#I will need to go back and edit it eventually but it needs to settle first

[tcfactory]

Shameless Self Promotion Saturday Sunday Monday!

We make a post and show off what cool stuff we created over the past week. Art, Screenshots, writing (anything from a questionnaire about your OC to the 100K epos...) anything we do is worth to be seen and to be promoted. And by tagging people, commenting, and reblogging, we share the love and boost ourselves and other's confidence.

tagged by @flushwithdarlings

tagging: @mysteryteacup and anyone who might want to do this

I'm cheating a little bit, because I have finished Sky Ballet last week, but it's a pretty heavy two-shot that's technically a companion fic to a (currently) much lighter fic I have been working on, so I'll pretend that it counts.

minor shoutout to @decepticonsensual, because I found the beginnings of this story in a dream last year when I was in writing burnout and, not having any Transformers friends, I sent a kinda random ask to the coolest TF person I know of with the cliffnotes of the basic premise and they were really nice about it, so. Here's to you, for having been an Inspiration with your stories and meta posts and analyses ever since I found this fandom. Keep being awesome!

It's my personal continuity soup where Orion Pax (who is a Good Person and a Decent Cop) gets a gruesome look at the systemic Horrors that plague his world, but due to his position in said system he can't see how deep it all goes and doesn't have the tools to make things better even when he tries.

Or: Cybertron's society is built on pain and suffering from the lowest bloodsport to the pinnacle of performing arts. It takes Optimus too long to realize that this is by design.

(Warning for canon typical violence, background character death, slavery, implied nonconsensual body modification... if you've read anything from the IDW run this is the standard issue Horrors)

----------

Sky Ballet

Pax considers himself a good mech and a decent cop. An honest worker (he never shuns responsibility, even when it means drudging through boring patrols on an overcast day), someone looking out for the vulnerable (even when that means looking the other way while a hungry mech swipes a cube) and doing his best for the less fortunate (he can’t reject the shanix the crooked senators slip into his hands, not if he wants to still be a cop tomorrow or the day after, but money likes moving and it’s easy enough to let it slip into a donation box here and a grasping hand there). He can’t show support to Megatron’s revolutionaries, not openly, but when another demand comes by to investigate them he can do things by the book, which might as well be the same thing. He’s not sure that they are utilizing only peaceful means to protest as Megatron claims, but if there is violence happening then they are doing a very good job of making it happen somewhere Orion can’t see, hear, or connect it back to them through wild conjuncture, which is good enough.

After the three-ring circus that was Zeta Prime’s sentencing (long, drawn out and completely pointless, considering the mech was already dead), he thinks that the oppressed underclass deserves to be a little angry and break a building or three.

Still, being friendly with the Iacon elite allows Orion to occasionally overhear a few rumors that don’t make it out of the highest circles of society and one of those rumors is very relevant to Megatron and his mechs. Relevant enough that for the first time ever, Orion braves visiting the gladiator in the heart of his realm, the infamous Pits of Kaon.

The arena is situated in the best part of Kaon, the high rise where the air is cleanest, the noxious fumes drifting from the lower city dispersed by the heavy turbines that keep the skybound city of Vos hovering just a little to the east. What could illustrate better the benefits of the place than the fact that Vos’ sacred national performing venue, the venerated Vosian Sky Ballet was situated right above the bloodied sands of the arena? Indeed it’s not uncommon for the wealthiest patrons of the Pits to take to the sky in gilded private transports and rise right up to the lavishly decorated venue of the ballet after the gladiatorial matches are concluded for the day, to feed their intellect after slaking their thirst for blood.

Orion Pax has, naturally, known this already. He's good at his job when he wants to be, so he even had the privilege of watching the Sky Ballet once or twice, although he only ever arrived strictly from the direction of Vos. It’s considered improper to make upstanding Iaconi folk approach from the direction of Kaon, even if the upper city isn't that much worse than the part of Iacon Orion lives in.

He still isn’t prepared to see the glittering dots of gem-colored jets dance high up in the sky as he walks down the aisles towards the arena floor. Afternoon is the time for practice, both above and below, and he finds Megatron going through a series of stretches near the front of the fighting floor. This time slot is clearly reserved for the champions, as the only other mechs occupying the chalky sands are Soundwave and his minicons, but unlike Megatron, the lanky gladiator doesn’t seem to take training too seriously. He moves his data cables as if they were slithering snakes, wiggling and snapping at Rumble and Frenzy, tickling them until they dissolve into staticky laughter when he catches them.

Orion watches them play for a while until Megatron finishes his warmups, notices him loitering in the stands and waves him down to their own level.

“Officer Pax. What do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” Megatron is cordial as ever when they are out in public, never cold enough to be inhospitable and never warm enough that an ambitious snoop could misconstrue their interaction as friendly. It takes Orion by surprise to be treated so distantly, but before he can start feeling upset over it he realizes that Megatron has no way to know that he comes as a friend today and not as a cop haranguing them.

“I come as just Orion today.” Megatron inclines his head slightly, accepting this claim for now. “I didn't mean to intrude on your time, but I have heard something that might be important.”

The jets on high do a maneuver so close to the ground that Orion can see their glittering cockpits, their engines drowning out all sound. When they pass Megatron gestures for him to continue.

“Go on. I don't have all day.”

“Is it true that you made it impossible for Senator Ratbat to buy a ticket to the arena?” It’s becoming something of a circus, if it is indeed true. Apparently Senator Ratbat has been fruitlessly trying to get a ticket to the showmatches for vorns now, but no matter how much shanix he offers, what channels he goes through or which swindler he threatens, the ticket refuses to materialize. If someone tries to gift him one, it gets deleted during transfer. If he shows up in person, every ticket is already sold out for that event, even for the standing spots where you can’t really see anything anyway, and no mech is willing to give up their spot no matter how he threatens or bribes them. Just last orn he tried to sneak into a match in disguise, only to be mistaken for a criminal and taken away in handcuffs right from the entrance. It has become so ridiculous that the crowds are starting to think it’s just part of the kayfabe, some staged event to drive up interest.

Orion, in the privacy of his processor, thinks that it must be one of Soundwave’s more obscure hobbies to bully the Senator. Some of the incidents - like the one where Ratbat paid an exorbitant amount of money to buy out every seat in the arena for a whole week, only for the purchase to turn into one ticket to the cheapest seat in a grindcore concert - are too much like his sense of humor to be coincidental.

Megatron answers something, but his voice is drowned out by the shriek of jet engines. What tips Orion off that this isn’t just the usual aerial stunt is when the minicons run to seek shelter under Soundwave’s broad wing-arms, just a moment before a seeker comes crashing into the sands in a jumbled heap of limbs, their vents belching smoke.

Orion jumps and twitches towards the mech, his crisis protocols urging him to help, but he runs straight into Megatron’s upheld arm. “Don’t bother, it’s already dead.”

“How can you know that?! We need to check! There might still be a way to-” He falls silent when a claw is held up in front of his face in the common gesture asking him to wait a moment.

“Is it Starscream?” Megatron doesn’t even look back, his voice bored as he calls out to the minicons.

“Nah, this one’s green.” Rumble transforms one arm into a piledriver and with an ingenious move knocks a whole bunch of sand over the seeker to stop its engines from burning. “Do you want it?”

“Frag no. Get rid of it like usual. I don’t want any trash in my arena tonight.” Megatron waits for their cheerful confirmation before he turns his attention back to Orion. “As I was saying…”

Orion can hear Megatron’s words, but they don’t compute. His eyes are still glued to the dead seeker, now held up in Soundwave’s cables as he examines it - her - for parts that are not too burnt to be repurposed. As he watches in horror, the gladiator very deliberately rips off the head and hands it to Frenzy. After a moment, he does the same with the left arm and hands it off to Ravage, who comes slinking out of the shadows. After longer consideration, he cuts open the partially melted abdominal glass and pulls out the slightly scorched t-cog and a mostly intact fuel pump and carefully places them in Rumble’s arms. Following a silent command, the minicons go running off to take their bounty to Hook and whatever other hacksaw is on medic duty this cycle and Soundwave starts dragging the greying cadaver towards the incinerator they use to dispose of dead gladiators that are too damaged to be worth salvaging. It’s an old thing, possibly as old as the Pits themselves, and it whines and gurgles like a dying turbofox when it’s in operation.

Orion realizes with a start that Megatron is clicking his claws at him again when the ringing of the incinerator clears from his audials. “Get yourself together, Pax. One would think this is the first time you see a dead mech.”

“Does this happen often?” Orion asks weakly. Megatron, coming to the conclusion that he won’t be useful to him until he rallies himself a bit, starts dragging him off to the edge of the stands.

“All the damn time. It’s a quiet orn where we only get a dozen of the stupid things dropping on our heads.” Megatron presses Orion to sit on a low bench, produces a badly dented cup from somewhere and pours him a generous helping of industrial grade from his internal refinery, which is possibly the only source of energon in the entire complex that’s guaranteed not to be contaminated.

Orion, still feeling numb, drinks up when the cup is shoved into his hand. It tastes vaguely like chalk. “Your internal filters need to be changed,” he notes absently.

“A lot of my components need to be changed. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Ratbat plans to sneak into the audience tonight as Chief Justice Subparhelion’s plus one,” Orion says, because there’s no way Megatron knew that. He came here specifically to tell him about it. He figured that whatever the reason why Soundwave goes to such lengths to keep Ratbat out, it must be at least a little important.

“Wonderful. Heard that, Soundwave?” Megatron calls over his shoulder. Soundwave keeps standing at the incinerator where he disposed of the dead seeker, showing no outward sign that he heard, but that’s just how the mech is. Megatron turns back to Orion, so whatever Soundwave told him was satisfying as an answer. “So much for not having any trash in my arena tonight. We will need to redo the entire schedu-”

His words are drowned out by the loud whine of the incinerator and Orion looks up just in time to see Soundwave pull one of his arms - melted and flattened, its servos and circuitry completely fused together - from the machine. “Megatron, Soundwave has- !”

Megatron, clearly done with his wandering attention, grabs Orion’s face and turns it back towards himself, just as calm as he was a klik before.

