#so it was more a lateral move if anything

[differenteagletragedy]

Part SEVEN of Simon Riley and his single mother god bless <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

A few more months went by -- broken up by a couple of deployments, but easily the best months of Simon's life. He started sleeping over, every once in a while, sleeping with you. Going to bed with you in his arms after a full day, a full life? It was almost too much. Too good.

He should have known it couldn't last.

Charlie turns five in January. The cold outside is bitter and biting, but there's no snow on the ground just yet, so when he asks to go play outside, it's not that difficult for him to convince you that it's a good idea.

"Please, Mum, it's my birthday," Charlie tells you, eyes wide and pleading. "Simon'll take me, you won't even have to go out there. Just want to go to the slides for a little bit, please."

Your eyes shifts to meet Simon's, and he gives you a small grin. You know he'd do anything for Charlie, Charlie knows it too. Even Emma, the little baby who's getting bigger every day it seems, probably knows it.

Half an hour and a short walk later, and Simon has Charlie at the park where all this began. He goes down the slides a few times like he wanted, then moves to the swings for a bit. It's freezing, but he's having a blast, and so is Simon.

These little moments are getting easier with time and practice. It feels like his heart is expanding, widening to bring in you and your children, the flesh pulled taut but still sturdy, capable of holding all of it.

Until it snaps.

It happens so fast. Charlie always has seemingly boundless energy, but it's been kicked up a notch this afternoon with the excitement of his birthday. He runs wild around the deserted park, laughing and playing, hardly stopping to think as he climbs one of the narrow sets of steps that lead up towards the slides. He makes a detour this time, wanting to try the monkey bars. Simon keeps a watchful eye on him, but the boy isn't paying enough attention, and slips as he tries to navigate the high bars.

He falls to the ground, hard, and Simon hears the unmistakable snap of bone breaking. Charlie starts wailing, piercing and immediate, and Simon does a quick assessment, trained enough to keep his head even as his heart races.

There's no blood, no visible injuries besides his left arm, bent in a way it isn't supposed to go.

"You're all right, Charlie," he says quietly, carefully picking him up, making sure to keep his arm stable. "Going to get you taken care of, hear me?"

It's a quick walk back to your house, followed by a quick drive to the hospital with you and Emma in tow. Charlie's crying sets off the baby, and you're quietly weeping too, trying to tend to Charlie, and Simon navigates the streets with a clenched jaw, certain that he's destroyed everything.

Once everyone is inside the hospital, it's another quick blur of doctors and nurses poking and prodding Charlie, followed by an x-ray that confirms the clean break in his upper arm. The boy is sedated so the bone can be set, and then, while you wait for him to wake back up and while Emma finally calms, there's a stretch of silence.

Finally, you look up from the hospital bed to Simon, studying him with a frown, before saying, "You've been very quiet."

When Charlie hit the ground, Simon felt like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him himself, and he hasn't been able to catch his breath since. It feels like the sadness, the constant weariness he'd felt for as long as he can remember, that emptiness that you'd filled so perfectly, was clawing its way back inside him. Like it never left, and you were just a pretty distraction but not something he could ever really have.

After a moment of strained silence, he mutters, "I ... fuck, I'm so sorry, love. So sorry. I shouldn't have let him on those fucking bars, I should have --"

"Stop," you tell him, your voice low too as Emma dozes in your arms. "Are you blaming yourself for this?"

"My fault," he admits. "I was the one watching him."

"Simon, don't ..."

He wants to apologize again, but he doesn't want to make you feel like you need to comfort him, but there's no way he can put on a neutral face right now ... he tries to take a deep breath, tries to finally catch it but it eludes him again.

"It's not your fault," you tell him firmly. "Accidents happen. He's a tough kid, he's going to be all right."

"He shouldn't have gotten hurt, not on my watch," he insists.

"Do you honestly think there's something you could have done differently? That you willingly let him do something unsafe?"

He racks his brain -- the logical part of him knows that it's not right. He's always careful with the children, and if he'd thought that Charlie could have gotten hurt like this, of course he would have stepped in. But the panic still rises persistently in his chest, flashing him images from a future in which you stop being understanding, where you understand how dangerous he is, how unworthy of everything you've given him. He's seconds away from being alone again, and it would be worse now that he knows what it's like to be loved.

"Simon."

Your voice is firm, solid and strong like it was that very first day when he heard you command Charlie to stop messing around on the playground. Charlie was too young and headstrong to listen then, but Simon wants, more than anything, to listen.

"It's not your fault," you tell him again. "Stop. It's not your fault."

You wrap your free arm around him, your grip firm, and he takes a shaky breath, then another. His eyes find Charlie, still out cold, and he shakes his head, but you give him another squeeze.

"It's not your fault."

That night, Charlie goes home with a sling, drowsy but no longer in pain. He asks Simon to carry him inside, and when he does, he asks him to stay, his good arm slung around his shoulder while Simon carefully cradles the one in the sling.

"Can it still be my birthday tomorrow?"

"It can be your birthday all month long," you tell him, putting Emma down on the floor with some toys.

After you make sure both your children are good for the moment, you pull Simon to the hallway, close enough to keep an eye on the kids but far enough away to speak privately.

"Are you ok?"

"Not the one you need to be asking."'

You give him a pointed look, one he knows by now means that you want him to stop being strong or stoic or whatever else and just be honest.

"I'm ... nervous," he confesses. It feels like a weak word to describe what he's feeling, but it's in the right arena, at least.

"About what?" you ask.

"That I ... that you'll want me to leave."

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head immediately, pulling him down for a hug. Your hands stroke his back and his hair, struggling to pull him even closer, and you start whispering to him. More of what you said earlier -- it was an accident, it wasn't his fault, just an accident.

What cuts through though, like a lightning rod through whatever storm is going on inside him, is when you say, "I don't ever want you to leave."

He pulls back, troubled eyes meeting yours.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Simon. I love you. Don't leave."

It's the first time you've ever said it. You've danced around it before -- "Charlie loves you, the kids love you, we love having you around" -- but never as plain as this. He's done the same, told you in actions every day, in promises to take care of you, but actually saying the words ...

"I love you too," he says. "More than anything."

Charlie's birthday does, for the most part, last the whole month. Simon slowly starts to feel the air come back into his lungs, breathing a little easier every time Charlie acts like himself. When the boy slips, every once in a while, and calls him Daddy, or when Emma grips his hair in her chubby little fist. When you tell him that you love him, with words or kisses or promises ...

It's another lesson. Another piece of evidence that, despite everything he's ever believed about himself, he has value even when he's not perfect.

PART EIGHT

[solxamber]

Lease and Let Die || Lilia Vanrouge

You needed a roommate. You got Lilia Vanrouge. He’s upside down on your ceiling, burns every meal, might be immortal—and weirdly? He’s perfect.

You’ve hit rock bottom. Not the dramatic, movie kind—no, this is the quiet, pathetic kind where your roommate runs off to “find themselves” in a polycule commune and leaves you with the full rent and a fridge that smells like betrayal.

Running on three hours of sleep, gas station muffins, and a caffeine tolerance that borders on war crime, you post the most honest roommate ad you can manage:

“Please, just pay rent on time and don’t leave knives in the sink. Or summoning circles. I’m tired.”

Five minutes later, your phone pings.

“I’ve never missed rent, my knives are ceremonial, and I haven’t summoned a proper demon in decades. When do I move in? —L.V.”

You blink at your phone. You reread the message. You decide it’s probably fine.

Twenty-four hours later, Lilia Vanrouge shows up at your door.

He’s wearing a leather jacket, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, and a smile like he knows exactly how you’re going to die—and thinks it’s kind of cute.

“You must be my new roommate!” he chirps, setting down a suitcase that audibly hums.

You nod slowly, brain buffering. “Are you... bringing more stuff?”

“Oh, no,” he says, cheerfully. “Just this. And the coffin.”

“The what—”

But he’s already inside, complimenting your curtains and asking where the nearest leyline convergence is.

You stare blankly. Somewhere in the apartment, the Wi-Fi cuts out.

You have no idea what the hell you just signed up for.

But at least he promised that he does his own dishes.

It started off sweet. Really, it did.

You had late evening classes three times a week and by the time you trudged across campus toward home, the only light came from flickering streetlamps and your phone screen at 3% battery.

One night, as you packed your things into your bag, Lilia appeared beside you like a helpful poltergeist.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said cheerfully, slinging your bag over his shoulder before you could argue.

Your first reaction? Touched. Emotional. Betrayed by your own sentimentality. Because nobody had ever said anything that nice to you on this hell-washed campus. Not your professors, not your classmates, not even your overpriced coffee machine, which had begun growling whenever you approached.

You looked at him with stars in your eyes and said, “That’s… really kind. Thank you.”

He shrugged, the picture of casual coolness, if casual coolness was wearing a floor-length black cloak and bat earrings. “The darkness listens better when I’m near.”

And that was when the stars in your eyes shriveled and died.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“The darkness,” he said, like this was self-explanatory. “It whispers sometimes. And when I’m around, it’s polite about it.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Reopened it. “And… that’s supposed to be comforting?”

“It means I’ll hear if anything wants to drag you into an abyss. I can bargain with those.” He beamed at you. “Some of them owe me favors.”

You stared at the sidewalk as you walked. You were no longer sure if this was a sweet gesture or a prelude to demonic possession.

At one point, a crow landed on a lamppost and screamed. Lilia tilted his head and murmured something in a language you didn’t know, and the crow just nodded and flew away.

You weren’t sure if you should feel safer.

“Lilia,” you said cautiously, “do I need to be worried?”

He laughed, delighted. “Oh, no! You’re not a threat to the veil between realms. Not yet.”

You did not like the word yet. Not one bit.

Still… you made it home. Your front door was mysteriously unlocked (Lilia claimed the house “let him in”), the kitchen light had fixed itself, and your dying plant had perked up. So maybe walking home with your roommate wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

You just had to make peace with the fact that the shadows sometimes waved at him.

And that he waved back.

You were dying. There was no other way to describe it.

The dining table was a battlefield: open textbooks stacked like defensive walls, notes scattered like fallen soldiers, and a graveyard of empty mugs bearing silent witness to your descent into academic hell. Your eye twitched. The caffeine was doing nothing. You were 84% sure your soul had left your body three hours ago. The only thing keeping your bones upright was spite.

“I swear to every cruel god out there,” you muttered, “if I don’t pass this exam, I’m just gonna lay down in the student union and let the crushing weight of debt take me.”

From the couch—where he had been laying upside down like an actual bat for the past twenty minutes—Lilia made a thoughtful noise.

“Do you require reinforcements? A siege beast, perhaps? I have a minor distraction spell that summons a screaming goat—”

“I need silence,” you hissed, snapping your highlighter in half with the ferocity of a person pushed beyond reason.

“Oh,” he said, far too delighted. “Say no more.”

He snapped his fingers.

There was a pop and then—nothing. Utter, blissful, terrifying silence. You blinked. The world was muffled in a sparkling purple haze. It was like someone had wrapped your brain in a pillow and told all your problems to go wait outside.

You got two pages of notes done before the smell hit you.

Burnt.

Burning.

Popcorn?

You looked up just in time to see a column of smoke trailing lazily from the kitchen.

You screamed. You didn’t hear it.

Lilia waved at you cheerfully from inside the fire alarm’s muted chaos.

You were too tired to cry and too caffeinated to blink. The popcorn was ruined, the fire alarm had only just stopped shrieking, and Lilia was poking at the charred remains in the microwave like it was a curious new species.

"I thought I had it set to two minutes," he said cheerfully, as if the kitchen wasn’t filled with smoke and the smell of scorched sadness.

“You set it to twenty,” you croaked, pointing accusingly at the still-blinking numbers. “Twenty minutes, Lilia.”

“Ah. So that’s what the little zeroes were for.” He turned around, beaming like a deranged warlock. “Good news is—I know just the thing to cheer you up.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Lilia, no.”

But it was already too late. He clapped his hands once, a ripple of eldritch magic shimmered through the air, and with a flash of light and a small puff of brimstone, something appeared.

Stanley, the goat.

He stood in the middle of your scorched kitchen. Just… stood there. He had little beady eyes, unimpressed with this plane of existence. A single bell jingled around his neck like it was mocking you personally.

And then he screamed.

It was the sound of every due date you’d missed, every essay you’d written at 3 a.m., every existential panic you’d had at the grocery store over the rising price of cheese. It was a scream that echoed through your soul and possibly opened a portal to another realm for a second.

Stanley screamed again. Lilia clapped, delighted.

“He’s motivated troops into battle before,” he said proudly. “And one time, a wedding.”

You stared at the ceiling. “I am going to be arrested. They’re going to cite you as the reason and the judge will nod solemnly because they’ll get it.”

Stanley climbed onto the counter and knocked over your last mug of coffee.

Lilia looked at you with the serene calm of someone who has caused kingdoms to fall. “Would you like me to summon Stanley’s cousin? Her name is Beatrice.”

You sank to the floor. “I just wanted popcorn.”

Stanley screamed.

It starts innocently. A Tuesday. You’re behind on three assignments, your laundry smells like something died in it (possibly your GPA), and Lilia is humming in the kitchen while making (very burnt) eggs in a suspiciously perfect spiral. Nothing unusual.

Until you open your history textbook.

You're scanning for bullet points—just enough to fake engagement during tomorrow’s class—and then you see it.

The name.

Lilia Vanrouge. Underlined. Bolded. In a war tactics section titled "Unconventional Victory: The Northern Siege and the General Who Outsmarted Death."

