louder once he found a nice rhythm. This position was new to both of you, but it felt amazing as he grazed all the right spots deeper than ever.  

“You take me so well baby.” He whispered in your ear, which gave you goosebumps all over. He leaned his chest against your back, reaching around to squeeze your tits that were still snugly fit inside the stupid batgirl suit with his large hands.  

His movements started to get rougher, skin-slapping sounds filling the room accompanied by both of your moans and groans. You were feeling euphoric, your eyes rolling back as he crashed his hips into you harder and harder. His hand moved from your chest to your throat, cutting off your breathing by pinching the sides of your throat just the right way until it sent you over the edge completely.  

You screamed his name as you came, desperately gasping for air but seeing you so fucked out and helpless only edged him on to keep going. You were grabbing fistfuls of his sheets as he continued to prone bone you into the mattress until he reached his own high, you were completely overstimulated, but you couldn’t say that you hated it, in fact; you think you might've just discovered a brand new kink. He pulled out right before he erupted, coating the back of your suit with cum as he let out a loud groan filled with pure ecstasy.  

His breathing was ragged, but he looked down at you in awe as he calmed down. “So pretty.” He mused, watching how the moonlight coming from the window shone on your cum covered bare ass.  

You looked back at him with a corny smile, before realizing where the only source of light was coming from…. his goddamn window.  

“Soobin…for the love of god.” You say pointing at the open window.  

“yeah, yeah I know.” He said quickly putting on a random pair of basketball shorts over his suit so his dick wouldn’t flop out.  

You giggled and went into his bathroom to clean yourself up quickly. Soobin however was still on cloud nine and moved around the room like a sloth. He turned on the lights so he could shut the curtains but just as he took a hold of the curtain to close it, he froze; watching a frat guy give him a thumbs up from the windowpane of the opposite building.  

Fuck.  

It seems like Soobin is and will always be…someone’s naked neighbor.  

The end

[dontfearrr]

thank you to the angel who requested this<3 you can find it here

Request

Feast of Starlight

also this is like BARELY proofread so kindly disregard any horrible spelling mistakes🔥

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!reader

Summary: Readers childhood best friend had now become of higher status, due to that she hadn’t spoken to him in over two thousand years. However a simple invitation may change that.

Warnings: none

Category: fluff/hurt/comfort

Word count: 3.0k

“you may absolutely not Thranduil!”

She giggled as the young boy just crossed his arms in a whine. “but i will be so very careful, come on!” he insisted in a pitiful beg. She looked at the boy and sighed heavily, he always got his way with her no matter what, he was her best friend. “curse you” she grumbled and picked up the bright red apple, placing it on the top of her head and balancing it until it stayed put. She backed up and stood as still as possible. “you mess this up and i will kill you” she pointed a stern finger at the excited boy as he quickly nocked an arrow, pointing it in her direction. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he focused on the apple and the apple only… he opened his eyes and fired immediately. The arrow pierced the apple perfectly in the middle and it landed behind her on the grass. “i told you to just trust me!” Thranduil laughed and placed his hands on his hips proudly.

That was six thousand years ago.

She was woken up from her memory by another elf, she was passed out at her station due to the lack of sleep she had gotten the other night. She lifted her head up with a slight groan and took in her surroundings, finding she was in the seamstress quarters of the east side of Mirkwood, how stupid of her, falling asleep on the job! christ she thought..

Thranduil had been on her mind as of late, why? She didn’t know, It was as if he was haunting her every living thought, which is why she hadn’t got much sleep last night. She’d spent half of the night thinking about him, wishing she could turn back time a couple thousand years and be reunited with the sweet boy she once knew.

However she couldn’t dwell on it, not right now. Elrond was expecting the garment by sundown for The Feast of Starlight tomorrow. She’s been acquainted with the King of Imladris for quite a while due to her very skilled talents with making clothing for elves. He was going to be in Mirkwood by the morning and she was nearly finished with it.

She could’ve been finished with it a while ago if it wasn’t for her stupid..nap.

Nearly two hours later and she was finished with Elronds garment. It was beautifully elegant and she was positive he would be more than pleased. She gathered everything and placed it in the cart to be taken to the royal chambers and cleaned her area up, getting ready to retire to her own chambers.

Before she could exit, she was stopped by a royal guard right outside of the exit. He handed her an envelope without saying a single word and took his leave with a bow of his head. She was heavily confused but held onto the envelope until she reached her chambers to open it.

She placed her bag on the table near her bed and sat down, taking the envelope from under her arm and inspected it. The front had a wax seal with..a royal stamp? How intriguing. She flipped it over and the back read in very neat handwriting:

“A night of starlight”

She raised and eyebrow and shrugged before opening it and pulling out the piece of paper within it, unfolding it to see it was an invitation, to the Feast of Starlight?! That couldn’t be right..until she looked in the bottom right corner, where it read her name, underlined, as if it was being emphasized. She hadn’t been to one of those in..decades. The last one she was invited to was first age, when she was nearly a child. She could only help to wonder why she had been invited considering Thranduil was the only one who issued invitations, no one entered without his knowledge.

She set the invitation down and stared at the floor, wondering what on earth would he be inviting her for. She hadn’t spoke to him since he was crowned King. Maybe this is why he had been on her mind so recently. Her head was filled with many thoughts and possibilities but she chose not to worry her mind, she was invited, and that was it. All she had to do was show up, have a drink, and leave..right?

Thranduil poured himself a hefty glass of wine as he stared out at his private garden, pinching the bridge of his nose in perplexity.

“Ada, you cannot seriously be stressed out by this?” Legolas spoke as he entered the room, feeling his father’s agony from all the way down the hall. He rid himself of his weapons, placing all of them at the table and approached Thranduil, standing by his side. “she will come.” Legolas spoke once more, watching his father’s lip twitch, unsure of what to say.

“Hina, i do not wish to hear your words of wisdom at this time” Thranduil sighed in annoyance while taking a drink of wine, a large one. Legolas raised his eyebrow at his father and shook his head. For a king, he was the most stubborn elf Legolas had ever met in his life. “Very well. Let me know when you are done..dreading.” Legolas wanted to laugh, but he’d only get a piece of his father’s mind. So he held his hands up in playful defense as Thranduil eyed him as if he was some idiot and just sighed again, facing the window as Legolas took his leave.

The next morning she woke up to the sun rudely laying across her eyes watered slightly and she sat up, walking out to the balcony to open the doors and let some fresh air inside to wake herself up. But when she did so, she looked down and saw a dark green box sitting right in front of her feet. It was wrapped with a lighter green bow and the box had beautiful details of gold and red. She picked it up curiously and went back inside to open it. She places the cloth box on her bed and opened it slowly, finding what looked to be a..dress?

She tilted her head and picked up the garment from the box and held it up by the shoulders, watching it fall to the ground from its length. She audibly gasped at the beautiful dress, it was clearly made from the finest fabrics in all of Mirkwood, finer than even the guards. She had only ever used this kind of fabric for royals..

The dress was green and embellished with beautiful designs and elven patterns in gold thread and silver linings. The Neckline was a low v neck, something she wasn’t quite used to but who was she to decline such a garment! The back of the dress mirrored the v neck shape as well and the sleeves were fanned out at the wrist, the elegantly draped down, matching the sharpness of the rest of the dress. She laid it out on her bed and admired it before taking a deep breath to process what was actually happening.

First, he invites her to The Feast of Starlight, then he sends you an outrageously gorgeous dress..She was now as nervous as ever to go to this dinner.

