#so he starts to close back up and not be so overt

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

New York is supposed to be the city where people vanish into the chaos, but somehow, Simon Riley has found his way into your life. He’s managed to slip past your defenses, filling a void you didn’t realize was there. But when the closeness starts to feel too real, you pull back, desperate to hide your vulnerability. Simon, however, has already bared his own scars and expects you to do the same. Suddenly, your life feels like a romcom you never signed up for, starring the one man who’s impossible to ignore.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 4

The Sweetest Taboo

So, you're sleeping with your neighbor. This is fine. Totally fine. You're two consenting adults; no one needs to know. Except Simon seems to disagree.

You wouldn’t peg him as the "kiss and tell" type, but much to your duress, Simon is unapologetically the "kiss and show" type.

At the grocery store, he casually shows up at the same time, grabbing your bags like it’s second nature and walking you home. The stares from the neighbors make your face burn.

Morning run-ins in the foyer have evolved into something dangerously inappropriate. He refuses to let you leave without a kiss. Sometimes it’s just a fleeting brush of lips; other times, it’s deeper, lingering, and edging into the territory of lewd, making you shove his face away.

Then there’s the hoodie. One of his oversized ones, soft and smelling faintly of him. He bullied you into wearing it. You caved, of course, but it stays hidden in the back of your drawer when Ishta comes around—there’s no way you’re dealing with opening that can of worms.

It’s not just the overt gestures, though. It’s the way he lingers too long at your door after you’ve kissed him goodnight. Watches you through the fire escape, like he has every right to. Sitting there with his legs sprawled, a cigarette lazily dangling between his fingers, he makes no attempt to hide it.

You tried to put an end to that one. Bought curtains on a whim, feeling smug about the newfound privacy they’d grant you. But they mysteriously disappeared the day after you installed them—conveniently after you’d gone to work.

Simon played dumb when you confronted him, leaning casually against his doorframe.

“Dunno what you’re talking about, angel. Someone breaking in while you’re away? Maybe I should stick around your place and keep watch.”

His grin was infuriatingly smug, as it usually is.

It’s all becoming a little too real, a little too… loud. And yet, when you’re pressed up against him in the quiet of your apartment, his hands framing your face like you’re the only thing worth holding onto, you almost forget about his wrongdoings.

***

“Brought out the good shit tonight.”

Ishta grins, popping open a bottle of prosecco—the cheap, overly sweet kind she adores. You hold back the urge to grimace as she pours, passing you a glass.

“What's the occasion?”

“Me and Mr.Scottsman are official!”

She squeals lifting her glass high. You mimic the gesture, the clink of glass on glass ringing lightly through the room.

“Wow, it's so official you still won't tell me his name.”

You quip, rolling your eyes as you take a cautious sip. The sweetness of the wine hits immediately, and you fight the reflex to wince.

“John. Johnny.”

She sighs dreamily, hearts in her eyes.

“I call him Johnny because John is way too serious for my liking.”

You raise a brow at her,

"Sounds like you’ve got it bad, Ishta.”

She doesn’t deny it, swirling the prosecco in her glass like it’s some romantic prop, her grin widening.

"Oh, you have no idea. He’s got this laugh—it’s ridiculous—and he can’t make tea to save his life. But, ugh, he’s perfect."

You shake your head, taking another begrudging sip of the prosecco, already bracing yourself for what’s sure to be a night of gushing anecdotes about Johnny.

“Perfect,”

You echo with a laugh, setting your glass down.

“You’ve been together for how long now? A month?”

“Three weeks,”

Ishta corrects.

“But when you know, you know.”

You snort, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

“Yeah, sure. You’re gonna marry this man, huh?”

“Don’t tempt me,”

She says, her grin widening.

“He’s already invited to meet his family. Can you believe it? His family, and I’m just over here trying to not come off as a complete lunatic.”

“Well, you’re failing spectacularly.”

You tease.

She throws a pillow at you, laughing.

“Says the one who’s been mysteriously glowing these past few weeks. Care to spill why?”

You freeze for half a second, a sip of prosecco poised at your lips.

“Glowing? What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,”

Ishta says, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re hiding something. Someone.”

You feign indifference, shrugging.

“Maybe I’ve just been using better skincare.”

“Bullshit. Spill. Who is it?”

She leans forward, her gaze piercing.

There’s no way you’re telling her. Not about Simon. Not about the fire escape. Not about the way his hands feel against your skin or the things he whispers in the dark.

“No one,”

You say firmly, hoping she buys it.

“And stop projecting your ridiculous love life onto me.”

Ishta squints at you, unconvinced.

“Uh-huh. Sure. For now, you’re off the hook. But mark my words,”

She wags a finger at you.

“I’ll figure it out.”

You laugh nervously, downing the rest of your drink.

You’re grateful for how easily distracted Ishta can be, her attention now fully locked onto the trashy dating show the two of you watch every Thursday. It’s a routine you’d both adopted more for the chance to mock strangers' poor life choices than for any genuine investment in the drama.

Occasionally, she’ll pipe up, her voice dreamy as she recounts the latest romantic gesture from Johnny, her “Mr. Scotsman." She compares him to the guys on TV, and each time, she insists that Johnny does it better. You can almost hear the wistful sigh in her voice as she talks about how much she adores him.

You smile at her, teasing lightly,

“Gonna end up as one of those military wives?”

Ishta laughs, a genuine, carefree sound that rings out in the space between you. She shrugs with mock indifference, but there’s a spark in her eyes.

"Maybe. I mean, he’s a loverboy under all that wildness, but yeah… I’d say I’ve got it bad.”

You smirk at her, shaking your head.

"You’re hopeless."

"And you’re one to talk,”

She fires back, leveling you with a knowing look.

“Sexy British neighbor still got you tied up in knots?”

You scoff, taking a sip of your drink to stall. The wine’s still too sweet, sticking to your tongue, but you focus on the tang that lingers at the edges.

“I’m not ‘tied up’ in anything. Haven't even spoken to him since the noise complaint situation.”

“Riiight.”

She side-eyes you, unconvinced.

“Something tells me that's not entirely true. You get this weird look on your face every time I bring him up.”

You try to keep a straight face.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into things.”

“Uh-huh.”

She leans back, crossing her arms.

“One of these days, I'll catch you slipping.”

You roll your eyes, desperate to redirect her attention.

“I think you’ve had too much wine.”

“Or not enough,”

She shoots back, taking another sip with a knowing smirk. She hums, like she just remembered something important.

“I forgot to tell you, Johnny invited you to come with me to meet his family.”

You make a face of confusion.

“Me? Why?”

“I talk about you a lot, believe it or not you are one of the most important people in my life.”

The statement takes you back a bit, makes you feel a twinge of guilt lying to her.

“But his family?”

“Well…”

She tilts her head, searching for the right words.

“They’re not exactly blood relatives. They’re his squad, I think that’s the term he uses. He trusts them with his life, so he sees them as family—or the closest thing to it. Something like that.”

It’s her turn to hesitate, her fingers absently trailing the stem of her wine glass.

“Anyway, he thought you might want to come along. Besides,” She adds with a grin, peeking up again.

“It'll be fun. Think about it! Drinks, charming military men, and me as your entertainment. What more could you want?”

With Simon in your life, you think to yourself, you find yourself wanting for nothing lately—except maybe a little less suffocating attention.

“Yeah, what more could I want.”

You say aloud, masking the weight of your thoughts with a light laugh.

Ishta beams at your answer,

“That’s the spirit! You’ll see—it’ll be good for you. And hey, if nothing else, you can help me judge Johnny’s friends. Who knows, maybe one of them is a secret disaster like the guys on this show.”

The conversation shifts back to the TV, her playful commentary dragging you out of your head. But even as you nod along, your mind is already working on an escape plan.

You’re just gonna text her some excuse when the day comes. She’ll understand. Probably.

***

“How can you breathe in these?”

You groan, tugging at the waistband of Ishta’s skin-tight leather pants as she twists and wiggles, trying to pull them up.

“Breathing isn’t a priority here.”

She huffs, planting her hands on her hips and giving a final shimmy.

“Looking good is. Besides,”

She admires herself in the mirror.

“Johnny will love it.”

“Yeah, he probably cares more about how easy they’ll be to take off, Ishta.”

She grins, running her hands down the smooth fabric.

“Yeah. My man, the most efficient guy I know.”

You laugh, shaking your head as she strikes a dramatic pose.

“Efficiency—truly the cornerstone of romance.”

“Don’t knock it,”

She quips, spinning around to face you.

“He’s got it down to an art. Makes him a great lover.”

“Ishta.”

“I mean seriously, when I'm running late he knows exactly what to-”

“Ishta!”

“What? Someone has to get laid here, and it sure isn't you!”

You groan in protest, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it at her. She ducks, her laughter ringing out as she returns to inspecting her reflection in the mirror, twisting to check out the back of her pants.

“I think my butt’s getting bigger.”

She declares, completely unfazed.

“Aren’t we running late?”

You ask, exasperated.

“We’re fine. He’s getting us an Uber.”

She replies, adjusting the waistband of her pants with a smug little smile.

“To Brooklyn? Ouuu, big money.”

You tease, rolling your eyes as you grab your bag.

She grins, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I just got him trained right. I'll show you how to do it when you get your own man. Or woman. Or anyone.”

Before you get to have your say her phone dings, and she grabs her keys.

"C’mon, Uber’s here."

You give her one last look before following her out the door, ready for whatever insanity lies ahead.

***

The bar you stand outside of is dingy and small, a stark contrast to the sleek black SUV Johnny arranged for Ishta and you. You raise an eyebrow, already feeling out of place.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

You ask, rocking side to side in your heels, feet already hurting.

“Too good for it?”

Ishta teases.

“No, just… aren’t we a little overdressed?”

You reply, glancing down at your outfit. Her red-bottoms are going to get ruined by the sticky floors, and your top is way too low-cut for a place like this.

Ishta smirks, giving you a look.

“You’ll be fine. Besides, if anyone stares for too long, the guys will probably scare them off— if they are anything like Johnny describes.”

And so, you step hesitantly into the grungy spot, thinking of what shitty liquor you need to get you through the night.

The bar is dim, louder than you expected, the scent of stale beer and fried food heavy in the air. Ishta leads the way with her usual confidence, weaving through the mismatched tables and chairs. You follow, heels catching on the sticky floor, your stomach tightening as she heads toward a table in the back.

That’s when you see it: the large black hoodie. The person wearing it is turned away, broad shoulders hunched slightly. Something about the way they hold themselves makes your chest tighten. You tell yourself it can’t possibly be him. The odds are ridiculous, almost laughable.

And yet, your feet falter.

Johnny spots Ishta first, lighting up with a grin so wide it makes his eyes crease at the corners, laughter lines deepening across his face. There’s a boyish enthusiasm in the way he waves her over, unrestrained and unabashed, like a pet spotting its owner after a long day apart.

You remember her mentioning once, in passing, that he was born the year of the dog. It’s funny how fitting that feels now. Loyal, eager, a little too earnest. He all but bounces out of his seat, the movement causing a ripple of attention to shift across the table.

The ridiculously pretty man seated next to him glances up first, his expression brightening with easy charm. Across from him, an older man with a beard you could only describe as unnecessarily dramatic turns and nods politely.

Then, the hoodie moves. Your stomach plummets.

Simon.

His expression is unreadable, but the sight of him freezes you in place, and before you realize it, you’re standing there looking like a deer caught in headlights. The rest of the table follows his gaze, looking at you with various degrees of curiosity.

Ishta grabs your arm.

“Oh my God. Girl, is that your man? What’s wrong? You can’t back away now!”

She says in a low voice, dragging you forward before you can recover.

“That is not my man,”

You hiss back, but it does nothing to stop her relentless pull.

Johnny grins as you both approach, his voice warm and thick with his accent.

“Almost scared her off, Ghost.”

Ghost?

Your eyes flick to Simon. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word.

Johnny, takes over the introductions.

“This is Simon. Don’t mind him, wasn’t properly socialized as a bairn.”

There’s some shifting around as the group makes room. To your dismay, Simon stays tucked into one side of the booth, leaving Kyle and Price to scoot out. They pull over chairs from a nearby empty table, and you find yourself awkwardly squeezed beside Simon while Ishta takes the seat across from you.

“Finally nice to put a name to the face.”

Ishta beams at Simon, and you can see the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes, though he doesn’t respond. She laughs when Johnny makes a confused face, giving a brief rundown to the table.

“She says you haven't seen each other since that incident.”

Ishta waves her glass in Simon's direction.

Simon leans back in his seat, mask still up.

“Avoids me like the plague, she does. Must’ve left quite the impression.”

Kyle snorts, leaning forward with an amused grin.

“That’s just his thing. Simon’s got a talent for being a nuisance, don’t you, mate? Knows exactly how to make people’s lives hell.”

“Only when they deserve it.”

Simon replies smoothly.

The table chuckles, but you stay quiet. His knee bumps yours under the table and you shoot him a sharp glance. He doesn’t even look your way, focused instead on swirling his drink he hasn't touched. You drink more than you probably should, hoping it’ll dull the awkwardness.

Thankfully, the rest of the table carries on without issue, their conversation flowing easily.

“Military, huh?”

You ask eventually, your voice quieter than intended.

Simon doesn’t look at you, but Johnny leans in with a grin.

“Yeah, we're stationed here for a while, so get used to seeing my handsome face around.”

The ease in his tone does little to settle the tension twisting in your chest. Simon doesn’t so much as flinch, remaining a stoic, unreadable presence. His silence feels deliberate, heavy, but Johnny’s brightness seems determined to lighten the mood.

“Maybe you’ll even get used to this one,”

Johnny adds playfully.

“Though I wouldn’t hold your breath. He’s got the personality of wet cement.”

That makes you laugh a little, along with the rest of the table. Younod toward Simon.

“So… Ghost. That’s a call sign?”

Simon hums, noncommittal, leaving Johnny to fill the silence.

“Wish I got something cool like that,”

Johnny says, shooting Simon a look that’s both teasing and fond.

“Guess he earned it, scary bastard.”

You glance at Simon again. His face gives nothing away.

Ishta leans over and whispers something into Johnny’s ear, her lips brushing against his ear with a playful familiarity. Whatever she says prompts a crooked grin to spread across his face, his blue eyes lighting up with mischief.

The two of them fall into their own little world, lovebirds whispering and laughing softly, entirely lost to anyone else at the table. Their giddy exchange contrasts sharply with the tension simmering between you and Simon.

You shift in your seat, feeling the press of his knee against yours again. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but the contact makes your pulse quicken. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if it’s intentional. If he notices your reaction, he doesn’t show it.

Across the table, Price and Kyle keep the conversation flowing, their camaraderie effortless. You envy the ease they seem to find in this dynamic, the sense of belonging that eludes you in this moment.

Eventually, you decide to call it a night.

“Think I’ll head out, guys.”

You say, grabbing your bag. You glance toward Ishta, but she’s too busy twirling a strand of Johnny’s hair between her fingers, practically sitting in his lap.

Kyle stands, reaching for his jacket.

“Want me to walk you home, love?”

Before you can answer, Price butts in.

“Think Simon’s closer. Said you're neighbors, right?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Oh, uh. Yeah.”

“He'll take you home. Don't need Kyle chasing up your dress.”

Simon finally looks at you, dark eyes unreadable. Without another word, he gets up.

***

The train ride back is painfully silent, tension coiling thick between you. Simon doesn’t make small talk, doesn’t fill the awkward space with meaningless words, and you can’t decide if you’re grateful or annoyed.

When you finally reach your apartment, you stop at the door, fumbling with your keys. You unlock it and step inside, turning to offer a polite, “Goodnight.”

Before you can close the door, Simon’s boot wedges into the frame.

“No kiss goodnight?”

He murmurs, pulling down his mask, voice low.

“Do you always have to be like this?”

You mumble, leaning forward and tilting your head up.

“You like it.”

He replies, pressing his scarred lips against your glossed ones.

The kiss lingers in your mind longer than it lasts, the warmth still spreading through your limbs. He pulls away, slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. You stand with the door still open,

“Ok, well, goodnigh-”

“Not gonna invite me in for a drink?”

The way he says it—like he’s giving you the option, but he knows exactly how this game goes—brings a rush of heat to your cheeks.You hesitate for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on you, but it hits you then—you’ve been waiting for him to make this move. Simon knows exactly how to push just enough, always teetering on the line between being too much and just enough.

You tilt your head, playing the game, your voice teasing.

“I don’t believe in letting strangers into my place, Ghost.”

His jaw tightens at the name, a flash of something flickering behind his eyes, but he recovers quickly, scanning your face with a quiet intensity.

“Hit your head, angel? The name’s Simon, remember?”

“Hmm,”

You cock your head, a playful smirk curling on your lips as you tease,

“Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

Simon’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing just a fraction as his lips curl into a grin.

“No? Thought you’d remember it with how many times you say it when I’ve got you bent over that couch.”

“Simon!”

You gasp with a smile.

“Glad to see your memories back, love. Had me worried there for a moment.”

His voice drips with smug satisfaction, fingers creeping around your waist as you step backward into your apartment. His movements mirror yours, closing the distance, the same familiar rhythm between you two. Except this time, the dance ends in your bed, bathed in silvery moonlight that filters through the windows, casting shadows and soft glimmers over the room.

What he says to you in that space, the things he says are as depraved as they are tender, sinful words laced with something softer, gentler. And in that moment, you realize they’re the sweetest things Simon is capable of offering.

Lying on his chest, you let your thoughts drift, his sparse chest hair tickling the side of your face. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat drums against your ear as your fingers trace lazy circles on his skin. His hand mirrors yours, gently skimming the small of your back in slow, soothing motions.

You enjoy these moments just aas much as the more heated ones—maybe more. They feel almost domestic, like peeking through the keyhole of something you tell yourself you can’t have. But for now, it’s enough. It fills that quiet loneliness you feel some days.

Simon presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there for a beat longer than you expect. It feels like him savoring the closeness he so rarely allows himself.

“Mind if I sleep here tonight?”

His voice low and casual.

Your body goes stiff before you can stop it, and his hand on your back stills.

“Oh,”

You say, forcing a laugh that cracks at the edges.

“Didn’t think you’d grown tired of your bachelor setup. What happened? Mattress on the floor finally giving up on you?”

Simon hums, unbothered, his fingers resuming their lazy path.

“Figured I’d upgrade. You offering?”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you sit up quickly, putting a small but deliberate distance between you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He doesn’t move, watching you with hooded eyes, his expression calm, unreadable.

“Why not? Thought we were comfortable now.”

His tone is deceptively light, but you can hear the challenge beneath it.

“I don’t sleep well with someone else in the bed,” You say, crossing your arms, covering your bare chest.

“It’s just a thing—I’m used to having my space.”

“Space, huh?”

He sits up and leans back against the wall, hands clasped behind his head, looking entirely too at ease.

“Didn’t seem to need space a few minutes ago, angel.”

You frown, heat rising to your face.

“That’s different. Sleeping is… it’s personal.”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“And what we just did isn’t?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your irritation in check.

“You know what I mean, Simon.”

“Not sure I do,”

His tone is playful, but there’s a stubborn edge to it now.

“Seems to me like you’re just makin’ excuses.”

“I’m not.”

The words come out sharper than you intended. You sigh, running a hand through his short hair, an apology of sorts.

“It’s just… I’m not ready for that.”

“A lil sleepover?”

He tilts his head. Before you can respond, he grabs your face with one hand, his fingers pressing against your cheeks to make your lips pout.

You yank your head away, sucking your teeth in frustration.

“You’re impossible.”

He grins, leaning back against the wall like he’s won something.

“Am I? Or are you just makin’ this harder than it needs to be?”

“Simon,”

You snap,

“It’s not about being hard or easy. It’s about boundaries. Respecting them.”

“Boundaries?”

He raises an eyebrow, the smirk slipping just slightly.

“Since when have we had those?”

Never, you think to yourself. It's a little distressing if you think about it too long, letting a man have such sway on you.

He pulls you closer, his thick arms wrapping around you with an ease that feels as natural as it is intrusive. You don’t resist, though. Instead, your fingers trace the inked lines on his forearm, a distraction, an excuse not to look him in the eye.

“Think you got one more in you?”

His voice is low, dipping into something softer, coaxing.

“I’ll be out your hair after that.”

You can’t help the faint smile that tugs at your lips, even though you hate yourself for giving in so easily. It’s always like this with him—pushing, pulling, finding that sliver of space where you’re weak enough to let him in.

“Yeah,”

You murmur, leaning just slightly into his touch,

“Think I do.”

His lips curve into a grin, satisfied, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he pulls you into his lap. And just like always, he gets exactly what he wants.

Prev | Next

[natjennie]

i cannot believe the "do you find yourself distracted, ms. jane" captain moment. he literally goes check adam out. what a whore.

[majestyeverlasting]

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you. But as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.     

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool. 

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!” 

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball. 

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.  

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time. 

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I’ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him. 

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window. 

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond. 

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity. 

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.  

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze. 

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes. 

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.     

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you. 

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.  

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call. 

“Busy!”  

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service. 

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly. 

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.” 

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company. 

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune. 

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased. 

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch. 

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters. 

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in. 

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go. 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?” 

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”  

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.” 

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas. 

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board. 

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors. 

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside. 

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here. 

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that. 

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals. 

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch. 

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.” 

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West 

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum. 

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.   

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother. 

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look. 

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad. 

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face. 

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front. 

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before. 

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself. 

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in. 

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table. 

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops. 

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.” 

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.” 

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?” 

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.” 

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention. 

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?” 

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self. 

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.” 

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished. 

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.  

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders. 

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes. 

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore. 

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel. 

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name. 

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.” 

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone. 

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.” 

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.” 

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive. 

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body. 

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control. 

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken. 

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life. 

