#(and to talk to him about that kind of stuff if she starts getting a weird feeling about it)

[hearts4hughes]

ೃ࿔:･ bsf!rafe starts dating sofia and ghosts you

he was always yours…until he wasn’t.

you don’t remember when the shift happened—when lingering looks turned heavier, when brushing hands stopped being accidental. you just know it never went anywhere. because rafe was your best friend. he had been since middle school, since braces and bike rides and bad decisions with summer consequences. it felt safer to leave it unsaid.

until wheezie told you. “he’s been asking me weird stuff,” she said one night, legs curled under her on your bed. “like what kind of flowers girls like, or if i think scrunchies are still a thing. i swear, he’s gonna do it. he’s finally gonna ask you out.”

your heart did that stupid thing—clenched and soared all at once. you smiled like a fool and let yourself believe it. you started wearing your hair down more. painted your nails, let the hope live a little.

so when rafe texted “come by. got something to show you.” you thought, this is it. you wore that sundress he once said made you look like trouble and smiled at the mirror.

but he wasn’t waiting for you with flowers or reciting what he was going to say to you. he was with her—sofia. she was tucked under his arm like she belonged there. all glossy and sweet and brand new. her voice too loud and her smile too wide. the type of girl you and rafe used to giggle about.

“this is sofia,” rafe said, almost sheepish. “my…girlfriend.”

you just smiled, bit your cheek hard enough to draw blood, but smiled. “oh, wow. i’m happy for you.”

liar.

~

it was ok at first. sure, he didn’t sit as close to you anymore and he told you less and less (unless it was about sofia). but then he starts missing things. movie nights, beach days, your birthday, kind of—he texts sorry, things came up with a stupid champagne emoji and you stare at your screen until it blurs.

you try not to care. try to be chill—normal. the way he probably wants you to be. but it builds slowly and cruelly. every canceled plan another cut. until it snaps.

he shows up to your house to borrow a charger, of all things. you’re in the driveway before he even knocks, heart in your throat and fury in your fists. “so this is it?” you say, arms crossed. “you’re just ghosting me for some girl you met like—what, three weeks ago?”

rafe blinks and doesn’t answer right away. you take that as permission to keep going. “you forget everything we’ve been through? every night i sat with you when your dad was on a bender, or when topper left you stranded at that party? i was there. i’ve always been there. and now she shows up with her fake nails and new highlights and you just—what? forget me?”

his face darkens. “don’t talk about her like that.”

“why not? you don’t even know her.”

“i do.”

“yeah?” your voice cracks. “then what the hell am i, rafe?”

and he explodes. “she’s my girlfriend!” he growls, voice mean and low. the same voice he used to use on other people, but never you. “not you! she is!.”

you go still. just…still. your mouth opens, then closes. the world tips sideways. he sees it. the way you crumble, just a little. his expression shifts—regret, guilt, something softer—but you shake your head before he can speak. “don’t,” you whisper. “don’t say anything else.”

he steps forward. “look, i didn’t mean-”

“it’s fine,” you lie. “really. i hope you and sofia are just great.” you muster up the best faux smile you can and bring your voice up an octave. you’re getting good at it—pretending. “you don’t have to worry about me bothering you anymore.”

you don’t look back. you walk away from him, from that driveway, from everything that once felt safe and unbreakable between you. and when you get to your room, you let the door shut and the silence fall like it’s permission. then you cry—not loud, not dramatic…just quiet, painful little sounds that shake in your throat and make your ribs hurt.

you don’t text rafe. don’t check if he texted you. don’t even stalk sofia’s instagram. you just try not to hope.

~

a week passes. seven full days of radio silence. seven full days of heartache and shitty chocolates in heart-shaped boxes. you hate that you count them. saturday comes around once again. dusk spilling through your window like it’s sneaking in. you’re lying in bed, headphones in, not crying anymore, just numb. then, theres that knock.

it’s not at your door, it’s at the front door. you almost don’t check, almost pretend you’re not home, almost hope that someone else gets it before you. but something makes you move. you rise to your feet, stepping all of the candy wrappers and ripped up notes with rafe’s handwriting. trudging down the stairs, your stomach twists. your body knows before your mind does. and when you open it, he’s there.

he’s in a hoodie that looks like he’s slept in it. jaw bruised like he picked a fight and didn’t win. eyes bloodshot, hands twitching like they don’t know what to do if they’re not touching you. “can i come in?” he asks, voice hoarse.

you stare at him. this ghost of your best friend. this boy who shattered you with seven words. “why?” you whisper.

he swallows hard. “because i was wrong.” you don’t say anything, fingers playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. “i shouldn’t’ve yelled at you like that,” he goes on. “i shouldn’t’ve picked her.”

“you didn’t just pick her,” you murmur. “you left me.”

rafe frowns. “i know—fuck, i know. i thought—i thought maybe if i tried with someone else, it’d go away.”

“what would?”

“the way i feel about you.” your breath catches. “it’s always been you,” he says, quieter now. it’s a confession and it hurts to say out loud. “since freshman year. you had braces and wore those stupid cat socks and you punched topper in the face for calling me a daddy’s boy. and i think that was it for me. i was just gone.”

you stare at him. throat constricting around nothing. “then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“because you were my best friend,” he says. “and i was terrified of ruining it. of ruining us.”

you blink fast, heart hammering. “wheezie told me,” you whisper. “she said you were gonna ask me out. that you’d been asking her about flowers and scrunchies and stupid stuff and—i thought it was finally happening.”

rafe steps closer. his hands are shaking. “it was,” he says. “it was for you. all of it. but i got scared and did something stupid and i hurt you. i know that.” he runs his hands over his face. “but please—i need you to know, none of it meant anything.”

you search his face. the cracks in it. the truth bleeding through. “you broke my heart, rafe.”

he nods. “and you’re breaking mine just standing there.”

you inhale shakily. then you whisper, “say it.”

his brows furrow. “say it’s me.”

he steps forward, gently cups your face in his hands. “it’s you,” he breathes. “it’s always been you.”

that’s when finally he kisses you.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey

[writingsonsaturn]

long story short

{ masterlist } { the 'taylor swift' series }

🪐 - yall this is my longest fic to date, i love you guys

wc - 5.5k | content warning - attempted suicide, vomiting, reader has a bad mother, non-sexual nudity, panic attack, mental health talk, please if this is a trigger for you do not read this, I have other fics and will be putting more out, take care of yourself

summary - when the weight of the world falls on you, Jack is there to dust off the rubble

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Life always seemed to either move too fast or too slow, never in-between for you. Your body felt as if it was floating through time, never giving you a second to breath in the air around you.

When you were little your parents wanted you to be great, to be what they couldn't since they had you so young. Your mother encouraged you to be a doctor, always telling you how sharp your senses were, or how beneficial your steady hands would be in the medical field.

You would argue there was never a choice as to what your job would be, you didn't get to dream about being a chef, or a hair stylist, only a medical physician. Now in all fairness, you weren't completely uninterested in this career path — infact you truly loved learning medicine, you just wished you had more of a choice.

Throughout medical school you went through ups and downs mentally, the never ending stress that being in this profession gives humans can be unbearable. Exams, clinical rotations, and so much more had began to weigh on you heavily — so much so you started contemplating taking your own life.

Assuming it would be easier to do that then disappoint your parents.

You were a fourth-year med student when you attempted, working at PTMC. Your attending Dr. Jack Abbot told you to go home early, he noticed your distant stare, the way you refused to look anyone in the eye, he saw all the signs he experienced himself; still he sent you home.

Dragging your feet up into your small apartment, locking the door behind you, setting your stuff down on the floor next to the door and walking into the bathroom. You met your own eyes in the mirror, the dark circles embedded themselves in your sockets and you sighed.

There was no will left in your body, so you reached a hand into your medicine cabinet and took a handful of pain meds you had been prescribed a year ago after hurting your shoulder. You choked on the pills as you swallowed them dry, then sat yourself on the bathroom floor waiting for darkness to wash over your body.

Jack felt it in his stomach that something was off, he knew he shouldn't have sent you home alone.

He saw it in the way you were holding yourself up just enough to get through the shift. He was beating himself up for it, so he decided to go check on you after work; you had only gone home an hour before your shift was set to end, and he is praying to whatever will listen that he won't be too late, that he was just overreacting.

The two of you were close, he had grown fond of you — more specifically your kind personality. You were always ensuring good bedside manner, even when Gloria was on his ass about you working quicker to get more patients into beds.

After losing his wife Jack swore he'd never love again, then he saw you and everything changed. He yearned to get to know you, he needed to see what you looked like when you woke up in the mornings, if you sung in the shower, your comfort foods, any and all things that had to do with you he wanted to know.

The inner voice in his head shamed him for liking a woman that much younger than him, nearly 20 years her senior, but she was perfect. In everyway possible Jack could not find anything to reel his feelings back from you, he tried everything but he just wanted to pull you closer every time.

Jack made his way up the rickety stairs of your old Pittsburgh apartment, rubbing his cold hands together as his achy knees counted one step at a time before finally reaching your door.

Three knocks echoed through the hallway

"Kid? It's Jack, can you open the door?"

Silence.

Jack knocks again.

"Y/n, open the door please! I know you can hear this!"

He knocked one more time, banking on the possibility you were asleep.

"I'm gonna break the door down if you don't open up, hon"

Waiting a few moments, he pressed his ear against the door trying to listen for any movement but was only met with the sound of his own racing heartbeat.

Jack's hand's begin looking for an extra key anywhere outside of your door, but found nothing. So, Jack proceeded to the next step which was breaking your door open, one of your neighbors had come out to inspect the commotion in the hallway and saw your door with split wood coming from the siding.

Wandering into the house Jack yelled your name out, seeing your purse and coat laying down on the floor next to the door, he knew you were home, it was just the matter of finding you.

"Y/n? Where are you, kid?" he whispered the last words more to himself as he walked through the kitchen and towards what he assumed was your room.

There was an eerie sense of stillness in the air when he walked into your room, as he looked around he saw the lighting of your bathroom illuminating the wall. Jack felt his heart plummet towards the floor, he hurriedly walked over to the slightly ajar door and saw your limp body laying there.

"Holy fuck, hey! Baby, wake up!" Jack's voice cracked as he knelt down next to you, Jack put his pointer and middle finger on your carotid feeling for a pulse.

It was faint but there.

Your neighbor had come in when he heard Jack screaming your name, Jack was startled at first before begging for the man to call 911.

"Tell them we have an overdose, faint pulse, and slowed breathing!" Jack yelled over the sound of his own erratic pulse.

"Please baby, please be okay." He picked you up bridal style, and carefully rushed you down those hazardous stairs to meet the paramedics. They arrived swiftly 8 minutes later, Jack was eternally grateful you had a place so close to the hospital. Rushing out a bunch of medical jargon, making sure they understand how serious your condition is.

Jack rode in the ambulance with you, holding your hand the whole time. Doing his best to comfort himself with comforting you, his thumb rubbing rhythmically over your knuckles.

He couldn't bring himself to look at your face again, the lifeless expression it rested at was enough to make his lip quiver in agony, your cheeks were stained with dried tears — he couldn't wipe your sadness away, only forced to meet the possibility of your death.

Everything became a blur to him, the moment the gurney wheels hit the ground and entered the ER it was chaos. The moment Dr. Robby's eyes laid upon your unconscious form he stuttered, which was unusual for him, when you were working the day-shift Robby was your guiding light; he always had the answer to your question, and never once hesitated.

This was different. You were the patient now, you were the life he is supposed to save.

"You gotta save her, man!" Jack yelled out a plea to Robby.

"I need you to go, brother!" Robby replied with haste, as he got the charcoal drink prepared while the nurses pump your stomach.

Dana started pushing Jack out of the way, as much as Abbot tried to hide his feelings for you, everyone, and truly everyone, knew how he felt about you; except for you.

"C'mon hon, lets get you a chair" Dana was nursing a motherly tone, she was doing her best to keep Jack off the ledge while still doing her job.

"She was so fucking c-cold" Jack's voice cracked under the pressure of the tears he was holding back.

There was nothing for him to do except wait, and that was the most agonizing part of all, he wasn't aware of if you were coding, or if the charcoal was working, or hell if a white sheet was being placed over your dead body while they solemnly called your time of death.

God, you are so loved in the ER. Everyone loved the cookies you would bring every other Saturday, "just cause." The radiance and sheer excitement only a med student has, but it was all a facade, you were internally crashing in front of everyone and Jack was the only one who noticed the light fading from your smile.

Yet, he still let you fucking leave alone.

Word after word went through Jack's mind, every sentence he said to you that shift and how he felt he had been a little harsher on you today because you weren't giving your full potential. He thought if he could just break you in, just a bit, you would give the fire in your hands the opportunity to escape.

You were good, so, so fucking good. Everything you did was smart and well planned, your answers to on-the-spot questions were quick and concise. This career was practically born with you, your care for humans was unmatched, and he hated himself for never thinking about what you were over-compensating for.

He was stuck sitting in this lousy , uncomfortable, professional lawn chair re-thinking all the outcomes that this could lead to — the worst of them being your death.

Robby walked in with a sigh and quickly explained your situation to Jack before being talked over by a million questions.

"She is going into the general ward upstairs, we have not detected any neurological anomalies, however, we are still waiting on the CT-" Robby takes a breath before continuing "-she is really fucking lucky you found her when you did, you can see her when you're ready," he finished.

Jack went in for a hug, an unsaid 'thank you,' and rushed to the elevator to get right back to his rightful place next to you.

The day was long and Jack didn't get a wink of rest, every twenty minutes he looked at your vitals himself even though there was a nurse routinely checking them as well, he needed to check for himself.

Robby had come up after his shift ended, he had tried to get Jack to go home. Telling him "she likely won't wake up for another couple of hours, you should go home and change." Jack only then realized he still had his scrubs on, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to leave you alone again, not now.

With a shake of his head, Robby patter Jack on the back and left without another word.

Then at around 11:27pm, your hand twitched, and a groan escaped your throat, slightly panicky as you realized where you were. Jack was quick on his feet, bringing his face into your view so you would calm down, "hey, hey shh, it's okay" Jack rushed in a whisper, trying his hardest not to startle you.

Your hand searched quickly for his and he was even quicker to grab a hold of it. First has pushed the call button to get a nurse in, then he asked you a question-

"Honey, do you remember what happened?"

The look in your eyes was enough of an answer for him, you remembered everything.

"Oh, baby" Jack's other hand gently caressed your head, smoothing out your hair. He saw a tear stream down the side of your face and quickly wiped, selfishly happy he was able to. He swore to himself you would never experience this alone ever again, he was gonna help you through this.

You winced as you swallowed, your throat raw and scratchy with the amount of trauma caused. Jack noticed your painful action and went to grab you some water in a dixie cup, and while he did this, the nurse also had come in to check on you.

"Hey sweetheart, how are we feeling? Any pain I should know about?" The nurse, Stella, asked kindly. You shook your head, not yet trusting your voice to speak.

"Her throat is bothering her, but that's to be expected" Jack told Stella, Stella nodded in agreement with a soft smile directed at you that made you feel safe. After Jack gave you the water, Stella gave you a little while to get your bearings before explaining any next steps to you.

You knew what was to happen next, likely a 72 hour hold in the psychiatric ward. Kiara had come to talk to you, first asking if you would consent to inpatient — which you did — and than walking you through your next course of action. You asked if you were at risk of losing your position and were ensured you would be okay, Jack insisting he won't let anything happen.

Jack went over all the paperwork with you, making sure you understood everything and reassuring you that he would be there everyday to during visiting hours. You were terrified, this wasn't how you thought things were going to lay out.

After all papers were signed and sent to the system you and jack waited together for an available room, you gasped when you realized your parents were going to have to know eventually. Tears gathered in your eyes once more, thinking how disappointed they'll be.

"I'll take care of it, okay kid?" Jack said, pulling your head into his chest and rubbed your back carefully. He wanted nothing more than to take away all the things burdening your thoughts, he continued assuring your worries as you gripped onto his scrub top like a vice.

"Alright dear, are you ready?" A new nurse, Erin, asked.

You nodded numbly, hugging Jack and him kissing your forehead, telling you he'd see you tomorrow, then you went of with the nurse.

Those three days were horrible for you, you couldn't even piss alone.

You were absolutely elated to be going back home, you were prescribed anti-depressants and mandatory 2 months therapy. Jack drove you home, taking your little things he brought to you back up. Jack had looked through all of your stuff — with your permission — and took away anything you could use to harm yourself that was not necessary to life.

He also had stocked up your fridge with a weeks worth of food.

You felt a little light return to your body at seeing how much effort this man put into making you feel safe, your eyes landed on air mattress that was neatly laid out on the ground in your living room.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind, I figured the first couple of days I could stay with you" Jack reasoned.

"Yeah-yes, of course" You spoke a little too fast, thankful you won't have to be alone.

That night was quite, Jack made dinner for the two of you and he enlightened you with the knowledge that '10 Things I Hate About You' is his favorite rom-com, that brought a genuine smile to your face.

To jack though, that smile was equivalent to a star exploding and creating a new galaxy.

After you went to your room for the night, you lingered a little bit on the other side of your door, taking a deep breath and wondering how you got this lucky, maybe, just maybe, the universe decided to cut you some slack.

Unfortunately however, you had a rough night sleeping.

Your back was turned away from your bathroom since you couldn't quite get yourself to go in there yet, Jack mentioned he cleaned it up a tad while you were in inpatient, but you still couldn't find the strength. Sadly for you, that meant sleeping on the side of your body that was least comfortable to you, just to get away from facing the music.

You sat up straight in bed and looked over at the clock that now blinks a harsh red light of 5:15am. Your warm feet hit the cold floor as you got out of bed and made your way into the short hallway towards the living room, you secretly hoped Jack was awake — to your genuine surprise, he was.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks sincerely sitting up from his position on the air mattress, "this is weird, but- uh, I don't wanna sleep alone" you finish weakly.

Jack is quick to lift the blanket up on the side that is empty, a gesture to invite you in. You felt ashamed to be doing this, having to sleep in someone else's bed to keep the bad thoughts away felt childish, stupid even, but as you climbed in next to him you felt the warmest you ever had.

You curled into his side, seeking comfort in his arms,

In return he pulls you taut against his chest while rubbing your arm, giving you a quiet "I got you" before you were finally taken away to dreamland. Jack stayed awake a little longer after you, memorizing the way your body felt against his with each breath you took.

The both of you woke up roughly at the same time, tangled in each others limbs. Jack pulled you against him with a gentle squeeze, "Sleep well?" he asked with a sleepy smile. "Yeah, thanks" you responded than got out of the bed and padded towards the kitchen where your toothbrush sat next to the sink.

Unconventional sure, but so was a lot of what you did these last couple of days.

Jack also brushed his teeth in the kitchen along side you, hoping it made you feel less weird with someone else doing it to. "So, I have to go to the hospital to grab something, you gonna be okay here?" Jack's concern always melted you even though it was common human decency.

"Oh, yeah, I'll be okay, swear" you said with a reassuring grin that didn't meet your eyes. You understood why he was hovering, and you weren't upset about it in anyway, but you were thrilled to have just a little time to yourself. You were watched for 24 hours straight for three full days, finally being able to breath with no lingering eyes was going to be great.

Once Jack left you felt weird, you hadn't been alone in a room in what felt like an eternity and you weren't quite sure what to do with this refound freedom. So, you did what you always did when you were overwhelmed and cleaned, the kitchen had a few things out of place from dinner last night. Your room was a disaster with what looked like a laundry bomb had exploded and covered your sanctuary in dirty clothes, so you decided what a better way to distract yourself then to do laundry.

You knew you needed to take a shower, and you were hitting yourself for not getting the other floor plan of "2 bath 1 bed" option but you figured you wouldn't need it. Now you were here, trying to hype yourself up to shower in the same bathroom you thought would be the last thing you ever saw.

Luckily for you there was a knock on the door, well you thought you were lucky.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" You were shocked to see your mother who lived halfway across the country to be at your doorstep. "What were you thinking?" she greeted with an angry tone bubbling under her voice, normal mothers would be over the moon at their child still breathing, but not her.

"Mom, please I don't want to argue about this" You pleaded with exhaustion, this wasn't a confrontation you wanted to deal with right now. You were physically and emotionally drained from the last four days and you just wanted to turn your mind off and give your body rest.

"How could you be so stupid, you have your whole life ahead of you, and you want to make a selfish decision like that?" Her voice echoing through your mind.

Selfish.

Stupid.

Every horrible adjective she could think of she was hurling at you.

"Please leave, I can't do this right now" You tried to shut the door on her but she held her hand out to block it, she forced her way in and continued to exclaim how much of a disappointment you had become, which had been exactly what you were most afraid of.

You couldn't think as you tried to get her out of your apartment, begging her to jut leave and that you would call her later. She just wouldn't listen, wouldn't agree to let you be.

That was when your saving grace came in, Jack had quickly opened the door when he heard voices reverberating throughout the building, "what the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed loudly over the voice of your mother.

"Who are you?" your mother asked, wide eyed at the foreign man in her daughters apartment.

"He is the only one who has actually gives a single shit about me being alive, so please mom, get the fuck out of my home" you said sternly, now crying.

She looked at you with a disgust in her eye before huffing and leaving your apartment, pushing past Jack aggressively.

Jack was stunned to say the least but that didn't last long before he was closing and locking the door then walking over to your shaking form. You were sobbing hysterically, your breathing was unstable and you couldn't catch your breath. "Baby, you gotta slow down, you're hyperventilating" Jack said steadily trying to calm your unsteady breaths.

"I-I think I'm g-g-gonna be sick" You gagged out, Jack was fast to react and quickly lead you to the bathroom.

The bathroom.

Everything was so overwhelming. Mind was racing with a million thoughts a second, dry heaving into the toilet. You could feel Jack's hand rubbing circles on your spine, "I know baby, I know" He comforted you, wishing nothing more than to take you away from this pain.

As you finished up you leaned back into Jack's chest, you had long stopped crying. The feeling only being replaced with exhaustion, Jack talked you into getting up off the floor.

"I need to shower" you say plainly, no emotion found in your raw voice.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it, holler if you need-" Jack was caught off by your small voice, "could you help me?" your eyes never met him as you requested his assistance. "Of course" He replied.

There was nothing sexual about this, you were distraught and just needed someone to wash your hair and keep you afloat. Jack suggested a bath for you instead, to which you agreed, feeling stupid after forgetting his leg. You tried to apologize but he refused to hear it, joking about how he's learned to walk on the prosthetic so well you forgot it was on him.

It drew a quiet laugh, a sound only meant for him to hear.

He took his time with you, keeping your comfort at the forefront of his mind, letting you wash your own body and eyes never once wondering. Focused on the mission at hand, like he was back in the military.

You sat in the warmth of the bath for a while with Jack sitting right there next to you, he opted in reading a book — the one that rested on your nightstand — aloud.

He got through three chapters before you mentioned you wanted to get out.

Jack held out his hand for you to take, helping your unstable legs out of the tub and wrapping a towel around your midsection, covering your naked body. He left the bathroom to allow you to dress yourself whilst he patiently waited on your bed, Jack knew you were going to be exhausted so he got your bed ready to slide into.

You crawled into bed sluggishly, your body giving out the moment it hit the soft silk sheets. Cold hands touched Jack's skin making him jolt slightly at the unexpected touch, quickly though he knew what you wanted and he settled in right beside you.

"I don't wanna feel like this anymore" your words rang through Jack's ears like the sound of a gunshot, sharp and painful.

"We'll get through this, I'll be here for you the whole time" Jack responded.

"What about after I feel better?" you wondered.

"Let's talk about that when you're feeling better, okay?" he smiled at you then kissed your forehead and urged you to rest.

The world around you became more bearable with every moment Jack spent with you, giving you a support system to lean on had been detrimental to your recovery and mental health.