It was now nightfall and she was sitting in front of her mirror, running a comb through her long golden brown hair. She pulled her two pieces out in front of her ears and braided some of it back, then littered a few more throughout due to her very thick hair. She wasn’t sure why she had thicker hair than normal elves but she loved it more than anything. She stood up and stared at the dress she had laid out on her bed and sighed deeply before changing into the elegant garment.

It fit her like a glove, hugging all of her curves and falling down her body like a waterfall. She felt like a princess, maybe even a queen..She wasn’t sure why she deserved this but surely there had to have been a reason. A good one. She hoped anyways. She then picked up her circlet she’d only worn once, feeling it was quite fitting for the event. It was littered in bright diamonds that hung down into her hair beautifully and a golden band that twisted around it. It was quite simple but beautiful nonetheless. Once she had felt she was ready, she looked outside to see the moon nearly cresting and decided it was time to head for the Palace.

“I told you, red doesn’t go with green. I want GOLD. Not red.” Thranduil told the dresser that was helping him with his outfit for the night. He was getting annoyed with them for they didn’t listen what so ever. Finally the dresser came back with a green and gold garment. Not too much gold..perfect. “By Valar..now go make yourself useful somewhere else.” he dismissed the elf and he began to dress himself.

He had purposely matched his own outfit to hers, wanting to be as close as possible to her. It was also something they would do in their childhood years nearly every day. Matching their clothes was something they did for the fun of it, any day they could to show everyone they were best friends. Only this time he doesn’t intend it in a best friend manner.

Thranduil never subjected himself to such childish antics due to his old age and had grown quite cold over the years, however he felt it was necessary, even Legolas suggested it. He hated when his son was right, but if he wanted to speak to her he had to make some kind of impression for just disappearing from her life when he was crowned.

She approached the large arched doors and looked over to one of the guards, who let her in immediately, knowing who she was. She bowed her head in thanks and entered the large Palace and could hear many conversations in the distance, so she followed that.

She walked down a long hall which had her turn right and she ended up in the right area, very clearly. It was a beautiful scene, filled with many beautiful elves and willow trees hung low above the area making the place look breathtaking. The only light came from the extra bright moonlight, the full orb casting white rays upon the feast.

She walked among the elves, some of them even greeting her very kindly. A raven haired elf approached with a tray filled with golden chalices filled with wine, she took one and thanked the elf, taking a small sip. She was delighted to be welcomed so quickly, she even had a couple conversations with some. But she stuck to her mission and sought out Lord Elrond, wanting to greet him especially since you hadn’t seen him in quite a while.

She looked among a bunch of elven heads for that very specific head of dark brown hair. Her eyes scanned the room but instead, was met with a pair of piercing blue eyes she remembered all too well..Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the tall elf. His eyes bored into her like she was his prey. She had suddenly felt out of place, she didn’t belong here! She didn’t even belong in this dress..what on earth was she even doing. She sighed and broke her gaze with the King and turned around to leave the dinner, it’s not like anyone would even notice her absence anyways, she was just the seamstress.

She placed her drink down onto a side table and turned around and began to leave, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, a very large hand. She got a whiff of a woodsy, manly scent and turned around, only to be met with the man she couldn’t erase from her mind.

She was bewildered to be stopped by him, it was the last thing she had expected. After an awkward moment of staring at each other, he went to speak.

“Mellon Nin, you look ravishing tonight.”

Thranduil spoke up first, staring down at her with his head tilted down due to her shorter height.

“Thank you, My Lord”

she couldn’t help the blush that covered her pale face and chest. She hadn’t heard Thranduil speak in nearly two thousand years, it was difficult for her to contain herself.

“Please, call me Thranduil. You are no stranger” He said gently, his voice laced with honesty and sympathy. She gave him a slight smile and nodded, letting him know she had acknowledged his request. She took this time to admire him, taking all of him in. He hadn’t really aged much since the last time she saw him but he was definitely older, sharper, and undeniably attractive. But what caught her eye was the overcoat he wore, it precisely matched her dress, the colors, the designs…was it on purpose?

“it’s been quite some time, Thranduil.” She spoke simply, a bit of hurt laced in her words, he may be the King but not in her eyes.

“it has.” he took a large breath through his nose then exhaled before speaking again, “I am pleased that you showed up. I had my doubts you weren’t going to.” He told you truthfully and reached down to take ahold of her hand, his hand dwarfing hers and placing his other hand over it, his thumb gently rubbing over her knuckles. She allowed him to and just looked up into his eyes. Trying to find some sort of emotion behind them, either he was good at hiding it, or he was truly just as cold as you thought.

“I do not know why you invite me, after two thousand years i’d think you have forgotten me.” she gently retracted her hand from his grasp after a moment and clasped them behind her back, her bottom lip quivering slightly. Thranduil faltered at this, his eyes relaxing and looking upon her as if she was a normal elleth. For the first time she actually saw emotion from him, and she was pleased to see this.

“My wrong doings have been heavy on my mind as of late. I am aware it’s been quite some time and i have no right to be putting you in such a position.“ He closed his eyes for a second before fixing his gaze back upon her and exhaling. “I cannot sleep at night knowing what i have done. The thought of you alone keeps me up, and i cannot bare it any longer.”

This made her heart ache for the man in front of her and she went to speak but couldn’t find any words. She let his words simmer first, playing them back in her head as she stared down at her feet. Finally she lifted her head and found Thranduil waiting patiently for a reply, the look of agony painted his face. He was truly in pain for what he had done to you.

“Oh Thranduil..” was all she could muster up and she placed a hand on his forearm, gently rubbing it. “I cannot blame you for doing such. I can only imagine the kind of things that were passed along to you when you were crowned. There is no need for apologies” she told him, giving his arm a small but noticeable reassuring squeeze. “you were never my king..” she then moved her hand to his cheek, gently caressing his porcelain skin, he sighed this time but in relief and endearment, leaning into her soft touch as if he had been yearning for it.

“and you were never just a seamstress..” he returned, making her smile slightly. He brings his hand up to place over hers that occupied his cheek. He took hers in his and placed a feather light kiss to her palm before placing it back to his cheek, closing his eyes to bask in her presence. “It’s always been you Thranduil. From the day i met you all the way until now. No matter what happened, you kept me going.” Her hand slid from his cheek to his chest, resting in the center of his broad chest.

“you are far too fair to be a simple seamstress, i curse myself every day i breathe this air for doing such a thing to you. You should be next to me on the throne, meleth nin..” This made her nearly tear up but she stayed strong, taking a large breath and stepping closer to him.

“Throne or not. I belong by your side, that’s how it always should’ve been.” She told him with sweet, gentle eyes. Making him drop the king act and wrap his arms around her completely and hold her close to him, his chin resting on the top of her head.

It was nearly a cursed sight to see the King doing such a thing, but he did not care because anyone who would like to voice a concern would be seeing the inside of a cell for the rest of their existence.

She buried herself into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut allowing a tear to fall. His hand pet down her hair, the delicate elleth in his arms once again. He felt like he’d just received the greatest gem of all middle earth. “It appears i have broken the King” she chuckled a bit, her words muffled by his chest and she could feel the vibration of his laugh as he did so.

She pulled from him and looked up at him with glossy eyes. He wiped her tears from her cheek with his thumb and gently fixed her stray hairs he’d messed up and bend a finger under her chin.

“I’ll never leave you again, you have my word.” He told her as his thumb ran over her bottom lip tenderly. Her lips curled up into a soft smile, earning a smile from him as well, which was a rare sight to see.

This would be the day known as the first woman to make The King smile.