There’s even a sketched portrait. It’s him. Smirking like he knows something you don’t. Which is probably true.

You sit there for a moment, staring at the page, then at the kitchen doorway. Then back at the page.

Then you scream.

Lilia pokes his head in. “What’s wrong? Ghost in the textbook?”

“You’re in the textbook!” you shout, holding it up like it might exorcise him.

He blinks at it, tilts his head. “Oh. That one. I told them not to use that portrait, it’s terribly outdated. My cheekbones are much sharper now.”

“YOU’RE A WAR GENERAL.”

He grins. “Was. Ages ago. The title’s more of a... dusty old accessory now.”

You pace. “I’ve been yelling at you about buying sugary cereal for weeks.”

“You called me a ‘coward of capitalism.’” He sounds fond. “It was very compelling.”

“I made you split a bag of off-brand marshmallows with me because I couldn’t afford dinner.”

He beams. “It was charming! Very wartime spirit of you.”

You throw yourself face-first into your pillow and scream until the pillow gives up.

“I didn’t think you’d care for old titles.”

“I care that you’re in a textbook!”

He sits beside you, offering the plate. “I also invented this egg spiral. There’s a footnote about it in Chapter Seven.”

You consider the egg. You consider your life.

And then you accept the plate. Because apparently you’re living with a retired war general who hoards cereal and hums lullabies in ancient dialects.

And somehow, this still isn’t the weirdest week you’ve had.

You don’t ask him seriously at first. It’s a joke—half a groan, half a petty fantasy as you drag yourself home from another night class, your arms sore from carrying too many books and your pride bruised from yet another “spirited” discussion with your favorite nemesis: Professor Drywall Brain.

“I swear to the gods, Lilia,” you mutter as you slam the door behind you, “if that man says ‘technically that isn’t historically accurate’ one more time, I’m going to scream in four different languages. Loudly. In his office. While holding a tambourine.”

Lilia, sprawled upside-down on the couch in his usual dramatic corpse pose, peeks open one eye. “Want me to come with you next time?”

You laugh. “God, imagine. You in class with me. You’d eat him alive.”

But the next time your professor interrupts you for the third time in one sentence to cite a source he co-wrote with his own ego, something in you snaps.

Lilia shows up twenty minutes early the next class.

He’s wearing:

• A sparkly lavender Hello Kitty hoodie.

• Black platform boots that make him almost legally too powerful.

• A “#1 Gamer Granddad” hat, slightly crooked.

• A notebook. A very serious notebook. Labeled in bold marker: “HUMAN RITUALS (vol. I)”

You blink. “...This isn’t what I meant when I said ‘scare him.’”

“Too much?” he asks innocently, spinning the hat backwards like this is a very niche sitcom. “I can lose the boots.”

“No. Keep them. I want them burned into his memory.”

He does sit in on class. The professor, clearly confused but trying to be professional, asks who he is.

Lilia doesn’t answer with his name. He just smiles and says, “Observer of mortal wisdom,” and opens his notebook like he’s ready to witness a natural disaster.

Every time the professor says something snide or borderline wrong, Lilia makes a show of scribbling a note with an expression of mild horror. At one point he even raises a hand—a single gloved finger, dainty as sin—and asks if “contradicting published data is part of the mortal learning experience.”

By the end of the class, your professor looks like he’s aged six years.

On the walk home, Lilia loops his arm through yours and hums. “That was very educational. I should attend more.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, though you’re also grinning. “You’re going to get me expelled.”

“Not if I become the dean first,” he says cheerfully.

You don’t know if he’s joking. You don’t ask.

You just feel very safe walking home that nihgt.

The day your professor emailed your grade, you were still deep in the throes of post-group-project resentment. You hadn’t slept. Your eye had developed a twitch. You’d seen God briefly while editing the final slide deck at 3AM and He told you to log off. You didn’t.

You were still thinking about it. Sitting on the kitchen floor in socks that did not match, eating cold instant ramen with a fork because all the chopsticks had mysteriously disappeared (you suspect Lilia), and rereading your group’s submission like it was a cursed tome. Because somehow, somehow, it was… good?

Like disturbingly good.

It started normal. Blah blah, feudal kingdoms, blah blah, agricultural collapse—but halfway through, it got weirdly intense. The writing shifted from standard student filler to vivid descriptions of battlefield strategy and personal loss. There were diary entries from a dying soldier. Quotes like:

“The horses screamed louder than the men.”

Who wrote that?

You didn’t write that.

Your groupmates definitely didn’t write that—one of them tried to cite Wikipedia by just linking it in the footnotes and calling it a day.

And then you saw it. On the last page, listed under "Additional Resources":

• Blood-Soaked Memoirs, Vol. II

• War and Tea: Reflections of a Veteran General

• Me (I Was There), by L.V.

You stared at the screen.

Then you turned slowly—so slowly—to face the upside-down body perched on your living room ceiling like a decorative gargoyle.

“Lilia,” you said, voice trembling, “did you write my paper?”

He flipped mid-air and landed soundlessly, mug of tea in hand, wearing his fuzzy bat slippers and a shirt that said Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Had My Potion.

“Of course I did,” he said cheerfully. “I couldn’t just let you hand in that disaster your groupmates conjured. I’d seen more structure in a battlefield charge made by drunk goblins.”

You blinked. “You used actual war stories.”

“Well, I was there."

“YOU CITED YOURSELF.”

“And they say self-reflection is dead.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to get expelled for plagiarism from a guy who fought in the Demon Rebellion of 1043.”

He patted your head. “Nonsense. I am the primary source.”

You screamed. The fire alarm went off again. Lilia casually waved away the smoke from your scorched popcorn and floated back to the ceiling.

You got an A+.

You never looked your professor in the eyes again.

The ramen’s cold. You’re sitting on the linoleum like you’ve lost all connection to chairs and dignity. Your laptop screen glows ominously from the counter, blinking with the cheerful menace of “Project Scores Available Now!” and you, a coward, have chosen denial.

It’s not dramatic. It’s survival.

You twirl a limp noodle around your fork and sigh like a Victorian widow. “If I fail this class, I’m going to live in a bog.”

From above, something shifts. A soft creak. You don’t even flinch anymore.

Lilia is upside down on your kitchen ceiling, arms crossed like a sleeping bat, hair dangling like he styled it specifically for zero gravity. His eyes are glowing just slightly in the dim light of the fridge. His entire posture says: I live here. Get used to it.

“You’ll be fine,” he says in that lilting tone of someone who has definitely hexed a registrar before.

You stare at him and jab your fork in his general direction. “Are you here to flirt with me or drink my blood?”

A beat.

“Yes,” he says, all teeth.

You shovel another bite of ramen into your mouth because honestly? Sounds great either way.

He drifts down from the ceiling a moment later, floating like an unsettling balloon and landing in a crouch beside you.

“You know,” he murmurs, peering into your bowl, “when I was in training, we had to fight actual hydras for credit. These grades mean nothing.”

“Yeah, well,” you grumble, “I’m fighting for my life against microwave deadlines and soul-crushing group projects.”

Lilia hums thoughtfully. “Still might be harder than the hydras.”

You blink at him. “...Really?”

“No,” he says sweetly. “But I am proud of you.”

And somehow, the noodles taste a little better after that.

It’s late. The kind of late where everything is quiet, the hum of the fridge is loud, and the streetlights cast long, sleepy shadows through the kitchen window. You’re both where you usually end up—on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by mismatched mugs and half-eaten snacks, your laptop forgotten somewhere under a throw blanket.

You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe it’s the way he brewed your favorite tea without you asking. Maybe it’s the way he always waits until your shoulders slump before he starts playing that dumb, soothing lo-fi playlist. Maybe it’s just… him.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you ask.

Lilia doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head, as if tasting the weight of your question in the air. His expression softens—not his usual mischievous grin or teasing smirk, but something quieter. Something old.

“Because,” he says, voice low, “I once led a thousand men into war for less than a kind word.”

He looks at you then, and it feels like the air stills.

“And you give them to me freely.”

“I was never quite friend. Never quite equal. Not really.”

His voice doesn’t change, but your heart lurches anyway.

“But you—” He finally glances down at you, eyes glowing faint in the dark kitchen light. “You argue with me about cereal. You yell at me to do the dishes. You make me playlists.”

He grins, crooked and fond. “You treat me like a person.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not even a joke. Not even a deflection.

You blink too fast. You pretend it’s dust in your eye. You laugh like it’s a silly thing to say, like your throat isn’t tight and your chest isn’t aching in that strange, warm way he always brings.

He doesn’t call you out on it. He just passes you a cookie shaped like a bat and starts humming a song you don’t know but wish you did.

You think you’re in trouble.

You also think you don’t mind.

You burst through the front door like you’ve been launched from a cannon, nearly trip on your own shoes, and absolutely yeet your bag across the living room.

Lilia, as always, is committing war crimes in the kitchen. The smoke alarm gave up trying weeks ago. Today’s offense appears to be something that was probably lasagna and is now definitely a smoldering, unidentifiable cube.

He turns, oven mitts on both hands, looking entirely unbothered. “Oh? What’s got you bouncing around like a forest sprite on sugar?”

You can’t speak. You’re too giddy, too high on disbelief and the distinct buzz of miracle. You just hold up your phone, the grades page glowing like divine scripture.

“I PASSED!” you shout, already halfway into a hop.

He blinks. “All of them?”

You nod, borderline feral. “All of them. Even Philosophy, which I wrote the final paper on the wrong philosopher. The wrong century, even!”

Lilia sets down the scorched tray. “Ah. So the blessings worked.”

You freeze. Narrow your eyes. “What blessings?”

He smiles innocently. “Who’s to say? Perhaps the stars aligned. Perhaps the registrar owes me a favor. Perhaps I made a quiet appeal to an ancient power.”

“You hexed my finals.”

“I charmed your finals.”

You don’t care. You really, really don’t care. The stress is finally gone. Your body is light, your soul is free, and for the first time since this bizarre roommate-summoning-covenant began, you feel at ease.

So you cross the room in a few strides, grin so wide it nearly splits your face, and kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Honest. Stupid. Exactly right.

He hums, surprised but pleased, and kisses you back—tasting faintly of burned tomato sauce and centuries of mischief.

You pull away breathless, blinking. “I mean—uh—thank you?”

He chuckles, touching your cheek with one (still oven-mitted) hand. “You’re welcome, dearest.”

The lasagna is absolutely inedible, but you eat it anyway.

With him, even burnt food tastes like victory.

The kitchen floor is cold, the overhead light is buzzing ominously, and there’s a suspiciously damp dish towel under your back, but you’re too tired to care. Finals are over. The semester’s been crushed beneath your heel like a can of off-brand energy drink. Lilia’s lying beside you, arms folded behind his head, legs kicked up like he’s cloud-gazing instead of staring at the slightly water-stained ceiling.

There’s a half-eaten sleeve of cookies on your chest. You’re not sure who put it there. You’ve been eating them slowly, like a grazing animal trying to forget it exists.

You sigh. He sighs louder, out of sheer competition. You elbow him, he laughs. The fridge hums like it’s sharing in the moment.

Then, because it feels right—or at least stupid in the exact right way—you turn your head and say, “Hey, Lilia. Wanna get married?”

There’s a beat. Maybe two.

“Yup,” he says, cheerful as anything. “Let’s do it. Right now? I can carve the rings. I’ve got bone.”

You blink.

He smiles.

You blink again. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence.

“Wait—bone?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “What, you think I don’t have crafting materials?”

You stare at him. He stares right back, unblinking, until you crack up so hard the cookie sleeve falls off your chest and crumbles into sad little crumbs on the tile.

“Gods, you’re insane,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes.

He grins, fangs showing. “Only for you, spouse.”

You cover your face, but you're smiling like an idiot. Because even if he's joking—and you're not entirely sure he is—there’s a warmth in your chest that doesn’t feel like just cookie crumbs and post-finals exhaustion.

You’re doomed. You’re in love. And apparently, you’re engaged now.

Masterlist

"someone save me from this university" - me as i wrote this. (also was written very very high on caffeine and stress so i'm sorry for the extreme chaos)

[maskedbyghost]

Thin Ice

They can't stand each other—until she falls through the ice and Simon has to save her. One cabin, one blanket, and way too many feelings later… things aren’t so simple anymore. smut, +18, mdni

The wind was freezing, cutting through your clothes and biting at your skin. It wasn’t just the usual chill that made your cheeks feel cold—it was the kind of cold that went deeper, into your bones, making everything feel stiff. It was relentless, gnawing at you with every step, until even breathing felt harder.

The air was so sharp it made your jaw tighten, your body fighting against the freezing grip that seemed to sink deeper with each passing minute.

Which is probably why you were arguing.

Again.

“I told you to take the left path,” you snapped, hugging your arms tighter to your body as your boots crunched over the snow-covered trail. “But no, ‘I know a shortcut,’ you said—”

Simon didn’t even look at you. He just stayed ahead of you by a few paces. “It was a shortcut. You just walk slow as shit.”

You scoffed. “I walk fine. Maybe if you didn’t stomp around like you’re trying to scare off every animal in a ten-mile radius—”

“You cold?” he interrupted, glancing over his shoulder.

You bristled. “No.”

“Good,” he muttered. “’Cause I’m not carryin’ your frozen corpse back to base.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache. “Trust me, if anyone’s dying out here, I’m making damn sure it’s you first.”

He actually snorted. Just once, and you hated that you liked the sound.

The landscape stretched out in brittle white silence, the forest thinning as the frozen river came into view—cracked and black-veined under the snow, but passable if you were careful.

Which, unfortunately, you were not.