“Well, what else was he supposed to do? He can’t be seen up here or Ratbat will repossess him and the only way he can sit out the circus tonight is if he’s too damaged to fight or perform.”

Orion Pax watches in horror as Soundwave stiffly walks towards the barracks, flashing his visor at them in acknowledgment as he passes by. “Ratbat is the representative Senator of Iacon; the citystate doesn’t allow for slaves. He can’t take Soundwave.”

Megatron huffs, coincidentally displacing a fine cloud of chalk dust from his vents.“Soundwave isn’t a slave. You need to be considered a sentient mech by Iaconi standards to be considered a slave, which he is not. He’s ‘specialized equipment’.”

Orion stares at him, uncomprehending. The only three things required to be considered a sentient mech in Iacon are a spark (which he knows Soundwave has), a t-cog (he has seen Soundwave transform before) and- “Megatron. Are you telling me that Soundwave doesn’t have a brain module?!”

Megatron winces at the sudden audial-splitting volume and catches the cup as it falls from Orion’s numb fingers. “Not so loud… the law stipulates that sentience requires at least 68% of one intact brain module capable of emotional processing. Soundwave has seventeen partial brain modules split along his nervous core, all of them butchered the exact amount to maximize processing power without fulfilling the criteria for sentience and none of which are independently capable of processing emotions. When he’s not being lazy and piggybacking off somebody else’s hardware, he simulates a virtual copy of the standard emotional processing framework and filters his emotional experiences through that.” Megatron shrugs, like this entire thing isn’t complete madness. Like it’s a normal thing that his Amica’s self is made up of seventeen mangled brain modules stapled together. “He falls so far outside of the measurement criteria that even Swindle couldn’t get him an exemption. If he was a slave, at least he could be the official property of the Pits and I wouldn’t have to worry about Ratbat snatching him away.”

Orion thinks he makes a sound of distress as his processors struggle to comprehend that Soundwave is in such a precarious position that he would be safer as a slave. Megatron misunderstands his distress and pats him over the shoulder.

“We are grateful for this information, Pax. We owe you one.”

Orion doesn’t want their gratitude. He doesn’t want them to owe him. He wants the world to go back to the way it was the day before, when it still made sense.

He’s still so hung up on Soundwave by the time he leaves that he forgets to ask about the dead seekers falling from the sky.

----------

Senator Ratbat makes headlines the next day because the overworked transport he shares with the Chief Justice falls asleep on the highway and crashes into the river at full speed just outside Velocitron. Orion listens to his colleagues gossip about the Senator being cursed as he files away the new revolutionary pamphlets demanding the right to unionize to prevent more accidents like this, and thinks about how many contingencies one must need to protect someone who’s not recognized as a person. It’s a shame, he can’t help but think, that only the Senator survived. He liked Chief Justice Subparhelion.

---------

The next time Orion visits the arena Megatron is absent, but he finds Soundwave basking in the sun, his solar panels spread out all around him. His arm is brand new, the paint a shade off from the rest of his plating. Perhaps a little grateful for that tip about Senator Ratbat, Soundwave tolerantly throws him around for a bit under the guise of sparring (as opposed to intolerantly ripping his limbs off or hacking his brain) before he opens up a quadruple-encrypted comm channel and sends over one lonely ‘?’.

This, at least, is something Orion is already familiar with and doesn’t hesitate to ask. “Can you tell me what that was about last time? The thing with the seeker.” He knows better than to ask about Soundwave himself. He feels much too attached to his limbs to risk it.

Soundwave tilts his head to the side, as if considering the question, then proceeds to throw Orion around for another 20 kliks just for fun before he sends over an encrypted file.

This is how he really learns about the Vosian Sky Ballet.

----------

Imagine a highly specialized frame, streamlined to the smallest component. Balanced down to the most insignificant bolt, manufactured only from the purest alloys. Now mass produce seventeen thousand of them each vorn to maintain undisputed aerial supremacy over Praxus, forcing the latter to halt its production of flight frames altogether, because they could simply not keep up with the competition.

These are the seekers, the elite guard patrolling Cybertron’s skies. Vos’ pride and joy.

And they are not allowed to be anything but perfect.

Those that fail to live up to perfection are disposable.

And disposable seekers have only one place to go: the Sky Ballet.

----------

[If you enjoyed this far, you can read the rest of it HERE on AO3.]

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

[whatifitis]

♡ to build a home - LN 4 ♡

Summary: You're beginning to build a life with Lando. One of the steps you were excited for the most was building a home with him. So when it's time to finally start furnishing the house... let's just say we're glad everyone got to keep their fingers.

WC: 950

CW: fluff, two idiots in love trying to use their shared braincell..., not proofread

-=+=-

It’s finally time! A chapter in your life you were waiting for for so long. Not just building a life with your favorite person, but building a home with them too. You and Lando recently bought a home together and were excited to finally decorate it after having renovated it yourselves. 

The two of you (mainly just you) spent ages on pinterest and various furniture websites, trying to put together an aesthetically pleasing home that could also make the environment feel homey and warm, something Lando had lived without for so long, well, at least until you joined his life. From the day you’d met, his life suddenly seemed brighter and warmer, like he’d been living in a plain, grey world prior. 

After some conflicts and adjustments to the mood board, you both had settled on some furniture that you both loved. Some things were ordered to the house while the others were picked up in the store by you and Lando. Lando, of course, insisted on helping because 1. It could be some nice bonding time since he’s away a lot and 2. He’s a “Big strong man” who can help you carry everything… In other words, he was afraid another man would come to your rescue and steal you away. But that would never happen. 

As you awaited everything you’d ordered, your home still only held a mattress, Lando’s gaming set up and boxes that were filled with various objects. One of those boxes held your collection of books. Your collection grew through the years as you got older, the collection expanding a lot quicker since you and Lan had started dating. Everytime he traveled without you, he would stop by a bookstore and get you a book. Whether it be a special edition of a book or just something he thought you’d like, he always came back with one to add to your collection. 

“Baby.” Lando called to you, jumping onto the mattress where you laid. 

“Baby.” you reply. 

“I was thinking-”

Sitting up fast and gasping, “You can do that?”

Lando’s jaw dropped, “Rude?! You know what? Nevermind.” begins to stand up to walk away, hiding a smile. 

“No! Come on, baby. I was joking. Tell me what you were thinking.” you say, pulling his arm so that he falls over top of you on the bed. 

“Fine. Only cause I love you so much.” the man says, receiving several kisses from you that scatter his face. 

“I love you too. Now, tell me.”

“Do you wanna go to ikea? I know we ordered most of the furniture or we’re going to some stores in person but we need to get some bookshelves for your books. We can get to building them today and putting away the books.” he says, moving to stand, “That way we can clear a few boxes and we’ll have more room for activities.” he says as he pranced around the room, twirling in the air as if he was a dancer. 

You laugh at the show before you, being eternally grateful for his existence and the chaos he brings with him, “That sounds amazing, Lan. We can go now. That way we’re not up late trying to put together the bookshelves.” 

“How hard can putting together bookshelves be?”

-=+=-

Lando and you took the opportunity to enjoy the day to the fullest. The sun was out so you guys drove with the windows down, blasting some Taylor Swift and singing your hearts out to each other. 

Although the drive was fun, the same can’t be said for the adventure in Ikea… The two of you got lost for 5 hours inside of the Ikea. And don’t ask how, cause not even God knows how the two of you got lost, though it might have to do with the fact that you guys share a brain cell…

Eventually, with the help of an Ikea employee, the two of you made it out to the other side, half tempted to kiss the ground once you saw the sun again. 

-=+=-

Finally, after a stop at Mcdonalds for some dinner, the two of you were safe and sound at home, cutting open the boxes that contained the pieces of wood to build the bookshelves. As Lando was unboxing the pieces, he began throwing things about, not paying any mind to what was going where. 

“Lan, calm down. We’re gonna lose the instructions if you keep doing that.” 

“Pish posh. Who needs instructions for bookshelves? It’s easy. I built that desk myself with no instructions.” he says, pointing to the desk that holds his gaming set up… the most basic table to have ever existed. 

You put your hands on your hips as you exhale loudly, “Lan, that table has 5 pieces total…”

“And? I still did it. Ya know why? Cause I’m super smart and super strong. I don’t need the instructions… Now… where do we start…?” he says as he rests his hands on his hips, squinting as the mess of screws and panels of wood he scattered on the floor. 

-=+=-

Building a bookshelf was NOT as easy and Lando claimed it would be. Not only were the instructions missing, but Lando kept insisting he didn’t need them. You tried to help him but it felt as if the pieces kept moving on their own. You felt like the boys in the Maze Runner, trying to figure out the pattern of the maze changes every night. 

It’s been two hours since anyones spoken… so it startles you when he breaks the silence, “How… is the bookshelf… inside out…?”

“It’s 9pm… and we still haven’t finished the first bookshelf… we have 6 more to build…”

“FUCK”

[queers-gambit]

God's Plan

prompt: your boyfriend carries the worst parts of his job home, bringing to life one of your deepest-seeded insecurities. or when Carmy calls you clingy.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader -> pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 3.3k+

note: she's short. she's to the point. author doesn't want to hear a GODDAMN THING about "glorifying" toxic relationships. shut the fuck up, eat your cereal, read the fic or just scroll away.

warnings: cursing, small angst, short fic, author mildly gave up, hurt with no real comfort, allusion to toxic family relationship, insecurity, not edited.

part two: Two to Tango

"Hey, what're you still doin' here?"

You glanced up from your computer, smiling at your coworker, "Just trying to get the study notes finished so they can be used for the analysis."

"Okay...? But you realize what time it is, right?"

You hummed, glancing at the analog clock, "Just about 7?"

"Yeah, so, go home," she chuckled. "Work's still gonna be here tomorrow."

"I'll see you then," you dismissed softly, watching her smile and turn away from your desk. You tried to get back into work, but the truth was, you felt overly burned out, but still wanted to work because it'd make you feel better being "good" at your job.

So, in reality, you didn't get home until 10:56 pm, yet still beat Carmy. You ate something simple, cleaned up, got a shower, and crashed into bed. You didn't know the time, but Carmy eventually came home; his arm heavy around you when settling for sleep.