Jack came by your place nearly everyday after staying with you for about a week and a half, coming to kick it and watch a movie while debriefing about the shift, or bringing you some food on your days off — you knew it was his way of making sure you were properly eating, but you didn't mind.

After six months of mandated therapy you were finally back to working your normal shift schedules, back to the high of being in the ER. You graduated med school last month, and luckily matched with PMTC for your residency in emergency medicine.

You jumped with joy when you got your match, Jack attended the ceremony with you and helped calm your nerves of not getting the program you wanted. He explained that no matter what happened you were going to be okay, and it would be great for you — but secretly he was hoping more than you were that you would stay at PMTC.

The night had been a drag, nothing adrenaline inducing was introduced.

Shen was on his way to get yet another iced coffee when a trauma came in, your feet were in front of you before you could think about the idea of walking. Quickly racing over to your new patient and began accessing for external injuries.

However, as you heard the paramedics talk to Jack, you heard one word.

Overdose.

Everything all around you went quiet, loud ringing replacing the continuous beeping of vital monitors and groaning patients.

You removed yourself from the situation having Ellis take your position, she didn't complain or wonder — not that there was anytime to do so — she just nodded her head and gave you a subtle reassuring arm squeeze while you went to the closest private spot in the hospital, which was a single empty employee bathroom.

Your chest was heaving in a way you knew all too well, uneasy and hard.

Suddenly, your body was warm with sweat, everything felt like it was closing in on you, the room felt like it was getting smaller.

Was it getting smaller? No. No, of course not.

Trying to ground yourself you gripped the cold ceramic of the sink, the sensation feeling like a shock to your system at the night and day difference. Deep breaths were fighting through your airways to escape, but they just couldn't get out — your eyes were beginning to grow dark in the peripheral.

A knock at the door bounced against the walls of your head but you were too far away to acknowledge it, you wanted to open the door but the idea of moving anywhere felt like a death-wish.

You gently sat yourself down on the cold tile of the floor, not quite caring how unsanitary of a place that would be for you. All you could think about was the night you were brought in that horrible night 6 months ago, wanting nothing more than your time of death to be called.

Now, you were here. On the other side of what could've been, forced to look at the very same fate you had chosen for yourself. Too much. That was all you could think. This is too fucking much.

The door was opened gently, a muscled figure appeared in front of your eyesight bending down next to you.

First you felt his warm hand on your own, bringing your wondering mind back down to earth with his. Gently, Jack brought your hand to his chest; forcing you to feel the way his body inhaled, then exhaled, inhale, exhale. He didn't speak, didn't need to, the man was well aware of your mental state at this moment and you getting enough oxygen to your head was more important to him.

It took you a few more minutes of the continuous guidance before you finally came to. "I'm sorry" You whispered, feeling like more of a burden than ever, you can't just breakdown in a place like this, it's unethical.

Jack thought differently though, "don't you dare, it's only been six months sweetheart." He paused for a minute, bringing your face right in front of his, "this is a very, very, valid reaction to seeing a situation you were just in not long ago."

He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"The first time a patient came here in need of an amputation, I reacted the same way, knowing what this kid was going through. It killed me." His voice cracked but he stayed firm, "You are allowed to feel things, you did the right thing by stepping away, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, wrong with you."

You held his gaze for a while, maybe searching his eyes for annoyance but you never found it. All he held for you was love.

Taking one final deep breath and closing your eyes with a new found acceptance of your feelings, the two of you got up from the hard tile and left the bathroom together. Luckily, no one was around to gossip about Dr. Abbot and the new resident suddenly leaving a lockable bathroom together.

As the shift carried on you overheard a nurse talking about the patient who overdosed on some opioids, saying how she would make a full recovery. Realistically, she wasn't your patient therefore you had no right to go into the room they settled her in but you made the decision to do so anyways.

Stepping into the quiet room you immediately felt the heaviness way down on your bones, you looked around the curtain to see a young girl, no older than twenty, looking at the wall with no expression on her gray appearance.

"Hello, I'm Dr. L/n, I came in to check on you. Any excess pain anywhere, or confusion?" You asked timidly, this isn't what you came in here for but you needed to make her feel safe.

She answered with a slow shake of her head, still not acknowledging you.

You took a seat in the room with her, though you did decide to check and log her vitals you took the next step in talking with her more in-depth.

"You know, we aren't really supposed to come in here and talk to patients like this, but you remind me of myself and I want you to know if you wanna talk, we can" You paused for a beat, letting the woman digest what you were saying. "I can also leave you alone if that is what you would like, I just figured, maybe having someone who was in this position to talk to would help you not feel so isolated, if you need absolutely anything do not hesitate to hit that call button" finishing your spiel, you definitely didn't mean to go on and probably wasn't very helpful to the patient, you got up and began making your way towards the door.

"You ever feel like, like you're drowning?" a small voice filled the silent room.

"All the time" you replied stopping short and sitting right back down.

"How do I stop feeling like this?"

Her question broke your heart, not only because of how hopeless she sounded but that you didn't know the answer, you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

"I still feel it sometimes, that growing ache in your body and the voice in your head that just won't stop, but you find something or someone to grab ahold of, to keep your head above water and hold you afloat when your legs ache from fighting the waves. I wish I could tell you there was a cure, but I can't." The back of your throat became dry but you fought through it, "life is an abusive piece of shit, but you can fight it, there is people who haven't met you yet that will love you till their heart gives out, you just have to hold on."

She looked at you like time had stopped and only the two of you existed, like something clicked in her head. "What happens now?" she asks, voice less constricted than it had been.

"You will be taken to the psychiatric ward, if you consent to that, and you will fight through this" the hard truth slipped out at the end, soft isn't what this girl reacted to.

"Is it rude to ask you, what happened to you?" she queried.

"Long story short, it was a bad time, but I survived it, and so will you."

[demie90s]

Hear me out 👐🏽

I don’t like Caitlin Clark like that but your last fic ate 🤏🏽 and it doesn’t help that I won’t believe she’s 100% straight till it’s on paper soo…

disrespectful fem reader who doesn’t gaf about Caitlin’s “lil boyfriend” and is loud about it. Ig posts, lives, comments, mic’d up, phone case and wallpaper, doesn’t care. Until, there’s a scare on the court and reader very literally tells him to get tf away from her girl and leave. CC’s not hurt fr and was waiting on the day, so smut…. and maybe reader leaks audio and tags him.

Anyways, ly so bad 😘💍

(I can’t lie I love that white girl whos “in love” witch c*nn*er🤷🏾‍♀️)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞ha𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

Caitlin Clark x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~ 7.2k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT. 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮��𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞.

The first time I went viral for Caitlin, I wasn’t even trying.

I was minding my damn business, walking out the damn mall with a smoothie and a fan asked for a picture. I’m smiling—cute, laid-back, black zip-up halfway down my chest, edges laid, nails fresh.

They post it later, all sweet, tagging me and talking about how nice I was. But baby the comments weren’t about my kindness. They zoomed in on the lockscreen showing up in the reflection of my phone case. Clear as day.

Miss Caitlin Clark.

Mid-laugh. In her jersey. Hair a mess like she been sweating, biting her lip. I knew exactly which photo it was too, cause I’m the one who took it. She didn’t even post it. I just keep it for myself.

“Oh is that Caitlin on your wallpaper?” one of the replies said.

I quote-tweeted that shit and said,

“Duh. That’s my girl. Y’all just ain’t catch up yet.”

I said that. And I meant it.

Now let me be very clear: I’m not subtle. I never have been. Especially not when it come to Caitlin. I don’t care about her lil boyfriend—I call him that on purpose. “Lil boyfriend.” Cause that’s what he is. Lil.

I’ve known Caitlin since college. Back when I was just starting to get traction on socials and she was already lighting girls up on the court like it was clockwork. We met at some event—Nike, I think. She was polite. A little awkward. Tall. Pretty as hell. I said something slick, she blushed, and I been hooked ever since.

But fast forward to now. She play for the Indiana Fever and I’m a full-blown influencer. Verified. Booked. Busy. Bad. And bold as hell. I got brand deals, podcasts, interviews, and a whole fanbase that knows one thing for sure:

I want Caitlin Clark. And I don’t care who knows it.

———————————————————————————————

Go to my Instagram and scroll. You’ll see the usual influencer stuff—outfits, events, gym selfies. But mixed in are straight-up love letters.

Photo of me in a Fever hoodie? Caption:

“I wear it for her. Not y’all.”

A pic of Caitlin mid-game, sweat on her brow, mouthguard between her lips?

“Y’all ever seen art in motion? I have.”

A reel of me courtside, zooming in on her pre-game warmup while I sip a smoothie?

“The smoothie not why I’m here. Zoom in.”

That’s my energy. Every time.

I’ll be on Live, mic’d up during an event, casually talking shit and then say something wild like, “Caitlin could literally elbow me in the jaw and I’d still say thank you.” Fans eat it up every time.

“Yo you really don’t care she got a man?”

“Girl …what man? Ohhh you mean her lil boyfriend?” I’ll squint like I forgot he existed. “That’s cute. Hope he enjoying his time while it lasts.”

I said on a podcast once—and I quote—

“That girl got records, awards, and him. She deserve better on all three.”

And don’t get me started on the games.

I show up courtside. Outfit damn near hand-picked for her. Face beat, lips glossed, thighs out, hair slicked back, nails red. And no matter what, win or lose, she comes to me first.

She’ll jog over, give me that tired little grin and I’ll open my arms like I’m hers. Cause I am. The hug is always too long. Always too soft. Always lowkey romantic. My hand on her lower back. My mouth near her ear. She never pulls away first.

You’ll hear the reporters calling it a “sweet friendship.” Baby, I’m hugging her like I’m about to propose.

When we’re on Live together—rare but gold—she don’t talk much. Not on camera. She’s shy like that. I’m all in her space. Laying under her arm like a pillow. Holding the phone from her lap. Whispering slick shit with a grin.

“You wanna say hi?” She shakes her head. I kiss her cheek.

“She shy. It’s okay y’all. My girl gets nervous when the lights come on.”

She be blushing, hiding her face, whispering “stop.” And I don’t. I never do.

One night, I was on Live solo, just chilling, answering questions, and someone said, “Drop the wallpaper.” I flipped the camera real slow and showed my phone: same damn photo of her, but this time with a little heart scribbled on it in white pen. I said nothing. Just smiled.

They lost their minds. Comments flooded in.

“YOU SICK.”

“NAH YOU REAL BOLD.”

“GIRL SHE GOT A MAN.”

“AND I GOT A LOCKSCREEN. Next.”

You see, it’s not even just thirst. It’s appreciation. I admire her. The way she moves. The fire in her eyes when she’s in the zone. The bite of her sarcasm when she’s tired of being humble. The way she laughs when I say something stupid. The softness that’s only for me. That tension between us It’s real.

Yeah, maybe I’m not technically her girl—but tell me who else she look for first. Who else she hug like that. Who else she lets touch her face like I do. It ain’t him.

I’m bold. I’m open. I’m disrespectful if you wanna call it that. But if Caitlin ever says the word?

That’s mine. Full stop.

She stands in front of the mirror, arms slightly raised, her white top barely covering her waist as she frowns at her reflection and smooths the fabric over her stomach. “Do you think this is too much?” she asks, twisting side to side, not even looking at me.

I’m perched on the edge of her bed, elbows on my knees, lip between my teeth, chewing like that’s the only thing stopping me from doing something irreversible.

Too much? She could wear a grocery bag and still be too much. She’s too much for the room, too much for the night, too much for him. My silence answers before I do.

She glances back over her shoulder. “Too much, huh?”

“You’re exquisite,” I say like it’s a fact. Like she’s not asking for an opinion but a label. And if she is, that’s the one. Not cute. Not bad. Not sexy.

Exquisite.

I don’t even say it loud. I just let it slip like it’s been hanging on the tip of my tongue for months and finally got tired of waiting. She blushes. I smile.

She turns back around, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. The face she’s making in the mirror isn’t focused. It’s soft. Unthinking. Like she’s somewhere else. She hums under her breath and taps at her lip gloss tube, and that’s when I move.

I stand. My steps are slow, careful, but not unsure. She doesn’t flinch when I walk up behind her—doesn’t even blink. My hands hover at her waist for a second, fingers twitching like they’ve been aching for this, and when I finally touch her, it’s too soft to be casual. But I pretend.

I pretend I’m just helping. Just checking the fit. Just smoothing the fabric like she asked. But really I just want to feel her.

My palms drag along her sides, my chest hovering just an inch from her back. I lower my head slightly, close enough to smell the perfume blooming off her skin like heat. My nose brushes her shoulder when I inhale.

“You smell expensive,” I murmur, voice thick.

She giggles. “You helped me pick this one.”

I did. Because I knew what it would do to me. Her lip gloss is barely set when I lean in, but I kiss her anyway. Not on the cheek. Not on the forehead. Right on the mouth.

It’s not even greedy. It’s slow. Like I’m trying to memorize her. Just a sample. Just a test of how much I can take without crossing that final line. She doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t tense up. She keeps talking—says something about maybe changing into a different skirt—but I’m not listening.

I kiss her again. And again.

Soft. Focused. Mouth parting around hers just enough to steal the taste she’s too generous with. I kiss her like I’ve been waiting for her to shut up for three years. And when she leans back against the dresser to finish doing her mascara?

I follow.

My fingers trace the waistband of her skirt while my chin brushes the top of her shoulder. Her lashes flutter in the mirror. Her lips shine like they’re begging for trouble. I lean in close, eyes fixed on her mouth, and whisper:

“You’re really gonna let him take you out lookin’ like this?”

She gives me a side-eye, playful. “He asked me, not you.”

I tilt my head and press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “He didn’t ask the right questions.”

She licks her lips out of habit, and I nearly lose it. I reach up and hold her jaw lightly, tilting her face to me, not rough, but enough to make her listen. My thumb brushes the gloss that’s already starting to smudge.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” I murmur.

“Like what?”

“Like I won’t ruin all that makeup for no good reason.”

She laughs softly, and I bite my lip, trying to behave. But then I kiss her again. This time with teeth. I catch her bottom lip, pull it gently between mine, and let it go slow. Deliberate.

That’s when the knock comes. Once. Then again, louder. Neither of us moves. I’m still kissing her. Still pressed behind her like she’s mine and always has been.

But when the third knock comes, I let her go. Slowly. I don’t even look at the door.

“You gonna get that?” I ask, but I’m already walking.

She turns halfway, breathless, dazed. Lip gloss kissed halfway off. I beat her to the door.

I open it wide and step into the doorway. He’s standing there with flowers—standard, tired. Collared shirt. Dumb look on his face like he wasn’t just interrupting the best part of her night.

“Hey,” he says, smiling like he didn’t hear the shift in the air.

I don’t smile back. I don’t even blink at him. I lean toward her, pressing a kiss to her cheek—not a light one. My hand brushes her hip. I don’t look at her when I say, “Have fun, honey.”

Then I turn to him, finally smiling as I walk past.

“Don’t fuck it up,” I say sweetly, almost singing it.

He steps back awkwardly. I get into my car like I didn’t just kiss his girlfriend like she was mine and he was late to the party. I drive off slow, grinning. Let her go on her lil date.

She’ll be thinking about me the whole time.

It was just past nine when my phone lit up.

I was already up. Still in my hoodie and sweats, sitting on the couch half-watching a movie I wasn’t really paying attention to. My TV was glowing, a bowl of cold takeout sitting on the table, barely touched. The kind of night where you don’t want nothing but peace—and I could tell from the way her name popped up on my phone that peace was the one thing she didn’t have.

Can you come get me?

Five words. But it hit like something else.

She never says that. Caitlin’s stubborn, borderline hardheaded. She stays through shit she shouldn’t, just to say she tried. She don’t fold unless she’s already halfway broken—and her messages are usually short, dry, typed fast. But this one? It felt… soft. Sad. Like something in her was slipping.

I didn’t text back. I just grabbed my keys and left.

Didn’t even fix my hair. Just slid my slides on and drove. The location dropped in the next message, right as I hit the streetlight.

I pulled up slow. Real low. Parked a little crooked but I didn’t care. I saw her before she saw me. Standing outside the restaurant like the night had spit her out and didn’t know what to do with her. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Makeup still fresh but eyes too glossy. Her boyfriend—‘Connor’ was standing a few feet behind her, glaring hard like I stole something. Like she hadn’t asked me to be here.

He was talking, trying to convince her to go back inside. I saw the way he leaned in. Desperate. Embarrassed. Like he knew he fucked up but still wanted to control the cleanup.

“Caitlin, people are looking—seriously, just come back inside. We can talk—” I stepped out the car.

She turned the second she saw me. Her whole body softened like it forgot how to hold tension. And him? He tensed up immediately, puffed his chest a little. Like I was gonna fight him or something. Like I had to.

I didn’t say anything to her yet. Just looked at him with the same deadpan expression I save for people who don’t know when they’ve lost.

“Go inside, Connor,” I said, calm and bored. “You’ve done enough for tonight.”

He scoffed. “She’s my girlfriend.” I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow.

“Then why she call me?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood there, like he wanted to throw something but didn’t have the nerve. Caitlin didn’t even look at him. She walked straight past, straight to me. I opened the car door and held it.

“You okay?” I murmured once she slid in. She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

Once I got behind the wheel, I reached over and took her phone from her lap. She didn’t protest. I didn’t even unlock it—I just held it.

“Why’d you take my phone?” she asked, voice soft, almost playful.

“Cause the internet’s fast, and you don’t need to see what they’re saying tonight.”

She went quiet. Her legs were tucked up against the seat, like she was trying to curl herself out of existence. She’d gone to practice early, showered, lotioned, got dressed, did her hair, maybe even shaved. She thought she was gonna have a nice night. She gave him the benefit of the doubt.

And he said what? “I’m not jealous. You’re my girlfriend and she’s all over you!”

The way she told it, he said it like he was the victim. Like she was the one who had been wildin’. Like me being obsessed with her was her fault.

I drove in silence. Her house wasn’t far, but I took the long way. No music. No phone. Just my hand resting lightly on the gearshift and the occasional sigh from her side.

When we got there, she didn’t wait for me. She unlocked the door and went straight to her room. I followed after a second, slow, calm, like I didn’t already want to go back and run him over.

By the time I walked in, she was already changing. Peeling off her little date outfit like it made her skin itch. She didn’t say anything—just threw on a big shirt, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over her lap. Her back hit the headboard. She blinked at the ceiling like it had something to say.

I leaned against the dresser and waited. I wasn’t gonna force her to talk. But she did.

“I knew he wasn’t right for me,” she said finally. “I knew that. I felt it. But I thought… maybe he’d try harder.”

I stayed quiet. Let her go.

“It wasn’t even a real date. He didn’t plan it. We just ended up there. And then outta nowhere he starts talking about you like I’m cheating or something. Like I can’t have any friends or fans or people who love me. Like I’m supposed to apologize for being wanted.”

She scoffed, wiping her eye before anything could fall.

“He said I liked the attention. That I let you get too close.”

I crossed my arms.

“Did you tell him I let you take me to bed twice already? Since we’re telling truths?”

I grinned, couldn’t help it. “No. I’ll leak it later.”

That made her smile, just a little.

She sighed. “I don’t know what I expected. I just… I’m tired. Like I had the whole night planned in my head. Showered. Shaved. Bought new lotion. Let my hair air dry so it would do that soft thing you like. I really did all that just to get yelled at by a man in a Polo shirt.”

I walked over slow, sat at the edge of the bed. My hand reached for hers under the blanket and squeezed.

“Hey….You still smell amazing.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah. You do. Smell like vanilla, and stress.”

She laughed again, the first real one. I looked over at her face—bare, clean, tired. No lashes, no gloss. Still the most beautiful thing I’d seen all year.

“You should sleep,” I said softly.

She shook her head. “I’m too awake. All that energy for nothing. Now I’m stuck like this.”

I leaned back on my elbows and nodded toward her. “Then don’t sleep. Just be. I’m not goin’ nowhere.”

She looked at me like I was too good. Like she didn’t understand how I could sit here calm while she unraveled. But she didn’t ask. She just slid closer, her shoulder touching mine, and finally exhaled.

That’s when I knew— C*nn*r might’ve had the title. But I had everything else.

I know this house like the back of my hand.

Know where she keeps her throw blankets. Know which one of the bathroom drawers holds her extra hair ties and her retainer case. Know which of the light switches hum when you flick ‘em on too fast.

Know that the little chip on her nightstand came from a bracelet she broke during warmups last season—and she still hasn’t thrown it out.

I know this house. And I know her.

So when I crawl into her bed next to her, I don’t ask. I just do it. Slow. Quiet. Familiar. I lay on my side and wait, letting the silence settle like dust. Letting her breathe.

She looks exhausted, emotionally and physically—skin still warm from the shower she took before that godforsaken date. Her hair’s pulled back loose. Her lips are bare. And her face?

That pretty little face. All Sad. But not broken. No. Not while I’m here.

I shift closer, inch by inch, until my leg brushes hers under the blanket and she lets me stay. Her eyes flutter toward me, curious, a little dazed, but not surprised. Never surprised. This is what I do. I come when she needs me. Even when she don’t know how to ask.

“You look pretty,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. I press a kiss to her jaw. She hums like she doesn’t believe it.

“Like you always do,” I add, brushing her cheekbone with my thumb before kissing that too.

Another kiss. Closer to the corner of her mouth now.

“I mean, it’s honestly kinda unfair,” I say between kisses, the words getting slower, smoother, like syrup. “You out here lookin’ like this… and that man really had the audacity to be jealous of me?”

She laughs under her breath, biting her lip like she’s trying not to.

I kiss the dip beneath her ear. “Tell me how he thought he was gon’ keep you while being this damn insecure. Tell me how that math was ever gon’ add up.”

She shakes her head. Doesn’t speak. But her eyes close, her chest rises a little deeper, and I know it’s working.

She needed this. Not just comfort. Not just the soft hands and the gentle voice. She needed someone to say it. So I do.

“He’s not built for you.” Kiss.

“Never was.” Kiss.

“Soft hands. Weak spirit. Loud mouth.” Now I’m kissing the side of her neck, letting my words warm her skin.

“Don’t even know how to handle a woman who shines this hard. Thought possession meant protection. Thought control meant care.”

Her body’s relaxing, slowly—melting into the mattress like she’s finally allowed to exhale. I drag a hand up her thigh, over the blanket. Just tracing.

“You not hard to love, Caitlin. You just need someone with the range.”

She opens her eyes.

“You think you got that kind of range?” she whispers. I grin.

“Baby, I invented it.”

She laughs, and that’s the sound I was waiting for. Soft. Sleepy. Open. She lifts her hand and lets it rest over mine. I move closer. Chest to chest now. Nose brushing hers.

“You want me to stop?” She shakes her head.

“You sure?”

“Please don’t.”

So I don’t.

I kiss her again. But slower now. No rush. Like I’m savoring her. Letting her know this ain’t some rebound comfort—this is the real thing. My hand cups her jaw, thumb stroking under her ear. She sighs into my mouth, fingers grabbing the front of my hoodie like she needs something to hold on to.

The kiss deepens. Warmer. Hungrier. Still slow, but heavy with intent. I pull back just enough to whisper, “You feel that?”

She nods.

“That’s not pity. That’s not fixing. That’s just me wanting you. Needing you.”

My hand slips under her shirt, palm pressed flat against her stomach. She gasps just a little. Not because I’m moving fast, but because I’m not. Because I’m touching her like I got all night—and like I don’t plan on sharing a single second of it with anybody else.

“He don’t get to know this side of you,” I say against her neck. “Don’t get to see how you bite your lip when you’re turned on. Don’t know how your voice gets high and breathy when you want more but don’t know how to ask.”

I kiss her again. She’s trembling just a little now.

