#this line: 'He’s so careful with you and the things you care for— gentle and gracious.' i love bc i think would also be so true abt him 🥹

[callsign-fox]

Distract Me - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay / Sex

Y'all definitely wanted this, so here you go! More to come because I can't seem to stop.

Thank you for all the love! xo

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Y/N entered Bob’s room without knocking, the soft creak of the door the only sound to announce her. She didn’t need to ask—she knew he’d be here, stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling like it held answers only he could see. And there he was, headphones in, still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She lingered in the doorway, heart heavy. He’d used his powers today—again. And again, it had been for her.

She hated it. Hated what it did to him. Every time he tapped into it, the Void stirred, threatening to take him from her. It left him drained, quieter, the light behind his eyes a little dimmer each time. She was always the first to say no when the others asked. The one who stood between him and danger if it meant keeping him from turning.

But he did it anyway. Not for glory.

For them.

For her.

She closed the door softly and crossed the room. He didn’t look at her, but his fingers twitched—he knew. She slipped off her boots and socks, letting them fall quietly to the floor, then climbed into bed beside him. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was thick with unspoken things—gratitude, frustration, fear.

She reached out, and her fingers brushed his—warm, steady, familiar.

He turned to look at her, his eyes glowing with that unnatural, golden-white light. It was still there—burning, dangerous—but dimming, as if her presence was pulling it back, grounding him.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently.

Bob took a slow breath, but the lines in his face didn’t soften. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him. Her heart ached at how far away he seemed, even lying right beside her. But she didn’t look away.

“I’m here if you need me. If there is anything I can do…”

He hesitated before answering, voice low. “Distract me. Somehow.”

She nodded, a quiet decision settling in her bones. They hadn’t been intimate—not yet. What they had was slow and tender, full of stolen glances and careful touches, like neither of them wanted to risk breaking something fragile. But tonight, that caution felt distant. He needed her, and she needed him to come back.

She climbed over him, straddling his hips with deliberate care. The hem of her skirt brushed his thighs as she leaned in, taking his hands in hers.

Bob didn’t resist, just watched her closely. 

Wordlessly, she guided them to her bare skin, placing them on her thighs—warm, soft, grounding. Her fingers didn’t let go, urging his touch higher, coaxing him gently back to her, to now.

“Is this okay?” She asked softly. 

He didn’t speak. Just nodded, slow and sure, like any words might break the moment.

She kept her eyes on his as she moved his hands higher, slipping them beneath the edge of her skirt. Her breath caught as his fingers brushed over the thin fabric between them. She could feel him beneath her, already hard, already aware. Still, she guided him, rolling her hips just slightly, showing him exactly where she needed him most.

His touch was tentative at first, as if he was still afraid he might hurt her—or worse, lose control. But she didn’t let go, guiding him with gentle pressure, rocking her hips in time with the slow, steady movement of his fingers over the thin fabric.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, her head tilting back just slightly. It wasn’t just the pleasure—it was him, still here, still hers. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, see the golden glow in his eyes flicker, weakening, retreating.

They stayed like that for a moment, the room wrapped in silence but thick with tension—his hand moving in slow, careful circles, her thighs tightening around him. He watched her with awe and something deeper, something broken and tender all at once. It made her breath hitch, made her chest ache in the best and worst way.

But then something shifted in him—some tether snapped. Maybe it was the way she moaned his name so quietly, or the way her body arched into his touch like she trusted him completely.

He exhaled sharply, then moved.

In one smooth motion, he flipped them, pressing her down against the mattress, his body settling over hers. She gasped, breath stolen by the sudden change—but her hands gripped his shoulders, grounding herself in him.

He hovered just above her, eyes wide and human again—clear blue, no trace of gold. Just Bob.

He stared at her like she was a lifeline. “You brought me back,” he murmured, voice rough. “You always do.”

He hovered over her, breath ragged, eyes searching hers as if still trying to believe this was real—that she wanted this, wanted him. She reached up and cradled his face, thumbs brushing across the sharp edge of his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, soft and sure. “Stay with me.”

Something in him broke then—not in fear, but surrender. He dipped his head and kissed her, slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth, the way she tasted, the way she breathed into him like he was something worth saving.

His hands moved to her waist, sliding beneath her shirt, warm and calloused as they explored bare skin. She arched into him, welcoming the heat of his touch, the way he handled her like she was something precious. When he finally lifted her shirt over her head, it was with careful hands, taking a moment to admire her like she was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

She helped him out of his shirt too, fingertips trailing along his chest, feeling every muscle twitch under her touch. He was warm and solid beneath her palms, familiar in a way that made her heart ache. 

He took his time, fingers brushing along the insides of her thighs, making her breath catch. When she was bare beneath him, he just stared for a long moment, eyes dark with awe and restraint.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

She reached for him, undoing his belt with shaking fingers, and he let her. Let her take her time. Let her feel him, like she’d been waiting to do this forever. When they were finally skin to skin, nothing between them, he paused—forehead resting against hers, breathing hard.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, pulling him closer. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He entered her slowly, gently, every movement unspoken but full of meaning—trust, want, something deeper they didn’t have to say out loud. He kept his eyes on her, watching the way her breath caught, the way her fingers gripped his arm like she was holding onto something real.

Their bodies moved together easily, instinctively, like they’d been made to fit this way. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the quiet rhythm of two people who had been waiting for this without realizing it.

Y/N’s nails scraped lightly down his back as he kissed along her jaw, his breath warm against her skin. 

“Bob.” She whispered his name again, softer now, as if the sound alone steadied her.

Time didn’t feel like it mattered anymore. The world outside faded into the background, quiet and unimportant. It was just them—skin, breath, a shared warmth that pulled them closer with every slow roll of their hips.

It was just them. 

And when they both came undone, his face buried in her neck, murmuring her name like a prayer—his eyes were still blue.

They lay tangled together, their breaths slowly returning to rhythm, skin damp and flushed from everything they’d just shared. Bob had one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close like he wasn’t ready to let go, not even for a second. Her fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along his chest, while her lips brushed softly over his. 

Then, a knock came. 

Both of them froze as a quiet voice came from the other side of the door.

“Bobby… you doing okay?” It was Walker.

Y/N blinked, then looked at Bob, whose eyes had flown open. He let out a barely audible groan, burying his face in her shoulder while she bit back a laugh.

Then, without raising her voice, she called back toward the door— “he’s perfect.”

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@debs171110 - because you asked nicely :)

[chuxmy]

advice 4 i beg 💗💗💗💗💗

Advice.. IV

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You‘re forced to visit the boss

Warnings: Mild angst, threats

A/N: upss 🤭

☜ Prev Next ☞︎

You had barely slept since that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the flicker of Seongje’s face livid, protective, blood smeared knuckles trembling not from fear, but fury. You still felt the ghost of his arms around you, the way his jaw had locked when he whispered, “No one touches you.”

But peace never lasts long in this world not when the Union was involved.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t end there.

You were walking back from a bookstore when the first shadow fell behind you. At first, you thought it was just a passerby until the second one stepped out in front of you.

You turned around, heart thudding.

Two boys. Older. Union. You recognized them one of them had been in that alley. The other was new. The moment your eyes met, the one in front smirked like he knew a secret you didn’t.

“You thought that was the end of it?” he said.

You took a step back, glancing around the nearly empty street. “I’m just going home.”

“Not yet you’re not,” the first one said. “Boss wants to see you.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t do anything.”

He grabbed your arm not hard, not gentle either. “Doesn’t matter. You’re part of something now.”

You tried to jerk free. “Let me go.”

They didn’t.

By the time you reached the bowling alley, your legs were weak.

The place has dim lights, music thudding faintly, the occasional crash of pins. But they didn’t take you to the lanes.

They took you through the back door, down a narrow hallway, and into that room. Na Baekjin’s room.

It smelled like cold smoke and old wood.

He was already sitting in the leather booth in the corner, his legs crossed, spinning a ring slowly on one finger. A soda can sat untouched on the table. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Dangerous.

“Close the door,” he said.

They did.

Then you were alone with him.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched you. Studied you like something under glass.

“So,” he said finally, his voice almost amused. “You’re the girl.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Baekjin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “The one Seongje fought over.”

You said nothing.

He tilted his head. “You know how many years I’ve known him? Since before he could throw a punch. And not once, not once have I seen him lay out one of our own over anything personal.”

Your throat went dry.

“I don’t care who you are,” Baekjin said, voice tightening. “But you caused problems. That guy he beat? He’s not some random. He answers to me. And now I’ve got half the boys questioning if Seongje’s loyalty is slipping.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “He was protecting me. They hit me.”

“I know,” Baekjin said smoothly. “I saw the footage.”

You froze.

He leaned back, stretching his arm across the seat. “We record the exits near the alley. Saw you stumble in, saw what they did. Saw what he did to them.”

You couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“But see, here’s the thing,” he continued, casual. “I don’t like it when my guys step out of line. And I don’t like secrets in my territory. So you’re gonna tell me the truth now.”

Silence.

“Are you with him?” he asked flatly.

You didn’t speak.

“You don’t answer, I take it as yes.”

You met his eyes finally, your voice shaking. “What does it matter?”

Baekjin stood.

He walked over slowly, deliberately, until he was in front of you.

“I don’t care about your little romance,” he said. “What I do care about is control. Respect. And the fact that he risked both for a girl no one knew existed? That’s not good for anyone.”

You held your chin high, even as your stomach twisted. “If you’re going to do something to me, just do it.”

Baekjin looked almost impressed. “You’ve got teeth.”

“I don’t scare easy.”

“That’s cute,” he said, stepping away. “But fear isn’t the point. This is a message.”

“To who?”

“To him.”

The door opened behind you.

You turned and there he was.

Seongje.

Breathing hard. Like he’d run the whole way. His eyes locked on you instantly, and the second he saw you in that room, something in his expression snapped.

“Get away from her,” he said, stepping forward.

Baekjin held up a hand. “Relax. She’s fine. I just wanted a talk.”

“You sent your dogs after her.”

“I told them to bring her, not drag her.”

“She’s not part of this,” Seongje growled.

“She is now. You made her part of it when you spilled blood over her.”

Seongje’s fist clenched at his side.

You stepped toward him. “I’m okay. I promise.”

But when he looked at you, really looked at you his face twisted with something deeper. Not just rage.

Guilt.

“Don’t come near her again,” he said to Baekjin. “Don’t send anyone. Don’t talk to her. Or I’ll burn this whole place down.”

Baekjin looked at him. “That’s cute. You threatening me over a girl?”

Seongje didn’t blink. “She’s not just a girl.”

And when he walked out with you, his hand brushed yours not in front of them, not fully, but enough that you knew.

He wasn’t going to hide it anymore.

[drewswife]

summary — rafe and you do baby things

warnings — fluff, baby talk

a/n — i have such bad baby fever, also this was requested so ty!!

"Are you sure you should be lugging that plank around, baby?" Rafe's voice was rough, a low rumble that usually sent a shiver down your spine in a different context. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching you attempt to maneuver a piece of the crib that seemed determined to stay put. Your seven-month twin belly definitely wasn't making things any easier.

"I'm fine," you grunted, your voice a little strained. "Just gotta get this lined up"

He pushed himself off the frame, his movements still carrying that restless energy you knew so well. "Here," he said, his tone brooking no argument as he took the wood from you. "You're carrying enough weight already. Let me handle the heavy stuff." There was a hint of something softer beneath the gruffness, though he'd probably rather wrestle an alligator than admit it.

You let out a small sigh of relief, rubbing your lower back. "Thanks. My back's starting to feel like it's auditioning for a role in a horror movie."

Rafe snorted, already focused on fitting the piece into place. "Yeah, well, try carrying two of 'em. You're a trooper, though," he mumbled, more to the wood than to you.

You settled onto the rocking chair, its gentle motion a small comfort. The room was a mess of wood and screws, but slowly, surely, the shape of a crib was emerging. You watched Rafe work, his brow furrowed in concentration. Even when he was being a grump, there was a focused intensity about him that you found…endearing, in a weird way.

"You know," you said softly, breaking the silence, "you're actually pretty good at this."

He glanced up, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," you chuckled. "Just you're surprisingly handy."

He went back to work, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "Gotta be good at somethin', right?"

The afternoon wore on, filled with the sounds of Rafe's occasional frustrated sighs and your more frequent requests for him to slow down or be careful. Despite his gruff exterior, he was surprisingly gentle when it came to the baby-related tasks, handling the delicate wooden pieces .

Finally, the second crib was assembled, standing sturdily beside its twin. Rafe leaned against the frame, wiping his hands on his jeans. "There. Done. Now can you actually sit still for five minutes?"

You smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through you. "It looks great, Ray. Thank you."

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. "Whatever. Just gotta get this place ready for the… little ankle-biters."

A few weeks later, the air at the mall was thick with the usual weekend chaos. You navigated the crowded aisles slowly, Rafe trailing a few steps behind, his usual impatient energy somewhat subdued. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be surrounded by pastel colors and cooing shoppers.

"Seriously, how many different shades of baby blue do they need?" he muttered under his breath, eyeing a wall of tiny onesies.

"They're different," you insisted, holding up two almost identical outfits. "This one's 'sky blue,' and this one's 'ocean mist.'"

Rafe just rolled his eyes, putting your hand in his. He wasn't exactly a baby clothes enthusiast, but he was here, following you around, his presence a comforting weight beside you.

You picked out a tiny leather jacket that looked ridiculously cool, even in miniature. "We need this," you declared. "Imagine them rolling up to daycare in this."

Rafe actually cracked a smile. "Alright, alright."

"Oh my goodness," you breathed, holding up a minuscule pair of dungarees with embroidered bumblebees. "These are the cutest things I've ever seen!"

Rafe peered over your shoulder, a smile playing on his lips. "They are pretty adorable. Though, I have a feeling they'll outgrow them in about five minutes."

"Worth it," you declared, adding them to your growing pile. You moved on to a rack of tiny dresses, their delicate fabrics and intricate details making your heart melt. You imagined your little girls wearing them, their small hands reaching out to explore the world.

As you stood in line, the bags overflowing with tiny garments, Rafe placed a hand on your back, circling his hands around ur big round belly. "You okay baby?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that only you could hear over the mall's din.

You leaned against him, a wave of exhaustion and overwhelming love washing over you. "Yeah," you said softly. "Just can't wait to meet them."

He didn't say anything, but the squeeze on your back spoke volumes.

@starrii-sturns @spencerreid66 @zenithsturniolo

[b1eedthefreak]

can you do more girly!reader and daryl pretty please? it’s okay if not! but i looooved your one shot :3

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Princess Duty

⌇daryl dixon x girly!reader

⌇summary: you hurt your ankle after a trip with daryl, so he takes care of you like you’re a princess

⌇warnings: fluff

⌇word count: ~5.2k

a/n okay lowkey i don’t really like this i feel like it could’ve been more emphasized she’s girly reader but it’s okay because i will never stop writing girly reader so i will do this request more justice

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The air was crisp with the faint scent of the open wilderness as you and Daryl made your way through the quiet roads, the morning sun breaking through the trees above, casting long shadows over the path. You had begged him to come with you on a short trip to explore a nearby area that you’d heard about. An old abandoned mall. Daryl had been hesitant at first, his wariness of straying too far from Alexandria weighing on him, but he couldn’t deny the small spark of curiosity that flickered in his chest.

So, here you were, walking side by side through the woods, hand wrapped around the handle of your bedazzled satchel bag, a gentle breeze blowing through your hair.

“Ya sure this place is gonna be worth it?” Daryl asked, voice low but teasing as he glanced sideways at you. His brow was furrowed, his face always partially hidden under the shadows of his hair and hood, but you could see the faint gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“I think so,” you said excitedly, bouncing a little in your step. “I heard there’s a store in there with, like, perfumes, makeup, and clothes. Can you imagine? Like, things from before everything just went zombie apocalypse mode!”

Daryl let out a breath, rolling his eyes in a mock exasperation, but there was a softness to it. “You’re gonna get lost in there baby,” he muttered, the word rolling off his tongue like something familiar, something that had become second nature.

You laughed, the sound carrying through the trees. “I know! That’s why I have a big strong man with me, duh!”

“Right.” Daryl replied with a smirk, though there was a protectiveness hidden beneath his words.

As you reached the mall, the building stood before you, looming in the distance like a forgotten relic of the past. The gray brick walls were chipped, covered in ivy and moss, but the structure still held strong. The doors creaked as you pushed them open, the bell above the entrance giving a jarring little jingle. It almost felt like stepping into another world, one where the chaos of the world outside didn’t exist.

The inside was eerily quiet, dust covering every surface, but there was something magical about it. A forgotten time, a faded memory.

And then, you saw it.

“Daryl, look!” you called, excitement practically spilling out of your words. Your finger pointed toward a section at the back of the store, a shelf lined with perfume bottles, their glass shimmering faintly even in the dim light. It was like a beacon.