You were the first up and out the door the next morning, just barely seeing Carmy when he got up for coffee. You managed a single kiss before rushing away, needing to get to work on time. When you got there, your entire morning was blocked for client meetings, then you took lunch, later, team meetings, and then the last hour or so of work was meant for individual recreation.

Another day of staying late, trying to finish work you thought was important. Another day of getting home late, missing your man, going to bed, and only seeing him the following morning.

However, this time at work, your boss told you that the analysis meetings were pushed back by a week... So, technically, you stayed late and busted your ass for no literal reason! And your coworker's entire cup of coffee spilled on you. And your Outlook email was under maintenance, so, you couldn't really work. And then, to top off a really shitty week, your car was hit in the parking lot and now had a huge fucking dent.

You were beat.

You were overwhelmed.

You were miserable, stressed, righteously confused.

You didn't stay late that night. Instead, you left at a normal hour and texted Carmy:

what time do you think you'll be off?

He replied when you got to your car:

maybe around 8?

You sniffled, nodding, answering:

okay, see you when you get home.

As you exited the parking lot, he replied:

what? you're off?

And you answered:

yeah, couldn't stand being there much longer. think you could get off a little early?

When you made three turns, he sent back:

i'll try, peach 💙

When you got home, you felt utterly defeated. Life felt like a never ending shitshow that refused to alleviate most of the stress you forced to endure. You were in tears by the time you got in the door, angrily stripping and getting a long, hot shower. You cried a little longer. When you got out, you got dressed in cozy shorts and one of Carmy's sweatshirts; going about a few household chores when you realized it was already past 9.

You didn't really want to, but you texted Carmy again,

hey, are you gonna be much later?

You made a simple meal, eating it in silence. When you were doing dishes, Carmy answered,

i don't know, going over menu items with syd. text you on my way home

You just went to bed, exhaustion from the week catching up to you.

Sometime later, you felt Carmy crawl into bed beside you. You were only half awake, but still turned over and nestled into his chest, hearing him sigh. "You're home late," you mumbled.

"Sorry f'wakin' you, Peach," he whispered, pecking your forehead. "You good, baby?"

"S'been a long fuckin' week," you squeezed him.

He sighed, "Sorry it was rough, Peach, but hey, hey, back up a little, 's kinda warm."

"But I haven't seen you."

"I know, but it's just warm. We'll cuddle in the morning, okay?" You only sighed and turned back over to face away from him. You resettled with your pillow, just settling when he asked in a hardened tone, "You mad?"

"No, Carmen, go to sleep."

"You sound mad."

"I'm not."

"I don't mean to piss you off, it's just been a long night f'me and I don't want to cuddle right now," he said in a sharp tone that made your stomach coil and churn.

"Shut up, I'm not mad, Carmen, go to sleep."

He scoffed, your irritation spiking. "You're really fucking mad 'cause I don't want you laying on me right now?"

"No, Carmen, Jesus - "

"Callin' me fuckin' Carmen doesn't help," he snapped.

You sat up and turned to him, "You want me to be mad? Maybe I'm a little pissed off that I've barely seen my boyfriend this week! Not like you've made an effort to speak to me, but I've had a pretty shitty time at work, too - so, excuse the fuck outta me for feeling disappointed!"

"Disappointed in fucking what, Peach? In not wanting t'cuddle right now?"

"Maybe, yeah! I'm upset, stressed out, maybe I just wanted some comfort, God! Now you're all up in arms, I just wanted to go to sleep - but no, you want to pick at me!"

"Oh, Jesus, fucking Christ! You couldn't just talk to me about you having a shitty week, you gotta be laid up on me? When the fuck did you get so Goddamn clingy and desperate for fucking attention? Huh? So fucking desperate for love? Sorry you had a shitty week, darling, but you're not alone in that. Sorry if it's fucking hot and I just want to sleep."

Feeling yourself fighting a losing battle because he wasn't listening, you just sighed, "Okay, Carmen."

He scoffed again, turning over to face away from you, "Know what? Fuck you, sweetheart."

You stared at his back for a long minute, feeling shocked by his words. "You can be such a fucking dick, you know that?" You snapped, standing from bed.

"And you can be a dramatic bitch."

"Yeah, that's me, the bitch you chose, huh!?" You rolled your eyes and nodded sarcastically; taking the blanket from the end of the bed, figuring he wouldn't miss it since he was so fucking hot. With only your phone and charger, you went out to the living room and crashed on the couch; covering up and crying quietly into a pillow from the overwhelming stress built in your chest. You felt guilt plunging your stomach, tearing it apart; feeling as if it were your fault for having physical touch as a love language.

Sleep evaded you that night. About an hour before your alarm, you called in sick and shut your phone off, resettling in misery as Carmy left the bedroom for work. You didn't move, never opened your eyes. However, they popped open in surprise when Carmen shoved your shoulder, "Hey."

"What?" You muttered.

"You're late for work."

"Called in."

He snorted, "Yeah, must be nice."

You didn't say anything else, feeling utterly defeated by his sharp words. The lack of response made Carmy pause and glance over at you from the kitchen, honest surprise coloring his system because he usually knew you to bite back. But you were quiet and still, the only indication you were even alive being the slow drag of your shoulders.

He let the door slam after he left for work, and you instantly sobbed. What you didn't know was that Carmy had come back, forgetting something mundane, and came to a halt outside the door when he heard you crying. He felt guilty, but Carmy wasn't usually one to confront problems; he instead ran away, like always.

After a night of exhaustion, you finally cry yourself to sleep.

When Carmy got home that night after work, he found you still huddled on the couch. After a look around, he realized you hadn't moved all day; nothing to eat, nothing to drink... He wanted to wake you but still felt so fucking irritated from his job that the idea of reconciling with you felt far fetched. So, he did what he did best and isolated himself by going to the gym for a few hours.

You still hadn't woken up when he got back.

So, he just went to bed; hating sleeping alone but hating his pride more because it refused to let him get up and go get you. Carry you to bed. Smother you in apologies. Beg for forgiveness. He was cold that night.

You were awake around 4 am.

The entire apartment felt as cold and aloof as your boyfriend. You felt so silly for still being there, knowing you paid for an apartment of your own, but liking that Carmy's place was closer to your work. And he never asked you to leave, in fact, the times you went home, he was calling you within hours to beg you to come back because he hated sleeping alone.

Whatever happened to that lad? The one who was so in-love with you that he would desperately ask you to come "home" to him? Who was this man now? Who called you clingy, desperate... A bitch.

You could only stand to make coffee, feeling powerless in this tension. You didn't want him to ignore you any longer, feeling like you'd drop to your knees for his forgiveness if it would end this feud; but you weren't so naïve. You spent several long minutes mentally prepping yourself for more anxiety, telling yourself you could handle the day if you just powered through it. Everything should be fine so long as you didn't do anything else to upset him, as long as you didn't do anything to warrant him yelling at you - again.

You finally decided on an emotion, since you could feel so many at any given point in time, and since this situation was one you've never encountered before. Carmy had brought forth one of your biggest insecurities and then smashed it in your face like punk-ass siblings did to your birthday cake. You decided you were hurt by his words, tone, and actions; you were hurt by the man you loved unconditionally, and that was a terrifying thought on its own. He was once a man you thought couldn't do any wrong, to now being a man you were unsure of how to even speak to; fearful, as you once were as a child, to upset him and create hostility directed at you.

Carmy often forgot he didn't have a monopoly on toxic, complicated family dynamics, but being that Mikey was still so fresh for him, you kept quiet about your own issues in an effort to be a loving, supportive girlfriend. Yet even while trying not to upset anyone, to create tension, you somehow managed to. You felt your heart and soul shrivel into a withered raisin when you remembered your family and how they constantly put you down; saying that nobody wanted a girl like you who tried, tried, and tried again only to fail. They thought you were damaged goods, treated you as such and always smeared your name in the mud whenever you thought you had found someone to love you and be loved by you.

All that trauma was rearing its ugly head now, making doubt sink into the cracks of your relationship. No matter how hard he tried, Carmy couldn't ever take those words back once they've been said, and he had to understand that going forward, this would strain your relationship. Taking anger and frustration out on you was inappropriate, putting a bad taste in your mouth; making you wonder how the hell you'd ever move past this when his words circled your head like water draining from the sink.

Sometime around 9 am, you were curled up on the couch with your coffee and a book; Saturday dragging by slowly to allow you the reprieve of being off work. The bedroom door opened and you held your breath; sweat breaking out on your brow; heart stammering in your chest. When he came out, Carmy didn't look at you, which allowed you to watch him. He made a to-go cup of coffee, then shouldered his backpack before heading for the door.

"Carmy?" You asked softly in confusion, "I thought you were off today?"

"I am," he replied stiffly, "but I gotta run errands."

You didn't have time to respond before he was storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. You blinked in shock, confusion plunging your heart to your feet as you realized he didn't ask you to join him, in fact, he didn't appear to want to tell you his plans until you had to ask directly when he was walking out the door. You felt terrible, more tears swelling in your eyes at the discord your boyfriend prolonged.

Something in your heart snapped and you stood from your seat. With anger coursing through your veins, you turned into a miniature tornado and quickly started gathering whatever you could get your hands on that belonged to you. You had enough, you felt hurt, yes, we established this, but then the disrespect started to overflow out of your heart to color your blood. Never linger where you're not wanted, you should never tear yourself down to that level. Never should have to second guess yourself, either - especially in a space where you're supposed to be safe.

You started to wonder: is it clingy if you made dinner and saved him a plate? Is it clingy if you did his laundry? What about cuddling? Is that clingy? Well, apparently! What else are you wrong about? If you texted him? Asked his opinion? What about if you held his hand - is that clingy, too? Probably!

Physical touch and quality time were your love languages, but after this reaction, you wondered if everything you'd do from now on would be judged? Would you be crucified for showing your love? For trying to participate in your relationship?

