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cressidagrey · 20 hours ago

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It's a Love Story - Chapter 8

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Sky didn’t have much of a temper.

Even if she was frustrated or annoyed, she rarely got angry or lost her patience.

It wasn't that she didn't have emotions. She did. She felt things deeply, passionately. However, she also believed that there was no point in wasting energy on getting angry. It didn't solve anything. It only made things worse.

So Sky had learned a very, very long time ago…that there was no need to start screaming, because her stutter didn’t allow her that anyway…and that maybe…maybe it was easier for her to just let go off her anger about being unfairly treated.

Getting angry wouldn’t help her.

That day however…it burst out of her. Burst out of her like somebody had lanced an abscess.

Her family could say whatever they wanted about her. But they were not going to say a single word about Azriel

It was Winter Solstice.

Azriel and her had spent the last month or so enjoying winter season in Velaris…even once trying to ice skate on their lake, which only ended with him kissing her skinned knees, because she was definitely not a natural at it.

They had bought Winter Solstice gifts, and baked cookies…had decorated their house with pine garlands and velvet ribbons…

She had knitted them socks and they had made rabbit stews out of rabbits Azriel had hunted in the forest behind their house. (It was…she had never really seen him as a warrior, even when he wore these black leathers and the blue stone that glinted off him…but she could see him as a hunter, when he came home with a couple of rabbits, ready for dinner. It had also resulted in a new fur lined blanket for her, all ready on the couch.

She had never outright asked…but he seemd to like it when she was cuddled beneath it, like it seemed to soothe some kind of instinct for him. Maybe the fact that it was the animal he had hunted?)

Sky and Azriel had both made the decision to spend the days with their respective families and have their own Solstice celebrations the next day…that would pretty much sonsits out of a lazy day in bed and nothing else.

It sounded amazing. Just what they wanted.

And it had made sense to celebrate like that. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to keep him from his family after all, even if the thought of not spending Solstice with her mate had hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Azriel had been up ridiculous easily in the morning for a snowball fight that was apparently tradition…but not before he had spent a good half hour making her scream his name with his mouth between her thighs…

Afterwards, she had gotten dressed and left the shadows to amuse Hector for the day… and Sky had left to help her mother with dinner preparations.

A nice, quiet family dinner. Nothing more and nothing less.

That’s what it was supposed to be. They didn’t even get that far.

It all went to shit before dinner was even in the oven.

From the moment she entered her parents house it was a barrage of barbed comments. About her appearance, her stutter, her lack of an boyfriend…her lack of a proper job. (Sellyn Drake was hers. Sellyn Drake was nothing they got to gossip about.)

Sky had bitten her tongue. She had ignored the comments, tried to enjoy herself. But Claire never knew when enough was enough.

Her sister kept at it. Kept needling, jabbing at Sky until the little bubbles of anger popped to the surface and boiled into something…bigger.

“I…I met my m…mate,” Sky finally said flatly, after anther jab at her lack of a boyfriend.

Take that Claire. Not just a fiance. A mate.

Finally in just one thing Sky had been faster than her sister.

A mate. That mystical rare mating bond had been a gift from the other for her and not for Claire.

It caught Claire off guard. She stopped pacing, and turned to look at her sister, brow raised. The look said ‘Oh is that so?’ as if it was the kind of nonsense she had come to expect from her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, clearly not believing a word Sky said.

But Sky wasn’t going to let this go. “His n..name is Azriel,” Sky said with a smile. “We are ver…very hap…happy.”

They were. They were so happy. So delightfully happy. (So delightfully happy that Sky had been wondering if maybe…maybe the should start trying. High Fae fertility was hit or miss anyway…why shouldn’t they simply start trying and see where it would take them. And if it took two decades, then it took two decades. If it only took a year or three…well, then they were lucky.)

Claire narrowed her eyes. She was about to say something mean, Sky could see it in the way her lip curled up.

“He…He's a g…good male,” she said firmly, cutting Claire off before she got the chance to spew out anything else.

Claire laughed. It was a harsh, biting sound.

"A good male? Really, Sky?" she sneered. "You actually fell for that line?"

It wasn’t a line. It was the truth.

Azriel was a good male. Patient and intense and loving. He had never raised a single finger against her.Azriel would never hurt her intentionally.

Claire just wanted to belittle Sky in front of their whole family.

"You must be even more naive than you seem if you believe that," she said, almost pityingly. "You really think he wants you? That he actually cares about you? Nobody could want you. I bet he just pities you."

It should have hurt her, she realised. It would have. Even just months ago, it would have hurt her.

But right now…right now it didn’t really.

She was supposed to believe that Azriel didn’t want her? The same male that had spent the better part of an hour on his knees in front of her that very morning, eating her out like a starved male? She was supposed that her mate, who’s arousal shot across the bond like an inferno any time she slipped off her clothes, didn’t want her? That the same male that stared at her like she was a goddess, that spent hours worshipping her body with his hands…that she had nearly made come simply by touching his wings a few days ago didn’t want her?

Still…Claire's words had their effect. She felt a small stab of doubt in her heart, and she hated it. She hated that her sister could still hurt her like this, still make her feel like that insecure little girl who stuttered and couldn't get a single word right.

“He…He l…loves me and I…I love him,” Sky said calmly.

That was clear in every single one of his actions, in every single word.

“Where did you even meet him?” Sky’s mother demanded. “And what kind of name is Azriel?”

“In…In a bar. Wh…When we went out for Cl..Claire’s Hen Do. And I im…imagine it’s an Il…illyrian name.”

Everything ground to a halt.

“He’s Illyrian?!” Her mother demanded sharply. “What’s wrong with you, Skylar!”

Sky flinched at her tone. It was harsh, angry. It was the same tone she'd always used when Sky was younger and got anything wrong or stepped out of line.

"Yes, he's Il…Illlyrian," she said, meeting her mother's gaze levelly. "What's…what’s wrong with that?" she asked.

She knew that her family wasn’t the…most open about Lesser Faes, but…but that hatred in her mother’s voice….she hadn’t expected that.

“Everything,” Admon gave back with a snort. “You seriously let that barbarian fuck you? I am surprised you actually survived that and he didn’t just rip you apart.”

Every bit of colour leeched out of her face, except her ruddy red cheeks at these crude words.

This was Admon. Once upon a time, she had wanted to marry him. To have his children. To spent her life with him.

And…and this was what he told her to her face.

“I can’t believe that you even let a creature like him touch you,” her mother breathed staring at her with utter disgust.

“He’...He’s not a cre…creature,” Sky bit out. Azriel was her mate.

“Is it true by the way?” Her brother wondered. “That Illyrian’s have a cat’s prick?”

"Orin!" her mother exclaimed, aghast. "Don't be vulgar! I don't want to know."

Orin shrugged, a smirk dancing across his face. "What? I’m just curious. I am sure Skylar knows. She must please him somehow when she’s still alive to enjoy their…couplings.”

Sky felt ill. She didn't know what to say, what to say in defense of the man she loved. She couldn't get a word out.

“Did you…did you let it touch you?” Her father demanded finally, his voice icy.

It. Not even him. It. Like Azriel was a thing.

Sky felt her heart drop to the floor, breaking into pieces.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Her father's face grew stony, and he took a step closer to her.

“How dare you?” he hissed. "How could you let a monster touch you like that?"

"He's not a monster!" Sky protested, her voice rising. "He's…He’s k…kind and gen…gentle, and-"

“And I am sure, he keeps you stuffed with his cat prick to keep you satisfied,” Claire drawled.

And Sky was done.

Somehow that was the last straw.

Somehow that made something inside her break, irreparable.

It snipped away every thread that ever kept her close to the family that she had been born into.

“At least I didn’t need to take my sister’s sl…sloppy s…seconds,” Sky said, her voice flat, meeting her gaze full on.“And yes, Azriel more than keeps me s…satisfied.”

Silence descended over the room, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Sky felt the tension in the air grow heavier with each passing second.

"You…you didn’t just say that,” Claire said coldly. "You take that back, Sky.

Sky raised her chin defiantly. "No.” she said simply. “I'm…I’m not taking back the truth," she said, her voice ringing with unexpected steel.

"You do not speak to me like that," Claire hissed. "You have no right—"

Something inside Sky snapped. Years of frustration, years of feeling invisible and ignored, years of enduring Claire's taunts and jibes all bubbled to the surface.

"I…I have ev…every right," she shot back, her heart pounding in her chest. “Not so fun when you are on the re…receiving end, is it?”

“Either you end your…dalliance with…that creature, or you are no daughter of mine,” her father snapped.

He talked to her like she was nothing. Like she was worth less than dirt beneath his boots.

And somehow that made it even easier.

“You want me to turn away my mate…for what? This?” She asked him, cocking her head to the side. .

"For the sake of our family’s reputation," her father said. "You are an embarrassment to us all by associating with that…lesser fae barbarian.”

Barbarian. Lesser Fae. Thing. Creature. Monster.

All of that said about the male she loved. About her mate.

“He’s Illyrian,” Sky said, her voice icy.

“Oh come off it,” “Orin snapped. “He’s lesser fae. The only thing they are good for is being fodder for the armies during war times. Other than that, they are worthless.”

Fodder.

“We have Lesser Fae ancestry ourself,” Sky responded icily. “Our great grandmother was a River Nymph.”

"That was a long time ago," her father interrupted sharply. "It was one ancestor generations ago. And besides, her blood was not that strong to begin with."

Sky thought back to the eyes that looked back from her mirror each day. Blue and beautiful. The one trace of her that got passed down to her.

"Maybe it was her blood that made you think that opening your legs for that creature was in any way appropriate," her mother hissed.

And suddenly it was so easy.

“Azriel is my mate,” she hissed. “I will al…always chose him over you. You can spew what..whatever insult you want about him or his pe…peoople. He’s still a bet…better male than any of you could ever hope to be, has treated me better than any of you. I’ll gladly no longer be your daughter.”

She felt the sting of tears running down her cheeks, but she didn't try to wipe them away. She just stared back at her family, daring them to say more. There was a short moment of silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

She should have expected it. Her mother had always been quick to slap her if she did anything anything that she didn’t like.

Just this time…her hand didn’t make contact.

Sky stared at the tendril of shadows that jerked her mother’s hand back, having suddenly appeared.

*You. Will. Not. Lay. A. Finger. On. Her,* the shadows hissed menacingly.

Sky stared at the shadows, her eyes widening in shock. They were angry. No. Furious. Utterly and completely furious. Her mother seemed equally taken aback, her hand still outstretched in the air where the shadows had stopped her.

Orin looked like he was about to piss himself, and her father…her father stared at the shadows, his face ashen.

“Come here,” Sky said quietly.

The shadows left her mother to come swarming to her, brushing over her cheek in greeting before wrapping themselves around her neck in a clearly possessive move.

Sky felt the familiar warmth of the shadows sink into her, a small bit of comfort in this awful situation. She turned to her family, her jaw set.

"I’m…I’m never coming back," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. And with that, she turned and walked away, She had only taken a handful of steps when she stopped and turned back, one last thing needing to be said, before she closed the door on this chapter of her life forever.

"I never want to see any of you again," she said, her voice shaking only slightly. "And when we have children, don’t you dare come and ask to have anything to do with them. You don’t deserve to even breath the same air as my mate."

With that, she turned and walked away, her head held high.

***

Whatever went on between sky and her family…it wasn’t good. He could feel that in the bond slumbering underneath his breast bone.

He rubbed it absentmindly, staring in the flickering flame of the Birchin.

He had won that Snowball fight. Once more. One more victory to add to it. Not that he particularly cared right now.

*Is she alright?* he asked the shadows.

The shadows were…quiet. And that spoke volumes. Something wasn't right. Azriel's heart pounded against his chest, his instincts urging him to act. He had to make sure Sky was alright. He couldn't stand to think about her being in any sort of trouble.

*Physicallly unharmed,* the shadows promised. *Her family is horrible,* they told him distastefully.

Azriel's heart clenched at the shadow’s words. While it was a small relief that Sky wasn't physically hurt…her family being horrible made him want to grimace.

“Alright, I had it!” Cassian snapped at that moment. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”

Azriel turned to his brother, seeing Cassian watch Rhys and himself with an expression of…something. Exasperation maybe.

"What do you mean?" Azriel asked, his voice even, feigning ignorance. He was really not in the mood to get into that either. But apparently he wasn’t going to get that small bit of mercy.

"Don’t play dumb with me, brother," Cassian said, rolling his eyes. "You are both moody and more distant than usual. What the heck happened?"

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Azriel said flatly. Cassian rolled his eyes.

“Rhys?” Cassian demanded with a sigh.

“You want to explain or shall I?” Rhys addressed him and Azriel just looked at him flatly.

“You gave the orders, High Lord.”

If Azriel had been in a better mood, he would have smirked. But right now, he just wanted this whole conversation to be over so he could check on Sky. The thought of her made his chest ache. He longed to see her, to hold her, to make sure she's alright. But he knew that Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t let him go without an explanation.

“Azriel and I…had a disagreement about Elain.” Azriel just stared at Rhys blankly. Seriously, that was the best Rhys could come up with? That’s what he wanted to go with?!

"A disagreement?" Cassian asked, brows raised. "What kind of disagreement? A 'we came to an agreement' kind of disagreement, or a 'we punched each other in the face' disagreement?"