One step. That’s all it took. You weren’t even trying to be dramatic—you just followed him across the ice, grumbling under your breath, your lips numb and chapped and fingers stiff—

Then the ice groaned, a sharp, splintering sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Wait—” Simon started.

Too late.

Your foot went through, then your leg, then the whole world cracked and swallowed you.

The water was so cold it didn’t feel like anything at first—just shock, like your lungs forgot how to work, like your heart stopped, just for a second. And then it hit. The pain. The sharp, vicious cold that tore through every layer you had on and sank straight into your skin. You thrashed, gasped—then your head went under.

For a second, everything was just dark.

And then—

Strong hands gripped you, arms rough and steady as they pulled you from the ice, breaking through the cold to drag you to safety. Your mouth broke the surface, and air came back with a choking, desperate sob. You clung to him without thinking—his jacket soaked, his mask above you, his voice cutting through the wind.

“Got you,” Simon said, low and harsh. “Fuckin’ hell—got you.”

You couldn’t stop shaking. Your teeth were chattering, your body trembling uncontrollably. Every breath felt sharp, the cold sinking deeper, making it impossible to speak or even think clearly.

He lifted you like you weighed nothing. Scooped you against his chest, one arm around your back, the other under your knees, and started walking. You didn’t have the strength to argue or even find the words.

The safe house wasn’t far. Just a cabin tucked into the woods, barely more than four walls and a fireplace. But right now, it was everything.

He kicked the door open, slammed it shut behind you, and carried you straight to the cot in the corner. Your eyes were wide, lips blue. You were shivering violently.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re goin’ under. We need to get these off.”

You blinked. “Wh–what?”

“Your clothes. Off. Now.” His tone left no room for argument. “They’re soaked. You stay in ‘em, you’re done for.”

He pulled off your jacket, your vest, your shirt—fingers cold and clumsy but moving fast, driven by urgency. He didn’t look at you, didn’t crack a smile. He just focused on getting you out of the wet clothes as quickly as possible.

When you were down to your underwear, he didn’t hesitate—just pulled off his own gear, crawled in beside you, and yanked the heavy blanket over both of you. His body, warm and full of heat, pressed against you, chest to chest, your legs tangled, arms locked tight around your back.

He pressed his face into your hair. His breath was warm against your ear.

“Jesus, you scared the shit outta me.”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t have the strength to.

“You always gotta talk back. Always gotta be difficult,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Couldn’t just listen, could you?”

His hand moved gently up and down your spine, trying to rub warmth into you.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” he whispered. “Talk shit like you always do. C’mon.”

You tried to breathe, but your body was still trembling too hard.

“Hey,” he said softly, “you’re alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

You wanted to say something—anything—but all that came out was a broken whisper.

“I’m so cold.”

His grip tightened.

“I know, baby. I know,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re alright.”

You curled in closer, chasing his warmth, your fingers weak against his chest. And still, he kept whispering. Soft, careful words that didn’t match the man you thought you knew.

“I can’t lose you,” he said quietly, like it hurt to admit. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

You gave a shaky laugh, almost a breath. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned.”

He kept going. “I act like I don’t care. Like it wouldn’t matter if something happened to you. But it would. It would ruin me.”

You looked up at him. His mask was gone, his jaw clenched tight, lips pale from the cold.

He met your eyes. “I mean it.”

You blinked slowly, heart stuttering in your chest. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not sayin’ it because of this,” he said, firm but gentle. “I’m sayin’ it because I’ve been a fuckin’ coward about it. And I almost didn’t get the chance to tell you.”

His hand slid up to cup the back of your head. “You make me feel something I didn’t think I could anymore.”

Your throat felt tight.

He let out a slow breath. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

You barely had enough strength to move, but you leaned into him, burying your face against his chest again, letting his words settle into your bones like warmth.

And he didn’t stop holding you.

Didn’t stop murmuring.

Didn’t stop calling you baby.

Half an hour later, the blanket felt heavy, the air warm now from the fire Simon had started after he got you stable, and the silence in the safe house was comfortable, for once.

Your shaking had started to ease, replaced by exhaustion and this strange, tight feeling in your chest every time you looked at him.

He hadn’t moved.

Still lying beside you, pressed chest-to-chest, his arms around you like he didn’t trust the world not to try and take you again.

You were quiet for a while.

Then you whispered, “I’m okay now.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “Still not lettin’ go.”

You swallowed. “You don’t have to.”

He looked at you, really looked, like he was checking again—like part of him still didn’t believe you were here, safe in his arms. “You scared the hell outta me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” His hand came up slowly, brushing your hair back from your face, fingertips soft, careful. “Not your fault. Just… couldn’t stand it.”

You were quiet again, taking in the way his voice had changed. It was softer now, stripped of the usual edge, raw in a way that felt like he was letting his guard down. He wasn’t trying to hide anything.

“You’ve got no idea,” he murmured, “how much space you take up in my fuckin’ head.”

Your heart kicked hard in your chest. “You’ve got a weird way of showing it.”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah. I know. I’m shit at this.”

You shook your head. “You’re not.”

His fingers moved slowly along your jaw, your cheek. “You’re always so mouthy. Always get under my skin. But I’d take that over silence any day.”

You blinked up at him, your face close enough to his that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “Kiss me, Simon.”

He hesitated—but only for a second.

Then he leaned in, slow and unhurried, kissing you with a gentleness that felt different. Not rough, not desperate—just soft. Like he was taking his time, like he wanted to remember every second of it.

When you kissed him back, he made a quiet sound in his chest, something low and strained, like relief.

“You sure?” he asked against your mouth, one hand sliding to your waist, thumb brushing your skin.

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

He was careful, his movements soft and slow, as if afraid that even the slightest wrong move would hurt you, like you meant more to him than anything.

The way he touched you was different now. No teasing, no games—just warmth, just purpose. Every kiss along your shoulder, your collarbone, your throat, spoke louder than words ever could, like he was showing you how much he needed you.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “You don’t even know.”

You let out a soft sound when he ran his hand down your side, fingers skimming your ribs. He paused, checking your face.

“Still warm enough?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Just… nervous.”

He kissed your cheek. “Don’t be. I’ve got you.”

You moved together under the blanket, the world outside fading until it was just him, just the way he held you, the way his hands roamed without rush, the way he kissed you like it was a promise.

When he slid into you, slow and careful, he cursed softly into your skin.

“Fuck… you feel like heaven.”

You wrapped your arms around him, held him close, every part of you full of him.

He didn’t go fast. He didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t.

He just moved with you, forehead pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like you were something fragile.

“You’re alright,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. Gonna keep you warm, gonna take care of you…”

You could feel it in the way he touched you—how much he meant it. How scared he’d been. How close he’d come to losing you.

And when you came, soft and trembling under him, he kissed you through it, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

After, he stayed on top of you, weight resting heavy but grounding you, his face tucked into your neck.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get this,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “You. Here. Like this.”

You were quiet for a beat, your hand resting over his heart. “Thought you hated me.”

He snorted. “Still might. Jury’s out.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Hey,” he said, eyes soft but mouth twitching, “I let you steal my blanket. That’s love, innit?”

You rolled your eyes. “You dragged me into this blanket. I nearly died.”

“Details,” he muttered. “You look warm now, don’t you?”

You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “So this is your version of a confession? Freezing me half to death and then climbing into bed with me?”

He leaned in, nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You breathed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

He looked at you for a moment, gaze flicking over your face like he was memorizing it, then said, softer, “You’re not gettin’ rid of me now. You know that, right?”

You raised a brow. “Already regretting it.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

Then he kissed you again—slow, easy, like he had all the time in the world, as if nothing else existed but the moment between you two.

He pulled you closer, tucking you into his arms, like you were something he’d finally stopped pretending he didn’t need, something he could finally admit he wanted without hesitation.

---------------------------------------------

i actually don't like how this turned out but oh well...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Priest x Reader x Yandere!"Angel" content: gender neutral reader, based on Midnight Mass

You didn't think you'd return to that crumbling shell of a church after so many years. Hell, you weren't even religious. What dragged your feet all the way to God's holy ground was nothing but sheer curiosity: who in their right mind would've willingly moved to a bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere?

The newly appointed priest was young and handsome, with a pious smile and a welcoming gaze. His voice was soft as he introduced himself and gave the good ol' speech of an open-door policy. Everyone was welcomed, believers and nonbelievers alike. God loved all equally. As the liturgy ended and people shuffled out of their seats, you felt his hand resting over your shoulder. He asked you to stay behind. Nothing outlandish by any means; he could tell you weren't all that interested in theological talk, yet he appreciated your honest nature. He asked if you'd mind passing by every now and then, and you unconsciously nodded in agreement.

Yet, there was something off about this Monsignor. For once, he spoke about others as if he'd known them for a lifetime. The way he greeted the elders and laughed with them almost made you forget you were no longer facing the previous man in charge, who'd left on a pilgrimage and never returned. Whatever happened to the poor bastard, you wondered?

With the recent arrival came other peculiar happenings. The town drunkard vanished abruptly one evening, only to be found completely pale and drained of blood a couple of days later. Night didn't feel as peaceful anymore, and you'd been plagued by the feeling of being watched. You once expressed your suspicions to the priest, who was quick to comfort you - perhaps too kindly for your own liking. He stroked your hair with foreign affection, urging you to gather your courage.

"Do you believe in Angels?"

You've been toying with his words quite often lately. Why would he suddenly bring it up? He knows you don't care for spiritual nonsense. His stare was sincere, almost anxious. Your heart clamps tightly in your chest, restless and eager. Monsignor certainly knows more than he lets on - there was no abstractness to his question.

At last, you have your answers. Shuffling through some old book you found in the clergy house, one photo catches your attention. It is a dated photograph of your town's previous priest, back in his youth. It is the very man currently holding a sermon across the road. What on Earth did he find during his pilgrimage? More importantly, what curse did he bring over to your small town?

Your throat constricts, suddenly aware of a looming presence behind you. The creature standing in front of your eyes is anything but human. Tattered, fleshy wings, grotesque fangs splitting its snout open, and long, sharp claws dragging across the floor. It approaches with predatory interest, huffing in amusement upon noticing your trembling knees.

"No! You cannot feed on this one," the Monsignor demands with authority. He's catching his breath, holding onto the doorframe for support. He must've sensed his beloved Angel awakened from its slumber and hurried back to his humble home. "We had an agreement, I recall," he scolds, becoming more unsure. "This one is mine."

The tall Beast considers your shivering form, lowering its head closer to your level.

"Is that so," it challenges in a hoarse voice. "I thought you're not supposed to lust after other humans, Father. I'm saving you from sin, you see, by keeping...(Y/N), is it?"

It extends a gargantuan hand towards you.

"Come, which will it be? A perverted priest, or an Angel to look after you?"

"You're no Angel," you want to shout, yet the words crumble out in a petrified whisper.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello! I absolutely love your work! If you feel up to it could you do one where Lando’s little girl has separation anxiety since he travels so much. Like maybe she always wants to sleep in his bed, always climbs into his laps when he’s trying to work, basically always wants to be close to him. I just think I’d be so cute to see Lando take care of his baby anxiety and maybe learning to take care of his own at the same time

Anxiety

The morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the cluttered nursery. Toys were scattered across the floor, a tiny pink sock was hanging from the side of the crib, and in the middle of the chaos, Lando sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to coax a little girl into her clothes.

"Come on, baby, arms up," Lando said gently, holding out the tiny blue jumper.

Yn, three years old and stubborn as ever, shook her head, curls bouncing. "Nooooo, Daddy! No shirt today! I wanna stay in jammies."

Lando sighed, hiding a smile. "If you stay in pajamas, how are we gonna go see the ducks later? They don’t like jammies, remember?"

Her big brown eyes widened. "Ducks don’t like jammies?"

"Not even a little bit," he said seriously, tugging the jumper over her head while she giggled. "They said so last time. Quack quack, no jammies, Daddy!"

Yn dissolved into laughter, kicking her legs playfully as he got her dressed.

It had been three years since he became a father, and not a day went by that he didn’t think about how lucky he was, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

She clung to him like a shadow. Lando had expected some level of attachment, but Yn’s separation anxiety made everything just a bit more difficult. From the moment she woke up to the moment she went to bed, she wanted to be within arm’s reach of him.

"Breakfast?" he asked, standing and lifting her effortlessly onto his hip.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "But you not going away today?"

His heart ached. "Not today, baby. Today is a Daddy and Yn day."

She grinned. "Daddy and Yn day! Pancakes?"

"Pancakes it is."

---

Later that afternoon, Lando sat on the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees, trying to review some sim data for the next race weekend. Yn was curled into his side, her head resting on his chest, watching a cartoon on the tablet he had reluctantly given her.

She kept poking his cheek every few minutes.

"Yes, baby?"

"You not leaving yet?"

"Not yet."

"You promise?"

Lando kissed the top of her head. "I promise."

She didn’t say anything for a while, just quietly lay there, her little hand gripping the sleeve of his hoodie.

Mary, their nanny, arrived in the early evening.

"Hey sweetheart!" she called out, entering the living room. "There’s my girl!"

Yn peeked up and gave her a small wave but didn’t move from Lando’s lap.

"Tough crowd today," Lando murmured with a smile.

Mary chuckled. "She’s been stuck to you like glue lately. You think it’s the travel?"

"Has to be. Every time I leave, she wakes up crying for three nights straight."

Mary reached out and brushed some hair from Yn’s forehead. "Poor little heart."

"Yeah. I try calling as much as I can, but it’s not the same."

