#How To Fix Wobbly Table Legs

[ds-angel1]

hi my love! could you do a toxic! rafe turnt into a soft rafe. maybe he bodyshames her and makes her change herself to the point where she gets seriously ill and he realises how much she’s messed up? xx

1st part

cw: body shaming, eating disorder themes, emotional manipulation, fainting, a start towards recovery

a/n: i am so so so so so sorry that this took so long

You were tired all the time now.

Not in a way that could be fixed with sleep, but in the way your bones ached when you moved. Like gravity had gotten heavier just for you. Like your body was protesting the way you treated it, and you didn’t have the energy to fight back.

But you still tried to smile.

You still brushed your hair. Shaved your legs. You still waited for his compliments like they were rations. Little affirmations you could chew on until the next day.

“Damn,” he said one night, eyeing you while you changed in the low lamp light. “I can see your ribs again. That’s so hot.”

It made your skin crawl. But you laughed. Twirled for him like you were proud. Like this was a reward, not a symptom.

It was so easy to pretend, especially when he wrapped his hands around your waist and said, “This- this is what I want. Just like this.”

You stopped eating in front of people. They asked questions. Said you looked pale. Said you looked small.

“You always say you’re not hungry,” one friend pointed out during a group brunch. “But you never eat later, either.”

You shrugged, picked at your napkin, smiled too hard.

Rafe squeezed your thigh under the table. Not lovingly. Not reassuringly.

Just… pressure. A warning.

“Some people are just disciplined,” he said, tone smooth. “That’s rare these days.”

You basked in it. That was love, wasn’t it?

Being the girl he could brag about.

But it got harder.

Your period vanished. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had it. Your hair started thinning, clinging to your brush like strands of guilt. You wore concealer to cover the purple hollows beneath your eyes, but it always creased. Your hands trembled at the steering wheel. Walking up stairs made your head spin.

You kept going.

Because when you skipped a meal, he kissed your temple. When you skipped two, he said, “Good girl.” When you skipped three, he fucked you like he couldn’t get enough. Told you you were perfect. Told you he could carry you forever.

It was working. It was finally working.

…

It didn’t happen in some dramatic moment. There was no gasp, no cry for help, no cinematic fall.

You were standing in the bathroom, brushing your teeth. That was it.

Your vision wobbled at the edges like heat on pavement. You blinked. Swallowed. Thought, Just sit down. Just breathe.

But your body didn’t listen.

The brush slipped from your fingers, clattered into the sink. And then your knees just buckled. Not hard, not sudden, like your bones had simply… given up.

You folded in on yourself, shoulder hitting the cabinet, hip skimming the edge of the tub. Not loud enough to call attention, but enough to leave a bruise. Enough to knock the breath from your chest.

And then the tile was under your cheek, cool and oddly comforting.

You didn’t black out.

You just laid there, watching the light shift on the ceiling, your heart skittering like a trapped bird. Too fast. Too light.

Rafe didn’t find you right away.

He was in the kitchen. You heard him, talking to himself, opening drawers, swearing about something stupid like misplacing his wallet.

When the door creaked open, you didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. You were afraid to.

He stood in the doorway for a second too long.

“…Baby?”

His voice was cautious. Not yet afraid. Not yet anything. Just confused.

You saw his bare feet cross the floor toward you. Then a pause. A sharp inhale.

“What the fuck are you- are you okay?” He crouched. Reached for your wrist. His fingers were warm and dry and trembling.

“Hey. Hey. Talk to me.”

You swallowed. Your mouth tasted like metal.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“You’re on the fucking floor,” he snapped, voice pitching up now, something sharp edging in. “Did you fall?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t explain it. The fatigue. The hollowness. The way your limbs didn’t belong to you anymore.

“I just got dizzy,” you said. “It’s not- just give me a second.”

His hand hovered near your face, then pulled back like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You turned your head away, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s not a big deal.”

Silence.

Then:

“How long?”

You blinked. “…What?”

His voice was low. Flat. Measured.

“How long have you been like this?”

You didn’t answer.

And that told him everything.

He helped you sit up slowly, carefully, like you might break in half. His hand pressed against your back. You were shaking. He could feel it.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re freezing.”

You rested your head against the cabinet. Couldn’t quite lift it. Your limbs felt miles away.

“I’m okay,” you murmured. “I just need water. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

He flinched like the words physically struck him.

“Not yet?” he echoed. “It’s five o’clock.”

You blinked slowly.

That felt irrelevant.

He looked at you for a long time, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched.

Then he stood, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.

You sat there alone for a while. Not crying. Not thinking. Just… still.

Then the door opened again. Softly this time.

He came back with a hoodie. A glass of juice. A granola bar in his pocket.

He knelt beside you, quietly, and pulled the sweatshirt over your head. Guided your arms through the sleeves like you were fragile. Like you were made of glass.

You didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to see what was in them.

But when he pressed the cup to your lips and said, “Please,” his voice cracked.

And that made you drink.

…

He started small.

Grocery runs with color. Fruit, bread, things with softness and warmth. No more scale. No more poking. No more comments. He made pancakes one morning and nearly cried when you ate three bites.

“You don’t have to finish,” he said, gently, when your hand started to shake. “I’m proud of you either way.”

It sounded fake. It sounded like a script.

But he meant it.

He put his phone away at dinner. Looked you in the eye. Watched your face instead of your plate.

He still touched your waist sometimes, out of habit, but now he stopped himself. Flinched like he had been burned.

And at night, when he pulled you into him, he didn’t grope. Didn’t grab. He just held. Whispers soft and shaking into your hair:

“I love you even like this.” “I’m not going anywhere.” “You’re not a mirror. You’re mine.”

You weren’t better yet.

You still skipped meals sometimes. Still counted calories without thinking. Still searched for the old praise in his eyes like an addict looking for a fix.

But he never gave it anymore. And maybe that hurt. But maybe it also helped. Because you weren’t shrinking for him anymore.

You were growing, painfully, into someone who could survive this. And this time, he wasn’t leading the way. He was just following. Soft. Careful. Quiet. Like he finally understood how close he’d come to losing you for good.

[abyssyby]

thinking abt the twins eating watermelon and one of them eats the seed by accident…cue emotional distress from both of them because the big twins told them that a watermelon will grow in their tummies

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OH NOOOOO poor babies. i see we all agree that luke and kieran are enemies number 1&2 😂 thanks for sending this, it made me laugh a lot!

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | very lost sylus, mentions of choking, distressed children, PAPA, HELP!! HELP!! (˃̣̣̥△˂̣̣̥)

"ah! aaa!" kyros exclaims as he begins to choke on his food.

sylus is already standing, nearly knocking the table over with the speed at which he moves. every nerve in his body electric as he panics. "kyros?"

he continues to cough—spitting, choking. "eughe! kkkkgh!" his father panics, grabbing him and prying his mouth open with his fingers.

and in an instant, kyros whines, pushing at the large hand. "oww, papa."

sylus freezes. speaking. speaking is good—it means breathing. "are you okay?"

"i eats a deed." he says, fine, completely breathing. sylus sighs in relief, but gives him a pointed glare.

he calms. wipes the corners of his son's mouth. until—

another choke. a gag. he gasps, "kyros!"

"eughh—" kyros rasps, clawing at his throat. "papa, the deed!"

"the seed?" sylus echoes in exasperation. still scrambling with his hands, wondering whether or not he should be performing some kind of maneuver right now to his aspirating (or not?) toddler.

"i eats it!" in agony, his face morphs into a crumpled mess of distress. sylus is at a loss, too stuck on the question of if he was choking or not.

and it seems to translate on his face, because kyros stares his pathetic expression and cries out for his brother instead. "woosian!"

sylus winces the sound, but isn't detered from his internal panic. "kyros, are you chokin—"

"—woosian—!" from quick pitter patters of bare feet yell back, "i comin'!"

sylus seethes in frustration, "ky—"

lucian arrives. kyros's voice breaks as he reports, "woosian, i eats a deed!"

lucian drops his own bowl of watermelon slices and gapes at his brother. "oh no."

sylus's gaze ping-pongs between his twins in confusion. distress. absolute bewilderment.

lucian clumsily places his bowl on a surface he can reach and begins to climb his papa's legs to get to their level. tugging his pants, clawing at his shirt. "'pit it out—'pit it out!"

"i tryin'!" kyros sobs.

sylus snaps. "someone tell me what's going on!"

it's a wonder how his sons can look exactly like him, but still emulate you in every single way. how they turn to look at him slowly with wide, menacing eyes like wildlife predators in the night.

sylus feels the exact shivers he does in that moment when you look at him that way. when he's crossed a line. when he's played the audacity he apparently had no right to play.

"papa." lucian says sternly. suddenly, he's Mister Composed. "no yell please."

sylus's gaze shifts downwards briefly. "i'm sorry." then he fixes his tone. "i want to help. what's wrong?"

and finally, finally the child in his hold explains, "biggies say if—if we eats wodameyn deed— wodameyn goo-wou inside."

"grow inside?"

"in da tummy, papa." lucian supplies. then shouts, "keero gonna to espode!"

kyros whines. contrary to them scolding sylus, he screams now too, "'m too little to espode! papa, help!"

but sylus is too stunned now to speak. he stares blankly into space as the thought processes; grinds between rusted gears in his head. he is reduced to a waterlogged deadhead, wobbled by the tides of his two panicking toddlers, pushing and pulling at his limbs.

luke and kieran. he concludes. marks their names in red in his mind.

"papa, papa!" his boys cry. his body moves on its own accord to grab his phone from his pocket. his fingerprints imprint on your contact. he barely hears the ringing. only you through the haze. "sy?"

you hear sobbing on the line. then, your husband's voice.

"luke and kieran."

understood. you are on your way home.

hehehe thanks for reading! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

[yourlipstogodsears]

Little Pink Blanket (Jack Abbot Fic)

Summary: Jack ends up a girl dad instead of a boy dad. he does “okay” so he tells himself.

(domestic!jack, no use of y/n, mention of a tough shift, no specific gf details)

All Jack’s life he dreamed about wanting a son. He wanted a baby boy: the spitting image of him, auburn hair and freckles and a goofy little smile.

But when Daisy May Abbot came into his life, the world spun on it’s axis. he didn’t know the first thing about raising a girl, he didn’t know how to be a girl dad. That didn’t stop that little girl from having Jack wrapped around her finger the moment her first words were “Da-Da”.

so there Jack sits at the kitchen table, Daisy May's favorite stuffed bunny sitting beside his coffee mug. He stares blankly at the wall, his mind racing with thoughts of how to be the father Daisy May deserves—a girl dad manual would be handy right about now.

Suddenly, she toddles in with her hair brush, she’s 18 months old and already trying to walk. Jack feels like he’s gonna have a MI.

His heart skips a beat as he watches Daisy May wobble towards him, the hairbrush clutched tightly in her tiny hand. She falls more than she walks, but she's determined to reach him. He quickly stands up, knocking his chair back. "Whoa there, little lady..."

his girlfriend walks in apologizing after her, “we were doing her hair and I asked if she wanted to show daddy and she just got up”

Jack interrupts her with a soft chuckle, his eyes fixed on Daisy May as she continues to walk towards him. "No, no, she's just showing off her independence." He kneels down in front of Daisy May, holding out his hands. "Come here, you little..."

Daisy’s chubby fingers hold his pointer fingers as she stands and bounces. His heart melts at the sight of her standing there, holding onto his fingers with all her might. He can feel her little bouncing movements and it's the cutest thing he's ever seen. "Alright, alright, sit down before you fall down."

Daisy squeals and giggles as Jack scoops her up and sits her on his lap while he finishes his coffee and watches the sun rise. He’s gonna continue to work nights so he can spend all day with his little family. he sets the bunny on his other thigh like it’s a person. He’s good about making sure to treat her stuffies like they have feelings.

Jack's voice is warm and gentle as he speaks to Daisy May while she sits on his lap, her little legs dangling over his thigh. "Morning, sweetheart." He takes a sip of his coffee, keeping one arm wrapped around her tiny waist for support.

His girlfriend smiles and makes breakfast for them: tiny pieces of cut up fruit for Daisy May and omelettes for her and jack.

Jack watches in awe as she prepares breakfast for them, making sure to cut up the fruit into tiny pieces for Daisy May. He feels a warmth spread through his chest as he sees the love and care she puts into taking care of both of them. "You're too good to us, you know that?"

“You gonna feed or or will I have to?”

Jack laughs softly, "You feed Daisy May before she throws a tantrum. God knows where she gets that temperament from." He watches as she tries to manage feeding both the baby and preparing his omelette at the same time. He finds her multitasking incredibly sexy.

she rolls her eyes, “I’d flip you off if little eyes weren’t watching me”

Jack chuckles deeply at the playful comment, loving how comfortable they've become with each other. He stands up and walks over to her, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind as he looks down at Daisy May. "Alright princess," he coos to Daisy May.

Jack picks up Daisy and places her on his lap at the kitchen table, feeding her small pieces of cut fruit. He watches as she moves around the kitchen gracefully, cooking his omelette and making more coffee. He loves how she takes care of him without him having to ask.

Jack smiles warmly as she places his plate exactly where he can reach it, but safely away from curious little hands. Between spoon-feeding Daisy May and watching his girlfriend, he genuinely feels like he's won the lottery. "Thanks, love."

“Of course baby..” she smiles softly and pauses, “you go back to work tonight don’t you..” she says softly.

His expression turns serious, his brown eyes meeting hers briefly before he focuses back on feeding Daisy. He hates that she knows his schedule so well, that she always looks sad when he has night shifts. "Yeah... I'm on overnight again." He answers gruffly.

she nods and turns away so he can’t see her face, “good! I’m sure getting back into routine will be good. I mean you can’t stay working only when you feel comfortable leaving us for the night…”

Something in her tone makes him pause, his brows furrowing slightly. He knows her too well; she's hurting. Finishing feeding Daisy, he places her back in her high chair and gets up to stand behind her at the counter. "Hey..." His voice is soft, gentle.

“I’m fine Jack.”

Jack ignores her protest, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. He can feel the tension in her body, the way she's trying to hide her feelings. "You're not fine," he murmurs against her skin. "I don't want to go back."

“You gotta.” She sighs, “You’re the best on night shift. I’ve been getting texts from Shen and Ellis and everyone asking about Daisy updates but also telling me how much they need you back on night shift…”

Jack sighs heavily, his arms tightening around her possessively. He hates that she's right, that the hospital needs him back. But he also hates leaving her and Daisy alone at night. "I know," he murmurs reluctantly. "But I'll miss you both like crazy."

After his shift ends, he immediately checks his phone. Seeing her update makes his heart ache - not because he doubts her capabilities, but because he knows the kind of chaos night shift can be. He calls her immediately, his voice rough with exhaustion and concern. "Was it really that bad?"

she answers and he can hear the scream cry of daisy, “she’s got a cold.. so now she’s unsettled all night and this morning..”

Jack's expression softens hearing Daisy's cries. He knows how unsettling that can be - no sleep, constant crying, trying to soothe her while also managing work. His voice drops lower, gentler, "Baby, did you get any sleep?" He already knows the answer though - probably not.

“Listen to her wail and you tell me if I got anything done” she says with a tone that tells him it was stupid to ask.

He laughs softly at her response, then freezes as he hears Daisy full-on wailing like her life depends on it. He winces, "Jesus, no wonder you didn't sleep. She's like a damn fire alarm." He pictures her trying to work with that noise, his smile fading.

she tries to shush and coo and bounce her softly as she walks around with her phone pressed to her shoulder, “you’re finally off?”

Jack smiles hearing her try to soothe Daisy. He knows that walk - back and forth, back and forth, trying to get the baby to sleep. "Yeah," He answers, then freezes again as Daisy lets out another loud wail. He chuckles, "How are you not insane?"

“Come home in one piece please.. I’m sure Daisy cuddles might help you after your shift..” she urges.

Jack laughs softly, his heart warming at her concern for him. "I'll be home soon, baby," He replies, pushing the hospital doors open and stepping out into the cool night air. He pauses, listening to Daisy's cries echo through the phone. "And I'll definitely take those cuddles."