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks. 

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.  

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.” 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head. 

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.” 

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it. 

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice. 

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off. 

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot. 

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory. 

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them. 

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since. 

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.” 

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.” 

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh. 

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.” 

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together. 

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed. 

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.  

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.” 

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow. 

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.  

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice. 

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm. 

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance. 

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.” 

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.” 

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too. 

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones. 

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it. 

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.” 

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face. 

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them.  There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry. 

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs. 

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn. 

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?” 

“Copy that.” 

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step. 

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.” 

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would. 

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more. 

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open. 

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you. 

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol. 

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away. 

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around. 

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.” 

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin. 

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”  

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward. 

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.” 

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say. 

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?” 

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.  

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against. 

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer. 

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, deliberately, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until there’s a slight space in between again. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist. 

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside. 

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky. 

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough. 

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light. 

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.” 

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist. 

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort. 

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them. 

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away. 

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look. 

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest. 

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.  

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.” 

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves. 

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him. 

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.” 

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?” 

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong. 

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in. 

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.” 

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers. 

He’s certain of it. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

goes without saying, but Soap is the first one to use you as a sex toy.

Oh? 👀

oh yes. (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

as mentioned before, Soap is enthralled with you--so small, so grabbable, so expressive. so responsive.

his mind veers into the gutter real quick after he first starts playing with (tormenting) you.

you don't quite understand just how much you're teasing him by slipping out of his hands when he's so fixated. the more you dart away, the hotter his blood runs. he just wants to hunt you down and bully you into submission <3

once you realize he's just curious--he's not going to bite you every time he chases you (just prone to a nibble here and there, honest)--you begin to enjoy being the object of his hunts. it's sport. it's tag, with his claws brushing your tail fins and making your heart leap every time you dart just out of reach. you find yourself laughing and shouting, heady on adrenaline. but it's thrilling in a primal way, too. cathartic. escaping his pursuit indulges your overactive fight-or-flight reflex.

but your every narrow escape just makes him want to catch you more.

he lives for the hunt. practically salivates each time he steals glimpses of your pretty tail flashing like a silver dart through the bright nooks of the reef. you're so slippery, so agile. you're dimly aware of the instincts you must be stirring in him--the way you're making him want to pin you down and touch you like he really wants to touch you. long after this game has become a silly little pastime to blow off steam for you, he dwells on the feeling of your skin in his hands.

so don't be shocked when he starts indulging his baser instincts as he catches you.

⬇ nsfw, overt predator/prey dynamics, domination of a willing reader ⬇

more and more, this game of yours ends with Soap pinning you, his rough hands pressing you against the rocky surface and holding you in place. his claws press dangerous divots into your skin. his hips find yours, and he ruts against you shamelessly on the seafloor, against the reef, wherever he happens to catch you. he's not penetrating you, but the intensity of his need makes you gasp and squirm. that only riles him up further and triggers his drive to really mate you.

his jaws close instinctively onto your shoulder, your back--whatever he can reach. there's not enough of you to feed him the way he craves you. he's in a state of near-frenzy, driven by the animal part of his brain.

your animal brain responds in kind. he can smell the arousal on you. and despite how much he seems to like you just as much when you squirm, you're happy to go docile in his hands so he can have you this way. it's not like he's actually mating you. just rutting against you, seeking release.

you're just happy to be included. you're elated, actually, to feel the sheer size of his arousal as he rubs himself against you.

his teeth close on your shoulder again, his hips snap against yours, and he loses himself to feral need. with a sharp thrust, he spends himself against you.

despite these debauched ends to your games, you still evade his attempts to take you back to his sleeping place. you always sleep next to Price, and it drives Soap crazy.

keep teasing him like this and it'll drive him to mate you regardless. he doesn't care who sees <3

...

more mer au / more Soap / masterlist tag

[jarofstyles]

Pierced Through The Heart

Hello my ducklings! Welcome to Pierced Through The Heart (I’m writing a second part it’s okay 🫶) friends to lovers, piercing artist h, artist Y/N, fluffy and smutty and all the fun stuff!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings

WC- 8.7k

Warnings- smut, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, h has tongue and lip piercings

“Finally! Hey.” An easy smile lit up his face as he watched her walk into his flat. It was always welcome to see her enter like she owned the place- she very well could, if she wanted to.. Looking her over with what he hoped were at least slightly concealed heart eyes, he lifted his hand for her to sit next to him on the well loved sofa. “Where have you been, gorgeous? Off hiding away?”

It had been a bit since they’d gotten together so when she had texted him asking if he was busy tonight, he had scrambled to make sure his place was clean and he could appear as nonchalant as possible when he texted her when he texted her to come over- even if his heart had been in his ass when she gave her ETA. 

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned, stretching her legs out as she took a seat right next to him as he so graciously offered. “I got a huge fucking commission and it’s taken me ages. M’happy about it, don’t get me wrong, but I feel a bit over my head a bit. I needed to get a head start on it so I didn’t fall behind.” Sometimes she did get in her head about work so it made sense, though it didn’t make him miss her any less. 

Harry nodded, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “I get it, babe. S’important and you've got to take care of your work. I just missed having you around.” He pouted playfully, putting his arm around her “But hey, you're here now.”

“Exactly.” She smiled tiredly, leaning her head on his shoulder. His cologne was a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed- as well as the simple concept of human touch. Being locked up in her studio as she chipped away at the commissions often had her forgetting how much both her body and mind actually craved a cuddle or two. “Where's the roommate tonight?”

Harry shrugged, his hand tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.  “He's out. Some party or another. You know how it is with Kev. Always living life on the edge.” He chuckled, but there was a hint of worry in his voice. It wouldn’t be long before he went off the deep end- but that wasn’t a discussion for tonight.

“Yeah...” It was hard. His roommate was a bit much, so it was better they were alone, but she felt bad for feeling that way. “Did you order the food yet? Or were you waiting for me?”

Harry smiled, his fingers tightening slightly on her shoulder in a little squeeze. It felt so good to have her close to him again. Thankfully she was just as happy to be cuddly with him and didn’t seem to be weirded out by her friend’s overt clinginess- or didn’t show it- because he felt slightly pathetic with how much he’d missed her presence. “I ordered already, love. Should be arriving any minute now.” He took a glance down at her, his eyes soft with… something. She couldn’t tell quite what it was, but she’d seen it a few times. “I've got everything set up just the way you like it.” 

“Ugh. You’re a godsend.” Wrapping her arms around him she hugged him tight, feeling a little bit of pressure roll off of her shoulders. He was always so good at things like that. taking care of her, making her feel relaxed, always being one step ahead. “You are the absolute best. I hope you know that.”

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around her in return and relishing in the feeling of her initiating the embrace before pulling back. It wasn’t that he wanted to, nor did he fully, but he needed to attempt some semblance of normalcy. “I do my best, babe. Just want to make sure you're taken care of, that's all.” The man smiled down at her, his fingers trailing through her hair. Just couldn’t fucking help it, could he? “And honestly, I love doing things for you.”

Harry had never considered himself much for taking care of people prior, tending to be more of a lone wolf in most aspect of his life, but when he met Y/N it had all… just come out. He loved being the one making sure she was smiling.  Making sure she was well fed, warm, feeling comfortable in his presence. It gave him a sense of purpose, he thinks. The smiles were reward enough, but making her feel comfortable in his company was the ultimate goal. It's why he made sure his roommate wasn’t going to be here tonight. Y/N was too polite to say he made her a little uneasy, but he was attentive to her and receptive to her feelings. Her body language never seemed at ease when he was around-‘so he eliminated that sort of issue

“And that’s why you’re above everyone else.” Y/N mumbled, keeping her eyes closed as he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “That feels incredible, by the way.”

Harry blushed to himself, grateful she couldn’t see it right now. It was weird, feeling such a sense of pride wash over him over something so simple. He loved being the one she turned to, the one she felt most comfortable with. Hearing her praise him made him feel like he was genuinely doing something right. “Ah, yeah?”

“Mhm.” The girl nodded. “Tell me about work, though. Any interesting piercings? Anyone pass out? Had that one weird guy come in again? I want to know it all.” She kept her cheek pressed to his shoulder as he continued the motions.

Harry let out a soft laugh, settling into the comfortable rhythm of running his fingers through the silky locks as he tried to think of something interesting enough to tell her. “Well, actually, there was this one guy who came in for his first ear piercing and he freaked the fuck out when he saw the needle. He started shaking and sweating and just about passed out cold on the chair.”

“For an ear piercing?” Y/N let out a choked laugh. “I try not to judge people but… that’s kind of an overreaction, isn’t it?”

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. It was like her to be sweet about it and not judge, but he did sometimes. She was the only one who knew he really rolled his eyes at shit like that. He leaned down, pressing a small kiss to the crown of her head before pulling back to continue his story. “Yeah, I thought so too. But you should've seen the look on his face when I finally got the needle through.”

“Oi.” She winced. “Yeah, M’sure that was a joy to deal with.” Sarcasm laced her tone. “You have loads more patience than me. It’s why I work with as few people as possible.” Retail and service has never bode well with her, and when she had fallen into her own artwork she had counted her blessings that it meant she didn’t have to work with people day to day. 

Harry smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he listened to her voice. He loved her sarcasm, her wit, her everything, but he tried to keep that sort of fondness off of his face the best he could. “That's part of why I like bein’ close with you, actually. You're low-maintenance and always so easy to be around. A little grumpy, but s’cute.”

“Grumpy?” Her nose wrinkled, but she couldn’t deny it. The girl did her absolute best to be as sweet as she could but one of the things that made her tick was stupidity, and that was something people had to deal with in abundance when they worked in those industries. She was a little bit grumpy when it came to people. “I…wish I could deny those allegations, but I can’t. But in my defense, people shouldn’t be asking so many stupid questions. I worry more and more that people lose common sense as the days go by.”

Harry laughed, pulling her a little tighter against his side. "Grumpy and worried about the loss of common sense, huh? That's my girl." He paused, his fingers still gently fiddling with the ends of her hair. "But even with all that, you're still the most comfortable person for me to be around."

“Really?” She looked at him in surprise. Her guess would have been maybe Mitch, or Connor. Not her. “How come? I mean, not that I’m not extremely flattered and have to calm my ego at this moment because I can literally feel it growing out of my ears.” 

Harry smiled, feeling his tummy twist slightly as he looked down at her, "Because you're just... you, ya know? You're honest, and a bit grumpy-which we already established as cute-, and you don't put up with any of my shit." It was refreshing to have someone who cared about you enough to call you out on shit, and that’s what he needed. It was an interesting juxtaposition to see her soft doe-like eyes looking up at him with her head tilted, telling him that he’s absolutely ‘full of shit’. Harry had been known to be a bit arrogant at times and she had taken that level way down, in a good way. "And you're the only person who can make me laugh without even trying."

“H… you’re gonna make me blush.” She playfully batted at his chest, but felt the swirl of warmth in her tummy. It was a true compliment all things considered. Harry seemed open, but he kept people at an arm's length usually. She had noticed that he didn’t do it with her which she had always special, but hearing it out loud made her feel even more so.

Harry's eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. "You're the only one who can see past all the layers and shit and just get me, you know?" He leaned in just a bit, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "And I fucking love it." 

It was that moment, she would come to reflect, where the tension started. The kiss to the cheek, the compliments. It had started the loaded tension, the sexual undertone for the rest of the night. 

Later on, after the food had been eaten and settled in their bellies and the second episode had ended and the third had begun, she realized how close she had gotten to him through the night. Her legs over his thighs, his thumb tracing over her knee. His eyes were on the screen giving her a chance to observe his beautiful fucking face for a moment without feeling the normal intimidation she would from him staring right back at her. The lip ring, the sharp curve of his jaw, his pretty mouth, the slope of his nose- a modern Apollo. It had been no secret that he was good looking but it was harder to ignore tonight. It was always hard to ignore just how beautiful the man was, but feeling it now, seeing it up close and personal felt like a privilege. Her body flushed when she noticed his eyes on her- he caught her staring, his eyebrow raised at her, but didn’t say a word.

Harry moved his hand from her knee, tracing his fingers up her thigh slowly before resting it there again. He leaned in closer, his lips curling as he whispered to her. "You like what you see, love? Wanna take a picture? I’ll pose for you, even. Let the pretty artist do her thing. Think I’d be a good muse?" The hint of tease was in there but he was waiting for her reaction. Feeling his own want for her bubbling over, simmering under his fingertips.

“You’re really handsome, H. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that, but you are.” Ever the blunt person, Y/N didn’t shy away from telling him that he was beautiful. That was the god’s honest truth. Harry was factually gorgeous and she had always thought so, as did most human beings whenever they went out. He commanded a room without even trying, attracting eyes like magnets- only his being the opposite pole. 

Harry's smirk grew wider at her words, his hand still resting on her thigh. "Handsome, huh?" He repeated, his voice huskier than she had heard it before. It sent a bit of a zing to her tummy because- that was hot. There was a quick glance at the TV before looking back at her, his eyes locking onto hers. "You're pretty fucking stunning yourself, you know that?"

The air between them was static, the tension thick and palpable. Harry's hand on her thigh was a constant reminder of his presence, of his touch. Her legs were draped over his, their bodies close, touching in a way they had before a million times but it felt… different. The charge was there. He could feel it and he was sure she could too. What exactly changed, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps the heart had grown fonder over their bit of time apart, or perhaps the dam was finally overflowing and breaking against the weight of trying to hold back desires hidden behind the walls- either way, he was going to find out. The sound of the TV in the background was barely audible over the pounding of their hearts, but he could feel it in his throat.

Harry had been pining for her for what felt like an eternity. He'd watch her from afar, his heart aching with every smile she shared with someone else. The only true explanation he could come to was that he loved her, he realized. He had loved her for a long time now. He ached for her, his heart hurting every time she mentioned dating apps or hookups in the past because fuck, he wanted to be the one she was talking about, the one she was laughing with. He wanted to be her world, her everything. No one would expect the man to be a romantic, but he was. Maybe she’d brought it out of him, but he felt completely at her mercy and she had no idea just how tightly wound he was around her tiniest finger.

“You think so?” She felt a little shy with that compliment. It wasn’t often that she got like that, but Harry had a way of pulling it out of her. “Stunning is a big word, but thank you.” Licking over her lip, she looked down to his tattooed wrist, running her finger over the ink. “I’m glad you invited me to hang out tonight.”’

Harry's heart flipped at her shy reaction. Damn, she was so fucking cute. He wanted to lean in, brush his lips over hers and take a taste of her. The way she was looking at his tattoos, running her finger over them was driving him crazy. The sensation was something he’d dreamt about, post coitial bliss with her hands all over him in the best way. He wanted to feel all of it, all of her, everywhere

"You're more than fucking stunning, you know that?" Harry's voice was raspy as he spoke, volume low as if trying to keep it private for them even if they were already alone. He shifted in his seat, his hand on her thigh flexing a little as he leaned in closer to her.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked at him, throat tight. She had an idea what was happening but she hadn’t anticipated it actually being any reality, let alone one that would be happening tonight. Part of her wanted to shy away but she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t let her. Eyes curious and round, her head tilted in question as he looked right back at her.

Harry noticed the way she was looking at him, head falling back slightly as he let it a light groan. "Fuck, don't look at me like that, please." He begged. He couldn't take it, seeing her so nervous and shy. 

“Like what?” Her eyes widened slightly but she made no move to shift away from him. What was she doing? What was happening? And why did she want him to keep going, keep touching her, why did she feel like she was lightheaded from the attention he was paying to her? Had he always looked at her like this?

Harry's eyes were locked onto hers, his gaze intense. "Like you're confused. Like you don’t know how fuckin’ gorgeous I find you." He admitted, his hand on her thigh trembling slightly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, you're fucking killing me."

Warm fingertips trailed over his wrist and down his hand, brushing over his wrists and back up as she waited for him to react. The anticipation was killing her, sitting perfectly still as she decided to wait. to let him take the lead. “Why am I killing you?” She was playing dumb. The sexual tension had risen up, her skin hot from it, but she wanted to hear it from him.

Harry sucked in a breath as she trailed her fingertips over his wrist, his heart racing in his chest. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to tell- had to show her. To let out everything that was building up inside of him. "Because I want you so goddamn bad." His voice was hoarse, laced with fervor, his eyes pleading with her to understand. He couldn't help the way he felt, the way he had always felt about her. "I've wanted you for so long, been pining for you.. it's driving me insane."

“You have?” Her head tilted, hair falling over her shoulder as he dropped that bomb on her. Y/N hadn’t had any real idea that he had wanted her, had always sort of thought maybe he just liked that she was easy to hang out with and that they’d meshed together really well, but the knowledge that he was pining over her sent the hoard of butterflies into her stomach. “How.. for how long?”

Harry's jaw clenched, knowing it was time to confess. There was no use in hiding it anymore, even if she was going to reject him. It was about to burst from his seams, leak from his lips regardless. "Since we’ve met," He admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I’ve been fucking useless over you. Used t’watch you, wonder what it would be like to have you, to hold you, to kiss you." He looked at her with desperate eyes.

"I'd see you talking to that asshole ex of yours, and I'd just want to fucking rip him apart and keep you all to myself. Knew I could treat you better, make you feel better, give you all the shit he couldn’t. Heard you cry too many times over people that aren’t worth it and I can give you all the shit you need. I know I can." He admitted, his face flushing with anger and jealousy. "I've tried to ignore it, to move on, but I can't."

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined telling you, but I didn’t want to fuck things up between things up between us. You’ve felt safe with me. I didn’t want you to feel like I’ve been friends with you as some fucking attempt to get into your pants because that isn’t it. I’ll be your friend regardless, but I just need a shot. Please. Just give me one chance t’see." Harry felt a little pathetic for his approach but he didn’t have much control over it. It was all in her hands now.

Her breathing hitched as she listened, her cunt getting slightly wet at the way he looked at her, at how he spoke. losing that bit of a veil he had over him, showing her how he had felt. Finally, It felt like that part she couldn’t figure out was coming to the light. “Harry…” she breathed, feeling his hand reach for her jaw. It was welcomed, his warm fingertips tilting her head up.

She didn’t know he had that in him, but she really fucking liked it. 

Gripping her chin firmly, his thumb brushing over her pouted lower lip as he looked into her eyes. "Shut up and kiss me." He commanded, leaving no room for argument. Harry didn't wait for her to respond. Leaning in, his free hand came up to wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him as he crushed their lips together. It was rough, passionate and intense, a hunger she hadn't sensed from him before- and she strangely loved it.

Harry’s lips were demanding, claiming hers as if she belonged to him. His tongue pushed past her lips, tangling with hers in a heated kiss that left her gasping. He kissed her like he was starving for her, like he hadn't eaten in days and she was the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips were bruising, hungry, insistent, molding against hers with a fierce intensity that took her breath away. The tip of his tongue delved into her mouth, probing, tasting, owning, his moan vibrating against her lips as he deepened the kiss.

She melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she returned it with equal fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him close as she surrendered to the overwhelming hunger he stirred within her. She whimpered into the kiss, her body trembling with need, her heart racing in her chest.

Y/N could feel just how much he meant it, how much he had yearned for her. She could taste it on his tongue as he held her to his body, resting her on his thighs. He was greedy with her, taking and taking and taking- but she didn’t mind at all. If anything she flowed into it, melting into the feeling.

The way she fed into the kiss, so willingly and completely, made his heart race and his head spin. He could taste her surrender, her desire, her longing for him and he drank it in eagerly, as if he could never get enough of her. Her body melted into his embrace as her lips parted further, inviting him in deeper. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, her hands gripping his hair almost painfully, but he hardly cared.

Her body was pliant, her breathing uneven, as he continued to delve into her mouth. He could feel the way she shifted on his lap, her legs bracketing his hips as she slowly began to move herself against him.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound almost primal as he felt her shifting on his lap. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and it only served to drive him further into madness. He wanted more of her, all of her, every single part of her. “Baby…” The nickname fell out of her mouth as a breathless sigh. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

He pulled back from the kiss slightly, his breath coming in ragged pants as he stared down at her. Her eyes were glazed over with desire, her lips swollen and so prettily puffy from the intensity of their kissing- he wanted this to be the state of them every fucking day. Why was this only the first time he’d gotten the privilege of getting to see this? "I can't... I can't think straight when you're like this,"

Uneven breaths filtered the room, the TV show long forgotten behind them. She, too, was unable to think straight as she looked into his eyes. It was gorgeous, he was fucking gorgeous, looking fucked out just from a kiss alone. “Huh?” Y/N was hazy herself. This wasn’t what she had expected from coming over tonight but she had no complaints. Her mouth felt like it was buzzing and her clit was throbbing as she sat against him, his large hands keeping her still otherwise she’d continue her ministrations on top of him.

Harry reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gentle touch. "Just looking at you, baby, makes me lose my damn mind. I need you to focus on me for a second, okay?" He swallowed hard as he tried to calm himself down. "You're fuckin’ stunning. Driving me crazy, really fucking crazy. The way you move against me... I need more of it." The man sighed out, his fingers trailing down her throat gently, petting her.

Harry's mind was swimming with need, a deep and intense desire to have her, to make her his and his alone. He wanted to feel her body pressed against his, the heat rolling off of her in waves. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to taste her. “But I don’t want t’just fuck you. I want you. Want you to be my girl.”

Holding her eyes with his own, he thumbed over her swollen bottom lip and watched as it snapped back to place as he released it. “I want t’do the whole thing. The dates, the flowers, everything you want. I don’t want to ruin this friendship but fuck, darling… I just want you to be mine.” He swallowed thickly, watching her reaction. “I’m willing to work for that title… but I can’t hold back anymore. Can’t keep pretending that I’m not dying t’hold you and kiss this perfect fucking mouth.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Her cheeks were hot under the skin, chest rising and falling with every deep breath she took. It felt like he’d stolen her breath and her thoughts as he confessed to her, making her blink at him a few times. She looked completely lost in his words and the way he looked at her as he spoke them. The air around was thick with tension and desire.

