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nereidprinc3ss · 10 months ago

Text

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers.

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door.

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this.

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door.

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up.

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it.

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety.

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement.

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care.

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves.

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone.

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you.

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are.

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh.

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex?

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours.

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly.

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it.

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now.

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it.

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt.

"Goodnight," he whispers back.

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that.

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

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache.

But you’re just friends.

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away.

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep.

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt.

Friends.

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer.

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips.

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away.

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words.

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing.

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words.

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you.

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment.

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again.

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses.

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck.

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there.

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later.

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you.

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you.

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum.

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs.

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans.

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want.

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close.

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course.

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty.

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway.

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently.

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt.

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about.

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further.

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway.

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words.

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you.

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation.

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut.

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating.

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation.

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet.

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb.

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing.

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter.

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck.

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you.

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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teamred · 3 months ago

Text

after midnight

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x mutant!reader | smut | 1.8k

SUMMARY | logan hates that you never listen to him and you can't stand how he still treats you like a kid. but tonight's your chance to change each other's minds.

WARNINGS | smut, breastplay, oral s*x (male receiving), piv s*x, power dynamics

RATING | explicit

NOTES | this is more dialogue and tension than smut, but i hope y'all still enjoy!

The X-Mansion at night is eerily quiet, a peaceful respite compared to the bustling energy during the day with the swarm of students walking around. Despite the stillness, some nights, like tonight, make sleep hard to come by.

You carefully tread down the stairs, through the halls, and towards the communal kitchen to grab a drink.

With the flick of your hand, you open the fridge, its bright light illuminating you amidst the darkness, and glance at what’s available.

Times like these, you wish there was something stronger than soda available, but you settle on a bottle of ginger ale and levitate it towards your hand. You will the fridge to close behind you as you make your way to a high stool by the kitchen island.

“Shouldn't be walkin’ around in that outfit, bub.”

Startled, you whip your body around, clutching the bottle to your chest and holding your hand out, an instinctive fighting stance. You relax at the sight of him leaning against the doorframe.

“Jesus Christ, Logan…” you exhale, shaking your head.

He turns on the low lights above the kitchen counters. His hair is tousled from sleep, and his usual scowl is plastered on his face.

Your eyes sweep over his sleep wear—a simple fitted white tee and grey sweats. Then you glance down at yourself—black booty shorts and a loose crop top. Sure, what you wear to bed is a little risqué, but it’s comfortable.

“What are you—my dad?” you shoot back, sipping your drink and leaning against the counter.

Logan rolls his eyes, crossing the room to grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

“You should put on a robe or somethin’,” he grumbles. “The kids could see you.”

He reaches to untwist the cap, but you beat him to it, using your powers to unscrew it with a swish of your fingers. The cap clatters onto the island, a bit louder than you intended.

“You know, kids aren’t exactly wandering around the mansion at 3AM,” you mutter.

He downs half the bottle in one go and you can’t help it, but you’re enticed by how his Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. Your eyes sweep over him again, noticing how the shirt stretches perfectly over his body and the outline of his length underneath his sweats.

Logan may be an asshole, but at least he’s an attractive asshole.

When he finishes, he tilts the bottle towards you with a sneer.

“Yeah? Look who's talking.”

In a flash, you swipe his drink into your hand and shove him against the edge of the counter. He stumbles, almost falling to the floor, and snarls a curse.

Your nostrils flare as you close the distance between you, fists clenched. “When are you gonna take me seriously, Logan? I’m about to become a professor soon.”

He stands up straight, towering over you and matching your intensity.

He grits out, “When you finally start listenin’ to me.”

You scoff, the bitterness rising in your chest. “Oh, so that's what this is all about.”

You shake your head, finding it all too familiar. Coincidentally, this was why you couldn’t sleep tonight.

Logan jabs a finger towards you. “You never listen to a goddamn thing I say during training, always throwin’ yourself into the danger and I’m the one always pullin’ you out.”

“It's just the Danger Room!” you whisper-shout back, not wanting to wake others. “And you do the same shit all the time, Mr. Hypocrite.”

“Because I can handle the risk."

“And what? I can't?”

“Don't get cocky with me."

You step closer, merely inches away from his face, and raise a brow, meeting his glare with a defiant smirk.

“What are you gonna do, Logan? Bend me over your knee and teach me a lesson?”

The words are meant to taunt, to push his buttons, but they come out with an edge you didn’t expect.

Something daring.

Something that challenges Logan.

His gaze darkens, and the room fills with a charged silence. His breathing turns heavy, his eyes fixed on you like he’s ready to pounce.

“I just might.”

The tension snaps.

You’re unsure who moves first, but it doesn’t matter because you’re on each other, the kiss raw, messy, and all-consuming.

It’s a clash of hunger and fury. Lips crashing, teeth nearly clashing. His hands seize your bare thighs hard. Likewise, your nails dig into his muscled arms and shoulders. His groan turns into a guttural growl at the bite of your touch.

Effortlessly, he hoists you up, and you wrap your legs around him before he sets you down onto the cold tiled countertop. His hand snakes its way up your shirt, calloused fingers finding your nipples, rolling and pinching them ruthlessly.

One gasp escapes you, then another as he thrusts his thigh between your legs; the friction is delicious against your aching core.

“Tell me you'll listen to me,” he rasps the demand, his mouth now sucking and biting down your neck.

Initially, you shake your head, but he twists your nipple hard, dragging a sharp moan from your throat.

“Yes,” you moan.

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Logan,” you seethe, detesting how weak you are under his touch, but you can’t control yourself.

He chuckles irritatingly, brushing your neck upwards with the tip of his nose, until he presses his mouth against your ear. “You gonna do as I say?”

You nod. A desperate whine escapes your lips as he presses his thigh harder into you. Your body’s inflamed, craving more than just this from him.

“Then get on your knees,” he commands. “Show me what you got.”

As if under possession, you jump off the counter and fall to your knees as Logan switches spots with you. He drops his sweatpants towards his ankles and holds his cock in front of you, stroking it.

You almost salivate at the sight. Not that you’ve ever imagined fucking Logan, but it’s unsurprising how long and thick it is.

You start off with chaste kisses and darts of your tongue. A touch here and there to torment him. Minutes pass, and when he's had enough, he's about to say something until you suddenly take him in as much as you can.

You channel all your desire and frustration onto him in the form of crude pleasure to prove yourself.

Your tongue swirls. Licks up the precum leaking from his slit. Mouth sucks on his tip so hard, Logan's gripping your head roughly, groaning a plea for you to slow down. You disobey and relax your throat, allowing him to hit the back of your throat.

He practically has to rip you away to avoid an early end to all of this. His mouth is back on yours again with his drenched cock pressed up against your thigh.

Logan leads you to be on the counter once again. Impatiently, or perhaps it's laziness, his fingers deftly drag the fabric of your shorts and underwear towards one side to prepare for his entry.

And he doesn't even ease into it, knowing how wet you are from just a whiff of the air.

He's not gentle, and you don't want him to be. You yearn for each deep thrust, letting his fullness fill you to the brim.

“Is this what you wanted?" he growls. "Me fucking some sense into you?”

“If that’s what it takes to prove to you I’m not a fucking kid anymore, then—fuck—yes…”

He answers every moan you make with a deeper plunge. However, the moans rise to cries. Logan puts a hand over your mouth, drowning them out.

In turn, the suppression of it only accelerates your climax and somehow draws out your powers. Utensils shake, along with the cupboards.

“Sweetheart,” he warns with a low chuckle, still keeping a steady pace, “you’re gonna wake everybody up.”

“Don’t care,” you say, words muffled behind his hand. “Just keep fucking me. Don’t stop, don’t stop—”

Everything shakes in unison with your body’s trembling. You whimper Logan’s name, eyes fluttering, until you come undone around his length.

The kitchen slows its shaking as you come down from your high, and he pulls out, jolting his thick release onto your inner thigh with a sharp moan.

Both of you are still, listening for any sign of footsteps or voices of anyone that is coming to investigate the noises. But the mansion is still quiet as a mouse, save for your rigorous panting and the hum of the fridge.

Logan draws his pants back up and reaches for the paper towels. He holds them out in your direction, and, without ever touching it, you rip one off, wipe away the mess, and toss it into the garbage.

Jumping off the counter, you adjust your clothes, but not much is needed since nothing ever came off.

“So,” he says after catching his breath, reaching for his Dr. Pepper behind you. His body presses slightly against you, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours. “You gonna listen to me from now on?”

“That depends.” You drag your ginger ale towards you with a tilt of your head. In sync, you chug your drinks. “Are you gonna treat me like an adult from now on?”

“I’ll try, kid,” he says, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You shove him playfully at the label and he chuckles. “Sorry, it’s outta habit.”

“But seriously,” he continues, his expression hardening into his usual tough one. “You know that I only say those things to look out for you.”

That catches you off-guard. You search his eyes, revelling in the sincerity of his words.

“I know, Logan,” you smile and nod. Leaning in, you kiss him tenderly on his cheek and begin to walk away. “Try to get some sleep.”

When you’re about to leave, he calls out your name softly, causing you to turn around.

“If you ever have another sleepless night, come find me.” He closes the distance and pins you down with an intense stare and a smug arch of his eyebrow. “I still have to properly teach you a lesson over my knee, y’know.”

“Is that so?” you challenge. “Even after everything that happened tonight?”

“Tonight was just a preview,” he whispers. He lifts his hand to palm your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin. “I need to keep you in check so you won’t forget.”

You're drawn to him, wanting to close the gap with a kiss.

But you decide against it, not wanting to let him win this round.

“I’ll think about it."

Turning on your heel, you saunter away. His eyes track every move, every sway of your hips in those tight shorts, drinking in the sight of you until you disappear from view.

Despite your tentativeness, Logan’s determined he’ll have another taste of you soon enough.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut

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chastiefoul · 8 months ago

Text

—finally giving up on your unrequited love ft. alhaitham

a/n: ouch i hurt myself writing this. wc: 1.6k words of yapping about unrequited feelings

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

it seemed like a blessing once, like acceptance. the slightest open of the door, thinking you could invite yourself in and he’d embrace that fact. but as his apathy remain constant and unchanging, you’ve come to realization—an embarassing one at that.

that indifference, that should’ve been a sign for you; alhaitham will never return your feelings.

a stroll a day, keeps the stressful thoughts away.

however today’s walk is just not doing it for you, once you decided to wake up from the dreamland you thought you’ve been living in. a faraway and unrealistic vision of a life where you end up together with the akademiya scribe. an exaggerated sigh escaped you at your own daydreaming. usually by now you’d be quick on your feet to visit the scribe, however the overdue revelation you had last night made you finally think twice before doing it. and only because of that now you’d realized just how much of your life was centered on the grey-haired man, which was a scary discovery, knowing just exactly how little you mattered to his.

you found an empty bench mid-walk, immediately sitting on it. you leaned back, both of your hands holding your weight as you look above. the sky was clear that day, but your mind was clearer, as if a thick fog has finally been lifted.

seriously, what have you been doing all this time? giving your all to someone who wanted none of you. alhaitham’s curt nod, his brief and short responses really should’ve been a clue as to how he felt about you. yet you kept being stubborn, and sometimes hope was human’s greatest enemy. what should have been a bare minimum gesture he did, your mind managed to twist it into something more; clinging to it like a water on a desert. when it turned out that was exactly all there was to it—a mirage.

you chuckled sadly. even remembering those pathetic displays, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully regret having this feeling towards alhaitham. those moments where you’d steal a glance at him and felt like the world was okay. you would not allow yourself to forget that as you became more selfish, wanting him to look at you and feel the same. but here you were, reluctantly learning to accept the fact that he may never does.

suddenly a shadow loomed over you, shielding you from the sunlight you didn’t realize was so bright.

a familiar blond invaded your vision. “(y/n)?” he called out unsure, not expecting you to be there. “oh hi there, kaveh,” you lightly said, as if your heavy train of thoughts hadn’t existed at all. you adjusted your sitting position, shifting yourself to the side as you spare an empty spot beside you for him to sit. kaveh swiftly took your silent offer up, making himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench. “i spotted you from afar and you seemed a little troubled, hopefully i was wrong?” the ever so kind kaveh spoke up, and you couldn’t help but smile. kaveh always felt like a friend more than alhaitham ever was, albeit knowing him after you got to know the scribe. you weren’t even sure if the grey-haired man would ever mention even a word about his roommate if it wasn’t for you hanging wround on his office on a peaceful lunch break when the fuming blond barged in and yell at him about a key.

as it turned out, it’s a known fact that most people became quiet irritable when it comes to being in contact with the curt and aloof scribe, since kaveh has been nothing but a good friend since the day he gave you a weird look about wanting to get close to the acting grand master.

“it’s kind of complicated to say,” you started, thinking of the words as you went on. “let’s just say i’m having a quite bittersweet moment.”

you rested your gaze on the bustling street in front of you. he nodded in reply, “i’m guessing it’s more bitter than it is sweet?” he asked genuinely as you smiled once more despite not feeling a drop of mirth. “i suppose so,” you replied curtly, not knowing what to say to his keen observation. keen and exactly correct.

it’s the kind of bitterness that lingered. a kind of flavor you’d expected, since you’re the one who put it in. still, when that sharp taste hit your tongue you couldn’t help but flinch. after all, things don’t stop affecting you even though you saw it coming from miles away. you just hoped the sweetness will get stronger overtime, overpowering as it wash down the unpleasant aftertaste.

kaveh mirrored your smile in return except his looked particularly patronizing, as if he could sense your helplessness.

“will you tell me what happened?” his voice sounded gentle, a care you’ve never heard from the man you’d give a limb to for him to say things along that line. how do you even begin to answer such a simple question? nothing happened, and that’s why it was the problem. the fact that you’re the only one who’s mulling all over this, being so conflicted to what he thought must be nothing. a pain so overwhelming that’s swirling all over your chest while his biggest inconvenient that day was probably a typo made in a document made by a lousy student.

the whole thing just sounded so... pathetic.

“nothing happened... it’s just, i have decided to finally give up on something,” you try your best to sound nonchalant despite having no bravery to look at him, scared that he didn’t look like he believed you.

“well, i might know a thing or two about it. sometimes when an architecture project is too... unreasonable,” kaveh paused, the word tasted like a sour lime on his mouth. “there’s no way but to give it up. especially if you take a step back as take the whole picture from many aspects; in my case, there are budget, location, materials, and so on. there would definitely be some regret about letting go especially an ambitious task, however i think many of my past-self would really like to give the present-me a big gratitude for not forcing it through,” he rambled on, despite having no idea what were you referring on. “even sometimes, the reward was just not worth the risk, you know?” he ended it at that, throwing the question at you.

you swallowed on nothing, but you needed that to let out a reply.

“yes, i do know.”

“yeah? does this mean in your case, whatever you were fighting for was not worth it in the end?”

oh, that’s the worst part. you knew, you knew it with your heart, body and soul that it would be so worth it if there’s an outcome, a scenario where alhaitham might return your feelings. oh it would be so worth it. you could smile, just imagining how worth it would it be.

but that was all it was. an unattainable imagination. an ending that you couldn’t allow yourself to be so cocky to reach.

kaveh waited for your respond patiently, but when the silence had gone for too long he moved his stare to you. he widened his eyes, his gaze softened.

“i don’t think you’re as okay as you made yourself to be,” he said softly, as you felt your cheeks wet by the uninvited tears, running along freely across your face. yet, you couldn’t make an effort to stop them, your heart knew more than anyone you needed that. to feel the sadness, to recognize it.

to let go of the fact that alhaitham will never return your feelings.

kaveh was just quiet as you sobbed quietly, putting a handkerchief silently at the space between you both. there is no empty consolation, no comforting words, no small pats on the back. there’s just silence, a little safe bubble for you to cry in without people coming over to you and asked why.

giving up is such a funny thing, how could doing it hurt more than to keep trying even though you received no sign of reciprocity at all? but you knew the answer of that.

when there hasn’t been a rejection, it’s in everyone’s nature to have hope. a hope that there’s a chance of obtaining something you’ve wished for. a chance that something could happen.

giving up means finality. a state of accepting an outcome you hadn’t wanted. a result you never asked for. an ending where all that’s left was what should have and what could have. a harsh reality people could only accept as it dangled the possibilities and visions of what ‘could have happened’ if you’d just kept trying right in front of your eyes.

like chasing your own shadow; a fun thing to do when you’re a child, but now it’s just a fitting metaphor, reminding you of a fool’s way who love in such a pathetic way.

but now it’s definitely a curse. after all, anything that has to do with love was not indifference.

it was never, indifference.

---

the urge to write this in alhaitham pov........................ should i?

#genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader

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mishellii · 7 months ago

Text

♢ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ♢

ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ, ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ, ᴋɪʙᴀ, ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ, ɴᴇᴊɪ & ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ

a/n: sooo my first headcanons yeiih!! this just came flowing out of me while watching boruto tbh because i'm delusional lmao,,,, anyway, very self indulgent as always :) ignore typos pls i cant spell aaaand enjoy xx

likes & reblogs appreciated <3

warnings: none! SFW :) not proofread

masterlist

♢ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴜᴢᴜᴍᴀᴋɪ♢

✿sUCH a messy sleeper

❀he'd toss and turn throughout the whole night, ending up somewhere completely different than where he fell asleep on the bed

❀matching pyjama sets !!!

✿especially seasonal ones, he adores them

✿BLANKET HOGGER !!!

❀but not on purpose really, he just pulls it with him due to all his movements

✿u always wake up with it either on the floor or him laying atop of it

❀sometimes he hits u with his elbow or his feet, but pls don't tell him he WILL cry

✿just push him away, boy will not wake up under any circumstances

❀the both of u alWAYS cuddle when falling asleep

✿the usual position is with his arms around your waist, legs thrown over ur own and his face resting next to ur shoulder

❀for that exact reason he's a BIG SPOON !!

❀so so quick to fall asleep, and wakes up after u as well

✿but not at all groggy in the morning !! he's energetic from the second he opens his eyes and sees u preparing breakfast

❀overall just the softest boyfriend ever

♢ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ ᴜᴄʜɪʜᴀ♢

❀now thIS dude sleeps like a corpse

✿he's not particularly prone on cuddling u, but he fairly enjoys having ur head on his chest and feeling ur fingertips draw circles against his skin

❀he'd never admit it tho obviously

✿mostly wears a black lose t-shirt and some short sweats or sumn

❀just comfortable all around

✿i'm a firm believer in the back position

❀laying flat on the mattress, one arm either around u, or both resting on his belly

✿light sleeper, if i may

❀takes him pretty long to fall asleep as well, but counting ur breath usually calms him and makes it easier

✿u make everything easier for him actually

❀doesn't really care about a blanket, it all really depends on what u prefer while sleeping

✿often awoken by nightmares, but won't ever wake u up or tell u the next day because he thinks it's embarrassing

❀refuses to leave the bed in the morning, but isn't moody at all just very quiet

✿always helps u make breakfast and makes the bed without having to ask him to

❀overall just a calm lover

♢ᴋɪʙᴀ ɪɴᴜᴢᴜᴋᴀ♢

❀without a doubt, a snorer

✿like IM SORRY LADIES but c'mon

❀but not annoyingly loud, just breathy lil snores

✿the problem with it is: he won't move an INCH away from u ever, he's all up in ur business while sleeping

❀doesn't matter how, he's always got to feel u next to him somehow

✿i take him as a sleep talker too, mumbling incoherent words against your neck which only make u laugh tbh

❀akamaru's got his own bed next to the two of u, but some nights he crawls in between ur bodies, practically suffocating u

✿you really don't mind on colder nights, but in summer kiba makes him get off, due to having such a high body temperature already and he doesn't want u to complain even more

❀wore a shirt and pants at the beginning of ur relationship

✿but now??? u'd have to FORCE him to wear anything more than boxers

❀hates when u don't want to cuddle :(( might as well kill him fr

✿why need a blanket when he has you??

❀doesn't leave the bed AT ALL in the morning, u literally have to grab him by the feet and drag him out of it

✿he's a sweetheart, really

♢ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ ɴᴀʀᴀ♢

❀dude HATES cuddling at the beginning of ur relationship, me thinks

✿but fear not, it just takes a bit of convincing from ur side and he's in on it

❀but it's subtle touches really, like holding his hand or having ur feet intertwined

✿if u've had a bad day, he'd definitely play with your hair to make u fall asleep, he's not a diCK

❀grey sweats all the way !!!!!