All day, you moved your stuff back to your apartment. All shoes, clothes, purses, make-up, haircare and skincare products - any and all period products, too. You left fucking nothing; going as far as to lay face-down the photo of your two on his bedside stand. You'd of taken it, too, but you felt sick at the thought so you left it for him. Sunday night, you didn't return to his apartment, and Carmy didn't call to say goodnight; both figuring the other was still pissed off. Your Monday was long and annoying, but once it was over, you had to admit, it was strange returning to an empty apartment, heat up leftovers, eat while watching some Netflix show, and then crashing into bed - moving mechanically.

Days passed uneventfully, albeit, a bit sluggishly. And then, Thursday arrived, and with it, the shit that would hit the fan.

You were enraptured in this book by Anne Tyler called "Dinner At The Homesick Restaurant," and couldn't stop reading it. You nursed a mug of tea, the outside darkening with an approaching thunderstorm that would talk to you in the silence and send bolts of lightning to illuminate the city. A shrill ringtone then played, making you jump slightly and glance at your phone only to see Carmy's contact name and photo.

You stare at your phone for a long moment, and then, after convincing yourself that ignoring him would only add fuel to the fire, answered quietly, "Hello?"

"Peach? Hey, uh... Are you, um, still at work?"

"No?"

"Where are you, then?"

"I'm home."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"I'm standing right here and you're not, baby, unless you got superpowers or something?" He chuckled nervously, hearing nothing on your end. "In fact, I, uh... I don't see any of your things. You move 'em?"

He'd never admit it, but your personal touch in his living space transformed it into a home; and now that they were all gone, he hated how cold, dreary, and grey the apartment felt.

"Carmy, I mean my home. You know? The apartment I still pay for?"

"Oh, well... Why're you there?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I had to bring my stuff back and leave it somewhere safe."

"It was safe here, Peach," he argued.

"Yeah, but it's your space and last thing I need is to be yelled at and insulted again for being clingy 'cause I left clothes at your apartment."

"Fuc'k's sake," You heard him hiss under his breath, bringing tears to your eyes. "You know I don't mind, I want you to leave shit here so it's easier on you to commute. Look, you know it's Thursday, right? Does our standing date night ring any bells?"

"Okay, but we haven't honored that in weeks? You know, 'cause you've been really busy."

"I thought we could get back into it tonight."

You sighed, turning the page in your book, "No, I don't think so, but thanks anyway."

He took a long pause, asking nervously, "What's wrong, Peach?"

"Nothing. Is there anything else, Carmen? I'm in the middle of shit."

"Oh, uh, n-no, I guess that's it. You comin' over tomorrow?"

"No. I told my brother I'd help him this weekend."

"But tomorrow's... Friday?"

"Yeah, that's how a calendar works. I have to travel to get to him," you scoffed.

"You didn't think to tell me?"

"Why would I?"

"You tell me everything! You don't think that's something I should know? That my girl's not even gonna be here this weekend?"

"Well, you're the one who said I was fucking clingy, remember!?" You finally snapped. "So, I'm giving you all that space you wanted!"

"Baby - "

"No, it's a great idea. We need space, Carmen; this isn't fair to either of us anymore," you spoke seriously, the line going quiet.

"What?"

"We need space from this relationship."

"I don't. I don't need space, Peach, baby, no, just listen, okay? I'm so sorry, I came home stressed out and I took it out on you. I'm sorry, I really am, this isn't what I want. Okay? I'm sorry. Just - come back home and we can - "

"No, you know what? I think I'm the one who needs this space," you snapped. "You said some pretty fucked up things, Carmen, that you can't ever take back, and now that I know, I can't un-know what you think about me. So, I need time to sort myself out."

"What're you saying? A-Are you breaking up with me?"

"Not yet, no."

"Baby, don't do this. C'mon, okay? I'm sorry, baby, I-I-I was wrong for what I said, I didn't - I didn't mean it! None of it, okay? Know I love you, baby, please, just come home, okay? I'm so sorry, I love that you wanna be close to me, I shouldn't've pushed you away. I'm sorry, okay? Please, baby, I'm so sorry. I need you, Peach, please. Just come home, we'll talk it through, I promise, no yelling - "

"I think you already said it all. Your words were 'clingy' and 'desperate'. Oh, and you also called me a 'bitch', so, I'd hate to be the bitch that makes your already stressful life all the harder."

"I didn't mean that - "

"I gotta go, Carmen, we'll talk later, okay? Goodnight."

He froze when he listened to those three distinct beeps that indicated you hung up on him. Confusion and hurt now seeped into the cracks of Carmy's heart; wondering when the hell he'd become so Goddamn self destructive to ruin the best thing he's ever had - you. The apartment might as well turned into ice with the way the light left, your departure suddenly haunting him.

When will these boys learn? The love of a good woman is rare, they'd only ever be so lucky as to think they deserve a woman like you. Nobody ever gets to guilt you for your love language(s) and then grovel for forgiveness. You deserve better, you deserve more; whether you could see that right now or not, you deserved to be loved in the best way for you. And sometimes, that means walking away from something you once thought was exactly what you wanted, but perhaps, never what you needed - call that God's Plan.

[ part two: ] Two to Tango

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[dazevi]

CHAPTER ONE: GHOST IN THE ROOM

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: with the tour coming to an end, vi's manager insists on the band taking a break. meanwhile, you help your best friend, mel, with planning her wedding.

content warnings: MDNI. angst (lots of it), slightly suggestive, rockstar!vi, writer!reader, eventual exes to lovers (more like exes to fwb to lovers), no smut but mentions of sex, jaymel cameo, bestfriend!mel, time skips, mentions of alcohol and smoking

wc: 11,388 (about—i made some edits lol)

note: good morning!! (its morning where i am) this is my first time writing a series so feedback would be very much appreciated—would love to hear what you guys think!!! also i had some trouble deciding if i wanted to write jayvik or jaymel but i felt like mel would’ve been more fitting for reader to have as a best friend lol anyways here is the first chapter! i hope you all enjoy!!! (fanart by bunimint_ on ig)

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

The hum of the venue echoed faintly through the backstage room, muffled by layers of concrete and steel.

The crowd had been electric tonight, their cheers and screams still ringing faintly in Vi’s ears as she sat on the small stool in front of a mirror. Her guitar sat propped against the brick wall behind her, its strings still vibrating in her memory from the final chords of the night. The air in the room smelled faintly of sweat and smoke, the residue of adrenaline and effort clinging to her skin.

The band was as much a family as it was a group of musicians. While Vi stands in front, Ekko was on lead guitar, the youngest of them but by far the most electric on stage, shredding solos and occasionally stepping up to rap when a song called for it. Then there was Steb on drums. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t really need to. He was a crucial part of the band already and quite creative with his beats. And on bass was Loris, a big guy with a bigger heart, who filled every song with lines that could shake the floor of any venue.

But she was alone now, the rest of the band off celebrating the end of the tour, their laughter faint in the distance, just past the door. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—flushed cheeks, damp hair sticking to her temples, her tank top slightly wrinkled. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but her mind wasn’t calm.

Not really.

She reached up to push a strand of hair from her face when her fingers brushed against the cool silver chain around her neck.

Her hand stilled.

The necklace felt heavy on her neck as always, but she hardly thought about anymore.

Tonight, for some reason, it felt heavier. Vi tugged gently at it, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt to let it fall against her chest. They glimmered faintly in the dim backstage light, catching her eye like they always had.

She stared at them for a long moment, her throat tightening.

She hadn’t thought about it—about you—in a while.

Or… maybe that wasn’t true.

Maybe she’d just gotten better at pretending she didn’t.

But now, with the adrenaline of the stage fading away and the silence of the backstage room settling in, it hit her all over again.

Six years had passed since graduating high school. She remembers all the memories that came with it—that came with being with you—as if they happened yesterday.

But, three years.

It had been three years since the two of you had broken up, and Vi still couldn’t let go of this last piece of you. She told herself it was just a necklace, just a reminder of a time when life seemed simple, but deep down she knew it was more than that.

It was a lifeline to a past she hadn’t entirely made peace with—a time when the world didn’t feel quite so big, and her dreams hadn’t come at the cost of losing you.

She blinked at her reflection, her jaw tightening as her fingers played with the rings. The memories came flooding back despite her best efforts to push them down. The nights spent tangled up together in her room, the sound of your laugh as you teased her for pretending to know how to play certain songs when she wanted to impress you, the way you always smelled faintly of lavender and paper from all those books you carried around and loved so much. God, she could almost hear your voice if she closed her eyes, could almost feel the way your hands used to cup her face when you kissed her.

But you weren’t here. And you hadn’t been for years.

Vi exhaled shakily, letting the necklace fall back against her chest. She rubbed her hands over her face, her calloused fingers catching slightly on her damp skin.

She tried to tell herself this was what she wanted—what she had worked so hard for. The sold-out shows, the screaming fans, the endless crowds. It had been her dream for as long as she could remember.

But the truth was, none of it felt quite as fulfilling as she thought it would. Not without you.

The buzz of her phone on the dressing table broke her train of thought. She glanced at it, the screen lighting up with a text from Ekko reminding her to join them at the bar. She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the mirror.

For a quick moment, she thought about it—thought about texting you. Maybe, calling you. Just to say hi. Just to hear your voice again, even if only through the cold distance of a phone call.

But she knew better. You had probably already moved on, or at least, you deserved to.

Vi stood slowly, adjusting the chain so it tucked back under her shirt, hidden from view. She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on. As she walked out of the room, she felt the rings press lightly against her chest.

The party the next night was loud, chaotic, and everything it should have been to celebrate the end of a year-long tour. Vi found herself tucked into a corner of the room, a half-empty beer bottle in her hand as she watched her bandmates laugh and shout over the music. People swarmed around them—fans, industry suits, and a few familiar faces from the tour circuit.

It was exactly what she used to love, the kind of scene she’d dreamed about when she first picked up a guitar in her mom’s garage. But tonight, it all felt hollow.

She plastered on a grin when someone approached, making small talk she wouldn’t remember later, pretending the music wasn’t giving her a headache.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the celebration. She should have been celebrating. A year long tour. Ninety shows. Sold-out venues in cities she never thought she’d even visit, let alone play in.

But now that it was over, the rush was fading.

Vi’s manager had pulled the band aside after the final show, giving them a rundown of what came next.

Or rather, what didn’t come next.