Jack swears all his broken pieces fall into place when Daisy rests on him that night. No matter how awful coding that fellow army veteran was. It soothed him to be reminded of the little girl who depends on him.

As he holds Daisy close, feeling her tiny body relax against him, Jack's eyes flutter closed. The stress of the day melts away with each soft coo and sigh from her tiny lips. He kisses the top of her head gently, inhaling her baby scent deeply. "God, I needed this,"

she leans on the door frame looking at her boyfriend laying in the twin bed with railings. He’s too big for it so his leg hangs off the end as they lay together in the bed.

Jack's eyes open as he senses her presence. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he looks up at her leaning against the door frame. Daisy's small hand is wrapped tightly around his index finger, her thumb in her mouth as she drifts off to sleep.

she whispers, “you gonna sleep in here with her tonight?”

He nods silently, not wanting to wake Daisy up. He carefully extracts his finger from her grip and sits up slowly, the bed creaking under his weight. He stands up, his frame towering over the small twin bed. "Yeah... I think I will." He whispers back softly.

she kisses him, “go be a good dad. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

He smiles softly against her lips, giving her a quick kiss back before she pulls away. He climbs back into the bed with Daisy, adjusting himself so that he can lie down without kicking the footboard. He pulls Daisy close to his chest, wrapping an arm around her tiny body protectively.

[poksmimi]

FUCKING YOUR STEP-BROTHERS!

contains♪ : scaramouche, alhaitham x afab!reader, stepcest, stepbrother, stepfather, breeding kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, reader wears a skirt, GN!reader, no pronouns for reader, squirting, pussy spanking, ass spanking(once), clit rubbing, degradation, name calling; whore, slut. Petnames; Darling, Baby, grammar mistakes.

notes♪ : 'm love icky boys, so be warned!! and part will be Dottore, Zhongli !! ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖ ♪ !! If there are any grammar mistakes, tell me!!

SCARAMOUCHE

You turn your head sideways, your eyes meet up to see his, your stepbrother's eyes. He has a smirk on his face, his teeth showing. His hand was gripping at your leg, going up to your thigh as he slips his pants into your skirt, his hand rests on your cunt through your panties. You gulp and sweat goes down your face, his hand slowly rubbing up and down your cunt. Your pussy begins to get wet, a shiver of satisfaction goes down your spinal cord. He looks at you and you know what to do afterwards this dinner is over.

The bed is creaking, the headboard hitting the wall. Your mouth is wide open and drool hits your pillow, your mind feels hazy and he grabs your face. Your hands grip at pillow, his dick hitting spots in your cunt, he groans and closes his eyes. Gritting his teeth and the squeezing of your cunt doesn't help, your cunt feels so good around his dick. His face flushes red, his hair sweating to his forehead as sweat covers his body, his hands shakily grip at your hips, pounding fast and hard at you. "Fuck– your slutty cunt feels so 'm good around 'm!" He mutters, a ring of white liquid surrounds his cock. Your eyes are completely rolled back, your hair is sticking to your sweaty body. You can taste your own drool going back to your mouth as you can feel his dick ramming inside of you, your sight is hazy and blurry. You can smell sex, sweaty bodies and you can hear you and scara moaning, the springs of the bed speaking and the headboard hitting the wall in loud thumps. You don't know how long you guys been going, but your cunt still clenches for more. Your nails dig into the pillow and your cunt spasms around his cock, he bites down in his lower lip and goes faster, feeling his end and he closes his eyes, nails digging into your soft skin. "Darlin', your going to make 'm fucking fill you up again." He whispers, you moan weakly, the bed stops creaking as he stops and digs his nails dig in your skin, his palm spanks your pussy as you stiffen, your clit getting spanked adds more pleasure, you squeal and you squirt, wetting the bedsheet so much. His dick spurting out his semen, filling you up, some of his seed spills onto the cum-covered bedsheet. His hand spanks your cunt once more and his palm connects to your ass, smirking down at you. "You didn't think this was over, did you baby~?" He smirks.

ALHAITHAM

You smile at him, showing your teeth and he glanced at you, you smile nervously. Fixing yourself up, fixing your hair and getting up before making your way to him, you had always been interested in Him and him becoming your stepbrother was going to make it more easier to be near him. He looks at you and your hands begin to be sweaty, he blinks and shakes your hand, you grip at his hand. You see a glint in his eyes, your face becomes darker, a shiver of pleasure or fear goes down your spine, your legs close and you hope that what your thinking is true.

"Al-haithie!" You croak, your eyes rolling back to your head, his big dick was pounding inside your squishy, mushy wetness. The table rattles, making the legs hot and scrap the floor hard, your legs wobble as his dick makes you cock-drunk. "Isn't this what you wanted 'm to do all along! You whore, you wanted this." He whispers, holding your waist, playing with the skin as he fucks you, it makes a loud clapping sound when he thrusts back into you. Your vocal cords hurting due to screaming in pleasure, your toes curl, loud clapping and thumping is heard until he comes to a stop. His dick spurting out his semen, your cunt clenches really hard around his dick, some of his seeds slip out and go onto the floor. You can hear your heartbeat but he doesn't stop, you yelp and grip at the table. "Wha—?" You say but his hand covers your mouth as his other hand hooks you under and makes you stand as he faces your body towards the couch, his two fingers inside your mouth as he taps your tongue. Making you suck on his two digits as he begins to move once more, fucking your wet filled-cum pussy, your cunt leaking out semen your juices onto the floor, his hard dick fucks your tight cunt. Your moans are muffled as tears begin to develop in your eyes, he groans into your ear, closing his eyes as he fucks you. "Going to come for your step brother, aren't you slut?" He speaks, his face is red and his white hair clings to his forehead, your hair sticks to your sweaty body. His dick was making you crave for more even when he is still fucking your cunt, his fingers leave your mouth and lay on-top of your bud. Resting on your clit as he rubs it, adding more not the pleasure, your eyes roll back as you scream. He fucks into your cunt so hard while rubbing furiously at your clit, your vision goes blurry, your stomach feels weird as you let out a loud-moan scream, his palm rubs at your clit and pussy, your squirting, wetting the couch and the ground. "AHh!" Your moans continue as he kisses your check, his dick soon spurting out semen, filling your cunt with more gooey cream. "Don't worry, darlin'. We aren't over just yet~" he purrs.

[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"If You Have Half a Brain"

WC: 4.7k

Summary: Loneliness doesn’t sit the same when someone else is keeping you company. Or Alexia continues to patch things up in all the wrong ways, completely unaware that the silence she left behind is already being filled.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2

You heard barking before you even touched the doorknob. A sharp, high-pitched, noise echoing from inside your apartment. No, not something out in the hall. Your apartment.

You froze for a second, already tired before the door was even open.

When you stepped inside, the first thing you saw was fur. A small, scrappy blur of brown shot across the floor like a meteor on wobbly legs, skidding straight into your feet. You jumped back instinctively, and the puppy, because that’s what it was, clearly, sat down and let out a loud, unapologetic bark like you were the surprise and not the other way around.

Then came Alexia.

She peeked around the kitchen doorway with her hair half-up. She looked... exhausted. Not physically, but in the kind of way that happens when someone’s trying very hard to pretend they aren’t crashing. Her eyes flicked from you to the dog and back again.

“Hi,” she said, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to speak.

You blinked. “What the hell is that?”

Alexia took a hesitant step forward, towel in one hand. “A puppy.”

You just stared. “Yes. I can see that.”

She cleared her throat. “I got him for us. Well, you.” Her voice cracked right in the middle of it. “I mean, the apartment.”

The puppy yawned dramatically, then immediately started chewing the corner of the rug.

You dropped your keys on the table slowly, like if you moved too fast, you’d spook whatever was happening. 

“You got a dog.”

She nodded, eyes searching your face for something: approval, permission, a miracle. “Yeah. Just... something small. Manageable. I thought... Maybe he could help. You know. Keep you company while I’m gone.”

You didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. You just kept standing there and taking it in: the half-unpacked dog bed in the corner, the water bowl already on the floor, the anxious set of Alexia’s shoulders.

“His name’s Tofu,” she said after a beat. “I thought it was funny. ‘Cause he’s kind of tough. Doesn’t match the name.”

Your eyebrows barely lifted. “You brought home a dog. Two days before flying out. Without asking me.”

Alexia winced. “I know. I just... I thought maybe it’d be nice. Or less... quiet.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice even. “It hasn’t been quiet. It’s been calm.”

That made her wince. Not visibly, but you felt the shift in her posture and weight behind her silence.

You stepped around her and walked into the living room. The dog, Tofu apparently, followed immediately, stubby legs scrambling to keep up. He tried to jump on the couch, failed miserably, and face-planted into the floor. You watched him with zero reaction. Just sat down unbothered, and stared as he tried again and barely managed to haul himself onto the cushion beside you.

He settled there like he’d earned it. Tail thumping. Panting like an idiot.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, eyes still fixed on the ridiculous thing chewing your hoodie string like it owed him rent.

“You’re going to pay for anything he destroys.”

Alexia nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“And if he bites my chargers, I swear to god-”

“I’ll replace them. All of it. Anything,” she said quickly, like she’d already prepared the list of damages in her head.

You didn’t look at her. The dog gave up on your hoodie and instead flopped over with a dramatic sigh, half onto your lap like he’d already claimed it as his own. You stared down at him. At the ridiculous, trusting weight of him. Warm and breathing and completely unaware of how inconvenient he was about to be.

“You didn’t think this through,” you muttered. “You’re dropping this animal into the middle of everything like it makes sense. Like it’s normal.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” She caught herself. Her voice faltered. She shifted her weight and adjusted the towel in her hands like it had suddenly become too heavy. “I just didn’t want you to come home to... nothing.”

You turned toward her then, your expression sharper than your voice. “You’re leaving for two weeks, and I’m the one who’s stuck with him. Feeding him. Cleaning up after him. Walking him. What exactly about that sounds like comfort to you?”

Alexia didn’t argue. She just looked at you, chest rising and falling too fast, the corners of her mouth pressed into something thin and tight. “I’ll make sure there’s help. I’ll find someone to walk him, or watch him if it’s too much. I didn’t mean for this to land on you. I didn’t mean” She stopped again. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have it in you to make her feel better about any of this.

Tofu, god help you, shuffled closer and pressed himself into your thigh, then let out another little sigh. Your hand hovered for a second, then rested there without thinking. Not to connect, but just to feel something solid when you reached out.

Alexia stood still and didn’t say another word. Just watched you with an expression so quietly devastated it almost made you look away. Then she slowly turned and walked down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom without closing the door. You stayed there. Silent and still with the dog soft against your side. You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but your body gave in before your mind had time to argue.

It wasn’t long before Alexia came back out. She had a glass of water in one hand, something unreadable on her face. And then she saw you curled up on the couch with your head tipped slightly back, eyes closed, breathing steady, the puppy tucked tightly into your side like it belonged there. She didn’t move.

She just stopped.

Stared.

There was something in her expression then, quiet and aching. The kind of grief that didn’t belong to anything loud. She held onto the moment like it might disappear. Like maybe this was the closest she’d get to being near you again.

Then slowly, quietly, she reached for her phone. Turned the sound off and lifted it.

One photo.

Just one.

And then she stood there for a long moment longer, looking at you like you were still hers.

Then she turned around and went back to the other room.

Alexia left early the next day. Not absurdly early, but early enough that you didn’t have time to avoid her. The light was barely breaking over the windows when her footsteps crept down the hall, suitcase wheels whispering across the hardwood. You stayed in bed with your back to the door, eyes closed, jaw tight and pretending to still be asleep. You didn’t want a goodbye. You weren’t ready for one.

But she stopped. You could hear her hesitate in the doorway and feel the weight of her pause. And then, without a word, the mattress dipped just slightly. Not much. Just enough that you knew she’d crouched beside you.

You felt her hand brush a few strands of hair from your forehead, soft, unsure. You kept your breathing steady. You didn’t move a single inch. But then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. Gentle, warm and brief.

And god, you felt it.

You felt it like a ripple under your skin, like your whole body was trying not to react. Not to lean into it. Not to remember.

But you did. You remembered everything.

The warmth. The familiarity. The unbearable tenderness of being seen like that again, even for half a second.

You didn’t recoil.

Not really.

But something in you braced. Something curled tight and screamed don’t soften now. Something whispered you can’t trust that yet.

By the time you opened your eyes, she was gone. The only thing she left behind was the note on the table, folded neatly around a receipt from the vet and a cartoon heart beside the word Tofu.

I know this doesn’t fix anything. I just didn’t want to leave you with silence again. – A.

That was it. That was the whole note.

You folded it neatly and slid it into the drawer with the takeout menus and expired coupons. Tofu barked at the drawer, then immediately got distracted by his own reflection.

Your first day together was rough. You had to chase him around with a towel after he peed on the bathmat, wrestle a sock out of his mouth, and spend twenty minutes convincing him that your laptop charger wasn’t a chew toy. You didn’t even like dogs that much. Not really. But the apartment felt less... dead. In a way you weren’t willing to admit mattered.

Alexia texted around noon.

Ale: Made it to the hotel. Hope he hasn’t destroyed anything yet lol.

You didn’t respond.

An hour later, another ping.

Ale: If you need help with him, I can message Carla. She knows a sitter who’s great with puppies.

You left her on read.

That night, she sent a picture. A selfie with her teammates at dinner, Tofu’s dumb face photoshopped into the center of the group. You rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache. He was chewing on a wine glass in the edit. Classy.

Tofu was curled up in your lap at that point, completely unaware of the damage he'd caused to your bathroom trash can or the fact that he was now the third wheel in your breakup.

You opened Chattr without even thinking.

[lostinthecrowd]: You know how straight people try to salvage their marriage by having a kid?

The reply came quickly.

[go4goald2]: Uh-oh, what did she do?

[lostinthecrowd]: I got the lesbian equivalent.

[go4goald2]: …You have a cat now??

[lostinthecrowd]: Worse. A dog. Small one. Loud, chaotic, and currently eating my hoodie string like it needs to pay for a crime.

[go4goald2]: STOP. She gave you a puppy?? Like “here babe sorry I’ve been emotionally absent, here’s a living creature to make up for it” kind of puppy??

[lostinthecrowd]: Yes. Literally yes. She’s gone for 2 weeks and I'm stuck here with this wrecking ball that farts, cries and chews everything with teeth that look like tiny daggers.

[go4goald2]: Okay but... Is he cute?

You stared down at the mess of fur sleeping in your lap, one leg twitching in a dream.

[lostinthecrowd]: Unfortunately.

[go4goald2]: You’re bonding, I can feel it. I give it two days before you buy him a raincoat.

[lostinthecrowd]: Block me. I'm already looking at collars on etsy.

There was a pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: But seriously... That’s a weird move. The dog, I mean. Do you think she’s trying again? Or just panicking and throwing things at the wall?

You stared at the message for a long time before answering.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think she misses the idea of me. Not sure she remembers the real thing.

[go4goald2]: What about you?

You didn’t reply.

Instead you shifted slightly on the couch, feeling the weight of the puppy curled against your ribs, your palm resting on his tiny, warm back. He didn’t ask for anything. He just stayed there. Breathing in sync with you. Taking up space in a way you hadn’t let anyone do in months.

Your phone buzzed again.

[go4goald2]: Just fyi... I think anyone who leaves you with a puppy probably still loves you. They just don’t know how to say it anymore.

You stared at that one for a while.

Then you closed the app and leaned your head back against the couch cushion, eyes slipping shut and the dog tucked securely against your side.

Alexia’s first message came in before you even finished breakfast. Just a photo: her feet up on the hotel balcony, some far-off coastline in the background, a cup of coffee in her hand.

Ale: Wish you were here.

You didn’t respond.

Tofu tried to leap from the floor to your lap and missed completely, face-planting into the side of the couch with a loud yelp. You looked down at him, sighed, and scooped him up anyway. He curled immediately into your side like he hadn’t just caused his own trauma.

A second message came that afternoon. This one a selfie with Irene, both of them grinning, sunburned, windswept from some training session. Her hair was in that loose braid you always liked. Her cheeks were flushed. Her smile was… real.

Ale: Training was brutal but look, I survived. How's your day going?