✿rarely ever wears a shirt, except for when it's cold of course

❀he seems much more like a light sleeper than not, but he's so grouchy when something wakes him up it's a drag really

✿has to be completely dark and quiet in his room or he won't be able to close one eye

❀always sleeps on the side closest to the door

✿big on talking about both ur days at night because he's a very private person and loves spending time with u ALONE

❀deep talk at 2am?? u can bet on it

✿forehead kisses!!! once u wake up and neither of u want to get up and start ur day

❀he's such an attentive lover in general, i'm actually going insane

♢ɴᴇᴊɪ ʜʏᴜɢᴀ♢

❀oh my lovely boy

✿i feel like he wouldn't move a MUSCLE while sleeping

❀sometimes you have to poke him to make sure he's still alive

✿AHEM

❀a light sleeper foshou

✿also ????

❀he would 100% wait for u to fall asleep first

✿would always run his fingertips over your back to make you tired

❀unfortunately, the closest to cuddling u two do, is ur head on his chest

✿he gets sweaty quickly, so he'll often sleep without a shirt (which u don't complain about obviously) and that's the reason why he doesn't necessarily NEED body contact (in this situation only!!)

❀but HUGE PLUS he'll sweet talk you to sleep almost every night

✿asking about ur day from begin to end

❀he wants to know it ALL

✿in general, he's really big on making you as comfortable as possible before bed

❀would even wait till the morning to go pee because you look so peaceful laying on his chest

✿don't mind him watching u he just thinks ur so pretty ok

❀u wake up to the smell of coffee almost every morning

✿overall, as we been knew, the gentlest gentlemen to perhaps ever gentleman goodbye

♢ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ ʜᴀᴛᴀᴋᴇ♢

❀poor baby's the king of light sleepers

✿always ready to jump into battle and protect u if he has to, even if u convince him that ur safe and nothing's going to happen :(

❀casually wears a black tanktop and some sweats, mask and shinobi headband easily reachable on the bedside table at his right side

✿definitely enjoys u playing with his hair too much

❀he prefers to fall asleep with his head either on your chest or tugged just under your chin so he can hear you breathe and ur heart beat

✿he's so tragic oh my days

❀anYWAY light snores but only when he's REALLY gone and u rarely ever see him in this state so,,,,,

✿loves listening to ur stories before falling asleep

❀legs & arms intertwined and allathat

✿you will never lay in bed without him picking up one of his books at least ONCE

❀it really calms him down u know

✿but start a conversation with him, and he's all urs, book long forgotten next to his mask and headband.

❀always wakes up earlier than u, preparing breakfast with said book between his fingers

✿(he swears he'll close it once ur awake tho)

❀((he does))

a/n: AHEM i hope u liked it ???? pls tell me ??? AAAA i will see u beans next time bye bye xx

devider by @enchanthings

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jamminvroomvroom · 8 months ago

Note

hi babe i’m here from the dms but. speaking of brain rot, thinking abt fwb lando again where u stay the night after and wake up in the morning expecting him to be gone already for smth work related or what not but he’s still in bed absolutely clinging to u. and then more soft sleepy morning sex 🫠🫠

play pretend.

ln x fem!reader

in which it’s time to stop pretending…

just a little blurb to say…. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lavenderlando !! sorry i made you wait like 6 months for this lmfao i love u girl, u mean the world to me and i hope this hits the spot 💖💖 lemme know what y’all think, more 4k requests will be worked on asap (it’s exam szn ew)

songs to set the mood: denial by james marriott, real love baby by father john misty, can i call you rose? by thee sacred souls

warnings: 18+!! minors go away! smut, morning sex, friends to lovers, best friend!reader, friends with benefits type relationship, fluff, unprotected sex (don’t be silly…)

1k words

cool air casts goosebumps over your bare skin, the open window letting in the morning breeze. you tug at the grey bedsheets, dragging them higher over your frame where you lay. you eyes are cracked open, hazily taking in the sight before you.

he’s still here.

you often expect lando to be gone when you wake up. sometimes it’s because of work, sometimes it’s because you’d promised not to do this again but alcohol had then rendered the both of you irresistible to the other, and it was too awkward to have yet another jarring conversation about how you’re such good friends.

but he’s there. and he’s looking at you.

“hi.” he croaks, soft and low. you revel in his morning voice on the rare occasions you get to hear it.

“hey.” you mumble, leaning in closer to him.

he pushes the duvet up and away, inviting you into his arms, and you wriggle towards him. he’s a human heater, and you’re cold, that’s the only reason you snuggle up, tucked between his arms.

“you’re still here.” you whisper into his chest, purposefully quiet, almost as if you don’t actually want him to hear you.

“couldn’t leave you.” he mutters quietly.

you crane your head to look up at him, eyes blown wide at the admission.

“why?”

“i hate leaving after.”

the ‘after’ hangs heavy in the air between you for a second. he’s eyeing up your lips and you’re returning the gesture, sleepy eyes flitting between his and his plush lips.

this never happens. usually, the night starts with too many drinks too quickly, progresses to his hands dropping dangerously low on your waist, leads to the pair of you mentally scarring an innocent taxi driver, and ends with you underneath him. or, on top of him. and then, he’s gone.

“for the record, i hate it when you go.” you reply, and the space between you dissipates. there are so many unsaid words being traded between you, an intense charge of energy. you’re anxiously sliding your hands up his sides, itching to feel impossibly closer.

“maybe i should stop going then, hm?” two of lando’s fingers grasp your chin, tilting it up to bump his.

“yeah.” you breathe.

it’s like he’s tugged an invisible string, and you’re melting into him, his lips slotting immaculately over yours, as if they were sculpted by god to rest against yours. he tastes familiar, it’s rare you get to kiss him sober and in the light of day. you bask in it, finding the messy, loose curls tickling the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the thick, brown strands. he groans, parting his mouth just enough for you to slide your tongue over his.

“want you. now.” you gasp urgently into the space where your lips part, your body rolling hungrily against his.

“i always want you, drives me crazy.” lando grunts, grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you even closer.

lando slots his thigh between your legs, and you search for friction, rutting against him. you’re both naked from the blurry night before so you can feel everything, each part of him so ready for you. you’re slick for him already, can feel the way it’s painting your inner thighs. you hate how easy it is to lose yourself in him.

“take me then.” you whine, your forehead collapsing against his shoulder.

lando smirks, flipping you over so that your back is to his chest, like you’re nothing. he hooks your top leg over his, sliding himself closer to where you’re aching for him.

“can’t keep pretending.” lando whispers against the shell of your ear.

he slides deep, then, filling you to the hilt. it knocks the air out of you, your back arching at the sensation of him hitting every single spot that mattered.

“then let’s not pretend anymore.” you choke out, your head rolling back against his shoulder.

“yeah, baby? wanna be all mine?” he teases, thrusting deep and slow, the slide of him shooting pleasure over your body like the slow, satisfying drip of warm honey.

“already am, all yours.” you sigh, totally and utterly content as your nerve endings pulsed with pleasure.

“good girl.” lando praises, his voice fucked out and lovestruck.

as if he’s rewarding you for your admission, the pad of his finger slips down your navel, finding your clit. you’re soaked for him, wet and warm, and he traces circles into the bundle of nerves, each touch sending you keening back into him.

“so close.” you sound like you’re begging, pleading for him to let you finish all over him.

“gotta say please.” he nips the skin of your shoulder and you squirm, toes curling.

“please, lando.” you writhe, canting your hips back against him.

“sound so pretty for me.” he coos, peppering kisses down your neck.

his fingers speed up against your folds, working you perfectly to a sweet release. everything is still blurred by sleep, your body overly sensitive from the cool air pouring in through the window and the slumber still lodged in your bones.

“cum with me.” you slur, your eyes squeezing shut. you almost turn into him, convulsing in his arms to the point where you’d be staring into his stormy eyes if you could manage to pry yours open.

“let me see those eyes.” he commands, your entire body shuddering. you blink, staring up at him, and you both fold, meeting your ends. he looks fierce, starved, completely enamoured with every single way your face moves.

your jaw hangs agape, a choked cry stifled in the back of your throat. it’s all too much, and just about enough, huge, calloused hands roaming your body as your shake, spilling all over him.

“god.” you breathe, flopping limply against him. he stays buried inside of you, his face lost to the damp skin of the crook of your neck.

“i never would of left all those mornings if i knew this is the good morning i’d get.” lando laughs, the sound deep and wholesome. you cosy yourself up even closer to him.

“not letting you leave from now on.” you murmur, smiling to yourself when you feel his lips press against the back of your head.

“you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

sorry this is soooo bad lmao i felt the urge to write something short n sweet xoxo

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @formulaal

#lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris blurb #lando norris fic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #f1 fic #f1 blurb #f1 smut #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #formula 1 fic #formula 1 smut #formula 1 driver x you #lando norris oneshot #f1 oneshot

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missqhughes · 3 months ago

Text

IS SHE REALLY YOURS? | Q. HUGHES43

-> quinn x jacksgf!reader

-> contains: mentions of sex and sexual acts, verbal fights, cheating, teasing, ocs created for the plot, use of y/n, lowercase intended

-> IN WHICH: y/n swears to herself and quinn that jack will never know what happened between them. however, as jack’s actions become even more questionable, quinn starts to drop hints about what he did to his girlfriend the night before, showing him two can play at the same game.

-> the HIGHLY requested pt 2 to can he get you like this! god i love this plot soooo much. don’t know if i would hate to be in this situation or adore it 🫥 anyway, hope you love it as much as i do!

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

y/n knew it was wrong.

that she fucked her boyfriends older brother. how much she enjoyed it, how good he made her feel. that she loved how it sounded when he moaned her name. that she slept in quinn’s bed in his boxers, she felt a comfort in him holding her close in his unconscious state.

y/n attempted to reach over quinn to grab his phone, afraid that she had woken up too late and leaving quinn’s room would mean certain, immediate trouble.

quinn shifted, waking up and witnessing her crawling on top of him, reaching for the side table, and ultimately failing to do so.

“well, good morning to you too, what are you doing?”

quinn’s sleepy voice was like music to her ears, “sorry, i just wanted to see what time it is,” she said, backing up to lay on her side, partly embarrassed that quinn caught her in the act.

quinn let out a chuckle, brushing the hair away from her face, then holding the nape of her neck to bring her into a sweet kiss.

he inhaled with satisfaction, “you don’t need to know what time it is,” he mumbled against her lips, breaking away to place a kiss on her jawline.

“i do, it’s going to look pretty bad if jack is awake and i come out of your room. especially looking… like this.” y/n remarked, her chest branded with quinn’s mark.

quinn briefly looked at his phone screen, “it’s 7:50, still pretty early. you should be good,”

y/n felt a relief, thinking the worst, that it was later in the morning and everyone else was already awake and that she would have to bring the million dollar excuse to the table of why she was coming out of quinn’s room instead of her own, or jacks.

y/n got up off the bed to look for her shirt and shorts, only to realize that her shirt was still splayed over the kitchen counter.

“fuck”, she whispered to herself, cursing at her forgetfulness.

“can you go get my shirt from the kitchen? i don’t want to walk out there in just a bra and shorts.”

got up and ruffled his hair, his broad shoulders displaying just noticeable scratch marks down them. instead of leaving the room, he went into his closet.

“just wear one of mine,” he said casually,

y/n knew he wasn’t going to get it, and she sure as hell wasn’t either. no one was going to see her in it, so who cares?

quinn tossed her an oversized shirt, a grey one with the classic canucks logo on it. she shot him a look,

“seriously? quinn i cant wear this. what am i going to say to jack if he sees this in my room?” she held the t-shirt in her hands, flustered just at the thought of wearing quinn’s shirt.

“you’ll be fine, you worry too much,” quinn was so casual in his demeanor, some may say it was off putting, but that’s just how he was.

y/n slipped the shirt over her head, engulfed by quinn’s familiar and newly intoxicating scent.

“see you for breakfast then?” she said, standing by the door, holding out the boxers he lent her the night before.

“always,” he said, taking the boxers from her hand before biting his lip and slapping her ass as she left his room.

“quinn!”

“sorry, just had to,” quinn laughed, then closed the door behind her.

was any of this real? she thought to herself.

y/n quietly shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing her shirt that was, in fact, splayed over the kitchen counter. she hurried back to her room in a quiet run, softly closing the door and finally letting out the breath she was holding in.

she took off quinn’s shirt and replaced it with her own, his scent still lingering on her. y/n’s mind went blank, wondering how everything was going to be from now on. sure, jack didn’t know. he will never know. but now that she had done this with quinn, what does that mean for them?

she knew she couldn’t have them both, that she couldn’t just end things with jack just to move on to his older brother.

y/n snapped out of it, shoving quinn’s shirt deep into her dresser, where hopefully no one would find it.

——————————————————————————

10:23am

y/n thought this was a safe enough time to leave her room, this being the hour she usually emerges to the living room. but this time she had been up for hours before hand, laying down, a million thoughts firing at once.

she walked down to the kitchen, no quinn or jack, or alana in sight, just april and luke.

“morning guys, the others aren’t up yet?”

luke yawned, “morning, quinn isn’t up but alana and jack are.”

y/n tried her best to keep a poker face, but she felt her heart sink at hearing that they were up but no where in sight.

“oh. where’s jack then?”

she didn’t give a shit about where alana was, as long as it wasn’t with jack.

“he took her out on the jetski, they left like 10 minutes ago,” april let out quickly, avoiding eye contact with y/n.

great.

in almost weird, perfect timing, both quinn came out of his room as alana and jack came up from the dock.

a few good mornings were shared, jack walking over to y/n sitting at the kitchen barstool, placing a quick soft kiss on her cheek. quinn smirked while watching, her head dipping down slightly to hide the pink hue dressed on her face.

jack, for once in his life it seemed like, noticed, and he gave quinn a weird look.

“what’s up with you bud?” he smiled, passing his older brother in the kitchen.

quinn poured himself coffee, back to his brother, covering the devilish smile he had on his face.

“nothing, just slept really good last night, ya know? bed felt extra comfortable,” he said casually, sipping his coffee then facing jack with a nonchalant look.

y/n held her breath, thinking she was going to pass out either from lack of air or whatever the fuck game quinn was playing.

she was so focused on the interaction playing out in front of them, she didn’t notice the other three leaving, april tugging her friend into luke’s room, and him by the door listening to their conversation.

thankfully jack thought nothing of quinn’s remark, and he chuckled at his brother, “yeah i get you. all of us should get down to the water, it’s a super nice day out.”

he would know that. he’s already been out with alana today.

but she couldn’t go out today. not with the situation going on with her chest.

“i’ll probably just stay in-”

“-how about a boat day? i’ll come with this time. all of us.” quinn was quick to cut her off, and she couldn’t control the eye roll that came after.

jack nodded in agreement, “i’ll go tell the others,”

god, what did she get herself in to?

——————————————————————————

the weather was perfect, a calm summer day to pair with the pure anxiety she had on this boat ride. a secret under her shirt, and thankfully, quinn had his on too.

everything was fine for the most part, she was sitting next to jack, legs resting on his lap, and his arm gently draped over them.

the only thing that wasn’t fine, was that alana was still wearing his fucking hat. that she was taking pictures in it, and that they just could not stop talking to each other.

y/n looked at quinn’s focused expression steering the boat, and he looked back at her, then glancing at jack and alana. he slowed the boat, until it came to a complete stop.

“we should anchor here, too nice to not swim,”

she held her breath, again.

and to her horror, quinn peeled his shirt off, scratch marks in full visibility across his back.

luke was the first to notice, “dude, did you fuck someone last night?” after luke’s comment, the rest of them all turned their heads to see what he was talking about.

“damn Q, you’re an animal,” jack followed, “when did you leave the house to smash?”

“i didn’t, she came to ours.”

y/n’s heart stopped.

“who?” april asked, everyone curious about quinn’s secret woman of the night.

“yeah quinn, who?” y/n asked, gaze not leaving him, clenching her thumbs in her hands to prevent anyone seeing them from shaking.

“not telling. wanna see where it goes. but she lives really close,” he dived into the water, luke and april following after.

god what was he doing? does he think this is funny?

jack tapped her legs, signaling her to move, and she did. he walked towards the edge of the boat, noticing y/n didn’t soon follow after.

“you’re not going to get in? you love swimming,”

guilt hit her like a truck.

“i really dont feel well, i think swimming will just make me feel sicker,” she lied through her teeth, wrapping her arms around her body to sweeten the lie.

“don’t worry, i’ll swim with you jack!” a piercing voice said, y/n scoffed as alana skipped to where jack was, pushing him in.

she looked back at y/n, the two holding eye contact for just a moment before jack grabbed alana’s arm and pulled her into the water.

whatever.

the guilt was fading away, and as y/n looked out into the water, she didn’t notice april looking at her with a face of concern.

——————————————————————————

the ride back to the house brought familiar feelings back to her.

quinn decided to keep his shirt off, which she knew was 100%, undeniably, intentional. her evidence on him was on display for everyone, and her mind faded in a daydream of clawing into his back, pornographic moans emitting from her lips, all while he fucked her senselessly.

she needed to be alone.

y/n didn’t wait for anyone, instead booking it straight back into the house. she threw herself onto her bed, groaning into the plush pillows as she gripped her hair so tight she thought she might rip it out.

in her tantrum of panic, there was a knock at her door.

she didn’t know who she was hoping it was. jack? quinn? both?

neither.

it was april.

“hey,” she smiled softly at y/n before speaking again, “can we talk?”

“yeah, of course,” y/n held open the door to let april in to her room, the girl sitting on the edge of the bed, tensed up.

she never hated april. she actually found her really nice, thought she was a good fit for luke. they’d always gotten along, even going on double dates with her and jack.

“are you okay? what’s up?” she sat next to her, crossing her legs on the bed.

april inhaled deeply, in contemplation of her words.

“y/n, there’s something you should know.”

her heart stopped.

“what is it?”

“jack… and alana. i know she’s my friend but you deserve to know this. i mean you’ve seen it yourself she’s been throwing herself at jack this whole time. i keep telling her to stop but she just won’t, and i think they might have kissed on the dock.”

she felt like she was going to pass out, her throat burning with heartache. it hurt extra because she had no right to feel this way. she was the one who cheated on him first. or did she even? it was an impossible situation.

“how do you know?”

y/n could tell april was trying not to cry, her own personal guilt coming out, “the other day, when you went to your room after dinner, alana and jack went down to the dock, just the two of them. i could see through the windows he was leaned over her, and she had her hand on his chest. that’s why i don’t know if they did for sure, and alana refuses to tell me.”

any guilt, all guilt she had in her situation was gone. at least she had the reservations to cheat on the low, and not be so embarrassingly blatant about it.

she hated it. she hated him.

y/n contemplated in this moment what she should do. should she tell april what her and quinn did? that they were both just another chain in the link of cheaters?

she was going to fake sadness, but the tears flew out unconsciously.

“thank you for telling me. i appreciate it.”

april nodded, and the two held a long, comforting hug.

“you’re welcome, and i’m sorry. i don’t know what you want to do but she’ll be gone in a few days, if you wanted to confront jack then.”

“yeah, good idea,” april gave her one last smile before getting up,

“i’ll be down by the water if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

y/n gave her a thumbs up, and with a gentle click of the lock, april left.

she waited a couple minutes, enough time for her to be gone, then shuffled over to quinn’s room. his door was shut and there was no noise to be heard, but she prayed he would answer when she knocked.

and he did.

“hey, hey, what happened?” his look softened, instinctively holding her face in hands, wiping her tear ridden face.

“jack cheated. he fucking cheated before we even did anything quinn. that night… the night i went to my room, he kissed her, he kissed alana on the dock. he was almost on top of her and she had her hand on his chest.”

her voice trembled, she held up her hands to hold quinn’s arms to keep her standing, feeling that if she didn’t, she would come crumbling to the floor.

quinn’s soft expression quickly morphed into a look of anger,

“how do you know that?”

“april told me,” y/n sobbed.

“oh, y/n,” he pulled her into his room, engulfing her in a hug, resting his face on the top of her head as he rubbed gentle circles on her back.

“everything’s going to be fine, okay? it’s gonna be just fine. do you trust me?”

she looked up at him with glossy eyes, not a hint of deceit in his face.

“yes, i trust you quinn.”

he kissed the tip of her nose, her tear stained cheeks, then her puffy red lips.

