#so imagine they wake up when you say good morning

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT3 | FC43

part one | part two |

an: this is the most requested part three. i fell asleep so many times writing this but i’m waiting for tate’s new song so it gave me something to do. not proof read.

wc: 8.3k

It was nearly dawn when Franco turned off the engine, but the silence felt hollow. He sat motionless in the cockpit of his car, his hands still gripping the wheel even though he had finished his lap over an hour ago. The empty track stretched before him, a stark grey line splitting the waking sky, and for a fleeting moment, he considered taking off down it one more time, just for the noise.

That had been the only reason he'd even bothered coming out this morning. Noise. Anything loud enough to cut through the thick numbness that had settled over his life the last two years. Even racing—his childhood dream, his only real thrill—felt distant, just another repetition in an endless loop of things he used to care about.

He let go of the wheel, his fingers stiff and aching, and slumped back into his seat. The inside of the car still smelled new, though he’d driven this car all season. But everything in his life felt new in the wrong way, like he was breaking in someone else's skin.

Franco closed his eyes, but there was no escape there either. As much as he tried to avoid it, the image still came easily: two years ago, his wedding day. The hushed gasp of the guests as he had walked back down the aisle alone, the weight of his father-in-law’s hand on his shoulder. And her eyes—his childhood best friend, his first love, his confession to her still raw in his throat. He'd bared his heart, thought he was finally doing the right thing, only to watch her turn him down, her gaze steady and unwavering.

It was strange how clearly he could remember it. She had moved on. He was too late.

And yet here he was, two years later, sitting in the emptiness his choices had carved out. His marriage was the result of the aftermath—inevitable, unstoppable, once her father had coerced him into making it right. He’d been a fool to think he could live with it, that he could somehow build a life out of that hollowed-out choice. But every day he woke up, and every day it was the same. A stranger beside him, a public charade. He was trapped in a marriage more binding than he had ever imagined, one that had closed off any other life he might have had.

A tap on the side of the car startled him out of his thoughts. His agent, Eddie, looked at him expectantly, his face creased with concern. Franco forced himself to meet his gaze, pulling on a blank expression he’d perfected over the last two years.

"You good, man?" Eddie's voice sounded so distant for some reason.

Franco forced a nod. “Just getting in some practice.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You finished over an hour ago."

Franco shrugged, not offering any other excuse. What could he say? That he no longer felt the rush, that even the raw thrill of racing at 200 miles per hour left him feeling nothing? It would be admitting too much. He wasn’t sure he could handle what Eddie would say if he knew.

As he finally climbed out of the car, his gaze drifted toward the track, that endless stretch of asphalt, and for just a second, he felt a flicker of what it used to mean to him. Freedom, purpose, maybe even love. But that had been before her—before he had thrown it all away, thinking he could have her back. And now all he was left with was this: the shadow of a life he hadn’t chosen, the memory of a love that had been real once, and a future he couldn’t bring himself to face.

Franco shook his head, stuffing the thought away. "Let’s just get through today" he muttered to himself, the words a quiet vow.

Tomorrow, he’d put on the act again.

The house was silent when Franco walked in. He closed the door softly, slipping off his shoes out of habit rather than any real desire to keep the peace. She was there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, curled on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her. A book lay open on her lap, though her eyes weren’t moving over the words.

They hadn’t spoken much in days, maybe even weeks, except for the occasional small-talk exchange over morning coffee or at some public event. When they were alone, it was as if they were two strangers who’d agreed on a routine. She looked up as he walked in, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to speak first.

But he didn’t. He simply nodded, moving past her as if it were just another evening in this quiet, loveless house. He heard her shift, a quick intake of breath, and he paused, feeling her eyes on his back.

“I cheated,” she said, her voice flat, almost as if it were a statement she’d practised a thousand times, something she needed to let out before it grew stale.

Franco slowly turned to face her, letting the words settle, though he didn’t feel anything sharp or raw. Instead, there was just the dull, familiar weight of something like resignation. He studied her face, waiting for the anger or betrayal to come, but there was nothing. Just the same emptiness that had been there for two years.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm, resigned.

She blinked, her expression faltering. “Okay?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t expected that response. Her brow furrowed, and she set her book aside, sitting up straighter. “That’s it? Just… okay?”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve already done it.”

She searched his face, a flicker of frustration and hurt sparking in her eyes. “Why aren’t you angry, Franco?” Her voice was louder now, cracking slightly. “Why don’t you care? Why don’t you… love me? What did I do wrong?”

For the first time that evening, he felt something stir. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of distant ache. He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the exhaustion in her face, the years of pretending, of building a life on a foundation that had never been real. And he knew, somehow, that she felt as trapped as he did.

“This isn’t about what you did wrong,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t have it in me to love you, not in the way you want.”

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with frustration. “But we were supposed to be in this together. My father… Your team. The whole world expects it. I have tried, Franco. I’ve done everything I could to make this work. I just wanted you to see me, to try…”

He sighed, looking away. “We’ve been pretending for two years. It’s not that I haven’t seen you—I just don’t think we were ever meant to see each other this way.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She stared at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “So what now? We just keep living like this, sharing the same house, putting on a show for everyone?”

Franco didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do, what the next step would even look like. They were bound together by more than their vows—by the expectations, the pressure, the image of a life neither of them had chosen. He knew she deserved better than this emptiness, the hollow echo of what might have been.

After a moment, he sat down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

She looked away, biting her lip, and for the first time he saw the loneliness in her eyes. "I don’t know," she murmured, her voice quiet. "I don’t know if I ever knew."

She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, and then let out a long, quiet breath. "I’ll speak to my father," she said, her voice steady. “We’ll break it off. There’s… someone else. For me, I mean.”

Franco nodded, feeling only a strange sort of relief. “Okay.”

She gave a small, sad smile, as if she’d expected more—anger, maybe, or regret. “I’ll make sure he keeps the sponsors on your team,” she added, her voice softening. “It’s the least I can do.”

Franco shook his head. “He doesn’t have to. I don’t want you worrying about that.”

For a moment, she looked at him with something almost like sympathy. “Franco… it’s not your fault,” she said.

He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. “What isn’t?”

She looked away, gathering her thoughts, and then back at him, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not your fault you still love her after all these years. Some things… they just don’t go away.”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t find the words to respond. Her words hung between them, exposing something he’d tried to bury, something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. His silence was answer enough.

“She was a very lovely woman when I met her,” she continued, her voice softer, almost wistful. “I’m sure she hasn’t changed. I’m sure you two would be perfect together.”

He looked down, swallowing the ache in his chest. For all their distance, she’d seen more of him than he’d realised, even if they had never truly belonged to each other. Maybe she’d known all along. Maybe that’s why they’d been drifting from the beginning, like two people playing their parts, waiting for the script to finally run out.

He stood up, running a hand over the back of his neck, his voice low. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

She nodded, her eyes full of an understanding that somehow made this harder. “Okay. Goodnight, Franco.”

He gave her a brief nod, then turned and headed down the hall, his footsteps soft against the hardwood. The walls of the house felt like a cage, closing in with every step, but he knew that maybe, for the first time, there was a way out—for both of them.

Franco closed the door to the guest room, feeling the weight of everything settling over him. He felt like a visitor in his own life, just as he had every day for the past two years. He slipped off his watch, set it on the nightstand, and reached for his phone to set an alarm.

Just as he did, his mother’s name lit up the screen. She called him every night, their routine barely wavering since he’d left home all those years ago to chase his dream. He answered, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, finally, you picked up! I thought I’d missed you tonight, hijo.” she said, her voice bright and warm, filling the room with a bit of comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

“Sorry. It’s been… a long day,” he replied, not sure where to start even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, mi amor, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sympathy lacing her voice. She paused, her tone shifting to something lighter. “Well, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

He smiled slightly, settling back against the pillows. “Knowing you, mama, it could be anyone.”

“You flatter me,” she laughed. “But no, this one you’ll want to hear. I ran into your chiquita's mama at the market this morning.”

At the mention of his childhood best friend, Franco’s heart gave a small, involuntary jolt. He kept his voice casual, though he could feel his pulse quicken. “Oh yeah?”

“Guess who’s moving back home?” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “She’s coming back without that boyfriend of hers—what was his name, Angelo or something? Anyway, I don’t know what happened there, but her mama didn’t say much, just that she’ll be moving back in soon.”

Franco fell silent, her words sinking in. She was moving back. Back to the same town, back to where they’d both grown up. It was strange hearing it now, after all this time—especially tonight. He tried to imagine her there, close by, after years of being nothing more than a memory, a lingering ache. She hadn’t been in touch since his wedding. They hadn’t spoken, not really, since that day he’d confessed everything.

“Franco?” his mother asked, her voice pulling him back. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I’m here. Just… surprised, I guess.”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to know,” she said gently. “I don’t know why she’s moving back, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I hope she’s doing alright. I always liked that girl.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He wondered what could have happened to bring her back. She’d seemed happy, at least in the few times he’d seen her in the public eye over the last two years—smiling, vibrant, that spark still in her. Whatever had drawn her back, he doubted it was anything good.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you,” his mother went on, a hint of cheer in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll see her around when she’s back. Goodness knows you two could catch up. I’ll let you get some sleep, though. You sound tired, love.”

“I am,” he said honestly. “Thanks, mama.”

“Goodnight, mi amor,” she said softly. “Try not to worry so much. Things have a way of working out.”

He hung up, setting the phone down on the nightstand, but his mind kept circling back to her, the unanswered questions piling up. Why was she moving home? Why now, after everything?

He lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the quiet gnaw at him. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stirring beneath the emptiness—something that he hadn’t let himself feel since that day two years ago. A flicker of hope, of curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, the faintest hint of longing.

Franco woke up to an unsettling silence the following morning. The kind that felt thick, heavy, and somehow different from the usual quiet he’d grown accustomed to in this house. He rubbed his eyes, groggy, his mind still tangled in the remnants of last night’s conversation with his mother. She was moving back home. The thought had settled somewhere deep, like a stone sinking to the bottom of his chest, and he hadn’t stopped wondering why she’d come back.

He rose slowly, crossing the hall toward the master bedroom to grab his things, but as he reached the door, he noticed it was open just a crack. There was an odd stillness inside, an emptiness. Pushing the door open fully, he froze.

The wardrobes were wide open, their shelves bare, nothing left but empty hangers. He scanned the room, taking in the strange absence of her things: the jewellery stand, her perfumes, even the photos from the dresser—all gone.

On the bed, her wedding band glinted in the morning light, sitting atop a folded sheet of paper. Heart pounding, Franco walked over and picked up the note, her familiar handwriting scrawled across the page in clean, deliberate strokes.

"Go live a life you’ll enjoy. Go get the girl."

He read the words over and over, the reality slowly sinking in. She had really left. It was over, finally—no more strained conversations, no more pretences, no more empty rooms they shared out of duty. She had made the choice for both of them, letting him go in a way neither of them had been able to until now.

He let out a slow, deep breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and regret. She had given him a way out, but he felt a twinge of sadness for the life they’d tried and failed to build, and for the woman who’d known him well enough to let him go.

After a moment, he picked up his phone and scrolled to his agent’s number. It rang twice before Eddie answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Franco? It’s barely morning. You okay?”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, still processing everything. “Yeah. Listen, Eddie, I need you to book me a flight.”

“A flight? Where are you going?”

“Home. To Argentina.” He paused, and for the first time in two years, the words felt right. “I just need to go home.”

Eddie hesitated on the other end. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I’ll figure everything out when I get there,” Franco replied, feeling a resolve he hadn’t felt in years.

Eddie sighed, but there was something like approval in his voice. “Alright, I’ll get it sorted. You’ll be on a plane by tonight.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” Franco hung up, glancing around the room one last time. He pocketed her note, her words still echoing in his mind.

True to Eddie's word, Franco was on a flight six hours later. The journey was a blur of cramped seats, stale air, and the faint taste of regret that clung to the back of his throat. The turbulence was relentless, like some cosmic joke, as if the universe itself wanted to remind him that nothing had ever been easy. He tried to sleep, but the aching pull of everything he’d left behind in that house—his marriage, his choices, his dreams—kept him awake, staring out at the dark sky, thinking of all the roads that had led him here.

By the time he landed in Buenos Aires and caught a car for the long drive north to his family's old village, the exhaustion had crept under his skin, weighing him down like a thousand unspoken words. But the quiet beauty of the countryside—the sun setting over fields that stretched on forever—started to soothe him, even if just a little.

The car ride seemed endless, every minute dragging with the weight of his thoughts. But when the familiar sight of his family’s village finally came into view—cobblestone streets, thatched roofs, the scent of freshly baked bread hanging in the air—something inside Franco began to shift. The city felt miles away, the noise, the crowds, the weight of his past life all falling away as he crossed into the place that had always felt like home.

The moment he stepped through the door of his childhood house, all of that exhaustion seemed to vanish. The house was exactly as he remembered it—warm, full of life, and alive with the kind of energy he hadn't felt in so long. His mother’s soft humming from the kitchen filled the air, the scent of her cooking familiar and comforting in a way nothing else ever had been.

“Mama?” he called, stepping into the kitchen.

She looked up from the stove, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of him. It was like the years had slipped away in an instant, and before he could even move, she was across the room, enveloping him in her arms.

“Oh, hijo,” she said, pulling him in tight. “You’re home. You’re really home.”

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the comforting smells of garlic and simmering stew. It was the same as it had always been. His mother’s embrace felt like a balm, her steady, familiar presence filling up the spaces in his chest that had been empty for so long. He let himself relax into the hug, feeling like he could finally breathe again.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m home.”

She pulled back, looking at him with concern now, her gaze soft but knowing. “You look like you’ve been through a storm. What happened, Franco?”

He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… been a hot minute.”

She stepped back, eyes still lingering on him as she turned toward the counter, gesturing for him to sit. "Come, sit. You must be starving."

As he slid into the chair at the table, his mother’s eyes flickered to his left hand, where the ring had once sat. The absence of it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Franco," she said softly, her voice delicate but insistent, “Where’s your wedding ring?”

He froze, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spot where the band had once been. The question hit him harder than he expected, like a weight on his chest.

He took a deep breath, his words coming out slow, almost reluctant. "I… I never loved her, Mama. Not like I should’ve. Not like I should’ve loved the person I married."

His mother didn’t flinch, didn’t offer a shocked look or try to comfort him with false reassurances. Instead, she simply nodded, as if she had known all along. The silence between them was calm, understanding.

"I knew," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I knew from the start, Franco. I could see it. You were never... you were never right with her."

He exhaled, a small weight lifting from his chest. His mother didn’t judge him. She hadn’t expected him to make some fairy tale of a marriage. She had always known him better than anyone.

"Why didn’t you say something?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

She smiled softly, her hand brushing his cheek. "You had to learn it on your own, cariño. I couldn’t take that from you."

He sat back in his chair, letting her words sink in. This was home. The quiet understanding, the unconditional love. The very things he had been running from for so long. And now, in this moment, he felt like he was finally allowed to come back to it.

His mother leaned in, brushing the hair from his forehead as if he were still that little boy who had left for the big city years ago. "You’ll be alright, Franco. I know you will. You always find your way back."

He smiled, his heart full, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Mama," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think I’m ready to find it now."

His mother studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. The comfortable silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, her voice casual, but with a slight undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place.

“You know, she moved back this morning,” she said, a soft note of curiosity in her tone.

Franco looked up sharply, his stomach tightening at the mention of her. “She did?”

His mother nodded, stirring a pot on the stove. He shifted in his seat, trying to steady the flutter of emotions that were beginning to rise in his chest. She was back. The thought of her living just next door made his heart ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for, especially after everything that had happened. It felt like a sign, but it also felt like a question—one he didn’t know if he was ready to answer.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” he said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. “But I’m sure it’s for the best. She’s probably just trying to figure things out.”

His mother gave him a thoughtful look before turning back to the stove. "It’s not easy, you know. Coming back here after all those years. Maybe she just needs some time. Things haven't been easy for her, either."

Franco nodded absently, his mind already racing, a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. He’d always wondered what it would be like if they were close again—if the years between them could just vanish, and they could pick up where they left off. But that was before everything had changed.

Before he’d made a mess of everything.

“I’ll give her space,” he said after a long pause. “She clearly needs it if she’s come back home. I don’t want to crowd her, not like this.”

His mother looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft and full of the kind of love only a mother could offer. She didn’t press, but Franco could tell she was seeing more in him than he was letting on. She always had that way of reading him, even when he didn’t want to be read.

“I think that’s wise, Franco,” she said quietly. “But don’t wait too long. Sometimes, the right things—people—can slip away if we don’t take the chance when we can.” She gave him a small smile, her eyes gentle but full of a mother’s wisdom. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. The right things... people. Was she talking about her?

He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he had already lost so much—lost the girl he had once called his best friend. His true love. That much was clear.

But he couldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with her. Not now.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t. I’ll give her the time she needs… and then, I’ll figure out what comes next.” He forced a small smile, looking back up at her. “But first, I think I need to settle in here, Mama. Just for a bit.”

She smiled warmly at him, nodding as she moved to set the table. “Take your time, cariño. You’ve earned it.” Then she added softly, almost to herself, “And when you’re ready, you know where she is.”

Franco nodded, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a promise he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. He had to sort through the years of distance, the pain, the confusion, and the mess he had made before he could even think of approaching her again.

That night the house was quiet as Franco prepared for bed, the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones. The weight of the day’s emotions, of the journey—of everything—pressed on him like a physical force, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was still missing.

He stood in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the reflection—a man who hadn’t truly looked at himself in a long time. His face was a little more worn, the years of racing and the strain of the past two had carved lines into his features. And yet, there was a boy in those eyes too—the one who used to laugh freely, who used to dream of more than just what life had given him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the quiet ache of the past two years swirling in his chest again. Where did it all go wrong? He’d asked himself this so many times, but the answer had never been clear. His life had seemed like it was on track, until it suddenly wasn’t. Until it all came crashing down, leaving him here, in his childhood home, looking at a version of himself he didn’t recognise.

Where did it all go to shit?

He turned away from the mirror, needing a moment of peace, a change of scenery. The night air felt crisp as he stepped out onto the balcony, the soft night breeze brushing against his skin. The village was quiet, the distant sound of crickets filling the silence. The stars above him were impossibly bright, as if they had been waiting for him to step out into this space to show themselves.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. The vast sky, the deep silence, the comfort of being home, of being away from all the chaos of the life he’d left behind. He closed his eyes for a beat, letting himself breathe.

Then, he froze.

From across the yard, on the roof of the house next door, a figure was sitting—her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the stars.

Franco didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. The sight of her—after all these years—was like a jolt to the chest, a flood of old memories and emotions crashing over him.

At first, he considered turning back into the house, pretending he hadn’t seen her, pretending the universe wasn’t trying to push him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on her figure, so familiar, so her. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, especially not like this. Not sitting on the roof, in the same place they used to sit together as kids, watching the stars and talking about everything and nothing.

He had no idea how to approach her.

Before he could make up his mind, she spoke, her voice drifting through the night air, quiet but unmistakable. “Staring’s rude, you know.”

Franco’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening at the sound of her voice. It had been so long since he’d heard it, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.

He stayed where he was, still unsure, a little frozen by the way his heart was racing. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

She tilted her head slightly, but didn’t look directly at him. “I always notice,” she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her tone was more playful than anything else.

He let out a small laugh, a bit surprised by her nonchalance. It was just like her to act so casual, even in the middle of something heavy.

“I wasn’t planning to interrupt,” he added, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Just thought I'd leave you to it."

She didn’t respond right away, but he could see the way her gaze flickered toward him, though she didn’t move. After a beat, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “You came home.”

“I did,” he said, his heart racing as he stood there, not knowing where to go from here. “Took me a while, but I’m here.”

She nodded, the soft rustle of her hair catching the starlight. "Good. I didn’t think you would."

Franco swallowed, the weight of the unspoken words hanging thick between them. "I... didn’t think I would either."

There was another pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... heavy, in a way that felt like they were both waiting for something. Waiting for the moment when they could go back to being what they once were. But Franco knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Too much had happened between them, too many years spent apart.

