#the show is over for this year so I have to talk about my feelings and opinions. as you do. carry on etc

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

Cracked

Summary: Now that Harry has time off from the fire station, him and Y/n spend (lots) some time doing what they've missed. Kind of a continuation of this! Firefighter!Harry x author!reader

Warnings: loooottsss of smut, some humiliation, all that jazz! Also, plz ignore typos lol

Wc: about 4k!

Now that Harry has hired on more guys at the fire station he and Y/n both have more time for each other and Harry has been loving every second of it.

He just got finished with hiring a new guy, who will be taking a big load off, he will be dealing with more of the little, less urgent calls that Harry has had to tend to during these low staffed months.

“Well, we hope you like it here Bryan. I know we're happy to have you on with us. You'll be saving us- specifically me, a lot of time.” He gives Bryan a polite smile, standing up from his desk to give his new hire a tour. He slips his phone out of his pants, opening iMessages and clicking on his wife's contact.

He walks out of his office, walking past the giant fire trucks and into one of the little rooms all the guys hang out in. “This is the room you'll be in the most, probably. Guys like Jim just hang out here, watching tv. You know, the guys who don't have a wife or anything.” He jokes, making Jim flip him off. He's one of the oldest firefighters, he and Harry have formed a tight bond throughout all the years they've worked together.

“You've got a wife?!” Harry nods, showing his lockscreen off to Bryan which is a photo of him and Y/n on their wedding day. “Yeah, married for eight years.” Bryan's eyes shoot wide, “How old are you?!” Harry laughs, “I'm almost twenty eight. I got married young.”

Harry closes the door, walking up into a fire truck. “Feel free to look around for a second then I'll show you everything.” Harry clicks back into him and his wife's messages, his thumbs covering over his keyboard as he plans out his messages.

Giving a tour to the new hire, I'll be off soon. Be ready for me, baby 😈

He chuckles at his own message before slipping his phone back into his pants, where it should probably stay until he gets home if he's going to continue to send texts like that.

“You know your way around a truck, right? You worked a county over for two years?” Bryan nods, finding everything himself. Harry knew he didn't have to give him much guidance since he's already worked in the field for a couple years.

After a couple more minutes of talking and finishing out the tour, he says his goodbyes, then heads back home.

He walks into their house, finding it silent with no traces of his wife. He creeps up the stairs, walking into his wife's office without any announcment. “Hi, baby.” He smiles, coming up behind her where she sits and writes. “Hi, H. I didn't know you'd be home so soon.” Harry frowns, kissing the side of her head. He slides his hands onto her shoulders, gently massaging at her muscles he knows are sore from sitting at her desk all day.

“I sent you a text. Hired on a new guy, now I'll have more time with my baby.” He smiles, sliding one of his hands into her tank top. His fingers instantly find her nipple, pinching at it. She squeaks, pushing his hand away. “H!” She grumbles, “I'm trying to write.” He shakes his head, yanking her up and into his arms.

She almost gets whiplash from the sudden movement. His arm is wrapped around her waist tight, pinning her to him. “I don't really care.” He admits, leaning down to kiss her. “Babe,” she whines, and Harry cuts her off again. His mouth hovers over her, teasing her as he bumps his nose against hers. “I really need to write, I have to finish this.” He playfully rolls his eyes, pressing a peck to her lips.

“I can just take you right back there really quickly.” He nods back to her reading chair. “Nothing with you is ever quick, and we both know that.” She pulls at his suspenders, pulling them down so she can kiss him before she turns to start writing again. “So you don't care about your husband?” He jokes, pushing her office chair back in for her despite him just asking for her to ignore her work.

“I care about him very much. You don't care about your wife's career?” Harry wraps his arms around her one last time, giving her a good squeeze and a loud kiss on her neck. “I care about it more than my own. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to start dinner for me and my beautiful wife.” He smiles, smoothing his mustache down, shooting her a wink and walking back out of her office.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“Good morning, my baby.” Harry mumbles, smiling and wrapping his arms around Y/n. He pulls her closer, kissing over her neck. She giggles sleepily, pushing him away. “Your mustache is tickling me, babe.” He rubs it into her skin, laughing with her.

He sits up, kneeing the mattress as he yanks her legs up. “already?!” She laughs, threading her fingers behind his neck. “I'm trying to make up for lost time! I'm still recovering from those almost two months we went without.” He slides his hand down, quickly sliding his hand up and down his cock to get nice and hard for her before he pushes her little sleep shorts to the side.

“Just be a little gentle, though. We've kinda been going at it.” She softly jokes, whispering as if the bubble around them would pop if she spoke too loud. They're both still enjoying the early morning glow. “Awe, baby.” He pouts, rubbing her cheek with one hand and expertly hovering over her with his other hand in the pillow next to her head. “I don't really care if you're sensitive.” He mumbles, kissing her jaw.

Her mouth opens to respond, but nothing comes out. “Don't open that pretty mouth of yours unless you want me to fill it.” She lets out a shaky breath, closing her eyes to try to calm herself before she cums from his words alone.

He slides in without warning, making her breath get stuck in her throat. “Oh my god!” She clings to him, her nails scratching at his shoulder.

Their headboard slams against the wall as he thrusts in and out of her. Harry grabs onto it, trying to silence it so the neighbors don't complain like they had the week before. That left Y/n embarrassed the rest of the day.

“You're already being so pathetic, baby. C’mon, have a little pride.” He softly laughs in her face, looking at how she's turning into putty beneath him. She turns her head the other way as if it would stop him from hearing her whines. She bites her lip, listening to him and trying to have some pride instead of falling apart the second her husband slides his cock inside of her.

Harry gives up on holding the headboard. He grabs her jaw instead, squishing her cheeks together. “Let me hear you. Haven't been shy for twelve years, baby. Don't start it now.” She lets out a cry, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts. He slips out of her, making her almost choke on air when his leaky tip hits her clit.

“Look what you did. I was fucking you so good until you got too greedy.” She pants, trying to think of any words to say but only gasps for air coming from her lips. “Apologize or I'm not letting you cum.” He slowly, painfully slaps his big, red tip against her clit, smiling as he covers it in precum.

“I'm sorry, H. Fuck, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.” She repeats it over and over again, sliding her hand up and cupping his cheek. He gives her a big, beautiful smile. “Awe, it's okay, my baby. Just don't do it again or I'll have to cum in you and leave you needy.” She nods, pushing his hair back and keeping eye contact with him him while he speaks to her.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes” she whispers, frantically nodding her head.

“Then answer. With words.” He slides back into her, finding his rhythm again after she threw him off.

Harry pushes her sleep shirt up, revealing her perky breasts. He slides his hand across one, squeezing it before he slides his fingers over her nipples. He knows he's teasing her, but he takes his time feeling the silky skin, admiring them before he pulls her nipple into his mouth. He suckles at it, closing his eyes before he bites at the bud. She lets out a pained gasps, but obviously likes it because she clenches around him.

Harry's thrusts grow faster, and the headboard slamming against the wall only gets louder- the canopy style bed didn't help their issue either. Harry moans in her ear, groaning at her name.

“Almost there, baby?” He questions, now rubbing her clit. She nods her head frantically then wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer to her. “Just-” her voice breaks, clinging to him. Her back arches into him, her head digging into the pillow. “Fuck, just a little more, babe.”

His hips work overtime while he tries to get both of them to their highs, his arm sandwiched between their bodies while he continues to rub her clit.

“Can I cum in you?” He rushes out between breaths, asking her before he busts inside of her. “Yes, please, H. I need your cum in me. I want it leaking out of me for the rest of the day.” He cums the second that dirty talk falls out of his mouth. He doesn't get to hear her that often, the first time he read her dirty scenes in her book he was taken aback. From then on he's been trying to get her more comfortable using that nasty mouth he didn't know she had in the bedroom.

Y/n follows right after, cumming at the feeling of his hot load inside of her.

Harry collapses on top of her, laughing in the post-sex glow. He kisses the top of her head, almost tempted to go back to sleep. “Oh, my baby.” He groans, rolling over and taking her with him so she's now laying on top of him. “You were so good for me. You always are.” His thumb wipes a tear that is rolling down her cheeks.

“Are you okay? I didn't go too hard, did I? You know I get a little wrapped up sometimes.” She shakes her head then rests it onto his chest to relax. “No, it was just a lot… and you're still inside of me.” His chest rumbles with a laugh, choosing not to respond and instead rub her back as she listens to his heartbeat, falling back to sleep.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“I'm so happy we get a nice night together, babe. I'm not used to this.” Y/n smiles, walking over to the couch with a large bowl of popcorn in her hands. She sits down on Harry's thick thighs, making herself comfortable as he scrolls through a random streaming service to pick a movie. “I know. I'll take you out next weekend, for an actual date.” He kisses her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her hips and resting his hand onto her exposed thigh.

His fingers absentmindedly trace the lace lining on her shorts. “I don't care what we do. As long as we're together.” Y/n mumbles, holding a piece of buttery popcorn up to Harry's mouth. He grabs it with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth then sucking her finger. She gasps, pulling her finger away from him. “You're so weird! Get a life.” He laughs, wrapping both arms around her and shoving his face into her neck.

“What do you want to watch, baby?” Y/n shrugs, not too focused on finding a movie. She'd rather stay up and talk all night like they used to do when they first got together, and when they had time together more often. “How's work going? Are you relieved you don't have to be on their every beck and call?” Harry nods, pulling her even closer to himself so her back is right against his chest.

“I'm very relieved. How is writing going? Hopefully very well, now that you've found your cure.” He winks with a smile before he reaches into the popcorn bowl. She playfully rolls her eyes, cuddling into him and throwing a blanket across them. “Writing is going well.” She lets out a relaxed sigh, resting her head on top of his. “I'm a little over halfway done, so before I know it it will be out.” Harry smiles, giving her a big squeeze and a tiny shake of excitement.

“I'm so proud of you. I can't believe you've finally made your dreams come true. I remember talking about this when we were teenagers. I'm just so unbelievably proud of you, my baby.” She blushes, looking down. She's completely overwhelmed by his random outburst of pride. “Thank you so much, H. I couldn't have done it without all of your support throughout these past couple years.”

He gives her another squeeze. “Y’know, all of my coworkers' wives have read your book.” Y/n raises her eyebrows. “Good or bad news?” Harry chuckles, rubbing his knuckles against the silky skin of her thigh. “Good. I think it's sweet that the whole world knows our love story.” She lets out a sarcastic laughs. “I wouldn't say the whole wor-” he cuts her off, shaking his head. “No,no. Don't underestimate yourself, my little number one best selling author.”

Y/n blushes again, “thank you, Babe.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Harry is busy getting ready for bed, standing up beside the bed where he lotions his worn hands. He's definitely had a few bad burns through his career, so he tries to take of them now that he's all healed.

Y/n walks out of their closet, tiptoeing over to Harry and standing in front of him, waiting for him to notice. It takes Harry almost a full minute to notice her. He looks her up and down, taking in the sight of his wife dressed in nothing but a light blue teddy. He reaches out, feeling the thin lace material.

He grows a big smirk on his face. “I thought you said you were ‘too sensitive’ because we were ‘going at it’ too often.” He doesn't make eye contact with her at all, just staring at her exposed skin. The lingering doesn't cover up a bit of her with the sheer fabric, especially since she opted out for the matching bra and thong.

Y/n ignores his words, lifting on her tiptoes to kiss him. Harry moans into the kiss, pulling her in and wrapping an arm around her waist. Her hands roam his bare chest before she slides them back, smoothing down his muscled back.

She takes a step away, her eyes rolling down Harry's body. His bulge is nearly busting out of his plaid sleep shorts.

Y/n crawls onto their bed, on her hands and knees as she lowers her chest to the bed and raises her ass into the air, spreading her legs apart for him. Harry smiles, his body buzzing with electricity. He's practically drooling as he reaches out, his hand coming to her ass.

Y/n looks back, “Are you going to take your sweet time?” Harry bites his lip, pinching his eyebrows together. “Speak to me like that again and I'll fuck your mouth till you cant speak.” She smiles, “Put it in, H. Come on.” She wiggles her hips, falling down to her forearms.

Harry slaps her ass, pushing his sleep shorts down so he's in nothing but socks. He knees the bed, yanking her hips and shoving her up the bed so he has more room. “Look at how ready I am for you.” She wiggles her hips yet again, pushing back to try to rub against him. After another beat of silence she huffs. “C’mon, I didn't dress up for you just for you to not fuck me.” He laughs, rolling his eyes.

She flips around, obviously frustrated. “C’mon, H. Don't you want me?” She pulls his hands into hers, placing them on her breasts. “Of course I do. I just want to see how pathetic you can get. You know I love to see my baby beg for me.” He smiles, pushing her back into the bed. He leans down, pulling her into a kiss. She smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His hand snakes down between them, rubbing her pussy. She moans, softly biting at his lip. “You look so pretty, dressing up just for me.” He sits back up, his hands sliding down her body.

“Get back down.” He says, easily flipping her around onto her stomach, yanking her hips up. “Show off that pretty pussy, baby.” She returns to her previous position, back on her knees and forearms.

She wiggles her ass, softly laughing. “I love when you throw me around.” He smirks, kissing her lower back.

Harry savors the sight before he grasps his cock, lining it up with her hole and sliding it. His hand settles on her ass to keep himself somewhat stable. “M’” Harry groans, “I fucking love this pussy.” He slides his hand down her back, grabbing at her hair.

He softly yanks at her hair, making her smile. He pushes it away, giving her scalp a quick scratch with the pads of his fingers.

Her cheek is pressed into the mattress, moaning as he thrusts in and out of her. Harry pushes her hair back starting at her forehead. “My baby looks so pretty when she gets fucked.” She gives him a blissed out smile, fluttering her eyes back open to make eye contact with him.

Her face twists, her brows pulling together as she moans his name, gripping the sheets when he hits her g-spot.

Harry thrusts into her deeper, trying to pull the same noise out of her.

“I'll never get tired of this.” Harry gasps, letting out grunts every time he slams back inside of her that only makes Y/n clench tighter around him.

They hear faint cracking noises, but chose not to say anything as they chalk it up to house settling noises.

“Me either, H. Fuck- I love your cock so much. It feel so good-” she moans, her knuckles turning white as she squeezes onto the sheets. “Good inside of me.” She finally finished her sentence, letting out a big breath of air. Harry's head falls back, his mouth dropped open in pure pleasure.

He lifts a leg up, trying to get deeper inside of her. “Oh, that's good baby. Keep squeezing me.” She listens to him, trying her best to stay clenched around him even though her mind is blank and the only thing she can say is his name over and over again.

Harry pants, “Getting close?” Reaching his hand around to rub her clit.

They hear it before they feel it, a loud crack then they feel the bed completely bust beneath them.

Harry doesn't waste a second, continuing to thrust his hips as if he didn't just break their bed from endless nights of fucking his wife until they were both lulled to sleep.

“Har-” Harry shakes his head, “ignore it baby, I can tell you're almost there.” She obeys him, ignoring their broken bed- that continues to break as he finishes fucking her.

She cums quickly, gasping his name, and Harry soon follows- completely filling her up to the brim with his hot, sticky cum.

They take a second to catch their breath before coming back down to earth.

Harry carefully pulls out of her, placing a kiss on her hip. Y/n turns back, pushing her hair away from her face where stray strands stick to the half dried tears on her cheeks. “You okay?” Harry asks, helping her dry her cheeks.

She nods, letting out a yawn.

They both take in their surroundings, speechless at the state of their once neat bedroom. A lamp from Y/n’s nightstand is knocked over and laying on the floor, while their bed is basically in bits under them.

Harry sighs, sitting up. “Let me assess the damage. I'll see if I can fix it.” He steps down onto the floor, kneeling to see what they did. The slats under the mattress are completely busted and their wooden bed frame is cracked in half. He winces, looking back up at his wife. “Absolutely no saving this, baby. We're going to have to buy a new one.” She softly laughs, preparing to step off.

“No, the lightbulb broke and I don't want you to get splinters.” He pulls her into his arms bridal style. “Off to the guest bedroom.” Y/n laughs, throwing her arms around Harry's neck.

“Yeah, we'll deal with that tomorrow.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“I completely forgot about this.” Y/n sleepily chuckles while standing in the doorframe of her and Harry's bedroom. Harry looks back, holding a dustpan full of chipped wood. “Yeah, we definitely did a number on it.” He tosses the wood bits into a trash can, bending down to sweep the rest.

Y/n watches his back muscles contort while he pulls up the broken pieces of their headboard. She takes a step closer to him, her hand running over the skin. Harry glances up at her, ignoring it and returning to his work. He quickly does a double take. “You can't be serious?! We just broke our bed?!”

A/N: HIIIIII WOW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT ON A CURE 🥹 I didn't expect this! Feeling so so thankful and excited everyone is still interested in my writing! Any words you have to say about my writing- big or small, funny or serious (specifically the horny ones are honestly hilarious- shout out to the person who was ovulating and "sliding down their couch") mean the WORLD to me ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[auraisereigh]

"For Her, Always"

oneshot

Garrick Tavis x Riorson reader Request: Garrick x riorson little sister (she is a 2 year with Bohdi they are bff) they fell in love when they were little and now she is a rider but they hide what they feel to not upset Xaden, but the some guy flirts with her and we get MAD JELOUS Garrick and he hurts the guy on challenges, Xaden notices and they have a talk so then reader and Garrick can be together (Love confession Bridgerton style) wc: 6.8 ☆ no specific spoilers. Uses pronouns: she/her.

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

If there was one thing about Garrick Travis then it was that he was attractive, always had been- even when he was younger. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel something for him. And maybe, just maybe, I would have said something by now if it wasn't for the fact that he's best friends with my brother.

Xaden.

He has enough on his mind. Adding to that is the last thing on my mind. Even if that means I'll have to keep my feelings to myself. Even if that means my heart will keep yearning for what I can't have. At least I can still stare at him. From a distance, in the practice room. It's better than nothing I suppose.

"You're staring." Bodhi muzes next to me. I shoot a small glare his way as I continue to wrap my hands for sparring. "Am not." I respond tense.

Second year is more difficult and stressfull than it seemed. RSC hanging over my head. Xaden has done his part in preparing me but that didn't make it less terrifying and seeing as it's unpredictable when leadership would come and get us, well, that just makes it worse.

Not that I have seen a lot of Xaden lately, he's been occupied with a certain Sorrengail.

That thought brings me back to where I am. Xaden is training the youngest Sorrengail on one of the mats in the corners, Garrick not far away from them as he practices with his sword.

And I'd hate to admit it but I am staring.

After I finish wrapping my hands I stand and pick up my daggers. They had always been my preferred weapon. Light but easy to use.

I go through my usual warm up routine. Swinging them around. It's all going smoothly until I hear a voice call out. "Looking good, beautiful."

I glance toward the voice, only to find Oren—the overconfident third-year with a cocky grin plastered on his face—walking toward me. He’s twirling his sword as if to show off, his steps relaxed.

“Your technique’s good, but I think you’re missing something,” he says, a smirk on his face.

I raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “And what would that be?” He shrugs, a look of mischief appears in his eyes. “A partner. You know, someone to make things more… interesting.” He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe someone who can keep up with you.”

I roll my eyes and focus back on my daggers, spinning one lazily between my fingers. “I’m perfectly fine. Thanks though.” I reply sarcastic, focusing back on my daggers. In the corner of my eye i catch Garrick's gaze.

But Oren doesn’t back down. “Come on, beautiful. You’ve got moves, but I bet I could teach you a thing or two. Maybe over a Meal?” His grin widens. I shake off the shiver that runs through my spine. An uncomfortable look on my face.

"Back off Oren." Bodhi's voice cuts through the tension. "She's already got someone to spar with." Bodhi's voice is on the cold side, almost as sharp as my brother Xaden's.

I give Bodhi a grateful smile as Oren retreats a step, his hands up in surrender. The smirk on his face is still present and I can tell he's not finished. For now maybe. But not forever.

♤

I stand by the surrounding crowd. All our eyes are on the mat, at the fight that is happening. It's a good match-- the matches before this one were a little meh but this one is actually good, we might be onto something.

The match ends after the second year taps out. From the corner of my eye I can see Garrick talking to Emmeterio. Why would he talk to him?

"Next match. Seifert and Travis." Emmeterio announces and my heart jumpes in my throat. That can't be a coincidence can it? Garrick against Oren not even a day after the small incident in the sparring room.

I can feel Xaden's eyes on me but I don't turn to face him. My eyes are solely on Garrick as he takes his place on the mat. His face holds the sole emotion of anger.

Oren charges first but Garrick side steps him, around his attack. Oren tries again but Garrick takes a hold of his arm, twisting it and Oren let's out a groan.

I can see Garrick say something to Oren but it's too quiet for me to hear. Garrick starts twisting his arm at an unnatural angle. He puts his leg between Oren's and he falls backwards on the mat. I knew Garrick was a good fighter but he's really good.