“good. lay down with me for now, i don’t want you upset all alone,”

she nodded, taking quinn’s hand and following to his bed, where he wrapped the blanket and himself around her, soothing the hiccuping sobs while massaging her body, and whispering that she was okay, and he was here.

——————————————————————————

y/n woke up in quinn’s bed.

but he was nowhere to be found.

stretching and rubbing her puffy eyes, she got up from the warm comfort of quinn’s bed. creaking open the door to see if anyone was up. when the coast was clear, y/n slipped out of quinn’s room and down to the main level.

she was greeted with everyone else, luke and quinn in the kitchen cooking dinner, and the others resting around the living room.

quinn looked over at y/n, waving her over to the kitchen.

“quite the napper recently aren’t you?” he joked, leaning his body slightly towards her, “you okay?” he whispered.

“i’m fine,” she said back, quinn holding her waist for just a few seconds then back to the cutting board before anyone could notice.

“go relax, dinner will be ready soon,”

she jokingly saluted him, taking the empty seat next to april on the couch, luke and jack occupying the chairs whilst they played video games.

she gave her a side hug, and y/n rested her head softly on april’s shoulder. her eyes glanced to alana, who was already looking at her, jaw tight and a deep look of annoyance on her face.

cant wait for a great family dinner.

——————————————————————————

y/n actually felt okay enough to talk.

it felt like everything was back to the way it was before, everyone was in the conversation. laughing, joking, enjoying it all together.

“so Q, you gotta tell us, who’s the chick you hooked up with?” jack asked, still rolling in curiously over who his older brother secretly had in his bed.

aaaaand there it was. back to reality.

quinn wiped his mouth and looked at jack coldly, “why do you want to know so bad?”

everyone looked taken aback at quinn’s defensive reaction,

“chill, i was just wondering. we all were trying to think of who it could be but came up blank.”

luke chimed in, “is she hot?”

“very.”

she could hear her heart beat pounding into her ears.

“how did you meet?”

“through someone else.”

“was it good?”

“even better than i imagined in my head.”

y/n’s chest felt like that of a hummingbird, unable to slow the pulse of her heart.

quinn crossed his arms on the table, “actually, i have a question for you jack.”

god, why was he doing this now? couldn’t he wait a few days?

“yeah?”

“what were you doing at the dock with alana the other night?”

here we fucking go.

jack stared blankly at quinn, the whole table fell into silence. his brother stared back, his expression unwavering.

“what are you talking about?”

“you two were there. her hand was on your chest, you were all over her. what’s up with that?”

jack stared at his brother blankly, placing his hand on y/n’s thigh with a soft squeeze.

“baby it’s not true, i promise. he’s lying,”

“i saw it for myself. alana?” quinn shifted the conversation to her, clearly annoyed that jack disregarded his question.

alana said nothing, jacks head whipping around to look at her, pleading blue eyes filled with nothing but guilt. she took her head in her hands, and just barely nodded in confession.

jack begun to panic, moving his hand up to caress y/n’s face, anything to save himself.

“baby i promise it’s not what you think. you’re all mine, i-”

“is she though?” quinn stood, leaning over the table slightly, a dark sound in his voice.

“what the hell are you talking about quinn?”

“you know… last night, she cried to me. cried to me about how shitty you were being, how little love you were giving her, how little attention gave to her. so i did.”

if looks could kill, jack and quinn would have matching wounds.

“what are you getting at?”

“i fucked her. in my bed. yeah, she was so fucking sexy moaning my name, i even made her cum. hard. ever get her like that jack? hm?”

no one else could say a word. luke’s mouth was hung open in shock, april’s covered by two hands, and alana with an unreadable expression.

y/n turned away, unable to look him in the eye,

“is all this true? look at me.”

she refused, instead nodding with a quivering lip, tears coating her closed lashes.

jack scoffed, “unbelievable, you are fucking unbelievable,” he was stood up now too, a hand gripped through his hair.

that’s when her emotions turned into a complete 180, appalled at his words,

“me? i’m unbelievable? you just spent the past couple days flirting with alana, come to find out you kissed her, and you think you get the only right to be mad? you need to fucking leave.”

“leave, you know this is also my house right?”

“jack…” luke’s voice trailed off, disappointment lingering, “you should go.”

“you’re kidding?”

“no. go to your apartment in jersey, go to mom and dads, anywhere, but you can’t be here for the rest of the summer.”

jack rubbed a hand on his mouth before slamming his fists on the table, grabbing alana’s hand, and ascending up to his room, likely to pack all their things.

y/n’s silent tears now turned into loud sobs, paining her each time she took a breath. quinn held her first, april and luke soon to wrap their arms around the pair too.

——————————————————————————

cleaning up after dinner was silent.

no one dared to speak, the loudest noise in the room being the familiar soft hum of the refrigerator.

they had all made their way to the living room after, y/n with her legs pulled up to her chest, leaned on quinn, the well known crumbling feeling just around the corner from her.

about an hour had passed since jack and alana went up, and now footsteps trailed down, them both emerging with packed suit cases.

together? who knows.

who cares.

the silence was still kept when they stepped towards the door, y/n only standing up when jack looked at her.

“hope you realize he just used you. used you because you were vulnerable, and easy. don’t forget that.”

the door slammed shut.

“you two definitely need some time alone,” april said softly, fiddling with the fingers in her lap.

“agreed, we’re gonna go to my room, you all got the floor, Q” luke chimed, putting an arm around april. as he tapped quinn’s shoulder and lovingly messed up y/n’s hair, they went to luke’s room, leaving just quinn and her left.

“and then there were two.” quinn said lightheartedly, his laugh fixing the dark aura that surrounded them previously.

“yeah, just us.”

“i always wanted it to be just us.”

she was in shock, especially considering her and jack dated for almost two years, and she knew the hughes family even longer before.

“quinn,” she began,

“i promise. i’ve wanted to give you everything for so long. i was crushed when jack told me he had feelings for you, but i pushed mine aside because i wanted him to be happy. but i knew i could be better for you,”

she wrap her arms around his neck, eyes going over all his gorgeous features, lip slightly quivering at his resemblance to jack.

“i had no idea quinn, if i knew… things could’ve been so different. but right now, i do want you. but i need time, it’s so fresh,” she almost framed it as a question, nervously awaiting what quinn was going to say.

“that’s okay, i’ll wait forever if i have to. right now, let’s just enjoy the rest of the summer yeah, how’s that sound?”

she smiled, bringing her head down to fully hug him,

“that sounds really good, but what about you and jack?” quinn’s face was unwavering, not a hint of worry or fear present.

“me and jack can figure our shit out later. it’ll all be okay,” he turned his head to kiss her temple reassuringly. y/n knew he was being truthful, every time quinn said something would be okay, it would be.

with his sweet words, she was ready to soak all of him into her. she was really all his.

——————————————————————————

xoxo, kaia

655 notes · View notes

kairawrites · 3 months ago

Text

shea butter.

🌺 masterlist 🌺

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

a/n: for all my fellow natural girlies. there's a slight mention of sex, you'll miss it if you squint.

summary: jude could do his own hair, but why do that when he has you?

The clippers hummed quietly in your hand as you focused intently on lining up Jude’s hair. The soft, melodic sound of Sade floated through the room, the sounds of her voice seemed to make time slow down and the outside world felt miles away. You hummed along quietly, barely conscious of it, your voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the music.

Jude sat on your accent chair, the plush upholstery sinking slightly beneath his weight as he leaned back, his broad frame clad only in a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. A towel, hastily draped over his shoulders as a makeshift cape, protected his bare chest from the stray clippings of his hair.

His legs were parted just enough to make space for you to stand between them, your body close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from you. His half-lidded eyes, still heavy from sleep, followed your every movement as you worked. The corner of his lips turned up in a lazy, contented smile as he listened to you hum softly. He knew the melody would be stuck in his head the moment he had to leave for the airport in the morning.

The fingers of his left hand are warm against your outer thigh. Gentle as they lightly retrace the same pattern over and over. He watched as your face took on that look of deep concentration he had come to love—your brow furrowing slightly, lips pressed into a soft line as you meticulously moved the clippers along his hairline. The way your lips parted ever so slightly when you leaned in closer, studying each angle, made his chest tighten with a familiar warmth.

Your lashes fluttered with every blink, and Jude marveled at how you managed to look so peaceful and yet so focused all at once. Your eyes, usually bright with humor, were now narrowed, intent on perfecting every detail. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the music shifted into a familiar tune, and you began to hum a little louder, Jude's fingers swirling to the beat.

Jude loved Sundays—at least, Sundays with you. With you, Sundays were peaceful. The morning was always dedicated to wash days, a ritual he had grown to love as much as you did. He would wake up to the sound of running water and the faint scent of your hair products lingering in the air, instantly bringing a sense of calm over him. He loved watching you go through your routine, the way you treated your curls with so much love and care, making him crave that same tenderness for himself. Which is why doing his hair had become embedded in your routine.

He was typically alongside you, resting on the edge of the vanity or standing nearby, his curious eyes studying the bottles of creams, oils, and conditioners you carefully selected. You’d catch him reaching for them, his hands inspecting the labels as if trying to decipher their secrets. Not sure why his hair only came out perfect when you used them. You loved that he wanted to be a part of it—so you’d often pass him a bottle, letting him unscrew the lids and hold the products just to make him feel included.

He would lift them to his nose, inhaling deeply, his face lighting up as he absorbed the subtle fragrances of coconut, honey, shea butter, and vanilla. “Smells like you,” he’d say, grinning. And you’d smile back, your heart swelling at how even the simplest things about you had become a comfort to him.

When it came time to detangle your curls, he was always eager to help, his hands gentle but sure as he ran them through your damp hair. He loved the feel of your curls, the softness that slipped between his fingers, the way your head would tilt just slightly, trusting him with something so personal. It was a quiet kind of intimacy—one that didn’t require words but was steeped in care. The kind of closeness he found himself craving whenever he was away, the moments he would replay in his mind on long nights spent traveling from one match to the next.

That’s why, when Jude woke up this morning and realized he had slept half the day away, he cursed himself for missing that precious time with you. Especially being as he had to leave in the morning. Sundays with you meant more than just relaxation; they were filled with the kind of connection that grounded him, that made him feel like just a man in love, far from the pressures and chaos of his world outside..

Although he’d missed your routine, he’d let out a sigh of relief when you had dragged him out of bed and to your chair.

Your hair, still damp from your wash day, framed your face in loose curls that bounced gently with your movements.

You leaned in closer, your hand gently cradling his jaw, your fingers just barely brushing the line of his jaw--a subtle reminder to stay still.

His gaze drifted over the curve of your lips, and he found himself smiling as he watched you quietly mouthing the lyrics to the song. You weren’t singing aloud, just quietly to yourself, as if the music had wrapped itself around you, pulling you further into the moment. Jude didn’t dare move, afraid to break the spell that had settled over the room.

"Almost done," you murmured under your breath, not even fully aware that you had spoken.

He could have closed his eyes and drifted off, lulled by the warmth of the room, the soothing music, and the gentle hum of your voice. But he didn’t want to miss this—didn’t want to miss watching you in this space where he was completely at ease.

Jude’s voice was soft when he finally spoke, breaking the gentle silence. “You look so beautiful when you concentrate, you know that?”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, surprised by the sudden compliment, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Your hands gently brush his shoulders to dust off stray hairs. "Sorry, Mr. Bellingham, I don’t accept compliments as payment," you teased, tilting your head with a playful glint in your eyes.

Jude’s laugh bubbled up, still thick with the remnants of sleep, the sound low and warm like a gentle rumble from his chest. It was the kind of laugh that made you want to curl back into bed with him. “Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he looked up at you, eyebrows raised. “What do you accept then?”

You grinned, biting your lip for a moment as you pretended to think. Letting your touch pass over his jaw, you smiled as his lips warmed your palm. “Kisses,” you said simply.

Jude didn’t miss a beat, his grin widening as he reached for you, his fingers slipping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Got plenty of those," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your stomach, his lips warm through the fabric of his sweatshirt that you wore. He placed a kiss against your chest, your neck before your cheek.

Your fingers curled into his hair as you laughed softly. "Better start paying up then," you whispered, leaning down to meet his lips with yours, the kiss soft and lingering. Your lips left his, him releasing an unsatisfied groan of protest.

“We need to finish this,” you giggle, lips pressing against the bridge of his nose, before stepping back.

Jude’s eyes followed you as you moved, every part of him attuned to the way the soft fabric of his favorite sweatshirt shifted over your frame. The deep navy of the worn cotton contrasted perfectly against your skin, and though it hung loosely on you, it couldn’t hide the subtle movements of your body beneath. His gaze trailed from the hem brushing your thighs to the gentle sway of your hips, making it impossible for him to look away.

As you reached the vanity to place the clippers down, he took the opportunity to shift forward. His hands found your waist, pressing gently into the fabric, the warmth of his touch radiating through the sweatshirt. It was a familiar gesture, one that always made you feel anchored to him. You turned to face him, done gathering the items you needed to finish his hair, but Jude had other ideas.

With a gentle but insistent tug, he guided you back toward him, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You can finish the rest here,” he mumbled. His arms slipped around your waist, drawing you down onto his lap. You settled into the familiar space, the weight of his hands steady and comforting against your hips.

“As long as you promise to behave,” the half hearted warning prompting your boyfriend’s touch to slip from beneath your sweatshirt.

Settling back against the seat, Jude murmured, “Always making me look better than anyone else could.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery, your lips curving into a smile. “Your barber might disagree,” you teased lightly, though you knew the way he looked at you said far more than just appreciation for your skills with clippers.

Jude's eyes softened, his gaze never leaving your face as he replied, “No one takes the time and care like you do.” His hands slid up your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over your skin, sending a warm shiver through you.

Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Better let me finish then," you whispered, smiling against his mouth before pulling back. “Can’t have your fans coming for me if I mess you up.”

You lifted the spray bottle and began dampening his hair, your fingers working through his soft curls with practiced ease. Jude’s hands, however, had a mind of their own. They roamed gently over your legs, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your thighs. He couldn’t seem to stop touching you, each stroke of his hands filled with lazy admiration.

As you focused, Jude’s hands eventually slipped beneath the hem of the sweatshirt, brushing over the small of your back. The light pressure of his touch made you sigh softly, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin. His hands moved slowly, rhythmically, as though he were tracing a map only he could read.

“Jude,” you murmured, your voice laced with playful exasperation as you continued working on his hair. “You’re distracting me.”

His low chuckle vibrated through the space between you. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, his lips brushing your wrist in a gentle kiss as his hands wandered up your thighs again. “You’re just so soft.”

You bit your lip to suppress a smile, lowering the spray bottle as you combed your fingers through his curls. “You say that every time.”

“That’s because it’s true,” he countered, capitalizing on the pause in your actions. His fingers drew slow, lazy patterns across your lower back. “I still don’t know how you’re always so soft,” he murmured, his hands moving to cradle your hips.

You tried to focus on the task at hand, but his hands made it nearly impossible. As your fingers moved through his damp curls, Jude’s touch drifted lower, cupping the backs of your thighs, his grip firm yet tender. The sensation sent a pleasant warmth through you, and when his hands finally squeezed the soft flesh of your butt, you couldn’t help but shift forward in his lap. You caught sight of his smirk as you instinctively shifted against him, the feel of him against you causing you to repeat the action.

“Jude,” you began again, only this time you’re unable to complete the sentence.

He hummed in response, his hands repeating the action, enjoying the way you moved in response to his touch. His grip tightened, encouraging you to grind against him, shifting his hips as your eyes fluttered close. “Hmm?” His voice was light, but the mischief in his eyes as he pulled back made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Mind your hands," you warned.

Jude’s lips curled into a smile, but he obediently kept his hands in place as you leaned back to retrieve the curl cream from the vanity. "I’m not doing anything," he teased, as he unscrewed the lid for you.

He was right. You should be able to resist him, but you can't. Not when the heat of his body is this close. Not when you can feel him pressing against you, the thin fabric of his sweatpants and your underwear separating you allowing you to feel exactly where his mind was headed. Not when his hands are kneading your skin, the motion hypnotic and tempting. Not when he leaned forward slightly, the moment you gathered the product in your hand, brushing his lips against your wrist as you began to work the cream into his hair.

You sighed, trying to suppress the flutter in your chest as his kisses moved lazily from your wrist up the inside of your arm. "Jude," you muttered, a mixture of amusement slipping into your tone. He knew what he was doing—distracting you, as always.

"Mmhmm?" he responded, his voice a soft murmur against your skin as he kissed a spot just above your elbow. “..you said watch my hands…”

Despite his affectionate distraction, you pressed on, determined to finish his hair. But Jude’s attention was unwavering—his lips now following a slow path up your arm, until he reached your shoulder. His mouth warm against your skin, tongue brushing against your skin before he gently began to against your neck. The position was not helpful, but you both knew you wouldn’t move to stand.

You pulled back briefly to grab more product from the vanity, shaking your head with a smile that you couldn't hide. As you leaned back in, Jude took the opportunity to nuzzle his lips against your neck, his kisses soft and warm, teasing the sensitive skin there picking up where he'd left off.

“Jude,” you said again, a warning in your voice, though it lacked any real conviction. The rest of your words were lost, falling victim to the sigh that escaped as he found the spot he knew that could cloud your mind. His fingers digging into your skin as you instinctively shifted your hips.

He repeated the action, focusing solely on kissing and sucking your skin. The action covering your body in a familiar heat. It took all your concentration to stay focused on his hair rather than the way his hand shifted to rest against the base of your spine.

Your mind floods with memories of the last time you were in this position. You had meant to be doing his hair, but Jude's wandering hands and lips had made you abandon the task entirely. As you relax against him now, your hands momentarily still in his hair, a low chuckle escapes his lips, letting you know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

How easily it had been that morning to shift your weight to his right thigh. How your fingers had tightened in his hair, tugging against the curls you’d just tended to. How your hips allowed his hands to guide their movements. Him encouraging you to grind down on his thigh, until your body was a quivering mess your voice melding into the music, his lips and teeth dragging along the warmth of your shoulder and neck. How easily he'd slipped between your folds by the time he'd pulled you onto his lap. How the high you were chasing had forced you to accept his desire for you to ride him slowly. Submitting, allowing him guide your hips, welcoming the words he'd whispered against your skin. The orgasms he'd pulled from you that morning tugging at your mind each time you sat in that same chair when he was away.

"I’m just helping," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he pressed another gentle kiss just beneath your ear, sending a rush of warmth through you.

"You’re not helping at all," you laughed softly. You were trying to sound firm, but his lips found that perfect spot again at the base of your neck, and you couldn’t help the quiet sigh that escaped your lips.

Jude’s hands remained planted firmly on your hips, just as you had instructed, but his lips—his lips had other plans. They moved with deliberate slowness, peppering kisses along the curve of your neck, your shoulder, your jaw.

“Just saving you time,” he mumbles. “No point in pretending how this’ll end.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in mock disapproval even as a smile tugged at your lips. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grinned against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered, "I know," before placing one last kiss just below your jawline.

Your hands, slick with product, glide through Jude’s curls one last time before you wipe them clean on the towel draped over his shoulders. His dark eyes are locked on yours, and you catch the way his lips twitch upward in that familiar, mischievous smile. He knows exactly where this is headed.

With a soft thud, you let the towel fall to the floor, and before you can make a move, Jude’s arms are wrapped around your waist pulling you close. He tips his head back slightly as your hands instinctively find the nape of his neck, your fingers grazing over the warm skin there. His gaze flickers down to your lips, and for a moment, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and steady as it fans over your face.

Jude's nose brushes against yours, the softest of touches, and the space between you grows smaller until your lips meet in a kiss—gentle at first, tender and lingering. His lips hover there, but you can't help yourself. You lean into him, deepening the kiss, and the world around you fades.

tagging those who liked the post about this story. sorry it's late af.

@iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh @jareaulamontagnes @judes-baeeee @alexandraa-mondragonn @tana-mxx @whorefordeadpeople @redbulldoesntgiveyouwings @judespoets @deanbluntsupremacy @atlasthecreator @humanstheworld @sakaloverrr @justabrokensoulxd @preetykookiie @bbgkoo @anotimportantperson @bellinghamfc @certifiedlesbianbaddie @lilyislostinthelight @elisacarynia @abbieanthony20 @extrology467 @sinnerxxer @lanassiren444 @undercover-fangirl5 @judescorem @eriks-girl @calif0rnia-lovers @menacetosobr1ety

#jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic

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theonottsbxtch · 13 days ago

Text

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT3 | FC43

part one | part two |

an: this is the most requested part three. i fell asleep so many times writing this but i’m waiting for tate’s new song so it gave me something to do. not proof read.

wc: 8.3k

It was nearly dawn when Franco turned off the engine, but the silence felt hollow. He sat motionless in the cockpit of his car, his hands still gripping the wheel even though he had finished his lap over an hour ago. The empty track stretched before him, a stark grey line splitting the waking sky, and for a fleeting moment, he considered taking off down it one more time, just for the noise.

That had been the only reason he'd even bothered coming out this morning. Noise. Anything loud enough to cut through the thick numbness that had settled over his life the last two years. Even racing—his childhood dream, his only real thrill—felt distant, just another repetition in an endless loop of things he used to care about.

He let go of the wheel, his fingers stiff and aching, and slumped back into his seat. The inside of the car still smelled new, though he’d driven this car all season. But everything in his life felt new in the wrong way, like he was breaking in someone else's skin.

Franco closed his eyes, but there was no escape there either. As much as he tried to avoid it, the image still came easily: two years ago, his wedding day. The hushed gasp of the guests as he had walked back down the aisle alone, the weight of his father-in-law’s hand on his shoulder. And her eyes—his childhood best friend, his first love, his confession to her still raw in his throat. He'd bared his heart, thought he was finally doing the right thing, only to watch her turn him down, her gaze steady and unwavering.

It was strange how clearly he could remember it. She had moved on. He was too late.

And yet here he was, two years later, sitting in the emptiness his choices had carved out. His marriage was the result of the aftermath—inevitable, unstoppable, once her father had coerced him into making it right. He’d been a fool to think he could live with it, that he could somehow build a life out of that hollowed-out choice. But every day he woke up, and every day it was the same. A stranger beside him, a public charade. He was trapped in a marriage more binding than he had ever imagined, one that had closed off any other life he might have had.

A tap on the side of the car startled him out of his thoughts. His agent, Eddie, looked at him expectantly, his face creased with concern. Franco forced himself to meet his gaze, pulling on a blank expression he’d perfected over the last two years.

"You good, man?" Eddie's voice sounded so distant for some reason.

Franco forced a nod. “Just getting in some practice.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You finished over an hour ago."

Franco shrugged, not offering any other excuse. What could he say? That he no longer felt the rush, that even the raw thrill of racing at 200 miles per hour left him feeling nothing? It would be admitting too much. He wasn’t sure he could handle what Eddie would say if he knew.

As he finally climbed out of the car, his gaze drifted toward the track, that endless stretch of asphalt, and for just a second, he felt a flicker of what it used to mean to him. Freedom, purpose, maybe even love. But that had been before her—before he had thrown it all away, thinking he could have her back. And now all he was left with was this: the shadow of a life he hadn’t chosen, the memory of a love that had been real once, and a future he couldn’t bring himself to face.

Franco shook his head, stuffing the thought away. "Let’s just get through today" he muttered to himself, the words a quiet vow.

Tomorrow, he’d put on the act again.

The house was silent when Franco walked in. He closed the door softly, slipping off his shoes out of habit rather than any real desire to keep the peace. She was there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, curled on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her. A book lay open on her lap, though her eyes weren’t moving over the words.

They hadn’t spoken much in days, maybe even weeks, except for the occasional small-talk exchange over morning coffee or at some public event. When they were alone, it was as if they were two strangers who’d agreed on a routine. She looked up as he walked in, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to speak first.

But he didn’t. He simply nodded, moving past her as if it were just another evening in this quiet, loveless house. He heard her shift, a quick intake of breath, and he paused, feeling her eyes on his back.

“I cheated,” she said, her voice flat, almost as if it were a statement she’d practised a thousand times, something she needed to let out before it grew stale.

Franco slowly turned to face her, letting the words settle, though he didn’t feel anything sharp or raw. Instead, there was just the dull, familiar weight of something like resignation. He studied her face, waiting for the anger or betrayal to come, but there was nothing. Just the same emptiness that had been there for two years.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm, resigned.

She blinked, her expression faltering. “Okay?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t expected that response. Her brow furrowed, and she set her book aside, sitting up straighter. “That’s it? Just… okay?”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve already done it.”

She searched his face, a flicker of frustration and hurt sparking in her eyes. “Why aren’t you angry, Franco?” Her voice was louder now, cracking slightly. “Why don’t you care? Why don’t you… love me? What did I do wrong?”

For the first time that evening, he felt something stir. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of distant ache. He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the exhaustion in her face, the years of pretending, of building a life on a foundation that had never been real. And he knew, somehow, that she felt as trapped as he did.

“This isn’t about what you did wrong,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t have it in me to love you, not in the way you want.”

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with frustration. “But we were supposed to be in this together. My father… Your team. The whole world expects it. I have tried, Franco. I’ve done everything I could to make this work. I just wanted you to see me, to try…”

He sighed, looking away. “We’ve been pretending for two years. It’s not that I haven’t seen you—I just don’t think we were ever meant to see each other this way.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She stared at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “So what now? We just keep living like this, sharing the same house, putting on a show for everyone?”

Franco didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do, what the next step would even look like. They were bound together by more than their vows—by the expectations, the pressure, the image of a life neither of them had chosen. He knew she deserved better than this emptiness, the hollow echo of what might have been.

After a moment, he sat down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

She looked away, biting her lip, and for the first time he saw the loneliness in her eyes. "I don’t know," she murmured, her voice quiet. "I don’t know if I ever knew."

She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, and then let out a long, quiet breath. "I’ll speak to my father," she said, her voice steady. “We’ll break it off. There’s… someone else. For me, I mean.”

Franco nodded, feeling only a strange sort of relief. “Okay.”

She gave a small, sad smile, as if she’d expected more—anger, maybe, or regret. “I’ll make sure he keeps the sponsors on your team,” she added, her voice softening. “It’s the least I can do.”

Franco shook his head. “He doesn’t have to. I don’t want you worrying about that.”

For a moment, she looked at him with something almost like sympathy. “Franco… it’s not your fault,” she said.

He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. “What isn’t?”

She looked away, gathering her thoughts, and then back at him, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not your fault you still love her after all these years. Some things… they just don’t go away.”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t find the words to respond. Her words hung between them, exposing something he’d tried to bury, something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. His silence was answer enough.

“She was a very lovely woman when I met her,” she continued, her voice softer, almost wistful. “I’m sure she hasn’t changed. I’m sure you two would be perfect together.”

He looked down, swallowing the ache in his chest. For all their distance, she’d seen more of him than he’d realised, even if they had never truly belonged to each other. Maybe she’d known all along. Maybe that’s why they’d been drifting from the beginning, like two people playing their parts, waiting for the script to finally run out.

He stood up, running a hand over the back of his neck, his voice low. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

She nodded, her eyes full of an understanding that somehow made this harder. “Okay. Goodnight, Franco.”

He gave her a brief nod, then turned and headed down the hall, his footsteps soft against the hardwood. The walls of the house felt like a cage, closing in with every step, but he knew that maybe, for the first time, there was a way out—for both of them.

Franco closed the door to the guest room, feeling the weight of everything settling over him. He felt like a visitor in his own life, just as he had every day for the past two years. He slipped off his watch, set it on the nightstand, and reached for his phone to set an alarm.

Just as he did, his mother’s name lit up the screen. She called him every night, their routine barely wavering since he’d left home all those years ago to chase his dream. He answered, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, finally, you picked up! I thought I’d missed you tonight, hijo.” she said, her voice bright and warm, filling the room with a bit of comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

“Sorry. It’s been… a long day,” he replied, not sure where to start even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, mi amor, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sympathy lacing her voice. She paused, her tone shifting to something lighter. “Well, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

He smiled slightly, settling back against the pillows. “Knowing you, mama, it could be anyone.”

“You flatter me,” she laughed. “But no, this one you’ll want to hear. I ran into your chiquita's mama at the market this morning.”

At the mention of his childhood best friend, Franco’s heart gave a small, involuntary jolt. He kept his voice casual, though he could feel his pulse quicken. “Oh yeah?”

“Guess who’s moving back home?” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “She’s coming back without that boyfriend of hers—what was his name, Angelo or something? Anyway, I don’t know what happened there, but her mama didn’t say much, just that she’ll be moving back in soon.”

Franco fell silent, her words sinking in. She was moving back. Back to the same town, back to where they’d both grown up. It was strange hearing it now, after all this time—especially tonight. He tried to imagine her there, close by, after years of being nothing more than a memory, a lingering ache. She hadn’t been in touch since his wedding. They hadn’t spoken, not really, since that day he’d confessed everything.

“Franco?” his mother asked, her voice pulling him back. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I’m here. Just… surprised, I guess.”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to know,” she said gently. “I don’t know why she’s moving back, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I hope she’s doing alright. I always liked that girl.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He wondered what could have happened to bring her back. She’d seemed happy, at least in the few times he’d seen her in the public eye over the last two years—smiling, vibrant, that spark still in her. Whatever had drawn her back, he doubted it was anything good.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you,” his mother went on, a hint of cheer in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll see her around when she’s back. Goodness knows you two could catch up. I’ll let you get some sleep, though. You sound tired, love.”

“I am,” he said honestly. “Thanks, mama.”

“Goodnight, mi amor,” she said softly. “Try not to worry so much. Things have a way of working out.”

He hung up, setting the phone down on the nightstand, but his mind kept circling back to her, the unanswered questions piling up. Why was she moving home? Why now, after everything?

He lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the quiet gnaw at him. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stirring beneath the emptiness—something that he hadn’t let himself feel since that day two years ago. A flicker of hope, of curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, the faintest hint of longing.

Franco woke up to an unsettling silence the following morning. The kind that felt thick, heavy, and somehow different from the usual quiet he’d grown accustomed to in this house. He rubbed his eyes, groggy, his mind still tangled in the remnants of last night’s conversation with his mother. She was moving back home. The thought had settled somewhere deep, like a stone sinking to the bottom of his chest, and he hadn’t stopped wondering why she’d come back.

He rose slowly, crossing the hall toward the master bedroom to grab his things, but as he reached the door, he noticed it was open just a crack. There was an odd stillness inside, an emptiness. Pushing the door open fully, he froze.

The wardrobes were wide open, their shelves bare, nothing left but empty hangers. He scanned the room, taking in the strange absence of her things: the jewellery stand, her perfumes, even the photos from the dresser—all gone.

On the bed, her wedding band glinted in the morning light, sitting atop a folded sheet of paper. Heart pounding, Franco walked over and picked up the note, her familiar handwriting scrawled across the page in clean, deliberate strokes.

"Go live a life you’ll enjoy. Go get the girl."

He read the words over and over, the reality slowly sinking in. She had really left. It was over, finally—no more strained conversations, no more pretences, no more empty rooms they shared out of duty. She had made the choice for both of them, letting him go in a way neither of them had been able to until now.

He let out a slow, deep breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and regret. She had given him a way out, but he felt a twinge of sadness for the life they’d tried and failed to build, and for the woman who’d known him well enough to let him go.

After a moment, he picked up his phone and scrolled to his agent’s number. It rang twice before Eddie answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Franco? It’s barely morning. You okay?”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, still processing everything. “Yeah. Listen, Eddie, I need you to book me a flight.”

“A flight? Where are you going?”

“Home. To Argentina.” He paused, and for the first time in two years, the words felt right. “I just need to go home.”

Eddie hesitated on the other end. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I’ll figure everything out when I get there,” Franco replied, feeling a resolve he hadn’t felt in years.

Eddie sighed, but there was something like approval in his voice. “Alright, I’ll get it sorted. You’ll be on a plane by tonight.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” Franco hung up, glancing around the room one last time. He pocketed her note, her words still echoing in his mind.

True to Eddie's word, Franco was on a flight six hours later. The journey was a blur of cramped seats, stale air, and the faint taste of regret that clung to the back of his throat. The turbulence was relentless, like some cosmic joke, as if the universe itself wanted to remind him that nothing had ever been easy. He tried to sleep, but the aching pull of everything he’d left behind in that house—his marriage, his choices, his dreams—kept him awake, staring out at the dark sky, thinking of all the roads that had led him here.

By the time he landed in Buenos Aires and caught a car for the long drive north to his family's old village, the exhaustion had crept under his skin, weighing him down like a thousand unspoken words. But the quiet beauty of the countryside—the sun setting over fields that stretched on forever—started to soothe him, even if just a little.

The car ride seemed endless, every minute dragging with the weight of his thoughts. But when the familiar sight of his family’s village finally came into view—cobblestone streets, thatched roofs, the scent of freshly baked bread hanging in the air—something inside Franco began to shift. The city felt miles away, the noise, the crowds, the weight of his past life all falling away as he crossed into the place that had always felt like home.

The moment he stepped through the door of his childhood house, all of that exhaustion seemed to vanish. The house was exactly as he remembered it—warm, full of life, and alive with the kind of energy he hadn't felt in so long. His mother’s soft humming from the kitchen filled the air, the scent of her cooking familiar and comforting in a way nothing else ever had been.

“Mama?” he called, stepping into the kitchen.

She looked up from the stove, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of him. It was like the years had slipped away in an instant, and before he could even move, she was across the room, enveloping him in her arms.

“Oh, hijo,” she said, pulling him in tight. “You’re home. You’re really home.”

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the comforting smells of garlic and simmering stew. It was the same as it had always been. His mother’s embrace felt like a balm, her steady, familiar presence filling up the spaces in his chest that had been empty for so long. He let himself relax into the hug, feeling like he could finally breathe again.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m home.”

She pulled back, looking at him with concern now, her gaze soft but knowing. “You look like you’ve been through a storm. What happened, Franco?”

He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… been a hot minute.”

She stepped back, eyes still lingering on him as she turned toward the counter, gesturing for him to sit. "Come, sit. You must be starving."

As he slid into the chair at the table, his mother’s eyes flickered to his left hand, where the ring had once sat. The absence of it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Franco," she said softly, her voice delicate but insistent, “Where’s your wedding ring?”

He froze, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spot where the band had once been. The question hit him harder than he expected, like a weight on his chest.

He took a deep breath, his words coming out slow, almost reluctant. "I… I never loved her, Mama. Not like I should’ve. Not like I should’ve loved the person I married."

His mother didn’t flinch, didn’t offer a shocked look or try to comfort him with false reassurances. Instead, she simply nodded, as if she had known all along. The silence between them was calm, understanding.

"I knew," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I knew from the start, Franco. I could see it. You were never... you were never right with her."

He exhaled, a small weight lifting from his chest. His mother didn’t judge him. She hadn’t expected him to make some fairy tale of a marriage. She had always known him better than anyone.

"Why didn’t you say something?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

She smiled softly, her hand brushing his cheek. "You had to learn it on your own, cariño. I couldn’t take that from you."

He sat back in his chair, letting her words sink in. This was home. The quiet understanding, the unconditional love. The very things he had been running from for so long. And now, in this moment, he felt like he was finally allowed to come back to it.

His mother leaned in, brushing the hair from his forehead as if he were still that little boy who had left for the big city years ago. "You’ll be alright, Franco. I know you will. You always find your way back."

He smiled, his heart full, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Mama," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think I’m ready to find it now."

His mother studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. The comfortable silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, her voice casual, but with a slight undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place.

“You know, she moved back this morning,” she said, a soft note of curiosity in her tone.

Franco looked up sharply, his stomach tightening at the mention of her. “She did?”

His mother nodded, stirring a pot on the stove. He shifted in his seat, trying to steady the flutter of emotions that were beginning to rise in his chest. She was back. The thought of her living just next door made his heart ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for, especially after everything that had happened. It felt like a sign, but it also felt like a question—one he didn’t know if he was ready to answer.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” he said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. “But I’m sure it’s for the best. She’s probably just trying to figure things out.”

His mother gave him a thoughtful look before turning back to the stove. "It’s not easy, you know. Coming back here after all those years. Maybe she just needs some time. Things haven't been easy for her, either."

Franco nodded absently, his mind already racing, a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. He’d always wondered what it would be like if they were close again—if the years between them could just vanish, and they could pick up where they left off. But that was before everything had changed.

Before he’d made a mess of everything.

“I’ll give her space,” he said after a long pause. “She clearly needs it if she’s come back home. I don’t want to crowd her, not like this.”

His mother looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft and full of the kind of love only a mother could offer. She didn’t press, but Franco could tell she was seeing more in him than he was letting on. She always had that way of reading him, even when he didn’t want to be read.

“I think that’s wise, Franco,” she said quietly. “But don’t wait too long. Sometimes, the right things—people—can slip away if we don’t take the chance when we can.” She gave him a small smile, her eyes gentle but full of a mother’s wisdom. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. The right things... people. Was she talking about her?

He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he had already lost so much—lost the girl he had once called his best friend. His true love. That much was clear.

But he couldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with her. Not now.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t. I’ll give her the time she needs… and then, I’ll figure out what comes next.” He forced a small smile, looking back up at her. “But first, I think I need to settle in here, Mama. Just for a bit.”

She smiled warmly at him, nodding as she moved to set the table. “Take your time, cariño. You’ve earned it.” Then she added softly, almost to herself, “And when you’re ready, you know where she is.”

Franco nodded, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a promise he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. He had to sort through the years of distance, the pain, the confusion, and the mess he had made before he could even think of approaching her again.

That night the house was quiet as Franco prepared for bed, the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones. The weight of the day’s emotions, of the journey—of everything—pressed on him like a physical force, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was still missing.

He stood in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the reflection—a man who hadn’t truly looked at himself in a long time. His face was a little more worn, the years of racing and the strain of the past two had carved lines into his features. And yet, there was a boy in those eyes too—the one who used to laugh freely, who used to dream of more than just what life had given him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the quiet ache of the past two years swirling in his chest again. Where did it all go wrong? He’d asked himself this so many times, but the answer had never been clear. His life had seemed like it was on track, until it suddenly wasn’t. Until it all came crashing down, leaving him here, in his childhood home, looking at a version of himself he didn’t recognise.

Where did it all go to shit?

He turned away from the mirror, needing a moment of peace, a change of scenery. The night air felt crisp as he stepped out onto the balcony, the soft night breeze brushing against his skin. The village was quiet, the distant sound of crickets filling the silence. The stars above him were impossibly bright, as if they had been waiting for him to step out into this space to show themselves.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. The vast sky, the deep silence, the comfort of being home, of being away from all the chaos of the life he’d left behind. He closed his eyes for a beat, letting himself breathe.

Then, he froze.

From across the yard, on the roof of the house next door, a figure was sitting—her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the stars.

Franco didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. The sight of her—after all these years—was like a jolt to the chest, a flood of old memories and emotions crashing over him.

At first, he considered turning back into the house, pretending he hadn’t seen her, pretending the universe wasn’t trying to push him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on her figure, so familiar, so her. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, especially not like this. Not sitting on the roof, in the same place they used to sit together as kids, watching the stars and talking about everything and nothing.

He had no idea how to approach her.

Before he could make up his mind, she spoke, her voice drifting through the night air, quiet but unmistakable. “Staring’s rude, you know.”

Franco’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening at the sound of her voice. It had been so long since he’d heard it, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.

He stayed where he was, still unsure, a little frozen by the way his heart was racing. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

She tilted her head slightly, but didn’t look directly at him. “I always notice,” she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her tone was more playful than anything else.

He let out a small laugh, a bit surprised by her nonchalance. It was just like her to act so casual, even in the middle of something heavy.

“I wasn’t planning to interrupt,” he added, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Just thought I'd leave you to it."

She didn’t respond right away, but he could see the way her gaze flickered toward him, though she didn’t move. After a beat, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “You came home.”

“I did,” he said, his heart racing as he stood there, not knowing where to go from here. “Took me a while, but I’m here.”

She nodded, the soft rustle of her hair catching the starlight. "Good. I didn’t think you would."

Franco swallowed, the weight of the unspoken words hanging thick between them. "I... didn’t think I would either."

There was another pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... heavy, in a way that felt like they were both waiting for something. Waiting for the moment when they could go back to being what they once were. But Franco knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Too much had happened between them, too many years spent apart.

Her voice broke the quiet, her words soft but inviting. “There’s space next to me. You should come up here.”

Franco hesitated for a second longer, unsure, but something in her tone, a subtle pull, urged him forward. He glanced around briefly before deciding to take a chance.