There wasn’t a thought that needed to be had to confirm that she wanted him back, though. She always adored him, but he’d never seemed like the relationship type. Never showed his interest in the way she had anticipated. It had taken her by surprise, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t happy about it.

Without thinking, she reached up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his berry hued lips and running over the piercing as she searched his eyes. She could see the raw emotion in them, the way he was barely holding on to his control. And it broke her heart, in a way, because she was so completely aware of how painful it could be to hold back emotions for someone. “I wish you hadn’t hidden it for so long.” Softly, she used her other hand to push back his hair. “I can’t lie and say this isn’t a surprise… but I am more than willing to give it a shot.” Indulging in him, she leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Especially when you kiss me like you just did.”

She deepened the kiss, parting her lips for him and wrapping her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. Harry groaned against her mouth, pulling her flush against him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

That was the answer he needed. He had imagined her rejection a million times, her acceptance a few times more, but nothing could compare to the actual feeling of it. Having her in his lap and the overwhelming giddy feeling working its way through his limbs as he tried to show it through his actions.

The kiss was needy, full of the  longing and passion that had been building up over the months. He was rough and gentle at the same time, leaving her dizzy as he trailed kisses from her lips to her jaw. “Good. So it’s settled… no more silly dates with useless boys. You’re gonna give me a shot to show you just how much I can appreciate you.”

“Mhm.” Y/N nearly purred, rolling her head to the side as he kissed over her skin and down to her throat. It had always been sensitive for her, but feeling the cool brush of his lip ring, and then the metallic ball of his tongue piercing brush her hot skin had her shiver in his arms.

Harry smirked, knowing he was getting to her head. His hands roamed her body, pulling her in even closer as he sucked on a soft spot right under her ear. God, she was fucking soft wherever he touched her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He sucked hard on the spot, his nose brushing against her skin as he inhaled her scent deeply. His other hand came up to wrap around her throat, applying just a bit of pressure as he tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck.

“Fuck.” Y/N felt her second heartbeat between her thighs, the strong hand and thick fingers holding her still. Positioning her where he wanted her. His rings added a similar sensation to his piercings, the mix of hot and cold working her up.

He hummed at her response, his hand tightening around her throat just slightly as he moved down to bite at her collarbone. A low growl rumbled in his chest, feeling the way her body trembled under him as he pressed a kiss over the racing pulse on her neck. Harry pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his own dark and intense as he spoke in a low, rough tone. "M’gonna mark you up, m’love. Every inch of your skin is gonna have my fingerprints, my bites, my kisses. You're gonna be my girl, and everyone's gonna fuckin’ know it."

“Yeah.” She hummed, grinning as his hand loosened slightly on her throat. As toxic as it may be, she ate up the possessive words, wanting to let him do that very thing.

Harry let out a low, pleased noise at her words, his hips rocking forward as he pressed against her heat. He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth as he gripped her hip with one hand and reached down to undo his pants with the other. His poor cock needed to breath, aching with need as he finally got her exactly where he wanted her.

"How do you like to be touched, baby?" He whispered into her ear, before sucking on the lobe gently and nipping it, smirking to himself as he felt her shudder in his arms. He pulled back to look at her, his eyes shining. “Hm? I want t’know. Want t’make you the happiest fuckin’ girl. Can do anything y’want.”

“I…” She had trouble finding her words. This was not at all the sort of thing she’d anticipated coming over tonight, but she was loving every second of it. Harry… wanting her? It seemed like it was one of those dreams, one of those things that sounded nice in theory but would never happen- and yet here he was. Asking how she liked being touched because he wanted to be the one doing it. “I like when you held my throat… and when you bit me. And when you held my jaw.”

Harry's lips quirked into a half grin and he nodded. He pulled back to look at her, his thumb tracing over her jaw where he had just held it so gently. He leaned down and bit the skin there lightly, feeling her shiver under him. Her reaction was immediate and visceral. The moment his teeth sank into her jaw, she let out a soft, needy whine, her eyes fluttering closed as her body relaxed into his grip. Her leg tightened around his waist, her free hand reaching up to gently touch the spot where he'd bitten her.

Her whole body seemed to melt against him, her back arching as she pressed herself closer, seeking more of that delicious pain. A soft, high-pitched noise escaped her lips, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, as she tilted her head to the side, offering him better access to her neck as she felt his nose drag down the side of it.

She was completely lost in the sensation, her mind going blank as all her focus shifted to the feeling of his teeth on her skin. Her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails digging in slightly as she held on for dear life, her other hand still resting on the spot he'd bitten, gently massaging it. “That feels so good.” She exhaled, the feelings washing over her. “I love how you touch me, H.”

Harry smiled against her skin, his teeth grazing over her jaw as he spoke. "I love touching you too, sweetheart. You're so fuckin’ responsive, for me.” He kissed the spot he'd bitten, soothing it with his lips before pulling back to look at her again.

His bulge rocked between her thighs, his hand moving to cup her face. She could feel his want for her, his affection. Harry hadn’t been joking in the slightest that he wanted to be hers, and that was something she hadn’t experienced before.

"You still haven't let me make you mine, properly," Harry said, a hint of a pout on his lips. "I want all of you, Y/N." He moved himself against her again, the cock in his pants rubbing against her aching cunt. "Are y’gonna let me have you?"

“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, shy smile on her face. There was nothing she wanted more in the moment, actually. 

 “Don’t want you to regret it, though.” Harry murmured, face sobering. As much as he wanted her, he wanted to make sure this was what she truly wanted above anything else. “We don’t have to go too far if you don’t want to.” 

“I wanna.” Y/N hadn’t been fucked in a while, no, but she trusted him. Hell, he’d waxed near poetry about how he wanted to be hers and vice versa. There was no one night stand needed to get off. Harry could do it- and if the things she had heard were true, he could do it very well.  “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry's eyes widened at her confession, his hand lingering on her cheek for a moment before he let go. "Well," he said, swallowing thickly. "I can certainly do that."

He was practically vibrating with excitement, his heart racing in his chest as he held her close. The thought of finally being able to claim her as his own, to be the one to make her feel good and cry out his name, was almost too much for him to handle. "I've wanted to be with you for so fuckin’ long." Harry murmured against her skin, his breath warm against her. "I've thought about you every night as I've fallen asleep, imagining what it would be like to finally have you, Y/N. You’ve got no idea"

“Then have me.” Y/N could hardly believe it, but she needed it just as badly now. Her body was hot and achy and her cunt was wet and felt so empty- Harry would fix it. He was the only one that could. “Touch wherever you want. I trust you.”

The declaration of trust meant more to him than she would probably ever realize. It gave him the confidence to go for it. Harry's hand immediately moved between her legs, rubbing her through the fabric of her pants. The man groaned as he felt how wet she was, his fingers tracing over her cunt as he breathed against her lips. "Oh, fuck, baby." he whispered in awe.

“Take them off.” her plea was a little whiny but it seemed to make him happy with how he smiled against her lips. “Please… I want to feel you touch me with nothing stopping it. Need it.”

Harry's smile was wicked as he reached for the waistband of her pants, quickly adjusting her so he could tug them down her legs along with her underwear. There was very little time to waste when it came to getting to have her. This had been his wet dream, his fantasy, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He sat back up and looked at her, his eyes roaming over her bare pussy before he knelt down in front of her with a husky groan.

“What?” She felt shy with him staring at her, the most vulnerable she had ever felt in front of him. The hunger in his eyes was visible and she knew he liked what he saw, but his quiet observation was unnerving. She watching the silver glint of his piercing glint as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, strong, ringed hands gently pressing her thighs open and black polished fingers digging into her skin.

“M’sorry, baby.” he crooned. “Don’t mean to stare, but…. I’ve been waiting so long. M’not even sure this is real.” Any bit of control was completely gone. He leaned forward, pressing his face against the plush of her lower tummy, inhaling her scent before he looked up at her with those starving eyes again. "Fuck, you smell so good. You’ve no idea." he murmured before placing a kiss to her mound. “Wanna eat you up.”

Where she found the nerve, she had no clue- but the moment she had it, she let it go. “Do it.”

Her words were the last thing he needed before he gave into her- happily. Harry's hands gripped her thighs greedily as he buried his mouth between her legs, indulging in what he’d been wanting to taste for ages. He lightly kissed over her clit and nuzzled her as her felt her jolt at the feeling, letting her settle into it for a moment before getting into it. The cool metal ball of his tongue piercing tapping over her clit had her shivering, a shaky gasp leaving her swollen lips as her eyes fell closed. 

It was overwhelming, to say the least. Harry's tongue felt hot and slick as it lathed over her pussy- the contrast in temperatures between him and her sensitive flesh making her squirm. He explored her, leaving nowhere untouched as she gripped the cushion next to her, taking full advantage of his permission to taste before he settled into a slow, gentle rhythm of lapping at her cunt. The man was good- almost too good.

She could feel herself sinking into the cushion beneath her as he ate her out, his tongue dipping into her pussy and licking at her entrance before swirling around her clit. His hands were gentle on her thighs, rings cool to the touch and fingertips digging into her skin as he pushed them open wider for him. He groaned against her, eyes peering up at her.The vibrations against her pussy sent tremors through her body.  “Look at me, baby. Let me see your pretty eyes.”

The view was something else completely. Looking down at him, she felt herself nearly lose it altogether. It didn’t seem fair to have someone look that good doing such a filthy act, but it only seemed to make perfect sense for him. Harry exuded sex, and his sensual nature had always made her a bit curious in the past- but this was other worldly. His nose rubbed against her clit, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh, hair a mess, as hazy, dark green peered up at her from where they were so comfortably buried between her legs. Like they were made to be there.

Her hands fell to his hair, back arching as his tongue brushed her entrance again, breathing hitched as he nuzzled into her cunt, not caring about any mess as he pressed his tongue into her, nose brushing her clit with every movement. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice was a choked mess as she looked down at him in shock, not at all expecting this out of him. She should have, she should have known he was a filthy fuck, but she’d apparently unleashed something in him.

His hair was a wild mess as she gripped it, pulling him closer as he devoured her. He made happy noises against her, moving up to momentarily suck on her clit before plunging his tongue back inside her. She could feel his scruff scratching against her inner thighs, a rough sensation that made her clench around his tongue. It was animalistic, desperate in a way she had never felt before.

Harry hadn’t felt this deprived in his life. He hadn’t liked a woman this much before either, hadn’t wanted her this badly. He needed some relief, especially with her rocking her damn cunt against his face. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled his sweats down, tugging his embarrassingly hard cock out and started to stroke. His hips rocked in time with the rhythm of his tongue, hand moving faster as she arched her back, pulling him closer. He could feel her getting closer, body trembling beneath him.

“H…” she panted, gently tugging him away from her cunt. “Inside me. I want to cum with you inside me.”

Harry groaned, a whine slipping from his lips as he pulled himself away from her pussy, a string of saliva connecting his tongue to her entrance before breaking away.

“M’not done with that. You taste so fucking good.” He mumbled, leaning himself up. His hands were gentle as he adjusted her to make them both comfortable. “Gonna make it good for you, baby. I promise.”  Another time he would take his time, make love to her properly. Spend hours with her in a bed when they both had patience- but right now? He knew the both of them needed relief, and they needed it now. Taking a shaky breath, he positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance, the head pressing against her soaked lips. He looked up at her, eyes wild as he pushed forward, the tip popping inside her. He let out a satisfied groan as he sunk himself in to the hilt, her tight pussy squeezing him the way he knew she would. 

She gasped, the way her walls closed in tighter on him as he sunk to the base was a small slice of heaven for him. He closed his eyes, riding out the pleasure of it for a moment. He could feel her body reacting in kind, legs trembling. “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?” He looked down at her, making sure she didn’t have any discomfort on her face. 

“I’m okay.” She sighed, gripping onto his forearm. “I’m so okay. I want it all. You can give it to me.” Lightly dragging her nails down his skin, she knew she could handle it. It’s how she liked it- how she wanted him to give it to her. Y/N wanted Harry exactly how he wanted to give it because she had full confidence he was going to give it to her good. 

“Alright, sweetheart. Jus’ hold on t’me then.” He pulled out barely, just the head remaining before thrusting himself back in, making her jolt under him. Deep- he was so deep, making her gasp as the pleasured fullness was felt to its extent. This was exactly what they needed. His hands grabbed her hips and he started moving in earnest, every thrust baring his need for her to cum around him. “Don’t have to hold back with me, sweet girl. Gonna make sure you feel good all night.”

She was a vision of beauty, legs spread wide as he fucked into her, the sound of their skin thudding together echoing through the room. Tears of pleasure slowly pooled in her waterline as he fucked her deep, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust. Slow, deep, passion. It was palpable. 

Not overly rough, no. Not at all. It was hot and heavy in the best possible way, making her eyes roll back. He wasn’t using her as a toy, but showing her how much he wanted her with his body. There was no mistaking it. Harry meant what he said. He wanted her, and he was speaking through his body. She heard him loud and fucking clear. Hopefully, he was listening back. 

The room was filled with the sounds of their sex, the slap of skin, the wet squelch of his cock sinking into her over and over. She was shaking, her nails digging into his biceps as he pounded into her, the force of his thrusts making the aged sofa squeak. If it was any other scenario, he’d be cautious- but he was finally getting the woman he had been dreaming of around his cock.

Her whole body was a trembling mess, her breasts bouncing with each thorough thrust. Her back arched off the couch as he hit that sweet spot inside her, her walls clamping down on him like a vice. She let out a mewl, a saccharine call of his name as the intense pleasure washed over her. “Harry- Harry if you keep going M’gonna cum.” It was a frantic warning. Her mind couldn’t figure out if it was too much or not, but she didn’t want it to stop.

He couldn't help himself, his thrusts became even more urgent as he felt her walls fluttering around him, signaling her impending orgasm. He grabbed her face, his thumb pressing against her lips, shushing her as he fucked into with a blissed out smile. "Shh, m’dream girl, let it happen. Cum on my cock. Been dreaming of you for ages.

Let me have it." 

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled moan of his name as her orgasm hit her. White hot pleasure hitting her blood as the tears left her waterline when her eyes squeezed shut, she dug her nails into him with a garbled whimper. Her body shook, her pussy fluttering around his cock as he continued to fuck her through it, prolonging her pleasure.

Harry leaned down, resting his forehead against hers as he felt his own climax building within him- especially with the feel of her nails digging into him and her own orgasm. "Fuck.. You're so fuckin’ perfect, so good, I'm gonna cum.." He whispered his final warning, groaning against her skin.

“Please.” Y/N whispered, dragging her nails up his arms and over his shoulders. “Give it to me. M’on the pill.” Her lips brushed his ear. “I want to feel it. You’ve been so nice to me tonight and I love it. Cum for me how you want. Anywhere you w-want.” 

Harry was a mass of frayed nerve endings as he neared his release. His entire body felt like it was buzzing, his heart beating fast against his chest. The build up of pleasure in his balls and the slick feeling of her pussy made him feel as if he was on cloud nine.

His muscles tensed, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, coiling in the base of his spine, ready to explode- but her sensual coos into his ear and fingers down arms had been the breaking point. "I'm gonna cum so fucking hard," he gritted out, his voice strained with effort. “M’cumming for you, baby. G-Gonna give it all t’you and make you m-mine.” His words stuttered as he felt it start. His vision started to blur and his breath hitched in his throat as he thrust into her one final time, holding himself deep inside her as his orgasm ripped through him. His vision went white, his mind going blank as he emptied himself into her, his cock pulsing with each spurt of cum.

Catching his breath, he let himself sag into her as he felt her hand dragging up and down his back. Mutual comfort as she held him, helping him through his own orgasm as she wrapped a leg around him, making sure he felt steady as he checked in on her. His ears were sorta ringing in a good way, but he was chuffed. “Okay?” He cupped her cheek, stroking her heated skin. At her nod, he grinned widely. “Yeah? Okay- okay, good. Jus’, need to make sure you’re good. Hold on. Need t’make us more comfortable. I’ll clean up in a second.” 

Ever so carefully, Harry pulled out of her, his softening cock slipping from her sensitive pussy. He cooed at the slight hiss she let out, apologizing as he grabbed a few tissues clumsily from the coffee table and wiped her the best he could as gathered her close on his lap, cradling her in his arms as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, anywhere he could reach without breaking the tender moment. “That’s my girl. Fuck… you’re everything I want.”

Y/N had pushed away her crush on him when they’d first met, especially when they started to become closer friends- but this had been beyond her expectations. Harry had given her the fuck of her life all while claiming his devotion to her- something no one else had done before. She was borderline giddy as his hands stroke her, the rushed sex leaving their tops on and a true nod to the frantic passion they’d felt once the kissing had started.

A giggle left her throat as she peeled her eyes open to look at his flushed face and swollen lips, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn’t place as she ran her hands over his shoulders. “We probably look so silly.” Harry’s pants around his ankles and hers off completely, both with just a shirt on.

Harry chuckled softly, his breath ghosting along her cheek as he spoke, his voice low and raspy from the intensity of their just-past fucking. The way she was looking at him was almost better than her moans had been.

“Silly, hmm?” Harry’s eyes took on a mischievous edge as his fingers traced the curve of her waist. He sat up on the couch, dragging her with him so she was straddling his lap. His roommate be damned, he wasn’t too concerned about the mess on the couch right now.

“Mhm.” Her smile faded into a soft grin. “We were a little eager, huh?”

Eager was an understatement, but Harry loved how cute she looked in this moment. The way she was sitting on top of him, all breathless and relaxed—it made him want to do it all over again, if only to see that look on her face.

Harry’s hand wandered to the back of her neck, his thumb gently tracing circles against her skin as he spoke. “I am eager.” He sobered slightly. “I meant what I said. I want you. I promise I’d be the best person you’ve ever dated. I’ll worship you every day and make sure you know how much you mean to me.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips, his eyes still locked on hers. “I’ll make you laugh every day, be there for you through everything. And when it comes to the bedroom,” Harry paused, grinning slyly.

“Hush.” Y/N giggled, placing their lips back together for a longer kiss, slow and smooth as she pulled back. their lips made a soft clicking sound as she rubbed her nose against his. “So if you want to be my boyfriend…. does that mean you’ll give me free piercings?”

Harry let out a chuckle, his arms wrapping around her waist as he hugged her close. “Free piercings, exclusive attention, really bad jokes, and a love that’ll make your heart skip a beat. That’s the deal, love. But you have to promise me one thing in return.”

“Hm… what’s that?”

Harry would give her the world if she asked for it, probably, but he did have one stipulation. “No more waiting between commissions t’see you. You can set up here, or I can come see you after work. M’a little clingy, if you couldn’t tell. Deal?” “Deal.”

[sun-kissy]

could I request an x reader with fem! X Fred Weasley (if you don’t want to write for him I’m more then fine with whoever else you choose x)

anyway reader is insecure in the relationship (mostly just anxious about physical touch because she’s worried he won’t like it? Idk how to describe but just basically early stages of a relationship)

thanks lovely xx I adore ur work

hi gorgeous! so i decided to do this with remus, i hope it’s okay. thank you for the request! :)

everything you need | r.l.

tw: hurt/comfort, fluff

remus lupin x reader

You couldn’t stop the ache from blooming in your chest even if you tried. There’s a strong feeling of absence as you stare helplessly at Remus, pressed against the other side of the couch with his eyes glued to the television.

It’s always been a desire, to be touched. To be held is to be loved, your mother used to say. You craved the simple feeling of having your hair brushed off your face, the fat of your hip being pinched teasingly, or being held in tight hugs which squeeze all the sad out of you. You can’t remember the last time you were touched like that.

Remus and you had started dating a few weeks ago, and he really was a sweetheart; and everything you ever needed. Always buying you little trinkets whenever he came over, cooking you dinner, and writing you lovely little notes — that was how he showed his love, and you adored him for it.

But you were fraught with the need to feel his touch — for those kisses to last a little longer, those hugs to be a smidge tighter, and soft cuddles to be more frequent.

You didn’t quite know if it was alright for you to ask, though. You had only just started dating, you weren’t even his girlfriend yet. And you knew Remus was the type to show his love in soft, subtle ways, not in overt means like openly touching and holding you. What if he felt like you were going too fast? You couldn’t risk driving him away.

Remus seems to pick up on the cogs turning in your head and the faraway look in your eyes as you ogle at him. He arches an eyebrow and his mouth twists in a frown as he turns his body towards you. “Sweetheart?”

You blink dazedly. “Hm?”

“Are you okay? You looked a little lost there for a second,” he asks, not unkind in the least.

“I’m fine,” you croak, though all you can think about at the moment is brushing that stray curl away from his face. “Was just thinking about work.”

You know he doesn’t buy it, taking a second too long to answer. But being the gentleman he is, he smiles softly and indulges you. “Okay, dove, if you say so. Don’t stress too much about it, yeah?”

He reaches for the television remote beside him and presses the pause button. “I’m gonna go serve us dinner. You want sauce with your fries?”

“Yeah, sure,” you mutter distractedly, not realising how transfixedly you were gazing at his body, resisting the temptation to crawl into his lap and ask for a hug.

Remus stands up, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. You startle, fighting the urge to grab his wrist and pull him back towards you. You want it so badly, but you can’t let him. You can’t let yourself.

He gives you a bemused smile as he makes a beeline into the kitchen. As soon as he’s out of sight, you heave a sigh and slump backwards on the sofa, wrapping your arms tightly around your waist. You wished he were hugging you instead, with his gentle touches and saccharine words.

You let your eyes flutter closed, squeezing yourself as tight as one possibly can. It helps, a little. You rub your arms desperately, teeth roughly biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from bursting out in tears.