Daryl walked up beside you, glancing over at the shelf. “Yeah, baby, I’m lookin’,” he said softly, his voice filled with amusement as he watched you move forward.

You practically skipped toward the shelf, your hand reaching for one of the bottles. “I just—” you started, a grin plastered on your face, “I just wanna smell something nice, y’know?”

“Don’t go fallin’ and hurtin’ yourself tryin’ to reach somethin’,” Daryl warned with a half hearted scowl as he watched you stretch up onto your toes, trying to get your hands on the bottle.

You smirked over your shoulder, determined. “I won’t! I’m almost there!”

But, of course, the world had other plans. As you balanced precariously, trying to grab the perfume bottle just a little higher, your foot slipped. Your ankle twisted, and before you could stop yourself, you fell forward with a startled cry, landing in a soft heap on the floor.

“Ain’t that just like ya,” Daryl muttered under his breath as he rushed to your side. His hand was immediately on your shoulder, helping you sit up as he scanned you for any real injury. “Baby, I told ya to stop.”

You winced, trying to put weight on your foot, but the sharp pain that shot through your ankle made it impossible. “Ow…” you muttered, rubbing at the sore spot. “I’m okay. Really.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he crouched in front of you. “Yeah? Sure about that?”

You nodded, though the pain made your face scrunch. “I think I just twisted it. It’s fine.”

Daryl let out a small, frustrated sound before reaching down to gently lift your foot off the ground. “Ain’t gonna be fine if ya don’t let me take care of ya.” He scooped you up in his arms effortlessly, surprising you with the strength he always seemed to have, even in the most tender moments.

“Daryl! I’m a strong independent woman perfectly cable of—” you started, but he was already moving, his steps firm as he carried you toward the exit.

“Shh, no arguments princess,” he muttered, his tone firm yet caring. “Let’s get you back to Alexandria.”

The ride back to Alexandria was uneventful, the silence between you two comfortable. You leaned against Daryl, your head resting on his shoulder, and he kept one hand gently supporting your injured ankle, cradling it carefully like it was the most delicate thing in the world. You closed your eyes, allowing the comfort of his presence to wash over you.

By the time you made it back to the safety of Alexandria, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the walls of the settlement. Daryl didn’t hesitate to take you straight to your house, where he made you sit on the bed while he examined your ankle.

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” he said quietly, though his expression was still tinged with concern. “But ya still gotta take it easy for a while.”

You sighed, flopping back against the pillows. “I hate not being able to do my stuff… The kids are gonna be disappointed. I won’t be able to do my deliveries tomorrow, or teach them the way I usually do.”

Daryl frowned as he carefully wrapped your ankle in a bandage, his fingers moving with practiced ease, but there was a soft intensity in his gaze. “Ain’t nobody gonna be disappointed, princess,” he murmured. “They’ll understand. And you need to rest. You’ve been takin’ care of everyone else. Now it’s your turn to let me take care of ya.”

Before you could respond, a knock came at the door, followed by a voice from outside. “(Y/N)? You in there? We miss you! The kids are askin’ when you’re comin’ back.”

Daryl stood up straight, his body tense. You saw the shift in his posture, a quiet, protective energy emanating from him. He glanced at you, then opened the door. “She’s restin’,” he said, his tone a little sharper than usual. “She’ll be fine, just need some time.”

The guy from outside nodded and waved, stepping away. “We’re all missin’ ya around here. Don’t be too long, alright?”

As the door clicked shut, Daryl turned back to you, his face softening, but his gaze still intense. “Ya hear that? They’re all missin’ you.” There was a slight edge to his voice. “Don’t like the idea of everyone else makin’ sure you’re okay.”

You grinned, catching the undertone of his words. “Daryl Dixon! Are you jealous?”

Daryl’s eyes darkened for a moment, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to hide the hint of discomfort. “Maybe,” he muttered, lowering his gaze to your ankle. “Don’t like others fussin’ over ya.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Don’t worry, Daryl. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a small grunt, he knelt beside you again, his hands gentle as he adjusted the blanket around you. “You don’t need to be doin’ everything for everyone else, princess. It’s time you let me take care of you. Just you.”

You smiled, leaning into him, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “I’m lucky to have you, Daryl.”

“Yeah?” His voice was soft, but there was a deep warmth there. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, I’m the lucky one.”

The night passed slowly, with Daryl taking care of you in every way imaginable. From fetching your favorite snacks to tucking you in and keeping you close, he made sure you knew how much you meant to him.

And when the quiet of the night finally settled over you both, Daryl’s lips found yours in a gentle kiss, soft and full of affection.

“Rest easy, princess,” he whispered, “I’ve gotcha.”

As you drifted to sleep in his arms, the world outside seemed a little less chaotic, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

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[pedrasacorn]

Daily dose of Sunshine 🌊

Jason Todd x reader

Description: It’s been four days since you’ve responded to Jason’s texts. You find that him breaking in to check on you isn’t as unwelcome as you initially thought.

A/n: I named it after the drama I was watching when I was really going through it. I wrote this during it, I needed the comfort.

Sorry for the lack of warnings—this one deals with fairly heavy topics on mental health, and depression but nothing intense. It’s fluff as much as it can be

It’s been nothing but silence in your apartment for days—Two knocks at your door, then three, and a soft kick. Jason had reasoned that no one kicks doors, so you’ll always know it’s him.

The clicking of your front door alerts you to him picking the lock. He has a key he chooses not to use; eccentric as always.

Steel toed boots are light, quiet against the wood; not silent. He’s making sure not to startle you; Jason learned the hard way it’s an easy to do.

A normal host would greet their “guest”, but the dark is a hug you dare not leave.

“Sweets?” The nickname usually brings about the feeling of a gentle caress to your heart, today it feels more like a squeeze.

He squats down next to your bed, he’s eye level with you when you finally see him. The faint glow from the hallway softens his gaze—not that he needed it to do that, the way he looks at you is always soft.

His eyes rake over your face pensively. “You gonna talk to me or am I playin’ a guessin’ game today?” Hatred bubbles up in your chest. Why can’t your heart be left alone to decompose?

“C’mon sweets don’ gimme that look.” His voice is a soothing balm to your soul even when your hearts still angry. You watch his necklace swing from his chest; like a cat with a string your hand reaches to hold it. Most enticing thing you’ve seen all week…maybe. He’s vaguely amused by it, mostly just itching to be closer to you, somehow the proximity of your hand near his heart makes it feel magnetized to you.

He checks your phone. All the missed texts lights up both his concentrating face, and your tired one. The smallest of coughs forces you to clear the roughness of your voice. You try spit venom at him, “I ignored you on purpose, Jason.” Though his name on your tongue lacks malice.

“Oh I know.” He smirks as he recognizes your displeasure, “What? You think the king of isolation wouldn’ recognize the signs?” He places down your phone in favor of thumbing over your cheek, cupping it gently. Your face—now the betrayer of your heart—nuzzles into his palm. “There she is…” He whispers. “What happened princess?”

The wheel of your emotions spins slowly, it settles on the line between apathy, and heartache. Tears threaten to make their presence known yet you have a lifetime of experience swallowing them.

Maybe that’s why the well inside is spilling over.

You blink rapidly.

“Jason….I never know what the fuck happens.”

His teeth catch his bottom lip. Jason isn’t unfamiliar with mental health struggles, but seeing you like this? When there was nothing to hit, and nothing to kill? Devastating.

“We’re gonna start with he basics, yeah? When was the last time you ate?”

You stare at him apathetically. He could do his best pathetic puppy dog act and you’d still refuse him even if he offered up your favorite foods.

He soaks in your expression. Quick to his feet he strides out of the room.

Your chest fills up with the sticky syrup of dread. He’s angry…he’s angry you haven’t eaten when he’s been dutifully reminding you—or maybe it’s because you haven’t texted him back—and he’s leaving you.

But it’s perfect right? It’s what you wanted, surely.

You resign to the darkness.

“Open your eyes. M’not letting you sleep ‘til you’ve eaten.”

You blink open your eyes, careful to rid them of tears.

“Can you sit up f’me?”

You stare at him.

“I’m takin’ that as a no…”

He sets down the bowl before sitting next to you. His strong arms are warm when they wrap themselves around you; it’s an almost hug, and almost feels good right now. He sits you up against him; you can’t help but melt into it.

“I was warm and comfy in there you know.”

“Yeah…and you were hurtin’.” His thumb strokes underneath your eyes, feeling the dew left behind.

Defensively you say, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“That makes two of us.” He halfheartedly smiles.

Despite knowing him well, you’re tempted with being obtuse. You’ve come to know him as someone who is naturally self deprecating, it’s too late to pretend like you don’t catch his meaning.

“I brought food already anyhow so if you don’t eat it I’ll eat you.” That pulls an almost laugh, hardly a breath from your nose.

Even with the reddening of his cheeks—proof he hadn’t meant the double entendre—he’s pleased with his ability to cheer you up, even a little.

“Pho. Extra beef’n there because I know you’re lackin’ protein.” Your wry look is overshadowed with fondness.

“You know what I like.” A tired smile pulls at your wary face. You can’t help it; he’s beautiful, and sweet, and all the things you shouldn’t deserve . “Please don’t make me eat by myself.” Shame digs its way into your chest. Only at your worst you would dare beg.

“No worries sweetheart.” The bed dips further under his weight as he settles the both of you into a better position. You cringe at the idea of you, and your room smelling like garbage.

You watch the soup.

He watches you.

The sweetness of it all crumbles your resplve, and you sob.

His soup warm hands cup both your cheeks, the gentle whisper of your name pulls your attention.

“I am not giving up on you.’’ His determination is weighty in your chest.

“I wish you would.’’

He says your name again—stern, but gentle all the same, “You think you can get rid o’ me? Huh?” His nose is a hairsbreadth from yours as he holds your gaze, “Try.”

Something inside you finally softens. It feels like the sunshine peaking through clouds. And then it’s covered again.

“Jason I don’t feel anything.”

He cups your face, pressing his cheek against yours, the barely there scruff is grounding.

“I’m okay with that.” He breathes deeply. “We’re not taking the easy way out, you and I.”

~

You haven’t finished your soup, but you’ve had enough beef, and micro greens to satisfy him. He finishes off what you don’t.

A stillness settles over the both of you.

“Sorry if I smell…odd.”

“Trust me,” he lays back against the mountain of pillows propped up on the headboard, leisurely crossing his arms behind his head, “No one smells worse than the goons of Gotham.”

You lay in your side, facing him. “Sounds like a band.” He smiles at you. You smile back until a yawn sneaks its way past.

“Listen. I can sleep in here with you, or you can lock the door, and I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll even leave my lock picks in here. Take your pick.”

Your gaze snaps to his. You’re met with that unwavering determination again.

“Why?” You ask softly.

He scratches the day old scruff on his cheek.

“Because if I leave you alone…I won’t sleep sweatheart.”

“Are you sure I don’t smell bad?”

“Please. I’m the one that reeks of motor oil and gun powder.”

“And smoke…” It’s soft, and wistful the way you say it. You chew the inside of your cheek before deciding. “It’s…a comforting smell.” Your eyes are conveniently occupied with the ceiling when he looks over at you.

You gently scoot closer, like a cat towards the sunbeam of an afternoon. He lets you.

You gently pick at his sleeve, desperate to be close—desperate to keep your distance. “My mom smelled like smoke too…cigarette smoke. I know you don’t smoke often but it’s really not good for you.” You meet his gaze.

He shifts into a more comfortable position before replying. “I prefer to worry about your lungs, not the other way ‘round.”

“You know I never had anyone…during my darkest times no one noticed or uh…I mean I don’t mean to complain—they noticed they just didn’t have the bandwidth to be there. Plus it was my job to save myself it just would’ve been nice ya know?”

“Trust me sweetheart…I know.”

You pull his arm over your body, he gingerly wraps it around your waist, his hand slides up in between your shoulder blades. “Are you going to leave before I wake up?” You wait for what feels like too long before he says, “Someone’s gotta make sure you eat breakfast.”

“…th—” He cups your cheek, thumb pressed against your lips.

“You can thank me by callin’ me next time you need me—someone.” He catches himself.

“Okay Jay.” You whisper.

You settle against him, that feeling in your chest lighter.

“Goodnight, Jason.”

He breathes deeply, his body relaxing to the melody of your voice. “Goodnight sweetheart.”

His palm is strong, warm against your back. He sits perfectly against your frame in a way that convinces you to the right of indulgnec. Just this once.

[fawnistry]

Hello madam, I LOVE how you write Caleb🤤

And recently all I can think about is Caleb losing his memory again, cuz of his chip and then getting super horny for her, he doesn't feel the need to hold himself back, and sure she might be telling to stop or wait but he can't help himself🤭🤭🤤

I've had this thought for AGES I can't write for shit so I thought I'd share and hope u write it

MWAH💋

you get it nonnie, more corrupt chip caleb pleaseee!!!

the chip in his head glitches again, and just like that—he forgets. forgets who you are, forgets his own name, forgets everything except the heat coiling low in his gut, the way his cock throbs with a need so sharp it’s painful.

you’re there when it happens, when his eyes go blank and then dark, pupils swallowing any hint of color. his fingers twitch, his breath comes ragged, and then he’s on you before you can even gasp.

“caleb, wait—!” you try, but he doesn’t wait, doesn’t stop, doesn’t even seem to hear you. his hands are rough as they grab your hips, yanking you against him, his erection pressing hard against your thigh. he’s breathing like an animal, like he’s starving, and maybe he is—maybe this is all he knows right now, the primal urge to fuck, to claim, to take.

“need you,” he growls, voice thick with desperation, and then his mouth is on your neck, teeth scraping your skin. you whimper, hands pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, spreading them open, and then he’s touching you, dragging his fingers through your slick with a groan.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” he rasps, like it’s a surprise, like he can’t believe how wet you are for him. and maybe you are, maybe your body betrays you even as your mind screams that this isn’t right, that he’s not here, not really. but it doesn’t matter, because caleb doesn’t care—not when he’s like this, not when the only thing he understands is the ache in his cock and the way your cunt clenches around his fingers.

he doesn’t bother with foreplay, doesn’t bother being gentle. he shoves your thighs wider, lines himself up, and then he’s pushing inside with a snarl, stretching you open in one brutal thrust. you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t give you time to adjust. he just fucks you, hips slamming into yours with a desperation that borders on violence.

“mine,” he growls, voice rough, hands gripping you hard enough to bruise. “mine.”

you don’t know if he even remembers your name, if he knows who he’s fucking—all you know is the way his cock fills you, the way his hips stutter when he gets close, the way his breath hitches against your skin. he’s lost in it, in you, in the heat of your body and the way you squeeze around him, tight and perfect.

when he comes, it’s with a groan that sounds almost pained, his fingers digging into your hips as he spills inside you, deep and claiming. he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, panting against your neck, his body heavy on top of yours.

and then—silence.

you don’t know how long it takes for the chip to reset, for his memories to trickle back in. but when they do, when his grip on you loosens and his breath evens out, you feel him go still.

“...fuck,” he whispers, voice raw.

you don’t answer. you don’t have to.

he’ll forget again soon enough.

[joyswonderland1108]

Gentle Reminder (aka i’m about to throw hands gently)

Gentle reminder — and by gentle i mean loud, blunt, and potentially a little unhinged — that this fandom isn’t all just purple hearts and OT7 quotes slapped on aesthetic backgrounds. It’s also filled to the brim with Y/N-core self-inserters, casual homophobes playing it cute behind “i just miss the old BTS,” antis wearing “OT7” like cosplay, and people who’ll scream “love yourself” all day while tearing members down for daring to exist authentically.

It’s giving ✨"We support BTS unless they make us uncomfortable"✨ energy.

(Changed the previous gif)

Now listen, if any of the boys—any of them—decide to share their vulnerabilities, talk about their mental health, opens up in a way that challenges the rigid, sanitized version of masculinity and heteronormativity some desperately cling to. What happens when it’s not just "Yoongi cried in a documentary" but "one of them actually comes out"? Or rumors drop about one of them possibly having a boyfriend, this fandom will combust like it’s allergic to reality, the masks will slip. Quickly. And when it happens (because let's not kid ourselves, some are hanging on by a thread already), I’m gonna need the rest of us—the ones who truly care—to hold the line.

Let me say this loud for the people in the back: if that day ever comes, it’s not just about clapping for them on Weverse and then going back to thirsting over edits. It’s about showing the hell up.

Remember yoongi? man literally came out. proudly. clearly. and people are still acting like it was a translation error. Like their brain stopped working because “that’s not what he meant!” no, babe. That is what he meant. You just didn’t like it. Not again. When the boys come back from military service, things will change. They're not going to be the same wide-eyed teens from 2013-2014 anymore. They’ve grown. So we either grow with them or get left behind.