Carefully, he climbed over the small stone wall dividing their balconies, his fingers finding familiar purchase as he pulled himself over. The moment his feet hit the roof, the memories of their childhood came rushing back—sitting on the very same roof, talking about everything and nothing, watching the stars as if they were the only two people in the world.

It felt surreal, like no time had passed at all, even though everything between them had changed.

She was already sitting cross-legged, her back turned slightly toward him, but she patted the spot next to her, silently urging him to join her. He moved toward her, then sat down, the cool roof beneath him grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

When he finally reached the top, she shifted to make room, and before he even fully settled beside her, she was resting her head on his shoulder. It was as natural as breathing, a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d been starved for.

The night seemed to stretch on forever as they sat together, not speaking, just sharing the same space, the same memories that lingered between them like a soft, delicate thread. It was as though the silence held all the things they couldn’t say out loud.

Finally, it was her who broke the quiet, her voice low and tinged with regret. “Sorry I never replied to your letter.”

Franco’s heart stuttered in his chest at the mention of the letter. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, not after everything that had happened. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his voice barely a whisper. “You... you received it?”

She nodded slowly, lifting her head from his shoulder but not fully pulling away. She stared up at the stars, her fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes in the air. “Four days ago,” she said, her voice soft and distant, as though the words were hard to say.

Four days ago.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The letter. The letter he’d written years ago, before everything spiralled out of control, before the wedding, before he called it all off. The letter where he had laid bare his feelings for her—telling her everything he’d never had the courage to say before. Telling her that he loved her. That he’d leave his fiancé for her. That he wanted to be with her.

The letter had been the final step, the desperate confession that he couldn’t hold inside any longer.

“I… I didn’t know,” Franco muttered, his throat tight. “I sent it because I thought you needed to know. I thought you needed to hear it.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t expect you to just—ignore it.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she looked over at him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him ache. “I didn’t ignore it,” she said softly. “I didn’t know about it. Angelo hid it from me.”

Franco froze. Angelo. The same guy she’d been with all those years, the one who had kept the letter from her. The weight of it hit him hard, a cold knot in his stomach. “He hid it?” His voice barely came out above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I only found it four days ago when I was packing.” She paused, as though weighing whether or not to say more, then sighed. “He kept it from me, Franco. Told me it was nothing, just some silly thing from the past. But it wasn’t nothing. It was you. It was everything you were trying to say. And I didn’t even know until hours before your wedding.”

Franco could feel his chest tighten, the words he had written, the words that had been locked inside of him for so long, echoing in the space between them. He had no idea she’d never received it. No idea she had been living in that oblivion, thinking that nothing had changed when, in reality, everything had been laid out for her years ago.

Franco closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. His entire life had been built around the lies he’d told himself, and in the end, he had only hurt the one person who had always been there for him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sky, the stars so far away. “I never stopped loving you,” he said quietly, the confession falling from his lips before he could stop it. “I never stopped thinking about you, even when I thought I should. Even when I tried to move on, I always... always thought about you. About Monza.”

Her voice was soft but steady, a quiet confession in the night air. “I shouldn’t have come to that wedding,” she said, her words hanging in the space between them like a breath held too long.

Franco blinked, his heart stuttering slightly in his chest as he turned to look at her. “Why?”

She sighed, her eyes focused on the distant horizon, her expression unreadable in the soft glow of the moon. “Because I thought I was over you, Franco. I really did. I thought that seeing you get married to someone else, someone who wasn’t me, would help me move on. But when I watched you declare your love for me in front of everyone... it hit me all at once. I felt like I was coasting through a lie with Angelo for two years.”

Franco’s chest tightened at the mention of Angelo again, but he didn’t interrupt. He knew this was something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time, something they had never really spoken about. She took a slow breath, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt as she spoke again.

“I couldn’t give him all of me,” she continued, her voice wavering for the first time, just the slightest crack in her calm demeanour. “When you still had half my heart.”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat at her words. She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the time apart, despite the man she had been with, a part of her had never truly moved on.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the right words to express the swirl of emotions inside him. The guilt, the confusion, the longing. All he could do was listen, his heart aching with each word she spoke.

“Amor…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, trying to find his grounding. “She cheated on me. My wife.” He added as though she needed clarification.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise, but she said nothing. She waited for him to continue, her breath catching in her throat.

Franco stared out at the stars, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t feel much at first. I think I expected it. In some way, I always did. I’d been living in a marriage where I wasn’t really present for a long time.” He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the feeling of his world unravelling. “But... when I found out, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I had already shut myself off from it all.”

She studied him, her gaze soft but piercing. “Really? You didn’t feel... anything?”

Franco’s heart twisted, “I felt guilty,” he admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t feel hurt or anger. I just felt... guilty."

She frowned, the confusion and concern evident in her eyes. “Guilty? Why? You didn’t cheat. You weren’t the one betraying her.”

Franco chuckled bitterly, a hollow sound that felt foreign to him. “No, I didn’t cheat. But I’ve been mentally cheating on her for years now.” His voice cracked slightly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “With you. I’ve been thinking about you. Wanting you. Wondering... what could have been.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between them like an invisible force. The air was thick, heavy with the things they hadn’t said, the things they had both buried for too long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant rustle of the trees, the wind whispering through the leaves. Then, she shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against his, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to reach out. But Franco didn’t pull away. He let her fingers weave through his, and for a moment, they were back to the way they used to be—close, without words, just a connection that had never truly faded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence again. “I didn’t mean to make things more complicated for you. I never wanted you to feel guilty.”

Franco shook his head, his fingers tightening around hers. “You didn’t. It’s my fault. I should’ve been honest with myself. With you. With everyone.”

Her hand found his, her grip soft but reassuring. “We can’t undo the past, Franco. But maybe... maybe we can stop running from it.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something—maybe a sign that they were on the same page, that this wasn’t just a momentary lapse, but the beginning of something else.

Franco’s heart skipped a beat. The ache inside him—this pull, this longing—felt more real now than it ever had before. But he couldn’t let himself get lost in it. Not yet. Not before he figured out what came next.

“Maybe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Maybe we can.”

But for now, they stayed there, hand in hand, watching the stars as the night stretched on—together, but not quite ready to bridge the distance between them. The future was uncertain, but in that moment, with her close to him again, it felt like the possibility of a new beginning was still there.

And maybe that was enough.

She shifted slightly, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she stared up at the night sky, the stars scattered above them like little pieces of a puzzle they couldn’t quite put together. Her voice broke the quiet again, this time more introspective, tinged with a kind of sadness that Franco couldn’t shake. “Why are we like this?” she asked softly, the question hanging in the air between them. “Why can’t we ever get it right? Why does it feel like we keep missing each other?”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat as he turned his head to look at her. He had no answer. No easy explanation for the years of missed opportunities, the broken promises, the things left unsaid. All he could do was let the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke, his voice thick with regret.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his words barely audible, but full of the weight of everything he had kept buried for so long.

Her hand tightened around his, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. She didn’t look at him immediately. She just stared at the stars, letting the night take them both in. But when she did speak, her voice was clear, almost a little too sharp, as if she were trying to distance herself from the ache inside.

“I know,” she said, her words simple, yet filled with the unspoken truth between them.

Franco exhaled slowly, his chest tight with the unrelenting guilt that seemed to follow him wherever he went. “I really don’t,” he added, his tone heavier this time, the words more raw, like they were scraping against his very soul.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes soft but steady as she met his gaze. “But you’ll always have me anyway,” she said, her voice gentle, almost a whisper, but strong in its promise. “All of me. Even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if you feel like you’ve lost me, I’m still here. I always will be.”

Franco closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into him, to hold on to the promise she was offering, but he knew that he had to fix everything first. He had to prove to himself, to her, that he was worthy.

After a long moment, his mind shifted, a question bubbling up to the surface, something that had been nagging at him for a while now. “What happened to Angelo?” he asked, his voice quiet, but urgent with curiosity.

Her gaze flickered away, her expression becoming unreadable for a brief second. She didn’t speak at first, but then, she sighed, her voice small as she turned her head back toward the night sky.

“He proposed,” she said softly, her words hitting Franco like a punch to the gut. “He got down on one knee, right there in the middle of a restaurant, and asked me to marry him.”

Franco’s heart sank. He had imagined the two of them together, but hearing her speak those words, hearing the finality in her tone, made something inside him shift. His breath caught in his throat.

“And you didn’t say yes,” he whispered, the realisation washing over him slowly, painfully.

She shook her head, her fingers grazing the edge of her sleeve as she gathered her thoughts. “I couldn’t bring myself to say yes,” she murmured, her voice distant, like the memory still held weight over her. “I couldn’t lie to him, and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Not after everything. I just... I couldn’t. And when I looked at him, I knew something wasn’t right. I knew that the whole time, I had been lying to both of us, pretending that he was enough when I wasn’t even sure of myself.”

Franco felt his chest tighten, his heart aching with understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if he was apologising for Angelo, for her, or for himself, but it felt like the right thing to say. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just sat there beside him, her head back on his shoulder, her fingers still twined with his. The night stretched on, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but there was something in the air that felt different now. It wasn’t just the weight of their shared history or the unsaid words that hovered between them. There was something else.

Something that, for the first time, felt like the beginning of something new.

After a while, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. “I never wanted to hurt him. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when you’re still here, not when you’ve always been here, Franco.”

Franco closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the curve of her hand. “I understand,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he did. He wasn’t sure of anything right now except that he needed to make it right—whatever that looked like.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the quiet stretching between them, neither of them in a rush to break the stillness. The night air was cool against their skin, and the stars above seemed to twinkle with the same quiet understanding that hung in the air. For the first time in years, it felt like they were both exactly where they were meant to be—together.

But slowly, the rhythm of her breathing changed, softening, slowing. Franco felt it before he saw it, the gentle shift in the weight on his shoulder. He glanced down, his heart softening at the sight of her—her lashes fluttering closed, her face serene and peaceful in sleep. She was completely relaxed, as if the weight of everything had been lifted, even if just for a moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled between them. But as minutes ticked by, he knew it was time to move her. Carefully, he slipped his arm beneath her, lifting her gently, cradling her close. Her head rested on his chest as he stood, her body instinctively curling against him. She felt weightless in his arms, and for a second, he couldn’t believe how natural it all felt.

As he carried her through the door to her room, the familiar smell of her childhood home wrapped around him—the scent of lavender and old wood, a place both foreign and intimately familiar. The room was just as he remembered, simple and cosy, with little traces of her scattered throughout. He looked down at the floor he used to sleep on when they were young The soft, pale light of the moon filtered through the window, casting everything in a gentle glow.

He placed her gently in the bed, tucking the covers around her small frame. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her, his chest heavy with emotion. Everything about this felt so right, so painfully wrong at the same time. He should have been here years ago. He should have never let things get so far. But now, he was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second longer than he meant to, his heart aching with all the things he never said.

Just as he turned to leave, to head back to his own house, her voice stopped him.

“Don’t.”

Franco froze. His hand rested on the window frame , his heart stalling in his chest. He turned slowly, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

“What?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something in her gaze—vulnerable, raw, but full of longing. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Please don’t.”

For a moment, Franco stood there, his chest tight as he processed her words. Don’t go. It was all he needed to hear. She didn’t want him to leave. After everything that had happened, after all the distance between them, she still wanted him here.

He walked back toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to say anything; the weight of the moment, the look in her eyes, said it all. He carefully slid under the covers, settling beside her, the warmth of her body so familiar yet so new.

Without a word, she shifted, curling into him, her head finding its place on his chest, her hand resting gently against his side. Franco wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was real. And it was theirs.

They stayed there, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. No more words were needed. No more distance. Just the two of them, together, holding on to each other like they were afraid to let go.

And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the covers, Franco realised that this moment—this feeling of being home—was everything he had been searching for.

Home.

Her.

It was all synonymous.

She was his home.

the end.

taglist: @sp1rl @yennasaurusrex @ellen3101 @firefirevampire @directioner5life @littlegrapejuice @obxstiles @scopeiguess @newlifeforus @justsisse @zestytimbit @taygrls @charlosvibesonly @sparkleofpizza

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evergone · 9 months ago

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Sleepless

Rindou Haitani x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (allusions to sex), swearing

Description: The reader can't sleep because the Tenjiku members are being far too loud.

You had tried so hard all night not to disturb your boyfriend and his friends as they celebrated their recent successes in your lounge room, but as your eyes fluttered open for the fifth time that night, you knew you had to go and ask them to be just a tad quieter. Of course, you felt terrible because Rindou was being so considerate already. You couldn’t even hear the crappy rap music they were playing, just the echo of the bass through the walls, and both of the times that you were woken up by their chatter you heard Rindou frantically scrambling to hush them.

With a yawn and a small stretch, you pulled your throw blanket over your shoulders and shuffled across the carpet until you found your ugg boots in the complete and utter darkness. After a pained “fuck” slipped past your lips as you hit your knee on the edge of your bedframe, you slowly opened the door and stepped out into the lounge room.

It wouldn’t have taken more than a second before the boys noticed your meek, sleep-deprived frame cringing at the power of the lights while your eyes took their time to adjust. Most of them were strung out across the three grey couches in front of the television which was tuned into an MMA fight on mute, while the younger members (that Kisaki kid, his friend Hanma, Kokonoi, and Sanzu) were awkwardly sitting around the dining table behind them. Madarame offered you a short wave to which you responded with a tired frown, then you finally caught sight of Rindou sitting in the corner of the middle couch with his hand outstretched towards you.

“Rinnie…” You whined as you made your way into his lap with his arm lazily draped over your waist. Ran, your brother-in-law for all intents and purposes, snickered at the nickname, and the tone of your voice which was laden with exhaustion.

“Sorry, did we wake you up?” Rindou asked quietly, and then turned to the rest of the group, “I told these fuckwits to keep it down.”

Rindou wasn’t ignorant of the fact that you were wearing nothing but his shirt as pyjamas, and he knew well from the night’s earlier — and more private — events that your underwear were the barely-there kind. So, he was cautious to make sure that one of his hands was sitting firmly under your bum at all times, holding the shirt against your skin.

“If you guys stayed quiet I would’ve made you pancakes for breakfast as thanks,” you teased. Mocchi’s shoulders tensed in clear disappointment at your words. While all of them were fond of your cooking, Mocchi was always the biggest eater.

You pressed your lips against Rindou’s neck while they continued their discussion. His voice vibrated into each kiss you bestowed upon his neck and collarbone with a kind of intimacy that made you feel as though you were melting into one another. After a while of this, you began to doze off, your mind stuck in the in-between state of being oddly aware of everything around you, but not quite awake.

Rindou took one glance at the state of you, nearly asleep despite the volume of the room, and hooked his arms under your thighs to carry you back to the bed you shared. He folded the throw neatly at the end of the mattress, then placed you down on your preferred side, and admired the irritated look on your face which was made possible to see by the slightly open door.

As he made a movement to leave and rejoin his friends in the lounge room, you groaned, grabbed the cuff of his shirt, and pulled him back towards you. He was much stronger than you, strong enough not to be even slightly moved by your pull, but he was never the kind of boyfriend to fight your affection. He knelt down on the floor beside you with his hand rubbing circles on your cheek, already feeling terrible about how you couldn’t get to sleep because of him and his friends.

“What’s wrong, N/n?” He said lovingly.

“Come to bed. It’s cold. I want you in here with me.” You saw how Rindou’s eyes flicked back to the light emanating from the doorway, so you pouted in the sexiest way you could given how tired you were. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

The sleeve of the shirt you were wearing had — at some point, unbeknownst to you — fallen from your shoulder to reveal the lacy strap of a new bra Rindou had bought you. It reminded him of your underwear. Of how nice it felt to take them off earlier…

“You’re too tired for any of that, babe. Just go to bed, and I’ll come join you in no time, promise,” he said as he shook the images from his mind, knowing you were one blink away from falling asleep again.

“You hate me,” you huffed, and turned away from your boyfriend before adding, “You’re just gonna end up passing out on the couch like you do every time they come here. I’m gonna wake up all alone. You’re such a bad boyfriend.”

Rindou smiled softly, “Are you trying to guilt-trip me right now?” You turned back to make eye contact with him and nodded. “Fine.”

For a moment, he disappeared into the lounge room. You could hear Ran making fun of him for being “absolutely whipped”, and Izana telling him to “man up”, but you were already beginning to feel your eyelids getting heavier, so you didn’t care much to go out and defend him. When he returned, he took off his shirt and pulled on a pair of trackpants, and then crawled into bed beside you.

Content to have gotten all you wanted from Rindou, you traced the tattoos on his torso until you were so exhausted you could no longer hold your hand up.

“I will make it worth your while,” you yawned as you rested your head on his chest and let him run his hands over your hair, “Just… In the morning when I’m rejuvenated.”

You closed your eyes and Rindou felt your heartrate slow down along with the frequency of your breaths. You were snoring ever-so-gently, and he stifled a laugh at the irony of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to get even a second of sleep because of it.

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fear-is-truth · 27 days ago

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IN NOMINE PECCATI — charlie mayhew

tags — mature content﹒porn with plot﹒doctor + priest charlie mayhew﹒fem!reader﹒cnc﹒somno﹒oral (f!receiving)﹒unprotected p in v ﹒wc : 1.5k

a/n: english is not my 1st language but im trying. p.s : “in nomine peccati” means “in the name of sin” in latin

THE DOORKNOB TURNS, allowing a sliver of yellow light to slip into the quiet house as charlie mayhew steps inside. with practised ease, he hangs up his coat and sets his keys down without a sound, as he’s done countless times before. his eyes fall on you, lying sprawled on the couch, bathed in the blue flicker of the television. you’re wearing nothing but a grey t-shirt, the hem brushing the tops of your bare thighs, one arm draped across your stomach, the other lying beside you. he notices the familiar band logo stretched across your chest—you’re wearing one of his shirts, hanging loose over your frame.

the sight tugs at something deep inside his chest, an ache tempered by affection.

an infomercial flickers on the tv, with over-excited voices and pristine images of miracle kitchen gadgets that promise to “slice, dice, and change your life!” charlie reaches for the remote and lowers the volume, careful not to let it die completely—its glow is enough to keep the room from sinking into total darkness. he treads lightly toward you, feeling a bit like an intruder in his own home as he crosses the room. when he finally stands by the couch, looking down at you.

he takes a moment to study you—no, admire you. your face is slack with sleep, lips parted slightly, lashes casting faint shadows across your cheeks. a loose strand of hair has fallen over your face, and he carefully reaches down to brush it away, fingers lingering against your skin as he cups your cheek. he drinks in the sight of you in the eerie blue light, noting every rise and fall of your chest, the slight flutter of your eyelids. there’s an ethereal quality of your slumber, a serenity. so lost in dreams, undisturbed by the world around you.

his sleeping beauty.

he reaches down again, brushing a thumb over your cheek, a featherlight touch as he marvels at the smooth softness, in juxtaposition to the harshness he’s known all day. you stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but he holds still, waiting until you settle again. unable to resist, he leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, lips warm against skin. then he climbs onto the couch, carefully positioning himself above you with his forearms braced on either side of your body, his weight held carefully. his face hovers inches from yours, his gaze tracing every detail—the slight curve of your mouth, the way your lashes fan across your cheekbones, the softness of your expression in sleep.

carefully nestling himself between your legs, charlie’s mind drifts (a bit morbidly) back to the icu, the patients lying motionless in their beds, tethered to tubes and machines, barely clinging to life. hours spent witnessing the slow erosion, orderlies turning over comatose bodies to prevent bedsores—wipe, clean, repeat. he’s grown cynical about them over time, but here, with you—your skin soft, alive, bathed in coloured light—he feels the difference.

fingertips trace your collarbone, meandering through the valley of your breasts,delving to your stomach and finally their destination in between your thighs. no panties, that have been your mutual agreement.

in your dream, there’s warmth, first. heavy and unyielding, a heat that settles over you like fire, burrowing into your skin like ultraviolet rays. your senses wake slowly, your cheek brushing against something coarse, unfamiliar. dark fabric clings to you, wrapping you in heavy folds, thick wool scraping against your neck and wrists like penance. your eyes open to an unnatural red glow that bleeds across the vast, vaulted space, spilling from the stained glass in vivid torrents. it bathes the walls, fills the air like smoke. shadows stretch and twist across the stone, curling toward you as if drawn by some unholy force. the air reeks of incense—an earthy, heady scent invades your lungs,

and then, there’s him.

above you, a figure looms, like a dark angel descending. his face is half-shrouded in shadow, lit only by the crimson light that paints his regal features in blood-red relief. a white collar gleams against the black of his robes. a priest’s collar, you realise.

charlie is dressed as a fucking priest.

your eyes meet, and the face of your lover is a study in contrasts, softened by the lurid red light but edged with shadows that deepen every line, every trace of restraint he’s barely holding onto. hands frame your face, roughened palms warm against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours, a kiss that is equally reverent and devastating, as though he’s whispering a prayer between your lips.

his weight presses you down, rooting you to the altar, cold marble biting into your back and only feeding the heat pooling low in your stomach. his mouth captures yours, lips parting to coax you open. when his tongue slips in, it’s unhurried but intentional, roving over your hard palate and tracing against your tongue. his hands cradle your face, thumbs grazing along your cheekbones, grounding you in an act that feels like the quiet theft of something sacred.

charlie pulls back, lips parting from yours which leaves you breathless and aching in the sudden absence. his gaze holds yours for a moment, then he shifts, hands trailing down your sides, fingers pressing gently against your hips, before he slips down from the altar entirely, lowering himself onto the floor at your feet. his hands rest on your ankles, thumbs tracing over the sensitive skin there as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened in the crimson light. from where he kneels, he seems to take you in entirely, a reverence in his gaze that skirts the edge of blasphemy.

fabric clings to you, unfamiliar and restricting. you glance down, catching a glimpse of black, long and heavy against your arms. the realisation dawns slowly, seeping in with the blood-red light: you’re wearing a nun’s habit. heat coils through you, unsettling, molten desire dripping into your loins like honey. you know what you share right now is both holy and desecrated.

your head drops back against the altar, cool stone pressing into your scalp and your spine arches in a slow, involuntary curve. skilled fingers curl in a languid manner, breaching that sweet spot inside you. a broken moan slips past your lips, and the last vestiges of your willpower dissolves under his touch, leaving only the warmth pooling low in your belly and the faint tremble in your breath. charlie continues to devour your forbidden fruit, claiming it without guilt or hesitation. each swipe of his preachers tongue in and out of your searing cunt carries reverence, as if he’s sampling something holy yet wholly his.