“A ‘Rhys sticks his nose into things that are none of his business’ disagreement,” Azriel gave back drily.

“Excuse me, you were going to kiss ELain while her mate was under the same roof two years ago. Did you ever even consider the political ramifications of that?” Rhys snapped. “For gods sake, Azriel!”

Azriel's jaw clenched at Rhys's words, his temper flaring even as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. "You think I didn't consider the consequences? Of course, I did," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "But feelings aren't logical, Rhys. We don't choose who we fall for, and it's not as simple as calculating political ramifications."

“I told Azriel to keep away from Elain. She fell for Lucien. He’s still moping about it and giving me the fault,” Rhys said flatly. “Out of pure interest, how much longer do you want to keep up with that, Az?”

Azriel couldn’t help the laugh that burst out od his mouth at that.

“You didn’t just fucking tell me to keep away from her. You told me and I quote ‘If you need to fuck somebody go to a pleasure hall and pay for it’,” Azriel repeated viciously.

"And I stand by that," Rhys snapped. "The last thing we need is for you to pine over someone who has made it clear where she stands. Elain has her mate, and she doesn't return your feelings. She’s married for gods’ sake!”

“Whoa!” Cassian cut them off. “What the fuck, Rhys?!”

"What?" Rhys demanded, glaring at Cassian.

Cassian gave him an incredulous look. "You told Azriel to go to a pleasure hall? Seriously?"

"I was trying to be helpful," Rhys said, his jaw clenching.

"Helpful?" Cassian asked incrediously. "Helpful would have been to be a little more understanding towards your brother's feelings. He does have them, you know,” Cassian said sarcastically.

"I know that," Rhys snapped. "But he needs to move on. It's not healthy to keep pining after someone who doesn't return his feelings."

“Where was this opinion for the 500 years of me pining after Mor?” Azriel snapped.

Rhys's expression darkened. "Don't do that, Azriel. Don't bring Mor into this. She's not relevant to this discussion."

”Not relevant?” Azriel gave back with a laugh. “I think she’s very relevant. You don’t trust me to act like an adult about my feelings. You ordered me to behave like I am some kind of rabid dog. More than once, more than twice. Constantly. Like I would ever do anything to put Mor and Emerie’s relationship into jeopardy. Don’t worry, High Lord. I’ll behave. I’ll leave Mor and Elain alone. .”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. "This is not about Mor, Azriel. This is about keeping the peace within our Inner Circle. Elain has her own life and her own happiness to think about. Interfering could only bring pain, not just for you, but for everyone involved. That’s why I ordered you to keep your distance. Not because I don’t trust your feelings or your actions, but because sometimes even the best intentions can have unintended consequences."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't give me any of your high and mighty bullshit, Rhysand. You don’t think I am good enough for Mor, and you certainly don't think I am good enough for Elain. But don’t worry, I'll keep my distance, as ordered. I wouldn't want to risk upsetting your perfect little court or ruining your plans for peace. Just tell me who else is off limits, so I know who else I'm not good enough for. Maybe Gwyn? Because remember, ‘don’t you dare to pressure her’?"

Rhys sighed, his gaze softening slightly. "Azriel, it's not about who you're 'good enough' for and who you aren't. It's about respecting people's choices and boundaries. Elain has made her choice in Lucien, and I just want to protect her and the peace we've worked so hard to maintain. And no, nobody else is off limits. You're free to…'seek your entertainment' as you please."

His entertainment.

Right.

Azriel snorted, the sound full of derision. “It warms my heart that you give me that permission,” Azriel said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rhys rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by Azriel's reaction. "I'm not trying to 'give you permission,' Azriel," he said firmly. "I'm just trying to make sure you understand why I'm asking you to behave. I care about you and our inner circle. You're my brother, but I also care about Elain and her happiness. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

“Have I done anything, anything at all that put her happiness in jeopardy?” Azriel asked, his voices harsh. “I kept away as you ordered. I fucking saved Lucien’s life, so she could be happy.”

"You haven't done anything wrong," Rhys acknowledged, his tone softening. "You've been a better friend to Elain than anyone could have asked. You saved Luicen because you are a good person, not just for Elain's sake. But I still think it’s best if you keep your distance. Not just for her, but for yourself too. Dwelling on feelings that can’t be returned will only bring you pain."

“For cauldron’s sake, Rhys,” Cassian said with a sigh.

Rhys turned his attention to him, the exasperation clear in his eyes. "What, Cassian?" he asked, his tone weary.

Cassian rubbed a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. "You’re so hell bent on keeping the peace you forget that the people in your court have feelings too," he said. "Azriel isn’t some emotionless soldier doing your bidding. He has feelings and desires, just like everyone else. And sometimes it’s not as simple as just moving on."

"I know that," Rhys said, running a hand through his hair. "But sometimes we have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. As a High Lord, I have to think about the impact my actions could have on others. I'm not trying to shut down Azriel's feelings. I'm just trying to protect him from potential pain.”

“Yeah you did a shitty job at that,” Cassian said drily. “You could have told Mor hundred of years ago to have a conversation with him. You didn’t. But Azriel is supposed to tread carefully not to make her or Emerie uncomfortable. Azriel is supposed to behave?”

Rhys's eyes flashed in anger. "I know I've made mistakes, Cassian. I should have handled things differently with Mor and Azriel. But I can't change the past. All I can do is try to make the best decisions for everyone involved right now."

“You don’t even fucking realise how much of a self important hypocritical asshole you are, do you?” Azriel asked flatly. “It’s okay for you to pursue an engaged female that’s engaged to another High Lord, damn the consequences. But the rest of us…we are told to behave.”

Rhys bristled at Azriel’s words, his own temper threatening to flare. "That's different, Azriel," he said, his voice sharp. "That’s different and you know it. You would understand if you had a…” he hesitated.

"If I had a what?" Azriel prompted sharply.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, his fingers clenching around his mug. "A mate."

“Rhys,” Cassian said carefully.

"What?" Rhys snapped, his temper still simmering just below the surface. “He doesn’t have a mate, he doesn’t fucking understand it.”

Aaaaaand…. Azriel was done.

So fucking done.

“Where are you going?” Rhys demanded as he stood up.

“Home,” Azriel said flatly. “You have my gifts, hand them out. Wish Feyre a Happy Birthday, will you? I’ll be back to do your bidding in about 3 days, High Lord.”

“I highly doubt that your mother will enjoy your impromptu appearance at Rosehall,” Rhys said. Azriel’s hand twitched towards Truthteller. “Let’s just…”

“Rhysand!” Cassian snapped.

“What?” Rhys asked.

“I have talked to my mother once since the Sealing of Velaris was lifted,” Azriel said tightly. “One conversation where she told me that she found a new family and that I should keep away from her. So no, Rhys. I am not going to Rosehall.”

Rhys looked utterly shell-shocked by Azriel’s revelation. "Azriel, I..." he started, but Azriel simply shook his head.

"Don't," he said. "Just don't." He didn’t wnat to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about that. His mother could do whatever she wanted. he would leave her alone, just as requested. But he was not going to talk about it.

“Then I am coming with you. You are not spending Winter Solstice alone brooding at the House of Wind,” Cassian said quickly, standing.

“I am not going to the House of Wind either.” Azriel answered flatly. “I am going home to my house and I won’t be alone either.”

"What do you mean you won't be alone?" Rhys asked sharply.

Azriel just snorted, “My mate will be there,” he said simply. “She’s better company than any of you.”

“Your...your mate?” Rhys repeated, his eyes widening.

Cassian gaped at Azriel. "Your mate? Why didn’t you tell us? Who is she?"

“Why should I tell you? ” Azriel gave back his voice icy. “I may trust you with this court, Rhysand, but I do not trust you with anything I love. Not anymore.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #it’s a love story

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 days ago

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Mr crawling would occupy any space that had your warmth and or smell lingering on it while your away, he doesn’t like being anywhere that didn’t smelt or felt like you in the slightest. He really doesn’t and will try to keep that singular spot warm and savour your sent until you come back home from work or other prior engagements where he couldn’t come with you to.

You hated leaving him behind just as much as he hated being left at home, eagerly waiting your return as he makes a man sift nest out of your clothes to sleep in since he couldn’t find rest without you nearby to hold and comfort him.

I firmly believe that mr crawling would follow you closely no matter where you went in the apartment, he always wanted to keep you in his line of sight in fear that you’d disappear on him if he were to look away, and unfortunately this leads to you becoming a little surprised with how close he always seemed to be each and every time.

Poor mr Crawling feels terrible for frightening you, his lips tugged downwards in a frown as distressed noises escaped him, but you were quick to reassure him with cuddles and kisses that you’d get use to this habit of his sooner or later while he burrowed himself into your arms.

Loves it when you stay inside to cuddle him or just spend the day with him, showering him in soft affection and sweet whispers, while running your fingers through his hair or running up and down his back soothingly as you both inevitably drift off to sleep.

Crawling loves to rest on top of you and so do you becuase he acts like a weighted blanket, albeit a little cold, and how he’d burry his head against your chest and intertwining his hand with yours so he doesn’t loose you as he drifts off to sleep. He was cute and endearing without even having to try and to that touch couldn’t help but hold him just that little bit tighter against you. The urge to pinch his cheeks and aggressively call him every sweet pet name you could think of was strong, however you held back on that for another day.

#homicipher imagine #homicipher imagines #homicipher x y/n #homicipher x you #homicipher x reader #homicipher #mr crawling imagine #mr crawling x reader #mr Crawling x you

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rothpie · 2 days ago

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❝FIDELITY❞ |part5

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: sadnesses.

previous - next

He’d never thought of himself as someone who could be in a serious relationship. He never thought he could be devoted enough, or love someone that deeply. For Rafe, it was beyond impossible. Fleeting interests had always come first in his life.

It’s not that he found it difficult to connect or share feelings with someone; he just never wanted to. He’d always seen it as a waste of time.

Whether love even existed was something he still wasn’t sure of, because he didn’t believe in it.

But he was sure the feelings he had for you were real. He couldn’t say it was love—he wasn’t even sure love existed in that way. But the affection he felt for you was beyond words.

Yes, he was rich—rich enough to support his family for three generations. But he quickly realized that the bond he had with you was his real wealth.

He’d never thought of you as different from anyone else. To him, you were a typical Kook: rich, aware of your own beauty. To overlook that beauty, he would have to be blind.

Yes, he’d liked girls before. He liked spending time with them, preferring quick, physical flings over emotional entanglements. He was the kind of guy who enjoyed one-night stands.

Until he met you.

You’d met in a completely ordinary way. You already knew of each other; you both came from the island’s wealthiest families. It was impossible not to know one another.

When you ended up side by side at one of those dull Kook events, neither of you thought you'd hit it off. You weren't much of a drinker, usually preferring lighter, non-alcoholic cocktails. But that event was so painfully boring that you thought you couldn’t get through it without a drink in hand.

You hadn’t expected him to be there. You hadn’t expected him to want to escape the event, just like you did. And you certainly hadn’t expected that, while grabbing different drinks, the two of you would start talking.

You ended up spending the whole night together, maybe just to pass the time, maybe because you actually enjoyed the conversation—you couldn’t really tell.

But after that night, neither of you could stop thinking about the other.

Surprisingly— you were the first girl to linger in Rafe’s mind without him sleeping with her. He couldn’t get the length of the conversation, or your laugh, out of his head.

From then on, things began to change. At every party, his eyes searched for you. At every Kook event, he hoped to find you alone—watching for those rare moments when you weren’t with your family. He didn’t see you as some object of desire; he saw you for who you were.

He didn’t just want to have sex with you; he wanted to spend time with you.

At parties, the second he saw you, he unconsciously pushed away any girl sitting next to him. He wanted you to see him differently, even though you already knew his reputation.

When he realized you were starting to show up at every party, he started distancing himself from other girls. Not only did he push them aside, but he wouldn’t even let them come close to him. He acted without thinking, because if he had thought it through, he would have found a way to stop himself.

He didn’t want you to see him as a playboy. He wasn’t sure how he wanted you to see him; he just wanted you to see him as… a good person. Even he couldn’t believe he was trying to change himself, but he couldn’t help it.

Rafe looked at you with the same awe an eight-year-old might have if they saw Spider-Man in person.

He couldn’t help but want you. But it wasn’t just desire—he was crazy about you.

Every time you talked, he wanted more. For you, he’d probably break down the atom just so you two could talk about it for hours.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to share a bed. But for the first time, Rafe didn’t feel fixated on that. He didn’t just have sex with you; he made love to you. Every kiss ignited a warmth in his chest. Every time you moaned his name, his heart pounded for you. Every time you held hands, he couldn’t help but kiss your hand.

He’d never felt this way for anyone. No one else was like you. You were the only woman who made him feel like he even had a heart—aside from his mom.

And it went on like that. Rafe stayed loyal to you. Even when you weren’t officially together, when you were just flirting and spending nights together, he never looked at another girl.

At parties, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Whether it was your hand, your arm, or your waist… he always stayed close. He liked acting as if you two were in a real relationship.

Rafe thought he was just feeling things more intensely than usual. He’d never felt this way about relationships before. You were the woman who’d stayed in his life the longest.