Her voice broke the quiet, her words soft but inviting. “There’s space next to me. You should come up here.”

Franco hesitated for a second longer, unsure, but something in her tone, a subtle pull, urged him forward. He glanced around briefly before deciding to take a chance.

Carefully, he climbed over the small stone wall dividing their balconies, his fingers finding familiar purchase as he pulled himself over. The moment his feet hit the roof, the memories of their childhood came rushing back—sitting on the very same roof, talking about everything and nothing, watching the stars as if they were the only two people in the world.

It felt surreal, like no time had passed at all, even though everything between them had changed.

She was already sitting cross-legged, her back turned slightly toward him, but she patted the spot next to her, silently urging him to join her. He moved toward her, then sat down, the cool roof beneath him grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

When he finally reached the top, she shifted to make room, and before he even fully settled beside her, she was resting her head on his shoulder. It was as natural as breathing, a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d been starved for.

The night seemed to stretch on forever as they sat together, not speaking, just sharing the same space, the same memories that lingered between them like a soft, delicate thread. It was as though the silence held all the things they couldn’t say out loud.

Finally, it was her who broke the quiet, her voice low and tinged with regret. “Sorry I never replied to your letter.”

Franco’s heart stuttered in his chest at the mention of the letter. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, not after everything that had happened. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his voice barely a whisper. “You... you received it?”

She nodded slowly, lifting her head from his shoulder but not fully pulling away. She stared up at the stars, her fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes in the air. “Four days ago,” she said, her voice soft and distant, as though the words were hard to say.

Four days ago.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The letter. The letter he’d written years ago, before everything spiralled out of control, before the wedding, before he called it all off. The letter where he had laid bare his feelings for her—telling her everything he’d never had the courage to say before. Telling her that he loved her. That he’d leave his fiancé for her. That he wanted to be with her.

The letter had been the final step, the desperate confession that he couldn’t hold inside any longer.

“I… I didn’t know,” Franco muttered, his throat tight. “I sent it because I thought you needed to know. I thought you needed to hear it.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t expect you to just—ignore it.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she looked over at him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him ache. “I didn’t ignore it,” she said softly. “I didn’t know about it. Angelo hid it from me.”

Franco froze. Angelo. The same guy she’d been with all those years, the one who had kept the letter from her. The weight of it hit him hard, a cold knot in his stomach. “He hid it?” His voice barely came out above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I only found it four days ago when I was packing.” She paused, as though weighing whether or not to say more, then sighed. “He kept it from me, Franco. Told me it was nothing, just some silly thing from the past. But it wasn’t nothing. It was you. It was everything you were trying to say. And I didn’t even know until hours before your wedding.”

Franco could feel his chest tighten, the words he had written, the words that had been locked inside of him for so long, echoing in the space between them. He had no idea she’d never received it. No idea she had been living in that oblivion, thinking that nothing had changed when, in reality, everything had been laid out for her years ago.

Franco closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. His entire life had been built around the lies he’d told himself, and in the end, he had only hurt the one person who had always been there for him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sky, the stars so far away. “I never stopped loving you,” he said quietly, the confession falling from his lips before he could stop it. “I never stopped thinking about you, even when I thought I should. Even when I tried to move on, I always... always thought about you. About Monza.”

Her voice was soft but steady, a quiet confession in the night air. “I shouldn’t have come to that wedding,” she said, her words hanging in the space between them like a breath held too long.

Franco blinked, his heart stuttering slightly in his chest as he turned to look at her. “Why?”

She sighed, her eyes focused on the distant horizon, her expression unreadable in the soft glow of the moon. “Because I thought I was over you, Franco. I really did. I thought that seeing you get married to someone else, someone who wasn’t me, would help me move on. But when I watched you declare your love for me in front of everyone... it hit me all at once. I felt like I was coasting through a lie with Angelo for two years.”

Franco’s chest tightened at the mention of Angelo again, but he didn’t interrupt. He knew this was something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time, something they had never really spoken about. She took a slow breath, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt as she spoke again.

“I couldn’t give him all of me,” she continued, her voice wavering for the first time, just the slightest crack in her calm demeanour. “When you still had half my heart.”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat at her words. She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the time apart, despite the man she had been with, a part of her had never truly moved on.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the right words to express the swirl of emotions inside him. The guilt, the confusion, the longing. All he could do was listen, his heart aching with each word she spoke.

“Amor…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, trying to find his grounding. “She cheated on me. My wife.” He added as though she needed clarification.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise, but she said nothing. She waited for him to continue, her breath catching in her throat.

Franco stared out at the stars, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t feel much at first. I think I expected it. In some way, I always did. I’d been living in a marriage where I wasn’t really present for a long time.” He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the feeling of his world unravelling. “But... when I found out, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I had already shut myself off from it all.”

She studied him, her gaze soft but piercing. “Really? You didn’t feel... anything?”

Franco’s heart twisted, “I felt guilty,” he admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t feel hurt or anger. I just felt... guilty."

She frowned, the confusion and concern evident in her eyes. “Guilty? Why? You didn’t cheat. You weren’t the one betraying her.”

Franco chuckled bitterly, a hollow sound that felt foreign to him. “No, I didn’t cheat. But I’ve been mentally cheating on her for years now.” His voice cracked slightly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “With you. I’ve been thinking about you. Wanting you. Wondering... what could have been.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between them like an invisible force. The air was thick, heavy with the things they hadn’t said, the things they had both buried for too long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant rustle of the trees, the wind whispering through the leaves. Then, she shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against his, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to reach out. But Franco didn’t pull away. He let her fingers weave through his, and for a moment, they were back to the way they used to be—close, without words, just a connection that had never truly faded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence again. “I didn’t mean to make things more complicated for you. I never wanted you to feel guilty.”

Franco shook his head, his fingers tightening around hers. “You didn’t. It’s my fault. I should’ve been honest with myself. With you. With everyone.”

Her hand found his, her grip soft but reassuring. “We can’t undo the past, Franco. But maybe... maybe we can stop running from it.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something—maybe a sign that they were on the same page, that this wasn’t just a momentary lapse, but the beginning of something else.

Franco’s heart skipped a beat. The ache inside him—this pull, this longing—felt more real now than it ever had before. But he couldn’t let himself get lost in it. Not yet. Not before he figured out what came next.

“Maybe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Maybe we can.”

But for now, they stayed there, hand in hand, watching the stars as the night stretched on—together, but not quite ready to bridge the distance between them. The future was uncertain, but in that moment, with her close to him again, it felt like the possibility of a new beginning was still there.

And maybe that was enough.

She shifted slightly, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she stared up at the night sky, the stars scattered above them like little pieces of a puzzle they couldn’t quite put together. Her voice broke the quiet again, this time more introspective, tinged with a kind of sadness that Franco couldn’t shake. “Why are we like this?” she asked softly, the question hanging in the air between them. “Why can’t we ever get it right? Why does it feel like we keep missing each other?”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat as he turned his head to look at her. He had no answer. No easy explanation for the years of missed opportunities, the broken promises, the things left unsaid. All he could do was let the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke, his voice thick with regret.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his words barely audible, but full of the weight of everything he had kept buried for so long.

Her hand tightened around his, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. She didn’t look at him immediately. She just stared at the stars, letting the night take them both in. But when she did speak, her voice was clear, almost a little too sharp, as if she were trying to distance herself from the ache inside.

“I know,” she said, her words simple, yet filled with the unspoken truth between them.

Franco exhaled slowly, his chest tight with the unrelenting guilt that seemed to follow him wherever he went. “I really don’t,” he added, his tone heavier this time, the words more raw, like they were scraping against his very soul.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes soft but steady as she met his gaze. “But you’ll always have me anyway,” she said, her voice gentle, almost a whisper, but strong in its promise. “All of me. Even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if you feel like you’ve lost me, I’m still here. I always will be.”

Franco closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into him, to hold on to the promise she was offering, but he knew that he had to fix everything first. He had to prove to himself, to her, that he was worthy.

After a long moment, his mind shifted, a question bubbling up to the surface, something that had been nagging at him for a while now. “What happened to Angelo?” he asked, his voice quiet, but urgent with curiosity.

Her gaze flickered away, her expression becoming unreadable for a brief second. She didn’t speak at first, but then, she sighed, her voice small as she turned her head back toward the night sky.

“He proposed,” she said softly, her words hitting Franco like a punch to the gut. “He got down on one knee, right there in the middle of a restaurant, and asked me to marry him.”

Franco’s heart sank. He had imagined the two of them together, but hearing her speak those words, hearing the finality in her tone, made something inside him shift. His breath caught in his throat.

“And you didn’t say yes,” he whispered, the realisation washing over him slowly, painfully.

She shook her head, her fingers grazing the edge of her sleeve as she gathered her thoughts. “I couldn’t bring myself to say yes,” she murmured, her voice distant, like the memory still held weight over her. “I couldn’t lie to him, and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Not after everything. I just... I couldn’t. And when I looked at him, I knew something wasn’t right. I knew that the whole time, I had been lying to both of us, pretending that he was enough when I wasn’t even sure of myself.”

Franco felt his chest tighten, his heart aching with understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if he was apologising for Angelo, for her, or for himself, but it felt like the right thing to say. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just sat there beside him, her head back on his shoulder, her fingers still twined with his. The night stretched on, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but there was something in the air that felt different now. It wasn’t just the weight of their shared history or the unsaid words that hovered between them. There was something else.

Something that, for the first time, felt like the beginning of something new.

After a while, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. “I never wanted to hurt him. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when you’re still here, not when you’ve always been here, Franco.”

Franco closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the curve of her hand. “I understand,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he did. He wasn’t sure of anything right now except that he needed to make it right—whatever that looked like.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the quiet stretching between them, neither of them in a rush to break the stillness. The night air was cool against their skin, and the stars above seemed to twinkle with the same quiet understanding that hung in the air. For the first time in years, it felt like they were both exactly where they were meant to be—together.

But slowly, the rhythm of her breathing changed, softening, slowing. Franco felt it before he saw it, the gentle shift in the weight on his shoulder. He glanced down, his heart softening at the sight of her—her lashes fluttering closed, her face serene and peaceful in sleep. She was completely relaxed, as if the weight of everything had been lifted, even if just for a moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled between them. But as minutes ticked by, he knew it was time to move her. Carefully, he slipped his arm beneath her, lifting her gently, cradling her close. Her head rested on his chest as he stood, her body instinctively curling against him. She felt weightless in his arms, and for a second, he couldn’t believe how natural it all felt.

As he carried her through the door to her room, the familiar smell of her childhood home wrapped around him—the scent of lavender and old wood, a place both foreign and intimately familiar. The room was just as he remembered, simple and cosy, with little traces of her scattered throughout. He looked down at the floor he used to sleep on when they were young The soft, pale light of the moon filtered through the window, casting everything in a gentle glow.

He placed her gently in the bed, tucking the covers around her small frame. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her, his chest heavy with emotion. Everything about this felt so right, so painfully wrong at the same time. He should have been here years ago. He should have never let things get so far. But now, he was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second longer than he meant to, his heart aching with all the things he never said.

Just as he turned to leave, to head back to his own house, her voice stopped him.

“Don’t.”

Franco froze. His hand rested on the window frame , his heart stalling in his chest. He turned slowly, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

“What?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something in her gaze—vulnerable, raw, but full of longing. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Please don’t.”

For a moment, Franco stood there, his chest tight as he processed her words. Don’t go. It was all he needed to hear. She didn’t want him to leave. After everything that had happened, after all the distance between them, she still wanted him here.

He walked back toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to say anything; the weight of the moment, the look in her eyes, said it all. He carefully slid under the covers, settling beside her, the warmth of her body so familiar yet so new.

Without a word, she shifted, curling into him, her head finding its place on his chest, her hand resting gently against his side. Franco wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was real. And it was theirs.

They stayed there, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. No more words were needed. No more distance. Just the two of them, together, holding on to each other like they were afraid to let go.

And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the covers, Franco realised that this moment—this feeling of being home—was everything he had been searching for.

Home.

Her.

It was all synonymous.

She was his home.

the end.

taglist: @sp1rl @yennasaurusrex @ellen3101 @firefirevampire @directioner5life @littlegrapejuice @obxstiles @scopeiguess @newlifeforus @justsisse @zestytimbit @taygrls @charlosvibesonly @sparkleofpizza

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

For the first time since they saved the world, since Steve carried Eddie out of hell, and their bat bites had healed, Eddie was finally hanging out with Steve without impending doom hanging over their heads. Robin was also there as she didn't want to miss Steve cooking, and Eddie didn't blame her.

"Holy fucking shit!" Eddie yelled, slamming down his fork. "Fucking marry me."

Steve blinked at him, blushing, and his mouth fell open. He quickly closed it and smiled.

"Okay!"

"Oh! I'll go get the book!" Robin exclaimed, clapping her hands as she ran off.

"Book?" Eddie asked. "What? What's going on?"

Robin soon came back with a large white binder with a lock on it. She slammed it on the table and pulled out a key from under her shirt, unlocking it.

"This is Steve’s wedding book. As his best man, I hold the key," Robin said.

"Wait, hold on, that wasn't a real - ," Eddie started to say.

"Ooh, some of these were definitely written before me. That's definitely Baby Steve’s handwriting. . . Ooh, I can just imagine little Stevie putting a white sheet over his perfect hair," Robin said. "So, Spring, Fall, Summer, or Winter?"

"I was thinking Fall-ish," Steve said. "Near the end of August, maybe in September. Not too cold, not too hot."

Robin closed her eyes and held a pen in the air. Where did the pen come from?

"August 30th! I feel it! Perfect day!" Robin exclaimed.

"Wait, just a goddamn minute! What are you doing?!" Eddie shrieked.

"Planning your wedding to Steve, duh," Robin said, rolling her eyes. "Now, Steve, are you sure about the groom?"

"Yeah," Steve said, grinning. "He's funny, very cute, and good with kids. Yeah, I'll take him."

"You like men?!" Eddie asked.

"Duh, babe, keep up. He's already told you this," Robin said.

"Fucking when?!" Eddie asked.

"In the hospital," Steve replied.

"When I was on painkillers?!" He asked.

"You still want Dustin to be the flower girl?" Robin asked Eddie.

"Oh, shit, that actually would be hilarious- no, nope, no way! This isn't happening!" Eddie yelled.

"Did you ask Steve to marry you?" Robin asked.

"Well, yes, but - "

"Did he say yes?"

"Again, yes, however - "

"Then you're engaged. Congratulations," Robin said.

"Ooh, we have enough money in the budget for weddings 2, 5, and 8!" Steve explained, looking over her shoulder.

"When I said that Steve should marry me, I wasn't -," Eddie said.

"Can you think of a reason why you shouldn't marry Steve?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't even know if I like men! I like women!" Eddie shrieked, running his hands over his face.

"You said something different in the hospital," Steve said.

"You mean, when I was on painkillers?!" He asked. "You're fucking with me. You guys are fucking with me."

"Babe, you seem stressed out by all this wedding planning," Steve said, taking his hand.

"I am VERY stressed out," Eddie said.

"Just let me and Robin handle it. I have been planning my wedding since I was like five, and trust me, I have never been a fan of big weddings, so it's going to be low-key and tasteful," Steve said, squeezing his hand.

"This is illegal," Eddie said weakly and in disbelief.

"Yeah, like none of us have ever done anything illegal," Steve rolled his eyes. "A marriage is more than just a piece of paper. Besides, I don't want the government at my wedding anyway."

"Fuck, yeah, me neither," Eddie said, shaking his head. "This is crazy!"

"Look, Eddie, I know this is sudden, and I know how scary it is to deal with all of this as well as speed running through a sexuality crisis. It's been a couple of months, but there were days where I sat by your bedside, hoping you would wake up, and when you did, I realized that I wanted to wake up next to you every morning," Steve said softly, rubbing his thumb. "I want to hear every single rant, even the ones where you're being as asshole. I love you, and if you really don't want to do this, then I'll back down."

Eddie looked into Steve’s hazel eyes, swallowing thickly as he imagined being married to him and waking up with him every day. He already knew that Steve could handle how chaotic he could be, how much he loved the kids despite his loud protests, and he remembered all the talks about their asshole fathers who basically abandoned them. Eddie remembered waking up in the hospital and seeing Steve’s relieved red rimmed eyes. He knew without a doubt that Steve was a partner that he could depend on.

"Okay! I've decided that I'm just going to let this happen!" Eddie said, throwing up his hand. "But I can't be domesticated! I refuse!"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Steve grinned.

"Also, during one of the dances, we're playing Metallica!" He yelled.

"Done!"

Steve leaned over the table and kissed Eddie, who didn't waste a second kissing him back. Yeah, he liked it, and he wasn't ever going to kiss anyone else. On some level, he had known that as soon as he had slammed Steve against the wall of that boathouse.

"Oh my God! I'm marrying Steve Harrington!"

TWO DAYS LATER. . .

Eddie was sprawled out on the couch in his brand new living room when Wayne came in, back from his fishing trip. Eddie frowned as he tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

"So, how'd the dinner with Steve go?" Wayne asked.

"Well, the food was so good that I asked Steve to marry me, and he said yes," Eddie said. "It's on August 30th, save the date."

"You're hilarious, son," Wayne said, rolling his eyes. "You should be a comedian."

Suddenly, Steve burst out of the kitchen, looking flustered.

"Okay, I decided to be the bigger person here. I'm going to invite my parents to the wedding," Steve said. "If they don't come, they don't come. Hopper's already agreed to walk me down the aisle. Oh, hey, Wayne. I hope you don't mind, I wanted to cook for my fiancé and my future father in law. How was the fishing trip?"

Wayne stared at him, blinking at Steve and then at Eddie. Wayne sighed, shaking his head.

"Not a goddamn bite. Waste of a trip," Wayne said.

"Damn," Steve said and looked at the kitchen. "I have to check on the food. Sorry. I want to hear more about it!"

"Smells good, son!" Wayne yelled and plopped down on the couch next to Eddie.

"You accepted that pretty quickly," Eddie said.

"You can't do better than Steve. He went to hell and back for you. He never left your side. . .he loves you, and I can't ask for a better partner for my boy. . .speaking of why aren't you in there helping your fella?" Wayne asked.

"He kicked me out," Eddie pouted.

"You almost took my head off with a skillet!" Steve exclaimed.

"I nearly took him out, and he still wants to be with me," Eddie sighed happily and tucked his head into Wayne's shoulder. "By the way, when you walk me down the aisle, you can't let me fall, you know how I am."

"I would never let you fall."

Eddie smiled. Despite everything that happened, that's still happening. . .Eddie was happy, and he was getting married to the most wonderful guy in the entire world. Suddenly, Eddie sat up.

"Oh, no," Eddie said.

"What?"

"We told Dustin and the kids, but I didn't think to tell Ronnie," Eddie gasped.

"You mean, your best friend since you were eight?" Wayne asked.

"Yeah, I am in deep - "

Suddenly, the front door slammed open, and Ronnie Ecker stood there in all her long-legged glory.

"You're getting married to Steve Harrington?!" She asked. "And I had to hear about it from a 12 year old?!"

"He's 14, actually," Eddie said casually. "How was the trip from New York?"

Eddie suddenly remembered the thing Robin had reminded him to do: don't forget to tell your platonic soulmate.

[to-the-stars8]

Just a sweet little imagine of Bruce coming in at night.

It’s quiet, and Bruce is effortlessly crossing the wooden floors of your shared bedroom without making a single sound. Before the two of you got together, he didn’t care for the creaks and crack of the old floorboards, but now he tried his best to remember where they were so as to not wake you. When he would throw his gloves on the back of your vanity chair, he’d finally make his way over to you. He’d lean over and press a subtle kiss to your temple. It’s so soft and light that you hardly stir. Then, he’s off again to the bathroom to clean up.

When he’s getting into bed it’s finally then do you rouse awake. “What time is it?” You always asked, and Bruce knew you were still half asleep.

“A little after four, go back to sleep,” He’d say softly, scooting under the covers.

You hum an ‘okay’ before dropping your head back down to the pillow. Neither of you really cuddled at night; you were usually too tired to move from your comfortable spot, and Bruce was too light a sleeper to not wake up every time you move.