[samdeancass]

Past Experience

Requested by Anonymous

Pairing: Homelander x reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Characters: Homelander, Y/N

A/N: MENTIONS PAST SEXUAL ASSAULT BY EX-PARTNER. If you're not comfortable, please don't read. Feel free to message me if you need to.

Description: Y/N has had very bad experiences with their ex-partner in the past, which has had a knock-on effect on their life. When Homelander and Y/N begin to become intimate, Y/N pulls away and confides in him.

He was always confused when you abruptly stopped kissing him when things began getting heated. Still, he never pressed the issue, honouring your wishes.

You used to be the most outgoing and confident person in the past, so full of life and passion until the one horrible night that changed your life forever. You were totally and completely in love with him; you thought he was the one, but you were sorely mistaken. He took advantage of you when you pleaded with him not to, that you didn't want it, but he didn't listen. He just kept going and left you in a crumpled mess on your bed, unable to move or contemplate what had just happened. That night completely broke you, and it took forever to build yourself back up again.

Everything changed, though, when you met Homelander. He made you feel safe and comforted, like nothing or nobody would hurt you again. At first, you kept him at arm's length. You hadn't been in a relationship with anyone since it happened, but he slowly broke down your defences and told you how much he cared for you through his words and actions. No matter how close you got, you never told him about what happened. You didn't want it to taint how he saw you.

You had been together for just over two years and still had not been very intimate. You knew how confusing this could be to him, but you could never bring yourself to tell Homelander the reason why. That was until you were both in the bedroom, him on top of you, kissing your neck, his hands beginning to roam your body, when images from that night washed over your memory. You pushed Homelander off, gasping for air with tears in your eyes.

Worry washed over Homelander's face as he watched the scene unfold. He gathered you in his arms, whispered soothing words into your ear and pressed soft kisses to the top of your head. Once you had calmed down, he manoeuvred the both of you so he was facing you, his eyes boring into yours.

"Y/n, what happened just now?" You moved your head down and fixated your gaze on the bed, your fingers fiddling with the covers, not wanting to meet his eyes again. His hand moved from your cheek to underneath your chin, and you tilted your head to meet his eyes again. "Please, Y/N, tell me. I want to know. Is it me? Do I scare you? I promise what I do out there is done by a completely different person; it's all for show. I won't ever hurt you."

Tears flowed down your cheeks as he finished what he was saying and shook your head. You couldn't believe he was blaming himself for your actions. He was the sweetest and most caring person with you; you never once thought that he would hurt you like you have been. A pang of hurt and regret exploded in your chest that you hadn't told him about what had happened sooner; you never wanted him to blame himself for the lack of intimacy you gave.

You looked at him through teary eyes and touched his cheek. He leaned into it and smiled, placing his hand on yours. "It's nothing to do with you; it's all me. I have never been scared of you, nor will I ever be. I know you would never hurt me." He took your other hand and rubbed soothing circles into the skin. "So, what's the matter, Y/N? Please tell me so I can help you."

As you looked into his eyes, you knew he would never blame you for what happened; you knew you could trust him. "Before we met, I-I was with this guy. I-I thought he w-was the one. He u-used my f-feelings f-for him, and…he…assaulted me. H-he r-r-raped m-me." You burst into tears as the memories you had tried so hard to keep hidden blurted into your mind once again.

"Oh my god! Y/N, I'm so sorry, I never knew." He gathered you in his arms and cradled you, letting you exhaust all of your emotions before continuing. "Why did you never tell me? If I knew, I never would have thought of touching you like that." You looked up at him, eyes still sparkling with tears.

"I never wanted you to know. I didn't want you to picture me as broken, someone tainted. I wanted you to see me as the person I was before that happened; that is the real me. What happened utterly broke me; I became a shell of who I was, but you, my darling, have helped me build my confidence again."

He shook his head, placing both his hands on your cheeks, before laying down on the bed, bringing you with him, and holding you close to his chest. "You are not broken, my love; you are the most perfect person I have ever met, and nothing will change my mind. I promise nothing like that will ever happen to you again."

You captured his lips in a slow kiss, silently thanking him for his sweet words. "Thank you for accepting me, knowing what happened." "You never need to thank me for anything. I do need you to tell me something, though." You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah?" "Where does this fucker live so I can kill him?"

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[bbobpul]

wait for your love — gyu

NOTE. just a lil drabble for my baby

PAIRINGS. mingyu x reader

GENRE. slight angst

SYNOPSIS. you don't feel alive til you're burning on his backburner

WARNING(s). commitment issues, they are both kinda stewpid 😛

W/C. 633

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(⁠^⁠O⁠^⁠)⁠↝ masterlist

I live all of my days loving you as if it’s my last. Like an apocalypse threatening to end and erase all evidence of life, I will hug you in the midst of it all if it means getting to spend the last of my borrowed time with you.

That’s what you believed in when it came to loving Mingyu. The ever-so-righteous man who is loved by everyone. You feel lucky enough to have him lay his eyes on you, let alone have him call you in the middle of the night whenever he feels like it.

‘Because you’re my friend’ was his only reason when you confronted him once. You still vaguely remember that one time when you asked him why he only calls when he is not feeling anyone else but you. It’s your fault for answering every time, and as foolish as it can get, you let him come to you all the excruciating time he calls, be it in the middle of a scorching day or the cold of the night. You open your doors for him. All. The. Time.

’’I really don’t understand how you could be that stupid, y/n.’’ wasn’t something new your best friend, Seokmin, has said to you. In fact, you have heard that from him many times already. Since the day you told him about your Mingyu situation, every time you tell him anything about the latter, he blabbers so much about how disappointed he is, like an Asian mom.

’’He is my friend too, Dee.’’ you retorted

’’And the sky is green! My point is, didn’t he disappear from your life for weeks, and now he is back again because, what, he misses you? '' Seokmin dropped his utensils to firmly prove his point with his hands. ’’The strongest connection you both have is being friends on Facebook; it’s ridiculous.’’

’’Dee..’’ you trailed off, feeling both embarrassment and frustration. You couldn’t say anything else to him.

’’I just want the best for you, dude. So don’t be so stupid, maybe.’’

Back in freshman year, you and Seokmin clicked instantly, bonding over your shared interests like it was destiny. Now, as seniors, reminiscing about those early days fills you with nostalgia, realizing how swiftly the years have passed. Amidst the whirlwind of college life, the Mingyu situation has remained a steadfast presence, echoing the familiarity of childhood memories. Mingyu's been there since forever, a fixture at every birthday party, Christmas gathering, and New Year's celebration, weaving into the fabric of your shared history.

You couldn’t wrap your head around what changed between the two of you. Maybe it’s the maturity and the years that went by in front of you. Despite knowing each other that long, you wouldn’t exactly call him a childhood friend because, although he was present at all of your events when you were younger, you didn’t really talk much until college came and he decided to make a fool out of you.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket and you knew instantly.

And suddenly you are in front of his doors waiting for him to open up.

It’s an exhausting cycle you are willing to keep up with because loving Mingyu means living your life in an apocalypse. What could you ever lose?

’’Hey, you came.’’ He said when he opened the door.

’’Well, you called.’’ You said once you set foot in his place you are very familiar with.

Along with the scent of his home, the very familiar feeling of hope and desperation came running back to you. Maybe, just maybe, he will realize and learn how to love you. Maybe he’ll finally choose you once he realizes, so you are taking your time.

You won’t ever mind. As long as he still thinks of you.