Yn looked up at him suddenly. "Can I come with you next time? In your car?"

He laughed, even though it made his chest hurt. "You want to race, huh?"

She nodded solemnly. "I be small driver. I go zoom!"

"You already go zoom around this house. That’s enough danger for me."

---

That night, Lando tried to put her to bed in her own room.

"One more story?" Yn pleaded, eyes wide, clutching her stuffed penguin.

He sighed but nodded. "One more."

By the end of the story, she was half-asleep. Lando stood carefully, tiptoeing out of the room.

"Daddy?"

He paused. "Yeah, baby?"

"Stay. I don’t like the room when you go."

He hesitated. "I'll be right down the hall. You can call me anytime."

"But I want your bed. Please?"

It was the third night in a row. Lando ran a hand through his hair. He knew the experts said not to give in, that it would make it harder later. But every time he saw her lip tremble, something in him caved.

"Alright. Come on then."

She beamed, hopping out of bed and running to him. He scooped her up, carrying her to his room, where she immediately snuggled under the covers.

"Best bed," she mumbled sleepily.

Lando climbed in beside her, pulling the duvet up. "Only because you’re in it."

---

The following week, Lando had to leave for the race in Monaco. He knelt by the sofa, where Yn was hiding behind a cushion.

"Come here, baby. Let me give you a big hug before I go."

"No!"

"Yn..."

She peeked out, her face already scrunched up. "You always go. I don’t want you go."

Lando sat down beside her. "I don’t want to go either. But I have to. It’s my job, remember?"

"I don’t like your job," she muttered, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

He pulled her into his lap. "I know, I know. But you have Mary here, and you’ll get to call me every day. And when I come back, we can go see the ducks again."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

She linked her tiny pinky with his, then threw her arms around his neck.

"I love you, Daddy."

"I love you more."

Mary stood by the door, giving him a small nod. Lando stood, placing one last kiss on Yn's head.

"Be good, alright? I’ll be back before you know it."

She sniffled but nodded.

---

Every night during the trip, Lando FaceTimed her before bed.

"Did you eat your veggies?" he asked one night.

"Yes. Mary said if I eat carrots I get bunny powers."

He laughed. "Then you better be hopping all over when I get back."

"I miss you, Daddy."

"I miss you too, sweetpea. Only two more sleeps, okay?"

She held up two fingers, then yawned. "I sleeping in your shirt."

He smiled. "Good. You look extra cute in it."

---

When Lando finally got home, it was late. Mary met him at the door.

"She tried to wait up. She fell asleep in your bed again."

"Of course she did," he whispered, setting his bag down.

He tiptoed into his bedroom, and there she was—curled up, clutching his hoodie like a lifeline.

Lando changed quietly and slipped under the covers. Yn stirred almost instantly, rolling into his chest.

"Daddy?"

"Hey, baby. I'm home."

She blinked sleepily. "You back for real?"

He kissed her forehead. "For real."

She sighed happily and snuggled in. "Best bed again."

And this time, Lando didn’t mind at all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[mywritersmind]

TROUBLE - LN4 part two

previous part

og summary : Trouble comes in many forms, for Lando Norris, it comes in the shape of his teammates sister. A week at Oscars brings more temptation and impulse than any other start to a season.

summary : A day that was supposedly for Lando and his sight seeing turns into a day full of holding back touches, fast car rides, water fights, and his hand on hers.

listen up : i don’t know anything abt cars so don’t come for me if i said smt wrong abt the mclaren F1. dirty jokes. dual pov! comment to be on taglist!

words : 4082

⋆｡‧˚⋆

lando

I wake up to hushed voices outside my door. I practically roll out of bed, seeing that it’s five in the morning and moving to the door, still half asleep.

When I open it, I expect it to be Oscar with Lily or maybe even Nicole- what I don’t expect is a random man I've never seen, grinning down at Y/n.

She has her arms crossed and stops whispering when she sees me. She steps away from him, the man turning to look at me now. Y/n doesn’t say anything, just grabs his arm and tugs him down the hallway.

I watch her go, her hair a mess and her body barely covered by her sleep set. I blink, still confused and honestly too nosy to not get answers.

She’s back a minute later, shaking her head, “Don’t say a thing.”

I shrug, watching her run her hands over her face, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Then we’re both quiet, neither of us moving and a smirk growing on my face. She gives in easily, stomping her foot and groaning quietly, “He’s my ex. And neighbor.”

“That’s… fun.”

“No. It’s idiotic!” She leans against the wall, frowning still, “You can’t tell anyone. Oscar would freak if he saw him.”

This makes me stand up straighter, “Why?”

“He may or may not have broken my heart… long story.” She sighs, closing her eyes before turning fully towards me again, “And we didn’t do anything!”

I smile, “I believe you.”

“He just- wanted to ‘talk’.” She puts finger quotes over the word ‘talk’. “I shouldn’t have let him in.”

My eyes narrow, not judging her, just assessing her emotions. “But you did…?”

She looks at me as if I slapped her, “Go back to sleep, Lando.” I don’t think she’s ever said my first name before. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t worry-�� My alarm goes off on my phone at the perfect moment, “I’m getting up to run, anyway.”

She nods, still looking tired but angsty, crossing her arms. I hesitated before saying, “Wanna come?”

I know I shouldn’t have said it the second she looks at me. Her eyes curious and way too distracting. “Really?”

“Why not?”

“Not like I'm gonna get any sleep after that.” She shivers as if she’s remembering the image of him in her room, “Okay. I’ll see you out front in ten.”

⋆༺

you

When accepting Lando’s offer to join him on his morning exercise, I forgot one thing.

I cannot run.

I’m out of breath and sweaty, falling onto the couch as Lando actually LAUGHS at me! “I think I'm dying.” I mumble, feeling like i’ve just ran a 10k.

“You don’t exercise much, do you?” He walks around the couch, a smoothie in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

I scoff, “Excuse you!” He hands me the water, something so simple but very sweet to me. I chug that shit, making my breath even more ragged, “Why would I!?”

He smiles, sitting down next to me and resting his arm on the back of the couch, “Well usually when you exercise, you tend to get better at specific things. If you start running everyday you won’t look like you’ve just crawled out hell-”

I hit him with a pillow, my skin on fire even in my tight shorts and sports bra. “Fuck you.” I whisper, standing up and walking into the kitchen so he doesn’t see me smile.

“Do you know what we’re doing today?” Lando looks back at me, watching me fill my water.

“Apparently I'm showing you around? I’m not sure.” I shrug, plopping a few ice cubes into my glass, “Lily and Oscar wanted to go to the beach so maybe that too-”

Oscar walks in then, his eyes tired as he yawns and waves weakly at me, “Speak of the devil.” I mumble as he glares at me.

“Good Morning to you my amazing and wonderful sister.” He grins at me, now I know he wants something.

“Pancakes?” I ask, knowing my brother too well.

“Favorite sister.” He ruffles my hair as I push him away. He turns and stops dead in his tracks. I realize that he must have just spotted Lando, the brit watching our sibling antics quietly.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, turning back to me and eyeing my outfit.

“We went for a run.” Lando says casually, bringing his straw to his lips.

“You got her up this early to… run?” Oscar asks skeptically as I understand that he’s not just shocked that I ran, but that I ran with Lando.

“I was already up.” I try to diffuse the tension I know is coming, “Trying to clear my find and stuff.” I pull the ingredients out of the cabinet and fridge, biting my tongue.

“Right…” Oscar shakes his head, seemingly letting it go and joining Lando on the couch. As Oscar scrolls through the TV, Lando glances back at me, not giving me a smile or anything before turning back to his teammate.

I turn to the stove, my eyes wide and cheeks red. This is going to be a long week.

⋆༺

lando

“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” I ask Oscar as he pushes past me to grab Lily’s bag.

“Lily just killed her foot-” He says, looking more worried than i’ve ever seen him, “I’m taking her to the hospital.”

Y/n walks in with Lily next to her, her hand around her waist as Lily’s arm is over her shoulder. She’s limping with a pained look on her face, “Shit. I can come- I’ll drive.”

“No it’s fine!” Lily says quickly, “I’ll be fine. You two can just go explore. You should have fun.”

Y/n looks from me to Oscar, “Lily we can come with you it’s really not a prob-”

“No!” She moves away from Y/n, hopping to Oscar who wraps his arm around her, “Just- send me pictures!” And with that, they’re gone.

Y/n looks at me, blinking. Nicole hurries back inside, shutting the door, “That boy I swear…”

“Mom, do you want to come with us today? Lily won’t be back for a while and you should-”

“I’ve gotta work, love.” She explains, “Take Lando to all the touristy spots!”

Y/n turns on her heels, looking at me skeptically, “So… what do you want to do first?”

⋆༺

you

What do you do when you’re tasked with exploring your home town with a man you’ve known for one day and are extremely attracted to?

In my mind, you take him to the best place for him to get as shirtless as possible… the beach! Even though my mom said that wasn’t good enough, I’ve been craving the water.

I still bring him there, how could I not!? Best beaches in Australia are right in my hometown. He’s probably all sad and broody from grey Britain anyway!

I know I already saw Lando shirtless yesterday, but this… this is different.

Tanned, wet, sandy, AND shirtless. His curls are wet and I'm pretty sure a smile is permanently drawn onto his face. He plops down next to me, music blasting from a speaker a couple people down.

“I love the sun.” He mumbles into the towel, sitting up and unknowingly flexing his arms. I breathe in and look back at the water.

“I can tell. I’m jealous. I wish I got as tan as you.” I flick sand onto him as he rolls onto his back. He’s in blue and reminds me a bit too much of prince eric.

“Yeah you might wanna sunscreen up.” He teases, pressing my arm as if I'm bright red! I do not burn that easily, thank you!

I scoff as he tosses the bottle at me, “Fuck off!” I grab it, “You wanna put it on me?” my manner changes in an instant, seeing an opportunity and taking it.

His tooth catches on his lip as he nods. I smile and hand him the bottle gently. Ah, men… So easy to manipulate. So easy to trick.

I move my hair from my back slowly, but the second I hear the bottle unlatch, I spin around and grab it, squeezing it onto him.

“Trouble!” He yells, the sunscreen on his chest and splattered onto his face. I’m running away before he can even open his eyes again. “Get back here!”

I run straight into the water, diving under the first wave and regretting it as soon as his hand meets my ankle. He tugs me back as I come back up for air, his hands fully white and coming straight for me. “No!” I scream, trying to swim away, but his hand is on my waist and smearing the sunblock all down my arm.

“Cunt!” I yell louder, shoving him under water. He pops back up, coughing and laughing.

“You’re so dramatic!” His hands are clean now, shaking out his wet curls onto me.

“You basically called me pale!” I argue, laying back in the water and catching my breath, “I reacted like a sane woman.”

“Nothing about you is sane.” He dunks his head again. I watch him go under and match him, not being able to see him in the salt water but feeling him there.

“You’re the one who fell for it.” I shrug, not forgetting the want in his eyes.

He shakes his head, sinking into the water again so I can only see his head and shoulders, “I’m understanding the trouble thing more and more...”

I can’t help but smirk, “Good thing you can handle it.” Him. The dim kitchen light. The ice cream. His fucking eyes never leaving mine.

“You want me to handle you?” This, surprises me.

He’s matching me quicker than I expected.

I just smile and swim to shore, “Come on, Norris! We’ve got plans!”

Like I said, my mom said the beach wasn’t enough ( even though it’s only his first day here! ) so we took Oscar’s Mclaren and booked it to Fitzroy market.

Lando said he likes shopping and my favorite place to do it is here! The area is crowded with people in way cooler outfits than me and vendors with tons of vintage items.

Lando and I are still in beach wear. He’s in all black, probably baking in the sun but looking ridiculous in a shirt with cutoff sleeves and backwards hat, a camera slung around his neck.

I gravitate to some vintage juicy couture while Lando is on the rack over looking at jerseys. The woman working the booth grins when she sees me. “Y/n! My girl!” She hops over to me, side stepping the others around, “How’ve you been!?”

“Mitch!” I grin right back at her, “Better than ever, babe, i’m out of school!” She laughs, her full head of curls bouncing with her. “How are you!? Business is booming, I see!”

“Amazing! Broke up with Jonah too…” She looks down, her glasses shading her eyes for a second before she pops right back up, “But fuck him!”

“Fuck him!” I join in.

“Yeah, Fuck him.” Says a deeper voice. Jonah comes walking up behind Mitch, wrapping an arm around her before she has the chance to push him away.

“Hey, J.” I roll my eyes at him, respecting his role in Mitch’s life but definitely not the way he dated her.

“Hey.” Mitch sways my arm, leaning in a bit and lowering her voice, “Who’s the hottie?”

I glance back to my companion for the day, he’s holding up a jacket at the booth over and talking to the guy who runs it. “That is Lando…” I turn back to them.

“Boy toy?” Jonah raises a brow as I shake my head.

Not yet.

“Boyfriend?” Mitch looks so shocked that It makes me laugh.

“No! Boy i’m showing around today.” I clarify, “And someone I should probably go after before he gets lost.”

Mitch and Jonah nod, both knowing the extreme confusion one can get into at the market. I kiss Mitch on the cheek and wave goodbye to both of them.

When I turn around, Lando is handing money over to the man and smiling when he sees me. There’s that smile again.

He swings the bag in his hand as we walk away, “You come here often?” The curly haired man glances back at my friends.

“Maybe too much.” I shrug, “Mostly because Mitch carries the best shit ever.”

“Oh yeah?” He nods, “I heard you two talking… what’s up with the tall one?” I laugh when he refers to Jonah.