“You’ve earned it,” the manager had said, looking around at the group. “Take a break. Go home. Recharge. You’ve been going non-stop for years. You deserve this.”

Home. The word lingered in Vi’s mind. It felt heavy and unfamiliar.

She sipped her beer and glanced around the party again. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, but Vi felt detached, like she was watching it all through a screen.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. This band, for the time being, had been her life. The shows, the music, the adrenaline—it all kept her moving forward, kept her distracted.

But now? Now she was being told to stop.

Her fingers brushed against the chain around her neck, hidden beneath her shirt. She’d done it out of habit, her thumb grazing the spot where the rings rested against her skin. She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she felt some sort of pain swell in her chest. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the noise and the people around her.

When a girl caught her eye across the room—pretty, confident, the kind of girl who wouldn’t ask too many questions—Vi didn’t hesitate.

She let the girl take her hand and pull her upstairs to some empty room in the penthouse suite. It was mechanical by now, second nature. She knew what to say, where to touch, how to make it seem like she was present when, in truth, her mind was somewhere else.

Or rather, with someone else.

It always ended the same way.

Vi closed her eyes, and it was you. There was no one else she could think of other than you.

It didn’t help that every time she hovered over someone else, her necklace would dangle just in front of her, and she’d look down and catch a glimpse of you beneath her, all pretty and waiting, with eyes full of love and warmth—the very eyes she fell in love with again and again. Every laugh, every touch, every kiss—it was you she conjured up in her mind.

But it never lasted.

Reality always came crashing back when the girl whispered her name in a way that had no effect on her or when she clung to her a little too tightly, too roughly.

When it was over, Vi sat silently by the bed, pulling on her shirt, avoiding eye contact.

“Can you stay?” the girl asked softly.

“No,” Vi shook her head, grabbing her jacket. She never stayed. She never left her number. And she never looked back.

Walking out into the cold night air, Vi lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

She thought about you—again. She thought about the way you used to smile at her, how your fingers used to trail through her hair when she rested her head in your lap, how you’d call her name so softly that it felt like she was listening to her favorite song. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but it was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive.

Since the breakup, Vi had grown bitter, the world feeling heavier with each passing day. She hadn’t felt truly happy in years, hadn’t laughed the way she used to.

So she buried herself into anything that could distract her—work, music, and nights like this one.

But it was useless.

Because no matter how far she ran, how many strangers she kissed, or how loud the music played, she always had you in her mind.

Always you. Only you.

To the little town she used to call home. To the life she’d walked away from when she chose this one.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice.

The chime of the bell above the flower shop door rang faintly as a customer left, and you glanced up from where you sat behind the counter, absentmindedly wrapping a bouquet of daisies in soft brown paper. The shop smelled sweet and earthy—comforting in a way that nothing else had been for the past few years.

It had been your mom’s idea for you to work here after you graduated college, though you hadn’t exactly protested. It was a nice job to have. Stress free. Relaxing. Arranging flowers, chatting with customers, and helping with orders had its own kind of peace.

You figured it would be nice way to pass some time while saving up money for your own shop—a book shop.

But some time has passed now, and all you’ve got to do is find the courage to go downtown and lease out that nice empty spot by the town gardens.

But, you decide to put that off for next month. Maybe after the wedding.

Your degree in literature had been the culmination of years of dreaming, of late nights spent pouring over books and writing short stories that no one else ever read. And for a while, everything felt like it was falling into place. That book—the one you poured your soul into, the one that had felt like ripping your heart out to write—had done surprisingly well. It wasn’t a bestseller, but it had been enough. Enough to make you believe you were on the right path, to reassure you that the sacrifices had been worth it.

But now, the blank pages in your notebook always stared back at you, mocking. The words didn’t come as easily as they used to. It wasn’t writer’s block, not exactly—it was something deeper. A lack of fire, you called it. And you told yourself that the flower shop was just a temporary stop, a place to regroup until the inspiration came back.

But part of you worried it never would.

As you finished tying a ribbon around the bouquet, your gaze drifted to the small bookshelf by the window. Copies of your book sat there, stacked neatly, the cover facing out. Your mom kept them in stock, proud and supportive as always, even if the sight of them made you wince. Every time you looked at it, you remembered how much of yourself you’d poured into that story—how you’d been told it was heartbreaking and beautiful, and yet writing it had felt like stitching up a wound that refused to heal.

You always tried not to think about who had inspired it.

But of course, you failed. You always did.

Some days, it was easier to pretend that part of your life hadn’t happened, to bury it under layers of routine and busy nights. Other days, it hit you out of nowhere—a song on the radio, a laugh in a movie, the way a stranger’s voice pitched just so.

And suddenly, you’d be back there.

Back to her.

The chime of the bell rang again, snapping you out of your thoughts as a new customer stepped in. You forced a polite smile, brushing your hands against your apron. The shop was warm and safe, a place where you could hide from the rest of the world.

But somewhere out there, the rest of the world kept moving—just as it had for Vi.

You remembered the day you saw that headline.

You hadn’t expected to see it, but there it was—Violet Lanes Spotted Dining With Famous Actress Caitlyn Kiramman—in bold, glaring letters across the entertainment news section of your phone screen.

The date on the article was just two weeks after your breakup, and it felt like the universe had decided to make sure you never forgot. You could still remember the way your heart sank as you read it, like the air was suddenly sucked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

You’d known about Vi’s fame, how it grew quickly when she started making music professionally, of course—how could you not? She was a rockstar, her face plastered everywhere, her name trending almost daily.

But this… this was different.

Caitlyn Kiramman was an actress with a reputation that preceded her, a star on a different level entirely. Vi was supposed to be with you—at least, you thought so, at the time. But as you read through the details, the pictures of Vi smiling across the table at Caitlyn, her arm casually draped around the actress’s shoulders, something inside you snapped. It was the first time, in the aftermath of everything, that you’d truly felt like you’d lost her.

You tried to dismiss the burning ache in your chest. After all, you hadn’t exactly been an innocent party in your breakup. You had your reasons for walking away, too.

But seeing Vi so effortlessly move on, laughing and drinking wine with someone like Caitlyn—someone who could stand next to her in the spotlight without being swallowed by it—hit you harder than you expected.

It wasn’t jealousy, not really.

It was just you realizing that Vi had stepped into a world without you, just as you had stepped into one without her.

You thought about calling her, but you didn’t.

The last time you’d spoken, you’d said what needed to be said, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. You had told yourself you were better off, that you deserved more than being constantly second place to her career.

You didn’t want to call. Instead, you buried yourself in your work, threw yourself into your job, and started writing stories that felt too hollow to ever really be finished. You kept your distance from everything that reminded you of her, trying to forget the feeling of her hand in yours, the sound of her voice when she’d whisper your name in that low, raspy tone that made your heart flutter.

Maybe Vi was happy. Maybe she had found someone else who could give her the things you couldn’t. The thought hit you harder than it should, but you couldn’t stop it.

You thought about the necklace—the one Vi had worn, the one that had been yours too, back in high school. Your fingers traced the small silver chain around your neck, the one you hadn’t taken off since that night you two shared it.

Had she kept hers? You wondered, for the briefest second, if she still thought about you.

But you had no way of knowing. You hadn’t heard from her in years, and you had convinced yourself that it was for the best.

The familiar sound of the bell above the shop’s door jingled softly as your mom stepped out from the back room, balancing a couple of boxes in her arms. She looked like she’d been at it for hours, strands of her hair falling from the bun on top of her head.

“Sweetheart,” she said, setting the boxes down on the counter with a thud. “Mel’s going to call about the flowers soon. You know how particular she can be about the arrangements.”

You sighed, pausing mid-wrap on a bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus.

“I know, Mom,” you muttered, though you couldn’t quite keep the smile off your face.

Mel had been one of your closest friends since high school, and if anyone had a reason to be particular, it was her. She deserved the perfect wedding, after all.

“She’s already called three times this week about those centerpieces. I’m pretty sure I know her vision better than she does at this point.”

Your mom laughed softly, brushing her hands on her apron. “She’s just excited. It’s a big day.”

She gave you a knowing look, the kind that said she wasn’t just talking about Mel.

Before you could respond, the phone behind the counter buzzed, cutting through the silence of the shop. You reached for it instinctively, already knowing who it would be.

“I swear, she has a sixth sense for these things,” you mumbled as you picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Lane Florals, how can I help—”

“Don’t even start with the formalities, I know it’s you,” came Mel’s voice, bright and slightly exasperated on the other end. “And I know I’ve already called you a million times this week, but I need to talk about the bouquets again. Jayce thinks we’re good, but I’m having second thoughts about the hydrangeas.”

You let out a dramatic groan, though you couldn’t help the laugh that followed. “Mel, you’ve gotta stop stressing. You’re going to make me go gray before your wedding day. What’s wrong with the hydrangeas now?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “I just feel like they don’t have the right… feeling. Maybe we should go with lilies? Or peonies? Or—oh! Do you think we could mix in some sunflowers? Jayce looooves sunflowers.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, glancing over at your mom, who was now suppressing a grin as she watered the potted plants by the window.

“Mel, we’re two weeks away from the wedding,” you said gently. “If we keep changing things, you’re not going to have any flowers at all.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Mel sighed dramatically. “You’re right. Ugh, you’re right. I’m just overthinking it. I’m sorry, I’ll stop being such a pain your ass.”

“You’re not a pain,” you said, softening. “You’re just… a perfectionist. But it’s all going to be perfect, I promise. The hydrangeas are beautiful, and they’re going to look amazing with everything else. Trust me. I’ll throw in some sunflowers, too, for Jayce.”

Mel let out a small, relieved laugh. “Thanks, babe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lose your mind, probably,” you teased, leaning back against the counter. “But seriously, you’re going to be fine. And as your maid of honor, I think you should take my advice and roll with it.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and you could hear the smile in her voice. “Oh, and don’t forget, you promised to help me with the seating chart this weekend.”

“I know, I know,” you assured her, though the thought of wrangling that seating chart made you want to pour yourself a strong drink. “I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“Okay. Love you!” she said quickly before hanging up.

You set the phone down with a sigh, turning to your mom, who was now watching you with an amused expression. “Hydrangeas again?” she asked.