In a moment, you hear the clinking of cutlery against plates as Remus sets your dishes down on the table. Before you even open your eyes fully, he’s crouching in front of you and needling your arms apart to press his hands to your back. He pulls you towards him, your face pressing against the crook of his neck.

The feel of his skin on yours is almost painful, and you want to pull away. “Remus,” you choke out, desperately trying to keep your voice even.

“Yeah?” It’s nothing more than a soft murmur as he tucks his chin on your shoulder, pressing his palms into your shoulder blades.

You want to ask him why he was hugging you, tell him that everything was fine. But you know he’s already figured you out.

“You don’t have to,” you say instead.

“Why not?” he asks gently, the feel of his breath warm on your skin. “You want this.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“But…” you hate how you’re warbling. “You don’t have to do this, if it’s not what you want. We agreed to go slow.”

“Going slow means I can’t hug you?” he asks softly, but you hear the teasing in his voice.

“No,” you say quickly, feeling the ache in your chest start to worsen. “But I don’t know if you want to touch me, if you want to be touched. I — I know you have different ways of showing your love, and I’ll take any love you can give me —“

“Angel,” Remus breathes, making you stop short. “This isn’t a job offer. I’ll show you love however you want me to.” He tilts his head up to press a kiss to your hair, and the ache starts to soften. “You’re allowed to want this,” he murmurs, like he’s reading your mind.

That pulls a soft sob out of you, as you ball up the fabric of his T-shirt in your hands and cling to it. You wanted this so much, it feels almost ethereal now that you’re getting it.

Remus coos sympathetically, his joints cracking painfully as he kneels down fully. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. He starts to gently knead your scalp, his other hand coasting from one shoulder to the other on your back.

You feel like maybe he doesn’t deserve this, your tears and your demandingness. You feel like you have to explain yourself. “I just —“ you try, his heart squeezing at the unnaturally high pitch.

Remus pulls back slightly, making sure to continue to squeeze the fat at your shoulders kindly. He knows you need the touch. His eyebrows bunch up in worry because of how distraught you look. “I…” you mean to apologise. But all that comes out is a timid, “I just really like hugs.”

His expression softens, and you almost see his lips curve upwards. His heart feels like it’s swelling because of how adorable you look, even with your red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Yeah?” he breathes softly.

You nod meekly, sniffling as you train your eyes on the ground. He notes the pink starting to coat your cheeks, and resists the urge to beam and kiss you stupid.

He gently cups your cheek and begins to thumb it, relieved when you melt into his touch instead of pulling away. “I like hugs, too.”

“No, you don’t.”

Remus lets out a soft chuckle at your slightly accusatory tone. “If you want hugs, sweetheart, I’ll give them to you. I really don’t mind. In fact, I’d hold you 24/7 if you wanted.”

“You would?” your eyes light up a bit as you tilt your head up to look at him with a hopeful gaze.

He smiles sympathetically — he can’t believe you were so upset over something he would so easily give you. He wasn’t exactly used to physical touch, but for you, he was willing to try. “I would, dove.”

Remus can’t stop the lovesickness which drips into his voice like honey as he thumbs at your cheeks. He ducks his head to meet your eyes, grinning when you meet his gaze and give him a small smile. “Sweetheart, I wanna be with you for the long haul. So you have to tell me when something’s wrong, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, flustered with the attention. You felt yourself melting at the affection in his gaze.

This time, he can’t stop the wide smile from curving his lips as he cups your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your nose. “I love you, sweet thing. Just say the word, and I’ll give you everything you need.”

[slut4thebroken]

Mark The Day

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jackson Rippner x reader

Summary | Jackson wants an heir, so he buys a slave from an underground breeding farm.

Warnings | NON CON, smut, sexual slavery, dark, dead dove do not eat lmao, vibrator, overstim, multiple orgasms, breeding, light humiliation/degradation, mentions of branding/inflicting harm on reader, bondage, dehumanization, AU?

Words | 2k

Notes | Idk I tried to keep the focus on reader only and not really write anything about the ‘other women’ but I kinda had to a tiny bit just for the ‘plot’. Hopefully it wasn’t too much tho😓

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 16: sexual slavery

Read this first ❤️🫶

“As you can see, we make sure to thoroughly train each slave.”

Jackson glanced around the room, but his attention was drawn to you. You weren’t acting out, but you were significantly more jittery and visibly anxious than the others. “What about her?” He asked, pointing at you. 

“Arrived at the facility a week ago. We’ve just begun the training process…” Jackson continued admiring you, taking in the way your red rimmed eyes looked around frantically and your body trembled. “If you’re interested, training should be complete by the end of the month.” As the man spoke, Jackson glanced around the room, taking in the other, more docile girls. 

“No need.” He said surely, turning back to the man who hesitated. “I’ll take her.”

“I would strongly advise against that, Mr. Rippner… She’s far from obedient and the fertility treatment hasn’t started yet.” 

“I know. I’d like to break her in myself.” His eyes strayed to you again and his lips curled up into a small smile. “How long does the fertility treatment take?” He asked, not looking away from you. 

“We usually wait two weeks before putting them on the market.” 

“Can it be done in one?” 

The man paused for a moment. “I’m sure.. for the right price, we can make that happen for you, Mr. Rippner.” Jackson turned to face him, his expression relaxed but also a little amused at the man’s overt attempt to upsell him. In response, he held his hand out to shake on the deal. 

“May I?” He asked, pointing to you. The man just gestured to you, silently giving permission. Jackson walked over to you and you tried to back away, but the chain connecting your collar to the floor wasn’t long enough for you to be able to escape him. He crouched down in front of you and examined you closely with a small smirk. 

“You’re a pretty thing.” He murmured, hungrily dragging his gaze down your nude body. When he lifted his hand to grab your chin, you flinched away from him, making him chuckled softly. “And scared too… We’re going to have a lot of fun together.” 

A week later, Jackson returned to pick up his new slave and take you home. “What’s your name?” He asked, making you falter. After a moment, you gave him your name, your voice timid and full of fear. “Jackson.” He responded, guiding you through the house to a room. 

“You’ll sleep in the crate in my bedroom. However, for our play time, I set up the spare room just for you.” He smirked predatorily, watching you walk inside. You looked around, feeling your stomach churn as you took in all of the whips, toys, restraints, and furniture. 

“Fortunately for you, I’m not a cruel man.” He pulled you over to a breeding bench and bent you over it, strapping down your wrists, ankles, and torso. “So between most breeding sessions, you’ll spend your time right here.” You could hear movement, but you couldn’t turn your head enough to see what he was doing. Then he was suddenly walking in front of you, now holding a ball gag. You clenched your teeth, trying to keep him from putting it on, and he sighed. 

“Either I put this gag on and continue as planned, or I whip your ass until you bleed, and then put this gag on and continue as planned.” Your bottom lip quivered as your gaze shifted between his face and the gag. With tears in your eyes, you reluctantly opened your mouth. “Good girl.” He secured it, then brushed away a tear that escaped your waterline. 

You flinched when he suddenly stood up, but he just moved behind you again, out of your field of vision. As soon as you felt something press against your clit, you stiffened, then cried out when he turned the vibrator on. He seemed to be debating what speed to set it at, but eventually he settled on the highest setting. 

“There we go.” He smiled, stepping back to admire his work. Your legs were already quivering from the intense pleasure and he could tell you were trying to hold back your sounds. Walking back in front of you, he grabbed your cheeks and lifted your face as he bent down. 

“That feel good?” He cooed mockingly. You sobbed out a moan and squeezed your eyes shut, your brows knitting together in an adorable display of agony. “I bet it does.” He chuckled. “Like I said, I’m not completely cruel. I know you won’t ever be turned on enough for our breeding sessions to not hurt you— at least, not yet.” When you whimpered around the gag, he released you and stood back up. “You’re welcome.” He said dryly. 

You could hear his footsteps as he walked and you were already dreading whatever he was going to do next. Instead, all he said before slamming the door shut was, “Enjoy your night.” 

The next morning, he woke up and took his time making himself breakfast and getting ready for the day. Eventually he decided to check on you.

Your sounds were audible before he even opened the door and once he stepped inside, his cock twitched at the sight. “Oh wow.” He chuckled, stepping closer. At the sound of his voice, your crying intensified and you started pleading through the gag. The vibrator was still going strong, but it was covered in your come, and there was a puddle beneath you, so you either squirted, or pissed yourself. 

“Maybe I should’ve let them train you a little longer.” He smirked, slowly making his way to the front of your body. “Do I need to get you some pee pads?” He cooed, making you cry harder. Once he was in front of you, he grabbed your hair and yanked your head up, relishing in the image of your flushed, tear stained cheeks and the saliva that was steadily drooling out of your mouth around the gag. 

“How was your night?” He asked, only making you more distressed. You were sobbing so hard that he could even see the snot leaking from your nose. With a sigh, he released you and walked behind you to turn off the vibrator. Your whole body sagged in relief, your muscles still twitching weakly. 

Leaning closer, he used one hand to grab your ass and pull it open a little, while the other dragged through your slick folds. You let out a choked sound when he pushed two fingers inside you without warning. 

“Perfect.” He murmured, slowly fucking them in and out of your drooling hole. You were still so tight, but he would at least be able to fit his cock in there. You whimpered and squirmed a little, barely able to move in the restraints, and he let out a low groan, unable to wait any longer. 

Your body went completely rigid at the sound of his belt buckle, but he ignored it, opening his pants frantically and taking out his length. He moved the vibrator away for now and lined up, then immediately pushed in, forcing a strangled cry out of you from the sudden stretch. 

He bottomed out with a grunt, taking a moment to admire the sight of your pussy wrapped tightly around his cock. When he pulled back, it was already glistening with your arousal. It didn’t take long for him to get desperate enough to speed up, starting a punishing pace that forced little breaths and sounds out of you with each thrust. 

Once you started moaning, a smug smirk took over his face. “See? You would’ve been screaming and crying if not for my compassion.” He said, feigning concern. He reached up to unbuckle the gag and let it drop to the floor before adding, “What do you say?” 

“T-Thank you.” You choked out, voice hoarse from moaning and crying all night. 

“Try again.” He ordered with a sharp smack on your ass, forcing a strangled sob from you. 

“Thank you.. master…” The way you trailed off made it sound like a question, but he decided to let it slide this time and focus on fucking you. 

“Good girl.” He groaned, speeding up. “You’re exactly what I wanted, bitch. You still have some fight left in you, but it doesn’t take much to beat you into submission.” He chuckled, imagining all the ways he could force you to submit if you were ever disobedient. He was so excited to see your pretty skin covered in bruises, welts, scratches, bite marks, cuts— everything. He also made a mental note to brand you soon since he was now completely certain that you were the perfect slave he’s been searching for.  

The wet sounds of your pussy were obscene as he fucked you hard and fast, trying to savor his first time fucking you, but unable to hold back because of how good you felt squeezing his cock. 

“God- I’m already close.” He groaned, already deciding to do another breeding session in a couple hours, instead of waiting until tomorrow. “Your cunt feels fucking incredible.” You whined, but the way you clamped down on his cock was unmistakable. 

“Mark the day, pet. You’re going to officially be my breeding slave in a few minutes.” He smiled, making you stiffen, then start thrashing. 

“No!” You yelled, trying uselessly to escape the restraints. 

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know what you were being sold for.” He scoffed. “You underwent the fertility treatment, didn’t you?” 

“Please— please don’t..” You sobbed, still trying to break free. 

“This is happening, cunt.” He growled bitterly. “I paid for a slave that would give me an heir and that’s exactly what you are.” 

“Please pull out!” You cried, becoming hysterical. Jackson groaned, feeling his orgasm rapidly approaching as you continued begging and sobbing. 

“Keep fucking crying, bitch. It only turns me on more.” He said with a dark chuckle. This was exactly what he wanted; some fight. He didn’t want a broken, docile slave who took his abuse willingly. He wanted a slave who still had hope that this wasn’t her new reality, and you were still clinging to that desperately. 

His hips stuttered for a moment, then he slammed in with a grunt, fully sheathing his cock inside you. Your pussy fluttered around his twitching length, greedily taking his come despite yourself. You were crying almost violently now, babbling out senseless pleas for him to stop, but it was too late. 

When his orgasm finally faded, he panted for a few seconds, then slowly withdrew his cock. It slipped free with a wet squelch and he quickly walked over to grab the internal vibrator he bought for you. He pushed it in, keeping you plugged up, then took off all the restraints and lifted you upright. You stumbled when he dragged you over to the bed, then whimpered when he threw you down onto it. 

He started with your wrists, tying them to each corner of the bed. Then he pushed your legs up and bent you in half, letting him tie your ankles to the headboard, keeping your cunt angled up a little bit so that his come could have a chance to take. 

He stood back to admire you for a moment before remembering the last detail. You watched him walk over to grab a cloth of some kind, then you tried to turn your head away when he moved to tie it around you as a gag, but it was no use. 

“There we go.” He smiled proudly. “Now, I have some work that needs to get done before our next breeding session so you’re going to be a good little slave and stay right here.” He chuckled at his choice of words. When he turned on the internal vibrator, you screamed around the cloth and squeezed your eyes shut, feeling far too sensitive after the rough fucking. “See you in a few hours for round two, pet.” 

[hayakawalove]

Survival Skills

Summary: Suguru has to go on a business trip, leaving you and Satoru to fend for yourselves. Will you be able to? A/N: I really really like this fic. I thought the idea of you and Gojo trying to figure out how to manage without Suguru would be very funny. I doubt Suguru minds caring for either of you, my whole thing about him is that he needs to be needed. Comments always appreciated!

CW: SFW, Fluff, Polyamory, Food, Teasing, Humor, Comfort, Light Angst, Suggestive Joke, Very Mild Infidelity Joke, Gender Neutral Reader, They/Them Reader W/C: 6,697

Credit to Benkeibear for the banner

“Alright, I made some garden pasta for the both of you. It’s in the fridge. I also left out some recipes in case you guys go through that fast.” 

You stand next to the door, staring up at Suguru as he lists off the food he had left for you and Satoru. He was such a worrier, if you didn’t know any better you would think Suguru thought the both of you might starve the second he left. 

On second thought, you might. 

“Thank you Suguru-“ you start. 

“And I left some chicken in the fridge for tonight’s dinner. It just needs to be cooked, I already marinated it, it's that one you liked from-“ He interrupts you, his lips twisted in a frown. 

“-Thank you, Suguru.” You grab him by the arms, holding him firmly as you cut him off. 

Suguru stops talking, no doubt getting the message. You had been trying to get him out the door for thirty minutes now, you were certain the taxi driver outside was nearly losing his mind. 

Suguru peeks over your head, sliding past you to walk towards Satoru. He was laying on the couch, his long limbs hanging over the edge. You really should get a bigger couch. 

Suguru leans down and places a kiss on Satoru’s lips, almost melting down when Satoru lifts a hand up to hold the back of his head. The sight almost brings you to your knees. 

“Do you really have to go?” Satoru asks when Suguru peels himself off. 

Suguru hums before squeezing Satoru’s shoulder, turning around to face you once more. 

“Are you sure you guys are going to be okay?” Worry is etched into his face. 

“Yes, mom. We'll be fine.” You reassure him, even though the words feel hollow. 

Would you be fine? You and Satoru were grown adults, fully capable of handling yourselves. 

“If Satoru got an extra kiss, I want one too.” 

Suguru’s face relaxes into a smile as he leans down, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. His lips slip perfectly between yours. You have to fight the urge to drag him back inside. 

A horn sounds out, breaking the tender moment.The cab was still waiting. 

“Okay. Text me if you need anything.” Suguru speaks, punctuating each word with a kiss. 

The overt signs of affection soothe your nerves the slightest bit. Everything would be fine. And you wouldn’t be completely alone. Satoru would be here with you.

Your fingers tremble as you close the door behind Suguru, and an unnerving silence begins to take hold of your residence. It wouldn’t be silent for long though, not when you had Satoru in the house. 

“So what do you wanna do now? We could throw a rager and party till the cops show up.” Satoru proposes. 

You snort and drag your feet away from the door, bringing yourself to the couch. 

“We would need to have friends to do that, Satoru.” 

“Wh- I have friends, don’t know about you though.” 

You roll your eyes while he snickers to himself. Your foot nudges his leg, and he clicks his tongue. You wouldn’t throw a party, although the noise and commotion would have been greatly appreciated. 

“Come on, why don’t we eat some of the leftovers Suguru made and put something on.” 

Satoru sighs dramatically at your denial of a party before sitting up. 

You dish out two bowls of garden pasta for the two of you, your stomach rumbling at the mere sight of Suguru’s cooking. Satoru puts on your favorite show while the two of you start to eat. The food tasted amazing, like always. When Suguru first entered your life, you were sure that eventually you would get used to his cooking, but no. It amazed you every single time you had it. 

At first, it was sort of nice having some extra personal time with Satoru. Being in a polyamorous relationship could be difficult at times, trying to navigate the best way to divide your attention. With Suguru on a business trip, the two of you were able to spend some much needed time together. You even noticed that Satoru clung onto you a little more when you slept, no longer having to share you with Suguru. 

When you wake up in the morning, the bed is decidedly more cold than it was the previous day. You turn your head to the right, Suguru’s designated spot, only to be met with air. You feel a heavy weight against you, long limbs tangled in yours. Satoru. His arm is thrown across your body while his bottom half is laying on top of you, his legs on yours. It was suffocating. But it was just what you needed with the lack of Suguru. 

You close your eyes and focus on Satoru’s breathing. It's a steady pattern, one that could lull you back to sleep if you weren’t careful. It was the weekend so realistically, you and Satoru could stay in bed all day if you wanted to. The idea sounded nice, but you needed something first. 

You jostle your legs, causing Satoru to grumble. You pinch his arm and he yelps, squeezing you tighter. 

“I know you’re awake, Satoru.” 

“No I'm not.” He responds, voice devoid of any sleepiness. 

“I'm hungry,” you whine “you should make us crepes. Suguru left the recipe.” 

Satoru’s eyes flick open and you’re almost startled by the blue looking at you. His hair was ruffled, an adorable look on him. 

“Why don't you make it?” 

The two of you could go back and forth for hours; this was why it was good to have Suguru there to cook. 

“Because I just woke up, I’ll make dinner when we run out of leftovers.” 

Satoru thinks for a moment, before dramatically groaning, pushing himself up. He’s wearing a loose white shirt with black pants, and he looks so cozy you almost felt bad for making him get up. You did need to eat though, and so did he. 

You trudge after him, plopping on a stool at the bar as you watch him navigate the kitchen. He looks confident, like he belongs there, even though you know damn well he hasn’t cooked a thing since Suguru walked into his life. 

You're telling him about your dream as he holds a mixing bowl, leaning his back against the counter as he listens to you while stirring the crepe batter. You decide on Nutella and strawberries for the fillings, the mere thought of it making your mouth water. 

“And then when we left the house, you got struck by lightning-“ you’re talking before he interrupts you. 

“Hah? You killed me off in your dream?” His eyebrows are touching his hairline, looking the slightest bit offended. 

“I can't control my dreams! You can't either. Remember when you had that spicy dream about-“ 

He rushes to cut you off, not wanting to be reminded of it. You weren’t sure why he told you stuff, he knew you would just tease him after. It wasn’t like he was any better. 

“Okay okay, point taken. Kill off Suguru next time though, yeah?” He turns around, and starts to pour the batter into a pan to cook. 

“Duly noted.” You remark, picking up a strawberry to pop into your mouth. 

Satoru faces you again as the crepe cooks, his fingers tapping his arm. He looked impatient. He usually was. You drag your eyes down his body before bringing them back up to his face, where you notice he's already staring at you. 

“See something you like?” He comments, a cocky grin on his face. 

“I do, you wanna go out some time? My boyfriends not home.” 

Satoru chuckles and walks towards the bar, leaning over in front of you. 

He reaches across it and grabs your hand, turning it over until your palm is facing up. He looks calculated as he stares down, running his thumb over the skin, light enough it almost tickles. A small smirk appears on his lips once he sees you squirming out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Wanna play rock paper scissors on who has to do the dishes?” You ask. 

He flicks his blue eyes up to you. 

“I’m cooking, why don’t you do dishes?” 

“Oh, so you’re afraid of losing.” You prod, knowing you’ll get a reaction. 

Satoru sneers and stands up straight with his hand out. You reach out too, noticing the size difference of your fists. 

“Ready?” You wait a moment. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot-“ 

You lay your hand flat while he keeps his in a fist. Satoru’s brows furrow while you grin. His lips twitch while he looks up at you and pouts, always a sore loser. 

“Two out of three?” He proposes, already getting his hand ready for the next round.

You jokingly roll your eyes and set your hand out again. Satoru’s looking at you intently, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth, eyes wide as if he could predict your next move. 

He was able to, apparently. 

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot-“ 

You put down scissors, and his hand is formed into a rock. Satoru cackles and taps your scissors, happy with himself. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself pretty boy, there’s still one round left.” 

The two of you get into position for the final game. There’s a distinct smell floating over to your nose, and you crinkle it as you look over Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Satoru, I think it’s burning-“ 

“Yeah yeah hold on, let’s go.” Satoru’s in the zone. 

You shrug and straighten in your seat. 

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot-“ you recite. 

You put down scissors and he puts down paper. You chuckle as you snip at his hand. He juts his lip out as he grieves his loss, and you almost feel bad. The smell is getting stronger now, and Satoru’s finally picking up on it. 

“Oh, shit- why didn’t you tell me it was burning?” He turns around and fumbles, rushing over to the burner. 

You give him a deadpan stare, shoving another strawberry in your mouth. 

“Gotta cook, gotta clean, gotta do everything around here.” Satoru’s mumbling under his breath. 

“I know, you’re like Suguru.” 