“They’re… a lot. Soulmates? Maybe. But definitely not meant for eachother. You know? At least, not right now.”

He scrunches up his nose, “I don’t know.”

“They love each other and stuff but Jonah needs to get his life together. All we can do is help Mitch get over him and pray that we don’t end up like them.” It sounds mean, but the two really are in a situation that I would hate.

“Shit.” He nods as we turn into a booth with a million shoes, “I had something like that once.”

This makes me turn to him suddenly, “Yeah?”

“Without the soulmates part… I think I may have been Jonah in that situation. Thank fuck it’s over, though. The girl was not as nice as Mitch.” I nod and smile at his use of my friends love life, “What do you think of these?”

The conversation switches to a horrendous pair of sneakers he’s holding up, “Oh babe… no.” I make him put them back and drag him to the correct section.

He’s like my own barbie doll! One that can talk and definitely bite back.

I knew I would lose Lando in this godforsaken place! I’m in too deep and have three bags in my hands.

I walk around to find him, possibly getting distracted by all the pretty things, but settling my eyes on him once again at a plant shop.

He’s in the corner talking to two girls and a guy, looking a bit shy and way too hot in his backwards cap. I watch him for a second, weaving through the people and walking across some shops.

He finds me pretty fast, it’s probably due to the all white i’m wearing in a sea of colorful button downs and denim. I can see him excusing himself and hurrying over to me, “You left me.”

I laugh, “I lost you!”

He shakes his head and starts walking away, “Sorry prissy, I forgot I'm babysitting you.”

He shakes his head, smiling back at me, “I got cornered by fans.”

“Better than me being there and having rumors spread on twitter of your ‘possible new girl’.” I laugh and walk out of the crowd, the sun hot on us and making me crave a cool drink.

He laughs at this, “You wish.”

I scoff, turning back to face him, “I can leave your ass in the middle of melbourne, you know?” I hold up the keys to my brothers car as he steps closer.

“I dare you.” He says, “I guarantee if you got into that car alone you’d be in a wall in five seconds flat.”

I swat the keys at him, “I’m a great driver!”

“Not in that.” He shakes his head, “Has Oscar ever actually let you driven it?”

I bite my lip, not answering.

His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up at my eyes, “Come on then.” He snatches the keys right out of my hand!

“Norris!” I yell, hurrying after him and across the street as he walks faster, “Hey!”

I catch up to him on the other side, he’s still swinging the keys around his finger with a grin on his face, “Where’s the most open, empty road you know?”

I raise a brow and follow him into the parking structure, “Why…?”

Our car is easy to spot, he walks over to it, and to my surprise, finds his way to the passengers side. Looking at me over the expensive car, he tosses me the keys, “We’re gonna hit two hundred in this thing and I want to make sure there’s no bystanders in the car of your havoc.”

He slides into the car, making me squeal and swing the door open quickly, sliding into the way far back driver's seat and turning the keys into the ignition.

He sees my eyes light up as I adjust the seat, “You ever kart as a kid?”

“A bit. Got kicked out a few times.”

“Why…?”

I eye him and click my seatbelt into place, “Too fast, too reckless…”

He shakes his head and mumbles a curse under his breath before tightening his seatbelt. “Don’t make me regret this.”

⋆༺

lando

I was right. Oscar has never let her drive his Mclaren before, and for good reason.

She can’t drive stick shift, first of all. But I only let her briefly panic before I grab a hold of the stick and tell her to go slow.

She does not go slow. Tate Mcrae is blasting through the speakers as she speeds up the empty street with the windows rolled down. The street is right next to the beach and I can see the sun about to go down.

Y/n break checks me and makes me hold on tighter. My arm is around the back of her seat so I can control the stick shift with my dominant hand. She’s laughing and going faster and faster by the second.

It doesn’t take her long before she gets the hang of it but I still hang onto the stick as she sings along to Sports Car.

I’m not stupid, I know her little games and yes, they might be working, but I will not be giving in. This week is supposed to be relaxing, recuperating, and definitely NOT romantic.

Although, the track that Y/n and I are heading is definitely not romantic. More on the side of we both want each other in a hot sexy way.

Her hair whips all around us as she turns the corner, making her way higher up the hill. I’m now realizing that the hill is more of a mountain, the street getting smaller and the trees growing farther away.

I watch her speedometer as it inches higher and higher, her smile growing bigger as it goes, “Christ, are all Piastri’s this quick?”

She laughs out loud, “Next time you compliment me try not to include my brother in it too!”

I can’t help but let out a laugh, staring at her profile as the landscape zips by us. Her cheeks are pink from the sun and I bet if I put my hand to her neck i’d be able to feel her heart racing.

I shouldn’t be thinking this. I know I shouldn’t. But my eyes wander too easily down her smooth skin, her bikini top untied with the strings hanging over her thin top like it’s nothing.

I drag my eyes off her tits and back on the road, knowing I'm in too deep for someone I just met. We slow down as we reach the top, or at least, where she thinks is close enough.

She practically jumps out of the car, running over to a small patch of flat land and a bench that overlooks the water.

“Holy shit.” I walk slowly behind her, looking out at the view and watching her figure jump up and down. I grab my camera that I forgot is around my neck and snap a photo.

She looks back at the perfect moment, her face shadowed and her hair a mess around her, but it just… fits.

I sit on the bench as she sets her ass down on the back of it, her feet tapping the wood next to me.

“So. Your first full day in Melbourne! Thoughts?”

I smile, “I’ve been here before.”

She groans, “Not with me. Was I a good tour guide?”

I nod, “The best.” We didn’t do a whole lot but that’s the best part. Y/n is completely fun but totally chill at the same time.

My phone lights up, it’s a text from Oscar.

“Osc says that Lily is Ok and they’ve been chilling at the house for a while. He’s asking where we are.” I look up at the girl whose eyes are set on the pink and orange sky.

“Tell him we’re making out sloppy style in his car.”

The only change in her behavior is a tiny tug on her mouth, “Trouble…” I mumble and text him that we’re watching the sunset and will be back soon.

“I’m only voicing what we both want.” Jesus Christ, this girl… I’m rarely speechless, especially after a comment like that. But this girl is insanely captivating and I've never wanted to give in more.

I’m struck again at how beautiful she is, the sky reflecting off her as if she’s a part of the earth.

“Nervous, Norris?” Her head dips down to my level.

“We should get back.” I say, leaning my head back on the wood.

“Cop out.” she whispers before hopping off the bench and moving back to the drivers side.

“Woah! You are not driving back.”

“Try and stop me.”

⋆༺

you

I can’t drive stick. I wasn’t lying about that. Although now that I think about it, it would be a great way to get closer to a man.

Lando’s hand is over mine the whole way back. I insisted I could do it (or at least try!) but he guided my every move anyway. Hot. As. Fuck. I try to watch the road and not his huge veiny hands on mine, but mostly fail.

We’re split up after another quick dinner. I talk to Lily about her new addition to her shoe collection (a black boot semi-permanently on her foot as of today), while Lando, Oscar, and my Mom talk about the movie they’re watching.

I’m in my bed a while later, the lights still on in the hallway and Lando’s door hasn’t creaked shut yet so I know he’s not there.

My mom had thanked me immensely for showing Lando around and Oscar gave me a small thanks while looking at me funny. I don’t think he trusts me with his friend, especially with my past and a certain neighbor.

And sure, I want him to trust me! But I want Lando more.

I’m so zoned out that I don’t notice the man in my doorway, knocking on my open door with a tired smile on his face.

Lando has one hand in his pocket, looking sunkissed and content. “Hey.” I sit up, crossing my feet under me.

“Hi.” He smiles as if he’s about to blush, “I just wanted to say… Thanks for today. It was really fun.”

“I didn’t scare you too bad in the car?” I ask as his head meets my door, his neck straining against it.

“You weren’t too bad. Definitely got my adrenaline pumping.”

“Just say I'm an amazingly fast driver and move on.” I shrug, leaning back on my hands and puffing my chest out proudly.

He watches me- watches my body. I don’t have a bra on, something obvious in the cool space of our air conditioned house. I’m wearing a new set, light yellow with lacy little shorts. He likes it and I can tell.

He groans, running a hand down his face and shutting his eyes tight. “Your brother is gonna hate me by the end of this trip.”

I quirk a brow, playing the innocence card as I push a rogue strand of hair out of my face, “Why’s that?”

He looks at me again, his tongue running over his teeth as he challenges me. I want him, that’s the truth. But i’m not that easy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, trouble.” he pushes off the door, turning around and not looking back.

“Dream about me. But don’t be too loud tonight, yeah?” I tease, “Thin walls. I learned that the hard way.” I emphasize ‘hard’ never missing an opportunity to tell a joke.

He throws up one hand, the other still on his face as he walks out of my room and turns to go to his. I smile to myself, standing up and shutting the door he was too busy to remember.

[wolvietxt]

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.” you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to. 

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.” 

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[satzumosupremacy]

Elite Bodyguard Series: Pt.12

Ignorance Is Bliss

Male reader x Sana

Tags: Fluff, Smut 3k Words

When it came to the sudden cute selfies she’d send at the most random times of the day, or the calls just to hear your voice, you simply couldn’t say no. It was hard not to notice how often she started texting you—from simple “good morning” and “goodnight” messages to thoughtful questions like “How was your day?” or “What are you doing?” Sometimes, she’d even get a little flirty with a playful, “Are you thinking about me?”

The day goes on with the steady sound of heavy rain, and Sana is sitting right next to you, finishing up dinner together. You feed her, care for her, take baths with her, tell her jokes, tease her, flirt with her—a lot, actually. It’s like you’re her boyfriend. But you’re not.

You find yourself staring at her lips the longer she talks beside you. Sana never wants to sit across from you—she always chooses to sit right next to you. It’s that clingy side of her that you find so charming. On rainy days like this, she’ll cling to the side of your shirt and follow you everywhere around the house, like personal space doesn’t even exist.

“Oppa, are you even listening to me?” Sana pouts, giving you a playful side-eye.

“Yeah,” you whisper, staring right at her glistening lips coated in grease. The way they catch the light has your thoughts wandering, and for a moment, you forget what she was even talking about. The playful smirk on her face only makes it harder to look away, and you can’t help but wonder if she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“What did I say?” she chuckles. Just to get yourself out of this, you lean a little closer, eyes lingering on her soft lips before meeting her gaze. Sana does the same, her flirtatious smile growing as she gently bites her lip right in front of you, then pauses. “You weren’t listening, were you?” she says, her voice dropping to a seductive, shallow tone.

You feel her hands slowly reaching up your thigh, her fingertips tracing teasing circles along your skin. Sana’s touch is deliberate, as if she’s savoring every inch of you, her intentions clear in the way she continues to look into your eyes. Her grip is soft yet firm, a silent promise of what’s to come as she inches closer to your crotch.

Your breath stutters when her palm finally presses against the growing bulge in your pants. Your cock stiffens under her attention, aching for more as she squeezes lightly, testing your reaction. A quiet groan escapes your lips, and Sana smirks, pleased with the effect she has on you. Your adrenaline starts to rush like a wave. It’s like a surge you can’t handle by how small her hands are, the very hands you hold her down in bed while her legs are spread apart in the air, the heavy breaths and moans she makes that are so engraved in your mind.

"Sana," you quiety utter, gently pushing her hands off of you and take a deep breath.

"What's wrong, Baby?" she whispers, licking her bottom lips, really seducing you now.

"Is there something you want to do after this?" And honestly, you're hanging on a thread right now by trying to control your desires for Sana.

“You,” Sana smiles, seeing her own reflection in your dilated pupils.

Honestly, it’s not even a surprise to hear her say that.

“Sana, let me wash the dishes first. Then we can go to bed."

“Do it later,” she smirks, fighting back with your hand as she easily grabs onto your thigh again. “I want you. So bad.”

The way she’s staring at you is downright tempting, making it hard to focus on anything else—like the dishes you were supposed to be washing by now. You want to forget it all, pick her up, and carry her to the bed. You swallow hard, unsure of what to do as her gaze moves from your lips to your eyes, never breaking. Sana chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. She thinks it’s cute how you’re trying so hard to stay composed, even if she seduces you without much effort.

“It’s not a hard choice, Baby. Touch me instead,” she adds, her voice low and husky as she inches closer and closes her eyes. She doesn’t go for the kiss, though—Sana wants you to make the first move. It’s always been that way. The way she speaks so quietly, so smoothly, is starting to strip away every ounce of your composure, leaving you completely lost in the moment. The urge to just carry her and hear her breathtaking moans are tempting.

“Dishes, and then we can get in bed, Sana,” you murmur, taking a deep breath again.

She pouts and murmurs, “you don’t want me? I thought we were thinking of the same idea here.”

“We are, just after doing the dishes, Sana,” you say, grabbing her plate and put it on top of yours to bring it to the sink.

Sana watches you as you get up and walk to the sink with the plates and utensils. “Do you think it’s going to rain harder tonight?” she asks, her voice soft, almost curious of only your answer.

“Looks like it’s not stopping until midnight if I remember. Why?”

“Just wondering,” she says quietly as you turn on the faucet, her eyes following you from the dining table. After a brief pause, she stands up and walks over to you. “Do you want some help?” she asks, brushing behind to stand beside you.

Since she’s already here, you don’t bother brushing her off. You can tell she’s a little annoyed. The subtle pout on her lips gives it away. “Mind rinsing, Sana?” you ask, scrubbing the plate in your hands with a sponge.

“Okay,” she smiles and stands beside you patiently. “Oppa.”