“Hydrangeas,” you confirmed with a laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, if I hear the word one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

But despite the teasing, you felt nothing but warmth for Mel. She was one of the few people who had stuck by you through everything, and seeing her so happy with Jayce was something you couldn’t begrudge, no matter how stressful wedding planning had become.

You glanced at the calendar on the wall, your thoughts drifting briefly, as they so often did, to Vi.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

At least, that’s what Vi had told you when she kissed you goodbye at the airport years ago, both of you standing on the edge of the new chapter—her with her band’s first big break, and you heading off to college.

She had cupped your face, her calloused hands warm against your cheeks, and promised, “We’ll make it work. You and me, we’re solid, baby. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

But it did.

You used to call everyday. Text everyday. It was so often that Vi would fall asleep on the phone every night, to the sound of your voice, telling her how much you missed her. You’d do the same, too.

But the calls that used to stretch into the early hours of the morning grew shorter and less frequent.

At first, Vi always made time for you, even if she was in the middle of nowhere, some dingy tour bus parked at a rest stop. She’d stay on the line, her gravelly voice cutting through the static as she told you about the show that night or the funny thing Ekko had done to annoy Steb. And you’d tell her about your classes, your professors, the friends you were making in your lit program. She also always used to mention you in interviews when people would ask the band if they were single or whatever.

And Vi would always say, “I’ve actually got a girl waiting for me back at home,” with cheekiest smile she could throw on.

For a while, it was enough.

But then the band’s success started to pick up, and Vi’s world got louder, busier. The calls started to come later and later—or sometimes not at all.

You’d stay up, staring at your phone, waiting for it to ring, only to wake up hours later with an empty inbox and a dull ache in your chest.

And the texts? They dwindled too.

You used to send each other everything—pictures, inside jokes, songs that reminded you of each other.

Days would pass before you’d hear from her. And when you did, it was always rushed. A quick voice message, “Sorry, babe, crazy day. Miss you, though. Love you,” followed by radio silence for the rest of the week.

You tried to understand. You really did.

You knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d worked to get where she was. You were proud of her, more than you could ever put into words.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

One night, you were in your dorm room, sitting at your desk with a stack of notes and an unfinished essay in front of you, your phone balanced precariously on the edge. Vi had promised to call after a show—it had been over two weeks since you’d last spoken properly—but the clock was inching toward midnight, and there was still no word.

When the phone finally buzzed, you snatched it up, your heart pounding. “Vi?”

Her voice came through the line, raspy and tired. “Hey, baby. Sorry, show ran late.”

“It’s okay,” you lied, sinking back into your chair. “How was it?”

She sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. “Good. Crowd was wild. But I’m beat.”

There was a pause, one that stretched too long, too heavy. You could feel the distance between you, the miles and the time zones and the weeks of missed calls.

“I miss you,” you said softly, your voice breaking a little.

“I miss you too,” she said, but it sounded automatic, like something she’d said a thousand times before—who are you kidding? She probably has.

You wanted to ask her why she hadn’t called, why it felt like you were slipping further and further apart.

But the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you said, “When are you coming home?”

“Uh…” Another pause. Then, “I don’t know, babe. Not for a while.”

It felt like a punch to the gut.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry,” she added quickly, like she could sense your disappointment in her. “It’s just… everything’s so crazy right now. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

When the call ended, you stared at your phone for a long time, tears blurring your vision. Vi had always been your safe place. But at that time, it felt like she was slipping away, and no matter how tightly you held on, you couldn’t stop it.

And Vi felt it too.

She hated the way things were between you, the way she could hear the hurt in your voice even when you tried to hide it. She wanted to fix it, to drop everything, fly to you and hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

But the truth was, she didn’t know if it would be.

Because no matter how much you loved each other, the distance was pulling you apart. And neither of you knew how to stop it.

NOVEMBER, THREE YEARS AGO.

It had been months since you’d last seen her—months that felt like years. You’d tried to bury yourself in your studies, keeping busy so you didn’t have to think about the loneliness she left behind with you.

But then your phone rang one rainy afternoon, and when Vi’s name flashed on the screen, you hesitated for only a moment before answering.

“Hey,” you said softly, curling up on your bed as you balanced the phone against your ear.

“Hey, babe,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse, like she’d been yelling or maybe singing too much. “How’s school?”

“It’s… fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral.

You wanted to tell her everything—how much you missed her, how hard it was to fall asleep without her voice in your ear—but you swallowed the words.

“What are you up to?” You asked, bringing a hand up to rub the side of your neck.

“Nothing, right now… I’m in bed. I just finished up at the studio,” she said quietly. “It ran pretty late so…”

“Are you doing okay?”

You hear her take a breath before sighing softly, “Yeah, I’m… I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you echoed.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then she said, “I was thinking… I want you to come to New York.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “New York?”

“Yeah. The band got invited to this award show. It’s kind of a big deal, I guess. I—I want you to be my date.”

Your stomach twisted at the invitation. You could hear the hope in her voice, and for a second, all you wanted to do was say yes. But then reality set in.

“Vi, I don’t know. I have finals coming up, and plane tickets are—”

“Will be taken care of,” she interrupted quickly. “I’ll handle it, everything. Just say yes.”

“Vi…”

“I wanna see you,” she said, and her voice was soft, almost pleading. It caught you off guard. “Please. It’s been too long. I miss you.”

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the wall, and sighed.

It was always hard to say no to Vi.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice brightening.

“Yeah.”

The next few weeks all happened too quickly.

Vi arranged everything—a plane ticket, a car to pick you up from the airport, even a dress for the event. You didn’t know how she’d managed it all, but you weren’t surprised. She could practically do anything she sets her mind to.

When you stepped off the plane and into the terminal, you were expecting to just follow the signs to baggage claim, look for the driver Vi had mentioned in passing, and quietly make your way to whatever fancy hotel she had booked for you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate her effort—Vi always went all out when it came to you—but you figured this was just another one of those things she couldn’t be present for, one more event she’d planned out from a distance.

But when you rounded the corner toward the arrivals area, your feet froze mid-step.

There she was.

Vi was standing near the entrance, her tall frame wrapped in an all-black outfit. A long black coat hung open over a fitted turtleneck and dark jeans, her combat boots planted firmly on the tiled floor. In her hands, she held a small bouquet of flowers—white daisies and a few pale pink roses wrapped in simple brown paper.

She looked every bit the rockstar she’d become, yet look on her face told a different story.

Her eyes scanned the crowd eagerly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper wrapping as though she were nervous.

Your breath hitched, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

Then Vi’s eyes found yours.

Her face lit up like the sun breaking through a storm, and before you could even process what was happening, she was running toward you. Her long strides closed the distance in seconds, and then she was there—her arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you into her chest.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered against your hair.

You couldn’t respond.

Your throat was too tight, and the only thing you could do was cling to her, burying your face in her neck as the tears spilled over. The flowers were crushed slightly between your bodies, but neither of you cared. Vi’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you like she was afraid you might disappear.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face as she scanned your features like she needed to memorize them all over again.

She let out a breathy sigh, a smile making its way onto her face, “God, you’re even prettier than I remember.”

You let out a watery laugh, wiping at your cheeks with trembling fingers.

“Shut up,” you teased, though your voice wavered.

Vi grinned, a little sheepishly, and handed you the now slightly crumpled bouquet. “These are for you. Sorry, I think I crushed them a little.”

“They’re perfect,” you said, taking the flowers and holding them close to your chest.

She smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to take your suitcase.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. We can go get lunch after the hotel. I know a place you might like.”

And for the first time in a long while, being with her finally felt right.

The weekend passed like something out of a dream. Vi stuck close to you, almost glued to your side, like she couldn’t bear to let go of you for even a second. She carried your bags, opened every door, kissed you in every private corner she could find.

In the the hotel room, with the city skyline stretching endlessly outside the window, she kissed you until her lips felt bruised, like she was trying to make up for every kiss she hadn’t been able to give you.

She made love to you slowly, tenderly, the way you deserved—whispering soft words against your skin, brushing stray strands of hair from your face, as if she couldn’t believe you were there with her.

“God, I missed you,” she murmured over and over again, her voice thick and quiet, spilling out each time her lips found yours. “I missed you so much.”

And it wasn’t just the being this close to you that left Vi breathless—it was everything else.

The way your laugh filled the room when she cracked a joke. The way you shyly tucked your head into her shoulder when she kissed your temple in public. The way your voice softened when you told her you missed her, that you loved her. Vi felt like she was relearning you, rediscovering all the tiny details she’d loved about you from the start—the way your fingertips felt trailing down her arm, the way you hummed absentmindedly when you were happy, the way you fit perfectly in her arms like you’d been made for her.

For once, Vi wasn’t thinking about work, about the band, about the next tour or the endless cycle of interviews and late-night rehearsals.

None of that mattered here.

The world felt smaller, quieter, when it was just the two of you.

She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed you, how much she’d missed this.

As the weekend was drawing to a close, you were lying in bed together, your head resting on her chest. Vi traced lazy circles along your shoulder with her fingertips, her other hand draped protectively across your waist. The sheets were tangled around your bare legs, the city lights painting soft, dim patterns on the walls.

“I forgot what this feels like,” Vi had said, her voice almost a whisper. “Just… being with you. I missed it.”

You tilted your head to look up at her, your eyes warm and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

“Me too,” you said softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

Vi leaned down to kiss you again slowly, her hand cradling your jaw.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever, to bottle it up and carry it with her wherever she went.

Being with you, she wasn’t worried about the distance, about the time apart, about anything other than you.

But happiness like that didn’t last for long and, tomorrow, it would all go to shit.

The night of the music award show was everything Vi had hoped it would be, glimmering lights, and flashing cameras. She could hardly contain her pride as she stood beside you, her arm around your waist, guiding you through. Everything had been planned, from your dress to the after-party, and it seemed like everything was falling into place.

You looked stunning in the dress she had picked out for you. It was a deep shade of red that hugged your body in all the right places, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline that made your girlfriend want to cover your collarbone with kisses. Vi couldn’t take her eyes off you when she first saw you in it. She kept telling you how beautiful you looked, her voice filled with awe every time she caught a glimpse of you.