You sent a thumbs-up emoji. That was it.

Tofu licked your cheek like he was emotionally supporting you. He wasn’t. He just liked the taste of moisturizer. But you let him stay.

By day three, she’d stopped pretending not to notice your distance.

Ale: I know you’re mad. I get it. I just wanted to check in. Is he behaving? Did he eat your slippers yet?

You typed: 

“He tried.” Then deleted it.

Typed:

“He hasn’t died yet.” Deleted that too.

Settled on:

“He’s fine.”

It wasn’t kind. But it wasn’t cruel either.

That night, when the apartment was still and your wine glass was half full and Tofu was curled into the crook of your leg, his breathing like a soft heartbeat, you opened Chattr. Not to escape, not anymore at least. But to land somewhere that didn’t make your ribs feel like glass.

The message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: Today sucked. But I'm here. You up?

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah, barely. How bad was your day?

[go4goald2]: On a scale of 1 to “I almost cried in the shower,” I’d say 8.3.

You snorted softly into your wine glass.

[lostinthecrowd]: God, that’s sad. Do you need to talk about it or do we just roast capitalism and pretend feelings aren’t real?

[go4goald2]: Dealer’s choice, I can repress like a champ.

You paused and watched Tofu twitch in his sleep. He’d destroyed a sock earlier and then spent an hour curled against your thigh like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like he didn’t know better. Or maybe like he did know, and was hoping you’d let him stay anyway.

You typed slower this time.

[lostinthecrowd]: You ever feel like you gave someone every version of yourself, and now there’s just nothing left to offer?

[go4goald2]: Yeah, sometimes..

[lostinthecrowd]: Like you can’t even be mad anymore. You’re just… empty. Worn out. Like someone used your love up and now you’re just walking around hollow, hoping nobody notices.

There was a pause. Long enough to make you wonder if it was too much.

Then:

[go4goald2]: I notice.

That landed. Low and sharp and terrifying.

You swallowed hard, looked down at Tofu, who stirred in his sleep and nudged closer to your body. Closer like he knew you needed it, even if he couldn’t explain why.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think the worst part is… I don’t even know who I'd be if I stopped loving her. that version of me doesn’t exist yet.

[go4goald2]: Maybe you don’t have to stop. Maybe you just get to be someone who loves her and still chooses yourself.

You sat with that. Felt it unfold slowly in your chest. A warmth. A crack.

Alexia had never said that.

Alexia had never even let you imagine that.

[lostinthecrowd]: How do you know exactly what to say?

[go4goald2]: Maybe I’ve spent a lot of time wishing I'd said the right thing when it still mattered.

That one hurt too much.

You closed your eyes, felt the soft weight of Tofu’s tiny body pressed against your side. His ears twitched. His paw shifted until it touched your arm. Something about him, this dumb, inconvenient, needy little thing, felt like being wanted. Not perfectly, nor easily. But still.

You opened your eyes.

[lostinthecrowd]: Do you think it’s possible to feel something real for someone you’ve never even seen?

There was a pause. Just long enough to make you think maybe it was too much. Maybe you’d crossed some invisible line.

Then:

[go4goald2]: I think sometimes the people who stay behind the curtain are the ones who see us the clearest.

Your chest ached.

Not from sadness exactly. Not even from longing. But from the terrifying possibility that this was becoming more than a soft place to land.

It was becoming real.

You didn’t know how long you stared at the screen after that.

Maybe minutes. Maybe longer. The apartment had gone still in that specific way it only did at night, no traffic, no neighbors moving furniture at ungodly hours. Just you, your glass of wine, and a dog who’d decided your thigh was his god now.

And that message.

“The people who stay behind the curtain are the ones who see us the clearest.”

You typed without thinking.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think you know me better than the person I'm supposed to wake up next to.

There was no typing bubble. Not right away.

You almost regretted it.

Then:

[go4goald2]: Maybe that’s because you let me. You don’t have to be strong here. You don’t have to shrink yourself to be held.

Your throat went tight.

You looked down at Tofu, who shifted again, pressing his little snout against your side like he could feel the sharp edge building in your chest. Like he wanted to press it dull.

You typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: I miss being wanted. Not just… tolerated. Not needed like a partner or a teammate. But wanted like a person you choose every day without thinking.

A pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: You should be, you’re the kind of person people write songs about.

That resonated within you and poked at something old. Something stupid.

You laughed under your breath. It wasn’t light.

[lostinthecrowd]: Ok Shakespeare. Relax.

[go4goald2]: I'm serious. You’re that person. The one who ruins people for everyone else.

Your cheeks flushed. The kind of warmth that wasn’t just flattery, it was recognition. And you hated how much you wanted to believe it.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sometimes I think you’re not real. That I made you up just to feel less alone.

[go4goald2]: I'm real, painfully so. I'm just... trying.

You stared at that for a long time.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: What are you trying to do?

Another pause, this one longer.

You waited. Didn’t even breathe.

Finally:

[go4goald2]: Trying to be someone who deserves this version of you.

And that.. God.

That was it, wasn’t it?

You curled tighter into the couch, wine forgotten. Tofu was a small, dumb furnace at your side. He’d been chaos all day. Torn a page from your notebook, barked at a sock, eaten something questionable off the sidewalk. But now, here, he was still. Warm. Breathing beside you like he trusted you without reason.

Like he’d decided this was home.

And the part of you that used to be held without question, the one that used to believe Alexia would always stay? 

It stirred. Not toward her. But toward this. Toward them.

Whoever they were behind the screen. Whoever they’d become.

You didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want the spell to break.

[lostinthecrowd]: Are we gonna pretend this isn’t happening?

The response was instant.

[go4goald2]: I think I’d rather pretend it could.

You swallowed.

Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Goodnight, stranger.

And just before you could close the app, one last message blinked through.

[go4goald2]: Goodnight. Dream soft.

And somehow, you did.

The next morning, you woke up with Tofu’s entire body across your chest and the distinct feeling that you’d said something too honest last night.

You didn’t even check Chattr right away. You couldn’t.

Not after “goodnight, stranger.”

Not after how safe it had felt to type that.

Your phone buzzed while you were still brushing your teeth.

Ale: Morning. Did he eat the plant again?

Then another.

Ale: Please tell me he didn’t eat the plant again.

You rinsed, wiped your mouth, stared at the screen.

No “how are you.”

No “I miss you.”

Just Tofu.

And then, like she knew she was losing her grip, another message.

A selfie.

Her on a sunny sidewalk, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, coffee in one hand. Smile soft, if a little forced.

Ale: This city’s not bright enough without you. Hope you’re okay.

You blinked.

It should’ve made your chest warm. It used to. She used to send these kinds of pictures all the time. Casual. Smirking. “Look what I’m seeing without you,” but in an affectionate way.

But now?

Now it felt like she was performing softness.

Like she knew how to mimic connection, but not how to ask for it.

Tofu yawned dramatically, then sneezed directly into your hand.

You didn’t respond.

Not to the messages. Not to the photo.

And yet..

When you opened Chattr again that night, it felt like a confession.

You weren’t running away from Alexia. You just didn’t know how to meet her in the space she was offering.

Because she kept texting about the dog.

And someone else had already asked about you.

You didn’t respond to the photo. Or the message about the plant. Or the hoodie.

You didn’t know how to say, “you’re talking to me, but you’re not reaching me.”

Alexia was trying. You could see that. She was smiling in her selfies now. Asking about Tofu. Sending fragments of affection like they might rebuild the thing that used to hold both of you.

But she still hadn’t asked how you were. Still hadn’t said your name like it meant something. Just the dog. Just the mess around you. Just the safe edges of a home that didn’t feel like one anymore.

You were halfway through a reply you weren’t going to send when Tofu started aggressively pawing at the blanket beside you like he was digging for gold. You watched him kick at the couch like it had personally wronged him and then collapse dramatically across your knees like you were a pillow and not a person in quiet emotional crisis.

“Drama queen,” you muttered.

He sneezed. You sighed.

The guilt stayed heavy. Alexia was trying. And here you were, avoiding her messages and waiting for someone else’s.

Someone who didn’t know your name.

You opened the app before the glass of wine. Before brushing your teeth and before Tofu had finished circling himself into his usual chaotic nest on the couch. He whined at your ankle like you’d forgotten something important. You nudged him gently with your foot. He immediately climbed into your lap like it was his god-given right.

The screen blinked.

[go4goald2]: I can't sleep, brain’s doing cartwheels. You up?

[lostinthecrowd]: Barely, but yeah.

You hesitated. Then added:

[lostinthecrowd]: Still thinking about last night..

There was a pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: Me too.

You stared at that for a while. At how simple it was. How terrifying.

You weren’t sure what made you type the next thing. Maybe it was the way the night always felt looser. Maybe it was the way Tofu’s breathing steadied your own.

[lostinthecrowd]: Wanna play a game?

[go4goald2]: I'm intrigued and terrified. Go on.

[lostinthecrowd]: What would you do if fear didn’t exist?

The typing bubble appeared instantly. Flickered. Vanished. Then again.

[go4goald2]: Damn, going right for the jugular huh.

[lostinthecrowd]: Thought you liked pain.

[go4goald2]: Only when it’s poetic.

You waited. Gave them space to answer first. But nothing came. Just the blinking bubble. Then silence.

So you filled it.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think I'd say what I want without waiting for permission.

You paused. Then typed again, slower.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'd reach out first. I'd touch someone first.

There was a beat. Then:

[go4goald2]: You’re not afraid of being rejected, you’re afraid of being wrong about being wanted.

You blinked. That one almost knocked the air out of you.

You could’ve denied it. Could’ve changed the subject. But instead, you sat with it. And then, maybe stupidly, you kept going.

[lostinthecrowd]: What about you?

[go4goald2]: I think mine is… Tell someone the truth. even if it’s too late.

You stared at that. Hard.

You didn’t know what to make of it.

[lostinthecrowd]: Is it too late?

The typing bubble flickered. Then stopped.

Then again. Then nothing.

Then finally:

[go4goald2]: I hope not.

That sat in your chest like a bruise you didn’t remember getting. Quiet. Tender. Just starting to bloom. Across your legs, Tofu shifted. One paw kicked out, landing squarely on your phone screen like he was trying to send a message for you.

You laughed under your breath. Just a little. Just enough to shake something loose.

And when you looked back at the chat, the bubble was back.

[go4goald2]: Can I tell you something?

[lostinthecrowd]: Always.

A pause.

Then:

[go4goald2]: I think you make people want to be better. and not in the cliché “you inspire me” way. More like… “If I get another chance, I’m gonna show up right this time” way.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So instead, you let your fingers hover over the screen.

Then, finally:

[lostinthecrowd]: I don't know who you are. But some days, you feel more real than the life I live out loud.

There was no reply. Not yet.

Just a glowing screen.

A soft dog.

And the terrifying sense that you were standing at the edge of something.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. Phone still in your hand, Tofu curled against your side like a dumb, steady heartbeat, but you did.

And when you woke up, there was nothing.

No new message from go4goald2.

You checked three times.

Nothing.

The space where their words usually lived was just still. Empty. Quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful, it was missing.

You stared at your screen for too long. Told yourself you weren’t disappointed, that you didn’t care, that this was good. That the silence gave you space to think, to breathe, to maybe remember what it felt like not to be split in two every time your phone lit up.

But your stomach still sank a little.

You scrolled aimlessly. Checked the news. Scrolled again. Then, out of some mixture of guilt, loneliness, and a tiny desperate instinct to distract yourself, you opened your texts.

Alexia’s name was still there. Of course it was.

You hadn’t answered her last message. The one about a café. The forehead tan. It was sweet. Casual. Familiar in a way that should’ve hurt less than it did.

You tapped into the thread. Read it again.

Ale: Woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. Thought about that little corner table at our old café.

Ale: Remember the one you always hated because the sun hit just right and gave you a weird forehead tan?

Ale: Anyway. I walked past a place like it. Made me think of you. That’s all.

Tofu whimpered in his sleep and you sighed.

Maybe this was a sign that it was your moment to try too.

You had the emotional energy to offer something, and the one person you’d been offering it to… hadn’t shown up.

So, you started typing.

“I actually forgot about the tan until you said it. Tragic photo season.”

A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

Ale: I miss those photos. The dumb ones. The blurry ones. You always looked so unimpressed with me in them.

You smiled. Sort of. Not really.

“I still am.”

It was light. Playful, even. You were trying but you didn’t know why it felt like dragging a cinder block up a hill.

Alexia sent back a picture. A blurry, windblown selfie from the hotel balcony. Hair a mess. Eyes bright, but tired.

Ale: Still unimpressive?

You stared at it. It should’ve made your chest warm, but instead, it made your stomach twist.

Because this? This kind of banter, this familiar rhythm, used to come easy. Now every message felt like a performance you were trying to remember the lines to. Like sitting across from someone who used to know your favorite drink, and now keeps guessing wrong.

You typed something. Deleted it. Typed again.

“You should sleep.”

Ale: You too, give the little gremlin a kiss for me.

You didn’t respond.

You stared at her name at the top of the thread. The picture of her that hadn’t changed since she set it. You felt like you were texting a memory wearing your wife’s face.

And god, it shouldn’t feel like this.

It shouldn’t feel like a chore.

You tossed your phone onto the table a little too hard. Tofu lifted his head, blinked at you, and flopped back down like your emotional breakdown wasn’t his business. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and sat there.

And tried not to hope that maybe, just maybe, when you reopened Chattr later… The silence would be over.

Pt. 4

[bangchangbinnie]

The Door That Shouldn’t Have Closed c.b

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Chan’s anger drives y/n out into the cold

(I love writing angst and worn out plots YIPPEEE)

The apartment was warm with the scent of home—his home, which over time had become their home. The overhead light cast a soft glow on the wooden floors, reflecting against the large window that framed the city skyline in the distance. The gentle hum of the heater filled the quiet air, a comfort against the cold that lingered outside.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop open in front of her as she absentmindedly sipped on a cup of tea. The ceramic mug was warm in her hands, the steam curling into the air as she scrolled through pages of job listings. Living in Korea had been a whirlwind, a mix of excitement and challenges, but with Chan beside her, it felt worth it. He had reassured her time and time again that she didn’t have to worry, that she didn’t need to rush into finding work, but she wanted to—needed to. She wanted to feel like she belonged, like she wasn’t just lingering in his world without purpose.

Her gaze flickered over to the sleek black laptop resting on the edge of the coffee table, its screen glowing with an unfinished project. Chan had been working tirelessly on a track, pouring every ounce of his energy into fine-tuning the smallest details. It was his everything—the beating heart of his career, of his passion, of him. She knew how much it meant to him.

Maybe that’s why, when she reached for her phone and accidentally nudged the edge of the coffee table, her heart stopped as the laptop teetered, wobbled, and in the slowest, most horrifying second of her life—

—crashed to the floor.

The impact was deafening in the silence. The sharp crack of metal and plastic colliding against hardwood rang in her ears, freezing her in place. Her breath hitched as she scrambled forward, hands trembling as she turned the device over. The screen was black, unresponsive, the keyboard slightly misaligned from the fall. Her stomach twisted into a sickening knot.

No, no, no, no—

“Y/N?”

His voice came from the hallway, muffled but laced with exhaustion. Heavy footsteps echoed as he approached, and before she could even attempt to explain, he was there—standing in the doorway, his tired eyes locking onto the sight before him.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, in an instant, the exhaustion in his face was replaced by something else entirely. His features hardened, lips parting as if trying to process what he was seeing.

“What—” His voice caught, eyes flicking between her and the laptop. “What the hell did you do?”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” she stammered, panic lacing her words as she held the laptop up like an offering. “It was an accident, I swear! I barely touched the table, and it—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. He stormed forward, snatching the laptop from her hands. His fingers ghosted over the edges, flipping it open, pressing the power button over and over again. Nothing. “Do you have any idea how much was on here?”

“I know, I—”

“No, you don’t know.” His words came fast, heated, filled with frustration. “That was weeks—months of work! Gone. Just like that.” His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the broken laptop as if willing it to come back to life. His breaths were ragged, uneven, his head shaking as he let out a bitter laugh. “God, Y/N, do you even think before you do things?”

