#that is getting me thinking though like...

[thebibliosphere]

My husband and I were discussing how the first felon is defending the FDA and how the quality control of our food is gonna basically disappear and I proceeded to have so much anxiety about it that I didn't sleep last night. How do we prepare for this? Is there a way to make food safe at home? How can we avoid getting poisoned from the grocery store? Sorry for bringing this anxiety to your inbox but I'm exhausted and scared and I'm hoping you've come up with food safety tips what with your general food complications.

I’m afraid I don’t have a solution for something of this scale and am just as equally terrified, but that said:

Check your local state regulations. Some states actually have strict testing that the FDA when it comes to certain things like milk. See if they are listing any recalls.

Stop eating things raw for the foreseeable future. Wash and cook everything thoroughly, even if the bag claims it’s pre-washed, wash it again. Cooking will also help eliminate any remaining pathogens. It means no more salads for a while but that’s okay.

For things like fruit, try to go with things that have an outer skin that can be taken off. If it requires you to cut into it with a knife, give the outer skin a scrub and rinse to reduce the chances of your knife being contaminated by anything like e-coli and then contaminating the insides by cutting it up.

For fruit that can’t be peeled, make sure to inspect and wash them thoroughly. If you are immunocompromised like me, consider cooking it down into a jam or pie filling to reduce further risk. Not as fun as eating it fresh for some people, but it’s a valid way of still getting the flavor and nutrients.

For things like milk, only drink pasteurized and ultra pasteurized. Try to get pasteurized eggs if you can too.

If you don’t have a meat thermometer, now is the time to get one. Make sore everything is cooked to its required internal temperature. For poultry, the recommended temperature is 165°F (74°C), while for beef and pork, the recommended temperature is 145°F (63°C) with a 3-minute rest time. Ground meats should be cooked to 160°F (71°C). Eggs should be cooked until the yolk is set. No more runny egg yolks for a bit until we get a competent source of information back about bird flu.

For things like flour, try to go for reputable brands that have their own independent testing facilities for things like gluten. They also usually test for other things and clean their facilities thoroughly. My go to is King Arthur atm.

Also, stop eating raw cookie dough if you’re not going to toast the flour in the oven first. That’s how a lot of people get sick, not necessarily from the raw egg, though stop eating raw egg right now if you do. Again, bird flu. [Addendum] I learned the flour trick in a job I used to work, but apparently, the pre-defunded FDA didn't think toasting the flour made it safe, so maybe just don't eat raw cookie dough. And I know someone's going to be a cunt in the notes like "I don't care I do what I want" good for you, hope saying that made you feel better.]

This is a dwindling possibility with the tariffs but try to buy food imported from other countries that still have food quality control. I get my masa harina from a small company that imports directly from Colombia. They can’t afford the gluten free label required to be classified as such in the USA, but considering Cheerios in the USA can afford to buy that label and the celiac foundation certification logo and still routinely sells contaminated produce due to not using gluten free oats and a mechanical sorting system that can’t be certified gluten free (1) (2) (3), I’m more inclined to go with other countries labeling right now.

With clean water under threat, use a filter for your drinking water. We currently use the ones by Life Straw. They don’t fit into your faucet but the LS filters are better than most of the ones that can be attached that way and the housing of the jugs and countertop filters are easy to clean. Make sure you do so once a week and change the filters as directed.

Most of this is just basic food hygiene stuff combined with what it’s like to be immunocompromised, but it’s always worth repeating in case someone didn’t know, but especially worth repeating right now with all our rules and regulating bodies going out the window 😞

[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[quarterlifekitty]

Had this thought… Simon who starts dating reader but her son 14-18 (older teen) is hella protective of her. Simon sees himself in the kid and is incredibly proud of the boy, caring for his mum and being all “You have to get through me to get to her.” So Simon’s gotta win the kid over first THEN the reader? 👀

I love this idea because like

Regardless of her own shortcomings as a parent, Simon’s mom still tried. She wanted his life to be good. And he definitely saw her, on more than one occasion, bawling even though she tried so hard to never let him see. Because she wanted him to be a baby boy for just a little longer— she wasn’t ready to see the weight of the world tearing him down by the shoulders. She cried because there was never enough. Not of anything. Food to put on the table, money in the bank, his father’s patience, time to keep the house and raise her boys, the energy to do the simplest things in the world. Not enough of herself left to give away to those she always put first.

So yeah, if you badmouthed Simon’s mom when he was in school? You’d be lucky getting away with a black eye.

And if there’s anything Simon loves, it’s instinct. He likes your son. He really does like that your son sees him as a potential threat, as a point of caution. Simon probably barely got out a “Not tryna replace your da-“ before your son was like “I don’t give a fuck about that. You stay away from my mom.”

He doesn’t like that you’ve been hurt before. That you have a son that thinks he needs to protect you— that he’s had to live a life on edge because he’s seen so much happen to you. But he can relate. And he’s happy you had someone to depend on. That your son doesn’t lack the courage to stand up to people for you.

And honestly? Loyalty goes both ways. I’ve always found that trope in movies, where a parent is going to remarry someone their kid doesn’t like, to be strange. I think for most single parents, if the kid doesn’t like you, it’s a non-starter. Do you know your son is probably a little overly defensive? Yes. But you also love him before anyone else. If there’s a man he really can’t abide? That’s not gonna be the man for you.

I think Simon wins your son through the mundane. Doing things that are just plain not fun, but necessary parts of life. Just taking things off of your plate. Filling your forms, making appointments, picking up groceries, fixing things around the house— the very ordinary and unromantic parts of cohabitation and long term relationships.

It starts chipping when Simon drives to pick up your son from a friend’s house after a sleepover.

“Why’re you here?”

“So your mum could sleep in today.”

That shuts him up right quick.

He’s gone through life seeing people take from you until barely anything was left for yourself. Spoonfuls of honey taken from your soul until you were empty. So he starts to soften when there seems to be a man ready to give you some of himself without greedily taking more of you.

[heartfullofleeches]

"Hey, V- If I made a mini plushie me to keep you company while I'm gone, what would you do with it?"

Your partner gazes up at the ceiling fan as he leans back in his chair, concentration prevalent on their face as thoughts spiral in his mind.

"Fuck it, probably."

The airy weight in your arms turns to stone. You swallow your apprehension with a tight lipped smile. "Is that honestly your first thought?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You want me to take it out to dinner first? Want me to buy it flowers?" V clasps his hands together- the mocking, sing-song tone of their defaulting to its original neutrality as he continues.

"Though- I guess you do have a point. Its more like a 70-80% chance. 90 depending on what you're wearing."

"It's a plushie, V!"

"That looks like you? We've already established you're all I think about all day. Don't hand me something that looks like you and expect me not to want to stick my dick in it.

You sigh- There really is no getting through that thick skull of his.

"So? What are you hiding behind your back??

Your muscles lock in place, fingers drilling into the squishy face of your doppelganger. "W-who? Me?- Nothing! Nothing at all."

"You're clearly hiding something. You've been standing there the whole time with your hands behind your back."

You take a step back. Then another... And another.

"Y/n. Don't walk away from me. Is if for me? Hey- I swear to God if you start running-"

[maskedbyghost]

Hear me out, possessive reader plays a prank, or maybe to see how it would work out and starts acting wayyy less possessive, to the point of being a normal partner..

I NEED SI REACTION

Anon, I love your fucking mind. I had the best time writing this, literally giggling and kicking my feet while imagining Simon spiraling because his crazy girl went "normal mode" on him and he couldn’t handle it for even a second. BASED ON THIS IDEA

You barely looked at him when the waitress called him handsome.

You just smiled to yourself and kept sipping your drink, didn’t glare at her, didn’t grab his hand and lace your fingers through his, didn’t scoot closer in your seat or wrap your arms around him like you used to, and Simon sat there blinking at you like he’d just been slapped across the face.

And then when you walked past a group of girls at the grocery store and one of them giggled and said something about his arms, you didn’t even flinch, didn’t even frown, didn’t even murmur something low and territorial under your breath the way you always did, and Simon actually almost tripped over the cart trying to get a reaction out of you, heart hammering so hard.

You used to get pissed if he so much as looked at another woman too long, used to give him that smug little smirk when you caught someone staring at him, used to lean into him and press your mouth to his ear and mutter "mine" so dark and low that it left him shivering for hours, and now? Now you were just... chill.

Way too chill.

He caught himself thinking insane things like maybe you were losing interest, maybe you were getting ready to leave, maybe you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you, maybe you were pulling away slow and silent to make it easier when you walked out for good, and by the time you got home, Simon’s brain was working overtime, replaying every interaction, every glance, every smile you had given that wasn’t just for him, every time you hadn't touched him when you should have.

You didn’t steal his hoodie when he tossed it on the couch.

You didn’t scroll through his phone and make snarky comments about the girls who liked his photos.

You didn’t pull into his lap when he sat down to watch TV.

You didn’t tell him to shower because he "smelled like other people," which he always secretly loved, even though he rolled his eyes and grumbled about it every time.

You just... existed next to him.

Detached.

Simon sat there on the couch while you scrolled on your phone, completely casual, legs tucked under you, not touching him at all, and he was spiraling so badly he almost convinced himself he could physically see the relationship disintegrating in real time, piece by miserable piece.

He thought about asking if you still loved him.

He thought about proposing on the spot just to lock you down before you could change your mind.

He thought about texting Johnny and asking him if it was normal to feel like your entire world was slipping out from under you because your girlfriend wasn’t being a possessive lunatic for five seconds.

Finally, when you stood up and stretched and said, "I'm gonna head to bed" without even glancing at him, without even saying goodnight or trying to drag him with you, Simon couldn’t take it anymore.

He launched off the couch and followed you, heart pounding like he was about to get left behind at the airport or something, stomach twisted into a knot.

You climbed into bed and flipped onto your side, facing away from him like it was nothing, like you hadn’t spent months curling around him like a vine the second he lay down.

He just stood there at the foot of the bed, breathing way too hard for a normal human being, feeling an honest-to-God panic attack brewing in his chest.

"Love," he said, his voice way shakier than he wanted it to be.

You didn’t even roll over. "Hmm?"

He swallowed hard, hands fisting at his sides. "You don’t want me anymore."

You snorted. Actually snorted. "What are you talking about?"

Simon clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. "You—you’re not even—you didn’t get mad when that girl flirted with me. You didn’t steal my hoodie. You didn’t call me yours even once. You’re acting like we’re—" his voice cracked and he cursed under his breath, "—like we’re normal."

You turned slowly, propping yourself up on your elbow, and the look you gave him was so infuriatingly calm he almost burst into tears on the spot.

"You mean," you said, so evenly it made his eye twitch, "like a normal girlfriend who trusts her boyfriend?"

He stared at you, chest heaving, entire body screaming at him that something was wrong.

"You’re gonna leave me," he said, absolutely sure of it, absolutely certain this was the beginning of the end.

You blinked at him for a second, like you were trying very hard not to laugh in his stupid, panicking face, and then you moved so fast he barely had time to react—you were grabbing him by the front of his shirt, hauling him down onto the bed, straddling his hips, and pinning him there with your thighs as your hands locked around his neck, firm but not tight, just enough to make him shut up and listen.

"Listen to me, you stupid, beautiful man," you said, voice low and furious in that way that made every nerve in his body light up, "you need me just as much as I need you. You belong to me. You hear me? You are fucking mine. I’m not going anywhere; I’m never fucking leaving you. I don't want normal; I want you wrapped around my fucking finger where you belong. Don’t ever doubt that again."

You leaned in closer, your nose brushing his, your hands still gripping his neck just enough to keep him pinned under you, and you added, your voice dropping even lower, smug and wicked, "And maybe I wanted you to lose your fucking mind for a bit. Wanted you to see how much you love it when I’m unhinged about you."

Simon just exhaled like he’d been punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time, his whole body sagging against the bed.

He groaned, almost whining, burying his face against your chest with a muffled, desperate, "Fuckin’ hell, don’t ever do that to me again, you psycho."

But his arms were wrapping around you like steel, holding you so tight, and when you laughed and tugged his hair gently, he actually sighed in relief, like his whole world had finally clicked back into place.

"You’re crazy," he muttered again, not even trying to sound annoyed, his voice almost grateful.

"You love it," you said against his hair, grinning wide enough your cheeks hurt.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice raw and low and real, "yeah, I fuckin’ do. I need you crazy. Need you to ruin me a little. Keep me yours."

You kissed the side of his head, smug and sweet and savage all at once, and Simon just kept breathing you in, letting that awful gnawing terror bleed out of him one slow second at a time until there was nothing left but you, your hands, your voice, your body wrapped around him like armor, pulling him deeper, anchoring him exactly where he belonged.

And he was fine, better than fine actually, and exactly where he needed to be.

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

i can't even explain how much i love this idea...

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

[bloomiize]

perv/gooner!jake is gross and he's gotten even worse

READ PART ONE HERE (not needed but it adds context)

perv!jake finally asks for your instagram when you're paired up for a project. It’s not like he doesn’t already know it by heart. Not like he hasn’t jerked off to every single one of your posts. Not like he wasn’t drooling over that innocent little selfie you posted last night. He just wants you to know he exists now. And you happily exchange Instagrams with him like it’s nothing.

perv!jake tells his roommate everything. He asks for advice on how to get closer to you, more specifically, how he could get his dick wet.

"She sounds hot. If you ever wanna recreate that hentai scene, let me know." Jake and his roommate have always joked around about sex, but this time it felt real. Too real. His dick is already begging to be touched at the thought of fucking you, he doesn't mind if he isn't the only one.

perv!jake made an effort to get to know you. Your favourite colour, the way you like your coffee, the songs you hum when you're zoning out. He also knows how you always tug your skirt down when you think it’s ridden up too high, not high enough in his opinion. How you're so naive to just bend over without thinking, right in front of him. He knows you prefer lacy panties over thongs, soft and girly, the kind he imagines peeling off you with his teeth. He’s memorized you. Every inch. Every habit. Every sound you make.

perv!jake likes how close you two are now. You always invite him over to study, to work on the project like good classmates. And yeah, maybe he’s looked through your drawers when you’re in the kitchen. Maybe he’s taken a not-so-innocent glance at your laundry basket, eyes locked on the crumpled pair of panties sitting right on top.

He’s thought about it.

Pocketing a bra, a pair of panties, hell—even a sock. Just something. Anything that smells like you. Feels like you. Something he can wrap around his fist while he jerks off to the thought of your soft little voice saying his name.

It’s disgusting. He knows that. Still doesn’t stop him.

perv!jake can never make it halfway through the door without his dick twitching. Can you really blame him, though? You’re always wearing a tiny tank top, no bra, and he can see everything. Your shorts, if you can even call them that, barely cover your ass, riding up with every step you take. Jake nearly cums in his pants right then and there.

perv!jake helps you solve a complicated problem, and you light up like he’s the smartest boy in the world. As a sign of your appreciation, you hug him, tight, soft, your tits pressing right up against his chest like it's nothing.

And he moans.

Quiet. Slips out before he can even think. You don’t seem to notice. You just keep smiling, thanking him like you can't feel something hard pressed against you. His dick’s already leaking, he can feel it.

He clears his throat, cheeks red. “I- uh, I’m not really feeling the best. I think I’m gonna head out early.”

You pout, sweet and worried, and offer to get him some water, maybe let him lie down, hoping he'll stay a bit longer. But he’s already opening the door.

Because he needs to get home. Now. He’s seconds from cumming in his pants, and he knows once he’s alone he’s gonna jerk it to the feeling of your tits against him—again and again until he’s lightheaded and shaking.

gooner!jake cant stop thinking about you, or more specifically, your tits. Its hard not to when they're so perfect. Soft, warm, and pushed against him when you hugged. He swears you did it on purpose, not that he minds. He can't stop fucking the panties he took from your apartment a few days ago when you had him over, surely you didn't notice they went missing. They're dirty and sticky from his fluids but he can't stop, he wont stop. Jake's not proud of it but this is the closest he's getting to fucking your perfect pussy.

gooner!jake got a call from you in the middle of edging himself for the third time tonight.