“Connor gets the version of you that makes reservations. I get the version that ruins sheets.”

She lets out a soft moan and I smile, proud and smug and already ready to keep going. But I pause. My mouth hovers over hers, breath hot, lips close enough to graze.

“You sure, baby?”

She nods once, then again faster. “Yes. I’m so sure.”

I kiss her until she forgets he even existed. No rush. No fumbling. Just me moving like I been waiting to unwrap this moment for years. Her shirt’s already halfway up, my hoodie’s on the floor, and my hand is resting high on her thigh, warm, heavy, unmoving—like a promise.

She’s laid out beneath me, breath catching in soft pulses. Legs parting slow like instinct, not hesitation. I’m so close, but I don’t take. I don’t even ask. I guide.

“Touch me,” she whispers, voice already soaked in something deeper than want. Something close to surrender.

I tilt my head. “Where?”

She blushes, tries to hide her face. I don’t let her. I gently grab her chin and tilt it back up.

“Where, Caitlin?”

She swallows hard. “Anywhere.” I grin. That’s what I thought.

I reach for her again—hands tracing up her sides beneath her shirt, lifting it inch by inch until I can slide it over her head. She lets me, eyes locked to mine, hair wild now, breathing shallow. I toss the shirt behind me and press one last kiss to her collarbone before speaking again.

“You mind if I record?” I say it soft. Respectful. My thumb strokes the dip just below her navel. “No face. Just sound. Just for me.”

She bites her lip, cheeks pink, and nods. “Only if I can hear it after.”

I smirk, reaching for my phone with one hand while the other stays planted on her hip. “Oh, baby… you gon’ feel it after.”

I hit record, prop it just beside the pillow, angled low, subtle. She watches with curiosity, lips parted, body already twitching under the weight of anticipation.

Then I drop down. And when I say drop—I drop. Kisses trail down her stomach, slow and steady. She arches slightly when I pause at her waistband, and I look up with a question in my eyes. She nods. I pull.

Her underwear comes off slow, dramatic, soaked. I kiss both thighs first. One, then the other. Then I just sit there for a second, kneeling between her legs like I’m praying.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” I whisper, dragging my hands up the inside of her thighs, keeping her wide.

I mean it. I always do. But tonight…The words are dripping from my mouth like honey. Like prophecy. Like Caitlin was carved out of something holy and mine.

I lean in and kiss her pussy like it’s her mouth. Yes. Kiss. Like that. Not a lick. Not a tease. An actual kiss.

I let my lips press slow and full against her clit—mouth open, pressure intentional, like I’m saying I see you. I feel you. I claim you.

She gasps. Loud. Sharp. I feel her hands grab at the sheets beside her. Then my shoulders. Then my hair. I kiss again.

And again.

Softer. Then harder. Letting my lips move in slow, perfect pulses. Sucking just enough. Breathing hot enough. Letting her twitch under the weight of it.

“F-fuck,” she whispers, voice cracking already. “That’s… that’s not fair.”

I pull back, smirk, kiss her inner thigh. “Not trying to be fair, baby. I’m trying to fuck you up.”

Then I go back in.

This time, tongue out. Mouth wide. Lips sealed around her clit like it’s the only thing on Earth I was born to taste. And I stay there. Let her ride it. Let her feel me.

She’s moaning now. Not the cute kind. The rattled kind. Back arched, one hand on the back of my head, the other lost in the comforter.

“You okay?” I murmur, fingers rubbing her outer lips slow, circling.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“You wanna cum like this? Just from my mouth?”

“Please. Please.”

Say less.

I grip her thighs, bury my face, and eat like I got dinner and dessert waiting between her legs. I hum against her, vibrating her open. My nose brushes just above her clit while my tongue stays locked in slow, wide strokes—lapping, kissing, tasting. I don’t rush. I build.

She starts shaking first. Then whining.

Then gasping, “Oh my God. Oh my—fuck, fuck, please don’t stop—”

She tries to pull away. Her hips lift. Her thighs squeeze. I don’t move. I press her down with one arm, hold her still with the other, and keep going.

“I got you,” I say between kisses, between licks. “I got you. Let it go.” She does.

It hits her like lightning. Her legs quake. Her back arches. She cries out so loud, I glance at the phone mid-moan just to be sure it’s catching all of it.

She cums hard, mouth open, hair fanned across the pillow, voice broken on my name. I don’t stop until her hand taps my shoulder—shaky, soft, and damn near useless.

Even then. I press one last kiss to her clit. Tender. Like a signature. Then I crawl back up, tongue dragging up her stomach, mouth brushing her chest. I press my lips to her throat, her cheek, her mouth—kissing her like she’s a miracle I’m allowed to taste.

“You hear that?” I whisper in her ear, reaching for the phone to let her listen. She nods, dazed.

“That’s what you really sound like,” I murmur. “Not the version he knows. The one that belongs to me.”

She turns, eyes glassy, and kisses me slow. She doesn’t say it out loud. But she doesn’t have to. She’s mine. Everyone knows.

She’s still breathing heavy. Still twitching under the sheets. Glazed, breathless, skin flushed and damp like she just got baptized in pleasure. Because she did.

I’m watching her. Watching the way her chest rises and falls. The way her thighs try to close on instinct but keep shaking too much to stay shut. Her hand is limp on my chest, nails still marked from clawing at me.

I kiss her again. Just once. Just soft enough to make her smile, and just hard enough to remind her that I’m nowhere near done.

“You good?” I ask, voice low. Gravel-thick.

She nods. “Too good.”

I smirk, brushing her hair off her face. “Mm. Not even close to done with you yet.”

She laughs, then gasps when I slide my fingers right back between her thighs, slow and easy.

“Oh my—”

“Yeah. You not done,” I murmur, dipping a single finger into her, dragging it slow, curling it like I know her body better than she do. “You just warming up, baby.”

Her legs twitch open again on instinct. And I swear to God she moans just from my fingers crooking slow.

“You feel that?” I whisper, thumb brushing her clit.

“Uh-huh—”

“Like your body missed me. Like it knew what it needed and just waited.”

She tries to talk but I add a second finger and that’s a wrap. She chokes on her moan. I kiss her shoulder. Her neck. Her jaw. My other hand rubs slow circles at her thigh while I curl deep and slow and thick inside her.

“You gon’ let me slut you out tonight?” I whisper into her mouth.

Her eyes roll a little. “Y-yeah—”

“Nah, say it. I wanna hear it.”

She whines. “Slut me out.”

“Louder.”

“Slut me out.”

I bite her lip. “That’s my girl.”

Then I reach for the nightstand drawer. That drawer. She sees me open it, sees the black strap—clean, fresh, already waiting like I knew I was gonna work her tonight. Because I did.

I hold it up, eyebrow raised. She nods fast, grabbing the sheets like she needs it.

“I gotchu,” I whisper. “I’mma put your ass to work.”

She giggles but it’s shaky now—nervous-horny. The best kind. I get up slow, kiss my way down her body again just to prove a point. Then I strap up. Real casual. Real slow. She’s watching me the whole time, lips parted, legs still trembling.

I crawl back on the bed.

“Get up,” I say.

She blinks. “W-what?”

“Up. On all fours.”

She does. Fast. Ass arched, back dipped, face down. I run my hand over her spine, grip her hips and guide her back until she’s lined up perfectly.

I slide in slow. Like I’m proving something. Like I want her to feel every inch.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, dropping her head. “Fuuuck—”

I start slow. Deep. Lazy strokes. My hands firm on her hips, pulling her back into me, letting her feel the weight and stretch with every push.

“You feel that?”

“Y-yes—yes—”

“You took me so well. Look at you. So nasty for me.”

I lean down, grip her hair, pull it just enough to lift her head.

“You don’t need no man, Caitlin. You just need me. That mouth. That stroke. That pressure.”

She moans louder, rocking back against me like her body knows it’s mine now.

“You love this shit, don’t you?”

“Yes—fuck yes—”

I pick up pace. That rhythmic sound of hips slapping, her voice rising with every thrust, her fingers clawing at the sheets like she’s about to levitate.

“You gon’ cum for me again?”

“Mmhmm—”

I reach around and rub her clit while fucking into her like I own her soul. The way she cries out makes my whole chest tighten. She’s trying to run, and I won’t let her.

“Nah, don’t run. Take it.”

She falls apart again—loud, shaking, begging. Her body collapses forward and I follow, pressing her into the bed, grinding deep.

“That’s it. That’s mine.”

She nods. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

I slow down. Not because I’m done—but because I wanna flip her over. See her face when I break her again.

“On your back.”

She obeys, eyes glossy, lips red, chest rising too fast. I kiss her slow as I slide back in—face to face now, strap bottoming out, her nails digging into my back.

I fuck her slower now. Deep. Intentional. Like she’s the only person alive and this is how we breathe. Her moans get quieter but heavier. Her mouth falls open.

“Fuck me,” she whispers. “Please.”

“You already know what I’m doing.”

Her legs wrap around me. I bury my face in her neck, fucking her like I love her. And maybe I do. Because the way I say her name when she cums again—that didn’t sound like casual. She moans and it’s not cute anymore.

It’s raw. Guttural. Desperate.

I’m moving slow, hips grinding against her with that deep, circling stroke that feels like I’m carving myself into her. Not fucking—etching. Like every motion is a signature. Like I want her to feel this tomorrow and the day after and the rest of her fucking life.

My chest is pressed against hers. Her legs wrapped around my waist. And she’s naked now—finally—cause I pulled her shirt over her head mid-thrust, kissing every inch I uncovered. Her chest, her collarbone, her stomach, those nipples she swears are too sensitive but beg for attention anyway. She’s glistening under me, skin damp, back arched, face twisted in pleasure that’s starting to make her cry.

I ain’t even surprised. A good woman like this. Deserves to be loved so good it feels like grief.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” I murmur against her lips, wiping the tear from her cheek with my thumb before kissing her again.

She gasps as I hit that spot again—slow, angled just right, strap digging deep and thick while I keep my other hand rubbing her clit in the rhythm only I know.

Her breath hitches. Eyes wide.

“Oh my God—”

“You feel that, huh?” I growl against her neck. “Feel that real pressure?” She nods, frantic, too fucked out to speak.

“You ever cum like this before?”

“N-no,” she sobs. “N-never like this—”

“Course not,” I whisper, voice all satin and smoke. “That lil’ boy don’t know what to do with you. Can’t even spell clit.”

She cries harder, but it’s not sadness—it’s overwhelm. Joy. Release. She’s gripping my back like I’m the edge of the world.

“You mine now, huh?” She nods.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours—I’m yours, I swear—don’t stop—”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

I give it to her. With intention. With the kind of love that ain’t always soft, but never cruel.

I speed up just a little—enough to make her eyes roll and her mouth fall open. I’m gripping the back of her thigh now, pulling her open wider, tilting my hips to hit that angle that makes women fall in love.

She grabs the sheets. Starts babbling.

“I can’t—oh my God I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“You not tapping out on me, baby. You asked for this.”

Her thighs start to shake. Her whole body locks. I slow it down—just a little—to feel the way she clenches around the base of the strap, soaking wet, dripping down her thighs and my stomach. The sheets are already a mess, but I keep going.

“Breathe,” I whisper. “Just breathe.” She tries. Fails.

I lean back and look at her—really look. Sweat on her chest, tears on her cheeks, lips swollen from how many times I’ve kissed her stupid. And I swear to God, just looking at her like this makes my whole body tighten.

She’s perfect. And I’m nasty enough to love every fucking second of watching her come undone.

“Look at me,” I say, voice lower now. She does. Barely.

“You so pretty when you cry.”

Her body jerks—she loves that shit.

“You need to cum again?” She nods so fast it’s almost a sob.

“Good.” I pull out slow, then slide back in with one deep, wet thrust.

And then—it happens. A full-body shake. Her legs kick, her back lifts, and then a wave of wetness hits my stomach and thighs. Her eyes widen in shock. Her mouth drops open like she can’t believe it.

“Oh my God—did I—?”

“You just squirted” I whisper, grinning against her ear. “That’s what happens when someone actually knows how to fuck you.” She’s crying harder now—happy, overwhelmed, high off it.

“Connor ain’t never made you cum, did he?”

She shakes her head, tears streaming. “Never like this—never came with him—”

“That’s cause you ain’t never been loved right,” I growl. “Not like this. Not by me.”

I rock into her one more time—slow, deep, soaking in the ruin I’ve made of her—and she folds around me, wrapping her arms tight around my back like she needs to keep me in her, like letting go would kill her.

She cums again. Clutches me. Moans my name. I hold her through it, smiling like the devil in satin.

“Water,” I whisper.

She mumbles something sleepy.

“I ain’t ask.” I put the straw to her lips. “Sip.”

She drinks, slow. Then leans back with a sigh that could make a woman cry. Caitlin fell asleep with my name still on her lips.

She was facing away from me, my hoodie drowning her frame, her breath even and soft, the tension finally bled from her muscles.

The sheets were fresh now—clean, warm, a little lavender in the air—and her body curled instinctively into mine as I pulled the blanket over us.

I stayed close, arm tucked around her stomach, my hand resting low on her abdomen like I was protecting something sacred.

Every now and then, she’d shift in her sleep, press further into me like she couldn’t settle unless I was wrapped around her. Like my body was the last safe place she had.

I didn’t sleep right away. I just watched her. Traced the back of her hand with my thumb. Kissed the shell of her ear when she whimpered through a dream.

I’d touched every inch of her that night—claimed her so thoroughly she was crying, squirting, holding onto me like salvation—and now here she was, resting like a baby in my arms.

She looked soft. Exhausted. At peace. And underneath it all, even after everything I’d done to her…she looked happy.

The next morning, she stretched before opening her eyes. The sunlight hit her face just right and I swear, I almost fell in love with her all over again.

Her voice cracked when she whispered “good morning,” still scratchy from all the moaning she’d done the night before, and I leaned in to kiss her shoulder before she could fully sit up.

“I feel so good,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“You look good” I answered, watching her slip from the bed with her legs still wobbly, her bare skin glowing beneath the hem of my hoodie. She

was humming, smiling for no reason, floating through the room like she’d just come back from a spa retreat, not a night of straight freaky, soul-bending sex.

She had a game that afternoon. She got ready slow, light on her feet, distracted but not nervous. I watched her lace her shoes, tuck her jersey into her shorts, mouth pressed into that little focused pout she always did.

I didn’t say much. Just sat on the bed, sipping water and grinning, because she looked like a walking victory.

But then—he showed up. Connor. Front row.

He was standing with flowers in his hand like they meant something. Like he hadn’t already lost. The second Caitlin saw him, something changed. Her shoulders stiffened. Her eyes dropped. That glow dimmed just a little. Not gone, but bruised.

I didn’t stand up. Not yet. Just watched. Waited. Then she fell.

It wasn’t serious—just a bad landing, a little twist of the ankle. But she stayed down longer than she should have, and that was enough to make people panic. Enough to make him jump out of his seat and yell her name like he was still allowed.

I stood up. Not fast. Not loud. But I moved and the whole air shifted. He tried to follow her toward the tunnel, but I stepped in front of him. Calm. Still chewing gum.

“She might need me,” he said, adjusting the flowers like that was his ticket through.

I tilted my head, smiling cold. “Boy..be fucking frl..she don’t need you.”

He opened his mouth again, but I was already over it. “Go home bud. You lost.” His jaw tensed. But I didn’t budge.

“She got me,” I added, just loud enough for him and the security guard next to him to hear. “And she don’t look like she missin’ you.” I left him standing there.

Walked to the tunnel where she was seated, trainers checking her ankle. She wasn’t crying—just breathing hard, clearly shaken. The second she saw me, her eyes softened.

“You good?” I asked, crouching low so we were eye-level.

She nodded. “Just a scare.”

“….I told him to get the fuck away from you.”

She blinked. Then smirked. “You didn’t.”

I leaned in, kissed her forehead. “I absolutely did.”

Her smile cracked all the way open. “Your insanely in love”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I know.

Later that night, she was curled up on her couch with her legs over mine, grapes in a bowl beside her, hair wet from a post-game shower, my hoodie still draped off one shoulder. She looked good. Like victory and sex and trouble, all in one.

I was sitting low on the floor, back against the couch, editing a post on my phone. One leg stretched out, her foot playing with my knee. She watched me scroll through the pictures—nothing explicit. Just the aftermath of last night.

Her hand gripping mine under a blanket. The food I fed her. A blurry pic of the back of her head as she laid out on the pillow. Then, the final slide: a short six-second audio clip from last night.

Her moan. Her voice. Me whispering, “That’s it. Just like that. Let it go.”

“You trust me?” I asked, glancing up.

She nodded slowly. “What are you about to do?”

“Post the…audio?” I ask casually.

She raises an eyebrow. “That audio?”

“Just a few seconds. And it’s the last slide. No face. No names.”

She laughs. “Let me hear it.”

I press play. It’s the part where she moans my name and cries out all soft, the bed creaking in the background. Her face flushes, but she smiles.

“Do it. Be toxic. I’m not stopping you.”

“Say less.”

Caption: “Imagine losing. I could never 🙃”

I tagged him. Only him. Caitlin saw the notification, stared at it for a second, then opened Instagram and commented: 🙄

I grinned. Wrapped around my girl. Where I belong.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[gothicfied]

hi!! i LOVE your writing! i was wondering if you could write something about dae ho meeting reader in the game, maybe she doesnt speak korean? like theres a whole language barrier thing and he sort of becomes her unofficial translator? something cute like that <3 thank you!!!

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 with a foreign reader

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x foreign!reader (SEASON 2)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of gunshots, killing, death (Typical Squid Game stuff), this is set in Season 2, Reader doesn't have a specific ethnicity/race and is just said to be foreign to South Korea, other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language... how ironic)

A/N: Alright, so this request is literally like 6 months old AND I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON WHO ASKED THIS😭 this has been sitting here in my drafts, unfinished until now. Season 3 came out today and I obviously had to binge watch the entire thing. I won't spoil anything, but I'd rather take S2!Dae-ho over S3!Dae-ho and I can definitely write more about the former. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy my writing and I hope this doesn't suck lololol

This place was so bizarre. You didn't speak Korean, or at least not well enough to understand what was really going on. When you came to South Korea to study, you didn't think the living experience would be so expensive and exhausting. Coming here, being put into these uniformly tracksuits and only being talked to by your number gave you an eerie feeling.

If it wasn't already hard understanding what was going on — Because you certainly didn't expect this when the guy in the suit gave you an opportunity to win money — it's definitely going to be hard now: When other people started looking at you funny. Because you're not from there, they recognized it straight away. With your broken Korean, you understood whispers like "Look, a foreigner.." and "What's someone like that doing here?" It made you feel even more left out.

From context clues and certain English words the other players used while talking, you kind of picked up on what this thing is. You play games, if you win you get to go to the next round, if you lose... you're out. And you single handedly got to experience what it meant to 'be out'.

No one told you anything. No pink guards, no other players, no one had the decency to let you in on things. While nervously standing in this big arena, walls painted to look like grass with a baby blue sky and a big doll-like statue standing roughly 20 meters on the other side, you suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder.

You quickly snapped your head back to see a guy with the number 388 printed on his jacket. "It's Red Light, Green Light." He told you, his English sounding better than you had expected. You felt so relieved when finally hearing a familiar language and you expression immediately softened while looking at him. "What?" The man pointed at the statue on the other side. "You know.. the game? You go when it's Green Light, you stop when it's Red Light."

Your eyes followed the direction his finger pointed at and nodded like you understood him. "Thank you." The man smiled at you and patted on your back, saying something back in Korean you could hardly make out.

The language barrier made you miss the whole frenzy monologue the guy with the number 456 had before the game started. When looking around, all you could see is shocked faces, people in distress or the complete opposite: People not taking him seriously. You didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the statue of the girl turned to the tree behind her and a jingle started to play, everyone made a move in her direction. You did too, what else could you do?

Then suddenly— Pang. A gunshot, really loud, echoed through the arena and killed a girl. Frozen in shock, you watched as the other players around her started to freak out and move, getting shot one by one, orchestrating an absolute massacre.

It's a miracle you made it out.

On the way back to the sleeping area, or whatever this was, you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder behind you. "Hey," It's Player 388. "You made it!"

"Yes. Thank you again.. I just. I don't understand, they literally killed these people. I don't understand anything, what is going on here—?" Dae-ho saw the discomfort and fear in your eyes and decided to tell you what Gi-hun had previously yelled at all the participants. The things that went down at the Game were gruesome, but man, he couldn't even imagine trying to survive while not even understanding the language.

"So.. wait, you're telling me that when you get eliminated during one of those Games you get killed? Like they fucking shoot you?" You asked Dae-ho, who had now also introduced himself to you, and he just nodded. "He said that." He pointed in the vague direction of where Gi-hun had retreated once in the sleeping area again. "Dude, no this is so fucked up.. I gotta go! We can't die in here, they can't do this?"

You started to hyperventilate. Die? In this shithole? Oh my god, why did you even say yes to this stupid thing? It should've been suspicious enough that a guy in a suit would play a traditional Korean childhood game and slap you if you lost. But.. you needed the money. Carefully, Dae-ho placed a hand on your shoulder and looked around to see if anyone was listening in on your conversation.

"I will help you." He said with the most calm expression ever. Sure, he was scared himself, scared shitless even. But, seeing a young woman — A foreigner — in such distress.. it reminded him of his sisters. And he always swore up and down that he'd protect them, too.

"They don't," Player 388 pointed around the area, "Speak English well. I will help you, okay? I can tell you things." His Korean accent was quite cute whenever he spoke, which made you calm down a bit more and smile. You, again, expressed your gratitude to him and sniffled a bit. "Is there no way out of this?"

Dae-ho shook his head. Well, he didn't know, but he just assumed there wasn't. He went on to ask you more about yourself in general, why you were here, where you came from. It was nice having a conversation in English after trying to learn and speak Korean for months on end.

"I'm so sorry. Korea made a bad impression on you." You chuckled a bit and shook your head. You knew how to appreciate the country, it's culture and it's people. But this was definitely weird and definitely illegal. Dae-ho was here for you, though. He made you that promise now.

"I will protect you and help you, okay?"

Slowly, you raised your hand and held out your pinky for him to interlink with his. "Pinky promise?" The man looked at your hand and then back up to you with a confused look on his face. "Pinky... promise?" You smiled when you understood that he doesn't quite get what you mean. Or maybe he just hasn't ever heard of the expression before. "Like.. pinky promise, you do this," With your other hand you took his to make the same motion and interlinked your pinkies, "And now you're not allowed to break the promise."

Dae-ho grinned. "Okay, pinky promise."

[its-in-the-woods]

About Damn Time

~ Series of smutty one-shots with Congressmen Bucky Barnes ~

Masterlist

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT.

Synopsis: You and the congressmen have been dating for a while now, and you cannot wait to jump his bones any longer.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 4.6k

Rating/Warning: Established relationship, somewhere between TFATWS and Thunderbolts*. CongressmenBucky, p in v, slight dombucky subby reader, Smut, oral (f), slight body image issues from everyone, ingering, creampie (wrap it), biting, kissing, cussing, fun to bad had

Author notes: This will probably end up being a series of cute, funny, and ridiculously smutty one-shots. Enjoy, tell your friends ;)

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You met him at a veterans' fundraiser, he had been kind, caring, easy to talk to. He’d sit with anyone who wanted to speak to him, really let them be heard. It was clear that was why he had gotten the votes, his actual care for others seeped through his pores. It was so rare a sight in the modern day.  So when he came to sit beside you, you were surprised. You had arranged the event, invited many members who were running for congress, but Mr. Barnes had been the only one that had stayed.  The only one that couldn't keep his eyes off you.

“Thank you for organizing the event,” He said quietly, sitting beside you, right hand fiddling with the glove covering the left. 