“mghm.. charlie…”

charlie’s head lifts at the soft sound of his name murmured from your lips, breaking the silence of the room. a slow smile spreads across his face as he watches you, noticing the way you shift, lips parted, fingers curling faintly as if reaching for something just beyond reach. licking his arousal-coated lips, he leans in, carefully easing himself back onto the couch, moving with a quiet intent. his legs nestle between yours, fitting into place as he settles. the t-shirt has slipped off your shoulder at one point, revealing the delicate curve of your clavicle. charlie dips his head, letting his lips brush against your temple. fingertips lightly graze your side, tracing the hem of your shirt, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

somehow, miraculously, you’re still asleep. carefully nudging your legs wider apart, he tilts his pelvis to the precise position. charlie bites down on his bottom lip to silence a groan as he eases himself inside you, inch by agonising inch until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

lashes flutter, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he bottoms out, a tingling sensation spreading from the base of your spine to your thighs, his cock nestling deep within you. filling every inch of you with a sacred fullness.

charlie buries his face into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, placing languid kisses up the column of your throat as his hips rock steadily against yours. the glorious stretch coupled with the way his hands and lips are all over you—fondling your breasts and nibbling at your earlobe coaxes out another mewl from you, tightening your grip on his shoulders and leaving pink, crescent indentations. he pauses mid-thrust to mumble an “i love you,” against the corner of your mouth.

velvety walls pulsate around him, milking out charlie’s orgasm as he succumbs to the white-hot pleasure, hips stuttering before he spills himself inside you, warmth spreading low and deep, radiating from your core like an ember kindling to life. waves of pleasure flows through you—a blessing you’d missed, returning to you as if by divine grace.

all around, the shadows seem to swell, the red light growing deeper, darker, as though hell itself waits just beyond the cathedral walls.

MASTERLIST

#Charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #Charlie mayhew smut #father charlie mayhew #doctor charlie mayhew #dr charlie mayhew #Charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x y/n #Charlie mayhew x you #nicholas alexander chavez #Nicholas Chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #Nicholas Chavez smut #nicholas chavez imagine #Nicholas Chavez fanfic

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stylesispunk · 2 months ago

Text

Silent Strain | Part iii

Outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

previous part | next part

chapter summary: Joel is afraid of letting you out of his sight and you were afraid of him slipping away.

w.c: 16k> (it was going to be 8k but this happened)

warnings: angst, mentions of panic attack, fluff. no proofreading. Probably some things won't make sense, but I felt pressured and I had to post this chapter.

a/n: hello! Last fic I posted didn't go how I expected but here's another chapter of this series. I hope you like this chapter and PLEASE share your thoughts with me. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

As the first gloomy light of morning crept through the window, Joel felt like he could finally breathe again. The soft, grey dawn brought with it a sense of calm that the night had cruelly stolen away. He didn’t fear the darkness itself; he'd learned long ago to live within its shadows, but he feared the memories that the darkness brought to him. The loss, the crying, the desperation... and the blood.

The thought of losing another child, and losing you in the process, cracked the rough surface he had been hiding behind for so many years. It was too much; it was too familiar. As much as he tried to stay strong, the fear had gnawed at him, tearing at the fragile walls he had built around his heart.

Your breathing had steadied, though the pain had not fully subsided. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, uneven but there, steadying his own frantic pulse. He had held you tighter, his own breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, trying to stay calm for you, for the baby.

After the scare from last night, Joel had held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his face buried in your hair. He whispered softly; words meant to soothe you but also to keep his own panic at bay. "It's okay, darlin'. I'm here. Just breathe. Stay with me…"

The hours had dragged on, and every flicker of discomfort on your face sent a fresh wave of panic through him. He hadn't let himself sleep, afraid that if he closed his eyes, he might wake up to another nightmare.

Now, in the pale morning light, Joel watched you. Your eyes were closed, but your breathing was calm and even, a welcome change from the strained, pained gasps that had filled the room only hours before. He stroked a thumb gently along your arm, his touch feather-light, afraid of disturbing you but needing the contact to ground himself.

Ellie, who had kept a worried vigil nearby, finally stirred awake. She glanced over and saw Joel watching you, the lines of tension still etched into his face.

"Is… is she okay?" Ellie whispered, moving closer, her eyes wide with concern.

Joel nodded slowly, his voice barely a murmur. "Yeah, I think… I don’t know.”

Ellie let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "God, Joel, you looked so scared," she admitted, trying to lighten the mood, though her voice was shaky. "I’ve never seen you like that."

Joel’s lips twitched into a faint, weary smile. "Guess I'm getting soft, huh?"

Ellie leaned against the wall, watching him carefully. "That isn’t bad thing," she muttered, her eyes flicking over to you. “She needs you.”

Joel’s gaze softened, his eyes returning to you, still sleeping peacefully. Then, his gaze went to Ellie’s again.

“Ellie, can you take care of her for a moment?”

Ellie nodded, confused as Joel stood up, walking towards the door without saying a word to her.

Joel's steps were heavy, each one echoing softly in the quiet room. He reached the door and paused for a moment, his hand resting on the rough wood. His shoulders were tense, his head slightly bowed as if wrestling with some invisible weight.

Ellie watched him, frowning. "Joel?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Where are you going?"

He didn't turn around, didn't meet her gaze. "Just… need a minute," he replied, his tone low and strained. "I'll be back soon."

Ellie’s eyes flicked back to you, still resting, and then back to Joel. “She’s gonna wake up and ask for you,” she said, her voice gentle, but firm. "You sure you’re, okay?"

Joel nodded, though his movements were stiff, almost mechanical. "Yeah," he muttered, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I just need some air."

With that, he slipped out the door, the cold morning air rushing in as he opened it. He took a deep breath, feeling the sharp chill hit his lungs, grounding him momentarily. He stepped outside, letting the door close quietly behind him.

He stood there, just outside, his breath visible in the cold air, his mind racing. The panic from the night before still clung to him, like a dark shadow that refused to leave. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair, trying to calm himself down.

He couldn't shake the image of you in pain, the fear in your eyes, the blood on your hands. It felt like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, a terrifying reminder of all the things he couldn't control, all the people he couldn't protect.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall of the house, his breathing coming in short, uneven bursts. He pressed his hands against his chest, trying to steady his heart, but the memories wouldn't let him rest. Memories of Sarah, of the pain of losing her, of the years spent hardening himself against that same pain.

And now, here he was again, facing the possibility of losing someone he cared about more than he wanted to admit.

"Come on, Joel," she muttered under her breath, killing the silence on Joel’s mind.

“Go back inside” he said.

Ellie jumped slightly at his words, her eyes darting to Joel. She could see the tightness in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. For a moment, she considered arguing, but something in his voice stopped her. There was a rawness there, a plea she hadn’t heard before.

“Joel…” she started, her voice softer now, more careful.

His eyes flicked to hers, the pain clear, almost palpable. “Ellie, just… go back inside,” he repeated, his tone almost breaking. “Please.”

She hesitated, biting her lip, before nodding “You know it’s not your fault.”

Joel's face tightened at Ellie's words, his jaw clenching as if he was holding back a torrent of emotion. He shook his head, looking away for a moment, his gaze hard and distant, lost in anger and regret.

“I dragged her here,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained. “Knowing her state, knowing what could happen… I should’ve left her behind. Should’ve kept her safe.”

Ellie took a step closer, her own face a mix of frustration and empathy. “But you didn’t,” she argued softly. “Because you knew she’d never forgive you if you did. She wanted to be with you, Joel.”

He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing her words. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, his voice a little louder now, a little more forceful. “I still made the call. I still put her in danger.”

Ellie shook her head. “You’re doing everything you can to protect her. You think she doesn’t know that?” She took another step closer, her tone firmer. “She trusts you, Joel. She believes in you. And… so do I.”

For a moment, Joel’s expression softened, the harsh lines of his face easing slightly. But then he closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if that’s enough, kid,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Ellie sighed, glancing back at the door. “It has to be,” she said. “Because she needs you now more than ever. And you’re the one who’s gonna keep her safe.”

Joel let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if a weight had settled on them. He looked at Ellie, his expression caught between determination and fear. "Yeah… I hope you're right," he murmured, almost to himself.

Ellie reached out, touching his arm gently, a rare moment of softness between them. “Just… don’t beat yourself up too much, alright?” she said, her voice low. “She’s gonna need you to be strong for her. And so am I.”

Joel and Ellie stepped quietly back inside the house, the dim light from the early morning casting long shadows across the walls. Joel's eyes immediately moved to you, lying on the couch, your face still and peaceful in sleep. For a brief moment, he felt a strange calm settle over him, just seeing you safe, resting.

But as if sensing their presence, you began to stir. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the dim light. The ache in your body was still there, a dull throb in your stomach, but the sharp pain had subsided, leaving only a sense of heaviness. You blinked a few times, your gaze settling on Joel and Ellie as they stood by the door, both looking back at you with relief.

“Hey…” you murmured; your voice raspy with sleep. You tried to push yourself up, but Joel was by your side in an instant, his hands gently helping you to sit up. His touch was careful, as if he was afraid you might break.

“Take it easy,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, wincing slightly as you adjusted yourself. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I just…” Your voice trailed off, and you swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I’m okay, really.”

Ellie stepped closer, her eyes wide with concern, but there was a hint of a teasing smile on her lips. “You better be, ‘cause I don’t think I can handle Joel being that freaked out again,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

You chuckled softly, a weak smile spreading across your face. “Guess I gave you both a bit of a scare, huh?”

Joel’s expression softened, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand. “Yeah, you could say that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

He didn’t meet you gaze, and you know damn well what that meant. You noticed the way his eyes seemed to avoid yours, his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the room. His thumb kept moving over the back of your hand, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a hesitation in his posture that made your heart ache.

“Ellie,” you said softly, turning your head toward her. She paused, halfway through rummaging in the supply bag, her eyes darting between you and Joel. “Could you… give us a minute?”

Ellie hesitated, her gaze lingering on Joel for a moment, and then on you. She seemed to understand that something more needed to be said between the two of you. She nodded slowly, trying to mask her concern with a casual shrug. "Yeah, sure," she muttered, trying to play it cool, even as her curiosity buzzed beneath the surface. “I’ll, uh, go check on the weather or something.”

She grabbed her jacket, slinging it over her shoulders and headed toward the door. “But if I hear any yelling, I’m coming back in,” she added with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood before she slipped out the door, leaving the two of you alone.

The room was suddenly much quieter without Ellie’s presence. The only sounds were the crackling of the dying fire and the distant, muted wind outside. You turned back to Joel, your eyes searching his face. He still wasn’t looking at you, his thumb still moving in that steady rhythm against your hand.

“Joel,” you whispered, trying to draw his gaze back to yours. "Look at me."

He hesitated, his shoulders tense, but finally, he lifted his eyes to meet yours. You could see the conflict there, the worry, the guilt. “What is it?” you asked gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching for a moment before he spoke. "I… I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For all of it. For dragging you out here, for… putting you in danger."

You shook your head, squeezing his hand. “Joel, I made that choice. I knew what I was getting into.”

He shook his head, his eyes dropping again, filled with that familiar guilt. “No… you didn’t. Not really,” he muttered.

You reached up, cupping his cheek with your free hand, forcing him to look at you again. “Joel, stop,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “Nothing is going to happen to us. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

He closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I’m just… I’m so damn scared,” he confessed, his voice breaking slightly. "Of losing you. Of losing another…"

You felt a lump form in your throat, understanding the weight of his words, the depth of his fear. You leaned closer, pressing your forehead against his, your voice soft.

“Joel, the baby is okay,” you reassured him softly, hoping your words would ease some of the fear you saw in his eyes. "I can feel it."

He shook his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “How do you know?” he asked, his voice low and rough. There was a tremor in it, a crack that revealed the depth of his concern. “How do you know when we’re out here, and everything’s…” He trailed off, his breath hitching.

You swallowed, trying to find the right words, to offer him some kind of comfort. “I just do,” you whispered, moving closer to him. “I can feel it. Maybe it’s just… a mother’s instinct. But I believe it, Joel. I feel like… this baby is strong.”

Joel's eyes softened at your words, but the fear still lingered there, heavy and ever-present. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to steady himself. His hand moved to rest on your stomach, his palm pressing gently against the swell. He closed his eyes, as if trying to feel what you felt, to believe in what you were saying.

“Strong,” he repeated softly, almost like he was testing the word, trying it out to see if it fit. "I hope so… I really do."

You placed your hand over his, squeezing it lightly. “I know so,” you assured him, your voice unwavering. “I know it’s a little tiny thing but..I feel it.”

He exhaled slowly; his breath warm against your cheek. “I want to believe you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do."

“Then believe me,” you urged, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a soothing motion. “We’ve made it this far, right? We’re almost there, Joel… we just need to hold on a little longer.”

He nodded, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the faint sound of the wind outside. Joel finally met your gaze again, a mix of hope and fear in his eyes. "I’ve lost so much,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t… I can’t lose you, too.”

Your heart ached at his words, understanding the depth of his pain. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, trying to pour all the reassurance you could into that touch. "You won't," you whispered against his mouth. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He kissed your back, a little more desperately this time, as if he were afraid you might disappear. You held him close, feeling his body tremble slightly against yours, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

Ellie pushed the door open, her footsteps echoing in the quiet room. She froze mid-step, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of you and Joel, wrapped in each other's arms, lips just parting from the kiss. Her face scrunched up in mock disgust, and she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Ugh, seriously?” she groaned, putting her hands on her hips. “If you two wanted to get all mushy, you could’ve at least sent me away or something. Or, I don’t know, given me a warning!”

Joel pulled back, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He coughed, trying to mask the embarrassment with a stern look. “Ellie,” he started, his voice gruff, but she just waved him off.

“No, no, it’s fine," she said with a playful grin, "I mean, I get it… the world’s falling apart, and you’re all about the dramatic declarations of love. But can you keep it PG for the kid in the room?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension of the moment breaking as you met Ellie’s teasing gaze. “Sorry, Ellie,” you chuckled.

She rolled her eyes again but smiled, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. "Yeah, yeah. Just… don't make me an unwilling participant in your cheesy romance, okay?" She paused, glancing between the two of you, her expression softening just a bit. "But… I’m glad you’re both okay.”

Joel shook his head, a small, reluctant smile forming on his lips. "We’re okay, kiddo," he replied softly, his voice still carrying a hint of emotion. "We’re all okay."

Ellie grinned, nudging Joel lightly with her shoulder. “Good,” she muttered, “'Cause I need both of you.”

You and Joel exchanged amused glances, and for a moment, the heaviness in the room seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of warmth and comfort in knowing you were all still together, facing whatever came next.

Four months had passed since that tense night, and winter had settled in with a cold grip. The once vibrant landscape had transformed into a stark, snowy expanse. You, now seven months pregnant, felt the weight of your journey more than ever, but the quiet strength of Joel and Ellie beside you made the harsh conditions more bearable.

Now seven months pregnant, you felt the weight of it all pressing down on you, not just the baby growing inside, but the miles you had trudged through the wilderness. Your feet ached, your back was sore, and your hands were red and raw from the cold. Yet, the quiet strength of Joel and Ellie beside you made the harsh conditions somehow more bearable. Joel, ever watchful, kept close, his eyes always scanning the horizon for any sign of danger, his presence a constant comfort. Ellie, with her relentless spirit, kept the mood light with her jokes and sarcastic comments, doing her best to distract you from the relentless chill.

The trio of you had walked through miles of frost-covered terrain, the snow crunching beneath your boots. Each step was a reminder of how far you had come and how much further you still had to go. Wyoming was just ahead, a small but significant milestone in your quest for safety and a future.

Joel trudged ahead, his face set in determined lines, but every now and then he would glance back at you, making sure you were okay. He had taken to carrying a small pack with supplies, his concern for you palpable. Ellie, now a bit more grown and experienced, walked close by, occasionally breaking the silence with a joke or a comment, trying to keep your spirits up.

You looked at Joel’s profile, his face partially hid the fear on his bones and despite his gruff exterior, he had become your rock through this tumultuous journey. You had come to rely on his strength and his soft, rare moments of tenderness.

December 1st

“Winter has arrived with a vengeance. The cold is biting, and our progress has slowed. We’re staying in an old barn for the night, huddled together to keep warm. Joel’s been making sure the fire stays lit, while Ellie tries to make the best of our situation.

I can feel the baby kicking more strongly now. It’s a constant reminder of why we’re enduring all of this. Joel’s been more attentive, though still guarded. He’s trying so hard to protect us, and I wish he could see that his presence alone is enough.

The snow makes everything look different. Almost beautiful, in a way that feels wrong given the world we’re living in. We made camp in a small cabin tonight. Joel found some firewood, and Ellie kept herself busy by trying to make soup out of what little we had. She’s worried about me, even though she pretends not to be. I can see it in the way she watches me, like she’s waiting for something to happen. Joel, too, keeps his eyes on me, never letting me stray too far. I think he’s afraid, maybe more than he’ll ever admit.

The baby’s been kicking more. It’s a strange feeling, like little taps from the inside, reminding me that there’s something good in this world. Something worth fighting for.”

The cold wind whipped around you, making it difficult to see very far ahead. Joel motioned for a short break, and you gratefully lowered yourself onto a nearby snow-covered log. Ellie quickly dug out some snacks and hot drinks from her pack, her hands red and numb from the cold.

“Here,” she said, handing you a steaming cup. “This should help warm you up.”

You took the cup gratefully, savoring the warmth as it seeped into your fingers and then your body. “Thanks, Ellie,” you said, smiling. “I don’t know how we’d have made it without you.”

Ellie shrugged; her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Just doing my part,” she said with a wink. “And keeping you guys from going completely crazy.”

Joel joined you, taking a seat beside you and offering you a small piece of dried fruit. “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Just a bit further, and we’ll be in Wyoming.”

You nodded, taking comfort in his words. “I know,” you replied. “It’s just... sometimes it feels like it’s never going to end.”

Joel’s hand reached out, gently resting on your knee for a few minutes to provide the comfort he knew you needed.

As you made your way through the snow-covered terrain, the excitement of nearing Wyoming provided a much-needed boost. Joel’s usual calm demeanor had been unwavering through most of the journey, but today, there was an underlying tension in his movements that you and Ellie didn’t immediately notice.