"Hey! Did you make it home okay? You left in a hurry and you said you weren't feeling well..." Your voice rings through his head. He's gripping his dick tighter now, still moving his hand up and down. He can't just cum immediently to the sound of your voice, that would be so embarrassing. He has to last longer for you.

"Y-yeah I made it home fine. T-thanks" Jake's holding back moans. It's disgusting how even when he's on the phone he won't stop. He cock is throbbing in agony, he's been edging himself non stop and he so desperately wants to cum, to feel you, to fill you up.

"You don't sound sound okay Jakey, you should've just stayed. I would've taken care of you." You say it so innocently that Jake loses it. He lets out a groan and thrusts his hips violently into his hand. Jake knows your panties are ruined by him but it doesn't stop him from shoving it into his mouth, pretending he's tasting your sweet cunt against his dirty tongue

How could you just say that so casually? Calling him Jakey? Saying you would've taken care of him?

You have no idea what you do to him.

"f-f-fuck y/n. I want you so fucking b-bad." It slips out of Jake's mouth before he realizes it.

"Walking around with those t-tiny shorts. I should've just be-bent you over." His brain is practically gone at this point, all he cares about is cumming. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head while his hand moves furiously. He's moaning loudly enough that you could hear him through the phone. He doesn't care anymore; he wants to be gross for you, if you'd let him.

"I'm go-gonna cum, fu-fuck!" His hips sputtered into his fist and thick, hot ropes of cum sprayed all over his phone. He's oversentive from edging himself nonstop, brain completely empty and dick still hard.

gooner!jake realizes that you were still on the phone, you didn't hang up. Before he can apologize, your small voice comes out,

a whimper.

Are you... are you touching yourself to him right now?

from bloomiize: tysm for reading the first part!! I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to ask for a part 2, let alone enjoy my writing 😭 I was super nervous posting >< but your support means everything!! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for part 3 !!

taglist (OMG I HAVE A TAGLIST?!?! if you commented on part 1 I tagged you, lmk if you wanna be removed! ^^)

@femmefqtqle @seobinghard @maysshade @dark-moon-light02 @jjongsies @nikismyprincesses @iaaespa @heeseungsbm @shy9-29

[marscardigan]

after midnight

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: turns out having your girlfriend as a neighbor might have its pros.

word count: 5.6k

The bell above the record store door chimed as you stepped inside, the off-key jingle already familiar. That comforting scent of old CDS, wood polish, and faint incense hit you instantly—Ellie’s world, lived in and real, and lately? A place you’d started thinking of as your favorite part of the day.

Your eyes scanned the shop, smiling instantly when you spotted her behind the counter. Ellie was bent over a stack of records, tongue peeking out between her lips as she scribbled some price tags. She was in her usual uniform—baggy flannel, sleeves pushed to her elbows, her tattooed forearm lazily resting against the register. Her hair was a little tousled, cheeks flushed like she’d been rushing around, and she was mouthing lyrics to whatever was playing softly overhead—Pixies, if you were hearing it right.

You leaned against the counter. "Hey, pretty girl."

Ellie jumped slightly, then quickly smoothed out her expression—though the pink in her cheeks deepened instantly. "You’re gonna give me a heart attack doing that," she mumbled, but her eyes sparkled as she took you in. "Also… hey."

"Missed me much?"

Ellie tried to act chill, but her smirk betrayed her. "Nah. I’ve had a great time reorganizing punk bands alphabetically. Living the dream."

"She’s lying," Jesse called out from the back. "She changed her shirt three times this morning."

"Dude," Ellie hissed.

You turned your grin toward Jesse, who was leaning out from behind one of the shelves with a box of used records. "Seriously?"

"She tried to wear the black one, then the gray one, then the black one again. I told her it didn’t matter, but apparently it really matters what you wear when your girlfriend comes by."

Ellie groaned and dropped her head to the counter. "I will kill you."

Jesse shrugged, unfazed. "Not before I write a song about this moment and play it in your funeral slideshow."

You laughed, leaning closer to Ellie’s crumpled form. "So… black shirt, huh?"

Her voice was muffled against the countertop. "I thought you liked the black one."

"I do." You reached up and gently tugged the collar of her flannel, teasing. "But I like you flustered even more."

Ellie sat up, squinting at you. "You’re evil."

You just gave her your most innocent smile.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms and pretending to lean back casually, "well if you’re gonna come in here looking like that—"

"Like what?"

"You know what," she muttered, her voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

Jesse groaned from the back again. "If you two start making out on the counter, I’m calling your mom."

"I like her mom," Ellie shot back.

"Yeah, and her mom likes me more. Be afraid."

You choked on your laugh as Ellie blinked, betrayed. "What—"

"She follows me on Instagram," Jesse added smugly, vanishing back into the jazz section.

"Unreal," Ellie muttered.

You brushed your fingers against hers on the counter. "I think he might be my favorite coworker of yours."

"I am your favorite coworker!" Jesse yelled without missing a beat.

Ellie just stared at you, that little soft look settling back on her face. "He is a pain, I will give that, but… he likes you. A lot."

"Clearly." You bumped your knee against hers. "You jealous?"

Ellie raised a brow, her lips twitching. "You want me to be?"

"Maybe," you replied sweetly. "You’re cute when you get all huffy."

Ellie leaned in just a little, her voice low and teasing. "If you want me to get huffy, you’re gonna have to flirt with someone hotter than Jesse."

After a while, Ellie disappeared into the back and returned with something wrapped in brown paper.

"I got this for you," she said, suddenly a little shy again, eyes flicking to yours and then away. "Didn’t know if you had it, but I... I thought of you when I saw it."

You opened the paper gently—and gasped.

It was a first press vinyl. An artist you’d mentioned only once, months ago, during a late night cuddle session on her couch. She must’ve remembered.

Your voice came out soft. "Ellie…"

"It’s not a big deal," she said quickly, playing with her fingers nervously. "It’s kind of scratched, but I cleaned it up. Should play fine. Just figured…"

You were already throwing your arms around her neck.

She froze for a beat, then melted into you, her hand finding the small of your back instinctively.

"You’re unbelievable," you whispered.

Ellie buried her face in your shoulder, voice muffled. "You say that like it’s a good thing."

You pulled back enough to kiss her cheek, right below her freckle. "It is."

From the back, Jesse made a gagging sound, but neither of you moved away.

The rest of the day went slow and sweet. You stayed until closing, perched behind the register on the stool, flipping through albums while Ellie teased you with music trivia.

She got bolder as the afternoon stretched on—resting her hand on your thigh beneath the counter, brushing her fingers over yours whenever she walked by, low murmurs in your ear that made your chest flutter every time.

You were trying not to psych yourself out too much. Really, you were. You were just going to hang out withe Ellie’s best friends, Jesse and Dina. You already knew Jesse. He was easy. Friendly. Teased Ellie in a way that made you feel instantly included.

But Dina… Well. You’d seen her that morning in the hallway, laughing with Ellie like something out of a damn romcom movie. Cool haircut and easy smile. You didn’t even mean to assume anything, but the image had branded itself into your brain and stayed there for a while.

And now Ellie had invited you to a little movie night at her place. Just the four of you. She’d been smiling, nervous and adorable, when she asked. 'She has been bugging me to meet you. Not in a weird way. Just—she’s just curious. You’re important.' You melted on the spot. Obviously had to say yes.

But now, with the microwave humming behind you and your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your hoodie—Ellie’s hoodie—you were bracing yourself for impact.

"Stop looking like you’re about to be sacrificed," Ellie said as she grabbed a drink from the fridge. She was dressed with a faded band tee and sweatpants, her freckles dusted pink with amusement.

"I’m not," you said, not very convincing. "I just—what if Dina hates me?"

Ellie frowned, slightly offended. "Why the hell would Dina hate you?"

You shrugged, and she gave you the Ellie Look. The one that meant you’re being ridiculous, but I also kind of love it. Then, softer: "She’s gonna love you." Then, quickly—"Not like that. I mean—love, like—fuck, you know what I mean."

You laughed, cheeks hot. "You're really bad at calming people down."

"I try my best," she mumbled, nudging your hand with hers. "C’mon. They’re almost here."

The knock came five minutes later, followed by the familiar voice of Jesse shouting through the door, "Ellie! I brought snacks and our combined bad taste in movies!"

Ellie pulled the door open and Jesse walked in like he owned the place, a bag of chips tucked under one arm and a six-pack in the other. "Hey, stranger," he grinned at you, giving you a one-armed hug. "Looking dangerously cozy tonight."

You laughed, giving him a warm smile. "I dressed up for the occasion."

He turned to Ellie. "So, you finally let her wear your real hoodie, huh? What happened to 'this one’s sacred?"

Ellie blushed furiously. "Shut up, Dude."

Then you heard another voice behind him. "Hi! Sorry, I made us stop to pet a cat. Totally worth it though." You looked up—and there she was. Dina. Radiant, cool, confident. And already giving you a warm smile like you were old friends.

You froze for half a second, caught between smile like a normal human for fuck’s sake and panic. Ellie watched your face like she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

Dina stepped forward and held out a hand. "You must be the neighbor. Ellie’s been hopelessly annoying about you."

Ellie groaned, face-palming behind you, and Jesse cackled. "It’s true. Still a loser."

Dina added, "I already feel like I know you. You’re basically a character in the group chat."

That made you laugh, the nerves slowly melting away. "Oh god. Hopefully a flattering character?"

"Absolutely!" Dina answered. "Though I do have questions about how you fell for the grumpy music goblin."

"Rude—"

Dina just winked and took your arm. "C’mon, you’re helping me with the popcorn. I need to know everything."

The kitchen turned into your safe zone. You and Dina hit it off shockingly fast—she was funny, warm, a little chaotic in the way that made you laugh constantly. Within ten minutes, she was mock-interviewing you while stirring cheese sauce for nachos.

Dina opened every cabinet in Ellie’s kitchen, grabbing ingredients and tossing them onto the counter. "We’re doing nachos. And maybe pizza."

She passed you a knife and a cutting board, then nudged her hip into yours like the two of you had done this a hundred times before. "So." She glanced at you sideways while dicing tomatoes. "Ellie’s been a wreck since she met you.”

You snorted. "I seriously doubt that."

"Nope. Total disaster. She’d come into work all flustered, humming Green Day like she’s in high school again."

You glanced toward the living room. “Does she always hum Green Day?”

"Only when she’s in a mood," Dina said, mock-serious. "Like, full-on love-sick loser behavior."

You giggled, cheeks warm. "You’re really selling her, wow."

"She’s got layers. Like an onion. Or a tortured lesbian lasagna."

You nearly dropped the knife from laughing. "A tortured lesbian lasagna?"

Dina grinned, clearly proud of herself. "It’s canon now."

You leaned against the counter, biting back a smile. "You’re not what I expected, honestly."

"Oh?" She looked curious. "What did you expect?"

You hesitated, then gave a sheepish shrug. “I kinda… thought you and Ellie were dating.”

Dina blinked, then burst out laughing. "Me? God no. We tried kissing once in freshman year and it was like making out with my cousin."

"Oh my god."

"She made this weird sound with her nose," Dina added, pointing at the bridge of her own. "Like, nnchh—I can’t explain it. Traumatizing."

You doubled over in laughter. "You’re insane."

"And you’re adorable," Dina shot back, poking your arm. "I kinda get Ellie now."

You looked down, trying not to grin too hard.

"I’ve never seen her this soft. She’s usually all 'grr I don’t feel emotions unless they’re in minor chords.'"

You snorted. "She’s been very—sweet."

"Sweet?" Dina wiggled her eyebrows. "Did she show you her little CD shrine yet?"

"…Maybe."

"Then yeah, it’s over for her."

You were giggling over the counter with Dina when Jesse tapped Ellie’s shoulder gently, voice low. "She’s cool," he said.

Ellie didn’t take her eyes off the open kitchen. "Yeah."

Jesse watched her for a moment. "You’ve got that dumbass look on your face again."

She looked at him, deadpan. "Eat shit."

Jesse just grinned. "Can’t help it, huh?"

Ellie softened a little, voice quieter. "Can’t help it. I love seeing my favorite people together."

Jesse elbowed her lightly. "You’re so far gone it’s embarrassing."

Ellie didn’t even bother denying it.

Later, you all crammed onto the couch, Ellie squished between you and Jesse, Dina spread out with her feet in Ellie’s lap and her head in yours. The movie was some ridiculous cult classic Jesse insisted on, and most of the time was spent throwing popcorn at each other and cracking jokes.

By the end of it, Jesse and Dina were dead asleepç, and you were almost on that path. Your head was on Ellie’s shoulder. She looked down, nudged your hair gently with her nose, her voice soft. "You okay?"

You looked up. "Yeah. More than okay."

She smiled. "Told you she’d like you."

You leaned in closer, fingers brushing hers beneath the blanket. "Yeah. She’s great."

Ellie gave you this look—one full of warmth, and something deeper that she maybe didn’t even know how to say yet.

And you thought, god. You were so screwed for her.

By the time Dina and Jesse left, it was already past midnight, and the apartment had gone utterly quiet. After hours of chaotic laughter and awful movie marathons, everything had finally settled into a hush. You stirred awake in Ellie’s bed, eyes blinking against the soft darkness. The space beside you was cold.

You sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and instinctively looked toward the balcony door. The curtains swayed slightly with the breeze. You walked over, the hardwood cool under your bare feet, and peeked outside.

Ellie was there. Splayed out lazily on the patio couch—bare arms curled around her knees, a cigarette glowing softly in the dark. She was wearing a dark tank top and some oversized boxers, and her hair was a mess of tangled auburn locks.

You opened the door slowly, letting the cool air kiss your skin. "You’re gonna catch a cold out here, you know."

She didn’t turn immediately, but her lips quirked. "Nah. I’m immune."

You stepped out, arms crossed as you sat by her side. "Nuh-huh. That’s what every sick person says right before they get the flu and whine for three days straight."

Ellie glanced over her shoulder with a sheepish smile. "Okay, I’m maybe a little cold. Just didn’t wanna wake you." She leaned her head back, her voice low. "Tonight was good."

You hummed, pleased with the warmth that her body gave you, and suddenly sleepy again.

"I don’t know, it’s just… Jesse and Dina, they’re my people. They’ve been there through some heavy shit, you know? And seeing you with them—laughing, talking, cooking with Dina like you’ve known her forever—it just... meant a lot."

You softened, your heart swelling in your chest. "I was nervous. With Dina, I mean. After that whole hallway thing, I thought maybe…"

Ellie groaned, her face falling into her hands for a second. "God, I’m never gonna live that down, am I?"

You laughed, nudging her shoulder softly. "Nope. But hey, it worked out."

Ellie took another drag, then stubbed out the cigarette in a tiny tray perched on the table. "It’s just… it’s kinda crazy. How fast this all happened. But it doesn’t feel rushed, y’know? You being here, in my space, it feels… right."

You rested your head on her shoulder, and Ellie immediately leaned into the touch, her cheek brushing against your hair. You could feel her smiling, even if you couldn’t see her face at the moment "It made me really happy."

Your chest ached in the best way. You leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. "You’re really stuck with me, Williams."

She laughed under her breath. "Good. I kinda like being stuck with you."

Eventually, you whispered, “Come back to bed?”

Ellie stood slowly, stretching out her arms. "Only if you promise not to tell Jesse how soft I got just now."

You grinned, taking her hand. “No promises."

You were barely awake when you heard the sound of a sniffle. Then a sneeze. Then another. Followed by a dramatic groan.

You open your eyes slowly, and turned your head slightly, frowning as you brought the back of your hand to her forehead. "Oh no, Ellie?" you whispered.