You smile, “Thank you for staying. Means a lot to the vets to hear from you. “

Just like that it started. 

He’d show up at your job, always bringing coffee or something sweet. You were pretty certain that some of your co-workers had let slip what you enjoyed to the charming congressmen. It also helped that he never missed an event. Barnes was old-fashioned that way; he didn’t push, didn’t press things, just showed up. Until finally you gave him your number, and told him if he didn’t set up a date, you would. 

He picked you up at your place, flowers in hand, opening up your door and pulling out your chair. The place was small, tucked away in Brooklyn. The owner knew him by name, you caught him giving a thumbs up to James, Bucky. 

You knew then that you’d have taken him home that night. Months of talking and flirting, it had felt right. But after making out in his car like you were fourteen again, he’d walked you to your door, kissed your forehead, and walked back to his car. Promising it would be worth the wait.

That had been four dates ago, several coffees, and a dozen run-ins, and you were not waiting any longer. The man was going to be the death of you, and you were determined to get him through that door somehow. 

“So, I am leaving in about fifteen, going to stay at Chad’s place,” Your roommate, Dahlia, said from the other side of the door. “And I really need to pee!” She grumbles, “Isn’t this like your five hundredths date, is he impotent or something?” 

You open the door with a huff, “No, He is not impotent.” Stopping for a second you think of that. “Okay, just because he is over a hundred years old, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work.”

Her eyes narrow, “So then why has it taken him so long? Look at you, you’re a ten everyday. And he’s just dragging it out.” 

“Oh hush. I am six on a good day.” You roll your eyes. “He’s just.” Your cheeks flush, making Dahlia gag as she checks her hair in the mirror. “Different, doesn’t like to rush things. Beside, this, what, your eighth time going back to Chad? You can do better.” 

It was Dahlia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Unfortunately, guys from the forties don’t just appear at my work like they do yours. And the sex is good.”

You wrinkle your face, checking that you have all your stuff in your purse. Phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bucky <3 : Be there in five. Can’t wait to see you.

The flush that creeps up your neck is totally normal, you tell yourself.

“Alright, hot stuff, I am out of here.” Dahlia grins, twirling a piece of her hair with her fingers. “Going to want all the details about your old man.”

You groan and she winks before taking off into the night. Checking yourself for the tenth time, you wonder if you’re overdoing it. The dress is emerald green, sweetheart neckline, long flowing sleeves, and mid-thigh slit. You wore black heels that weren’t too high, and a clutch that matched it. Chewing on your lip, you almost decided to change into something different when a knock came at the door. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you decide it's now or never. Walking over to the door to open it. Bucky stands on the other side, wearing black on black, the top couple buttons on his dress shirt undone, hair ruffled back as he takes you in. 

“Wow,” He blinked, his tongue wetting his lips. “You look fantastic.”

You let out a small giggle, “Not so bad yourself, Sergeant Barnes.” 

He chuckles, holding his arm out for you to take. You close the door behind you, grabbing his arm to start the way to his car. 

“It isn’t too much is it?” You ask quietly, as he goes to open the door. 

His eyes crinkle as he looks at you over again, “Never is, when it’s you.”

You roll your eyes and pat his hand before getting into the car. 

Dinner was at a steakhouse downtown, it wasn’t where either of you normally went, but man was the food delicious. Bucky told stories of dealing with the press, you had no idea how he managed all of it, and learning how to be press ready. Something along the lines of saying worry four times in one interview, didn’t seem to work well for them. You told him about fighting for grants and funding. That, despite the endless amount of paperwork, you still had more to do.

He’d hold your hand with his gloved one, thumb running over the top of your knuckles. Watching you closely as you spoke of troubles and worries you had. Reaffirming that you would figure it out, and he’d do what he could help. It was easy, it always had been. The way he understood without being patronizing, supportive, and not overbearing. Like the whole world stopped when you spoke.

Meal finished you sat, finishing up your glass of wine and Bucky sipping on whiskey.

“I was thinking-”  “Would you-”

Both of you are stumbling over your words. 

You bite your lip before holding up a hand, “No, no, go first.” 

His cheeks stained pink, “Would you like to come to my place?” Swallowing, his eyes glancing down at were your hands are linked. “Umm, tonight.”

Grinning, you nod, “I would love that. Was going to invite you into mine.”

His eyebrows go up, “Really? Got tired of waiting?”

Your face flushes, “I’d wait for you.” You reach over and grab both his hands in yours across the table. “But I am certainly not going to say, no.”

The bill is paid for quickly, the air between you is now charged more than normal, his hands don’t stop touching you. He holds your hand at the table as the bill is paid, as you get up to leave, his hand slides gently onto the small of your back. In the car, his large palm slips gently past the fabric of your dress to rest warmly on your thigh. 

Your skin prickles with heat, goosebumps running up your neck, when he squeezes slightly. His eyes on the road, but they glance over at your more, that unspoken quietness that has you wanting to pull the car over. Low music playing in the background, but your mind is starting to melt. It was finally happening, and you were surprisingly more excited than anxious.

He pulls up in front of a small apartment complex, it’s in a quieter, older end of the city. It should surprise you, but it doesn't, it’s perfectly Bucky. Stepping out into the cool night air you look at the area. It’s older, less generatified than many, small stores underneath the apartments. An older lady walks by, with a small white fluffy dog, saying hello to Bucky. She gives you a smile and a wink, and of course he is known by everyone. 

Grabbing your hand, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, before guiding you inside. You follow eagerly, face already flushed as you ascend the set of stairs. Cursing slightly at the fact that you decided to wear heels. 

“Hold on,” Bucky whispers at a landing, before he is picking you up, one arm under your legs, the other holding your back. You let out a squeak before wrapping  your arms around his neck.

“Got to warn a girl, Bucky,” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Can’t have you worn out before we get up there now.” Bucky replies, before easily carrying you up the next flight of stairs 

He unlocks the door with one hand and pushes it open. He flicks on a light to reveal his home. The lights are dim, older fixtures that he has clearly restored, bathing the place in a warm glow. The kitchen is tidy, a rack of dishes sits on the counter, and a coffee pot half filled. The living room has a worn sofa, with a wall of bookcases, full of worn books, and a small tv in the corner that definitely has dust on it. It’s cozy and comfortable, a space clearly cherished and lived in. 

He carefully lowers you to the ground, you lean up to kiss him again, your fingers running through the hair along the back of his neck. He kisses you back, hand coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb making lazy circles over your cheekbones. You nip at his lips, hearing him let out a small groan, his free hand sliding to your hip. 

Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours, a small smile spreading over his face. “Let’s get these shoes off.”

You hum, watching him kneel down in front of you, heart stuttering in your chest when he looks up at you. Blue eyes framed by dark hair, a warm hand sliding down your calf, as a cool one slips down over your heel and pops it off. He moves over to the next one, cool hand sliding up along your leg, his eyes following it. The other heel hits the ground, the metal of his hand stays on your calf, moving up and pushing the slit of your dress open slightly. He leans forward and kisses the skin on the inside of your knee. 

A shiver runs down your spine as your foot hits the cool wood floor below your feet. You hold a hand out, that Bucky takes, standing up, he leans down to kiss you again. Pulling you tight against his chest, you hear your heart thumping in your ears as your hands reach up to cup his face. His hands move to your hips, fingers digging into the material as he opens his mouth to nip at your lips. A small groan escapes as your tongue pushes into his mouth. The taste of whisky and him making your toes curl.

“You taste so sweet,” He murmurs, slowly pushing you past the kitchen, towards a short hallway.

Your back hits the door, and both of you fumble for the handle. It opens, and you both topple forward. You are pretty sure the neighbors hear you nearly scream as you fall. Bucky catches you and rolls so that you land on top of him. A giggle erupts out of both of you as you lie there in a tangle of limbs.

“Not what I had planned,” Bucky murmurs, his cheeks gone pink. It only furthers your giggling fit, burying your head against his chest. 

“Guess you could say you swept me off my feet.” Your own face red from the ridiculous jokes.

Bucky groans, eyes rolling, “Been reduced to Dad jokes.”

You continue the gigglefest, as the two of you get up off the floor. It was hard not to feel a little silly around him, he had that effect. Walls sliding down easily, making you feel safe, like no one else could.

“Where were we?” You lean into him, one hand on his chest, the other coming up to cup his jaw. 

He leans against your palm, eyes closing, as he breathes you in. The stubble on his cheeks makes your fingers tingle, as you rub small circles into the skin. Fingers run from our hips up along your sides, a shiver running down your spine, making you squirm. Pulling you closer his hands move to your back find the zipper, he leans in close to your ear.

“Think you’re wearing too many clothes,” He whispers into your ear, his voice a deep growl that makes the hair on your arms stand up. “Turn around.”

A shudder comes out, you do what he asks and turn around. Warm fingers find the zipper and slowly pull it down, as the teeth click, a cool finger runs down the now bare skin. A gasp escapes from your lips, his hands moving from your back up to the sleeves of the dress, slowly pushing them down your arms. His lips find your skin, kissing along the top of your shoulder. You shrug the dress down one shoulder, his hand pushing the other down. The dress slides down to your hips, pooling fabric around your waist. Bucky’s lips don’t stop moving. He kisses slowly down your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist. Clothed body pressing behind you, one hand moving to cup at your breast. 

“Bucky,” You whisper, your head tipping back against him. Groaning as his one hand moves down and pushes the rest of your dress down. 

“Turn around,” He hushes, kissing down along your neck. His teeth scraped against the skin, your mind turning to mush as you turn to face him. 

You stand there nearly bare, save for a matching set of black underwear and bra, watching him look you over. His cool eyes going down along your skin, eyes moving along you like he was trying to burn the memory of you into his mind, 

“You’re stunning,” He whispers, holding your gaze. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, it wasn't, it couldn’t be, not with him. Right there you’d do just about anything he would ask. “I will, but it’s not. It’s never too much.”

A small smirk crosses his face, his shoulders roll as he pushes his suit jacket off. Fingers moving up to do the buttons, you move forward wanting to help, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. Butterflies blossom in your stomach as you stand back. Watching as he undoes the buttons, fingers easily slipping them out of each slot. He pulls the shirt out from the waistband of his pants, pushing the material back off his chest. You swallow, watching the wide expanse of his chest appear, the way his movement flexes the muscles. Hands clenching against your bare thigh with the need to touch.

The shirt snags where his shoulder and arm meet on the left side, his face scrunching in frustration at the material. You don’t hesitate, moving forward, one hand rest on his pec and the other goes over to the caught fabric. Sliding a finger underneath, you carefully work the fabric out before pushing it down. His body stills, his eyes flicking down to you. You hold his gaze as the shirt drops down, finger moving along his skin. Feeling the different scars that dot his chest, you flick down to the large scar where the metal meets the skin. 

You don’t ask, instead leaning down to kiss at some of the smaller scars, watching his breath hitch as you move over. Keeping your eyes on his you kiss down the ragged edges of his scar, you can hear his heart start to pick up. You start at the top of his shoulder, going down along it, leaving your kiss light, soft, leaving room for him to tell you to stop. Moving your hands, you reach up to gently touch his face, leaning on your toes, you kiss him softly. 

“All the details, the stories,” You whisper quietly. “I want to know every one of them.” 

A shutter rattles his body, and his hands are on you. Finger digging into your hips, as his lips crash into yours, it is hungry and desperate. You kiss back against the onslaught, your hands weaving into his hair, pulling just enough to anchor you to him. He backs you up slowly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed. 

“Fuck, wanted to do this for so long,” Bucky groans, kissing down your neck, as you both fall back against the bed. 

Your hands move down to his belt, and he swats them away. You moan. “Buckyyy, please.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. Want to make it a night to remember.” He smirks, resting so that he is leaning over top of you.

“It already is,” You complain, hands running along his chest and down his arms, squeezing at them.

He leans forward, kissing down your neck, down along your shoulder, around your collarbones. Resting on his metal arm, he uses his free hand to reach behind you and unclip your bra. Arching your back, you help him free it before his mouth moves again. Hand kneading at your breast, making you hiss as he leans down to suck at one of your nipples. A whimper leaves your lips as he laps at it, teeth scraping at the sensitive bud. 

Whimpering your hands move to grab at his back. The metal hand moves quickly snatching both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“You squirm so much,” He grins, holding you steady as you pout. Kissing your pout, he switches to the other nipple, making you squirm more, breathy pants coming as you feel heat pulse in your core. 

“Goddamn, you’re such a tease.” You huff, now trying to arch your hips up for some friction. 

Bucky grumbles, shifting so that his legs spread yours open, making it difficult for you to try and move up. The more you struggle, the more he grins, and he goes back to kissing down your body, stretching as far as he can reach with your hands pinned. 

“I am going to let go,” His eyes are dark with need, desire, swirling in the air. “If you move I stop.”

“Ahh, I should have known you were kinky.” You yip back, trying not to squirm. “It’s always the quiet ones-” Your breath is suddenly sucked out of your lungs, when he tongues just below your naval. 

His teeth nip harder here, making you shiver, he licks and sucks after each bite, leaving a squiggling line of bruises across your lower stomach. Going further down, his tongue moves down and licks along the edge of your panties. 

Your body clenches as you try not to squirm, fist balling up the soft bedding underneath. Nearly losing it when you look down to see him lying between your legs, hands holding onto your hips, as he grabs onto your panties with his teeth. Bucky looks up at your eyes, connecting with yours as he works them down. Moving them just enough that he can get where he wants to go. Eyes pinning you in place as he leans forward, thumbs pushing your fold open as his tongue flicks out and tastes you. 

A whimper leaves your mouth, as his eyes close, he pushes forward eagerly, tongue taking a deep sweep as he groans. The vibrations have your hands fisted in the sheets, mind melting into a puddle as he continues to lick into your core. 

“Please,” You whimper, legs shaking as his nose brushes against your clit. “Let me touch you.”

His head raises, lips and chin soaked in your slick, which just makes you want to reach for him more. Bucky shakes his head. Before doubling his efforts, he moves his left hand down, running the cool metal along where your thigh and core meet. Mouth moving up to nip at your folds, making you buck up, just as one of the cold metal fingers slips inside.

“Oh fuck,” You gasp, he stops moving for a second, eyes focused on your face as he starts to work one finger in and out. 

Keening, your hips move down against the friction, it's not enough. As if reading your mind, he slips another finger in. Scissoring them and opening you up, heat starting to grow in your stomach. A cry leaving as he latches onto your clit, sucking and humming, the slow pace picking up as his fingers move deeper. They curl up looking for the spongy spot, when he hits your eyes slam shut body pulsing as he keeps moving. Fingers moving up and pressing at it over and over, combined with him sucking and humming on your clit has you teetering on the edge. 

“I am-” Your breath stutters as he pops off your clit. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

Grinning he moves his tongue down to wear his fingers are, scissoring you open so he can stick his tongue deep inside. 

“Goddamnit, Bucky please. Please.” You’re begging, the edge of release is right there, just under his tongue. 

The bastard chuckles, leaning forward to blow on your clit, “So pretty when you beg.”

You don’t have time to curse him out, as he latches back onto your clit, tongue swirling around as his fingers push up and against the spot. Eyes opening wide, mouth agape in a slight scream as pleasure washes over you. He doesn’t stop moving and sucking against you. The feeling keeps building, the fire growing, tingling out through your lower abdomen. It’s not enough and too much at the same time. You couldn’t help but let your fingers finally card into his hair, they clenched in and out. 

Bucky finally eases up, your thighs shaking as you try to find words in the haze. He moves up fingers, carefully slipping out of you, and you let out a huff at losing the sensation. Hands coming to cup his face, you bring him closer and kiss him, tongue pushing in so that you can taste a mix of you both.

“You broke the rules,” He teases, kissing the tip of your nose. His body is not quite laying on top of yours. 

A small giggles leave your mouth, “Still can’t think straight.” Your hands move down along his broad back, “Next time you’re just going to have to tie me up.”

Bucky grins, eyes crinkling as he kisses along your jaw. “Next time huh?”

Your hands roam down over his still cloth covered lower half, you squeeze his ass with one hand, the other moving to his front to work his belt open. 

“Many more times,” You grin, kissing his forehead as you slide the belt out. 

He sits back up, standing, and slides his pants and underwear down in one motion. Revealing his straining cock, it bumps against his lower abdomen, leaking enough to leave a mark there. You stare a little longer than you mean to, before your eyes flick back up to his. He smirks and crawls back onto the bed, his arms encasing you as he peers down at you. 

“So many promises,” He whispers, his metal arm hikes up one of your thighs as his mouth finds yours. 

Gasp escapes your lips as the thick tip of cock rubs against your folds, you are going to feel this, every bit of it. His hand drags you closer, letting you start to sink into it, and the feel of him starts to stretch you. Your hands digging into the flesh of his back. Moving your hips, you finally get him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He hushes, kissing down along your jaw, tongue running from below your ear and down your neck. He found the spot where your shoulder met your neck and latched onto it.

He sinks all the way in, your mouth opens, gasping his name, throwing your other leg over top of his hips. Rocking up to meet his hips, your bodies flush where you join. He waits a moment, and you want to scream for him to move, to do something. So full, body aching and fluttering around him, still sensitive from your release earlier. 

Finally, he moves, slowly pulling out, then sliding back in, he moans into your ear. Saying your name softly as he continues to move, at a steady, unrelenting pace. One of your hands grips his hip, the other running into his hair, pulling him into a devastating kiss. You pull back, resting your forehead against his, his face slack with pleasure, yet lined as he holds back. 

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper quietly, leaning in to bite at his lip.

Something snaps in the air, his hips still for a moment, then his hands are gripping your hips, dragging you up onto his lap. His hips snap up making you gasp, strong arms wrapping around you as he starts to fuck in earnst. You can feel how deep he sits inside you, the way your stretched out, mind going fuzzy with the sound of your bodies filling the air. Nothing holds him back, you just cling onto him, mind goes blank. Your hand moves between you, rubbing at your clit. Making your insides spasm around him. 

“I am so close,” He whispers, grunting with the effort, muscle straining as he pumps into you. “Where?”

You kean, feeling your own pleasure renewing and blooming out. “Inisde, fuck please, inside me.” 

His mouth latches onto the top of your shoulder, biting hard, and a shout rips out of you as you come. Your eyes rolling back in the fog of pleasure and pain, making your whole body clench around him. His body spasms as he holds you close. His own body tensing, breath in short pants, heart hammering as he keeps pumping into you over and over. Metal hand placed on your lower back, as his rhythm falters, you feel him slam in cock twitching as he spills inside you. 

Breath still in short pants, you both collapse onto the bed, Bucky still holding you tight against his warm body. His heart just under your ear, body aching in the best way possible. Sweat and hair mingled together as you lay there happily. 

“You okay?” He whisper hands rubbing gently up and down your ribs, you could still feel him inside you.

“Mmhmm,” You mumble, trying to find words that seem to have left your brain. “Think you broke me.”

You felt him tense up at the words, you smack at his arm. “Not like that.” You giggle leaving light kisses across his hot skin. “Just a little foggy.”

He relaxes, moving so he can look at you, “That good or bad?”

You lean back grabbing a pillow to shove under both of your heads. “So, so good.”

He kisses you quietly, carefully unwrapping your legs from his before pulling out. You grumble at losing the feeling , but don’t hesitate to smack his butt as he goes to leave. 

“Behave,” He says with a grin. “Be right back.”

You groan, shifting a little, kicking and moving the blankets so that you can crawl underneath. The sheets were soft and comfortable, your head still riding the high of the orgasm. You could get used to this, a small smile crosses your face. 

Bucky slips in, two glasses of water in one large hand, another holds a washcloth. He puts the drink down, flipping the covers up, he grabs your ankles and drags you closer to him.

“You love to manhandle me,” You giggles, letting him carefully clean up the mess between your legs. 

“Think you like it as much as I do,” He grins, before tossing the towel into a basket near the closet.

You nod your head as you take the water glass, taking a few stips, “Not used to being thrown around, can’t say I mind.”

He drinks his own water, before crawling into bed beside you. “Good, cause you still owe me for breaking the rules.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

Let me know if you enjoyed it <3 Reblog, comment, like, more to cum *cough*

[twopoppies]

Well that happiness was short lived.. what in the actual f**k? I'm a newbie and I'm already sick of this🤣 how do you do it? First Louis..now Harry? Not sure if it means they are together or we are just delusional 🙄..it's a sad day for the Fandom

It’s not sad, at all, darling. It’s truly par for the course. If you scroll down on my blog, just one or two posts, you’ll see that I was literally just said that if what went on this weekend was a Band-Aid because Harry‘s about to have another PR relationship, I’m gonna need to hibernate for a while. They do this all the fucking time.

The sad thing is, there really isn’t a good reason for Harry to be kissing some woman, whoever she is. Enough people think he only dates women, this isn’t going to bring him any kind of publicity that’s going to help his career, she’s not more famous than he is so it’s not helping in that way, and it only adds to the “bad kisser“ allegations.

All this does is make Larry’s dig their heels in and say that nothing proves it more that they’re together, than that they once again did something to “prove Larry” right before they did something to “upset larries.”

If you’re new and want to stay and lose your mind, I suggest ignoring people who insist every little thing that happens is 1. Leading up to babygate ending, and 2. “The friendship narrative” is starting, or 3. Harry and/or Louis coming out.

Some day those things will happen (minus the friendship—who knows with that one?), but I really really doubt they’ll leave a trail of breadcrumbs before it does.

It’s okay to be happy and excited when something like Louis liking the post happens. IMO, it only goes to show that they are still together. Even if it was 100% planned. Louis’ demeanor today says everything to me. But don’t let yourself get so certain it means what you want it to mean, that you end up depressed when it inevitably doesn’t. You know what I’m saying?

People always ask how I’m still here after 13 years. Besides what I said above, my only additional advice Is to people who keep their feet on the ground to talk about this stuff with, and take a break when it gets to be too much. ❤️

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83 @death-in-a-tar0t-card @straw--b3rry

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), gaslighting, manipulation, Woodbury, the Governor.

Part 8

Between Brothers - Part 9

The next morning, you were still marveling at the strange luxury of waking up in an actual bed when a crisp knock echoed through your apartment door. You padded out of your bedroom, noting that Merle's door across the small hallway was still closed.

You opened the door to find a polished brunette woman, clipboard in hand and a practiced smile on her face.

"Good morning! I'm Rowan, sort of the Governor's right hand around here," she said brightly, her voice carrying the kind of cheerful efficiency that belonged in corporate offices, not the apocalypse. "I wanted to talk to you both about how you can contribute to our little community."

The sound of voices must have roused Merle, because his door creaked open and he appeared behind you, shirtless and scratching his belly, eyeing the woman with his usual blend of suspicion and crude assessment. Damn, even the office girls in this place got some meat on their bones, he thought, before his attention shifted protectively to you. But ain't none of 'em got what my lil doe's got.

"Merle," you said quickly, your cheeks flushing as you turned to face him, "put a damn shirt on."

"What's the matter, sugar?" Merle drawled, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he noticed your flustered state. "Ain't nothin' you ain't seen before. 'Sides, maybe the lady here appreciates a man who ain't afraid to show what God gave him." He flexed slightly, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Really? ... You're impossible."

"Aw hell, honey, you're cute when you get all proper on me," he chuckled, but made no move to cover himself. "Tell you what, I'll think about puttin' on a shirt if you ask real nice."

"Come on in," you said politely to Rowan, trying to ignore Merle's teasing, your accent thicker with embarrassment. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Oh, that's sweet of you, dear, but I can't stay long. Lots to organize!" Rowan bustled in, immediately taking charge of the small space, seemingly unfazed by Merle's state of undress. "Now, Merle, the Governor mentioned you'd be working security - patrols, supply runs, that sort of thing. Very important work."

"Damn right it is," Merle drawled, puffing up at the recognition. "Ain't many folks know how to handle themselves proper out there."