When you two finally got together, it felt like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect, and it stayed that way. Every time he saw you, his heart warmed. Every touch, every time you called him “my love,” it erased the world around him. There was only you. His whole world revolved around you.

Everything was perfect.

Rafe’s life had been nothing but a sea of gray. But the moment you entered his life, all the colors returned.

During the year and a half of your relationship, Rafe felt like he was lying on a beach, listening to the ocean waves. Every moment with you brought a peace to his life like birdsong.

Yes, there were arguments. But you two always found a way through. It was surprising, but he couldn’t stay away from you; he couldn’t stand being apart. You two never even talked about breaking up.

Not until now.

Neither of you had the strength for a breakup conversation. To do that would mean it was truly over. That the beautiful year and a half was done. Rafe had never wanted that. But somehow, he knew his reactions—the way things had spiraled—had led to this moment, and it scared him.

A few weeks back, you’d sent a message saying you were keeping the baby. He hadn’t known what to say. He was afraid, afraid things would stay just like this. And a message saying you were keeping the baby definitely felt like a breakup message in your language. He was sure of that. His heart and mind were at war.

Every moment with you had made his heart race with love and excitement; he’d never felt this kind of weight—especially from you.

“Earth to Rafe! Get it together, dude.” Kelce’s voice snapped him out of it, and Rafe looked up from his drink to find Kelce looking ready to shake him. He hadn’t even realized how lost in thought he was. His day-to-day was becoming affected.

He was lovesick, but he was the one who’d pushed you away.

Rafe dropped his hand from his chin and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated looking weak. He’d worked so hard to prove that he wasn’t. He wanted to show everyone a breakup wouldn’t break him. His eyes, lips, and face might lie, but his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice firm. He felt like he was losing his mind when he wasn’t with you, but he wasn’t ready to accept what came with you.

He liked risk, loved adrenaline. He enjoyed going full throttle, ignoring the dangers.

And you were pregnant. With Rafe’s baby.

There were so many times he wanted to erase that thought from his mind. He wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. He loved you like crazy, but this wasn’t the life he wanted or was ready for.

He didn’t feel good enough to be a father. He wasn’t at an age to start a family. He had a whole life to live. He could spend years with you, but he wasn’t ready to start a family. All he wanted was you. Just you, without all that extra.

Rafe rubbed his eyes, feeling suffocated by his thoughts, glancing around. He was sick of this stupid place. Golfing, hanging out at the country club—it all felt so fake. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if he was suffocating even though they were outside.

It was like the sunny sky suddenly turned to pouring rain in front of his eyes.

“This place is boring as fuck. I’m out.” He raised a hand to call for the check, noticing the questioning looks from Topper and Kelce. He didn’t owe them any explanation. Who were they to him anyway?

As if they were so important…

“I swear, serious relationships are a disease. If it’s gotten even to Rafe Cameron…” Rafe exhaled heavily, watching the waiter approach as Topper’s mocking laughter echoed. Even his friends talking like that was getting to him.

He’d already gotten into a fight with Kelce over you weeks ago. Even if things were over between you, he wasn’t going to forgive Kelce, not after he’d slut-shamed you. Topper clearly wanted things to cool down, hoping his two closest friends would both be at his upcoming birthday.

"It's like he's had a serious relationship before and found someone to actually date," Topper snickered, while Kelce nudged him under the table. Kelce looked ready to lunge at him, clearly annoyed, and Topper seemed just as irritated. Bringing up your situation, knowing it would rile Rafe, made him look like he was out for a fight. If they weren’t at the golf club, Rafe was sure Kelce would be on him in a heartbeat.

"Talk like your dating history’s any better, it’s hilarious. First, there's Ruthie—total bitch nightmare. Then there's Sarah Cameron, your best friend’s sister. Clean up your act first, creep."

Rafe could hardly stand it anymore. If he heard Kelce mention one more name from his life, he was going to knock him out. He’d rather throw himself off a cliff than lose more brain cells listening to these two idiots. When their chatter finally died down, Rafe took a deep breath. He hated this.

"Hey Sofia, you look as… Pogue as ever. You guys just love that, don’t you?" Topper grinned, watching the waitress as she met his gaze with a blank look, as if his very presence annoyed her. She quickly shifted her attention back to Rafe. Watching the exchange, Topper nudged Kelce, amused by the interest sparking in Sofia's eyes. He couldn’t help but find it funny.

As Rafe took out his wallet, he listened to his friends’ ongoing conversation. "I can't be alone here with you in this dumb place. I can’t stand you and your girlfriend. It’s like the two of you found your perfect match.” Instead of responding, Topper rolled his eyes and ignored Kelce as he took out his wallet.

Topper, like Kelce and Rafe, took out his wallet, muttering, "Right, says the guy with so many partners he’s practically a walking biohazard."

Kelce's eyes widened as he insisted that wasn’t true, making Topper chuckle. He loved stretching the truth for a laugh. Kelce rolled his eyes, quickly handing his card to the waitress, while Rafe’s gaze drifted to his open wallet. He couldn’t help but notice the photo tucked inside—a picture of you and him.

Was this how you’d keep showing up in his life?

Would you just appear, throwing yourself in his face whenever he least expected it?

He hadn’t seen you in weeks. Rafe wasn’t sure if you were avoiding him or if you were holed up somewhere, in your own world. He sighed as he looked at the photo, memories washing over him. He missed the old days, and the weight of this picture hit him so hard he felt disoriented. Your cheeks pressed together in the photo, with Rafe's arms wrapped around your waist while you snapped the shot. That smile on your face—it was so beautiful he couldn’t look away. He could’ve stared at you for hours, just watching. He had watched you sleep so many times. Somehow, you only grew more beautiful each time he saw you.

His love for you was a flame that refused to die, and it didn’t take a genius to see it. He loved you.

Though he couldn’t admit it, he was scared. It shouldn’t have ended like this, but he didn’t know what to do.

Rafe wasn’t one for big moments. He wasn’t known for making the best decisions. He’d usually take his time, mulling things over until he was sure they were right. But in quick decisions, he tended to mess up and stumble.

Hearing about your pregnancy face-to-face had sent a wave of panic crashing through him. Even though he had no idea what to do, he tried to keep his composure. He couldn’t forget the moment you’d tearfully said the two of you were a mistake. He wasn’t used to seeing you cry. Those red eyes of yours were burned into his memory.

He didn’t want regrets. He didn’t want to wish he’d done things differently.

But the thought of a happy ending with you? That had never even crossed his mind.

As he kept looking at the photo, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He couldn’t help but remember that day. Time with you had been so perfect, filling him with warmth every time he thought of it.

He remembered it so clearly. It was your third month together, seven months since everything between you had started. You’d shared countless special moments. Every experience with you was a first for him. Whatever you two did, he felt like a clueless schoolboy with a crush—and he meant that.

Who had he ever woken up with, wrapped in his arms? Who else’s hair had he smelled as he fell asleep? Who else’s eyes had he gazed into, getting lost? Who else had made his heart race like this?

No one. In some ways, Rafe Cameron was a total virgin Mary.

For the first time in ages, your family had to go overseas, leaving you home alone—for a week. Being with you felt like a vacation to him. You swam, you cooked, he tried to make you breakfast, you showered together, you slept…

That week was so perfect he felt like he was filled with peace. He’d replay it in his mind over and over again. You and those memories were always there. Always would be.

This photo was taken just after you’d both showered, right before cooking a meal together for the first time. You both made dinner that evening. It wasn’t the best, but because you’d done it together, no amount of money could buy a meal that meaningful.

It was honestly an achievement for you both. You went into the kitchen at six and finally finished cooking by nine. At one point, you even considered ordering pizza but convinced each other you were close to done. And then you spent another two hours in the kitchen—guess it wasn’t so “close” after all.

It was such a beautiful day.

After dinner, you’d made sex.

As he felt his smile widen at the memory, a sudden jab to his leg snapped his attention back. His smile faded instantly, replaced by his usual hard look. Trying to figure out what had happened, he noticed the waitress waiting for him. Frustration bubbled up in him for interrupting his happy thoughts of you. He looked away from the photo, quickly pulling out his card without making eye contact. He knew that if he looked at you, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

"Sofia’s waiting. Just give her what she wants," Topper teased, a smirk on his face, as Rafe sighed and tapped his card.

If he gave attention to every girl who showed interest, like he used to, he’d never be able to keep a serious relationship. Not that he was sure your relationship was even still… ongoing.

But he was certain he’d be off the market for a while. Touching someone else after you didn’t feel right. Embarrassingly enough, he doubted he’d even, well, respond to anyone else.

He stood up, grabbing his keys as he hurried past the waitress without a second glance. As crazy as it might make him to be alone, he couldn’t handle his friends’ stupid conversations any longer.

Even if it drove him mad, he couldn’t stay by Topper or Kelce’s side for another second.

As soon as he got in his car, his phone rang, and he let out a long sigh. Not a single moment of peace today. His thin veneer of calm was barely hanging on, and it felt like the day was determined to shatter it. Starting the car, he glanced at the number on the screen before it even connected.

Wheezie Cameron.

What on earth could she want?

Honestly, if Wheezie was calling him, it’d better be because she was in actual danger or Rose had finally stormed out of the house for good.

He was really hoping for the second one. He didn’t have a penny to spare right now.

“What?” he answered, not hiding his irritation. All he wanted was to get out of this trashy place and be stretched out at home with the ocean in view. No Wheezie, no Rose, and definitely no Ward. In fact, he’d had it with all of them. He was so done with seeing the same faces every day.

All he wanted was silence.

“Hello to you too, Rafe.” Rafe couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her tone. It drove him crazy. He wanted to chuck his phone out the window. Whatever Wheezie needed, she’d better spit it out so he could say no, hang up, and blast Kendrick Lamar.

“Just tell me, Wheezie. I’m not in the mood.” Wheezie was still young, and Rafe tried—halfheartedly—to keep from cursing around her. Ward and Rose had chewed him out about his language, and sure, they had a point. But it was annoying. He was the big brother—though honestly, he’d have preferred being an only child.

“Nope,” she said smugly. Rafe tightened his grip on the wheel, jaw clenched. Why did both his sisters have to be such idiots? It was like God deliberately made both his sisters total morons. “I’m not telling you a thing until you say hello properly.”

Rafe slammed his hand against the steering wheel, fighting the urge to yell. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He was driving, after all, and the last thing he wanted was a crash. But if Wheezie kept this up, he’d be losing control of the wheel voluntarily.

“Hello! Hello, Wheezie! Now, spill it!” The words came out as a shout before he could stop himself. Immediate regret hit him. His temper was awful lately. You were gone. In short, he was a mess.

When he heard her give a dramatic sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t fazed, of course. She was used to this, barely fazed by him anymore. Classic Rafe, right? “So, I was out today. Shopping with Rose—”

Rafe knew how his sister worked—unfortunately. She wasn’t excitable, but she loved to narrate. Whatever the hell had happened, she was going to start from the million hours leading up to it. With a deep breath, he braced himself for the full play-by-play, including the time of day and every store clerk’s name. God help him if she started counting her steps…

The Kendrick Lamar dream was officially dead.

He had zero interest in listening to a full breakdown of her day with Rose, but if he hung up, Wheezie would go ballistic. She’d tell their dad, and Ward would chew him out for that, too. That he couldn’t deal with. Right now, he just wanted a bit of time to himself. Just some peace. Just him, alone.

“Then, I saw this blue dress—”

Rafe wanted to drive the car straight off a cliff. He couldn’t handle this. This was killing him. Every pointless detail Wheezie added wrecked his efforts to calm down.

“...and then we left, and we ran into Sarah. She asked about you. Can you believe it? Then she said she wanted to meet up— Family reunion!”

What the—what is even happening?

Even when you were holding your baby in your mind, all you could think about was ice cream. The cravings were off the charts. Sometimes, you wanted something so badly it felt like the world might end if you didn’t get it. Lately, strawberries were your biggest craving. You couldn’t stop. If your hands weren’t stained red from eating so many, you felt like you’d explode.

But right now, your mind had drifted back to ice cream. You wanted vanilla ice cream so much you could’ve dived into a whole tub of it.

You wanted someone with you when the cravings hit. Someone who’d put up with your fussing—like Rafe.

Just thinking about him made you tense, which was happening way too often these days. Especially now, carrying his baby, it was almost always on your mind, making you anxious.

Being alone was really hard. You’d never felt alone in a crowd—until now.

You waited.

You really waited. When you told him you were keeping the baby, you’d waited for some kind of response. You’d waited for him to call, to come over, to tell you he’d be there. But he never showed.

He didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t make an effort. He left you to handle this alone.

To be honest, you hadn’t been sure you’d even keep the baby when you first told him. You were just so angry, you’d wanted him to think you would. But even so, your mind never actually veered toward an abortion, though you had the right. There was nothing wrong with choosing an abortion—but you’d decided you wanted this baby.

The idea of a man controlling a woman’s choices was sickening. Having an abortion was a right, just like having a child was.

When you went for your first appointment and saw the baby for the first time, your heart raced. They asked if the father would be coming, and you didn’t want to answer, but a quick “No” slipped out. Your mind wanted him nowhere near this, but your heart couldn’t quite let go.

Luckily, you’d always been someone who chose her head over her heart.

An “almost-man” who’d abandoned you with his child—he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t even a man at all; he was just a boy.