"Mmmgh," she groaned. "I’m dying."

She was curled under three blankets, hoodie pulled tight over her head, only her red nose poking out. "I feel like death," she croaks.

You bit back a smile. "Oh really? That serious, huh?"

She rolled onto her back dramatically. "This is how it ends."

"Uh-huh." You shifted up onto your elbow, brushing a curl from her sweaty temple. "Told you you’d get sick, dummy. What was that you said last night? Something about being immune?"

"I was," she grumbled, voice hoarse. "Now I’m just... weak. Helpless."

"Pathetic, I would say" you offered, as you leaned down to kiss her burning cheek. "You want tea?"

She nodded, sniffling again. "With honey. And I also need like… the healing power of your presence."

You slid out of bed with a mock-salute. "Coming right up, you big baby."

It wasn’t long before you came back with the warm mug, setting it on the nightstand before sitting cross-legged beside her on the bed. Ellie struggled to sit up, groaning dramatically as she wrapped both hands around the tea and sipped carefully.

"You’re an angel," she murmured.

You grinned, brushing your fingers through her hair. "Don’t forget it."

She looked up at you with droopy, red-rimmed eyes. "Hey, uh… babe?"

"Mm?"

"Can you call Joel?" she asked, her voice suddenly a little sheepish. "We were supposed to get lunch today. Can you tell him… we’re canceling?"

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. "We’re canceling?"

Ellie blinked at you.

"No no, baby," you teased, taking the mug from her hands and setting it aside. "I’m telling him you’re canceling. I’m not getting dragged into the wrath of Joel Miller just ‘cause your dumb ass wouldn’t wear a hoodie."

Ellie groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with her pillow. "Cruel. Heartless. Betrayed by my own girlfriend."

"Go cry about it."

"I will, actually."

You laughed and leaned over to grab your phone from the nightstand. "Fine. I’ll call him. But don’t blame me when he tells you I’m the new favorite."

Ellie mumbled something incoherent as you pressed Joel’s contact and hit Call. He picked up after a few rings.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Joel, it’s me."

"Well, hey there, kid," he said, voice warm with recognition. "You and Ellie on your way?"

"Not exactly," you said with a little wince. "Ellie’s, uh… not doing so good."

He immediately sounded more alert. “What’s goin’ on?”

"She’s got a fever," you explained. "Caught something overnight. She’s okay, just cranky and dramatic about it."

Joel let out a soft chuckle. "That sounds about right."

"She wanted me to call and cancel lunch."

Joel sighed but didn’t sound particularly upset. "Figures. I told her to stop running around dressed like it’s summer."

You smiled, glancing over at Ellie, who was now peeking at you with one eye from under her pillow. "I mean, to be fair, she did say she was immune."

That got a full laugh out of Joel. "You takin’ care of her?"

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see. "Yeah, yeah, I got her. Made her tea, bullied her a little."

"Good," he said. "She’s lucky to have you."

Your chest fluttered, and you ducked your head, suddenly warm. "Thanks, Joel."

There was a pause, then his voice softened a bit. "You know, I wasn’t sure about anyone bein’ good enough for her." You blinked, lips parting. "But you… You might’ve shut me up."

Your throat tightened. You tried to swallow around the lump there. "That means a lot. Really."

"Take care of her, alright?"

"Always."

"Alright. I’ll see you two when she’s upright again."

You ended the call slowly, staring at your phone for a second before glancing back at Ellie. She was still under the pillow, but now she had a tiny, dorky smile on her face. "Shut him up, huh?" she said, voice thick with smugness despite the congestion.

You tossed a pillow at her. "You heard that?!"

"I did," she beamed, catching it and holding it to her chest like a trophy. "That’s the best I’ve ever felt while being miserable."

You slid back into bed beside her, pulling the covers up over both of you. "Next time you get a cold, I’m making you call him," you said, nuzzling into her shoulder.

"Deal," she whispered, already halfway back to sleep. "Love you."

You froze for just a second. Then your smile bloomed, unstoppable. "Love you too, baby."

Your day had been a disaster from the second you stepped into work.

It started with someone taking your lunch from the communal fridge — not just any lunch, but the one Elliecooked and poured her time and heart into it, both of you knowing how bad she sucked in the kitchen. The one she’d tucked a dumb little sticky note into, just saying, 'Pasta tastes better when shared w/ me. But I hope this helps. Love you.'

It only spiraled from there. A last-minute meeting turned into your boss questioning your ideas like they were barely coherent. A coworker made a passive-aggressive comment that echoed in your mind hours after. Everything you touched felt off. Wrong. You kept fumbling. Kept overthinking. You felt raw by the time you finally made it home.

You dropped your bag at the door and kicked off your shoes with an exhale that sounded like a sob if anyone had been there to hear it. You started to cry not much later, leaning against the wall for a minute, trying to steady yourself. Trying to remember that tomorrow would be better. That it was just a bad day, not a bad life. But it was hard when everything felt like it had weighed on your back all day long.

It was when you already dercided to skip dinner and crawl into bed that you saw it.

Sitting right in the middle of your little kitchen table was a bouquet — chaotic and beautiful. Lilies, your favorite, some you’d told Ellie you liked months ago, others that looked like she probably just thought were 'cute as fuck.' A few petals had already fallen onto the wood.

Next to it, a folded piece of notebook paper. Torn from the corner of a page, slightly smudged, written in the messy scrawl you recognized instantly.

Hi baby,

Here’s something for you to come home to.

You make everything better. For me. Just by existing. Come over later. Or now. Or whenever. Just know that I love you.

Your El.

You reread it twice before your vision blurred with tears again. But this time they weren’t sad ones, though. Just overwhelming. Just the kind of tears that come from feeling seen, known, and loved. You didn’t even think to grab shoes. You ran barefoot down the hallway, heart pounding, letter clutched in your hand.

Ellie opened the door at the second knock. There was music playing faintly behind her — something soft, acoustic — and her mouth opened to say something, but it caught in her throat the second she saw your face. "Oh," she breathed.

You must’ve looked a mess — eyes red, lashes damp, a slight tremble still in your hands from the adrenaline rush of holding it in all day. You couldn’t even say anything. Just looked at her, your lower lip wavering.

And Ellie —God. Ellie stepped forward so fast, so instinctively, that the door swung all the way open behind her.

"Baby," she whispered, both hands coming up to cradle your cheeks. Her thumbs wiped at the tear tracks like they offended her. "Hey. No— come here. Come here."

You let her pull you in, your arms looping tight around her waist as she hugged you, hugged you, like she’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. Like you were something precious and fragile and hers. You buried your face in her neck. Her hoodie smelled like cedarwood and smoke. She smelled like home.

"I— I was gonna text," you mumbled, breath hitching. "But then I saw it and I wanted to say thank you, I just—"

"No, no," she whispered, stroking the back of your head. "You don’t need to say anything. You’re okay. You’re with me."

She guided you inside wordlessly, closed the door with her foot, then walked you backwards toward the couch, her arms never leaving you for a second. She sat first, tugging you gently onto her lap, wrapping herself around you like a human blanket. Her hand rubbed slow, grounding circles up and down your spine.

After a while, when your breathing evened out and your fists unclenched a little against her hoodie, she pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured, "Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head. "Okay." She paused. "Wanna sit in silence and just let me hold you for a while?"

You nodded into her collarbone. Her grip tightened, like she was the one that needed you close. "Done. It’s already happening. You're stuck here. Tough luck."

You huffed a tiny laugh, and she grinned against your skin, proud of herself for pulling it out of you. "I’m sorry," you murmured eventually, voice hoarse. "I feel ridiculous."

Ellie pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Her expression was so soft, it made you want to cry all over again.

"Don’t you dare," she said. "Don’t you ever apologize for having a hard day. You’re allowed to feel like shit sometimes."

You looked down at your hands in your lap, still nestled in the folds of her hoodie. "I just… I feel like I give and give, and people still find ways to make me feel small. Like I’m not enough."

Ellie took your hands in hers. "You’re more than enough," she said seriously. "You’re everything." Your heart squeezed. "And you didn’t give too much today," she added. "They just didn’t know how to receive it. That’s not on you."

You blinked at her. "Since when did you get so wise?"

She smirked like she was already proud of her answer. "Since I fell head over heels for a girl who cries at love letters and runs barefoot down the hall to kiss me."

You smiled and leaned in, your nose brushing hers, your voice a whisper. "I just really needed to see you."

Ellie kissed you slow and gently. "I’m always right here," she said. "I will always be right here for you."

You ended up falling asleep there, curled together on the couch, her hand still laced in yours, feeling her soft heartbeat against your own.

You woke up to the smell of cinnamon.

Still groggy, you stretched a little, blinking against the early light slipping through Ellie’s curtains. You reached out instinctively — but her side of the couch was empty. Something gentle hummed through the apartment. Music, faint and crackly from the little record player in the corner. Something older — Nancy Sinatra, maybe. And cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon.

You sat up, your body heavy with sleep, but your chest felt lighter. You walked around the apartment barefoot, wearing only one of her shirts, the hem brushing your thighs.

Ellie was in the kitchen.

Hair messy, tied back in a low bun. Oversized hoodie. Socks half on, half falling down. She had flour on her face — actual flour — and was bent over the stove, very seriously flipping something in a pan.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and smiled. "I feel like I’m interrupting something private here."

Ellie jumped and turned — her entire face lighting up when she saw you.

"Babe," she said, like she’d been waiting for you all morning. "I was trying to let you sleep. Did I wake you?"

"You made your whole apartment smell like cinnamon. I’d wake up even in a coma."

She grinned and held up the pan like a trophy. "Cinnamon pancakes. I found this recipe online — well, Jesse texted it to me. He said it’s foolproof, so if they’re bad, we blame him."

You laughed, walking toward her, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind as she focused on pouring syrup into a tiny saucepan. She leaned back into your chest instinctively, humming under her breath. You swayed with her for a moment.

"You’re ridiculous," you mumbled into her hoodie.

She turned her head slightly, brushing her nose against your temple. "Nah. You just had a shitty day yesterday. And I hate it when you look sad."

You pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "So you decided pancakes would cure me?"

"Did it work?"

You thought about it — how your chest felt less tight, how the anxious hum in your bones had quieted, and how safe she made you feel just by standing there, solid and sleepy in her kitchen, making you breakfast. "It’s definitely helping."

After pancakes (which were — surprisingly — very good, despite Ellie nearly burning the first one and dramatically mourning it like it was a fallen soldier), she told you the plan for the day: "There’s no plan."

You blinked at her from across the table, licking syrup off your thumb. "No plan?"

"Nope. None." She leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head, looking pleased. "You’re not lifting a finger today. Not a single one. I’m your butler. Your chauffeur. Your loyal steed."

You snorted. "My what?"

"I take my girlfriend duties very seriously."

She really meant it, too. She ran you a bath with the stupidly fancy bubble stuff she’d teased you about the week before but then bought anyway. She showered you with compliments and let you pick a movie, not complaining even if it was one she’d already seen.

After dinner, she was inside the kitchen again, preparing a french dessert you mentioned once and she just happened to have every single ingredient. So here you were, smiling at the dedication and effort Ellie put into making you happy. She turned, and caught you staring.

"What?" She asked, suspicious.

"Nothing." You replied, trying not to smile.

"No, no. I know that look. That’s the I’m-about-to-roast-you look."

You tilted your head. "I’m not—"

"You’re about to say something mean and deeply offensive. I can feel it."

"I was just thinking about how you hold a spatula like it’s a weapon. Like you’re about to interrogate it." You shrugged innocently.

She gasped, pointing you with the utensil. "You take that back. I cook with precision."

"You cook like someone who’s holding the last weapon in a boss fight."

Ellie narrowed her eyes and closed the distance between you in three quick steps. "You wanna say that again, sweetheart?"

You smirked. "Or what, you gonna arrest me with the spatula?"

She blinked once. Then, wordlessly, she grabbed you—hands at your waist, firm and sudden—and hoisted you off the stool like you weighed absolutely nothing.

"El—!" you yelped, laughing, squirming as she walked you the three steps to the counter.

"Say it again," she said, deadly serious, "and I swear I’ll put you in the sink."

You were still giggling when she deposited you on top of the kitchen counter, your legs dangling and hoodie riding up your thighs. She stepped between your knees, arms on either side of you. Your laughter softened into breathless smiles. Your cheeks hurt. Her eyes were so green up close, you could almost count every single freckle that embelished her visage.

"Not gonna lie," you murmured, "this is kinda hot."

Ellie raised a brow. "Me threatening you with domestic violence is hot?"

"Only when it ends like this."

She laughed and leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours. "You’re ridiculous," she whispered.

"You love it."

"Unfortunately, I do."

You kissed her, soft and lazy, her hands resting gently on your thighs now. When you pulled back, you ran your fingers over her jaw. "Thanks for today. For everything."

She shrugged, but her ears were already red. "Didn’t do that much."

"You spoiled me. You’re still spoiling me."

"Yeah, well, you deserve it."

You touched the tip of her nose with your finger. "You’re a sap."

She grinned. "And you’re lucky."

"I am," you whispered. "I really, really am."

The moment stretched, the kind of moment you wanted to live in forever. And then, "okay, but seriously,” you added, poking her side. "I’m never gonna forget the way you flipped that first pancake this morning. It flew."

She groaned and buried her face in your neck. "Don’t. Don’t bring that up. That pancake died tragically."

"It looked like a UFO. I thought it was gonna hit the ceiling—"

"You are banned. Banned from my kitchen."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, letting her hold you there, tucked against the warm crook of her neck, swaying slightly to the background hum of the record player. Her fingers tapped along your thigh to the beat, and for a while, you just breathed her in.

And when you finally curled up with her on the couch, full of tea and warm and soft all over, you rested your head on her shoulder and whispered, "You really went all out."

Ellie kissed the top of your head. "You’re allowed to have bad days," she said quietly. "But I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure the day after feels better. Always."

You looked up at her, your heart so full it ached. "Ellie."

"Hm?"

"You’re gonna make me cry again."

She smiled, leaned in, and kissed you softly. "Yeah, but like… the good kind this time."

You nodded, curling closer, letting the world outside dissolve. Wrapped in her arms, safe and held and spoiled absolutely rotten, you finally let yourself believe it — that no matter how rough things got out there, this would always be your soft place to land. You could definitely get used to this.

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[prythianpages]

Take Me Home | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader | When Azriel gets drunk, he forgets he has a wife.

warning: drinking, drunk & fluffy Az

a/n: You can thank tiktok for this one. It inspired me to take a little break from all the angst. I literally have never written a fic so fast before, this took me a little more than an hour. Just something short & sweet (1K words.)

Azriel liked to drink every now and then. Rarely, would he get drunk. He preferred maintaining control, always mindful of his surroundings and alert to his ever-listening shadows. 

But when he did get drunk, he'd sometimes forget he had a wife.

Normally, it was Azriel who stayed at your side. He was the hand that always found yours under the table when your words began to slur or the gentle pressure at the small of your back keeping you upright as you stumbled through the crowd. But tonight at Rita’s, something in his shoulders told you he needed to let go.

So when Cassian ordered shots for the table, you passed yours to Azriel with a playful grin, silently telling him, “your turn.”

He hesitated but after a few teasing remarks and a chorus of encouragement from the rest of the Inner Circle, he tipped the glass back and knocked it down in one go. Then another. And another. 

You watched the shift in him slowly unfold. His shoulders began to ease from their earlier tense posture. Though it was dark, you could see the inky tendrils of his shadows twitching and rippling less against his skin. Almost as if, they too, were content. 

You knew he was tipsy the moment he let Cassian drag him onto the dance floor without so much as a protest. And you knew he was drunk when he nearly tripped over nothing and just laughed before catching himself.

Across the table, you met Rhysand’s gaze. He was lounging back with a smirk, swirling his drink lazily in his hand as he watched the scene unfold.