“Good night, love,” He would say.

Sometimes, you responded, but he was usually met with silence. He didn’t mind, though, because the later in the morning he’d wake up to you saying, “Good morning, love.”

[aestheticaltcow]

Would you still love me if I was a worm?

I put up a poll like two months ago about which WIP y'all wanted first and this was the winner by a landslide.

This may also be one of the sadder things I wrote. Part 1 MDNI 18+

Carmy Berzatto x Reader

The Bear Masterlist

Carmy got home late that night, later than he’d like, especially knowing he’d only be home for a few hours before returning to The Bear. He kicked his shoes off and shed his backpack and jacket before locking his apartment door. He wandered into the kitchen to see a plate covered in plastic wrap. He looked at it for a second before removing it from the fridge to see a fluorescent sticky note with your loopy handwriting on it, ‘another attempt :)’  he chuckled and removed the plastic wrap and placed the plate in the microwave before pulling his phone out of his pocket to see you’d texted him hours ago. 

‘I found another polenta recipe online!’ 

‘Imma bring a plate over for you, baby :)’ 

‘Miss you!!’

Carmy smiled and quickly texted you back. He was surprised to hear a text notification coming from his bedroom. He put his phone on the counter before lazily pushing a hand through his hair. He walked through the living room to his bedroom. You were in his bed, asleep and drooling slightly. He chuckled and quietly approached the edge of the bed. 

He pushed a fallen lock of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear before kissing your forehead, “Thanks for dinner, baby…” he whispered before walking back out to the living room. 

~

You stirred in bed when you felt the weight of the mattress shift. You shifted in your sleep and sighed softly, “Carmy?” you asked sleepily.  “Hi, baby,” Carmy whispered in your ear as he pulled you flush against his body, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He kissed your shoulder, “Good day?” you asked as you brought a hand to the back of his head to lace your fingers in his unruly greasy curls. Carmy grumbled in response and kissed your neck softly, “That bad?” you giggled.

“Just missed you,” Carmy mumbled before softly biting down where he’d been previously kissed. “I just need you- all fuckin’ day.” His hips subtly pressed against your ass, causing you to gasp at the sensation softly. “I need you, baby.” Carmy whispered, “Can I have you?”

You didn’t answer the question. Instead, you wiggled in his grip, trying to rotate yourself in his arms to face him. Carmy’s grip tightened, “No, just like this baby. I want you just like this…” he cooed as his hands began exploring your body through the oversized t-shirt you’d worn to bed. You felt yourself melt against his chest as he began to manhandle your breasts over the shirt. As Carmy rolled your nipples between his index and middle fingers, a needy moan escaped your lips; you needed him as much as he needed you. 

Cooking had been Carmy’s passion for as long as he could remember. It was a way for him to express his creativity, intelligence, and love; he also despised it. Nothing was good enough. No matter how creative he tried to be or how hard he tried, it was never good enough. Taking over The Beef after Mikey passed and turning it into The Bear should have been a dream come true. The dream had turned into a nightmare, a constant stressor in his life because he wasn’t enough. Then you came into his life.

You’d sat next to him on the L one morning while he was doodling in his notebook. You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t help but look at what he’d been drawing. When you complimented the drawing, Carmy looked up at you and felt the oxygen leave his lungs. He didn’t think that whole ‘love at first sight’ troupe had validity, but the moment his gaze met yours, he couldn’t imagine his life without you. 

Carmy’s life changed when you entered it. He’d dedicated his every waking moment to ensuring the success of The Bear. He’d given up on so many aspects of his life, but a light bulb went off that morning on the L. You’d gotten off before he could work up the courage to say anything, but he knew he had to find you again. 

Every morning, he’d board the train and scan the car for you. Weeks had gone by, and he was ready to give up on ever finding you again- then you were there. You sat there bundled up in some stylish black coat and a bright jade scarf, scrolling on your phone. Carmy swallowed his nerves and sat next to you despite the multiple free seats around the section. “Hey.” he greeted. You looked up, removing the headphones from your ears. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw your mystery man. 

You had your face pressed into Carmy’s pillows as he thrust into you at a painstakingly slow pace as his calloused fingers rubbed tight circles against your clit. “So fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” Carmy whined lowly as he pulled his hand away from your clit. He brought both of his hands to your hips and started thrusting faster. Your moans became more ragged as you arched your back, desperate to feel him hit that one spot.

“Fuck Carmy!” you whimpered as you felt yourself coming undone. He had a similar sentiment as he bent over to kiss your shoulder.

“Just like that baby… cream on my cock, baby,” he growled into your ear.

~

The following day, Carmy woke up to an empty bed with a bright pink sticky note on his bedframe. 

“You’re too cute to wake up sometimes <3 

I have meetings all day. See you soon, baby.”

You and your sticky notes. Carmy chuckled as he got out of bed and quickly prepared himself for work. It would be another long day at the restaurant, and he hoped you’d be back in his bed tonight when he got home. 

Carmy walked into the kitchen that morning to hear Richie and Syd arguing about nonsense. Ebra struggled to pile rolls by the sandwich prep station, and Marcus was tweezing tiny flowers onto some cream puff dessert he’d been working on the past few days. Carmy felt his shoulders tighten as the frustration of running a restaurant settled in. 

Something felt off as your day went on, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. “Y/N. You’re goin’ to Houston.” your boss announced as he entered your office with a manilla envelope in one hand and a stupid grin on his face. You laughed and shot him a confused look, “Okay, hear me out, Y/N. You’re one of my best and brightest editors, and I know you can show these newbies how to run a tight ship.” he explained further as he stepped closer to your desk to drop the envelope on your desk. “The details are in there. The company is excited to see how much more you can grow in this position.” 

You thanked him as he walked out of your office. You leaned back in your desk chair and opened the envelope. Six weeks in Huston meant six weeks without Carmy would be hell, but looking at the itinerary your manager wrote, this would boost your career. It didn’t mean you’d have to like it, though.

~

Carmy sat on his couch that night and blankly stared at the TV. He’d put on some Danish cooking show as background noise while he waited for you to call him. He was growing impatient as the minutes ticked by; you had to be off work by now. Carmy put his head back on the couch and stared up at the off-white, almost grey stain on his ceiling. He always wondered what had happened, but the landlord claimed not to know. 

When his phone rang, Carmy jumped at the sound and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. “Hey baby.” he greeted, “Okay… didn’t expect that one Cousin.” Carmy rolled his eyes as Richie’s voice came through his phone speaker. “What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Dam. You talk to your girl like this? I don’t get how you pulled-” 

“Richie. What?” Carmy asked, cutting Richie off mid-riff. “Tyler called out- his wife is havin’ the baby. Need you to come in.” Richie hesitated to call Carmy in; he knew this was his first night off in almost a month. Carmy clicked his tongue before responding, “Okay.” he huffed and hung up his phone. He tossed it on the couch before getting up and walking toward his bedroom to quickly change into a pair of black Dickies and a white t-shirt. As he pushed his feet into a pair of sneakers, he heard his doorbell ring. “I swear to God…” he muttered as he pulled his jacket on before grabbing his backpack and leaving his room.

“Hey, ba—oh. I thought you were off tonight.” You cut yourself off when you noticed Carmy was in his work clothes. 

Carmy frowned, noticing the disappointment in your voice. “Tyler called out last minute.” he clarified as he caught your face falling further into disappointment. He was going to kill Richie when he saw him. “I’m sorry, princess.” 

You sighed, “It’s okay. I shoulda called, but I was packing.”

Your comment was met with a confused look from Carmy, “You goin’ somewhere?” he asked.

You nodded, “I’m going to Huston for like a month to help set up a new office.”

Carmy frowned at your reply; on one hand, he was proud of you for the work you’d been doing, but on the other, a month was a long time. “Oh shit.”

You laughed at his reaction, “I had the same reaction.” Carmy chuckled as he exited his apartment and threw an arm around your shoulders. 

“When do you leave?” he asked as the two of you walked down the hall toward the elevator of his building. 

“Tomorrow afternoon,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know it’s not a lot of warning, but I guess I can walk you to your car or something as a final in-person date until I return.” 

“You better.” Carmy teased

“I’ll also FaceTime you as much as possible while I’m gone.”

“You better.” Carmy teased again, making you laugh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

~

Carmy had been grumpy since you left. While the two of you called or Facetimed at least every other night and exchanged some Spicer messages and pictures throughout the weeks, it wasn’t the same. Neither of you were sleeping well, and the frustration of seeing you but not being able to touch you was getting to him. 

And it was everybody’s problem.

“When the fuck is she comin’ back?” Richie scoffed at Natalie that night at The Bear. Carmy was getting into it with the new line cook, and Richie needed a break from him. 

“Just a couple more days.” Natalie laughed without looking up from her computer. “He’ll be back to his usual level of chaos soon enough.” 

“A couple more days? I don’t know Sugar. I might throw that kid through a damn wall. Fuck head is getting on my last goddamn nerve.” Richie huffed as he sat across from her. Natalie laughed and shot him a look that validated his growing frustration. She knew Carmy better than anyone else and understood the annoyance he’d been putting the staff through. “Kid needs to get laid…” Richie muttered before excusing himself back to the kitchen. 

~

Carmy anxiously looked around the airport that morning. A month away from each other proved more difficult than either of you had anticipated. As you rode the escalator down to the main entrance where Carmy had been waiting, you couldn’t help but smile. “Carmy!” you squealed as you ran up to him, forgetting about your suitcase at the base of the escalator. Your excitement had caught him off guard, but when he’d realized it was you calling for him, he perked up. 

“Hey,” he greeted as he pulled you into a tight hug, “Holy shit, I missed you,” he said with an exacerbated sigh. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I literally have so much to tell you about! I missed you so much, Carm!” you rattled off as you tried to drag him out of the airport. Carmy laughed and nudged his head to the bottom of the escalator where your suitcase sat. The two of you retrieved your bag and headed out of the airport toward his car. As the two of you walked through the parking lot, you rattled off about the work you’d done over the past weeks and told him about some places you’d gone to eat. Carmy smiled the entire time. None of it was new information. With the amount the two of you had been texting and calling, it was like he’d been down in Houston with you, but he listened to everything you had to say.

You led Carmy up to your apartment while you continued rattling off details of your trip. He stood back, watched you unlock the door to your place, and followed you as you walked in. He placed your suitcase by the door and watched as you went over to the neatly stacked pile of mail your mom must have brought in while she watered your plants.

“Wanna watch a movie and order food?” you asked as you put your mail back on the counter before returning your full attention to Carmy. 

He nodded and leaned against the counter, “Whatever you want, baby.”

~

Your room was filled with your whimpers and the sound of skin slapping skin. Carmy had one of your legs hiked over his shoulder as he slowly pounded his against yours. “Fuckk- right there.” you gasped as Carmy’s thumb rubbed tight circles against your clit. He grunted as he leaned in, smashing his lips against yours. You moaned into his mouth as you felt the ever-familiar knot tightening in your stomach you’d missed while you were on your trip.

Carmy let your leg fall from his shoulder and his hand to your cheek. He rested his forehead against yours as his thrusts slowed to a painstakingly slow pace. You moaned softly and tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots as his chain tickled your chin. “Carmy.” you winced.

“So fuckin’ perfect baby… fuckin’ made for me…” Carmy groaned as he relished in the feeling of your pussy gripping around him. “I love you, Y/N.” the words left Carmy’s mouth without a second thought, and when he realized what he said, it was too late. You looked at him with wide eyes and let your hands drop to his shoulders.

“W-what did you say?” 

“I love you…” Carmy softly trailed off, hoping he didn’t ruin what the two of you had built over the past eight months. 

“I-I- Fuck, I love you too, Carmy.”

~

“Can you test me again? There’s no way.” you were bewildered when your doctor read your chart. 

“We can, but blood tests are over 99% accurate,” he said as he wrote something down on your chart. You stared at him in disbelief. You couldn’t be pregnant. “With the pregnancy, I can’t give you a refill of your Paxil, but we can try a different anti-depressant. The safest option is going to be Zoloft. I can also set you up with an appointment to see Dr. Parks; she’s an OB who is taking new patients. Here is your prescription and a pamphlet that explains your options… Congratulations.” he grinned and handed you multiple pamphlets and your new prescription. 

You nodded, not knowing how to react. You’d only been back in Chicago for a couple of weeks; there was no way you’d gotten pregnant. You had a period while you were in Houston; it was light, but it was there. You quickly shoved the papers into your bag and exited the doctor's office. This couldn’t be happening right now.

You’d been avoiding Carmy for about a week when he’d come knocking on your door. Telling your boyfriend of eight months, you were pregnant… you still couldn’t wrap your head around it- how would Carmy react? You swallowed and reluctantly opened the door, crossing your arms over your stomach.

“Break your phone?” Carmy chuckled as he stood in your doorway. 

“Sorry, work has been crazy… Can you come in? We need to talk about something…” 

Carmy’s face fell at the mention of needing to talk about something; this was the moment. You were going to break up with him. Why else would you avoid his calls and say you couldn’t come over? You were going to leave him like everyone else did. Carmy nodded silently and walked into your apartment. 

“You’re breaking up with me?” Carmy asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. You sighed and closed the door. You took a deep breath as you finally looked at Carmy. Unsure of what to say, you shook your head. “Then what is it, baby?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant, Carmy.”

“Holy shit.”

Carmy stood there in stunned silence. He brought a hand to his jaw and looked at you.

“I don’t want to keep it.”

[lissa612]

It’s sorta crazy how a stupid TV show has been able to trigger my anxiety so bad, but it makes sense when I consider all I had been using my hyper fixation on it to distract myself from. Alas, my anxiety has brought back my insomnia which means I wake up sometime between 1am and 2:30am every morning and just MIGHT start feeling ready to fall asleep against around 5…When my alarm goes off to get ready for work.

But it leaves me a lot of time for random pondering. And this morning got me thinking of one thing that either pisses me off or gives me hope (I guess I’ll know eventually…)

They didn’t need a character like Tommy for Buck’s bi (? Maybe - That actually hasn’t truly been confirmed in canon 🙄) awakening.

This is going to sound a lot like some of the anti-Tommy talking points, but please stay with me.

It really COULD have been any good looking, cool guy who did it. Imagine Johnny, a 40yo adrenaline junkie sport type that Buck and Eddie meet during a big emergency the way they met Ali. Now unlike Ali, Johnny keeps it together during the emergency and like Ali helps them save himself and others. Could even make him a military man. Now they could leave this emergency all having one another’s numbers and something along the lines of 7x04 still could have happened.

Buck calls Johnny to see his fun exciting job/hobby, but Johnny is pulled away when Eddie shows up for them to go do something they’d already planned. Buck isn’t complaining to Maddie about Eddie spending all this time with the new guy, but it’s not the cool pilot she already knows about but the cool free climber or whatever they met on a call. The same conclusions are still met with the conversation. Maybe the basketball game isn’t strictly first responders…Chim doesn’t have quite the same idea what’s going on since he really doesn’t know this guy, but he gets that Buck only asked him to the game because Eddie was bringing his new friend. Things still go badly for Eddie’s ankle and Johnny comes to the loft to apologize. There’s no talk about the 118 family, of course, but perhaps some other vulnerability about friendships and a kiss. There’s a date that still goes to hell. There’s coming out to Maddie and Eddie. There’s the coffee meet up. They could still have Buck go balls to the wall and invite him to the wedding despite him only really know Buck and Eddie. Johnny wouldn’t go to the bachelor party and maybe he comes to the hospital, maybe he doesn’t.

Their relationship does what Buck’s relationships do when there isn’t much connecting the person to his teammates or the plots of the show. Bobby can only say that Buck seems happy and settled…He can’t pass judgment on a person he doesn’t know. And they go through the dramas of the 118 together until something triggers a desire for a big move forward for Buck…And the same sort of break up happens.

It’s sad. It’s probably still a bit offensive. But there was never any loss to what could have been brought to the show overall by the departure of Buck’s latest partner, even if he was new in some ways.

But that’s not what happened.

They decided to bring in an established character that could be molded into what they wanted. A firefighter. Better yet, a firefighter PILOT on a show about firefighting that could use some fresh emergency plot ideas. A character with history in the house that holds Buck’s family. With Chim and with Hen and even with Bobby if it’s not nearly as much since Bobby wasn’t his open hearted self back when Tommy was there. And Tommy wasn’t either.

So you have this character who is compatible with the job. He can make for interesting storylines outside of relationship ones. There isn’t going to be a lame break up because the job is dangerous. There isn’t going to be a betrayal based on their mutual prioritizing of work since they would both understand how the work needs priority. You have things you can explore putting the character in pairings with practically every other main and have it make sense.

All that potential by choosing to go with this character that fits so well to just NOT do any of it.

That’s the real loss I am feeling as a fan of the show from the beginning.

And yeah, I shipped BuckTommy and I had hopes for things I wanted to see between them because Buck is my favorite character and I love seeing him shine. I’m heartbroken by his heart being broken. I’m heartbroken because I saw all this potential that I assumed professional storytellers would also see and not squander. That assumption left me blindsided when it seemed they did squander it.

And everyone saying it was written on the wall - It wasn’t. Yes, Buck’s relationships always fail. That’s how things work - Relationships fail until one WORKS. And this one seemed like it should work. Unless you are watching through goggles telling you without a doubt Buck’s endgame lays elsewhere, there was no warning that this is what would happen at the 6 month mark of the relationship.

And it seems like a really dumb thing to do, to let go of such an interesting tool you have available to you as a storyteller. You didn’t have to make the character such an asset to you and the story.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun and they do have plans for possible stories in the future. Awkward emergencies with the 118 and 217 on a scene together for some reason that will use some of that potential. So maybe there is some reason to hope.

Or maybe it is just wasted. And I’m pissed as a fan of the show and as someone who feels emotionally whiplashed by 8x05 and 8x06.

I guess we’ll see. I refuse get my hopes up. Perhaps I’ll watch the show live tonight…Depends if being up at 2am means I’m exhausted by 6:30pm again today (I was only able to force myself to stay awake until 8pm last night). I’ll watch eventually regardless. But I’m probably back to watching the show the way I did before and how I currently watch Ghosts and Tracker…When I remember the show, I’ll binge what I missed. Or I’ll turn it on if I remember during the timeslot. It’s no longer must see TV for me that I will make plans around.

Anyway, done rambling…

[possumsarecool]

Why do I have nightmares about fnaf characters but instead of them acting like the games I make it much worse

[kateschi]

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[lale-txt]

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby. 

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you. 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: Joel Miller has been your best friend for four years, and your trust in him is as solid as ever. However, things go awry one night after a heated argument, and you find yourself in a position you never thought you'd be in: naked, underneath him, with his eyes devouring you like there's no tomorrow. And when you wake up the next morning, you know it right away, reality piercing your chest; things will never be the same again.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

*

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not. 

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all. 

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness. 

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form. 

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him. 

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him. 

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure. 

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

[whateveriwant]

18+ mdni

I know I’m far from the first person to say this, but I love the idea of Simon and Ghost being like two separate people.

Like on the one hand you have Simon, the caring, devoted family man who holds his duty to his loved ones above all else, and on the other hand you have Ghost, the cold, detached soldier whose only driving forces in life are his need for blood, order, and karmic justice. Or one moment he’s Simon, the wisecracking goofball trading jokes with his comrades over the radio, and the next moment he’s Ghost, the sadistic interrogator hooking up enemy combatants to live car batteries.

And those are just a few in-universe examples we’ve seen of this divide in Simon Riley’s identity. Imagine what it’s like in his day-to-day life; what it must be like as his significant other trying to navigate such a personality schism.

Is it Simon who you’re about to pick up from the airport, the one who’ll eagerly take you into his arms the second you step into the terminal? Or is it him, Ghost, the one who’ll not hug you or kiss you or so much as hold your hand over the center console during the drive home?

Is it Simon who sits across the dinner table from you tonight, the one who, given the right amount of liquor, will regale you with (heavily redacted) stories of his time away? Or is it Ghost, the one who, no matter how well fed, fueled, and fucked he is, remains as tight-lipped as a corpse?