And to the Jikookers: hi besties. Let’s have a chat. Some of y’all disappointed the entire community when that stupid Weibo rumor about Jungkook dropped and you folded like paper in the rain. You abandoned Jikook faster than a fake OT7 deleting their stan account after a solo debut. And then — like clockwork — you slithered back in once it was safe, as if nothing happened. Like we forgot. Honey, we did not forget. We saw it. We screenshot it. We saved it for later. Gomawo.

Meanwhile, the rest of us? We stayed. We defended. We weren’t shaken by the antis or their cowardly rumors because we actually believe in what jikook stand for — and no, i’m not talking about shipping aesthetics. I’m talking about love, protection, truth. Things that don’t break under pressure.

So here’s what i’m saying: when the boys come back from the military — older, wiser, and probably done with everyone’s bs — it’s not going to be only about streaming goals or “let’s get 10M views in 24 hours!!!" and “OT7 comeback when 😭” anymore. It’s about building a fandom where they can breathe. Where they can be themselves without fear that their own fans will betray them at the first sign of controversy. And again, if one of them comes out, if a relationship becomes public, if they express their love for another man? You better be on the right side of that moment. Because here’s the truth: the world outside that safe little fandom bubble we try to create? It’s not kind. So we have to be.

Because trust: there are fans right now who say they support BTS but their loyalty is conditional. They love the idea of BTS, the safe, sanitized version they built in their heads. But real support? That means being there even when it challenges your own comfort or biases.

Don’t just say “we purple you.” show it. Show it when they’re vulnerable. Show it when they’re honest. Show it when it’s not trending. You can’t claim to love someone and then only support them when it’s convenient for you.

If you say you love them, if you say you’re OT7, if you say you care — then prove it. Be there when it’s inconvenient. Be there when it’s messy. Be there when it’s uncomfortable. Because they have always been there for us.

방탄이 우리를 지켜줬잖아. 이제 우리가 그들을 지킬 차례야.

(Bangtan protected us. Now it’s our turn to protect them.)

So yes. this is a call-out. This is a warning. This is a gentle reminder because the line between fake support and real love will become crystal clear. It’s not about agreeing with everything. It’s about loving them enough to accept them as they are, even when it shakes your little delulu universe. I just hope you're not standing on the wrong side of it when it happens.

[exitingmusic]

Yours

Caleb x reader

Warnings: suicidal ideas, depression, slight self-harm, language, obsessive Caleb (slight yandere, not too ooc), lil bit of angst :)

AN: This is a pretty long one I've had in my drafts and the beginning isn't great but I swear it gets better I SWEAR I'll do the HC after this I just really wanted to write this before I forgot :)

WC: 8.6k

After a big argument with Caleb about him locking you in his house, tensions were high. He was leaving tomorrow for a new exploration mission with the Farspace Fleet, but you refused to let yourself be upset that he was leaving again. Not when he had locked you up. Not when he had given you sleeping pills instead of medicine so you wouldn’t sneak out. 

He approaches you, a smile on his face as he takes your hand. “I’m about to leave, it’d be nice if we could have a meal together.”

You yank your hand away, snapping, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

Hurt crosses his expression as you turn on your heel, heading for the living room. He follows you, standing in front of you as you sit on the couch and scowl up at him.

“Your life has threats around every corner. The people who are after your power, who want to hurt you? They should all just disappear.” Leaning forward, he presses his hand against the cushion beside your head. “You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

A gentle smile tugs at his lips, the soft feeling not reaching his cold eyes. It falls quickly though when you respond, “I’d rather face danger head on than live ‘safely’ like this! I don’t need you—“

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” he says, cutting you off with a disbelieving laugh. Leaning forward, he grabs one of your wrists. “Alright. What do you need? You can tell me. We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. If you want to return to the past, we’ll rebuild our old house and move in together.”

His voice turns pleading as he continues, “I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want, it will have the most beautiful, stunning gardens you’ve ever seen. No threat will ever be able to find you again. I’ll protect you forever.” His words are soft, his eyes so familiar and yet so wrong, somehow. A slight smile curves his mouth, so normal and yet different that it makes your heart ache.

“Caleb, I lived this long without you, I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a bird locked in a cage, even if it is with you,” you pleaded, carefully watching his every reaction.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and closes his eyes, clearly struggling to remain calm and not snap. He rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself as he opens his eyes again to look at you.

“You think I care about your freedom or free will right now? The only thing I care about is protecting you. The rest doesn’t matter.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and paces away from you, his expression conflicted. “Why do you even want that freedom when you could have safety here, with me?”

“Am I just supposed to stay here, acting happy all my life? Surrounded by the same walls? The same things? Never see or talk to anyone else?” You continued, your voice raising, “because I can't do that Caleb, no matter how safe I'd be. I couldn’t stand it.”

Caleb’s jaw is clenched tight, the anger in his words barely contained. He turns and takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to grab your arm and pull you up from the couch. “I don’t give a damn how ‘happy’ you are, or if you feel ‘trapped’. I just. Need. You. Safe.” His hand tightens on your arm as he presses close to you, every line of his body tense at the argument.

“It doesn’t matter if I lock you up or keep you under my watch,” he says, his gaze pinning yours as he growls, “As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters,” he mutters, releasing your arm, but still standing close enough to tower over you, his violet gaze locked on yours. “Why can’t you understand I’m doing this because I love you? I can’t let anything happen to you, no matter the cost.”

You didn’t recognize this man in front of you, eyes hard and cold, determined to clip your wings and trap you in this gilded cage. You weren’t angry at him, no, it just hurt seeing the boy you loved so dearly so detached and uncaring, towards you no less.

Anger fading, you look at him with saddened eyes, “You're not my Caleb.”

Caleb freezes, staring at you, looking like you stabbed him in the chest before his expression hardens again, the air growing tense as he says, “What are you talking about?”

His hand gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up so he can search your expression as he says, “Of course I’m the same Caleb, your Caleb. The one who’s been here, protecting you, worrying for you, and who loves you. Who else could I be?”

“My Caleb wouldn't have done this. He would've happily followed me to the ends of the universe to keep me safe and happy. He wouldn't lock me away…” you said defiantly, raising your chin.

He releases your chin and steps back, something cold hardening in his expression. “Your Caleb, huh? That sounds like some kind of ideal to me. He sounds like a spineless, love sick idiot who’s willing to risk your life for you to be happy.”

He begins to pace in front of you, his expression turning bitter as he says, “You think he would’ve preferred letting you run around, putting yourself in danger, all because of what?! Your happiness?”

“But I loved that Caleb, I still do. I couldn't give a shit if he was a spineless, love sick idiot. He was my Caleb and I'd have him no other way,” you say loyally, your voice quiet but unwavering.

He freezes, something painful flashing across his expression before he quickly turns from you. One of his hands clenches into a fist as he snaps, “Well that Caleb is dead and gone.” He’s stiff, his shoulders are tense, a muscle in his jaw moving as he stands silently.

Even though he’s turned away from him, your face doesn’t hide your disappointment, “Clearly,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. You can’t help the sliver of satisfaction that you feel as he clenches his jaw, teeth gritting. 

“So why do you keep talking about him? He’s dead, and everything you want doesn’t matter anymore.” He turns and walks towards you, standing just in front of you with a bitter, cold expression. His voice is fragile as he asks you, “Why can’t you stop talking about him and see me?”

You hold no anger, only pity for him, “Because you’re trying to force me to see you, to choose you over everything else in my life. You’re making yourself the bad guy.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter and harsh. “The bad guy? Is that what you think I am?”

‘Caleb’ cups a hand on your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are hard, no trace of the soft, kind boy you used to know.

“Let me tell you what I think, sweetheart. I think your judgement is clouded by sentiment. Your idea of who your old Caleb is has blinded you, your idea for who I should be.”

That was your breaking point, “Well maybe it’s because I’m locked in this house and now I’m not allowed to see my friends, to go places, hell, I’m not even allowed to go outside,” you spat, glaring up at Cal- no, the Colonel. 

He scoffs and gently pushes you back down into the couch, his expression angry as he says, “You expect me to care? You’re not miserable. You’re not hungry, you’re not uncomfortable. You have everything here, but all you can focus on is that you’re missing your freedom, like some kind of animal.”

He shakes his head and looks away, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’re lucky I even let you have this much. You could be locked up, actually locked up in a cell with no contact.”

Your eyes narrow, an expression of disgust on your face, “You’re right my Caleb is dead,” you grit out, brushing past him to your room. 

His jaw tightens, annoyance clear in his expression as he yells after you, “And what does that mean? Your Caleb is dead, sweetheart. This is the only version of me you’ll ever have now.”

Turning back, you bare your teeth, “I might not die out there, but I sure as hell will wither away in here. Thank you, Colonel, I feel so safe,” you spat the title out venomously, slamming the door, paying no mind to his recoil at the rank.

He lets out a low growl and slams a hand on the door, his voice rising in a sharp, cold snap. “You’re going to open this door right now.”

“We don't all get what we want, Colonel,” you say, voice empty as you glare at the door.  “Remember? Safety over happiness?”

He steps back and takes a deep, calming breath. With sharp, angry strides, he walks into the living room and sits on the couch, every movement radiating anger.

“Happiness will pass,” he grinds out, his gaze cold as steel fixated on the wall. “Safety is permanent.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Over the next 2 days, fury is the only thing you feel, it consumes you. You don’t sleep, don’t eat, you can’t breathe from the anger running through your veins. After the first couple of hours, your room is completely trashed, everything that decorated her room was either broken or on the floor. Your books were bent, pages torn out and crumpled. Your plants were turned on their sides, pots broken as soil spilled out. Pictures of Caleb and you, drawings you had made of each other, laughed over were taken out of their frames and torn to pieces, the frames crumpled and dented. The pretty vase of flowers Caleb got you? Smashed to pieces, the petals shredded and stems ripped. The pillows and blankets you bought together? Ripped, the stuffing leaking, just how your pain leaked oozed from every pore. The jackets, shirts, and sweatshirts he gave you were tossed in the hall. Every gift he ever got you was either broken, ripped, shredded or shoved away from your sight. Everything you enjoyed was broken beyond repair.

Even the plushies weren’t safe from your wrath, a couple being so dented from how many times your fist flew into the soft material. The only thing that remained untouched was a dinosaur model that the two of you spent nearly a week on before he “died”. It was also the first time he ever kissed you, right after he placed the final piece, he jumped up, excited, pure joy on his face as Caleb spun you around and next thing you knew, his lips were on yours.

Now, you couldn’t even look at it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of crushing it, so it sat on the windowsill, hidden behind the blinds that were always shut tightly, preventing any glimpse of the outside.

The Colonel didn’t do that, you did. You couldn’t bear to see freedom so close, yet so far. The sun would shine on the grass and trees outside your window, birds flying over and nesting in the big oak tree in the back. Each night, when the sun set, the sky would be ablaze with the most vibrant pinks, purples, and oranges. Wispy clouds trailed their fingertips through the sea of the sky, curling around each other and floating whichever way the wind carried them. 

You felt like a caged animal, being taunted by having to watch your freedom and life slip past right in front of you.

On day 2, you realized that your anger wasn’t getting you free. Defeated, you fell back onto your mattress, a heavy weight on your chest, like this invisible force was smothering you. 

You couldn’t cry, it was like the comfort of tears had forsaken you as well as the life you were once so excited to continue, adventuring around the planet freely, meeting people, fighting wanderers and just having the freedom to make your own decisions. 

You just felt so empty, the anger had burned out all of your motivation, all of your feelings, leaving you a hollow, blank shell. 

A part of you died with Caleb when he vanished in the explosion, coming back as someone you could barely recognize. Your mind was tricked by his physical appearance that you didn’t notice that the kindness and joy had all been leached out. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, lost in your own mind before the door opened. Even though you didn’t look, you could still sense he was standing there.

You didn’t react, not when he sucked in a breath at the mess, not when he came closer or when he peered at you.

“Come, I made you food,” he says stiffly, eyes sweeping over the crushed memories, precious items that weren’t too special to anyone except you.

Standing up, you avoided his eyes and walked past him, shoulders curled inwards as you sat down in front of the plate set up for you.

You couldn’t even feel your hunger, your mouth didn’t water as the scent of his braised chicken wings filled the air. Sides of wonton soup, Har gow, and stir fry sat on the counter, all your favorites.

You ate robotically, the food turning to ash in your mouth. Normally when you ate Caleb’s cooking, you’d be shoveling it in your mouth as fast as possible, trying to eat as much as you could before you got a stomach ache.

But normally you wouldn’t be locked inside.

You could tell Cale-, no, Colonel was a little concerned as he watched you eat slowly, completely blank, a harsh contrast from your torn apart room. 

He cleared his throat, “Is the food okay?” The Colonel asks, his voice hesitant. 

“S’fine,” you muttered, staring at the plate.

He didn’t try to talk to you again but he sat there, watching you with sharp eyes.

After you finished, you took your dishes over, rinsing the residue off and setting them next to the sink before you went back to your room, shrinking away from the windows, like a phantom.

And that’s what you were, a ghost, a wraith. A spirit that haunts the halls of the house, staring blankly for hours on end. And wherever she drifts, the curtains fall shut, clouding the house in darkness once more. Darkness that was reflected under your eyes.

You grow paler, thinner, your hair messy and clothes hanging off your body like rags. You only ate when he made you, only slept when he made you, only spoke when he asked you something. All your other time was spent locked in your mind, staring off into space. 

The Colonel had attempted to bring you back to life. He had cleaned up most of your room, replaced books, framed new pictures, and bought you new pillows and blankets. He tried to talk to you, tried to get you to do things together, but you only responded with simple answers or refusal. 

He tried to get you to cook with him, playing music while he waited for you to come out of your room and help him or even just sit at the counter. He tried to give you new plants, but you never watered them, your room was already too dark for them to live long. He gave you all the comforts you could want, but nothing changed.

A cage was still a cage no matter how pretty it was.

Only you couldn’t bear to look outside of it. 

You could tell the Colonel was getting frustrated, he stopped trying to sweet talk you into spending time with him or having a conversation. He stopped putting so much effort into cooking, realizing that you weren’t enjoying it. He stopped trying to breathe life into your room, stopped adding old pictures, stopped setting plants on the shelf, leaving the other ones to wilt away.

It was ironic, you and the plants were both wilting away from the sun, dying slowly.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Like usual, you were laying on your bed, looking at the ceiling and imagining the bright blue sky and the fluffy clouds with birds flying overhead, trying to bring you some comfort, to ground you and to bring you some form of happiness.

It had been months. Five months since you’ve been outside, five months since you’ve seen anyone but him, five months since you’ve seen anything else but the same walls. 

You didn’t care anymore, you barely ate, just laid in bed, numb. Your hands were bloody from how often you picked your cuticles, your nails were just nubs, bitten down to the skin. Every time anything would scab over, you picked it immediately. 

It was a reminder, a reminder that you were still real, that you could feel, no matter how much you didn’t want to. No matter how many times that she felt like she wasn’t here, the pain would bring her crashing back down. 

He watched your slow retreat over the next few months. As much as he tried to talk to you, to coax you back to something like your old self, he made no ground. You were like a shell of your former self, just a hollow echo with no fire in its soul. 

With every week that passed, he grew more and more desperate. He tried bringing your favorite foods in, tried to talk you into listening to music again, but none of it had any effect.

He tried to keep a blank expression around you, but as the months passed and he noticed that you were beginning to wilt away, the hard lines in his expression would soften to concern.

He attempted to give you things to do, books to read and such, but everytime he was met with either you ignoring him or just reading the words without actually comprehending them. 

By the time a couple of months had passed, your old self was gone, replaced with this empty, soulless shell.

After another month, he was at his wit’s end. You never talked, you never attempted to do anything, you were just a shell. All your fire, your brightness, your life, was gone. 

He watched over you constantly, his worry and agitation growing. It was like he was taking care of a robot or a puppet, rather than the person he loved. 

On one particular day, he stands in front of you with a conflicted look on his face as he says, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You just walked by him towards your room, “I told you.”

He follows you into the room, his expression hardening as he says, “Don’t you even care anymore? You’ve given up on everything.”

“No, I don’t care.”

He scoffs in disbelief, crossing his arms. “Damn it, you’re not even going to try and fight this?” he says, his voice sharp and bitter.

You sigh, finally turning to him, “There’s no point.”

He goes silent, his gaze fixed on you, taking in your changed appearance. There was a time when he would’ve admired everything about you, how fiery you were, how full of life. 

Now, now you were thin and limp and lifeless. Like a puppet without its strings, he felt like he’d broken you down to nothing but a shell of your former self.

After a few moments, he lets out a sigh and mutters, “You look terrible.”

“I'm safe,” you say simply, her words having no bite, just as lifeless as you. Crawling into bed, you faced the ceiling.