Satoru dumps the burnt crepe in the trash before turning around, pouring more batter in the pan. You watch him from behind as he cooks, his hip popping to the side as he rests a hand on it, tapping his foot as he waits for the crepe. The sight was borderline mouthwatering. 

Once the crepes are finished, Satoru sits next to you as the two of you decorate them, slathering the chocolate spread on and placing strawberries neatly down. While he burned the first one, all the others turned out perfect. Leave it to Satoru to be good at something. He groans in satisfaction as he takes a bite of his. 

Breakfast was good, decidedly so, but there was something missing as you ate. Or rather, someone was missing. 

~~~

You lay on your stomach on your bed as you gaze at your phone. You were calling Suguru, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before you went to bed. 

The phone flashes the second he answers and your head perks up. 

“Suguru!” 

“Hey baby.”

Your heart falters at the sound of his silky tone. 

“How was your day?” He asks. 

He’s lying in a hotel bed, dark circles beneath his eyes as he watches your face. The sight hurts you. He’s made an off-handed comment before that he didn’t sleep well without you and Satoru. Your fingers twitch with the need to reach through the screen to grab him. 

“It was okay, how was yours?” 

“It was alright. Nothing interesting has happened yet,” he pauses and his eyes flick down before he brings them back up to you. “Wish I was home though.” 

“Do you?” You tease, your teeth digging into your cheek. 

“I do. It's a bit weird. I haven’t had this much alone time since Satoru got the stomach flu in school, and even then he was calling me every hour to baby him.” 

You let out a laugh. 

Suguru gets up from his bed and carries the phone with him. It looks like he’s in the bathroom now, you can tell with the shower curtains behind him. He’s shirtless with a pair of pajama pants on, they were red plaid that hung low on his waist. It was a Christmas gift you had gotten him several years ago. Even though he was far away, there was still evidence of your love on his body. 

Suguru sets you on the counter, digging his teeth in the hair tie around his wrist. It hangs from his mouth as his hands comb through his hair, putting it into a bun. You’re mesmerized as you watch the action. 

“Satoru tried making your crepes earlier.” You comment, watching Suguru. 

He hums to prove he’s listening, as he stares into the mirror. You watch his tight stomach as he washes his hands, leaning forward to pull out his contacts. 

“They turned out okay. The second batch anyway. The first batch he got distracted and almost burnt the house down.” 

Suguru blinks a couple times before looking down at you, his eyes squinting. 

“I’m kidding! Well, kind of. We were playing rock paper scissors and he was losing, so he was distracted and the first one burnt. I won by the way.” 

Suguru lifts up his phone and carries you back to the bed, sitting down and sliding on his glasses. He always thought he looked the worst at bedtime, unpresentable he said, but you always thought it was when he looked best. 

“Oh hey, you talking to Suguru?” Satoru enters the bedroom and asks, flopping down. 

He inches up the bed, and lays on top of you, pushing his weight on your back while he grabs the phone, pointing it towards him. 

“You miss us so much you just had to call?” Satoru says lightly. 

“Sure, Satoru.” Suguru’s face softens as he watches him. 

“Did they tell you that I won rock paper scissors?” Satoru goes on. 

You wiggle beneath him, trying to distribute his weight. Fruitless effort. 

“No, they didn’t. They did tell me that they won, though.” 

Satoru plasters on a shocked face and uses his other hand to push your face down towards the bed. You chuckle beneath him, poking your head up again. 

“I’m being bullied in your absence, you know.” Satoru tells Suguru. 

“Well, someone has to keep you in line.” 

You giggle beneath Satoru. It was true. Someone had to manage Satoru while Suguru was gone. 

“I have to head to bed, got an early day tomorrow. I love you both.” Suguru says, and you can tell he really doesn’t want to hang up. 

“Okay… I love you!” You try to make your voice cheery. 

“I love you more!” Satoru almost yells. 

The two of you smile at the camera until Suguru clicks off. You try not to let the silence get to you. 

~~~

The next several days were relatively harmless. Suguru called every day, sometimes multiple times if he had the time. You finally ran out of the garden pasta and chicken leftovers, much to your chagrin. Satoru had eaten more than you thought he would. It was because he told you he thought the two tupperware were his, and that there were two others in the fridge for you. When he overheard Suguru saying he put leftovers for the both of you in the fridge, he took that as there was a container for each of you. 

There wasn’t. 

So here you are. 

You end up driving to the store as Satoru was a self proclaimed Passenger Princess. He talked to you the whole time while shuffling through his playlist. 

When the two of you arrive, Satoru makes a beeline to the carts. His lanky figure hunches over as he pushes it, walking at a much slower pace to keep up with you. Satoru and Suguru usually walked extremely fast, given their freakishly long legs. 

And they made fun of you for being slow. 

Satoru always offered to give you piggy back rides, but you only made that mistake once. You were green in the face once he finished, sick for the rest of the day. 

“What’s on the list?” Satoru asks, eyes trailing over the shelves.

You look down at the paper in front of you, carefully reading Suguru’s neat handwriting. 

“Beef, noodles, broccoli, ginger, and green onion.” You read off. 

You link your arm around Satoru’s (he wasn’t the only one who was feeling extra needy while Suguru was gone). Satoru’s arm is thick and hard underneath yours, the result of working out daily for years. Calling it mere eye candy would be gross negligence. 

The two of you had gotten everything on the list, save for the noodles. You were debating in the middle of the aisle between two different packs. 

“Why can’t we just get that one? Comes with more.” Satoru says, pointing to the package in your right hand. It was twice the size of the other one. 

“Cause it’s not the brand Suguru wrote down.” You respond, eyes flicking back and forth. 

It would be nice to have extra, but still… 

“They’re both noodles.” Satoru remarks. 

“Do you want it to taste like Suguru’s?” 

You take Satoru’s silence as an answer, stuffing the larger package back on the shelf. Honestly, you didn’t really see the need to get the specific brand either. But Suguru was meticulous, and you decided you would be too, in his stead. 

You throw the noodles in the cart, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction flow through you. See? You didn’t need Suguru to function. You normally did shopping with him anyway, but you tended to just talk his ear off the whole time while he picked out what he needed. He liked the company, he said. 

When you turn around, you see Satoru shifting everything in the cart. You raise your brows, waiting for him to explain. 

“Get in.” He lifts his head up, signaling for you to hop in. 

You dart your eyes back and forth between the cart and him. 

“I’m not- we could get in trouble-“

“Oh, so you’re a scaredy cat.” Satoru has a shit eating grin as he leans against the cart. 

Now that was something you couldn’t have. You grumble to him and take his hand as he helps you crawl into the cart. It’s a bit fun, you feel joy sparking in your body the second he moves the cart. He pushes it fast before jumping on the back with both feet, letting the momentum carry the two of you. Your laughter fills the air and Satoru’s grinning at you. You felt so carefree, momentarily forgetting the sadness that lurked beneath. 

What feels like an earthquake shocks you from your moment of joy. You whip your head around to the front of the cart, eyes popping out once you see the cause. Your cart had knocked into someone else’s, the older woman scowling at you. 

“You need to watch where you're-“ she starts, her gaze moving from you to Satoru, “-going.” Her words sound light as she stares up at Satoru, clearly in awe of his beauty. 

“I’m sorry, that was my bad.” Satoru says with a chuckle, scratching the back of his head. 

The woman sputters as she stares up at him. Lucky bastard. He could start a war, and apologize right after and get away with it. Pretty privileges. 

“It’s-it’s okay. Just try to be careful? You wouldn't want to get hurt.” She says, aiming her words at Satoru, even though you were in the one in the cart. 

The audacity. 

“Yes! Thank you!” Satoru is smooth as he waves her off. He doesn’t stop smiling until she’s out of sight. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You murmur under your breath, looking up at him. 

Satoru drops his head to look down at you, and you’re almost startled at the intensity of his eyes. You weren’t immune to his beauty either. 

“It’s not my fault old women love me.” 

“Everyone loves you.” 

Satoru grins, shoving the cart before jumping on it again. He didn’t learn anything. You can’t be mad though, not with the way you start to laugh in fun again. The two of you travel down the aisles, slipping different treats into the cart, shoving them on your lap. 

Satoru pays and the two of you head out, the daunting task of cooking dinner resting on your shoulders. 

~~~

You stand in the kitchen feeling completely out of place as you stare at the ingredients before you. It wasn’t a hard recipe by any means, Suguru picked it for its ease. But it was still incredibly daunting. With a sigh, you begin to start cooking the meat, trying to shove the nerves from your mind. You kicked Satoru out of the kitchen, banishing him to your bedroom while you cooked so he wouldn't distract you. 

It was going okay, it really was, it smelled and even looked delicious. That was until you added the garlic powder. You swear it came out faster than it normally did, probably intent on ruining your night if you had to guess. Your eyes stare at the lump of powder in the pan before you rush to mix it, hoping by some miracle that it would dilute. 

You turn the stove off with a dissatisfied expression, glaring at the meal as if it personally did you wrong. A heavy garlic smell hangs in the air, permeating in the small kitchen, as if to shove your face in the failure. 

“Satoru! It’s… done.” You mumble the last part. 

Satoru comes bounding out of the bedroom, a large grin on his face that twitches the second he reaches you before he forces it back. 

“Smells great!” He comments. 

Your lip wobbles into a frown as you stare up at him. 

“Satoru.” 

“Whaatt? I’m serious. Smells fantastic.” He puts an emphasis on the last word. 

You have to keep a sob from bubbling up your throat. You knew there was no way you could compete with Suguru. Turning around, you mope while grabbing bowls, dishing out the dinner for you two. A dinner that would kill any vampire, even if they just looked at it. 

Hanging your head in shame you nudge Satoru’s bowl over to him. Honestly, you were debating if it would have just been better to starve for the night. Satoru grabs his chopsticks and immediately dives in, shoving the utensils in his mouth once he has a hefty amount of food piled on. 

“Wait-!” You try to stop him, although you're not even sure what you’d say. 

Satoru bounces his head side to side as if he’s thinking, his pale cheeks puffed out from the amount of noodles he had. Your eyes are wide open as you stare at him, unsure if you would need to grab water or google how to do the Heimlich maneuver. 

“It’s good!” Satoru says, chopsticks snapping as he picks even more. 

Your mouth is hung open as you witness him chowing down on the food. He can’t be serious. It’s bad. You know it’s bad. 

Why is he lying? 

“Satoru- it’s okay, you don’t, you don’t have to keep eating it, we can order something.” You move to grab his bowl from him. 

Satoru slaps your hand and flicks his lashes up to you. His face is incredibly serious, and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why. 

“I want this.” He maintains eye contact as he grabs more, slipping it past his pink lips. 

You feel exposed under his gaze so you look away, crossing your chest. Is he trying to prove something to you? 

“We should tell Suguru he’s kicked out of the kitchen once he comes back, since you can cook.” 

“Okay, now that feels like you’re making fun of me.” 

“I’m serious! How’d you get the meat so tender?” He’s speaking around mouthfuls of food. 

The meat was tender. You were actually really proud of it, even snapping a picture to send to Suguru. The food was going good until the incident. 

You poke and prod at your food, taking several bites before you nudge the bowl away. Satoru may be able to put on a brave face as he eats it, but you’re much weaker than him. 

Not only does Satoru eat his bowl, he gets seconds, leaving next to nothing in the pan once he finishes. The first couple bites amazed you, how could he pretend it wasn’t bad? Then he had more, and more, and you were starting to worry the copious amounts of garlic had killed his taste buds. 

You were still hungry so once he finishes, he stands up to make you instant ramen. It wasn’t the healthiest of meals, sure, but at least you weren’t going to go hungry. Satoru sits next to you and watches as you dive in, much more eager to eat this than the monstrosity you created. He has love in his eyes as he stares, opening his mouth wide when you offer him a bite. 

Just where did all that food go? 

“All done?” He asks, standing up to grab your bowl. 

You aren’t even feeling upset anymore. Satoru was good at that, though. He always knew how to cheer you up, using his ridiculousness to his advantage. 

“Thank you, Satoru.” You murmur and wrap your arms around him. 

He uses his free hand to pull you in closer. When you look up at him you feel like you’re floating; you had so much love in your heart for him. Satoru leans down, lips pushed out in an attempt to kiss you. 

You could smell the garlic from where you’re sitting. 

You press your hand against his mouth and attempt to push him away. 

“N-no! I don’t wanna kiss your garlic lips.”

“Baby, you’re so mean to me!” He presses against your hand, face inching closer to yours. 

“Get away from me!” You screech with a laugh, running to your bedroom. 

Satoru cackles behind you, pushing the dirty dishes in the sink to clean later, before he chases after you. 

~~~

Several days had passed since the night you cooked for Satoru. Suguru would be coming home today, you think. It was hard to remember. The days had blended together in a conglomeration of time without Suguru. You were excited to see him again. You hadn’t slept well the past couple of days. You hadn’t slept at all for the past two, really. No matter how warm Satoru felt hogging you at night, his limbs wrapping around you like an octopus, your right side still felt remarkably cold. There was a hole in your bed, a Suguru shaped one. 

He’d be home today. He’d be home. 

When Suguru arrives home, he feels something like excitement and relief wash over him. He was able to come home way earlier than anticipated. The sun was barely starting to peek over the clouds, he wasn’t supposed to be back until dinner time. Suguru digs into his pocket once he’s stopped at the door, rummaging around until he grabs hold of his keys. He carefully pushes them in the door, not wanting to wake you. 

The house is silent when he walks in, almost eerily so. Is this what Satoru was used to? He was always the early bird out of the three of you, waking up hours before you and Suguru even thought to. Suguru keeps his steps light as he walks into the house, leaving his bags by the door. The first thing he notices is a bump of hair poking out above the couch. Your hair. 

Why were you out here? 

Kicking Satoru out, he would understand. But you? 

Suguru makes his way closer to you, standing behind the couch. He leans over and places a hand on your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. You jump in your seat and screech, your phone flying from your hands. Suguru winces once it makes impact with the floor, and brings his eyes back to you. 

You looked… awful. 

There are dark circles underneath your frenzied eyes, your chest heaving as you stare at Suguru. Once you’re able to comprehend that it’s just him, you twirl around and jump over the couch at him. 

Suguru instantly wraps his arms around you so you won’t drop. 

Are you… lighter? 

“Suguru!” Your words are muffled into his neck, your breathing tickling the side of his throat. 

He feels relief at the weight of you against him. He missed being crushed by the presence of you and Satoru. Suguru lifts a hand up and holds the back of your head, shifting his fingers into your hair. The two of you stand like this until he begrudgingly sets you down. 

Your eyes are lit up as you stare at him, your body practically jumping up and down. 

“You’re here early! Right? What time is it? What day is it?” You ask. 

Suguru’s brow lifts up as he watches you, only tearing his eyes away to stare at his watch. It was very early. 

“Why are you awake?” He asks, looking at you. 

The definition of guilt pinches up on your face. You look away, suddenly finding everything else in the room much more interesting than him, even though you were attached to him moments ago. 

Suguru waits for an answer that doesn’t come. 

“How long have you been awake?” His voice is deeper this time. 

He knows he found the sore spot by the way you wince. Suguru says your name in a reprimanding tone. 

“I am willfully choosing not to answer.” You murmur. 

Suguru grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His heart breaks at the sight. Sure, he probably also looked like he hadn’t slept well in awhile. But that was him, and you are you. And you’re his baby. 

Suguru repeats your name a second time, voice much softer. Your face relaxes as you sag in his hold. 

“Two… days.” You respond quietly, Suguru has to strain his ears to hear the end of it. 

Suguru normally tries not to overreact. That was left to Satoru. But he can’t stop the way his eyes bulge from his head, his lips parting in shock. 

“Huh?” He feels the sudden urge to wrap you up and tuck you away. 

“It’s not my fault! The bed was just so cold… and then I got distracted by my phone, which-” you look over your shoulder at your phone on the floor “-shouldn’t be a problem anymore.” 

Suguru’s heart tugs into guilt. He knew that wasn’t what you were intending. You would never want to make him feel bad. 

You couldn’t sleep without him? 

Suguru sighs and pulls you into a warm hug. You nestle into his embrace, your face smooshing against his broad chest. Suguru swears he can feel himself drifting off to dreamland, but he forces himself out. 

He pulls away and reaches over the couch to grab a blanket. He wraps it tightly around your body, including the back of your head. You look a bit like you’re in a cocoon by the time he’s done. He pulls it tight around your chest, and grabs your face with both hands. 

“Go lay down.” His voice is soft but commanding. “I’m gonna cook something, I’ll get you when it’s ready.” 

You look to the ground like a scolded child as you nod, dragging your feet towards the bedroom. Suguru feels a renewed sense of responsibility as he watches you trudge away. He takes a deep breath and looks around. 

Where was Satoru? 

Suguru knew he would be up. At least, he should be up. Suguru walks into the house, going towards the kitchen. He finds Satoru sitting at the table facing away from him, looking down. 

“Satoru?” Suguru says to announce his presence, learning from his mistake. 

Satoru’s head whips around, tossing his phone on the table while he bounces up to his feet. He charges toward Suguru, jumping up until he’s latched around him. Suguru doesn’t have to hold him in place, he can feel Satoru’s legs wrapped tightly against his back. Suguru sways in place and smoothes a hand down Satoru’s back. He peers over Satoru’s shoulder to the table where he notices a bowl of something. Ice cream. 

A wave of smell coming from Satoru’s shampoo washes over Suguru, and he buries his face into the side of Satoru’s neck even more. He missed that smell. 

Suguru pulls Satoru away, reaching behind to unlatch Satoru’s limbs from his body. He sets him down and looks at him, able to maintain eye contact without looking down. 

Satoru looked good. He thought so, at least. He looked wide awake, probably having been awake for at least thirty minutes. Suguru adjusts one of Satoru’s stray white hairs, before looking him up and down. 

“When’s the last time you ate something green?” Suguru asks, knowing that would be Satoru’s issue once Suguru was gone. 

Satoru looks over his own shoulder to the table at his bowl of ice cream. His bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

“Uh, now?” Satoru responds, looking back at Suguru. 

Suguru squints at Satoru, clearly unimpressed. 

“Have I told you how handsome you are lately?” Satoru goes on. 

“Finish what you have, but I’m making something for everyone. I’m gonna make sure to put lots of vegetables in it, just for you.” 

Satoru whines as Suguru turns around, tying his hair up and shoving his sleeves out of the way. 

You’re nestled in the sheets of your bed when Suguru’s voice pulls you from the deep sleep you managed to find yourself in. It was like just knowing Suguru was in the house was enough to calm your nerves to grant you rest. You twist and turn in the bed, debating on whether or not to bring the blanket with you. You hadn’t realized how exhausted you were until Suguru woke you up, and you found yourself wanting to go back to sleep. 

A delicious smell carries over to the bedroom, snapping you out of your haze. The one thing you missed more than sleep was Suguru’s cooking. 

You jump out of bed and make your way to the kitchen. Suguru’s standing next to the stove, a spatula in hand as he looks down. He isn’t wearing his sweater anymore, instead he was wearing a loose white shirt. Satoru is sitting on the counter next to him with a bowl held firmly in his hands, a spoon in his mouth. He’s wearing Suguru’s sweater now, and you don’t doubt for a second that he begged Suguru for it. 

You didn’t blame him. You wanted to drown in Suguru just as much. 

“Is it ready?” You ask, lifting a fist up to wipe the sleep from your eyes. 

Suguru turns around and a soft smile grows on his face as he watches you. You really were his baby. 

“Just about, will you take Satoru’s dishes? He won’t let me have them.” 

“I’m not done yet!” Satoru complains, gripping the bowl closer to him. 

“Satoru, the bowl is empty.” Suguru says, as if he’s already repeated that. 

Satoru digs his spoon back into the bowl, lifting it up to his lips again. The bowl was empty. There were only melted remains of the ice cream clinging to the glass, Satoru scooping it up and easing it past his lips. 

You walk up to him and try to tug the bowl from his hands. On the second tug Satoru finally relents, letting you take the dish to the sink. That was one thing you did right. There were no dirty dishes, the house was in relatively clean condition in general. You refused to let Suguru come home to a messy house. 

Suguru dishes out three bowls for you all, evenly distributing the food. Your mouth is watering by the time he’s done, and you’re diving in the second he gives you yours. 

The food all but melts in your mouth. It was so good. And it didn’t reek of garlic. Suguru stands in the kitchen as he eats, watching you and Satoru sit at the bar. There’s an easy smile on his face as he watches you both, only looking away to shovel more food into his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for making you cook.” You mumble around the food, guilt tugging at your chest. 

You really were pathetic, you could hardly survive with him out of the house. He just got back from his trip, yet he dropped everything to take care of you. 

Suguru picks up on the sadness on your face. 

“I don’t mind, really. I was craving a home cooked meal anyway.” 

Satoru’s lips twitch into a smile. He’s up to something. 

“If you wanted a home cooked meal you should have just said so. They made beef noodles while you were gone, we actually saved the leftovers.” 

Your face heats up, and you kick Satoru’s leg besides yours. 

“Shut up! No I didn’t, Suguru!” 

Suguru’s brow is raised as he watches the two of you bicker. 

“Did you? I didn’t see it.” He talks under his breath as he turns around, opening the fridge to look into it. 

“Suguru!” You whine. 

“It’s in the-“ Satoru’s voice is muffled as he speaks through your hand, “-the front in the container.” 

Suguru reaches to grab it, turning around to set it on the counter. They were the leftovers you hadn’t eaten, as Satoru had consumed everything else. Your face is scrunched up as you watch Suguru open the lid. 

A strong smell of garlic fills the area and you sob, covering your face with your hands. Embarrassed didn’t even cover the half of it. 

Suguru’s face is curious as he peers down, using his utensil to dig into the container, not bothering to heat it up. If he can tell how overpowering the garlic is, he doesn’t show it. Suguru bites into the food, chewing for a moment while the room quiets down. 