Garrick easily straddles Oren, a dagger at his throat and I wouldn't wish the look upon Garricks face to anyone. Not even my worst enemy.

He moves his dagger slightly, enough to draw blood but not enough to seriously injure him. I hold my breath at the sight. There is no way Garrick would actually kill him right?

He presses the blad harder against Oren's neck. I hear the familiar tap against the mat, he taps out. I let out the breath I'd been holding, Garrick slowly gets off him. He takes a step backwards, his dagger still in his hand.

I also take a step back, most people in this room night not know what this means but some do. I can feel bodhi's and Xaden's eyes in my back, burning holes.

I can see Xaden follow Garrick out of the sparring room and I don't hesitate to follow. I follow them quietly until they stop in a dark alley.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Xaden snaps at Garrick. His voice full of authority. I stay hidden behind the wall.

"He was flirting with her last night." I hear Garrick argue, frustration laced in his tone. "I'm aware of that. I saw it to but she can defend herself." Xaden voice grows bored.

"You're telling me you don't care that an asshole was flirting with your sister?" The frustration in his voice grows harsher.

“Of course I care,” Xaden snaps. “But I trust her to handle it. You, however, handled it as though you were issuing a challenge. That’s not protecting her—it’s claiming her.”

Garrick falls silent for a moment, his heavy breathing the only sound in the alley. “Maybe I am,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a weight I’ve never heard before. My breath catches in my throat.

“You don’t get to do that unless you’re willing to back it up,” Xaden warns, his tone razor-sharp. “You don’t get to make her your responsibility unless she’s choosing you. So tell me, Garrick, what exactly are your intentions?”

There’s a long pause before Garrick speaks, but when he does, his voice is steady. “My intentions are to love her. To protect her. To be the one she can turn to for the rest of her life. If that’s claiming her, so be it. I’ve loved her for longer than I care to admit, and I’m done hiding it.”

I press my hand to my mouth, trying to contain the gasp that threatens to escape. Did he just say…?

“And what about her?” Xaden challenges. “Have you even thought about what she wants? Or is this just about you?”

“It’s about her,” Garrick snaps back. “It’s always been about her.” “Then maybe you should say something to her instead of throwing daggers at every man who looks her way,” Xaden retorts. “Because this whole display? It’s not going to win her over. Talk to her. And for both your sakes, stop making me the middleman.”

I hear footsteps retreating, the sound of Xaden walking away. My heart pounds as I realize I’m now alone with Garrick, hidden just around the corner.

I take a shaky breath, stepping out of the shadows. “You could’ve just asked me,” I say softly.

Garrick whirls around, his eyes wide with shock. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” I admit, stepping closer. “Is it true? What you said?”

He looks away, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter—” “It does matter,” I cut him off, my voice trembling. “Because I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself that what I feel for you is one-sided. That you could never see me as anything more than Xaden’s little sister. And now you’re telling me that you… that you’ve felt the same way?”

His gaze snaps to mine, his expression a mix of hope and disbelief. “You… you feel the same?”

I nod, my chest tightening as the words spill out. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Garrick. But I thought you’d never… I thought it wasn’t possible.”

He takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. “You have no idea how hard it’s been, keeping my distance. Watching you with Oren last night, I just… I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And today?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “On the mat?” “I wanted him to know,” he admits, his thumb brushing against my skin. “That you’re not just some girl to flirt with. That you’re… everything to me.”

I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes as I lean into his touch. “Then stop keeping your distance,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His lips find mine in a kiss that’s both fierce and tender, years of longing and unspoken words pouring into that one moment. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and for the first time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re my everything,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

I smile, my heart lighter than it’s ever been. “You’ve already done enough,” I whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing you try.”

♤

[chrattho1]

bsf!chris x reader

backfired.

summary: just one of your car rides with chris,where you get to know something interesting yet heartbreaking about him.

warnings: none its just interactions between two friends ig

a/n: ill keep making such blurbs and texts’ until they get together guys trust🙏 also this is inspired by yesterday’s video!!!

more of this au here

you are in the passenger seat of the car that is more familiar to you than your own. the scent of weed mixed with chris’ cologne smells like everyday to you,music playing in the background,chris bobbing his head to the beat as his eyes stay focused on the road.

chris looks away from the road for a split second-just to glance at you looking at him.

its been a couple of weeks since you broke up with your ex,and chris has been there for you this entire time,getting you food in bed when you dont feel like getting up,staying over,helping you out in any way that he can-your admiration for him grew everytime he helped you out.

right now,nobody is talking in the car,but this is what you love about your friendship with chris-you can sit there in silence and just think without worrying if it will get awkward. well unless he says something stupid and breaks the silence.

you loved that about him,so much- he says everything that comes to his mind,he vocalises his thoughts to you and that makes you feel safe.

he parks at a corner,pulls the mc donalds bags’ ahead from the back seat.

“here are your fries-and your nuggets” he talks mimicking how a parent would talk to a child,you chuckle.

“what if the nugget you eat just exploded in your tummy like-boom” chris says and immediately starts cackling,you laugh with him,your head falling back and your eyes shut.

“shut up bro im fucking crying” you said wiping a tear that was developed out of laughter.

chris nods still chuckling,taking a bite out of his burger, his eyes turn to you as he smiles with his mouth full.

“how many people have you been in love with?” he asks out of nowhere,catching you off guard

“this is so random” you chuckle chewing at your fries.

“just tell me” chris groans acting annoyed

“i have definitely told you this before” you said taking a sip out of his sweet tea.

“no you haven’t” he shakes his head.

“you think we haven’t talked about this before? be for real chris” your eyes narrow,not believing that you two-probably the only two people in this world who have discussed all topics from the most random to the deepest,in detail for hours-haven’t talked about this.

“on my life-i dont know the answer to this question,why do you think i asked” he shruggs

“i think just the one time-remember i told you about the guy i grew up with back home?”you remind him

“yeah yeah him-how long do you think you were in love with him?" he asks another question.

“well lets see..” you start counting years on your fingers, giving up before answering .

“from the age of 12-maybe 11 till i was almost 17” you answer with wide eyes.

“no fucking way-i did not know that” his eyes widen at your response too,before he continues talking.

“what was it about him?” he looks up at you from his fries.

“i dont know-we were friends for so long he knew everything about me and i knew everything about him,he was just a nice dude” you said almost sounding like you were describing chris.

“so he was me?” chris gives you a smile-the smile with his entire underbite showing.

you grin,blinking at him before jokingly hitting his face to the side.

“what about you? how many times has THE chris sturniolo been in love?” you asked looking at him with a smirk,you have an answer at the back of your mind because this conversation has 100% taken place before.

“alright this backfired real quick” chris mumbles under his breath with a scoff,his gaze turning away from you hiding a shy smile. you were beyond confused.

“WHAT? YOU DONT WANNA TELL ME?” you were shocked by his response,usually chris wants to tell you everything,and knowing that you both have definitely talked about this before, him not wanting to answer this question now bothered you.

“okay i’ll flash the numbers and you just stop me when you see the answer yeah?” to your words chris drops his hands into his face and groans slightly,like he is…embarrassed?

you hold up one finger in his face,to which he pulls his face out of his hands,looking at your hand and shakes his head in disappointment.

“you think i am at one?” chris spoke his voice cracking just a tiny bit

“okay i remember now-two” you were positive that thats what his answer was,because when you first became friends he did mention being in love twice

a small smile on his face as he fidgets with the straw on his drink,he shook his head again.

“no??? three people then!?” you screamed in his face

“DONT SAY IT LIKE THAT?” he replies with a frown

“can i get a list because i feel like im missing someone” you asked him genuinely curious because you definitely remember only the two .

“maybe later” chris hummed returning back to his fries with the small smile still on his face.

“three people huh?” you speak up again.

“i just- dont have a problem being in love with someone and not doing anything about it you know?” he shrugs like he didn’t just say something that made your heart curl up into a small ball in your chest,you cared about chris so much and you know what it feels like being in love with someone and not allowing yourself to do something about it,you try to think hard about who this woman could be because the other two women chris was in love with-he did make a move on,your frown growing with each passing second.

“oh-chris” your face fell,your hand reaches down to his lower thigh,rubbing it to console him.

“eh it’s whatever” he shrugs,his eyes plastered on your hand that is on him right now,he takes a sharp breath

“anyways” chris sighs,his eyes lower than before

“wanna smoke a joint with me?” he continues,with a smirk on his face.

a smile grows on your face,you nod.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @whore4chris @chris-halleluja @sl4ttformattsturniolo @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrisslittleslut @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @herewegoagain-b @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo @slutformatt17 @chrissturnsss @realuvrrr @sweetxcheeryx @sturnl0ve @estellesdoll @glitterybtch @courta13 @mattsbitchh @slvtf0rchr1s

[melosliving]

hi! I was wondering if you could write a story about aaron and reader are arguing because reader is jealous about him having to kiss a girl in a movie he was doing and he had to prove to them that he loves them and only them. please and thank you

Let me cook !! I hope you’ll like ! (I felt free to add smut to it because why notttt)

aaron pierre x actress!reader

Warnings : +18 (MDNI), nasty smutty, established relationship, jealousy, cranky reader

It’s been a long day for both of you. The set was chaotic, the director demanding, and the long hours had made you cranky. But what truly sent your heart spiraling was the news you’d just heard.

Your man had to kiss another woman for a scene in his movie. You hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation, but as you stood in the doorway of his trailer, the words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your stomach twisted, your chest tightened. You knew it was part of his job, but that didn’t stop the jealousy that clawed at you, irrational but raw.

Now, sitting in his car, you can barely look at him. The tension between you two is palpable, and the silence is thick, uncomfortable.

Aaron looks over at you, his jaw clenched, but his eyes soft. “Baby, talk to me. I don’t like when you’re like this.”

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, staring out the window. “Like what?”

He takes a breath, turning fully towards you now. “You’re upset. I can tell. I don’t know why, but I can feel it.” You huff, shaking your head, but you can’t hide the hurt in your voice. “I just… I don’t get why you had to kiss her. I know it’s your job, but—”

His hands fly up in frustration, but not in anger. It’s more like he’s frustrated at himself for making you feel this way. “No, listen to me, okay? That kiss meant nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I know it was just acting,” you say, voice small. “But still… You kissed her. I don’t know if my weak ass can handle that."

He reaches over and gently places his hand on your knee, his touch warm and grounding. “Baby, I’ve been kissing you for years. There’s only one person who has my heart, and that’s you. No matter what’s in the script, no matter what I have to do on set, you’re the one I’m coming home to.”

You glance at him, searching his face, looking for any sign of insincerity. But all you see is love. His eyes are soft, pleading, and filled with everything you need to hear.

“And I’m sorry I made you feel this way,” he continues, his voice low. “You mean everything to me. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want anyone else.”

Tears start to sting your eyes as his words hit you. Slowly, you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m sorry, too papa,” you whisper, gently playing with his fingers. “I didn’t mean to be jealous like this. I just… I love you so much. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you like I do.”

Aaron leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “And you never will. Because no matter what, it’s you and me. Always.”

Now, as the rest of the trip was quiet, the only audible sound being the radio, you thought things had calmed down between you. How wrong you were. You didn’t even the time to step out of your shoes that aaron took you to y’all’s bedroom.

"Aaron- what are you doing ?" You asked, following him as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

The tension between y’all thickened, and even if the only source of light in the room was the sunset’s, you could still see aaron slightly tightening his jaw as he looked down at you.

It was like he was actually realizing just how deeply all of this was affecting you. He pulled you closer to his, brushing his lips against your ear. " I’m sorry you felt that way. I need to show you you’re the only one who can have me.”

He never actually felt like this, never been the object of one’s jealousy. But this was nice —apart from the part where it makes you upset– it made him feel even more connected to you.

That’s how he now had you wrapped in his body, almost in his skin. His dick was buried in you so deep, but his fingers were so delicate on your skin, his kisses so gentle. "Papa is so sorry for making you jealous baby, will you forgive him ?" He asks as he fucked himself into your sweet pussy. You felt so good around him, your hips grinding to try to meet his.

"haa– fuck !"

"C’mon tell me bub. You forgive me ?" He asks again, lips against your shoulder. You whine softly, trying to push back against him.

"Yeah baby, you’re forgiven- mh !" You whine. Aaron chuckles a bit before his hands grasp your hips to hold you steady. With one firm thrust, he is breaching your folds and sliding deep inside you. your head dropping to the pillow below you as you whimper through the burn. The stretch burns more then you anticipated, and you hear him groaning softly, which sends another wave of liquid heat rushing through you.

"God you feel so good baby, you take my cock so fucking well." He praises you, gently pulling out to slowly thrust back in. His eyes are locked on the place where you two connect, watching with hooded eyes as his cock disappears inside you.

"Oh my— why are you fucking me like this ?..feels so good.."

"I wish you could see this baby." He praises again through a soft moan, and you drink up every sound he makes. "I’m yours baby, take your dick."

You needed this so bad and you actually loved the fact that you were the only one who could give him this type of relief.

Yours yours yours yours yours. he was yours.

Your forehead presses against the bed, muffled and strangled cries escaping your lips every time aaron hits deep inside you. His cock stretches you perfectly, and always hits places deep inside you. Places you didn't know existed. Soon you feel your orgasm creeping up on you, almost making you feel lightheaded.

"Please make your pussy cum papa, im so close." You beg, muffling your moans with your palm as he drives his cock into you. You feel sweat covering your entire body and aaron holds your hips with a bruising force. You feel that coil winding tighter and tighter, and you release a high pitched whine when his hand actually snakes around your body to thumb your clit.

"Papa this dick feels so good, soo good baby. Always feels so good, fuck baby I love you," You're not sure what you're saying at this point, an incoherent mess of praises for the man above you. "Nah, this is your dick baby, say it."

"My dick—It’s mine, mine, mine." You repeat mindlessly, pleasure taking over you. "shit, I love you too baby." He answers.

Aaron loved when he could reduce you to incoherent words and disconnected statements because of him. slamming his cock inside you and rolling your clit before you're squeezing around him tightly, your mouth falls open in a silent scream. You cum in hot gushes around him and he can only offer a few more sloppy thrusts before he's cumming with a loud growl, coating your walls in his hot cum.

chest heaving from the exertion, aaron feels more relaxed than he has all day. There's a small smile on your face and your eyes are closed as your legs finally give out and you collapse against the sheets.

"Are you okay bub ?" You hear, and you can't help but smile when you hear that he's panting slightly. You hum with a smile on your face. "I’m sorry i got cranky over this, I love you."

"That’s okay mama. I understand you, but I want you to know I’m yours, only yours."

@ melosliving 2025

[cleoselene]

don't doomscroll, DO SOMETHING. Don't complain, TAKE ACTION. here are things you can do:

call your Congresspeople. If you are living in a Democratic district, this is so easy! Tell them how YOU want them to fight! Don't just sit back and complain that "Dems in congress aren't doing what I want." CALL THEM AND TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT. EMAIL THEM. And be nice about it, lead with the illusion that you trust them to do the right thing. "I know you don't really want this to happen, you're a good person!" methodology.

If your reps are like mine and horrible horrible monsters like Byron Donalds, then you have to make your phone calls differently. You gotta strategize these. There are two ways to do this: 1) be incredibly angry and aggressive, but filibuster about it. Don't give them any ability to get off the phone. Don't curse or insult, just properly outraged. The key here is to WASTE THEIR TIME. I spend about 45 minutes on the phone with one of Rick Scott's people once. The other way, i think is more effective, but this is better than nothing. The other way, 2) is to frame the specific issue you're calling about from the most conservative angle possible. If you're calling to support Ukraine, cry about how your daddy fought in 'Nam to stomp out communism, now you want to let a KGB guy like Putin bring back the Soviet Union? Act super fucking scared of communism. Say the words "KGB" and Putin together over and over. Talk about how America doesn't roll over for Russia, not now, not ever. This is just an example of a particular issue, but it can apply to any. My mom calls it the "sandwich technique." Lead with a compliment, then say what you really mean, and end with a compliment. People get tricked into changing their minds.

I realize this is tumblr so if you are really really that phone-phobic, apply this to email. But really, this is worth making the call for. The call cannot be fully ignored. An email can.

Join the class action lawsuit against the government for Breach of Privacy if you have Social Security or Medicare, and tell people you know who do to join it.

get involved at the local level. Agitate at city council. hell, RUN for city council. I promise you that no matter how unqualified you think you are, less qualified people have run and won. There was a town that had a golden retriever as its mayor for a while. You have to start thinking locally. You have to start doing things ALL THE TIME, not just every 2-4 years. This isn't just voting, but making your voice heard. That tumblr post about ten people showing up at a council meeting being able to change thing significantly? True. "But I live in a red area!" yeah, so do I, and that makes it even more important, since they're doing shit like banning books in schools here.

Run for office!! I just said that, but seriously, run for office!! AOC was a bartender before she got where she is now!! If I were not completely disabled, I'd do it. If you don't feel like it's for you, think of the people in your life who are capable who might be persuaded!

Focus on the real enemy. It's Republicans. It's not Democrats. Like I said, if you're unhappy with the way your Democratic rep is doing things, TELL THEM. Sitting outside the party and criticizing accomplishes nothing, it only weakens our only opposition party in this country. If you want to talk about third parties, MAKE ONE THAT'S VIABLE. But realize that will probably be decades of work. Stop complaining and start doing, start reaching out to the people who at the moment have some ability to do things and influence THEM. You can say a lot of things on the internet and expect to change the world, but you won't. (Yes, I realize the ridiculousness of me posting this on the internet, but I will be doing things, too, not just shouting into this void)

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Prompt by anon + Idea for reader's nationality by anon

Synopsis: After more than 10 years with the same hairdresser, Melissa Schemmenti must change salons.

Tag list: (Since this is my first time writing for this character, I thought it best not to tag anyone. So if you want to be tagged just let me know.)

Warning: MELISSA AND Y/N ARE MAaaaD *in Ava's voice*

Words: 4k

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Enjoy!

Link on AO3

Chapter 1 - Changes

Barbara Howard's friendship had a transformative impact on Melissa Schemmenti's personal life from the beginning.

The religious woman's friendship at the beginning of the redhead's career made the Italian woman rethink many things about herself. Regardless of their moral differences, how their individual relationships with religion are almost opposite, or even their small disagreements, one thing right at the beginning turned Melissa's world upside down.

The once chaotic and disorganized woman discovered the calming practicality of being hostage to well-established standards with a Christmas gift from her black coworker in her second year working at Abbott Elementary.

A schedule with a small calendar.

The year she received that gift, the redhead was furious with what was left written between the lines.

Disorganization.

After all, Melissa had absolutely everything under control.

She always had.

In her own way.

And Melissa also thought it was stupid to waste precious time that could be spent working by just planning to work, but after a terribly inconsistent semester (with more art, music and physical education teachers being fired than she can count on one hand), the redhead decided to give it a try.

So, 22 years ago Melissa started to use a schedule and a calendar every year faithfully and never looked back.

As she got older, the certainty of her upcoming appointments and how easy was to change what was needed on that sheet of paper to make better use of her time kept Melissa calm even during all the chaos that continued to live in her head and in her classroom every day. But everything changed when the spaces on pages that were reserved especially for her monthly visits to her family's hairdresser were now blank.

Rationally, the redhead knew that the hairdresser who had taken care of her grandmother's hair for the last twenty years of her life, two of her aunts out of town, washed and cared for her mother's hair every week, and three of her sisters periodically couldn't last long. But Melissa couldn't help but feel fooled and betrayed when Andrea Rossi announced her retirement.

The redhead hadn't been Andrea's client for her entire life, after all, the older hairdresser's regular clients had always been her priority. However, Melissa began to be part of the select group of Schemmenti women helped by Andrea when her former hairdresser (the one who had a Greek accent and many opinions that she hated but didn't discuss because he was her brother-in-law's friend), decided to call her Melinda, even after having her as a client for over three years.

Melinda.

Even though it was seventeen years ago, Barb still remembers the angry redheaded hurricane that entered the teachers’ lounge that week and still manages to make jokes about it whenever she gets the chance.

Monthly visits to the older woman had started with a simple hair color, but unlike her old hairdresser, Andrea had become much more than that for Melissa.

It was a ritual, a moment of care that for a long time brought her joy and confidence. It was talking animatedly with an Italian woman who showed her affection and care, something neither of them would admit out loud but was lacking in the Schemmenti family when it came to recognizing Melissa’s efforts and personal victories.

And now it was over.

“Ragazza (girl), don’t be like that… I’m old now, my hands hurt more than I can handle after a busy weekend,” Andrea tried to justify, stroking Melissa’s head with a tender smile as she finished coloring her hair that day, but which did not hide the weight of the decision.

“And what am I going to do now? Let the gray hair give me another 30 years in less than 6 months?”