The words hit like a slap. She flinched, hands curling into fists in her lap. “I said I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, voice small, fragile. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!” His voice cracked, raw and unrestrained. “You don’t get it, do you? Fuck! This isn’t just some random thing you broke—this was everything I’ve been working on. Every file, every project, every unfinished song—it’s all gone now because you couldn’t be careful.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew he was upset, knew that this was important to him, but the way he was speaking to her—like she was careless, like she didn’t care—it stung in ways she couldn’t describe.

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “I’ll help you fix it,” she tried, reaching out. “There are data recovery places, we can—”

“Just stop.” His tone was sharp enough to cut. “Just… stop.” He ran a hand through his curls, his shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dark and stormy. Then, before she could say anything else, he did something she never expected.

“Get out.”

The words were low, clipped, but they sent dread washing over her.

She blinked. “W-What?”

“You heard me.” His gaze was unwavering, lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t deal with this right now. Just… go.”

The air in the room turned suffocating.

Go.

Leave.

He was kicking her out.

Her chest tightened, heart hammering against her ribs as she slowly stood. “Chan… I—I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

For a split second, something flickered in his expression—regret, hesitation—but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“I don’t care.”

The words settled like lead in her stomach. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her coat, slipping it on with numb fingers. The apartment that once felt like a sanctuary now felt cold, foreign, unwelcoming. She didn’t beg, didn’t plead—if this was what he wanted, then she wouldn’t fight.

She turned towards the door, fingers hesitating on the handle. One last time, she glanced over her shoulder. He was standing there, back to her, running a hand through his hair as he stared blankly at the broken laptop on the table.

She bit her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then, she stepped out into the night.

The cold hit her instantly, biting through her thin coat as she wrapped her arms around herself. The streets were quiet, the distant hum of traffic the only sound accompanying her as she stood there, frozen, unsure of where to go.

She had nowhere. Nowhere but him, and now… not even that.

The apartment was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock hanging above the kitchen. Each second that passed felt like a taunt, like it was counting down to something he didn’t quite understand but could feel settling into the pit of his stomach like a weight.

Chan sat hunched over on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his curls. The broken laptop sat on the coffee table in front of him, its cracked frame a haunting reminder of everything that had transpired just hours ago. His jaw was tight, his breath shallow as his mind replayed the argument on an endless loop.

The way her voice had wavered. The way her hands had trembled. The way she had looked at him—like he had gutted her.

And then she was gone.

At first, he had told himself he didn’t care. That he needed the space. That she needed to understand how much she had screwed up. The frustration had still been burning too hot in his veins for him to feel anything else.

But now?

Now, the embers had long since cooled, leaving only the empty ache of realization.

It had been hours.

And she still hadn’t come back.

His knee bounced anxiously as he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with swift fingers. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Where the hell was she? She had said it herself—she had nowhere else to go.

His mind reeled with possibilities, none of them good. Was she wandering around aimlessly? Sitting on some freezing bench in the middle of the city? God, what if something happened to her? Korea wasn’t dangerous, but that didn’t mean she was safe. She wasn’t fluent in the language, she didn’t have family here—hell, she barely had friends. She had him.

And he had thrown her out.

A sharp breath shuddered from his lips as he ran a hand over his face. His body was buzzing with nerves now, his earlier anger replaced by something far worse—guilt.

How could he have been so stupid?

Yeah, she had broken his laptop. Yeah, it hurt knowing all that work was lost. But was it really worth the way he had spoken to her? The way he had made her feel so disposable, so unwanted?

His chest tightened as he remembered the way she had looked at him when she had whispered those last words—I’m sorry.

He had told her he didn’t care, but that was a lie.

He cared too much.

And now he had no idea where she was.

Chan shot up from the couch, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into his sneakers with hurried, frantic movements. He didn’t bother turning off the lights or locking the door—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding her.

The second he stepped outside, the cold slammed into him like a brick wall. The temperature had dropped significantly since earlier, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, merciless and unrelenting.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

Panic clawed at his throat as he moved down the dimly lit streets, scanning every alleyway, every bench, every corner. Where the hell was she?

He pulled out his phone, dialing her number with shaking fingers. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Voicemail.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His heart pounded wildly, each beat a deafening reminder of how badly he had messed up.

Then, just as he was about to turn another corner, he saw it—

A small figure curled up on a bench just beneath a flickering streetlamp, her head tucked against her knees, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

His breath caught in his throat.

Y/N.

He rushed forward, kneeling down in front of her, his hands hovering over her shaking form. She was trembling violently, her coat barely doing anything to shield her from the brutal cold. Strands of hair stuck to her damp cheeks—had she been crying?

Guilt slammed into him like a freight train.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice tight. She flinched, her shoulders tensing at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t look up.

Chan’s heart cracked wide open.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, finally reaching out to touch her, his hands carefully settling on her arms. She was freezing. Ice-cold. His stomach churned. “Baby, what are you doing out here? Why didn’t you go somewhere warmer?”

A bitter, shaky laugh slipped from her lips, muffled against her knees. “Where?” she croaked, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You told me to leave, remember?”

Chan felt physically sick.

“Y/N, I—” He swallowed, his throat tightening. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry, I—I wasn’t thinking. But I never wanted this. I never wanted you out here like this.” His voice broke, raw with regret.

She sniffled, finally lifting her head just enough for him to see her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy from the cold and her tears. The sight of her like this—because of him—made his chest constrict painfully.

“You didn’t stop me,” she whispered. “You just let me go.” Chan’s breath hitched. There was no excuse for that. None.

He exhaled sharply, his hands gently cupping her face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears still clinging to her skin. His fingers were warm—too warm against her freezing face.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. “I was an idiot. I was cruel. I should’ve never let you leave, I should’ve never—” His voice cracked, his forehead pressing against hers as his hands cradled her gently. “Please, baby, please come home.”

Y/N swallowed, her lips quivering. “Are you still mad?”

Chan shook his head instantly. “No. God, no. The only thing I’m mad at is myself.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own gaze brimming with emotion. “I don’t care about the laptop. I don’t care about the files. I care about you. And I swear, I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

A shaky breath escaped her lips. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at him with that same exhausted, heartbroken expression that made his insides twist painfully.

Then, finally, her body slumped against his, her face burying into his chest.

Chan let out a breath of pure relief, his arms wrapping around her tightly, securely, as if he was trying to shield her from the cold, from the night, from everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, pressing desperate, lingering kisses against her temple. “I love you, I love you, I love you—please don’t ever think for a second that I don’t.”

Her fingers clutched onto his coat weakly, and after a long pause, she whispered, “Take me home.”

Chan swallowed past the lump in his throat, standing and pulling her up with him, his arms never leaving her as he guided her back toward the place she should have never had to leave in the first place.

And as they stepped into the warm embrace of their apartment, Chan vowed to himself—

He would never let his anger cost him her again.

[mirathescientist]

pairings: older!reiner x reader

warnings: smut 18+, age gap (old enough to be readers dad)

Congratulations

Reiner didn't typically consider himself the most neighborly. Sure he'd wave when in passing, or occasionally comment on his neighbors’ yard, but that was it.

It wasn't like him to walk across his lawn to offer help or introduce himself.

That was until he saw you, pout resting on your pretty lips as you struggled to open your door with the large box in your hands.

Maybe it was that he hit multiple aces while golfing or maybe it was your ass peeking from your shorts. Whatever it was it prompted him to approach you, offering to help you inside.

Any other time you'd have declined, aware of the horror stories of seemingly kind men but something told you to trust him. Maybe it was the prominent muscles along his six foot frame, or that he was old enough to be your dad. Whatever it was you accepted.

He helped you bring all of your boxes and furniture in. Happily rearranging your room for the third time and even helping you fix the wobbly leg of your coffee table before wishing you a good night and returning to his house.

That night he jerked off to the memories of you bent over and the small sounds you made when lifting a heavy box.

You talked with him once after that. When you finally settled into the house that was too large for one girl, you went knocking on his door to bring him thank you brownies, praying he didn't notice your eyes lingering on the prominent v-line of his bare torso before you finally handed him the dish.

Of course, there were the occasional waves whenever you two happened to pass by each other but your schedules rarely mixed. That was until he decided to take a day off.

While in the middle of mowing his lawn, he saw you leave your house, gown in hand, and dripped in colorful cords and stoles, your decorated graduation cap sparkling in the sun as you rushed to your car.

He thought about you the entire time you were gone, busying himself with housework, and keeping a close ear by the door. When he caught the sound of your car pulling in your driveway he immediately jogged his way over to you, stopping in the same place he first introduced himself.

“Hi, I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. I saw you this morning but you seemed to be in a rush” He smirked, hazel eyes skimming your bare legs that appeared elongated in the heels you wore.

“Aww thank you, I was, but I'd have loved to talk to you anyway” A nervous giggle escaped you. Despite the low interaction, you couldn't help but grow a small crush on your older neighbor. The sight of him in his suit or tight golf shorts being the star in all of your late night fantasies.

“Would you like to come over to have dinner? Today, or sometime this week? I'm sure you have some plans later but if not, I'd love to have you over.” He rubbed his beard nervously as he awaited your reply.

You did. But you were convinced your friends and family would understand that you just had to take up the opportunity to get to know your hot neighbor.

At least that's what you told yourself when you accepted his invitation.

And let him teach you how to cook a steak.

And maybe when you allowed him to pull you down onto his lap as you watched the sunset.

And definitely when he carried you up his stairs before fucking you senseless.

You lost count of how many orgasms you've had. The moment he laid you on his bed, his lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of you numerous times, and fingering your pink walls till tears stained your cheeks and you shook from overstimulation.

You thought you'd be safe once he bullied his fat cock into your aching walls. Surely a man of his age didn't have the best stamina, right? Wrong.

He quite literally laughed in your face at your disbelief when he fucked his first load back into your sopping pussy.

You'd never been so full, his tip ramming against your cervix whenever he fully pounded into you and the outline of his dick as he pressed down on your tummy having you drool.

“Rei, too much” You cried. Ass in the air and face buried into the mattress as he pounded into you from behind, hands tied back with your lacey panties. Whines barely audible over the slapping skin.

“Why are you complaining, bunny? Isn't this what you wanted? For daddy to ruin this pretty pussy” He whispered in your ear. The new angle reaching spots you never knew existed.

“Ouuu, yes, please, daddy” You whined, turning to give your signature pout. Oh, how you looked so pretty to him. Face stained with tears and your pouty, plumped, glossy lips looking so soft. He found it cute how you tried to convince him to let you cum.

“No” He pecked your lips before pulling out fully, only to ram his cock back in. A harsh slap landed on your ass cheek at the same time, red bruise forming on the brown skin from his previous spanks.

“Oh my gaaawd please, I can't hold it in anymore” You resisted against the restraints, desperate to slow his movements

“Yes, you can, princess.” He taunts, as he continued his relentless pounding.

You wanted to believe him. You really did as you tried to focus on anything other than the pleasure he was providing you. You tried and tried but nothing stopped the knot from snapping. A string of curses flowing from your pretty lips as your body found the strength to push out the clear stream of squirt, your walls clamping around his cock.

He hissed, unable to resist the pressure applied as his sticky cum decorated the insides of your walls, pounding into you before pulling out to watch it drip onto his sheets.

Confusion settled into your brain as he untied your hands and flipped you over, whispering praises into your ear as he blessed your skin with soft sweet kisses.

“Reiner, I'm sorry I really tried” You started

“I know, baby. I forgive you, it's okay. You did perfect” He engulfed you in a passionate kiss, tongues exploring the path down each others throats.

You were almost convinced he did, until he reached into his nightstand, pulling out a blindfold and a vibrator from the drawer.

“I thought you said you forgive me” Pout once again resting on your lips as he opened your legs, cool air stimulating your already throbbing clit

“I do. But even the prettiest of girls don't get out of punishment”

wheres my dilf neighbor??? also congratulations to anyone who graduated. nothing but love to my fellow class of 24 graduates. even if you didn't get to graduate or you're currently still in school I'm still proud of you nd wish you nothing but success in life. mwah <3

[hellinistical]

6:29

girl dad caleb

She wasn't quite getting it yet. Not really.

You’d been watching him work on this for the past week, ever since she started crawling up the stairs like a determined little mountain goat, her diapered butt swaying with effort and mischief. Caleb had noticed it first—how strong her little legs were getting, how she pulled herself upright on the edge of the coffee table and then beamed with pride like she’d scaled a cliff. That’s when he got it in his head that she’d be walking in no time. And when Caleb got something in his head, he didn’t let go.

So now, every morning, every nap time wake-up, every lull in the day, he practiced with her. Not with the eager clapping and over-the-top encouragement that other parents might use, but with a kind of quiet, focused patience. Like teaching her to walk was the most sacred task he’d ever been given.

Today, it was just them. Sunlight filtered through the windows, striping the living room floor in gold. The house was peaceful, the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Caleb sat cross-legged on the floor, her tiny hands cradled gently in his. She stood wobbling, her bow-legged stance making her look like a baby deer fresh out of the womb.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, so softly it almost felt like a secret. “You ready? Let’s try again.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and a drooly grin, then promptly sat down with a plop. Caleb didn’t even blink. He smiled, scooped her back up, and placed her on her feet again.

"Strong legs. You got this."

He didn’t notice you leaning in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, heart melting a little more with every pass. His brows were furrowed in that intense way he got when he was working through something complicated, like assembling furniture or fixing a leaky sink. Except this time it was her. Your daughter. The small, stubborn miracle with wild hair and dimpled knuckles.

“Come to Daddy,” he whispered again, scooting a little farther away. He held out his arms, not too close, not too far. Just enough to tempt her.

She swayed on her feet, eyes on him, one hand flailing out for balance while the other curled in a fist like she was gathering courage.

One step.

Then—nope. She flopped forward, landing on her hands and knees.

Caleb exhaled through his nose, leaned forward, kissed the crown of her head, and whispered, “That was still really good, baby. You’re getting closer.”

And somehow, you knew he meant it.

[anisespice]

" take your shirt off! "

synopsis: one drink too many, and you’re standing on a table ready to let the girls fly. your still very much sober husband must intercept this bad decision before it’s too late.

warnings: suggestive themes, MDI. mentions of alcohol/getting drunk, hints of exhibitionism/public indecency (?), swearing, possessiveness, threats/violence, and i think that’s it :D

notes: i love songs that bring inspiration in the most unlikely of ways lol t-pain never misses and he never will - hope yall enjoy! :))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @fushiqruo , @gunslxtz , @iluv-ace , @reiners-milkbiddies , @kaorisakamotofan , @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @tsukiran , @sereniteav

At first, he paid no mind to the commotion happening off to the side of the room, drunkards hooping and hollering for whatever caught their attention for the time being. That is, until he realizes it’s you in the center of all of it. He nearly inhaled soda through his nose upon seeing you get coaxed into climbing on the table, your wobbly movement spiking his blood pressure as numerous scenarios played through his mind of all that could go wrong in the seconds it took for you to get up there.

You spun in a small circle, hips swaying to the beat of nothing with hands waving in an untamed fashion. It was all harmless at the start, just silly dances and slurred chants, all of which didn’t ease the nerves of your poor, spectating husband.

And it only worsened the second a random person shouted,

“Take your shirt off!”

The ones who waste no time snatching you right off the table before you even had the chance to grab the hem of your shirt:

It would be like a sixth sense of DRAKEN’s to know whenever you were up to no good. As soon as he caught an inkling of your tipsy self shimmying up on a table in his peripheral, he set his drink down with a sigh, got up and began shouldering through the crowd. It took him less than a few seconds to get in the front row, paying no mind to those cursing and jeering up at him, his tall stature allowing all the leverage he needed to scoop you up, and throw you over his shoulder. You kicked your legs in protest, but stopped immediately when he gave a mean swat to your ass, large hand gripping the flesh through your skirt to solidify his point—Mine.

“Tsk, that was too close. Better not see you down anything else but water for the rest of the night.”