“Should I stop him?” you asked, though your voice lacked any real concern. 

Rhysand raised his glass in salute toward Feyre, who had joined Cassian and Azriel on the dance floor.  “No. Let him. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in weeks.”

Sensing your mate’s gaze on you, you turned your head back to the dance floor only to see Azriel shying away from your gaze. Oh yeah, he’s definitely drunk. Rhysand chuckled, mirroring your thoughts.

Rhysand was right, though. This was the most relaxed you’d seen your mate in weeks and your heart ached a little with how much he had needed a night out like this.

Azriel continued to sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He didn’t last much longer on the dance floor. Cassian’s spinning and swaying became too much, and eventually, he slipped away from his friend. His steps were a little uncoordinated.

Then, his eyes found yours. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like you were the only steady thing in the room. The grin that spread across his face was boyish and a little lopsided as he approached the table.

“Hey,” he said, swaying slightly.

“Hey.” You grinned back up at him, a hand reaching out to push back his hair. The stool you sat on gave you just enough advantage in height to do so. His wings shuddered in response, making your grin widen at how easily flustered he got when drunk. You adored it, reveling in being able to make him feel that way.

Azriel’s shadows danced lazily around his shoulders like they, too, were drunk. He leaned down, one of his wings casting a small shadow over you, offering some privacy in the midst of the noise.

“My friend over there,” he whisper-yelled, breath warm against your ear and his scent washing over you, “thinks you’re cute.”

You blinked, pulling back to look at him. “Friend?”

Before you could even process, he pointed to the side. You followed his hand, confused, just as a soft whoosh sounded beside you.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away with the same grin on his face, exactly in the spot he had pointed to you. You pointed your hand at him and silently beckoned him back to you. With a dark glimmer of shadows, he vanished from across the room and stumbled right back in front of you. You hopped off the stool, catching him with both hands on his chest and helping in steadying him.

“Tell your friend I’m really flattered but I’m taking my husband home.”

You showed him your ring, lifting your hand in front of his glazed eyes. He blinked at it, brows pulling together. Something like disappointment flashed across his face, his wings drooping slightly behind him.

 “Oh.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, your heart melting as you gently reached for his hand. You lifted it, bringing it up the same level of the hand flashing your wedding ring. The matching silver band to yours gleamed on his finger, and you gave your finger a little wiggle for emphasis.

His eyes widened. “Oh.” A pause. “Me?”

You nodded, your fingers lacing with his. His whole face lit up, that grin of his brighter than ever and reaching all the way to those hazel eyes you loved so much. He turned to the person closest to you both, Rhysand, “I have a wife!”

Rhysand raised his brow in mock surprise. “Just wait until you find out you have a mate, buddy,” you heard him mutter.

But Azriel didn’t hear. Or maybe he did, and chose to ignore it. Either way, he turned back to you, stepping a little closer. You released his hand and Azriel was quick to place both his hands on your waist.

“Well then, my wife,” he said, pulling you flush to him, his tone and touch possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter.

He dipped his head, his forehead resting against yours, nose brushing yours in a gentle nuzzle. His eyes flicked to your lips, lingering for a beat too long, before lifting back to yours.

“Take me home.”

You laughed softly, cupping his cheeks and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Okay, my husband.”

He looked at you like he was falling for you all over again and then, his lips were chasing yours for another taste. Warmth bloomed in your chest, the bond between you thrumming with love and adoration.

Because even if Azriel forgot he had a wife when he was drunk, his heart always knew.

At the end of the night, in every life and every state of mind, he always chose you.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this silly little fic! & kudos to you if you recognized the tiktok that inspired this.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

[moonstruckme]

hi!! if you’re up for it could i please request a poly marauders (or really any of the marauders) x passively depressed/apathetic reader. like reader being nervous about a doctors appointment and having health anxiety but then saying “oh i don’t even know why i’m scared because it’s not like i’ll care if i die,” and the boys just being like ??? just a lot of comfort pls!! love your work btw!! (sorry if that’s kinda confusing 😖 english isn’t my first language)

Thanks lovely <3

cw: depression, reader has some passive suicidal ideation but it's from an outside perspective

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 850 words

Remus rubs your shoulder after you get off the phone call confirming your doctor’s appointment. You sink into his side like dough softening at rest. “Would you like me to go with you?” he offers. 

You hum, quiet and complaisant. “You don’t have to.” 

“I don’t mind. It’s after I get off work anyway, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So what else would I be doing but being with you?” He says it with some levity, hoping to inspire a similar feeling in you, but you don’t crack a smile. 

Instead, you sink deeper into his side, the collar of your jumper rising up to bump your chin in the process. You look like a tortoise retreating into its shell. Remus kisses your hair. 

You’ve been rather in your own head lately. Quiet, passive, not really laughing. It tears at Remus’ heart to see you so upset with yourself, but he’s not very worried. You’ll come out of it. He’ll help you. And he’ll be here with you in the meantime. Even if it doesn’t always seem like you care for him to be. 

“Do you not want me to come?” he asks, trying not to let insecurity leak into his tone. 

“No.” You finally look up at him, your sweet eyes guilty. “No, I’d like you to come. If you want to. I just, I know it’s not fun, so if you’d rather stay home…” 

Remus makes a dismissive sound, relieved. “Don’t be silly, I always have fun with you. Sweetheart, you could make the doctor’s office fun.” 

This time you hear the humor in his tone and smile. It looks like it costs you some effort. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He shushes your thanks away, going back to rubbing your shoulder. “Are you nervous?” he asks. 

You sigh as though disappointed with yourself. “Yeah. I don’t know why.” 

“That’s alright, lovely. It’s not how anyone wants to spend their time. And you always worry that something awful’s going to be wrong, but it never is.” 

“I know,” you say dully. “But I don’t get why I’m worried. I don’t even really…” 

You trail off, your mouth wincing like you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. You won’t look at Remus. 

He knows what you wanted to say. 

I don’t even really care. 

You don’t care about much these days. What you eat for dinner, how long your commute from work takes, what film your friends want to see at the cinema. But Remus thought you still cared about some things. The important ones. A heavy, sick feeling takes form in his stomach. 

“Hey,” he says softly. It takes you a few moments to look at him, but you do. You look the tiniest bit afraid. Not in the same way he is; not for yourself, only for what you might’ve revealed. “Can I give you a hug?” 

You frown, nodding like of course. Remus uses the arm already around your shoulders to bring you into his lap, your knees folded on either side of his hips. When he rubs your back, you curl forward to put your face in his neck like you’ve been waiting years to do it. 

Your warm breaths tickle against his skin. He loves you so much he thinks he could collapse under the weight of it. 

“Thank you for making the appointment,” he says, making broad, sweeping circles on your back. “It matters to me that you’re healthy, and that you’re taking care of yourself. It’s important.” 

You deflate a bit against his front. He can nearly picture you shutting your eyes, brows pinched. “Remus…” 

“I love you,” he presses his lips to the side of your head, “so much. We’re going to be old and feeding birds in the park one day, you know? I need you to be able to come sit on our bench with me.” 

There’s a prolonged silence, wherein Remus begins to worry he’s frightened you into reticence, but then, “We already feed birds in the park.” 

He smiles. “We do. But it’ll be much more becoming when we’re all feeble and grey, won’t it?” 

“You’re feeble now.” 

“Oi,” he laughs. Utterly delighted with you. “When did you get so sharp?” 

“Sorry.” Your cold nose bumps his throat. 

“That’s alright.” Remus kisses your head again, not wanting you to begin feeling guilty. “I know you don’t mean it. My sweetheart.” 

You go quiet again after that. Remus tries again. 

“So, it’s a date then? Me, you, park on the corner in fifty years?” 

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” you mumble lazily. 

“Mm, do that. See if you can pencil me in.” He rubs your back. 

“Who knows if there’ll even still be birds then.” 

Remus hums. “God, yeah. I hope there are. We’ll still be there, at least, won’t we?” 

It’s transparent, this plea for reassurance. He cringes with the audaciousness of it, worries you’ll decide now to stop sharing anything with him at all, but after a beat of quiet you sit up. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, laying a simple kiss on his lips. “Course we will.”

[asxgard]

Any Excuse | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!Hospitalist!reader

Requested

Summary: A snapshot of your interactions with the ruggedly handsome ER doctor, and several of the excuses he uses to see you.

[ Masterlist ]

Anon Request: I have a request! Jack Abbot x reader where the reader is a new night-shift hospitalist (the doctor that is responsible for taking care of patients admitted to the hospital from the ER) at PTMC. She and Jack hit it off after meeting and he keeps trying to come up with any excuse at all to admit patients just to have to contact her. And maybe he goes and visits his admitted patients “just to check up on them” even though he never has before and probably barely remembers their names just to see her. And the night shift ER crew just smirk at each other whenever she goes to their department to see a patient and interacts with Abbot.

Note: so I read a bunch of articles about hospitalists and I still feel like I might have misunderstood, so this took a bit longer than intended lol but here it is! I hope you enjoy💜

Word Count: 1.4k

All of my works are 18+ due to general adult content.

Warnings: hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, foul language, pining, slowburn? (can I say that in a one shot? lol), so much sass & flirting

not beta read

Jack thought that the first time he saw you, he had to be dreaming. A cliched savior in a white lab coat, moving through the Pitt with a purpose and a smile. He had heard about the new hospitalist floating around, having started several weeks prior, but he had never seen you down in the Pitt before.

You had come down for an admitted patient, and when you stopped in front of him to go over the case, it took him a second to speak.

“Finally come to see how the other half lives?”

“More like finally hitting rock bottom.” You supplied effortlessly with a smirk.

One side of Jack’s lips tilted upwards, “Patient’s been waiting nearly two hours on a bed upstairs.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You said, eyes flickering across the busy ED, “You’re lucky he wasn’t waiting for surgery. You’d wait all night.”

Jack handed over the tablet showing the patient’s chart. You skimmed through it quickly, humming as you did.

“Great, I’ll go get him to radiology. Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” You said, smiling at him.

He watched you go with an uncapped fascination. With the tiniest hint of a smile, Jack got back to work.

—

The next time he saw you, you were in one of the ED rooms, talking to a mother and daughter. You were going over some results, before explaining that you would be bringing the mother upstairs shortly for inpatient care. Your demeanor was kind, but refined, shoulders set with an easy smile.

“Good evening, Dr. Abbot.” You said as you approached him.

He greeted you after a beat, subtly taking in your figure. “Would be better without all these boarders.”

You glanced at the board, “Truly, if this is how the other half lives, I’m good where I’m at.”

A wry grin formed, “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

You chuckled, “I think the dose I got on my med school rotation is good enough for a lifetime. I’m content just drifting through, on occasion.”

Me too, Jack thought before shaking it off, steeling his expression.

“You get used to it.” Jack said, tone light, “At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

Jack ignored the way Ellis looked over at him.

“Duly noted.” You said with a smile. “Can we go over my patient quickly? I’d like to get her upstairs.”

Jack nodded, moving closer to you to rattle off several things about your patient.

It was around that time Jack started taking sugar in his coffee. Just one packet, but it did not go unnoticed.

—

“Ah, Dr. Abbot, just the man I was looking for.” You said, walking over to the charge desk where he stood.

He looked from the board to you, eyebrow raised, “Don’t hear that often.”

You raised a challenging eyebrow in return, “Why’s that, do you think? Certainly would have nothing to do with your bedside manner, or that rugged charm? Perhaps the dry humor? No, certainly not.”

Shen barked a laugh beside him, before quickly covering it with an awkward cough.

Jack blinked, momentarily speechless. “I think it has something to do with…what did Dana’s daughter call it? My resting bitch face?”

You laughed, and the sound carried, making Jack’s heart squeeze.

“Maybe that’s it. I’d just call it ‘stoic and mysterious’. It works, for you.” You said, clearing your throat and glancing away from him as your cheeks heated. “Anyways, I was just coming to ask why you were admitting the patient in Central-5? EKG was clean, troponin test confirmed no heart attack, and you can monitor overnight down here.”

“Need the bed.” He supplied. “8/10 chest pain that comes and goes, shortness of breath, several risk factors like high cholesterol and triglycerides. CCU should take him.”

You hummed, looking over the chart again. “Alright, yeah, I’ll take him. I’ll follow up with his PCP in the morning to get more of a history. Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack nodded.

“Can you let Ms. Kelly know I’ll be back down shortly to bring her to gastro?”

He nodded again, “Course.”

You smiled brightly at him, “Thank you!”

—

Hours later, Jack had moved up to CCU to check on a patient. Something he never did. It was less so to check up on the patient, and more so to see you. He didn’t even remember the patient’s name, only their list of symptoms, their test results.

You had begun to occupy most of his thoughts, and he found himself looking for any excuse to talk with you. The bad breakroom coffee felt hot in his hands, two cups holding more weight than just liquid. He had no idea how you took your coffee — if you drank coffee — but he guessed you preferred it slightly sweet. He really hoped he was right.

Sat in a reserved corner of the seventh floor, you were charting — hands moving quickly over the keys, eyes focused.

“Hey,” Jack said softly, as to not startle you.

You turned your head, taking him in before you smiled.

“Wanted to check up on Mr…uh, and figured you might need this.” He offered you one of the cups.

You blinked, “Mr. Olsen? You wanted to check up on a patient?” You accepted the coffee, “Thank you, this was really nice of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Was hoping I was being overly cautious and he didn’t actually have a heart attack.”

“It’s good you wanted to admit him, actually. I think he has GERD.” You said, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid, and a smile lit up your features when you swallowed, eyes flickering from the liquid and back to Jack.

Jack took a sip of his black coffee, nodding. “That makes sense, actually. Heartburn could’ve been what he was feeling.”

“I asked him about his diet, high-fat mostly. He had a spicy burrito for dinner, so yeah. GERD. Waiting for a consult, but he’s doing fine. I’ll have him follow up with a nutritionist and his PCP.”

“Good, that’s good.” He shifted his weight. “Looks like you’ll have all the glory, then.”

You laughed, “Hardly. You wanted to admit him…but we can share. 70/30?”

Jack smirked, “Closer to 60/40. I did order all those tests.”

You scoffed playfully, “I will go no lower than 65/45.”

“Deal.”

—

You came down into the Pitt with coffees in hand, eyes searching for a particular doctor — the one with hard, caring hazel eyes, salt and pepper curls, and a smile that made your heart race.

“He’s in Trauma-1,” said Ellis, hiding her smirk well. “I can let him know you stopped by?”

Your cheeks heated, “I can wait, I have two patients to check up on down here. They should have beds within the hour.”

Ellis nodded, “Look at you getting stuff done.”

“Heavy is the head…”

She chuckled.

Jack said your name in surprise, closing in on you. He took in the coffees and your smile.

You handed him one without ceremony, “Returning the favor.”

He accepted it graciously, ignoring how Shen and Ellis were smirking at him, taking a sip.

“Damn, they hide the good shit upstairs, huh?”

You cracked a grin, “It’s as if they play favorites.”

Jack put a hand over his heart and mocked offense, “You wound me. Are you saying I’m not your favorite?”

“I brought you the good shit, didn’t I?” You smirked, not missing a beat.

—

Jack called your work cell, glancing up at the board with one hand in his pocket. His shift was nearly over, but he had decided to call you after he had failed to see you for most of his shift.

“Thinking about admitting a patient to the cardiology,” he supplied lamely. “I know you can work magic with admissions.”

“You’re calling to ask for advice or for a favor?” You asked, “Or just so the Pitt can be graced with my wondrous presence right before shift change?”

“Can’t one doctor just call another?” A pause, “But can’t it be a bit of all of that?”

Your laugh was light and airy, “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

True to your word, you arrived in under ten minutes.

“You could just page me next time.”

He shrugged, “Ruins the mystique.”