Is it Simon you’ll wake up beside tomorrow, finding him gazing at you like you’re a gift from God? Or is it Ghost who’ll leave behind cold, carefully tucked sheets for you to discover in the morning, wondering if he ever came to bed at all last night?

Is it Simon you feel beginning to stir behind you, who warms you up with soft kisses and sweeter touches before he makes gentle love to you? Or is it Ghost you feel pressing hard and hot against your lower back, who holds you down by the throat as he fucks you through the mattress?

Is it Simon who stumbles into the kitchen when you accidentally nick yourself with a knife, who helps wash and bandage your finger until it’s as good as new? Or is it Ghost who spots the crimson spilling from your hand, who sticks your bloodied finger in his mouth so he can suck it clean?

Is it Simon who’s dying to spend hours with his head between your thighs, much preferring to give over to receive? Or is it Ghost who’s pushing you down to your knees, clutching your head between both hands, and skull-fucking you until you’re dripping with spit and almost passing out from lack of oxygen?

Just the thought of these two distinct, almost opposing personalities coexisting in the same body is super intriguing to me. And how at the drop of a hat, he could switch from one to the other, leaving you guessing who it is you’re really dealing with at any given moment.

[moonstruckme]

would you write a part two to whimsy!reader totally knowing remus’ secret? i feel like r would be so sweet and casual about it that remus would cry

Thanks for requesting!

cw: post-moon werewolf Remus, mention of blood and wounds (no description)

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 1.4k words

The boys usually send you away this time of month. They try to be subtle about it, encouraging you to go visit your family or sleep over at a friend’s house, but you’re not one to let the full moon pass you by without notice. It didn’t take long for the pattern to reveal itself. 

Still, you don’t argue when James gifts you tickets for you and a friend to see a band you like out of town. You know they’re all most comfortable doing things the way they always have, and you worry that letting slip what you know would do more harm than good; Remus would be anxious and upset, and the other boys would only be doing more damage control than they’re used to with you around. So, you let the full moon pass you by without complaint. 

The next day, however, when you know James and Sirius will have gone to work and left Remus to rest and heal, you sneak into your apartment. 

The fact of Remus’ ailing is immediately obvious; the boys’ things are strewn all over the place, evidence of James’ and Sirius’ running about without Remus to pick up after them. There’s a pot of half-eaten stew that’s been left to cool and congeal on the stove, an abandoned roll of bandages on the coffee table, and the entire apartment smells like disinfectant and heartache. 

When you find Remus in the bedroom, your heart aches, too. He’s sleeping, but even in rest his face is pinched with discomfort, and there are several bandages visible above where the bedsheets rest halfway up his torso. It’s about what you expected, but it still makes your eyes burn. 

You try to let him sleep as long as possible, working with the environment first. You open a few windows to get out the smell and let in the new day, clean the common spaces, start your lavender incense burning in the bedroom. You’re brewing tea when Remus pads into the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Oh.” He startles to see you. “You’re back.” 

You’re startled, too. “Hi, I’m sorry,” you say, hurrying over to the windows to shut them. “Did I wake you? Is it too cold in here?” 

“No.” Remus looks wary, watching you flit about the living room like he’s not sure he’s actually woken up. “It’s nice. When did you get home?” 

“Just this morning. I didn’t see the sense in staying another night, and anyway I wanted to be with you.” You make your way back around the room to him, taking his jaw gently in your hand. His skin is warm to the touch. “How are you feeling, lovely?” 

You feel more than see Remus’ face tighten. “I’m alright. How are you?” 

You let him go, giving him a small smile. “Better now that I’m back with you, thanks for asking.” You go back to the stove to stir your pot. “If you’re warm, you don’t need to keep that blanket on for me. I’ve already seen the bandages.” 

You hear his quiet intake of breath, and then a few moments later the sound of the blanket dropping to the floor. 

“Are you in the mood for some tea?” you ask without turning around. “If you want to get back in bed, I could bring it to you there. I don’t imagine standing is very kind to your legs right now.” 

You’ve been reading up on wolf versus human anatomy. If Remus’ transformations work the way you think they do, the bones in his heels and legs would have to either break or otherwise shorten and elongate to create the legs a wolf needs; you can’t imagine it’s a painless process, or that he’s not still feeling the effects of it now, so soon after the moon.

For a dense handful of moments, Remus lingers on the edge of the kitchen. But soon you hear his footsteps, heavier than usual in a way that makes your stomach hurt, go back towards the bedroom. You finish making his tea and bring it to him with a few pieces of his chocolate. 

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed, propped up on pillows and watching the smoke curl up from your incense with a haunted look in his eyes. 

“Hi,” you say softly. He accepts the tea and chocolate with a quiet thanks. “Do you think it might help things if I opened the curtains? Some sunlight might be good for you.” 

Remus hums his assent. Everything becomes crisper once you let the light in. Remus’ dark circles and the blood visible through his bandages, but also the healthy flush to his cheeks and the strength of his body beneath the dressings. 

“What is this?” Remus asks you, sipping his tea. 

“Bay leaves. It’s for pain relief. It helps more if you put it directly on the wounds, but I didn’t think you’d want to mess with your dressings any more.” 

He nods. Sighs. “Come here, dove. Come sit.” 

You’re eager to comply. You round the bed to avoid crawling over him, settling against the pillows beside your boyfriend with your shoulder touching his. A support, if he needs it. 

“What’s the incense for?” he asks. 

“It’s lavender. It’s also good for pain, but I thought it might help you sleep as well.” 

Remus nods again. He turns to you, his eyes some mixture of distressed and resigned. “Why are you doing all of this?” he asks. “Why did you come home?” 

“Remus,” you say gently, “we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

His brows hook in the middle, a small crumbling. “But you know already.” 

You cradle his face in your hand. Your voice is soft. “Yeah.” 

You pull Remus towards your chest when he starts weeping. He dampens your shirt while you comb your fingers through the hair at his nape, saying nothing. Steam wafts up from his tea until it doesn’t, but that’s okay; you’ll make him another cup when he’s ready. 

James and Sirius are surprised to find you when they come home. 

“Angel—” 

“Shh.” You cover one of Remus’ ears with your hand, his head in your lap. “He’s hardly slept all day.” 

James lowers his voice, setting his bag down on the floor. “When did you get here?” 

“This morning.” 

“But you were supposed to be away until tomorrow afternoon.” Sirius climbs up onto the bed. His expression goes tender as he looks down upon Remus’ sleeping face, and the kiss he presses to your lips is gentle.

You card your hand through Remus’ hair. “I didn’t want to be away from him,” you admit softly. “I understand why you want to do things without me on the night it happens, but I’d like to help before and afterwards at least.” 

Sirius’ brow pinches, his eyes narrowing cautiously. 

“When what happens?” James asks you. 

You speak softly, not wanting the words to potentially agitate Remus in his sleep. “The transformation.” 

There’s a thick pause. 

“Who told you?” Sirius asks. 

“No one had to tell me.” 

There’s a quiet chuckle from the end of the bed. James kicks his shoes off, crawling up the covers to meet you. “I told you she knew.” He gives you a kiss, soft and syrupy sweet. “Thanks for looking after him for us, sweetheart.” 

Remus grunts, coming awake. “James,” he groans. “Your knee is on my leg.” 

“Oh. Sorry, love.” James moves, then bends down to give Remus a kiss of his own. “Did our angel take good care of you today?” 

“Better than this.” 

“That’s the moon talking,” Sirius says flippantly, though the hand he uses to rub Remus’ shoulder is exceedingly gentle. “That’s something you’ll learn as we go along, gorgeous. He loves us, really.” 

You feel your brows pinch. “I thought he was as nice as always today.” 

“Wonder why,” Remus mutters, but the look he gives Sirius is teasing. 

James gives Remus another kiss, standing. “I’ll get you some of your soup.” 

“Oh, I…” You give him a sheepish look. “I washed that down the sink. It got left out, the meat was bad. There’s tea on the stove that should help him heal faster, though, if you want to get some of that.” 

James and Sirius stare at you. 

“Seems like we should’ve brought you in on this a lot sooner,” Sirius says after a moment. 

You shrug. Remus mumbles something that sounds like agreement.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 11: It's Coming

Summary: Things have begun to shift in your developing relationship with your pack. Unfortunately, nature has the worst timing in the world. 

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, medical stuff, plenty of fluff.

A/N: I wrote like 90% of this chapter on my phone so please forgive any weird typos. I'm super excited for this one and this whole part really. Lots of good stuff coming up!!

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At first you’re not quite sure what pulled you from sleep. You’re warm and more comfortable than you have been in a long time, despite the dull throbbing between your thighs. The pillow against your back shifts, a chill settling in as some of the warmth disappears. 

You blink your eyes open, squinting against the harsh blue light of a phone screen. Price lets out a quiet groan, swiping at something before settling his phone back on the nightstand in front of you. His arms wrap back around your middle, his face pressing into the back of your neck as he settles against you again. 

It was his phone vibrating that had woken you, pulling you from the gentle arms of sleep. It’s still dark out, far too early to be up and getting phone calls, especially on a Sunday morning. You wonder how often John actually gets to sleep, between his job and everything he does when he’s not away. You’re understanding the couch in his office more and more now. 

“Go back to sleep.” He murmurs, a quiet rumbling vibrating against your back as he purrs.

You don’t need to be told twice, snuggling down under the covers again, letting your eyes close. 

You wake a while later alone. It’s daylight finally, the sunlight coming through the window lighting the room. You press your face into the pillow, inhaling Price’s scent. It still smells a bit like arousal and sex in the room, both of your scents heavy in the air. They blend together surprisingly well, Price’s musky woody scent mixing with the sweetness of your own scent. It makes an intoxicating aroma of alpha and omega. 

Price comes out of the bathroom, slipping back under the covers. You curl up against his side, laying your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around you. 

“Morning.” He murmurs, voice heavy with sleep still. 

You hum in response, resting your head over his heart. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, his fingers trailing your bare back. 

“A bit sore.” You say, acknowledging the throbbing between your legs. “Not as bad as I thought I might.” 

Price huffs out a laugh. “It shouldn’t hurt, not if you know what you’re doing.” 

You hum again, the knowledge that he’s very experienced coming to the forefront of your mind. Even if it has been two years, you can imagine him when he was younger, the kind of experiences he must have had. Omegas and barrack bunnies and all sorts of women probably fawned over him. 

“You’re thinking too much.” He says quietly, eyes closed as he lays there with you. 

You’re starting to think he might be able to read your mind. 

“Can I ask you something? Something...personal?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at him. 

He cracks an eye open to stare down at you. “Don’t think you can get much more personal than we already are.” His lips twitch up in a smile. “‘Course, you can ask me anything.” 

“When was the last time you helped an omega through a heat?” You ask, listening to the steady thump of his heart under your ear. 

“Years ago. Well over a decade ago.” He says, voice still thick and raspy with sleep. He clears his throat, a hand settling on your waist. “Back when I was still a Sergeant. I had the idea back then of settling down, finding an omega and having my own pack. Had a few on and off relationships. Then I started getting sent off on more and more dangerous missions. I realized my skill set and my purpose, and gave up the idea of having an omega. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting them through that, if something happened to me. I’ve seen what losing an alpha does to an omega firsthand too many times.” 

A frown tugs at your brows as you lay there against his chest. You know the risk of them dying is high. The CIA had spent ample time warning you of that risk, telling you about how dangerous their lives are and how every assignment, every deployment, could be their last. They could be gone for weeks at a time, months at a time, and they could go and not come back. They know that every time they leave for an assignment it could be their last, and now you’ll be stuck behind knowing they might not be coming back. 

You’ve heard about omegas that have lost their alphas, how damaging it can be. It’s not something you’re taught at the institute. That’s not something you’re supposed to think about, something you shouldn’t have to think about. 

“What’s eating you?” Price asks softly, his finger stroking the pinched skin between your brows. 

You shift against his side, leaning more on his chest as you look up at him. “What if you don’t come back?” 

His smile is a bit grim as he stares up at you, his fingers trailing across your face. “I won’t lie and say that’s not a risk. There’s always a chance.” His fingers trail down your arm to rest on your hand where it’s pressed flat against his chest. “We’re here for a reason. We are the best at what we do.” 

He pauses as your hand moves, your gaze lowering from his as you trace one of the scars on his clavicle. You can only imagine what caused it. A knife? Shrapnel? Where was he and what was he doing when he got it? You might never be able to know all the details. So many secrets, so much you can’t know. 

John wraps his arms around you, easing you off his chest as he rolls you onto your back. You stare up at him as he hovers over you, his hand brushing stray hairs from your face. “Don’t worry too much.” He says, his finger trailing the line of your nose. “We always try our best to make it home. Now we just have an even greater reason to.” 

Your hand cups his cheek as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You hum against his mouth, pressing your body closer against his. You can’t help but smile against his lips as his cock hardens against your thigh. 

“Again?” You murmur against his lips, making him chuckle.

“Can’t blame me when there’s a beautiful omega naked in my bed.” 

Your face burns as he leans back down to kiss you, his hips moving against your thigh. Warmth spreads through your whole body from his scent thickening in the air, his arousal prevalent as he twitches against your leg. 

“John.” You moan softly, hands grasping at his back. 

You both pause as a door shuts in the hallway, the reminder that the others are just a thin wall away coming back to you. The moment is over as your stomach growls, also reminding you that you’ll need to eat eventually. 

John chuckles quietly, leaning up to press a kiss against your forehead. “Come on, let’s get the day started and get some food into you.” 

You frown a bit as he pulls away, cock still hard and angry looking as he stands from the bed. “John?” You call out, scrambling off the bed after him. “You’re just gonna...” 

“Give it a minute and I’ll be fine.” He says, moving to his closet. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

Your frown only deepens and you step closer to him, catching him as he turns around. You stare up at him through your lashes, wrapping your hand around his cock. He pauses, letting out a little groan as you squeeze him gently. 

“Let me help you.” You say, dragging your hand along his length. 

His eyes darken as he stares down at you, the pants in his hand dropping to the floor. 

Your face is still a bit flushed as you make your way to the mess. You’re hand in hand with John, dressed comfortably in one of his shirts and a pair of leggings. You can’t help but feel a bit bashful, as if they’re all going to know what you did, as if every soldier in the mess knows you and Price slept together last night. 

They’ve probably been thinking that since you arrived. 

Price leads you through the line, making your tray for you. You nearly beam with pride at him taking care of you, your omega preening with happiness as he carries your tray and his to the table. You take the spot next to Gaz as usual, still practically beaming. 

“Have a good night, love?” Gaz asks, smirking a bit at your pleased state. 

“Yeah.” You say, your face getting warm again at their stares. 

“Practically glowing, kitten.” Johnny says, winking at you from across the table. 

Your face flushes hotter and you quickly bury yourself in your porridge to avoid exploding at the breakfast table. 

“Sounded like ye had a great time.” Johnny continues. 

Christ, they probably heard the whole thing. You halfway want to sink down beneath the table to hide from their knowing stares. You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, not really. They’re your pack, and eventually you’ll be in the same position with them too. 

“Didnae know ye had it in ye, kitten.” Johnny continues. “We certainly enjoyed the show.”

You do start to sink down in your seat a bit, surprised steam isn’t rising off your skin from how warm you feel. Gaz’s hand on your leg stops you, his fingers squeezing your thigh gently. 

“Don’t pay too much attention to him, love.” Gaz gives you a reassuring smile. “He’s just jealous he didn’t get to go first.” 

“Am not.” Johnny whines, practically pouting. 

You can’t help but smile a bit at his antics. You know from how much he bragged about getting to be your first kiss that he probably was rather put out that John got to be your first. It would have been that way regardless, but you know you asking John before your heat changed things a bit. It would have always been John, though. 

It would have always been your alpha first. 

Gaz’s hand doesn't move from your thigh, holding its place there as you all eat, Johnny still pouting a bit. You know they’ll want to pursue that sort of relationship with you after your heat, but now that John’s removed the barrier of the first time as well, you can only expect them to up the teasing tenfold. A shiver runs up your spine at the thought of Gaz sliding his hand slightly higher, fingers slipping between your legs. 

You’re certain there has to be steam coming off of you now. 

Your thighs squeeze together, trapping Gaz's fingers between them as you continue to try and act normally. Gaz turns his head just slightly, side eyeing you as you continue to try and eat your breakfast as normally as possible. Gaz's grip on your thigh tightens, fingers digging into your skin. You fight the noise threatening to come up as he holds his hand there, continuing to eat his breakfast as if nothing is happening. 

You hold Gaz's hand as he walks you back towards the barracks, leaning against his side. His grip around your fingers is tight, not even the rain dampening the heaviness of his scent. It's deeper than usual, the musk of arousal tinging the edges. 

Your back meets your door as soon as you're back in the barracks, Gaz pinning you against the wood. Your own breathing is heavy as you stare up at him, his eyes dark as he meets your gaze. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” He groans, leaning down to kiss you. It's far more passionate than you've ever kissed him before, his hands sliding down your sides to grip your waist. “Making all those sweet noises last night.” He breathes against your lips. “Haven't seen Price that relaxed in a long time.” 

Your face warms at his words, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He presses harder against you, pinning you against the door as his tongue prods at your lips. He tastes like the tea he drank with breakfast, herby and earthy. 

“Has us all worked up last night.” He groans against your lips. “Hearing you, knowing our alpha was treating you nice.”

He presses his forehead against yours, staring down at you. You meet his gaze, shivering under the intensity in his deep brown eyes. 

“Johnny bout cried he was so worked up.” Gaz's lips twitch in a smile. “Simon left for the gym bout halfway through, had to work out his tension.”

Your brows raise at the news about what Ghost had been up to last night. You figured he might join Johnny in his room, or perhaps head somewhere so he didn't have to hear you. Not that he would leave because he was being affected by you. 

“Johnny was being such a whiny little bastard. Had no choice but to take pity on him.” Gaz nips at your jawline playfully. “I fear he's going to be unbearable until he gets his chance.” 

“Well, he'll just have to wait his turn.” You say. 

Gaz laughs, kissing you again before he takes half a step back, leaning his arm on the door above you. “Any plans today?”

You shrug, still leaning against your door. “Might read, or nap. Maybe both.” You sink your teeth into your lip, reaching back to put your hand on the door handle. “You wanna come in?” 

Gaz's grin widens into a smile, his eyes practically sparkling. “Sure.”

You open the door, stepping into your room. It's a bit of a mess from you preparing for your date last night. You toss the clothes from your bed onto the floor haphazardly before pushing Gaz onto the mattress. He kicks off his shoes before making himself comfortable. You toe off your slippers, grabbing your book before joining him on the bed. He pulls you against his side, pulling his phone out of his pocket as you settle against his chest. A quiet content purr begins rumbling in his chest, easing the tension in your body as you relax against him. 

You stay like that, reading while cuddling Gaz, for quite a while. Your door is wide open still, the others coming and going as they do on the weekends. Gaz keeps your back to his chest, arm wrapped around his middle as he scrolls on his phone while you read. 

Slowly his head starts to droop until it's resting against the top of yours. You can feel the content sleepiness settling into your bones as well, the words on the pages starting to swim a bit. You mark your place, moving just enough to set your book on your nightstand before you curl up against him, letting his even breaths lull you to sleep. 

You jolt awake suddenly as Gaz's arms tighten around you, keeping you from flying off the bed. You blink open your bleary eyes, squinting at Johnny's grinning face inches from yours. His body is draped over both yours and Gaz's, a solid weight against you both. 

“C'mon ye lazies. Gotta eat lunch eventually.” He says, sounding far too chipper for a Sunday afternoon. 

“Fuck off mate.” Gaz says, shoving at Johnny's shoulder. “Was comfy.”

“Yer hogging the omega!” Johnny says, poking Gaz's side. He pushes himself up, scooping you into his arms and lifting you. “Some of us would like tae spend time with ‘er too.” 

You yelp at being lifted suddenly, wrapping your arms around Johnny's neck to hold on for dear life. 

“Well, maybe you just need to be a little bit faster.” Gaz says, standing from the bed. 

“I'm plenty fast.” Johnny almost whines. “Close to beating your time on the course.”