You wouldn’t even get the chance to register the command before DAICHI grabs your arm with a terse, “Yeah, no, you’re done.” Something told him this would happened tonight, especially since you and Suga made it a goal to out-drink each other. At least that ashy-haired idiot had the decency to pass out at their booth. You, on the other hand, want to put him in an early grave apparently. As he escorted you back down to earth, before you could even fix your mouth to give him a sassy rebuttal, he held your jaw and gave soft, but stern, “Sweetheart. You’re done.”

Honorable mentions: MITUSYA, IWAIZUMI

The ones who use their body as a shield when they react too late, throwing threats left and right at anyone who dared to look or take pictures:

Wouldn’t think twice to jump up on the table too, leather jacket already in hand to wrap up your half naked frame. BAJI snatched your discarded top from one of the weirdos in the front, getting in a small tug of war until he eventually kicked the guy loose in annoyance, sending him backwards onto the hard floor. You didn’t even react, glassy eyes merely appraising him with a drunken grin, babbling about how fast he got up there with you, and how his jacket smelled like him. He couldn’t even stay mad, not when you clearly weren’t in the right mind to make the best decisions, and not when you looked so cute swaddled in the leather, struggling to stand straight. Besides, who was he to judge? He wasn’t a saint either.

“We’re going home. You can get naked all you want there.”

The bouncer didn’t have time to figure out what was happening before it was too late. Once he made it to the dance floor, KYOTANI hit him square in the forehead, sending him crashing into a nearby table, knocked out cold. In a flurry of punches and swings, he mowed down a good chunk of the male centered audience, leaving no one but those that have already averted their gazes or ran off to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. By now, the music had stopped, nobody was dancing, except for you of course. Your husband huffed and puffed, deadly stare daring anyone to look your way while you were still exposed, happily swinging your shirt around without a care in the world. Eventually he broke the heated glare to turn and coax you back down with ease, arms wrapped around you protectively as he shuffled you both towards the exit.

“Mm…you’re so warm, Tarō…”

“Tch. You’d be too, if you kept your damn clothes on…”

Honorable mentions: IZANA, TANAKA

The ones who are stunned and stare, before acting:

Like a damn teen caught in a titty bar, SHINICHIRO gaped and gawked, forgetting what he got up to do instantly, as if seeing your naked chest reset his mind like the neuralyzer from the movie, Men In Black. It’s not until the younger Haitani brother made a call from the DJ booth to, “Please get your wife down, Sano. Though we appreciate the view, we don’t need another law suit,” did he snap out of the trance. Despite you weakly batting his hands away, you eventually caved and came back down. But the real challenge was getting you to put the shirt back on.

“Baby, clothes are good, they aren’t ‘flesh-prisons’—No, no don’t you run, please don’t run, I won’t be able to focus if you make them bounce, baby, stop..!”

BOKUTO.exe unresponsive. He would blink owilshly, face stuck in a shocked smile as he watched you take off your shirt with impressive speed, given your inebriated state, and swinging it around like a trophy. He watched as many in the crowd shouted for you to throw it, getting a sense of déjà vu from one of his games whenever his fans wanted his sweaty towel. Bokuto eventually came back to his senses when Akaashi elbowed him urgently when he noticed you reaching for your skirt next. “B-Bokuto-san!”

“O-On it! I’m coming, [______]!” He soon took off his own shirt and tossed it over his shoulder, it landing on Akaashi’s head. He then bulldozed through the stalks of people, determined to take the attention off of you and onto him to save you from further harm or embarrassment. “Hey, hey, hey! That’s my wife! If anyone’s gonna watch her strip, it’s gonna be me!”

Honorable mentions: KAZUTORA, ATSUMU

The ones who join the crowd and cheer:

Let’s be honest, HANMA’s worries wouldn’t even truly be present. If anything, the only thing that troubled him was the idea of you regretting it tomorrow once your head was clear, and being scolded for not stopping you. But, how could he? Why would he? He wasn’t ashamed of his woman wanting to show off her goods, being the envy of the room knowing that he was the only one who got to touch them, taste them. He’ll deal with the repercussions later. Tonight, his girl was going wild and he couldn’t be more supportive.

“Yeah, take the bra off too!” He called out from his seat, phone ready and recording, grinning like a smug bastard.

When he showed the video to you the next day, it was almost worth the couple nights he spent banished to a motel down the street. Almost.

TERUSHIMA was happy that you were having fun. Despite the possessive urge to hide you away from the preying eyes of everyone eager to watch the display unfold, he couldn’t help but get off to the fact that everyone could see the assortment of hickies that were littered across your soft and supple skin, bite marks visible on the mounds like tattoos as a reminder to anyone who thought they had a chance with the pretty girl willing to strip in front of strangers; she’s taken. And so are ‘the girls’.

“Wooo! Yeah, baby, take it off!”

Honorable mentions: SHION, HANAMAKI

© 2025-2026 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[bellasweetwriting]

Something sweet about him { clark kent x f. reader }

masterlist

plot: maybe the smell of fresh flowers was all Y/N needed to clear her mind, and realize how much she desires her best friend Clark Kent.

tags: smut, fingering, +18 characters, y/n is spelled to act to her desires, what she truly wants

prompt: “maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

Clark Kent stares at you as you walk across the Talon, holding a tray of recently brewed cappuccinos towards a table to the left of the place. The way your whole body tilts forward as you place the mugs on the round table, letting any passing bystander take a look at the way your jeans hug your thighs nicely, highlighting every inch he just dreams of touching.

“Clark!” Lana calls him, making the guy turn around quickly, embarrassed. “What are you doing?”

“Mhm? Nothing, nothing. Studying… stuff. I have a test soon.”

“You know you can talk to her, right? She’s your friend.”

“Talk to who?”

Lana laughed before walking away, leaving the path clear for you, as you dropped the tray on top of Clark’s table and sat right in front of him, sighing in an exaggerated manner. Your legs were killing you, your arms felt wobbly, and you were just glad to see Clark at your place of work.

“You owe me five bucks,” you said, looking at the books he had on top of the table. “I didn’t drop any coffee today, and in three minutes I finish my shift.”

“Anything could happen in three minutes.”

“You have so little faith in me, Kent, it’s becoming insulting. Besides, I have a deadline.” You showed him your drawings that you kept in your apron’s pocket. “I need to finish these for my composition class.”

“They look really good.”

“They’re trash. I have to start over.” You hand one to him. “Use it as a napkin for all I care.”

“Y/N,” another waitress called you, interrupting your conversation. “There’s a guy on the door for you. And he has flowers.”

You looked up, noticing Ryan, the guy you’ve been seeing for the past two weeks, standing there in front of the door with flowers in his hand, smiling widely. You smiled the same, standing up from the chair.

“I’ll see you at the farm later, Kent. Remember my five bucks.” You pat him on the shoulder, standing up from the chair and walking in his direction.

You’ve been seeing this guy for a few days, and you’re not sure if you see a future, but you’re free for him to change your mind.

“Flowers? I think you have the wrong girl, cowboy,” she joked, receiving them with a smile.

“I know, I know, but the woman that sold them to me said they were perfect to know what a girl truly feels, and there’s nothing I’d like more to actually get to know you, Y/N.”

“Am I that mysterious?” You asked, smiling.

“I’d say good at hiding.”

You looked down at the flowers, leaning over them and sniffing them, the naturalist and feminine smell of it hitting you up like a train, your thoughts suddenly clouded, but immediately cleared into the clearest they’ve ever been. Your thoughts have never been louder than this, clearer, exactly where your mind is has never been so… right.

“Clark,” you muttered.

•••

He wasn’t at the talon, he wasn’t in the loft, so, naturally, you searched for him at his farm, where Mrs. Kent greeted you with a smile on her face and welcoming arms.

“It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” she mumbled softly as she wrapped you in her arms. “You look so good. So grown up, I’d say.”

“I try my best, Mrs. Kent,” you joked. “Is Clark around?”

“He’s in the kitchen. Come in.” You walked inside, your eyes going straight for the kitchen to see Clark Kent there, fixing the upper cabinet with a screwdriver. “Why are you wearing that big sweater? Aren’t you hot?”

“Boiling,” you muttered, staring at the back of your best friend as it arched.

His big arms, his muscles, all calling you, and finally you’ve being able to see the signal with a clear mind.

“Clark,” Mrs. Kent called him, gaining his attention. “Y/N is here.”

“Y/N, hey,” he said with a smile, dropping the tools on the counter and approaching you. “I thought we had scheduled for later. Where did you drop Ryan off?”

“Who cares about him?” You asked. “Can I show you something at the loft? If you’re not too busy, of course.”

“Yeah, sure. Are you okay, though? You seem a bit strange,” he asked, but you simply grabbed his hand, dragging him outside through the kitchen door. “Alright.”

You practically dragged him outside into the barn. He was probably a foot taller than you, could lift an elephant, and had the strength of a million men, but when it came to you, he let himself being dragged like a dog, a moth to a flame, he did not care.

As you reached the top of the loft, you let yourself fall onto the couch, staring at the object of your true desires clearer than ever.

Maybe the only people that didn’t know Y/N loved Clark Kent where Y/N and Clark Kent, because now that you did, everything seemed so clear. Whatever was in the pollen of that flower let you see things in a different perspective. He was what you wanted. Next to you, on top of you, inside of you. His big arms holding you, his body on top of yours, his hands touching your skin.

Your skin was practically boiling to the thought of Clark Kent without a shirt, let alone without pants.

“How long have we’ve been friends, Clark?” You asked, playing with the zipper of the oversized sweater you were wearing. “You’ve clearly grown up a lot. More than vertically. Do you think I’ve grown up too?”

“Uhm, well… yeah, yeah, you have. What’s going on?”

“And do you like what you see?”

“What?”

“I’ve seen you check me out, Clark. I even know which one of my jeans you like best by the amount of time you keep staring,” you said, playfully, making the big, strong, tall and handsome Clark Kent blush. “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

“You’re a very bad liar, Kent,” you said, standing up, moving closer in his direction. “I like that you stare. Makes me want to pose more.”

He took a step back, practically crashing against the fence behind him. He let out a nervous chuckle, trying badly to stay away from the imminent force coming in his direction.

“I think something happened to you, Y/N. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“Actually, I think I’ve never seen things more clearer than this. You’re what I want, Clark, you’ve always been. You’ve always just been so… unattainable.”

“Unattainable?”

“Always have kept your distance. And I’ve respected it, rejecting my feelings, fooling myself. But now, for some reason, I’ve never seen the sky so bluer… Everything just makes sense. And I’m going after what I want, and it’s you. I want you.”

You grabbed his hand, making him hold the zipper of your sweater and pulling it down, revealing the outfit you’ve hidden underneath.

A red lace bra and short denim shorts that didn’t leave anything to interpretation.

“Do you want me too?”

He looked down, his breath slowly increasing as the sight of your breasts came so close to him he could practically lose it. He couldn’t contain his smile, your scent of vanilla and cinnamon making his judgement feel clouded, as the closeness of the object of his desires was making him loose his mind.

“Yes,” he said, as if it has slipped out and didn’t have time to even use reason. His heart, and his dick, were thinking for him. “Uhm… what… Uh, what are you wearing? Uhm…”

“Do you like it?”

“I think we need to talk about this first.”

“Don’t you think we’ve done plenty of that already? Maybe what we need is to shut up… and use our mouths for something else.”

The way your lips crashed into his took him by surprise. You tasted like cherry lip balm and fresh coffee, your hair was quick get his hands lost in, he grabbed you by the waist, holding you closer, pushing you deeper, as if the one that had been hiding his desires was him and not you.

He didn’t feel strange, he felt right at home, as if your lips were the most familiar sentiment he had ever experienced, even if it was his first time tasting them. It didn’t feel new, it just felt right.

“Wait,” he said, the sweater that was covering you falling to the floor, and your hands quickly loosening that first button, revealing his neck to you. “Y/N” He mumbled your name as your lips touched the skin of his neck. His eyes practically rolled out of their sockets to the back, his face melting at the touch. “Y/N,” he begged for mercy, placing his hand on the back of your head.

He grabbed the beam of the railing for support, breaking it instantly as he grabbed it too hard, splinters of wood falling all over the place.

“God!” He yelled.

You grabbed him by the shirt, pushing him to the coach. Then, you sat on his laps, the exposed skin of your thighs touching the harsh denim of his jeans. You finally ripped off the last buttons of his shirt, revealing that tone abdomen that drove you crazy all those visits to the lake, where you could see that glorious farm boy all exposed to the sun, the muscles of his back tensing as he swam. You couldn’t help yourself and licked his chest.

“Y/N, I really don’t want to hurt you,” he said, keeping his hands locked onto the coach.

“I’m not fragile, farm boy,” you said, smiling teasingly, “maybe I can teach you a thing or two.” You unbuckled his belt quickly, tossing it aside. “What do you think about riding?”

He gulped. “Horses?”

You smiled. “Sure, Kent,” you said, helping him by driving his hands to your breasts. “Have you ever done this before? Want me to take control?”

But then, a cheeky smile appeared on his face. He grabbed your waist and tossed you to the couch, your whole back leaning on the seat. He placed himself on top of you, the fire in his eyes growing, and you could swear you saw them turn orange like flames.

“I got it,” he said, smiling.

Clark Kent was a man of many mysteries.

“Are you sure want this?”

“I think I’ve been hiding for so long how much I’ve wanted this. How much I’ve wanted you,” you said under your breath, smiling bigger than you’ve ever had before. “Are you going to kiss me or not, Kent?”

“I’m going to do more than that,” he mumbled, joining your lips once more. “I really can’t believe this is happening,” he said, his lips still on top of yours, trying to hold back his smile in order to kiss you, but struggling to do so. “You’re so hot. Fuck…”

“Did you just swear?” You said, chuckling, as his lips found your neck, and his hands found the button of those tiny denim shorts you had on. “God…”

His hand slid inside your panties so quickly you thought it was inhuman. The way his fingers touched your clit made you crumble to pieces, melt into his big muscled arms. They barely touched it, leaving you wanting more. He just move his hand to your butt, squeezing it, smiling.

“You’re so wet,” he said.

“Clark,” you said as his hand move back to your front, his fingers close enough to touch, but not enough to make you feel what you want to. “Please…” you begged.

“I thought you were going to teach me,” he groaned, bitting your earlobe.

“You already know what I want.”

“Teach me how to make you cum,” he asked you lowly to your ear, your legs opening practically to the sound of his voice. “Show me what you like.”

You grabbed his hand, closing in the distance he had with your center, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt his warm, rough, touch. You moved his hand in circles, in the rhythm you liked, your eyes on his as he watched you about to cum.

He was so mesmerized by you, by the way your breath was shaking up as you felt so close to completion, the way your face showed how much you liked what he was doing to you, the way he was handling your body.

“Clark,” you called him as your eyes closed. “Oh God, I’m about to…”

He kissed you, letting you moan in his mouth as the orgasm made your body tremble, shake you up.

You were completely out of breath, sweating, while he looked as if nothing had happened, he was completely fine.

“You okay?” He asked you, helping you sit back down on the couch. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no… I was just thinking… Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

“Come to my place in your underwear?”

“No… Just… Stop overthinking. I’ve known about my feelings for a long time. I just had to push those cloudy thoughts away.”

Clark smile, kissing you softly. “It was worth the wait.”

[v1kastr4p]

I really like ur characterization of sevika. What are some domestic/fluffy HCs you have about her?

domestic!sevika hdcns

❀ she fixes shit around the house even when it doesn’t need fixing.

not because she’s bored, but because her hands don’t know how to stay still when she’s home. there’s always a knife to sharpen, a hinge to oil, a frayed cable to wrap. if a cabinet door creaks? fixed. if a table wobbles? she’s under it with a wrench. it’s not even conscious. her brain just hunts problems, and fixing things is how she unwinds. you’ll walk in to find her shirtless with grease on her cheek and half the stove disassembled. you’re like “baby what the hell is wrong with it?” and she’s like “dunno. just felt off.”

you never ask her to stop. it’s hot.

❀ she always makes your coffee/tea/breakfast just the way you like it. doesn’t matter what time she got in, or how bruised she is. she wakes up first. limps to the kitchen. leans on the counter and lights a cigarette while the water boils.

you come in rubbing your eyes and find her mug already set beside yours, her hand sliding behind your back to pull you close, her voice still gravelly with sleep:

“morning, doll. your toast’s gonna burn.”

she memorizes how you like everything without asking.

everything.