“Hmm?” you say, giving her a plate to wash as she grabs it and rinses it with water.

“Can you buy me a bra? I saw one online that I want. I’ll wear it next week when I come over if it arrives early. I’ll keep it here with you too,” Sana chuckles.

“Share the link to me later. But the closet is full of Tzuyu’s belongings already and some from Jihyo. I don’t want anything to get mixed up.”

“Jihyo?” Sana utters, putting the plate on the drying rack. “Is she coming over often that I didn’t know?”

“No. Jihyo just stayed over for a few days and asked if she could leave some of her stuff here. That’s all."

“Oh,” she says and looks over at the stovetop to see the frying pan. “Are you washing that too?”

“Can you get it for me, Sana?” you say, rinsing the last plate instead of her.

“Okay,” she says and quickly flicks the water off her hands to keep it from dripping on the floor before going to get the pan. It wasn’t her intention to splash your face and shirt with a few stray droplets, but you couldn’t help thinking she did it on purpose—just to mess with you.

You pause for a moment, eyes narrowing with suspicion as you wipe the droplets off your face. Turning to the sink as she gets the pan, you gather a small splash of water in your hand and casually flick it at her the moment she comes back, surprising Sana as she flinches. She gives you a look—half amused, half confused, and a light chuckle.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing the water from her face before turning back to the sink. With a quick flick, she sends a splash your way after reaching for the faucet and laughs. You try to give her a return fire, but Sana catches your wrist in the middle of the chaos. Instead, you use the moment to pull her aggressively toward you, the playful tension turns romantic instantly as she blushes and meets your gaze. Somehow, Sana’s making your heart flutter. “Are you nervous?”

You gulp, “your cheeks are red, Sana... and I haven’t touched you yet.”

"I love it when you stare at me like that," she flirts back.

Yet, the two of you keep pretending there’s nothing more, turning a blind eye to what it could mean to one another. Brushing off the glances, the silence that lingers too long, the way she’s still holding onto your arm. Even if the rain continues on outside, all the attention was on Sana.

She gives you a light tug, silently urging you to forget the pan in the sink and take her somewhere more intimate—the bed. Her hands trail down from your arm, locking around your wrist as she starts to pull you. Her seductive laugh filling the air as she drags you slowly out of the kitchen.

“I made you wait too long, Sana,” you say softly. Outside, the rain pours harder, drumming against the windows like restless fingers tapping, as if the storm itself had been waiting for this moment—urging you both to stop pretending and finally let your feelings collide.

As you walk into the hallway, her grip tightens around your wrist, refusing to let go. Once the two of you reach the bedroom, you push Sana down onto the edge of the bed with her legs dangling. She quickly pulls off her shirt, then unbuttons her pants, letting you slide them off—all while you take your time removing your own.

“Sana, we have all day. What’s the rush?” you chuckle, pulling off your shirt. Her hands glide over your chest before sliding down to tug your boxers free, letting your cock spring out right in front of her. She lets out a soft laugh, her gaze locked onto you as you gently push her shoulder, guiding her down onto the bed. In one swift motion, you yank her pants the rest of the way off.

“No need to close the door,” she murmurs, sitting back up and pulls you close until your bodies press together. She wraps her fingers around your cock, and with a slow tease, she spits a long strand of saliva right onto the tip.

“Want to do the honors?” you murmur. Without a response from her, she teases you, rubbing your cock against her folds before sliding it inside. A soft whimper escapes her lips as she sinks back onto the bed, arching her back subtly and moans.

“Push deeper,” Sana whispers, and you obey effortlessly, pushing slowly into her tight pussy, which continues to hug your cock harder the further you go. Leaning down toward her, you feel her hands grip your back, pulling you closer against her chest.

“Sana,” you moan into her ear, pausing to catch your breath as her fingers dig into your back. She returns the favor, gasping your name—not “baby” this time, which doesn’t surprise you, but the way she says it now feels different. While the rest of the world remains clueless, shes here, every week to what it feels like a dream. You can picture Sana naked in your mind. Her scent lingers on your pillows for days afterward. She never bothers with panties or a bra when it’s just the two of you, because why would she? As Sana moans from beneath, you thrust in slow, deep strokes. She’s not thinking of her worries, only you—right here, right now, in this moment.

Her breaths are coating your ear—every moan, whimper, and gasp to stoke your desire. The rain drums a rhythm against the windows, wrapping you both in a feverish haze as you reach for her right leg to positision her better. Sana moans harder, grunting and whimpering one after another as she turns her head to the side from how much deeper you're penetrating her walls.

“Good girl,” you growl, clenching your teeth, because, funny enough, she’s really digging her nails into your back.

“I love it, Baby,” she whispers and takes a deep breath once she feels you pushing your cock back in. “Just like this.”

You’re not planning to stop, but push her limits by a little. Sana’s comfort zone is this much—not too hard, not too gentle, but maybe, with the weather as an excuse, your passion for her is burning hotter than it ever was. So, slowly, you thrust back, then drive your cock into her as she squeals. You groan and take a quick breath with her, all while both of you feel a smile from each others cheeks.

She chuckles with a heavy breath, thinking it’s super romantic how you are today. Sana never felt this much when you’re pushing against her body like she means so much to you. “I’m all yours,” she murmurs and lifts her chin up against your shoulders.

Without a response, you continue to drive into her slick pussy, setting a rhythm as she doesn’t let you go from her embrace and take your cock. You hear Sana’s struggling, but knowing her, it’s any minute now that she’ll cum. She squirms and lets out more erotic moans, panting with her toes curling up.

“Cum, Baby,” you say.

“You’re so,” and she takes a quick breath, “fucking deep, Baby.” Then Sana squeals, moaning your name out as you pick up the pace, making her cum and squirm around. You take a quick breath, cock throbbing without letting her get a single rest while she’s still cumming. Sana taps your shoulders, telling you to slow down. It’s cute, yet hot when she’s letting you be more aggressive this time around on rainy day.

“Okay,” you chuckle, turning your head towards her cheek to give Sana a kiss on the neck and leave your cock deep in her without a single thrust. “Take your breaths, Baby.”

Neither do you realize that you’re calling her “baby.” It’s making her heart flutter in all the dangerous ways as she gives you a hug in silence.

“You’re being so adorable, Sana,” you say, lifting your head towards her and stare into her eyes.

“You love it, don’t you?” she murmurs, taking a heavy breath, then chuckles. “I know you do.”

“Very,” you murmur, going in for a kiss on her lips as she closes her eyes. Slowly, you continue to thrust your hips against hers, less aggressive to let her enjoy every inch before you cum. “Give me your hands, Sana.”

She lets her hands off of you, and you interlock them with yours, pinning them onto the bed. Her mouth is slightly opened, breathing heavily with her eyes closed as you stare at Sana from above. You know how beautiful she is, you love this view, this voice of hers as Sana moans in such a beautiful, feminine voice. It drives you fucking insane that cumming deep inside her is the only way to finish this.

“Sana,” you groan, thrusting faster as your cock throbs without you hesitating. And at the last moment, you drive your cock in, deep, cumming hard in her, all while you stare at her beauty. “Sana,” you groan her name again.

To Sana, this is super romantic as her heart melts from you calling her name so lovely and how your hands tightly interlocking hers while feeling the warmth of your cum flooding into her womb. She falls silent as you catch a breath and kisses your neck. Her legs slides off your hips and hangs from the side of the bed. As a favor, you break her off from kissing your neck and look at each other. Sana gulps as you lean closer, intentionally wanting her to think you want her lips, but quickly, you kiss her on the forehead.

It’s just flirting, but really, it’s genuinely a love language that you’ve yet acknowledged to notice how small that gesture was to her.

“Oppa…” she gulps until her throat becomes dry and continues to hold your hands when you’re taking longer to respond. “Baby? Why so romantic?” she chuckles.

You subtly pout and let go of her hands to brush the side of her hair, “because you’ve waited long enough for this today, Sana.”

Again, she falls silent when you’re smiling at her and looks at you getting up to pull out.

“Let me go wash the pan quickly, Sana,” you say, putting on your boxers. “May I? We can cuddle after. I promise.”

She shyly giggles as you reach for her panties to put it on her and slowly pull it up her legs. “Okay. Fine. I’ll wait here. You better come back quickly.”

As you rush out and head to the kitchen to clean the pan, Sana’s getting drowsy, her body sinking deeper into the warmth of the blanket wrapped around her. She tries to stay awake, her eyes fluttering shut and then open again, trying to hold out until you come back. Eventually, she gives in, drifting off to sleep while facing the door, waiting for you.

“Sana,” you call out her name with a playful tone as you head back to the bedroom. But when you open the door, she’s already asleep. You half-expected her to be waiting, to curl into your arms like she always does—but today was different. Things got a little more passionate than either of you anticipated, and now she’s lying there, completely asleep.

You quietly make your way to the bed, gently lifting the blanket to lay down with Sana and put her in your arms. But then you notice—she’s holding your shirt against her chest, clinging to it like a small blanket. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, and suddenly, you're left wondering what you really mean to her, and what she’s come to mean to you.

[kxsagi]

could you write something fluffy for my boi kurona 👉👈 he just gives me insane cuteness aggression

MY UNDERRATED KING 🤴

“𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝???”

a/n: YESSS KURONA OUR UNDERRATED KING

since he's so special to my heart, i tried a different writing style here

(art credits go to たぬ/しぐれに that's what it said on pinterest lol. in english it's read as tanu/shigureni)

you didn’t mean to cause an international incident. 

you were just hangry. 

the vending machine betrayed you (ate your 200 yen, gave you depression). the world betrayed you (sun too bright, air too breathable). and now you’re in your school's sports facility you 100% snuck into, chewing on what is definitely someone else’s twisted bread. 

you feel a presence. 

you turn. 

enter: kurona ranze. professional soccer athlete. walking green flag. victim of twisted bread theft. 

“... you good?” he asks, watching you like you’re a rare zoo animal. 

you blink, halfway through chewing. “… what if i said no.” 

he sits down next to you. 

that’s it. that’s the moment. the beginning of the best relationship of your life. 

phase one: the meet dumb. 

you: emotionally unstable, bad at math, possibly feral. 

kurona: emotionally stable, good at soccer, questionably sane for continuing to talk to you. 

you see him again. you wave like you’ve known him for 30 years. 

he nods like he regrets everything (but he really doesn’t). 

you ask him if he believes in ghosts. 

he says “not before meeting you.” 

you steal his water bottle by accident. 

he lets you keep it. 

“do you want it back?” 

“nah. i don’t know what’s in there anymore.” 

phase two: the slow realization. 

you: “hey. are we… friends?” 

kurona: “you ate three of my twisted bread. that’s marriage in some cultures.” 

you start showing up more. he starts expecting it. he doesn’t say anything, but you notice how he brings two drinks now instead of one. how he waits a little after practice. how he texts you things like: 

“don’t forget to eat real food today” 

“stretch before you sit for 8 hours again” 

“no i will NOT let you shave my eyebrows”

you call him your emotional support soccer player. 

he does not correct you. 

phase three: the confession (derailed edition)

you: “kurona.” 

him: “yeah?” 

you: “if i hypothetically fell in love with you, would you hypothetically be into that or would i hypothetically have to change my name and move to europe?” 

kurona stares at you. 

you stare back. 

he nods slowly. 

“hypothetically,” he says, “i’d ask you out on the spot right now.” 

you internally combust. externally, you hit him with a “k then” and trip over a cone running away. 

he texts you 30 minutes later. 

“still want to be asked out?”

you scream internally. then reply: 

“obviously dumbass meet me behind the vending machine” 

epilogue

you, now known as “that weirdo who stole kurona ranze’s twisted bread and somehow got his heart”: thriving. 

kurona: 100% in love. still letting you take bites of his food for free. 

when people ask how you met, you say, “grand theft snack.” 

he just sighs and lets you tell the story. 

love is real. and mildly concerning. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[envy-of-the-apple]

It's a random thought, but have you ever thought about doing a scenario where SatoSugu thinks about having a baby and hires a surrogate mother?

okokok just to make it clear i dont like anything pregnancy related and try to steer clear of that BUT i just learned that to be a surrogate you must have one successful pregnancy so >:) im making one exception.

(satosugu is like 25-30 mc is 34+)

I can just imagine that the surrogate is just a regular mom who has a loving family and just wants to give back to the community yknow? maybe the surrogate had some complications with pregnancy and now you're so grateful for your bundle of joy that you just wanna help other parents feel the same feeling

you're just a year or two below the cutmark (being in your mid-thirties), but thankfully you're paired with a lovely couple. Suguru and Satoru are absolutely delighted to meet you, gushing over you, through the moon that you've accepted to be their surrogate.

they go to all of your appointments and checkups. they're so diligent you just know they're gonna be great parents. you knew it from the moment they met your daughter, cooing over her, suguru even stuck one of her drawings on his fridge.

you adore them too. they're so considerate, nothing like the horror stories you've read about surrogacy. they dont treat you like a vessel for their unborn child. on the way from a doctor's visit, satoru is more than eager to pull over, wanting to cater to every craving you have. suguru gives you footrubs when your feet start to swell. they constantly tell you how beautiful you look. it's honestly really sweet.

unfortunately, your husband isn't so keen on them. no matter how many times you try to whittle it out of him, he's always tight-lipped about his reasoning. he wants you to maintain your distance from them. he isn't a fan of them being so friendly with your daughter.

Unlike him, you miss the look Suguru gives you when you're complaining about morning sickness. Unlike him, you don't notice the way Satoru's hand presses on your belly, not just feeling the baby, but you too.