Gaz smirks. “I'll believe it when I see it.” 

You look back and forth between them as Gaz steps closer to Johnny, caging you between them. 

“And ye will see it.” Johnny says.

“Cheeky.” Gaz murmurs, closing the distance between them. 

You stare wide eyed as they kiss just inches in front of your face. It's all tongues and teeth, Soap's chest rumbling against your side as he purrs. A quiet whimper leaves your lips as you watch them, your body starting to get warm again. 

They break apart, both turning to look at you. Gaz's lips turn up in a smirk, Johnny's eyes sparkling. 

“Look at you, kitten.” Johnny smirks. “Ye like watching us?” 

You make another quiet noise, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. Johnny slowly lowers you until you're standing between them, Gaz not moving an inch as they trap you in a beta sandwich. Their bodies are warm and solid as you stand there, back to Johnny's chest. You can feel the bulge in his jeans pushing against your ass, Gaz's body a solid weight against your front. 

You can imagine it, naked between them, skin against skin with hands everywhere. A quiet purr begins in your chest, eyes dilating as you stare up at Gaz. He smirks down at you, leaning down towards you. He skirts to the side at the last minute though, kissing Johnny behind you. 

You can't see them this time but lord can you hear it. Johnny is still purring, the sound vibrating against your back. Gaz let's out a quiet sound, his hand dropping to squeeze your waist. 

Johnny pats your side before pulling away. “Should get ye some lunch.”

Your head is still spinning as Gaz hums his approval, stepping away as well. You stand there blinking for a moment at the sudden loss of contact, the sudden shift in energy. 

“C'mon, get yer shoes on, sunshine.” Johnny says. 

You move half in a daze still towards your bed, your body tingling a bit still from the many thoughts that had been racing through your mind. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to itch as you stare down at your bed. Your brows pinch in a frown as you stare down at the mess of blankets and pillows. 

It's not right. 

Your fingertips twitch as you stare at the mess in your nest, your mind taking over as you begin to rearrange the blankets and pillows. You forget you're not alone in the room as you fuss with the blankets until the itching begins to lessen a bit. You fiddle with the pillows, moving them around over and over again until you're happy with how they're organized, the quiet humming in the back of your mind fading away to nothing. 

You sink down on the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath. You feel tired and almost winded after your effort to make sure your nest is just right. 

Nest. 

You're nesting. 

You blink up at Johnny and Gaz, suddenly aware of their presence in your space again. Johnny is staring at you wide eyed, mouth slightly parted in wonder. Gaz has a sparkle in his eye as he grins at you. 

You've just built a nest. 

“Feel better, love?” Gaz asks, still almost beaming from witnessing you make your nest. 

You nod, a sudden weight lifting from your shoulders. You've nested. You're nesting. Everything is going to be okay. 

“C'mon.” Johnny says, slipping your slippers back onto your feet. “Let's get lunch in ye.”

You let him help you up, holding both their hands as you make your way from the barracks, a small, relieved smile on your face.

You wake up nauseous. 

There’s a clawing feeling in your stomach and you’re not sure why. 

It’s early, too early to be up. The sky outside is still dark, and the barracks are quiet. You get up, heading for the bathroom, the gnawing feeling still plaguing your stomach. Cold water on your face doesn't help the light-headedness or the dizziness you’re beginning to feel. 

You can’t possibly be sick. You haven’t been around anyone that’s sick. You know heat sickness isn’t a threat right now. There’s no warnings out about possible exposures. It couldn’t be food poisoning. You eat the same things they do. 

The gnawing intensifies, your stomach rumbling a bit. 

Realization dawns on you suddenly. 

You’re hungry. 

You’re very hungry. 

You check the time on your phone. Three a.m. Still too early for any of the boys to be up, and still a couple hours from when the mess would start serving breakfast. You head for the rec room, hoping there’s at least something in there to tide you over until breakfast. 

You dig through the cabinets, plenty of tea and a couple packets of instant coffee you know belong to Johnny. You dig out a couple protein bars, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before taking a seat on the couch. 

The protein bars aren’t great. They don’t taste good, but you’re so hungry you don’t care. You down them quickly and the entire bottle of water. For a moment you feel relief, the gnawing in your stomach easing. You head back to bed, slipping back into your room quietly. 

You toss and turn, unable to go back to sleep as the gnawing begins in your stomach once more. You let out a quiet sound, muffled by your pillow as you lay there, knowing you still have a long time until they’ll come and get you for breakfast. 

The thought makes you almost want to cry. 

You’re waiting as soon as they knock, narrowly avoiding Johnny’s hand as you open the door mid-knock. The bright look in his eyes fades as he stares at you. You know you look miserable, maybe a little sick, even. You feel worse, your stomach twisting and gnawing. Those protein bars four hours ago hadn’t been nearly enough. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” He asks, a frown marring his face. 

“Hungry.” You all but whine, slipping out the door, closing it behind you. 

“Ye hungry, kitten? Ye could have said somethin’ sooner. Coulda brought ye somethin’.” Johnny says, following you down the hall. 

You’re determined to get real food and you’re not about to let anything get in your way. You feel ravenous, despite the fact you’d had a good dinner the night before. 

Maybe it hadn’t been enough. 

You make your own tray this time, loading on more than you usually do. You take your normal spot between Price and Gaz, all four of them eyeing your tray as you happily dig in. 

“Hungry, love?” Price asks, watching you spoon huge mouthfuls of porridge into your mouth. 

You nod, chewing quickly before spooning more in. It tastes delicious, something you never thought you would say about British food. 

They all watch in awe as you clear your tray, eating every last crumb, having to refrain from licking it clean. Finally, for the first time since you went to bed last night, you feel full and satisfied. 

“Damn. Putting us to shame.” Gaz says, staring at your empty, nearly clean tray. 

You grow bashful under their stares, realizing you not only out ate them, you also finished first. “I was hungry.” You say, fiddling with your fork. 

“No kidding.” Ghost huffs out, all of them finishing up their trays. 

You’re in a far better mood leaving the mess than you were entering it, the sweet relief of being full after hours of gnawing hunger making you feel almost giddy. Ghost walks you back to the barracks, walking slow enough you can easily keep up with him. So slow, your arm brushes his as you walk next to him. 

“Sorry.” You say, moving a step away from him. You’re so used to standing directly next to the others, you’ve forgotten Ghost prefers his personal space. 

He stares down at you for a moment but doesn’t say anything, holding the door to the barracks open for you. He stands just inside the door, watching you make your way down the hallway to your room. He waits for the click of the lock before he turns, leaving you alone in the barracks again. 

You settle into your usual routine of laying in your nest and reading, the giddiness starting to wear off as the time passes. You make it until ten a.m. when the gnawing hunger begins to return. You let out an annoyed whine, dropping your book to the floor as you roll onto your stomach. 

You want to cry and scream at the same time, watching the clock tick by on your phone. You’re tired of being so hungry, and what’s worse, you don’t even know why. You’re just ravenous and you can’t think of a reason. 

Lunch can’t come soon enough, and you find yourself struggling through the afternoon just as much. It’s almost like your body is on a timer and every two hours you’re suddenly starving, as if you haven’t eaten all day. You eat just as much as you did at breakfast, scarfing down food like you’re a starving animal. 

You certainly feel like one. 

You head to the rec room after dinner, Ghost and Johnny joining you. Johnny takes the seat next to you on the couch, draping his arm behind you as Ghost takes his usual spot in the chair. 

You curl up against Johnny’s side, watching whatever he decides to put on TV half-heartedly. You’re waiting for the inevitable, the gnawing hunger to creep up on you again. 

It does, roughly two hours into your time in the rec room. 

You shift against Johnny, pressing against his side more as you try to ignore the hunger burning through you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, holding you against him. You breathe in his scent, letting the citrusy scent of him wash over you. 

It only serves to make you more hungry. 

You let out a quiet whine, trying to get closer to him. Tears prick at your eyes as you know there’s no relief coming. There’s no more meals until tomorrow. You’ll have to go all night before you can eat again, before you can relieve the hunger. You’re not sure you’ll make it that long. You might perish in the middle of the night, or become violently ill. Perhaps both. 

You let out another quiet whine, standing from the couch. You can’t take it anymore, both Johnny and Ghost watching you as you head for the cabinets, kneeling on the floor and rummaging through everything, desperate to find another protein bar or anything. 

“What are you doing?” Ghost asks, staring at you as you’re halfway in the cabinet, checking every last corner. 

“Hungry!” You snap, half considering eating one of the tea bags just for something. 

You’ve just closed the cabinet door in irritation when an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you from the floor. You let out a yelp, Ghost carrying you easily back to the couch. 

“Stay.” He says after dropping you back next to Johnny. “I’ll be back.” 

Johnny wraps his arms around you as you pout, nearly in tears from how frustrated you are. You’re just so hungry. 

“Easy, kitten.” Johnny says, pulling you back against his chest. 

You nuzzle into him, curling up into a ball against his side. He starts purring quietly, trying to soothe you while you wait for Ghost to return. You can’t pay attention to the TV, Johnny trying to change the channel every time a food related commercial comes on. 

You’re nearly shaking when Ghost returns, arms full of snacks. Your eyes widen as he dumps them on the coffee table, pushing yourself up from Johnny’s chest. 

“Where did you get these?” You ask, dropping to your knees on the floor in front of the coffee table. 

“Vending machine in the mess.” Ghost answers, sitting back down in his chair. 

You stare at him teary eyed, sniffling a little. “Thank you.” 

He grunts in response, turning his gaze back to the TV as you reach for a bag of chips.

You can barely even taste it as you kneel there on the floor, basking in the first taste of sweet relief from a bag of salt and vinegar chips. You grab them by the handful, burning through the small, snack sized bag quickly. 

You’ve barely finished chewing when you’re reaching for a candybar, a sudden realization striking you as your brain begins to regain the ability to think now that it knows relief is coming. You stare at the purple Cadbury on the front of the packaging, your fingers trembling as you hold the candybar. 

You take a deep breath, quickly opening the wrapper before taking a bit, sitting back on your heels as you chew. “Well, shit.” 

“I know, I hate the exam rooms too.” Dr. Keller says, flipping through her clipboard. “Too clinical and sterile looking.” She lifts your hand, removing the pulse monitor from your finger. “A little higher than normal.” She says, writing something down on the clipboard. 

She takes your blood pressure and temperature, writing both down on the clipboard. 

“Temperature is still normal.” She says. “How have you been feeling?” 

“Hungry.” You say, picking at the thin fabric of the hospital gown you’ve been forced into. “Ravenously hungry and clingy.” You continue. “A bit more emotional than normal too.” 

Dr. Keller nods, writing all of it down. “Normal things for your pre-heat, according to your file. Anything out of the ordinary? Aches and pains? Any nausea or vomiting, not related to hunger?” 

You shake your head. “No. Kinda sleepy all the time too, but the hunger makes it hard to sleep.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “That’s normal. Your body is preparing for a few days of very little caloric intake and little rest. I’d say you’re exhibiting all the signs of pre-heat. You’re right on time, as expected.” She gives you a little smile. “Judging by your vitals you still have a few days before the full heat symptoms begin. Any questions?” 

“What do institutes do for heats?” John asks where he’s sitting to the side of the exam table. 

“It depends on the institute.” Dr. Keller says, looking at you. 

“FIOT rotated between sedation and isolation.” You say, not really wanting to think back on the heats you had gone through at the institute. “Sedation for the full heat, or shutting us in private rooms for a week to ride out the symptoms alone to avoid triggering heats in the other omegas.” 

“Neither are great, but in that sort of environment there’s not a lot that can be done. Sedation is the better of the two, though it can still be disorienting. Isolation is painful and risky, especially if proper care isn’t given.” Dr. Keller says. 

“Is sedation an option for the future?” Price asks. 

You turn to look at him, before looking back at Dr. Keller. 

“It’s something we can explore. I know it can’t be expected of you to be here for every heat. We can start exploring some alternatives after this heat is over and I have a better idea of what they’re going to look like.” Dr. Keller gives you a soft smile. “Now, I’d like to do a little exam just to give me a baseline for after your heat when I check for any abnormalities or injuries.” 

She directs you to lay down on the exam table and put your feet in the stirrups. You suddenly feel nervous, her words doing little to calm you. John appears in your peripheral, slipping his hand into yours. 

“Is that a risk?” You ask as Dr. Keller pulls a clean pair of gloves on. 

“Only a small one.” She says, standing at the end of the table. “I know you’ve probably heard all the horror stories, but those are only really concerns with inexperienced alphas who have never helped an omega through a heat before, especially those who had limited exposure to omegas in general.” She smiles at you. “You’re in good hands, my dear.” 

She does her exam, letting you sit up once she’s finished. John helps you up, still holding your hand. Dr. Keller’s words do ease your concerns just a bit, but you can’t help the images flashing through your mind, the horror stories of mutilations and even deaths. You trust Price to take care of you, but at the same time, you won’t know until it’s over. 

“Everything looks good.” She says. “The best thing you can do right now is try to satiate the pre-heat symptoms and take this time to make sure everything is ready and in place for when the full heat begins. Don’t worry too much.” She looks pointedly at you. “I’ll be on call and ready should something happen.” Her gaze turns to John. “Your beta knows what to look out for, right?” 

John nods. “Kyle has been doing a lot of research. He knows what to do.” 

“Good.” Dr. Keller says, looking back at you. “Why don’t you get dressed, then we can go back to my office where it’s more comfortable and talk some more.” 

Dr. Keller leaves you alone in the room, Price helping you change back into your normal clothes, leaving the room with you. You turn to look up at him, Dr. Keller waiting for you near her office door. 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Price says, leaning down towards you. 

“Yeah.” You say, standing up on your toes to kiss him. 

You try to ignore the look on Dr. Keller’s face as you walk past her and into her office, your face warming a bit in response. You take your normal seat, trying to get comfortable despite your bashfulness. 

“You and Captain Price seem a lot closer.” Dr. Keller says as she sits across from you on the couch. 

You nod. “Yeah. We, uh, we have gotten closer.” You chew on your lip. “We slept together...on Saturday night. Had a date, he cooked dinner. Then we...did it.” 

Dr. Keller’s brows raise at your words, her face surprised. “Oh? Is that so? Is that something you wanted?” 

You nod. “I asked him if he’d do it. I wanted my first time to be when I could remember it...before I would feel like it was something that had to be done.” 

Dr. Keller hums, writing something down. “Did you have fun?” 

Your face warms at her words, and you halfway wish the chair would swallow you whole. You nod, hiding your fingers beneath your sleeves again. “Yeah. I uh, started nesting too.” 

Dr. Keller’s face breaks out into a huge smile. “That’s great! That’s fantastic news! Perfect timing too.” 

You nod. “Yeah. Started on Sunday. Been feeling it since.” 

“Good. That gives us one less thing to worry about.” She sets her notebook aside, crossing her legs as she stares at you. “How do you feel about your heat coming so soon?” 

“Nervous.” You answer honestly. 

“It can be a bit daunting, I’d imagine, your first heat with an alpha. Captain Price knows what he’s doing, though. He and Sergeant Garrick will take good care of you.” 

“I know.” You say, fiddling with your sleeves. “It’s still scary. A lot of things can happen and...what if one of them does?” 

“It’s not very likely.” Dr. Keller reassures you. “Captain Price knows what he’s doing. He’s experienced with omegas and heats and the likelihood of him losing control is small, even after so long without any contact with an omega. It sounds like Sergeant Garrick has educated himself on things to look for, and what to do to help. I’ll be ready and on call the entire time as well. I’ll make regular check-ins with Sergeant Garrick too, to make sure everything is going smoothly. You’re not alone in this. We’ll all make sure you’re well taken care of. I know it’s a lot to ask you to trust people that are still somewhat strangers, but we all have your best interests in mind here.” 

“I know.” You say quietly. “It’s hard, not knowing much of anything. They tell you everything you should expect at the institute over and over again, then you get in it and everything is different. Nothing is like it should be. Nothing like they said. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“I know. You were prepared for one life and got an entirely different one. Lucky for you, though, you’re surrounded by very understanding people who are more than happy to help you. I know this is so far from ideal for you, but I think you’re doing a fantastic job with what you were handed.” 

You stare at your hands, thinking over her words. John’s called you a good omega before. He’s called you that a few times. He thinks you’re doing a good job, despite the fact you feel like none of your skills are useful here. Despite the fact you feel like you haven’t been trying. 

You think over everything they’ve done for you, how hard they’ve tried to help make you as comfortable as possible. She’s right. They’re all so understanding and you know they like you. You can see it in their reactions to you, you can smell it on them. You know Gaz won’t let anything happen to you, even if something goes wrong. 

They have yet to prove themselves untrustworthy, for the most part. 

Maybe you really don’t have anything to worry about. 

“Come on.” Ghost says, standing in your doorway. You almost don't recognize him in a beanie and surgical mask instead of his usual balaclava. “Get shoes on, and let’s go.” 

“Go where?” You ask, sitting up on your bed. 

“Shopping.” He says, before turning on his heel. 

You frown, but do as he says, slipping on comfortable shoes and grabbing your phone. You head down the hall towards the door, a familiar car parked outside. Price and Ghost are waiting next to the car, both dressed in civilian clothes. You approach them hesitantly, suddenly feeling intimidated in the presence of the two alphas. You know you have nothing to worry about, but this is the first time you'll be alone with both of them. 

Ghost steps up to you, a bottle in his hand. You barely have time to hold your breath before he sprays you down with scent blocker, the harsh chemicals burning your nose as they settle on your skin and cut off your scent. It's necessary, even with two alphas around you. 

“Ready?” John asks, letting his eyes scan over your form for a second. He could probably pick up on your tension and uneasy energy from a mile away. 

“Can...Can I ask why?” You ask as John opens the back door for you. 

“Well, we can't have you starving to death on us, can we?” John smiles. “And we need to get a few things for your heat.”

“Oh.” You say, blinking up at him. 

“Hop in. Hopefully we can get the shopping done before dinner.” John says. 

Before you get hungry again. 

You climb in the backseat, John closing the door before getting in the driver's side. Ghost is already in the passenger seat, buckled in and ready. 

You sit and watch the landscape pass by, the car quiet except for the radio. The contrast between the two betas and the two alphas is almost as distinct as night and day. Johnny and Gaz had talked almost nonstop the entire drive to and back from town. Ghost and Price seem content in their silence, Ghost watching the landscape pass just like you. 

It speaks volumes of their trust and ease with each other. 

The farmlands turn to city and you find yourself back at Asda again. You hold John's hand as you walk, Ghost taking your other side, sandwiching you between them. People stare as you pass, their eyes on Ghost, but he doesn't even seem to notice. 

You stick close to John as you walk through the store, picking up items you'll need for your heat, as well as some other things. Ghost follows like a shadow, people giving you a wide berth when they spot him. You're almost grateful for it. You swear some of them can tell you're about to start your heat, their eyes burning into you as they pass. 

You can feel the beginnings of hunger starting to creep in as you walk down the bed liner aisle. You know if you weren't starting to get hungry, you would have been close to combusting from the knowledge of why this aisle was necessary. 

You let out a sigh, leaning your head against John's arm as he crosses the bed liner off the list. 

“What?” He asks, amusement in his voice. 

“You know what I miss?” You say, wrapping your arms around one of his. “Good authentic Mexican food.” 

The corner of John's lips lift in a smile. “Yeah? You getting hungry again?” 

You nod, a subtle whine to your tone. “Yeah.”

John turns to look at Ghost, the two alphas having a seconds long silent conversation before Ghost heads off, disappearing from the aisle. 

“Where's he going?” You ask. 

“Getting a head start on the other supplies for your heat.” John says. “Just a couple more things, then your snacks and we'll be done and we'll get some dinner.” 

You stop as you turn the corner around the end of the aisle, your eyes spotting a giant teddy bear. It looks soft and squishy, your pre-heat addled brain already picturing the perfect spot for it in your nest. 

“You want it?” John asks, looking between you and the bear. 

You snap back into reality for a moment, glancing up at the price. You nearly die on the spot, shaking your head. “I-I don't...”

John turns you to face him, speaking firmly. “Do you want it?”