[joeyalohadream]

Saturday Softness

Happy weekend every one! I'm going to start writing short little fluffy Clegan stories every weekend as a little treat to myself. Either Saturday or Sunday each week! Here's the first one featuring: post-war buckies (established relationship, as usual with me), a sick Gale, a fussy John and some soft, fluffy goodness!

“Buck?”

The lights are still on in their sitting room, in the kitchen despite the late hour. Paired with the fact that the front door was still unlocked, Bucky could only assume Gale was having one of his late night study sessions. He let his truck keys drop from his fingers onto the coffee table and stepped out of his shoes.

He wasn’t supposed to be home until the following day. They’d flown all over the country in the last week, giving the new pilots experience with long duration flights and while Bucky had loved every minute of it, he had been silently relieved when they’d cancelled the last trip due to weather issues and changed course for home.

Eight days away from their little slice of heaven out in the middle of nowhere, eight days without Gale, was more than enough to have Bucky feeling homesick. It’s the longest they’ve been apart since they found this property and Bucky’s already dreading the next time his job pulls him away for more than an average work day.

He walks through the sitting room and down the hall into the kitchen. Dishes are piled in the sink and Bucky feels an immediate pang of worry as he takes in the mess. Gale’s books and papers from school are haphazardly laying on the kitchen table, the coffee pot is half full and gone cold, his shoes aren’t neatly lined up by the back door and his coat is slung over the back of a chair instead of in its usual spot in the closet.

Gale isn’t a messy person. He cleans and organizes their home with a dedication that borderlines on obsessiveness and seeing the kitchen in disarray sends Bucky to the stairs immediately.

“Buck?”

His car was out front, he has to be home. There’s nothing around them for miles.

Silence greets him still as he makes his way up the stairs and into the hall.

Gale had been doing well when he’d left. They both are plagued with nightmares, both in sleep and while awake, but the frequency of them had decreased the longer they’d been home. They both had bad days, days when everything is too much, and the memories are too heavy to do much other than breathe and exist. But he’d called home just yesterday and Gale had been fine.

Bucky had listened to him ramble on about his classes and about some kind of theoretical physics problem that was giving him trouble but that he was enjoying working out. Despite not understanding a word of what he’d been listening to, he’d listened and made encouraging noises and soaked up the excitement in Gale’s voice with a smile on his face.

That was thirty-six hours ago, and Gale had been fine. But now he left a mess in the kitchen and he left all the lights on downstairs and he left the front door unlocked and Gale doesn’t do any of those things when he’s fine.

Their bedroom door is open, and the light is on but he’s not there and Bucky feels his heart pound in chest as he takes in another empty room.

“Buck?” He raises his voice and peeks his head into the spare bedroom that’s never been used and still isn’t being used.

A muffled noise catches his ears and he makes his way to the end of the hall where their bathroom door is cracked open. Modesty be damned, he doesn’t bother knocking, too panicked to care if Gale is simply doing his business.

The sight that greets him when he pushes into the small room melts his heart and breaks it in one go.

Gale is sitting on the tiled floor, back reclined against the tub, knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them, head pillowed atop. He’s wearing Bucky’s sweatpants and Bucky’s sleep shirt and he looks too small and too vulnerable and he hasn’t acknowledged Bucky’s presence and Bucky hasn’t seen his eyes yet.

“Buck?” He lowers his voice and winces when it still makes the smaller man flinch. But it also makes him raise his head and then blue eyes, red rimmed and a little swollen are looking up him, confusion and something that looks a little like relief shining in them.

“John?”

Bucky practically sinks forward and lands on his knees in front Gale when that raspy voice hits him, quiet and weak and wrecked.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“What’re you doin’ here? You’re not comin’ back ‘till tomorrow.”

Bucky reaches forward and pushes sweaty bangs from Gale’s forehead, smooths them back and then lets his hand slide back forward to cradle the other man’s jaw.

“Last flight got scrapped, but that doesn’t matter,” Bucky tells him. He’s relieved he found Gale safe and sound, but his worry has only increased. “Why are you on the floor? Are you sick?”

Gale nods miserably and then lets the weight of his head rest in Bucky’s palm.

“Stomach thing,” Gale rasps out. “Got sick so many times I figured I’d just stay here. Saves me a trip.”

A small smile tugs at Bucky’s lips but doesn’t settle as he takes in the sorry state of his man.

“How long have you been getting sick for?”

“Don’t know. What time it is?” Gale shrugs.

“It’s late, after midnight,” Bucky tells him. He smooths his thumb over a pale cheek and watches a pout form on Gale’s lips.

“Since afternoon,” Gale breathes out. “Think my lunch did this to me.”

He looks up at Bucky with big blue eyes and Bucky can’t help but smile at the betrayal in them.

“Want me to kill it for you?”

“Yeah,” Gale nods against his hand. “It’s the casserole in the glass pan. Make it suffer.”

A laugh barks out of Bucky, and he loves the small smile that pulls at Gale’s own face at the sound.

“Missed you,” Gale mumbles, staring at him. “Missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too.” Affection blooms in his chest. “When was the last time you got sick, huh? Think it’s safe to relocate somewhere more comfortable?”

He watches as Gale lifts his head and eyes the toilet to the right with narrowed eyes, brow furrowing. “Think it’s been a while. Don’t wanna get sick in our room again though.”

Bucky’s heart gives a painful lurch at the recrimination in his tone. He wraps his hand around Gale’s fingers and gives them a squeeze.

“You got sick in our room?”

“The first time. I cleaned it up,” Gale tells him, eyes getting brighter, and Bucky feels unreasonably guilty for not being home earlier. It couldn’t have been helped but imaging Gale sick and miserable and scrubbing his own mess off the floor in their room makes him want to put in for early retirement and never leave his side again.

“Of course you did,” Bucky squeezes his fingers again and then stands up, still holding the hand in his. “Let’s get you off the floor, Buck. I’ll help you back in if you need it.”

Gale heaves a put-upon sigh but pushes himself to his feet. Before he completes the transition though, he’s pitching forward and falls easily into Bucky’s chest with a quiet noise of discomfort.

“Easy, I gotcha,” Bucky takes the opportunity and wraps Gale in his arms, presses his lips into the sweaty mess of hair atop his head before he tucks it under his chin. “Dizzy?”

He feels Gale nod against his collarbone, so he rubs up and down his back, feeling trembling muscles under his palm. Gale wraps both arms around his waist and squeezes with a surprising amount of strength.

“I really missed you,” he mumbles the words into Bucky’s uniform shirt.

Bucky closes his eyes against the emotions welling in him.

“I need to brush my teeth,” he says next, but he makes no move to extract himself from Bucky’s hold, seems to melt further into him instead and Bucky chuckles into his hair.

“Let’s freshen you up and get you to bed.”

He brackets Gale against the sink, a long line of support against his back as Gale brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face. It leaves the ends of his hair damp and curling and Bucky smiles at him in the mirror when their eyes meet in the glass.

It’s a slow shuffle down the hall and into their bedroom and Bucky warms inside when Gale refuses to swap Bucky’s ratty sweats for his own pajamas. He has a feeling Gale has been wearing his clothes to bed since he left, and it makes something possessive curl around his heart.

Gale’s arms are shaking as he lowers himself into their bed and he looks exhausted by the time Bucky pulls their sheets and quilt up to his chin. He sits on the edge of the bed and lets his hand rest on Gale’s forehead, fingers playing with the damp hair there.

“I was going to be waiting for you here when you got home tomorrow,” Gale’s tired rasp is quiet and soothing in the dark room. “Had a whole plan. Was gonna really blow your mind.”