A sharp laugh escaped your throat that you covered with your hand. “I feel like it would add mystique, even though I hardly think you leave any for the rest of us.”

“You think I’ve got mystique?”

“Totally. I dig the whole ‘gritty ER doc bathed in mystery’ thing you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah?” He raised a challenging eyebrow. “So I shouldn’t ask you to dinner then?”

“No, no,” Your cheeks flamed. “I think you totally should. But only if you don’t think it’ll ruin your rough-edge reputation.”

“We should test it. You know, for science.”

You agreed easily, “For scientific purposes only.”

He matched your smirk.

[ more stuff with Jack Abbot ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream

All: @nixandtonic

I really enjoyed this one, so I hope you did too!

[covenofagatha]

You'll Taste Me Too

You're staying in your aunt and uncle's apartment for the summer while they're away on vacation and you meet their neighbors, Agatha and Rio, who take quite the interest in you

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: rio has a penis, mommy kink (agatha), daddy kink (rio), voyeurism, cum eating, sex, dirty talk, degradation, oral sex, masturbation, slight praise kink

A/N: not really sure where this came from lol but just wanted to switch it up for a sec but POL will be back soon! and I'll probably get around to at least a part 2 of this as well

Your aunt and uncle’s apartment is on the thirteenth floor of the complex in the center of New York City. It’s expensive—way more than you would ever be able to afford on your own.

But your relatives are rich, so rich that they are traveling to their home in Napa for the summer, and have extended the invitation to you to apartment-sit and take care of their dog, Russel. They would pay, of course, and you had just finished law school, were broke, and tired of living with your parents for the past two months. 

So you jumped at the chance. The money they were paying would be much more than you’d make as a public attorney and you were hoping that you could scope out potential jobs in New York. 

But you were determined to make the best of the summer while you could. With any luck, there would be some cute girls in the complex that you could meet. Your love life has been lacking lately, to say the least. A summer fling might just be the thing you need. 

The elevator doors open on the thirteenth floor—your uncle made jokes about the irony of how lucky they were to find it when they were looking for some place to move—and you jolt to find two older women standing there. 

You feel severely underdressed in your shorts and tank top; the one on the right, who looks slightly older, pale with long dark hair and blue eyes that pierce through you, is wearing a cream colored dress with silver sequins that falls all the way to her ankles. It cuts low and you make a pointed effort not to stare at her chest but you think she notices by the way her maroon-painted lips curl into a smirk. 

The woman standing next to her on the left is tall and lean, dark hair like her partner but shorter, with light hazel eyes that pop with mascara. She’s sporting a black blazer over a tight white shirt tucked into forest green pants. 

It’s still relatively early in the evening. You wonder where they’re going dressed this nicely. 

“Excuse us,” the woman on the right says, raising an eyebrow as if she’s challenging you. You blink and then realize you’ve been standing in the open elevator, blocking their path. 

The other woman chuckles, pushing her tongue against the side of her cheek in amusement. You feel your cheeks flush. “Easy, Agatha. Don’t scare the poor girl. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.” 

But the one in the dress—Agatha—just snorts. She takes a step closer and you feel the vague sense that she is scrutinizing you. “Haven’t seen you around here before. What’s a pretty young thing like yourself doing up here all alone?” It feels predatory, almost, but there’s a hot twisting in your stomach. 

“I’m staying in my aunt and uncle’s apartment for the summer,” you say finally after swallowing hard. You raise your hand in slow motion and point down the hall even though you feel stupid for doing it. 

The elevator doors start to close, realize that you’re standing there, and slide back open. 

They share a glance and there’s a glint in Agatha’s eyes that’s shared by the other woman. 

“I’m Rio,” the one in the suit says after a moment of silence, sticking out her hand for you to shake. You take it and the firmness of her grasp causes a tugging in your gut. Rio tilts her head. “This is my wife Agatha. We live right next to your aunt and uncle, so we’ll see you around.” 

It’s a statement. A promise. 

You nod, at a loss for words. Agatha smiles, baring her teeth to you, and steps around you into the elevator. Rio walks in on the other side. 

One of them puts their hand on your back and the heat radiating from their fingers makes you shiver. 

“If you need anything,” Agatha whispers into your ear, lips so close you can feel them moving, “don’t hesitate to ask.” 

The hand pushes you forward and you stumble out of the elevator, whipping around to catch Rio winking at you before the doors close. 

What was that? 

You feel rattled, but there’s no denying the heat that’s running through your body. 

Fumbling with the keys in your hand, you slowly walk down the hall to room 1307. It’s at the end of the hall, so there’s no wondering which room your neighbors are in. 

There’s something about them—you can’t decide if it’s enticing or strange. 

Russel, their golden retriever, runs up to greet you, tail wagging furiously, when you push open the door. Your aunt and uncle left this afternoon, but there’s a sense of emptiness in the apartment that makes it seem like it’s been uninhabited for weeks. 

You drop the keys in the bowl on the end table by the door and lead an excited Russel down the hallway and into the kitchen. The gray tile contrasts nicely with the white cabinets and marble countertops. The island in the center has three bar stools and you take a seat to look at what they left you. A bottle of red wine, almost fifty years old, sits there next to a glass and a note addressed to you. 

It’s from your uncle, giving you instructions on how to take care of Russel, even though his wife had gone over it in extensive detail over the phone last weekend, and telling you to enjoy the wine. 

You pour yourself a big glass and sip on the earthy flavors while you walk through the apartment, seeing it in a new light now that it’s all yours. 

The living room has an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the City and you lose yourself in the view for a moment before Russel hits the back of your knee with his nose. You pet him affectionately before checking out the bedroom. 

A king-sized bed is positioned across from the wall with the door, with matching wood nightstands on either side. The duvet is a plain blue with a dark headboard and when you snoop through the drawers, you find a bottle of lube. You wrinkle your nose in disgust and decide that you’re never looking through anything ever again. 

The ensuite bathroom has a huge stand-up shower in it with a gray tiled backsplash and a rain shower head. The counter for the sink is granite with a silver faucet and the toilet has its own sliding door for privacy. 

A huge step up from the cramped two-bedroom house you were living in with your parents and the dorms from law school. 

Even just being here has already made your head feel more clear. This is what you need. Just to be alone, take some time for yourself, and figure out what you’re going to do with your life. 

For the first time in a while, you feel actually hopeful for your future. 

——

Thump. 

Thump. 

Your eyes shoot open and you jerk up in the bed, woken from your slumber. What is that? Is someone knocking? 

Thump. 

It’s not coming from the door. It sounds like it’s the wall. 

Thump. 

You strain your ears and then—

“Oh, fuck,” a woman moans and you groan, head flopping back onto your pillow. For as much money as your aunt and uncle pay for this apartment, this is how thin the walls are? 

“You feel so good,” someone else says, another woman. Your hand flies to your mouth as the pieces connect. 

“Fuck, Rio, please.” 

It’s your neighbors. Having, by the sounds of it, very good sex. You realize that the wall that your bed is against must be the one you share with them. Your entire body starts to burn and you unconsciously try to lower the sound of your breathing. 

Not so you can hear it more. 

Just so they don’t hear you listening. 

“Are you going to come for me, Agatha?” Rio asks in a breathy voice, clear as day. 

How do your aunt and uncle live like this? 

“Yes, please, Rio,” Agatha gasps. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

There’s an unbearable heat growing between your legs and you squeeze your thighs together. Your hand is still clamped tightly over your mouth and you’re willing your blood to stop rushing so loud in your ears. You can feel their touch against your back, feel Agatha’s lips so close to your skin. 

Fuck, what is happening? 

“Come for me,” Rio says, “come on my cock. Let me fill you up.” 

You sharply inhale and your eyes widen. Your heart is pounding in your core. You can see them so clearly in your mind—Agatha on her hands and knees, back arched, Rio’s cock driving in and out of her with a fast pace. Rio’s hands on Agatha’s hips with a bruising grip. 

Do they know that Rio’s thrusts are shaking the bed so much that you can hear everything? 

A delusion thought takes hold in your mind—do they want you to? 

No. That’s crazy. 

“Yes, fuck, Rio, I’m coming,” Agatha whimpers and there’s a high-pitched sound and then a low grunt. You wish you could see what’s happening, and then you instantly shoot that wish down. 

Because these are your two neighbors, who are married and much older than you are. You can’t exactly see either of them wanting to bring you into that. You’re just horny and lonely and maybe you need to try a dating app. 

There’s a few more sounds but none that you can make out super clearly. 

And then about five minutes later, there’s silence. 

There’s no proof that what you heard was anything more than a dream. 

None whatsoever except for the burning fire inside you. 

But you’re definitely not going to replay those sounds in your mind on repeat and pretend you were there. 

And you’re definitely not going to slide your hand into your shorts. 

—— 

Russel wakes you up a quarter after seven by licking your face repeatedly. 

It takes you a moment to gather your bearings and remember where you are but then you reluctantly get up and grab his leash after sliding on your vans. You came by the apartment a few days ago to drop some of your stuff here, but you do need to go back to your parent’s house to get the rest of it at some point. 

The bright lights from the hallway make you squint and you pull the apartment door shut behind you. You’re in so much of a daze that you don’t even notice the woman just a few feet away from you, also exiting her apartment. 

“Morning, hon,” a voice says, and you jump. Agatha is standing there, in a black quarter-zip and teal leggings, hair tied back in a ponytail. “Good first night?” 

The smirk on her face tells you that she knows exactly how your night was and heat bursts through you while you shift from leg to leg. 

“Yeah,” you say, a false confidence projected but you’re not sure where it came from, “but a little noisy.” 

Instead of even having the decency to pretend to be ashamed, a slow smirk spreads across Agatha’s face and she shrugs like she’s blameless. “You might want to invest in a pair of earplugs,” she says teasingly and then takes a step closer, something dangerous on her face. Her voice lowers. “Or don’t.” 

A strangled gasp tears itself from your mouth before you can stop it and her eyes flash. 

“Have a good day, pet. Try to stay out of trouble,” Agatha whispers, eyes raking over you, and chills erupt all over your body. 

She winks and turns around and you have no choice but to trail behind her because she’s also walking toward the other end of the hallway. Will you have to get in the elevator with her? 

How are you supposed to? After that? 

Your heart races so loudly you’re afraid she might be able to hear it. 

But at the last moment, Agatha goes to the right and pushes open the stairwell door. Thirteen floors down is a long way to go, but you think the game that she’s playing must be worth it. 

She gives you one last look over her shoulder with a smirk and then you’re left alone with Russel, wondering what the hell just happened. 

——

It’s two days later before you interact with them again. 

You’re walking back to the complex after picking up dinner, spaghetti and meatballs from the cheapest place you could find—which still means you spent about twenty dollars on it. 

New York City is fucking expensive. 

But if you were to get a job here, you’re not sure you’d say no. 

“Look who it is,” a voice says from behind you, just as you’re reaching for the handle to push the glass doors to the lobby of the complex open. 

A tingle runs down your spine. 

You’d recognize that voice anywhere now. 

Come for me, come on my cock. Let me fill you up. 

Praying Rio doesn’t notice your sudden breathlessness, you plaster a smile on your face and turn around, only to find her and her wife standing there. 

Rio has denim jeans and a green crop top on, while Agatha wears a satiny purple button-down tucked into black pants. Both of them have teasing expressions on their face and you feel a warmth in your stomach start to bloom. 

Agatha steps closer, close enough to you where you freeze, but she puts her hand on top of the door handle, almost on top of your hand, and pushes it open. She holds it open for you and her wife and you mutter a thank you as you brush by her. 

You can hear their footsteps echoing on the tile behind you as you walk to the elevator. You can see their reflections in the gold glass of the doors. 

And before you can press the up arrow, Rio reaches past you and does it herself. The button lights up but the doors don’t open. 

“So, how are you liking it here?” Rio drawls and you step back in line with them so you can look at her easier. 

“It’s nice to be on my own,” you admit. “I haven’t had much time to relax in the past few years.” 

Agatha tuts and nods. “I’m sure it is. All that freedom to do whatever you want to do?” You smile politely and her eyes get darker. “Just make sure you’re being a good girl.” 

“Yes, mommy.” It slips out of your mouth before you even know what you’re saying and your eyes widen in shock at yourself, but they both chuckle. It was supposed to be a mockery, but you said it in such a small voice, so pathetic, and now, it seems so much more. 

The elevator doors ding. 

Rio puts her hand on your shoulder blades and guides you inside. You’re almost nervous to be alone with them in a confined space. There’s something going on between you three already, and you’ve only actually known them for a few days. 

But when you step inside, they hardly even look at you. 

Rio advances on Agatha until the latter is against the wall with a hungry look in her eyes. Rio puts a hand on her waist and the other grabs Agatha’s chin and you watch with rapt attention as their lips meet. 

Despite the fact that you’re in here with them, along with a camera in the right corner of the elevator, Rio’s tongue licks into Agatha’s mouth and Agatha lets out a small groan that makes your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt. Your breathing grows heavy and you stumble to the opposite wall, mouth slightly agape. 

Agatha wraps her hands around her wife’s neck to pull her closer and Rio slots a thigh between Agatha’s legs. A heat unlike any you’ve ever known is spreading from your cheeks down your neck to your core. 

Agatha’s hips slowly grind on Rio’s leg and you can hear them kissing. Would they fuck right here? 

In front of you? 

They have to know what they’re doing. 

The doors ding and you feel the sore ache of disappointment inside your chest. 

They break away, both of their lips swollen and cheeks tinted red, chests heaving laboriously. Rio tugs Agatha out of the elevator, giving you a smug glance, and allowing you just enough time to flick your gaze down and observe the visible bulge in her pants. 

Your cunt clenches around nothing. 

Come on my cock.

There isn’t much else in your mind right now. 

What would it be like to have her inside you? 

Now you can’t stop picturing yourself in Rio’s lap, her cock inside you, while you bounce up and down. Agatha behind you, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped around you, rubbing your clit. 

You almost forget to get off the elevator. 

Agatha glances behind her to make sure you’re following and you are—even if you feel like you’re drunk. She whispers something in her wife’s ear and you feel a rush of paranoia that they’re talking about you, but you kind of hope they are. You just wish you knew what they were saying. 

The walk down the hallway is too short all of a sudden, but before they slide their key into the door, Rio turns to face you. You stop, half expecting an invitation in. The agreement is already dancing on your tongue. 

“Have a good night, pet,” she says, in the same tone as Agatha said the other morning and your knees almost buckle. Your fingers tighten around your bag of take-out. 

Agatha smirks and leans in like she’s going to tell you an inside joke. “I know we will,” she whispers with a smirk and a wink and your lips part with a heavy breath. 

Rio opens their door, revealing a glimpse of a hallway and a few picture frames of them on the wall, before her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek as she looks you up and down. You meet her stare, hot and heavy, and pray that she says something. 

But she just chuckles, like something’s funny, before walking inside. Agatha bites her lip and smiles crookedly before following her wife. 

The door closes and you’re left alone in the hallway, almost shaking. 

Russel greets you at the door to your own apartment the second you open it and you scratch his head while you kick off your shoes. They have to be flirting, right? 

All of that? 

It’s not just in your head. 

But why?

You puzzle over it the entire time while you eat your dinner, with Russel at your feet, begging for a bite. You give him a sad look, and maybe he understands, because he pouts and goes to curl up by the couch. 

Agatha and Rio have to want something. 

Do they really want you? Or is this just some ploy? Although, you can’t really think of an ulterior motive. 

You rack your brain for anything your aunt and uncle said about them, but nothing comes to mind. They never complained about anything or anyone in this place, and you think they would’ve mentioned the flirtatious neighbors next door. 

Unless your neighbors have just taken a special interest in you. 

No. You have a hard time believing that’s what it is. 

And yet, you don’t even fall asleep that night before you hear it. 

Thump. 