“Don’t be silly! I’ve already transferred all my clients to hairdressers that I trust. You included! So stop it now!”

“I don’t want someone new.” Turning uncertainty into resistance is like armor for the redhead, even though she knows she has no choice, her brain still tries to break the meaning of Andrea’s retirement, “It’s going to mess up my entire schedule, Andrea! Two rooms and now with you gone? I almost went crazy with the first semester of the year alone, now I know I’ll as soon as classes start after winter break!”

“I know that, Melissa. That’s why I talked to the hairdressers I know, and the best choice for you is Y/N, my last trainee. She’s great, hard-working, very talented and was willing to easily change her own clients’ schedule to see you at the same time I see you every month, she also works just five minutes away from here. You’ll like her.”

“But I don’t know her.” Even though she didn’t admit it, the idea of ​​a stranger touching her hair disturbed Melissa deeply, and the murmur that left her mouth made a point of emphasizing this.

The change came too quickly, and with it, a wave of anxiety took over Melissa's heart. This feeling was temporarily drowned out by her more than exhausting end-of-year routine. She was the hostess of the Schemmenti family's Thanksgiving dinner, and this, along with the end of the year, drained her ability to think about her other problems. But when the following month arrived, and along with the return to school after winter break, her colorless hair also started to show again, so Melissa swallowed her pride and went to the salon that Andrea had recommended to her.

Riverfront Roots.

The name was silly, a clear reference to the Delaware River that Melissa preferred not to think about too much as she looked at the large letters printed on the facade of the place. As soon as she entered the new salon, the smell of hair products and the sound of blow dryers buzzing caught her attention. The place was modern and well-decorated, but Melissa couldn't feel completely at ease. The smell was different, the decor was different, the voices were different, and the redhead hated each of these things.

She wasn't so reluctant to little changes in her daily life, but that week was so exhausting. The two classes together made a point of actively getting on her nerves, Gary also changed some of the lemonade brands in the vending machine and none of the new ones lived up to the taste of the old ones. The man made a point of telling the redhead that it wasn't done on purpose, thanks to the end of their relationship, and she genuinely believed him, but even so, such a change in such a tiring week only made the teacher's discomfort that Saturday morning turn into a gratuitous and deep antipathy towards the new place.

The woman of Italian descent approached the counter, where a receptionist graced her with a friendly smile.

"Hello, how can I help you today?", was the question that greeted Melissa, with a kindness that, in the redhead's mind, was completely unnecessary.

The teacher hesitated for a moment before answering sharply, ignoring the hello offered to her.

"Schemmenti. Melissa Schemmenti, please. I have a coloring booked here. A recommendation from Andrea Rossi." While the receptionist checked her information, Melissa looked around, trying to get used to the new habitat, but she barely had time to do so because, in less than thirty seconds, the receptionist escorted Melissa to a chair in front of one of the largest mirrors in the salon.

The chair that was chosen for the redhead was a little isolated from the other people present, who were laughing and talking without worrying about the noise, but if the redhead was being honest with herself, she actually preferred it that way.

“Hello, Melissa. My name is Y/N and it’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you fell welcome and comfortable here with me. Andrea has told me wonderful things about you and I have her notes in my hand to make sure you leave here satisfied.”, a younger woman with a thick accent appeared out of nowhere, vomiting the words at Melissa with a smile and a sweet voice that were already starting to give the redhead a headache.

The speech seemed rehearsed, still genuine, but her voice seemed too practiced to instill comfort in the redhead. And if that wasn't enough, the younger woman was enthusiastically waving a note in her hand like a triumph, making Melissa even more insecure about Y/N's talent than she already was.

The teacher knows she's not an idiot but… This hairdresser wasn't even thirty years old. This Y/N was clearly in her early twenties, with rich hair and a quick smile that probably lit up the room more than those stupid ringlights that surrounded the chairs in that place.

Not to mention that she was beautiful. Very beautiful.

A part of Melissa, hyper-aware of her own age, felt the bitter taste of envy take over her tongue as she looked at the younger woman's reflection in the mirror in front of her, but another part, even more recklessly, awakened a dormant desire in her mind.

However, even with that spark hidden behind Melissa's eyes, their initial interaction couldn't have been worse.

Y/N seemed excited, first asking Melissa for permission to touch her hair – something the redhead almost said no to, just to see if that smile would die on her lips – but quickly the hairdresser started discussing ideas for Melissa's hair, something that forced the redhead's voice to sound cutting:

"I just dyed my hair red for years.", Melissa made sure her voice sounded as sharp as she intended, "Get those ideas out of your head and just do what Andrea use to do."

The lack of niceness caused Y/N to feel strange, but the hairdresser tried to remain calm despite the discomfort.

New clients were always a little insecure, so the Brazilian woman would just prove to the one in front of her that she had talent.

Y/N always had magical hands. When she was still a girl, on the hot afternoons in her hometown, she would have fun braiding the hair of her school friends. Long locks of hair shiny thanks to the summer sun and strands yellowed by the chemicals of several women in the city often passed through Y/N's hands as if she were an artist molding a sculpture.

Her friends loved the hairstyles she did. At first, they were not at all sophisticated due to her young age, but they were done with so much love and dedication that they always seemed to transform any hair into something unique. For Y/N, it was more than just fun.

It was a passion.

When she reached her teen years, that passion became something more serious. Y/N was not satisfied with just doing the hair of her friends and family. The Brazilian woman wanted to learn, she wanted to master the art of transforming people's hair into something even more special.

That's why when she graduated from high school, Y/N started studying, and within a few months, she was already working professionally at a salon in her city. It didn't take long for her to be recognized for the quality of her work. Her skill with scissors and dye made her quickly stand out among other professionals. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to transform people into more beautiful versions of themselves, she knew what her clients wanted and, most importantly, she knew how to make them feel good.

Little by little, Y/N began to stand out even more and her life began to change.

She knew that her talent could not be limited, and so, when some close friends who had already moved to the United States began to encourage her to try her luck in Philadelphia, Y/N was scared at first. But if the chance to start over in another country meant more opportunities, she couldn't let this pass, even if the exciting idea had the power to scare her. But even though she was frightened, she was soon embarking on a new chapter in her life in a plane.

It was hard to save money for the travel, it was hard to get all the necessary documents to enter the USA legally, it was hard to leave loyal clients behind, and it was even harder to leave her country and its traditions. But the youthfulness of her soul and the hope of a new life embraced her heart and the hairdresser decided to give herself this chance.

Wen she arrived in Philadelphia, Y/N felt, at the same time, small and full of possibilities. The city was big, the competition was powerful, and she was seen as just another foolish immigrant.

But she was determined.

The Brazilian woman knew that her skill could be the key to a promising future. She just didn’t expect that her future would be shaped by Andrea Rossi, an older and more experienced Italian hairdresser who worked at a well-known salon nearby.

The story happened by chance. One of Andrea’s regular clients mentioned that her son had gotten a haircut from a really new Brazilian hairdresser.

“It was something very different… Like those stupid things we see on TikTok, but it was exactly what James wanted, and we had never found anyone willing to do it. What this young woman did perfectly and without thinking twice, and my son loved it!”, the woman commented in admiration before giving the older woman an idea, “You should meet her!”

Andrea was curious and, figuring she had nothing to lose, asked for more information about the Brazilian woman. The client was enthusiastic and told the Italian one everything she knew and, even though she was skeptical, Andrea let her curiosity get the best of her and decided to see it for herself.

The next day, she went to the salon where Y/N was working and, observing closely, immediately noticed the young woman’s skill. The Brazilian woman had the touch of someone who knew what she was doing, an eye for beauty trends, and the needs of her clients, but she also had more than that.

Y/N had a natural connection with people, a charisma that, combined with her smile and strong accent, made any client feel at ease, and Andrea saw that.

So the Italian woman wasted no time. She called Y/N for a chat at the end of her shift and, soon, took her on as her last pupil before announcing her retirement.

Normally, hearing Andrea Rissi's name made Y/N happy. All the advice, recommendations, affection, and wisdom shared by the older woman were a pleasant memory for the Brazilian woman.

But there, while she tried in vain to be nice to what was Andrea's transfer, having her work compared to the older woman's began to annoy her.

First, the owner of those pretty green eyes began to verbalize her dissatisfaction with the work tools Y/N used, telling her how much she preferred Andrea's work tools, which were always on display for her clients to see. Then the redhead started rolling her eyes at Y/N's coworkers, who, since they had no clients, were chatting spiritedly while planning to get their nails done at the end of the day, muttering how much she would appreciate some peace and quiet.

But the first sign Y/N gave that she was definitely not the type of person who would just ignore or shrink from Melissa's bad mood was when the redhead made a point of directly comparing her work to Andrea's before Y/N even started dyeing her hair.

"Andrea, don't part my hair like that. You'll leave my hair full of spots!"

Trying to preserve the good mood she had woken up in that morning, the hairdresser chose to be sneaky and ironic. Y/N looked around theatrically and curiously, as if she was searching for something important, and Melissa, unable to contain her fear and confusion, made her voice present.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just looking for Andrea Rossi since you want to talk about her so badly.”

Receiving only silence as an answer, and thinking that the unhappy attitude of that client was over, the hairdresser continues her journey. Y/N measures the dye with all the care in the world, making sure to double-check on the scale in front of her that the weight is correct when compared to what Andrea gave her over the phone before applying the dye accurately, fearing giving Melissa another reason to complain. The Brazilian woman divides Melissa’s hair locks with the focus of a professional with much more experience, doing everything she can to not lose a single gray hair, and when she goes to wash it, she does so with a gentleness that surprises Melissa.

But the teacher doesn’t want to admit it, so she continues to stare sullenly at the mirror, even while Y/N gently untangles her wet hair.

When the redhead’s hair is nice and completely ready to be dried, Y/N looks at her hair curiously before turning once more to Melissa’s reflection in the mirror.

“I usually do this before dyeing, but what do you think about maybe cutting a few inches? The ends are starting to lose their shape.”

“I don’t want to cut anything.”, the words are said low enough for no one but the hairdresser to hear but Y/N, but with a hint of anger that surprised the young woman, “And stop talking, your voice is too annoying for the kind of mediocre work you deliver, kid.”

It was insensitive. Even to Melissa.

The redhead knows that Andrea would never send her to a bad hairdresser. She knows she is being harsh and critical to someone who gave her no reason to do so, but before she realizes it the words have already escaped her mouth.

But the teacher simply has no idea what was coming.

The hairdresser’s eyes widened, large pupils full of rage meeting the teacher’s gaze through the mirror, shocked by the words said by Melissa. And, before Melissa's mind can even work on instigating any remorseful reflexes, Y/N grabs a large chunk of hair from the redhead's bangs and takes a pair of scissors out of her pocket with her free hand, quickly placing them right on Melissa's forehead, exactly where her hair grows, like a more than concrete threat.

“Listen to me Philadelphia's beauty, I don't know what kind of hairdresser you expected when Andrea transferred you to me but as long as you sit in my chair you will respect my work and listen to my fucking suggestions.”, it is said as a whisper, but the hairdresser's anger and her thick accent along with the slight pull she gives the redhead's hair make the whole interaction sound indescribably scary, even to Melissa, “I've been nothing but polite and respectful to you, but I'm starting to regret accepting someone so unfortunate in my char that they think they can criticize my work without even knowing me.”

There, locking eyes with Y/N ​​in the salon mirror, Melissa understood how much she had crossed the line.

Melissa took a deep breath, filled with adrenaline at the thought of losing the top part of her hair, before nodding her head, causing Y/N to put down the scissors and let go of her bangs as she returned to work normally.

And then silence.

Dead silence.

The silence between the two women was so thick that it seemed to fill every corner of the room, making the sound of the dryer and the conversations around them sound muffled and filling the air with a corrosive feeling.

The scene from minutes ago was still boiling in Melissa's mind, repeating itself like a scratched record. Now, as if Melissa had finally come to her senses, the redhead wanted to disappear. She wanted to jump out of the chair and run away from the mirror which reflected her own guilt and shame. But she couldn't. Her anxiety combined with the idea of ​​leaving now, before the end of her service (something that could be even more disrespectful than her words), did a magnificent job holding her body in place, like an invisible chain that kept her feet on the floor and her mouth gagged.

With her fingers drumming on her apron-covered leg as the Brazilian woman prepared to style her hair, the teacher wanted to believe that it hadn't been so bad, that maybe Y/N had already forgotten what was said. But she knew that wasn't true. The weight of the moment still hung between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Y/N doesn't cut her hair or even mention the idea once again. The hairdresser just dries her red hair perfectly, but now with a serious gaze and a hurt look on her face. The Brazilian woman vehemently ignores Melissa's green eyes throughout the entire process, and the teacher stupidly decides too late that she prefers the incessant smile that remained on the hairdresser's lips minutes ago.

Melissa thought about apologizing, but the idea of ​​speaking made her breathing quick and shallow, along with the fear of seeming too desperate.

It was then that her eyes fell on the small ceramic jar in the corner of the counter next to her chair. It was decorated with hand-painted flowers and had, in crooked but legible letters, the words: "Tips for Y/N" next to a QR code. Even with the virtual possibility of compensation, the jar was open and with a significant amount of dollars, coins, and two lollipops, which Melissa just knew had been left there by a child.

And so, an idea formed, hesitant but clear in the teacher's mind.

A good tip seemed perfect, silent, indirect, but still meaningful. As the minutes passed, anxiety whispered again in Melissa's mind, wondering if Y/N would believe that she was doing this because of the guilt she felt at that very moment and not because of the regret that was now eating her mind. But the alternative of doing nothing was simply unbearable for Melissa.

The redhead knew she couldn't leave without at least trying, even if in her own way, to make amends.

When Y/N finished applying a light-smelling oil to the teacher's hair and walked away, silently letting her know that her work was done, Melissa tried to meet the hairdresser's eyes and give her a small smile, which she knew would be nervous, but which could give her an idea of ​​what was going on in Y/N's head.

But Y/N didn't look at Melissa.

When Melissa got up from the salon chair, her racing heart didn't stop her from taking two generous bills from her wallet — much more than she would usually give for just an appointment to dye her hair— and walking over to the pot. Her fingers were shaking slightly, but before anything could be done, she was interrupted:

“I don’t want your tip.” Before the two hundred dollars could enter the ceramic pot with the Brazilian’s name written on it, Y/N placed her own hand over the top to the object, successfully blocking Melissa from doing what she intended.

“Okay. Now you’re being ridiculous!”

With those words, the hairdresser's eyes finally focus on the green ones again, still filled with an anger that Melissa rarely sees in people who have a disagreement with her (too used to the regretful and submissive ones) and the redhead was shocked by this when Y/N actively chooses to ignore her accusation by saying:

"I'm willing to give you the exact coloring mixture that Andrea developed for your hair so you can find a hairdresser who is like the silent imitation of Andrea that you are looking for.", and before the redhead even has a chance to answer her with an apology that would apparently be necessary, the hairdresser quickly collects everything that was used in the teacher's service and directs Melissa a few more words before walking away without looking back, "Call the salon when you want the measurements and the receptionist will share them with you with pleasure. Have a good rest of your day."

[fangirltothefullest]

You know.... tumblr is the only place I've ever felt like people can match my brand of neurodivergence. And I'm not talking about the weird conversations or funny posts either. I just mean in general conversation and interaction.

I've been in a small room with 12 other strangers for this soft skills class I have to take for this program that's helping me get a government job as someone with adhd and I just..... feel like such an alien when I'm in the room with them? They're all different ages and some are even around my age but it's like I'm pretending to be a person for them just as I would be doing around neurotypical people.

I am constantly masking in front of these people that are supposes to be like me.

More than one have adhd like I do but they're so different than me? There's so much unnecessary laughter that feels so forced and fake? All anyone wants to talk about are sports and parties and alcohol and drugs. Its exactly likw it was in every other social situation ive ever been in. "Who last partied and got black out drunk"- "my party days are over but i can still knock back a 12 pack of whatever and function just fine"‐ "last weekend i partied i got too high to remember my name-"

Or who rooted for which sportsball team and why the spoinklers are better than the spronklers. The sprunklies had a great pass but they called it too much for the spranklies and it was all rigged. I would stop watching it but I like mr pitcher-catcher-thrower-frontguy and if he can make it this year he'll win them for the whateverchampioncup for sure.

I feel like an alien studying an entirely different species.

Like is this how people always interact? Is it all fake nonsense or is it code? It feels like it's all in code and I just have no fucking idea what that code is.

Cause like I can tell none of them actually care! I KNOW we are here for a soft skills class but like.... this isn't soft skills this is high school locker room. This is people desperately trying to fit in. Soft skills are keeping things civil and connecting with fellow humans.

This didn't feel like forming connections, it felt like pretending. It felt like showing off. It felt like people vying for their chance to be in the spotlight. It felt like America's next top banana.

We were told not to talk about religion, politics, sports and personal lives at work because all it does is start drama at the workplace. What did they proceed to do? Talk about every single subject on the no-go list the moment we'd agreed not to. Did they think "no" was code for "do this immediately"?

Like is it me? Am I really so confusingly alien that even the people that are supposed to be like me, that also have adhd, are just so different?

And I come here on tumblr and yall get me.

I post about making a PowerPoint about the most fuckable pasta shape and yall are like drop the PowerPoint.

[aeolianblues]

Even as I write this all though, I am not a millennial. I did consider this 'my time' because it's the first one I remember. I was not around in the 90s, everything I know about grunge and 90s TV and Britpop and whatnot is secondhand. Often thirdhand. Books, magazine scans, interview snippets. But I remember the 00s. Many colourful glittery clips, that's how mum did my hair. The multiple layers of gaudy colours; skirts (even shorts!) over tights of a different colour and striped tops was how my mum dressed me. Like the Disney kids on TV. Everyone in your grade was into Hannah Montana (they made kids books out of the episodes, does anyone remember?) Blackboards in school. Chalky hands wiped on your school uniform. Sure, I was too young for 'Oberlin College in the early 00s in NYC', but I had still considered these very 00s 'my time'. I lived it, so it's mine.

But as I get older I slowly begin to feel now to be my time. And I hope that one day I'll look back at the '20s as mine too. I'd love to be old and write, what were the 2020s?

They were Grian Chatten's poetry, Charlie Steen's shiny golden underpants at Glastonbury 2023. It's My Lady Of Mercy and swooning over girls with Abigail Morris. It's embracing the rejected freak with Alt Blk Era, we don't give a damn if they like it, we're normally like this.

It's showing two fingers to the monarchy, shouting 'Brits Out!' with Kneecap, it's Mo Chara reaffirming 'we don't hate yous, it's the government and monarchy. We have much more in common with a working class unionist than some rich fellow from Dublin'. It's Cuntology 101 with Lambrini Girls, it's reminding people of all the Calvin Harris songs that The Dare ripped off word-for-word and the weird 00s nostalgia.

It's Ezra Collective being nominated for BRIT album of the year for Dance, No One's Watching. It's a blurry phone pic posted on English Teacher's Instagram of the free drinks they got at their table for being invited to the Mercury Prize 2024 (SO real of them).

It is lounging in chaise longues all day long in floppy hats in the Isle of Wight, it is being someone's Iced Tea Boy, it's night raves with Master Peace, it's brats on the dancefloor, it's Chapell Roan inspiring people to stand up for themselves and take no shit from anyone, bitch! It's just heartbroke bitches, high heels, six inch In the back of the nightclub, sippin' champagne; it's women artists winning back the rights to their own music and going on to win over the world! It's Phoebe Lunny scaling a 20 ft. pole in a Leeds festival tent in heels and a skirt to fly a Palestinian flag high up on the Reading and Leeds 'Festival Republic' tent.

It'll be okay, we just need to be weird and hife for a bit and eat an old sandwich from our bag.

It's going to see your friends' tiny bands covering the Strokes every two weeks and knowing none of them have a chance in hell of making it because the music doesn't pay and the rent's too damn high. It's Lily Fontaine giving evidence in court about how even succesful working class bands like English Teacher can't afford to go on tour. It's Carlos O'Connell calling out other artists at the Rolling Stone UK awards for their silence on Palestine, it's Kneecap's 'You can all stay just don't be cunts'. Saoirse don Phalestine, quoth Kneecap. It's oppressed languages breaking through into popular music, it's Alffa's Gwenwyn becoming the first Welsh language song to cross 1 million streams on Spotify.

It's Jocelyn Si rejecting the homophobes and declaring, let us be young! It's Cal 'your boyfriend was looking at my legs' Francis singing about the price to pay for being this way. It's CMAT not giving a fuck and tearing into racist country music, no matter of whether or not she'd ever be able to work in the genre again. It's Skinty Fia talking about the lived immigrant experience. It was Olivia Rodrigo 'reviving' 90s alt rock for the masses, it was 16-year-old rockheads calling Josh Kiszka 'pookie' on Instagram—something unimaginable in 2017. It was James Smith embracing that indie artists can indeed aspire — to make funky pop hits!