Taking responsibility was part of it. You’d respected his boundaries. He’d made it clear he didn’t want this, so you’d made your choice to raise the baby on your own.

Single motherhood would be hard, but you wanted this child.

And you’d do what Rafe wanted. He didn’t want the baby, so you’d make sure he’d never see it. You’d make sure he’d never touch, never meet this child.

When you were on that exam table, he should have been the one holding your hand.

But he wasn’t.

The support came from where you hadn’t expected it.

Your mom.

She was still upset you were keeping the baby, but it didn’t take her long to understand this was your life. The day you’d left home in anger had seemed to shock her into a full 180.

You knew your dad didn’t approve, either, but they’d never once turned their backs on you. Maybe they were scared you’d leave and never come back. Who knows?

When you learned the baby was healthy, you felt a deep calm settle over you. The doctor told you it was too early to know the gender, but you could wait. That was okay.

You were two months and three weeks along.

Despite everything, all the heartache, when you listened to the baby’s heartbeat, it was like none of it had ever happened. When your mom saw your eyes welling up, she quickly looked down, but she squeezed your hand and smiled.

From the woman who’d once shouted for you to get an abortion, to the one tearing up over her grandchild…

It was strange.

The baby was healthy. There was no sign of any issues. And soon enough, in just a few weeks, you’d know the gender. That made you happy.

Your hands were shaking when they gave you the ultrasound photo. You didn’t feel shy about asking for a few extras—you wanted to put them everywhere. The reality of it struck you all over again. You were going to have a baby, to be a mother, and there were only months left to go.

You’d be a mom, and you’d do whatever it took to give this child a good life.

You

Are you still working at the ice cream shop?

JJ Maybank

Nah, got fired.

Why?

You

Shit. I really need some ice cream.

JJ Maybank

Ok.

Vanilla or chocolate?

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trekbec82 · 1 day ago

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The thing that really pisses me off about locking illegal immigrants desperate people arriving by boat without the correct paperwork completed in detention and deporting them instead of saying "damn you've been through some shit, welcome" and helping them to become Aussies, is that it's so needlessly cruel.

My sister's best friend of over 30 years was born here to Vietnamese refugees who arrived in the early 80s. Quite a few of my classmates at school were similar stories. One of them was a horrible bully who I hope matured into a kinder person than he was in his teens, but most of them were genuinely lovely people. Their parents got jobs and did their best for their kids, and made themselves useful members of society.

I see no reason why desperate people shouldn't be allowed to do the same now as they did in the 80s. Sure, there's a cost of living crisis, and housing affordability is at an all-time low, and things are hard for a lot of Aussies. But our government could spend less (as in zero) on nuclear submarines and corporate bailouts, properly tax the wealthy and big corporations, and support both the people already here, and those arriving in desperation. They could. They just don't want to.

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pricesprincess · 2 days ago

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part two to this | angst | part three coming soon...

later that evening dinner was served and simone was bathed with her pjs on as she settled into the couch under a mountain of blankets holding her tablet while face timing simon who answered on the first ring with a smile that was reserved just for his little girl.

"hello, princess. i miss you already, are you all for bed?"

it hurt hearing simon talk so quietly like that and seeing him so torn up made your heart sink to your stomach and all the way down to your toes like a weight on fishing line. "i am! do you think you can you come over for dinner? mom made your favorite!" simone asked.

from where you stood in the kitchen you heard the silence fill the video call as you glanced down and sure enough you were making what you were so used too, even after months of the separation you were still doing things for him to make his life easier.

simon mulled the question over his head, and while he does respect you, his daughter wanted to see him and that came before anything.

"tell your mum i'll be there soon, i love you."

simone hung up her tablet and put it in her cubby before running to the kitchen, her lips tugged into a bright smile as she clapped her little hands together. "daddy is coming for dinner!" she announced.

when you and simon had separated she had asked if you still loved her daddy and without a second of hesitation you told her you always would no matter what but she was too young for the rest of it.

she came closer to stand by you, her arms wrapping around your legs as you bent down to kiss the top of her head earning a glare so similar to simon's. "my hair mommy! i want to look pretty for daddy!"

you couldn't help but chuckle a little and crouch down to her height as you took hold of her hands. "baby girl, you are the prettiest already to him, why don't you put on a dress then?" you suggested softly.

simone skipped off to her bedroom down the hallway as you finished up dinner feeling a soft flutter in your belly, like butterflies while you waited for your date to show up, but in this case it was your husband.

when he had flat out refused to sign the papers you thought about using one of the fighting moves on him that he showed you but instead you left your shared home with your daughter.

simon truly never felt like his nickname until the first night being alone without his girls giggling and doing each other's makeup, now it's just silence that keeps him awake, it was all overwhelming.

ten minutes later simone came strutting from her room complete in the princess attire, the glittering crown she wore matched the array of purples in the dress and the plastic shoes as well. "is he here yet?"

"not yet baby, i'm sure he will be soon though. do you still have that card for him?" you asked while setting the small dining room table up for three, the image was enough to make your heart flutter.

perhaps you and simon could work this out.

the card simone bought in the store as you shopped for dinner was something she hasn't been able to stop talking about since then nor could she stop bragging to everyone at the store about her dad.

she zoomed to her room then back to the kitchen holding the white envelope with a grin as she bounced back and forth unable to hide the excitement even though she just got done spending a weekend with simon, he truly was her hero and number one, same for you.

to pass time you cleaned up while simone got on her tablet to watch an episode of her show before asking you were simon was.

an hour passed and no calls or texts, dinner was now cold and you were irritated and disappointed. heating the food up you ate in silence with simone who kept glancing at the door with sad eyes.

you wanted to punch simon in the throat for getting her hopes up and you wondered what it was that kept him from coming over because you knew that him seeing simone was the most important thing to him.

another phone call and more unread texts later you finally helped simone out of her dress and into some pjs before tucking her into bed and reading a story. "why didn't daddy come? does he love us?"

her question made you tense as you perched on the side of her bed, simon and love could be like oil and water sometimes, his version of love was never something like this so he tried his best.

"of course, he does honey bug. i think he got caught up into something which happens, he loves you so very much sweet girl."

her blue eyes watered before flowing over down her cheeks as she clutched the rainbow teddybear simon gave her a few months ago.

even at her tender young age simone was beyond smart.

"why can't daddy live with us?" her question wasn't aimed to hurt but you could feel the physical pain bloom in your chest then your throat formed a lump as you fought back the tears as well.

you cleared your throat and brushed her hair back. "it's a lot baby, ok? just get some rest and tomorrow is a new day." you told her and kissed the top of her head before standing up.

making sure her nightlight was turned on you had to fight off the torrent of tears that threatened to break like a dam as you listened to simone sniffle and bury herself deeper under her blankets.

once the door shut with a soft click you quickly made it to the living room and tapped at the screen, each one a flame adding to the raging fire building inside you from simone being stood up.

as much as you hated to say it you were used to it, from the beginning of the relationship there were enough missed dates and anniversaries to fill years old calendar you were sure but you love simon enough to over look all of that, none of it mattered.

that is until you had simone and while it was just you at first you couldn't stand to see your daughter go through the same feelings or have consuming thoughts of whether he'll come or not.

voicemail. again.

you dropped on the couch and rubbed your face before dialing john's number.

voicemail.

soap, same thing.

taking a steadying breath you pushed aside the what-ifs that you've battled for years and tried to keep calm. why the hell isn't he answering his phone? you kept repeating over and over again.

then finally, kyle answered.

"kyle...hi, do you know where simon is?" you asked immediately, not even giving the man to say hello or anything, suddenly your mouth went dry waiting for his answer. "kyle? hello?" you pressed again.

#i am a sucker for abrupt endings/cliffhangers #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #honeywrites

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f1fantasys · 2 days ago

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Balenciaga, Nike,and 1 with lando please and thanks youuu♥︎♥︎

BIRTHDAY BOYYYYY FIC

NB - This has nothing to do with Lando's birthday, it's just the name.

Here we go! First fic from the prompt list! Sorry for the delay! This turned out a little longer than expected, and i think i may have gone off track towards the end buuuut hope you all enjoy!

Balenciaga - swallowing his cum Nike - caught by his parents #1 - rough and filthy

3.7K words

During the summer break, at least a week was always spent with Lando's parents on their yacht - it had been a given for the last 3 years you'd been dating. And you absolutely loved it; you loved them like your own so it was always something you looked forward to.

Lando has ended the European leg of the races on a high, so everyones mood was ecstatic to say the least.

His? haha

He was ecstatic, sure, but he was also fucking horny for you every second of every day you'd been on the yacht.

On day 1, Lando had woken you up with his face between your legs, pulling and sucking at your clit as his fingers slid through your slick folds before he frantically thrust them in and out of you, making you cum twice within a matter of seconds. The night ended with him banging you hard against your cabin door, hand snaked round your throat as he pounded into you relentlessly.

You'd both been at it every day since, and to say you were sore would be an understatement, but all he had to do was give you a single look, or touch, and your body was putty in his hands, begging him for more until you were both shaking in each others arms.

Today was day 4, a lazy day for everyone just lounging around and working on a good tan.

By the time dinner was finished, everyone was exhausted from being out in the sun all day, and had retreated to their rooms.

Lando and you decided to just chill out on the decks, open another bottle of wine and spend some time together.

It started off innocently, it really did, until Lando stripped down into nothing but his boxers, saying something about needling to cool down in the pool.

Your eyes shamelessly eyed his body up and down as he took the few steps to get into the water, involuntarily squeezing your thighs together as he let his arms rest on the side, showing off his taunt arm muscles and flexing his back ones.

His own eyes stayed trained on yours, knowing very well he was leading you on and would get what he wanted sooner rather than later.

But you kept your ground, trying to focus on talking about something or the other, trying to keep yourself distracted.

He could see you fidgeting, your legs bouncing up and down. Hell, he was fucking hard as rock by just watching you do practically nothing.

''Come here, y/n'' he said, a warning edge to his tone.

You gave him a look, not saying anything, until he got out of the water, shred his boxers on the walk to you, and pulled you up, before walking hand and hand back to the water.

All you could keep your eyes on was his thick girth, lose and springing up and down, hard.

''Lan-'' you started, though he cut you off by placing a finger on your lips.

The cool water was a relief to your core, but Lando quickly manhandled you to sit up on the edge, taking his place between your legs.

You wrapped your legs around his torso as he untied your bikini strings, letting the top fall off to show off your perky boobs and pink nipples that had stiffened due to the the old as well.

Lando licked his lips as he reached forward and latched his mouth onto your left nipple. Gently suckling on it and circling his tongue around it as his hand harshly tugged and pinched on your right nipple.

Your hands found his hair and pulled on his curls, breathless moans leaving your mouth as you bit down on your bottom lip, though the quietness went out the window when Lando's one hand pushed your bikini bottoms to the side and immediately plunged two fingers through your core.

''Lando, fuck!'' you hissed, jumping at his actions as you thought he was taking his sweet time with you.

He was not.

Lando kept his eyes trained on yours as he let your nipples go and spread your legs further, giving himself enough room to fit his head between you, before he devoured your cunt with his tongue, while thrusting his fingers roughly.

A series of swear words left your mouth as you leaned back and tried to give him better access, and within minutes your body was trembling, shaking violently as you came all over his mouth.

Lando made sure to swallow everything up before he helped you sit up again, pulling you down for a heated kiss that quickly had him sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned into him.

''Lan'' you panted, ''need-'' ''need to taste you'' you said, between kisses, sounding more desperate than you have in the past few days.

''Yeah?'' he asked, mischievous glint in his eyes when he pulled back.

''Uh huh'' you said, sliding yourself back into the water and instructing him to now sit at the edge.

He complied without fuss, because he was just as desperate to feel your lips around him.

You pumped his dick a few times, concentrating on stroking the thick vein at the side which had Lando squirming above you.

You teased him now as you pulled back completely and squeezed your one boob in your hand while the other continued to pump him, licking your lips as you saw a bead of pre cum already leaking through his slit at the top.

''Y/n, please'' he begged, and just because you were in the mood and wanted to hear him beg some more, you pulled your boobs right up to your mouth and circled your tongue around your nipple.

Lando's eyes darkened as he gawked at your actions, his dick twitching in your hands as he watched you, mouth open and in awe at the sight of you.

''Fucking hell, baby, please'' he said, already gathering your hair out of your face into a makeshift ponytail.

How could you say no to him when he asked you like that?

So you finally gave Lando what he wanted - you deep throated him straight away, gagging when hie tip brushed against the back of your throat as you bobbed your head up and down his long shaft.

You played with his balls and pumped the part of him that you couldn't fit into your mouth, tears already stinging the corners of your eyes as Lando's hold on your hair tightened, when finally he just cupped your face and held it still, fucking his dick in and out of your mouth.

''That's it, yeah, takes me to well baby, fuck'' he mumbled between breaths as you could tell he was already close with the way his cock was pulsating.

You pulled back for a second, ''cum for me Lan, let me taste you, yeah?'' you cooed before resuming your activities, and with one harsh suck later, Lando was emptying his load down the back of your throat as he let out harsh grunts and moans.

His taste was salty and warm, just the way you loved. ''So delicious Lan'' you smiled up at him, cheeks flushed and eagerly ready for more.