“Is that right?” Bucky grins down at him. He imagines coming home to an empty house, yelling Gale’s name like he’d done tonight as he explored the rooms and finding him naked in their bed instead of sick and miserable on their bathroom floor. It would have ended with him keeping Gale in bed the entire night and most of the next day, and it still is ending that way. Just under less appealing circumstances. “I would’ve loved that.”

“I’m sorry you came home to this instead.” The guilt in his tone has Bucky moving his hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

“None of that, now,” he chides. “This isn’t your fault.”

They watch each other in the low light shining in from the hallway, a comfortable silence settling as Bucky continues dancing his fingers through Gale’s hair.

Bucky can’t help but wonder what Gale’s night would have ended like if his trip hadn’t been cut short. Would he have slept on the bathroom floor? When he finally got up, would a dizzy spell have taken him down without Bucky there to catch him? He could’ve cracked his head on the sink, on the floor. Bucky could’ve come home to a nightmare scenario and the thoughts make his breathe stutter and his eyes burn.

He hates seeing Gale sick, injured, sad, scared. He had his fill of it during the war and he knows they haven’t escaped it, but he wishes he could banish every bad thing from this home and they could just live in the soft, safe comfort of one another.

“Hey,” Gale breaks him from his spiraling thoughts, brow scrunching and he gets a hand out from under the quilt and latches it onto the end of Bucky’s tie. “Quit worrying. I’m alright.”

“How do you know that’s what I’m doing?”

“It’s what you’ve been doin’ since you met me, Bucky.” The look on Gale’s face is fond, tender even.

“Well, can ya blame me?” Bucky untangles cold fingers from his tie and covers them with his own. “One look at you, with that sweet smile and those big blue eyes and I was a goner, Buck. Knew I needed to keep ya.”

Gale’s pale face gets some color, cheeks pinking as he turns his head into the pillow.

“And the first time I saw you do that,” Bucky lets the hand in Gale’s hair drift down to graze his finger over the heated skin over Gale’s cheek, the bridge of his nose. “I knew I needed to see it every day for the rest of my life.”

“Stop,” Gale mumbles into the pillow, bashful as always in the face of Bucky’s affections. Bucky pinches his chin between his thumb and index finger and turns his head.

“Never.” He punctuates the word with a gentle press of his lips to Gale’s and feels the smaller man melt into pillow beneath him, a soft smile sitting on his face when he pulls back.

“Come to bed?” Gale’s fingers bunch around his shirt and give him a tug. “Missed falling asleep with you.”

He’s blinking slower, exhaustion etched across his features.

“I’m going to get you some water and something light to eat.” Gale pulls a face at his words and Bucky clucks his tongue. “Don’t argue. You need food and you’re probably dehydrated as hell.”

Gale pouts up at him and gives his shirt another tug, but Bucky holds firm.

“Just give me twenty minutes to clean up the kitchen and lock up the downstairs. Rest a bit until I get back with the goods.”

“The kitchen,” Gale starts, eyes wider than before.

“Shut it, Buck.” Bucky scolds. “You’re sick and you’re allowed to leave the dishes in the sink. Let me take care of everything.” He clears stubborn hair off Gale’s forehead to create a place for his lips and kisses the space between his eyebrows. “Let me take care of you.”

When he sits back up, Gale’s eyes are closed but he blinks them open a moment later.

“I’m really glad your home, John.”

“Me too, baby.” He pulls the quilt back up and tucks Gale’s arm back under. Fusses for a minute and places a trash bin on the floor within reach by Gale’s head. The sick man eyes it with an embarrassed huff but doesn’t protest that it might be necessary.

“You shout if you need me, alright?” Bucky tells him, hand splayed over his chest on top of the covers, thumb brushing idly back and forth. “I’m gonna go murder the casserole that hurt my sweetheart.”

Gale’s breathy chuckle follows him out the door and he speeds up his steps and lengthens his strides, eager to get out of his uniform and into their bed.

[cyberfreaky]

CELLOPHANE ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ PART III

༘⋆ PAIRING — olo’eyktan!jake x fem!reader

༘⋆ SUMMARY — in which your taboo infatuation with your olo’eyktan begins to cause problems.

༘⋆ WARNINGS — age gap (32 & 22), mentions of daddy issues, power imbalance, no comfort angst, infidelity, mild violence, alcohol usage, arguing, eventual smut.

༘⋆ NOTES — i’m sorry this took so long my writers blocks has been so bad. pls forgive me love u. swoaseyn = kava bowl. i couldn’t find what they use for alcohol on pandora, so i jus implemented something from my own culture lmao i was shocked to find out there was a word in na’vi for kava bowl so i jus ran w/ it 😭 it’s basically like a drug made from the roots or stump of a kava shrub. & typically prepared in like a rlly gross drink. for me, it sorta gives the same effect as being drunk so ?? reader is a crying drunken mess in this xx s/o to the girlies who breakdown whenever they drink !!!

MASTERLIST + CELLOPHANE MASTERLIST

previous — next

you’d been mulling over that brief interaction with jake, already missing the gentleness of his hand on your cheek. ‘sweet’. he thought you were sweet. it was more than just being seen as ‘nice’ or ‘friendly’ — he meant more to his words. that simple word played on replay inside your mind throughout the entire day.

it influenced your entire attitude. your whole look on things between yourself and jake. it seemed like you didn’t have to try that hard to find ways to impress him - maybe he was already smitten. that little possibility was just enough to encourage your decisions for the celebration, including the attire you chose to wear.

“you’re looking hot.” ky’ana commented as she sauntered into your hut, her inquisitive eyes glancing up and down your body with a sly grin.

“or should i say ‘sweet’? would that be a better description?”

you rolled your eyes at ky'ana's mockery, smiling a little to yourself as you reminisced about what’d happened in the morning. “very funny.” you say sarcastically.

ky’ana had watched the entire ordeal unfold in front of her as she collected the fruits. the way jake caressed your cheek, sucking off the juice of the berry residue from his thumb. she knew all too well what his intentions were, which explained why she’d stepped away to continue with her tasks. if anyone had seen the way jake had grown to act around you - it was ky’ana. jake wasn’t as subtle as he believed he was.

you were finishing up the final details of your attire. your top was beaded, reflecting beautifully with amethyst and magenta tones. the thin top cascaded over your chest, barely covering the peaks of your breasts. your tewng was dangerously short, almost leaving nothing to the imagination with how slender the veil was. it was an annual celebration for the clan - you weren't the only person who'd be dressed in such a manner. but that didn't stop you from making subtle adjustments to show yourself off just a little more.

you'd woven flower petals into your dark braids, the pop of colour amidst your hair made you resemble royalty in a way. you definitely had dressed yourself up to impress, it was clear as day.

“getting all pretty for a certain someone?” ky’ana teased, standing behind you as she gave your ass a playful slap. she’d been relentless with her taunts ever since this morning, and truthfully - you didn’t mind it. you relished in the memory of it, and you wanted to be reminded of it constantly. to relive that memory until the end of time.