"Exactly!" Rowan's smile turned to you. "And for you, dear, we have some wonderful opportunities. There's the community garden - we always need help with the vegetables. The childcare center could use another gentle hand. And of course, there's cooking duty, laundry rotation, mending clothes..." She rattled off the list like she'd memorized it.

You blinked, your brow furrowing slightly. "Those are... those are all very nice, but what about patrols? Or supply runs? I've been out there with Merle for months."

Rowan's laugh was like tinkling bells, dismissive and patronizing. "Oh sweetie, that's dangerous work. Wouldn't you rather stay here in Woodbury? Leave all the rough stuff to the men who have the training and experience. You'd be much more suited to the nurturing roles - helping with the sick, teaching the children. That work is just as important as the other work, of course." Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Merle.

"Besides, I'm sure your man wouldn't want anything happening to such a pretty little thing."

"Oh, we're not—" you started, but Rowan steamrolled right over you.

The way Rowan had called him 'your man' sent an unexpected thrill through him, even as he watched you try to correct her. Damn right I'm her man, a voice in Merle's head insisted, though another part of him knew it wasn't that simple. Should be, anyway. Girlie needs somebody to look after her, and ain't nobody gonna do it better than me. She'll come around eventually. Just gotta be patient, let her see what she's missin'.

"Now, I know it might seem limiting at first, but you'll find that the gentler work here is deeply fulfilling. There's real satisfaction in creating a proper home environment." Rowan continued.

Something uncomfortable twisted in Merle's gut at her words, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. 'Course I don't want nothin' happenin' to her, he thought, his eyes fixed on your face as you tried to speak up. But she's tougher than this bitch gives her credit for. Hell, she saved my damn life.

"I'm not trying to rock the boat," you said carefully, glancing at Merle with a mixture of frustration and uncertainty. "But I mean, I've been living outside the walls, isn't that experience?"

Merle watched your face, seeing something flicker there - confusion, maybe irritation. That's it sugar, he thought. Don't let this pencil-pusher tell you what you can and can't do.

"Oh, I know you have, honey, but that's survival. This is civilization." Rowan's tone was so sweet it could have given you diabetes. "We have systems here, roles that work. Besides, don't you want a break? Time to get your bearings?"

"I'll... think about it," you said finally, your voice smaller than Merle liked hearing it.

"Wonderful! I'll put you down for garden duty to start. Very peaceful, very safe." Rowan made a note on her clipboard. "Merle, Martinez will find you after breakfast. He'll show you how we do things here."

After Rowan left, you were quiet as you helped Merle adjust the straps on his prosthetic - Milton had dropped it back to Merle last night, but every strap had been undone.

"Penny for your thoughts, lil-doe," he said, watching your face in the small mirror above the bathroom sink.

"It's just..." you started, then shook your head. "The jobs she mentioned for me. They're all very... traditional, aren't they?"

Merle felt a flicker of something that might have been doubt. "What you mean by that?"

"Cooking, cleaning, childcare. While the men do all the protecting and decision-making." Your accent made the words sound softer, less accusatory than they might have otherwise. "I swear I saw a woman with weapon yesterday during our tour."

Shit, Merle thought. She's got a point there. Did see a girlie with a rifle. "You think that Rowan gal was trying to pigeonhole you?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm overthinking." You finished with the straps and stepped back. "What do you think?"

Merle was quiet for a moment, turning the prosthetic to check the fit. Truth was, part of him liked the idea of you safe in a kitchen or garden, away from anything that could hurt you. But another part - the part that had watched you handle yourself on the road, seen you make tough choices when you had to - knew you were capable of more. Softer than butter on the outside, but anyone who can burn off a man's stump without flinching ain't no delicate flower. He thought to himself.

"Tell you what, sugar. Let me get the lay of the land first, see how things really work around here. Then we'll figure out what's best."

Smart play, Dixon. Don't rock the boat too early. But keep an eye on things.

An hour later, Martinez arrived with the swagger of a man who knew his worth in a dangerous world. He was compact and moved with the confidence of someone who'd survived through a combination of both skill and luck.

"Ready to see how we do things around here, Dixon?" Martinez asked, his rifle over his shoulder.

Merle sized him up with the automatic assessment of a man who'd learned to judge threats quickly. "Lead the way, amigo."

Martinez led him to the wall first - an impressive structure built from stacked shipping containers, their rusted metal surfaces painted with watch numbers and sector markings. Above the containers, old truck tires had been stacked and wired together, adding another six feet of height and making it impossible for biters to get past the rubber surfaces.

"Smart setup," Merle admitted, running his eyes along the fortifications with interest. "Containers give you good solid base, tires make it hard for them dead bastards to climb. Who thought this up?"

"Combination of ideas," Martinez said, leading him along the perimeter. "Governor had the vision, we had the manpower to make it happen. Took us three months to scavenge enough containers."

"Bet that was a bitch," Merle said, examining the welding points where containers had been fused together. "These things weigh what, eight thousand pounds empty?"

"About that. Had to use a crane truck we liberated from a construction site. Pain in the ass to get running, but worth it." Martinez kicked at one of the containers. "Thing is, biters can't push 'em over, can't climb 'em, can't dig under 'em worth shit."

"What about the gaps between containers?" Merle asked, pointing to the seams.

"Welded shut, then reinforced with steel plates. Governor insisted on redundancy - if one section fails, the whole wall don't come down."

They walked further along the perimeter, Martinez pointing out details that spoke of serious tactical thinking. "See them kill holes? Spaced every ten feet, angled downward. Biters mass up against the wall, we can thin 'em out without exposing ourselves."

"Now that's smart," Merle said with genuine approval. "Most folks just build a wall and hope for the best. This is military-grade thinking."

"Governor's got experience with this kind of thing. Knows the difference between a fence and a fortification."

As they walked, Martinez peppered Merle with questions about survival tactics, combat experience, the kind of shop talk that built camaraderie between fighting men. "So you been out there long? Must've seen some serious shit."

"Long enough to know what works and what gets you killed," Merle said, his chest puffing with pride.

"We got Six-hour shifts," Martinez explained. "Two guards per section, overlapping coverage. Radio check-ins every sixty minutes."

Merle nodded approvingly. "Not bad setup, though I'd have positioned crossfire points here and here." He pointed to spots that would provide better coverage. "And them rifles y'all are carryin'... when's the last time anybody cleaned 'em proper?"

Martinez raised an eyebrow. "You got experience with weapons maintenance?"

"Son, I was cleanin' guns before you were out of diapers." Merle's tone carried the condescension of a man who'd grown up with firearms as tools of survival. "Military don't always teach you boys how to really maintain your equipment. Just how to follow orders and march in pretty lines."

"I wasn't military," Martinez said evenly.

"No? What then - street gang? Cartel?" Merle's tone turned knowing, drawing on every stereotype he'd ever absorbed. "Bet you boys thought you were tough shit with your fancy automatic weapons and your turf wars."

Martinez's jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "Something like that. But this ain't the old world, Dixon. Different rules now."

"Rules don't change human nature, amigo. Strong survive, weak get eaten." Merle was warming to his theme, feeling superior and confident. "Good thing for y'all that you got somebody who knows how to really fight joinin' the team."

"Damn right," Martinez agreed. "Man with real combat experience is worth his weight in gold these days. Most of these civilian types, they panic first time they see biters."

"Panic'll get you killed faster than anything," Merle said, examining one of the rifles leaning against the watchtower wall. "This piece of shit's been fired recently but not cleaned. Bolt's gonna jam on you when you need it most."

"Show me," Martinez said, genuinely interested.

Merle field-stripped the rifle with practiced efficiency, pointing out carbon buildup and improper lubrication. "See this? Firing pin's gonna stick. Probably already misfired once or twice, am I right?"

"Yeah, actually. Johnson mentioned it yesterday."

"Course he did. Gun don't lie, but it'll sure as hell get you killed if you don't treat it right." Merle's hands moved with the automatic competence of decades of experience. "You want this thing to work when them biters are climbin' your wall, you maintain it proper."

They continued the tour, Martinez carefully feeding Merle's ego while taking mental notes. Every display of tactical knowledge, every piece of weapons expertise, every story about surviving in the wasteland - it all painted a picture of a dangerous man who could be useful.

"What's your ammo situation?" Merle asked as they examined another section of the wall.

"Better than most places. Governor made sure we stockpiled before things got really bad. Plus we got a guy who can reload shells if we're careful with the brass."

"Smart. Ammo's gonna be the new currency soon enough," Merle said. "You boys ever deal with raiders? Living ones, I mean."

"Couple times. Nothing we couldn't handle." Martinez's tone was casual, but Merle caught the slight tension.

"Raiders are worse than biters," Merle said with authority. "Biters just want to eat you. Raiders... they get creative. Torture, kill, or worse. Takes a special kind of bastard to handle that business proper."

"You sound like you know from experience."

Merle's grin was cold and humorless. "Let's just say I ain't above doin' what needs doin' to protect what's mine. Sometimes you gotta be the monster to keep the real monsters away."

Martinez nodded approvingly. This was exactly what the Governor wanted to hear - that Dixon had the stomach for the darker work that kept Woodbury safe.

"I bet. That girl of yours she seems... sweet. Innocent." Martinez's tone was carefully neutral. "Must be nice, having someone to come home to."

Sweet don't even begin to cover it, Merle thought, images of you flashing through his mind - the way you'd carefully cleaned his wounds, the soft sounds you made in your sleep. Got curves in all the right places too, not that any of these bastards are gonna get the chance to notice.

"She's special, alright," Merle said aloud, his voice carrying a warning edge. "Real special."

The tour continued with more technical discussion - patrol schedules, weapon assignments, communication protocols. Martinez was impressed despite himself with Merle's knowledge. The man might be a racist asshole, but he knew his business when it came to survival and combat.

"Governor's got a real setup here," Merle said as they finished examining the perimeter defenses. "Man knows how to build something that lasts."

"He's always looking for the right people to help maintain it," Martinez replied. "Men who understand what it takes to keep the peace. To handle the problems that civilian leadership can't stomach."

"Every community needs somebody willin' to do the hard jobs," Merle agreed. "Jobs that require a certain... flexibility when it comes to methods."

Martinez smiled. Perfect. Dixon was already thinking like an enforcer, already separating himself from the "civilians" who couldn't handle the brutal realities of their world.

"Your girl's lucky to have found someone who takes that seriously." Martinez said with conviction.

The praise hit its mark, and Merle practically glowed with satisfaction. This is what I been needin'. Place where folks understand what I bring to the table. Where they appreciate a man who knows his business.

"Governor's got a good eye for talent," Martinez added as they finished up, filing away every word for later report. "Knows how to spot the real deal when he sees it. Knows how to reward men who prove themselves useful."

Merle preened under the praise. "Damn right he does. Takes one to know one, I reckon."

"Man with your skills, your experience... I got a feeling you're gonna fit in real well here. Maybe even move up the ranks, if you prove yourself."

"I ain't afraid of hard work," Merle said, his chest puffing with pride. "Always been the kind of man who earns his keep."

As they walked back toward the residential area, Martinez felt satisfied with his work. The tactical talk had done exactly what the Governor said it would - made Dixon feel valued and respected without being too obvious about it. The man's ego was thoroughly stroked, and he was already starting to see himself as part of Woodbury's inner circle.

The Governor had been right - looked like the girl was the key to controlling Merle Dixon. All they had to do now was keep stoking that fire, keep making him feel like his value as a man depended on his usefulness to Woodbury.

That evening, the main street of Woodbury was transformed for a community dinner. Tables stretched down the middle of the road, lit by lanterns and string lights that gave everything a warm, festive glow. The smell of real food - grilled meat, fresh bread, actual vegetables - filled the air like a promise of better times.

You'd changed into one of the dresses Rowan had dropped off. It was simple, brought out your eyes, but you where just grateful it was clean.

Merle's throat went dry when he saw you emerge from your bedroom. Jesus, he thought, his eyes tracking every curve the fabric clung to. Look at her. Like somethin' out of a damn magazine, Bet she'd arch her back real nice if I put my mouth on her. Keep it together, Dixon.

You took a seat at one of the long tables with some of the other residents, chatting quietly about the meal preparations and the children running between the tables. Merle found himself at a different table with the Governor, but his eyes kept drifting back to you, watching the way you smiled at something one of the residents said, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Don't you two look wonderful tonight. Merle, I hear great things about your first day." The Governor smiled as he handed Merle a beer, his smile warm but not quiet reaching his eyes.

"Just doin' what needs doin'," Merle said, but he was practically glowing with pride.

"Martinez tells me you have some ideas about improving our defenses. I'd love to hear them." The Governor's attention was like a spotlight, making Merle feel important, valued. "A man with your experience... well, that's exactly what Woodbury needs."

"I got plenty of ideas," Merle said, leaning back in his chair with the confidence of a man who knew his worth. "Been thinkin' about your weak points, your sight lines. Y'all got good bones here, but you're missin' some key defensive positions."

As they talked shop, Merle felt himself relaxing under the Governor's attention. This was what he'd been missing - respect, recognition of his skills. Not just being tolerated or endured, but actually valued.

"Your patrol routes could use some adjustment too," Merle continued, warming to the subject. "And that armory of yours - hell, some of them weapons ain't been cleaned proper in months. Give me a week and I'll have your boys shootin' straighter than they ever have."

"That's exactly the kind of leadership we need here," the Governor said, his voice carrying genuine admiration. "A man who knows how to take charge, how to protect what matters."

The Governor's eyes drifted meaningfully toward where you sat, chatting with the other residents. "Speaking of protecting what matters... it's wonderful to see her settling in so well. She looks happy, peaceful. You've done right by her, Merle. Not every man could keep someone safe in times like these."

The praise hit Merle like good moonshine, warming him from the inside out.

"She's somethin' special, that one," Merle said, his voice thick with pride and possessiveness. "Don't make 'em like her anymore. Soft as hell, but tough as nails when she needs to be."

"A woman like that brings out the best in a man," the Governor continued, his tone carefully calculated. "Makes him want to provide for her, protect her. Give her the kind of life she deserves."

"Hell yes," Merle agreed emphatically. "Girl like that needs a man who can take care of her proper. Someone who knows how to handle business, keep the wolves away from the door."

The Governor nodded approvingly. "Exactly. And when a man provides that kind of security, that kind of protection... well, a woman appreciates it. Shows her gratitude in all the ways that matter."

Merle's pulse quickened at the implication. His imagination ran wild with possibilities, thinking about you looking at him with something more than friendship. Bet she'd be real grateful. Bet she'd get on her knees and—

"'Course, takes time to build that kind of trust," the Governor added casually. "A woman has to see a man in action, see that he can deliver on his promises before she truly appreciates what he brings to the table."

Emboldened by the Governor's words and the admiring looks from other residents, Merle felt a surge of his usual brass confidence. He pushed back from his table and strode over to where you sat, the alcohol and praise making him bold.

Without warning, he reached and put his arm around your shoulders - a possessive, claiming gesture. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your neck as it moved around you.

Soft as silk, he thought. Wonder if she's this soft everywhere.

You jumped like you'd been shocked, your body going rigid under his touch. "What the hell are you doing?" you hissed, your voice low but sharp with surprise and confusion.

The residents around you went quiet, their conversations dying as they sensed the sudden tension. A few eyes from other tables turned to you both, the moment stretching awkwardly. Merle's face stuttered, embarrassment and wounded pride warring in his chest. His fantasies crashed down around him as he realized he'd badly misjudged the situation. But he covered it with his usual crude humor, his laugh rough and forced.

"Can't blame a man for wantin' to show off his favorite girl, can ya?" His voice carried just enough lewdness to make it sound like typical Merle, but you could of swore you saw something flickering in his eyes. "Hell, if I don't keep an eye on you, half the men in this place probably gonna try to snatch you away from ol' Merle."

Your expression shifted from surprise to clear exasperation, your eyes rolling skyward as you let out a frustrated sigh.

"Really, Merle?" You scoffed.

Play it off as a joke. That's it. Just Merle bein' Merle. She'll come around once she sees what I can do for her. Governor's got the right idea - show her I'm a provider, a protector, then she'll be putty in my hands.

The Governor had followed him over and chuckled indulgently, as if watching an amusing but harmless display.  "Careful Merle, the world's full of people who'd take advantage of a gentle heart like hers. Men who might promise her things they can't deliver, make her think the grass is greener somewhere else."

Something in his tone made Merle's protective instincts flare like a struck match. The idea of some other man putting his hands on you, making promises to you, taking what Merle had fought so hard to protect ...

Over my dead body. He thought Any sonofabitch tries to take her from me gonna find out real quick what kind of man they're dealin' with.

"Ain't nobody gonna take advantage of her while I'm around," Merle growled, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder.

But before the Governor could respond, you spoke up, your voice carrying an edge that surprised everyone but Merle.

"Boys, I appreciate the concern, but I'm not helpless." Your accent made the words sound deceptively soft, but there was steel underneath. "I've made it this far, haven't I Merle ?"

The flash of spirit in your eyes, the way you straightened your spine and lifted your chin - made heat curl low in Merle's belly. There she is. My fierce lil-doe with her claws out.

Merle barked out a genuine laugh, relief and pride flooding through him like a tide. "Governor, let me tell you somethin' - you don't want to get on the bad side of her, Looks sweet as pie, but she's got fight when she needs it." He grinned at you with something that looked almost like respect.

The Governor's eyebrows rose with interest. "Is that so? Well, that's even better. A woman who can handle herself when necessary, but knows when to let her man take the lead."

"'Course, she's gentle as a lamb with folks who treat her right," Merle added, his voice taking on a possessive warmth. "Ain't that right, sugar?"

You gave him a look that was part exasperation, part something else he couldn't quite read. But you didn't move away, and that felt like a victory.

"I should probably get back to helping clear these tables," you said, your voice carefully neutral.

The Governor watched you walk away with calculating eyes before turning back to Merle. "She's something special, that one. A woman like that... she deserves a man who can give her everything she needs. Security, comfort, a real future."

"That's what I'm plannin' to give her," Merle said, his voice thick with determination and desire. "Soon as I find my brother, soon as we get settled proper... gonna make sure she never wants for nothin'."

And when I do, when I prove I'm the man she needs, she's gonna be mine in every way that counts. Governor's right - it's just a matter of time.

The Governor smiled, satisfied that his seeds were planted deep. "I believe you will, Merle. I believe you will."

While the men continued their political posturing, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Milton, who'd appeared at your elbow with his nervous energy.

"Fascinating social dynamics," he murmured, watching the interplay between Merle and the Governor. "The way leadership structures form in crisis situations..."

"You study people?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Among other things. But lately, I've been more interested in the biters themselves." His voice dropped, becoming more intense. "I have a theory that they might still be... aware. Trapped inside their own bodies, remembering fragments of their old lives."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat. Your own beliefs, the ones you'd carried from your home, had always taught that the soul was sacred, that consciousness was precious. The idea of those poor souls trapped in rotting flesh, aware but unable to escape...

"That's..." your voice came out as barely a whisper, "that's horrible."

Milton nodded eagerly, not noticing how pale you'd gone. "Exactly! If I'm right, if there's still some part of the person left inside, then what we're doing - the killing, the destruction of the bodies - it might be mercy. Or it might be murder. The ethical implications are staggering."

Tears pricked at your eyes, your heart breaking for every walker you'd seen fall, every shot fired, every blade that had found its mark. Were they screaming inside those decaying shells? Were they begging for help that would never come? Had you been killing people ?

"Excuse me," you mumbled, standing abruptly. "I'm gonna get another drink."

Later that night, back in your shared apartment, the weight of Milton's words crashed down on you. You'd held it together through dinner, through small talk, through the Governor's penetrating stares and Merle's weirder then usual behavior. But now, in the safety of four walls and a locked door, you couldn't hold back anymore.

The tears came in quiet, broken sobs as you sat on the edge of your bed, your hand pressed to your mouth so you wouldn't disturb Merle, who you assumed would most likely make fun of you.

All of Milton's words echoed in your head - the possibility that every walker might still be in there, trapped and screaming.

Merle found you like that when he walked past from the bathroom, his expression immediately shifting from post-dinner satisfaction to alarm. The sight of you crying hit him like a punch to the gut, stirring up protective instincts.

Jesus, what the hell happened? Who the fuck made her cry? His mind immediately went to violence, to finding whoever had upset you and making them pay.

"Hey now, lil' doe, what's got you all torn up?" He sat beside you carefully, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it. The mattress dipped under his weight.

"Sugar, c'mon talk to me. What happened?" He kept his hands to himself for now, though every instinct screamed at him to touch you, make it better somehow.

"Milton," you managed between sobs, your accent thick with emotion. "He thinks... he thinks they're still in there. The walkers. Still aware, like there trapped..."

"Aw, hell, honey." Merle's voice was rough with understanding. "That crazy scientist got you thinkin' too hard about shit that don't matter."

Gonna find that pencil-necked little bastard and show him what happens when he upsets my girl. Gonna make him sorry he ever opened his mouth.

"But what if he's right?" You looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks, your heart breaking all over again. "What if every time we... what if we're hurting people who can't escape?"

The sight of your face, streaked with tears, made something crack inside Merle's chest. He'd seen you scared, seen you tired, seen you angry - but he'd never seen you like this before.

Merle was uncharacteriscally quiet for a long moment, studying your face in the lamplight. Most people would have dismissed your tears, called you weak for caring about the dead. But he'd seen your strength, knew the size of your heart.

Too good for this world. And that little shit had to go and poison her mind with some crazy theories.

"Honey'," he said finally, reaching out to brush a tear from your cheek. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the moisture beneath your eye. His fingers, calloused and rough from years of hard living, moved with surprising gentleness against your soft skin.

"You got the biggest heart of anyone I ever met," he continued, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone without him really realizing what he was doing. The gesture was tender, protective, nothing like the crude way he'd thrown his arm around you at dinner.

"But you can't carry the weight of that shit. You'll drive yourself crazy."

Another tear spilled over, and this time he caught it with his knuckle, his touch feather-light.

"Listen to me, lil' doe." His voice was serious now, more serious than you'd ever heard it. "Even if that nutjob's right, even if there's somethin' left in there... what we do ain't cruel. It's mercy. We set 'em free."

You leaned into his touch despite yourself, the movement pressed your cheek more firmly into his palm, desperate for comfort, for someone to tell you it was okay to feel this way.

"It just hurts to think about," you whispered, and another tear slipped free.

"I know it does, sugar. I know." Merle's arm came around you carefully, tentatively, ready to pull back if you objected. When you didn't, he drew you closer, his hand settling on your back with the same careful pressure he'd used on your face.

"You ain't gotta carry this alone, sugar'," he murmured his lips close to your ear. "Ol' Merle's here. Ain't goin' nowhere."

[remand-me-barba]

okay okay but imagine this

barba who fucks u, carisis little sibling, cause he wants to catch sonnys attention, make him jealous.

its after hours and u r bent over his desk as he just rails u, and... sonny comes in.

Summary: Defense attorney Rafael Barba uses you, ADA Sonny Carisi’s baby sister, to get back at him during a case. And then your big brother walks in on the two of you.

Tags/Notes: Barba x Reader, Carisi x Reader, oral sex (reader receiving)

Content: Fem!Reader (sorry i know i try to be gn but), mentions of kinda stalking, possessiveness, manipulation, fauxcest (?), Rafael is revealed to have increasingly fewer morals, and a little anti-rollisi as a treat for just logan

A/N: So uhhh this is definitely kind of incest but you’re adopted? fauxcest? idk you’re not related but I do say “big brother” and stuff so if you’re not comfy with that, here’s the door no judgement: 🚪but idk this lowkey sucks shit anyway so whatever and also ur kind of annoying sorry :// also i literally did not even reread this

Word Count: 7k

Nobody had been surprised when Mr. and Mrs. Carisi started fostering teens once all their own children had moved out of the house. They loved kids and they wanted meaning in their lives. What did surprise people, especially their biological kids, was when they adopted you, making you an official member of the Carisi family (though you kept your last name, the only relic of your deceased parents) and the new apple of their eyes.