''Come here'' he said quickly, getting you up and pulling you out the water. Lando scooped your naked body (and his) up and rushed over to the bar.

You hissed when he placed you down on the cool counter top, body still shivering from being in the cold water.

''Gonna warm you up yeah?''

''Fuck Lando, please, need to feel you'' you said impatiently.

Lando spread your legs with his knee as his hand gave his already hard cock a few strokes, sliding his tip through your folds to gather some slick.

Eventually, he settled at your hole, pushing in with one hard thrust.

You held your breath, fingers digging into his biceps at the intrusion, while his mouth found yours and gave you a sloppy kiss.

Then he started moving, pulling out of you completely before pushing all the way in, setting a quick pace as if you were short of time, but really you just couldn't get enough of each other.

''So tight, as if i haven't fucked you enough these days'' he said, smirking at you. He knew you'd have an answer to that, so he quickly brought his hand up to your throat, giving you a few gentle squeezes as he continued to fuck in and out of you.

''Gonna come Lan'' you cooed as you felt your orgasm approaching hard and fast, and withing seconds your body was shuddering in Lando's arms, body feeling like jelly so he had to hold you up now.

''Fucking love you'' he mumbled, more to himself when he looked down to the place you were joined, your thick cum coating his cock was enough to edge him closer to his own orgasm.

You leaned forward and gave his nipples a few kitten licks, sweat dripping down his whole body. He hissed when you bit down on his left one, sending you a warning. Only your name though. ''Y/n''

Just as Lando picked up the pace even more, now chasing his high, you heard a door open, though your minds were too fucked out to even respond.

Until you heard a gasp, and Lando's mum's voice.

''Oh''

You both froze, your movements coming to a halt as you looked each other with wide eyes, Lando's dick stopping halfway on its way into your cunt. His arms snaked their way around your body to rest against your ass in an attempt to cover it.

He looked over his shoulder to see Cisca standing there with her own pair of wide eyes, mouth agape. You took this opportunity to bury your head in his chest, trying to control your breathing as his as well was going at 1000 miles per hour.

All of you too embarrassed to respond, but your mind was screaming at Cisca to walk way without saying another word.

That thought was short lived though, as suddenly the door opened and closed again and now it was Adam's voice that filled your ears.

''Cis, what are you-'' he cut himself off at the scene in front of him.

''Oh'' was all he said after.

It was all probably about 30 seconds, though it felt like 5 hours, and you gave Lando warning eyes, begging him to say something to get his parents out of here and back inside. Your body was starting to squirm at the feeling of Lando's dick softening inside of you, the moment fleeting away with each second.

Finally, he coughed, and at the same time Adam cleared his throat.

''We''ll leave you to it'' he mumbled quickly before pulling Cisca back inside behind him.

As soon as the door shut you both let out a series of swear words, your bodies finally relaxing even though you didn't know how you'd ever face his parents again.

Lando looked down and gently peeled himself out of you. He cupped your face in his hands. ''Sorry'' he said, looking shy and embarrassed at what had just happened.

'''Don't be. Serves us right for trying to fuck in a place where anyone from the family could have walked in'' you said, leaning forward to peck his nose scar.

He smiled. ''Make it up to you later?'' he asked.

''You better!'' you squealed as he helped you off the counter and threw you a towel to cover up.

Time jump

For the last few days of summer break, you and Lando had opted to spend them quietly at home before the roar of the season began again.

It was a lazy day today, Lando was streaming with Max while you were preparing dinner.

As you were waiting for the oven to be done, your mind drifted the last few weeks. It was easily the best summer break anyone could dream of - sun, sea, sand and sex, lots of sex.

You could feel yourself blushing just thinking of all the nasty you did during the holiday, and suddenly, as if you hadn't had enough, you felt your core dripping with want.

Without thinking, you switched off the oven and made a beeline for the room Lando was in, stripping and leaving a trail of clothes all the way from the kitchen.

You knew his set up, so you knew all the ways to avoid the camera, though when you opened the door and Lando looked up from his screen he had to do a literal double take, his eyes wide and mouth agape, licking his lips as you made your way into the room.

Max's voice through his headphones reminded Lando where he was and what he was doing again as he tried to get back into the stream though he was failing miserably.

''Bro what the fuck what's wrong with you?'' you heard Max ask as you crawled under the desk and sat on your knees, watching Lando through hooded eyes.

He still had his own eyes on you, one hand already snaked down into his shorts at the sight of your naked body leaning down in front of him.

''Lando!'' Max yelled.

''I, fuck'' he jolted in his seat. ''Nothing, just..nothing'' he said, trying to ignore you and get back to talking to the chat.

You giggled to yourself and gently leaned up to palm his thick girth through his shorts before pulling at the them to tell him to remove them.

He kept his eyes in the screen, not even listening to what Max was saying as he subtlety lifted himself just enough to let you slide his shorts and boxers down, springing his achingly hard dick free.

You breath couldn't help but hitch at the sight of it standing tall, red and angry, with precum already sliding down the sides.

Quickly, you pumped him a few times, your thumb swiping his tip to spread the precum. You watched how Lando held his breath, before sighing and mumbled a fuck it, before he turned his camera off, though left the mic on.

Finally he was free to look down at you, biting his lower lip and mouthing a ''dirty'' down to you as you leaned forward and have his slit a few kitten licks before letting your tongue run over the thick vein at the side.

Lando's hands found your head and roughly pulled your forward, giving you no option but to take his load into your mouth, hard and deep.

His hold on your head tightened as you watched him lean back in his chair and let out a series of silent moans.

You pumped whatever you couldn't fit in your mouth as one hand fondled with his balls, pulling and tugging at them harshly when you started gagging around Lando, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

You had spit running down your chin and dropping onto you thighs as you clenched them together, your core begging for some attention of its own.

Lando tried his best to concentrate on what ever was going on with his stream, but everytime your tongue circle his tip his mind short circuited and he had to ground himself to make sure he wouldn't moan into the mic.

You could feel his dick start to twitch uncontrollably in your mouth, knowing he was close, and within a few seconds with no warning, Lando let his cum splutter down your throat as he clenched his fists on his chair handles, biting his bottom lip agonizingly hard to keep quiet, letting out a few staggered breaths.

Your own mind forgot where you were for a second, and as soon as you got a taste of him, you moaned a little too loudly, halting your movements for a split second.

You looked up at Lando and saw him mouth ''swallow it'' to you, to which you gladly obliged because he was delicious.

Max of course, caught up to what was happening. He indirectly threw teases at Lando which luckily the chat hopefully wouldn't catch on to.

As you sucked Lando dry, you pulled back and took a few breaths.

You needed more.

Your cunt was begging you for something, anything.

You looked up at Lando again, cheeks flushed, and sent him a silent ''please'' You watched as his eyes turned shades darker.

Just one look at you like that on your knees, and he was putty in your hands.

He ended the stream with no goodbyes, no explanation, nothing.

He roughly pulled you out from under the table and carried you to the bedroom, throwing you on the bed.

''You asked for it baby'' he harshly said, hovering above you as you peeled his tshirt off.

Finally, he lowered down and attacked your lips with his own. Clashes of teeth and tongue, biting and nipping as you fought each other, spit messing your chins already.

You let your hands wander his toned body - following the outlines of his taunt muscles, eventually settling at his precious hair, pulling at it to edge him on.

Lando lowered his lips to your neck, finding your sweet spots which had you biting your own lips in anticipation of what was to come.

He hen went to your boobs, taking his sweet time tugging and suckling on your nipples, while his eyes stayed trained on yours.

Your cunt, for one, was getting impatient, clenching around air, begging for something.

''Please Lando'' you said, innocently as you could so he'd give in.

''Patience baby. Gonna ruin you tonight''

After spending a ridiculous amount of time on your boobs, Lando finally traveled further south, and thank god he didn't waste time in getting down and dirty.

He devoured your pussy that had been dripping, for him.

''So wet y/n. Wet for me, yeah?'' he asked.

You quickly nodded, wanting to boost his ego before you fucking exploded.

''All for you Lan'' you panted as he slid his tongue through your folds multiple times before starting to thrust into your hole as he held your legs apart strongly.

Your hands returned to his hair, pulling at it roughly as you very quickly felt the warmth start to build up in your stomach.

''M close'' you cooed, taking a boob into your hand and squeezing it a few times.

Lando had let his fingers find your clit, and this threw you over the edge, shaking and shuddering underneath him as you came all over his face, while you let obscene noises and moans leave your mouth, praising him for how good his fucking tongue is.

He licked up all your cum before reaching up and letting some drip straight from his mouth down into your yours - his own series of ''fucks'' leaving his mouth at the sight of you tasting yourself.

But as much as you loved when he ate you out, you loved his dick more.

So you reached down and took his thick girth into your hands, pumping it a few times before bringing it to your entrance and guiding it through you.

You gasped at the intrusion, eyes locked on Lando's as he bottomed out in you, before he started moving, thrusting out fully before slamming back into you roughly, fucking into you roughly.

''Fuck. So tight baby'' he mumbled as he leaned down to kiss you again.

''Lan please, harder. Fuck me harder, please'' you begged, needing more and more of him and your nails dug deep into the muscles of his back, surely leaving bruises.

''If i fuck you any harder I'm gonna break you'' he said breathlessly.

''Then break me'' you pressed, taking him by surprise.

He smirked, ''and this is why i fucking love you so much'' he whispered before picking up his pace even more, literally ramming his body into yours.

You shut you eyes and before you knew it your orgasm had taken over your body, cum exploding out of you as you swear you could see stars, all the while Lando's pace didn't slow one bit.

Suddenly though, he pulled out of you.

You looked down at him, confused, irritated that he'd stopped. But you mind quickly phased out as he bought his mouth to your cunt and collected as much of your cum as he could on his tongue, leaning up to engulf you in a dirty, filthy kiss. Both your cheeks and chins' were sticky and slimy but you couldn't care one bit because that was hot.

Lando manhandled your body to flip you over onto all fours, before he thrust himself through your cunt and resumed a rapid pace again, while his one hand found your throat and the other pinched your nipples.

''Lan, fuck, close. Gonna cum'' you mumbled as you felt him him you G-spot over and over and over and then your mind blanked.

You couldn't think straight. All you knew was there was liquid flying out of you left right and center, you could feel Lando's tongue, and all you ears could hear was Lando praising you for ''being the sexiest thing to grace this earth, how he's gonna make you squirt every day for the rest of your lives because fuck, there was nothing hotter than that''

Wait. What? Did he just say squirt?

Then your brain caught up, and your eyes flew open.

Lando was still ramming into you, so you looked back at him with the biggest look of embarrassment because wdym you squirted?

His whole face was wet with slick and sweat. He looked hot.

You tried to talk, but you couldn't, your body and mind a mixture of a lot of things. And with the way Lando was chasing his high now, you figured you'd let him finish before attempting to comprehend what was happening.

''I'm gonna cum y/n'' he warned. ''One day fuck a baby into this pretty cunt of your's'''he whispered, more to himself.

You clenched your walls around his throbbing dick, yet another orgasm coming over you, and within seconds he was spasmming and letting his load go deep within you, his own pornographic moans and grunts leaving his mouth.

Finally, you both fell forward, you on the bed and he on top of you, breathless and sticky, trying to calm your shaking bodies.

You could feel Lando softening inside you, and you both hissed when he slid out, your cunt extremely sensitive.

He gave you a sheepish smile before pulling you to lay on top of him.

''Please interrupt my stream more often if this is what I'll get. Squirming? Fucking sexiest shit you've ever done baby''

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 smut #lando norris #f1 fic #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris smut #ln4 ln #ln4 #ln #lando #norris

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 days ago

Note

IM FEELING ANGSTY TODAY so what about 141 who is in love with reader but they are in love with someone else <3

ANON! STRAIGHT TO JAIL!

But in all seriousness, I love some yummy angst. Make me suffer. Make the characters suffer. Let's all suffer a little bit. Hope you shed a tear or two (or don't).

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Presented in four double drabbles.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, alcohol, stalking, flirting, yearning, angst, suggestive themes, brief mention of intimate relations, divorce, co-parenting, nurse!reader

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The door opens, and your smiling face greets him. You look a bit tired, but even so, you're beautiful. John wants to snapshot this moment. To savor it.

“You’re early,” you breathe.

John shrugs. “That all right?”

He did it on purpose. The new boyfriend shouldn’t be home yet, which means John can have some time with you.

“Is that Dad?”

The familiar voice of his daughter and small feet slapping against a wood floor reaches him. She appears, arms outstretched eagerly.

“Hey there, dove,” chuckles John, lifting his daughter into his arms. “Ready to spend the weekend with me?”

She squeals with delight, her small arms wrapping around his neck. John glances at you, urging memory to resurface and seize you both.

But it is not to be.

The boyfriend appears. The man that came after the divorce.

John doesn’t blame you for moving on. His job drained the marriage into nothing.

But he still wants you.

“John,” nods the man in greeting.

“Is her bag ready?” asks John, addressing you and not acknowledging the boyfriend.

“Yes,” you reply, handing it to him.

John wants to say, “I love you.”

But he doesn’t.

“I’ll bring her back Sunday evening.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Vape smoke lingers in the air.

Kyle reclines on the sofa, his head on a pillow, scrolling his socials in the dim dark. The television is on, the volume turned low to create background noise. On the table next to him is a bottle of tequila, half-empty and warm. He takes a swig, savoring the burn.