“maybe.” you glance over at your best friend, nibbling on your bottom lip to suppress your smile.

ky’ana could only laugh in response, linking her slender arm with yours as she lead you towards the camp grounds. “let’s go have some fun.”

the festival was in full effect. the clan celebrated loudly. a plentiful amount of music, cheer and dancing surrounded you and ky’ana as you both walked into the village. you were transfixed from the beauty of your people, how the liveliness of the illuminating forest and beaconing moonlight shone upon them. it was certainly a sight to see. after the gruelling months that your people had experienced during their ambushes - seeing them in a state of pure merriment and euphoria warmed your heart.

your hopeful eyes drifted across the lively festival, desperate to spot out jake amongst the crowd. the boisterous sounds of the festival had turned into white noise, your gaze immediately falling on him from across the blazing bonfire. sparks of excitement jolted through your body as your tail began to swish behind you, flicking up in the air as if you’d been given a treat.

jake was far too busy with his family to even recognise you. him and neytiri were holding little tuk on their shoulders together, providing their youngest daughter with the perfect view of the clan’s celebration. a sudden wave of jealousy washed over you like a tidal wave - it came crashing down hard as you watched just how joyful they were. you began to feel ridiculous for how ecstatic you’d been to see jake, for him to see you in such a tantalising outfit. maybe you’d done it again - mistaking his kindness for something more.

ky’ana took notice of your reaction, her gaze following yours and screwing up her face up at the scene. she nudged your side, giving you a weary smile as she tried to distract you from your dismay.

“c’mon, let’s get something to eat.” ky’ana insisted, giving you no choice but to go with her as she dragged you along.

you reluctantly looked away from jake in the distance, your lips forming a slight pout while you followed besides ky’ana. your disappointment would have been unjustified in everyone’s eyes except your best friend’s - she was truly the only person who could understand.

the both of you reached the supper area, an abundance of food displayed across the carved table. you picked up a piece of roasted teylu, sheepishly biting into the grub with a small frown. you couldn’t stop yourself from turning back around and glancing over at jake once again - stupidly punishing yourself by watching him. he was so happy. why would you try and ruin that? jake’s entire world was his family, his mate. you had no right to feel so envious about it.

“hey.” ky’ana says to you, tilting her head to side as she gauged your solemn expression. her delicate fingers graced your cheek, turning your head and forcing you to look into her narrowed eyes. “do not get hung up on that. we are having fun tonight, alright?”

“i feel stupid.” you mumble quietly, glancing down at the attire you’d carefully curated just for jake’s attention. you just wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

ky’ana shook her head, stepping away for a brief moment before returning with a small, wooden bowl. she brought it up to her lips, taking a long sip of the murky liquid. her body jerked in reaction, her pupils dilating slightly just from the taste alone. “this will help.” she handed you the bowl with a mischievous smile. “drink up. all of it.”

you reluctantly raise the bowl to your mouth, your nose scrunching up as you inhaled the alcoholic scent. ky’ana only pestered you to drink it as she noticed your hesitation. you gave her an uneasy glance before sighing defeatedly, taking a long, deep breath in. with one swift motion, you downed the remaining of the drink.

you shriek in disgust, immediately gagging at the foul taste. it was too late to spit it out, you’d already swallowed the entirety of the bowl. you jumped up and down in your spot, fighting off the urge to dry heave across the village grounds. “that was disgusting! what was that?”

ky’ana cackled loudly at your reaction, taking the bowl from your hands with an amused grin. “don’t worry about what it is. the taste will be worth it…twenty minutes from now.”

“that wasn’t…no.” your eyes widen at the realisation of what ky’ana had made you drink. you look at the object in her hands, realising it wasn’t an average bowl. she was holding a kava bowl - a swoaseyn. “ky’ana! oh, eywa. i’m going to die tonight. i’m going to fucking die.”

you begin to freak out as you anxiously look around the village, feeling as though the camp was spinning around you. the paranoia was affecting your ability to focus, rather than the drink itself. you’d never experienced consuming kava, and you wouldn’t have expected that tonight would be the time. realistically, it hadn’t even entered your system yet. the fear of being in some drug-induced panic was causing this sudden outburst.

“it’ll be fine, trust me.” ky’ana placed two hands on your shoulders, levelling her calm eyes with your teary ones. she assuringly squeezed you, giving you a feeble shake to persuade you to relax. “i will be with you all night. i won’t leave your side at all, don’t worry. this is going to be an incredible night.”

you were panting relentlessly, nodding your head almost manically at this point. it took you a few moments of deep breaths and internal affirmations to eventually calm your nerves. “o-okay…i trust you.”

“good.” ky’ana smiled, taking your hand in hers and gently urging you towards the festival. “let’s dance.”

the two of you rushed over to the crowd, joining in the dances amongst the clan. you were stiff and awkward, which was to be expected on you after your little freak out. you watched intently as your people swayed expertly, moving in perfect motion with one another as the loud music boomed inside your ears. their slender bodies were pressed against each other’s, every movement and direction moved exactly in tandem with the banging drums.

the dances were much more provocative than you’d expected, unlike the typical festival traditions that had been more modest in movement. flickers of orange, blue and purple painted the faces of the crowd. the foreign scent of sweat and arousal shot through your senses, making your muscles tense slightly. it was like everyone was moving in slow motion, brushing against yours and ky’ana’s bodies as they dripped with sensuality. you began to grow mildly excited as you watched with hazed eyes, trying to mimic the dancing on your own. though failing, as per usual.

ky’ana encouraged you to follow her lead, standing in front of you with a wide smile. she held your soft hips, directing you to gently move yourself from side to side. the dance seemed difficult at first, as if you were a child taking their first steps. you held onto her shoulders for balance, trying to instruct yourself to follow the rhythm of the lively sounds that blasted tumultuously.

“just relax.” ky’ana soothes your nervousness, feeling how tense you were through the very tips of her fingers.

“shut up, i’m trying.” you argue with a frown, simply earning an inaudible chuckle from her.

with enough practice and instruction from ky’ana, you eventually found your rhythm. your hips swayed heavenly in motion with the music, perfectly matching the movement’s of the clan. this was a miraculous moment for you - considering you usually danced as if you had two, left feet. you laughed wildly as your frail arms reached into the air, allowing the effects of the steamy dancing and bitter kava to envelope your body entirely.

ky’ana was right. this did help you forget a little. enough to distract you from the fact that jake’s gaze would soon fall upon you from across the crowd.

jake and neytiri were situated upon a perched, timber structure that resembled a stage, sat upon two makeshift thrones. this provided them with the perfect view of the exuberant celebration. they watched as their children ran unruly amongst the village grounds, enjoying the festivities with the other kids in the clan. it was truly a beautiful sight to see, the both of them grinning widely with intertwined hands.

“beautiful, hm?” neytiri says to jake while she looks upon the clan, smiling contently to herself as she soaks in the atmosphere.

jake nodded in agreement, giving neytiri’s hand a little squeeze. “one for the books, that’s for sure.” he chuckled with a dopey smile.

despite being mated with jake for as long as they had - neytiri still found his phrases quite confusing. across the years, she’d grown to find them more endearing than anything. even though she had no clue what jake was talking about half the time - she’d simply brush it off as sky people nonsense.

“yes. one for the books.” neytiri repeated jake’s words, laughing softly alongside him as their gazes drifted back over to the festival.

jake’s eyes darted across the crowd, his interest peaking as he watched how the clan danced with one another. it was certainly tantalising, almost lewd. he found his head slowly bopping on beat with the music, tapping his foot gently against the wood as he smiled flippantly to himself. these celebrations were always a joy to spectate, considering he wasn’t the greatest dancer. jake had tried many times to try and teach himself how to move like the na’vi, but to no avail. though, he didn’t mind - it was more fun to observe.

as jake quietly basked in the bustle of the festival, it didn’t take too long before you quickly snatched his attention. his mouth fell agape at the sight of you.

it was like a spotlight had shone upon you as his stare fixated completely on your movements. you were almost mesmerising in a way, each gyrate and gentle sway of your lustrous hips entranced jake. he could only see you. the detail you’d put into your outfit was noticed immediately by jake - and he could see it despite being so distanced from you. the pretty flowers in your hair, that little tewng - every. single. detail.

you were so carefree and beautiful, moving in such a way it could hypnotise a man. you’d never been so vivacious, and it didn’t seem like you even knew how truly alluring you were. how could you be so unknowingly bewitching?

no. i shouldn’t be looking.

a surge of guilt spread throughout jake as he found himself practically drooling. he shouldn’t be looking at you in such a way - he was mated. and happily so. it only made matters worse that he was holding his wife’s hand, all while his predatory stare was glued to someone else. and not just any woman. it was you.