You’d always been troubled, of course, after years of bouncing around the system, and it didn’t stop just because you’d been adopted by a good Catholic family. You still struggled in school and swore like a sailor and pretended you never smoked weed all while being a sensitive, vulnerable kid. The biggest bright spot was that your new ‘big brother,’ a cop with a cocky smile and a chip on his shoulder, had been protective of you since day one. He was still in college when they adopted you, so he stayed over at his parents’ place most weekends in his old room. He’d drive you to school on his way to work so you didn’t have to take the bus, stand up for you when older kids treated you like shit (nothing like a grown man with a gun on his hip to make a teenage boy run away), and always made sure you had what you needed. 

All of that meant you were much closer to him than your ‘sisters,’ who were even older and who rarely visited and never tried to include you in conversations, writing you off as too young and inexperienced to join in on their talk about careers and relationships and adult responsibilities. Mostly because of Sonny, though, you like to think you’ve done a pretty good job making yourself a respectable adult. You’ve got a full-time job, your own apartment (with roommates, but still), and a bank account with more than $50 in it for the first time in a long time. The only issue is that you’ve bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend, never finding one who met Sonny’s strict standards for you. His approval meant the world, so you kept on trying.

Rafael Barba’s by far the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. He stops by your work to drop off flowers on his way into the office, he never forgets or cancels date night, and he makes you feel like you’re worth everything in the world. You’re certain that he’s the one Sonny will finally like enough to accept. It never even crossed your innocent mind that maybe Sonny never liked your boyfriends because he was jealous.

Your mom’s practically dancing around the kitchen as you and your sisters help her prepare Thanksgiving dinner. They’d all brought their own sides, too, and the whole house smelled of garlic and butter and goodness. Nieces and nephews sprinted around the house with happy shrieks while your dad sits in the living room with the husbands watching football.

Sonny arrives after everyone else – without his fiancee, Amanda. She’s been a mainstay at family events for a few years now and everyone feels her absence but nobody says anything. Sonny plants firm kisses on your sisters’ and mom’s cheeks and then pulls you into a warm hug. You notice he holds onto you extra tight this year; things have been rocky with his Amanda lately and seeing you always makes him feel better. He gives your forehead an extra kiss, his hand still on your lower back, and asks, “How’s my baby sister, hm? Been a few weeks since I’ve gotten to see you.”

Before you can answer, your mom’s lilting out, “Y/N’s boyfriend is coming to dinner tonight, so it’s safe to say she’s doing well, I think.”

“Oh yeah?” Sonny clenches his jaw briefly as he digs in the fridge for a beer. Once he pops it open and sips it, he gives you a prying gaze. “Finally someone worthy of meetin’ ma?”

You beam, unable to conceal your excitement at the idea of your family embracing the suave, sexy man you’d come to adore over the last few weeks. “Yeah, I think so.” You check your phone and smile at a few texts from him; you love having a man who isn’t afraid to double or triple text you. “He’ll be here in half an hour; he’s wrapping up at work now.”

Sonny’s eyes narrow. “What kind of psychopath works on Thanksgiving?”

You nudge him in the ribs. “Didn’t you have court this morning, counselor?”

With a conspiratorial glance, he smirks. “Yeah, but I have an important job.”

Mock-offended only because you fully expected Sonny to be standoffish and protective, you reply, “What makes you think he doesn’t?”

He mutters, “Because all your other boyfriends have been losers.”

Your dad enters the kitchen, too, and drops a hand on Sonny’s shoulder. “Don’t be rude, junior. I feel good about this one.”

Sonny grumbles and swigs his beer. “Your good feelings let Gina marry a dud. That’s not gonna happen to Y/N if I have anything to do with it.”

With an eye roll, you excuse yourself, “I’m gonna go get dressed. Mom, I’ll come back and set the table in a minute, alright?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Go, go, get all dolled up.”

You hear Sonny mumbling something about how you shouldn’t be dressing up for some asshole as you cross the house. Upstairs in your old bedroom, which they’d kept exactly the same, like Sonny’s, you rummage through your suitcase for the outfit you’d brought. You’re staying for the long weekend and mainly packed ugly pajamas to lounge around in while your parents wait on you hand and foot. But you brought a showstopper for tonight. For Rafael, really. Not too much for a family dinner but enough to drive him crazy. A cozy, oversized sweater to appease your family’s more conservative side but a tiny, tight skirt to encourage wandering hands in secret moments and beneath the table.

A shy knock on your door pulls your attention from touching up your makeup. “Y/N? It’s your sunshine.”

You roll your eyes; he only goes for that particular nickname when he’s trying to be cute and sweet and pathetic. Angling for sympathy. You open up the door with pursed lips. “What?”

He steps into your room and closes the door. If nothing else, it was nice of him to knock on your bedroom door instead of coming through the bathroom of the jack and jill suite you shared like he did when he was being extra annoying. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that with me.”

You shake your head and continue getting ready, slipping on a pair of sheer black over-the-knee nylons with lace details at the top. Sonny’s addicted to watching your legs move. “I won’t be like that if you won’t be like that.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sonny huffs, “Like what?”

“Dom,” you say seriously, putting away your things and finishing off your outfit with a pearl of pearl earrings. “I don’t want you to be an asshole to him. I know you’re my older brother, but you don’t always have to do the whole ‘bad cop’ routine. I want you to like him. I’m an adult. Treat me like one for once.”

Sonny sighs heavily. Even if he knows nobody will ever be good enough for you, he definitely doesn’t like to cause a frown on your pretty lips. “Okay, fine. Go ahead and tell me about the bast- guy, then. What do I need to know so I can play nice?”

You squeal and sit down on the bed next to him, your shoulders brushing. “He’s great, I promise. He treats me really well. Always pays for me, opens doors, shows me off to his friends.” Dreamily, you add, “I swear every word out of his mouth is more romantic than the last one. And, fuck, he’s so sexy. Like, his hands are-”

“Spare me the gory details.” Then, after a beat, you watch his eyes rove across your body in a way that feels anything but fraternal. Quietly, he asks, “And he, y’know, satisfies you?”

You snatch a pillow and bash him with it. “Sonny!”

He throws his hands up, snickering because he just said it to bug you. “That’s important in a relationship! I need to know you’re gettin’ taken care of.”

Cheeks turning deep pink, barely concealed by your foundation, you punch him on the arm, put on a voice that one-ups his, and decide to lie just to get him off your back, “You really wanna know? Fine. I always finish first. Usually more than once. He’s very good with his hands and his mouth and his dick is-”

“Okay, Jesus! I concede.” Sonny’s cheeks are even redder than yours and he stands up straight, cheating his body away from yours. He prays to god you can’t see his dick straining against his slacks. “He sounds great, kiddo, I’m glad you have someone who, ah, who takes care ‘a you.”

The truth is that, like all the guys you’ve been with, Rafael mostly gets you off by fucking you, not taking much time for foreplay. But that’s what you’re used to, so that’s what you take. You stand up with a laugh and try to keep your tone casual, blasé, as you add, “The only thing you’re not gonna like-”

“Here we fuckin’ go.”

“Dominick Carisi! Holy fuck, he’s not a murderer.” You shove him hard on the arm and sigh, “It’s just that he’s a little older than me.”

“A little?” He knows you well enough to know you don’t mean a year or two. “How much older are we talkin’ here, kid? Five years? Ten?”

Sheepishly, you cross the room to stand against the door, ready to get out of there. “I dunno. He’s, like, a few years older than you, probably.”

“Older than me?” Sonny storms over to you with fury in his blue eyes. He presses his hands to the door, trapping you between his arms. Something unfamiliar rockets up your spine as you see his taut arms on either side of your head. Matched with his aggression, it’s confusing the feelings in your stomach. “What the hell does a guy that age want to do with you? You’re a fuckin’ child!”

“Oh my god,” you protest, exasperated, “I have a bachelor’s degree and a 401k; stop treating me like a baby.” More than a little venomous, you add, “And stop acting like a pathetic jealous boyfriend. You’re gonna interrogate me about my sex life and then call me a child? You’re gross.”

At that, Sonny startles back, realizing he’s pinning you against the door, and curses under his breath. He runs his hand through his silvering hair and calms himself down with a deep breath. ‘Gross’ isn’t exactly the worst insult you’ve ever thrown his way during your heated arguments, but he knows how accurate it is this time around. Gently, pinching the bridge of his nose, he whispers. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’ll be nice, okay? I promise.” Taking your hand in his, Sonny touches your chin to make you look at him. You both hate fighting with each other even if your tempers match. “Forgive me, doll? Please?”

Looking into his puppy dog eyes, you sigh and say, “You know I can’t stay mad at you, sunshine.”

He wraps you up in a hug, lifting you off your feet until you shriek out a laugh, and kisses your forehead. “Thank you. Let’s go and help ma set the table, alright?”

You nod and head back out to the family behind him. In the chaos of your family, you find routine in setting out the plates and glasses just the way you know your mother likes them. Sonny, of course, follows just behind, correcting your askew silverware and rearranging centerpieces because he does it the nicest. Even you can admit that.

Before long, a knock at the door snaps you to attention. Your siblings give a low ooooh like you’re heading to the principal’s office, but you just roll your eyes, too excited to see Rafael to mind their teasing today. You practically skip across the house to the front door and fling it open, feeling Sonny only a few spaces back, ready to pounce. At the door, Rafael’s standing on your front porch in a terracotta three-piece suit, the details all cream and gold, perfectly tailored to the occasion and his strong frame. His salt-and-pepper beard is neatly trimmed and he’s got a pricey-looking bottle of wine under his arm. The picture-perfect boyfriend.

As soon as he sees you in that tiny skirt, he can’t help tugging you onto the porch with him, away from prying eyes. He kisses you hard, free hand going directly to your ass, and you melt into his commanding grasp. From the first moment, he’s known exactly how to touch you. As he nibbles up your neck, not hard enough to leave any trace but definitely enough to get you going, he groans, “God, baby, you’re so gorgeous.”

With a girlish grin, you giggle, “Hi, Rafi. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He hugs you close and sighs, “Mmm. I’m nothing next to you.”

You take a deep breath of his woodsy cologne before untangling your bodies. “Thanks for coming today. I know Thanksgiving’s kind of an intense ‘meeting the family’ date.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replies easily, placing another kiss on your cheek. Then he takes another look at your outfit, noticing those sinful stockings for the first time, and he’s back on you. Because you’re on the front stoop, the curtains drawn and your family clustered inside, you let him grab hungrily at your body, fingers skating underneath the skirt’s hemline as his heavy breaths drive you absolutely crazy. Against your ear, he murmurs teasingly. “Of course, we could always skip this thing and go fuck in my car.”

You giggle against his lips. “Mmm. Tempting, but I t hink my brother would come looking for me.”

“Of course,” Rafael replies, dipping down to kiss you one more time before giving you a cute wink. “Your big bad brother. Come on, let me go and charm him into submission.”

When you turn around, you bump into Sonny waiting in the doorway. Watching. A little startled by his presence, you laugh, “Speak of the devil. Dominick, this is-”

Sonny eyes Rafael up and his voice is darker and meaner than you’ve ever heard it. “Counselor Barba. What are you doing here?”

Rafael’s expression is softer, smirking. As his left hand settles possessively on your waist, Sonny watching his every move, he reaches out his right hand. Sonny shakes it; you don’t notice the way they crush each other’s grips. “ADA Carisi. Good to see you outside of the courtroom.” Then he looks down at you and chuckles, “You never mentioned that your brother works at the DA’s office.”

Of course, Rafael knew that already. He’d seen your picture on Sonny’s desk months ago when they sparred over a minor case and had casually looked over your social media profiles back then because, well, you were cute and he was only human. When it became clear that Sonny would be his opponent on one of the most high-profile cases of his career, he’d gotten familiar with your schedule, slowly deciding that there was no better way to get in the prosecutor’s head than to toy with his baby sister.

On the exact opposite end, you know they’re both lawyers, but it never even occurred to you that they might know each other. Rafael’s firm is out in the Bronx defending wrongful convictions and Sonny’s some fancy government guy in Manhattan. In your mind, they occupy completely different worlds. You ran into Rafael randomly at the Bronx zoo, bumping into you as he picked out a present for his godson, not even close to the courthouse or the precinct you associate with Sonny’s career. But there’s a tension between them that you read right away that feels deeper than your brother being protective.

Through clenched teeth, Sonny eyes Rafael and confirms, “You’re dating my baby sister? You?”

You furrow your brows and cling closer to Rafael, searching your brother’s face for an explanation. “What’s going on?”

Rafael squeezes you and kisses the side of your head, soothing your nerves slightly, and lies, “Just your classic defense lawyer versus prosecutor animosity.” He gives Sonny a challenging look. “I’m sure by the end of the night we’ll be fast friends.” He gives you a smile and caresses your cheek, every gesture oozing with affection. “After all, we both love you, nena. Right, Dominick?”

You smile and give Sonny an expectant glance and a little nod to encourage him. He looks between the two of you, feeling his stomach turn with disgust, and forces a grimace for your sake. “Sure, Rafael. We’ll get along fine.”

You squeal happily and drag Rafael deeper into the house to meet your sisters and parents. It doesn’t surprise you that he’s effortlessly charming with your mom and just the right amount of masculine with your dad. Your sisters oooh and ahh over how smart and put together he is. By the time you all sit down to eat, you’re absolutely glowing from being on his arm (and from a few heavy-poured glasses of wine he hands you, always topping off your drink without asking).

The whole evening, Sonny’s lying in wait for a moment where he can corner Rafael and strangle him to death. Or at least interrogate him. He’s torn between his desire to protect you and his desire to make you happy. His absolute disdain for Rafael Barba and his better nature to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s only ever seen Barba as a sleazy, slimy defense attorney with a mean streak and a knack for exploiting the legal system, but it’s not like Sonny knew him personally. Work Barba and boyfriend Barba might be completely different animals. At least he hopes that’s the case.

Over the course of dinner, though, he gets the sense that Barba’s exactly the man he thought. He schmoozes your mom with a heavy dose of compliments and talks about sports with your dad like he actually watches them, which Sonny knows for a fact he doesn’t. It’s like he’s done research to make each of your family members tick, from somehow magically knowing Gina’s old college roommate to making Bella tear up with some speech about the beauty of forgiveness and motherhood. It’s all so rehearsed, so calculated, and Sonny’s disgusted by the fact that you don’t see it. 

The thing he really doesn’t like, though, is how handsy Barba is with you. During dinner, with your boys sitting on either side of you, Sonny watches how Barba’s free hand is always on your thigh, way too far between your legs for him to be comfortable with. After, you help with dishes and he stands behind you, arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Sonny’s jealousy forces him to wonder what it must feel like to have your ass pressed up against him instead. Once the family’s moved into the living room, Sonny notices how Barba follows every time you get up, his hand possessive on your lower back or between your shoulders.

And he’s shocked most of all by the fact that, when you leave the room with Barba, all the rest of the family does is gush about how wonderful he is. Your dad would’ve killed any of your sister’s boyfriends for touching them like that, but for you, the baby, whatever you want is what makes them happiest.

It comes to a head when, after your sisters and their families have left, Rafael kisses you long and deep and says, “I think I’m turning into a pumpkin. I’m going to get ready for bed, but stay up as long as you want, nena.”

You smile up at him, catch him in another kiss, and reply, “I’ll be up in a minute, just gonna finish my wine.”

He kisses your forehead. “Perfect.”

As soon as he’s up the steps, Sonny’s voice drops low and dangerous; you’d seen him reach for his gun alongside that voice plenty of times. “Ma, are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? You’re lettin’ some stranger stay under your roof with your daughter? Whatever happened to your-”

Dad smacks the back of his head and glares. “Don’t talk to your mother like that, junior. Rafael’s a good man and he knows our rules.”

Sonny’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “C’mon, dad, you know he’s gonna go up there and-”

You sigh as the fight continues, not wanting to listen anymore, and head upstairs without another word, leaving your unfinished wine behind. You feel Sonny’s eyes on you until you’re out of sight. Frustrated, you push open the door to your old bedroom – and find Rafael reclining on your small bed half-naked, in only his boxer briefs, playing with a skimpy, lacy pink thong you’d been planning on showing off to him tonight after you showered.

Once you’re in the bedroom, your stress melts off at his teasing gaze. “Are these an early Christmas gift for me?”

“Yeah, I think you’d look incredibly cute in pink lingerie.” You raise an amused eyebrow at him and climb onto the bed, straddling his lap and not caring that your skirt hikes up. “And why are you snooping in my suitcase?”

Rafael takes you by the hips and pulls you close, his fingers greedily running up your thighs. He lies effortlessly, “I was looking for some conditioner, amor. I thought you’d be more than thirty seconds so I figured I’d have a shower. Didn’t realize mine was empty.”

“You can shower in a minute.” With an accepting nod, you sigh and nestle into his shoulder. “I’m sorry Sonny’s been so…well, you know.”

Rafael tilts your chin up and cups your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, baby, he’s just being a good big brother.”

“He’s not,” you sigh, annoyed. “He’s being…I don’t know. Weird.” You cut him a curious look, not sure how much to pry. “You know each other, right? Why doesn’t he like you?”

Rafael shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m a defense attorney; he’s an ADA. We’re natural enemies.”

You giggle as he pushes you backwards, running his hands up underneath your sweater and beginning to massage over your unlined bra. But you try to focus as he touches you. “C’mon, I can tell it’s more than that. I’m not stupid.”

Rafael suppresses a laugh at that; if you weren’t stupid, you wouldn’t be here about to get fucked by him, blindly going along, believing his kindness, not knowing he was going to be gone before the night was up, leaving you spent and heartbroken just to get under your brother’s skin. He bites at your earlobe, trying to distract you, as he explains, “We have a case coming up against each other. You’ve probably seen it on the news already; that rapper the state is accusing of all kinds of bullshit.”

“Got it,” you breathe out as he tugs your sweater off and bends down to mouth over the tops of your breasts. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Just to lay it on thick, he pauses and adds, “If I’d known he was your brother, I wouldn’t have intruded on your family dinner. I would’ve-”

“Don’t say that,” you whine, rolling your hips upward for more attention. “It doesn’t matter who my brother is; I want you to be here.” When he hikes up your skirt and shoves your panties to the side to expose your wanting pussy, you gasp out, “Need you, Rafi.”

“Is that so?” He chuckles against your lips, practically tears off his bottoms, and plunges his cock inside of you. You’re so turned on that you take all of it easily, breathless but knowing it well. “How about we stop talking about your brother and start talking about getting you off?”

You nod into his strong bicep as he starts to fuck you in earnest. It’s way too easy to get you to stop looking at whatever he doesn’t want you to. You’re too desperate for attention, for love, to ever question him when he’s taking you like this. You’ve made it so simple for him to get ‘caught’ fucking you so that he can shatter you into pieces and leave your perverted brother to clean up the mess he’s made. He knew Carisi would be so angry at him that he’d be distracted enough to lose just because of Rafael’s presence in the courtroom.

A soft knock on the door steals the moan from your throat. Sonny’s voice follows and blush shoots up to your ears. “Mom and dad went out to a movie; they wanted me to tell you before I head out. Can I get a hug to say bye, doll?”

Barba’s still unrelenting inside of you, his hand over your mouth, and he doesn’t stop as your eyes dart over to the door. He’s smirking devilishly as he calls back, “She’s, ah, indisposed at the moment. I’ll tell her to call you tonight.”

You hear the pained sigh in Sonny’s voice. The sound of him makes your pussy clench around Rafael and you pray he doesn’t notice. “C’mon, kiddo, I know you’re in there with him. I get that you’re mad at me, but-”

You accidentally let out a muffled moan against Rafael’s palm when he angles just right against your G spot. Sonny definitely hears it. His voice catches in his throat and white hot rage blanks his vision. Before you can even wonder if you remembered to lock the door, Sonny’s pushing it open and slamming it shut behind him.

You make eye contact.

You, skirt shoved up around your waist, a man’s hand over your mouth, your makeup smudged, your hair mussed. Him, anger written in his furrowed brow, sleeves rolled past his forearm, features contorted into something like a snarl. Rafael, above you, thumb firmly on your clit, fucking you senseless, moments away from making you cum.

Time slows to a stop, each beat of your heart feeling like a full minute. All you can do is watch as your brother barrels into your bed and harshly shoves Rafael off of you with a harsh growl of, “Get your fuckin’ hands off her.”

You let out a shriek and scramble up the bed to cover yourself as Rafael tumbles to the floor with a harsh thud. Sonny’s shoving Rafael’s clothes at him and creating a physical barrier between the two of you.

“Relax, Carisi,” Rafael spits as he struggles to his feet, “we were just having some fun.”

They’re chest to chest and you can barely breathe as he replies, “She’s not some toy for you to screw with.”

You try to speak, to protest, to calm things down, but it stifles in your throat when Rafael laughs, “She’s made an awfully good way to screw with you, though, hasn’t she?”

The floor drops out from under you as you realize exactly what this is. What you’ve been. A pawn in his game. Just a new type of courtroom strategy.

Sonny’s voice is made of ice. “You used my baby sister. She had no idea. She trusted you.”

“She didn’t exactly ask many questions,” Rafael chuckles, wiping spit from his lip. No shame on his face, he adds, “For such a supposedly smart girl, she was pretty easy to-”

Sonny snarls and grabs Rafael close by his shirt. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

“Sure I do.” Rafael sneers, “You’re mad because I touched her, but it’s not because I disrespected your sister.” His eyes are mean and cold and he’s smirking. “It’s because I beat you to it.”

Sonny clenches his jaw. “I don’t know what you think you’re talkin’ about, Counselor Barba, but you need to get the hell out of my house before you regret it.”

“Like you’d ever-”

Sonny’s fist collides with Rafael’s nose – sharp, pointed, quick. A single hit informed by a decade as a cop. Rafael staggers back. Blood streams down, staining his shirt, and he draws in a sharp hiss. He lifts his shirt to his nose and sighs, “Good luck hanging onto your license after assaulting opposing counsel.”

Sonny steps behind him and shoves him forward, toward the door. “Good luck hangin’ onto your life if you stay in this room another goddamn second.”

And Rafael’s gone.

At the same time, you realize the Rafael you thought you knew never existed in the first place.

With your bra somewhere on the other side of the room and your skirt up around your waist, you fold over yourself and cry. Your arms are wrapped around your chest and you feel so small and ashamed. Tentatively, Sonny walks over to you and touches your shoulder. He’s worried that you’re freaked out by what Barba said, especially being mostly naked, so he treads lightly. “Do you want me to leave you alone? Or should I-?”

But you grab him, tug him down next to you on the bed, and curl against his chest like you have a thousand times before. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“Never,” he soothes as he wraps long arms around you, wholly enveloping you like only he can. As soon as you feel his comfort, your tears turn into sobs that make your body shake. Sonny holds you close and kisses the top of your head, trying so hard not to think about the way your bare breasts feel against his chest. “No, c’mon, y/n, love, don’t cry. He’s not worth it.”

You know he’s right – you should be angry, not pathetic and weepy – but you can’t help it. There’s still that small, vulnerable side of you that’ll always exist underneath your skin. So he holds you until it subsides, your tears drying up and leaving your lips and cheeks such a lovely red. Your cheeks turn even redder when you realize how naked you still are. You snatch up a blanket, pull it around your chest, and give a bashful smile. “You’re the best, Sonny.”

He wipes the tears from your cheeks with his strong hands. “You know how it is; if you need me, I’m here for you.”

You lean forward again so he’ll hold you more, which he does happily. After a minute, you murmur against his shoulder, knowing you’re staining his shirt with makeup, “I always need you.”