Kyle’s gaze is glued to the phone screen, fingers tapping until he finds your page.

He shouldn’t do this. It’ll only upset him—making him yearn for something he doesn’t have and might never know. It’s a foolish endeavor. Heartbreak just for fucking kicks.

He gazes at your smiling face, of how perfect you are to him. It’s not fucking fair—even if he respects your choice.

You should be his. The two of you should be together.

But there is someone else. A man that Kyle despises but only because you’re not his. The bloke is a good man. He’ll take care of you. Treat you right. Be there when you need him and not away on another mission without any idea of when or if he’s coming back.

Kyle’s chest aches.

"Fuck," he sighs, locking his phone.

He reaches for the tequila.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“How bad is it, doc? Think I’ll live?”

Soap puts every ounce of devious flirtation he can in his tone. He’s putting it on thick.

He gives you his best smile, and he gets the exact reaction he wants.

Your head bows in embarrassment, a soft smile spreading on your face. Your touch is gentle, taking great care to wrap the wound on his bicep.

You’re flustered. It’s bloody adorable.

“You’ll live, sergeant,” you reply, voice a little husky.

It’s such a small thing, but Soap clings to it. To him, this is a sliver of hope. A possibility even though reality says otherwise.

Soap leans in a bit, pushing into your space which almost seems to worsen your flustered demeanor. “I took a hard hit.”

“You did,” you agree. “It’s good they brought you in.”

You have no idea Soap asked Simon to hit him harder during training just so he’d end up here.

But it’s not to be.

The man that has your heart arrives, strolling into the communal exam room without even glancing at Soap.

“You’re ready to go, sergeant,” you reply brightly, demeanor changing now that your boyfriend is here.

Soap’s stomach twists into a knot.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon sits in the dark in his home office. A slight twinge of shame paints his mood, like it always does when he watches the monitors.

He tells himself he does this to protect you. That he’s looking after you even if you’re not aware of his actions. This is just a precaution until you finally realize that you should be his.

Simon removes a cigarette from his jacket pocket. When it ignites, and that luscious burn hits his lungs, a calmness settles over him.

His actions are valid. This behavior is fine.

Simon settles back in his chair, gaze roaming over the different camera views. There are fifteen of them in total. Each one is in your home in various rooms. Infiltration and surveillance are something he’s fucking good at. And he’s done it here with excellent precision.

It’s some of his best work.

In your bedroom, you’re currently on your back, and completely naked. The wanker you call a “boyfriend” is thrusting like a bloody fucking idiot. It’s clear to Simon that this man only cares about himself.

Simon could make you come. He’d give you plenty of orgasms.

But you’re not his.

You belong to someone else.

taglist:

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@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

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valancedbreakfast · 2 days ago

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there's so many stories about jealousy and cheating. like clearly this is a thing that at least writers are worried about even if these themes weren't immensely popular. but like so many of these situations are easily resolved by just accepting that some ppl can love more than one person at a time. so many dramatic love triangles and horrendous break ups in both media and real life could be resolved by the characters just realizing they are polyamorous. and beyond just that normalizing that polyamory is fine and good and that if being polyamorous is a reason you break up then you just shouldn't have been together.

amatanormativity is so obsessed with this concept of one true love or soul mates. there's no such thing. there's just the ppl you choose to spend your life with. there isn't just one. there are as many as you let into your life and heart.

hell normalizing polyamory and doing away with the concept of the right person or a soul mate also removes a ton of weight from ppl's first relationships. they don't need to freak out or stress or stalk ppl when they just accept that relationships come and go and love in all forms is just a natural part of life

it's absurd that there isn't tons of polyamory representation in media. it's just so much healthier for so many situations that are currently considered to be for couples only.

This may be controversial but I think polyamory should be in tv shows and video games. I think there’s so many unexplored dynamics for romcom relationships and we simply deserve these kinds of stories.

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capuccinodoll · 2 days ago

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Honey love, dark eyes

Summary: Halloween night arrives at the Hoffman barbecue, and you find yourself masking feelings again. Word count: 8.5k A/N: Oh, i'm not over... - thank you for your comments, they're so fun lol you all make me laugh !! <3 Hope you enjoy this part.

October 31st. You let your feet drag across the cool bathroom tile, feeling every step. There was something comforting in that small heaviness, your body still lulled by the weight of lunch, and your mind restless, carrying the remnants of memories you'd been revisiting all afternoon. You turned on the shower, waiting a moment before stepping in, the heat closing around you like a second skin. As your fingers combed through your hair, scrubbing it softly, your thoughts slipped forward, out of your control, toward the evening ahead, as inevitable as the pull of gravity.

Last year felt impossibly far away. Sarah had wanted to be a vampire. You’d found her a set of plastic fangs, which she wore with a grin that pushed her cheeks high up on her face. Her cape was metallic, shiny as foil, falling past her shoulders, and she looked so delighted, bouncing on her feet in front of the mirror. You'd managed to take more photos than you ever needed, laughing at her exaggerated grimaces and capturing her tiny poses. Joel had been there, too, playing along, wide-eyed with pretend fear, leaning away from her “fangs” in a way that made her giggle. Every single picture was still on your hard drive—photos from a time you could hardly believe was only a year ago.

This Halloween was different. Sarah had decided on her costume weeks back—an astronaut. You’d spent the better part of September helping her piece it together, and she was beyond excited. She’d be with her friends tonight at a “scary” sleepover, which she’d told you about, bright-eyed and practically bouncing with anticipation. It was strange that she wasn’t here. It felt like there was a piece of Halloween missing, but she hadn’t felt it that way at all. To her, this was the most exciting plan in the world. You’d felt it too, in her voice, like a little pinch in your chest.

This would be the first Halloween in years you’d spend without her, alone at the Hoffmans' barbecue. And without Sarah, Joel wouldn't come either. His attendance at these neighborhood gatherings had always been more about you than the event itself, which you’d always appreciated without needing to say it out loud. You could picture him, standing with a beer, blending into the background, jokingly complaining about the crowds. He’d said he didn’t care for the noise, the small talk, and the endless kids weaving through adults like they were on a secret mission. But you’d noticed the way he’d watch Sarah, his face softened as he looked on, his attention lingering in that way that showed he didn’t mind being here, really, because it was with you and her. And the two of you—Joel and you—could talk about anything. He made everything feel like a continuation of one long conversation, like you’d just pick up right where you’d left off, glancing at each other and knowing what the other meant without even saying it.

You could also picture Clara, who’d come over to him every year, her voice lilting as she placed her hand lightly on his arm, her laugh soft and maybe a bit forced. She had that amused smile, that slight lean toward him whenever she spoke, and you couldn’t resist teasing him about it later. He’d always looked so puzzled whenever you brought it up, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were hinting at. She’d been living in the neighborhood for years, a few houses down, in that bright yellow house, and you knew she’d nursed a quiet crush on him for a while. And Joel, for his part, never seemed to notice.

The thought made you smile, picturing him in that moment, eyes narrowed, brows creased, looking at you as if to say, “Why would she be interested?” But as soon as you felt the smile, the weight of reality caught up. Joel was no longer in your life in the same way. He wasn’t “your” Joel anymore, the friend you’d poke fun at and swap knowing glances with. He wouldn’t be coming to the barbecue this year. With Sarah gone and things fractured between the two of you, he’d have no reason to come.

Maybe this would be the year he’d finally spend Halloween as he’d always said he wanted to—in the quiet of his house, watching a horror movie, the occasional interruption of trick-or-treaters breaking the silence as he handed out candy. The picture of him there, his small, self-contained world entirely separate from you, felt like an ache that had been growing for a long time, quiet and steady.

You missed him. And it made you furious to feel it, like he had somehow taken something from you by hurting you, even though you knew, rationally, that wasn’t true. Still, the feeling stuck, simmering somewhere in the background. You hated that you missed him at all.

Your steps matched Travis’s as you left the house, his voice filling the space around you, his hands carving shapes in the air with his animated gestures. The crisp October air wrapped around you, a lingering autumn sun casting a warm, golden wash over everything—the leaves curling on the trees, the lawn stretching out beside you. You hugged your flannel a little closer, fingers brushing over the thick fabric. It was just the right layer—a deep green fleece, oversized, over a worn black T-shirt. You were warm, content, happy even, if only you could hold on to that feeling.

Beside you, Travis was recounting a work spat, his colleague’s tone and insults reimagined in Travis’s flurry of hands. You caught the edges of his words, murmuring a few responses that seemed to satisfy him. By the time you reached the Hoffmans’ house, you were both following the gentle glow of orange lights strung across the yard, stepping into a scene that felt dreamlike, suspended in that late afternoon haze. There was a large oak tree strung with little yellow lights, glowing faintly in the dying sunlight, the whole place set up in the same meticulous, festive way the Hoffmans always did.

Every corner had been turned into Halloween, with cobwebs woven over bushes and pumpkins large and small lining tables, some carved and flickering with candles, others untouched, casting shadows across the tablecloths. Guests mingled at scattered tables, warm drinks in hand, their voices and laughter filling the air with a kind of warmth you hadn’t known you’d needed. The grill added a woodsy scent, smoky and rich, mixed with spices that made your stomach hum with anticipation. A few feet away, kids dressed as witches and monsters zoomed around, their laughter spilling into the light breeze, punctuating the chatter of the adults.

It was the kind of evening that felt ripe for sinking into, letting go of all the worries that had weighed on you lately. You wanted to let yourself simply be here.

Travis glanced at you then, his gaze softening in that way he had, his question as warm as his smile. “I’m heading for food—want anything?” he asked, eyes moving from you to the spread at the far end of the yard.

You pushed yourself up from the table, your hands planted firmly as if grounding yourself.

“I’ll come with you—this is the best part, right?”

The food was better than ever. Tender, perfectly cooked meat, salads piled high, and a sense of community humming through every bite. You found your spot at the table again, balancing your glass of beer on the edge, the faint strains of music drifting from the outdoor speakers blending into the buzz of voices around you. And then, like some personal invitation to memory, you heard the familiar intro; Eyes Without a Face, by Billy Idol, that unmistakable beat curling around you.

Your shoulders started to sway, almost without permission, and then there he was again—Joel. Just like that, back in your mind, as clear as if he were standing beside you. You could picture it—two years ago, slightly tipsy, singing that song in his living room, his hand on your waist, both of you spinning each other slowly to the rhythm, his head tilted back in a deep laugh, voice just slightly off-beat, and you trying and failing to contain your own laughter.

“You okay?” Travis’s voice pulled you back, concern lacing his tone as he looked at you. Your gaze had been locked on some invisible point on the table, your head leaning slightly, reliving a memory that suddenly felt all too close.

“Oh—yeah. It’s nothing. I just love this song.”

He smiled, nodding knowingly. “It’s a classic,” he said, his fingers tapping along with the beat.

You looked up and there, just beyond Travis, the Hoffmans’ glass door slid open. You stopped breathing for a second. Joel stepped out, looking like he’d walked out of some old photograph, hair a bit damp, dark jeans and a gray and black flannel layered over a plain white T-shirt, a pair of black converse grounding him to this moment. He moved toward one of the tables, brushing his chin absentmindedly, his lips moving in time with the music, glancing around as if he were taking it all in for the first time.

And then his gaze found yours.

You held your breath, as if that could somehow make you invisible, as if that would erase this moment. But his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, a half smile on his face or maybe just a neutral expression—some mix of familiar and distant, like he was watching you from a place you could never fully reach. You swallowed, shifting your focus back to Travis, who had his eyes on his phone now, idly typing something while he continued to eat.

“I should’ve dressed up tonight,” you said, your voice intentionally light, trying to shake the weight that had fallen over you. “I don’t know what I’d be, but still. It would be fun to pretend for a night.”

Travis chuckled, leaning in closer, but you could still see Joel over his shoulder, that steady gaze, watching from his own table.

“I know a party tomorrow night—my friend’s hosting, if you want to go with me. We can pick out costumes tomorrow morning, make a day of it.”

You smiled, surprised at how genuinely it formed, pushing your hands together in excitement.

“Really? I’d love that! I haven’t dressed up in years.”

Travis’s face lit up. “Then it’s a date. We’ll figure out the costumes in the morning. Anything you want.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into that feeling, that lightness in his offer, something to look forward to. Your gaze wandered to Helena and her little daughter by the pool, her laughter carried to you on the breeze, her face illuminated in the soft glow of fairy lights. You patted Travis’s hand and stood up, gesturing for him to follow. He caught on, falling into step behind you as you made your way to greet them.

But as you moved, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, lingering there in the space between.

It had been more than a month since you'd last seen Helena. She had traveled back to her home country after her father’s death, sorting through family matters, settling things that couldn’t be left undone. Now, with her daughter Iris perched on her lap, she looked better, lighter even. There was a calmness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Iris’s shoulder as the little girl, dressed as a bumblebee, poked unenthusiastically at a slice of pumpkin bread. You sat next to her.

“Hey,” Helena said, catching sight of you with a warm smile that seemed to melt away everything around you—even the awareness of Joel, somewhere behind you, his gaze like a whisper you couldn’t quite shake. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” you answered, hesitating as your eyes drifted to Iris, who looked up at you with a shy, dimpled smile. “When did you get back?”