This time, you’re ready. You sit up straight in bed, teeth biting your bottom lip to control your breathing, while your fingernails dig into your thighs. It was a hot day today, and even with the fan on and the room temperature turned on low, you still haven’t been able to shake the feeling of sweat off you, so you’re only in underwear and an old t-shirt. 

“Fuck, Rio,” Agatha moans sultrily and you swear that you hear something that sounds like her wetness. “Your cock feels so good.” 

Thump. 

Are they doing this for you? It’s narcissistic and completely self-absorbed to even consider that they’re thinking about you right now, but you can’t help it. After everything? 

“Your cunt feels so good,” Rio says in a low voice and you start to drag your fingertips up and down your thighs, feeling the pull in your gut when you get close to your cunt each time. 

Thump. 

If you said something right now, how would they respond? Would they immediately call you a pervert and never talk to you again? 

Or would they like it? 

Either way, you can’t find it in yourself to talk because you think you’re scared of either option. 

There’s a faint whimper and then Agatha cries out, “Fuck, fuck, please, oh—god.” 

A small grunt. “What would she think? If she saw you taking my cock like this? Think she would want to join?” 

Is Rio talking about…you? 

There’s no denying the pool in your underwear and you preemptively bite on your pointer finger before you move the soaked gusset aside and slide two fingers on your other hand through your folds. They’re wet, even more than you were expecting, and you almost let out a noise at how sensitive you already are. 

“I bet she’d suck your cock like such a slut,” Agatha gasps and your hips arch up when your fingers finally touch your clit. It sends sparks racing up your spine and you breathe heavily around the makeshift gag of your hand. 

“Fuck,” Rio breathes. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

The hand that’s not rubbing your clit leaves your mouth and tweaks your nipples before sliding down to your cunt. You bite your lip again, feeling the sharp sting of pain because you’ve already chewed it raw, as you slip two fingers into yourself easily while you still circle your clit. 

“Think she’d let me fill her up?” Rio asks. 

Even though it’s rhetorical and obviously you’re not supposed to answer, let alone be listening to this in the first place, you can’t help but whimper, “Yes.” 

“Oh—fuck, Rio, honey,” Agatha whimpers and you can practically imagine Rio’s grin right now. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Are you going to come for me?” 

There’s no answer; Agatha must be nodding though. 

Because you are. 

Your fingers curl up inside you, filling you in a way that’s satisfactory, but not enough, and you don’t think anything could be enough except for them. You want Agatha’s fingers on your clit with Rio’s cock buried inside you while they make your mind go blank because of the pleasure they’re giving you. 

Tension climbs up your spine and you gasp out loud while you clench around yourself. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

You line up your thrusts with each of the thumps and pretend that it’s one of them who’s driving into you right now. 

“Come for me,” Rio growls. 

Agatha and you both fall apart at the same time, based on her moans. You spasm around your fingers and make a noise of your own. Did they hear you? Did they know what you were doing? 

Rio comes not too long after her wife based on the low grunts. You have the sounds ingrained in your mind and even when the couple next door stops making them, they replay over and over, making sure you’ll never forget them. 

Much like the other night, there’s some quiet chatter that you can’t understand, faint rustling, and then silence. 

It takes you a while to fall asleep, even after your intense orgasm, mainly because you’re not sure where things go from here. 

——

It’s been four days since you’ve seen or heard them last. Since you masturbated to the sound of them fucking. Part of you wonders if they’re ashamed of how far things have gone; part of you wonders if you are. 

But deep down, you know that you’re not. 

It’s just fun. So what if your hot, older neighbors want to flirt with you a little? So what if you want to fuck yourself while Rio fucks Agatha so good that you can hear them through the walls?

Do they feel the same? Or do they feel that they’ve crossed some sort of line that they can’t come back from? 

It isn’t until you’re right outside their door that fateful night, coming back to your apartment after getting dinner with a law school friend, that you hear them. 

The same thump sound that you’ve become conditioned to, the sound that haunts your waking moments, the sound that you’ve started hallucinating because it’s impossible to stop thinking about them fucking. 

You stop, right outside their door, and then press yourself against it without even thinking. Your hands claw at the hard surface of it, ear pressed against the wood, and you might just have to accept that you’ve gone completely insane over them. 

But they wanted you to. 

At least, you’re almost convinced now. All those looks, those comments; this is what they wanted to happen, right? For you to become hooked on them? 

Was it just a game? Or was it real? 

Are they just rubbing it in that they have what you want? 

As if you’re in a trance, your right hand slides down the door to the handle. It will be locked, so why are you even trying? 

Except the handle turns smoothly with no resistance. 

The door opens. 

Your head spins with a million different thoughts. You should leave, you know that. The rational part of your brain is screaming that at you. 

But your body is on autopilot right now and you move through their apartment, practically the same layout as your aunt and uncle’s, trying to stay as silent as possible. If they catch you, there’s no telling how they’ll react. Sure, they’ve been flirting, but breaking in and trespassing in their home is a whole other story. 

You think you must’ve gone insane. What would your aunt and uncle say if they knew this was what you were doing? 

If you’re reading this the wrong way, if you get caught, and they find out? You’re as good as dead. Your parents will kick you out when you try to go back home, if you’re not thrown in jail first. Everything you’ve worked for is at risk. 

And yet you still keep walking. 

Through their kitchen that still smells of pasta. Through their living room with the blinds drawn open, showing you almost the exact same view as you have. You walk through the hallway on the left in the direction of your apartment, almost afraid of what you’ll find. 

The door is cracked open and you peer through it.

It is a bedroom, but a small one, and your brows furrow in confusion. It’s not the same size as yours, even though they’re relatively the same layout. You look behind you and across the living room and kitchen, see another closed door, and a spark of realization jolts through you. 

They must have a two-bedroom apartment. And they fully knew which one was against the shared wall.

This whole thing…they wanted it too. They set it all up, they knew you’d hear. The silence you’ve been hearing after they had sex must’ve been because they moved to their actual room. And why your aunt and uncle never complained about their noisy neighbors. 

You dare to take another peak and this time you can see them clearly on the bed—Agatha on her back, legs held open by Rio, who’s thrusting between them. Both of them are naked and you watch transfixed as Agatha’s supple breasts bounce with each stroke of Rio’s cock, which you can see glistening with wetness in the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand. The headboard hits the wall each time. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Agatha rubs her face with her left hand and rolls her hips up to meet her wife’s thrusts. It snaps you out of your haze and you’re suddenly grounded in the moment. 

“Fuck, please, Rio,” Agatha breathes and Rio huffs out a laugh and snakes her hand between their bodies to rub at her clit. She leans over her wife to kiss her deeply, never breaking her fast pace, and you feel a hollow ache inside your core. 

If you snuck a hand into your shorts, neither of them would ever know. You could get out the second they were done. There would be no trace of you ever being here. 

Although you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to look at them again after this. 

“You like this?” Rio asks, driving deep, and Agatha’s mouth drops open with a silent moan. She nods frantically and you can picture the smug smirk on Rio’s face right now. You want both of them—you need both of them, and if this is the closest you can come to that, so be it. 

Whatever you can get, you’ll take. 

Even if this is really wrong. 

Their entanglement of limbs and being able to see Rio’s hard cock has your clit pulsing and you bite your lip again, the skin just barely having healed from the other night. 

“Fuck, please, more,” Agatha babbles and arches her back off the bed so Rio’s cock can get in deeper. You’re tempted to slide your hand into your shorts but you also just want to watch. 

Rio brackets Agatha’s face with her forearms and slows her thrusts down but makes them more powerful and you swear you can feel it in your cunt. 

Agatha picks her head up to whisper something in Rio’s ear and Rio lets out a guttural groan before picking the pace up again, her cock making a squelching sound each time it drives into Agatha’s pussy. 

You lean against the wall, biting on your nails, and your fingertips on your other hand rest against the slightly ajar door. 

Without realizing what you’re doing, you push it just a little more open. It creaks slightly and you freeze, somehow trying to push yourself more against the wall should they look, but they don’t. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, your cunt is so fucking hot,” Rio groans and Agatha tilts her head to the side, dark curls spread out beneath her. Rio’s hands grip her thighs and push her legs even further apart and is rewarded by a loud noise from her wife.

“Her cunt,” Agatha breathes and your chest stutters. “I bet her cunt would feel so good around your cock. So wet and tight…” 

Rio’s hips falter for a moment and her head drops down to rest against Agatha’s bosom. It almost breaks you but you stay strong. If you touch yourself right now, you’ll risk making a noise and it’ll all be over. 

Even though your core is aching, your clit is throbbing, and you’ve never felt so overheated. 

Agatha runs a hand through her hair again and Rio cups her wife’s breasts, pulling another moan from the woman on the bottom. Rio’s thrusts are becoming shorter and shallower and Agatha’s breathing is becoming heavier, both of their words becoming slurs that are hard to understand. You hear more things that you think are about you, but you’re stuck, unable to do something about it. 

If you were a bit braver, you’d walk right in there and join them. 

But you’re rooted to the ground, only able to watch. 

Not that you’re complaining. 

“Fuck, Rio, I’m going to come,” Agatha whimpers and Rio nods, picking up her thrusts again. She’s going deeper than before and you can almost feel her inside you, the phantom length dragging against your cunt walls, and you clench around the imagination. 

What you would give to actually have her fuck you. To have both of them fuck you. 

When this summer is over, you’re going to have to make up a million excuses to come back and visit your aunt and uncle, if only for the chance of running into their neighbors. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Rio groans, rubbing her wife’s clit once again. You squeeze your thighs together and shift, feeling the pressure and slight sense of relief between them. 

Agatha keens, all of her muscles stiffening, and then she lets out a loud sigh as she relaxes after a few moments. Pink stains her cheeks and her chest rises and falls rapidly and you can’t stop looking at her boobs and the rosy color of her nipples. What would it be like, to suck them with your mouth?

Rio snickers, slowing down her thrusts. “Seems like our voyeur likes this too. Do you think she’s about to come as well?” 

It takes you a moment to realize that she’s talking about you, even though you’re the only one she could possibly be referring to. 

A smirk stretches across Agatha’s face and then her blue eyes meet yours in the doorway and your heart skips a beat. 

Did they know this whole time? 

Rio doesn’t stop moving inside her wife, who lazily rolls her hips to meet Rio’s thrusts. 

But Agatha raises her right hand and beckons you into the room with two fingers. 

As if you have a line connecting you to her, you obey. The door creaks as you push it open so you can fit through and you walk, as if in a trance, to the edge of the bed, feeling like a kid who got caught. 

“We’ve been keeping the door unlocked,” Rio says, her voice strained even amidst her faux-casual tone, and she leans down to suckle on Agatha’s left nipple, who inhales sharply. 

“We were just wondering how long it would take you to stop by,” Agatha says, sounding a lot lighter than her wife. 

Even if you could say anything at the moment, you’re not sure what would come out of your mouth. An apology for spying? Or a question asking if you could join? 

Rio groans and you don’t know who you’d rather be right now. The sound of their pubic bones meeting fills the air and with each thrust, you feel your clit pulse in turn. 

“I thought I told you to be a good girl,” Agatha teases, bucking her hips up. It’s all surreal, watching them fuck in front of you while both of them are acting like this is completely normal. “But I guess you need mommy and daddy to teach you a lesson.” 

A moan rips from your throat, so deep that your ribs rattle. 

Rio finally looks at you, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek like always. “Would you like that, pet?”

There’s not a moment of hesitation before you frantically nod your head. Whatever it is, you’ll accept it more than willingly. 

Although you can’t help but hope that you get to suck on Agatha’s nipples while Rio fucks you. 

As if they know what you’re thinking, they both chuckle. Rio is still pumping inside her wife and you wonder how much longer she’s going to hold out for. 

“Look at her, Agatha, the little slut wants us to fuck her,” Rio mocks, reading you like a book. Your cheeks burn, from embarrassment and desire. 

Agatha shakes her head and meets Rio’s thrust again with her hips. “Well she’s going to have to learn to be a good girl first. I think…once you come, Rio, our pet is going to have to clean daddy’s cum out from mommy. What do you think?” 

She’s asking Rio, but you can’t help but voice your opinion with a loud and pathetic whimper. Rio leans down to kiss her wife, completely ignoring you, and it only turns you on more. 

Rio starts thrusting hard, pulling gasps from both of them, and you’re not really sure what to do other than sway weakly, your knees hitting the edge of the bed. 

“Oh, fuck, Aggie, I can’t—” Rio groans and Agatha huffs out a laugh. Your mouth opens, just at the anticipation, and your vision blurs. 

“Fill me up,” Agatha begs, scratching at Rio’s bare shoulders. “I want your cum inside me so she can lick it out.” 

Rio’s hips falter and her head ducks down, focusing on driving into her wife with a passion that makes your core burn even more. You want to help in any way that you can, but then you see Rio peeking at you from her position—you see that both of them are watching you. 

They’re both getting off on you being here, maybe just as much as you are. 

“I’m gonna come—fuck, Aggie,” Rio gasps and then her entire body stiffens with a low groan, the same sound you’ve been hearing through the wall. 

Watching is something you never even dreamed of, and you’ll never be the same. 

Rio twitches and you imagine the warmth of her seed spreading through you instead of Agatha. Will you get to feel it one day?

She gives a few more half-hearted thrusts while her wife writhes beneath her, and then Rio looks over at you. “Are you ready?” 

Mouth watering, you nod and climb onto the bed on your knees. 

Rio pushes her cock one last time into Agatha’s cunt before sitting up and pulling out and giving you your first good look at both Agatha’s pussy and Rio’s cock. 

Rio’s cock is red and slowly softening, but absolutely soaked with both her cum and Agatha’s. It still twitches and you have the sudden urge to take it into your mouth and coax it back to hardness so she can fuck your throat with it. 

But you turn your attention to Agatha, the task at hand. Her pussy is swollen and puffy and pink, her clit engorged and peeking out through her lips. It’s still convulsing and you watch in awe as she reaches down her hand and spreads her folds with her fingers, revealing her throbbing walls. 

And—Rio’s cum. 

A white strand leaks out, slowly sliding down to her ass and onto the bed beneath her, and you flick your eyes up to check with Agatha, who is looking at you expectantly. 

You move between her legs, still feeling like you’re having an out of body experience, and crouch down so you’re level with her cunt. She smells hot and musky and your mouth is dry, stomach twisting pleasantly. 

A hand—Rio’s—buries itself in your hair as another glob slips out and she pulls gently to lead you to her wife’s pussy. 

“Clean mommy up, sweetheart,” Rio says, rough and gravelly. 

Your tongue sticks out experimentally and drags through her folds and Agatha jerks beneath you. The mixture of Rio’s and Agatha’s cum in your mouth is a bit salty and relatively tasteless, but you’re immediately addicted. 

“How does daddy taste?” Agatha asks, a little breathlessly, and you moan as an answer. Agatha’s hips rock up against the vibrations and you eagerly begin shoving your tongue inside her entrance, scooping more of Rio’s cum out and into your mouth. You drink it, both of their wetness, eyes closing as you lose yourself more in it. 

“Look at the dirty whore enjoying herself,” Rio coos and Agatha chokes out a laugh before groaning quietly when you suck on her clit. You don’t know if you’re allowed to do anything more than just “clean her out,” but you want to. 

You want it all. 

“I think we need to keep her around,” Agatha gasps and Rio’s hand tightens in your hair, holding you right where you are. You can feel their cum getting all over your face and you continue delving right back in, wanting to get even messier. “I want to watch her suck your cock.” 

Rio groans and so do you, just as your tongue slides into Agatha’s cunt and curls up. Your nose roughly bumps against her clit and Agatha’s hand tangles into your hair too.

“Look how good she is with her mouth,” Rio says. “I bet she’ll be the perfect slut. I want her to eat you out while I fuck her hot cunt.” 