“Doesn’t seem like that much anymore,” Sonny laughs softly. “You’re all grown up now. Don’t need your mean big brother to fight your battles.”

“Clearly I do,” you snort and give his hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Sonny, for always watching out for me.”

He presses his lips to your forehead and sighs, “That’s what I’m here for.”

You hold onto his shirt a little too tight and ask with a wobbly tone, “Stay over tonight, sunshine?”

Sonny sighs, voice fraught with regret at what he’s about to say. “I’m supposed to go over to Manda’s and-”

“Forget I asked,” you dismiss with a wave. You try to offer up a brave smile. “I’ll see you for Sunday dinner anyway, right?”

Sonny pauses. He looks at the softness written all over your face and can’t resist giving in. “I’ll stay, baby girl. If you need me, I’ll stay.”

You pick at the skin by your thumbnail. “What about Amanda?”

“She won’t miss me,” he sighs. “You’re my girl anyway, right? At the end ‘a the day, I need to be there for you a lot more than I need to grovel for her to forgive me.”

Your brows furrow; Amanda’s always been way too critical of Sonny. To you, he can never do anything wrong. “What did you do?”

“She hasn’t told me yet,” he jokes, trying to change the topic. There’s a little bit of an edge to it, though. There always is. He pats your thigh, letting his hand linger, and says, “Let’s get you ready for bed. Y’need some rest after all that bullshit.”

With a sigh, you nod and hop out of bed. Sonny politely averts his eyes as you find your bra and tug it back on followed by shimmying your skirt back over your butt. That’ll do for now. You open up the door to your shared bathroom, his bedroom on the other side of it, and shake your head. “I just don’t know why I always go for men who just- who just wanna fuck me and then get rid of me.” As he follows behind, you look over him like you might find the answers in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me? Don’t I deserve better than that?”

Leaning on the countertop next to you, Sonny’s on the verge of tears as he says, “Don’t ever doubt yourself like that. You deserve to know what it’s like to have sex with someone who actually cares about you. Who isn’t just usin’ you. You deserve everything good, kid.”

You sniffle, mascara still running down your cheeks as you gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I really thought I had it this time. Love, I mean. Respect. I thought he-” You sigh and huff at yourself. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, wait,” Sonny protests. He catches your wrist and says, “You’re not stupid. Assholes take advantage ‘a you because of everything you’ve been through. They see how sensitive you are. How sweet. How good. But that doesn’t say anything about you, got it? It says somethin’ about them that they think it’s okay to hurt you.”

You try to sit with that, holding onto Sonny’s praise with everything you have. After a quick, gentle touch to his face, you grab a makeup wipe and roughly remove the mask you’d put on for yet another man who’d never treat you the way you wanted to be treated. Sonny watches as you wash your face until it’s pink and clean.

With your hair down and your skin fresh, you go back to the bedroom and rummage through your suitcase, grabbing a pair of soft lounge shorts and a ratty old NYPD tee that Sonny had given you when he left the force. This time, you turn around to change, and Sonny drinks in the view of your back as you unhook your bra and tug on the familiar shirt without it holding you back. He can’t bring himself to drop his gaze when you bend over to peel off your stockings. He gets an ever-so-brief look at your pussy when you touch your feet and the sight goes directly between his legs. Clearing his throat, trying to sound casual, he stares unabashedly at your ass as you wiggle out of that too-small skirt and into something cozy.

“There we go,” you sigh and turn around, “back to myself.” Finally, you look at him with a sad little smile and shrug. “Who was I trying to fool, anyway? Nobody’s ever gonna want me like that.”

It’s too much.

He can’t bear to watch you, so effortlessly beautiful and kind and sweet, disparage yourself for another second. In a few long strides, he crosses the bedroom, takes your face between his strong hands, and kisses you without hesitation. Shock bubbles up in your chest and widens your eyes, but it softens quickly as you begin to melt. His lips are more tender than you’ve ever felt. A barely audible whimper falls from your throat and pools in your gut. You step onto your toes and let your hands go to his chest, feeling the strong muscles underneath his clothes.

But, despite your obvious want for more, Sonny doesn’t push. He pulls back. He presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes. With a shaky voice, Sonny admits out loud for the first time, “I already want you like that, doll.” Brushing your cheek with his thumb, he murmurs, “I swear, baby girl, you’re so worth it all. You’re worth everything. I wish- I’m sorry nobody’s been able to show you that before.”

“Show me,” you whisper, desperate and needy. You take his large hands in yours, dwarfing your little fingers, and place them at your waist. An invitation. “Show me what it’s supposed to be like.”

Sonny drags in a long breath. He’s never been so tempted by anything; he’s reciting the lord’s prayer when he hasn’t been to mass in a decade. His voice is gravelly and mournful. “You don’t mean that, kiddo. I shouldn’t’a done that. Kissed you like you’re not my- I’m sorry. We shouldn’t-”

You cut him off with a kiss so soft it’s barely a breath. Then you tell him, “Don’t let my heart get broken twice in one night, Sonny. I need you.”

When  you say that, every dam inside of Sonny breaks. His hands tighten on your waist and then slink around to pull you into an embrace. “Oh, love. I’m so sorry.”

You breathe in his sharp, masculine cologne, letting it steady you. “For what?”

“You just needed me this whole time,” he breathes, looping his arms underneath your ass. He hikes you up off your feet and you cling to him as a giggle boils from your lungs. Nobody’s ever swept you off your feet so literally. He spins you around, drops you on the bed, and bears down on you in one fluid motion. His lips go to your neck and you whine for more, so much more, as he says, “I’m sorry for not givin’ it to you sooner.”

He kisses you again. You can’t believe how different it is from kissing any boy you’ve been with before. His lips aren’t frantic. It doesn’t feel like he’s just killing time to get from one thing to the next. To push you forward.

Sharing breath with you, he promises, “Gonna treat you so good, baby. The way you deserve. Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

Still feeling the sting of Rafael’s actions from earlier, you mutter, “You can’t promise that, Dom.”

His look is deathly serious when he pulls back. Sounding possessive and intense and warm and adoring, he assures you, “If we’re doin’ this, then we’re doin’ it all the way. You’re movin’ in with me and I’m gonna take care ‘a you.” His hand is on your neck but it’s not threatening or controlling; it’s grounding. It’s a foundation. “No more Amanda. No more boyfriends or hookups. If you’re mine,” he repeats, “nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again.” He slips down and removes your sleep shorts. When he spreads your legs and finally gets a full-on look at you, his voice is so thick with arousal it makes you squirm. Once again, he insists, “I’m gonna take care ‘a you, baby girl. You’re never gonna worry about anything.”

Then he drops down to your pussy, musky and ripe from already having sex once tonight, and inhales deeply. Consuming you. You expect him to be ravenous, to take, but he’s not. He’s so slow. He noses along your inner thighs, kissing lightly and activating the nerves on your soft skin. It’s almost ticklish but not quite. Spine tingling. His hands drag around your hips and waist, drawing you close, worshipping your every inch.

By the time he actually puts his mouth on you, you’re done for. A loud moan billows out of you and Sonny smiles into your cunt. “That’s right, angel, lemme hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

No sooner are the words out than he’s back on you. His tongue is mature and experienced and it’s clear there’s nothing on his mind other than getting to explore the depth of you. He’s gentle on your sensitive, swollen clit, keeping his tongue nice and flat and slow. Somehow that’s a thousand times hotter than if he fucked you hard and fast likes you’re used to. By not rushing, he’s showing you just how much he wants to be there. This isn’t about getting his dick wet; it’s about making you his.

When he slips two of his slender fingers inside of you, your whole body arches and tenses. Fuck fuck fuck. He curls his fingers back toward himself, right against your G spot, knowing how to stroke it firmly to make you roil. “That’s it, doll.” He smiles up at you, lips slick with your wetness, as you buck onto his fingers. when he touches his thumb to your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure, you whine loud and true. He praises, “Just like that. So good for me. God, your pussy’s pretty. Beggin’ for as much as I’ll give her.” As he kneels back down again, he says, “You’re beautiful, baby. I’ve gotta taste you when you cum.”

Now accompanied by his fingers, Sonny takes your clit once more. He’s thorough and sweet, only getting faster and harder until he finds the exact pitch and tempo that has you moaning and writhing to every single touch. And then he keeps you there. Not a single change to rush you through it or keep you away so he can fuck you. No, he works on your pussy like it’s a case, checking every box and leaving nothing unturned.

Warmth tightens in your abdomen and Sonny groans against you, feeling the contraction of your cunt around his fingers. He doesn’t let up at all, working you through it, making sure to give you every second of pleasure he can. If he’s going to blow up his own life for you, it’s going to be worth it. When you cum, shattering apart, he clings to you, savoring the new rush of sweeter slickness that coats his fingers as you clamp down over and over. He can’t wait to feel that same sensation around his cock, milking him dry.

Sonny brings you slowly back down to earth. When he removes his fingers, you sigh out heavily at the lack of fullness. You miss him filling you in any way you can get, even as he props himself up on his elbows to kiss you. Still breathless, you kiss him back, tasting yourself on his tongue, and grip his hair and beg, “Fuck me, Sonny.”

“I don’t usually bring condoms to holiday dinners,” he chuckles, clearly struggling to resist you. He can feel the heat radiating from between your legs against his clothed thigh. “Next time, love, I promise.”

You sigh, but you know he’s right because he always is. Soft and sure, you reply, “I like the sound of ‘next time.’”

“Oh, there’s definitely gonna be a next time,” he says with a lopsided grin that only comes out when he’s blissfully happy. He peppers kisses over your face until you’re laughing, too, and tells you between them, “When I leave in the morning, I’m breakin’ up with Amanda, pickin’ you up, and never lettin’ go again.”

For some reason, you feel like crying. His tenderness unravels everything you’ve been holding onto. A little tentative, you tell him, “I love you, sunshine.”

“I love you, y/n. You’ve got no idea how much.” The reply comes so quickly and effortlessly you have no choice but to believe it. Sonny turns on his side and holds you close so you can nestle into his chest, breath finally slowing and relaxing. “Your heart’s done bein’ broken, baby. I’ve got you now.”

[nekrosmos]

Distractions???? I'm great at distractio- *insert something exploding in the background*

Ahem... I mean I uh... I'm adequate...

Any who, have random questions.

How do you think the men (yes I include Nikolai and Graves with the 141, honorary second dad and little bastard man who won't leave)

Would react to eating spicy ramen. Who would love it, who would hate it, who's crying, and who would look at the others like they're weak. (I imagine an unimpressed Laswell, and a spice intolerant Ghost. Graves and Soap are trying to out spice the other, and Price has a tight grip on a glass of water.)

Hi Lia !!!

Honestly, good question. I guess it depends on what kind of spicy ramen they're eating, like, regular stuff you can buy at the local store or Buldak, because Buldak are straight up inedible to me even though I have good spice tolerance.

I think Price would try to toughen it up but he's bright red, gulping water even though it doesn't do anything, and then spend the afternoon locked in a bathroom. Well done Captain.

Gaz would be like "you guys are weak, I got this" and sure, at first he's fine, but if we're talking Buldak level, I think he would be surprised and start sweating heavily but now he's got to save face so he's just eating it while trying to act normal. What do they put in this anyway, liquid fire ?

Soap would be overdramatic. Makes his noodles, puts the entire amount of spice, bets money to someone, probably Gaz or Nik, that he can eat all of it without problem, then ends up crying after the first noodle. His nose is running, his eyes are watery, but he comes back for another noodle and falls on the floor, pretending to be dead.

Ghost knows better and eats the noodles without the spices. Everyone watches him eat this like it's so easy and they grow a little more fearful of him that day. Ghost is chuckling on the inside.

Graves would probably make fun of the brits for being so spice intolerant and talk big game about the food back home and drop some very bad spanish of food he tried etc, only to start coughing like a mad man after eating one noodle.

Nikolai has been all around the world, he's probably more used to spicy food than most, so he does okay, makes fun of the boys for not being able to eat the ramens, probably bet some money against them and won enough to get him and Price a nice vacation.

Laswell knows better, pretended to not be hungry, and just filmed the entire thing. Leverage, she calls it.

[nosferatuix]

its kind of funny to inagine stsg doing the equivalent of the "need a light?" scene together because gojo's bitching about her smoking and geto's like come ON dude we've stressed her out so much we kind of owe her this, and shoko is like that is exactly right. buy me lunch too. i think suguru didn't ask her to come with him in canon because of a mixture of not thinking she'd agree, wanting her to stay safe where she is, etc. but if world domination is already a group project might as well go and see if their third is into it. although i guess there's also a nonzero chance that stsg just kill the higherups and install themselves as jujutsu dictators so shoko doesn't even have to pack her stuff. I definitely think she's arguing for more science and less genocide and she's enlisting Yuki to argue her case that it's possible.

shoko going "buy me lunch too" is hilarious, now all i can think of is them sitting down in a cafe/diner type of place and discussing world domination on an average tuesday afternoon (bonus points if the guy from that restaurant kenjaku took jogo and the crew to makes a cameo here, i can just imagine a younger version of him swinging by their table to bring their drinks and leave with all the blood drained from his face because these three teenagers are talking about the accomplishability of mass murder)

i think the discussion stsg had about talking to her would come up because they'd feel bad for leaving her in complete darkness & all alone in a place they themselves suddenly realized is an absolute shithole (i'm assuming they defected right after the star plasma vessel mission since this is the point where i think they both simultenously realized how shitty the jujutsu society was) so they'd probably feel like they at least owe her an explanation as to why they did what they did. satoru would probably be the one to wonder if she'd be into it, as a thought experiment, and suguru would initially shut the idea down at first because what they're doing is risky and he'd probably think the stuff you mentioned about him not asking her to tag along. so i think they'd initially go up to shoko to explain themselves and to test her reaction to them a bit, realize she's treating them exactly the same way she would if they wanted to have lunch somewhere she doesn't want to go, then get absolutely bamboozled when shoko starts offering actually logical insights like genocide would take too much effort and bear too little fruit and what if we did this this and this instead.

but i do love stsg already having killed the higher-ups (though this is not entirely possible before satoru actually builds himself up into the strongest we see him being in canon) and then just knocking on shoko's window to tell her they've come to kidnap her lol

[queenofhalloween94]

Master List: TLOU Drabbles

Summary: After arriving in Jackson with Ellie, Joel is stunned to find the woman he once loved before the outbreak. Their reunion is strained by years of pain, secrets, and the weight of who they've become. Joel must confront his past and decide if he can open his heart again in a world that’s taken so much.

Warnings: 🔞read at your own risk🔞 p in v sex

Austin, Texas — 2003

It didn’t start with fireworks.

You met Joel Miller in line at the DMV, of all places. He was muttering under his breath about some paperwork, the line crawling at a pace so slow you swore your shoes might fossilize.

He glanced at you once, offered a sheepish half-smile. “Can’t tell if this place is punishment or purgatory.”

You snorted. “I’m starting to think they’re the same thing.”

You ended up getting coffee afterward. No big declarations, just two tired people realizing the day wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.

Joel was a single father—he told you that on the second date, hands wrapped around a beer bottle like the admission weighed more than it should. “Her name’s Sarah. She’s ten. Smart as hell, too.”

You smiled. “You must be proud.”

“Yeah,” he said, softer. “Yeah, I am.”

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

It lasted maybe five months.

He was good to you. Solid. Kind. A little distant sometimes, especially when work got hectic or Sarah had school stuff, but never careless.

You’d go to parks on the weekends, split beers on your porch, listen to him talk about music while you curled your feet under his on the couch.

But the world kept tugging him in different directions—parenthood, construction jobs, exhaustion. It wasn’t dramatic. No one cheated, no one yelled. It just faded. You both promised to stay in touch. You meant it.

But then the world ended.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Jackson, Wyoming — Post Outbreak

You’d heard a rumor before it happened—that Maria was letting in a man and a teenage girl who’d made it across the country.

You didn’t think much of it. People came and went in Jackson all the time. Most of them were rough around the edges, half-starved and dangerous. But when you saw him, it was like someone cracked your ribs from the inside out.

Older now. Grayer. The lines on his face had deepened into canyons. He looked stronger, somehow, but also more hollow. Like someone had hollowed out a part of him and the rest kept moving anyway.

You stood in the far corner of the commons when he stepped inside. The girl at his side—Ellie, they called her—walked like she was ready for a fight at any second. Joel hovered near her like a shield.

He didn’t see you at first.

You didn’t speak.

Not then.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

The first time you see him again, you’re holding a sack of potatoes and a hammer.

It’s midday—cold but not bitter—snow drifting lazily through the sky as you pass the outer edge of the stables, boots crunching over frost. You’re not looking for anyone. Not thinking of him. Not really.

But then, there he is.

Joel Miller.

Twenty years later.

He’s standing in front of one of the horses, rubbing it down with a methodical hand, like the world hasn’t split in half since you last saw him.

You stop walking. Your chest contracts.

He doesn’t see you at first. But the girl with him—fifteen, maybe sixteen—definitely does. Sharp-eyed, too observant for her own good. Her gaze cuts to you, then back to Joel, then to you again.

“Uh,” she says, “I think that person’s staring at you.”

Joel turns, slow and steady. Like he’s bracing for trouble. And then—

His breath catches. He doesn’t move.

“…Well,” he says, voice low and raw. “Ain’t this somethin’.”

You clutch the sack of potatoes a little tighter. Your voice comes out hoarse. “Hello, Stranger.”

His mouth opens. Then shuts.

Ellie squints between you both. “Okay, wow. Either of you wanna fill me in or should I just stand here awkwardly?”

Joel still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. “I—uh. Ellie, this is… someone I knew. From before.”

Ellie’s eyebrows jump. “Before before? Like, way-back civilization before?”

You nod, lips curling into something small and uncertain. “We dated. In Austin. Long time ago.”

Ellie turns to Joel, her expression a perfect mix of amusement and awe. “Holy shit, you had a life? Like… a real human-person life?”

Joel scowls at her, but it’s not sharp. “Don’t make it weird.”

You smile despite yourself.

He takes a hesitant step forward. “Can we talk?”

You glance at Ellie, who shrugs and looks around the stable. “I can… go look at literally anything else if you two are gonna be adults about this.”

Joel mutters something under his breath about teenagers, but you’re already nodding.

“Yeah. Let’s talk.”

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

The porch behind the town hall is empty. Quiet. The world sounds distant—just the soft crunch of snow and the echo of memories neither of you have dared speak aloud in years.

Joel leans on the railing, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You look different,” he says.

You huff. “So do you.”

“I thought you were dead,” he adds, softer.

You nod slowly. “I figured the same about you. I never found a trace. No note. No… nothing.”

His jaw tightens. “We didn’t get a chance. I tried to get Sarah out that night. Everything went to hell.”

Your heart twists at her name. “I remember her. She was sweet. You were so proud of her.”

A long silence follows.

“She’s gone,” he says finally. “Died that night.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel.”

He nods, eyes fixed somewhere far past the fence line. “There ain’t a day I don’t think about her.”

You don’t reach out. Not yet. He’s still too coiled.

But your voice softens. “So… the girl?”

“Ellie.” A flicker of something—warmth, pain, pride—passes over his face. “She ain’t mine, but… I got her here. All the way from Boston.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s across the damn country.”

“Yeah. It was…” He pauses. “She’s been through more than most. But she’s tough. Sharp. Reminds me of Sarah, and not at all, all at once.”

You lean beside him. Not quite touching. “I’m glad she has you.”

His head tilts toward you. “You still alone?”

You think about lying. But the truth is simple. “Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on you, like he’s trying to match the person in front of him with the one who used to play music late into the night on a beat-up stereo. The one who kissed him at red lights and said, don’t disappear on me when things got hard. But you never forgot him.

And you can tell he never forgot you either.

“I think about it sometimes,” you say. “If we hadn’t split. If I’d been at your place that night. Maybe everything would’ve gone different.”

He shakes his head. “You’d be dead.”

You glance sideways. “Or maybe we’d have made it together.”

He meets your gaze then, really meets it. There’s grief there. But something else too. Something like longing.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “But I ain’t the man you knew. Not anymore.”

You study him—his weathered face, the scar near his temple, the way his hands flex like they’re used to holding more than just hammers and reins

“I’m not the same either,” you admit. “But maybe we still know each other. Enough to try again.”

Joel looks at you for a long time. Then—quietly joking—“You still like Dr. Pepper and cheap beer?”

You smile. “Ugh I’d kill for it.”

He gives a small, breathy laugh. Then gestures toward the path.

“C’mon. Ellie’s gonna be smug as hell if we disappear for more than five minutes.”

You blink. “You’re not sending her back to the house?”

He shakes his head. “Kid’s got instincts like a bloodhound. She already knows.”

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Sure enough, Ellie’s waiting near the stable with the smuggest expression you’ve ever seen.

“Well,” she says, arms crossed. “That took forever. So are you, like, gonna kiss now or are we easing into this?”

Joel sighs and mutters, “I regret everything.”

You just laugh. And for the first time in years, it feels like the world might have room for something good again.

Not perfect. Not easy. But real. Something you can hold onto. Something worth staying for.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Over the next few weeks, you saw each other more.

Not like before. There was no pretending you could pick up where you left off. The world you knew was gone, and the people you’d been had burned with it.

But he asked you to walk with him some nights. Asked what happened to you after the outbreak.

“I headed north,” you told him. “Got lucky. Stayed with a group near Boulder for a while. When things fell apart… I wandered. Ended up here about six years ago.”

“And you made it,” he said, a faint note of wonder in his voice.

“So did you.”

He was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “I survived. That ain’t the same thing.”

The truth came in pieces. You found out about Ellie gradually—who she was, why they came west, what Joel had done to protect her. You didn’t press. He told you enough.

You shared more too. That you’d lost people. That some days, the grief was like a ghost curling its fingers around your ribs. That you didn’t let people in easily anymore.

“Me neither,” he said. “Not until her. And… maybe not until you again.”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the streaks of gray in his beard. The way his hands curled into fists when he was afraid of soft things.

“You think there’s still room in the world for this?” you asked softly. “For us?”

He didn’t answer with words. He just reached for your hand.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

It started slow. A hand on your back during patrol. Coffee shared in silence. The way his eyes lingered when you walked away.

Then, one night, he stood on your porch like he’d been there before the outbreak. Like nothing had changed except time.

“You mind some company?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

Outside, the snow falls gently. Inside, the air is still, like it’s holding its breath with you.

Joel doesn’t move at first. Just stands in your doorway, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s not sure if this is real.

You break the silence first. “Still like whiskey?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “God, yeah.”

You pour two fingers into a cracked ceramic cup—half out of habit, half to buy time. Your hands aren’t quite steady. He takes the cup when you offer it, but doesn’t drink. His eyes are on you, steady and searching.

“You sure?” he asks. And it isn’t just about the whiskey.

You nod. “Yeah. I am.”

There’s still distance between you. But less now. Just a few feet of old floorboards and decades of weight.

“I used to wonder about you,” you say, quietly. “Where you were. If you made it. If you’d remember me at all.”

“I did,” Joel says, voice low. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

You smile faintly. “Why wouldn’t you?”

"Cause rememberin’ you hurt like hell.”

You close the gap between you, slow but sure. His chest rises when you touch his hand. And then it happens—carefully, like testing the water after a long winter.

His lips brush yours.

You sigh into it. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real. Twenty years of silence and dust peeling away with the warmth of his mouth on yours.

The kiss deepens. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your face again. You grip the front of his coat, fingers curling tight, pulling him closer.

When your mouths part, your foreheads rest together.

“We don’t have to rush,” he whispers. “I ain’t the man I used to be. Not in this way.”

You reach up, thumb grazing his cheek.

“I’m not asking for that man,” you murmur. “I’m asking for you. Tonight.”