Joel’s breaths were more rapid and shallow, though he tried to mask it behind a determined facade. He kept a firm grip on his pack and occasionally glanced around with a slightly strained look. His face, though mostly hidden by his scarf, betrayed signs of an inner struggle that he wasn’t quite ready to share.

Ellie’s voice broke the silence, sharp and unfiltered as always.

"Are you dying?" she asked, half-joking but with an edge of genuine concern. She was walking beside you, her eyes narrowed at Joel, who hadn’t slowed his pace despite the obvious tension in his movements.

Joel grunted, his response delayed as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. "No," he said curtly, his breath coming out in visible puffs in the cold air. "I’m fine."

"You don’t look fine," Ellie pressed, glancing at you as if seeking backup. "You’re all... sweaty and weird."

You frowned, watching Joel carefully now. Ellie wasn’t wrong—there was something off about him today. The way his shoulders hunched, his steps just a bit too heavy, like he was pushing through something. He had been quiet, more so than usual, and you could sense the strain behind his eyes whenever he glanced back at you.

"Joel?" you asked, your voice softer than Ellie’s but carrying the same concern. "What’s going on?"

He slowed his steps, finally stopping to catch his breath. His hand went to his side, rubbing it briefly before he straightened up, avoiding eye contact. "It’s nothin’," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual strength. "Just... pushin' too hard today. We’re close, is all. No time to slow down."

Ellie crossed her arms, her eyes flicking between you and Joel with a skeptical look. "Right," she said, not convinced. "You’re not dying, but you’re also... not dying?"

Joel shot her a look that could’ve silenced most people, but not Ellie. "I said I’m fine."

You stepped closer to him, concern outweighing your hesitation. "Joel, you need to tell us if something’s wrong. You can’t carry this all by yourself."

He exhaled through his nose, the stubbornness etched in his expression softening for just a moment. "I’ll be alright," he said, though now his voice was quieter, less defensive. "Just... need a minute. We’ll keep movin’ after that."

Ellie threw her hands up. "Well, that’s reassuring," she muttered, but you could tell the worry hadn’t left her eyes.

You stayed close to Joel, watching him as he tried to steady his breathing, his hands resting on his knees for support. The tension that had been building inside you all day finally surfaced, the reality of how much you were relying on him pressing down on you. But even now, as he struggled, he was still trying to protect you both.

Joel glanced up at you, catching your gaze, and for a brief second, his walls dropped. There it was—the vulnerability he was so good at hiding, but not today. Not from you.

“I want to rest for a bit” you said, placing your hand over your swollen belly. You needed the rest, but you also wanted to force Joel to slow down a bit.

Joel’s eyes flicked down to your hand resting on your belly, then back up to meet your gaze. His expression softened, the usual stubborn resistance he wore melting away for a moment. He sighed, clearly torn between pushing forward and giving in to the obvious need for a break. You could see the struggle in him—the need to keep going, to get you all to safety—but he couldn’t deny the toll it was taking on both of you.

"Yeah, alright," he muttered, standing upright and scanning the area. "We’ll rest."

Ellie, who had been quietly watching the exchange, gave a slight huff of relief. "Finally," she said, throwing her pack down onto the snow and plopping down next to it. She stretched her legs out in front of her, rubbing her hands together for warmth. "You both needed this."

You nodded, grateful for the pause, though your focus remained on Joel. He had been pushing himself too hard, and the weight of that knowledge gnawed at you. It wasn’t just about the miles or the cold—it was the responsibility, the fear of what would happen if he couldn’t protect you both. You were carrying a life inside of you, and while you knew Joel would never admit it, that added an extra layer of pressure on him.

Joel knelt down beside you, his eyes still scanning the landscape as though danger could appear at any moment. "We won’t stay long," he said, his voice low. "Just enough time to catch our breath."

But it wasn’t true.

As night wore in, Joel had begun gathering wood for a fire, his movements stiff from the weight he carried, not just the physical strain but the burden of keeping you all safe. You watched him silently, your breath visible in the cold night air, as he crouched near a small clearing, arranging the branches and kindling with expert precision. The flicker of the firelight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

Ellie sat nearby, uncharacteristically quiet, watching Joel with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She hugged her knees to her chest, her usual stream of sarcastic comments absent for now. The cold seemed to have silenced her usual banter, or maybe she was just tired, like the rest of you.

Joel caught your gaze from across the fire, his eyes locking onto yours for just a moment longer than usual. He was tired—so tired. But he wouldn’t say it. He wouldn’t admit that he needed to rest just as much as the rest of you, if not more. His protectiveness ran so deep, it was like a force of nature, driving him even when his body begged for relief.

"You should sleep," he muttered, breaking the silence, his voice rough but soft. "I’ll keep watch."

"You need to rest too, Joel," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper over the crackling fire. "You can’t keep pushing yourself like this."

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering to the flames as if avoiding the truth of what you were saying. Ellie, sensing the tension, chimed in from her spot by the fire.

"Yeah, seriously, man. You’ve been on ‘protector mode’ for hours now. You’re not a machine, you know."

Joel grunted, his usual response when he didn’t want to argue but also didn’t want to agree. He poked at the fire with a stick, the sparks floating up into the dark sky. "I’m fine," he said again, the same phrase he’d been using all day, but it sounded weaker now. Less convincing.

You leaned back against the cave wall, watching him through the flickering light. He was still trying to protect you, still carrying the weight of all your lives on his shoulders. But you could see it wearing on him, the exhaustion, the fear he wouldn’t admit to, the responsibility that felt crushing.

"Joel," you said quietly, "we’re not going to make it if you don’t take care of yourself too.

His eyes snapped to yours again, something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, you thought he might argue, might tell you once again that he was fine. But then he sighed, the sound heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.

"I’ll rest when you two are safe," he said, his voice rough and tired, like he was trying to hold back the weight of the world. "I promise."

Ellie threw a stick into the fire, watching it crackle with an unimpressed look. "Great. So, we’re just supposed to wait until you collapse?"

Joel shot her a look, but it lacked its usual sharpness. You could see that even he was starting to acknowledge the truth.

And just when he was about to say something, you moved uncomfortable.

Before Joel could respond to Ellie’s sharp comment, you shifted in your spot, a small grimace passing over your face as the baby kicked again. This time, it was stronger, more insistent, and the discomfort rippled through you unexpectedly. You instinctively placed a hand over your belly, your breath catching as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Both Joel and Ellie immediately noticed the change in your posture. Joel's eyes widened, all traces of exhaustion vanishing in an instant as he leaned closer, his expression full of concern.

“What is it?” His voice was tight, his protective instincts kicking in instantly. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, though the tension in your face said otherwise. “I’m fine… it’s just… the baby’s kicking. It’s strong.”

Ellie scooted over, her eyes wide with curiosity and a mix of awe. “Whoa, really?” she asked, her usual snark replaced by genuine interest. “Can I feel?”

You smiled, despite the ache, and gestured for Ellie to come closer. She tentatively reached out, her small hand resting on your belly. A few moments passed, and then the baby kicked again, more pronounced this time. Ellie’s face lit up, her eyes going wide with amazement.

“That’s wild,” she breathed. “It’s like… a real person in there, huh?”

Joel remained still, his expression a mixture of hesitation and uncertainty. His eyes flickered from your face to your belly, where Ellie’s hand still rested, her excitement palpable. But Joel… his gaze was distant, conflicted, as though something heavy was weighing on his mind.

You watched him for a moment, noticing the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting something deep within. He had been so protective of you and the baby, yet now, there was this hesitation that hadn’t been there before. Like the reality of it all was finally sinking in, and it scared him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Your heart softened at the sight of him—this man who had carried so much weight on his shoulders, trying to keep all of you safe. And now, with the baby growing inside you, it seemed like the responsibility was becoming even more overwhelming for him.

Without saying a word, you reached for Joel’s hand, gently pulling it toward your belly. He resisted at first, his eyes meeting yours with an uncertain look. But you smiled, reassuring him, and after a beat, he let you guide his hand to rest over where the baby had just kicked.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His hand, warm and rough, pressed against your belly, and then the baby kicked again—strong and insistent, like it was reminding him of its presence. Joel’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened in surprise. You could see the emotions flashing across his face—fear, wonder, maybe even hope—but he didn’t pull away.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s… that’s the baby,” he said, his tone filled with awe, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

You nodded, your hand still resting on top of his, offering comfort. “Yeah, Joel. That’s our baby.”

For a moment, Joel just stared at your belly, his hand still pressed against you. Then, slowly, his walls started to crumble. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath, the tension that had been building inside him for days finally releasing.

As you watched Ellie marvel at the sensation of the baby kicking, you couldn’t help but notice Joel’s face. His eyes, though focused on your belly, were distant, clouded with thoughts you knew all too well. His silence spoke louder than any words could, and you could see the weight of it pressing down on him, the same doubts and fears he always tried to hide. But this time, there was no hiding.

Without thinking, you gently placed your hand over Ellie’s, signaling for her to stop. "Hey, El… let’s give the baby a little break," you said, your voice soft but firm.

Ellie looked up at you, confused for a second, before pulling her hand back and sitting up straight. She shrugged nonchalantly, though her eyes lingered on your belly, clearly still amazed. “Yeah, sure. That was pretty cool though,” she muttered, leaning back and poking the fire with another stick.

But your attention wasn’t on Ellie anymore. It was on Joel. His hand was still resting on your belly, and he hadn’t moved. You could see the tension in his face, the way he was trying to hold it together for both of you. He needed to rest, to let himself break for just a moment, but you knew how hard that was for him. How much he felt like everything was on his shoulders.

"Joel," you said quietly, almost more gently than you intended. His name felt different on your tongue, like it wasn’t really you speaking.

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still locked on your belly. You took his hand and slowly lifted it away, placing it in his lap. He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and finally looked at you. The weariness in his face was undeniable now, and you could see the cracks in the facade he always tried so hard to keep in place.

“You need to rest,” you said, your voice soft but firm, with an edge that wasn’t quite your usual tone. It was more insistent, more like a command than a request. You weren’t just asking him to take a break—you were telling him.

Joel’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to protest, but you cut him off before he could speak.

“I mean it,” you added, surprising even yourself with the intensity of your words. “You’re not going to help anyone if you collapse, Joel. We can’t keep going like this.”

His mouth closed, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out what to say, how to argue with you without pushing too hard. But he couldn’t. Not this time. Not with the way you were looking at him, with that mix of worry and determination that left no room for debate.

Ellie, sensing the shift in tone, stayed quiet, glancing between the two of you. For once, she didn’t throw in a sarcastic comment. She just waited, watching the fire crackle and listening to the tension settle around you.

Joel let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging as the fight drained out of him. He nodded, though it seemed reluctant, like he still couldn’t fully let go of the idea that he had to be the one holding it all together.

“Alright,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just for a bit.”

You exhaled, relieved, but you still held his gaze, making sure he understood. “It’s not just for us, Joel. It’s for you too. You need this.”

He nodded again, and this time, it seemed a little more genuine. “Yeah… I know,” he whispered, his voice raw with exhaustion.

Ellie glanced up, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no bite in her words this time.

As Joel shifted to find a more comfortable position, he laid his head against your lap, his face pressing gently against your belly. The closeness of him, the warmth of his body leaning into yours, made something inside you tighten—an emotion you couldn’t quite name but one you understood all too well. His breaths slowed as the exhaustion finally caught up to him, his body surrendering to the rest he so desperately needed.

Your hand moved on its own, fingers threading through his hair, then brushing down to caress the rough stubble on his face. The small gesture felt both intimate and protective, like you were guarding him for once, in the only way you could. His face softened in his sleep, the tension that had etched itself into his features over the last few days easing away.

Ellie, watching the scene unfold, stifled a quiet chuckle. "Well, that’s a sight," she whispered, shaking her head with a faint smile. “Didn’t think I’d ever see Joel like this.”

You gave her a soft, knowing smile, your hand never leaving Joel’s face. “Yeah, me neither,” you whispered back. The fire crackled between you, casting soft shadows on the cave walls. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was you and Ellie staying awake, the weight of the night’s silence shared between the two of you instead of Joel.

Ellie stretched out her legs, staring into the flames. “So... how’s it feel?” she asked, her voice low as if she didn’t want to disturb Joel. “Y’know, the baby. It’s kinda crazy to think that in the middle of all this... you’re growing a person.”

You let out a quiet laugh, glancing down at Joel’s sleeping form, then at your belly. “Yeah... it’s crazy,” you admitted, your voice soft but filled with a quiet wonder. “But it feels... right, somehow. Like maybe this is the one good thing left in the world.”

Ellie nodded thoughtfully; her gaze still locked on the fire. “Guess we all need something good to fight for.”

Silence settled over you both, the crackling of the fire the only sound as the night stretched on. The cave was cold, but there was a warmth in this moment, a quiet bond growing between you and Ellie as Joel slept soundly against you.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like you had a moment to breathe and be still. And in that stillness, with Joel safe and Ellie by your side, you allowed yourself to hope, just for a little while, that maybe everything would be okay.

December 10th

We made it to Jackson today. It’s hard to believe after everything, but we’re finally here. We’re safe… but something doesn’t feel right.

Tommy was so happy to see us. To see Joel. I saw it in his eyes, the relief of having his brother back. And when he looked at my belly, he was surprised, of course, but happy. Even Maria, his wife is pregnant too. She seemed genuinely excited for us, for what this means. But Joel... Joel didn’t react the way I thought he would.

I’ve seen him handle danger, grief, and loss; nothing seemed to break him. But today, when Tommy told the news when Maria shared her news, I could see something change in Joel. He didn’t smile, didn’t share in the moment like I hoped he would. Instead, he shut down. And it hurts. It hurts to think that maybe he’s not ready for this, for us. Maybe he’s scared, maybe it’s just too much. I don’t know, but it’s like I’m carrying this alone.

I’m scared too. But I want this baby. I want us to be a family. And I thought… I thought Joel did too.

He’s with Tommy now, catching up after a long time or at least pretending to. I can feel something shifted, the distance between us growing, even though we’re finally somewhere safe. What if Jackson doesn’t fix this? What if the problem isn’t out there, but here between us?

You set the pen down and closed the journal, feeling the weight of the words settling into your heart. You glanced over at the new clothes Maria had left for you in the bed.

As you dressed in the clean, comfortable clothes Maria had left, the familiar weight of worry crept back in. The thoughts of the QZ and everything you’d been through tugged at the edges of your mind, but you pushed them aside, determined to move forward and focus on this new chapter in Jackson. This was supposed to be a fresh start. You were determined to make it feel that way.

The cold air outside hit you as you stepped out of the house, but it was fresh, invigorating. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and began walking through the quiet streets of Jackson, hoping that a bit of solitude would clear your head. But as you passed by one of the larger buildings in the town, you heard voices, low but familiar.

Joel and Tommy were inside.

You hesitated by the window, not meaning to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help yourself. The tension in Joel had been building all day, and Tommy’s words floated out into the cold air.

“I thought you’d be happy for me, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and concern. “I’m going to be a father. Can you believe that? I thought—hell, I thought you’d understand more than anyone.”

There was a long pause before Joel responded, and you could practically feel the weight of what was about to come.

“I don’t know if I want to be a father again,” Joel said, his voice low, almost too quiet to hear. It wasn’t a confession so much as an admission, like it was something he hadn’t even allowed himself to think about until now. “Tommy… it’s different this time.”

“You’ve got someone, Joel. She’s—she’s carrying your kid. That’s not something you just walk away from,” Tommy replied, clearly trying to keep his patience. “You don’t get to be scared and check out now. That’s not you. At least, that’s not the brother I know.”

“I know that,” Joel said, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed him. “But I’ve been through this before. And it didn’t end well. What if I can’t do it again? What if I can’t protect them?”

Tommy’s voice softened. “You’re not the same man you were back then. And you’ve got people now. You’re not alone in this, Joel. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Another silence followed, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for Joel to say something—anything—that would give you an idea of what he was feeling. But when he spoke again, his voice was strained, full of conflict.

“I want to be there for them. I do. But I don’t know how to be a father anymore. After Sarah... it feels like too much.”

Hearing him say her name, his late daughter, hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t heard Joel talk about Sarah much, but you knew how deeply her loss had affected him. The silence that followed was thick with emotion, as if Tommy was waiting for his brother to find the words he was searching for.

“Then learn, Joel,” Tommy finally said, his tone soft but firm. “You can still be a father. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you trying.”

You could hear the clink of glasses as Tommy poured them both a drink. Joel didn’t respond right away, and you took that as your cue to move away from the window, giving them the space they needed.

As you walked away from the window, your thoughts swirling with everything you’d just overheard, you almost didn’t notice Maria approaching from down the street. Her footsteps were quiet on the dirt path, and by the time you spotted her, she was already close enough to call your name.

“Hey,” Maria greeted softly, her eyes warm but cautious. She seemed to sense the heaviness on your shoulders. “I was just coming by to check on you. How’re you settling in?”

You managed a small smile, though the weight of what you’d overheard lingered in your chest. “It’s... good. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s good here.”

Maria studied your face for a moment, as if she could see the mix of emotions brewing beneath the surface. She gave a small nod, choosing not to press. Instead, she shifted the conversation to something else. “I wanted to let you know, we’ve got an ultrasound machine here in town. It’s old, but it works. If you want, we could take a look at the baby, make sure everything’s okay.”

Her offer took you by surprise, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. The thought of seeing the baby—of actually hearing its heartbeat, seeing it move—was both exciting and terrifying. You hadn’t had the chance for anything like this since leaving the QZ, and the opportunity stirred a mixture of emotions you hadn’t quite prepared for.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing down at your belly.

Maria smiled gently, her understanding clear. “I get it. It can be overwhelming, especially with everything you’ve been through. But maybe it’ll help. You were out there for so long, it wouldn’t be bad give it a check.

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe. I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” Maria said, her smile growing. “Okay, let’s go”

“What now?” you asked, surprised and afraid, there was a strange feeling on your heart at the thought of seeing your baby for the first time.

Maria chuckled softly, sensing your hesitation. “No time like the present,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring. “I know it’s a lot, but you’ve been through worse. This is something good, something for you. And for the baby.”

You felt a flutter of nerves as the reality of it hit you—the idea of seeing the baby, confirming its presence in a way that was more than just kicks and feelings. It was a lot to take in, and your heart raced at the thought.

“But... what if something’s wrong?” you blurted out, your voice quieter than you intended. It was a fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to voice until now, but it was there, gnawing at the back of your mind.

Maria’s expression softened even more. “That’s exactly why we check. If something’s wrong, we’ll know, and we’ll take care of it. But listen, you’ve come this far. You’re strong, and so is your baby.” She placed a gentle hand on your arm, grounding you. “You’re not alone anymore, okay?”

Her words gave you a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. You took a deep breath and nodded, more firmly this time. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Maria smiled again, “Do you want to find Joel first?” she asked

But you thought about his words, and said no.

You shook your head, the memory of Joel's hesitant confession weighing on your mind. "No," you said quietly, but with conviction. "Not right now."

Maria studied your face for a moment, her expression thoughtful but understanding. She didn’t push, simply nodded. "Alright," she said gently. "This is your moment, then. Just you and the baby."

You appreciated her respect for your choice. As much as you wanted Joel to be there, to share this experience with you, part of you knew he wasn’t ready. He needed time to sort through his own fears, and you needed this moment to yourself, to connect with the life growing inside you without the burden of anyone else's emotions.

“Let’s go,” you said, your voice firmer now, a strange mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside you.

Maria led the way back toward the clinic, with Ellie joining you both, the air cool and crisp as you walked through the quiet streets of Jackson. Inside, the warmth of the room wrapped around you, soothing some of your tension. As you lay back on the table, ready to see your baby for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope, a hope that despite everything, you and this little life inside you could make it.

The door creaked open, and the doctor stepped in. He was tall, with tousled brown hair and kind eyes that immediately locked onto yours. There was a brief pause as he stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from professionalism to something softer, almost as if he were momentarily caught off guard.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Paul..." he trailed off, his gaze lingering on you just a second too long before he quickly composed himself, stepping further into the room. "Paul Mesner," he added, clearing his throat, his tone now more formal, though there was a warmth in it that you couldn’t quite place.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, unsure of the sudden tension that filled the small room. It wasn’t overwhelming, but you could feel something shift in the air, as though Paul had felt something the moment he laid eyes on you.