You keen loudly and feel Agatha clench around your tongue. You want to say that Rio could do that right now, just slide her cock inside you because you’re already so wet and desperate that you could take it easily, but both of them keep you exactly where you are. 

“Are you getting all of daddy’s cum out?” Agatha asks in a strangled voice and you nod as much as you’re able to and you hear one of them laugh. “You��re going to make mommy come if you keep that up.” 

And you never had an option after that. 

It becomes more about giving her an orgasm than it ever was about cleaning her cunt, and you start urgently mouthing at her, sucking on her clit, lashing your tongue against it, and then thrusting your tongue inside her. She’s clenching more, almost rhythmically, and Rio chuckles before tugging on your hair sharply. The sting makes you groan but you don’t stop and neither of them make you. 

“Oh, fuck, you’re going to make mommy come,” Agatha keens and when you peer at her through hooded eyelashes, you see Rio’s free hand rolling her wife’s nipple between her fingers. 

You scrape your teeth against her clit and then suck roughly while Rio whispers praises into your ear, and Agatha’s muscles lock, her hips jerking up, before she makes the same tell-tale signs you’ve been hearing for the past week through the walls and in your head. 

She grinds against your face, both of their hands tightening in your hair, while you stick out your tongue and let her take what she needs. 

It’s a moment before Agatha finally slows down and then she tugs you away because of her intense two orgasms and you sit back on your heels, inhaling deeply. You can feel the stickiness coating your cheeks and your tongue darts out to lick at the messiness and Rio watches you with a smirk, her cock half-hard again. 

You wonder if they’ll fuck you now, help you out with the arousal throbbing between your own legs. Rio glances at her wife, who is still recovering, and Agatha winks. 

Rio climbs off the bed and tilts her head so you follow her out of the room and back into the kitchen. She is still naked and you watch her pale ass sway as she saunters. 

Where is she taking you? Is she going to bend you over the counter, fuck you, and let Agatha spy on you? Your heart skips a beat—you hope so.

But instead, she takes you right to the door, and despite her state of undress, she opens it and clasps your shoulder. “Next time, don’t hesitate to walk right in.” 

You stare at her dumbfounded while her eyes twinkle with amusement. 

The next thing you know, you’re in the hallway and Rio is closing the door on you. You take a shaky step back, still tasting and smelling their mix of cum on your tongue and face. 

Does Rio mean that? Will they keep setting up scenarios like that to lure you into their bedroom? 

Not their bedroom though—the guest one. Right on the other side of the wall that your bed is. 

It was all a part of their plan, you’re starting to realize. How long have they been leaving the door unlocked for? How long have they been fucking in that specific room just so you’d overhear?

Since the first time they met you?

The thought makes your cunt clench again and you quickly go into your own apartment before anyone else on the floor comes out to see you in such a disheveled state. Russel meets you at the door and you pet him absentmindedly, walking toward the pantry to get his dinner ready. 

He digs in immediately when you set the bowl down and you collapse onto the couch, still in shock about what just happened. 

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your shorts and you pull it out without thinking, hoping somehow that Agatha or Rio got your number and texted you to come back over. 

It’s from your uncle. 

How are things going? 

You laugh out loud to yourself and Russel picks his head up out of his food dish for a moment before going back to it. 

Everything is going great. I’ve met your neighbors—they seem nice. 

It’s the understatement of the century. 

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[thebibliosphere]

Do you think Bruce Wayne would flirt with Benoit Blanc?

I think if Bruce ever found himself in a situation to meet Benoit Blanc, to his great chagrin, it’d be as Brucie Wayne. He’d be on some rich fuck’s island under cover when a murder happens and it’d be killing him that he can’t break cover to get a closer look at the body. And then along comes Benoit Blanc and Bruce decides, well he’s Brucie right now, it’d be weird if he didn’t flirt a little.

And hey, who knows, if Blanc likes him maybe he’ll let Bruce tag along and get into places Brucie wouldn’t normally be if he wasn’t trying to seduce this weirdly accented, tall glass of deductive skills. (And maybe he’s enjoying it a little more than he should, but technically he’s on vacation so…)

Blanc, of course, catches on and thinks Bruce has something to hide and is keeping him close because he thinks he’s either the killer or in on it.

Except that’s not what the evidence or instincts are actually telling him. Not really.

But he also can’t ignore the fact that Bruce managed to trip and fall directly into the filing cabinet in the office, causing the drawer to fly open and reveal the evidence Blanc’s looking for. Or that the billionaire has a slightly delayed reaction to seeing blood. Not much, but enough for Blanc to notice.

There’s also the way he keeps making suggestions that on the surface seem benign, but are nevertheless intended to lead Blanc toward where his own instincts are telling him to look. So either Brucie is one of those killers who likes to be involved in the investigation because they want to make sure you’re noticing their ‘genius’ or because they think they can control the narrative by being helpful, or…

“Y’know something, Mister Wayne…”

“Benoit, please,” Bruce says with a slow, seductive smile that unfurls like silk over rich velvet. “How many times do I have to ask? Call me Bruce.”

“… Bruce. You’ve been so remarkably helpful.”

“Oh, you know me. I always aim to please.”

Bruce’s smile takes on an electric edge that makes Benoit’s thumb slide to the gold wedding band on his ring finger. He’s a married man, he’s a married man…

“I can’t help but wonder, though,” Benoit says, matching Bruce’s smile for a knowing one of his own. “Don’t you get tired?”

His tone is off, he knows it is because Bruce’s expression doesn’t flicker, not even a jot. It’s just unnatural enough to be telling.

“Tired of what?” the younger man asks, just the right amount of cheerful confusion in his voice and an adorable title of his head like a puppy to make you miss the sharpness behind his eyes. The way his body is coiling tight. Ready for a fight.

“Of pretending,” Benoit says, lifting a cigar to his mouth, making a show of patting down his pockets for the lighter. “I know I surely do. It grates on a man, always being underestimated. Everyone thinking you’re not as sharp as you are. Not as clever, not as quick. It must be a relief, I think, to finally be seen…”

The hand that had been rummaging in his pocket shoots out, aiming for Bruce’s perfect face. Bruce deflects it, twisting Benoit’s hand in a viper-like move Benoit hasn’t seen since…

“Ra’s doesn’t train just anyone,” he says, acutely aware of how much Bruce’s expression has changed without so much of a flicker of muscle. How sharp and hard the angles of his face have become. How deadly. “I confess, I didn’t see it at first. You’re very good, Bruce. I never would have put two and two together if you hadn’t twisted Haggart’s elbow the way you did when he tried to grab Maxine.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Take that as a compliment from one detective to another… Batman.”

[norrisradio]

SMALL TALK

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ “one night he wakes / strange look on his face / pauses, then says / “you’re my best friend” / and you knew what it was / he is in love” + “Morning, his place / burnt toast, Sunday / you keep his shirt / he keeps his word” - Taylor Swift, You Are In Love

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.7K ᝰ GENRE: strangers-to-friends-to-????, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and other disasters, oscar piastri is a man on a mission ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: my first time dabbling in some mixed media (feat. texts, voice notes, and facetimes)! not entirely happy with it but hopefully it makes sense // sorry for disappearing i am back now i swear ꨄ requested by @princesspiastri007 !

send me an ask for my line by line event .ᐟ

Oscar Piastri ruins your life in a bakery line on a Tuesday.

You’re clutching your paper cup like a lifeline, half-hypnotized by the scent of cardamom buns and the threadbare sweater slung over your frame — navy, elbow-patched, fraying at the seams. It was your dad’s. Maybe even his dad’s. Handed down like a secret. You only wear it on soft days. The kinds that ask for warmth and not much else.

Then someone knocks into you from behind, and the tea goes flying.

A sharp breath. The hiss of liquid on wool.

You freeze. He freezes.

“Shit — God, I’m so sorry.”

The voice is breathless and kind of pretty. You look up, prepared to launch into an eloquent string of swears, but the apology is already in his face. He looks young. Startled. Dimples carved into his cheeks like a question mark.  A lanky frame, messy hair, and a voice that sounds like Sunday morning. And behind him, some tall blonde girl in sunglasses (who you’ll later learn is Hattie, his sister) gives a wince-laugh and says, “Nice one, Oz.”

You look down. The sweater is ruined.

“That’s not just a sweater,” you whisper, throat tight. And somehow, that matters more than yelling.

The stranger — Oscar, apparently — blinks. “Wait — wait, is it special? Oh God. Please let me fix it.”

That’s how it starts: a burnt-sugar Tuesday and a ruined heirloom.

He buys you another tea. Apologizes twenty-seven times. Offers you his hoodie while you shiver on the bakery bench. It smells like laundry detergent and something citrusy, like a life that doesn’t belong to you. When you say he doesn’t need to do anything else, he frowns like you’ve insulted him.

“No. I swear — I’ll find a way to replace it.”

You scoff. “What, are you gonna time travel to the '80s?”

He grins. “Not quite. But I travel a lot. I’ll find one like it. You’ll see.”

It’s a joke. You think it’s a joke.

Until he’s in Spain two weeks later, and you get a photo of a sweater from a vintage shop in Barcelona:

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 1 Image] from: +61 *** *** *** Closer? Still hunting.

Then he’s in Canada. Silverstone. Budapest. Portugal.

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 1 Image - a blurry photo of a sweater, tagged €35 ] from: +61 *** *** *** Found a jumper in Lisbon. Not quite the right navy, but it has the elbow patches.

to: +61 *** *** *** you don’t have to keep doing this, yk 

from: +61 *** *** *** I know. I want to.

Each time, a picture. A patch. A different shade of blue. An “Almost.” 

You hadn’t expected it to become a thing.

You hadn’t expected him to become a thing.

But there’s a moment, three weeks later, when you're eating leftover curry on the floor of your apartment and your phone lights up with a voice memo. You hesitate. Press play.

Hey. I know it’s probably stupid but I found one in Tokyo today that kinda reminded me of the shape of yours. Didn’t get it though. The color was off. But I thought about you.

There’s a pause. You can hear wind. Traffic. And then:

Anyway. Just wanted to say hi.

You play it twice. Then a third time.

You don’t respond for an hour because you don’t know how to say, you’ve been living in my head since Tuesday.

The voice memos turn into calls. Almost by accident at first. One missed message becomes a call back, and before you know it, you’re dialing his number like muscle memory.

You start calling him after work, when the sky is the color of chamomile tea and the streets hum with the soft ache of winding down. He answers from hotel rooms, his voice low and warm, surrounded by the soft rustle of sheets or the faint murmur of unfamiliar cities outside his window. Sometimes you hear the buzz of neon. The clatter of luggage. The echo of a TV in the next room.

It becomes routine. Sacred, even. A ritual made of static and silence and shared space.

He listens when you talk about your family, about the sweater, about how you’ve always had trouble letting go of things that feel like home. Your voice goes soft when you tell him how your dad used to wear it on cold Sunday mornings, how it always smelled faintly of espresso and cedar. How you kept it on the back of your chair even after he passed.

There’s a pause.

And then: “That makes sense,” Oscar says, quiet enough that you almost miss it. “You feel... anchored. Even when everything else isn’t.”

You blink.

No one’s ever put it like that before.

You want to laugh. Or cry. Or tell him that he’s the first person in months who hasn’t made you feel like you’re too much. Too sentimental. Too attached to the past.

Instead, you murmur, “I like the sound of that.”

“Of what?”

“Being anchored.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his smile through the phone. That small, secret one you’ve learned to hear in the silence between words.

And when you hang up, well past midnight, your chest is full of something unfamiliar.

Melbourne - 00:42 / Sao Paulo - 11:42

Oscar’s face is sideways on your screen. He’s lying on a hotel bed, hair a mess, thumb under his cheek like he fell asleep on his own hand.

“I’ve seen twenty sweaters today,” he mumbles. “All of them were wrong.”

You smile, half-asleep yourself. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m determined.”

“Obsessed, maybe.”

He grins. “That too.”

There’s a long silence. Not awkward. Just full.

You whisper, “Why does it matter so much?”

He looks at you like he’s trying to read something written in a language only you speak.

“I think,” he says slowly, “because it mattered to you.”

Melbourne - 10:48 / Monza - 02:48

I found a vendor near the paddock today who hand-knits sweaters. Said she doesn’t repeat patterns but she can make something inspired by yours. I asked her how long it’d take. She said six months. I told her I’d wait.

There’s a long pause.

I don’t think this is about the sweater anymore. 

The FaceTimes start to stretch longer.  Past midnight. Into morning. Sometimes you wake up to a dead phone, his face still ghosting your dreams. He tells you what the gravel in Bahrain smells like. You tell him about your mother’s lasagna recipe. He starts sending you pictures of things that have nothing to do with sweaters.

The sea. His breakfast. A dog in the crowd with a bandana that says Team Oscar. His knees pressed up against the seat in a too-small plane.

You start recognizing hotel ceilings. The texture of his voice when he’s tired. The sound of his toothbrush.

You don’t talk about what it is. But you know.

You fall asleep with your phone tipped sideways, face half offscreen, mouth slack. Oscar snaps a screenshot once (you find it later in a photo dump he sends, sandwiched between two blurry shots of the Monza pitlane and one of a knitwear rack in Milan).

You’re in bed, face crinkled into your pillow.

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 4 Images] from: +61 *** *** *** I like this one best. 

Melbourne - 03:23 / Abu Dhabi 21:23

from: +61 *** *** *** You awake?

You blink at the screen, the dim glow of your phone painting soft light across your face.

You shouldn’t be awake. You weren’t. Not really.

to: +61 *** *** *** only if you need me to be 

from: +61 *** *** *** always. 

You stare at it for a beat too long. Something in your chest tightens.

No FaceTime this time. Just voice. Just the warmth of him spilling through the speaker like something secret.

“Hi,” he says, a little breathless. Like he’d been pacing. Like he still is.

“You okay?” you ask, voice scratchy with sleep.

A silence. Not heavy. Just full.

Then: “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

Another pause, this one longer. Then he sighs, and it sounds like the beginning of a confession.

“I was at dinner. Team stuff. Everyone talking, laughing, and it was fine. It was good. But then I thought of something you said — about how your dad used to cut his toast diagonally, like it made it taste better.”

You laugh, soft. “Because it does.”

He smiles. You can hear it. But then his voice shifts. Warmer. Quieter.

“And I wanted to tell you. Just that. Just... share that moment with you. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to call. Even though it was nothing. Even though it was everything.”

Your fingers twist in the hem of your blanket. “Oscar-”

He exhales, quiet static against your cheek. “It just– it made me realize something.” 

You hear him shift again, maybe run a hand through his hair. When he speaks next, his voice is quieter. Barely above a whisper.

“I think you’re my best friend.”

And the way he says it — it’s not casual. Not flippant. It lands somewhere low in your chest, blooming slow and steady.

You don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is, you already knew. You’d known for a while now, tucked in the space between time zones and half-laughed voicemails. In the way your day doesn’t feel finished until you’ve heard his voice.

Still, you make a soft sound into the receiver. “I know,” you say, because anything more might break it.

He breathes out a laugh. You can hear him relax, like he was bracing for something bigger.

“I should let you sleep.”

“You should.”

But neither of you hang up.

You don’t say anything else that night. Just let the silence stretch between you like soft thread, pulled taut. Your hand stays curled around the phone long after the call ends, thumb brushing the screen like it might still be warm from his voice. 

And later, when you’re making toast in his kitchen for the first time and burn it so badly the alarm goes off, you both laugh like idiots, wheezing and barefoot. 

You keep his hoodie. He lets you. You wear it when he’s gone. You send him a photo of it hanging beside the ruined sweater, like they’re twin relics of something that matters now. 

He keeps his word. 

He never finds the same sweater. 

But somehow, you stop minding.

Oscar can’t look at a knit sweater without thinking of you, and maybe that’s the best kind of curse—a soft one, stitched with love, pulling him home.

[windyremedy]

B-B-BOYFRIEND!