He squeezes his eyes shut as you speak, his heart twisting in his chest at your tone. 

He’s never heard you sound so lifeless before, so dull, almost like everything inside you has died. His hand gently shifts to the nape of your neck, his touch almost tender.

“This isn’t what I wanted. You’re acting like a doll, not like yourself.”

You turned away from him, “My safety matters most,” you say robotically.

He falls silent. It was a statement he had said, and yet… 

He sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Safety isn’t everything. What’s the point if you’re left miserable?” he said tiredly.

You didn’t bother agreeing, not when it took him this long to understand.

He runs a hand through his hair and scoffs, anger rising in him. “You’re supposed to argue! You’re supposed to get mad at me, yell at me!”

The Colonel’s hand clenches into a fist and he looks down at you, irritation filling his gaze. “You’re not this, you’re supposed to be all bright and happy, damn it!”

“I tried,” you mutter.

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You tried? Hah. You didn’t even fight it in the end, you just let yourself crumble and now I’m stuck with this-“ he waves a hand at you, “-this empty husk.”

You gave him a tired look, “I can’t fight forever.”

He sighs and shakes his head, his expression growing cold. “Bullshit. You could’ve kept fighting, you could’ve still been resisting but instead you just… gave up.”

His lip curls into a sneer, his anger flaring. “You just gave up and let me break you.”

“I just wanted to go outside,” you say, your voice broken as you turn towards the closed curtain.

His expression twists into a scowl, his anger still there but more muted. He takes a step forward, his gaze on you as he says, “Outside? That’s what this is about? You want to go out there? Do you have any idea what’s like for you outside? Why do I have to keep you here? It’s for your own safety. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t want to live anymore,” you whisper, completely and utterly broken.

He’s taken aback, his anger instantly vanishing into thin air. He stands there in stunned silence, his jaw clenched tightly. The words hit him like a freight train, each syllable a sharp stab into their chests. He knew, he knew he’d driven you to the brink of depression, but hearing it out loud… he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there. “You don’t mean that,” he finally murmurs.

The Colonel comes forward and kneels at the side of the bed, reaching out a hand slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare you away. He gently brushes a strand of your hair away from your face, his touch a tender, gentle one. “You can’t mean that,” he says again, his voice quiet and broken, “Tell me you didn’t mean that.”

You shake your head, “I’m done.”

He takes your hand in his, clasping it firmly on his own. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading. “Don’t say that. You’re not done. You’re just lost, I can help you find your way back, I can fix this, I can fix you.”

You avoid his gaze, “I don’t think anyone can.”

He refuses to believe that, his grip on your hand tightening as he says firmly, “I can. Anything that can be broken can be fixed. You’re just… confused. I can help you, I can fix you.”

“It’s been months.”

He can’t deny that, and he knows it. It was his fault, his fault that you were like this. Still, he shakes his head and looks you in the eye, determined. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. You’re broken, and I’m going to fix you. I don’t care what I have to do.”

He releases your hand and stands, towering over you with a determined expression. “I will fix you,” he repeats firmly, his jaw clenched tight. “I just need to find the right method. I’ll fix you. You just have to let me.”

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whispered shakily.

The Colonel scoffs, his impatience flaring. “You don’t get to decide that. I know you’re in there, somewhere, you’re just hiding! You’re just…” He rubs a hand down his face, his frustration growing as he tries to find the right words. “You just need to be reminded of what you had. What we had.”

“I had a life.”

He looks at you, his expression hardening. “You have a life. You’re alive. You’re living, breathing, safe. That’s what matters, not you going out and running risks.”

“There’s nothing left for me,” you say, picking at your bloody hands, trying to ground yourself.

He grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him as he says, “Are you listening to yourself? We’ve been through so much. You are my world, my everything. I love you with all my heart. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand?”

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes hardening, “Why can’t you understand me?”

He shakes you a little, his fingers almost digging into your shoulders. “I’m trying!” he growls out, his anger flaring again. “But you’re just so damn stubborn, refusing to listen and understand what I’m doing is for your own good.”

And just like a flip of a switch you turn away from him, the little emotion and vulnerability you showed vanished, tucked away and extinguished. 

He’s left standing there, your expressionless body turned away from him. Frustration, irritation, anger, helplessness, guilt, all well up inside him. In a moment of blind frustration, he grabs a nearby pillow and lets out a yell as he throws it across the room.

You don’t react, don’t flinch, you just lie there, already retreating back into the corner of your mind. 

He stands and stares at your still body for a few moments, his chest heaving. He wants to shake you, to yell at you, to get something back, any semblance of his beloved and fiery girlfriend. But you’ve already retreated back into your emotionless shell, leaving him standing there and feeling more powerless than ever.

He falls to his knees and presses his palms to his eyes, his mind spinning as his emotions overwhelm him. The guilt in his chest is threatening to choke him, the sight of you lying there, barely even alive, all his fault. At that moment, he doesn’t feel like a man, much less a military colonel. He just feels like a boy who had broken the woman he loved into nothing. The woman who loved him even when he didn’t deserve it. The woman who had always been there, letting him cry on his shoulder ever since they were kids. 

You try to drown him out, picking at the peeling scabs on your fingers, staring at the covered window.

He drops his hands from his face, his expression tired, guilt, frustration, and even self loathing filling his gaze. He rises slowly and comes to stand by you, his movements almost wary. He eyes your body on the bed, so thin and pale, and his hand automatically comes out to touch your hair like he’s done a hundred times before, but he hesitates, his hand hovering just above your head.

Without warning, you feel his arms around you, picking you up. You don’t ask, don’t protest, don’t even move, just lie there in his arms, eyes staring straight forward.

He picks you up bridal style, one arm under your thighs and the other under your shoulders. Your frame is too light in his arms as he heads out of the room with you. You’re limp, pliant as a doll, as he carries you through the house.

He walks outside and down the porch steps, his footsteps quick and precise as he walks across the lawn to the other side of his sprawling property. 

As soon as the fresh air hits you, you tense, squinting at the sun. 

You were outside.

You were outside for the first time in nearly 6 months. It was better than you ever could’ve dreamed. The smell of grass and fresh air fills your senses. You could hear the steady pace of the Colonel’s feet as he walked through the field, could hear the chirp of the birds, could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind. The warmth of the sun shone on your skin, a sharp contrast from the artificial temperature of the AC or heater.

He sees tension take over your limbs, your gaze squinting up at the sunlight. He’s hit with another wave of guilt, realizing that this might be the first time in months you’d been outside, in the sunlight.

Your eyes dart around, observing everything you can, eyes wide like this was your last chance to take it all in. 

He carries you to the big oak tree at the end of his property, overlooking the hills and valleys towards the sun that was slowly sinking towards the horizon.

He gently sets you down in the shade, sitting a little bit behind you, leaving you to soak up what you’d been missing.

Instantly, your hands thread through the grass, clutching it like a lifeline. Your eyes are glued to the scenery in front of you. Rolling hills of all shades of green, from a deep hunter to a pale lime, trees and shrubs scattered the valleys, framing the thin silvery stream running down the middle. Wildflowers and weeds dotted the fields, their bright bursts of yellow, purples, oranges, and reds making the crystal sky so much clearer. Big fluffy tufts of white floated leisurely along the heavens, breaking up the sun into bright patches, shining on the bright grass below.

You're so absorbed in looking around that you don’t feel the tears dripping down her face, hands shaking from your tight grip on the poor grass.

Once you let in a shaky breath, he pauses, eyeing you like a ticking time bomb. His eyes widen as the realization hits him, watching the tears roll down your cheeks. He hadn’t seen you cry in years, ever since you had failed that test before you graduated. In all the time he knew you, you’ve been strong and fiery, fighting against the challenges that life handed to you. He can’t remember the last time he saw you cry, and seeing you now… he hates the sight of it.

He moves closer, his arms encircling you, his chest firm against your back. He leans you against him, his chin resting on top of your head. He murmurs softly, “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re outside.”

In your moment of weakness, you lean back into him, tears coming faster as you choked out, “It’s so fucking pretty.”

He can’t stop the frown on his expression as you cry, your body shuddering. It hurts, more than anything else, seeing you cry. He pulls you closer, one of his hands gently stroking your hair as he murmurs, “It’s just the same old trees and grass. You’ve seen them before.”

You shake your head, unable to express the rawness of your feelings, only able to clutch his arm as you sobbed. Your relief at being able to feel the world again, it was overwhelming. But so was the fear, the fear that it’d be snatched away again.

His frown deepens as he watches you, feeling even more guilty as he continues to hear you cry. He pulls you into his lap, one of his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed against him. His other hand continues to stroke your hair, his voice quiet as he murmurs, “It’s okay… cry it out, sweetheart.”

You nestle yourself back into his chest, unable to tear your eyes away, “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He follows your gaze, staring out at the horizon, a pang hitting his heart as he’s reminded of how you used to look at everything with wonder. His arms wrap a little tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, “And to think… you’ve been living without this for months.”

You flinch slightly at his words, sniffling and trying to hold your sobs in.

The bitter irony of the situation hits him harder than anything. Months of keeping you safe, of keeping you inside, all to keep you protected, but now just the act of you sitting outside is enough to bring you alive. He turns his gaze back to you, taking in your tear stained face, his jaw clenching tight in frustration at himself and this whole situation.

You nod, getting distracted as you see the birds flying overhead, going to their nest in the tree above your head. Letting out shaky breaths, you try to stabilize yourself, not wanting to scare the creatures away.

He shifts closer to you, keeping a slight distance, but still within arms reach. He follows your gaze to the birds and grimaces again. 

His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he asks, “You want to get closer to them, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your voice a rasp, “No, I don’t want to scare them away.”

He lets out a soft huff, his gaze softening as he hears your raspy voice again. It’s the most he’s heard you speak today, if not in days.

He watches you for a few moments, noticing the slight tremble in your hands, before his voice is soft, almost pleading, “You’re trembling, darling.” His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out to comfort you, but he restrains himself. “Let me hold you. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

His voice has a hint of desperation in it now, seeing the tremble in your body. It pains him to see you like this, especially considering it’s all because of him. 

He moves closer, slowly, his hand hovering over your shoulder, “Please. Let me hold you, sweetheart.”

“I just need to see,” you plead, voice cracking. 

He clenches his jaw, closing his eyes to keep himself from losing it when he hears your words. He knows you’re not just talking about the birds, that this is about needing space, needing freedom.

And it kills him.

He reaches out anyway, unable to stand the sight of your trembling hands. He gently grabs your shoulders and pulls you back, positioning you so you’re leaning against his chest.

He holds you against his chest tightly, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He buries his face in your hair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to regain control of himself. 

He can’t help the broken words that escape him as he whispers, his voice strangled, “Oh sweetheart, what did I do to you…?”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his chest tight as he feels your body tremble against his. His voice is desperate as he speaks, his heart feeling like it’s being shredded with every word, “Please, please *please* don't be like this anymore. I need you to smile, to laugh, to yell at me, *anything* at this point. That blank look, the silence… it’s killing me.”

“I’ll try, just- just don’t keep me in there,” you beg.

He lets out a choked noise, his hold on you tightening a bit. He’d do anything to bring the life back into your eyes, to hear your voice. 

His voice is strained as he says, his head resting on your shoulder, “Anything you want, sweetheart. You won’t be locked in anywhere again, I promise. Just please… stop being like this. I need you back… you.”

He shifts, gently turning you so you’re facing him. His eyes roam your expression, taking in the tear tracks, the broken eyes, the trembling body. He lifts his hand, gently wiping at your cheeks and wiping away the tears. His voice is a strangled plea as he says, his fingers tracing your cheek tenderly, “Please… stop crying.”

He reaches up a hand, gently wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “I hate seeing you cry,” he murmurs, his expression still full of guilt as he continues, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You should smile, not sit here sobbing.”

He gently turns you around, tilting your chin up to see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t cry before I came out here,” your voice broke, “I couldn’t even feel anything.”

He shakes his head and holds you tighter, guilt continuing to build inside him. “You shouldn’t cry like this… you should be happy, enjoying the fresh air. Not crying over the very simple things I’ve taken away from you.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head on top of yours as he continues stroking your hair. He murmurs, “I knew you’d be happy to be outside, I knew it’d be different… I just didn’t know it’d be like this. I didn’t think you’d be crying like your world finally came back.”

“I just-“ his voice breaks off as he tries to find the words to say, guilt and frustration and regret warring within him. He takes in every detail of your form, and the guilt washes over him in waves. He feels like he’s broken you, even as he holds you tightly in his arms.

He holds you tighter at your words, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. Your words are like a dagger to his heart; the way you try to reassure *him* with them instead of the other way around.

His grip on you almost becomes bruising as he speaks, his voice rough, “You’re free, darling. You’re safe. I won’t ever lock you away again, I promise.”

The guilt is so strong he’s nauseous, trying to keep himself together as he keeps you in his lap, trying to savor every second of this. Knowing that you probably hate him, but can’t even fight him in this moment, just sitting there and crying and staring out at the world he locked you away from. He knows that he’s changed your life forever, and he can’t even blame you for hating him right now.

You pause, hiccupping and debating your next words, “Thank you… Caleb,” you say hesitantly, lingering a bit longer on the syllables of his name. Syllables you hadn’t said in months, hell, you hadn’t even let yourself think of the name unless it was about the old Caleb.

Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise, and he almost doesn’t reply for a moment due to shock. He didn’t think he’d be hearing you saying his name, let alone thanking him. He takes a second to swallow the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “You’re thanking me…?”

The sun starts to slip below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze. Magnificent reds and orange and pinks lighting up the pale sky, dark clouds acting like smoke. It almost looked like the sun was melting, setting the green, lush valley on fire below. 

Your sobs slow to hiccups, body shuddering.

His hand continues to rub your back gently as he feels your sobs slow down, the sound being replaced with hiccups. He presses a gentle kiss to your head again, his hold on you still tight.

He murmurs quietly into your ear as he speaks, his voice still ragged, “That’s right, just breathe, pips. Take deep breaths…. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

He cradles you against him, holding you tightly as you rest your head against his chest. He buries his face in your hair again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

His thumb rubs your arm tenderly, the motion gentle and almost soothing. He sits there silently, listening to the sound of your ragged breaths slowly even out.

Caleb’s suddenly hit with the realization that he’ll most likely have to bring you back inside eventually, and he lets out a silent grimace at the thought of it. A heavy feeling settles in his chest, the thought of making you go back to that emotionless, depressed shell of yourself making him feel nauseous. He tries to ignore it, shoving that thought away and focusing on his hand stroking your hair. He takes in a deep breath and murmurs, “Sweetheart?”

“Hm?” You murmur, nearly half asleep against him, watching the setting sun. 

He takes another deep breath, steeling his nerves and continuing, his voice low and steady. “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

Caleb gently turns your chin to face him, taking another deep breath and looks you dead in the eye, his gaze fierce and determined as he asks, “If it wasn’t for me, if you were free to do whatever, go wherever you wanted… would you leave me?”

You hesitate, afraid that he wouldn’t like your answer, “If I could do whatever I wanted, I’d stay with you, just not holed up in the house forever.”

He relaxes fractionally, the tense lines in his expression smoothening just a bit, but his jaw is still clenched tight. His next question comes out hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer. “You… would stay with me, but not if I kept you inside like this, correct?”

You nod, not knowing what else to say.

There’s an undeniable sense of relief in his expression, a weight seemingly lifted off his chest at your response. He takes another deep breath, his voice a low murmur as he continues with the questions. “So, if I told you I’d let you go out as long as you promise me you’d come home every night…?”

“Then I’d stay,” you whispered, afraid to get your hopes up.

Caleb watches you, his gaze sharp and serious. He lets out a shaky exhale, feeling almost like he’s on the verge of a panic attack with how fast his heart is racing. His hand is shaking on your chin, but he manages to keep his expression as steady as possible as he continues, “No matter what, you promise you’ll come back. You promise you won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” you murmur, your voice shaky with hope.

His hand on your chin slowly relaxes, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He holds your gaze for a few more seconds, staring at your face intently. After a moment, he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

Your face lights up and you spin around, crushing him in a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Caleb.”

He lets out a surprised huff, but his body immediately relaxes, and he wraps his arms tight around you in return. He burrows his head into your shoulder as your arms cling to him, his own hands gripping your shirt in a vice-like grip. For a few moments, he just sits there, revelling in the feeling of you holding him tight, those words you said bouncing around in his head. He was finally getting you back, even though it wasn’t much, it was still progress.

He’s on the verge of sobbing, but he manages to compose himself, instead holding you tighter and asking, “You swear you’ll come back? Every night, you swear it?”

Nodding frantically, you refuse to let go, your face buried in his shirt.

Caleb lets out a shaky exhale, his eyes clamped shut as he leans down and presses his forehead against your hair. He murmurs into it, his voice low and hoarse, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve done that to you.”