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

You undress slowly.

Joel watches you with reverence and hesitation, like you’re something fragile, like his hands might break you if he’s not careful.

But when you reach for his belt, he lets out a breath and nods. You undress each other in pieces—coat, shirt, undershirt. Skin warm even in the winter air. When he’s bare above you, you reach out to trace a scar along his ribs.

“This new?” you ask.

He nods. “Kansas City. Long story.”

“Tell me later.” Your lips find his chest. He shudders slightly. He guides you back toward the bed, one hand at your waist, the other tangled in your hair. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push.

When he lowers himself over you, it’s slow. Gentle. Like reverence. Like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of it. And when he’s inside you—finally, fully—neither of you speak for a while. You just breathe each other in.

The rhythm is slow. Almost unbearably so.

He moves like someone rediscovering touch, like every shift of your hips is something he thought he’d lost forever. His hands never leave your body—palming your waist, brushing over your ribs, caressing your cheek.

At one point, he whispers, “Still with me?”

You nod, breathless. “Always.” You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, closer. He groans softly at the feeling.

There’s no dominance here. No games. Just the deep, aching pulse of connection. Like this is a language neither of you have spoken in twenty years, and yet the words still come.

You don’t cry, but you could. Not from pain. From the weight of what was, and the quiet hope of what could still be.

After, you lie tangled together, sheets around your waist, his hand resting warm over your ribs. Your breathing steadies. His thumb strokes your side. Neither of you say anything for a long while

Then, softly: “Been a long time since I felt like that mattered.”

You tilt your head toward him. “It did. It does.”

Joel nods, slowly. Then presses a kiss to your shoulder.

Outside, the snow keeps falling. But inside, for the first time in a long time, there’s warmth.

And someone to share it with.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

It’s not perfect now. It never was.

Some days he flinches in his sleep. Some days you do. Some nights, neither of you can handle touch, and you sit apart but close enough to hear each other breathe.

But there’s peace too. Laughter. Warmth in the dark.

Ellie teases him relentlessly. “You’re, like, cute now,” she groans one day. “Gross.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t correct her.

You catch him smiling more. He’s not the same man he was in Austin. You’re not the same person either. But what you had back then? Maybe it wasn’t finished. Maybe it just needed time to survive the fire and grow again.

Joel laces his fingers through yours as the sun sets behind the Jackson wall.

He doesn’t say I love you.

He doesn’t have to.

You already know.

And this time, you’re both staying.

**Thank You For Reading!!**

[a13xandri4]

My silly lil' HC's of the SBG Main Six!!

(Disclaimer: Some of these are based off of stuff that Red has said and detailed about the characters! Others are solely from my brain!)

Tyler Hernandez:

He does not like plain vegetables. He uses them in cooking with other ingredients, but he will not eat plain vegetables unless he has to.

When he bleaches Aiden's hair for him when his black roots start coming in, he makes it a point to act like he did something horribly wrong just to make Aiden freak because it's amusing.

Plays DTI with Taylor, in private. He will not tell the others about it and he will deny is at all freaking costs.

Strict as heck when it comes to keeping the group well trained, along side Ashlyn.

Despite how he acts, he is the most likely to be the mom friend of the group, in the practical sense. Since he grew up without much a actual mother involved and obviously no dad, he just kind of naturally picked up the role with anyone he dared to get close to.

Taylor Hernandez:

She welded metal together to create a school bus. She ended up giving it a strong clasp and now it's hung up in one of the buses

Really likes baking. Maybe she got it from Tyler- but since she is not very good at cooking, she got into baking and is fairly decent at it.

When her and Tyler were younger, she came up with the idea to twin/match with Tyler so they'd never 'lose' each other. In a crowd and just... in general. (🎄🎄🎄)

Taylor definitely began to joke about ASMR a lot, doing it during hangout for the fun of it, then actually started a small channel that now has a slight following.

She no longer enjoys trees and she really hates the woods, but she tries to not let it bug her since Tyler is okay.

Ben Clark:

He listens to a lot of dad rock when mad, I'm talking System of a Down, Slipknot, Korn, Metallica, the whole shebang. Despite that, he generally enjoys most branches of music.

He really enjoys going to the Flower Shop that Logan's grandparents own because it gives him an idea of what flowers he would like to grow.

Definitely will help Logan's grandparents with the Flowers if he's able to do so

When it comes to Lily, he tries to be very involved with her school life in regards of her grades, social interactions, etc.

Due to ladybugs being attracted to him (shown in the canvas version of SBG and the ladybug keychain/charm on his bookbag), he has a small ladybug plush in his room that he keeps on his desk.

Aiden Clark:

Even though he sucks at dancing, he is incredibly good at roller skating and therefore ice skating. He like to show off his ice skating skills in the winter.

Genuinely does not fully grasp the concept of money since he's so used to having it. However, he does begin to understand it a bit more after getting to know Taylor and Tyler better.

Aiden heavily enjoys speaking backwards with the others- despite it being something he learned out of boredom, he now has taken a huge liking to freaking people out momentarily. (He definitely tried to teach Taylor and Ben was just kind of used to it)

Learned to braid Ashlyn's hair from Ben because he felt bad for intruding on her and Taylor's dance practice (even tho he felt left out)

Ashlyn Banner:

Due to her parents being in the military, she is extremely organized despite not being on time unless its involving dance,

Probably enjoys watching musicals to see the choreography only, but if the songs get too loud or too repetitive in their lyrics or in general theme, she'll turn it off.

She keeps a singular Rubik's cube in her nightstand drawer because Aiden refused to give it back after leaving it at her house. She doesn't really want it, since she doesn't have the motivation to use it and let alone solve it, so it just kind of is there.

Hates being asked questions about romance (crushes or just romance in general) because she genuinely doesn't know. She always thought she was gonna be a loner for most of her life if not all of it, but when she met her friend group? She just wasn't sure what to think about the topic anymore since it was discovered that she could bond with people if she put in the effort. Not she avoids the topic like it's her kryptonite.

Logan Fields:

He definitely eats the best out of the group despite being considered the weakest. Partially because he genuinely cares about the importance of a healthy diet/meal, and also because of his grandparents likely making fire food.

He knows a ton of different flower types despite not being hugely invested in them in regards to his core interests. He probably helps Ben with finding the best ones to grow during each season of the year in Georgia.

I can imagine Logan had a goth phases really early in middle school. Like 6th grade. I can imagine that it also lasted about three weeks at best.

Logan has the lowest caffeine intake out of the whole group. In multiple of Red's official art on Instagram Logan is depicted as really tired or just fully asleep. Like in the shopping cart/buggie, her most recent one of the gang in their 'safe zone', and as well as the 3am activities piece where Logan is stirring pancake mix while his eyes are closed. So he either just generally avoids it, or he drinks it but it has little to no affect on him.

That's uhhh, that's my headcannons. Thanks for reading! <3

[rainandsentences]

The Space Between

( Pt. 2)

Luca x f!reader

rating: 16+

warning: description of public sexual harassment

word count: 1.2k

a/n: i would really appreciate if you could tell me if you like this kind of content, also, part three will be available in a few days and expect it to be a little long. xo

——————————————————————————

The air was playing with your hair, you wait outside the back door of the restaurant, it's cold as usual and you feel the tip of your nose turning red because of the weather. You have no idea what you're doing but it felt like you should, because he was trying to be nice and you're not used to it.

You hear the door creak and he come out, a black coat and his dark trousers. His hair slicked as usual and his brows frowned when he saw you, not like he didn't want to see you, more like a question for you.

You just stared for a few seconds until you cleared your throat and finally looked away.

"Luca."

"What are you doing standing there? it's freezing." He says walking towards her.

"I have to tell you something."

"It can wait."

"No, because then i will not want to say it." She stops him by having a step back.

He looks at her, listening.

"I'm sorry... about what happened." You sigh. " I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"It's okay, you have your reasons." He says softly.

"Still, it wasn´t right."

He nods. " Well, it's done."

"What's done?"

"The dinner you rejected, just, let me now now if i should ask or..."

"I would like to, yeah."

He smiles softly.

"Perfect."

And the next night you were in a very nice restaurant having pasta with him. He was charming, charismatic and funny at the same time, his golden locks and his blue eyes shining in the light of the restaurant. After that he took you home and left.

No pushing, no insinuations that he wanted anything else. And that made her doubt again, overthink again.

But it was the same at work, you kept your space just like he did, all in a friendly comfortable way.

It starts with rhythm.

You and Luca end up closing together more often than not. At first it’s coincidence. Then it just... keeps happening. No one comments on it — not even you. But you notice how he dries his hands the same way every time. How he always starts cleaning the slicer first. How he lets the music ride out the last track before shutting it off.

You don’t talk much. Still don’t. But he starts leaving things for you — not in a weird way, just... small stuff. A knife he already sharpened. A prep list with your name on it so you don’t have to ask. Tea, once, when your throat was shot from shouting over a supplier on the phone. He didn’t say anything. Just left the mug on your station and kept working.

You let him.

That was a big deal.

You don’t realize how much time has passed until the weather changes.

A year. Maybe more.

Not in days you count, but in rituals — the steam on your glasses as you step into the kitchen in winter, the way Luca folds his sleeves when it gets warm again. Time blurs in kitchens. That’s how it always is. Long nights, burn scars, muscle memory. But this year has a different kind of blur to it.

Because this year, you let someone stay.

It wasn’t on purpose.

It never is.

Sometimes you sit outside after close. He smokes. You don’t. But you sit a few feet away, huddled in your coat, watching the city settle down. He doesn’t speak unless you do.

Sometimes you do.

Not about anything big. Just... weird stories from other restaurants. Your favorite knives. A horror story about the time your sous chef quit mid-dinner service. He laughs once — a real one — and you feel it in your ribs.

It scares the shit out of you.

The others still don’t know how to place you.

You’re the girl with the armor. The one who glares more than she speaks. The one who once told a senior chef to fuck off in three languages. You wear the reputation like a second skin.

But Luca sees past it.

Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

Either way, it makes it harder to breathe sometimes. Like he’s standing just outside the door you’ve spent a lifetime keeping locked.

And he never tries to open it.

But he’s there.

Waiting.

Then, one night the team’s out drinking in a local club after a long shift. You go because someone insists and because you don’t want to seem like a ghost again. Try to change the dynamic a bit, your plan was going, taking a few drinks and out early. Once you're there you regret it instantly, it’s too loud, too bright. Everyone smells like sweat and gin and end-of-service adrenaline. You keep to yourself. Smile when people expect you to.

You don't see Luca around so you stay close to the bar.

Until one guy asks you to dance, you reject him and he leaves muttering something. You turn around and then he comes back, approaching from behind, his breath stank and his hand went straightly to your glutes, he squeezed them. You react and push him away with a loud yell, you slap him and the guy just laughs.

Everyone looks at you as your breath sped up, you look away and leave the club after snapping at him again.

It's hard to breathe outside, her hands trembling with anger, she groans and kicks a wood box that is on the floor. Then you see him, arriving with his usual black coat.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asks gently walking towards her.

"Nothing, i just want to go home." You say sharply.

"Something happened? Are you alright?" He tried to grab her arm and she backed away.

"I said i'm fine!" She scoffs and walks past him.

The next day, you don’t speak to him.

Not because you’re angry — because you don’t know how to say sorry. Or anything.

Because you snapped at him, again, and it wasn't fair.

But he doesn’t push.

Just goes back to working beside you like nothing happened.

You wish he’d yell. Or ask. Or pretend it didn’t happen.

But he doesn’t.

And that might be the worst part.

Because you don’t know what to do with kindness when you haven’t earned it.

A few weeks later, he finds you on the fire escape.

It’s late. Cold. The city wrapped in fog.

He brings tea again. You take it and he doesn’t look away.

Then, finally: “Why are you nice to me?”

He blinks.

You add, “I mean, I’ve been… not.”

He shrugs. “You’ve been human.”

You scoff. “Yeah, well. It's not fair for you.”

He laughs, just once. “It's okay.”

The silence stretches.

Then, almost too softly to hear: “I like being around you.”

You freeze. Because that’s not a joke. Not a line.

It’s real.

And you don’t know what to do with real. So you shut down.

The walls slam up.

You look at him — not unkind, but tired.

“You’re projecting. I’m not what you think.”

He looks away.

“I never said you were.”

You stand. You toss the tea. You mutter something that could be goodbye, or could be an insult. You don’t even know anymore.

You just walk away and this time, he doesn’t follow.

[pixie-winged-gigi]

My take on Klapollo

I've been seeing some Klapollo stuff when Apollo is either stated as aro/ace or insinuated to be aro/ace, and it got me thinking about Klapollo.

To me, Apollo is definitely on the ace/aro spectrum, and I personally see him as demiromantic and greysexual. I think he never really felt any kind of attraction in the past, and he likely didn't think anything of it. When he first met Klav, he didn't seem very interested in him, and only really started showing any kind of interest that I would deem romantic until late in 4-3, which further developed in 4-4.

I think that as Apollo started to see behind the perfect mask that Klav had built to see his true self, he began to actually come to like Klav romantically. I think that this started with the scene in Klav's office during 4-3, but didn't really amount to anything big until after the end of 4-4, when Apollo saw what Klav was willing to do for truth and justice. I don't think they get together right away, but I think that it happens between AA4 and AA5.

I feel that Klav is a chaos bisexual who didn't know he was bi until he met Apollo. The line about being looked at a certain way, honestly, to me felt like projecting. I think he might have flirted with some men before, but it was just because that is who he is, not out of any genuine interest. I see Klav as a suave playboy who would flirt with girls and boys (as rock stars will), but would only have casual relationships, and only with girls. He loses his mind when he meets Apollo and realizes that he might actually like boys, not because there is anything wrong with that, but because he genuinely had no idea. Now getting into more head canon-y stuff, I would even go as far as to call Klav greyromantic because he almost never had any actual romantic feelings towards anyone until he met Apollo.

I think that for Klav, he fell first, but didn't really come to terms with it until after the 4-2. I think that he thought it would go away, but after engaging with Apollo in court, he was intrigued and drawn in. He invited Apollo and Trucy to his concert, and to me it feels like he invited Trucy so as to not make it weird, but it definitely felt as if he was more interested in talking to Apollo, or even wooing him. I honestly think the flirting we see him do with Trucy is just what he does. Its a mask, a persona he puts on for the world, and since that's what is expected of him, he does it. I don't think he actually had any interest in her (thank god, seeing as she is 15 and he is 24!) but he felt the need to keep the mask up in front of Apollo.

I think Klav might have started to close himself off after 4-4, feeling betrayed even further than before by his brother. I think he was questioning why his brother would do those things, and only when he reached out to Phoenix to try and make amends for his previous mistakes did he start to spend some time with Apollo.

It started out with just a casual hey when they saw each other at the courthouse, and eventually Klav asked Apollo to get coffee, and after a few months of them having weekly coffee, Apollo is the one to ask Klav out. Their relationship is rocky and messy, as they both navigate their new relationship while dealing with the chaos around them and especially Klav's relationship with Kris.

[neellscapsule]

Hey there! I just wanted to throw my two cents in based on the anon saying she gave in and such and you response to that:

I also do not think it was giving in, she felt pressured but also feeling the love that should've been hers from the get-go, and as someone who faced neglect as well, it hits hone how yes she hates them but she loves them so bad. That with all this bad, there was good and she clings to that good way more than she thinks she does. Perhaps in the future to the point of tinted lenses when they start getting REALLY yandere, and I wanted tk say you nailed the mixed feelings she feels!

I also want to say that I believe she sees herself in Damien, it hasnt been fully outright stated, but the way she reacts to Damiens words, it feels like she's going through memories of when she wanted to desperately connect to her family, she sees Damien wanting to make a connection with her. Not to mention any guilt, guilt thay she left him in such a wanting yearning state like she was, and yes she was valid in her emotions to feel like she wanted/needed distance and its great how she's exploring that while grappling with how Damien felt on the matter! Top tier stuff right there

Last thing: LOVE LOVE LOVE that we are seeing snippets on how others viewed her as Huntress! Compared to earlier chapter show she described and felt she wasn't enough, for others to instead see a very capable strong hero that was a role model for them! I adore that little twist, and the fact that a lot of the insecurities and drama happening could've all fixed if they took Therapy 💔

(Sorry for the tangent, I just finished reading it all and had to throw my thoughts out at you)

I LOOOOOVE YOU. i think there aren't any words that could describe the situation better than THIS. all of this would have been fixed better if thet did therapy, yes, but we can't expect that :p

i think the actual real YANDERE stuff is coming next episode, we have seen the definite start of it with bruce drugging her tea, knowing she would drink it because she loves it. these are the little things that get her real feeling it, specially because is just how you say it: some of the things they are doing, are the love she was supposed to get, AND SHE DID. that is what gets her so bad into this because she had that love once, and it was took from her, and then it is being brought back, which makes it all super confusing for her heart.

i do think she recognizes them all, including her, as some type of horrible people, just like what she says to jason, and she can't help but love them. their feelings are soo tangled and it drives her a bit crazy. personally, i write her with this intention of feeling so messed up in the insides, and the thought of no one but people like her, her family, can understand it, because they all went through this together.

i agree that she doesn't see herself in damian, but she knows that feeling he has, the neglect in his eyes when he looks at her and all he is wishing is that sister. in the storyline, she left before he arrived, merely meeting him briefly, so they don't know each other too much, only names and biologically. i already said it before but i will say it again: damian, when hearing about her, was expecting to fight his place in the house, be the heir to bruce and all that stuff, just to find out she was not even there, she did not want a relationship with them, and it kind off broke him into realization like "oh, she is not a rival. she is my sister and she hates being here". and he doesn't know A THING about her, so he goes on and asks them all about her, and they all feel weird talking about reader. except alfred.

he can see just how proud alfred is, just how much he misses her, and it just gets damian more anxious to meet her. everyone talks about huntress, and he deffo admires the hero she was, but damian just wants reader.

AND TALKING ABOUT HUNTRESS, yes she was so good at doing her stuff. and she was not even a sidekick, she was her full hero, people admired her, villains trembled when seeing this little thing that just kicked their asses. huntress did a whole number on scarecrow, as mentioned, and since there he just doesn't cross her because she gave it all to make him hurt, not even minding the syringes. so, yeah, she was very good, she just didn't feel like it even if she loved that "soldier life" as it is mentioned. we see that everyone remembers fragments of huntress in her, even clark and diana. and she left her mark when she left to never come back. there is so much to talk about huntress but i will leave that for other episodes :DDD

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

911 Episode Review: 1x01 Pilot

Anyone who decides to skip Season 1 is missing out. This is where we first meet the majority of our main characters, get to experience some of their history and see the characters that they were before they became the characters that we love now. Not to mention, at this point the show is still more of a drama rather than a soap opera (I was very surprised at first when I looked it up on Disney and saw that that was the category that they put it under, but then realised yeah, that is what the show has become).

Buck - rewatching the first episode reminded me how much I did NOT like Buck when the show first started. His cocky, arrogant attitude did NOT endear me to him at all. But hey, once we get to learn more about him and he starts to grow up, he quickly became one of my favourites, but as of right now? The fact that I know how loveable he becomes is his saving grace. Anyone who decides to watch 911 for the first time after reading this - trust me, thankfully his arrogance doesn't stick around for long, and he does become infinitely more likeable. He's the Ahsoka of the series (if you're a Star Wars fan like me) - he starts off annoying so that you can see his growth and ultimately end up rooting for him the most. When the show started, Oliver Stark may not have been a big name, but there's a reason he sits high in the credits - Buck is basically the audience stand in. He's new to the job, just like we are new to the show, so we see and learn things along with him.

Bobby - the first ep drops serious hints as to his tragic back story. He discusses with a priest his history of alcohol abuse, but not the reason as to why, and when he's talking to a woman who's threatening to jump off a tower, he talks about how "he knows that feeling." It's a good little teaser without revealing too much. Also, we get to see a friendly Bobby, but not the "head of the 118 family" Bobby. He even says to Buck as much that "this isn't a family". It's why I've always said that it was Buck who truly made the 118 the family that it was - Bobby may have introduced "family dinner", but he was there for months and still kept everyone at arm's length. Once Buck breaks down those walls, we start to see the 118 that we know and love.

Side note - a little confession, but I had no clue who Peter Krause was before 911 started. I had never seen any of his shows (I know he was in some big ones, but I never watched them - they weren't my cup of tea). The only two I knew of were Angela Bassett (because, you know, it's ANGELA BASSETT) and Kenny - and even then, I didn't know Kenny by name, just "omg, that's the guy from Captain America!" Of course, now I know who Peter is, and they picked well for the role of Bobby - as Bobby, he exudes an openness that draws you in, but at the same time is able to ground the show and carry the heavy stuff on his shoulders.

Back to the cast, Athena (and Michael as well I guess, since their stories involve each other) - I remembered that Michael came out in this episode, but I didn't remember how, so I was surprised to find out that Athena already had known for a few weeks and they were working through it in therapy - it was to the kids that Michael comes out to in this ep. And the Athena we see here is hurt and angry as she deals with her marriage falling apart. She's normally so unflappable out on the job - I mean, sure she can have bursts of emotion, like when she's telling off Buck, but to see her straight up lose it at Michael was shocking. Speaking of Buck, seeing the interactions between her and Buck, and how she can not tolerate him? Hilarious

Athena has zero tolerance for Buck's bullshit in this episode, and it's like, same girl. Same.

Abby - those who skip season 1, skip Abby. And while I remember I wasn't the biggest fan of her character, she is kind of the glue of the show at the moment. She's what stops it from being a typical cop/firefighter procedural by drawing viewers into the dispatch office, something we had never really seen before (and how 911 marketed themselves as being that something different), and she has what I find to be such a soft, soothing voice, that just draws you in. Plus, you can't help but feel sorry for her as she deals with her mother who has Alzheimer's - I can't imagine how hard that must be, not to mention how isolating as she tries to juggle caring for her and a full-time job.

Chim and Hen - we don't get to learn much about these two in the first episode, but I get it, there's a lot to cram into one episode. We learn that Chim is dating Tatiana, someone he deems "way out of his league" and he keeps her around by basically exaggerating his job. With Hen, we only really get glimmers that there is obviously a friendship with Athena going by their interactions, and that she's the only one who seems to be in Buck's corner and is instrumental in working a situation where Buck doesn't end up losing his job. Her name certainly suits her personality - she's the sweet, loveable Mother Hen.

Onto the show itself. It's a good pilot episode - it shows enough of the characters to get you interested without revealing too much, and it sets up the premise of the show well. We get a good mix of the serious calls (a potential drowning victim, a suicide) and the ridiculous (lady being choked by her own snake) that tells you what we should expect in episodes to come. They may be firefighters, but not every episode will have them fighting fires. This is LA, land of the glamorous and the wacky. Although at this point, the wacky isn't too wacky - the calls do get a little ridiculous in later episodes, but at the moment they're weird but not over the top.

I know others have talked about 911 and it being copaganda, but I've never really taken note of that. Possibly because I'm not from the US, and, while our police situation absolutely isn't perfect here, I don't think it's nowhere near on the same level as the US, so it's not something that ever crossed my mind. Also, the cop side of things in 911 never really stood out for me - the rescues did, so I didn't really take much notice of that side of the show. Howeveeerrrr, in saying that, I have taken note of people mentioning Athena and her misuse of power as a cop, and I hate to say it, but I kind of see what they're saying. It's the very first episode, and we already have Athena, when a fellow cop asks about needing a warrant, just shrugging him off. Now I'm not an expert, and I think you don't need a warrant if you believe someone's life is in jeopardy, but at this point they didn't realise that this was the case (that the young mother was bleeding out in her apartment). It felt very much like "I'll do what I want." I mean, I love Athena, but I'm going into this rewatch with a critical eye, and no one is above reproach (see my criticism of Buck above).