You had always been beautiful in Vi’s eyes, but tonight, you looked like someone straight out of a dream, her dreams. She felt a pride swell up inside her every time she looked at you, like the world had never seemed brighter, knowing that you, her girl, were beside her.

But despite how nice it was all going, it wasn’t without its discomforts for you.

There were moments when you felt too out of place in the spotlight, when the flashing of cameras made your chest tighten, or when you were pulled away from Vi to stand beside some celebrities for interviews, your smile feeling stiff and forced. Every time you were apart from her, even for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of loneliness, wanting to be close to her again.

The show itself went smoothly, though.

Vi did her thing and you watched from the sidelines, starstruck and completely in awe. It was so surreal to see her like this, her bandmates by her side, to see other celebrities you watched from home, the crowd cheering for her every time her name was called. She looked radiant. And it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by it all.

But the further the night dragged on, the more it felt like you were losing her to this new world.

You felt more of it at the after party. Vi had been swept away by a group of celebrities who wanted to talk to her, leaving you standing alone at the bar.

Ekko noticed and came over to keep you company, but it still wasn’t the same. He asked about how things were at home, mentioned how much he missed eating Benzo’s cooking. And it was nice talking to him—nice to have a friend around who didn’t feel too far into the fame as everyone else did in the room.

As you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink, you found your eyes wandering back to Vi, standing across the room, laughing and chatting with some famous actress, her hand resting on her arm. She looked completely at ease, her eyes sparkling as she talked with the other guests.

But it was clear that you that were nothing more than a bystander to her world now.

Ekko’s voice snapped you out of your daze. “You okay?” he asked, noticing your distracted expression.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a bit tired, I guess.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “You sure? Vi looks like she’s having a blast. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

You smiled again, though it felt hollow. “Yeah, she always has a way of talking to people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does,” Ekko agreed, grinning. “But you know she’s really happy to have you here tonight. She’s always talking about you. Can’t get her to shut up about you sometimes.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, but it faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

You stand there, drink in hand, feeling an odd tension settle in your chest as you watch Vi across the room. She’s talking to someone—a tall woman, all legs and sharp angles, with dark blue hair that catches the light in an almost ethereal way. The way the actress moves, the way she laughs—effortless, magnetic, like she’s always been in the spotlight.

You’ve seen her before, vaguely—magazines, red carpets, maybe a movie trailer. She’s the kind of woman people can’t help but stare at. Perfectly polished, perfectly poised.

And there’s Vi, her face bright with a smile you once thought was reserved just for you. But now, as she stands there, chatting easily, you feel like a ghost in the room, watching from the sidelines.

Your fingers tighten around your glass, but you don’t move. You can’t.

It’s strange, this feeling that tightens your chest, this longing and bitterness you can’t seem to shake. Vi’s laugh carries over through the party, and for a moment, you close your eyes, remembering when you were the one who made her laugh like that. When you were the one who kissed that smile from her lips.

But it all feels so far away now.

The more you watch them, the more out of place you feel.

The more you look at Vi, the more she seems to belong in this world—this world of lights and flashes, of perfect strangers who all seem to know exactly who they are, exactly where they fit.

And you?

You’re still standing in the corner of this room, feeling like you’re made of something that doesn’t belong, something that’s too small for this space.

You swallow, trying to force down the lump in your throat.

It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid.

You’re just a girl from a small town with college exams coming up and some books you wrote.

Nothing glamorous.

And Vi—Vi’s everything you aren’t. She’s out here, living the life you never had the guts to chase. You can’t even blame her for it. She’s been nothing but amazing, talented and hardworking, giving you so much of herself, even when it all felt too complicated.

But seeing her like this, only reminds you of how out of place you feel now, in her world, in this world.

“I… I think I’m just gonna get some fresh air,” you say quietly.

You excuse yourself from Ekko, offering him a small smile as you slip away from the conversation. You need air—fresh, cool, anything to clear the thoughts that have taken root in your mind.

You take the elevator down to the ground floor, your heels clicking softly on the polished floors. The doors open with a soft ding, and you step out, immediately greeted by the cool bite of the night air. It’s a entirely different compared to the warmth of the party inside, and for a moment, it feels like a relief, like you can finally breathe without the walls of the venue pressing in on you.

The city lights glow in the distance, the hustle of traffic and the low hum of conversations from nearby streets filled your ears. You pull your coat tighter around you, the fabric clinging to your shoulders, but it doesn’t do much to shield you from the knot tightening in your chest.

You stand there for a moment, breathing deeply. The cool air is refreshing, but it can’t seem to cool the heat rising in your cheeks, the bitter ache in your stomach. Everything about it reminds you of how far things have come—and how far apart you and Vi have drifted.

You didn’t want to feel this way tonight. You didn’t want to spend another evening consumed by jealousy, by doubt.

But here you are, standing outside in the dark, unable to fight the feeling.

You really hadn’t expected it to be this hard.

Maybe it’s silly to think you could’ve ever fit into that world.

But the truth stings.

You want things to be different. You want to be the one she looks at, the one she chooses. But everything about tonight has made you feel like that’s something you’ll never be again.

You look up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze, and for a moment, you close your eyes, letting the cold air fill your lungs.

You wish things were different. You wish you could go back to when you were everything to each other.

But you can’t.

Not anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Vi’s voice cuts through your train of thought.

She must have slipped out unnoticed, and now, there she is, standing behind you. Her arms come around your waist, pulling you closer, her front pressed against your back. Her chin rests gently on your shoulder, her breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Hi, baby,” she muttered quietly.

You want to speak, to tell her how you feel, how the space between you both is only growing wider.

But the words stick in your throat.

Vi stays there, waiting for you, her body warm against yours. Her hands move from your waist, softly tracing over your arms, gently coaxing you into the safety of her touch, even though you don’t know how safe it feels anymore.

For a moment, all you can do is breathe, just breathe, feeling her arms around you… as if it’s the last time you’ll feel it.

When you do finally speak, it’s quieter than you intend, barely above a whisper. “Vi, I think we… I think we should stop this.”

Vi stiffens behind you, her hands pausing on your skin.

You can feel her heart rate quicken slightly. But she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she presses closer, her breath brushing your ear as she whispers, “What are you talking about?”

She holds you tighter, and for a brief second, you feel the urge to give in to her touch, to forget the mess in your head.

But it’s not enough anymore.

You try to speak again, but your words come out jumbled, like you’re struggling to find the right pieces to fit together.

“I… I don’t know. We’re not the same anymore.” You let out a shaky breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to explain the mess of feelings inside your chest. “It’s like we’re just… strangers now. I can’t keep pretending it’s the same, Vi.”

Vi’s hands stay on your waist, but you feel her pause for a moment. She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you, but not enough to fully let go.

You can hear the uncertainty in her voice when she speaks, “What? It’s still us. You and me. I—” She swallows, and you can hear the faint tremor in her words. “I thought we were okay.”

You shake your head, your chest tight.

“We’re not. We haven’t been for a while. And, I can’t tell if you even notice. Do you? You’re… you’re so far away, and I’m just… here.” The pain in your voice stings, but it feels like it’s the only truth you have left. “And I don’t know how to make it work anymore. I don’t know how to feel close to you when you’re a million miles away all the time.”

Vi’s arms move again, but this time, they’re softer, as if she’s afraid you’ll break under her touch.

“Don’t say that. I-I do notice. I do. I know it’s been a bit rough lately, but we can fix this… right? We’ve always been able to fix things before.” She tries to lighten the air, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she’s trying to erase the tension in the air. “I-I promise to call more, baby, please—”

But it doesn’t reach you.

You step back from her, the space between you both growing with each step, and for the first time in so long, you feel something other than the ache in your chest. It’s cold, too cold, and the distance feels like it’s swallowing you whole.

Vi’s arms drop at her sides, her hands twitching as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

She watches you carefully, her eyes wide as you move away. When she tries to move closer, you flinch. It’s instinct, something you didn’t mean to do, but you can’t help it. You just need space.

And Vi hates it.

“I wanna go home,” you say, your voice shaking with the everything you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to bury.

Vi’s smile falters, her brows furrow as she processes your words. She takes a small step toward you, the panic creeping into her voice. “O-Okay. I-I’ll call a cab and we can go back to the hotel and—“

You cut her off before she can finish, your heart hammering in your chest. “No, Vi. I want to go back home. I don’t… I don’t belong here with you.”

The ring in her ears and as soon as they leave your lips, you can see the color drain from Vi’s face. Her breath catches in her throat, and you watch her, eyes wide, disbelief settling in. She furrows her eyebrows, her entire posture faltering as she tries to process what you just said.

“What?” she whispers.

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze searching your face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of cruel joke, some kind of misunderstanding.

But you can’t give her that. You can’t pretend anymore.

“I just…” you start, but the words get caught in your throat, like you’re suffocating on them. You look at her, at the girl you once knew better than anyone else, and you realize that you’re not the same person anymore. “I thought I could keep pretending, but I can’t. And… I-I don’t see how we can change anything right now. I’m sorry, I—”

Vi opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She just stares at you, like she’s trying to wrap her mind around what’s happening, and in her silence, you hear all the things you can’t say.

The tears begin yo roll down your cheeks and Vi wants to wipe them away immediately, wants to take all that pain you’re feeling away for good… but…

“I need to go home,” you whisper again, this time your voice firmer, because if you don’t say it again, you might never leave.

And the look in her eyes—this heartbreaking, raw pain that flits across her face—makes your heart shatter even more.

Because you never wanted to hurt her.

But you’re not sure how to fix any of this. How to find your way back when it feels like everything between you two has crumbled into dust.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but the words feel so small. So insignificant.

Vi doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, frozen in place. She swallows hard, her lips trembling as she finally finds her voice.

“I thought we were… I thought you wanted to be with me.”

“I always want to be with you, I do, but this—” you bring a hand up, wiping your cheeks quickly. “What did you think was gonna to happen after this weekend’s over? That we’d have a great time here together, then everything would be okay? All of our problems aren’t just magically gonna disappear, Vi… You barely call. You barely text. And I’ll go back home and you’ll stay here and I… What, I won’t see you again for another four—five months? I-I cant be in a relationship with someone who—fuck, with someone who can’t even really be with me. And I don’t want to make you choose. I can’t make you choose but, Vi…”

Her eyes widen in panic, her face twisting with desperation.