His body is tense against yours, his arms holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He continues his murmured apologies, a mix of guilt and desperation lacing his words. He continues to bury his face into your hair, his voice now rough and hoarse. “I never should’ve done that to you, I should never have kept you locked up and trapped like that. It was never meant to be that way, I just… I just wanted to keep you safe, but I ended up destroying you. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You're nearly too dizzy from your newfound freedom to respond, barely choking out, “S’okay, we’re okay, I’m okay.”

He can’t help it, a harsh sob escaping from his lips at your words. He can’t stop himself as he pulls you closer, burrowing his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder, his words coming out choppy and broken as he speaks through his tears. “No, no, it’s not okay, it’s not okay. I was supposed to be your protector, but I ended up hurting you worse than I probably protected you.” Caleb’s hold on you tightens even more, almost borderline painful in how much his fingers dig into your flesh. He’s crying now, full on crying, something he hadn’t done in years. He presses his face into your neck, his entire body shaking as he murmurs through his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You were slightly surprised at his clinginess, but nonetheless, you gently raked your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe the broken boy holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

Caleb buries his face into your neck, his breaths coming out in hiccuping sobs, his tears wetting your skin as he continues to mumble, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s completely crumbling in your arms, the strong, stoic facade he had for the past months shattering and crumbling to pieces. He buries his face into your neck, his body shaking uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving with sobs as he holds onto you like a lifeline and repeats his apologies over and over again. “Please, please… don’t leave me... please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry…”

“Shh, you’re okay baby, you’re okay. I’ve got you, I ain’t going nowhere,” you soothe, your voice hoarse from your own crying session.

He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries his best to quell the sobs still escaping him. His breath is hot and ragged, his grip on you still painfully tight. He manages to control it enough to stop the sobs, now he’s shuddering slightly as he whispers, “Baby… don’t hate me… don’t leave me…”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, no matter what you do,” you admit, voice shaking. “C’mon, you wanna go inside? It’s getting dark and cold out.”

He lets out a shaky exhale at your words, a wave of relief and gratitude passing over him. He takes a moment to collect himself, before letting out a deep exhale and nodding, his voice still trembling as he murmurs, “Yeah, let’s go inside…” and begins the slow process of detaching his limbs from around you and standing up.

Caleb lifts you up like you weigh nothing, both of you leaning on each other and hands interlaced as you head back towards the house.

He carries you most of the way, refusing to let you get your feet muddy, pausing as he holds you in the living room, “Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart? Where do you want to sleep?”

“Your bed, just leave the window and door open… please,” you murmur, barely opening your eyes.

He nods silently, his grip on you shifting slightly so he can readjust his hold.Caleb then begins walking down the hallway, making his way to his room. Once in the room, he walks to the bed and gently sets you down on it, shifting a bit so he’s sitting next to you. He pauses there, simply looking at you for a few seconds before speaking, “I’ll get the window and door, alright darling?”

You nod, curling into his bed and inhaling the scent of him.

He stands, reluctantly letting go of you so he can walk around the room, opening the window and the door before turning back to you.

He looks at you again, hesitating for a few moments before murmuring, “I’ll be right outside. Just… call for me if you need me, okay?”

You sit up, confused, “Where do you think you’re going?”

He pauses at that, looking at you for a few moments before answering, his voice soft, “Just outside the room, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you, I’m just… staying out there, in case you need me.”

“Damn right you're not leaving me, now get in the bed,” you say firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter at the command, his heart feeling just a little lighter at the bossy tone you were using.

Caleb walks over to the bed and slowly lays down across it, staying as close to the edge as he can, still keeping his distance from you.

You huff, amused at his cautiousness. You scoot over and pull him towards the center of the bed, staying close to him just like you did befor- no, don’t think of that, he’s here and you’re free.

He lets out another soft huff, unable to fight the small smile that appears at your actions. He slides across the bed until he’s directly next to you, though he keeps his hands to himself, not making any move to touch you.

You wrap your arms around him tightly, resting your head on his chest, using him as a squishie.

He tenses momentarily at your sudden move, before relaxing and letting you wrap yourself around him, a soft huff escaping him, “You broke all your plushies so you're using me as one.”

You shrug, holding him tighter, “Maybee.”

Caleb chuckles, “Don’t worry, we can go to the arcade sometime this week, maybe go shopping or out to eat and I’ll get you more, a bunch more.”

Letting out a content hum and melt into him, closing your eyes.

He slowly relaxes further, his arms slowly lifting and wrapping around you in turn. He holds you against him, one hand gently resting on your back and the other in your hair, his fingers running through the soft strands. Caleb’s hand runs down your back in tender motions, his touch tender, almost worshipful as his fingers softly trace across your back. He listens to your breathing, letting it soothe his nerves, his grip on you slowly tightening as he continues to run his fingers through your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper, half asleep.

He pulls you closer to him as you speak, his breath shaky as he absorbs the weight of your words, the feel of your body against his, how you’re willingly staying in his arms, how you say his name.

His grip tightens even more, almost painful, desperate to know that this is real, that you’re not going to disappear. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, his words quiet, barely more than a whisper, “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

As you drift off, he closes his eyes, listening to your soft, even breathing. The sound is like a balm to his soul. He lets himself doze in and out of sleep, too happy to see you like this to allow himself to rest completely. 

His arms loosen a bit, enough so he can maneuver his body so that his entire upper half is wrapped around you, almost shielding you from the world itself. And he would continue to, he’d continue to shield you from the harsh world, but, he wouldn’t imprison you, wouldn’t try to tame you. He’d let you burn, even if you incinerated him, he’d die with a smile on your face. Because he was your Caleb, no matter what could happen.

[thirteenheavens]

Hi! I’m new here but I LOVE your work! If you have a chance could you do a losing their v card to Vernon? Thank you! Have a good day!

Take things slow|| Chwe Vernon ♤

Notes: I know I’ve already kinda done this but I wanted to write it better enjoy anon thank you!!

You lay back on the bed, your heart racing as Vernon hovers above you. His eyes are dark with desire, but there's a gentle softness in his gaze as he takes in your nervous expression. "Hey," he says softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

You nod, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. "I'm sure," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. "I want to give myself to you." Vernon kisses you deeply, his body pressing against yours as he slowly begins to undress you. His fingers are gentle and careful, exploring your bare skin as if committing it to memory.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone. "I've wanted this for so long." He pauses to look at you again, his expression filled with love and tenderness. "I'll be gentle," he promises, sliding his hands down your sides to grip your hips. "Just tell me if it hurts or if you want to stop." Vernon reaches for the condom on the nightstand, his hands slightly trembling with anticipation. He tears open the package and rolls it on with practiced ease, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I want this to be perfect for you," he says softly, positioning himself between your legs. "I want to make you feel amazing." He lines himself up at your entrance, pausing to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "Are you ready?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You nod again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you brace yourself. Vernon slowly pushes inside, being as gentle as possible as he feels your walls stretch to accommodate him.

"Oh god," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "You feel so good, baby." As Vernon enters you, you can't help but yelp in a mix of pain and pleasure. He freezes immediately, his muscles tense with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, his voice strained with effort. "Should I stop?" You shake your head, panting heavily. "No, don't stop," you manage to say between breaths. "Just... give me a moment." Vernon holds still, his body trembling with the effort of staying motionless. He peppers your face with kisses, murmuring sweet nothings to help you relax.

"Take your time," he whispers, stroking your hair gently. "I've got you, baby. Just breathe." Vernon continues to kiss your neck, his lips soft and gentle against your sensitive skin. His hands roam your body, caressing your curves as he tries to distract you from any discomfort.

"You're doing so well," he praises, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so tight and perfect around me." His hips begin to move slowly, carefully testing your reactions. He can feel your body adjusting to his size, your walls fluttering around him as pleasure starts to override the pain.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice deep and husky. "Let yourself feel good. I want to make you come on my cock first." Your first moan spills from your lips, soft and needy, and Vernon's eyes darken with desire. He speeds up his movements slightly, encouraged by your reaction.

"Yes, baby," he groans, his hips snapping forward more firmly now. "That's it. Let me hear how good it feels." He reaches between your bodies to circle your clit with his thumb, his touch sending electric shocks of pleasure through your core. The sensation builds higher and higher as he thrusts into you, each movement more powerful than the last.

"I can feel you getting wetter," he pants, his fingers working your clit faster. "You're close, aren't you? Come for me, sweetheart." Vernon's thrusts become more intense, his control slipping as he chases both your pleasure and his own. His fingers continue to work your clit in perfect rhythm, his other hand gripping your hip tightly.

"Cum for me, baby," he growls, his voice deep and commanding. "Cum on my cock like a good girl." The combination of his words and skilled touch sends you spiraling over the edge. Your back arches off the bed as waves of ecstasy crash through you, your walls clenching around Vernon's length.

"That's it," he moans, his pace becoming erratic as he watches you fall apart beneath him. "You're so beautiful when you cum. So perfect." Vernon continues to thrust through your orgasm, his own climax approaching rapidly. His eyes are glazed with pleasure as he watches your body tremble beneath him.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his hips moving faster and more erratically now. "I'm not going to last much longer." He buries his face in your neck, his breath coming in short gasps as he pounds into you. His fingers dig into your skin, leaving marks as he tries to hold back his release.

"Where do you want me to come?" he manages to ask, his voice strained with need. "Tell me, baby." Vernon's hips stutter as he waits for your response, his body tense with the effort of holding back. The sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he struggles to maintain control.

"Inside me," you finally whisper, your voice trembling with desire. "I want to feel you inside me when you come." That's all the permission he needs. With a deep, guttural moan, Vernon lets go, spilling himself deep within you. His body shudders violently as he rides out his orgasm, his cock pulsing with each wave of pleasure.

"Fuck... Y-N..." he gasps, collapsing on top of you as he finishes. Vernon pulls out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. He disposes of the condom and then returns to you, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

"You did so well," he murmurs against your mouth, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "I'm so proud of you." He lays beside you, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His heartbeat gradually slows to normal as he basks in the afterglow, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your forehead and temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and contentment. "More than anything in this world."

[alltimecharlo]

I love all your will/mack content but I am LOVING the frat boy will content. It really just fits him so well. If you ever expand the verse it could be funny to see them in rival frats. And Mack’s trying to take the rivalry very seriously and Will is like … can we pls hookup I think I’m in love w you. But they have to sneak around ? That could be cute

amazing levels of wsh desperation here, i love it. thank you anon - fic under the cut!!! :)🩵

Will leans against the porch railing of his frat house, a half-full red solo cup dangling between two fingers, and watches the chaos across the lawn.

Sigma Delta Phi is throwing their usual Friday-night bash, all neon lights and thudding bass and shirtless guys on the roof howling along to throwback pop songs. It's a mess. It's always a mess. And across the street, Alpha Rho is doing their version of a party too—cooler lighting, tighter dress code, a line of people waiting to get in like it's a club downtown.

Will smirks. Mack's party.

Mack, president of Alpha Rho, king of the clean-cut, all-American jock types, is standing at the top of his frat house steps, arms crossed and jaw tight, glaring like he's trying to manifest an earthquake under Will's feet.

Will lifts his cup in a mock-toast. "Evening, sweetheart."

Mack flips him off.

God, he's cute when he's angry.

"You're not taking this seriously," Mack says later that week, when they run into each other by the gym.

Will is in joggers and a cropped hoodie, sweat-damp and flushed from a run. Mack looks like he just stepped out of a recruitment catalog: backwards cap, team jacket, those ridiculous thighs.

"Taking what seriously?"

"The rivalry."

Will raises an eyebrow. "You mean the fake little frat war you started because I stole your float idea for Greek Week?"

"You did steal it!"

"You put it in the group chat. That is not legally binding."

Mack makes a frustrated noise and stalks past him, but Will falls into step beside him, grinning.

"You're really cute when you're mad, you know that?"

"You're not funny."

"Debatable."

They don’t stop running into each other. The campus is small, the Greek life smaller. There’s meetings, fundraisers, mixers. Will keeps catching Mack looking at him across crowded rooms. Glaring, mostly. Occasionally staring. Once or twice blushing.

The first time it happens, it’s after a fraternity council meeting that ran too late. Everyone's tired and cranky and half the group peels off to get drinks. Mack walks past Will in the hallway with a muttered, "Still think your pledge class is weak."

Will grabs his sleeve and pulls him into an empty classroom.

"Say that again."

"What, that your pledges couldn't organize a bake sale without crying?"

Will kisses him.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It's teeth and heat and Mack making this low, shocked sound in his throat before he grabs Will by the hips and backs him into the wall.

They don’t talk about it after. Not really. Just text each other things like "study night?" or "I know you’re at the gym. Come over after."

Will knows he should care more about the secrecy. But honestly? The sneaking around part is kind of hot.

There’s a thrill in showing up to Mack’s frat house in a hoodie pulled low, slipping around the side entrance while some pledge is mopping the floor. In making out in closets during campus-wide events. In whispering insults at each other with mouths barely an inch apart.

But also, there’s the quiet stuff.

There’s the time Mack makes him pasta in the tiny Alpha Rho kitchen and doesn’t even complain when Will sits on the counter eating mozzarella straight from the bag.

There’s the night Will falls asleep on Mack’s couch after one too many rounds of Mario Kart and wakes up covered in a blanket and with Mack’s hoodie tucked around him.

And then there’s the moment it all tips over.

They’re at a joint fundraiser. Mack is working the dunk tank. Will is supposed to be manning the raffle table. But he keeps drifting closer, watching Mack get soaked over and over.

Mack catches him staring and calls out, "Why don’t you try, pretty boy? Afraid you’ll mess up your nails?"

The crowd laughs. Will grins and saunters over, digs into his wallet for a few crumpled bills.

He nails the target first try.

Mack goes under.

Later, soaked and grinning, Mack corners him behind the supply shed.

"You’re enjoying this too much."

Will shrugs. "What can I say? I like watching you get wet."

Mack groans like he's in pain. "You are impossible."

"And you love it."

Mack hesitates. For once, he doesn’t deflect.

He leans in and says, quiet and rough, "Yeah. I think I do."

Will blinks.

"Say that again?"

Mack presses his forehead to Will’s. "I think I’m in love with you, dumbass."

Will laughs. He kisses him. It's softer this time. Real.

Maybe rival frat presidents aren’t supposed to sneak around behind the scenes.

Maybe they're supposed to hate each other.

But Will is done pretending.

And it turns out, so is Mack.

♡

[aliwritex]

stepdad!franco thoughts: he crosses a line.

notes: this is more to myself than anything because no one asked for this but i’m having a baby fever so i needed this. baby’s name is Alex, he’s two.

You knew it was coming, Alex had been a little off all day, more sensitive than normal. You weren’t sure what it was but it had been building up for a couple days. That past week's post daycare routine hadn’t been easy. He was on the edge at all times, his pacifier almost always in his mouth as his blankie not leaving his fist.

It was friday night, so Franco had come over to your place for the weekend, like he usually did. So you were having dinner together, Alex sat on his high chair in the head of the table, you and Franco on each side.

You were trying to get Alex to eat something but he wasn’t having any of it, his eyes were wet already, and anytime you tried to feed him the spoon his lips quivered. Then Franco sighed, tired of the boy’s whines. You looked at him confused, wondering why he thought he could act like that about your child.

“Come on, Alex. It’s just dinner, not a big deal” Franco spoke and a frown formed on Alex's face immediately. “Jesus. Every little thing turns into a meltdown with him lately.”

You stopped in your tracks, dropping the plastic spoon on the plate as tears started rolling down his face. “What did you just say?”

Franco looked up. “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t talk about him like that, have you lost your mind?” you start, already pulling your crying child from his chair.

“There you go, you’re coddling him again so he just cries all the time. Maybe if you didn’t treat every single thing like it was a crisis-”

“Get out.” you cut him, getting up from the table.

That stopped him cold “What?”

“I said get out.” you told him again, pointing to the front door. “You don’t get to come into my house and talk about my child and my parenting choices!”

“Wait, come on, you know-“ he tried but you were already walking him towards the kitchen door.

“Franco, get the fuck out of my house!” you told him again, not even caring that you swore in front of the child that sat on your hip.

“Fine, I’ll go!” he told you, turning his back to you.

You stayed in the kitchen, holding Alex and only hearing Franco pick up his jacked and his keys before slamming the door on the way out. You also had tears in your eyes by the time he left. You sat Alex on the table, sitting in front of him and pulling his hands away from his face.

“Baby, it’s okay now, yeah?” his face was red and wet, it hurt you more than anything. “You’re okay, love. You’re just tired right? Having big feelings right now?”

Alex nodded, hugging your neck and wetting your hair with his tears. You held him close for the rest of the night, even while preparing his bottle. You let him skip his night bath, took him to your bed and fed him right there, letting him sleep in your embrace. And he was still hiccuping but the time he finally drifted off.