Who knows what else the 2020s have to offer us. The Grammys are on Sunday. In a fever dream, someone like IDLES or Fontaines D.C. could walk away with one. A truly indie artist. I'm so scared about that. I just hope that in 20 years, I will still be able to say things like this

‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014!

It’s not tumblr-core and it’s not Lana Del Ray or 2013 AM, it’s not #girl interrupted, it’s not Ethel Cain (she literally is an artist of our time, what are you on about.)

It was 2001 with the Strokes on the cover of the NME every 2 weeks, it was cabaret night and English poetry with the Libertines in 2002, it’s those red and blue military jackets, it was the fucking grease in Julian Casablancas’ hair, it’s ’cocaine was the banker’s drug’ quoth Alex Kapranos, it was Don't Go Back To Dalston and the heroin, it was red and black horizontal striped tops and tight black shirts as evening wear, it was Russell Lissak’s mop top and a full page interview with London hairdressers in the NME in 2005, it was Jack and Meg’s saturated red and white dresses, it was glued glitter on the cover of Santigold’s first album, it was the sleaze and the sex of CSS’s music, it was ‘cold light, hot night’, it was the anti-Bush and anti-war stances of the bands at the time, it was America by Razorlight, it was Popworld on telly and Simon Amstel being a little shit to musicians, it was Karen O defying death on stage nightly, it was throwing up in shitty nightclubs on god knows what drugs, it was the fucking danger knowing this could all collapse any second—and rightly, it should. It was the godawful egos at DFA, it was knowing that while you were lucky to be seeing these bands live, you’d fucking hate them if you had to spend even a minute in their individual company. It was Amy Winehouse telling the world to get the fuck out of her business, it was Leslie Feist and Peaches sharing a dilapidated flat above a sex shop in Toronto.

It was horrible camera flash and red-eye editing softwares and putting your feet by the warm, spinning fans of your computer while it whirred away and downloaded your albums in *checks* 46 more minutes. It was horrible, it was dirty, it was gritty, we all hated it and thought the 90s were the last time music was good and that nothing good had happened since 1997. It was garishly bright clothes we were all embarrassed of by 2011, it was multiple layers and leggings and asking your mum to cut the itchy tag on the back of your low rise jeans only for her to snip your back. It was bell bottoms at the start of the decade. It being thankful that by 2017, no one would dream of wearing low rises anymore, please please, please let them never come back.

It was faux nostalgic of the past itself. It was ‘please make sure baby you’ve got some colours in there’ in your clothes. It was moral panic over emos. It was wanting to escape into a better past that you could see was visibly impoverished in the present. It was watching your favourite programmes become less and less relevant on air. It was watching MTV decisively die a horrible death. It was watching important venues and nightclubs get bulldozed. It was watching the last regular broadcast of Top Of The Pops in 2006. It was seeing how the 2009 financial crisis most definitely put a stop to independent music in the western world for a decade, it was watching the rise of bedroom DIY and electronic music. It was seeing the phrase ‘SoundCloud rapper’ being coined. It was the rise of Disney pop. It was counter-culture Justin Bieber hatred. It was the MS paint meme of those tumblr girls thoroughly unimpressed by the guy.

It was not using the words ‘indie sleaze’ at all, in fact. That’s a retconned word. It was garage rock revival. It was ‘post-grunge’. We didn’t care what it was called, we hated it all the same. It was a lead into a decade of despair and nihilism, it was the last hurrah for the music industry before it splintered into a thousand little online ecosystems, it was the last time we had physical community and any shared pop cultural moments. It was Live8 2005. It was the same as it is now, and it was a time that’ll never happen again, for better and for worse.

But one thing is for sure: it was decisively dead by 2014. Santi and Karen O’s 2012 collab was its last hurrah and it was dead by Comedown Machine by the Strokes (2013). It has nothing to do with 2014.

[bitchlessdino]

the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend (m) Teaser

A Valentine collaboration hosted by @camandemstudios and their masterlist

Pairing: office manager!seungcheol x childhood friend!fem!reader Genre: romcom, smut, fluff, slight angst Teaser word count: 1.2k rating: R Summary: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now.

The crowd of Seungcheol’s colleagues all started harmoniously greeting you, their eyes lighting up and genuine smiles forming for the first time since encountering their superior outside the office. You were quick to entertain them, never leaving Seungcheol’s side as his arm essentially became a leash, lugging the thirty-year-old man around like a purse dog, and being at the receiving end, he was too stunned to object.

“Hi, you must work with this guy right here,” you grinned, nudging into Seungcheol with the crown of your head.

“How do you know Mr. Choi, Miss…” Jihoon began to ask, curiosity radiating off of him as much as it did everyone else.

“Well,” you took Seungcheol’s hand out of his pocket, interlocking your fingers together, earning a bigger reaction than a simple thousand-yard stare from the office manager. “I’m Seungcheol’s girlfriend.”

Everyone involved in the conversation stared at you as if you had grown a second head and Seungcheol looked at you as if you had grown a third.

[…] It’s when he realized for once in his life he feared someone, and it was this smiley little creature that lied through their teeth as easily as they breathed.

“Okay looks like it's all good. Looks like we can finally be in business. What will be our first move, considering you are the first to have proposed the idea?”

“Yes, well, that will be the office party the company is hosting. Usually, everyone is required to attend, and I've skipped many events like it–”

“And you want me to come with you to make you look good for your team?”

“No, I want to make you an excuse so I don’t have to go.”

You furrowed your brows. “That’s counterproductive. Literally the opposite of what I’m here for.”

“But neither of us would have to go.”

Your fingers curled up into your palms, forming halfhearted fists before you unfurled them, trying to cherry-pick the right words to get through this tinman’s head. “You have to realize that simply having a girlfriend is not enough for people to like you. It’s about talking you up, showing off your redeeming qualities. Getting people to understand Seungcheol the person, not Seungcheol the boss.”

“Are you proposing I have no redeeming qualities?”

“You were trying to use me as an excuse to avoid going to a company party. What were you going to do with that time on your own?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“This is exactly why you need my help, Cheol,” you reminded, feeling like you’re lecturing a cat about not scratching up the couch.

He gave a light grimace, “You don’t need to call me that childish abbreviation. I have a whole name.”

You leaned over from your seat, staring over at him wide eyes, fluttering your lashes and feigning a lovestruck grin. “I need to give you a nickname if we’re dating. What about Babe? Baby? Honey? Lover?”

“Seungcheol is just fine,” he answered, unaffected, not bothering to look past his laptop.

Your smile dropped in an exaggerated scowl as you pulled yourself back down, crossing your arms. “How have your other girlfriends dealt with you?”

Seungcheol suddenly had nothing else to say, his eyes started darting everywhere but you, leaning back against the booth and preoccupying his mouth with his scalding hot vanilla latte.

Your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the silence persisted and the click-clacking of his keyboard, “Seungcheol, you have dated before, right?”

His eyes flitted back to you like a flickering flame before it went out, directing themselves back to his laptop, typing away at something at a more urgent pace, or looking as if he did.

“Oh my god. You haven’t.”

“Silence,” he finally said.

“You…You haven’t been on a date with anyone? With a woman? Or even a man?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning under his breath. “Don’t make a scene.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you reassured, “of course, I'm just very surprised…and confused. For 30 years of your life?”

“It was never something I prioritized.”

“Middle school. High school. College,” you began listing off.

“I went to an all boys school, and college does not leave much time for dating when you’re getting your Bachelor’s and Master’s.”

You waved your hands bizarrely. “So what? You worked your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“…Hmm.”

“What?”

Curiosity killed the cat, so the cat never came to know Seungcheol and apparently he never came to know the cat. “So if you’ve never been on a date, your intimate life…?”

He raised his brow, and sighed, realizing he was doing that a lot today. He closed his laptop, placing his hands neatly in his lap. “That goes without saying, but yes. I haven’t been intimate with anyone.”

“Right,” you responded, processing the information in real time.

“Are we done here? Is this game of 101 questions over with?”

“Just one more.”

“What?”

“What are you so big for then?”

“They’re watching…” He sang, eyes glazing over off in the distance.

You slightly turned your head to watch his view, seeing a few of your friends off in the distance, coming from the beach or slightly in view from the poolside, that could easily catch you in whatever act you and Seungcheol looked like you were up to. However, at this point, everyone seemed to be in their own world, talking, laughing, minding their own businesses. You weren’t sure if it mattered.

You snickered, resting your hands on his shoulders and readjusting your knees as they dug into the seat cushions. “You’re gonna go this far?”

“Yep. I have to look like a good boyfriend.”

You squinted at him suspiciously. “You had a lot to drink, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know?” He mumbled dumbly, his dimple indented extra deep.

You shook your head in disbelief, dipping your head forward and momentarily colliding with his in a headbutt. You reacted as expected, rubbing your forehead at the slight ache you caused, but from the lack of tact of the receiver, your assumptions were true. “You're so drunk right now.”

His hand rose to your hair, patting it down before finding your ear. As he thumbed over the curve of the helix, he could feel the heat bloom between his fingers. “You look so pretty right now.”

“Cheol,” you tried getting up, but he sat you back down, gripping you by your hips until they met his.

“Stay,” he quietly pleaded, his eyes glistening under the moonlight staring back at you with utter need that you have no choice but just melt right back in his touch.

You couldn’t believe the situation happening right now, and neither could your heart in your chest as it started beating at twice its usual rate. All you could focus on was his hands as they traveled up your body, skimming through the thin fabric of your shirt, following up your spine as he let out soft, ragged breaths.

You pressed the pads of your fingers a little deeper into the meat of his shoulders, “S-Seungcheol–”

“Do you know what will really convince them?” His voice is unrecognizable, deep and indulgent.

You made the ghost of a whimper as a finger travelled back down your body as you responded earnestly. “I don’t think we have to do much more convincing. I think they believe us when we say we’re a couple.”

“But you know what will really convince them though?”

You were scared to even ask, thinking a single word would burst this bubble you have no idea how you got caught in. “What?” you asked softly.

[fallinallincurls]

Miles Away, I've Always Loved You

this is my entry for the 2025 winter fic exchange hosted by the lovely @wyattjohnston!! thank you as always for hosting!

my fic is for @writingonleaves! i had lots of fun writing this one and really hope you love it just as much.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 5.1k

The knock on the door startles Reagan out of her thoughts. She had been mentally trying to figure out how to organize the bookshelf in her living room now that it’s been built. 

The apartment is still mostly a mess. The move to Vancouver had been circled on her calendar for months, but Reagan knew the worst part about moving cross country completely by herself would be the unpacking and setting up of a new place. And so far, she’s been right. 

From putting together all the furniture on her own, opening and emptying box after box and feeling that same exhaustion hit her every few hours, the move has been an insane amount of work to say the least. But she couldn’t be happier knowing that she moved to this city that she’s still a little familiar with for the job of her dreams. That alone makes everything worth it.

There’s another knock at the door and Reagan lets out a deep sigh. She’s not expecting someone as no one in the city knows who she is since she just arrived three days ago. She abandons the stacks of books on the floor and heads to the door, wondering who could possibly be on the other side.

Without bothering to look through the peephole, which might’ve been a mistake, Reagan swings open the door to reveal a man she’s never seen before. He looks just a little older than her 25 years of age, has a big smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and his hair is neatly styled. Before she can even open her mouth to say anything, he’s already speaking.

“Oh, hey!” He says with an element of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t know Cap had a girl, but I’m new here so I'm still trying to learn all of that, you know?”

She doesn’t know in fact because she has no idea what he’s talking about and the confusion must be evident on Reagan’s face because he continues talking in effort to explain.

“Um, I’m here for the team dinner? Apparently it’s tradition here for the captain to host everyone before training camp starts and so I brought this,” he shows you a bottle of expensive wine and then a container of store bought cookies, “and these.”

Everything the stranger standing in front of her has said only made the situation more odd. Team dinner? Tradition? He clearly mixed up numbers and is at the wrong apartment.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, but is almost immediately cut off when another voice calls out from down the hallway.

“Jake!” 

The man turns towards the voice and a look of recognition passes over his face as his smile seemingly becomes brighter at the sight of whoever said his name. 

“Q!” He says brightly, before returning his attention to her. “I’m sorry, I must’ve mixed up the apartment numbers.”

“It’s no problem.” Reagan reassures him before he waves a goodbye and starts heading to the apartment next to hers. The curiosity gets the better of her and she glances over to see who “Q” was and that’s when everything comes to a halt.

Because Q, or cap as Jake also called him, is Quinn Hughes. Her ex-boyfriend. The love of her life. And now, apparently, her next door neighbor.

Quinn must have sensed another pair of eyes on him because he looks over and meets her gaze. A look of disbelief crosses over his face for a split second, his brows furrowed in confusion as he realizes who his teammate bothered in the mixup.

“Reagan?” 

It might have been two years since the last time she saw him, but hearing her name rolling off his tongue still had the same effect on her as it did then.

“Quinn?” She asks in response, unable to comprehend that he’s standing less than 100 feet away from her. Quinn. Her Quinn. 

“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, just moved in a few days ago.” Reagan starts to explain and then a rush of worry hits her. “I finally got the job I’ve been waiting for and it just so happened to be here in Vancouver. I had no idea you lived in this building at all,”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Quinn says softly, cutting off her rambling. “Congratulations, I know how hard you worked to get through school and do everything you could to get this job.”

“Thank you.” Reagan murmurs, pushing her hair behind her ear and nervously dropping her gaze to the floor. All the heartbreak from the last few years has disappeared in the matter of seconds and it almost feels like she’s back there. In a time where they were still together and so in love with each other.

But Reagan knows that’s not her reality anymore. Now, she’s standing in her doorway looking at the man who she gave her heart to all those years ago, but now he’s almost a stranger. Just her neighbor in a new city.

“Uh, I know this is probably unexpected and way too sudden, but do you want to come over for dinner? There’s definitely enough food and everything.”

Reagan feels a wave of surprise wash over her at his offer and even though her heart is screaming to say yes, she knows she can’t accept. At least not right now.

“Thank you for offering, but I’m okay. Still trying to get adjusted and all. Another time?” She replies, trying to push away the want that’s arisen within her. She wants to spend time with him even if she hasn’t seen him in a while and her heart is still a little broken. Quinn nods in understanding, a strand of hair falling perfectly over his forehead, but Reagan sees the familiar look of sadness in his blue green eyes.

A loud yell erupts from inside Quinn’s apartment disrupting the quiet air around the two of them.

“I should probably get back. Almost the entire team is in there and I don’t trust a lot of them by themselves.” Quinn chuckles and Reagan feels a smile tug at her lips. “It was really great to see you. I hope Vancouver treats you well.”

“Thanks, Quinn. Same to you.” 

Quinn flashes you a sweet smile before ducking back inside. When the door to his apartment closes behind him, Reagan lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Not only does she have to navigate life in a new city with a new job, but now she has to handle living next to her ex, the man who was her everything, on top of everything else.

The memories that came rushing back the moment she realized it was him standing in the hallway linger in her mind for a little longer. All the shared kisses, big hugs after good and bad games, nights on the porch at the lake house in the offseason, his unwavering support for everything she did, early mornings spent cuddling and so much more. 

Reagan knew when they broke up that she would miss him for the rest of her life, but it feels like the wound has been reopened seeing him unexpectedly in person. Of course, she’s kept tabs on him by tuning into a few Canucks games and for a while, Jack was sending her regular life updates but those slowly came to an end. 

Her heart aches knowing she is going to have to see him more often now that they’re neighbors. It’s a curveball she never saw coming or even considered when she chose to move to the city that he lives and plays in. But here she is. 

With a shake of her head, Reagan clears her mind and pushes open her front door again. There’s relief that the entire interaction is over, both with Quinn and his teammate, but in a strange way, she also misses talking to him already.

Nothing could prepare her for randomly seeing the man she still loved years after he broke her heart. 

A few days later, Reagan gets a strong sense of deja vu. She’s attempting to put together the coffee table for the third time, after the first two tries were unsuccessful, when there’s a knock at her door.

A heavy sigh slips past your lips as she drops the useless IKEA instructions to the floor. She’s already preparing a little speech in her head in anticipation it’s another one of Quinn’s teammates who got the apartment numbers mixed up again.

“Hey, sorry, Quinn is-“ Reagan starts as the door swings open and reveals the blue green eyed, curly haired hockey player who lives next door. “here?” She finishes, more like a question than a statement.

“Hey,” Quinn says, flashing that soft smile that makes her heart melt. “I, um,” he pauses, almost as if collecting his thoughts to get exactly what he wants to say correct. “I know how hard it is to move to a new place by yourself having done it myself so I wanted to help with anything you need. And I brought breakfast too. Hopefully your usual order hasn’t changed.”

Reagan’s heart swells with adoration, remembering this is the version of Quinn she fell in love with. The kind, thoughtful man who continuously surprised her in ways she never thought possible. And against all odds, here he is again.

She’s stunned into silence for a few seconds, overwhelmed by his offer. It’s genuine and shows he cares even after all this time but allowing him to help means spending time with him, reconnecting, and Reagan doesn’t know if she’s ready for that just yet.

But she also really wants that coffee table to be built. So for right now, the pros outweigh the cons.

“Thank you so much, Quinn. That’s really thoughtful of you and honestly, there are a few things I’ve realized I can’t accomplish by myself no matter how hard I try.”

Quinn’s smiling genuinely now. He can’t believe she’s letting him help despite the fact they haven’t seen each other in a while minus the mixup the other day. But he doesn’t care. This is his opportunity to catch up with her and he’s going to cherish every second.

“That’s why I’m here.” He chuckles in response, handing her the iced coffee and bagel he picked up for her. “Order still the same?” He asks again, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Order’s still the same. I’m more surprised you remembered it.”

Of course he remembers it. He remembers everything about Reagan despite the fact there was a time where he wished he could forget everything about her. He remembers the show she would only watch before bed and the scent of her favorite shampoo. He remembers the feel of her hand in his and the way he always felt so safe with her in his arms. He remembers her go-to lazy dinner and the songs she loved screaming at the top of her lungs in the car.

He remembers it all. But now, Reagan feels like a stranger for so many reasons.

Quinn takes this moment to really look at her. She’s still breathtakingly gorgeous. but he notices her wavy dark brown hair is lighter than he remembers it. Maybe she got highlights or has dyed it since the breakup. There are more freckles scattered across her cheeks than there were when they met. She’s wearing an old oversized Umich shirt that he realizes at the last second might be his. But when her brown eyes meet his, any anxiety he feels about this moment falls away.

This is still Reagan. His Reagan. Yes, it’s been a while but he knows her. She hasn’t changed that much. If she’s letting him help and being friendly, maybe she doesn’t hate him like he always thought she did after the way things ended between them.

“Of course I remember it.” Quinn says with a shrug, trying not to reveal how much he misses her. “So what do you need help with first?” He asks as Reagan waves him into her apartment and closes the door behind him.

Reagan explains her dilemma with the uncooperative coffee table which takes first priority before going through a small list of things she wanted to get done today like unpack her kitchen and finish building her vanity. Quinn nods along to everything she says, seemingly happy to offer his help even if he doesn’t] have to.

“Thank you,” Reagan says softly, the two words holding more meaning than she ever thought could be possible. Quinn gives her a slightly confused look as he sits down on the floor ready to tackle the coffee table. “For everything. You didn’t have to bring breakfast over and offer to help me get settled in considering we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I really do appreciate it.” 

“I’d do anything for you, Rea.”

Hearing that one line and the use of the nickname only Quinn has ever used for her sends a shiver through her body. She feels her heart being tugged in his direction again even if it never fully healed from their end years ago, but she desperately tries to keep herself in check. Their relationship came to an end because of him. Quinn wanted to focus solely on hockey and his need to constantly get better on the ice was more important than keeping her in his life. 

So she moved on after he broke her heart. Or she thought she did until she saw him the other day. Her feelings have rushed back in no time, like nothing happened in the first place, but Reagan knows better.

“I know,” she murmurs, voice quiet as the wave of emotions hit her. “I’m going to start unpacking the kitchen. Let me know if you need any help. The instructions have been useless.” Quinn chuckles, that adorable sound filling her with a sense of happiness she hasn’t felt in so long. To this day his laugh is still one of her favorite sounds in the whole entire world.

For a good hour or so, the two of them work in comfortable silence. A random playlist Reagan selected is playing from a bluetooth speaker and every once in a while, she hears Quinn curse under his breath. She catches herself smiling a few times, the familiarity of it all bringing back so many memories. 

“Reagan?” Quinn tentatively disrupts the quiet as she’s reaching up to place a stack of plates in a cabinet above the kitchen counter. 