❀ she’s not good at talking about emotions, but she’s trying.

you tell her you had a bad day and she doesn’t always know what to say. so she just nods, pulls you into her lap, and lets you vent with her arms tight around your waist. she won’t say much. might grunt. might drop a quiet “that sucks.” but her hand will move slow over your back. her chin will tuck against your shoulder. she’ll be there the whole time, solid and silent and yours.

later, she’ll patch something small for you. fix a hole in your coat. bring home your favorite snack. she loves in action, not words.

❀ she always falls asleep last.

even when she’s exhausted. even when you’re already dozing on her chest, one leg slung across her hip. she’ll lie there smoking, watching the ceiling, arm curled around your waist like a wall. she listens to your breathing. she watches the way your fingers twitch in your sleep. sometimes she mutters shit under her breath, little things she doesn’t say while you’re awake:

"fuck, you’re soft." "look at you." "don’t know what i’d do if you left."

you never hear it. but it’s all true.

❀ she makes you shower with her when she comes back from a job.

she likes when you undress her. when your fingers are gentle over bruises and rough skin. when you help her out of her coat, her shirt, her boots, your nose wrinkling at the blood or grease. you always grumble a little, call her a mess, sigh while turning on the tap. but your hands are always careful.

you shampoo her hair with your fingers.

she melts. actually melts.

she leans into the touch like her whole body is made of sleep and rainwater.

and when you press a kiss to her temple and whisper, “welcome home,”

her hands clutch your hips like she doesn’t want to let go.

❀ she secretly keeps little things that remind her of you.

a button from your old jacket. a doodle you left on her workbench. the receipt from your first lunch together. she tucks them in drawers, in the lining of her coat, behind her cig case. if you ever found out, she’d say it was “nothing.”

but it’s not.

it’s you. and she doesn’t throw that kind of thing away.

i need to write more sevika fluff tbh theres barely any on here

tt: @sevikastr4p

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

yellow ribbon on the door | chapter four

⟢ summary: Joel keeps finding excuses to see you.

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme but not descriptive as to actual features)

⟢ tags: no outbreak au, flower shop au, idiots in love, small age gap, joel is 35 and reader is 29 about to be 30, reader is a war widow, operation desert storm mentioned, reader is a single mother to ellie, eventual smut, no beta reader we die like men

⟢ wc: 5.5k

⟢ authors notes: Hello, friends! It's been almost two weeks since my last update. I'm so sorry for that. I am a university student, so very regularly real life gets too busy for me to write. Very inconsiderate of the my professors to give me so much homework and distract me from my real passion if you ask me. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Also this is the longest chapter I have written yet... so enjoy!

ꕥ previous │ navigation │ao3 │ next ꕥ

This afternoon marks the third time Joel has arrived unannounced at your flower store in the past three weeks. He explained that the last time he was here, he noticed one of your display tables had a wobble. That's all he said before setting his tools down, kneeling next to the faulty table leg, and getting to work. He worked in relative silence, allowing you to continue your daily duties undisturbed. Once he had evened out the legs and ensured they were secure, he gave you a curt goodbye and left without saying anything else. Two days later, he came again. This time, it was your front door. He stated the hinges were squeaky and needed to be oiled. The following week, he returned again. The faucet of the utility sink in your back storage room, where you wash used planter pots and fill your watering can, would drip even when turned off fully. It started to seem every time he came, he noticed something else that needed to be fixed.

Joel's surprise visits had become a semiweekly tradition. Despite the rocky past shared between you, having him there starts to feel normal. The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm like this. He would work on the myriad of repairs as you helped customers, fulfilled orders, or completed regular housekeeping around the shop, sneaking glances at each other whenever the other was distracted. 

With each visit, you see glimpses of the man Tommy described to you all those months ago—a quiet, stoic facade but protective and dependable.

One morning, he arrives before the store is open. You're on the front sidewalk, eyes closed, face scrunched, and both hands clutching a large bag of potting soil. At least nine matching bags are stacked outside the shop next to you.

You give up, drop the bag you're trying to drag inside, and wipe the sweat starting to accumulate at your temples. You don't know how to get them inside, but your current efforts are not working.

Joel jumps out of his truck and jogs over to where you are standing.

"Oh, good morning, Joel." Your breath comes out in huffs, the exertion apparent from your shaky voice. You gesture down at the bags of soil giving you so much trouble. "The delivery guy usually brings them in for me, but they were just sitting there when I got here."

Without saying anything, Joel tosses one bag over his left shoulder and tucks another under his right arm. He carries each bag of potting soil to the back storage as you stand in shock, wondering how strong could he really be?

It's mid-August, and Joel is adding extra supports to the ceiling to hold the crystal chandelier that illuminates the front showroom. His brows pull together as he takes the final support screw from between his teeth and inserts it into the ceiling with an electric drill. 

You're arranging baby pink alstroemeria and white carnations in a red-tinted vase at the front counter. A soft, unconscious smile pulls at your lips as you preen the bouquet before you. This is the kind of moment Joel likes the most. The kind that makes all his labors around the shop worth the effort. It's only the two of you. The store is quiet, apart from the same poppy tune you've been humming all morning. He can ignore all the world's demands outside and enjoy the peace that being with you like this brings.

"What's your favorite?" Joel's voice pulls you from your reverie. 

Your head jerks up, eyes wide in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What's your favorite flower?" He repeats.

It was a simple question, but you're taken aback. You aren't used to Joel asking you about yourself. Truthfully, you aren't used to him asking you anything.

You try to collect your thoughts. "Well, I like sunflowers. Primrose begonia. Mecardonia. Black-eyed Susan. Creeping Zinnia" 

A sudden wave of self-awareness washes over you. You feel a bit silly, rattling off half a dozen names. You let out a nervous laugh while your cheeks begin to warm. Adding in a rush, "Anything yellow. It's my favorite color."

If Joel notices your onset discomfort, he doesn't let it show. He returns his attention to screwing in the last support. 

Joel completes his efforts regarding the chandelier and makes a final trip from the shop to his work truck to return his tools. You want to catch him before he can make his usual silent goodbye. Tugging at the apron strings tied behind your back, you pull your head through the neck-straps, hanging it on a hook by the register. "Think I'll close up for an hour and grab something for lunch."

Joel turns around sharply at the sound of your voice, his dark eyes immediately finding you. He's just staring at you, so you continue, "Would you like to come with me?" 

The gears in his head start to work overtime. You want to get lunch. 

With him. 

Over the past several weeks, the two of you have spent countless hours together. You've seen each other more regularly than ever before. The idea of getting lunch together shouldn't fluster him like this… but it does.

You are still waiting for a reply.

Shit. Shit, say something, he mentally scolds himself.

"Yes." Is all he can force out.

You didn't realize it, but you had been holding your breath, waiting for his answer. The last time you presented him with a similar offer, he had blatantly shut it down. You crack a slight smile that develops into the kind that makes the corners of your eyes crinkle. "Okay, let me lock up real quick."

Joel brings the last of his tools to his truck and waits outside for you. You carry a camel-colored leather tote under one arm and meet him outside. Flipping a small sign that reads 'Be Back Soon' you lock the front door before dropping the keys into your purse.

"We can walk from here. One of the perks of being downtown." You lead the way to a coffee shop just around the block. It's the type of trendy business that has been popping up throughout the downtown district for the last several years. Joel would never go somewhere like this on his own. The crowds that frequent these places were a little too clean cut for his liking and don't typically mix with working-class folk like him.

The two of you enter and join the line to order. The café's interior is decorated in warm earth tones and natural wood.

"They have the best bagel sandwiches here." You look up at Joel with bright eyes and a broad smile, making his stomach flip. Giddy excitement is painted across your face. How could he think of food when you're looking at him like that?

Stepping up to the counter, you ask, "Can I get a medium iced caramel latte with extra drizzle and a toasted turkey bagel sandwich cut in half, please?"

The college-age barista behind the counter scribbles down your order on a palm-sized notepad before turning his attention to Joel. "And you, sir?"

Joel is still looking down at you, but his gaze is fixated on your bare upper arm. The short puff sleeves of your orange and white gingham linen dress left most of your arms on display. He imagines reaching out, just a few inches, and brushing his knuckles down the exposed skin—feeling how soft you are.

"Sir?" the barista repeats, louder this time.

This finally pulls Joel's attention back to the café. But his mind has been too preoccupied; he hasn't given any thought to what he wants to order. 

"Black coffee." He hurries out.

The barista looks a bit confused but writes it down on the notepad.

"You don't want anything to eat?" Your gaze is directed to Joel, concern swimming in your eyes.

He shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

"Hmm," you're not convinced, but you choose not to push the issue. Opening your purse, you dig through the mess, looking for your wallet. The medium-sized bag seems bottomless, filled with old receipts, a pack of baby wipes, ChapStick, a travel-size bottle of sunscreen, a used tissue or two, and an astronaut LEGO figure you're sure Ellie dropped in there.

When you finally find it, Joel is already pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his own. He reaches around you and slides it across the counter to the barista. 

"Why did you do that?" you ask, shooting him a disapproving look. "I invited you. You need to finally let me thank you for all your help."

Maybe it was his southern upbringing but Joel could never imagine letting a lady pay for their date. 

Not that this is a date, he thinks to himself.

"I'll get it next time." You huff before marching off to find a table.

The two of you settle on a two-person table next to the front windows of the café, but the gravity of the situation quickly makes itself known. Sitting across from each other like this feels more intimate than it should.

Silence falls between you, both waiting for the other to break it first. You keep a small, practiced smile on your face, but hidden under the table, your fidgeting fingers betray you. Joel nervously bounces his knee, his posture too straight, and his usual stony expression occupies his face.

"So," you can’t take the silence anymore and ask, "Is Sarah ready for the first day of school next week?" hoping to ease the growing tension.

The butterflies raising havoc in Joel's stomach cease at the mention of Sara. Like all proud fathers, his favorite subject is his daughter. His expression softens, and his shoulders relax. "Yeah, first day of high school. Makes me feel old."

"I understand what you mean." You let out a small laugh. "Ellie's starting first grade. She's so excited to leave kindergarten and start 'big girl school.'"

Joel nods, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. The memory of Sarah in the same scenario comes to mind: "I reckon I was more scared than Sarah was for her first day. I walk her up to the classroom. As soon as she sees they have a rabbit for a class pet, she runs for it. Didn't look back once."

The atmosphere lightens as you discuss how nervous Ellie's transition to elementary school is making you. Deep down, Ellie is a sweet girl. She loves animals, likes to play with the younger kids she meets during trips to the park, and is fascinated by all things outer space. But you're also aware that she is a handful at the best of times.

The barista arrives at the table, holding your food and drinks on a black serving tray. He lays your respective drinks down and places a white ceramic plate in front of you before wishing you both a good meal. 

Looking over at Joel's lonely mug of black coffee, you place half of the bagel sandwich on a paper napkin and slide it across the table. As he opens his mouth to object, you shoot him one of those mom looks that reads, 'Don't even try to argue.' His mouth snaps shut, knowing this isn't a fight he will win.

You pick up the other half of the sandwich from the plate with both hands and take a bite. It's just as good as you remember. Washing it down with a sip of your latte, you wrap your lips around the straw. Joel becomes distracted by the seemingly innocent action as he watches your mouth carefully. Absent-mindedly, your tongue runs over your plush lips after removing the straw from between them. His mind drifts again, imagining what else he'd like to see your lips wrapped around.

Before you can catch him staring, Joel clears his throat and pushes those thoughts away. "Why a flower store?"

"There's no better gift than a bouquet of your favorite flowers." You set down your sandwich and wipe your hands on a napkin. "When I was a kid, my dad would come home from work and surprise my mom with flowers' just because'. I'll never forget the look on her face every time he did. Thought maybe I could be a part of that for someone else."

You take another drink before continuing, "And I've been digging in the garden for as long as I can remember. I never went to college, so plants are the only thing I really know."

Joel can understand that. He had been working his trade since he was fourteen. His father would dictate that he accompany him to different work sites during school breaks. His dad had insisted it would 'help him become a man,' but Joel knew the real reason was the family could use the money. After high school graduation, college seemed like a distant fantasy for him. He was a decent student, but the family's financial situation hadn't improved over the years. Joel knew his younger brother would have to take his place with their father if he had left. Tommy was only twelve at the time.

Eventually, Tommy finished his education and joined the Army. Joel stayed home and worked as an independent carpenter until he finished his enlistment. That's when the two brothers agreed to start Miller Brothers Contracting.

"Just before I lost my husband, I realized I didn't have a life outside of being a mom and an Army wife. So, when the life insurance money came, I put half away for Ellie's college fund. The rest I used to help open the shop."

Joel sipped his coffee as you spoke. He is sure that life must have been lonely. He knows firsthand what it's like to raise a daughter alone.

"You're not from here. Why stay in Austin?" Joel can't stop himself now. He's gotten a small look at who you really are and wants to see it all.

You squirm in your seat momentarily while thinking of an answer, and Joel wonders if he has overstepped.

"My hometown," you look down at your drink and stir the glass with the straw, apprehensive to continue, "isn't the type of place with a lot of opportunities. All the guys I grew up with joined the military, and all the girls got married right after graduation and started having babies. It's just not the kind of life I want for Ellie. I want her to have every opportunity I never had."

Joel can only nod his head. Your dejected look pulls hard on his heart, making it ache.

Without thinking, he blurts out, "Tommy's comin' over for dinner this weekend. You and Ellie should come on by."

"Really?" Your eyes jump from your coffee to the man sitting across from you. The beaming smile you give him melts away the aching in his chest. "That would be great!"

"Five o'clock, Saturday," Joel says before checking the time on his phone. "I gotta go. But, yeah, Saturday." He stands from his seat.

He exits the café, phone still in hand, and dials Tommy's number. 

"Tommy," he speaks into the receiver, "I need you to come over Saturday."

Standing on Joel's front porch, holding a bottle of expensive French wine that you can't pronounce the name of, you take a deep breath before knocking on the front door. Just before 5:00 PM, you and Ellie pull into his driveway.

This is just like the other times you've been here. It's nothing new, you remind yourself, trying to untangle the knots forming in your stomach.

The door swings open, and Sarah greets you both with a smile. "Hi, Mrs. Williams." She steps aside, allowing you two to step inside.

The sound of glass shattering echoes through the home, followed by a loud 'Damnit, Tommy' coming from the kitchen. 

"Dad and Uncle Tommy are in the kitchen." Sarah winces at the sound of broken glass. "They might need your help."

You let out a small laugh and shake your head. The Miller brothers never cease to entertain. Ellie and Sarah follow behind as you enter the kitchen.

Turning the corner, you see the two brothers bickering in front of the stove. There is a glass jar of spaghetti sauce splattered across the floor.

"I told you not to put that there." Joel points a wooden spoon at his brother's chest.

"Maybe if you looked where you were goin' for once, you wouldn't've knocked the damn thing over." Tommy shoots back. You imagine this is what they have been like since they were kids.

You clear your throat, and both men see the three of you watching them fight.

Tommy beams, stepping over the mess painting the kitchen floor, and bends to wrap his arms around Ellie. He picks her up into his arms and plants a quick kiss on her cheek. "How's my favorite baby girl?"

Ellie wraps her little arms around his neck but turns her nose up at the question, "I'm not a baby, Uncle Tommy. I go to big girl school now."

"You do?" he plays along as though he doesn't know. "Well, shit, kiddo. Pretty soon, your mama's gonna be teachin' you to drive."

"Tommy," You give a soft smack to his upper arm "language, please."

"Sorry, Sugar." He turns his head to you, a cheeky grin taking over his face. He gives Ellie one more kiss before returning her to the ground. He wraps his arms around you next, squeezing you tight. As he pulls away, he slips the bottle of wine from your hand.

Tommy lets out a low whistle as he reads the label "The good stuff. You tryin' to get me drunk?"

"Like you ever need help with that." You roll your eyes. "It was a gift from a client for doing their wedding arrangements on short notice."