Franco texts you late that night but you’re not sure what. You ignored him.

But the next morning he comes to your door, full of bags, fresh breakfast from the bakery down the street and a wrapped gift.

“I fucked up” it’s the first thing he says “I know I should’ve never said anything about your son, I completely crossed a line, that’s not my place. I’m sorry I can be stubborn sometimes. I know it doesn’t fix it, but I’ve brought breakfast, chocolate croissant for him, and the gift I was saving for his birthday. I wanna apologize, please”

You took a deep breath, reading the honesty in his face. “He’s in my room, you can wake him up while I set the table.” you said and he sighed deeply, walking in through the door. You stopped him before he could make his way to the stairs, “He better really like that present. Be gentle with him and give him his paci back as soon as he wakes up” you said and passed it to his hand.

Franco made his way up slowly, his movements careful as he opened the door to your room, the lights were off, the only light coming in was from the window. He slowly made his way to the bed, lifting the covers to find Alex sleeping soundly. He pressed the pacifier to his lips, waiting for him to take it before sitting on the bed.

“Hey, nene. Good morning!” he whispered when Alex stirred. “I have something for you” Alex climbed on his lap, barely remembering what had happened the night before. “Pipe, I was mean last night, I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, okay? I’m really sorry”

“Bad Franco” he mumbled around his pacifier, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, I was bad. But now I’m apologizing, and I brought you something.” he told the child, holding him close on his lap as he reached for the box. “You wanna open it?”

Alex just nodded, still slow from the morning. He reached to rip out the wrapping and when he saw the print on the box his jaw dropped, the pacifier falling from his mouth. He turned back to Franco immediately, hugging his neck as thighs as possible.

“Do you like it?” Franco asked with a smile on his face. He felt the toddler nod on his shoulder before turning track to the box.

After Franco had opened the toy tool box and showed him how to use every single one of them he managed to lure Alex down stairs with the chocolate croissants. The table was set and he sat Alex on his chair before walking to you.

“Thanks for letting me do this. I’m really sorry for last night, I love you both so much, I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You really upset me last night, I’m hoping that won’t happen again, I’m not sure I could put up with that. You’re not his dad, you do not need to step into something like that. I just need you to be gentle and nice to him.” you whisper, too close to him.

“I promise. I love you and I love him. Please let me make it up”

“I love you too.” you whispered, kissing him softly.

[mediumgayitalian]

4 and 19 for the fic writer asks!!!!! <3

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

uhhh what havent i outlined and left hanging. lol. but i can tell you guys about the OTHER hades & persephone au i came up with??? i come up with a lot of things lol. and you can tell im in a mood. ACTUALLY NO ill share this really heinous and evil fic outline i have immediately post titan war:

- okay. - so. - after the battle of manhattan there were injured. there were their injured, dryad injured, and luke injured. - and the apollo cabin had been whittled down to one. - will was twelve years old. he had the making of a great healer but there was literally only so much his physical body could take — healing annabeth drained the verve from his body; by the time kronos was defeated will had done the same so many more times there was nothing left in his body. and even then he had to find more to give. - but there is a limit. - there comes a point in the days of recovery where will physically cannot move forward. he drops where he is, throwing up the nothing in his stomach, skin blistering. he’s close to death himself. he will recover, but he has nothing left to give. - chiron, as scared as he was at the start of the war, puts him to rest. he has no healers left. he cannot afford to lose this one: his youngest. - will is sick and delirious and GRIEVING, most of all, he is sick with it. every moment awake is spent sobbing, in pain and in misery. he catches chiron’s hand, half-coherent, as he wheels by; “Shrouds. The shrouds, where are the —” - chiron swallows and points him in the direction of a stack of folded fabric. it is white, and worn; light, oft-repaired linen, thin with use. - old bedsheets. - and will heaves. this cannot he how his siblings are sent away. so with the last of his strength and the light from the moon he drags himself off his bed, crawling to the stack; it is rough, and plain, and he imagines his bright, beautiful siblings shroud in it and cries. he can’t.

- but his hands are shaking. and he can’t see straight. and all he can find is a curved needle and sutures, and he does not know what to do. - so he prays. - he curls against the wood of the nurses station and beds hera, the homemaker, and hades, herder of the dead: he asks for strength, and skill, and the gods take pity on him. quietly strings of deep blue light and copper tendrils wrap around will’s arms, around his fingers. he picks up the needle and drags the first shroud off the pile, exhaling, mind numbing, and sews. the tendrils of light glow gentle and cooling, like faucet water, and for hours he sits, and embroiders. his hands move quickly and carefully and by the time the weeping sun rises again in the morning, nine shrouds line up end to end across the creaking wooden floorboards, stretching shining skies of blue, golden swirls of sunlight and clouds in thread as gold as the stars. chiron comes in exhausted himself and has to steady himself: will, half-conscious, fingers pricked and bleeding, work of the gods in his hands. - chiron gathers them. quietly. apollo’s children are wrapped with the utmost care, one after the other: when they are burned it smells of hyacinth, of laurels. will drags himself from his bed and watches from the door of the infirmary, sobbing.

- when the embers cool there is thread, among the coal. gold, like the sun, and black, like the ashes that remained. - later he sits with his friends. and they are complaining about the gods, about hera, who has ruined their lives. and will is quiet. and they ask, and he says, softer than sunrise: i will owe her as long as i live. as will i the lord of the dead. without their strength i would have had no dignity to send my siblings away. - anyways

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

jaunita's bar in nashville. for the road trip fic. it made me cry, actually. i am being so careful to be true to reality that it is kind of slowing my writing process. but thats okay. 

writing ask game

[novashelby]

Evie: The Origin Story-Chapter Two

Paring: Tommy & OC(Evelyn)-Father/daughter bond Word Count: 3,144 Warning: This story deals with child abuse, trauma, and dark themes. Please be cautioned before reading it Story Summary: War tainted, Tommy Shelby was slowly losing hope until he found it in the form of a young girl. Evelyn Walsh, just 8 years old, knew far too much about the cruel world they lived in. All she wanted was to be a child and all Tommy Shelby wanted was something to love, care for, and allow him to feel human once again. This is the origin story of Evelyn Rose Shelby, the adopted daughter of Tommy Shelby. Chapter Summary: Tommy walks Evie home and comes across the wicked witch herself, Cindy.

Links: Ao3 Wattpad As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you so much and please enjoy. Tag list: (If you want to be added or removed, please DM me. @evita-shelby @wonderlanddreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyswritings @rei-is-still-here @vivianleighwishesshewasme @littlemiss-arabella @cillianmurphysdimples @lavender-haze-01 @futurefamousdeadmusician @missmomof3 @copinghex

Offering to walk the girl home was questionable. The weather was temperamental, predictably, of course. Tommy sighed, pushing his gloved hands deep in his pockets, turning to the young girl. She had a poor excuse for a coat in the winter air and her feet were bare. Too close to the wet ground. He did his very best to keep at  her pace. For every step he took, she took double to keep up with him. “C’mon,” he said, not unkindly, but to hurry it up slightly. But when his eyes glanced down at her, he noticed her face red and nose wet. Sighing, he paused, kneeling to her level. His gloved hands grabbed her face, attempting affection, but from the girl’s sudden wince, he cursed himself for being so rough.  He loosened his grip, sighing, “where are your shoes?” She puffed out her cheeks, diverting her eyes off to the side, staring off in the distance. Tommy tapped her cheek. “Eh!? I asked, where are your shoes, eh? Your shoes! The things you wear on ya’ feet, hm?”

The raise of his voice startled her enough that she took a few steps back, whimpering. The man she’d felt so safe with suddenly held up to his reputation. Evie pushed his hands away and booked it up the dimly lit street. Tommy stayed kneeling for a moment, murmuring, “fookin’ ‘ell.” Standing, he beckoned her back. “Oi! C’mere, hm? Your feet! You can’t walk in the rain with no shoes-oi!” 

The girl turned, looking at him cautiously before folding her arms over her chest. “We’re friends, Mr. Shelby! But ya’ yellin’ at me! Friends don’t go yellin’ at friends-”

“Yelling?” he hollered back, baffled. He muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I wasn’t yelling.” Shaking it off, he let out a long sigh of frustration. “I’m sorry, alright? No more yelling, now come back here.”

“And you be a bit bossy, too!”

Tommy brows raised, “what?”  Under his breath, he said, “I’ll show you fookin’ bossy.” 

“Yeah, bossy. I dun like that very much.” He had to admit it, the girl sized him up better than most men his age. At that, he cracked a smile, chuckling to himself and rubbing his furrowed brow line. The little girl stood with a puffed chest and pouty lip. Tommy took gentle strides to her, outreaching his hand to gently hold her arm. 

Grabbing it without squeezing too hard, he directed her up the street. He promised not to yell anymore or be too bossy, which baffled him. He never considered himself at that moment bossy or yelling. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asked, not liking that she was walking the dirty Birmingham streets with no shoes. Knowing what was on the ground made him wince for her; piss, spit, city groot, and whatever else. Tommy waited for no answer and picked the girl up, allowing her to relax her sleepy head on his shoulder. Her arms and legs clung to him, and she snuggled so deep into his body that she felt this feeling of never wanting to let go. Smoke, rum, a woodsy aroma. That was his scent. Evie took in the hugest whiff to mark it forever in her memory just in case. Just in case that it’d be the last moment she’d ever see her friend, Thomas Shelby, again. 

Just as he turned up her road, Evie felt her eyes get heavy. He was too comfy not to fall asleep in, but he had to let her down so they could walk up to the flat. It was a run down building that most would find hardly livable. “Lead the way,” he said, nodding up the stairs and her tired little legs climbed up and up until they reached her flat. It was a tiny, worn down thing, and the lock on the door hardly worked. Tommy knocked. 

From the other side, there was cursing and grumbling. It sounded like a man and a woman fighting. Tommy pushed his ear up to the door, and narrowed his eyes to Evie, who just shrugged. “Mama don’t like when people interrupt her business.” 

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, pursing his lips, backing from the door. “Business has to be interrupted sometimes.” They were going at it; Cindy and the man. You said you got no fookin’ boyfriend-I don’t sleep with no fookin’ slag whores with fellas. Tommy quickly wrapped his arm around the girl’s head, blocking her ears and pressing her to his side. I don’t got no fucking man, I told you! Fucking get your hand off me-it’s the last time I’m paying for your fookin’ hollowed out cunt. Tommy cursed and pounded the door harder. “Oi!” he yelled, stress lines forming along his forehead and mouth,

From the other side, Cindy fought with her robe, naked underneath wearing only the grime and dirt from her work. And the man wrestled with his trousers and shirt, showing no decency in how he appeared. “Hold your fuckin’ ass, I’m comin’!” From across the hall, an elderly lady peeked out and Evie smiled. 

“She’s always yelling, that one! Has men in and out faster than a bank, I tell you!” Tommy turned and nodded, unsure of what to say. The elderly woman tightened her robe and pointed to Evie. “That one is always out all hours of the night! Causing a ruckus.”

Tommy looked down at Evie and smiled, mouthing, “a ruckus, eh?” His thumb caressed her cheek as he looked at her, his eyes twinkling with something rare for him; affection. The elderly woman hung around, waiting for the ruckus to continue, but Tommy suggested she go back inside. “You don’t want it to escalate.”  When the door opened, Tommy kept his cool composure, but on the inside he cursed. Had this little one been exposed to such grotesque indecency? 

Cindy stood there, leaning on the door frame with a cigarette between her fingers. Her face was strained. A very hollow looking woman, he had noticed. Far too thin and ragged with stress lines beyond her age. His eyes skimmed over her, her body exposed to him. It reeked of sex. Dirty, vile, filthy sex, and if his eyes weren’t mistaken, there were cum trails between her thighs. When he didn’t say anything, Cindy barked, “well? What the fuck do you want? One shilling for thirty minutes, two for the full hour-”

“She’ll fuck ya’ over, though!” the man yelled, grabbing his wallet from the table. Tommy peered around her, jaw tightening. The man hardly cared to button up his trousers and if one wanted to, they could see his cock outlined in his underwear. For fucks sake, he mumbled under his breath, finding himself pulling the girl closer to himself. Tommy pulled them out of the way so the man could get by.

Cindy cursed him, glaring as he rushed down the stairs. When they were through hearing his bickering echoing up the stairwell, she faced Tommy, smirking a tad, “though for a man like you, I can offer something special-come in.” She purred, grabbing his free arm. He flinched away.

“Are you missing something?” he asked, a strain in his voice, and Cindy paused. “Hm? And fix your fucking robe!” 

“Excuse me?” she snorted, tightening it so he no longer saw her body. Her eyes dropped down, and Tommy felt nauseous at the way her facial expression darkened. Her eyes narrowed in a seething, dark manner and her nostrils flared. With her claw-like hands, she dug her fingers in Evie’s shirt, peeling her off Tommy. He wanted to pull her back knowing that when he left, the poor girl would have nothing to protect her. She cried out, her chubby little hands clinging to his trousers.  “Evelyn Kathleen Walsh!” she yelled, kneeling and roughly gripping her jaw. Tommy winced, seeing her nails dig into the girl’s cheeks. “Where the fuck were you? Huh?” She shook Evelyn’s face. “I told you to stay in the fucking apartment! And look what you did? Caused issues-”

“She was no issue,” Tommy said, speaking up, resting his hand on Cindy’s. He pushed it down to ease up on Evie’s jaw. “Really. I found her lost around my stables and I brought her back.” Cindy calmed, standing, nodding for Evie to head in. She pouted, looking up at Mr. Shelby. 

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, not wanting to share him with her. She started to walk in the flat, and turned to look at him once more, offering a smile through pain. Tommy tilted his head to her, mouthing goodnight. Mouthing back, she said, “goodnight.” 

Cindy yelled over her shoulder, “wash up and get to fucking bed! I don’t want to hear that fucking bitch at your school about missing another day, you hear? Giving me goddamn shit because you can never do nothing fuckin’ right.” Her body leaned lazily on the frame, her legs folded as she enjoyed her cigarette. Ash flickered everywhere. “Fucking kids, you know?”

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Right, kids.”

“You got any?” she asked, looking at him. “Children? I bet a fine man like you has a few. Married to some uppity house wife, stuck in some sexless marriage. Why else would you be hanging around here?” Tommy let her speak, keeping his blank expression firm. “Hm? I could fix that for you.” Her head nodded back. “She’ll knock out in a few minutes-won’t hear a thing.” He looked in the flat, counting two doors.

“Only one bedroom?” he said. 

“One bed-look, if you want a high priced whore, you don’t come around here-”

“I’m not looking for a whore,”  he said. “I came to return your child-”

“Evs can find her own way back,” she said. “She’s surprisingly good at directions. Can’t fucking get her to cook a damn thing or clean-”

“You should go tuck her in,” he interrupted, taking a step back and tilting his hat, not caring to bid her a proper farewell. In his line of work, foul men were plenty, but he never saw a bitch so disgraceful. Cindy watched him turn and walked down the stairs, nursing his own cigarette to shake off the nerves.

When the cool air hit him, he looked up. The little one was staring down at him, waving, wearing a large smile. He smiled back, trying to hide the pain and worry he felt. Taking off his hat, he waved it, winking. The little one felt so much love looking at him. Her smile was so big, her cheeks balled up like a chipmunk. But it dropped when she looked over her shoulder and quickly closed the window, drawing the curtains. “Fucking hell,” he whispered to himself. 

The next day, she took her drawing book to the canal, skipping off school. Stuffed in her pocket was some stale bread. Her little duck friends knew to join around her because she always had a thing or two for them. She sat, legs crossed. “Okay, one for you, Poe,” she said, letting the duck eat from her hand. “And one for you, and one for you.” Left in her hand was a small bit and she put it in her mouth. “And one for Evie.” She started to set up her ‘station’ of a notebook and some crayons. One of the ducks walked over it, and she whined, “Quakers! No! We have business to do.” 

She started to draw. Now, the little one was no artist. Her drawings weren’t going in a gallery, but she loved it anyway. She started with a girl wearing a school uniform, humming to herself. When she finished the hair, she said, “this is Evie!” Next, she drew three happy ducks. “Quakers, that is you!” She lifted the picture and squinted. “Hmmm!” She looked back at the duck and back at her painting. “I didn’t get your good angle…I’m sorry.” And that is Poe and this is Diddle because he has a brown spot on his mouth.

Right next to her, holding her hand, she drew a man with a flat cap hat, and above him she wrote Mr. Shellbee. And when she was done, she tucked away her supplies. “Okay, fellas, I have to go, but I’ll bring ya’ something tomorrow!” The ducks walked around here, occasionally plucking at the ground for anything they could find. Evie turned her jumper pockets inside out to brush out the crumbs before skipping off.