“Hm?” She hums in response, letting out a sign of relief when she gets the plates on the shelf. Quinn is grinning at the sight of her on her tiptoes trying to reach a higher shelf in her new home. This is something else that hasn’t changed since they were together. She still refuses to use any help to reach higher places despite being small enough that it would be beneficial. 

“Coffee table is finished.” He says, pointing over his shoulder when she turns around to look at him. “You weren’t lying about it being difficult, but it’s done.” A look of surprise crosses over her face and something about her right then makes Quinn’s heart ache. 

He knows he messed up when he broke it off with her years ago. His head was too stuck on hockey and only hockey. There was an unbearable amount of pressure on his shoulders after being drafted and he felt like he had to not only live up to the expectations, but defy them. And through all that, he lost the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

Reagan.

The woman who showed him unconditional love from the moment they met in college all the way through to the very end. Reagan who was there for every accomplishment and disappointment that happened in his career. The woman who always made sure he knew so many people, including her, were unbelievably proud of him at all times no matter what happened.

He never thought he would get to see her again and somehow here he is in her apartment that’s right next to his in the city that he’s been his second home for the last six years. 

“Told you I wasn’t lying.” She laughs, the sound filling Quinn with joy like it always has. “We can tackle the vanity next if you’re up for it. It’s a lot for just one person.” 

She leads him into her office where the unopened box is laying on the ground where she envisions the piece of furniture. Without a moment of hesitation, they get started on building the vanity as conversation flows freely. Quinn fills her in on everything going on with the Canucks from new teammates to how he likes being captain. She listens as he recommends some new restaurants and places to check out around the city and she fills him in on how everyone is doing back home in Michigan. Quinn asks about her new job and he can’t hide how proud he is when she tells him she got accepted into the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. 

Reagan has been playing the french horn since fourth grade and that’s the entire reason they met in college since Quinn ran into her at a UMich football game when she was part of the marching band. He remembers being struck by how pretty she was then even in the slightly unflattering bright blue and yellow uniform she was wearing with her instrument in hand. Over time as they became friends and eventually got together, Quinn learned her biggest dream was to play in a symphony. It’s difficult to get a seat anywhere, but if anyone could do it, Quinn knew it would be her. Reagan was talented, always has been, and knowing all that hard work finally paid off makes him beyond happy. 

And secretly, he’s never been so glad that the music she loves so much brought her to the city he lives in now.

“I was nervous about being accepted. It’s one of the most prestigious symphonies on the West Coast, but I was sick of being in Michigan again even if I do love it there, so I took a chance and it worked out.” Reagan explains shyly, her eyes dropping to her fiddling fingers.

“Hey,” Quinn says, abandoning the half built vanity for a second to take hold of her hands. “I’m so proud of you. You deserve that seat and it’s incredibly brave of you to pack up and move halfway across the continent to live out your dream.”

They both are aware of the unspoken words there. That it was also brave to come back to the city where their love story crashed and burned.

“Thank you, Quinny. That means a lot.” The words are barely out of Reagan’s mouth before Quinn is wrapping his strong arms around her in a tight embrace. She melts into the hug, her head resting on his shoulder and lets the comfort wash over her. Quinn lets out a small sigh of relief. He missed having her in his arms and the feeling of peace that surrounds him is unmistakable.

God, he messed up so bad by letting her go, by ruining the best thing he’s ever had because he thought he couldn’t balance the pressure of being an NHL player and a relationship at the same time. 

“Good to know Huggy Bear’s still got it.” Reagan teases him, reluctantly pulling away even if she wants to stay in his arms forever. But she can’t. She’s not that girl for him anymore.

“Yeah, yeah.” Quinn laughs, used to hearing the nickname his teammates gave him years ago when he joined the team. He meets her gaze and it’s then that an idea hits him. Reagan can see the look of hesitation in his blue green eyes, but waits patiently for him to continue. “Whenever you get settled in here and everything, would you maybe want to go skating? I know we used to go all the time and there’s this cool rink downtown you would love, but no pressure if not. I’m sure you’re going to be busy with work and adjusting to a new city.”

Reagan knows she should say no. She knows it would be better to leave the past in the past. But something about the way Quinn asks with pure honesty tugs at her and the small hope that maybe their love could get a second chance after all this time blossoms.

So she says yes.

“I would love that. Just text me when you’re free and we can schedule something.”

Quinn’s happiness at her response is immediately noticeable even though he tries to hide it so it’s not as obvious. The smile Reagan adores so much is on full display and she couldn’t be happier to have him in her half furnished apartment just days after she moved back to the city where her heart was broken.

Before she can get too swept up in the emotions, she gently pushes Quinn’s chest and giggles.

“We’ve got a list of things to do, Hughes. Get back to work.”

And with that, both of them work together to get through all the tasks Reagan wanted accomplished. That familiar sense of peace envelops the apartment and for the first time in a long time, Reagan’s heart isn’t heavy with sadness. Instead, it swells with joy like no other.

Between Quinn’s busy schedule of games, practices and traveling and Reagan’s new work schedule of getting acquainted with the symphony and joining practices of her own, it took a few weeks for them to find a day to go skating together.

But in that time, a constant stream of texts were exchanged and phone calls were made whether Quinn was next door or on the road. Reagan learned all about what happened in Quinn’s life for the two years she wasn’t part of it and heard so many stories of his teammates and his brothers, who she also missed since she hadn’t spoken to either of them since the breakup.

Quinn got a glimpse into who Reagan is now and if possible, he feels himself falling even harder for her all over again. His feelings never truly went away but every time he heard her laugh or she shared a secret, he knew that even after all that time, this girl is still the one he wants.

Finally, the agreed upon Sunday arrives and Quinn’s quiet, but strong knock sounds through Reagan’s apartment as she pulls a beanie on her head. 

“Coming!” She yells, almost tripping on her way to the door. She’s nervous and excited all at once. When the door swings open, Reagan’s breath is stolen away for a second as Quinn stands in front of her looking extra cozy and comfy bundled up for the cold. His eyes are alight with wonder and his somewhat wild brown curls are peeking out from under his favorite navy blue beanie. He has a hoodie on under his winter jacket and there’s the faintest blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Hey, Rea,” Quinn greets her with a bright smile. The old nickname still sends a jolt of happiness through her veins even though he’s used it frequently over the last few weeks and she can’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe this is just the two of them going skating together, but there is a sense of something more in the air and if there’s even a chance Quinn wants to give their relationship another chance, Reagan is all in. She can tell he’s grown and matured in the time they’ve spent apart and if she didn’t see that, it would be much easier to ignore the feelings she has for him.

“Hey!” She replies, giving him a quick hug. Quinn is a little surprised, but welcomes the embrace for a moment before she pulls away and starts speaking in excitement. “Don’t worry about skates for me, I still use my favorite pair,” Reagan lifts her white pair of Bauer skates up and then glances at her warm, but cute winter outfit, “and I’m dressed for the weather since you said the rink is outside.”

“You’re all prepared,” Quinn chuckles, “Let’s go then.” He says almost sheepishly like he’s nervous all of the sudden, and reaches for her hand. Reagan intertwines her gloved fingers with his and offers him a reassuring smile to silently say “this is okay.” The rink is just a few blocks away from their shared apartment building so the walk over is cold, but brief and full of laughter and conversation between the two of them.

Reagan catches a glimpse of the rink when Quinn stops walking at the opening of a large clearing and her heart starts racing.

They are at Robson Square Ice Rink. The prettiest rink in all of Vancouver in Reagan’s opinion, but it’s also her favorite and was dubbed her and Quinn’s spot when they were dating. 

“Quinn,” Reagan breathes out in disbelief. She doesn’t need to say anything else, Quinn can read all the emotions on her face. He squeezes her hand in reassurance while flashing her a sweet smile before leading her to the benches to help put her skates on. 

“Come on,” He murmurs and Reagan swallows down the emotions in an effort to take in every detail of this moment. She immediately starts unlacing her skates when they claim a spot on the bench, but Quinn insists on doing it himself.

“I can do it myself, you know.”

“I know,” Quinn replies cheekily. “But you deserve to be taken care of so let me do it even if it’s just this one time.” Reagan sighs, in pure dramatics, which makes Quinn chuckle but her heart is warm and fuzzy. This is why she fell in love with him in the first place. He’s the most caring person she knows and would do anything for her. That much clearly hasn’t changed.

Reagan keeps her eyes on Quinn as he ties her skates perfectly until he taps the heel of her right skate to signal that she’s good to go and freezes. Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment until it hits her.

Quinn got these skates for her years ago. They were her first pair and one of the best gifts she has ever received. But after taking them out for a few spins, she noticed that he had them customized. There was a little blue 43 printed onto the outside of the heel on her right skate which is exactly what Quinn is staring at right now.

“It’s still there.” He says quietly, tracing the two numbers before meeting Reagan’s eyes. It’s almost as if he expected her to cover the numbers up herself after the breakup and although she was angry about how everything happened, these skates are a reminder of the blissful beginning and she wanted that to remain untouched.

“Of course it is.” And just like earlier, this feels as if the simple moment holds a double meaning. As if that tiny 43 is a sign of hope for Quinn that he might get a second chance. That there’s still a spot for him in Reagan’s heart.

They share soft smiles and sit in the comfortable silence for a moment as Quinn puts his skates on. When Quinn takes her hand to help her onto the ice, Reagan lets herself be fully present. Months ago she never thought about reconnecting with the man who broke her heart, but now she couldn’t be happier that they’re friends again. She missed him beyond words.

It took a few laps around the rink to get her footing back, but once she did, she was challenging Quinn to races and constantly giggling as he tried to distract her from skating smoothly. Despite being one of the most well recognized people in the entire city of Vancouver, no one bothered Quinn on the public outdoor rink even if a few of the younger kids kept a watchful eye on him as if they recognized the captain of their favorite hockey team.

“How is it so far?” Quinn asks out of the blue as the two of them are skating at a leisurely pace. Reagan takes in the city skyline around them before meeting his gaze.

“Skating? Good! I always forget how fun it is and-”

“No,” he gently cuts you off and shakes his head, “I mean living in Vancouver. I know it’s been a huge adjustment for you.”

“Oh,” Reagan says in realization, taking a moment to think. “It’s been way better than I expected, honestly.” Quinn raises his eyebrows in surprise as an adorable smile blossoms across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah and I have a sneaky feeling you already know you’re a big part of why that is, Quinny.” His cheeks become pink with blush and he looks down briefly before stopping the two of you for a second.

“Have you ever thought of giving us a second chance?” 

The question is like a punch to the gut. Not only because Reagan never saw it coming, but it is exactly what she’s thought of asking Quinn herself a thousand times.

Has she thought of giving them another chance? Yes. Every single day she wonders what it would be like to be his girlfriend again. To allow herself to feel the overwhelming love she has for the oldest Hughes brother. To feel at home again because he’s back in her life. And Reagan has come to realize that she wants a second chance with Quinn more than anything.

He’s proven that he has grown and matured from the man he was years ago when he shattered her heart into a million pieces. He’s shown that her life and her dreams are just as important and he’ll do anything he can to support her every single day. His love has been on display since the first moment she saw him in the hallway of their apartment building weeks ago.

“Yes. Every single day.” Reagan responds with nothing but pure honesty.

“Me too.” Quinn almost whispers, trying not to let his nerves show. He’s biting his lip, a nervous habit of his that hasn’t disappeared. “Uh, you can say no if you’re not ready or anything, but would you like to go out with me? On a proper first date? Again?” 

Instantly, a beaming smile is on Reagan’s face as his words process in her mind. It’s happening. Something she’s dreamed of for so long, it’s real.

“I’d love that, Quinn.” She hugs him tight, relishing in the joy rushing through her veins. Nothing could make this moment any better and when Quinn kisses her temple, also feeling the happiest he’s been in a long time, everything in the world feels right again.

[ziminy]

Coming back to you

How to get back with your ex

Tags: smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, f!reader, normal au (because we suffered enough), my bbg Caleb the manipulative king he is (break me in half and all I'll say is thank you), implied stalking (if you squint), creampie, oral (f! receiving), fingering, marking, dirty talk, praising, size difference, little bit of crying, not proofread

Author's note: almost lvl 60 affinity with him, it was hard work and a lot of dedication. Trust me when I say I won't be able to recover financially from this any time soon.

Masterlist

Life was good when you were together, and somehow it even better after breaking up. It's not like your split up was messy, because you two parted ways on mutual accord, deciding that this isn't going to work since both of you were so busy lately. Why dragging the other down when you have your futures set?

In fact, the break up wasn't even supposed to be a break up, you were supposed to take a little break from each other that turned into a break up some time later. You said that you'd still be friends, that it's alright to talk and greet each other if you somehow managed to meet again.

But it was all lies. Both of you knew that. Because you never texted each other after that, and somehow you tried to avoid all the places he might be at. You don't really know why you're doing that, if just.. you feel a little uncomfortable looking back at what you two used to have.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, how he leaned down to talk to you, or that dumb smile that made your heart skip a beat.

He was caring, attentive, maybe a bit obsessive, perhaps a bit insane too. And maybe that what scared you, kept you away from dating again. Finding another one like him. God, what if you had the misfortune to wake up with another one like him at your door? You'd rather jump out the window than have the luck of getting another Caleb.

But he was good, in his own ways.

Well.. you can't really name any of his good traits at the moment, but he was a great guy. If you put aside his manipulative side, that he doesn't even try to hide to begin with.

You promised yourself to not fall for another guy like him, that empty words mean nothing to you. Threats had no effect, and you don't feel guilty anymore over things that you shouldn't be to begin with.

So, why was he here? You were supposed to meet with the old friend group, to reconnect and talk about the old days and how college used to be. I mean, he was part of the group, but why exactly was he here? And why did nobody told you he was coming?

"It's so good to see you guys!" one of your friends said, instantly jumping from person to person to hug.

"I feel like we're young again." someone else said, making you shake your head and let out a soft laugh. You can't show that you're affected, you're all grown now, you matured. He had no effect on you anymore. Even if it only been a year, you're still a different person that you were a few months ago.

"We aren't old to begin with." you said with a smile on your face. "How haves everyone been?" you sounded so calm, like you forgot how much stress was put on you back then. Everybody looks in much better shape after graduation, perhaps that place was rough for everyone.

"Let's just skip greetings and drink." of course there was that one person. "Caleb, you pay." everybody's eyes were on the tall man.

"You brought your wallet, no? Why should I pay." your eyes made contact for a moment, and you felt your face getting hotter. This night better go quick, because you don't know for how much longer you can handle this.

Everything was how it was back then, the way you sit in groups at the bar. How you found yourself next to the same girls you used to, deciding that you don't want to be loud and take it easy, just like before.

"So, how have life been for you? Haven't heard anything from you after we graduate." one of the girls looked at you, reminding you of how you chose to go no contact with everybody after your breakup.

"You and Caleb broke up? I thought you'd last a life time." is there nothing better to talk about?

"I'm a career woman now." you decided to change the subject, rather chosing to talk about work that your failed relationship.

"Oh?" why everybody looked so surprised was a mystery. But somehow you understood their reactions, you're also surprised you went this path.

"Got any boyfriends?" they still want to get info on your personal life, huh? Well, guess you won't be able to dodge that question any time soon.

"Nothing at the moment. Just focusing on work."

"I guess it's hard to date again. Normal guys must be so bland, not comparing to that piece of meat over there." you looked displeased with your friends choice of words. Yes, your ex might look good, but looks isn't what matters right now. Your well being was your top priority, and you enjoyed the freedom you had way too much.

"I'd be like that too if I had your ex. Imagine recovering from that." you don't even have to imagine.

"Is it even humanly possible to find somebody who's better than him?" their questions doesn't affect you, because you already know that you're the best you'd find. You understand and give yourself more than enough space that it's needed. So the right questions was if he will be able to find someone as good as you, because he won't.

"He's looking in this direction." the girls started giggling, and somehow, this was nostalgic.

Didn't this happened already? Before you started dating, right before you two confessed your feelings. Because somehow, you managed to do that at the same time. It was funny, if you're thinking about it. How you two were so in sync, you had no idea.

"Go talk to him." the girl next to you tried to push you, to make you get up and walk to the dark haired man.

"Don't want to." you kept avoiding any eye contact ever since you got in that bar. If you don't acknowledge him then he doesn't even exist to you.

"But he's looking at you." you grabbed the drink in front of you and gulped everything down your throat, trying to ignore him.

"Are you shy?" the girls started giggling again.

It was annoying. Why can't they understand that it's over? He understands this, so why can't they do it as well?

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"But he seems to want to?" it doesn't matter even if they point it out. It's been a long time already, you both moved on.

"Isn't there anything you want to tell him? Like things you didn't got the chance to while you were together?"

"This is the time to clear any bad blood between the two of you." but that wasn't necessary.

Frustrated, you looked in his direction. Eyebrows furrowed and biting on your lip so you wouldn't let out any curses you wanted to say at the moment. That classical expression, looking like he's good, even if there was no smile on his face, but he kept nodding to what his friends were saying. His eyes were betraying him however, those sleepy eyes, looking at you like you were more interesting, like he had to or else you'd evaporate from there or who knows what worse. It wasn't often when you'd see him like that, so you can't even answer your own questions on why he seemed like that.

No, if you payed attention to his surroundings, his friends might be annoying him. Saying something that he doesn't like, or.. they were talking about you. Just the way your friends were talking about him.

Was he feeling like that because he didn't want to talk to you either? No, you doubt that. It's probably because you refuse to give him any attention.

You turned to face the girls around you, who still seemed to push you to him. Maybe you should in fact go for it?

But, was there really anything that needed to be said? You don't have any regrets, you can't think of anything you want to say. And he's the same, even if he looked like he was holding back from time to time. You doubt he ever did something he's regretting. After all, you matched each other's freaks. You managed to stay together for that long just because you completed the other, understood yourselfs on a level no one else around you could.

Was this why you were pushed to him? Because everyone knew how well you fit each other?

You looked at your friends one more time, sighing as you finally gave up. You're still afraid to approach him, because he was still intimidating in a way you can't explain.

Or you can, because whenever you look at him you feel a chill down your spine. Your head was filled with stuff you said to him in the past, memories coming back to embarrass you, to make you forget what you want to do so you'd fuck up in front of him.

You stopped in front of him, staring at him as he looked at you. He still had that expression on his face, like you're still his softest spot, his weakness that makes him weak in the knees when he's around you. You opened your mouth, trying to say something but then forgetting everything once you looked into his purple eyes.

You can't be like this forever, you had to step up your game. You really had to move on, and maybe that's what you have to talk with him. Because he seems to be stuck in the past too. "You have time?" you noticed the way he almost raised his hand, to grab onto you and drag you closer like he always did. But he held back, because he knew this wasn't the time.

"Yeah." he tried to keep it nonchalantly, but you could see past his poorly executed facade. Should you feel happy with how you still affect him? You feel like you could laugh.

"Wanna talk outside?" you don't even know why you said outside of all places. You wanted to stay inside, where everybody else was. You wanted to have a reason to keep it cool, to not lose yourself in your emotions, because you know you'll fuck up if you're alone with him.

He got up, standing much taller than you as he followed you quietly. Seriously, this was like a deja vu. You still remember how you used to follow him just the way he's doing now. Not questioning a thing, and trusting him a bit too much. But you also had no idea where you're going. All you know is that you want to go outside, take some fresh air, say a few words and then go back to your friends.

For a moment, he got in front of you, opening the door and letting you walk out first. He used to do this all the time, didn't he? You almost forgot about it.

You walked a little further from the bar, resting your back against a building's wall as you looked at the sunset. No one said a thing, and the distance between the two of you was colder than the night's breeze.

"So.." a few words and then go back, that's all. You can go to your friends after this and rest. "How have you been." avoid eye contact, because you don't know when you'll fuck up, look forward, don't let yourself be distracted.

"Busy." his voice still makes something in your head ring, like a little bell that seems to not calm down until he said so. "You?"

"Busy." you couldn't even think of what to say, just biting your lip in frustration.

It was quiet again, like both of you forgot how to communicate.

For a moment, you looked to your left, at where the bar was, and then at him, catching him staring at you with a expression you can't quite explain. Sadness? No, it was a mixture of sad and frustration. And you understood him. He had you this close, next to him, and yet he couldn't do anything.

"You're bigger than I remember." you don't even know why you said that. It's just.. he looks different and you can't exactly say what it was.

"I stopped growing a long time ago." he kept looking at you, at the way you were scanning him for anything that it might have changed. "Maybe you're the one who shrinked." he extended his hand, he doesn't really know why, but it seemed alright in that moment. Like he knew you wouldn't run anymore. "My hands are still the same."

You looked at his palm, at his long fingers and at the way he looks so familiar, yet new. Like you forgot how his body looked for a moment, like you were back in the past before you two started dating. Because you did this back then too, you were in this situation before.

How he was trying to tame you, let you touch him just the way you want, explore and discover more. All just to show you how inoffensive he is, that he's not a threat.