“You put a unique spin on it.” He finally says. 

You sob even louder, dropping your head. Satoru is chuckling beside you, taking a sip from his cup. 

“I didn’t say it was bad! It’s just, a choice.” Suguru tilts his head as he takes a second bite. 

“Please stop.” You whine. 

The two boys were ruthless together. Sometimes you forgot, but it didn’t take them long to remind you. It was hard to tell which was worse, the upfront bullying of Satoru or the teasing Suguru took up, that often left you wondering if he was being mean at all. 

Suguru closes the container, and for reasons unknown slips it back into the fridge. Personally, you would have preferred if he threw the whole damn thing away, container included. Or lit it on fire. 

“I hate you.” You murmur to Satoru. 

He side hugs you, pulling you close to him; as close as he can without yanking you from your seat. 

“Did you guys have some good bonding time together?” Suguru asks, picking up all your dirty dishes before dropping them in the sink. 

“We did!” Satoru says proudly. 

You did, and that was nice. You just couldn’t announce it right now, you were too busy showing your displeasure. 

Suguru steps out of the kitchen and makes his way to you both. He presses a kiss to Satoru’s forehead, and grabs your jaw. He bites back a coo at the scowl resting on your face. So damn cute. He presses his lips against yours and you nearly melt. Suguru pulls back and lets his eyes float between you two. He really missed you guys. 

“You wanna go back to sleep?” He offers. 

You grin excitedly and hop off the stool, pulling Satoru with you. The two of you trip over your feet as you run to the bedroom, Suguru trailing behind with a smile on his face. 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for whenever I post something

[remotewatch]

can’t hit it one time, multiple

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 2.9k wc

minors dni but still get involved and stay informed politically let me be clear

summary: volunteering is so rewarding! being a part of a cause you believe in, educating first time voters, getting dicked by the campaign’s eye candy on your lunch break; it’s got everything!

cws: shameless classic 1D style smut, bus rocking, wrap it before you tap it on THE Harris campaign reproductive freedom bus (is it legally actionable to call it by its govt name), whatever the hell is going on with the JD videos cranked up to 100, reader calls him both diva and a slut, both not totally serious, his tripod is your wingman, this Barbie tastes like clementines, semi public sex I GUESS, sub!jack SOMEWHAT

many thanks to my editor (and co-writer this time around) @mystardustmelodyyy for the organizing and romantic flair 🩵🗳️

additional thanks to Jack and the team for the inspirational Philly content, do keep it up !!

Although your day of volunteering had been nothing terribly exciting so far- setting up chairs, guiding people to their seats, a LOT of directing lost families to the bathroom- the whole town hall was thrumming with a sense of hope that felt nothing short of electric. You didn’t realize how busy you’d been until you finally got a chance to sit down and make up some gift bags. That took no time at all, leaving you a nice free chunk of the day to wander around and soak up the atmosphere. There had been rumors of a free gelato truck, and the empty breezeway pointed to them being true. The sharp thwap of sambas slapping onto marble snapped you out of your daydreaming; almost empty, apparently.

As you rounded the corner, you spotted the source of the racket: America’s most polarizing nepo baby. Filming… a stunt of some kind? He takes a running start into a front flip, landing close enough to his tripod to throw it off balance. After repositioning it and trying again, his shoes slip in a puddle on the floor, forcing him to splay out a hand to avoid falling onto his ass.

You were well aware of Jack’s work; your feed was convinced you were precisely his target demo and had been pushing his content onto you since July. Maybe it wasn’t totally off base. Regardless, watching him struggle to land a perfect somersault was much more endearing than the finished videos. When he stands up for a third attempt and manages to tangle a tripod foot up with his pants in the process, you’re unable to suppress a fit of giggles.

“Are you winning over there, diva?”

Jack looks a bit sheepish when he first glances up but recovers quickly. He adjusts the tripod and hits you with the same smile your algorithm insists makes you weak.

“I think it’s still too close to call.”

“Did you want some help with the…whatever it is you’re recording?”

One of the tripod legs abruptly gives out, the clatter echoing around the breezeway. Jack winces and nudges the fallen hunk of fiberglass with his shoe.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you don’t mind.” Five long strides over to you and he’s pressing his phone into your hands, camera already open. “If you’d just follow- well, you saw what I was trying to do.”

You can’t say if it’s the pressure of a live audience of him being fed up with his previous attempts, but Jack flips perfectly into frame this time, proceeds immediately to an immaculate standing backflip, then takes off towards the other end of the breezeway without so much as glancing at the camera. He leaps up and clicks his heels a few steps in, only turning around when you’re starting to wonder if he’s just ditching the shoot altogether.

“How was that?” He shouts on his way back over.

“Looks good!” You have no earthly idea what he was going for, but it fits right in with the absurdist athletic vibe he’s been rocking with between his more overt political content.

“Aw, that’s great. Thank you!” he beams at you after looking over the footage (you try not to focus on how small the phone looks in his hands). “The lighting is perfect too.”

“Oh, good!” Thank god. “Did you need help with anything else?”

Jack rolls his eyes mischievously like he's considering letting you in on a huge secret. “I was actually going to film a thing or two for JD if you’ve got an extra minute.”

“For that? Absolutely!”

His grin stretches wider to match yours at that response, and you realize you’re smiling at each other like two idiots.

“I’m Jack, by the way.”

He repeats your name back after you introduce yourself, and you wish he’d do it again so you can keep watching his lips move saying it.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

This time, Jack gives you slightly more direction, guiding you to hold the phone at an angle just high enough to skew provocative as he leisurely strolls backwards through the hallway. You don’t need to coach him into angling his head just right to catch the afternoon sun in his eyes; he’s got the bambi look down pat.

“JD, I really miss you. Won’t you come home so we can be a family again?” He motions just out of frame for you to aim higher, but you’re already adjusting the shot before you see his signal. “You said I shouldn’t be voting because I’m not a dad like you. Is that true, JD? Or are you making up stories again?”

Jack glances backward to check if there’s enough room for him to keep up his pace, then breaks for a second to ask “Alright, one more?” The two octave difference almost makes you drop his phone, but you keep it together and nod.

His eyes crinkle up adorably when he smiles. “Sweet.” Then he’s back to business, eyefucking the camera like he just got out of prison.

“JD, I thought you knew everything, and you told me that I should never lie. How am I supposed to trust you if I don’t know when you're telling a story or not?”

You stick your bottom lip out and mouth “more”; he happily obliges. Jack looks every bit the foxy little public servant as he peers out at the lens from under his eyelashes.

“Can you help me understand, JD? I want to understand. I just need a little help. Can you show me?” Christ, he’s practically purring. Thankfully, he snaps back to director mode before you can get too lost in the rhythm.

“You think that was too much?”

“I think you could do a little more, to be really honest.”

His eyes narrow knowingly. “How so?”

“...You could go down on your knees.” You’re half joking at the most and still think you’ve crossed a line, but sure enough, he’s kneeling down and crossing his ankles like it couldn’t come more naturally to him.

He’s still plenty tall enough to bite your pant zipper, and you quickly shove the thought aside.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, perfect, just like that.”

This time, he might as well be on mute for all the words you’re processing. It’s all slow blinking doe eyes, curls bouncing with every emphatic head tilt, his tongue stretching out to wet his lips between sentences. The “Can you show me?” rocks straight through you and breaks the spell when Jack glances up at you. His expression shifts from mockingly innocent to coquettish for just a scorching, enduring moment, then he’s back on his feet, back to the bubbly, personable demeanor you’d expect from him.

“Thank you again for the help. She was NOT playing nice today.” he nods back at the tripod.

“Oh, it’s no problem! I love your work.” He waves a hand modestly.

“I love your work! You actually came out here and helped! It’s so much more important than what I do. Is this your first event?”

“It is! It’s my first time.”

“Well, we love first timers around here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” The implication hits you a beat too late, so you pad it with a restrained “It’s really interesting to see the behind the scenes of it all.”

Jack rocks back on his heels, his eyebrows drawing up playfully.

“Have you seen the bus?”

“Of course I’ve seen the bus!”

“No, I meant the inside of it. Did you want to see that?” He allows himself the forwardness of a head tilt.

What else could you say?

“Yeah, I really would.”

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Bless the gelato truck, because there’s not a trace of human activity on this side of the building. You’re barely paying attention to the formality of a tour Jack’s giving; his enthusiasm is adorable, but the way his fingers spread as he’s pointing out every feature in the bus is making your mind wander.

“Shoes on or off?” you manage to ask.

“Oh, whatever you want. We’re not strict.” Off, then. “As you can see, this is where the magic happens.”

Once you get to the middle of the bus, the combination of campaign paraphernalia and scattered phone chargers, melatonin gummies, and cold brew cans feels like you’re getting a peek into something thrilling. There’s a map of tour stops tacked up with current polling results on a small whiteboard to the side. It’s close, but no doubt doable. You’re so swept up that you nearly smack your head on an open cabinet door when you turn back to face your host. His hand shifts back along its edge to cushion the impact before you can think to duck, and the heat from it makes your cheek tingle.

“Careful, it’s tight in here!” he teases.

It’s hard to shake the feeling of trespassing.

“Are you sure I’m good to be here?” Jack turns back from replenishing half empty swag baskets to smile reassuringly.

“No one needs it until one. When do you have to get back?”

“My break ends at one thirty.”

“I guess it’s our bus, then!” He fetches you a sparkling water from the minifridge and cracks open his own like he owns the place. You elect to remain standing and lean against one of the chairs opposite, certainly not because you want to have him looking up at you for as long as possible.

Jack is all long limbs and tanned striations as he stretches out on the bench seat like a cat, his wingspan nearly spanning its whole length. When he arches slightly to get comfortable, his shirt catches under his pecs and makes your mouth go dry. You wonder if you’re staring too much.

“So, do you have any other directing experience, or do you just have a knack for giving orders?” His head lolls to one side, soaking up your attention. One of his feet moseys it’s way over to you, and you uncross your ankles before it has a chance to nudge them in that direction.

“I think you’re just good at taking them.” Is that a blush you’re seeing? Jack breaks into a giggle that reads almost wistful.

“I was expecting you to tell me to roll over and balance a treat on my nose.”

“Anything for the campaign, right?”

“I mean, of course, but it's still those day to day interactions that are going to win this for us.”

“Yeah, the canvassing especially is really rewarding, I didn’t expect this many people to be undecided. I guess some of them still need a little convincing.” You plop down next to him, closer than you’d ever dare if he wasn’t flushed clear down to his shirt collar. Somehow, your right leg finds itself intertwined with his. He’s a fucking furnace, even directly under the AC unit.

“Not me though; I know exactly what I want to do.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth curl up without a shred of hesitation. He squints at you again before taking a slow pull of his Perrier, Adam’s Apple bobbing like it's begging you to bite it. His middle fingertip trails lazily around the rim as he sets it down. One last lip smack, then he’s pressing them onto yours and flooding your nose with the smell of clementines and sea salt.

The buzzing in your brain reaches a fever pitch when he drapes an arm around your waist to pull you closer. Tilting your head ever so slightly, your hand wanders up to cradle his face and press a thumb to his chin. A gentle push down to open Jack’s mouth and his tongue is snaking its way in, the obscene length of it sending sparks straight down to your clit. He breathes a contented, relieved moan into your mouth when your leg swings over his hips to straddle him, then little stilted mewls as you start rocking back and forth.

“You’re a little slut for democracy aren’t you? You tease, panting against his jawline.

“Who, me?” he grins and drags his hands up your thighs to settle on your ass, thumbs playing with your waistband.

You can feel your nipples hardening as you reach one hand out to steady yourself against the window. The bracing cold glass is delicious, but you flinch back when you spot people trickling back into view, gelato cups in hand, a few racing over to pose with the bus.

“Don’t worry; they can’t see you,” he chuckles along your sternum. Jack scooches too far forward trying to get a better angle to rut against you and nearly slides you both off the seat. You hear a whispered little “oh, shit,” before he scoops you up with one arm and shifts to stand, the other grabbing a spare water on his way to the rear of the bus. He collapses onto the deep sofa without missing a beat, but looks back up at you for reassurance, as if he’s somehow being presumptuous. You don’t even see it; you’re too busy yanking at his jeans like a madwoman after feeling how hard he is.

Concerns assuaged, he manages to pull both of your pants off without incident, only an accidental kick to the end table. Jack lets out a cackle when his hand slides low enough to feel you drip down his wrist.

“And I’m the slut for democracy?”

“Oh, shut up!”

You stretch behind him to the bin of condoms marked ‘F•CK PROJECT 2025’ on the far windowsill, shamelessly letting your breasts drag over his face in the process.

“It would really be a shame if we didn’t do some quality control, since we’re already here.” You trace one along his lips until they part to accept your gift.

“Such a waste,” Jack mimics you, if a bit muffled, as his incisors shred the foil wrapper. “And,” he adds cheekily with a shrug, “we’re fresh out of plan B.”

He’s already slid it on by the time you realize he’s unclipped your bra somewhere between here and the door, and you waste absolutely no time slipping him inside, so warm it makes you shudder. His eyelids flutter when you sit down fully; he’s whining like the bus is soundproof the second you get to work, all strained little whimpers and cut off syllables as you bounce in his lap. There’s not a minute to waste, and it’s showing in the breakneck pace you set. Jack’s movements are just as frantic, bucking up hard enough to threaten to throw you straight off this ride.

Desperate to see how far down he blushes, you slide your arms under his shirt, heat blooming up to your shoulders as you do. He gets your hint and tugs it off; you waste no time planting both hands on his pecs and letting your fingers run wild through his chest hair.

Meanwhile, your shirt and bra get caught on your elbow in the process of shedding them, and your left knee skids right off the couch while you’re distracted. Jack catches your shin effortlessly and plants his foot to keep his balance; you actually spot him smiling at his own reflexes. He rolls you both over without slipping out, chuckling a little “didn’t I tell you to be careful?” into your ear. He moves to let your leg down, and you throw it over his shoulder to keep him pinned flat against you before he can do so. The new angle restricts his range a bit, but he’s already shoving a hand down to strum at your clit, face millimeters from yours for the perfect view of just how much you’re loving it. He murmurs cockily when he sees you holding back. “Won’t you let me hear you?” There’s no way you’ll attract attention if you’re just moaning into his mouth, right?

It’s all too much; Jack’s whole body draped over you like a fever that won’t break, the way he’s panting down your throat every time you clamp around him, the little calluses on his occupied fingertips and how they maintain their perfect, unbearable pace no matter how much you thrash around. You can barely squeak out a “fuck, Jack, please-,”

His “I know, I know,” sounds just as ragged and that tips you right over the edge.

Jack’s composure completely unravels with the first pulse. His eyes screw shut and his hips still as deep as he can get to ride it out with you. You’re shaking and frothing like a can of Pepsi- sweet and sticking all along his slicked-flat happy trail as you lift your leg a little higher and over the back of his neck to pull him in closer. The beads of sweat on his forehead drip onto yours when he falls into another messy kiss, aftershocks buzzing comfortably through you both.

His phone timer jolts you out of your shared stupor.

“What is that?”

“12:30,” he groans into the couch cushion. “Sit tight, I’ll get you a towel.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Jack is steaming your dress pants in one sock and his Hanes like its second nature, and it’s making a strong case for the hottest thing he could possibly do. In a few minutes, he’ll go out the front of the bus and stir up the crowd while you exit through the back.

“Take a bev for the road if you’d like.” He slaps the minifridge pointedly.

“Thanks, you’re such a good host!” you hadn’t moved from where you were laid out on the sofa; it was too much fun watching him get flustered from the compliment, “This was fun, getting to know you and all.”

“Yeah it was,” his tone is achingly sincere as he smiles back at you, face getting flushed all over again “...Not to be too bold, but could I get your number?”

[mxltifxnd0m]

boyfriend headcanons ⟡ s. winchester

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader

word count: 1.2K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', fluff, a smidge of angst in the beginning, some suggestive content, no smut, lowercase intended

a/n: i will make a dean version and probs a pt. 2 for sammy if I come up with some more headcanons! also did not expect this to be as long as it became lol

please enjoy and reblog and comment! i love hearing your thoughts.

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

⟡ some fears before dating you

before you got into a relationship with sam, he was very hesitant about dating or liking anyone romantically (he knows that he doesn’t have the best track record with love) 

but when you came into his life, you broke down those barriers (without him realizing it), and he became more accepting of his feelings for you (even if it scared him shitless) 

you had to drill into his head that whatever happened to you would never be his fault bc you knew he’d drown in his guilt if you got hurt or worse. it took time for him to accept that something would happen to you that it wasn’t his fault 

okay, now onto the more happy stuff (sorry didn’t mean to start with the more heavy stuff, lol) 

⟡ the actual headcanons 

he’s the best partner ever!! 

sam has a big heart and holds a lot of love for you, and though he can be hesitant to say the words for fear of jinxing the relationship (he’s superstitious about it), he shows how much he loves you through his actions! 

he would have a mix of all of the love languages (obviously, everyone shows a mix of them), but his top three would definitely be quality time, acts of service, and physical touch 

⟡ physical touch 

i think that early seasons sam would be much more tactical with his touch and showing you physical affection 

would use any and every excuse in the handbook to touch you in some way. resting a hand on your shoulder, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear or forehead, etc. 

but post szn 5 and 12 sam, he would shy away from it at first, and you would totally understand and let him take the approach first, never initiating it until he feels like he can handle it 

but this goes hand in hand with PDA  in any szn, he’s not big on PDA he’s okay with hand-holding and pecks on the lips, temple, or cheeks but not overt displays of affection but behind closed doors, it's free reign for him  aside from the PDA 

he LOVES getting his hair played with  like without a shadow of a doubt, i know in my heart of hearts that sam winchester is a fiend for getting his hair played with 

is a cuddle bug  doesn’t matter if it’s sweltering hot; he loves to have you in his arms no matter what secretly loves when it gets cold, you seek him out for warmth (he’s like a space heater from how much he radiates heat) 

FOREHEAD AND NECK KISSES!! (and lots of them) LOVES kissing you  there will be times when sam wants to make out with you in the back of the Impala. either to piss off dean or because you get no privacy in the motel room, you’re sharing with his brother. 

is the best hugger ever. it’s almost criminal how his arms can wrap around you and engulf your body and instill a feeling of safety in you, like no one could hurt you while you were in sam’s arms.

⟡ acts of service

as i’ve stated above, sam doesn’t express his love through words, but he does show it through his actions 

he knows all of your fav movies, flowers, music, snacks, how you like your coffee/tea, etc 

he actively listens to you and keeps track of the things you mention (he has them written down or in a note on his phone) and just pulls this information out when he needs it

will do things if asked of him by you without question (but within reason, lmao) 

(this also translates into fun times in the bedroom, LMAO)

don't know if this counts as an act of service, but sam loves putting things on the top self on purpose (to see you struggle a bit bc he thinks your pout is so adorable), but so you can ask him to get something for you, and does so with a smile on his face 

⟡ quality time

would use any excuse to spend time with you 

doesn’t matter if he just came back from a hunt and is exhausted; he would sit down and listen to you talk about what you had just read or what movie you watched while he was on a hunt 

will actively plan dates with you on hunts if he has downtime, which would most of the time be in the car with Dean and asking him for help or input  "they'll like whatever you plan for them. now, for the love of god, please shut up!" (sam had been pestering dean most of the car ride home about where to take you on the first date and was fed up with his little brother)

having movie nights!

spending time in either his or your room reading or just basking in the presence of each other, content with sitting in silence, grounding him with your touch as you guys fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

late-night conversations in bed! more often than not, your pillow talk with sam would turn into very late-night conversations and sometimes even turning into early-morning chats.

⟡ protective

this is a given, but sam is so protective of you that it can be a problem at times

He doesn’t mean to be overbearing, but his mind is an overactive one and can be a little (a lot) protective of you 

I think if you were a hunter, he’d be such a worrywart because he knows what this life does to someone and kinda hates that you are one (even if this is how you guys met in the first place lol) 

but it’s the same if you’re not a hunter because he’d be paranoid that a monster would be out to get you if they knew you were even associated with him or his brother 

he’d take so many precautions: teaching you the basics of hunting (but making you promise that you won’t go out and hunt), teaching you self-defense, gifting you an anti-possession charm (or going with you if you want the tattoo), painting demon traps under your rugs, salting windows, and maybe even convincing you to move into the bunker with him 

⟡ some random ones 

wearing his clothes his chest warms and his heartbeats faster each time he sees you wear something of his he does go a little feral when he sees you wear nothing underneath his clothes unfiltered sassy sam before the two of you started to date, you would catch glimpses of sassy sam when he would banter with dean but when you started to dish out some of your quips in the conversation and being a smartass to him that's when the sassy man apocalypse hit him, and it snowballed into him out-sassing you sometimes when the two of you could get into a back-and-forth

teases you about your height  it doesn't matter if you're an inch shorter or a foot shorter than him; he can and will tease you about your height it brings him much amusement when you snap back with jokes of your own or when you blush when you don't have a snappy retort (yes, it means he has a size kink, but shhh, no one is supposed to know)

[taurder]

Taur hear me out. Ok hobie/spider punk said he doesn't believe in consistency, how about dom male reader who keep changing the thrust from violently fast to painfully slow? And hobie doesnt belive in labels. So dom male reader feminised him. - 🐗 anon-

top!dom!reader x sub!hobie brown.

contains: feminization, edging, hobie wearing eyeliner, begging, anal, dirty talk.

note: i fucking love edging and overtism stuff, i adore your ideas sm don't ever stop sending them.