“A few days ago. I was actually planning to stop by tomorrow,” Helena replied, brightening as she added, “I thought we could have dinner, get the girls together, and our guys.” She gave a little chuckle, nudging Iris lightly. “Paul would probably love having Joel around too. The poor guy spent the entire trip surrounded by women—my sisters are wonderful, but you know how it is. It was just him and my dad with all of us, and now…”

Helena had three sisters, each one of them stunning, with the same striking green eyes and dark hair that she had. When you’d met them last Christmas, it was as though you’d stepped into some enchanted fairytale—they moved with an effortless grace, magnetic and ethereal.

Helena’s eyes twinkled as she turned toward Travis. “You should come too, Travis,” she said, a mischievous glint in her expression. She shot you a knowing wink, which Travis, ever polite, caught with a smile.

“Sounds great,” he replied with an easy grin, though you felt a twinge of discomfort at the mention of “our guys,” the thought of Joel slipping into your mind unbidden. Trying to brush it aside, you nodded and shifted the conversation.

“Is Paul not coming tonight?” you asked, hoping to keep things light.

“No,” she sighed. “He’s been swamped at work, trying to catch up after our trip. But I really can’t complain. He was so great, staying home with me all this time, so I told him tonight he should just take his time.”

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

“Helena, it’s so good to see you!” Brenda, always the life of these gatherings, came over with her usual warmth, her gaze lighting up as she reached out for Iris.

Brenda’s costume was a striking homage—her spiky orange hair and dark lipstick made her look both bold and playful. She wore a white shirt stamped with slogans in block print, a chunky pearl necklace framing her smile. As she was sitting in front of Helena, she caught your eye and grinned.

“I'm Vivienne Westwood!” she announced proudly, preening a little under your gaze.

“You look amazing,” you said, meaning it. “And the food is, as always, incredible. You outdo yourself every year.”

Brenda gave your hand a squeeze in response, her gaze softening, but just as she was about to respond, her attention shifted beyond you, a pleased expression lighting up her face. “Oh! Joel, come over here!”

Your body tensed at the sound of his name, feeling as though the space behind you had just closed in. He was there, his footsteps echoing toward you until he was nearly at your back. You wanted to stand up, to avoid the moment entirely, but it would have only made things worse—too obvious, too awkward. Brenda couldn’t have known. Joel had always been a fixture in your life; it wasn’t strange to see him here, even if, for some reason, it felt like he was moving in a world that was no longer entirely yours.

You glanced up, catching sight of Joel as he leaned down to kiss Brenda’s cheek while she patted the seat next to her. His smile was casual, easy, as he greeted the others with a nod, his eyes lingering just a second longer on you and Travis than felt necessary. He looked completely at ease, unbothered by the tension knotting up inside you, sitting comfortably in front of you.

Brenda’s hand rested on his arm as she looked up at him with a fond smile. “Where’s your Sarah? I haven’t seen her all night.”

“She’s at a friend’s sleepover,” Joel replied, a hint of concern threading through his words, though he tried to disguise it with a smile. “So I’m here on her behalf, I suppose.”

“She’s growing up so fast,” Brenda said, her tone nostalgic as she gave him a soft smack on the arm.

Joel shook his head slowly, a bittersweet smile flitting across his face before his gaze moved to Iris. “Tell me about it. I remember when she was this little…”

Helena’s hand drifted over her daughter’s hair as she smiled back at him.

“It all flies by, doesn’t it?” she said, her voice soft. “We really have to hold on to these moments.” She turned toward Travis, and he nodded, a gentle look in his eyes as he watched Iris.

“How old is Sarah now, Joel?” Travis asked, and you noticed a subtle shift in Joel’s expression, a kind of hesitance before he replied.

“Twelve,” he said, his voice quieter, his gaze falling briefly before meeting Travis’s, smile dissapearing.

“Twelve?” Brenda’s tone was incredulous. “I still remember the day you moved in, Joel! She was so little then, a perfect little angel! And you—how old were you then?”

“Twenty-seven,” Joel answered with a wry smile, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

“You were just a kid yourself,” Brenda replied, shaking her head. “Always working, always rushing somewhere. And always putting your baby first.”

Joel’s smile softened, his eyes meeting Brenda’s with a warm gratitude.

“I couldn’t have managed without you,” he said simply, as though she understood all the years of support and help she had given him.

Helena glanced over with a thoughtful look. “Didn’t you just have a birthday, Joel?” she asked, her voice casual, but the question landing with a weight that made your heart leap.

“That's right,” he murmured, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers against the edge of the table. “September twenty-sixth.”

“Hey, happy belated birthday then,” Helena said brightly, her smile lighting up the words. “Did you have a nice time?”

Joel looked at you briefly, and something flickered there, like he was turning over a memory he hadn’t expected to find. He shifted his gaze back to his hands. “It was good. Full of… surprises, I guess. Pretty sure Sarah told you all about it, huh?” He shot a glance at Brenda, as if grateful for a way out of the conversation.

“Oh, I heard all about it from Sarah,” Brenda said, grinning, her gaze settling on you with a warmth that made you blush. “You’re a lucky guy, Joel, to have two sweet girls looking out for you like that.” She patted his arm. “I’ll make up a little bag of candy to take home to her, all right? I know she loves the caramel ones.”

You smiled, trying to ignore the prickle of Joel’s gaze on you. And then a feeling dragged you back to years before, to when his Sarah was just three. You could pictured her as a toddler with wide eyes and a toothy, mischievous grin. Joel had shown you those old photos once, and you remembered how adorable she looked, her tiny hand clutching a toy tightly. Sarah had his smile—that same easy warmth, with eyes that crinkled and all but disappeared whenever she laughed. That gesture was even present in Tommy, now that you thought about it. Maybe it was purely a Millers thing, but it—

You realized Brenda was talking to you and straightened up, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Sorry, what?”, you asked.

Brenda chuckled, looking at you with a soft smile. “I was just asking, how old was Sarah when you first met her?”

“She was eight,” Joel answered before you could, glancing at you with a faint smirk.

"Yeah, eight," you echoed the number, ignoring the way his gaze moved over you, lingering with a warmth that felt almost invasive.

At that moment, Helena called Brenda’s attention back to a conversation about Christmas and Iris’s upcoming birthday, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, searching your face like he was looking for something only you might understand. You tried to keep your own expression neutral, feeling Travis’s hand come to rest on your knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch helped you to breathe a little easier, though Joel didn’t miss the gesture. His gaze hardened as he glanced down, the line of his jaw tightening slightly.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, finally addressing Travis. “So, how’s business going, Travis? I heard something about real estate taking a hit. Times are rough, aren’t they?”

Travis, completely unfazed, nodded, his hand still on your knee. “It is. At least for now things are still good, but of course, I can speak for myself.”

Joel gave a slow, mocking nod, feigning an interest he didn’t feel. “Well, you seem quite competent. I have no doubt you sure are handy with business. Is your dad still running the company?”

Travis smiled, oblivious to the subtext that hung in Joel’s question. “Yep, still going strong, but I think he’s planning to retire soon. My old man is tired, I think.”

Joel raised his eyebrows in a mock gesture of understanding. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like the kind who’s got a knack for that… you know, the charm. Every successful businessman needs a little bamboozling spark, don’t they? And I... I think you fit the role.”

“Joel,” you warned quietly, hoping to temper the tension you could feel growing at the table. But Joel merely looked back at you with a faint, defiant smile, ignoring the caution in your eyes.

Travis, patient as ever, simply shrugged. “I appreciate your good faith, Joel. It means a lot coming from you, I know what a hard worker you are.”

The kindness in his tone, the sincerity in his eyes—it made your heart soften. You turned to look at him with a warm smile on your face, how was he immune to the sharp words of the man in front of him? And Joel had a special talent for formulating painful and provocative sentences, but apparently Travis was not the easy guy to gnaw on. And you were grateful for that.

He turned to you, his eyes warm as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to get us some drinks. Need anything, beautiful?”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

As he rose and walked away, he gave your shoulder one last affectionate squeeze. You noticed Joel watching Travis’s every move, his expression darkening, and once Travis was out of earshot, Joel’s gaze returned to you. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation, his eyes narrowing in an almost accusatory way as they moved over your face, searching.

“Joel, really,” you whispered, leaning in so only he could hear. “You don’t have to treat him like that. He’s never done a thing to you.”

A smirk flickered across his lips, and he leaned closer, eyes dancing with a kind of challenge. “Treat him like what?”

You shook your head, pulling back to put some distance between you, but Joel’s gaze followed, steady, like he was waiting for you to react, hoping for it even.

Murmuring an apology to Brenda and Helena, you stood, slipping away to the table by the big oak tree where your empty plate and half-full glass still sat. You picked it up, taking a long drink, grateful for the quiet moment, even as you felt his eyes on you from across the garden.

Travis appeared in front of you, a warm smile on his face as he handed over a small plate with a chocolate cupcake, topped with a dollop of cream shaped into a ghost and dusted with coconut. The sweet smell hit you right away, and you leaned in, inhaling the scent, your mouth already watering. You took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate—it tasted like all of Brenda Hoffman’s best baking, delicious and indulgent.

“Maybe after the barbecue, we could head back to my place for a while,” Travis said, his expression slightly tentative, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of your response.

“That sounds perfect,” you replied with a small smile, trying not to feel self-conscious. As you savored another bite, you glanced toward the pool where Joel was still deep in conversation with Brenda, Helena, and Iris. A moment later, you noticed Clara, all golden hair and easy confidence, sliding into the seat you’d left vacant. She placed two plates on the table, one for herself and one for Joel, who glanced up as she settled in, looking pleased.

Travis followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a knowing look.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” he said, sounding almost amused, though his eyes held a faint hint of confusion. “I think I might understand why, i mean, i think i know why but…”

You blinked, feeling that all-too-familiar twinge of guilt.

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” you said, brushing off the thought. “He’s just acting… well, like a jerk.”

Travis nodded slowly, digesting your words, but then his eyes softened with curiosity.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but… what happened with you two? Weren’t you best friends? I remember you two were always together, but lately…”

You sighed, feeling the tension build as you searched for a way to answer. Travis didn’t need the full story, not yet.

“Like I just told you, he's acting like a jerk,” you said, and it didn't take long to sense that Travis wasn't satisfied with your answer.“Honestly, we just… had an argument a few weeks ago,” you said, carefully choosing each word. “It’s been weird between us since then, I guess.”

Travis seemed to sense that you didn’t want to go deeper, and thankfully he let the topic slide, moving the conversation in a new direction as he began to tell you about the last book he’d read.

“I just finished The Red and the Black, actually,” he said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he picked up his fork, poking at his plate absently. “I didn’t like Madame de Rênal. I thought her choices were a bit… unconvincing.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as you swallowed the last bite of cupcake. “Well, we're talking about revolutionary and passionate times, you know. I mean, Stendhal had his characters reflecting all that intensity. Have you read Goethe’s Werther?”

Travis smirked, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the Werther book. The one with the famous suicide, right?”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the one. The famous suicide and the iconic outfit. I know it gets heavy, but I’ve always liked it.”

He chuckled, nodding as if to humor you.

“My sister made me read it as a teenager, actually. I thought Werther was too… sentimental for my taste.”

You tried not to smile too widely, picturing a young, disinterested Travis, brow furrowed over Goethe’s verses.

“I get it. I was probably more sympathetic to Werther than I should’ve been. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic myself, so maybe it made sense to me. Though I’ll admit, he does get insufferable.”

“Definitely insufferable,” Travis said, still amused. “I’ve always been more into horror anyway.”

The comment made you smile—Travis had a whole shelf at home stacked with DVDs and old VHS tapes of classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Cujo, and The Birds. You’d teased him about it, of course, but there was something oddly endearing about it too.

As the conversation flowed, a faint twinge made itself known in your stomach, and you shifted in your seat, trying to ignore it. You’d had a glass of beer and two tall glasses of water before coming over, so the feeling wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, excusing yourself as you rose from your spot.

In doing so, you glanced over Travis’s shoulder, only to catch sight of Joel and Clara by the pool. Brenda had moved elsewhere, leaving Clara at Joel’s side, closer than casual. She was leaning into him, her hand resting against his shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, her laugh light and flirtatious. Joel didn’t seem uncomfortable with her proximity. In fact, he was smiling back at her, his gaze locked on hers in a way that made your heart sink just a little.

You looked away, feeling a strange pang that you couldn’t quite justify. Had he been ignoring Clara before simply because you were there, next to him? But now, alone with her… he didn’t seem to be ignoring her at all.

As you headed toward the house, you forced yourself to shake off the thought. You slipped through the door and let out a sigh of relief, the cool interior air calming your nerves. Walking quietly down the hallway, you reached the bathroom and knocked gently to check if it was free. It was unoccupied, so you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. You paused by the mirror, glancing at your own reflection, almost surprised by the tension in your eyes.

What was Joel doing, looking at Clara like that? Wasn’t he still with Sienna? And what would she think if she saw him now, flirting? It was hard not to wonder if Sienna was like Clara, someone completely different from you.