And you bite the bait every single time. Taking his hand in yours, slowly touching it just to see if it was indeed like what you remember.

You should put more effort if you don't want him back in your life. Just look at you, you look like you've missed him so so much. You shouldn't be this sweet or else you might not be able to break up again this time.

He tried his luck, interlocking his fingers with yours, and showing you more of that size difference you haven't seen in a while.

You don't reject him, his actions only made you be more curious. What else was he hiding? You looked up at him, only to see that expression again. You really didn't understand how his eyes can be just this dark, like there was absolutely no life in them, only a purple abyss that seems to drag you in towards him.

"It's getting dark." he said in a low voice, forgetting that he was supposed not to scare you for a moment. "Let me drive you home." he's the same as ever. Getting ahead of himself just because he was able to feel your perfume for once, the same scent that you had since back then. It suited you, and he missed it.

"Alright." he always knew how to calm you, let down your guard so he can get more under your skin. Or perhaps you were doing that voluntarily, because he doubts you'd be like this just for anybody.

The ride back to your place was quiet, only the radio on, playing some mainstream songs over and over again.

The silence was loud, but not uncomfortable. It was better this way because you had nothing to say. And he will not talk until you talk.

But once you got to your house, you somehow didn't wanted to get out the car just yet. It's just.. can't he stay? You don't know why you want him there, and you don't want answers to that.

"You're.." you played with your fingers. "You're not busy, right?" you avoided his eyes, or to look in his direction at all. This was all his doing, wearing that one fragrance that made your head spin, and the shirt that he knew was your favorite. "Want to come inside?" you're doing this on your own accord. Because he wouldn't push you over your limits like this, especially when you just met again after a long time.

You came to him, you talked to him, and you dragged him into your home on your own. He didn't do anything, this was all your doing.

You were brave enough to make the first move, so he might as well reward you for it, no?

You didn't looked surprised when you started kissing the moment the front door closed behind you, you also looked unfazed when he started taking off your clothes, now going towards your bedroom, looking for a bed so he could place you on it.

How could you forget this feeling? Or the way he used to take care of you. Always stopping you from lifting a single finger, not letting you do anything until you start begging him, or worse, do things without even warning him first.

"Tell me if it hurts." he placed a kiss on your cheek before going down, biting softly on your skin and leaving kisses all over the places he touched. He was going to mark all of your body, so people would see a part of him on you even if you're not together.

He stopped when he got to your pussy, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, before placing his lips over your heat. He was going to scream, he missed this so much that he just couldn't help but let out a lustful moan deep from the bottom of his heart.

How could you left him? Take this away from him, leave him all alone to suffer. If he didn't craved so much for you he would have punished you for it.

"You're so tight." he said as he got two of his fingers inside.

"It's been a while since I did it." he looked up at you from between your legs, placing a kiss on your clit.

"Have you done it with someone else?" he was asking as if he didn't knew everything you did while he was gone. And yet, hes jealous.

"No." you shook your head. "What about you?" are you questioning his loyalty?

"Did you touched yourself?" if this was his way of changing the subject, then it wasn't working. Because it only made you want to ask the same thing, embarras him just the way he did to you.

"Did you?" he should feel embarrassed, ashamed or anything between those two, but no, it was just you who feeling that way.

"Every time I missed you." seriously, can he calm down for a moment. You can't take it. "You didn't do a good job." he said, licking on your clit as his fingers curled up. "But I guess you can't do much with those fingers of yours." you couldn't face him when he was saying such dirty words. "Did you had a hard time stuffing yourself? Don't worry, I'll do it for you from now on." you placed a hand over his face, to cover his eyes so he would stop looking at you.

"Don't look at me." you whimper. "It's embarrassing." you were always so easy to tease.

"Alright." he moved your hand away. "I'm sorry." he was in fact not, but if that's what you want to hear then he'll lie again and again, as long as you're happy.

Your pleasure was more important to him. So he focused on that, paying attention to the places that made you melt, on your soft voice and your touch. You're still so hesitant, like you don't really trust him, like you're still testing the waters.

What more do you want from him? What can he possible give that he haven't gave you already? You have his heart, you have his mind and soul, his well being is all yours, his body and everything he owns. So give him attention, touch him more and tell him that he's doing good because he's about to burst.

For a moment he looked up at you, just to see how you're doing, to check on you and make sure you're alright.

How did he lived for so long without looking at you was a mystery. Why he accepted you leaving him and trying to move on. Who else is going to make you feel like this? You need him, you needed his cock and his touch.

But he's not going to fuck up, since it's been a while since you last did it, he shouldn't push you. So, he placed a last kiss on your clit before taking his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and waiting for more. He didn't even let you cum, how mean of him.

Still, how dumb of him, to come here with nothing on him, not even a single condom. I mean, it wasn't really his fault because he never knew he'll end up like this.

"Take it off, your clothes." you were all naked while he was still fully dressed. He also looked like he wasn't planning on getting undressed any time soon and it was annoying you.

"I don't have any condoms." that was the problem?

"It don't matter." you took him by surprise. "Come here." you knew how rail him up. And you better not regret your decision later.

You looked at him taking off his shirt, his defined muscles jumping right into your face. You were right when you said he looked bigger, he must be working out a lot more lately. He took his pants off after, your eyes on his hard cock as he came back next to you.

"Relax." he said when he got between your legs. "Look at me." it would only be harder for you if you keep overthinking. Yeah, he was big, so what. He's going to give you all the time in the world until you adjust yourself to take him. It's gonna be hard at first, but it's going to be so much easier once he models your insides into the shape of his cock. And that's a promise, believe him.

He slowly pushed the head of his dick inside your wet core, making you move a little from how it was feeling, trying to find a better position. He lowered himself, now his chest pressed against yours, placing kisses all over your face as he kept pushing more of him inside your warm pussy. It's alright, take your time. He's not going anywhere, he'll wait until you're ready for him to move.

"You're doing good." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I'm all the way inside, see? It doesn't hurt." it hurts a little, maybe more than just a little. But wasn't it normal when he was stretching you like that? But just as much as it hurts, it also felt good, in a way that left your mouth watering. He was going to be the end of you, really.

"Move." you ordered him, wanting to feel more. Just being stuffed to the brim wasn't enough, you needed much more than that.

He followed your orders, moving his hips slowly, paying attention to your next move.

You were so cute when you're sticking to him like that, holding onto his shoulders and trembling every time he touched that spot deep inside that he wasn't trying to touch to begin with, to not overwhelm yourself.

He's going to give you everything you want, there's no need to rush. If this was how much you can handle then that's how much he's going to give you. So why were you grabbing him like that, and asking for more? "Deeper." but you couldn't take it? You're going to say that he bullied you later, and he doesn't want to take the blame for something you made him do.

"You're sure?" you nodded, looking at him through your eyelashes with a pout on your face. Alright then, if that's what you want. How could he refuse you?

So he got deeper, hitting that spongy spot with long slow strokes that seems to work wanders on you.

He kissed you, again and again, to mark everything that missed his touch. To make sure you feel him, more than just inside.

"Is it good?" he asked as if he doesn't know your body like the back of his hand.

"Mm." you nodded, leaning in to feel more of his warmth.

"Then say my name. Let me know how good I make you feel." how could you forget he was like this. He always had to mark his territory as if you're not already his. But unfortunately for him, you're not in the mood to fulfill his desires. Screaming his name seemed nice, but at the moment all you wanted was to feel him, have him to yourself and let nobody know about your business.

Maybe his greedy side rubbed on you, or maybe it's the other way around. Or not, because at the end of the day you both knew that your unsolved issues can't be fixed that easy, and it can't be passed into the other when both of you are insane.

That's why you're trying to consume each other in other ways.

Kisses that seemed way too loving for someone who just got reunited after a long time. Touches that linger on the other's body even after moving away. Whispers and words that really makes it seems like you two were just a day apart, talking about moving with him, how you don't need anyone else but him. And at the moment you're too drunk on him to even realize that you're nodding, agreeing to every little degrading thing he's saying.

You want him, don't you? You missed him, you were such a mess without him. Right? Why did you permited him to leave when he's made for you. "I love you." that's the most normal thing he said tonight. "I love you, you heard me?" you heard him, but if you're giving him an answer that satisfies him, you'll never make him pay for the pain he caused you.

"You do?" you didn't sounded loving at all, even if your arms were wrapped around his neck, looking at him in the eyes with something only he saw before, your lust and obsession.

"I love you." he'll say it until you finally give up. Placing a kiss right next to your eye, he caged you in his arms, a hand under your ass and lifting up so he could go even deeper than before. Move in even more, since you said you wanted deeper. He'll show you places you didn't even know existed if you're asking for it.

He can't say that he's a brat tamer, because he's not. He likes everything about you, your sweet side, your mean and angry side. He likes it when you punish him, it shows him that you care. And if you believe that he's not doing enough to deserve your love just yet, then he'll do more.

He liked trying after all. And he'd be damed if he said that he doesn't want to show you just how far he can go. Because trust him, you can't handle it.

He's going to eat you, or even better, sacrifice him as you see fit. He wants to be inside you forever, be part of you. Because he feels like he's finally at home only when he's with you, in your arms. And when he's balls deep inside you? He's in heaven.

"Does it hurts?" he licked your tears away, wanting to taste them and claim them as his.

You nodded, feeling his cock twitching before moving in a way that got you throwing your head back. This fucker. He thinks that he can just do this to you and not pay a price? And perhaps sometimes he forgets how you can be so cruel, mean, and play with his feelings in a way only you could.

All he needs is a look from you, fluttering those eyelashes in a pretty way, and a sad expression that he can't resist.

You win, if you wanted him to fumble, then you win. He's all yours, do whatever you want with him because he doesn't have the ability to think anymore. "Cum with me?" what gives you the right to ask such a dumb question when you knew that's the only thing he wants. If you're not, the he's not doing it either. He knows he's asking for too much, but let the man dream.

"I'll fill you up nice and pretty, alright?" he made it sounded like a question, but you both knew he was just letting you know.

"Mm." you nodded, your lips smashing together the next moment. Eating each other out as you were both so so close. Touches becoming more and more desperate, his grip on so tight you won't be surprised if it leaves a bruise. But it's alright, because you feel like that's not quite enough.

More, you both needed more. And some heated sex after fucks knows how long won't be enough to satisfy the empty holes in you. You needed so much more.

Will you even be able to get out the bed tomorrow? Both of you. Because from the way you drag each other back, refusing to give up just yet was more than enough proof to show you won't step back any time soon.

But who knows, maybe you'll finally be happy by the time you both dry your energy out.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the honest)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what may come

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower

The grand halls of Casterly Rock bustled with quiet efficiency as servants moved swiftly, setting the final touches for the upcoming wedding. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut roses, imported from the Reach, their crimson petals arranged meticulously along the golden-lined tables in the Great Hall. Candles were being placed in towering candelabras, their flames soon to illuminate the grandest feast the Westerlands had seen in years.

Jaime walked through the preparations with Bronn at his side, the sellsword looking entirely unimpressed by the extravagance.

"Remind me again why I have to be here?" Bronn drawled, arms crossed as his gaze flicked from the pristine gilded goblets being arranged to the heavy velvet banners that draped the walls. "I’m not the one getting married to a Stark.”

Jaime scoffed, running his fingers over the golden lion crest embedded into the nearest banquet table. "Because if I have to suffer through this, I see no reason why you shouldn’t."

Bronn smirked. "You’re in a right foul mood for a groom. Aren’t grooms supposed to be excited? Joyous? Dreaming about the wedding night and all that?"

Jaime shot him a glare. "Would you keep your voice down?"

Bronn chuckled, adjusting the belt at his waist. "Come now, Kingslayer. Are you telling me you’re not looking forward to it? Your blushing bride, draped in silk, waiting for you in—"

"If you wish to keep that tongue, I suggest you bite it," Jaime interrupted, his patience wearing thin.

Bronn raised his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy, touchy. Fine, let’s talk about something else—like how much bloody coin they’re spending on this farce."

Jaime’s eyes flicked toward the towering cake being constructed in one corner of the hall, layers of honeyed sponge and sugared fruit arranged so decadently it looked like something out of a song. Tywin had spared no expense, and it was clear that this wedding wasn’t just about sealing a political alliance—it was about displaying Lannister power to the entire realm.

"It’s excessive," Jaime admitted, his voice low. "Even for my father."

Bronn snorted. "Now that is saying something."

Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It’s all for show. The banners, the food, the music, the guests. Tywin doesn’t just want a wedding. He wants a spectacle. A reminder to every lord and lady in Westeros that a Lannister does not bow, does not break. That even the Starks, once his greatest enemies, are now bound to him."

Bronn exhaled, glancing around before lowering his voice. "And does the Stark girl know she’s just another jewel in his golden crown?"

Jaime clenched his jaw, his gaze drifting toward the high table where he and you would sit the next night. "She knows," he said quietly.

Bronn studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "You’ve got it bad."

Jaime turned toward him, brows furrowed. "What?"

Bronn smirked. "The way you talk about her. The way you keep looking for her in every room. You’re starting to care, Jaime."

Jaime scoffed. "I don’t—"

"Oh, save it," Bronn cut him off, waving a hand. "You might not admit it, but I see it plain as day. If this was just duty to you, you wouldn’t be brooding about it. But no, you’re actually thinking about how she feels. And that, my friend, is dangerous."

Jaime exhaled slowly, his hands tightening into fists. "It doesn’t matter how I feel. This is happening, whether either of us wants it or not."

Bronn studied him, then chuckled. "You know what I think? I think you’re more worried about what happens after the wedding than the wedding itself."

Jaime turned away, his golden hand pressing against the edge of the banquet table. He didn’t answer.

Because Bronn was right.

It wasn’t the vows, the feast, or even the spectacle that troubled him.

It was the uncertainty of what came next.

Would you ever accept this union? Would you ever forgive him for all that had been taken from you? For all the pain his family had caused yours?

And, more unsettling than all of that, why did he care so much about the answer?

Bronn clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him from his thoughts. "Well, good luck with that. I’ll be drinking through the whole thing, if you need me."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Of course you will."

As the final preparations continued, Jaime lingered for a moment longer, staring at the grand hall before him.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

For better or worse.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were eerily quiet as Jaime made his way toward your chambers. The great fortress, usually filled with the sounds of servants and courtiers, felt heavier tonight, as if it, too, was bracing for what was to come. He had spent the day overseeing the final preparations for the wedding, had endured Bronn’s mocking, Tywin’s scrutiny, and the suffocating weight of expectation.

Yet, despite it all, he found himself here.

He had told himself it was only to ensure that you were prepared for tomorrow, that he was fulfilling his duty as your betrothed. But deep down, he knew better. He had been thinking about you all day, about the way you had been so quiet since their arrival, the way your sharp retorts had lessened, the way you had withdrawn more and more into yourself.

He knocked lightly before stepping inside, finding you standing near the window, your arms wrapped around yourself as you gazed out over the darkened sea. You didn’t turn at his entrance, but he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers dug into the fabric of your sleeves.

“You’ll be my wife tomorrow,” Jaime said lightly, trying to inject a bit of humor into his tone as he closed the door behind him. “Are you ready to wear Lannister colors at last?”

You exhaled, but it wasn’t a laugh. It was something closer to resignation.

Jaime frowned, stepping closer. “Y/N?”

Still, you didn’t look at him. “It feels real now,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaime stopped just behind you, close enough to see the way your hair moved slightly with each breath you took. “It was always real,” he said quietly.

Finally, you turned to face him, and what he saw in your eyes struck something deep within him. Fear. You were afraid. Not of him, not in the way others feared him—but of tomorrow, of what it truly meant to be bound to his house, to his family, to him.

Jaime’s hand twitched at his side before he reached out, hesitantly brushing his fingers against your arm. You didn’t pull away.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Don’t I?”

Jaime swallowed, his grip on your arm tightening just slightly. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into his touch—just slightly, just enough for Jaime to feel the warmth of you against his fingertips. It was the closest you had ever allowed him to be.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jaime’s golden hand rested at his side, useless, while his other hand remained against your arm. “Neither do I.”

Your lips parted slightly, surprised by his honesty, by the rare vulnerability he was offering you. The walls between you cracked, if only for a moment.

Jaime took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t choose this,” he said slowly. “And I know that you still hate me for it.”

You said nothing, but the silence was enough.

He forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But if there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that I’ll never force anything upon you. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaime exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

The space between you felt charged, different than before. The firelight flickered in your eyes, reflecting something fragile, something uncertain. And then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his.

Jaime’s breath hitched. This was more than he had ever hoped for. The warmth of your touch, however hesitant, sent something shattering through him.

And then it happened.

Something inside him snapped.

He shouldn’t tell you. He knew he shouldn’t. But as he looked at you—your fear, your uncertainty, the fragile way you had let your guard down just for him—he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours.

You looked up at him, searching his face. “What is it?”

Jaime inhaled sharply. “Your brother.”

Your expression shifted instantly, your body tensing. “What about him?”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “He’s riding into a trap.”

The words hung between you, heavy and undeniable.

Your breath caught, your fingers going rigid in his grasp. “What?”

Jaime exhaled shakily, bracing himself for what was to come. “Roose. My father. They’ve already made their move. The North is going to fall, Y/N. Robb will—” He stopped himself, but you heard the unspoken words.

Your face drained of color, and suddenly, you ripped your hand from his grasp. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, you’re lying.”

Jaime’s chest tightened, his throat dry. “I wish I were.”

Your hands clenched into fists, your breath coming faster, ragged. “Why are you telling me this now? Why—why didn’t you say anything before?”

Jaime swallowed hard. “Because I didn’t know how.”

Your expression twisted with anguish, betrayal, fury. “How long have you known?”

Jaime hesitated, but you saw the truth in his eyes before he even spoke.

“Since the night we arrived.”

Your lips parted in shock. “Since—we’ve been here for days!”

Jaime stepped forward, but you recoiled.

“Y/N—”

“No!” Your voice cracked, your hands trembling. “You—you knew. And you said nothing.”

Jaime’s own chest ached at the look on your face. “I wanted to tell you. I did. But—”

“But what?” You spat, your voice shaking. “It would mean betraying your father? It would mean choosing between being a good son or doing what’s right?”

Jaime couldn’t answer. Because you were right.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “He’s going to die,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “And you let it happen.”

Jaime’s throat tightened painfully. “I didn’t want this.”

Your eyes burned into his. “But you let it happen.”

Jaime had faced battle, had stood before kings, had endured the weight of his family’s expectations for his entire life.

But nothing had ever hurt quite like this.

He opened his mouth, desperate to say something, anything—but you turned away from him, your shoulders shaking as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Jaime stepped forward again, hesitated—then sighed.

“Y/N,” he murmured.

“Get out.”

Jaime closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. Then, with a heavy heart, he turned and left.

The door shut behind him, but your quiet, broken sobs echoed in his mind long after he was gone.

The night air was thick with something unnamed, the silence of Casterly Rock disturbed only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below. Within the courtyard, the pale silver form of Winter lay stretched across the cold stone floor of the makeshift kennel they had forced upon him. His blue eyes were open, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, his ears twitching at every distant sound.

Jaime had fought to let him roam free, but Kevan had been firm. A wolf does not belong within the Rock. They had caged him, kept him away from you. And now, he was restless.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, his thick tail twitching against the stone. He could feel it—something was wrong. His instincts clawed at him, his senses razor-sharp, his unease growing by the second.

And then, it happened.

A sudden clamor of hurried footsteps echoed from the northern walls. Raised voices, the loud ring of steel, and then—shouts.

She is running.

Winter surged up, his massive form slamming against the bars, snarling as the sounds of pursuit filled the air. His hackles rose, lips peeling back over gleaming teeth as he let out a deep, reverberating snarl.

Beyond the courtyard, torches flared to life as guards swarmed the outer halls of the castle.

“She’s escaping!”

“Find her! Now!”

Winter’s claws scraped against the stone as he pushed against the confines of his cage, his entire body tense with rage. He knew whose scent they were following. He knew who they were chasing.

And there was nothing he could do.

Outside the castle walls, your breath burned in your lungs as you sprinted through the winding paths leading toward the cliffs. The cold night air whipped against your face, your heart pounding violently against your ribs. Your boots kicked up loose gravel as you ran, the distant lights of Lannisport glittering below like a cruel promise of freedom.

But you weren’t free. Not yet.

Shouts rang out behind you, the clatter of armor growing closer.

“There! She’s heading for the lower paths!”

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to move faster. You had spent hours planning this, studying the guards’ rotations, waiting for the right moment. You knew the layout of Casterly Rock by now—knew which paths were less guarded, which tunnels could lead you down toward the port where you might be able to stow away.

But they were faster than you had expected.

You veered left, pushing through a narrow passage between jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of stone scraping against your arms. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Then—

A shadow moved ahead of you.