The Garrison wasn’t too far off, but by the time she got there, she was winded. It was the pub she saw him come out of the day prior. With no mind, she pushed open the doors and rushed in, looking around. It was hitting noon time, and only a few men lingered about. All perked and looked at the girl, and the man at the bar called to her, leaning over the counter with folded hands. “Oi! This isn’t no place for no little girls, yeah!” Evie looked over at him, frowning. “What do you want?” he asked, not unkindly, wiping his hands on his apron.

She hopped to the bar, and kneeled on the stool to see properly over the bar. “I’m looking for Mr. Shelby-”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Which one?” “There’s more?!” Blinking, she looked around before getting out her drawinging. Grunting as she flattened it out. Along the journey,  it had gotten a little crinkled. I should have kept it in my drawing book. “That one!” she pointed and the gentleman squinted, making a face. Before him was a stick figure wearing what he assumed to be a three piece suit, a flat cap, and a cigarette between his fingers. 

“Hmm, well, I don’t know,” he said, holding the picture up and looking around at the back. On a table, there was a man slouched, already too many drinks in. “Is it that one?”

Evie shook her head, giving him a look. “Nuh uh!” Motioning to the picture, she added, “does he look like he has a mustache?”

“I suppose not,” he replied, chuckling to himself. “You stay right there, hm? I’ll be right back.” The girl had a little spunk to her, he’d give her that. He put the picture down and went in the back. She heard some talking and through some double doors, Mr. Shelby came through and she slid off the chair.

“Mr. Shelby! Mr. Shelby!” she yelled, clinging the picture to the chest. Tommy kneeled, meeting the girl to eye level. “I made you this-”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hands on her shoulders. Evie froze, her heart shrinking just a tad as she watched the lines in his face stress. He was giving her a hardened look and the pressure on her shoulders wasn’t so nice, either. She went small; quiet and her face dropped all signs of happiness. Tommy admitted to himself, seeing that girl pout like that, looking at him like she did that wretched woman, made him feel ill.

“I’m sorry,” she said, folding the picture and tucking away under her jumper. Tommy eased up, bowing his head slightly. 

“The pub isn’t safe for girls,” he said, relaxing his expression, his hand cradling her cheek. It was cold; rosy red and flushed. Her little nose dribbled, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to sniff it back up or stop herself from crying. In his pocket was a clean handkerchief. Plucking it out, he dabbled around her nose before squeezing lightly. Helping a child blow the snot from her nose wasn’t on his list for the day, but there they were. “Blow, come on, blow it out!” Evie puffed out her cheeks and blew her nose while Tommy cleaned it up. Folding it up, he tucked it away.

“I drew you a picture,” she said, having a hard time looking at him. He smiled, leaning his face in, tilting it up to catch her eyes. His hands fell to her arms, rubbing circles with thumbs. She took it out and unfolded it. “I don’t like it. I forgot Mr. Shelby’s horse-”

Before she could hide it away, Tommy took it, holding it with a firm grip. It was a lovely picture, he thought. Really captured his personality with the cigarette and the stress winkles. He pointed to the ducks, “and those are your friends.”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning on him to look at the picture with him. “And me and you. And in the back is the beach and bridge.” Tommy snorted that the thought of the canal being considered a beach. 

“Well, it doesn’t need the horse,” he said, deciding as he tucked it away. “He doesn’t like his picture drawn anyway. Has too many bad angles.” As he stood, he groaned, stretching a bit before kindly placing his hand on her back, pushing her towards the door. “Now, Evelyn, you shouldn’t come in here, understand?” 

She pouted, stopping right before he could shove her out. Looking up at him with round eyes. “But we’re friends. How can I see you?” Tommy’s brows raised and hummed, thinking back to the previous night. He settled with, you can always run to the stables. Even when I’m not there, I’m always in the stables. Her mouth gaped and her eyes balled. Leaning in, she whispered, “Sister Stefana says ghost talk ain't so nice. You talkin’ the devil that way, Mr. Shelby.”

He pinched her chin, amused. “I think the Devil’s too scared to come to Birmingham.”

“Some people say you’re the Devil, but I don’t think the Devil kisses his horses like you do-”

“Well, to be the Devil, you have to be an angel. I don’t think I was ever one of those.”

Evie giggled and motioned for him to get real close, to put his ear to her mouth. She cupped her mouth and whispered, “do you also steal the loose jellies from the sweets shop?”

Exaggerating, Tommy widened his eyes and gave her a shocked look with a gasp. “Do you!?” Evie laughed and put her finger to her lips. With a pointed look, he said, “you better be careful, eh? Now, go on, hm? Be a good girl!” Opening the door, he watched as she ran off. This time in shoes, but they were ragged and torn. Probably she would have been just well off barefoot. Tommy kept his gaze on her until she was no longer in sight. “Ah, fucking hell,” he whispered, not cursing, but just as a release of emotions. He turned, scratching the back of his neck and when he looked up, John and Arthur were giving him quite a look of perplexity. He dropped the soft face and barked, “fuck off, eh? Believe it or not, I do have more ranges of emotions than a wall fly!”

[lunarriviera]

so here's what i can't stop thinking about tonight [spoilers for jitd ep 15, and mo du too, probably], bc somehow my brain is still snagged on scenes from a whole week ago. ofc we all flipped our shit, and rightly so, about how insane they were for this, inserting an entire afterlife sequence that takes up fully a third of the episode just to demonstrate that in fact gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day—all instead of having luo wenzhou say one single incriminating line ("he's my lover") and then hork into a garbage can.

but i'm stuck somewhere else tonight, and it's on: "i'm so tired."

fei du doesn't even need to say it. look at his face, these are the lineaments of someone exhausted to paper thinness. but what i keep putting together and taking apart in my head, though, is precisely why he's so tired. and somehow that just makes it so much worse.

because as lwz will say to him later, in one of the extras, he was never worried about whether fei du could outsmart anyone he wanted to. we already know he's stunningly intelligent, we've seen him thinking dozens of moves ahead of everyone else, constantly, from the time he was a child. that's actually not the exhausting part. it's not even his master plan, his long con, the entire-life-as-undercover-operation that's taking a toll on him—or not that, per se; not that qua that. think of the scene in episode 14 when he and luo wenzhou are interrogating zhou huaijin, and fei du tells him: dong xiaoqing may be a killer, but she was just the weapon—don't you want to know who was holding the knife? fei du's whole life purpose has been bent towards uncovering the people with the knife in their hands.

so if it's not his brilliance that's being taxed, or his capacity for plans that stretch over a lifetime, what precisely has made him so tired?

my answer varies, but tonight i think it's two different things, and the first of them is this one: he's unbelievably lonely.

[major spoilers from this point.] even during the long years when fei chengyu tortured him and his mother, she was still there. she was at least allowed to read to him every night (although even that was carefully circumscribed, and she spent most of the time trying to inculcate him with furtive ethical messaging, so he wouldn't be lost). he is able to remember her nursing him when he was ill, but remotely, coldly, as if anything caring or gentle, even eye contact or unnecessary touch, might be punished (and probably would have been). still, he had her. they were together; he wasn't alone in hell.

even after her death, of course, there was tao ran, and it's completely understandable that young fei du would have adhered to him, as thoughtful and sweet-tempered and normal as tao ran is. where lwz can be sharp-tongued and brusque, tao ran is always pouring oil on troubled waters, adding tact and kindness to a situation. in the novel, lwz tells teenaged fei du bluntly, during an outing, "you shouldn't be here, you don't fit in," and fei du smiles: "he didn't want to fit in."

i think when you're a teenager, you can probably tell yourself that, and almost believe it, especially when you've been violently trained the way he was: told repeatedly that you're antisocial, you don't need human connection, you don't crave it, you don't even want it—that kind of sentimental idiocy is for stupid people, people beneath you.

fei du not only internalized that belief, but he's had to behave as though it were true. to play the edgelord playboy with icy purity and, most of all, complete success—since partial success is failure, in this case—no one can get to know you well enough to know what you're really up to. he might have enjoyed some parts of the game; he's to a degree risk-taking, thrill-seeking by nature (as well as, again, by brutal psychological experimental conditioning). the motorcycle/car racing, the epic performative partying, the dissipated indifference, clawing his way to the top of his father's corporation—as the novel says "a beast in human clothing," the "domineering director-general"? sure, some of it might have been fun, or at least distracting. being superb at anything is its own keen pleasure, if you're smart enough.

but later luo wenzhou will have observed fei du from close-up enough to realize that it's all a disguise. and it's one that costs him dearly.

and that's the other thing that's worn him out, i think. first there's the loneliness of carrying it by yourself, having not one other person in the world to know your heavy secrets, the weight of your isolation, because telling anyone the truth would risk dragging them down with you; but there's also the fatigue from just having to keep it up, day after day, getting up every morning and pinning a manipulative disguise onto your face. if parts of the charade were ever stimulating, or even thrilling, that patina of charm has worn off. he just wants a warm bowl of congee and to go to bed on time, like a person, now.

because since fei chengyu's accident, fei du has spent most of his adult life around normal, non-sinister human beings. he thinks he can just mimic their behavior; he doesn't realize he's actually chosen to adopt it as his own. i'm so sorry to tell you this, feishir, but in many ways your genius plan to successfully impersonate a monster has, in fact, failed. you're actually just a regular young adult. you're too kind to strangers. you're far too careful and considerate with grief-stricken old ladies and frightened children—you're even about to pet your cat, and remember what it means to stroke a small warm animal with no purpose other than affection, only wanting it to feel safety and pleasure (and feeling those yourself, in return). abject failure to become an amoral soulless ghoul, president fei; your satanic dad really blew it (which is ofc fei du's other purpose in life: to prove fcy wrong, though he goes about it in the most agonizing way possible).

and then, worst of all, fei du started flirting with luo wenzhou, which probably started as something amusing to do while waiting around for tao ran; but it's become oddly addictive, needling lwz while feeling increasingly curious about how he'll respond. and then—gradually, slowly, as in "slowly the ice age ended"—luo wenzhou, too, has become a trusted, reliable source of safety and pleasure, and rare human connection. fei du, in fact, has started to like him.

but liking him is, he also knows, incredibly dangerous. he thinks he can't have that, not any of it, at this point. if lwz finds out even one of his horrific secrets, and then gets involved, it could all be ruined.

so fei du is alone, and he really doesn't like his job anymore. but he can't quit, and he can't let anyone else into the aloneness. of course he's tired. anyone would be tired, even ruthlessly self-controlled geniuses who tell themselves constantly how sinister they are.

and that's probably a third thing that's worn him down: the unending effort of continually repeating to himself that he's inhuman, he's made wrong, he's broken. fei du doesn't realize this habitual attempt at reinforcing fei chengyu's training has never made it any more true, but what is happening is that it's ineluctably starting to fray him, shred him at the edges. keeping attachment at bay, holding back from your own natural instincts to be close to others, to share your confidences with them, to know and be known? pretending not only that you don't like anyone, but that you aren't even capable of liking?

the cultural critic joyce carol oates wrote once, in an essay on the poet sylvia plath, of this kind of self-hatred: "in art, it can lead to silence; in life, to suicide." and that's precisely what we see fei du choosing here, to be honest (and we can talk some other time about the ways in which fei du's ma has turned sinister in his unconscious: a death-bringer in white, sitting on her funeral bier, inviting him to give up on the arduousness and self-loathing and loneliness of his life).

in the novel luo wenzhou tells tao ran in the emergency waiting room: “when other people get brought in there, they have someone waiting outside. if he doesn’t have anyone, i’m afraid he’ll be broken-hearted and won’t be willing to come back.” tao ran can't believe he's hearing lwz, of all people, say this about fei du, of all people—but in the drama, this is made literal: lwz turns out to be right. if it weren't for his being there, urgently wanting fei du alive and around to give him problems and cause him trouble, wanting him healthy and condescending and annoying, making sarcastic remarks and smiling his irritating peach-blossom smile and just generally being a royal pain in luo wenzhou's ass—if it weren't for luo wenzhou's need for him having become so suddenly, unexpectedly overwhelming that it's literally palpable, fei du's tiredness would have won out.

fortunately, as it is, he's going home now, where he can actually rest in reality, not just in the afterlife. the secrets are coming out, one by one. he won't be alone anymore, and he won't have to keep up the role of lead villain, slain by his own hand at the end of the play. and, if or when he forgets and falls back into old habits, luo wenzhou will be there to fuss at him and whack him on the back of the head, force-feed him vegetables, blow-dry his hair, make him wear long underwear, handcuff him to the bed to sleep, provide him with new parents and a pair of cats—and above all, love him so consistently and so fiercely that there's no room anymore for anything but simple contentment, and sanity, and quiet peace.

[captain-huggy-bear]

How about "come on I’m taking you home?" Or just "I’m taking you home." Something along those lines with Mattie if you’re inspired by it? Congrats on 1k again 😊 thank you in advance - em

*chanting* Mattie, Mattie, Mattie... Thanks for sending something in for him, Em! Hope you like it! <3 (BTW if anyone ever wants to draw or write anything for my hockey ocs, go for it, I will love you for it! Just tag me <3) 1000 Followers Celly Finished🥳🎉 Requests are currently closed as I work through the requests in my inbox <3 Writing Masterlist

He noticed you at the start of the night...Mattie always notices you. He noticed you arriving with a date, some guy you'd been casually seeing, a potential future boyfriend, a guy he wanted to hate just because it wasn't him walking in with you. Still he shook the guys hand, made polite conversation, was pleasant. He noticed the black dress you decided to wear, the necklace he'd bought you last Christmas as a last ditch attempt at finding something you'd like, the glitter on your eyelids...he noticed a lot of things about you.

It didn't take a genius though to see how dull your sparkle was tonight. Usually at a fundraising event, a party like this, you'd be so vibrant. You always enjoyed dressing up for them and spending the evening talking to people, to the team. But, tonight you were quiet, teeth gnawing on your lip, shoulders hunched inwards like you were trying to hide.

It didn't take a genius to see how you lit up whenever you weren't around him, how the moment Mack or Niko talked to you, your smile returned, wide and beaming. It didn't take a genius to watch you watch him, how your smile dropped when he started getting touchy with another woman, how you sighed heavily like you expected it, how you held yourself more guarded each time.

If it wasn't a public function, if he wasn't technically at work...he'd have a few choice words to say to the guy, but he knows better. Mattie always knows better. He might have a reputation on the ice but that didn't mean he had to bring that off ice too...he couldn't fuck this up, kids like him didn't just get into the NHL...kids without a legacy, kids from normal families.

So instead when the clock ticks down and you watch the man who drove you here walk off with some other woman, Mattie approaches you with your coat already in his hands, the fabric smelling of your perfume.

"Come on, I’m taking you home."

"Oh, you don't have to, Mattie..."

"I'm taking you home." He just holds your coat up and helps you slip your arms in, shrugging it over your shoulders before smoothing out the fabric with more gentleness than most would expect him capable of.

It's easy. The way you slide your arm through his and let him guide you to his car. Easy to let him open the door. Easy to let him strap you in, seatbelt clicking into place. Easy to let him put your favourite songs on, the playlist he'd curated for you after the first few times you'd complained about his own. Everything with Mattie is easy...it makes you start to wonder why you bothered with Brian in the first place.

"You're staring." He smiles, eyes still on the road, but you're in his periphery. The gaze you have on him is assessing, calculating and it makes him feel oddly nervous, nervous in a way playing in front of thousands never does.

"You're too good to me." It's like a switch has flicked in your mind, a realisation of sorts...that Mattie has been there the entire time. Mattie who's handsome, Mattie who's kind, Mattie who always looks after you, Mattie who makes sure you're comfortable and safe. Suddenly you feel like a complete idiot.

"No, I'm not. I treat you how you should be treated."

"Like I said, too good for me. Here you are doing all these wonderful things and I'm busy entertaining a guy that doesn't care if I get home safe or not. He won't even try to see where I've gone, if I'm okay..." There's not going to be a text or a phone call, no check in at all...not like Mattie. Mattie who always walks you to your door and waits till he hears the locks click. Not like Mattie who doesn't let you get an uber alone even if he has to go miles out of his way.

"What're you trying to say, sweetheart?"

"I..." He's already pulling the car over into a side street, putting it in park before twisting to face you fully. Undivided attention on you in a way that has any prior confidence fading into nervousness. Afterall...maybe you're wrong, maybe Mattie treats all women like this...maybe you're not special...maybe you're miscalculating.

"Don't get shy on me now." The smile starts soft, encouraging, a reminder that Mattie is Mattie. He's never humiliated you. He's never hurt you or judged you. He's always been kind to you.

"I...I just mean that if...if you wanted maybe..."

"Maybe?" He's teasing you now, dimple forming as he smirks at you, eyes half-lidded in a way that only makes you more nervous. It's not mean at all, but it make your shyness worse.

"Maybe I could...entertain you instead of a guy like Brian." You wince because that sounds wrong, that sounds like you're propositioning him and you just mean...you just mean a date or something not...fuck...