Unlike him, you miss the way they treat your daughter. it's almost....parental.

you don't understand his reasoning, but you love him, so you respect his wishes. slowly, you broaden the distance between them. you respond to their texts less and less. you are a little more insistent on going to minor check ups and appointments yourself. honestly, as much as you liked them, you have to admit that satoru and suguru were a bit too coddling. you've been through this before, you aren't fragile. you and your husband can handle the hard parts, they just need to focus on preparing for the baby.

they notice, but they don't mention it to you. they know it's not your fault.

a couple weeks later, your husband leaves.

he doesn't even take anything. none of his clothes are gone, none of his shoes. Just his wallet.

All he leaves is a note.

I don't wanna do this anymore. don't look for me

You’re distraught. Nothing calms you down anymore. You immediately spiral, shutting out your friends and family. Your daughter is the only thing that keeps you sane. You’re abandoned, single and pregnant, and there’s no one to catch you when you fall.

It only takes a couple of days for Satoru and Suguru to worm their way back into your life. There’s only a hint of resistance before you’re falling in their arms, crying about how he could do this to you? How could he leave out of the blue like that?

You don’t get it. Nothing makes sense. If you weren’t so distraught, you might have realized the note doesn’t 100% match your husband’s handwriting. You might have realized the note doesn’t match your husband at all.

Satoru and suguru are eager to distract you from that. It’s back to status quo, accept they’re a little more touchier, a little more fussier. You watch how well they get along with your daughter. When they insist on moving into their lavish penthouse you can’t help but acquiesce.

When Suguru finally kisses you, Satoru’s eyes just as heavy, you can’t help but give in.

hey you might've lost one husband, but you gained two more:)

[chriscantwhisper]

𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼 matt blurb, soft comfort, fluff

It was sometime after 2 a.m. when your eyes fluttered open, the room too quiet, too still. The sheets beside you were cold—Matt’s side of the bed empty, already cooling from his absence. You reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing where he should’ve been, a quiet frown pulling at your lips when you felt only empty space.

You weren’t sure what woke you, but without Matt next to you, sleep wouldn’t come again.

You sat up slowly, the soft cotton of his hoodie drowning you, sleeves tugging over your hands as you wrapped them around yourself. The room still carried his scent—fresh laundry, the faintest hint of his cologne, a trace of something warm and familiar that normally lulled you to sleep. But tonight, none of it was enough.

You glanced at the clock glowing softly on the nightstand, then down the hallway where faint murmurs carried through the house. You knew exactly where he was. Knew that tone, that laugh, that little edge in his voice when he got worked up while filming videos with his brothers.

With a tired sigh, you grabbed the plush blanket off the end of the bed, draping it over your shoulders like a cape. Your feet padded quietly down the hallway, past darkened rooms and the kitchen still half-lit by the glow of the microwave clock. The deeper into the night it got, the more you just wanted Matt. You didn’t even need to talk. You just needed to feel him.

The faint sounds of bickering grew clearer as you opened the garage door and peeked inside. There they were—Chris, Nick, and Matt, piled into one of the car seats mid-video. Chris was waving his arms dramatically, Nick looked exasperated, and Matt was mid-rant, head thrown back in frustration as he argued over some trivial part of the car setup or which question they were supposed to be answering.

You stepped in quietly, the oversized blanket trailing behind you like a sleepy ghost, face flushed from the warmth of the fabric. You didn’t say a word—just opened the door of the car, where Matt sat with his arms crossed and a scowl halfway formed on his face. The camera wasn’t even rolling anymore, but their conversation hadn't let up.

Without warning, you crawled in and onto Matt’s lap, sighing softly as your body melted against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The blanket covered both of you as you curled up, cheek pressing against his chest, legs tucked beside him. His arms were instantly wrapping around you, protective and automatic.

The entire car went silent.

Matt’s head whipped down, the hard edges of his voice softening instantly as he took you in. "Baby?" he whispered, confused but already concerned, his tone gentle as his hand cradled the back of your head. You were barely conscious—sleep already tugging at your eyes, your body giving in to the warmth of his embrace.

You mumbled against his chest, voice muffled and small, “Couldn’t sleep without you…”

Matt didn’t say anything at first. He just held you tighter, his lips pressing to the top of your head. His hands moved slowly—one cupping your face, thumb brushing along your cheek in slow, calming strokes while the other pulled the blanket higher to cover your shoulders.

Chris started to say something, but Matt looked up sharply—not angrily, just firmly. “Can we finish this later?” he asked, his voice still soft, but final.

“Yeah,” Nick nodded, already reaching to turn off the camera. “Yeah, bro.”

They exited the car quietly, giving you both space, and Matt shifted slightly so you were more comfortable on him. His hand rested on your back, drawing lazy shapes through the blanket, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“You really couldn’t sleep without me?” he murmured after a few minutes, barely above a whisper.

You let out a sleepy hum, your voice thick with drowsiness. “You’re warm,” you mumbled. “And you breathe steady… makes me feel safe…”

His heart swelled. He kissed your forehead, letting the touch linger. “You always have me. Even when I’m being a dumbass yelling about cup holders,” he said quietly, trying to make you smile.

You did. Just a little.

He smiled too, brushing your hair back behind your ear and holding you close like you were the most precious thing in the world—which you were, to him.

“I’ll come to bed in a second, okay?” he whispered against your hair, already swaying with you gently. “Or maybe I’ll just fall asleep here with you.”

You didn’t answer. You were already gone, completely asleep in his arms, breathing soft and even against his chest.

And Matt… he didn’t move.

Didn’t dare disturb the way you curled into him like he was your entire world. Because to him, you were his too. And if you needed him to sit in the car all night just to help you sleep, then that’s exactly what he’d do—no questions asked. He held you tighter, letting the rest of the world melt away as you dreamed peacefully on his chest.

You were his comfort just as much as he was yours.

And in that quiet moment, wrapped in a blanket and love, everything felt exactly right.

A/N: fluff as promised!! tysm for reading I appreciate any interactions<3 pleaseee send requests in my inbox

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

dividers- @bernardsbendystraws

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys @sturniolohohoho @h3arts4harry @fratbrochrisgf @abysful @slvt4chrissturniolo @tezzzzzzzz @surfer-sturn @blushsturns @emely9274 @pasteldreams @bamsblooming @sophsturns @ilovemenwithlonghairr @sweetlikesug4rvenom @idefinitelyhateu grace-sturnz @matts-sidepiece

[erwinsvow]

imagining abbot and night shift reader after a particularly terrible loss right at seven in the morning when the day shift is coming in. like if you’re still crying from talking to the family and you both need to do your sign outs so you can go home but you just can’t move yet. so you stay outside the family room crying and the day shift people want to do something to comfort you—and it’s been a while since they’ve been able to talk to you for more than just switching out patients since you’ve switched to the night shift. and they know this feeling and they hate that you're the one going through it right now, so they stand still and exchange glances.

but before anyone can do anything else, jack comes out and ushers you to an empty room. it doesn't quite hit you then, but everyone must know, with the way that he does it so naturally, so easily. no resistance from you, like you were waiting for him to come and get you, like this is what you needed. and he lets you cry against his shirt and holds you without the watchful, questioning eyes. reminds you that this it's okay to feel their pain so severely, that you did everything you could. trying to take the burden of the loss off of your shoulders, where you've been holding it for the last hour.

he comes out first and avoids eye contact, going straight to robby, who has a puzzled expression but knows better than to say something right now. you come out a little later with red eyes, sniffling while you explain what patients you've taken back and what you're waiting for to the others. and still, no one says anything, no one even whispers a word. but when you walk out from the lockers, you're wrapped in your attending—no, your boyfriend's—jacket, and he's got his arm slung around you and you're leaning into him. he bends down a little to ask what you want to eat, because he knows you're not hungry but you need food in your body before you cry it out back at his apartment. and while the two of you walk out, you're oblivious to the dozen day-shift eyes glued to your backs.

[mirrored-muse]

OMGGG I NEED MORE SHAUNA SHIPMAN FROM YOU YOU DO HER SO RIGHTTTT

can you please do one where shauna sees reader interacting with people and is always following and staring and reader is kind of scared but shauna is just like "please dont be scared 🥺"

And they smooch 😛

ᴛᴏᴜɢʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ | ꜱ.ꜱ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1176

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ʜᴇʀ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ꜱʜɪᴘᴍᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ʜɪ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ!!! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ <3 ʟᴏᴡᴋᴇʏ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ. ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.

It starts with an unwavering stare.

Not subtle at all. Though Shauna Shipman was never the subtle type. You’d feel her eyes on you in the mornings while you stirred what passed for breakfast that day, or at night when you curled up in your blanket near the edge of camp. You caught her once, standing near the trees with her arms crossed like she was on guard duty, except the only thing she seemed interested in guarding was you.

She never said anything. Just stared at you, jaw tight, eyes hard like she was trying to figure something out.

You assumed you were next on her hit list.

Because everyone knew Shauna was the meanest girl out here. Sharp-tongued, hollow-eyed, always cold and bitter. People didn’t just talk back to her. They barely looked her in the eye. But for some reason, whenever you caught her looking, she didn’t look away.

It made you uneasy. Not because you thought she’d hurt you, if she wanted to, she would’ve done it already. No, it was the intensity of it. The way her gaze felt like it was going straight through you.

You didn’t know her well. She mostly kept to herself unless she was snapping at someone, or trying to make a point about something. You’d seen her laugh exactly once, and it was more of a scoff.

Later she started showing up wherever you were.

If you were collecting water, Shauna would be there, arms crossed, leaning against a tree, just watching you work. If you were with Akilah gathering mushrooms, or berries in the forest, Shauna would “just be out for a walk.” If you were by the fire, she’d sit nearby, silent, always facing you. If you were helping someone else, Natalie, Van, Lottie- she’d be nearby, watching, her mouth a thin line.

No one dared to say anything about it. Not to her face. They weren’t that stupid.

—

It all comes to a head late one afternoon. You’re lugging a bucket of water back to camp, sweat clinging to your skin uncomfortably when Shauna steps out from behind a tree like she was waiting for you there. Like she knew you’d pass by.

You freeze, nearly dropping the bucket.

Her eyes sweep over you, then settle on your face.

“Do you ever stop working?” she mutters, tone flat.

You blink. “I- what?”

“You’re always helping someone. Lottie. Nat. The rest of them.” Her gaze narrows. “Don’t you ever think maybe they don’t deserve it?”

You shift the weight of the bucket. “We all need each other, right?”

Shauna snorts. “That’s cute.”

She takes a step closer and you tense.

Because now she’s right in front of you, closer than she’s ever let herself get, and there’s something in her expression that pins you in place. You don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even breathe.

She notices.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she says quietly, voice low and surprisingly raw. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”

You stare at her. “You follow me around all day. I don’t even know you.”

“Yeah.” Her jaw works. “I know. That’s the problem.”

There’s a moment of silence and you’re not sure what to do. You swallow hard, looking like you’re working up the courage to ask something.

Shauna shifts, and her fingers flex at her sides like she doesn’t trust herself not to reach out.

You try to ignore the way your heart stutters in your chest.

“I don’t get you,” you say, voice quieter now. “You barely talk to anyone, but you’ve been… watching me. For weeks.”

“I know,” she says. Blunt. Unapologetic.

“Why?”

Her eyes flick down to your lips, then back up again.

And that’s when it hits you, this isn’t about suspicion, control, or even boredom. This is something else entirely.

Shauna exhales through her nose. “Because you’re the only person here who doesn’t make me want to rip my own hair out.”

You stare at her.

She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s not the most fucked-up kind of compliment you’ve ever gotten.

You want to laugh or run, maybe both.

“You’re mean to everyone,” you say.

“I know.”

“You’re mean to me, too.”

Shauna’s jaw clenches. Her voice drops, rough like gravel. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you don’t.

Because maybe you didn’t mind it. Maybe her dry little jabs, her narrowed eyes, the way she watches you like she’s memorizing your every move, maybe it made something good twist in your stomach. Maybe you liked the way she made everything else seem to fade out. Maybe you liked her.

The silence hangs, thick as the humid air around you.

Shauna steps in again, closer this time. You could touch her if you leaned forward half an inch. Her fingers brush against your wrist like she’s testing the weight of the moment.

“I’m not good at this,” she mutters.

“Talking?”

Her lips twitch, almost a smirk. “That too.”

Your chest rises, tight and fast. “What else?”

Her gaze burns.

“This.”

Then she’s kissing you.

It’s not slow, not careful, Shauna kisses like she wants to eat you, sharp, hungry, desperate. Her hands grip your jaw, her fingers digging into your cheeks, as she backs you into the nearest tree before you can think.

Your bucket hits the dirt with a dull thud.

Neither of you notice.

You gasp against her mouth, and she takes advantage of it, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees feel like they might buckle beneath your weight. She crowds into your space, palms flat against the tree on either side of your head now, caging you in like she owns you.

And god, maybe she does.

Her teeth catch your bottom lip just enough to sting, and you whimper into her mouth, clutching at the hem of her jacket like it’s the only thing holding you up.

When she finally pulls back, she’s panting. Her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks are flushed, and she looks at you like she wants to devour you whole.

You’re dazed, lips swollen, breath uneven.

Shauna’s eyes drag over your face, slow and calculating. Like she’s trying to decide what to do with you now that she has you.

You’re the first to speak, voice barely steady. “You… really don’t do subtle, do you?”

Shauna huffs, something like a laugh caught in her throat. “Didn’t think subtle was gonna work on you.”

There’s a flicker of something behind her eyes, uncertainty, maybe. But it’s gone as fast as it came.