Too fast.

Bronn.

You barely had time to react before his arm shot out, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around. You fought, kicking, twisting, but he was stronger, his grip like iron.

"Seven hells, girl," he grunted, wrestling against you. "You really thought you’d make it far, didn’t you?"

You hissed, slamming your elbow into his ribs. He grunted but didn’t let go. “Let me go!”

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” he said, voice strained as he struggled to keep hold of you. “You’ve got a wedding tomorrow. Thought you might want to be well-rested for it.”

You thrashed against him, your breathing ragged, your body twisting with everything you had. “You bastard!”

Bronn sighed. “Look, I get it. Really, I do. But you running through the night like this? That’s just stupid.”

You growled, trying to reach for the small dagger tucked into your belt, but Bronn was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, twisting just enough to make you drop it.

“You little hellcat,” he muttered, exasperated. “If you weren’t worth so much, I’d almost be impressed.”

More guards arrived, torches lighting up the narrow path.

One of them stepped forward, panting slightly. “Shall we take her to Lord Kevan?”

Bronn shook his head. “No. Send for Jaime.”

The guard hesitated. “Lord Jaime?”

Bronn’s grip on you didn’t loosen, but his voice was firm. “Now.”

The guards exchanged glances before nodding, one of them turning to rush back toward the keep.

You were still breathing hard, your pulse a frantic drum against your throat. The realization sank in, bitter and cold.

You had failed.

Bronn sighed again, looking down at you. “You really thought you were gonna get away from here, didn’t you?”

You refused to answer, glaring at him with all the fury you could muster.

Bronn smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And so you stood there, surrounded by armed men, waiting for Jaime to arrive.

Jaime was pulled from restless sleep by the heavy pounding on his chamber doors. His mind was sluggish for only a moment before years of battle instincts kicked in, and he was out of bed in an instant. He barely had time to fasten his cloak over his nightshirt before the doors swung open, revealing one of the Lannister guards, breathless and wide-eyed.

“My lord, it’s Lady Y/N—she tried to escape.”

Jaime’s blood turned cold. “Where?”

“The cliffs below the keep. Ser Bronn caught her.”

Jaime didn’t wait for another word. He shoved past the guard and strode through the halls, his steps quickening as he made his way outside. The castle was alive with commotion now—guards murmuring, servants watching from the safety of doorways, their gazes flitting toward the path leading down to the lower courtyard.

When Jaime finally reached the scene, his chest tightened at the sight before him.

You stood there, struggling in Bronn’s grip, your hair wild from the night air, your cloak half undone as if you had barely fastened it in your rush to escape. Your face was flushed, streaked with dirt and sweat, and your eyes—your furious, broken eyes—met his the moment he stepped forward.

"Let her go," Jaime ordered, his voice sharp as steel.

Bronn hesitated for only a moment before sighing and loosening his grip. You stumbled slightly but regained your footing quickly, breathing hard, your fists clenched at your sides.

Jaime took a cautious step forward. “Are you hurt?”

Your head snapped up, fury blazing through your grief. “Don’t you dare ask me that.”

Jaime exhaled through his nose, running his left hand through his hair. “Y/N, what were you thinking?”

“I have to go,” you said quickly, desperately, taking a step forward as if you expected him to let you pass. “I have to warn Robb—he doesn’t know, Jaime. He doesn’t know what’s coming.”

Pain twisted in his chest at the sound of his name from your lips, laced with such raw emotion. But he shook his head. “I can’t let you go.”

You froze, your breath hitching. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Jaime clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “It’s the same thing.”

You shoke your head violently. “No. No, it isn’t. You promised me, Jaime. You swore you would protect him.” Your voice cracked on the last word, your body trembling from exhaustion, from anger, from grief.

“I know,” Jaime murmured, and gods, he meant it. He knew what this meant to you. He knew what he was taking from you.

“Then let me go,” you pleaded, your voice breaking entirely now. “Please, Jaime. Please.”

Jaime swallowed hard, looking at you—truly looking at you. Your eyes were brimming with tears, your shoulders shaking, your chest rising and falling with frantic, uneven breaths. He had seen you defiant. He had seen you furious. He had even seen you vulnerable. But this—this was something else.

This was heartbreak.

This was loss before it had even arrived.

Jaime took a step closer, reaching out without thinking, his fingers brushing against your arm. “If I let you go,” he said softly, “you will die.”

You let out a choked, broken sound, your whole body recoiling. “Then let me.”

Jaime’s breath caught, something deep and unmovable twisting inside him. He stepped forward fully now, reaching for you, grasping your arm before you could slip away.

You struggled. Gods, you fought—thrashing against him, your fists beating weakly against his chest, your voice a raw sob of protest. “You lied to me, Jaime! You lied! You said—you said you would—” Your words crumbled into incoherence, grief consuming them before they could be fully formed.

Jaime held on, his grip firm but gentle, letting you rail against him, letting you sob into his chest, letting you fall apart in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his chin resting against your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

But no apology would be enough. No words would take this away.

The guards shifted uncomfortably, some averting their gazes. Even Bronn—who had seen death and war and betrayal a hundred times over—seemed momentarily out of place, his usual sharp tongue silenced by the rawness of what lay before him.

And still, Jaime held you, feeling every tremor in your body, every shattered breath.

In this moment, he wished he had never been born a Lannister.

He wished he could undo something.

But he couldn’t.

And so, he simply held on.

The walk back to your chambers was silent.

Jaime kept his grip on you firm but not forceful, his fingers wrapped around your wrist as he guided you through the cold, empty halls of Casterly Rock. Your body had stopped trembling, the sobs had quieted, but the silence was worse.

You had given up.

You didn’t try to break free. You didn’t fight him. You just walked beside him, unseeing, unfeeling, your gaze fixed on some distant point only you could see.

Jaime hated it.

He had seen you burn with fury, had watched you stand against men twice your size with nothing but your will and your tongue to protect you. He had watched you defy kings and lords alike, had heard the bite in your voice when you swore to see your family safe.

But now?

Now you were hollow.

And it was his fault.

As they turned a corner, Kevan Lannister emerged from an adjoining hall, his expression carefully neutral as his gaze flickered from Jaime to you, then back again. He exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“So, she tried to run,” he said simply.

Jaime’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, a silent warning for Kevan to hold his tongue. “It’s been handled.”

Kevan studied you for a long moment. “Has it?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “She won’t try again.”

Kevan hummed in acknowledgment, but his gaze lingered on you. “She’s a Stark,” he murmured. “And a wolf will always try to escape its cage.”

Jaime stiffened. He knew it was true, but hearing it aloud made something twist inside him.

Kevan sighed, stepping aside. “Your father will hear of this.”

Jaime averted his gaze, leading you past his uncle without another word.

When you finally reached your chambers, Jaime pushed open the doors, guiding you inside before closing them behind him.

The room was as it had been—grand, lavish, a place fit for the Lady of Casterly Rock. But to you, it might as well have been a prison cell.

You moved like a ghost, stepping further inside without a word, your arms wrapping around yourself. You didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t speak.

Jaime lingered by the door, watching you, struggling with what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, but it was empty, bitter. “You keep saying that.”

Jaime sighed, stepping closer. “Because I mean it.”

You turned then, your eyes red-rimmed, your expression unreadable. “Then do something about it.”

Jaime when numb.

He wanted to. Gods, he wanted to.

But he couldn’t.

And you knew that.

Your eyes flickered with something—anger, despair, something raw and unguarded. Then, just as quickly, you turned away again.

Jaime felt something snap inside him again.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think, he closed the distance between you in three quick strides, his hand reaching for your arm.

You turned, startled, lips parting just as his mouth crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. It was a desperate, reckless thing—filled with all the words he couldn’t say, all the things he wished he could change.

For a moment, you didn’t respond. You were frozen, caught between the weight of everything that had just happened and the shocking warmth of his lips against yours.

Then, slowly, your hands came up, pressing against his chest.

Jaime’s grip on you tightened.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

All he knew was that he needed to reach you.

To feel something other than the hollow ache in his chest.

To give you something—anything—to hold onto.

And for the briefest moment, you let him.

Your lips moved against his, hesitant, unsure. Your fingers curled slightly against his tunic, not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either.

It was enough.

It was everything.

Then, as quickly as it started, you broke away.

Jaime’s breath was heavy, his forehead nearly resting against yours, his hands still holding you as if letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing had just passed between you.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t.”

Jaime swallowed, his heart hammering.

Neither could he.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

Slowly, reluctantly, he released you, stepping back just enough to give you space.

You looked at him, truly looked at him, and for a moment, there was something in your eyes that he couldn’t name.

Then, softly, you whispered, “Goodnight, Jaime.”

Jaime closed his eyes for a brief moment before nodding.

And then, without another word, he left.

The door shut behind him, but his heart remained in that room with you.

The halls of Casterly Rock felt suffocating. The air, thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, seemed to press down on Jaime’s shoulders as he walked aimlessly through the dimly lit corridors. He had no destination, no purpose—only the weight of your words still lingering in his chest.

I can’t.

He ran a hand through his hair as he descended a flight of stairs that led out into the open-air courtyard. The night air was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that still clung to him from your touch.

Jaime clenched his jaw, trying to push the memory of the kiss from his mind. It had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. A desperate attempt to reach something that was never his to begin with.

But gods, he couldn’t shake the way you had felt against him.

He wandered past the stone pathways leading toward the gardens, his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet night. He had hoped the solitude would clear his head, but the turmoil within him only deepened.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Well, well. That’s one way to spend the rest of night before your wedding.”

Jaime sighed heavily, turning to find Bronn leaning lazily against a low wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

The sellsword pushed off the stone, sauntering toward Jaime with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep, or what's left of it? Big day tomorrow, after all.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Not in the mood, Bronn.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Jaime exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the night sky. “I just needed some air.”

Bronn snorted. “Air, is it? That what we’re calling it now?”

Jaime shot him a glare. “Don’t start.”

Bronn grinned, stepping closer. “Oh, I am starting. Because you look like a man who just had his guts ripped out and is trying very hard to pretend he didn’t feel a thing.”

Jaime clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

Bronn studied him for a moment before his smirk deepened. “You told her, didn’t you?”

Jaime’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Told her what?”

Bronn rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid with me. You told her about the boy, didn’t you? About what your father and Bolton have planned.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the stone beneath his feet. “I didn’t mean to.”

Bronn let out a low whistle. “Hells. You really have it bad.”

Jaime snapped his head up. “Shut up, Bronn.”

Bronn only grinned wider. “You know, for all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this—what’s the word? Lost.”

Jaime’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I am not lost.”

Bronn shrugged. “Then what are you?”

Jaime opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Bronn chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Jaime exhaled sharply, turning away, staring out toward the distant sea. “She was going to run.”

Bronn leaned against the wall again. “I figured that when she tried to stab me.”

“She begged me to let her go.”

Bronn’s smirk faded slightly. “I was there. I heared. And you didn’t.”

Jaime let out a humorless chuckle. “Of course I didn’t.”

Bronn tilted his head. “And that’s what’s eating at you, isn’t it? Because for the first time in your life, you actually want to do the right thing, but you don’t know how.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched.

Bronn sighed, straightening up. “Look, I’m not one for sentiment, but I’ll tell you this—if you’re waiting for the perfect moment to choose between your father and her, it’s never going to come.”

Jaime glanced at him warily. “And what do you suggest?”

Bronn grinned. “I suggest you figure out exactly what you’re willing to lose, and then make your choice before it’s made for you.”

Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. “You sound like a bloody maester.”

Bronn clapped a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “Yeah, well, even a sellsword knows when a man’s about to walk straight into a battlefield with no armor.”

Jaime shoke his head, but Bronn was already turning away.

“Get some rest, Kingslayer,” Bronn called over his shoulder. “You’ve got a wedding to survive.”

Jaime stood there for a long time after Bronn had gone, the weight of his words sinking deep into his bones.

Figure out what you’re willing to lose.

Jaime already knew the answer.

The problem was, he didn’t know if he had the strength to do anything about it.

[muhlsworld]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

synopsis: you and nika had always been best friends.. until you weren’t.

WARNINGS: cussing and friendship breakup?? very bad writing

you and nika had become best friends before she had even started at uconn. you had gone to a sports camp in which you had met her and instantly clicked. even though you were at the camp for tennis rather than basketball, you guys had become inseparable since that day.

you thought she was the most beautiful girl you had laid your eyes on. you’ve always thought she was beautiful but in a friend way… right?

as time went on you both had progressed immensely in your sports. you were planning on doing everything together regardless of playing different sports. you thought you were the luckiest person in the world being best friends with nika.

as the time approached where nika would start college soon, seeing as she was a year older than you, she became distant. only answering your texts every now and again. never calling you anymore. it left you confused. she would always text back instantly or tell you when she was busy. she would always call you back.

until one day your messages didn’t deliver.

feeling confused, you went to her house. you going to her house randomly was normal for her family and you. you knocked on the door and nika’s younger sister, hana, answered the door.

“oh my god hi, i haven’t seen you in so long” hana said. you smiled awkwardly and asked where nika was. she looked at you confused “you don’t know?” she asked. “know what?” you replied. “she left.” hana said. “well when’s she coming back?” you asked getting slightly impatient. “no like she left for college already” hana replied.

with those words your heart felt heavy. she had left. your nika had left without a word. you excused yourself from hana and began walking home. tears welled in your eyes as you walked home. you began to think if your friendship meant nothing to her. all those late nights talking about your futures together.

you were lost, heartbroken even. you didn’t know what to do without nika in your life. but you knew she clearly didn’t want you in hers after leaving without saying goodbye.

fast forward to present time - it was the end of your freshman year of college. you had gotten offered to play tennis but you didn’t like the program here so you entered the transfer portal. you had instantly received an offer from uconn. having heard a lot of good things from their sports program you accepted.

it was now the last saturday before classes started. and your teammates were begging you to come out to the party with them. you hadn’t gone to a single party since arriving there. you weren’t very social since arriving, not knowing anything about the school other than your team and coaching staff. your plan for this saturday was to make popcorn and watch your favorite show.

nevertheless their persistence won you over. so here you were getting ready to go to some frat house that was hosting a party. you were wearing jean shorts and a cute top that your teammate, lily, picked out for you. once you and your team were ready you were waiting for the uber driver to pick you up. the frat house want necessarily far, but none of you wanted to walk.

the car ride to party went by rather quickly and within a matter of minutes you arrived. stepping out of the car you could already hear the music blasting from inside the house.

stepping into the house you could smell the sweat and alcohol radiating from all the people. you and your teammates made your way to the kitchen to get a drink. you guys had taken your first shot of the night to take the edge off. maybe this party wouldn’t be so bad you thought.

as the night went on you weren’t drunk but you were a little tipsy. but just enough to get rid of the tenseness you had. you were having a great time. until your friends unanimously decided that it was your turn to get the next round of drinks. after protesting for a few minutes you laughed it off and went to the kitchen to retrieve the drinks.

on your way back to where your friends were you bumped into someone. “oh my god i’m so sorry, i didn’t even see you”/ “what the fuck?” you guys said simultaneously. the person you bumped into was slightly taller than you. as you look up to get a look of the person your heart dropped again just like it did all those years ago.

it was her.

“nika?” you asked.

she looked at you and her eyes went wide.

A/N: sooo this is my first fic so if it’s bad i apologize 😬 if yall want the part 2 to this lmk and ill have it up

[carigm]

The “Teaser”, mlvn rooftop convo, and Lord of the Rings parallel…

This is gonna be a long post, so grab some snacks y’all.

First of all, the teaser the Duffers shared at this Netflix shareholders event was basically all BTS stuff, and according to someone that was there, we have mostly seen all of it. The actual clips from the show they showed were so short that most people missed it. However, over those short clips it seems they played a voiceover of part of the mlvn rooftop convo. Notice how the Suffer Sisters are literally incapable of sharing anything new, and the only audio they disclosed is from the ONE scene that’s been leaked to death, and even transcribed multiple times with the help of AI. In any case, Netflix did not share this teaser with the masses, and it’s unlikely they ever will. Stranger Things is not going to the Super Bowl this year (yes you heard that right) and the Tudum Event isn’t until May. Our only hope before that would be them releasing something on Will’s birthday, but whether in March or May, I believe we’ll be getting a proper teaser by then.

People that attended the event reported that El has a voiceover line where she goes “they don’t get to write the ending, we do” and apparently a voiceover Mike line where he goes “we’ll finish this together” (I’m not sure if this was paraphrased or not). Immediately, we all realized that these lines sound pretty close to what Mike is allegedly saying to her during the rooftop scene. Many people in the fandom have taken the time to transcribe that scene, some with AI and some without, and although some things could be wrong here and there, the general idea of it seems pretty clear. I’m attaching an AI reading of the scene here, so I can point out where I think his dialogue might be from…

Around the 1.43 mark, the AI picked up “enjoying it, together”, however I think this is where the “we’ll finish it, together” line comes into play. If anything, this shows AI isn’t 100% accurate, and it does call into question some of these previous lines 😂…I think it’s possible that after this speech from Mike about stories, fantasy endings and heroes, El tries to follow his advice and be positive, and maybe she delivers the “they don’t get to write our ending, we do” line back to him. It’s unfortunate because obviously we can’t see her face in the video, but I think it makes sense she would reply with that because right after it seems like he says “of, course…” and then proceeds to seemingly add that the Party can have a happy ending, without all the fantasy elements he mentioned before.

I find it very interesting that he’s choosing to speak to her with this storytelling analogy, which at first I believed to be a D&D analogy, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like he’s talking about an actual story. And then the lord of the rings parallel hit me, specifically with this scene. If you’re not aware, Finn Wolfhard has mentioned lotr twice now when talking about season 5, and I personally think it’s possible that Mike is using lord of the rings here as a reference to describe the hero’s journey and relate it to what the party has been through. Think about it, he’s trying to cheer El up, who has been stuck in that fuckass radio station for a year, who’s probably extremely tired of everything she has been dealing with for years, and he just wants to offer her some consolation so she can keep going and fighting. Does that sound familiar?

Well my friends, if it does, that’s because it is a direct parallel to Frodo and Sam from Lord of the Rings. I’ve always thought Byler were insanely samfrodo coded (funny enough the last S4 Byler scene is almost identical to this scene too), but it seems the Duffers are paralleling mlvn to them here. In lotr, Frodo bears the biggest burden of the story, as he follows his hero’s journey to Mordor to defeat evil. Along the way, ofc, he becomes increasingly weary and hopeless, and it is up to Sam (his best friend) to cheer him up and provide him with strength to keep him going. How does Sam do this? Interestingly enough, he encourages Frodo by describing all the beautiful things that will come AFTER they have won, what they and their friends will be able to enjoy when they get back home. Basically everything Mike appears to be saying to El in this scene, fantasizing about the end of the battle. To make the parallels even crazier, while on his hero’s journey, Frodo has to remain in hiding because there are multiple forces looking for him, and we know that El is basically hiding away from the government.

Another thing I want to point out is that in lotr (spoilers I guess 😭) good does win in the end, and the main characters get to return back home. However, Frodo is so changed by the journey and all the things he encountered that he simply cannot stay with his friends. Instead, he leaves and goes to the Undying Lands, where he finds peace. He doesn’t die, but he also cannot stay in Middle Earth. Him and Sam have a beautiful goodbye scene and then Sam is left with the literal book of stories Frodo started, and is told by Frodo to “finish it”.

Make of that what you will…

[subformuscularalpha]

Recently our department received a new boss. He was a handsome 6'4" tall muscular man in his late twenties (just a few years older than I was). Despite his young age he was natural in his new position. At first our older colleagues weren't happy about being bossed around by someone so young but he quickly established his leadership and gained their respect.

One day my new boss Adam invited me into his office to talk about my work. During the conversation I couldn't stop glancing at his massive arms that stretched the tight fabric of his shirt, whenever he moved them. Light spots of sweat under his armpits made me even more hornier and I realised my small dicklet was already half hard. I moved my legs, praying that he wouldn't notice it.

At some point he made a longer pause, "Are you all right? You seem a bit disconnected". He caught my gaze pointing at his bicep and a little smirk appeared on his face.

"No, I'm ok. Sorry", my answer didn't sound confident.

Adam leant back in his chair and raised his arms, putting his hands behind his head, "I see what you're distracted by", the smirk didn't go from his face. He stood up and walked around the desk. "I've noticed you've been checking me from the first day we met. I immediately knew you were a little faggot, hungry for attention".

His words caught me completely off guard and I was too stoned to respond. He leant back against the table, grabbed my hand and laid it on his thigh. His big hand led my small one over his thigh up to the crotch, without breaking the eye contact. But as my hand was about to reach the desired spot, he stopped, "Not so fast", his voice sounded more commanding than ever. "Stand up".

Without having a second thought I obeyed immediately.