Maria, standing by your side, glanced between the two of you, raising an eyebrow but choosing not to comment.

As you lay back on the examination table, the soft hum of the ultrasound machine filled the room. Maria stood nearby, and Ellie sat on a chair in the corner, her legs bouncing restlessly. Paul prepared the equipment, his movements efficient but gentle.

Ellie glanced around nervously, trying to act cool, but you could see the curiosity and excitement in her eyes. “So… this is where we get to see the little peanut?” she asked, her voice trying to mask her eagerness.

You smiled at her, feeling a sense of comfort that she was here. “Yeah, Ellie. This is where we’ll see the baby.”

When Paul applied the gel to your belly, Ellie’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything, her attention fully focused on the screen. As the image flickered to life, the small form of the baby appeared, its heartbeat strong and steady. The room seemed to hold its breath.

He guided you through the process, explaining each step, though his voice was gentle, almost reverent. As the cold gel touched your skin and the machine came to life, Paul’s eyes never strayed far from yours. When he finally looked at the screen, the image of your baby appeared, and so it’s heart beating that filled the silence of the room.

“There it is,” Paul said softly, the awe clear in his voice. He glanced at you with that same warmth, but your focus was entirely on the screen. But when he looked at you again, there was something undeniably personal in his eyes, like you were the only person in the room.

Ellie leaned forward; her face lit up with wonder. “Holy shit… that’s… that’s the baby?”

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from the tiny form. “Yeah, that’s the baby.”

Ellie’s gaze flickered from the screen to you, then back again. “That’s… insane. It’s real,” she whispered, her usual bravado melting away in the face of something she couldn’t joke about.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at the tiny image on the screen, tears welling in your eyes.

As you stared at the tiny, flickering heartbeat on the screen, a rush of emotions overwhelmed you. Tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t look away from the image. It was real—your baby, alive and growing inside of you. The room was quiet, except for the steady thrum of the baby’s heartbeat echoing in the air, a soft, rhythmic reminder that you were carrying a new life.

“Ellie,” you whispered, looking at her, “you’re going to be part of this too. You’re family.”

Ellie blinked, clearly moved by your words, though she quickly masked it with a grin. “Thank you” she said, smiling down at you.

Paul’s gentle voice brought you back, and when you glanced up at him, he was still looking at you, his eyes filled with something more than just professional care. It was warmth, empathy... maybe something else.

"You’re doing really well," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he didn’t want to break the delicate atmosphere of the moment.

You smiled weakly, feeling the tears spill over, but you quickly wiped them away. "I wasn’t sure what to expect," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "But hearing the heartbeat... it’s incredible."

Paul nodded, his gaze still steady on you, his expression soft. "It’s a moment that changes everything," he said, his voice full of sincerity. "You’ll remember this for the rest of your life."

His words settled over you like a blanket of reassurance, and for the first time since you had arrived in Jackson, you felt a small sense of peace. There was still so much uncertainty ahead, but in this moment, everything felt possible.

Maria, who had been standing quietly off to the side, finally broke the silence. "It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. She walked over to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You’ve been through so much, but you’re going to be okay here."

You nodded, grateful for the support. But your thoughts drifted back to Joel, to the conversation you had overheard between him and Tommy. You couldn’t help but wonder how he would react when he saw this—when he heard the heartbeat and realized what was truly at stake.

But for now, you allowed yourself to just be in the moment, surrounded by the quiet reassurance of Maria’s words and Paul’s steady presence.

"Thank you," you whispered, meeting Paul’s eyes again.

He smiled, the corners of his mouth tugging upward just slightly. "Anytime," he said softly, and for a moment, it felt like he wasn’t just talking about the ultrasound.

As you, Ellie and Maria gathered your things and prepared to leave the small room, you felt Paul’s eyes lingering on you, even as you reached for the door. His gaze was soft, but intense, as if he couldn’t tear himself away. It left a strange flutter in your chest, a mix of emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.

“Thanks, Paul” you said, honestly, smiling at him.

Maria, standing by your side, must have noticed too. When you touched the door handle, ready to step out, she placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Wait for me outside,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

You hesitated, glancing between her and Paul, but then nodded, stepping out into the cool air of the hallway. As the door clicked shut behind you, a strange tension filled the room you had just left.

Inside, Maria turned to Paul, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. His gaze had been a little too fixated on you, and Maria’s protective instincts kicked in immediately.

"Paul," she began, her voice quiet but filled with a clear warning. "Don’t ever think about it."

Paul blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Maria took a step closer, her expression hardening. "I saw the way you were looking at her. But you need to understand something—she’s not here alone. The baby’s father is here in Jackson."

Paul’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, though he quickly tried to mask it. "I wasn’t—" he started, but Maria cut him off.

"Tommy’s brother," she said, her voice low and steady. "That’s the father. And trust me, you don’t want to get involved in that kind of situation."

Paul looked taken aback, the realization sinking in. He glanced down, his expression shifting as the weight of her words hit him. "I didn’t mean any disrespect, Maria," he said quietly, his tone more subdued now. "I just—"

"I know you didn’t," she replied, softening just a bit. "But I’m telling you now, for your own sake. Stay professional. Keep it that way."

Paul nodded, the intensity in his gaze dimming, replaced by something more resigned. "Understood," he muttered, his voice low.

Maria gave him a long, measured look before turning to leave. As she opened the door, she glanced back one last time, as if to reinforce her message. Then, without another word, she stepped outside to join you.

You and Ellie were waiting just outside, leaning against the wall, lost in thought. When Maria emerged, she gave you a small, reassuring smile.

"Ready to head back?" she asked, her tone light, as if the conversation inside had never happened.

You nodded, pushing yourself off the wall.

The makeshift theater was packed with people from the community, the flickering light from the old projector casting shadows on the walls. It felt surreal, sitting there with everyone, watching a movie like things were normal. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to sink into that illusion—into the laughter, the shared smiles, the warmth of the crowd around you.

But then you saw Joel, after missing him for the whole day.

He was sitting a few rows ahead, his posture tense, eyes focused on the screen but not really watching. You’d been keeping an eye on him ever since you got there, sensing the turmoil still brewing beneath the surface. As the movie played on, Joel stood quietly and slipped out of the room, unnoticed by most. Except for you.

Something stirred in your chest, a familiar pull that you couldn’t ignore. You glanced around, checking if anyone else noticed, but everyone was still absorbed in the film. Quietly, you stood and followed him out, slipping through the door into the cold night air.

The streets of Jackson were quiet, the sound of the movie muffled behind you as you walked. You could see Joel ahead, his figure silhouetted against the dim streetlights. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his steps slow, like he wasn’t sure where he was going, just that he needed to get away.

“Joel,” you called softly, your voice breaking the silence.

He stopped but didn’t turn around immediately. You quickened your pace, coming up beside him. When you reached him, he finally looked at you, his expression a mix of exhaustion and something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place.

"You okay?" you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

Joel let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight he’d been carrying all night had become too much. "Just needed some air," he muttered, his voice rough, but not unkind.

You fell into step beside him, walking in silence for a while, letting the quiet between you settle. You knew Joel wasn’t one to open up easily, and you didn’t want to push him. But you couldn’t just leave him to his thoughts, not when you knew he was struggling.

"Talk to me, Joel," you said softly. "What’s going on?"

He was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he tried to find the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know if I can do this."

Your heart tightened at his words. "Do what?"

"All of it," he said, his voice strained. "Being here... with you, the baby. It feels like I’m tryin’ to fit into somethin’ I don’t deserve. I don’t know how to be this person anymore."

You stopped walking, turning to face him, the moonlight casting shadows across his face. "Joel, you don’t have to have it all figured out. None of us do."

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I want to be there for you, for the baby, but I don’t know if I can protect you. I’m scared I’ll fail again."

The mention of his past failures cut deep, and you could see the ghosts of his memories haunting him. Sarah. The QZ. Every person he couldn’t save.

"You won’t fail," you said firmly, stepping closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I saw the baby today” you said with a tiny smile appearing.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, a hint of surprise breaking through the heaviness that surrounded him. "What do you mean, you saw the baby?" he asked, the tension in his voice softening just a fraction.

You took a breath, feeling warmth spread through you at the memory. "Maria took me for an ultrasound. It was… incredible. I felt the heartbeat, Joel. It’s real. There’s a little life in there."

A mixture of emotions crossed his face, curiosity, wonder, and a flicker of fear. "And? What was it like?"

You smiled wider now, unable to contain the joy bubbling within you. "It was amazing. The little form on the screen, just... there. It made everything feel more possible, like maybe we really could do this."

For a moment, Joel’s expression softened, and you could see the flicker of hope behind his eyes. "That’s… good," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he was afraid to believe it.

"It is," you reassured him, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. "And you’re going to be a part of that, Joel. You’re not just the protector; you’ll be a father. And I know it’s scary, but it’s also something to live for."

He looked down, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. "You really think so?"

"I know so," you said, reaching up to cup his face again, letting your thumb brush gently across his cheek. "You’re already so protective of us, and that matters more than you realize. You’ll figure it out as we go along."

As you stood there, the world around you faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in that intimate moment. Something in Joel shifted, the walls he had built around his heart starting to crumble. You could see the conflict within him, fear battling against a yearning to embrace this new reality.

With a gentle tug on his shirt, you pulled him closer, your heart racing in anticipation. "Trust me," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his.

And then, without overthinking it, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was tentative at first, a mingling of uncertainty and hope. But as he responded, deepening the kiss, you felt a wave of warmth wash over you, as if the two of you were forging a new bond amidst the chaos.

His hands found your waist, holding you close, and for those brief moments, it felt like everything else faded away, your fears, the weight of the past, the uncertain future. It was just you and him, sharing something genuine and profound.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you breathing heavily, the world outside momentarily forgotten. The flicker of fear in his eyes had shifted to something softer, more determined.

"You really mean it," he said, his voice rough but filled with newfound conviction.

"I do," you replied, smiling up at him. "We’re in this together, Joel. No matter what."

He nodded, a faint smile breaking through the weight he had been carrying.

As the warmth of the moment lingered, Joel’s hands moved gently to your belly, resting there as if he were trying to connect with the little life growing inside you. His expression softened, and a protective instinct shone in his eyes.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’ve been through a lot today. We both have.”

You nodded, appreciating the concern in his tone. “I will. But I want you to come back soon, okay?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I will. Just need a minute to clear my head.”

With a lingering touch, he pulled his hands away, and you felt a strange mix of warmth and longing as he stepped back. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he promised, his gaze still fixed on you, as if he were memorizing every detail.

You turned, feeling lighter, ready to head back inside and allow yourself the rest you needed. As you walked away, you glanced over your shoulder one last time, catching his eye. The connection between you remained palpable, and you knew that this was just the beginning of something profound.

As you stepped back into the house, the warmth hit you immediately, chasing away the cool night air. Ellie was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a book she'd found earlier, her legs crossed as she absentmindedly skimmed the pages.

She looked up as you entered, her face softening into a lopsided grin. "You okay?" she asked, her tone casual, but you could hear the concern behind it.

You nodded, sitting down beside her. "Yeah. Just needed to talk with Joel for a bit."

Ellie studied your face, her eyes sharp. "And? Everything good?"

You smiled gently, trying to reassure her. "It will be. We’re figuring things out, one step at a time." You hesitated for a moment before continuing, "You know, we could be a family here. You, me, Joel… and the baby."

Ellie blinked, her usual tough exterior cracking just a bit. She let out a breath, leaning back against the couch. "A family, huh?" she muttered, her voice almost too soft for her usual snark. "Never really had one of those."

"You do now," you said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It’s not perfect. None of this is. But we’re all in this together."

Ellie let the words sink in, her eyes drifting toward the window as if trying to imagine what a life here could be. "Guess I could stick around," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Teach the kid how to shoot and stuff."

You chuckled softly.

+++++++++++++

Meanwhile, on the other side of the community, Joel sat at the bar with Tommy, the weight of his emotions too much to bear any longer. He stared down at the whiskey in his hand, his knuckles white from gripping the glass too hard.

"Tommy…" Joel’s voice was low, broken, as if the words were being pulled from some deep, hidden place. "I need you to do something for me."

Tommy frowned, concern flickering across his face. "What is it?"

Joel swallowed hard; his throat tight. His eyes were red, the strain of the day finally catching up with him. "I need you to take Ellie to the Fireflies."

Tommy blinked; his confusion clear. "What? Joel, -“

"She’s immune” Joel cut him off, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. "But I can’t do it I can’t take her. I don’t have the heart to leave my woman behind.”

Tommy’s gaze softened, understanding dawning on him. "You mean…"

"She’s pregnant, Tommy. I can’t take her with us. I can’t risk her life or the baby’s. And I can’t just leave them behind, not after everything." Joel’s voice wavered, his hands shaking as he finally let the tears fall, his tough exterior crumbling. "I thought I could do it… thought I could keep everyone safe, but I’m just not strong enough.”

Tommy leaned forward, his expression torn between concern and disbelief. "Joel, you don’t have to do this alone. You’ve got people here. You’ve got me."

Joel shook his head, wiping at his eyes. "Ellie needs to get to the Fireflies, for the cure. It’s what she’s meant for. But I can’t go, not with the baby coming. I need you to do this for me, Tommy. Please."

Tommy was silent for a long time, his heart breaking for his brother. "Joel… are you sure?"

Joel’s shoulders slumped as he nodded, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "I don’t want to lose her, but I can’t lose them either. I can’t make this choice."

Tommy sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll take Ellie. But, Joel...”

Joel took a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the bar. “It’s not just Ellie, Tommy. It’s me too.” His voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself be vulnerable. “I’ve been having these panic attacks. Can’t breathe, can’t think straight. I… I haven’t felt this way since… since Sarah.”

Tommy's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and concern flooding his expression. "Joel…"

“I try to hold it together, but I’m falling apart, man. And I don’t know how to stop it,” Joel confessed, his voice breaking. “I’ll be out there, trying to protect her, trying to protect all of us, and suddenly it hits me — like a damn freight train. My chest tightens, my heart races, and I feel like… like I’m losing control.”

Tommy was silent for a moment, letting the weight of Joel’s words sink in. He'd seen his brother take on the world, survive impossible situations, but this was different. This was something Joel couldn’t fight with his fists or a gun.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Joel whispered, running a hand through his hair. "I'm scared all the time, Tommy. Scared that I’ll mess it up. That I’ll lose Ellie. That I’ll lose..." He faltered, swallowing hard. “That I’ll lose them both.”

Tommy stepped closer; his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Joel. You never did. It’s okay to feel this way, man. No one expects you to be invincible.”

Joel let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “But that’s what I’ve always had to be, ain’t it? The strong one. The protector. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“You’ve been protecting people your whole damn life,” Tommy said, his tone filled with empathy. “But now… now it’s time to let people protect you too.”

Joel’s eyes were red, his jaw tight as he fought the urge to break down. “I don’t know if I can do this without her. Without them.”

“You don’t have to,” Tommy said quietly. “But I’ll take Ellie to the Fireflies. I promise I’ll keep her safe. You take care of yourself, Joel. Take care of the family you’re building here. You’ve earned that.”

Joel nodded; his heart heavy but grateful for Tommy’s understanding. He still felt the crushing weight of his fears, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel completely alone. Tommy was there. Ellie was there. You were there. And soon, there would be a baby who needed him too.

But still, his tears silently fell as he tried to hold himself together. This was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, and it tore him apart inside. But he knew it was the only way to protect the people he loved. Even if it meant letting go.

+++++++++++++

You sat on the couch with Ellie, the warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace nearby, casting a soft glow across the room. Ellie was watching the flames, her mind elsewhere, while you found yourself glancing down at your belly again, thinking about everything that was changing, everything that was coming.

“Ellie,” you began softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. She turned her head slightly, her expression expectant. “I’ve been thinking… Would you wait until after the baby is born to go to the Fireflies? Just a little longer?”

Ellie’s brow furrowed slightly, as if the idea weighed heavily on her. She didn’t answer right away, and you could see the internal struggle flicker in her eyes.

“I know you want to help,” you continued, your voice gentle. “I know you want to be the cure, to make a difference. But… it’s dangerous out there. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, pulling her knees up to her chest as she stared down at the floor. “It’s not about me, though,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I get it, you want me to stay, but the cure... it could give the baby a better future. It could give everyone a better future. And I can’t just sit here while I have the chance to do that.”

Her words struck you deep, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for wanting her to stay, to keep her close, to keep her safe. But Ellie had always been selfless, always thinking of others, always wanting to make things better.

You sighed, resting a hand on your belly as the weight of her words sank in. “I just want you to be safe, Ellie. You mean a lot to all of us. And I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Ellie smiled faintly, though her expression was filled with understanding. “I know. But… if I can do something to stop all of this, the infection, the danger, then the baby… they won’t have to grow up like this. They could have a real life, without the constant fear of what’s out there.”

The thought of that future, one where the baby didn’t have to face the same horrors that you and Ellie had, made your heart ache. She was right, and that was what made it so hard.

Ellie noticed the worry lines forming on your forehead and reached over, giving your arm a gentle nudge. “Hey,” she said, her voice softening, “don’t stress yourself out. You’ve got enough to think about. Go and rest. You need to take care of yourself, and the peanut.”

You offered her a tired smile, appreciating the concern in her tone. “You sound like Joel.”

Ellie smirked. “Guess he’s rubbing off on me.”

You laughed softly, but the weight of the conversation still hung in the air. “Just… promise me you’ll think about it, Ellie. Please.”

Ellie met your gaze, her eyes serious. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and though you knew her mind was made up, her words gave you a small sense of comfort.

With that, you slowly stood, feeling the fatigue settle into your bones. Ellie watched you with a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Go rest, Mom-to-be,” she teased. “I’ll be here.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the lightness she brought to the moment. “Alright, alright. I’m going. Good night, Ellie.”

“Good night” she replied, smiling as you entered the bedroom.

Joel stood outside for what felt like an eternity, staring into the darkness, weighed down by the decision he had made. He knew it was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. The thought of sending Ellie away with Tommy gnawed at him, the fear of losing her or failing her again tightening around his chest like a vice.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he walked back into the house, his footsteps slow and hesitant. The place was quiet, a stillness that only made the ache in his heart more pronounced. He stopped by the door to your bedroom, hearing the soft rhythm of your breathing. You were resting, just like you needed to be.

But there was another conversation he couldn’t avoid.

Joel walked down the hall to Ellie’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see her sitting on the edge of her bed, lost in her own thoughts. She turned her head when she noticed him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“What’s up?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual, but there was an edge to her voice that Joel couldn’t ignore.

Joel hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. He couldn’t meet her gaze right away. “Ellie, we need to talk,” he said, his voice low and thick with the weight of his words.

She sat up straighter, sensing that something was wrong. “What is it? What happened?”

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was, “Tommy’s taking you to the Fireflies.”

The room fell into a tense silence, Ellie’s eyes widening in shock before narrowing in anger. “What? No,” she said, her voice rising. “You’re supposed to take me. That was the plan!”

“I can’t,” Joel replied, his voice breaking just slightly as he tried to keep his composure. “I can’t leave them behind. Not with the baby coming.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ellie snapped, standing up now, her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re just gonna pass me off to Tommy like I’m some burden? What the hell, Joel?”

“It’s not like that,” Joel said, shaking his head, but the guilt was already eating at him. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Ellie scoffed, her frustration boiling over. “Protect me? you’re just okay with sending me away? Why can’t you take me?”

Joel took a deep breath, the panic rising inside him. “Ellie, I’ve been having these panic attacks,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “I can’t—I’m not strong enough anymore. I can’t do it. I can’t protect you the way I need to, not with all of this happening. I don’t want to fail you.”

Ellie’s anger wavered for a moment, her eyes searching his face. “Joel…,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’re not gonna fail me. You never have.”

“I already have,” Joel whispered, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Too many times. I couldn’t save Sarah. I couldn’t stop Tess from getting hurt. I won’t let you get hurt too, Ellie. And I can’t leave them—her, the baby—behind. I just can’t.”

Ellie’s face softened, but the frustration was still there. “Joel, I don’t want Tommy to take me. I want you. We’ve been through all of this together. It’s you and me. You don’t get to just hand me off when it gets hard.”

Joel’s eyes were wet now, the emotions too much to hold back. “I’m trying to keep you safe, Ellie. That’s all I want.”