“You okay?” she asks, but it doesn’t sound soft. It sounds like a demand. Like you better be.

“I think so,” you breathe.

Shauna’s eyes drag over your face like she’s trying to memorize your features. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not sorry.”

You blink. “I didn’t say you should be.”

She smirks. “Let’s get back to camp before the others come looking for us and ruin it.”

[ssweetreveries]

wind down | l.mk

🎧 all mine . brent faiyaz

☆ mark x reader

⋆ 18+ mdni!

⋆ word count! 1.5k

⋆ request? ✓

oneshot, nonidol!mark, afab!reader, bf!mark, softdom!mark, sub! reader, unprotected sex, a bit of dirty talk, praise, brief cumplay, mark is so so good to reader :(, creampie, fluff, use of pet names (baby), porn no plot...

synopsis. both you and your boyfriend had a long day at work, so you decide to wind down together..

likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!!

author note: i’ve been wanting to write for mark since foreverrrr!! finally here 🥹🙏 i tried to incorporate fluff and smut as per the request—im not sure how i feel about it but hopefully you like it anon, thank u for requesting<3

i apologize if there is any mistakes, this isn't proof read and english isn't my first language. enjoy!! ><

The door shut with a soft thud, the only sound indicating that Mark was back from work. It was already the late evening, his schedules having run a bit later than anticipated. He was tired, you were tired—both of you were tired after an exhausting work day.

You peaked up from the couch, watching him silently as he took off his shoes and dropped his work bag somewhere. You could see the tiredness etched on his face, the tension in his shoulders—and honestly, he looked as good as ever even like this.

He notices you staring and offers you a small smile, walking up to you and taking the space next to you on the couch. He sighs and pulls you in his lap without a word, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply.

You smile softly to yourself and play with his hair as he holds you close—basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Evenings like this were common between you and Mark—nights where both of you were too tired to do anything, just wanting the comfort of each other presence.

You stay like that for a while—at one point you even think he fell asleep, his breathing steady against your neck and his limbs unmoving if it wasn’t for his tightening grip around your waist. He mumbles something against your neck, his lips brushing your delicate skin though you can’t quite hear what he said.

“Hmm?” you pull back just slightly, gently cupping his face in your hands, “What was that, baby?” you ask him, voice just above a whisper.

He leans into your touch, a small tired smile on his lips as he mumbles again, “I missed you.”

You smile and brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead, “Mmm, I missed you too.”

He sighs and his hands start to wander up and down your sides soothingly, “You’re so pretty, (Y/N)..”

“I look horrible, Mark.” you laugh, knowing your appearance was a bit disheveled from the long day you just had.

He hums absentmindedly, hands coming to find your face and pulling you in for a sweet kiss. “Still pretty.”

You sigh, letting him have his way before pressing your lips against his once more.

Your lips move against each other, soft and lazy at first before slowly growing more passionate by the second.

His hands run through your hair before cupping your face and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. He pushes his tongue in between your lips, a satisfied moan leaving him as your tongues meddle with each other.

As the kiss deepens, his hands start to wander as well, finding solace on your waist in a possessive grip—pulling you impossibly closer. He breaks the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, and you can feel his hardening erection pressing against you as the intensity of the moment escalates.

His hips buck a bit, grinding his hardening length against you, a low moan escaping his throat. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping you tightly.

His kisses become more heated, more desperate—all the pent up stress from his day coming out with his rushed movements and you bite your lip at his eagerness.

He bites down gently on your neck, sucking a bit to leave a hickey—his hands squeezing your ass. He's so hard now that it's uncomfortable, and he knows he needs to be inside you soon.

Without breaking the kiss, he stands up suddenly, ignoring the ache in his calves from the intense hours spent in rehearsal—carrying you with him.

Mark drops you onto the bed, careful not to hurt you. His eyes are dark with lust and frustration from his long day as he climbs over you. "I need you, baby, please." He whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

"You have me, Markie." you whisper back, hand caressing his cheek and that's all he needs—

He gently pushes your legs apart, and quickly makes work of his pants, freeing his thick, hard length.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches you removing your sleep shorts and panties, revealing your bare pussy. He groans a bit at the sight of you spread out before him, so ready and waiting for his cock.

"Fuck, baby, so wet already," he rasps, voice thick with need as he brings a hand to your core, running a finger down your folds and pushing his thumb in your aching hole—before pulling back and bringing his thumb to your lips, smearing your arousal on your bottom lip. "Open,"

You do—letting him push his digit in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it just like you know he wants. He groans, both satisfied and aroused at the sight.

He pulls his hand away and replaces his finger with his tongue. "I need you now, baby, I can't wait.." he whispers against your lips.

And you know you can't resist your boyfriend—not when he's whispering those filthy words so sweetly against your skin. Not that you'd deny him any way.

"I want you," you assure him, fingers playing with his hair.

Mark pulls back, gripping himself tightly, giving his cock a few hard strokes before positioning himself at your entrance.

"I love you" he whispers softly, barely audible before pushing inside you in one swift motion—his thick length filling you completely. He lets out a low moan, his head falling back as he savors the feeling of being inside you again.

He starts moving his hips immediately, thrusting into you with hard slow strokes. "Fuck, I missed this pussy,"

You whine a bit and clench involuntarily at his dirty words.

Mark starts slow at first, giving long, hard thrusts that hit deep inside you. But as his arousal grows, his patience runs thin. He picks up the pace slamming into you faster and harder. His balls slapping against your ass with each thrust—nasty sounds filling the room.

"Fuck, baby, so good," he rasps, "missed this, missed you." He leans down to capture your lips into a deep, searing kiss.

You moan against his mouth, doing your best to kiss him back as he continues his unrelentless thrusts. "M-missed you t-too— Fuck, Mark—!"

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he thrusts into you mercilessly. He buries his face in your chest, muffling his loud groans. He's so close already, the stress and tension from his day making him feel like he might explode any second.

Despite his own impending release, he manages to slow down his pace momentarily, focusing on hitting that spot inside you that drives you wild. His fingers dig into your hips as he grinds against you, desperately trying to make you cum before he loses control.

You let out a breathless moan, back arching as he hits your sweet spot just right.

He feels you clench around him as he hits that perfect spot inside you over and over again—one of his hand coming down to rub your clit in firm circles, knowing exactly how to touch you to get you there. His own cock twitches inside you as he feels your orgasm approaching.

After a few more thrusts and the extra attention to your clit you throw your head back and moan loudly as you reach your climax—your pussy tightening around him like a vice.

A low moan leaves his lips at the feel of your walls clamping around his length and starts fucking into you again, hips snapping to yours with no restraint, chasing his own orgasm.

His thrust become desperate and erratic—burying himself to the hilt inside you. "Fuck, gonna c-cum, baby—"

He buries his face in your neck as he finally reaches his peak with one hard, final thrust. His cock pulses inside you, shooting hot ropes of cum deep in your overstimulated pussy.

He keeps thrusting through his orgasm—your body shuttering, hands clenching the sheets tightly as he draws out every last drop. "Fuck.. fuck.." he pants heavily against your shoulder.

Then he pulls back to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips. He remains buried deep inside you, feeling his cock twitch with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, "Are you okay, baby?" he asks softly.

You offer him a hum and a small nod—a small, tired smile of your own playing on your lips.

He leans down to kiss your forehead softly, cock still buried inside you. He knows you must be exhausted, so he doesn't move too much, giving you time to recover.

After a moment, he pulls out slowly, feeling his cum leak out of you but he doesn't care—he lets his body weight slowly settle on top of yours, mindful not to crush you as he nuzzles his face in your neck and presses a soft kiss to your collarbone.

His voice is low and gentle as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, praising you and the way you make him feel. "So good, baby, so perfect, just for me." He mumbles against you. "Mmm, love you so much.."

© ssweetreveries follow for more!

asks are always open for anything! ♡

[egophiliac]

How do you draw your high contrast, shape-y pieces? I’ve tried something similar but it always end up off, any recommendations on brushes or exercises that could help with improvement?

(I wasn't sure what part was giving you trouble, so this is sorta an all-over smattering 😅 hopefully some of it helps!)

• the kind of brushes don't really matter, just what you're comfortable with using! more chisel-shaped or calligraphy-style brushes might be harder to control strokes with though. I do personally like using brushes that are like...Mostly Round But With a Little Grit to 'Em!

• work at a higher size and/or resolution than your final size (I usually work at ~3x final size). scaling down will smooth out little imperfections and some of the little aliasing weirdness that comes from raster transformations (scale/rotate/etc.)

• drawing with your arm, as in moving from your elbow while keeping your wrist pretty still, makes big smooth curves much easier (you can also go from the shoulder for BIG movements)

• most drawing programs will let you rotate the canvas -- drawing downward strokes tend to be easier to control (extra cheat: if a stroke is proving troublesome, I'll sometimes draw it as best I can on a new layer, move/rotate it into the exact position I want, and then merge it down again)

• instead of trying to draw a super precise shape and fill it in, I usually draw a bigger, shittier shape, and then use an eraser or layer mask to kinda chisel it into the shape I want:

• Always Check Your Values -- especially if you're finding your colors feel kinda muddy or not contrast-y enough, it's a good idea to make sure there's contrast in the light/dark as well as the hue/saturation! I usually have an adjustment layer set to 0 saturation that I keep on top of my document, and just periodically toggle on and off to check. (there's some debate about the most accurate way to check values, but this works well enough for high-contrast solid blocks of color.)

• on the same note, instead of using pure grayscale colors, particularly full black (#000000) and white (#FFFFFF), adding a little bit of color into them can give you a richer, more interesting and more cohesive result.

(and even when using pure grays, using slightly "off" from full black and white can be more interesting! and it's not to say DON'T use black and white and gray, more just...use them thoughtfully, instead of by default?)

• color thumbs/sketches/roughs, whatever you want to call them. people get SO weird at me about these for some reason, but they're literally just...a little sketch of figuring out colors before you start painting. they don't have to be final or detailed or any good or whatever, it's just to get a starting idea! working super fast and loose especially helps to get out of the mindset of Doing A Good Drawing and more into messing around with shapes and negative space and all that fun stuff. :> then later you can focus on the Doing A Good Drawing part, without having to also think too hard about the other stuff.

• Keep It Simple -- 100% the hardest part. I have absolutely not mastered this in any way. 💀 it's SO easy to overwork this style and end up too detailed/too unfocused/just too much going on -- half the time I spend on these things is just adding details -> squinting at it for a couple of minutes -> erasing all the details again. you gotta keep in mind that it's about getting an idea across more than anything else, and when it comes to that, less is almost always more!

(this is one of the reasons I sometimes make myself use SUPER restricted palettes; when you only have three colors, it forces you to really think about what's important to show and how to leave things implied. ✌️)

[abbyanderstrap]

wholesome / soft!abby learning how to do things simply because she loves you. (modern au) ✿

━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━

It was late, just past midnight and the apartment had gone still. You had gone to bed an hour ago, after gently insisting Abby didn't need to stay up finishing the laundry.

But Abby had stayed up anyway.

Not because of laundry.

Because earlier that evening, while brushing your hair out after a shower, you had said offhandedly,

"I've always wanted to learn how to do a proper French braid, but I can never get the hand placement right."

You hadn't meant it as a request. Just one of those things people say when they're sleepy and relaxed, idly untangling their hair in the glow of lamplight.

But it had stuck in Abby's chest in that quiet, persistent way things did when they mattered.

And now she was sitting on the living room rug, her laptop open in front of her, a tutorial video paused on a smiling woman holding a mannequin head.

Abby's fingers were wrapped awkwardly around a sad-looking practice braid made from yarn she'd pulled out of an old craft box. Her brows were knit together in deep focus.

"Under, over... no-under again? Shit."

She rewound the video, watching the woman's hands again. Her own hands were big, too clumsy, and this yarn was too slippery, but she was determined. You deserved something soft.

Something delicate. Something that said, I listen. I care. I want to do this for you.

Eventually, after the third or fourth video and countless redos, she got the rhythm. Her fingers started to move with more confidence, more grace.

It still wasn't perfect, but it looked like something.

Like effort. Like love.

She stared down at the wonky braid, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

A shadow appeared in the hallway- you, sleepy and wrapped in a blanket, blinking at the light.

"Abs? What are you doing?"

Abby froze. "I-nothing. Go back to bed."

You pad closer, crouching beside her and squinting at the yarn.

"..Is that a braid?"

Abby rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. "I was... practicing. You said you never learned, so l thought-maybe I could. So I can do it for you."

You stared at her for a beat too long, eyes glassy with the kind of affection that makes your chest ache.

Then you leaned forward and kissed her-soft, sleepy, so full of warmth it almost hurt.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured against Abby's lips.

𓂃₊ ⊹

Later that same week, you walked into the living room to find Abby half-inside the laundry closet, surrounded by the scattered innards of the dryer.

"Should I be worried?" you asked, setting your keys down.

Abby's voice echoed from inside the machine.

"Only mildly. It was making that squeaky noise again. I watched like, five repair videos. I think it's just the belt."

You squint at her. "You hate mechanical stuff."

"Yeah, well. You said you hate calling repair guys even more." Abby slid out, grease smudged across her cheek. "Figured I'd try."

You crossed your arms, trying not to smile. "I’m starting to think you can fix anything."

Later that night, the dryer spun without a sound, just the hum of warm air and fresh laundry.

There were no grand declarations. No elaborate gestures.

Just glue, orbit wires, a silenced squeaky dryer, and the quiet, steady rhythm of loving someone by showing up - over and over again.