Tommy nods to Joel over his shoulder, "I'll put this somewhere he can't knock it over." He exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Joel looks ready to start round two with his brother but stops in his tracks when you turn your attention to him. You give him a small wave, accompanied by a gentle smile, and he forgets whatever heated remark he was going to make.

"Hey, Ellie." Sarah crouches down to her eye level. "Wanna play with bubbles in the backyard again?"

Ellie nods so fast that you think she'll make herself dizzy. The two girls exit through the glass sliding door and disappear into the late August sun, leaving you and Joel alone.

You look down at the mess on the floor. Taking a large step over it, you reach for a roll of paper towels on the counter. Crouching down, you collect the larger pieces of glass before discarding them in the trash can. Joel lowers himself to the floor beside you, and you hand him a wad of paper towels.

"So, I'm guessing we are having spaghetti." You tease.

"Was supposed'a be." He mumbles.

The two of you work to mop up the remaining spilled sauce. When the paper towels absorb the last few drops, you look up to see Joel is closer than you realize. His face is only inches away from your own. Heat burns at your cheeks and your breath hitches in your throat. Shooting up to a standing position, you throw away the soiled paper towels.

"Let's see what we can put together." you rush out, turning to wash your hands at the sink.

Joel stands back in amazement as you expertly scurry around the kitchen, making a single jar of pasta sauce stretch enough for five people. To the jar of premade sauce, you add two cans of crushed tomatoes and a tin of tomato paste he didn't know he had in his pantry. As the sauce thickens in a medium sized soup pot on the stove, you sprinkle in several dried seasons, stirring as needed. A pot of salted water comes to a boil as you place the pasta inside. After raiding his fridge for scraps, you pull together a salad from half a head of lettuce and miscellaneous garden vegetables.

When you find out the men hadn't thought of what to serve for dessert, you dig through the pantry to find a half-full bag of chocolate chips and just enough flour and sugar to make a single batch of cookies. You roll dough balls between your palms and place them on an oiled baking sheet. 

The comfortable silence that has taken over the kitchen as you worked breaks when Sarah and Ellie come running into the house from the backyard. Tommy had found himself outside playing with the girls, and now they are trying to outrun him. Tommy throws open the sliding door, baring his teeth and growling while he looks around the room, putting on his best monster impression. He catches sight of Ellie and bolts toward her. She bursts into laughter and runs to hide between you and the kitchen counter, trying to obscure herself behind your legs.

Tommy takes slow, heavy steps, getting closer and closer. His gaze moves from the laughing girl to the individual balls of cookie dough on the counter before you.

"Tommy, don't even think about it." You warn, "You'll ruin your appetite."

Tommy's eyes shift back to Ellie, who is still hiding behind your legs. He gives her a quick nod, a mischievous smile stretching across his face. He lunges forward, grabbing three cookie dough balls off the baking sheet and shouts "Girls, run!"

The three troublemakers race for the backyard, laughing the whole way.

A soft 'Damn it, Tommy' leaves your lips, but there is no malice behind the words.

Joel chuckles to himself at the exchange. A month ago, the same scene playing out in front of him would have left him seething. A bitter taste would have coated his tongue for the rest of the night. But as he has come to understand his feelings and gotten to know you better, the relationship between you and Tommy warms his heart. Add the fact that seeing you in his kitchen like this felt so domestic, so right. Like it is always supposed to be like this.

When dinner is ready, Joel calls out for Tommy and the girls to come inside. The five of you cram yourselves around a small, circular dining table. Throughout the meal, everyone bumps knees and is nearly rubbing shoulders, but no one minds.

Joel scolds Tommy for showing Sarah and Ellie a trick where he can pull a piece of spaghetti noodle from his nose that he learned while in boot camp. Sarah tells you how she has already planned every outfit for her first week of high school. Ellie shows the whole table how Uncle Tommy taught her to make farting sounds with her armpit. Then it's your turn to scold Tommy.

You sit back from the content chaos and take a sip from your glass of wine. You can't remember the last time you ate a meal like this as a big family. For years, it had been just you and Ellie. Before that, it was usually just you alone. But being here, watching the mayhem unfold, makes you feel whole.

After dinner, you sit with the two brothers on the deck overlooking the backyard. You notice Joel must have bought a third Adirondack chair since you were here last, which is nice as you no longer have to sit on the arm of Tommy's. You're explaining to Tommy all the work Joel has been doing around the shop; all the while, he throws his brother knowing grins.

Joel tries his best to block him out and listen to you speak. Usually, he would shrink away if someone were to gush about him like this, but it was coming from you. Your praises are making his heart race and filling him with a sense of pride he has never felt before.

You hear tiny feet stomping up the stairs, connecting the deck to the grassy yard and across to where you sit. 

"Mommy, Sarah said she can take me to the park. She said it has two slides, a little one and a big one, and a swing set." Ellie's eyes are wide with excitement. "Can I go?"

"Well," you draw out skeptically, thinking it over. You trust Sarah to be responsible, but letting Ellie out of your near proximity has always been anxiety-provoking.

"C'mon, now." Tommy pipes up, "Let the poor girl go swing." He takes a drink from the brown beer bottle in his hand. He had started drinking during dinner and now was on bottle number five.

You shift your face to him, about to say something about Uncle Tommy being a bad influence, but then your eyes turn to Joel. Sarah is his daughter. If he thinks she is mature enough to do it, you would say yes.

"Why don't you ask Sarah's daddy if it's okay." You give your daughter a reassuring smile and point to Joel.

Ellie turns her attention to Joel, "The asshole."

You think your heart has stopped beating. Your very coherent thought leaves your mind as the horror of what Ellie said settles around you. 

Tommy nearly chokes on his drink. He erupts into a screaming fit of laughter, squeezing his eyes shut as tears threaten to stream down his cheeks. 

"Ellie!" Your voice is shaky and panicked. You turn to Joel, face burning hot and crimson from mortification. You try to put on an apologetic smile, but your face feels like it's going numb. "I-I'm so sorry. I have, I have no idea where she heard."

"Mommy, you said that," Ellie replies nonchalantly as though she doesn't understand how you forgot.

"My love," your pitch is a bit too high to be natural. An artificial sweetness becomes present. "Remember when we talked about not repeating what Mommy says at home?" 

Ellie still doesn't see the problem with what she said. She shrugs her shoulders and gives a slight shake of her head.

"Okay, Ellie. Go to the park with Sarah." The unnatural sweetness is still in your voice.

Ellie runs off to rejoin Sarah without a second thought.

You shoot to your feet, refusing to look at either of the men next to you. "I'm going to grab another glass of wine." You rush into the house, clutching your empty wine glass, and slam the sliding door behind you.

Tommy wipes the tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. His sides are sore and he feels like his face is going to split in half. He slaps a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Well, at least you ain't gotta wonder what she thinks about you anymore."

You fumble with the bottle of wine as you uncork it, pouring the burgundy liquid into the crystal glass. You throw back the entire glass before pouring another. 

Your heart rate has almost returned to normal when Joel enters the kitchen. 

A second wave of guilt washes over you again. You can't bring yourself to look at him. "Joel, I am so sorry."

"It's okay." he offers as he steps closer to you.

"No, really." Your voice grows small. "I'm so sorry. I never should have said that in front of Ellie, and I especially never should have said that about you.

"It's okay." He repeats.

You place the wine glass on the counter and stare down at your hands, fingers fidgeting. "When I said that, we barely knew each other." The more you speak, the more nervous you become. The fear of ruining your already fragile new relationship with Joel terrifies you. "You've been so amazing with all the help around the shop. I feel so awful. I just—"

Joel grabs you, wrapping his large hands around your upper arms. "It's okay."

You finally look at him, eyes wide. 

"I've been a real asshole to you since we met." Joel pauses. "And… I'm sorry."

The sensation of relief you feel from his words is overwhelmed by something different. 

Joel is touching you. 

He's never touched you before. The big hands and strong fingers you've caught yourself daydreaming about more than once are currently wrapped around your upper arms. Warm skin on warm skin. His palms are calloused from two decades of hard labor, but there is a softness to them as well that you didn't expect. 

Joel seems to realize this at the same time you do. He lets go of your arms and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The warmth from where his skin touched yours is gone within an instant.

The sun was setting when Sarah and Ellie returned from the park. Joel, Tommy and you all sat in the living room. The brothers sit on opposite sides of the brown leather couch while you occupy a black recliner. The television was tuned to a Texas Rangers game, but none of you were watching it.

You and Joel sit in a comfortable silence as Tommy fights to keep his eyes open. Though he refuses to admit it, he definitely had one too many tonight. 

Sarah and Ellie enter through the front door. Without saying a word, Ellie climbs into your lap, rests her little cheek against your chest, and closes her eyes.

"Did you two have fun at the park?" You ask, wrapping both arms around your daughter.

Ellie nods her head against your chest, eyes still closed.

Sarah sits on the couch between Joel and Tommy. She leans her head on her father's shoulder and wraps her arms around his.

"Think it's time for the little ones to get some sleep." You tease, rubbing Ellie's back as her breaths become slow and even.

"Joel, can I sleep here tonight?" Tommy slurs. 

"Yeah, go ahead." Joel agrees. The idea of Tommy behind the wheel in this state would terrify anyone. And the last thing Joel wants to do is pick up his younger brother from the Travis County Jail for another DUI.

Tommy pushes off the couch and stands on shaky legs. Once he finds his balance, he shoots you a toothy grin. "Nighty night, Sugar."

"Goodnight, Tommy." You let out a breathy laugh. Tommy was always Tommy, regardless of his sobriety level.

Tommy grabs the staircase's railing and climbs each step as carefully as he can in this state. Joel watches him, making sure there aren't any unfortunate accidents about to happen. 

Sarah also stands from the couch, stretching before wishing Joel and you a goodnight.

"We should probably get going, too." You shift Ellie in your arms, making carrying her to the car easier. You rise to your feet and look to Joel. "Thanks again for having us over."

He's on his feet in an instant. "Course, anytime." 

Joel races to the front door, holding it open for you. You walk toward the driveway where you had parked your car. Securing your hold on Ellie with one arm, you fish your keys out of your pocket with the other, clicking the unlock button on the key fob. Joel moves around you, opening the back passenger door so you can place Ellie into her car seat. Joel stays there, hand on the door as you secure the belt over your sleeping daughter. Once Ellie is strapped in, you step out of the way so Joel can gently shut the door.

"Y'all two can stay." Joel offers. He knew the three glasses of wine you drank weren't enough to get you drunk, but he still worried about you driving back to the city when it was so dark outside "I can kick Tommy outta the guest room and onta the couch."

"Or you girls can sleep in my bed, and I'll take the couch." Joel was ever the southern gentleman, offering his own room so you and Ellie would be comfortable.

"Sounds like you're just trying to get me in your bed, Joel." you tease, flashing him a flirtatious smile. 

Maybe you were more drunk than Joel initially thought.

Joel's heart starts to race, and he swallows thickly despite how dry his mouth has suddenly become, "I-I wasn't implyin'—"

"I'm just messing with you." You laugh. Your smile is so big it forces your eyes half closed.

Joel's mind is moving a million miles a minute, and he isn't sure how to respond.

Before he can formulate a sentence in reply, you are walking around the front of your car and climbing into the driver's seat. You start the engine, give Joel a polite wave goodbye, and pull out onto his street, driving into the night.

⟢ authors notes: I think I must be ovulating because writing Tommy's scene where he's playing with Ellie has me feeling some type of way. But can you tell how much I love Tommy?

Also, I'm trying to keep this story as realistic as possible. I've put a lot of research into grief, military life in the 1990's and early 2000's, and the general attitude of the continue during that time it for later chapters. The one thing I did take artistic liberty with is that someone is watching a Rangers game in Austin. I know that technically Astros territory, but fuck the Astros.

⟢ tag list: @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @damneddamsy @legoemma @isabella-rose-trastamara @hoddystark @suzysface @speaktothehandpeasants @anoverwhelmingdin @orodaeh

[space-cowgirllll]

I did boy mom Abby during the fall so you know I had to write some domestic fluff for Ellie too 🫶🏻🎃🍂

let’s ignore that I’m posting this less than an hour before Halloween is over 🥸

"Mama no! That's Rex's chair!"

"Well I don't see his name on it." The soft thud of the stuffed animal hitting the carpet is followed by the stomp of a tiny foot.

"Mama!"

You lower the volume on the halloween music playing on the tv, watching your wife get locked in stare down with a mini version of herself. Margo's legs wobble on unsteady plastic heels and the pink material of her dress wrinkles as she places her hands on her hips. Ellie had managed to squeeze herself into one of the bigger dresses in your daughter's closet, the thing looking like it was about to bust at the seams whenever she moved. Her tiara lopsided as it slowly slips off her head.

From the color of their hair to the slope of their noses, it was actually scary how alike they looked at the moment. Their profiles damn near identical.

The two stare at each other from opposite sides of the coffee table where a "spooky" tea party was being held with hot chocolate and Halloween cookies. Action figures and stuffed animals line the sides, with the newest addition to your little family sitting at the head of the table. Your seven month old son, Theo, sits in his infant chair watching the drama unfold as he chewed on a yogurt puff. His little body swallowed up by the tulle of his dress, with a sparkly clip in his short hair. Neither you nor Ellie able to save him from the older sister effect.

"He's a stuffie, he can't even eat the cookie." Ellie says matter of factly, reaching over to fix the girl's tiara.

The four year old's eyes shift from Rex's spot to her own empty plate, nodding in understanding. "Get more from mommy." she whispers loudly, pointing to where you stand at the counter with a fresh batch. Their eyes widen at the sight of the tray in front of you.

Ellie has a full blown one sided conversation with the infant in her arms, stopping at the large window facing your backyard. She points out the swing set under the large tree in the far right corner.

"Pretty soon you'll be out there with mama and margo having competitions on who can swing the highest." She bounces the infant on her hip.

"Mama cheats." Margo pipes up from the living room.

"I do not!"

Ellie jumps to defend herself, launching into story after story about the times she's lost to the four year old. Theo watches her in fascination, his eyes glued to Ellie's face. Your wife never stopped talking, and you swear it's the reason Margo's vocabulary is as good as it is.

You pretend to ignore Ellie as she saunters over to where you stand at the kitchen island. Her front presses up against your back, lips pressing against your bare shoulder as she reaches for the cookies. "Don't mind if I do."

"I do mind, actually." You push her away. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Oh c'mon just one more."

"You said that like five cookies ago Els." Taking the baby from her arms, you move the tray further away from her grabby hands.

She pouts. "So you hate me."

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes, pulling her in for a kiss. "How about you two go wash up and you can have one more AFTER dinner." The little hand reaching for the tray pauses, slowly retreating when you pull it further away. Ellie snorts as the culprit click clacks back towards the couch.

The doorbell rings, pulling your attention away from the kitchen. Ellie moves to stir the soup currently simmering in the pot, ignoring your warning look.

"Babe, did you order something?" You question, staring at the large plastic bag on your front porch. The logo didn't look familiar, her name is on the label when you squint.

"Oh, yeah! This wasn't supposed to come until next week." The package is snatched from your hands, a flash of pink and purple fly past you and down the hallway. Your two dogs manage to slip in the room just before the door slams shut.

"We're the only sane ones here bub." You turn back towards the kitchen, undressing the infant and placing him in his high chair. He babbles happily while you clean up the mess on the counter.

It's then that you notice the two cookies missing from the tray. Your wife and daughter's muffled giggles reach your ears.

"Ellie!"

———

"Okay oneeee more for Grandpa Joel."

"No more." Margo pouts "Papa has lots of pictures already."

The three of you wait impatiently as Ellie props her phone up against one of the steps on your front porch. She rushes back to where you stand as the timer counts down. Her hand reaches down to adjust the dog's dinosaur costume, the hood covering his eyes.

Theo sits happily in the wagon your wife had spent the last week turning into a little cage. His little green dinosaur costume just thick enough to keep him warm from the chilly weather.

You quickly make sure your pink button up is tucked properly into your shorts. Ellie gives you a grateful look when you push the hair out of her face. The two of you smiling just as the timer goes off, praying that the kids were looking.

Your wife had insisted on picking out the theme for Halloween this year. Knowing she had at least one year left before your already opinionated daughter decided she wanted to pick out her own halloween costume. With how busy you'd been at work you happily let her take charge.