You stare up into his eyes, nodding slowly. 

His gaze softens just a bit, a smile tugging at his lips. “Then grab it.” 

You're moving before you can even have a second thought, wrapping your arms around it and lifting it off the shelf. It's just as soft as you thought it would be, nearly as big as you are too. You can imagine cuddling it in your nest, napping contently, surrounded in soft plushness. 

“C'mon pup.” John says, patting your back gently. You're purring, you realize suddenly, the sound leaving you entirely unconsciously. “Let's get you some snacks then we'll get dinner.”

You carry the bear, following John to the grocery section of the store. He takes you to the snack aisle and you pass the bear off to him, grabbing anything and everything that looks good, loading up the cart. You grab a few things from the American section as well, snacks you didn't think you'd miss, but right now they sound like manna straight from heaven. 

“Simon's done with his part.” John says, glancing at his phone. “We'll meet back at the car.” 

You take the bear back once you're done filling the cart with snacks, heading towards the checkout. You're hesitant to let the bear go long enough to be scanned before you're holding it again, purring quietly and contently. 

John keeps his arm around you as you walk through the parking lot towards the car. There's already bags in the trunk from Ghost, the alpha already in the passenger seat. They must have both been carrying keys to the car. Safety precautions. Things most people wouldn't even think about. 

“Thank you.” You say as John fills the trunk with the rest of the bags. “You didn't have to do this.”

“Yes we did.” John says, looking down at you. “Not going let you starve like that if we can help it.”

“It's still strange to me, getting taken care of.” You say, squeezing the bear. “Still makes me feel a bit like a sugar baby.”

John chuckles. “Don't worry, I won't make you call me daddy.” He leans in close to your ear. “Unless you want to.” 

Your face burns hot, your entire body igniting with heat at his words. He gives you a gentle pat on the ass, directing you to the door of the car before taking the cart back to the store. 

Your face is still burning as you attempt to climb into the car with your bear, giving up and stuffing it in first. 

“What the hell is that?” Ghosts asks, turning to look at you.

“My new bear.” You respond, arranging the bear so its sitting in the seat beside you. 

“Christ.” He breathes, and you can practically hear the eye roll as you buckle the bear in. 

You buckle yourself in as John climbs in the driver's seat.

“All set?” He asks, turning to look at you. 

You nod, smiling happily despite the hunger eating away at you. 

“Let's get some dinner, then we'll head back to base.” John says, turning on the car. “Can't have our omega starving on us, can we?” 

Ghost snorts. “Best feed her before she decides we look appetizing.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “You'd be too gamey, Ghost.” You say, eyeing him before turning your gaze to the seat in front of you. “John, though...” You lick your lips. “I already know you taste good.”

John lets out a deep chuckle that rumbles with the edge of a pleased growl. “Easy, kitten.”

Ghost lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face. “Spare me. Now there's two of ‘em.” 

John chuckles again, squeezing Ghost's shoulder. “Little did you know, Simon.” 

Ghost turns to look at John. “Is it too late to get a refund?” 

You stifle a giggle as John smiles. “You'll have to ask Laswell.”  

Ghost sighs, turning to look out the window. “No hope for it, then.” 

“Hey, at least I'm cute!” You grin. “Don't tell Johnny I said that.” 

You practically beam with pride as you see Ghost's shoulders shake with his laughter. Maybe you can get through to him more than you think you can. 

Maybe, just maybe, you can get him to like you. 

The knock comes at your door unexpectedly. It's late, and you had just begun to feel the pangs of hunger once more. You hate it, but you know it's necessary considering you'll have to go roughly a week getting in nothing but what nutrient bars can offer while exerting insane amounts of energy. Your body needs to store the calories now so that you don't die during your heat. 

You're surprised to see Ghost on the other side of the door, back in his balaclava. His shoulders are squared, but you can't scent any anger or hostility on him. 

He almost seems...nervous. 

“Hungry?” He asks, staring down at you. 

“Always.” You answer almost instinctively, staring up into his deep brown eyes. 

He motions for you to follow with his head. “C'mon.” 

You frown a little, but you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. You follow him towards the rec room, staring at his broad back. His shoulders are still squared, hands in his pockets. 

The rec room is set up again not unlike it was for your date with John. The card table is out and there's foil covered dishes on it, along with a couple plates. Your brows raise in surprise as you take it all in. 

“I made you something.” Ghost says, moving over to the table, removing the foil from one of the dishes. 

You move closer, blinking in surprise. “You made...enchiladas?” 

He nods. “As close as I could get with what I could find on short notice. There's rice and beans, too. And salsa.” 

Tears blur your vision as you stare down at the food on the table. It smells delicious and that's not just your ravenous pre-heat hunger talking. “You...did this for me?”

“Well, I had help,” He says, looking past you. 

You turn, Soap and Gaz standing at the windows that frame the door to the rec room. They smile and wave at you as you turn to look at them. A quiet laugh leaves your mouth as you smile at them. 

“Help yourself.” Ghost says as you turn back to the table. “There's plenty.”

You serve yourself a plate, nearly melting off the chair as you take the first bite. It takes you all the way back home, the good years when your father was stationed in Texas. 

“Taste okay?” Ghost asks, watching you. “I know it's not authentic, but I did a lot of research.”

“It's amazing, Ghost. Really.” You say. “Tastes just like the ones my mom would make.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.”

He shrugs, looking almost bashful. “It's the least I could do. I know how big of a deal heats are to omegas and how nervous you've been. Thought you could use a little comfort.” 

You smile softly. “That means a lot.” You can't help but giggle softly. “I knew you liked me deep down.”

He gives you a look, making you giggle even more. “Don't push it.” 

NEXT ->

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[buckyalpine]

Give me drunk Bucky who wakes up in your bed, confused over why he's in the softest pj's he's ever felt and for some reason wearing a giant fur coat he can only assume is from a pimp because who else would own such a thing.

What the hell happened

Mere hours earlier; 3:30 am, Guys night

"Noooooo" Bucky howled, letting his body go deadweight while Thor continued to carry him to his room, the only one strong enough to get the soldier off the floor after he'd polished the bottle of Asdargian mead clean. "Wanna see y/n"

"Yeah, can't imagine what y/n would say if she saw you being carried off like a princess" A very tipsy Sam and Steve followed behind while Bucky's bottom lip jutted out into an exaggerated pout, head thrown back with is eyes closed in defiance "She's still off on that mission, she'll be back soon, you can see her then-

Before Steve could finish, Bucky's eyes shot open, scrambling out of Thor's arms and stumbling towards your room. There was no time to stop him from entering, a drunk giggle slipping past his lips as he let himself in and sighed contently. By the time the three men reached, Bucky's shirt had already been discarded beside his socks.

"Oh no- Steve snorted at the sound of Bucky's belt bucky hitting the floor, his lip sticking out in concentration as he tried to work at the button of his jeans.

"Barnes, I swear if you take your pants off-Damn it" Sam huffed, a pair of black jeans landing on his head. "At least keep your boxers-Oh hell nah" He ducked before Bucky's intimates became aquainted with his face. "Don't you dare helicopter that third leg-he's doing it"

No one intervened as Bucky decided to make himself more comfortable, clearly missing you as he sighed, walking over to your closet. He was in there suspiciously long before emerging with-

"Buck, those are-

"Soft" Bucky hummed, coming out of your closet with a set of pj's you wore often, oversized so they'd be extra comfy. Bucky giggled at the smell of your soft scent, slipping the shirt over his head and putting the pants on, flopping on your bed like a cat. "Smells like y/n"

"Do we just leave him here"

"At least he's wearing pants" Steve sighed, frowning when he heard running footsteps approaching along with a chaotic cackling, who else would be still this active at this hour-

"There you guys are!! We're doing body shots off of- wait you're here. C'mon capsicle, take your shirt off-

"For fucks' sake Tony"

"Where the hell did you get that jacket" Sam's face scrunched when he notice Tony's shirt was missing however he was in a large coat which he'd thrown off, the pile of for landing on a half sleepy Bucky. Bucky's eye peeked open at all the fuss, wrapping himself up in the coat and blissfully falling asleep with his face in your pillow, the rest of the chaos mere white noise.

"SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS-"

"TONY NO"

"TONY YES"

Present

"What do we have here" you coo, giggling at a very disoriented Bucky who blinks up at you with puppy eyes, a pink blush spreading on his face. You'd just returned from your mission with Nat, the entire compound still reeking of alcohol, the hallway littered with various still drunk Avenger men. The only thing that cut through the smell was the fresh breakfast a happy Thor had already started, the only one standing as if nothing had happened.

You'd stepped over a sleeping Sam and Steve in the hallway to get to your room, cocking a brow at the large mound of fur and soft snoring sleeping in your bed.

"Good morning, sweet boy" You brushed back Bucky's hair, bending down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, letting him take his time to figure out his surroundings, "have a fun night"

"Missed you" he mumbled, pulling you to lay on the bed so he could cuddle up with you, his head now resting on your chest instead. "Missed you so much"

"I missed you too, bub" You continued to gently play with his hair, happy your boyfriend got to have a night of fun and thankful that you always kept painkillers in your bedside drawer. Poor baby was going to need it. You noticed the pile of clothes that were thrown on the floor, they were definitely Bucky's but Bucky was in clothes so what was he wearing-

"Buck?"

"hm?" "Are those my pjs?"

[tame-the-lion-writes]

god Ghost waking up one night to find cat shifter!reader asleep and cuddling with him as a human

When Gaz, Soap, and Price first started talking about how you shifted back while cuddling, Ghost hated the bubble of discomfort in his belly. Because he was stubborn--as stubborn as you, if not more so. He'd locked you out of his room for a reason, because there was no way in hell you were getting anything more than casual decency from him after that prank you pulled with the mice (and later, suffocating him in his sleep by sitting on his face). But hell--deep down, listening to the boys brag, he wanted to that, too.

He didn't say anything to them, or even you, of course. All he did was start unlocking his bedroom door, hoping you'd come a-knocking. He'd heard you scratching at night, anyhow, so he assumed you'd come back like you always did. And it worked: only two more days, after you'd spent more time with Soap and Gaz, and you went to try the door.

Ghost was silent as it creaked open, eyes closed but ears perked at the sound. He could hear your muffled footsteps on carpet before feeling the added, albeit slight, weight on the bed--then the touch of warm fur brushing against his skin as you settled in the crook of his neck.

"Suffocate me again, and I'm kickin' you out," he muttered, causing you to jump in surprise and snort in his face. But you still kneaded biscuits on his pillow, claws flexing in and out to help you get comfy. Eyes practically glowing in the dark while you glared yet slow blinked; the two being equal representatives of your attitude towards him.

But it's the same with Ghost, isn't it?

The glares--mixed in with trust. Him yelling at you; you hissing back. But taking care of you in his own way--like carrying you down from the attic when you were sick. Making time to bond with you (albeit out of sight from the other boys). Giving you baths to clean your fur. Ramming his hand through a damn wall.

You close your eyes again, this time to sleep, and wedge your head into the crook of his neck. Purring.

There's a good girl.

It's unspoken, but you imagine him saying it as he sighs, all the tension dissipating from his chest. He reaches over to give you a few scratches, first on the top of your head, then under your chin. But he doesn't quite pull you close. Doesn't tuck you into his side, or wrap an arm around you. Not yet. He doesn't want to make you stay; he wants to give you freedom. He wants you to choose.

And choose you do.

Come morning, your very human limbs are splayed out over his torso, taking up what little space had been left in the bed. Your mouth is slightly open as you drool onto his black sleeping shirt, but he doesn't mind. On the other hand, he's too busy keeping his eyes off you, and on the ceiling.

"... We should probably get you some clothes, huh?"

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ wild side

pairing: gang leader!bangchan x f!reader

genre: one-shot, mafia au, smut

word count: 11,8K

warnings: minor violence ⋆ blood and weapons ⋆ reader works as a waitress in a strip club⋆ dom!chris and sub!reader ⋆ lap dancing! ⋆ oral (m.receiving) ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: one night, while you were making your way home after work, you came across something you shouldn’t have seen and even if you run away, there was no way for you to escape the man with the scar across his face

──────────────────────

Someday you think, you will give up. Everything hurt — your arms, legs and mostly your head. It pulsated with every step you took and you silently prayed that you wouldn’t end up passed out on the cold, wet ground. You huffed, completely exhausted, but as you imagined yourself scrubbed clean and snuggled in your comfy bed, it kind of helped keep you motivated.

You wondered how long it would take before you just decided not to work anymore. It wasn’t like the job is bad or anything, quite the opposite. You get handsomely paid and that wasn’t a surprise. You work as a waitress at one of the most popular strip club in the city. You slept through the day, waking up late to get ready for your night shift. Every day you had to smile and giggle at the most gross and creepy men in hopes they would tip you more. But you can’t say anything to that. You have nothing to whine about and also you really liked it there. Pretty interior, good music and shows — maybe it's just your distaste for life at the moment.

Your naked feet dance across the ground, heels in your hand and you do hate yourself for forgetting about your other shoes. You did left your apartment quite in hurry. As well as now. It wasn’t the fact that walking on the ground made you literally shiver in disgust, it was mostly because you were starting to get highly aware of your position right now.

The early hours of morning are probably the most dangerous in this city. When you decided to live here, you didn’t look much into the history of the city. However every luxury and dreamlike city comes with secrets. The streets were still dark, quiet and cold, your hair sticking to your skin slightly from the humidity. You had to press your arms around your chest a little tighter when you hear a small noise behind you. You at that moment realized how unarmed you were. Cold, shivering in your skirt and light jacket, alone — you can’t help, but feel frightened a little.

This city was known for its crime, but being also so charming it makes all the tourist, just like you, blind enough not to see the danger it truly holds. Your head whipped around to look behind you. Nothing. Though you do pick up your pace, hissing at the small stones digging into your feet. Your droopy eyes flickered over the seemingly empty streets, few lamps lighting your path. You wanted nothing more than be in your apartment already as you started to feel not so alone anymore when another unexpected noise is heard.

A clinking of a glass bottle echoes around you. It was probably just a stray animal or something, but your heart still skipped a beat. You turned back around to look before you, but your eyes stopped at the well known open, alley next to you. It was a short cut, however you only took it at day when it seemed way more safe. The way the darkness almost seemed to pull you into it made you uncomfortable. You knew that you should never take a dark alley so late, even if you heard noise on the other end of the street. Something about it just screamed danger, yet it also called out to you and you knew how much time it would safe you by going that way — so you did.

Turning around the corner you couldn’t help, but look around your surroundings. Still nothing. It still scared you just a little, because you can never know, but just standing on the same spot won’t help you either. Sighing you walked further into the dark alleyway, grumbling just a little when you walked into small puddle. You really couldn’t afford being sick, another thing that made you go just a little faster. For being the city of crime at night, the rent prices really weren’t that low. You of course asked yourself if maybe moving away would be better, but you never knew that working at a strip club would make you meet the most important people in your life right now. You were just a runaway and all of them invited you with open arms. District 9 was also a city of outcasts — just like you.

Your nails dig into your jacket, piercing your skin almost from the way the pathway before you became completely dark. The only thing helping you see was the Moon and looking up, you for a second became blinded by its beauty. Cold kissed your cheeks, nose runny and your eyes slightly glossed over. Your dreamlike state didn’t last for very long, just like your sanity as you heard a very loud sound from somewhere near you.

You immediately jumped, body freezing. Your eyes widened, maybe to see better and when you heard the same noise once again you let out a small sigh of fright. However as the sound traveled to your senses, you quickly realized it was just a sound of car’s door closing. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself. Your paranoia still lingered when you looked into the direction of the sound and you fight back a shiver as it is the same way you must take to get home. You for a second wondered if there was maybe another way, but you knew that at the end, few blocks away was your warm, cozy home.

Taking a few, slow steps forward, your cold feet dragged across the ground for a second, thinking. Your ears were on high alert, eyes unfocused as it would help you hear better. Nothing, but was it really? Your hand gripping the string of your purse traveled down to open it. Fishing through it, your movements frantic, trying to find your choice of weapon. Even if your bag was rather small it got messy really fast. Before you could panic any longer your fingers finally grazed over the plastic, pulling it out quickly, your index finger immediately finding the dip at the top of the pepper spray. You kept it for years and you prayed that you won’t have to use it any time soon. You also wondered if it was still useable, but there’s only one way to found out.

The alley became less narrow the further you went, just like you remembered. You found a safe spot next to a brick wall, away from the warehouse next to you, hand dragging across the stone. You never liked that place. It was damned to be demolition and you always came across few pieces of stones falling from the walls. It seemed like a big hazard to you, but for some reason no one wanted to take it down.

As you were almost half way through the alley a flash of light flickered on the ground. You stopped in your tracks when it fell on the ground right before you, but just before it disappeared you followed it with your eyes. It flashed right before you then it traveled to the brick wall and when you turned around you realized it was coming from the building right next to you. It came from the inside, because from what you could see, it disappeared right when it hit a wall next to one of the broken windows. You couldn’t help but frown in confusion, head tilting down to maybe see inside what seemed like the basement window.

Maybe it was just some kids messing around, but when you decided to continue your walk home something stopped you. A loud sound pierced your ears, making you let out a small gasp, grasping your chest. However your noise was small compared to the short painful scream that came right after. You froze, breathing heavily, grasping your pepper spray in death grip. Turning once again you turned to the direction of the small window and from this angle you could finally see inside.

You didn’t know why you didn’t just run away as it was not worth it, but what if somebody was in danger. You probably wouldn’t be able to sleep with the guilt if you would see something in news later. You glanced back to the direction of your home and back to the window. You are troubled and just a little bit terrified. This wasn’t a good idea, but you were never good at making decisions, so you only walked closer.

And with careful steps, trying to be as quiet as possible at this hour. You bend in the knees, falling almost when the light shined yet again, but it thankfully wasn’t in your direction. You leaned closer with your free hand on the wall, lowering yourself on your knees. You fought back the disgust when your skin touched the dirty, cold ground, centering your attention on the light instead. You again followed it, watching how it was put down on something.

Your lips parted in shock, because as soon as the light was put down, the light beam hit a person rolling on the floor in agony. Then two feet dressed in fine, polished shoes stepped into the direction of the person. Their footsteps squeaked, shuffling closer and closer to the injured man. The one standing had their back turned to you, like the one on the ground, but just as you wondered what happened to the person they rolled over onto their back. Your hand immediately fell to your mouth, silencing your gasp at the sight.

Blood was everywhere on the man’s face. His hand put pressure onto his bleeding eye, but even with that he couldn’t stop the liquid from flowing out. Your legs shook and even with your fright you could still hear the words from the man standing. “Tell me their names.” The voice is low and rough. The demand meant for the injured man is only answered in series of pleas.

You were in state of shock, completely frozen in your spot. You couldn’t even breathe at that moment, watching with wide eyes as the standing man crouched down to his level. You could only see the back of his head full of dark hair, his wide shoulders caging the trembling man who raised his hands in surrender. However it didn’t seem like that man was moved by his apologies. You should’ve ran before it was too late, but how? You didn’t know what to do. Nothing, there was nothing for you to do to help that poor man as the man before him mumbled something that made the other scream in terror.

Your mouth fell wide open as when man with wide shoulders stood up again, holding out his hand. Another person which you didn’t see till then handed him a weapon — a gun. Your eyes filled with tears, because you would probably see the most gruesome sight in your life. Your breathing picked up, heart beating so fast you thought it would jump out of your chest. You couldn’t…you couldn’t look further as the dark haired man pointed the gun at the man who shook like a leaf. And then you did a very stupid thing…

You went to move away from the window, but your hand on the wall slipped, making your foot drag forward. A gasp that came from your lips was louder than the man’s cries, but not the stones rolling down from the window, landing right next to the man’s feet. You were immediately blinded by light shining into your face and you thought you almost died out of fear itself at that moment when the man turns to you.

The first thing you noticed about him was the large scar running across his face, starting from his eyebrow and ending at his chiseled jaw. His full lips were pulled into a scowl, brown eyes glaring right into yours. You felt like at the brink of fainting, because you immediately recognized him. His face was all over the news, only a sketch, but everyone knew about the man with a scar. Bangchan was his name. The most dangerous man of the whole city, a leader of an underground gang that is known for haunting these streets at night.