Adam let my hand go and instead put his finger under my chin, "Take off my shirt".

I nodded my head but immediately received a light patting on my cheek. It didn't hard physically but the feeling of humiliation was much stronger.

"You're supposed to answer when I give you commands"

"I'm sorry," my voice was trembling.

Another slap on my cheek, this time harder. "SIR", he corrected me.

"I'm sorry, Sir"

"That's better. Now go on"

"Yes, Sir", I moved my hands to his top button and started undoing them.

As I opened his shirt completely and peeled back the fabric, Adam’s muscular, shredded body was revealed — each muscle defined and bulging with power. I hesitated for a short moment but his gaze said “Go on”. My hands touched his chest, feeling the warmth and the firmness beneath my palms. His skin was hot, the muscles hard yet yielding slightly under my touch.

“You like it?”

“Yes… Sir. You’re… incredibly”, I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Show me how you appreciate it”

I leaned in, pressing my lips against the soft skin of his chest and licking around his aroused nipples. The natural scent of his body was intoxicating.

“Lower”, he said, and I complied. My lips trailed down his abs, feeling each ridge and valley, covered with short hairs. Adam’s hand found the back of my head, guiding me but not forcing, letting me worship at my own pace, until I reached the metal buckle of his belt.

I looked up at him with a submissive gaze asking for permission to continue but he smirked and shook his head slightly, “Not so fast, boy”. With a fluid motion, he shrugged off his shirt completely, letting it fall on the table behind him. His arms, now fully exposed, were a sight to behold. He raised one arm, flexing his bicep and revealing his hairy armpit, and commanded, “Smell it. Show me how much you want this”.

I straightened up and moved closer, my senses overwhelmed by the raw masculinity emanating from him. His armpit was a mix of sweat and cologne. Inhaling deeply, my nostrils got filled with his strong musk. I started kissing gently, feeling his wet hair against my face.

“Good boy. Now worship them,” he raised both of his arms and flexed his bulging biceps.

I moved to his biceps, my lips and hands exploring the hard, warm muscle. I kissed and licked each one, feeling the strength beneath my touch. As I worshipped his arms, his hands began to explore my body. His large hands roamed over my back, down to my waist, feeling the contrast between his muscular build and my more petite frame.

"You're so small compared to me," he murmured, almost to himself, as his fingers dug slightly into my flesh, pulling me closer. His other hand came up to my chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied, my voice thick with desire and submission. His hands continued their exploration, occasionally gripping tighter, asserting his dominance, while I continued to lavish attention on his biceps, feeling the power in every muscle.

Adam’s hand slowly found the back of my head and he pulled me away from him, “Enough. It’s time to go further down”, he stood up, still holding my head in place and guided me to the small couch in the corner of the room. He sat down and gestured me to the floor in front of him, while undoing his pants. He pulled them down, revealing tight trunks, the fabric barely able to contain the bulge that was now evident. In another quick motion the trunks were pulled down to his ankles too. His manhood was now fully revealed. It was as imposing as the rest of him, thick and standing proudly, a monument of his dominance.

With a firm but gentle pressure, Adam guided my head closer. I opened my lips and he slowly penetrated my mouth, stretching it out, until I almost gagged. “It’s not all,” he pulled back, waited for a few second and pushed his member deeper into my throat. “Good boy,” he praised me as my nose touched his abs.

I moved my head back and forth, his hand still on the back of my head, controlling the pace, my tongue swirling around his shaft, tasting his saltiness and feeling all the contours of it.

My own arousal was undeniable, the act of submitting to him, of being used for his pleasure, was a mix of humiliation and ecstasy. I looked up at him, meeting his eyes, seeing the lust and power there, and it only fueled my desire to please him more, to be his in this moment.

Adam's breathing became more erratic, his grip tightening in my hair. "Don't stop," he managed to say, his voice strained with impending release. I continued, driven by his commands and my own need to serve, to feel his power over me, until I felt him tense. A low, primal groan escaped his lips as he released into my mouth. The war, salty juice filling my mouth, flowing down my throat, warming me from the inside with a sense of his complete dominance over me.

“Swallow,” he commanded. I did as told.

When he finished, Adam looked down at me, his chest heaving, his eyes still burning with desire. He slowly pulled his softening cock out of my mouth and commanded me to clean it up. I had no other choice than to comply, carefully licking up every last drop of his cum, feeling a mix of disgust and arousal at the same time. Once I was done, Adam pushed me away with his foot. His gaze quickly fall down to my pants where a noticeable wet spot had formed. “Looks like someone enjoyed this as much as I did,” he chuckled.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry,” I managed to say, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

“You shouldn’t be sorry for that, boy. It’s your natural reaction to the alpha man and a little faggot like you can’t control it,” he stood up and patted my cheek. “But I’m gonna teach you to serve me better. But that’s later. Now go and clean yourself up and get back to work”.

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Memories Get to Kickin' In

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!singer!reader (former cop)

Summary: Tim gets roped into going to a concert. He doesn't expect to have his heart broken during the first song, or to apologize to his ex-fiancée.

Warnings: r's stage name is OFCR, angst, breakups, lots of feelings, vulnerable Tim, fluff, Nyla and Angela, I changed the lyrics to 'Nobody Gets Me' by SZA and made up an album title/additional songs

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Rules/Info

“Where’s your boot?” Angela asks Nolan.

He looks around quickly, frowning as he answers, “Uh, I know exactly where she is. Do you need her?”

“Yes, we do,” Nyla replies. “So maybe we should find her.”

“Who?” Lucy inquires.

“Celina,” Nolan says.

“Oh, she’s in the bullpen. She got a call or something right after roll call.”

Nolan, Angela, and Nyla follow Lucy to the bullpen. Celina paces back and forth with her phone outside the roll call room. She rubs her thumb against her lip before she slows to type.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asks as they approach her.

Celina startles but doesn’t look up from the screen as she answers, “I’m trying to get concert tickets.”

“This is not the time or place, Juarez,” Nolan chides.

“Wait, Nolan,” Nyla commands, raising her hand toward him. “We have lives outside of police work. What concert?”

“Uh, OFCR,” Celina answers carefully, flitting her eyes quickly between Nyla and her phone.

“Wait, tickets are on sale again?!” Angela exclaims, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Second presale,” Celina explains. “If you’re on her email list, there’s a code to get in but there’s a waitlist and the site keeps reloading.”

“What’s the limit?” Lucy asks. “I’ll send you money right now to get me a ticket.”

“Five, I think,” Celina answers. “If I ever get through, I’ll get tickets for all of us.”

“Officer?” Nolan repeats.

“Yeah, but it’s o-f-c-r,” Lucy explains. “Bailey listens to her music; you’ve probably heard it.”

“This is the second sale for the LA show, but we couldn’t get tickets the first time,” Angela adds. “They sold out in like 90 seconds.”

“You guys talking about OFCR?” Aaron interjects.

“Yeah, we’re trying to get tickets,” Celina responds.

Aaron unlocks his phone and says, “I got it.”

“Don’t tell me you have a guy for concert tickets, five minutes,” Nyla deadpans.

“No. Well, I do, but I also know OFCR, we’ve been friends for years. How many tickets am I asking for?”

“Can I bring Bailey?” Nolan requests.

“Of course.”

“Then, six- seven if you want to go, Aaron,” Angela says.

“What is going on over here?” Tim demands.

“Eight it is,” Lucy announces with a smile. “Tim, you’re going to a concert with us.”

“Wasn’t a question, Bradford,” Nyla says before he can oppose.

“Alright,” Aaron says. “VIP tickets will be emailed within the hour. I’ll forward them to everybody.”

“VIP?” Celina repeats. “Aaron, you are the best!”

“Me, pssh,” he responds playfully.

“Can we get to work now?” Tim asks.

“Yes, yes,” Lucy answers.

“Bailey is going to be so excited,” Celina tells Nolan as they walk toward the shop.

“Thorsen, wait up,” Tim calls. He approaches Aaron and drops his voice to ask, “Wanna use my ticket for a date or something?”

“No, you’re going. I’m not getting on Nyla’s bad side again.”

“I don’t even know her music, Aaron. Or when the concert is, what if I have plans?”

“Start with Streets of LA, it’s the album she’s touring right now, and if you do, change them.”

“Nyla can’t protect you forever, Thorsen.”

“Yes, I can!” Nyla yells from her desk.

Tim hesitates but presses play on the album Thorsen mentioned. He flexes his fingers under the wrap protecting his knuckles, preparing to hit the heavy bag to clear his mind. When OFCR starts singing, however, Tim freezes. At first, Tim thinks maybe it's because the voice is impressive, but as he listens to the words and finds himself relating to them a bit too much, he turns the music off.

“I’m not going to that concert, Thorsen,” he grumbles as he shuffles his usual playlist and strikes the bag.

Tim asks Wade to be given desk duty the day of the concert so he doesn’t have to hear the others gushing about OFCR all day.

“No,” Wade answers immediately. “You have a job to do. Besides, the girl can sing.”

“It’s not about whether she has talent, it’s that I’d prefer to do my job without hearing speculation about what color her shoes will be.”

“Luna thinks blue,” Wade says with a smile.

“Oh, come on.”

“Have a good day, Bradford.”

When Tim finally gets home, he sighs and sags against the front door. However, someone knocks on the door before he can think about what he wants for dinner. He opens it and sees Angela and Nyla standing in matching shirts bearing the letters OFCR in a font that looks like painted roads.

“Let’s go,” Nyla demands.

“Maybe you should change first, actually,” Angela interjects. “Do you want help picking an outfit?”

“I am not your child, Lopez,” Tim snaps.

“Then stop acting like one, Timothy. You have two minutes to change, spray cologne, whatever it is you do.”

Tim considers arguing briefly, then nods and disappears down the hall. He dresses quickly, feeds Kojo and ensures he has water, then follows Nyla and Angela to the car.

“It’s a limo,” he realizes aloud.

“Oh, yeah, when Hollywood said they were great friends, he meant it,” Nyla muses.

“Apparently Lincoln helped her get in with a label and a producer buddy of his, and since she and Aaron are pretty close in age, he introduced them. They hit it off and have been friends ever since,” Angela adds.

“Is that why you listen to her music? Because of Thorsen?” Tim inquires.

“No,” Nyla says. “We listen to her music because it’s good.”

“And she sings about things we can relate to. She seems pretty amazing.”

“So did Charles Manson,” Tim grumbles as the driver pulls away from the curb.

From their VIP seats, they have a clear view of the stage without any screaming fans blocking the stage. Lucy records one of the songs performed by the opening act while Bailey, Nyla, Angela, and Celina talk about which songs they are most excited to hear OFCR perform.

“Nobody Gets Me is probably my favorite,” Bailey says.

“Oh, yes!” Celina agrees.

“So good,” Angela adds.

Aaron returns with a bag of OFCR merchandise and smiles. “Showtime.”

The lights dim, and the crowd silences. Tim watches, growing restless as he sits between Angela and Nyla like they think he’ll run. At the sound of OFCR’s voice, however, he’s frozen just as he had been in the gym, yet he still doesn’t understand why.

“Los Angeles!” you call into the microphone, looking out into the dark arena. “I need you to sing this first song with me.” The crowd roars, and you smile as you continue, “It’s about my ex-fiancé. He will not talk to me, so we’re gonna sing this for him. You ready, LA?”

The lights come up, and you stand in the oversized flower display the set designer built specially for this performance. It’s an inverted version of the last bouquet your ex got you, and it means nearly as much as the song.

“Took a long vacation, no uniform, just sandy. You kissed me, now we silent, Los Angeles was ours to rule then. So tired, screamin’, ‘What now?’ Love me, but I’m anythin’. Hurry now, baby, kiss me ‘fore the memories get to kickin’ in. It’s too late, I don’t wanna lose what’s left of you,” you sing, standing from the flower petals as the sold-out arena screams the lyrics with you.

Tim watches you from the VIP section to your right with no discernable expression. His breaths are uneven, but he can’t look away as his chest tightens, feeling as if his heart will rupture from the pressure. He suddenly understands why he related so much to the song he heard. Like this one, it was about him.

Angela and Nyla stand with Lucy to sing together. Tim only watches you, listening to every word you’re saying and wondering if knowing you felt this way would have changed what he did. What he’s still doing.

“How am I supposed to tell ya? I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me, Nobody gets me like you. How am I supposed to let you go? Only like myself when I’m with you. Nobody gets me, you do,” you sing with the crowd.

When you step away from the inverted bouquet, which Tim recognized the moment you became visible, Tim watches you. His lips pick up at the corner at the sight of you, but he knows.

“Took me out to ballpark, you proposed, I went on patrol, you was feelin’ guilty, so you left me, now I’m stuck dealin’ with a deadbeat,” you sing.

If Tim had any doubt left, that would have eliminated it. You’re not OFCR, the singer his friends love, you’re you, Tim Bradford’s ex-fiancée. The woman he would do anything for; the woman he left because he thought it was what was best for you. The woman he thinks about every night and the woman he now realizes isn’t a better police officer without him.

“If I’m real, I deserve less. If I was you, I wouldn’t take me back.”

At that line, Tim stands and pushes his way past Angela. He exits the arena, and though he can still hear you singing inside, it’s muffled, and Tim can breathe.

Aaron rushes out behind him and raises his arms as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuffy in there,” Tim lies.

“Sure,” Aaron agrees slowly. “Is that all?”

Tim narrows his eyes and says, “Yes.”

“Okay. Because I know her. But I’m guessing I don’t know her like you do.”

“You don’t know anything, Thorsen. Leave it alone.”

Aaron remains silent for a moment, then asks, “If you did something similar to the guy in the song, maybe listening to it can help you find a way to fix it.”

“Not everything can be fixed, Aaron. There won’t always be a rich friend ready to get you things you couldn’t get otherwise, there isn’t always a second chance, and people fall out of love. It’s the real world.”

“Despite what you think about me, I know the real world too well. And it has taught me that when it comes to doing the right thing, there are second chances, even if they aren’t exactly what you want them to be. Sometimes an apology doesn’t take things back to how they used to be, but it’s something. Come back whenever you’re ready.”

Tim doesn’t acknowledge Aaron, but deep down, he knows that he is right. If he can get through the concert, listen to your songs, maybe he can unblock your number and send you a text to apologize. And then you can both move on with your lives.

“I see your sign,” you call with a smile as Tim returns to his seat. “I’m going to sing it later, I promise. What I want to do right now, though, is tell you guys that half of the proceeds from our merchandise sales tonight are going back to Los Angeles. I’m sure some of you know that I was a police officer here for a while, and I still love LA, despite all the scars it gave me. So, what you buy tonight is helping this city. There are also some LA-specific items, which I already see some of you wearing, and 100% of those sales are going directly to the LA Police and Fire departments. So, thank you for all of your support, and let’s sing another song.”

At the end of the concert, Aaron tells the others that there’s a back exit they can use to bypass the crowds. As they follow him down a hallway, Angela, Nyla, Lucy, Bailey, and Celina talk about how amazing the show was and how great your second outfit looked on you.

“Did you decide to do something?” Aaron asks Tim under his breath.

Tim nods, and then Nolan asks everyone if their favorite song has changed after hearing so many live.

“Aaron!” you exclaim as you walk into the hallway from your dressing room. You hug him and say, “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Thanks for hooking us up,” Aaron replies. “You were amazing, as always.”

“You dad tell you to say that?” you joke. You realize that his friends are staring at you and wave as you say, “Hi. Thank you so much for coming, I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed?” Angela repeats. “This was the best day of my life, and I have kids.”

“Agreed,” Nyla adds quickly.

“You are incredibly talented,” Celina compliments. “All of your music is so heartfelt and meaningful but also sounds great.”

“You’re all being way too nice to me,” you interrupt with a laugh. “And I am terrible at accepting compliments, so please stop. Are you all cops?”

“We are,” Nolan replies. “Mid-Wilshire.”

“I know it well.”

“I bet,” Aaron murmurs.

When you glance at him with your brows pinched, he cuts his eyes toward Tim, who is standing against the wall on the other side of the hall. Your eyes meet Tim’s, and you immediately look away.

“Hi,” you whisper, keeping your eyes down.

“Hey,” he replies softly.

“Well, guys,” Aaron says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go. Tim, I’ll send a car for you.”

“Thorsen,” Tim warns.

“Can’t hear you,” Nyla interrupts. “We’re going. He’ll send a car.”

Angela nods at Tim, then pats his arm as she passes. Though Aaron is the only one who has an idea of what is happening between you and Tim, his friends can tell that he isn’t himself.

“I didn’t know you knew Aaron,” you say once you’re alone.

“Yeah, they, uh- they made me come,” Tim explains.

You scoff and say, “No one can make you do anything, Tim.”

“I didn’t know it was you. Didn’t know you were OFCR.”

“That I believe. Look, I’m sorry this is awkward, but you don’t have to stay, you can catch up to your friends and-“

“I’m sorry,” Tim interrupts. You look up at him, your expression shocked and confused but soft. It takes every bit of willpower Tim has not to reach out to you.

“Don’t,” you plead.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he continues. “I thought breaking off the engagement would make you be a better cop, give you less to lose.”

“I lost you anyway,” you remind him, your voice breaking. You shake your head and look away from Tim as you add, “Tim, that hurt worse than anything else I’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. There- it’s over, and now you know who I am and that I wrote a bunch of songs about you because… because nobody gets me anymore and I couldn’t even talk to you about it.”

Tim remains silent momentarily, but then he pushes off the wall to be a few inches closer to you. “Why’d you leave the force?”

“Are you serious? How was I supposed to go to work every day knowing I would see you? The week after you left made me question everything. I couldn’t stand not knowing what would happen each day, and the idea of seeing you with someone else was more than I could handle. There wasn’t any reason to keep serving when I couldn’t even take care of myself.”

“I never intended for it to be like that.”

“But it was.”

You look at Tim with tears in your eyes, and he takes a step closer.

“I didn’t want to,” he admits. “You were… I thought I was a distraction, that if you weren’t worried about me and us that you’d be able to protect yourself and do your job.”

You nod, trying to understand.

“In the song, you said you deserve less. You don’t really believe that do you?” Tim inquires.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore. You hurt me Tim, and there are days where I don’t think I’ll ever get past it.”

“Can I say anything to make this better?”

“Are you happy?”

“I haven’t been happy since we left the Dodgers game and you had a ring on your finger,” Tim confesses.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me then? Why did you walk out of my life and then make sure I couldn’t get back in? I know you blocked me on everything because after I left I tried to talk to you.”

“I don’t know. At the time, it seemed like a clean break would be better for you.”

“All this talk about what’s best for me, but you never once stopped to ask yourself what I might want? I have never been happier than I was with you, and there is only one you.”

“I-“

“You should go. Aaron’s driver is probably waiting for you.”

You turn and walk to your dressing room, and Tim watches you go. He doesn’t reach out to you, doesn’t say your name or ask you to wait, he just lets you go again.

In your dressing room, you drop your head into your hands and let your tears fall. You expected the show to bring back some unpleasant feelings but seeing Tim Bradford brings back everything you’ve buried over the years, and the hurt feels fresh.

Someone knocks on your door, and you call, “Just a minute.”

“No,” Tim replies from the other side. “This can’t wait.”

You open the door slowly, and Tim doesn’t let you speak before he says, “You deserved more. I thought it was best for you, but I realize that I was wrong. Listening to you sing about what I put you through… broke my heart. I can’t leave you again with you thinking that I deserve more than you or that I don’t care about what I did. I’ve loved you since before I first told you.”

“Tim, please don’t do this,” you plead.

“Do you really believe that nobody gets you like I do?”

You tell yourself not to answer, but you nod regardless.

“Then let me show you I still do. One more chance, and if you want to walk away, I’ll let you.”

“We can’t just pick up where we left off, Tim, it doesn’t work like that.”

Tim raises his hand toward you, palm up, and you step toward him. When his hand meets your jaw, you sigh and pinch your eyes closed, pushing fresh tears down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You smile and admit, “I never stopped loving you, either.”

“May I?”

“Kiss me.”

“Let the memories in,” Tim tells you. “We can do this, but not if we forget where we – I – messed up, we don’t stand a chance.”

“Tim, if you don’t kiss me, I’m going to start singing about how much I cried when I recorded these songs.”

Tim drops his hand from your face, but before you ask what’s wrong, he pulls a chain from under his shirt. It has your engagement ring band on it, and you lay your hand on his chest.

“And I thought I was sentimental,” you murmur.

“I have a lot to make up for,” Tim says before he brushes his lips against yours.

“Maybe we should just start over,” you suggest, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “I could use a new muse to sing about.”

“As long as you don’t tell Aaron he was right.”

“I’m not done with my tour yet,” you remind him, pulling back.

Tim catches your arms before they fall to your sides and holds you close. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “As long as it takes.”

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you murmur.

“You move fast,” he jokes before you shut him up with another kiss.