"no, no, not again! please!" hobie whined loudly, eyes opening again as your hips suddenly stopped smacking against his ass. he was up in the bed with his legs spread open, one of them hooked in your shoulder and the other hanging at the edge of the mattress, his body slightly turned to a side and his arms secured behind his back. "keep going, luv..." you cut his pleading by sliding painfully slow out of his abused and generously lubed hole, taking another whine out of his mouth.

this had been going on for a while, and just by seeing the state in which he was one could tell. his chest was going up and down rapidly, and his face showed how much he was struggling. a few tears have been going down his temples and adding that to the way he had been grinding his face into the sheets from time to time it had messed up his eyeliner. there were stains of the black make-up in the bed as well, but in your eyes his face looked delightful like this.

"i just want to take my time with my girl" you started thrusting back in, slow, allowing him to feel every inch of your cock that entered his body. he moaned, throwing his head up and arching his lower back. "that's it, let me fill your pussy" his dick spurted more pre cum somehow even if it was already shiny with plenty, throbbing painfully hard for the lack of attention. he had been close for a while now.

you pushed until your ballsack was right against his ass, and you could hear his whimpers along with his pleading words asking for more. you repeated the process three more times, getting completely out, barely letting your tip touch his greedy hole before thrusting home once again, taking your time and enjoying watching him shiver and beg. "i can't– i don't– fuckfuckfuck!" he cried out as soon as you changed your pace without warning, fucking him fast while holding his hips, watching his eyes go up and his dick bounce with the force of your thrusts.

the sounds the fast fucking made were your favorite, plus the constant moaning of your name. you were insulted and thanked in the same half choked sentence more than once. "cumming, i'm gonna cum so hard agghhh–mmghh" you stopped again, right inside of him as he once again pressed half his face into the sheets, cursing out as his dick just let out another amout of pre. "you're taking the piss on me" he looked at you with wet eyes, eyeliner beyond ruined and mouth fresh with some saliva on it.

you leaned down, forcing his leg to go up, showing you how flexible he was as you pressed a kiss in his mouth, simple but loving, and even if he was a little pissed he returned it, earning movement from you again. in this new position you started fucking him, deep, right into his prostate and feeling between both your stomachs his wet dick. "i thought you would like this" you murmured, feeling how he exhaled. "you don't like consistency, do you? so i'm doing exactly the opposite of that, baby girl"

he moaned into your mouth for the nickname, moving to meet your thrusts that were starting to go a bit faster. "i'm sorry i ruined your make-up in the process, but you still look handsome like this" you reached between your bodies wih your hand, pressing his length against his own belly, making sure he could also feel the bulge your cock made in him. "you feel me? i love being this deep into you" hobie mumbled your name, pleading to be able to cum.

"i know, i know. you can wait a little more, right? i want to mess you up more" you stopped to let him think, watching his eyes blink to gain a little more consciousness, breathing a few seconds and moaning when he could feel your dick twitching inside of him. he nodded and whispered a confirmation and it was all you needed to resume your vicious thrusting.

he was so good to you, loud and compliant even if he cursed your name every time you changed your pacing, his heart fluttering every time you praised his looks, calling him gorgeous, pretty; describing how greedy his ass was, how full of your seed his cunt was going to be. he loved every time your mouth would spit any kind of filth, and when he finally came his vision went white, body going slack in exhaustion as he yelled your name one final time.

you cleaned him properly after several minutes of letting him relax and come to his senses and he didn't help you out in the slightest. "i'm absolutely knackered, you did this so you clean it up" he had mumbled out, eyes closed and a satisfied grin in his face when you teased him about it. you didn't argue, but you did laugh softly when mid cleaning you hear him snore.

[frasermints]

this is something that doesn't just start and end w/ hockey canada btw.

it's a tumblr blogger selling "crosbussy" merchandise to fans, and encouraging them to wear it to games. it is that very same tumblr blogger getting asked by a team to create their pride night merch. it is a tiktokker pointedly yelling "krak my back" next to home bench during warmups and making so many overt sexual comments both on and offline that a player's wife needs to speak up about it. it is seattle's media team intertwining itself so closely with the sexually explicit side of booktok that the franchise's reputation is permanently tainted.

it's a juniors coach assaulting the kids on his team and getting paid out by his organization. it is hockey canada and usa hockey continuing to push the envelope with what is excusable in their organizations. it is chronic drug and alcohol abuse being excusable until one of your players physically assaults his teammates.

it's a juniors player jumping out of a building and killing himself after failure to perform. it's a fifth overall pick refusing to show up to the team that drafted him because he's uncomfortable around the franchise staff, and becoming the joke of the league. it is said draft pick explicitly stating "i do not feel safe around [these] specific men" and the entire league calling him an entitled pussy anyway.*

it's a coach demanding to see the phones and private photos of the men he holds power over, threatening them with trades or waivers if they don't, and fans calling the men that speak up weak and soft.

this didn't come out of nowhere. you can't beat hockey culture out of hockey players from the top down. this starts with you, this starts with your kids, and this starts with what you say online. holding the nhl and hockey canada accountable doesn't mean shit when you yourself are part of the fucking problem.

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter III

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, explicit sexual themes, non-linear narrative, side rainkay, trauma bonding, near death experience, brief mention of child abuse, more tags to be added

a/n: haha don't hate me but I split the chapter up again! that means there's no smut in this chapter either but it was getting long and the place I chose to leave off felt like a natural end. that being said this chapter is entirely you x bjorn-centric and there is a lot of pay off!

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 4.4k

Masterlist Next Chapter

Bjorn is the fucking worst. 

A marginal part of you just assumed that maybe he was an angry drunk following your little exchange in the bar but no—he's just angry.

Despite your previous apprehension you begin to accept Kay’s invites to join her and the others whenever they get together, which is a lot. You know you're treading in dangerous territory, allowing yourself to get close to them, but you're powerless to stop it, unable to recall the last time you had this much fun, almost too much, feels a little wrong, like it should be illegal. 

The only downside is dealing with Kay’s asshole cousin Bjorn, like stepping on a dull thumbtack you can't dislodge when you see him joking around with Tyler, his eyes narrowing as soon as he notices you approach, like he has some score to settle. 

You don't let it get you, not immediately, not letting him run you off out of spite, just as petty as he is. 

You can only hold your tongue for so long however, before reacting explosively to whatever insult is thrown your way, giving him exactly what he wants. 

The others stop trying to intervene after so long, when they realize neither of you are willing to back down, deciding to just roll their eyes and ignore your immature back and forth, splintering off to start a new conversation of their own.

It's another one of those nights, the tension between the two of you thick, thicker than the smoke coming from the bonfire, gathered in the quarry again. It's a regular hangout spot for them, liking the exclusivity of its location, far from the hustle and bustle of the streets alive at night, when the majority of the colonists who’re assigned to work in the mines aren't slaving away underground. 

You and Bjorn have been taking digs at each other all night—what else is new?—cycling between something passive aggressive and flippant, or overt and direct, depending on how irritated whatever he says makes you. 

“Always so hot and bothered, ain'tcha’ sweetheart? If ya’ shut up and c’mere I can give ya’ a real mouthful,” he smirks, grabbing himself through the loose crotch of his frayed cargo pants.

Disgust pinches the bridge of your nose, nice and tight, hissing back, “ugh, you're such a pig. I’m thoroughly convinced the shitty apple didn't fall far from the shitty tree,” words soaked in venom, the aftertaste of acid burning the lining of your esophagus. 

It's like pulling the pin on a grenade, watching the way everyone reacts, a collective gasp shredding through the calm. Your revulsion is replaced by one of confusion, head cocking to the side as your posture wilts, losing all strength in your shoulders. You don't get why, not when you've said far, far, worse to one another, made a little game of it even. 

You don't see the usual anger or arrogance you've become accustomed to. Instead he looks hurt. Wounded. Blinking twice as fast like he's trying to stop his eyes from watering only to catch himself, schooling his face into something neutral, something mean.

Bracing yourself for the fallout, Bjorn does something completely unexpected—he leaves. Doesn't scream or swear or snark back, just silently turns and retreats, gravel loudly crunching beneath the black worn-in soles of his stormer boots, not sparing a single glance your way while he does.

“Not cool dude,” Navarro chides in your direction, slinging the strap of the backpack she bought the beer in over her shoulder before jogging off in hot pursuit of her brother, “Bjorn, wait up man!”

It's enough to kill the whole vibe, everyone awkwardly parting ways not long after. You return to your apartment sooner than predicted, playing the scene over and over in your head as you try and decipher what could've triggered that response, like he was on the verge of tears. And the others, with the exception of Andy, all seemed floored, clearly clued in on some context you're missing. 

But the thing is, why should you even care? For Bjorn and his infantile way of coping with whatever he's dealing with? When he's not once shown you the same consideration in return? You shouldn't. 

At least—that's what you tell yourself as you strip down to your underwear and crawl into the familiar warmth of your bed, cocooning your body in your blankets as the exhaustion and sleeping pills kick in, lulling you into a restless sleep. 

A sharp knock on the front door startles you awake, eyes bouncing off the walls of your cramped room before they're drawn sideways, finding the analog clock sitting on your bedside table. 

It's late in the afternoon, not nearly as late as you usually allow yourself to sleep on days off, still, that's not what's currently puzzling your still-waking brain.

There's a followup knock, reminding you why you're awake in the first place, begrudgingly removing yourself from the comfort of your sheets while you try and figure out who'd be visiting you right now, pulling on yesterday's jeans left crumpled on the floor by your bed. 

Maybe it's Kay stopping by to check on you. She looked like she wanted to say something last night, after Tyler smothered the bonfire and everyone had left but ultimately never did, choosing to run and catch up with Rain, weaving their fingers together once she did.

You swear though, if it’s just some corpo from the council coming to assign you mandatory overtime you might just take the automatic jail sentence.  

It ends up being neither. To your surprise it’s Tyler, fist raised like he’s getting ready to knock again, immediately taking one step down on the concrete steps leading up to your doorway to give you some room, cheeks a little red. 

“Sorry, didn’t meanta’ wake you,’” Tyler greets, probably taking note of your unkempt appearance, from your tangled hair to the rapid flutter of your lashes, trying to blink the sleep out of them. 

“Could—would you mind if we had a chat?” He amends, adding on, “it’ll only take a sec,” after the fact, the porch light above your head just bright enough to illuminate the hope on his face. Well, this is new. 

You’ve grown to like Tyler and the company he provides, always thoughtful and in high spirits, regardless if he just clocked out of a sixteen hour shift or not, hands shaking and wrapped in dirty gauze from the wounds he sustained. 

That being said, you’ve never met up just the two of you, only ever spending time in facilitated group settings outside of the mines. 

Nonetheless you move aside, a nonverbal queue to come in that he readily accepts, maneuvering around you to step into the tiny kitchenette adjacent to your bedroom. You watch as he gazes around, taking in the surroundings like all the apartments the colonists reside in don't look exactly the same. Albeit yours is pretty bare, not seeing a point in decorating when you could be transferred again at a moment's notice.

“So,” you say, shattering the quiet, leaning back against the laminate counter, arms folded out in front of you with one foot crossed over the other, right heel lifted off the tile floor, “what did you wanna talk about?”

There’s little doubt in your head as to what it's pertaining to, suspicion shortly confirmed by the sheepish look in Tyler's eyes when he meets yours again,“it's about Bjorn.” 

“I figured as much,” you sigh, waiting for him to go on, his hand coming up to anxiously rub over the back of his neck.

“Right, so. Is’not my place to share but Bjorn has a lot of baggage there—with his family. It's a super sore subject for ‘im,’ so when you said that it kinda dug all that shit up.”

Tyler continues, cutting you off before you have a chance to interrupt, “And I know you didn’t mean it, that you don't owe ‘im anything, and you certainly don't hafta’ listen to me but would you please just. Talk to ‘im?’

You can tell Tyler means well, that he wants to smooth things over between the two of you and, while you’d never readily admit it aloud, you do feel a little bad for Bjorn. Bjorn. Sunlight must be shining through the perpetual polluted cloud cover from up above.

It’s just, you know what it’s like, dealing with the aftermath of familial trauma, trying to navigate a world that’s taken so much and given nothing back. Learned to bare your teeth rather than your soul, the only guaranteed method to alleviate the emotional damage life on Jackson’s Star brings.

Maybe Kay is right. Maybe you and Bjorn are alike.

And maybe Tyler is too, about talking to Bjorn, maybe it's time you two talk it out, try and find common ground so the others don't have to play referee anymore. 

“Fine,” you agree,“I’ll talk to him.” 

All the tension in Tyler's shoulders melts away, a relieved sigh deflating his chest, like he had been steeling himself for a potential refusal. 

“Lovely, that's—thank you. Really.” Tyler beams, drawing you into an unexpected hug, a quick, thankful little squeeze despite your arms still being crossed.

Tyler pulls away so you can face each other again, “I know he can be a total fuckin’ wanker but he's one a’ the only people Kay and I got left. And Kay’s got you now and—you don't have to like ‘im. Hell I don't half the time, but if you could just try and tolerate each other maybe?” 

A giggle bubbles up out of you, offering a reluctant nod in return, “sure, I can try. No promises though.” 

“S’okay. I don't expect Bjorn to listen anyways but if I can at least get you on board, things should be smooth sailin’ yanno?” 

You doubt it'll be that easy, that Bjorn will even be receptive to talking but you're willing to honor Tyler's request and try, for him, Kay and the others. 

Once Tyler leaves, you decide it's better to just rip the bandaid off and go looking for Bjorn, who's apparently putting in overtime, something he's prone to doing whenever he needs to blow off some steam according to his older cousin. 

You clock in and check out a drill, the only way low-level colonists gain entry down here, lugging it through one of the series of carved paths towards the sound of shrill cogging you hear echoing off the walls just up ahead in the distance. 

Bjorn isn't hard to find. He's the only one laboring on his day off, the only one in this section of the mines at least, save for the lone guard stationed at the mouth of the tunnel, paying you little mind as you pass. 

The drill head Bjorn's wielding bores into the hard rock, heavy handed from the anger he's trying to work through, sparks flying off as a result. 

Your stomach swoops low when he looks at you, anticipating some kind of reaction, his muscles sagging just a little but, like the guard, he goes back to working, drilling a little harder than before. You can tell this conversation will be like pulling teeth. 

“Bjorn,” you call, trying to be heard over the sound of grating metal, pulling your goggles up and your mask down, letting it hang around your neck. “Bjorn!” 

The lean lines in his forearms built over time flex harder, highlighted by the sweat gathering there, gloved fingers constricting around the worn handle of the power tool as he readjusts his grip. Even through the face shield you can tell he's gritting his teeth, grinding them just as hard as the drill against the rock, the muscles in his neck straining from the way his jaw is set so incredibly tight.

“Bjorn!” You repeat, growing frustrated, taking the risk of losing a finger or two by pushing at Bjorn's shoulder, “can you please just—look at me?”

He’s quick to snatch your wrist, startling you, strong enough to keep the drill upheld with his other arm while he thumbs the off switch. 

“Wha’ in the bloody fuck d’ya want?!” He snarls, eyes narrowed and brows pinched, twisting your arm to hold it down in between you, mindful not to actually hurt you.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, avoiding the angry scowl he's wearing, now the one unable to make eye contact.

“Wha’ tha’ fuck was tha’?!”

Your throat feels rougher than sandpaper, finding it harder to swallow than the pills you pop every night. “I said I'm—sorry.”

The laugh he gives in response sounds hollow, bitter, “oh thas’ bleedin’ rich comin’ from you. Come ta’ say sorry so you can sleep a little easier tonight, have ya?’ Well I don't want ur fuckin’ pity.”

Your head whips up at that, doing your best to keep composed, despite your fight or flight urging you to combat his animosity with your own. 

“I didn't come to apologize to make myself feel better, that's not who I am. Whether we get along or not doesn't matter. I realized I crossed a line and you deserve better than that. That's why I came to say sorry.” 

His face softens just a bit, just long enough for you to notice before his expression hardens again, lips parting to say something more but he never gets the chance to, interrupted by a low ominous groan that shakes the entire roof of the tunnel you're standing in. Shit, that doesn't sound good.  

You share a look of dread then, before either of you can react, a crevasse three feet wide fractures up the entire length of the rock right above your heads as the deafening roar of a cave-in drowns out every other noise.

The only thing you feel is Bjorn’s calloused hand still holding onto your wrist roughly yanking you into his body right as everything collapses around you.

The first thing you register is the fact you're still alive. Aching all over and windpipe tight from inhaling the harsh toxins released into the air all at once, but—alive.

The next is the ringing in your ears, a high frequency whine that sounds like a mortar shell just went off by your head, leaving you disoriented, possibly concussed.

And the last is the solid body of muscle you're lying on top of, the same one that just saved you from biting it several moments ago. 

He's sprawled out on his back, the rapid wide-eyed blinking and quick rise and fall of his chest trying to draw air back into his lungs an indication he's in much the same condition as you, goggles cracked and his face shield missing. 

Your breath catches when you notice how close the two of you are, so close you can see the dirt clinging to his goatee and the dried cracks of his chapped lips, breath smelling like rolling tobacco and polar ice gum. As much as you hate it, you can't help but think how attractive the view is.

He seems to regain his focus, looking down to lock gazes with yours, realizing the position you're in. His eyes roving over your face as if he's appraising you, as if he's checking you out. 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, the severely dim lighting disguising the blush bleeding into your cheeks, rolling off and away from him, hoping he didn't feel the rapidity of your heart beating against your sternum like a battering ram. “Thanks.” 

Once the kicked-up soot and debris has settled a bit you take in everything around you—what's left of it. Both your headlamps are busted, both of which you discard along with the goggles and gloves, drills buried somewhere underneath the rubble you just were, the entrance to the tunnel you're in decimated to a cataclysmic degree, the only way in or out. You guys are trapped. 

“Ah fuck,” Bjorn swears, grasping the utterly abysmal situation you’ve both found yourselves in. “This is bad.”

“Thank you for your valuable insight. Where would I be without your brilliant observation skills,” you snark, the two of you sitting up to face each other, backs against either side of the walls that are still intact, knees drawn up to your chests to give each other a little more leg room.

“Shoulda just let ya’ get crushed by them rocks,” he huffs, “woulda saved me tha’ headache. And tha’ oxygen.” 

He's right about the oxygen. In an enclosed space like this with no ventilation, you're both in short supply, aware you'll run out of it soon enough. Even if the collapse didn't initially kill you, the suffocation inevitably will. 

“I seriously can't believe I'm gonna die down here with you of all people.”

“Ah yah,’ cuz this is how I wanted ta’ spend ma’ last moments before I kicked the bucket,” he rolls his eyes, untying the simple knot of his red bandana, which is grimier than usual due to the ash and sediment lingering in the air, setting it on the ground beside him. 

Bjorn pulls a rolled joint out of the breast pocket of his shirt, lighting up as soon as it's in his mouth. You almost tell him to put it out so you can preserve the limited oxygen you have but ultimately you elect to stay quiet. What's it matter anyway? Dying sooner might just be a mercy. 

“How much ya’ wanna bet some synth fuck’s up there right now tellin’ tha' council we're not worth tha' time or trouble?”

“You really have it out for synthetics, don't you?” 

You were aware he didn't like Andy, an opinion he made known every time Rain brought him to group hangouts but you didn't realize it ran that deep, never connecting the dots between his insults and the prejudice he clearly harbors. 

He chuckles, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he does so, a pungent cloud of weed looming over you, “ever tha' observant one, aren't cha babes?” 

“Fuck you,” you bristle, arms loosely wrapping around your shins, fingers lacing together just below the kneecaps. Although, to be fair you did more or less say the same thing to him not even five minutes ago. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” the few oil lamps the cave-in didn't snuff out highlighting the wink he throws your way. “And if ya’ must know—yeah, I do. Every fuckin' last one of ‘em.” 

Deciding to tread carefully you simply ask, “why?” exercising a level of caution you normally never do.

Silence drags between you, expecting Bjorn to ignore your probably invasive question when, to your surprise he replies, answering with a painful degree of honesty that nearly blindsides you, “my mum. She worked in tha’ mines like most o’ us had to. When I was eight, there wuz a collapse much like this one. ‘Cept she was one o’ three miners on one side o’ the tunnel while there were a dozen in tha’ otha. A synth convinced tha’ council her life wuzn’t worth theirs. So—they let her die. Scared. Confused. Probably hopin’ for rescue. She always told me ta' keep tha' light on fo’er when she'd tuck me inta bed before her shift every night so she could find’er way back ta’ me.” 

He yanks out two sets of dog tags tucked underneath his shirt by the chain, one of them his and the other presumably his mother's, just like the ones you’re wearing, the corporation’s way of identifying bodies of miners lost, his thumb running over the engraving etched into one of the nameplates. 

Sympathy swells inside of you listening to him, “that's horrible.” 

You had assumed Bjorn's past was traumatic based on the little information Tyler was willing to share but you never expected it to hit so close to home.

“I get it,” you murmur, head tipping back to stare at the chiseled rock and remaining support beams to hold back any stray tears that might threaten to fall, clenching at your dirty pant legs a little tighter.

“My mom. She was pregnant and forced to work down in the mines until the shit she was inhaling induced her prematurely. Guess toxic fumes are bad for a pregnancy,” you roll your eyes, biting off a sarcastic, watery chuckle. “She ended up dying during childbirth.” 

There's a pause, your words hanging heavy in the air. You've never shared that with anyone who didn't already know. Word traveled fast around each sector, gossip the only news worth spreading, people talking about the girl orphaned by a reckless mother who should've known better. Fuck, it makes you sick just thinking about it.

When Bjorn speaks it's soft, comforting. “Thas’ horrible. So thas’ why you been volunteerin’ for Kay.” 

“Yep,” you confirm, popping the p, head rolling forward to lock eyes again, watching him put out the remnants of his joint on the wall next to him before flicking the butt into the pile of debris. 

“And ur dad?” he asks, the bend of his elbows resting on either one of his knees, leaving his forearms to dangle. 