“that girl is nothing but trouble.” neytiri suddenly comments, snapping jake out of his trance. he blinked profusely, shifting a little in his seat as his eyes darted over to his mate. he feared that he’d been caught staring at you - and the nerves bubbled inside him rapidly.

“what? what girl?”

neytiri gestured towards ky’ana, shaking her head at the girl in the crowd. “she is always causing problems.”

jake almost let out a sigh of relief once he realised neytiri wasn’t talking about you. while he questioned his mate’s judgement of ky’ana, he was just happy she hadn’t taken notice of his burning stare. “n-nah, she’s a good kid. little rough around the edges, is all.”

“she is a bad influence, look at what she has done to her friend.” neytiri scoffs at you in the crowd, almost taking pity on you - believing you were somehow a victim of ky’ana’s behaviour. “ma’jake, ky’ana gave her kava. i witnessed it with my own eyes.”

“what’s so bad about that? they’re just havin’ some fun. it’s a celebration, ain’t it?” jake tried to reason with neytiri, chortling lightly in hopes of lightening her mood. he was struck with confusion at her sudden disdain towards ky’ana, considering she’d never spoken about it with him.

“you know how her friend is. she is reserved, and quiet. and now she is dancing like some sort of sex symbol.”

jake feigned curiosity, using neytiri’s response as an excuse to look at you once again. she wasn’t wrong, you were dancing a little more amorously than the clan was at this point. it seemed that the kava had given you some sort of surge of confidence, and now you were in a state of pure ecstasy. in fact, your movements were so slow and sensual - it was clear you were no longer in a stable state of mind.

“yeah, i guess.” jake coughed awkwardly, tearing his eyes away from your body to look back at neytiri. “c’mon, don’t get so strung up on it. it’s harmless fun, nothin’ more to it.”

“i suppose.” neytiri mutters, leaning back into her seat as her fierce glare remains on ky’ana. though, it soon turns to an exasperated expression. “now look.”

jake gave neytiri an odd glance, looking back over at the crowd once again. his gaze instinctively falls on you as per usual, his eyes widening at the sight. in just a matter of moments, you’d managed to go from a lively, dancing joy to an emotional wreck in ky’ana’s arms. were you seriously this much of a lightweight? he felt bad for chuckling a little, but it wasn’t with malicious intent. he simply hadn’t expected you to react this way to kava, it was supposed to relax you. it appeared that you were the exception to the rule.

neytiri nudged jake’s arm, motioning for him to do something to help. “go and check on her.”

“huh? oh, uh. yeah, sure.” jake quickly rose from his seat, trying to suppress the excitement that was building within him.

“shh, it’s alright.” ky’ana tried to console you, rubbing your back gently as you began to suddenly cry in her arms. truthfully, this was bound to happen. she knew you better than anyone else - and this was your first time experiencing a kava high. being the sensitive person you were, ky’ana expected this reaction, and she was fully prepared for what was to happen.

“i ju..just want someone to love me.” you sobbed onto ky’ana’s shoulder, dampening her warm skin with your tears. your speech was slurred and languid, leaving your mouth through drawn out cries. “i want j..jake, i can’t live w-without him.”

ky’ana lead you away from the crowd, keeping you firmly embraced you in a comforting hug. she couldn’t have anyone hearing what you were saying, knowing that you basically zero filter at this point. she didn’t want to risk you slipping up about your interest in jake. “c’mon, you’re being silly now. he’s just a guy, you’ll survive without him.” she laughed playfully at your dramatics.

you continued to cry drunkenly in ky’ana’s arms, your words coming out as nothing but incoherent gibberish. “ky’ana, you don’t get it. jake’s my. my love life. he is the love life..love my life. i want him s..so bad.”

your best friend could only chuckle in response, cooing quietly in your ear as she continued to console you. “i know, i know. he’s the love of your life, i get it.” she giggled into your ear, her soft hands running up and down your spine.

you’d lasted exactly an hour and a half before this breakdown came around. for you, that was rather impressive. for ky’ana, it was nice to see you let loose; even if it were for only a short amount of time. you were always so hung up on jake, jake, jake. and while she supported you no matter what - she knew that this little situation you had with him was doing you no good. at least not lately. you were so boy-crazy over jake that you’d started to lose your own identity in the midst of it.

“hey, there’s plenty of guys in the clan who’d kill to be with you.” ky’ana says with a smile, hoping her words would assure you just a little.

though, this had the opposite effect on you, and your sobs just worsened. “i don’t want anyone else! i-i want jake, h..he’s my, he’s the one i want.”

ky'ana simply allowed you to vent all your sadness to her, keeping you close to her as she rocked your body back and forth. you were so grateful for your best friend, she truly loved you. she had so much patience to deal with you and your annoying crush - but she wouldn't have it any other way.

after minutes of sulking, you felt ky'ana begin to tense up, her arms growing stiff around you as she suddenly stopped laughing. you were too busy babbling about jake to even question her reaction, and your confusion only heightened as she instructed you to be quiet. in your dazed state, you lifted your face from her shoulder and furrowed your eyes at her. you couldn't even muster up a proper response, opting to just whine stupidly as you tried to pry away from her.

"i’m being serious, shut up. jake’s coming." she warned in a hushed whisper, keeping her grip firmly around your shoulders.

all you heard was ‘jake’, and you instantly felt your heart flutter. you swivelled around while ky’ana kept you locked in her embrace, a lazy smile curling on your lips as tears continued to fall down your face. this was the first time jake had approached you during the festival, and in your mind - all you could think was he’d finally see your pretty outfit.

jake strode over to you and ky’ana with concerned visage, being careful with his choice of words in fear of making the situation worse. he wore bashful smile as he tried to gauge your reaction to his presence, but it was quite challenging considering you were smiling at him while bawling your eyes out.

“everything alright?” jake asks cautiously, more so speaking to ky’ana than you.

she nodded assuringly, trying to sway jake’s concerns in hopes of him leaving them alone. in your inebriated state, she couldn’t risk the possibility of you drunkenly admitting your feelings for him. “yeah, we’re good, sir. she, uh..she’s just tired.”

her lie was so bad, it almost made jake cackle in response. “tired, huh?” he’d croon with a lighthearted chortle, eyeing down your stumbling frame in ky’ana’s grasp. “y’know, i wasn’t born yesterday.”

“it’s, uh..”

ky’ana was cut off by your muddled words. “hiii.” you waved at jake, giggling deliriously as you stared at him with hazed, admiring eyes.

“hey, hon.” jake returned the gesture, giving you a small wave. his smile grew wider, almost smitten by how cheery your voice was. “you feelin’ alright?”