His whole demeanor screamed danger and hearing his voice once again, it did activated your fight or flight instinct. “Get her.” It came out cold and unemotional. His voice made your whole body vibrate, eyes falling to the gun still in his hand, but he did not make a move to raise it to your head. Instead you only heard heavy, quick footsteps and before you finally jumped away from the window, you saw three dark figures moving in the shadows — right into the direction of the side entrance to the warehouse, just where you were.

You knew you should never run to your home when someone was chasing you, but you had better chance at making it home than running back. You rised to your feet, not even thinking twice and running out of the aisle. Your legs immediately quivered at your sudden moves, feeling your muscles scream. Stumbling slightly, you almost slipped as you round the corner, running out of the alley just as you heard the sound of heavy metal doors slamming against a wall.

From the brute force you swear it vibrated in your bones. In your runaway plan you didn’t even realize you left your heels behind, but they were not going to help you anyway. You already had hard time using your legs, bare feet feeling like they would crumble at any moment. You couldn’t ignore the footsteps behind you. You looked back frantically, one of the three man a little too close to your liking. A cry of disbelief and horror left you, eyes going back to look at the sidewalk before you. You prayed that somebody would appear and safe you, but knowing what kind of people were chasing you nobody would be able to help you anyway.

You were so close. One block and you were home. You were trying not give up, lungs burning, metallic taste in your mouth overwhelmed your senses for a second. And then when your mind cleared again, you heard nothing. You didn’t stop however, only turning your head back around. You cried out in small relief as you saw nobody behind you on the sidewalk.

You didn’t think much of it as you stumbled over your apartment building. You didn’t think about the fact that they maybe were watching you, seeing that running after you was no use. Your adrenaline rush was greater than their strength. You knew that they wouldn’t give up. That man won’t give — he will hunt you down and do whatever he wants with you, because that’s just who he is. However you only felt relief when you walked inside your home, just as the orange hue of the rising sun start to peaked out from behind the tall buildings, but you also couldn’t ignore the lingering darkenss.

────

A dream, a nightmare — that’s what you thought it was when you woke up. Your eyes were all puffy, mind still fuzzy, but also on high alert at the same time. You remember how the first thing that you did when you stumbled inside your apartment was deadbolting it and moving your wardrobe to block the door. It all happened so fast that you still even now think you really just dreamed all of it. However losing your favorite heels and also the pepper spray under your bed told you the opposite. You really are surprised that you even woke up, seeing that you overslept your alarm three times. You were in hurry to get to work in time, but you think should’ve called the police instead. However you know that it would put even more of a target on your head. You don’t know what this man is truly capable of and you can’t be certain that he hasn’t got anyone in the police, because he always gets away with everything. Also by the time the cops would get there, there would be no clue that would indicate that the most dangerous gang was even there.

Your paranoia and fear for your own safety led you to passing out the moment you fell on to your bed. You were still in your dirty, damp clothes, waking up half an hour late, but somehow you managed to find time for a shower, do your makeup and dress up. You at that moment realized how your life is just a show. You slept even more than yesterday, but somehow you are the most tired you have ever been. The second you walked into your work, a wave of guilt hit you. You really should’ve called the police as soon as you got to your apartment. However you really did give them a lot of time to clean up after their mess. maybe you shouldn't have gone to the window — you really thought you could be the hero.

You feel like a clown in your mid length sparkly dress and heels, staring at the small tv at the far left corner. The sign ‘Girls,Girls,Girls’ next to it made it quite hard to see clearly on the screen, but you could recognize the blurry sketch everywhere. However it isn’t a report like you expected, it is only a remind to call the police if you see anyone similar to this image. The police and probably even FBI are getting a little too desperate to your taste when they put a price on his head. They are only putting civilians into danger and you just know that taking down the leader of this gang would only cause more trouble. Everybody knows Bangchan as a bad man, a murder who steals and brakes things, like the lives of innocent people. From every report there is about his actions it seemed like he leaves nothing behind other than few hints. You wonder if all of those victims have anything in common, but if they did the federal government wouldn’t give too much information out. They are all liars and assholes. You remember your coworker telling you that they once barged in to the club with guns, leaving shortly after with no explanation what so ever. You moved to the city few months after that fiasco.

You wipe down a glass, unaware of your surroundings, so when an empty tray falls right on the counter before you, you jump right out of your skin. Your head whips to the girl before you who only gives you a look of confusion in return. “Girl, you good?” Cathy asks you, her dark hair falling into her eyes, but you still see her glare. You know her the longest out of anyone. She was the one other than her best friend Nina who dances at the private rooms who helped you with everything. A lot of people come and go, but you are greatful that she stayed here with you, just like the boy next to you.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, making your eyes fall onto David who wears the same look on his face. “What’s going on? You’ve been very jumpy today.” There’s a pull on his bushy eyebrows and you realize that it’s concern. He always has the tendency to joke around more than anything and you see him like this only from time to time, so it makes you even more nervous.

You blink at him in thought. “Did one of the guys give you trouble again?” The girl before you goes further and you fight the argue to just break down and tell them everything. You think about what to answer. If you told them, you would probably put them in danger and you definitely couldn’t live with that. You will just have to wait till your shift is over and call the police…

Your eyes flicker back to the tv that nobody other than staff stares at sometimes, there are simply way prettier things to look at. “Nothing happened, just tired…I guess.” It comes out leveled yet little and something told you that even with such a reassuring tone they didn’t believe you.

They didn’t ask you further after that, but both of them kept a careful eye on you for the next two hours and you almost quivered at their intense gazes. You prefer to be honest over anything, but you really can’t. You tried to distract yourself with looking at the dancers. Their moves were usually so mesmerizing and beautiful, but right now their sensual moves were not enough to distract you from overthinking.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were acting like nothing actually happened, because you didn’t talk about it nor called the police, but you swear you felt someone watching you. It weren’t the eyes of a peeping Tom like you are quite used to — these ones drilled holes into your back. Every time you would go away from the bar to collect empty glasses and take order which was quite frequent, because the club was packed full tonight, goosebumps would appear on your body. You can’t help, but imagine those dark, brown eyes looking at you from somewhere. Your own imagination will be the death of you.

In your hurry to get back to the bar and order the drinks from a table full of collage boys, a single shot of tequila was left behind. You know you shouldn’t do it as it is against the policy, but you find yourself not caring too much, swallowing the shot in one, smooth go. It immediately burns at the back of the throat and you look around swiftly to see if anyone saw you and to your delight no one even batted an eye at you.

“Y/N!” At the sound of your name, you freeze, thinking you actually got caught in your act, but you are only met with Cathy again. She walks up to you with heavy breaths, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity. “They need you as a backup—“ With her words she nods her head to the direction of the VIP section, before making her way back to the bar with her own tray of empty glasses.

You frown, eyes snapping to that direction. You have never been in there, because it is a known fact that only specific people could get in there. It is like an individual part of the club and you think you have never met anyone from there other than Nina. Celebrities, politicians all sorts of known people go there from what you know and you definitely wouldn’t be able to slip in as your eyes fall on the tall bodyguard guarding the door. You snap back to reality, realizing you are literally standing in the middle of the room.

You walk up quickly to the dark haired girl, your expression still the same, but she somehow isn’t so phased by it. “At the private rooms?” You say slowly, trying to see if this is supposed to be some sort of joke.

Putting down the tray next to hers, you watch her for a second, but Cathy only nods, not even looking at you as she starts to make a Bloody Mary. “Yeah and someone is asking for you—“

You only give her another look of confusion, tilting your head in thought. Your eyes quickly travel to the stages, then to the private section and back then back to her again, “I’m not a dancer.” You almost scoff, not in disgust, but at the thought of your stiff-self dancing that way.

Her laugh is sharp and it kind of offends you in some way. “I know, baby.” David just happens to round the corner to help her, not without giving you an odd look. “They just asked you to help them back there, it’s packed full.”

You hum, still not sure why you, because someone like her or David would definitely be a better help. You still sometimes look at the recipe for certain drinks, like rainbow shots — very popular in the bar, those gave you a whiplash every time you would try to make them. The thought of the VIP section with private rooms being completely full didn’t seem weird to you. Here, at your usual section they aren’t any private rooms simply because the people at the private area are usually famous so if anything would’ve happened they would sure pay for it.

You go take your tray again, but a hand stops you, pushing it away from you. You give your male friend a small look when he points back to the direction of the private area. “Okay…and who is asking for me?” You say, walking to the edge of the bar, before you walk away.

“They didn’t say.” Answers you Cathy, running away with her tray now filled to the brim with drinks. You look quickly at David who just also walks away from you, serving another thirsty customer.

You don’t question their weird behavior anymore, seeing that they have their hands quite full at the moment, but you wonder why they behaved so weirdly towards you. It is weird in some way that someone asked for you specifically as you weren’t even a dancer. A lump forms at the back of your throat, while making your way towards the big man guarding the doors to your destination. The more you get closer, the more your heart beats faster. Something about this screamed trouble, but maybe you were just exaggerating.

Even from a distance the man at the door sees you and he sure is intimidating, even his stare makes you doubt if you can even go near his direction. He is so tall that it hurt to look up at him, almost forgetting why you are here in the first place when you stop before him. “Ehm…I’m Y/N, somebody was asking for me?” You say uncertain.

He looks you up and down quickly, before his eyes scan the room. When he looks back at you, he nods, stepping away from the doors which seemed miniature next to him. “Follow me.” He says, voice rough, like he smoked a whole pack of cigarettes before saying there two simple words. You mimic his nod dumbly, smacking your lips together to smudge your lipstick. You watch the man open the door for you, however just a little to let you slip in.

You immediately blink rapidly to adjust your vision to the darkness surrounding you. You are blinded by how dark the room is, stopping to stare at a light up stage filled with no dancers so far. Your eyes thankfully adjust to the change of lightning enough to let you see your surroundings. Confusion is the first thing you feel as you look around the area — literally no one is here. The room in some way looks the same as the section you work at, but it definitely lacks in life. You become nervous suddenly when you see the bodyguard turning around to walk back to you, seeing you aren’t following him.

You gasp slightly when he wraps his hand around your bicep, pushing you with him. His grip is so tight that it hurt to move, you didn’t have anything against going further into the room, but now you do. Your eyes follow the trail of empty tables to the lit stage again. The grip the man has you in made you scared, because there really isn’t a respond for him to do such that — only if he thought you were trying to escape…just like now.

A small sound of pain leaves you, pulling at his hand to at least loosen his grip. There really wasn’t a chance you could overpower him, you only looked stupid in the process, turning your body back to the entrance to push him back. Before he again pushes you closer to him, you get a glimpse of the outside…you never knew that those windows were one way mirrors. That made you sick to your stomach.

You stumble in your heels, but he basically walked for you the whole time. However you do almost fall forward when he twirls you around a surprisingly full table. You only see the back of their heads, but before you could wonder who these people are, the man holding you shoves you right before them. The brute force makes you double over, hands falling on to the table of their booth, shaking it in the process.

“There she is—“

You can’t breath — there is no way…you are officially dead. When you look up from the plastic table, you don’t look at the owner of the voice, but right at the man sitting before you. A choked sound leaves you, your heavy breaths fanning away your hair from your eyes to see the truth better. It is him. If the aura radiating from him wasn’t a dead giveaway, it would certainly be the scar running across his face. Your eyes met briefly, like yesterday and just like the last time, it activated your fight or flight instinct.

You turn around to run away, but you are only held back by the same man who took you here. How stupid of you to think you could get away. Your legs buckle, eyes starting to sting, because you can’t believe this is your life right now — well, probably the end of it. Chuckles are let out across the table and you become disgusted at such sound at such moment. “Oh, no where are you going?” Is said jokingly from your left side, your eyes falling onto a man with black, short hair and surpringly glimmering eyes.

You don’t know who he is exactly, but you just know that these men are all the eight members of Stray Kids. A funny name for such dangerous men, but it somehow suited them as they never stayed in one place, messing up lives all across the state like nothing. You can’t breath, your fear even blinded the pain from the grip on your shoulders. Even if your eyes go all around the whole table, your eyes still stop on him.

“No need to be scared now.” Says another, more deep voice and from your peripheral vision you see that it is the blonde man next to the leader. “We don’t bite.”

You stay quiet, your eyes falling on the sliver of skin peaking from his black shirt, too weak to look into his eyes or anywhere else. You do not believe that man, because how? There’s nothing that can make you feel even the slightest at ease right now. His voice was low, but reassuring in a sense, he tried, but it fell to deaf ears. You are starting to panic, thinking about how just few feet away from you are people that could possibly help you. However you can’t even breathe let alone move with that vice grip the bodyguard is holding you in and you realize that he probably was working for them the whole time. How did they manage to get in? With their reputation it must be hard for them to even get some sunlight, but somehow they are all sitting right before you in total relaxation. They do not look or sound angry with you, maybe because you are nothing, but a small fly to them anyway. It won’t take too much to take you down.

Your eyes trail higher, stopping at his yet again and with your blurry eyes you don’t see the small speck of softness at the corners of his eyes. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone what I saw, please don’t hurt me—“ You can’t believe you are actually begging for your own life.

“What did you see exactly?” Asks a man to your right. Your eyes travel to him, tears falling out of your eyes onto the table, clearing your vision for just a second, letting you get a glimpse of him. This one you recognize — long black hair, the famous freckle under his eye. Like his leader, his face has been seen several times and he definitely had no reason to hide such face. Now, his sharp features were pulled into mock thought, looking down at you in waiting.

Your lips parted and the men at the table can’t help, but smile at your expression. “Nothing…” You answer.

“No lying.”

You immediately turn to the leader. You frown slightly at his statement, not looking too long into his eyes, because it felt like he could literally turn you into stone by a single look. You realize that the long haired man was just making fun of you, twisting your fear into something they could smile at. You want to sneer at him, but that sure wouldn’t be smart and you can’t do anything other than blink between the leader and the place next to his head. “I saw something.” You confess, like they already didn’t know that. You look back at him again, giving him a look. “But I swear, I will not tell anyone.” There are few glances being shared between them, but yours was still on him. “I didn’t call the police…”

There is a pull at the corner of his plump lips, not even blinking as he looks into your eyes and you find yourself being mesmerized. “Of course not.” His tone is teasing and you again nervously exhale through your nose.

“What do you want?” You ask that question finally being spoken. “Just please don’t hurt me or my friends, they don’t know anything, no one—“

“A dance…” Your breath hitched at that, gazing at his lips and how each syllable roll out his tongue. You are completely left speechless. “Give us a dance and it will be as if nothing happened.”

Your lips are left parted in disbelief, eyes flickering over the whole table as you thought only of it as a joke, but none of them had a smile of amusement on their faces. You can’t believe that they really meant it. Something stabs you in the heart. It is way too easy, you have caught them in the act, they should end you like you expected. The fact that they are confident enough to know you won’t go and tell anyone after this is really making your blood boil. However they are right…you won’t tell anyone. You will pay for what you saw with just a dance, but you know that they will still keep an eye on you. You are not smart enough to take them down, you are just a girl.

Your breathing becomes leveled, seeing that they don’t have any intention to hurt you. You look up from the table to the leader who sighs through his nose heavily and even from here you can see his muscles in his legs jumping when he spreads his legs just a little wider. You can’t help but think how he would look at you if you would dance on his lap. You instantly feel heat spreading across your cheekbones, looking away from his bottom half to his face. This expression is different from any other and you are not so sure what it meant, but it sure made you bashfully look away.

“Oh…she’s shy—“ A cat like man teases and you shoot him a glare, only to receive a smile of pure amusement.

“How cute.” Coos another, the same one that had greeted you to the table. You momentarily turn to look at him, only seeing him looking at man in the center. “Maybe you should take her somewhere private.” Your heart beats faster, eyes widening. “We already have plenty here.” The dark haired man mentions to the stage and you didn’t even realize that the stage was already full of dancers. You want to open your mouth again and scream for help, but you know better than that.

You hear him move first, the leather of the booth squealing under him as he suddenly appears right in front of you. You gasp softly in shock, you didn’t even notice him making his way to you. You look up at him, just in eyes level with his chest. “How’s that sweetheart?” He almost sounds soft, however his eyes shined with fire looking down at you with his bottom lip caught in his mouth.

You sigh, nodding in shame. He doesn’t say anything else, waving his hand in the air, making the bodyguard let go of you. You stumble slightly, but you are quick enough to jump away from the hands trying to catch you. You do not need him touching you with those hands right now. You don’t look at him, looking down at his feet instead that turn to the direction of the private rooms. Your heart is in your throat, but something told you there’s no reason for you to be so scared. If he wanted to hurt, he would’ve done it a long time ago.

You wipe away your already dried tears, eyes falling on the stage and your eyes momentarily met with one of the dancers, Nina. She has to stay in character all the time, but she still gives you a quick reassuring look. You are only left confused, wobbling your way behind the man. Are you scared or nervous? You are really starting to wonder, piercing holes into his back that rips with every move of his arms. You keep your distance, watching him push a curtain to one of the rooms away and then turning around to let you in first. Your mouth opens again, like a fish. There is a small sneer at your lips as you glance at him and he gives you a raise of his eyebrow in return.

You hold your breath when you pass by him, but you still get a whiff of his strong cologne. He is close to you, so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. You shiver turning to look back at him, but he is already in front of you. You stand in the middle of the lightly lit room, eyes going to the booth that sat at the corner of the small room. There is a pole in the middle of it and your mouth dries out when he makes his way to that direction. Your legs start to shake at the thought of the pole between your thighs, not so sure if it was from fright or pure excitement. You can’t lie that you haven’t thought of also dancing, but you are not sure you if you could even look half as good as those girls on the stage.

Weight is lifted from your shoulders when he comes to the table to only pull out a chair for himself. He moves the chair so smoothly, twirling it in his hand to place it before you. You hate that you are somehow mesmerized by his movements and the way he goes to sit down on the chair. You don’t even register biting on your lip, but it is mostly from how nervous you are. The man pulls his pants up to his lower region to be more comfortable and your eyes fall into that direction with wide eyes.

“I like the dress.” He breaks the silence, while spreading out his legs. Two or three more buttons on his shirt are undone, maybe popping from the size of his muscular chest. You quickly snap back to present, fingers playing with the hem of your dress at his statement, watching him slowly trail his brown eyes down your body. “Not so sure about the shoes…” Your silent question about that statement is answered rather quickly as he without breaking eye contact bends over, hand going under the booth. You can’t believe you are still getting shocked after all that happened, but it sure is surprised to you when he pulls out your beloved Jimmy Choo heels. “Put them on for me, baby.”

Something hot pools in your lower tummy at the nickname, your heart already is beating so fast that you can hear it in your ears. You don’t want to thank him for such thing, but it still made you happy. Those shoes became something very special to you as they were the first ever pair of luxury heels you bought. You catch his eyes and without word you pull your legs up to untie your way cheaper heels.

They are thrown across the room, not really caring too much at the moment as you slowly make your way to him. He holds your shoes for you take and when you stand in front of them, you definitely don’t remember them being so clean. They are shining, like brand new, but there is still that one large scratch at the pointed tip. It reminds you of the scar that the man before you has in some way.

You are close to him, the closest you have been so far and the soft orange light hitting his face makes him look devilish. Taking your shoes from him, you step back slightly to put them on, not missing how his eyes fall to your cleavage when you bend over. He licks his lips, looking you up and down again and you wonder if he likes what he is seeing. “Now, dance for me.” He demands and you remember at his tone who this man really is. “No need to be so scared…you take tips right?” The smirk adoring his lips told you that his words were meant for something else and you finally scoffed at him.

He doesn’t look offended by the sound, only pushing his body down further. You follow the movement, but your head rolls to look at the cushion ceiling right after. You feel nothing, but weak, swaying your hips softly to the beat of the music to get in the mood. You could imagine someone else in the chair, but how? You can feel him, smell him even, head falling down in exhaustion from even trying.