“Never knew him,” you shrug, becoming detached at the very mention of him, like you’re discussing a stranger, which in a way you are, “he left right after knocking my mom up. Didn't want the added responsibility of raising a kid.”

“Fuck, I wish my old man woulda jus' dipped out from tha’ start. Woulda been the only decent thing he ever did fo'us,” Bjorn spits, words dripping with vitriol, clearly holding a hatred reserved for his father only. 

“What happened to him?” No longer trying to tiptoe around the questions that pop into your head since you're both over sharing. Since you're both dead anyway. 

“He’s still around but 'e's not around if ya know whadd’i mean. After my mom died 'e started boozin’ heavily to deal widit. When he wasn't in the mines 'e was out gettin’ piss drunk. Stupid prick gave fuck all about me and Navarro.” 

There's a growl that rumbles deep in his lower register, rotating his arms so they're pointed wrist-up towards the ceiling. You follow his line of sight, seeing scars littered across his skin, raised and round and purple from healing. Cigarette burns. 

“Bjorn…” you trail off, a level of sadness you haven't felt in a long time settling deep in your skin, “That's—what the fuck. Did Jackson’s, did they do anything about it?” 

“They don't give a rat's arse, yanno that,” he scowls, but not at you, turning his arms back down, “s’long as I'm alright enough to work they'll overlook a black eye or busted up lip. They can all fuckin’ eat shit far as m' concerned.”

“I'm so fucking sorry about earlier. I really, truly am,” You stress, even more genuine than the initial apology you offered, feeling like a total bitch for what you said to him in the quarry. 

He waves you off, combing his fingers through his sweaty, clumped bangs to separate them, “s’alright babes. Already forgiven.” 

You never thought you'd say it but you're actually glad Tyler convinced you to talk things out with Bjorn, even if it inevitably did lead to your approaching demise. If, by some miracle, you both survive, maybe you can be friends. At the very least, friendly. 

“Can't believe m' gonna die a bloody virgin,” Bjorn groans, head falling back against the rock. 

“Really?” You laugh, a full-body chuckle that has you coughing into a loosely curled fist immediately after, your lungs burning from all the shit you've breathed in, “that's your concern?”

“Uh yah! What else do I hafta' be worried about? Dying? That shit’s imminent at this point, hate ta’ break it ta’ ya’ darling.” 

He has a point. Besides, maybe focusing on a smaller problem will diminish some of the fear about the larger one at hand. 

“You're right,” you concede, though you can't help but be surprised by the revelation, with the way Bjorn carries himself he seemed like the type to sleep around with anyone willing to let him, “that does suck.” 

“Oh? So ur not one then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow that disappears under his hair, curiosity piqued. 

“No. Made a few mistakes back in my old sector, had a few one night stands. Nothing serious,” you shrug, indifferent. None of them ever meant something to you anyhow, just a brief period of time when you used alcohol to cope, when you just wanted to feel someone's arms around you. 

“Course—I don't hafta’ die a virgin.” 

His eyes openly roam over you, from your face down to what he can see of your body with the position you're sitting in, tongue parting his lips to slowly lick over them. You feel your stomach flutter, like you'd just swallowed a congregation of butterflies. Okay, he's definitely checking you out now. 

Are you seriously suggesting I sleep with you?” You ask in disbelief, the question entirely rhetorical considering you're the only other person here and he's eyeing you like a prime cut of steak, “what are you, high?”

“Clearly babes. That's beside tha’ point. Wouldn't be tha’ worst thing in tha' world, now would it?” 

“It might be,” you retort, “so was this just your plan all along? Get in my pants?” 

“Ah yah, I collapsed tha' mine so you'd drop ya' knickers fo' me, fucking come off it. And come with me, why don't ya?’” He smirks, doing that signature cocky head tilt of his.

That's not what you meant. Moreso wondering if that was his goal from the start, the tension between you seeming sexual in retrospect. You spear your bottom lip between your teeth, actually considering the offer, always finding Bjorn annoyingly, stupidly, attractive. Maybe you're the one that's high.

“I—” 

As if on queue you hear a familiar rumble, just like the one that trapped you here to begin with, rubble and soot raining down on top of you and Bjorn, looking up just as the ceiling bows.

Bjorn is quicker to react than you are, lunging at you right as one of the wooden support beams gives way and topples sideways, taking another chunk of the mine with it, the both of you avoiding another close call as the tunnel around you continues to shrink and shrink. 

This time he ends up on top of you, the full weight of his body pressing down onto yours, his gaze drawing away from the roof to meet yours again, the intensity of his stare causing heat to pool low in your core.  

Then he kisses you—and you let him. 

[missy4176]

Subtle Jealousy

Cale Henituse x Reader

Cale Henituse is not the type of person to express his emotions openly. He is calm, composed, and often appears indifferent to many things. However, when it comes to you—his significant other—he has his own subtle ways of showing how much you mean to him. Cale isn't prone to bouts of jealousy, but when someone else starts giving you too much attention, his quiet but unmistakable possessiveness comes to the surface.

Cale is always aware of his surroundings, especially when it involves you. He doesn’t need to hover or keep a close eye on you, but he somehow always knows what’s going on. When he notices someone lingering too long in a conversation with you, or when they’re laughing a bit too much at your jokes, Cale’s sharp gaze zeroes in on the interaction. He won’t say anything—he rarely does—but his focus shifts entirely onto the person who’s vying for your attention.

You might notice his usual relaxed posture stiffen slightly, or how he silently observes the person, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. It’s his way of assessing whether this person is a threat—whether they’re overstepping a boundary they shouldn’t.

Cale isn’t one to openly declare his feelings or make a scene, but he’ll subtly insert himself into the situation. If you’re talking to someone who’s a little too interested in you, Cale will quietly move closer, standing just within your personal space. He might brush his hand against yours or place a light hand on your back, a barely-there touch that serves as a silent declaration of his presence. He doesn’t need to say a word; his proximity alone is enough to remind everyone that you’re his partner.

When you look up and catch his eye, he’ll offer you a small, almost imperceptible smile—one that’s reserved just for you. It’s a gentle reminder that he’s there, and that he’s watching over you, even if he doesn’t always show it.

While Cale isn’t possessive in an unhealthy way, he has a certain protectiveness over you that becomes more pronounced in these moments. If the person continues to monopolize your time, Cale will step in more directly, though always in his signature, understated manner. He might drape an arm casually over your shoulder or lean in to ask if you’re ready to leave. The question is phrased innocently enough, but there’s an undercurrent of tension in his voice that only you can detect.

If the person still doesn’t take the hint, Cale’s eyes will harden, and he’ll fix them with a stare that could freeze over a desert. His expression remains neutral, but there’s a clear message in his gaze: *Back off.* It’s the kind of look that sends a shiver down the spine of anyone who’s foolish enough to ignore it.

Cale won’t ever vocalize his jealousy—he doesn’t believe in making a fuss over something so trivial. But later, when you’re alone together, you might notice him being just a bit more affectionate. Perhaps his hand lingers a little longer on yours, or he pulls you closer when you’re sitting together. It’s his way of reaffirming his place by your side without having to say anything at all.

If you bring it up, teasing him about how he seemed a little jealous earlier, he’ll likely scoff and roll his eyes, brushing it off with a casual remark. But there’s a faint blush on his cheeks that gives him away, even as he tries to maintain his nonchalant facade.

Despite his subtle jealousy, Cale is never overbearing. He trusts you implicitly and knows that you’re fully capable of handling yourself. But in those quiet moments when it’s just the two of you, he’ll sometimes let his guard down a little. He’ll brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and affectionate, and murmur something like, “You know I’m always here, right?”

It’s not an overt declaration of jealousy or possessiveness—just a simple statement of fact. Cale Henituse is a man of few words, but when it comes to you, he’ll always make sure you know just how important you are to him, even if it’s in the most subtle of ways.

Ultimately, Cale’s subtle jealousy is tempered by his confidence in your relationship. He knows that you chose him, and that means more to him than any fleeting moment of insecurity. So while he might occasionally give someone a pointed look or stand a little closer to you than usual, he never doubts where you stand with him.

In the end, Cale’s subtle gestures and quiet reassurances are just his way of showing you how much he cares, without ever needing to say it out loud. It’s a language that only the two of you understand, built on trust, mutual respect, and a deep connection that goes beyond words.

[sturnswrites]

guarded hearts - pt.3

fratboy!chris x fem!reader

⤳ you meet chris while working on a class project, your personalities are very different but chris is determined to get you out of your shell.

⤳ drinking, smut, p in v, 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

This night at the frat party feels like a blur, but the echoes of laughter and clinking cups are still fresh in your ears as you and Chris make your way back to your apartment. The warmth of the alcohol is fading, replaced by a cool, steady buzz that feels a little more comfortable. It’s not a state of clarity, but you’re still aware enough to notice how close you’re walking, how your shoulders brush with each step. It’s a casual intimacy, nothing overt, but it lingers between you two.

Chris’s hand grazes yours again, but this time, neither of you pull away. For a moment, you think you might say something, maybe joke about how you’re getting along better than you expected. But you don’t. Instead, you keep walking, the tension in the air thickening.

When you get to your apartment door, you hesitate. Your fingers hover over the handle, but you can’t quite bring yourself to open it. Your apartment—this safe space—is where everything feels most real, where you’re not just another girl at the frat or a casual acquaintance. It’s where everything feels raw, and tonight, you don’t know if you’re ready to let him in.

Chris senses the shift immediately. He stops beside you, his gaze softening as he watches you. “Hey, you okay?”

You nod quickly, though your heart is beating a little too fast. "Yeah, just... been a long night."

“Want me to go?” he asks gently, though his voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

“No.” Your answer comes quicker than you expect. “No, stay. I just—” you falter, unsure of how to explain why your apartment feels like a boundary you’re scared to cross. But before you can get the words out, you push the door open and step inside. Chris follows you in, his presence filling up the room.

You immediately feel self-conscious. This is where you’re supposed to feel at home, but tonight, it feels more like a cage. “You can stay in the living room if you want,” you say quickly, hoping to set some kind of distance. You’re still not sure you’re ready to let him close.

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment. “Or, I could stay here,” he says pointing toward your bedroom, his voice softer than usual, “If that’s okay with you.”

You glance at the couch, then back at him, and for a moment, you feel like there’s an invisible line between the two of you. But then something shifts in you. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the vulnerability that’s been building all night, but you can’t keep pushing him away—not now, not when it feels like you might lose the chance to be open, to be real with someone.

You motion toward the couch. “We can sit here,” you say, almost quietly.

You and Chris sit in silence for a moment, the only sounds are the hum of the fridge and the soft clink of our glass bottles as you both nurse the last of our drinks. You can feel the weight of everything pressing in on you—your past, the bad decisions, the hurt you’ve experienced. It’s all too much, and yet, in the stillness between you two, it feels like the right time to say something.

“You know,” you start, voice a little wobbly, “I haven’t really let anyone in like this before.”

Chris doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, the concern on his face evident. But you can tell he’s waiting for you to continue.

You take a shaky breath. “I’ve had... bad experiences with guys,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. But it’s hard. So hard to say out loud. “I’ve trusted people, and they’ve hurt me. Lied to me. I thought I could love them and that they would love me back, but it’s never really been that way. I’ve been cheated on, used, lied to. And every time it happens, it just gets harder to trust anyone again.”

Chris doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t say anything at first. He just leans back, his eyes soft, but intent on listening. You can’t tell if he’s pitying you or if he truly cares, but somehow, his silence is comforting. You’re not being judged. Not yet.

You try to pull yourself together, but the weight of it all is suffocating. The tears start coming faster than you want them to. You swipe at your eyes quickly, but it’s no use. It’s as if all the anger, the fear, the hurt you’ve pushed down for so long finally bubbles to the surface.

“I just…” you choke, your breath uneven. “I just don’t know how to trust people anymore. I want to, but I’m so scared. Every time I open up, every time I let someone in, it always ends the same. They leave, or they betray me, and I don’t know how much more of that I can take.”

You look down at your lap, the shame creeping in with every word. You don’t want him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable. But you can’t stop it. The tears keep coming, and for the first time, you don’t bother to hide them.

Chris moves closer without a word, his presence steady, like he’s waiting for you to fall apart. He doesn’t make you feel small, doesn’t say you should have done better or you shouldn’t feel this way. He just pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you gently, as though holding you is all he can offer.

You let yourself cry, let yourself lean into him, letting the weight of it all finally wash over you. Your body shakes with the force of it, but his arms stay around you, offering solace. It’s strange—comforting, even—that he’s not asking for anything in return. He’s not pushing you to talk more or to explain yourself. He’s just here, listening.

“I’m not like the others, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady as you pull away just enough to look at him. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to be scared with me.”

His words hit you like a wave, pushing back the last of my fears, but you’re still hesitant. You’ve never had someone hold you like this, without expecting something in return. “But how can you promise that?” you ask, your voice trembling. “How can you know? People always say that, but they always end up leaving.”

Chris’s hand gently cups your face, lifting it so your eyes meet. There’s a quiet intensity there, something in his gaze that makes you believe him. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m not like them, Y/N. I swear.”

You search his face, looking for any sign of dishonesty, any hint that he’s saying what you want to hear. But there’s nothing. He’s not lying. He’s not just telling you what you want to hear. He’s saying it because he means it.

In that moment, you let your guard down completely. You let yourself believe him, even if just for a second.

You take a deep breath, wiping away the last of your tears. “Okay,” I whisper, not sure if you fully believe it, but willing to let yourself trust him for now.

Without another word, he leans in, kissing you gently at first, his lips warm and soft against yours. It’s a slow kiss, tender, and for the first time in a long time, you feel something—something real. Something more than just physical.

The kiss deepens slowly, and you let yourself get lost in it. It’s as though I’m letting go of everything that’s been holding me back—everything from my past—and just living in this moment with him. With Chris.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. He whispers, “I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time, you believe him.

A quiet hum of electricity still lingers between the two of you. Your breath is shaky, your heart racing in ways you didn’t think was possible. You don’t want to break the moment, don’t want to let go of this feeling of closeness that’s been building ever since you two started talking. But Chris’s hand gently cups your cheek, and his thumb softly strokes the skin just below your eye as if to wipe away the last remnants of your tears.

He looks at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. His voice is low, almost a whisper as he says, “You’re safe here, Y/N. No pressure. Just us. Only if you’re ready.”

You nod, swallowing hard, trying to steady yourself. "I trust you."

With that, his hand slides down to yours, guiding you gently as he helps you to my feet. There’s no rush, no urgency between you two. Just a quiet understanding, the weight of everything hanging between you without the need for words. You walk silently towards your bedroom, the space between you two filled with the warmth of each other’s presence. His fingers grab yours again, and it feels like more than just the touch—it feels like something you’ve needed for so long.

Once you reach your bedroom, the tension that’s been building between you two seems to melt into the air. It’s only the two of you now. There’s no one else. Just you, and Chris. 

You both move toward the bed slowly. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, unsure but willing. There’s no pushing, no pressure. Everything feels… different this time. He’s not rushing you, not expecting anything. You just take a moment, letting the quiet wash over the both of you.

His hands are gentle, guiding you down onto the bed. He follows, settling on top of you. You’re nervous but not scared—this isn’t like the other times. This isn’t like before. His presence is comforting, and his touch is kind, every motion a quiet promise.

You both strip off your clothes, your eyes never leaving each other. You're both naked now, and you can't help but stare at Chris.

Chris smirks, wrapping his hand around his length. "You want this?" he asks, stroking himself slowly.

"Yes," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Chris doesn't need any more encouragement. He positions himself at your entrance and slowly pushes inside. You gasp as he fills you up, your body stretching to accommodate him.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Chris groans, starting to move his hips.

You moan in pleasure, your nails digging into his back as he starts to thrust harder and faster. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

Suddenly every worry escapes your mind, and all you can focus on is the pure ecstasy coming from you and Chris together.

As you both lay back, his arms find their way around you, pulling you closer until you’re tangled together. He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

You feel him against you, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, and you let yourself be held in a way you’ve never let anyone hold you before. It’s safe here. It’s real. You both fall into that space between waking and sleeping, where the world outside doesn’t exist.

Chris’s hand moves up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he looks down at you. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs softly, almost as though he’s reassuring himself as much as he’s reassuring you.

You nod, the weight of the moment sinking in. Your breath slows, and you find yourself slipping into a peaceful sleep, with him beside you, his warmth a steady presence you didn’t know you needed so desperately.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94 

[ikeubi]

i bet on losing dogs 🕷 jake sim

📰 t͟h͟e͟ ͟o͟n͟e͟ ͟t͟i͟m͟e͟ ͟j͟a͟k͟e͟ ͟f͟a͟i͟l͟e͟d͟ ͟t͟o͟ ͟s͟a͟v͟e͟ ͟y͟o͟u͟.͟ spiderman!jake 𝔁 fem!reader  ╱ inspired by gwen's fall in tasm ; major angst, (descriptions of) character death, and overall the regular mcu warnings

Jake Sim never turns his back on a promise he's made.

When you first found out he was New York City's Spider-Man, he swore to you that he'd keep you safe from the dangers that came with being associated with his masked persona.

Out of all the promises he's made, that was the very last one he wanted to break.

Yet here he was.

The masked boy was high on adrenaline as he chased after the villain Goblin among the multitude of buildings in the city.

His energy was beginning to wear off until Goblin tilted his glider to the side for the shortest bit of time, which was more than enough for Jake to catch your hair peeking out along with the look of horror seen in your eyes as the villain's gloved hand kept you from screaming.

The vigilante swung past the buildings faster and faster.

One building.

Another.

And another.

This went on until his enemy maneuvered his glider to the top of a clock tower, Jake making his way up with great speed.

For whatever reason it may be, the Goblin just hovered merely a foot away from the masked hero's spot on the tower, his metallic green mask covering the glances he took at the overly daunting, deep inside of the structure.

Jake eyed his movements nervously and with hesitation, his gaze going back and fourth between you and the villain.

You felt the hand clasped against your mouth move to cup your cheeks as the man's laughter boomed.

"What are you waiting for, spider boy?" you heard him taunt as he moved your face from side to side.

Your gut filled with dread about what the Goblin had up his sleeve and shifted your gaze to the hero clad in red and blue.

Jake seemed to be sensing that something about to happen was even worse than the present situation as he shifted to a more alert position, eyebrows furrowed behind his mask.

"Come and get her," he continued before swiftly pushing you off his glider.

Jake's eyes widened as he immediately followed your trajectory into the tall clock tower. "No!" he screamed as the Goblin's menacing laughter echoed through the nearly hollow space.

Jake despises how time painfully slowed down in these moments. Your last moments.

He hated how everything was clearer, how he could focus on the horror displayed on your face and the tears falling from your eyes for a seemingly longer period of time as you plummeted through the tower.

But he could save you, right? He's done it a few times before, and not once has he failed. What makes this life and death situation any more different?

You wanted him to save you. But time wasn't in your favor, nor did it slow down. You didn't have the pleasure of thinking positively and only of what was overt. And you were quite sure of one thing.

Jake Sim couldn't save you this time.

Death never scared you. The only thing that did was the thought of no longer being able to have dreams for your future with Jake, as well as being able to live them.

You didn't want to start fearing the pain. And so you closed your eyes for just a moment, and thought.

You once heard that when you die, the brain stays active for a final ten minutes, letting you relive the most memorable moments of your life. It brought you comfort thinking that you'd get to see Jake smile for a final time, because it wasn't just a hunch──you knew that those last ten minutes would be a period of time that the boy you loved purely consumed.

And so you opened your eyes.

The wind whistled past your ear, and you had a feeling that sooner or later, you'd be reaching the bottom of the building.

You sent one last painful smile towards your masked lover and mouthed the words you knew he would need to hear.

It's okay. I love you.

Jake's eyes pricked with tears as he read the words coming from your lips.

Realizing his pace wasn't going to meet yours soon enough for him to use his arms to save you, he extended his web shooter wielding arm and prayed as he pushed his middle and ring fingers down on the button and as the web formula shot out and clung to your sweater.

Time returned back to its normal speed. Jake thought he saved you and subconsciously smiled to himself.

That was until he heard it.

Crack.

Jake's face dropped as he watched your body go limp under his web, mere inches away from the ground.

His hands trembled while he pulled the white string back to hold you in his arms as he landed on the ground.

He quickly took the mask off his head and scanned your face for the slightest of twitches, searching for a sign that you were still alive.

"Y/n," his voice trembled as he shifted on his knees, hand pushing your hair back before using two fingers to check the pulse on your neck.

"No," he muttered to himself after a few seconds, unable to find a pulse.

Teary eyed and refusing to give up, he reached for your wrist to try and see if he could feel the pumping of blood from there.

Still none.

Other wrist.

None.

Chest.

None.

Maybe he can check your breathing?

No. None.

Stop.

Jake pulled back slowly after it sunk in that you really weren't breathing, that you really didn't have a pulse, and that he was really unable to save you.

His eyes rimmed with tears as he watched the color drain from your face against the deafening silence of the night's aftermath.

"No," he shook his head before shaking your figure.

"Y/n, wake up,"

"Come on,"

"No you're not dead. You're not,"

A cycle of words of denial continued until the dam finally broke and his tears rolled down continuously.

His sobs echoed through the clock tower. He couldn't let any more words out. His chest hurt and so did his throat.

As he broke down for possibly the first time in his life, the only thing he could think to do was hug your figure.

He stayed like that until dusk turned to dawn.

You were the one person Jake would've traded the world for just to keep alive.

And he'd never forgive himself or never forget how he kept the world safe in return for your life.

꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱ mail !

i may have gotten a little angst crazy with this one.....but i still hope it was good! writing this hurt a little though, lowkey :(.

© ikeubi 2024 ✿ do not steal, copy, plagiarize, or translate a̲n̲y̲ of my work!