Clara was a flash of brilliance, a woman who looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover, golden curls that fell like soft waves of sunlight, her skin bronzed from Texas summers, her green eyes glinting with a brightness that made her seem almost elemental, like an extension of the sun. Her voice was soft, delicate; every word felt chosen, measured. She was flirtatious, always laughing, always seemingly content with the way things were. You could almost imagine that Clara might be Joel’s type—a vibrant, sunlit presence. It would make sense; he was her opposite in every way. When you thought of Joel, you thought of nighttime, the murmur of crickets outside a darkened window, strong coffee and smoky whiskey, a deep, hidden undercurrent.

And you? You weren’t sure what you were. You weren’t quite the night, nor the day. Maybe you were something in between, or maybe you were just… undetermined. You wanted to think you had some affinity with the moon, but even that seemed too defined.

You sighed, breaking your gaze from your reflection as you felt an urgency to finish up. A moment later, you were washing your hands, the warm water and lavender soap grounding you a bit as your mind drifted again, wandering along with the suds down the drain. You dried your hands with a soft cotton towel, inhaling the fresh, clean scent.

But when you opened the door, you froze in place. Joel was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked behind him. He had been staring at the floor, but as soon as he heard you, his gaze flicked up. There was an intensity in his expression that made you pause, waiting for him to say something, to step aside, to let you pass. But he didn’t move.

When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the small space like a slow crack.

“Are you with him now?”

“With who, Travis?” you said, sounding more dismissive than you’d intended.

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Who else? Or is there another I don’t know about?”

You took a few steps closer, folding your arms, letting your expression go cold and tight, the same way it always seemed to be now, whenever you looked at him.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Joel.” You lifted your chin. “I mean, last time I checked, you haven’t been all that open about your life either. So why would I tell you anything about mine now?”

Joel’s smirk twisted into something sharper. “Didn’t stop you from telling Tommy, did it?”

You shrugged. “Well, you’re not Tommy.”

Joel scoffed, crossing his arms, clearly entertained. “Telling Tommy is practically the same as telling me.”

You lifted an eyebrow, unfazed. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe that.”

But his amusement faded, and he looked at you with something almost searching, like he was trying to find a trace of the way you used to be with him—kind, understanding, open in a way that had made him comfortable. You saw the shift in his face, in the way his eyes flicked between yours, like he was looking for some doorway back to that version of you. But she wasn’t here. Or maybe she was, just not for him anymore.

Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper, as he asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

The question hit you, and you stayed silent, unsure if an answer would expose the bitter knot you felt at your center. You hadn’t slept with Travis, not yet anyway. But Joel didn’t know that, and you found a petty thrill in letting him wonder, letting him believe what he wanted—that other hands, other lips had erased him from your memory, replaced every touch. That he had no longer been the last man to touch you. It was pathetic, you knew it, but the curiosity to see his reaction was stronger than anything else. So you decided not to answer, to let the silence lie for you.

So you simply met his gaze, letting silence serve as an answer, your lips lifting in a faint, cryptic smile. And then you saw the moment he believed it: his jaw tightened, his breath went shallow, and his eyes seemed to darken, hardening.

“Like I said, none of your business,” you finally said, feeling something small and satisfied flare inside.

Joel chuckled, but it was a grim sound. He looked down briefly, and when he looked back up, there was an almost cruel gleam in his eye.

“Did he know where to touch you?”

You scoffed, turning the question back on him. “Do you really want to know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You knew Joel well enough to know he would go there if he could. But you couldn’t let him gain the upper hand, not here. If anything, you needed to keep him off-balance, keep him uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m all ears,” he replied, his smile gone now, leaving only a hard, steady gaze that felt like it was drilling into you.

You felt your cheeks flush, but you held his gaze, determined.

“He was the best I’ve ever had,” you said, letting each word hang in the air, daring him to question it. You tilted your head, feigning a fond, private recollection. “Gentle, but rough when I wanted him to be. And you want to know the best part?”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, his expression softened. The dark look in his eyes deepened, his smile long gone.

“Afterwards, when I woke up,” you went on, drawing out each word, “Travis was still there.”

Joel’s head dipped, his eyes dropping to the ground, and you took a brief, selfish moment to take in the sight of him, almost broken in front of you. But something twisted in your chest; the satisfaction felt hollow, quickly replaced by a pang of something closer to pity, almost regret. You had an impulse to reach out, to tell him you hadn’t meant it, that Travis wasn’t even in the picture, that he hadn’t been the best or the first or anything. But you couldn’t allow that.

You had to remind yourself why you’d stopped letting Joel in—how he’d left you out in the cold, how he’d made your feelings seem like nothing, as if they didn’t matter enough to consider. You had to remind yourself of Sienna, this woman who felt like a ghost, hovering between you and Joel, even though you’d never even met her. And if he was really with someone else, what was he doing here, pushing and prying, acting like he had the right to know these things about you? Why was he acting like he cared if you’d moved on, or if you were with someone else, when he was so openly flirting with Clara just a few minutes ago in Brenda’s backyard? Had he become a complete asshole, or had he always been like that and you were just now realizing it?

As the memory of it all flooded back, the tenderness you'd felt earlier drained away, replaced by a familiar, suffocating anger. It surged up from somewhere deep inside you, visceral and sharp, and before you could stop yourself, your body moved instinctively—stepping back, away from him—until your back hit the cold wall by the bathroom door. The impact was jarring, but it felt like a small, needed separation.

Joel didn’t speak right away. He stood still, his eyes shifting downward, slowly, moving over your body, before meeting your face again. His expression was unreadable, like a mask he didn’t quite know how to remove. It irritated you, this silence, this uncertainty that hung between you two like an unwelcome guest.

Finally, you broke the tension, pushing yourself off the wall and stepping back, away from him. But just as you tried to distance yourself, his voice vibrated through the air, low and deliberate, cutting into your thoughts.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension.

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

A shiver ran through you, a mixture of anger and something else—something hotter, something less easy to define. You didn’t want to feel it, but it was there, and it was impossible to ignore.

No. This wasn’t about that. This was about him—how dare he?

In a sudden movement, your hands moved to the buttons of the flannel, fumbling with them in a rush, eager to take it off, to rid yourself of him. But as you tugged the fabric down over your shoulders, you felt Joel’s hand close around your left wrist, his palm warm against your skin, halting you, slowing you down. The touch was too familiar, too intimate, and it sent a jolt of something you couldn’t quite identify straight to your stomach.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly low and commanding, like he was trying to anchor you, like he was trying to hold you in place. “It’s yours. Don’t take it off.”

You snorted, a dry, incredulous sound, and with an almost violent motion, you yanked your hand away from his, finishing the job of removing the flannel with a sharp tug.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening further, and for a moment, you could see the effort it took him to stay still. His eyes lingered on you, tracing your every move, as you held the soft fabric against his chest. You could feel the air shift, feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, and your heart beat a little faster.

You looked up at him, the anger suddenly spilling out of you. “No. You’re right. It’s yours. I should have given it back to you a long time ago.”

His hand moved up to his chest, over yours, taking the fabric from you with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Put it back on,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was trying to smooth over something that had frayed. "It's cold outside."

You wanted to fight it, to say something sharp, but your irritation bubbled up before you could stop it.

“Good thing I live across the block, then,” you blurted, the words coming out thicker with frustration as you pulled your hand free from under his, feeling the heat of his fingers linger on your skin.

Joel's patience was running thin. His hand shot out again, grabbing the flannel in a fist and pulling it closer to you, the fabric stretching between your bodies.

“Stop being so stubborn and put it back on,” he said, his tone more demanding, more urgent. His voice had a sharpness to it now, almost like a warning.

Something inside you snapped. You shoved his hand back hard, with as much force as you could muster, pushing him away—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. His body didn’t move, though. It stayed solid, unyielding, the broadness of his shoulders making you feel small, like you were being swallowed by his presence.

Frustration bubbled inside you, gnawing at your chest as you turned sharply on your heels, determined to leave. Your steps were quick, purposeful, as you made your way toward the hallway exit, the air heavy with everything left unsaid between you and Joel. But then, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, dragging you back to him. You pivoted on instinct, meeting his gaze with eyes darkened by anger, sharp and focused.

For a moment, your mind flashed with the impulse to tear his hand off your wrist, to wrench it away and walk out of this whole mess. But you let it go. Instead, you locked eyes with him, your breath catching as your irritation turned into something more potent—exasperation.

“Enough, Joel,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I'm tired of fighting with you.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and inside, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had come to this—how two people who once fit so easily together had ended up here, so broken and scattered.

“Then let’s not fight,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was pleading. There was a quiet desperation in his words, a slight hitch, as if he was offering a fragile truce. “We can—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” you interrupted, your words sharp and cold, the bitterness clinging to every syllable. “I can’t stand you anymore.” As soon as they left your lips, you realized how hard and cruel they sounded, but you didn’t care. You were exhausted. Tired of the games, tired of the back-and-forth. The anger inside you surged again, hotter than before, as his fingers tightened around your wrist, forcing you to feel the weight of it. Desperation.

“Don’t look for me,” you continued, the words raw and unrelenting. “Don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t look at me. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’ve had enough of all of this. If I could go back in time, I’d change everything, I’d avoid all of this shit.” The heat in your chest built as tears threatened, burning behind your eyes. “But I can’t. I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you, so leave me the fuck alone for once. Avoid me if you can and I’ll avoid you. Pretend I don’t fucking exist. I don't know. Just stop it, Joel.”

The impact of your words hit him like a physical blow. You saw the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his mouth twisted, his face contorting in a wince. Something inside you sank, and for a moment, regret pierced you. But then, the anger pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t been considerate of you before, had he? And that thought, that realization, let the remorse slip away.

His grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t release you. Instead, his fingers trailed down to your palm, stroking it gently with his fingertips, his breath shallow and measured, like he was holding himself back from saying something more.

For a moment, you both stood still, suspended in that space, him looking at you, and you trying not to look at him—waiting, anticipating what would come next. What was the right thing to do now? You should walk away. Right now. Now.

But then his voice, quiet and soft, cut through the air.

“You don’t need me anymore?”

“No,” you said, the word escaping before you could stop it. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, and the second it left you, you could feel it: the squeeze in your chest, the twisting of your heart. It wasn’t true, not really. But you wanted it to be. You wanted it to be true more than anything.

Joel’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like they were searching for something in your face that wasn’t there. His expression faltered, his hand falling away from yours, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if the weight of your words had crushed him.

“I know that’s not true, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t name, but it was too much. You couldn’t bear to see it.

You shook your head, refusing to let the crack in your own resolve show.

“Maybe not, yet,” you said, your voice colder now, harder. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it true.”

With that, you turned away before you could second-guess yourself, before you could see his reaction and let the guilt undo you. You didn’t want to stay. Not now. If you stayed a moment longer, you knew you would apologize, you’d cave, you’d let him back in. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t keep doing this.

You walked quickly back to your seat, each step carrying you farther away from him, from the tension that had become unbearable. You barely noticed Travis’s worried look when you sat down next to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You were gone a while.”

You nodded, forcing a weak, half-smile. But inside, it felt like everything was crumbling. Your bones felt brittle, as if they might snap with the weight of it all. Your body had turned to lead, your muscles drained of all strength. Your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, were a reflection of the ache in your chest.

You just wanted to go home, crawl into your bed, and never come out. The lump in your throat grew larger with every second, and the cold air stung your neck, making you shiver.

“What happened to your shirt?” Travis asked, noticing the way your body had become tense and cold.

You didn’t answer, relieved when he stood and came to stand beside you. You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, his movements gentle, as he draped it over your shoulders and helped you tuck your arms into it.

Once you were warm, Travis slipped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him, his soft kiss to the top of your head offering a fleeting moment of comfort. You couldn’t help but lean into him, resting your head on his collarbone, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort of being held, the peace of someone who wasn’t trying to tear you apart.

But then you heard it—the sliding door opening. And you knew.

When you opened your eyes, you saw him. Joel. Walking out of the house, his pace slow, deliberate, as he clutched the flannel shirt in his left hand. His eyes were cast downward, but when he looked up, they locked on you. His expression shifted, something unreadable in the way he looked at you, and your stomach dropped.

He walked toward his table, his fist clenching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles went white, his gaze never leaving you. You couldn’t look away either. It was like a magnetic pull.

At his table, Carla was waiting, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk circling prey. You felt an involuntary surge of disgust. You wanted to stand up, to march over there and shake her, to tell her to leave, to stop, that she was being pathetic. But then, the sharp, bitter truth hit you: Carla wasn’t the problem. You were. She reminded you of yourself—the way you’d clung to Joel, the way you’d let him define you.

Joel spoke, his voice angry and loud enough for you to hear from where you sat.

“I’m going home,” he said, his eyes cutting through Carla as he raised his head to her height. Then he pulled back, holding out his hand. “Y'wanna come with me?”

And there it was—the knot in your chest tightened. Carla nodded, flushed with a victorious smile, and took his hand. The same hand that had held yours just minutes before.

You closed your eyes, sinking further into Travis’s embrace, the ache in your chest spreading, overwhelming.

You couldn’t leave now. Not with him walking out, not with her next to him. What would you do? Cross paths with them on the way out? Watch them walk away together? The thought was unbearable.

“Can we go to your place for a while?” Your voice was small, almost breaking as you whispered into Travis’s chest.

“Sure thing, honey,” he murmured, the warmth of his body offering a small, fleeting comfort against the storm of emotions inside you.

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