And that's how you ended up wrangling a family of dinosaurs out the door.

"Let's go!"

You bite your lip when your daughter wobbles in her inflatable dinosaur costume, the head throwing her off balance. Her little hand reaches for Ellie's, dragging her down the driveway and out into the throng of people already out trick or treating. Pink plastic pumpkin swinging at her side.

The four of you make your way through the neighborhood, you and Ellie taking turns walking the kids up to knock on doors.

Like most four year olds, Margo gets tired after a couple of streets. Her plastic pumpkin now full of candy. Theo snoozes away in his wagon, checks rosy from the cold.

"Last house?" You point at the tiny craftsman at the end of the street.

Ellie gives you a thumbs up and follows after Margo as she hobbles up the path towards the front porch.

“Well aren’t you two the cutest.” The elderly woman sitting on one of the steps gushes. “Matching costumes!”

She reaches into the big yellow bowl, pulling out a full size candy that has the little girl’s tired eyes widening.

"A big candy! Thank you!" She clutches it in her tiny fist, rushing back to where you stood on the sidewalk.

The elderly woman laughs at the way her costume wobbles as she runs down. "Is that your family?" She asks pointing to where you stand.

"It is." Ellie smiles.

"They're so cute." She gushes, patting her arm. "You're very lucky."

Ellie watches you gently pry the melting chocolate from your daughter’s grasp, putting it in her overflowing bucket. Theo now perched on your hip, a big gummy smile on his face at the sound of his big sister’s voice as she bounces around dancing to the loud music coming from down the street. The two dogs swore she didn’t want sat at your sides.

Ellie’s heart warmed at the sight. Her smile widens.

"Yeah, I am."

—

"Margo's finally down." You sink down into the spot next to Ellie on the couch with a sigh. A hand reaches into the plastic bag on her lap where you'd dumped all the candy, digging around for the full size candy bar from earlier. Your wife searches for a movie to watch, clicking through multiple streaming apps.

"Told you we shouldn't have let her have that second lollipop before bed." She mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate. Her eyes glued to the tv. You stretch out on the couch, legs thrown over her lap.

"Nothing scary." You remind her. "Don't need you waking me up to walk you to the bathroom at 3 AM again."

"That was ONE time!" Ellie scoffs, but quickly exits the horror section. She sprawls out on top of you, her head resting on your chest.

“No cartoons either.” You press a quick kiss to her hair. “Get enough of that with the kids.”

You settle on Hocus Pocus after ten minutes of bickering only for the two of you to end up asleep only fifteen minutes into the movie.

[unfgvien]

healing touch

pairing - natasha x reader

summary - In a quiet apartment, Natasha brings comfort and warmth, hugs, and offers to help with daily tasks. She comforts and reassures, and you kiss her, leaving a trail of kisses.

word count - 3k

The apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your chest, heavy and suffocating. The curtains are drawn, filtering the afternoon sun into soft, golden slivers that dance across the floor. You sit on the couch, your body slumped, your eyes fixed on the coffee table where a half-empty glass of whiskey sits, the ice long since melted. The silence is broken only by the occasional tick of the wall clock, a relentless reminder that time marches on, even when your heart feels frozen.

The breakup with Wanda still stings, raw and jagged, like a wound that refuses to heal. Her words echo in your mind—“I can’t do this anymore”—and the way she walked away without looking back. You’ve been replaying it over and over, dissecting every moment, every word, every silence. The apartment feels too big now, the walls closing in, the memories of her laughter, her touch, her scent lingering like ghosts you can’t exorcise.

The front door clicks open, and Natasha steps inside, her presence a sudden jolt of warmth in the cold air. She pauses, taking in the scene—you on the couch, the whiskey glass, the darkness that seems to cling to you like a second skin. Her expression softens, her eyes darkening with a mix of concern and something else, something deeper, more primal. She closes the door behind her, the sound echoing in the stillness, and walks toward you, her steps deliberate, purposeful.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low and gentle, like a whisper against your skin. She kneels in front of you, her hands reaching out to cup your face, her thumbs brushing away the stubble on your jaw. “You’ve been sitting here all day, haven’t you?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer. The words feel stuck in your throat, thick and heavy. Natasha doesn’t press you. Instead, she pulls you into her, her arms wrapping around you like a cocoon, her body warm and solid against yours. You breathe her in—the scent of lavender and vanilla, the faint trace of her perfume—and for a moment, the weight on your chest eases, just a little.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your temple. “You don’t have to be strong right now. Let me take care of you.”

Her words are a balm, soothing and tender, and you find yourself leaning into her, your hands clutching at the back of her shirt as if she’s the only anchor keeping you from drifting away. Natasha holds you tighter, her fingers stroking your back in slow, rhythmic circles, her touch grounding you, pulling you back to the present.

“Come on,” she says after a long moment, her voice steady but insistent. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You look like you’ve been through a war.”

She helps you to your feet, her arm slung around your waist for support. You’re unsteady, your legs wobbling like they’ve forgotten how to work, but Natasha is there, guiding you, her strength a silent promise that she won’t let you fall. She leads you to the bathroom, the tiles cool under your bare feet, and turns on the shower, adjusting the water until it’s warm and steamy.

“Go ahead,” she says, her hand on your shoulder, her touch firm but gentle. “I’ll be right here.”

You hesitate, the thought of undressing in front of her making your heart race, but Natasha’s gaze is steady, reassuring. She steps back, giving you space, and you strip off your clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. The shower calls to you, the promise of warmth and cleanliness a temptation you can’t resist. You step in, the water cascading over your skin, washing away the sweat, the tears, the heaviness that’s been clinging to you.

Natasha doesn’t leave. She leans against the sink, watching you, her eyes tracing the lines of your body, the tension in your shoulders, the way you flinch when the water hits a particularly sensitive spot. She waits, patient and unhurried, until you finally turn off the shower and step out, the steam swirling around you like a cloud.

She’s already prepared a towel, holding it out for you with a small smile. “Here,” she says, her voice soft. “Let me.”

You take the towel, but she doesn’t let go, her hands guiding yours as she helps you dry off. Her touch is deliberate, her fingers brushing against your skin in a way that’s both practical and intimate. She dries your back, your arms, your chest, her movements slow and methodical, as if she’s mapping every inch of you, memorizing the contours of your body.

When she’s done, she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror. “You’re still here,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re still you. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Her words are a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss. You reach out, your hand tangling in her hair, pulling her close, and kiss her, desperate and needy. Natasha responds without hesitation, her lips pressing against yours with a hunger that matches your own. Her hands slide up your chest, her fingers digging into your shoulders, her body pressing against yours with a urgency that leaves no room for doubt.

She breaks the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes dark and intense. “Bedroom,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Now.”

She takes your hand, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hall to the bedroom. The room is dim, the curtains drawn, the air thick with anticipation. Natasha pushes you back onto the bed, her hands never leaving your skin, her touch a constant reminder of her presence.

She straddles you, her knees on either side of your hips, her hands resting on your chest as she looks down at you, her expression a mix of tenderness and raw desire. “You’re not alone,” she says, her voice a low rumble. “I’m here. Let me show you.”

Her lips find yours again, her kiss deep and demanding, her tongue tangling with yours as her hands roam over your body, tracing the lines of your muscles, the planes of your skin. She kisses her way down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin, her breath hot against your throat, her hands sliding lower, teasing the waistband of your boxers.

You groan, your hands clutching at her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. Her bra follows, her breasts full and heavy, her nipples tight and aching. You reach up, cupping them in your hands, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she arches into your touch, her head falling back, her breath hitching in her throat.

“Touch me,” she whispers, her voice a command. “Remind me that I’m real. Remind me that you’re real.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands roam over her body, your fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the dip of her navel. She moans, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as you kiss your way down her body, your lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Her skin is soft under your mouth, her taste sweet and intoxicating. You kiss the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast, your tongue circling her nipple before sucking it into your mouth, teasing it with your teeth. She gasps, her hands tightening in your hair, her body arching off the bed as she presses closer, seeking more.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, her voice thick with need. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. Your mouth moves lower, your hands sliding down her body, your fingers teasing the waistband of her panties. She lifts her hips, helping you pull them off, and you toss them aside, your eyes drinking in the sight of her, spread out before you, her body open and wanting.

Her pussy is wet, her lips glistening with her arousal, her scent musky and inviting. You groan, your mouth watering as you kiss your way down her stomach, your tongue dipping into her navel before moving lower, your breath ghosting over her clit. She shudders, her hands gripping the sheets, her body tense with anticipation.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice a plea. “I need you.”

You don’t make her wait. Your tongue presses against her clit, your mouth sucking it gently as your fingers slide into her wetness, teasing her entrance before pushing inside. She cries out, her hips bucking against your touch, her body responding to your every movement.

You take your time, your tongue and fingers working in tandem, your mouth sucking and licking, your fingers thrusting in and out, your touch relentless and unhurried. Her moans fill the room, her body trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as her orgasm builds, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter.

“Close,” she pants, her voice strained. “So close.”

You don’t stop. You press harder, your tongue flicking against her clit, your fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot that makes her see stars. Her body arches off the bed, her hands gripping your hair, her heels digging into the mattress as she cries out, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave.

“Fuck,” she screams, her voice raw and unfiltered. “Oh fuck, yes!”

Her pussy clenches around your fingers, her juices flooding your mouth, her body shaking as she rides out her orgasm, her breath coming in ragged gasps. You stay with her, your mouth and hands never stopping, your touch gentle now, soothing, as you bring her down slowly, tenderly.

When she finally collapses back onto the bed, her body boneless and sated, you kiss your way back up her body, your lips brushing against her skin, your hands stroking her hair, her arms, her sides. She smiles, her eyes half-lidded, her expression soft and content.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice a whisper. “For reminding me what it feels like to be alive.”

You kiss her, your lips pressing against hers with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I’m here,” you say, your voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles, her hand resting on your cheek, her thumb brushing away the stubble on your jaw. “I know,” she says, her voice steady. “And I’m here for you, too.”

The moment stretches between you, the air thick with unspoken words, unspoken promises. Natasha rolls onto her side, her body pressing against yours, her hand resting on your chest as she looks up at you, her eyes searching, her expression open and vulnerable.

“Talk to me,” she says, her voice gentle. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

You hesitate, the words stuck in your throat, but Natasha waits, her gaze steady, her hand stroking your chest in slow, soothing circles. You take a deep breath, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you, but you push through, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“I feel… lost,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I don’t know who I am without her. Like I’m just… drifting.”

Natasha nods, her expression softening. “It’s okay to feel that way,” she says, her voice a balm. “Grief is a process. It takes time. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words are a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge. You reach out, your hand tangling in her hair, pulling her close, and kiss her, your lips pressing against hers with a desperation that leaves no room for doubt. Natasha responds without hesitation, her lips moving against yours with a hunger that matches your own, her body pressing against yours with a urgency that’s both comforting and intoxicating.

She rolls on top of you, her knees straddling your hips, her hands resting on your chest as she looks down at you, her expression intense, her eyes dark with desire. “Let me take care of you,” she says, her voice a low rumble. “Let me remind you what it feels like to be wanted.”

Her lips find yours again, her kiss deep and demanding, her tongue tangling with yours as her hands roam over your body, tracing the lines of your muscles, the planes of your skin. She kisses her way down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin, her breath hot against your throat, her hands sliding lower, teasing the waistband of your boxers.

You groan, your hands clutching at her hips, pulling her closer as she grinds against you, her pussy pressing against your cock, her movements slow and deliberate. She moans, her head falling back, her breath hitching in her throat as she rocks against you, her body moving in a rhythm that’s both teasing and torturous.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your voice thick with need. “I need you.”

Natasha smiles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Patience,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I’m not done yet.”

She continues to grind against you, her movements slow and deliberate, her body pressing against yours with a urgency that leaves you breathless. Her hands slide down your chest, her fingers teasing the waistband of your boxers before slipping inside, her touch light and teasing as she strokes your cock, her fingers wrapping around your shaft, her thumb brushing against the head.

You hiss, your body arching off the bed, your hands gripping her hips as she strokes you, her touch firm but gentle, her movements slow and unhurried. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispers, her voice a command. “Tell me what you need.”

You don’t hesitate. “You,” you groan, your voice raw and unfiltered. “I need you. I need to feel you around me, tight and wet and hot.”

Natasha smiles, her eyes darkening with desire. “Then take me,” she says, her voice a challenge. “Show me how much you want me.”

She rolls off you, her body moving gracefully as she positions herself at the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up, her pussy open and inviting. You don’t need to be told twice. You push yourself up, your body moving on autopilot as you kneel between her legs, your hands resting on her hips as you look down at her, your expression intense, your eyes locked on hers.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Natasha smiles, her hand reaching up to cup your face, her thumb brushing against your lips. “I’m sure,” she says, her voice steady. “I want this. I want you.”

You don’t need any more encouragement. You lean down, your lips pressing against hers in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate, your hands sliding down her body, your fingers teasing her entrance before pushing inside. She gasps, her hands tangling in your hair, her body arching off the bed as she presses closer, seeking more.

You take your time, your lips moving against hers, your hands stroking her body, your fingers thrusting in and out, your touch relentless and unhurried. Her moans fill the room, her body trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as her arousal builds, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter.

“Close,” she pants, her voice strained. “So close.”

You don’t stop. You press harder, your lips sucking at her neck, your fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot that makes her see stars. Her body arches off the bed, her hands gripping your shoulders, her heels digging into the mattress as she cries out, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave.

“Fuck,” she screams, her voice raw and unfiltered. “Oh fuck, yes!”

Her pussy clenches around your fingers, her juices flooding your hand, her body shaking as she rides out her orgasm, her breath coming in ragged gasps. You stay with her, your lips and hands never stopping, your touch gentle now, soothing, as you bring her down slowly, tenderly.

When she finally collapses back onto the bed, her body boneless and sated, you kiss your way up her body, your lips brushing against her skin, your hands stroking her hair, her arms, her sides. She smiles, her eyes half-lidded, her expression soft and content.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice a whisper. “For reminding me what it feels like to be alive.”

You kiss her, your lips pressing against hers with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I’m here,” you say, your voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles, her hand resting on your cheek, her thumb brushing away the stubble on your jaw. “I know,” she says, her voice steady. “And I’m here for you, too.”

The moment stretches between you, the air thick with unspoken words, unspoken promises. Natasha rolls onto her back, her body relaxed, her eyes closed as she takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with each exhale. You watch her, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—gratitude, desire, something deeper that you can’t quite name.

“Stay with me,” she says, her voice soft, her eyes still closed. “Just for tonight. Hold me.”

You don’t need to be asked twice. You lie down beside her, your body pressing against hers, your arm wrapping around her waist as you pull her close, your lips brushing against her temple. She sighs, her body molding to yours, her hand resting on your chest as she snuggles into you, her breath evening out as she drifts off to sleep.

You stay awake for a while longer, your eyes tracing the lines of her face, the curve of her shoulder, the rise and fall of her chest. The apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that’s no longer suffocating but soothing, a gentle lullaby that rocks you both to sleep.

For the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of peace, a sense of belonging. Natasha’s presence is a balm to your shattered heart, her touch a reminder that you’re still alive, still wanted, still capable of feeling. And as you finally drift off to sleep, her body warm and solid against yours, you know that you’re not alone. You’re not lost. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

DO NOT TRANSLATE, COPY PUBLISH OR EDIT MY WORKS, I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORKS BEING PUBLISHED ON ANY 3RD PARTY WEBSITE. © bunbun 2025 - 2027🖇️ ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[malewifesband]

kabru: (sheepishly) haha i hope you dont mind, sorry my apartment is a mess

(he hurriedly tries to hide how many empty bottles live on his bedside table)

laios: ummm its okay yeah no worries

kabru: let me just put on some music...

(a couple hours later, theyre lying sweaty in a heap on the mattress on the floor with the sheets all coming up off it. wobbly legged, laios slowly gets up, trying not to disturb kabru, and creeps to the fridge only to find it empty)

laios: i need to come over every night with dinner for the rest of my life. i can fix him