You roll your body the same way you have seen the dancers do it, hands caressing over your hips. If you give him a good enough dance, it would be over sooner — or he on the other hand won’t get enough. The shot of tequila in your system helps you build confidence when you walk slowly to him. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even challenging you with his intense stare. You think you are starting to get into it as you act like you are falling over, just to smack your hands on each side of his chair. Your knees touch his, the material of his pants tickling your naked skin. Then you shiver — your eyes widened at your own body responding like that. He watches your inner struggle, head hanging low to catch your gaze. You are surprised that he didn’t look down, keeping his eyes only on yours and you straightened up at that.

When you go push your breasts back into your dress, because they almost spilled over, you almost gasp. Your nail hits plastic right between your breasts and thankfully the sound is masked by the music. It was your pepper spray, you completely forgot about putting it there. You know that it’s stupid, but he seems a little hazy and your attack would be unexpected. If you would spray him with it, then hit him with something and dash out the back door, you could call the police.

You move slowly around him, hand falling between your breasts the moment you stop behind him. However just as you pull it out, ready to turn around and spray it in his face, his hand stops you. You gasp at the strong grip on your wrist, watching him stand up from his seat to press you against the table. “Now what is this?” He asks you, eyes going to your pepper spray that falls to the ground with a heavy sound. Your mouth opens and closes, heavy breaths mixing with his from his close proximity. “You really thought you could take me out with that?” You didn’t even know that he knew about it the moment you had bend over.

His chest is pressed against yours, each hand being pinned down to the table by his. He towers over you slightly as he maneuvered you on the table a little bit. You are silent for a second, eyes going over his face. Even if there’s no smile you can see the amusement reflecting in his eyes. “You can’t touch me, the policy here—“ Are your words, because you couldn’t think of saying anything else. You again put yourself in the hands of death.

“I know the policy.”

“Then you know, you can’t touch—“

“The dancers and the waitresses?” He finishes for you, smiling down at you. “Baby…I know the rules, I made them after all.” You look at him bewildered, your expression fading into thin air when he puts his head into the dip between your shoulder and neck. “Now we will rewrite them for my and yours benefit.” Every word bounces off your skin, chills going down your spine.

You shutter, feeling him press his nose into the skin behind your ear. “This club is not yours.” You whisper, not too harshly like you intended too.

His hum vibrates on your skin, hearing him take a deep breath of your spicy perfume. “Have you seen the owner?” He asks you.

You pull your head away to look at him in the eyes. He sounded so genuine and you could even see it. Your mind quickly comes back to your first day here — you got the job few days after the interview and you remember that no owner shook your hand and congratulated you, it was actually Cathy. Your eyes widened, shaking your head in disbelief. “How? How can anyone not know about this?” You breathe out.

He can tell who you are referring to, because he lets his people look over the files of new people. His friends go here way frequently than him, but when Changbin chased after you yesterday, he immediately recognized you. Such a coincidence that you are actually already work for him. Watching you through the one way window, he couldn’t believe himself that he didn’t see you sooner. You are shining and seeing you talk with his best people in this business, he just had to have you. “Some do, trust me.” He says, his mind wandering to their sponsors. “Some of them just don’t have the balls to do anything about it and tell me why would anyone want to close down the best strip club in the city?” He laughs shortly, pulling you closer to him. “Do you know that cops come here? It’s funny really, they are so close yet so far…”

You are breathing heavily form his words, but you do not move away from him. You want to justify yourself that he was simply too strong, even if his hold was on the softer side. “Bang Chan…”It comes out as a plea and you don’t even know for what yourself.

“Call me, Chris.”

You are shocked by him revealing his name to you, because it almost sounded like a promise. Your mouth is left gaping when you see him lowering his lips to your neck. Your pulse is pressing against your skin and it jumps when his lips just barely graze over the thin layer of skin. It burns, so much that you feel by it in your stomach. “You won’t get away with this.” You say. You tried so hard to sound intimidating, but you just can’t think straight when he presses kisses on your neck.

“Oh, really?” Humming, he suddenly bites down your neck and you gasp wildly at such bold move.

“Please—“ You say, breathlessly, his name just at the tip of your tongue.

He stops at your word, turning back to you with glassy eyes. “Please, what?” His voice is rough and on the edge.

You think about what exactly you are pleading for. For him to continue or stop immediately? Something in between. Your desire is making you blind. This man before you is a criminal, a bad person you want to say, so why does his touch feel so good? “Please…don’t.” Your mind answers for you, your heart screaming the other.

“Don’t?” He repeats after you and you firstly think that he sounded offended, but then you feel his hand on your thigh. You almost whimper at his hot touch, eyes going down to his hand moving up your soft skin. You don’t make a move to stop him, your mind clouded by the way his hand perfectly fit in the dip of your upper thigh. You didn’t even feel your dress riding up your body, but it didn’t even matter as he still touches you through your underwear. “Then why are you soaking through?” You only sigh, feeling his fingers pressing right into your clothed clit. “I can see your pussy from here.” There goes another one of his smiles, eyes flying from your dripping center to yours.

“You are a bad person…” You say, voice too little.

His hand stops, but the same pressure on your cunt stays the same. “Says who? The police?” He raises his eyebrow, almost spitting that last word.

“You killed someone.”

He nods, becoming cold for a second. “Yes, but do you even know why?” You are silent, watching his face scrunch up in what seem like disgust. “That man was a bad person who definitely deserved something worse than death.”

You breathe out heavily. “So you think you are good person, because you killed a bad person and not a good one?”

“You said I’m a good person?” Goosebumps appear on your body, but not so much from fear anymore. Arousal drips out of you, his fingers pulling the material of your lace underwear to the side. You let him willingly, even eagerly. He gave you a moment to make a choice, but you only watch him with hazy eyes while he runs his pointer finger through your slick. “Though…I’m a gentleman.”

You snicker, you just can’t help it. “Oh, really? What about the hand in my panties?” His finger joins another for an answer, pressing harder and unexpectedly flicking your clit.

A brutal, filthy moan falls from your lip and he drinks it right up, playing with your clit between his two fingers. “Are you saying you don’t like this?” He sounds dreamy and you are on the edge of losing your mind over him. He lowers his head, resting it on your shoulder, plump lips right next to your ear. “I think you like the danger—“ You bite your lip not to let him hear the nasty sounds coming from the back of your throat. “—the thought of someone powerful taking over you, it excites you.”

You shake your head, your earring only being caught between his teeth. “You are just a man–“ You say, gritting your teeth in pleasure.

Your eyes are closed, but his are fully on you. “I’m, so excuse me for doing this—“ His finger suddenly breaches your hole and with no resistance what so ever.

You gasp out, your hand shooting to his. Only a one finger and he finds the spots inside you that you have trouble finding yourself. Your eyes open, head rolling to your other shoulder to look at him. He stills his hand for a second to straighten his back, watching you, trying to see if there is any hint that you want him to stop. However you only look at him with glossy eyes, red painted lips puffing out in small sighs. He can’t help himself, putting another finger inside you, curling them, pushing into the soft spot.

You whimper, feeling yourself dripping all over of his hand. “Please, I don’t know…” Your body knows — it’s already screaming just from his fingers and when your hips jump, your thigh touches his hard cock through his pants.

“I do.” He trusts his fingers in and out of you in steady yet too slow pace for your liking. “Just look at your body responding to me—“ You can see it yourself. Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore, hips bumping into his. “I still want that dance…a real dance.” He says, voice cracking at the end when he pulls his fingers out of you.

Gasp leaves you from shock and dissatisfaction. You stand before him, leaning on the table with rigid breaths. Lips parted, he looked at it like an invitation to shove his fingers in your mouth. You choke around his fingers for a second, eyes wide and staring into his, before your hand wraps around his to help you keep your sanity. You moan at your own taste, sucking at his fingers and slurping your juices and the taste of skin right up, eyes never leaving his and at that moment you realize you are in deep shit — there’s no way you can stop here.

He pulls his fingers away from you way too quickly, catching how his knuckles are stained red from your lipstick. You watch him walk backwards into the chair, not breaking eye contact when he falls into it, spreading his legs just like before, but now you don’t have to hide how much you enjoy seeing him do that. You hop off the table not even smoothing down your dress or putting your underwear back to its place. You can already feel your slick coating your inner thighs with each slow step, pressing them together to ease the ache between them.

You can’t beat yourself for behaving like this. That man is a whole course meal. Pretty, sparkling eyes hidden by his hair, flushed cheeks, bitten lips and also dangerous — you will dance for him and you won’t hold back. You feel possessed, mind clouded by arousal when you stop before him, right leg shooting up to balance your weight on the armrest of his chair. He groans lowly at your bold move, eyes going up your naked leg to your exposed cunt. “Look at you…” Before he could get a better look you, you put your leg down.

He is impressed by your change of character, letting you run your hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. You want to moan at the muscles jumping under your touch, but then pretty nose pokes at the inside of your wrist, making short pain shoot up your body and you only now notice the small bruise on your skin. “Did he hurt you?” He asks, looking up at you.

His voice got lower, expression serious for a second. “A little bit.” You answer simply, too occupied with moving to the rhythm of the music.

The man in the chair forgets about it rather quickly as you turn around, bending over. Another, but even lower groan with hiss at the end leaves him at the view. “Yeah, that’s it bend over for me…” Curse flies out his mouth, hands gripping at the chair tightly to not just shove you into his cock right then and there. He almost drools over the swell of your ass peeking from the bottom of your dress and your panties that are dangerously melting into your cunt. He can see everything, but it isn’t enough. “I think, I have to hire you again as a dancer.”

You laugh breathlessly and then cry out when he smacks you unexpectedly across the back of your right thigh. You feel the sting and you are certain your skin will be sore tomorrow, but the pleasure that comes right after the slap is definitely worth it. “Turn around for me.” You wordlessly do as he says and you then shock yourself by just falling to your knees before him instead, however you are thankfully that you did, because the view you have is simply delicious. His hand comes to caress your face, fingers hooking under your jaw to press his thumb to your bottom lip. “Such pretty lips, think you could use them for better purpose than telling me I’m a bad person?”

“You basically said that yourself.” You fire back breathing matching his, your hands falling to his knees and you swear you see his cock jump in his pants.

“After I’m done with you, I will be the best person you have ever met.” His words are softer than expected, but the way he puts his thumb in your mouth isn’t. Your eyes momentarily close to savor the taste of his salty skin and he looks at you like he never seen anything so beautiful. “Say my name.” He gasps out, the sound hanging over the edge of being a pathetic whine.

Your eyes open, pulling out his thumb from your lips with a pop. “Chris.” You whisper, nervously playing with the waistband of his pants. How can you have such an effect on him already?

Chris lets you undone his belt and then his zipper, the crisp sound louder than the pumping music. Your mouth waters from the prominent buldge in his underwear, heart hammering against your chest. You can’t believe you are about to suck off the most dangerous man in the city — yet nothing ever felt so right to you. Your shaking fingers pull the material down, him putting his hands on yours in small reassurance. Now you only want him more.

You are again left speechless when you see the yummy, short patch of public hair and his cock slapping against his abdomen. Chris hisses at the cold air hitting his flushed, red tip, few drops of precum rolling down the length of it. Your pussy throbs painfully, pressing your thighs together at the simple view of his thickness. Maybe that is why he keeps sitting like that, to hide something like this everyday must be challenging, but now it will be your pleasure.

You don’t want to say it’s been a while since the last time you touched someone, but you want to say you have never seen someone this big. His ego sure comes from something. Your hand travels up his leg to pull out his heavy balls, not missing the opportunity to squeeze them lightly. Chris moans at your touch, head rolling back just by that. He looks so sensitive and it seems like he is. Your thumb pushes into his tip next, smearing his cum all over it, before finally wrapping your hand around him.

“Fuuuuuuck—“ Flies out his mouth, when you lean over to wrap your lips around him. You moan at his taste, rolling your tongue across his squishy yet hard cock. His hand goes to run through your hair, pushing the front strands back to see more of your pretty lipstick staining his length.

You swallow more of him, jaw hurting from the sheer thickness. Your eyes water, but you just have to look at him, moaning around him as you do so. You think have never felt this much pleasure from just pleasuring someone. The look on his face, his rising chest, sweat coating his neck…You gag when he presses you down further and even if he groans in pleasure, he doesn’t go further than that. On the other hand he pushes your head up and then back down, letting you get used to him using your mouth for its own pleasure.

The ground is stained with your juices, groans and moans from both of you echoing around the room and mixing with the music. You feel every vein on his cock pulsating, sucking on them harder to get closer and under his skin. When your nose hits the few hairs on his stomach you gargle, spit rolling out of your mouth. You are at that immediately pulled back from him, coughing wildly. “Sorry about that.” He says, not sounding too concern as he looks at your tear stained face mixed with saliva and his cum.

You nod, licking at your lips and that makes him tug at the roots of your hair. You whine at his rough manners, standing up just to be shoved into the table again with his hand in your hair helping you move around. Without a word you hop on to it, bare ass landing on the cold plastic. “Chris…” Just like him you are starting to like the way his names sounds on your lips. When you call out his name, he finally pulled down his pants and underwear, stepping between your open legs. He is dazed by the sight of his cock resting on your clothed mound, but you win his attention back with your sultry voice. You look like pure sin and with the small amount of red lipstick left on your lips he has to have it on his.

His hand in our hair softens when his lips fall onto yours. Chris can taste the hint of wax layer on your lips as well as his own musk on your tongue. You feel on cloud nine just by the way he kisses you. He kissed with so much passion that it felt like you have known each other for years. His lips are simply heavenly and sinfully delicious. “Hmm— fuck me…” Your words are swallowed by his lips, but he can feel them vibrating in his mouth.

Chris pulls away from you, not without biting on your bottom lip. “What was that?” You want to roll your eyes at his teasing tone, but only whimper instead when he puts the tip of his cock over your covered clit.

Your hips jump wildly, him holding them down with just one of his hand. “Fuck me, Chris—“ You say, lips on his throat and biting down on his Adam’s apple that bobbles up and down at your plea. He finally lets go, pulling your bottom half to him closer, your ass sliding and squeaking over the table. You watch him go down to his knees, but you quickly stop him even if the thought of him eating you out sounded nice, you want him inside of you more. “No, just fuck me–“

He looks up at you with big eyes and if you didn’t know his reputation you would say that those were the best puppy eyes you have ever seen. He wants to argue with you, tell you that he should prep you so he doesn’t hurt you, but he realizes that’s exactly what you want. You want him to fuck you so hard that his cock makes a mold inside your pussy. Pulling your right leg up, you push him forward, your pelvis meeting his. You whimper at the feeling of him between your legs, sweat already gathering across your forehead and you moan in delight when he pulls your soaked underwear to the side.

When Chris slides his cock through your folds to coat himself in your slick, he basically loses his mind. He never had pussy this dripping wet, pretty clit swollen and pulsating with every push of his hips. “You are beautiful.” He compliments you sweetly, hand holding his cock to your entrance, but not with caressing your face in his other hand first. You whimper, tummy full of butterflies from his comment. He has such a way with words and also that body of his — so good.

Your breath is knocked out of your lungs when he slides his hard cock into you. Your walls stretch around him, hungrily sucking him right him. It burns a little, legs shaking just from the feeling of him inside of you. Your heel doesn’t even touch the ground, shoe falling down on the ground while the other stays on as he kisses your neck. He licks and bites to kill the time, while he lets you adjust around him. You feel him sucking at your neck, creating purple blotches on your delicate skin. You eagerly run your fingers through his open shirt, clenching down on him when you feel pure muscles.

Chris hisses again, kissing down your collarbones, hips jumping into yours and you both groan when his mushroom tip kisses your cervix. When you clench again, it makes him slowly roll his hips again and he finally feels you relaxing in his strong hold. The way he moves makes your think he must be a dancer himself, because you are already feeling the sweet taste of your release. You both start to breath heavier, air becoming thick and hot around you the more he picks up his speed.

You whimper, almost sob, because you need more of him and just like he could read your thoughts he pulls his head away from your skin to kiss you. “Hold on, baby.” You only hum, letting him guide you to lean back, watching him pull your left leg over his shoulder. Your hand wraps around the pole next to your head and you are thankful that you do, because he immediately starts to trust in to you with roughness and precision.

You can’t help but squeal, crying from the shocks of pleasure as his hips snaps roughly into yours, filling you to the hilt with his cock. Your other leg shots up in reflex, pulling it to your chest. The way he fucks is anything but gentle, but it is all that you wished for. His pelvis hits the bottom of your thighs in loud slaps, pubic hair bumping deliciously into your clit. You fall back, not strong enough to hold yourself up anymore, only strong enough to take it. “Fuck, Chris!” Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours anymore.

The air is knocked out of you with each trust and he literally growls at the sound his name. Every time his hips snap into yours, your tits jump out of your dress and he couldn’t wonder any longer. Chis pushes roughly the material down and to his delight you didn’t have any bra on. His hands leave your hips just to grab your breasts, smushing them together. You moan as he pinches and rolls your nipples, whining loudly when he leans over you. It makes your legs press flush to your chest, his one hand falling next to your head to hover over your body while the other wraps around the pole right to yours.

“Fuck, I don’t think you can work here anymore—“ You clit is being bullied by his rolling hips, eyes becoming blurry, making it hard to see his. He helps you by squishing your cheeks between his fingers, making your lips pout cutely. “You will dance for me, only me from now on. What do you say, baby?”

His words are slightly hard to make out with the noises of skin slapping mixing with them, but even with your fucked out mind you could understand enough. You are drunk on him, spit coating his hand that falls back next to your head, seeing you are listening to him. “Are tips included?” You say, voice rough, nails biting at his shoulders.

“Oh, you will be taking the whole thing.”

You both smile breathlessly at each other, him not stopping fucking you, because seeing your pretty face screwing up in pleasure is to die for. Your sweaty hand slips from the pole and without realizing yourself, you put his face into the palm of your hand. Looking into his eyes, you see something flash in them when your fingers dance across the scar on his face. And then Chris whines — he fucking whines, like a broken puppy.

You clench around him at the sound and he only gives you another. “Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum inside of you, baby—“ He humms, grunting under his breath.

You already feel yourself falling over the edge, holding it just to make it better by cumming with him. “ Yeah, please, I want it.” You say.

“Yeah? You want it? Right here?” Chris pulls himself up enough to push his hand down on your lower stomach. You cry out, shaking like a leaf, because that is setting a whole fire inside of you. “Look, you can even see me in your cute, little tummy—“ He coos at your faces of pleasure. His hips shutter and yours jump. You try to calm your body down, but he is doing things you have never felt before. When the hand holding him up disappears, the one on your tummy pushes harder and when starts to do figure eights on your clit you are officially done for. “Cum for me, soak my cock, Y/N—“

You gasp loudly at the sound of your name rolling out of his tongue, back arching as you cum around him. Your pussy leaks, making a creamy ring of your pleasure around the base of his cock. Your whole body shakes right after the first wave, tits jumping in the air and the sight as well as the feeling of you cumming around him makes him shove his cock into your cunt the deepest he has been so far. Your ears ring, not even hearing yourself sobbing, but you do hear his moans of absolute pleasure. He stuffs you full, hand still pushing at your tummy and you whimper at the overstimulation, skin sticky with all sorts of fluids.

Your eyes are closed, concentrating on riding out your orgasm. You are simply dazed, but still you feel the small brush of his lips over yours and peaking at him through your clumped eyelashes, he flashes you a boyish smile. “Dinner?” The sight of your puffy cunt, fucked out expression and now drunk smile spreading across your lips was definitely worth the risk.

[luveline]

could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?

“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone. 

“No.” 

You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw. 

“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.” 

That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.” 

“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.” 

“Promise,” you say.

You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper. 

“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.” 

“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile. 

“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.” 

“Gotta get that time down,” you say. 

“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute. 

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room

When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.  

When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets. 

You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan. 

“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch. 

“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?” 

Your lips pucker into a twist. 

“What?” he asks. 

Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried. 

“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?” 

Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?” 

You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?” 

It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but  back then he’d been too shy. 

I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking. 

“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.

“It’s from that note you left me.”

“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”

“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”

“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.

“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”

He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones. 

“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’

“So we aren’t equal?”

“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”

“Can’t believe you kept that note.”

“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”

He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.