“m’feeling great, jake.” you held two thumbs up, still in a fit of drunken giggles. “i am just..just fantastic.”

a sense of warmth rose in jake as you answered his question, seeing you in such an inebriated state wasn’t a sight he thought he’d witness tonight. jake found it equal parts amusing and gushing, he’d be more than willing to listen to your drunken rambling all night long. was this thought innocent in nature? jake had no idea anymore. he couldn’t brush off the way he’d been watching you. but he kept that curiosity hidden deeply inside his mind - wrapped up in pure denial.

your back was pressing hard against ky’ana chest, making it blatantly obvious you were struggling to keep balanced. your friend was putting in her best efforts to support you, though her weaker arms were struggling to clutch your weight. ky’ana was trying to shield her discomfort with a forced smile, taking her leg and hooking it around your knee, hoping to straighten it. but each attempt was met with buckled knees, and your body slumping heavier in her hold.

jake was observing the entire ordeal, feeling awfully sympathetic towards ky’ana as she kept trying to help you. she clearly cared about you, and she’d spent the night thus far comforting you. jake wished neytiri could see her in this light.

“i could help ‘ya take her home.” jake suggests to ky’ana, his benevolent yet pitied gaze hinting he could tell how hard she was fighting to hold you upwards.

ky’ana was swift to protest against jake’s help, her demeanour shifting to a sudden apprehension. “i’m good, sir. i’ll get her back just fine.”

but after you stumbled once again and nearly caused ky’ana to topple over, it was clear jake wasn’t taking no for an answer. he stepped forward and swiftly scooped you up bridal style, your body going limp in his arms immediately. if you were sober, your mind would be going absolutely haywire. being cradled in jake’s brawny arms, flushed face pressed against the soft of his chest was all you wanted.

you wouldn’t even remember it the next day, and you were too intoxicated to appreciate it in the moment.

“i’ve got’cha, sweetheart. how’s about we get ‘ya home for some rest, hm?” jake cooed to you, pushing those tingling feelings blooming in his tummy. he tried to subside it with that typical, friendliness he usually possessed.

“mhm.” you nodded languidly.

ky’ana nervously stared at you in jake’s embrace, her insides churning at the thought of you stupidly saying something you shouldn’t. and at the rate you were going, that potential of her fear becoming a reality was a reality was much more than likely.

— TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added!)

@wh0rezs @neteyamsb1tch @touchedflowers @sadredflower0000 @andraga12 @pureforestspirits @cillicnn @iameatingmyhair @555linaa @strawberry-vamp0 @bellstwd @taleiak @bunniparadise @the-mourning-moon @slutforjake @pxndorasdream @ilovebluedilfs @normsdaughter-alt @deepdarktower @mooniet @jakexneytiri @rengokusmyboy @manumanulau @pandora-vibes @stargirlrchive

[pinievsev]

R E W I N D

Request: yes!

Warnings: none that I can think of tbh, lmk if you find something warning worthy tho!

Pairing: Bang Chan x male reader

Genre: angst to fluff-ish

Word count: 1,2k

Enjoy!<3

© pinievsev on all platforms

You sit on the porch of your small, rural home, staring out at the vast landscape that had become your sanctuary. The distant sound of wind rustling through the fields is the only noise breaking the silence, and for the first time in years, you're at peace—well, as much as you could be. This quiet, simple life is a far cry from the chaos that once consumed your days. A chaos that once had a name.

Bang Chan.

His face flashes in your mind, uninvited and unwanted. Even after all these years, the memories cling to you like scars. Your fingers instinctively trace the faint lines of your wedding ring that no longer exists on your hand. It’s been years since the divorce. Years since everything fell apart, since your families tore you both apart.

And yet, here you are, still trying to pick up the pieces.

---

Weeks pass uneventfully, the same routine grounding you, until one day, your peace is shattered by the arrival of a stranger. At first glance, he's just another person, passing through the province, but something about him catches your attention. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a kind of quiet warmth in his eyes that draws you in.

“Excuse me,” he calls out, his voice gentle but unfamiliar. “I’m looking for the nearest convenience store... I seem to have gotten a little lost.”

You stand up, dusting off your hands, and offer a polite smile. “The store is a couple miles down the road. I can show you the way if you’d like.”

He grins, and for a brief moment, something about his smile sends an odd flicker of recognition through your chest. But you shake it off, dismissing it as nothing more than a fleeting thought. He introduces himself as Chris, and from that moment on, your life starts to shift.

Chris becomes a regular presence in your days. You bump into him in town, exchange pleasantries, and before long, he’s helping you with odd jobs around the house. He’s easy to talk to, and for the first time in a long while, you begin to feel something like hope stirring inside of you again.

He’s different—safe.

Or at least, that’s what you think.

---

One evening, as you’re both sitting on your porch, the sun setting behind the mountains, you find yourself opening up to him in a way you haven’t with anyone else in years.

“Why the province?” he asks, his voice soft. “Why here, so far away from everything?”

You hesitate, your chest tightening. You’ve never talked about it, not since you left. But something in Chris’s eyes—makes you want to say it.

“I needed to get away,” you admit, staring out into the distance. “There was someone... someone I loved, but it didn’t work out. Family issues, you know?” You laugh bitterly. “I thought it was for the best, but—” You stop, realizing you’re saying too much.

Chris is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Do you still love him?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “I... I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”

But Chris doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks away, his jaw clenched tightly as if he's holding back something. And then, before you can question him further, he stands up abruptly.

“I should go.”

---

It’s only later that night, as you lie in bed, replaying the conversation in your mind, that it hits you.

The voice. The smile. The way he always seemed to know what to say, how to comfort you without ever asking too much. It all clicks into place, and your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

Chris... Chan.

Bang Chan, your ex-husband, the one person you swore you would never let back into your life. He’s been right in front of you this whole time, lying to you, pretending to be someone else.

You feel sick.

---

The next day, you don’t bother going into town. You don’t bother doing anything at all, really. The hurt is overwhelming, suffocating. You trusted him. After everything, you let him back in, and he couldn’t even tell you the truth.

There’s a knock at your door, and you know it’s him. You can feel it in your bones.

“Go away,” you call out, your voice breaking. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Please,” Chan—no, Chris—says from the other side. “Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain! You lied to me! You pretended to be someone else! I—” Your voice falters, and tears blur your vision. “I never want to see you again.”

There’s silence, and for a brief moment, you think he’s left. But then, you hear his voice again, softer this time, broken.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I thought if I came back as myself, you’d push me away before I even had a chance. And I—I wanted another chance.”

You stay quiet, too hurt to respond.

“I know I messed up. I know I should’ve told you from the start, but I just... I didn’t want to lose you again. I’ve spent every day since our divorce thinking about you, about us. And I—I want to make it right. No more families, no more conflict. Just us. I want us to have a family, our own family.”

Your heart aches at his words. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to let him in again. But the hurt is too fresh, too raw.

“I can’t,” you whisper, shaking your head, even though he can’t see you. “I can’t go through that again.”

There’s a long pause, and when Chan speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. “I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

And with that, you hear his footsteps retreating, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

---

Days pass, and the weight of everything hangs heavy in the air. You try to go back to your routine, but it’s impossible. Chan’s words echo in your mind, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake them.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Eventually, you find yourself walking down the familiar path to his hotel your heart pounding in your chest. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you need to see him. You need to know if you can forgive him, if there’s any part of you that’s still willing to try.

When you finally reach his door, you hesitate for a moment before knocking.

It swings open almost immediately, and there he is—Chan, standing in front of you, his expression a mixture of hope and fear.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so angry, and I don’t know if I can ever fully trust you again, but... I don’t want to lose you either.”

His eyes soften, and he steps forward, closing the distance between you. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding, and for the first time in years, you allow yourself to hope.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s try.”

---

Taglists:

All: @camphxam , @expelideliciousjoshua

Stray kids: @dominos-palast