"Wait, sorry, his name was Brian?" He pulls his head back, eyes narrowing in confusion because...Brian? Brian? Like Monty Python the Life of Brian? Like Uncle Brian? Like some weird old man down the street? Brian?

"Mattie!"

"No, baby, c'mon! A Brian?" It was never going to work he decides because how could you moan out 'Brian'? It just wouldn't happen. How could a Brian possible date you? It was a Brian...no wonder he was dickhead.

"Mattie!"

"Sorry, sorry...what were you saying?" The smile he sends your way tells you he hasn't actually forgotten he just wants to put you through repeating yourself.

"Mattie."

"I'm joking, sweetheart...so what you're saying is if I asked you to come get some dessert with me right now at some dingy diner you'd say yes?"

"Yeah, yeah...that's what I'm saying."

"Do you want to get some dessert with me in a dingy diner, baby?" His arm comes up on your headrest, leaning towards you until he's in your personal space, close enough his voice dips in volume, a low rumble, quiet, cosy.

"...Yeah, I'd like that, Mattie."

"Good, cause I'm really hungry for some apple pie."

And it's easy, God, it's so easy to laugh with him as he puts the car back into gear and starts to drive. Easy to smile at him. Easy to watch his dimples form, the way his eyes crinkle...and seemingly so easy to overlook what was right in front of you the entire time.

[jawllines]

Helloooooo I'm baaaackkkkk!!!! Okay. It's been two weeks since part 4 and I told you (don't know if you got it or not) that I'm writing down my thoughts and would send to you soon but I kind of lost myself. There's so many things I wanted to say then and there's so much more that I want to say now. But I'm guessing you're halfway through writing part 5, so idk if you can do anything about what I'm gonna say or want. And there's this feeling that I might cross a line with my 'demands' because maybe what I want would not align with what other readers want. But I have been reading some asks and seems like there's a mixture of requests for part 5 and some of them are same as mine. So I'm gonna send my thoughts now anyway. Hope you get it. But first let me tell you what I liked in part 4

Let me start with how much I loved knowing Harry's thoughts. Learning about how they first met from his point of view and how much deeper meaning her dish and their meeting held. Because he thought it was fate. He hoped he could get her to make the pie again for him. Cause it's exactly like his grandma's and reminded him of her and his childhood? That's like soulmate shit or something.

Loved that Harry's attraction to her was not something sudden or like from the very first moment he saw her. It was gradual. It happened in its own time. To me it felt like it was first born out of his guilt. Not the attraction he feels for her, but the softness he holds in his heart. Because after he realised he had hurt her feelings he made an effort to make things right because he was guilty. And he did it in his way, not telling her that he was sorry but he paid more attention to her and everything about her. Took care of her. Made an effort to be more approachable for her. And then it grew from there. And he said she has always been cute but he had never treated her any different than he'd treat any other cute employee. All of this is very natural. Also surprising that during the first hair incident Harry expected her to speak up and say that it wasn't her hair because he has seen the hair and knew it wasn't hers but since she stayed silent he took that as her confirmation. I thought he didn't even care or notice that the hair was different. He could've been more gentle with his scolding but at least he knew it wasn't hers.

CILF!!!!! Yes! This is something I didn't know I needed but I can't stop thinking about this little name or acronym or title whatever. Love it. Trust Niall to say the mist unhinged thing and come up with the most insane idea. He's always being useful lol. Love their friendship. Wish I had a buddy like him who'd tell me my boobs look great and boost my confidence

But gotta love YN for not listening to Niall when he told her to wear a sundress to seduce Harry. Loved that she stayed true to herself even though she was desperate she didn't try to be something she wasn't in reality. I appreciate it so much. Besides Niall was right, Harry finds her hot in anything she wears (need him to tell her that at some point)

One more thing that's interesting to me is the way Harry handles his jealousy. I love that he has never felt jealousy like this before her. And him getting jealous that YN is learning from someone else was kinda....cute? But I'm glad that he's keeping his pride intact and isn't behaving too wildly because of his jealousy. Yes he's doing this not-so-subtle things infront of her but not infront of others, he's not losing his shit infront of others, he's not being passive aggressive with her or the person he's jealous of and he isn't even saying stupid hurtful things unintentionally out of jealousy. He isn't blinded by this. Which is good. I'm extremely possessive of my favourite people. If I think someone else is paying attention to my people I get so sad even though I know I have no reason to feel threatened and kinda tend to remove myself from the scenario. If I was in Harry's place I'd tell her to take her time and learn whatever she wants, tell her I'll go home and rest and we'd meet later. But in reality I'll be very mad-sad you know? Like I'd understand it's not her fault but I'd be too hurt to understand? It doesn't make sense. But Harry is so mature about it. He knows she's not doing anything wrong, he knows she's excited to see him, he knows that she's his and he won't let anybody get in his way. Even if he has to break his rules. If Harry thinks YN is cockdumb then he is PUSSY WHIPPED. So pussy whipped that he's become a jealous caveman who's marking her without even caring about his own no hickey policy. Marking his territory. So so possessive. Yeah, 'don't have a crush on her' my ass.

Now I obviously have some questions because I can't stop being annoying it seems. So let's get the questions out of the way.

What happened to the sweatshirt Harry let her wear in the movie theatre? I don't remember if she returned it to him, don't think I read it? And what about the clothes Harry gave her to wear the morning after they had sex and she stayed the night? I'm pretty sure Harry would have some thoughts about her wearing his clothes. Need to know!!!! Need him to insist she wear his shirt whenever she visits.

This is gonna be the most annoying thing I'm so so so sorry that I'm like this but I can't help but ask this. So from what I understand from part 4 is that YN and her ex Rowan were together for 3 years and since she said that he's "three years too late" in apologising to her, I'd assume they broke up around three years ago? And I think in the first chapter it was mentioned that she met Niall through Harry's restaurant? And she's been working with Harry for like two years? So how did Rowan know about Niall? And she also cried about her break up to Niall. So Niall was around at that time. But it doesn't make sense and it doesn't matter I know but I still can't look past it and I hate myself for it. I'm also confused about their age. Like I kind of assumed Harry as this older dilf and YN in her early 20s. I thought they have at 8-9 years of age gap. And I thought her ex was a little bit older than her. I'm going crazy thinking about all of that. I think i could make sense of Dark (the series) easier than this whole YN and Rowan thing. Someone make me stop!!!!

What I really want from the next part is for them to be more than what their relationship currently is. And I'm worried that other readers might not want that because it's obviously a dom/sub dynamic fic and I want this dynamic to be there too. But they obviously have feelings for each other, don't they? And I don't know if you're gonna make them end up with each other or make them confess or not but I kinda need them together by the end.

I need you to write chefrry softer. So soft that he gives your others soft harrys a run for their money (not grad school rivalrry though, no one can be like him. Don't judge me I'm soft for him). And that doesn't mean that chefrry is going anywhere from my FEEL HOT AND HORNY list. He's still at the top and he's gonna remain there. But I also need him softer. Because, as I said for the last part, their relationship (still) feels very transactional, give and take, business-like. They don't communicate, they don't know anything about each other other than what's absolutely necessary and they get right to business. Like how when she got him to come to her place to teach her something and the whole thing was kinda like foreplay and how in the last scene he just went straight to marking her. Which makes sense for their dynamic. But they both clearly have more feelings for each other than just sexual desires. They just don't seem to understand it and don't even try to. Because she's too insecure to believe that someone would be so interested in her that they'd get jealous because of her (don't blame her, I'd be like this too). So insecure that she's obviously to the most obvious things happening right infront of her. Or maybe she's in denial just like Harry is. And I stand by my theory that he isn't sure if he should pursue her as something more than what she is now because of their mentor/mentee relationship. In his subconscious maybe he thinks it's not right or she doesn't want anything more than a little fun. What I mean is he's definitely having some internal doubts about what he wants from her which is why he's denying having a crush on her. If only they would just communicate. I want them to become more and I want the transition to be smooth. Not sudden or abrupt. Want them to talk about each other's family and friends and likes dislikes hobbies....in a non sexual, non professional setting. Like becoming friends and then they realise that they have deeper feelings for each other.

Like maybe she's sick one day and still comes to work but harry sends her home and after he finishes at the restaurant he goes to her place to take care of her. And he realises that he likes doing domestic things with her. We know that he likes feeding her and cuddling her. But he realises that he likes doing other random insignificant homey things with too. Like cooking together, watching her favourite movies/shows with her, watching her play with Hazelnut. Realises that he wouldn't like if someone else made her dinner or bought her flowers or went grocery shopping with her or watch her favourite anime with her. Realises that he wants to be the only one doing all those things with and for her. Like slow acceptance of what he already knew but was maybe scared to admit to himself

And I want our oblivious queen to open her eyes and see the power she has over him. I want her to be a little more confident. But I understand it's hard for her when she still is uncertain if harry actually wants her as much as she wants him. Harry doesn't make it clear, more like she doesn't see the signs but still I understand her point. And like Niall said (when is Niall not right?) Harry's pride won't let him show his emotions infront of others. Honestly though there's just so much room for misunderstanding in this relationship. Because she might think that she's not that important to him that he'd openly show his emotions for her. And she's still treating him like the boss even when they're playing. She is so unsure about everything, like whatever they have going on can end any moment. So I want them to be in a place where he's hundred percent sure he wants her permanently and isn't going anywhere and she's also confident and knows that harry wants her and only has eyes for her. Like a "I'm yours and you're mine" kinda moment along with them at least acknowledging to themselves that they have feelings for each other.

But I kinda want Harry to be prideful a little while longer because I really wanna see her get jealous because there's no way hot women don't flirt with him when they're out in pubs or even in his restaurant. And she'd be like I don't have any right to be jealous but still be sad and Harry would notice and tease her later when they're back home and show her that she doesn't have anything to worry about and he'd let go of his pride and tell her that he's been jealous of YoungJae too.

And all of this doesn't mean I don't want the kinky freaky stuff. Because I definitely do.

Like the puppy thing he described. Needs to happen.

Tying her up and seeing how much she can take and then fucking her while she's asleep (with her permission and hopefully she wakes up soon after), needs to happen.

Someone suggested YN doing all the work and Harry sitting back and watching, nerds to happen. Maybe he'll be mean and tease her when she gets tired off movin over him and begs him to take over. And deep subspace too.

He needs to have her sit on his face and smother him.

Needs to make her squirt again and this time there needs to be lots of dirty talk and talk in general during sex.

Maybe anal too. But I'd assume she's never done it before so he'd need to have her ready and comfortable so maybe they do it later on idk. I was kinda thinking that in next part we can have all the kinky stuff because honestly I feel like if I don't read all of the stuff that you mentioned and others suggested with chefrry I might explode. Like I need chefrry to do these things. But it'd be a long fucking chapter and we'd never get to the softer part. So I thought maybe next to next part can have all the soft fluff new relationship and cute couple stuff, romantic dates and outings and love making and going bare (because that'd be a big deal for chefrry I think). But then I feel like asking for two more chapters is too much. Even though it'd be nice I can't be so selfish ask for more. So I'm just gonna trust you and hope you give us big fat chapter that can squeeze all of this in.

Also need more BABY. Some "my girl/his girl" and "you're all mine, aren't you?" moments.

Need more Harry pov. I wanna see his pov when they're playing because we haven't had the chance to peek in his mind when they're in the middle of the act. His mind would be full of filthy thoughts when she's calls him daddy.

She kept her bush for him (again Niall knows best). Hope we get to see his reaction in next chapter.

I wanna see how they act with each other when they're at the restaurant now that they have properly fucked. Is Harry pushing her into his office after everyone leaves and kissing the life out of her? Is he stealing kisses when they're alone somewhere and no one is there to see them? Because I need him to do that. Like come on Harry be obsessed with her kisses already! What are you doing!

Also need another Rowan appearance, because goddamnit I wanted YN to run into her ex when she was with Harry not YoungJae. And he's such a piece of shit i hate him and she needs to call out his bullshit. I know she doesn't wanna give him the satisfaction but maybe Harry can show him how much happier she is with him and tell him how big of a loser asshole pathetic person and partner he's been to YN and still is a jerk. I need Harry to put him in his place.

Need Harry to be obsessed with holding her hand all the time when they are in public (when they're a couple). I need it to breathe okay? Please 🙏🏼 and maybe they run into her shitty ex during a walk or shopping or something when he's holding her hand and being all heart eyes for her.

Oh and about YoungJae, would he like ask YN out? Maybe he does and she says no and Harry listens to the convo but neither of them know that Harry has heard it. Obviously she won't tell YoungJae about Harry and her. Idk it can be fun because i really don't think Harry would stop worrying about this or talk about it with her any time soon. So this can put her mind at ease and maybe he'd be extra lovey with her and then eventually (if you include YN jealousy scene) he can tell her about his worries regarding the other chef.

I also have an agenda, that is to have chefrry give YN a cute nickname that reflects her personality. Again puppy is for play time mostly. He can call her baby anytime and I'd die of happiness. But I want him to call her by something cute that he can use infront of everyone.

Shit.... feel like I'm making you work so much. I'm so genuinely sorry btw. I know this is probably coming off as me telling you what to do with YOUR story. But I tend to get passionate about things sometimes. And I swear even if you do not write any of this I won't mind a bit. I'm not being ungrateful. I'm insanely thankful that you find time to write for us for free even after working such tiring job. I just can't help but share my thoughts after reading something that I love. And it's kinda an impulse thing. Like I've putting off sending you this for so long but I still couldn't let of it because what does it matter if I don't share my thoughts but no, that tiny voice in my head was like "you have to send it in,have to share your thoughts". It's kinda annoying, I get annoyed with myself sometimes.

Anyway I probably had a lot more to say I forgot. So that was my whole essay. Hopefully you don't get tired of me. Thank you for writing. Love you so much 💞

HIIII FRIEND!! IM SORRY THAT THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO ANSWER I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR MESSAGES VERY MUCH!! ILL TRY AND GO THROUGH POINT BY POINT :D

IM HAPPY THAT YOU ENJOYED HIS THOUGHTS!! I LOVE WRITING WHAT THE OTHER CHARACTER IS THINKING AFTER FOLLOWING ONLY ONE FOR SO LONG, ITS ALWAYS SO INTERESTING TO GET INSIDE THEIR HEAD AND THINK ABOUT THEIR REACTIONS AND FEELINGS TO DIFFERENT SITUATIONS!! AND IM GLAD I WAS ABLE TO CONVEY A LIL SLOW DEVELOPMENT OF FEELINGS RATHER THAN HIM JUST ALL THE SUDDEN BEING OBSESSED WITH HER -- I LOOOOVE A GRADUAL SHIFT, SO I TRY MY BEST TO WRITE THEM AT LEAST AN EENSY BIT REALISTICALLY

I ALSO LOVE WRITING A MATURE JEALOUS MAN!! NO GRUMPY FUSSING OR ANYTHING LIKE IT!! SO IM GLAD YOU'RE ENJOYING THAT TOO :-) IM ALSO SOMEONE WHO GETS JELLY EASILY THO

AS FOR THE CLOTHES SHE'S BORROWED FROM HIS....I DON'T KNOW :D I KIND OF IMAGINE THE HOODIE SHE GAVE BACK TO HIM "OFF SCREEN" AND THE OTHER CLOTHES SHE'S KIND OF JUST KEPT, WASHED, AND HAS BEEN MEANT TO GIVE HIM BUT JUST FOLDS THEM UP AND STUFFS THEM IN HER DRESSER INSTEAD TO SEE HOW LONG SHE COULD GET AWAY WITH HAVING THEM

ALSO ILL BE SO SO SO SUPER HONEST, AS FAR AS THE NIALL AND ROWAN THING, IM SO BAD WITH KEEPING TIMELINES SOMETIMES WITH MY FICS D: ILL GO BACK AND TRY TO MAKE SURE THERE'S SOME DEGREE OF A TIMELINE BUT IF IT ISN'T LIKE SUPPPPPER IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT THEN IM MORE LOOSEY GOOSEY ABOUT IT SO IM SORRY! FOR THE SAKE OF THE FIC LETS JUST SAY NIALL WAS AROUND TOWARD THE END OF ROWAN OR SOMETHING LIKE IT AND THATS HOW HE'S AWARE OF HIM!

I WILL DEFINITELY BE DEVELOPING THEIR RELATIONSHIP OUTSIDE OF SEX AND THEIR DOM/SUB DYNAMIC!!

I ALSO HAVE AN IDEA FOR JEALOUS Y/N HEHEHE

THE KINKY AND MORE OF HARRYS POV ARE A MUST ! ALL OF YOUR IDEAS ARE SO GOOD!

AGAIN THANK YOUUUUUU I LOVE THESE MESSAGES, I LOOK FORWARD TO THEM FOR EACH PART :D AND I LOVE YOU!!