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: he wants that cookie so effing bad but reader is oblivious to it all.

clueless.

you were damn clueless about what you were so sure you wanted.

look. bakugou didn’t mean to overhear unlike other times (ehem the sports festival) but you weren’t really being quite about it. often complaining to the other girls about how you’re looking for a boyfriend, how you want someone to be there for you yet no one seems interested.

mina in particular would glance over where he sat, laughing at your obliviousness. pointing out your blindness to the fact that someone IS interested but you waved it off like a fool as if he doesn’t cook your favorite food each time when he’s assigned dinner duty, as if he doesn’t walk by the road so you’re on the safer side, as if he doesn’t let you ramble whatever it is you wanted to talk about listening genuinely and how if it were anyone else he’d walk away without a second thought. yet you can’t see all the lengths he’s going through just to show you how capable he is to fulfill that role.

it’s getting to the point where he thinks you don’t like him specifically because how can you not get it? are you avoiding him by pretending not to know on purpose to lightly let him down?

fuck, he even talked about his situation with his self proclaimed friends and they all told him to just fess up to you but damn it do you make him feel like a fool himself.

“dude why don’t you ask her yourself?” sero genuinely asked, wondering why his strong headed friend who doesn’t hesitate in the face of danger become so suddenly hesitant when it came to you.

“yeah! be a manly man and just do it.” the red headed boy spoke all fired up, patting the unshaken boy on the back whose face never seemed to cease from its frown.

“what? don’t tell me you’re scared kacchan?” kaminari teased and for what’s probably the hundredth time he got blown up by bakugou’s quirk, again, he really never learns his lesson.

so when the end of the year party eventually comes up you find yourself cornered by the explosive boy. dragged firmly away from the crowd of your peers, looking at you with angered brows and an upset pout. you supposed he tried to look indifferent and unaffected but he looked like anything but.

“what’s up bakugou?” you asked smiling up at his sharp expression.

“you’re blind as fuck.”

“what the— not even a hello???” you asked incredulously at his unprompted comment.

“shit. okay wait, let me think. you are unaware of things you should be aware of.”

…blink…..blink...blink

“is this about the homework I totally failed? I told you not to bring it up bakubro—“

“no and don’t call me that!” he shouted, popping a red vein.

“why??!”

“because I don’t want to be your ‘bro’”

“what. you don’t want to be friends anymore?” you wobbly asked, eyes watering like that one emoji you always fucking send him. for instance,

messages

you: can you help me prepare for the test plz

katkat: where

you: wait actually I just remembered you and kiri were gonna study together

katkat: we’re not

you: I heard you two plan it after class?

katkat: he planned it

you: can you ask kiri if I could join then 🥹

katkat: no because I’m coming to your room, get your shit ready.

you: so no kirishima? (➤)

you: so (➤)

you: kk pal!

katkat: don’t call me that.

messages

katkat: mina saw you.

katkat: said you looked upset or something.

you: no I’m fine!!!

you: totally not crying over being stood up or whatever. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

katkat: that business class hataro shitsuko was a loser anyway.

you: it’s shizuku lol

katkat: just come over.

you: wait how did you know who (➤)

you: wait (➤)

you: wa (➤)

you: okay bae

messages

katkat <3: I’m not getting you that mochi

you: please I want you

katkat <3: what?

you: to get it for me PLEASSSEEEE 🥹 🥹

katkat <3: …

katkat <3: fine.

you: yayyyyyyyy

you: I want a specific flavor though.

katkat <3: I know what it is dumbass, I’ll see you later.

you: can you look for (➤)

you: THANK YOU!!

and many more but none of that ever clicked in your mind and so here you two were.

“no I want to be more than that.” he spoke seriously, red eyes set firmly on yours.

“don’t tell me….” you looked to the side shedding a tear as you leaned behind the wall further.

finally you understood.

“you want to be best fri—“

“FUCK NO! WE’RE NOT DOING THAT SHIT SO I’M JUST GONNA SAY IT.” he exasperatedly yelled, grabbing both your shoulders. breathing in once and out he spoke loud and clear, the feelings he held close and dear.

“I WANT YOU, YOU DAMN IDIOT! LET ME BE YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!”

“what?” you stared at him all startled and wide eyed as your mouth pulled downwards and eyes squinted to tears as you began to cry.

“what the— why are you crying!? do you hate me that bad?” bakugou asked hiding his hurt by wiping your tears away with his thumb as he gently held your face.

“no I want you too!!!! I just never thought you felt that way about me.” you whined planting your face in his chest.

“yeah no shit.”

“what?” you asked, slightly pulling away.

“nothing.” he answered shoving your face back in his body with one hand, relived that you actually felt the same way all this time.

inspo: “don't be scared to come put your trust in me can't you see all I really want to be is your boyfriend.” — Big Time Rush

©windyremedy

[eraserbread]

God forbid a girl asks for some ex-husband kento (pls 🥺)

kento really should leave. it's obvious -- this is not his home anymore.

no, it's his daughters and ex-wife's. he handed it over like stone once the divorce went final, wanting his girl to grow up in spacious security. he'll sign on a lackluster one-bedroom in the city just so all of his money can flow into keeping you afloat.

though you're perpetually trapped by him, using a bank account he monitors and living in a home you don't pay for, he still gives you grace. it's because he's guilty. kento knows he fucked you over, it's why he's pacing your bedroom door where he knows you're asleep.

he's a good dad, carving out time between missions to run and take his daughter to school. it's the one constant his little girl has, and in first grade, she's old enough to understand that he's never really around.

it's why he has her hello kitty lunch box tight in his grip that she left in his car today. he knows you need to pack it for tomorrow and would likely freak out if you lost it, so he needed to hand it to you personally.

or, that's what he tells himself to justify the anxious pacing. he needs to swallow that familiar need for you that brews in his bones and leaves him tossing and turning through his sleepless nights. It's only been a year without you; surely he can handle a lifetime, right?

all he was going to do was drop the box on your nightstand, send a quick text, and be on his way. but, you had other ideas.

it was his stupid pacing; it woke you up, and now you were staring at the windowless wall, scowling into nothingness. blankets are bunched neatly at your lace-covered waist, wrapped in a honeymoon artifact you used to show off for your husband, now your insecure ex who doesn't speak more than two sentences at a time.

unless, it's to tell you to be obedient, or stop talking.

this time, it's you who initiates the talking. "what are you doing?"

you can't see the tense in his shoulders when he realizes you're awake. he thought he could get lucky, sneaking around like a criminal. you wouldn't give him luck -- he doesn't deserve peace.

"just dropping off rin's bento box." the hard plastic hits your side table, and you shudder. his voice is deep like he's tired. "she ran out of my car like she was mad this evening... all to see you. she's a mother's girl, not like I can blame her much."

"she has like eight bentos, you could've left it."

kento sighs, letting your words overtake and shove his efforts right back in his face. "it's her favorite."

"she has eight favorites."

"okay." he deadpans. "anything else i'm doing wrong? or that I don't know?"

"nanami, we'd be here all night if I told you the truth." with every sentence, it's becoming increasingly obvious that you won't be getting much sleep. you sit up, pulling your blankets around your half-decent body. "say it. whatever it is that brought you here with the excuse of a bento."

you know better than to expect kento to listen, but you don't expect him to round the expanse of the bed, dropping to his knees right next to you. he attempts to reach for your tangled hand, but you swat him away, gaze full of indignant fires.

"forgive me... please." he's muttering, head dipped in embarrassment. since he gave you up, he's realized it as his biggest mistake. he can't calm the burning within him at night, he can't stand going back to his old ways - convenience store dinners and storefront sandwiches. but, he also can't let you be dragged into his work again. He could see the effect it pulled you into, the worry that ate you alive every time you saw him. but, there must be an answer, some alternative to cold-turkey. you are an addiction.

"forgive you? forgive you for what? breaking apart our family? giving up? giving in to your cowardice? i don't think you understand -- you leaving me doesn't just affect you and I, it affects rin in ways we won't see until it's eating us alive. that's on you. it's your fault." always level-headed, always the voice of reason even if it's painful. kento nods, but can't look at you.

"forgive... me..." he pleads, emotionless and unblinking at the rugged floor. "...please."

you scoff, pushing away from him on the bed. you crawl to the other side, the side nanami left the bento, and take it as an excuse to run from this situation.

"you're just going to walk away?"

"yes! because i'm not dealing with your bullshit." he follows you out into the hallway, past your sleeping daughters room and into the kitchen. you can feel his shadowed eyes staring at the jutting expose of your ass through the nightgown, but for some reason it doesn't bother you. emotionally, you're as disconnected as possible, but your body still likes him. i mean, it's undeniable, kento will always be the most attractive man you've ever, ever seen.

it was not you who cut those ties. never you.

and he's crowding you as you turn on the faucet, opening rin's box and putting it under. kento is on you the entire time, but he actually corners you against the sink, huge body caging you in, hands planted at your either side. his breathing is nasally and pathetic. you're scowling.

"...ignore that."

you're squinting, trying to gauge what you're ignoring. then, you can feel it. anger rises your body temperature. an erection, pressing right between the swells of your loosely covered ass. "you're genuinely so unbelievable."

you've begun washing the dish, spinning soapy water in the painted pink plastic as he breathes on your neck. you wish you can push him away and lessen him to a lifetime of sexual pining and angst, but you're stoic.

the dish is washed, you're turning around, breathless. and just as you go to close your hand over his cheek and give in, a tiny voice from the hallway catches you.

"mama?" your little girl whines, one eye cracked open in the harshness of the lights. she's all messy-haired, red-faced and sleepy. in her left hand hangs a tattered kuromi doll. "I heard... dad..."

you've never pushed kento away like this, but he's being pushed, taking it like it's nothing, too. he understands that whatever rin needs comes first - he's okay not being at your attention.

and he loves seeing you two interact as you sweep her up in your safe arms. rin settles on your hip, long legs kicking into the air as she rests on your shoulder. "sleepy."

"i know, my baby." you coo, running a hand through her hair. "want me to put you back to sleep?"

staring at her twin, her dad, rin nods her sleepy head, using a fist to tug at her right eye. "dad... bye, daddy."

"bye, my princess." kento stands from his lean on the counter, closing in to kiss rin on the cheek. he lingers for a moment, peeking up to your unreadable gaze. you make him feel so little, now. like he hardly exists as a human, let alone the father of your child and the man you loved for over a decade. "sleep well. be nice to your mama, too. I'll be here to take you to school tomorrow."

as you tuck your girl back into bed, she's peaceful. "mama? are you and dad happy again? will he live here again?"

kneeling at her bedside, you smooth the blankets over her figure, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "probably not."

she whines close-eyed, turning her face away from you. "I didn't do anything to make you mad, so why is it my fault?"

"what? rin, dad and i not being together is entirely our fault." you're mindful to the core when speaking to her, deciding it better not to pin blame on you or kento, just for the respect of her mentality.

she whines again, shoving away from your touch defiantly. she's holding kuromi like she's stressed, and it kills you.

"please, mama. please fix it."

[littlcdarlin]

Who Will Love A Little Sparrow?

summary: Joel turns sixty.

warnings: girthy age gap (60 & mid 20s), Joel feels guilty about age gap, I cried while writing this, emotional fluff

note: it took one ask to convince me to actually write this lol hope you like it, anon! Title is from the Simon & Garfunkel song

Joel hasn't quite realized he's turning sixty – sure, he knows he looks it, feels it in his cracking joints, aching back and wheezing lungs, sees it in the stares the two of you get walking through Jackson hand in hand, but your company keeps him young. Three and a half decades between you will do that to a man.

He's never liked a big fuss on his birthday; even when he was half his age all the singing and balloons embarrassed him more than anything, so he didn't mention it was coming up during the weeks beforehand. You knew, of course, and so did Tommy, but he figured patrols would keep the two of you busy enough to prevent anything more than an extra kiss from you and a teasing comment from his brother – maybe birthday sex when you were done with your work for the day.

When he wakes up, it's his first thought, though not in excitement, but resignation. Sixty. The number feels like a chasm between the two of you. It makes him feel dirty for having touched you the night before, and he wishes humanity hadn't decided on the decimal numeral system.

You're scheduled for the morning patrol, so he doesn't expect you home before noon, which for the first time in his life feels like a relief. It gives him a couple of hours to bury the guilt about your age somewhere deep and secure, under vague childhood memories and the first thirteen decimals of Pi, where it won't come bubbling up while you're laughing your sunshine-laugh. He doesn't want to dim your spark, not when you seem to just have found it again.

He scuffles downstairs, dragging his feet as if he's turning ninety instead of sixty, just to wallow in his self-pity while nobody is around to see it. If he's lucky, he'll have two more decades, maybe even three, though that kind of hope is practically brazen.

He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen, thinking that if he makes his coffee strong enough, it might make him feel fifty again.

"Happy Birthday."

His head snaps up, and he's staring at you instead of his toes, your youthful face a little blotchy from the excitement.

"Here," you say, and thrust a cupcake in his direction. There is a single purple candle on it, and the frosting isn't draped across the dough in artful swirls the way they did it before the outbreak – still, it's the best cupcake he has ever seen.

"I couldn't fit sixty candles on this thing, so you get one."

Your smile is a little lopsided, a little too understanding, and Joel swallows.

"Thanks," he mutters quietly, staring at the blue part of the flame. "Geez."

"Blow it out," you say, "and make a wish."

He doesn't believe in that, but he obliges because you somehow found him a cupcake in the middle of the apocalypse at the crack of dawn.

"Now," you say, almost business-like, as if the first bullet point of one of your little lists has been crossed off, "I got Tommy and Maria to cover us on patrols today. What do you wanna do first, drink outrageously bitter coffee, or carve a wooden sparrow?"

He stares at you. You must have found the little bird he made during his many sleepless hours – he put it on the very top shelf in the living room where it wouldn't attract attention. It's not that he's embarrassed about it, he's just not sure it's a part of himself he wants to share with the world.

You put the cupcake on the kitchen counter and turn back around, that same knowing smile on your lips.

"I got you something," you say, and Joel frowns.

"You shouldn't trade for–"

"I didn't."

You hand him a small package, wrapped in some old newspaper you decorated with tiny, drawn-on hearts.

"Tommy said you used to wrap presents in colorful paper just to throw it away," you explain, that sense of wonder in your voice, as always when you talk about the before, "I didn't have paint, but I found a pen that works."

Joel stares at the package. He remembers the last birthday present he unwrapped perfectly, can see it catch the morning sunlight on his wrist.

"I–Geez," he just says, again, and starts to carefully peel away the newspaper without creasing your little artwork too much. His thumb traces one of the hearts. There is a hint of red inside the paper, and then he's holding something small.

"Where did you get this?", he asks, voice quiet with awe and something else that seems to thicken his throat.

"I found it in an abandoned raider's lair," you say softly, "I know I should have handed it to Maria, but I thought you could use it for your sparrow. Give him a face, you know, some feathers."

Joel traces the little cross on the Swiss army knife, and feels his chest tighten.

"Don't tell on me," you say teasingly, but with a hint of self-consciousness at his lack of a response. Joel swallows, and drags his eyes away from his present and to your face.

"Thank you," he says quietly, unsure of how to voice the thoughts rushing through his head, "I– thank you."

"Yeah," you say gently, "'course."

You accept his gratitude, understand what he means by it. You don't make a fuss with your un-swirly cupcake and single candle and no singing. All of a sudden, Joel feels his eyes prick and burn, and he rubs them quickly, wipes away the wetness. You touch his shoulder, make him look at you, and he clenches his jaw in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mutters, "you just...know me so well."

There it is, your sunshine-smile, and you press a kiss to his naked chest, as high as you can reach.

"Sixty isn't that old, Joel. Don't even think about using it as an excuse to stop chopping firewood."

He chuckles and cups your face in one of his massive palms.

"No ma'am."