“Don’t say that. I-I can fix this. We can fix this, baby, just—” she starts, her voice broken, her words faltering, as though she’s trying to pull something, anything, to make things right.

“Stop it, Violet,” you say quiet.

“No, no, just—just tell me what to do,” she says. She’s shaking, but it’s not the gentle tremor of someone trying to hold it together. It’s raw. It’s frantic. “Tell me what I need to do to, please—”

You stand your ground, feeling the anger swell within you as her frustration starts to mirror your own.

“Stop it.”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s right, if there’s a chance, if somehow everything can go back to how it used to be.

But then the reality sets in.

“Are you happy with me, Vi?” You ask.

Vi looks at you and furrows her brows, confused at the question, “Of course, I am—”

“You’re happy with the way things are right now? Really?”

Vi freezes, the words caught in her throat. The certainty she usually wears like armor slips away.

“You’re happy with how far apart we always are? You’re happy that we barely talk anymore? That we don’t have time for each other anymore? T-That when I go home, you’ll forget all about me until you suddenly remember that you have a girlfriend miles and miles away, just waiting for you to call or pick up your damn phone?”

“I…” she stammers, her brow furrowing as she tries to find the right thing to say, but nothing feels right. She’s taken aback, not just by your question but by the realization behind it—the way your words cut through the illusion that she’s been clinging to, that everything is okay.

The silence between you stretches for so long and Vi fucking hates it. She hates the way you’re looking at her, as if you already know the answer she’s too afraid to give. Because deep down, she knows she’s not happy—not with the distance, not with the missed calls and the half-hearted promises, not with the way she’s been letting you slip away.

But admitting that feels like admitting defeat, like saying out loud that she’s failing you, failing this.

“I—” she tries again, but she looks away, her jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

She wants to say that she’s happy, that you’re enough, that she wouldn’t trade this for anything—but the truth is, she doesn’t even know what this is anymore either.

And by the look in your eyes, neither do you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, before opening them again to look up at her. Your hand reaches up, trembling slightly, and cups Vi’s cheek. Her skin is warm, damp from the tears she didn’t realize had fallen until now. The moment your palm makes contact, Vi leans into it instinctively. Her eyes flutter closed, and her shoulders quake as she lets out the softest, most broken sound—a quiet sob she tries to hide but can’t.

“Don’t,” she whispers, shaky and fragile. “Please…”

You don’t pull your hand away. Instead, your thumb brushes along the line of her cheekbone, and how gentle you were with her makes her cry harder. She feels your breath, and she hates how much she craves you, hates how much it hurts.

You swallow hard, the sound of your barely louder than a breath as you say, “This isn’t good for us.”

Vi’s eyes snap open, bloodshot and wide, her lips parting in disbelief. For a second, she freezes, the words not fully sinking in, like her brain refuses to process them.

“We should stop,” you say again, softer this time. Your hand is still on her cheek, and Vi clings to it, her larger hand wrapping around yours as though she could keep you there forever. “We’re hurting each other, Violet. We’ve been hurting each other for a while now.”

“No,” Vi pleads, shaking her head, her voice so weak you could barely hear her as she presses harder into your touch, desperate. “I don’t wanna stop. Please, just—let me fix this—”

You shake your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay, though they’re already blurring your vision.

“It’s not about fixing anything, Vi. We’re just in two completely different places and…” Your voice falters for a moment, breaking. “…and it’s not working for us.”

Vi’s breath hitches, and the hand gripping yours starts to tremble.

“I don’t know how to—” Her voice cracks, and she looks down, her tears falling freely onto the ground. “I don’t know how to do any of this this without you.”

Your heart clenches painfully, and for a fleeting second, you want to take it all back. You lean down slightly, pressing your forehead to hers, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, you do,” you whisper, the words like a final goodbye. “You’ve been doing all of this without me already.”

She shakes her head softly, “That’s not true.”

Vi’s breath comes out shaky, her tears mingling with yours as she presses herself closer, trying to savor the moment, to memorize the feel of you before it slips away entirely.

“I love you,” she says, words trembling as if the words are the last lifeline she has left to offer.

She watches you closely, her wide, teary eyes searching yours, desperate for something—anything—to tell her this isn’t the end.

But you don’t say it back right away.

And for those few agonizing seconds, the silence feels suffocating. Vi’s heart pounds painfully in her chest, and a lump forms in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her lips part to say something, to plead again, but before she can, you finally speak.

“I love you, Violet.”

It’s everything Vi wanted to hear, but as soon as the words leave your lips, they cut deeper than any silence ever could. There’s a softness to your voice, a finality in the way you say it, and Vi knows.

She knows what it means, what you’re trying to say without saying it outright.

And it hurts so fucking bad.

Her breath catches, and her hands drop slightly from where they’d been holding you, as if the weight of the words has drained her strength.

She shakes her head, voice cracking as she stammers, “Don’t say it like that.”

You look at her with so much tenderness it almost shatters her completely, but it’s that softness that makes it clear you’ve already made up your mind.

“Vi,” you whisper, and the way you say her name only makes the tears come faster.

She hates it. She hates how much of a goodbye it sounds.

“I love you so much,” she says, words breaking, barely audible now.

But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they’re futile. She knows that no matter how much she loves you, no matter how much she tries to hold on, she can’t stop you from slipping through her fingers.

And for the first time, the love she’s always clung to feels hollow, like it’s not enough to keep you here.

Like she’s already lost you.

After a moment, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to Vi’s cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering on her skin.

Vi closes her eyes at the touch, savoring it, even though something deep inside her tells her this is the last time. She wants to hold onto it, to freeze this moment, to make you stay just a little longer. But you’re already stepping back, pulling away from her reach.

“I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” you say quietly.

Vi nods instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she responds, “I’ll go with you.”

Just a little more time, she thinks. She just wants whatever time she could get with you. Her voice is so weak under her breath, but she takes a step forward, already moving to follow, to stay by your side no matter what.

But then you stop her.

You place a hand up between you—not to push her away, but enough to keep her there, frozen in place. And when she sees the look in your eyes, Vi feels the first crack split through her chest.

“I’ll be okay,” you say softly. “I’ll call a cab and find my way back.”

It’s not the words themselves that break her; it’s the way you say them, like you’re letting her go in every sense of the word. Her heart shatters, the pieces falling one by one, and she doesn’t know how to stop it. She doesn’t know how to stop you.

“Let me go with you,” she breathes out, her voice, desperate to see more of you for as long as she still can.

But you shake your head gently, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over, and she knows there’s no changing your mind.

She’s never felt so powerless, so useless, and all she can do is stand there, watching you walk away, feeling like you’re taking every part of her with you.

She watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller, her mind clinging to every detail—how your hair looked under the dim streetlights, how soft your lips felt against her cheek, how your voice cracked when you said her name. She already misses all of it, every little piece of you.

But deep down, she knows she’s been missing you for far longer than just tonight.

The air is damp and Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing there, rooted to the ground, staring at the spot where you disappeared from her sight. A faint drizzle begins, tiny drops kissing her skin. She barely notices it at first, but soon the rain falls harder, soaking through her clothes.

She shivers, but she doesn’t move. Her hands fall limply at her sides, her mind replaying every moment of the night, every word you said, every second she couldn’t hold on to you. Her knees feel weak, but the ache in her chest is worse.

She wants to run after you, to stop you, but even if she said all the right words, she knows you’d still be leaving.

And it’s her fault, she thinks. She let it all slip away.

Hours pass, or maybe just minutes—it doesn’t matter. By the time she finally stumbles back to the party, her hair is dripping, her hands are trembling, and her heart feels hollow.

You booked the earliest flight you could, and as the sky begins to lighten, you pull your coat tighter around you and make your way to the airport.

In the next couple of days, in a big headline on your phone, you find out that Vi punched someone at that party.

SATURDAY, PRESENT DAY.

The hum of soft music drifted through the flower shop as you sat at the counter, a list of names and scribbled notes sprawled out in front of you. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched by your elbow, the faint aroma of lavender and honey filling the air.

You tapped your pen lightly against the edge of the paper, squinting at Mel’s unusually messy handwriting.

“Does Jayce even know this many people?” you muttered, half to yourself and half to Mel, who sat cross-legged on a stool across from you, flipping through her wedding binder.

Mel let out a melodious laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, you’d be surprised. He seems to think everyone he’s ever spoken to needs a seat at this wedding.”

She reached over and plucked the list from your hands, glancing at the names.

“This is ridiculous. He even invited his college professor,” she squinted, pointing at a name near the bottom of the page, “—Heimer…dinger?”

You laughed softly, shrugging. “Don’t look at me.”

Mel groaned, leaning back and rubbing her temples. “I swear, at this rate, we’re going to have to build a second venue just to fit all these people.”

“Maybe you could just cut the guest list in half,” you suggested lightly, marking a few names off with your pen. “Say the venue has a sudden capacity issue.”

She smirked. “Tempting. Though, knowing Jayce, he’d probably build a whole new venue himself just to make sure no one gets left out.”

You smiled at her, then turned your attention back to the seating chart—you were only halfway through the list. You could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the shop’s windows. The scent of fresh blooms mixed with the faint perfume Mel always wore, filling the air with a sense of comfort you’ve gotten familiar with long ago.

“Do you think my mother will mind sitting next to Jayce’s?” Mel asks, uncertain. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and frowns at the chart like it’s a puzzle she just can’t solve.

You glance up at her and let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re are old enough to behave for one meal.”

Mel sighs, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. “You clearly haven’t met my family.”

“Yes, I have,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, studying the chart. “Okay, well… how about this?”

You move a few names around, scribbling quick arrows to new spots.

“We put your mom near your college friends. She can’t cause too much trouble if they’re surrounded by strangers.”

Mel grins at you, resting her chin on her hand as she watches you work.

“Perfect,” she says.

“How’s your mom holding up with all of this?” Mel asked suddenly, watching you as you meticulously rearranged the tiny paper name tags on the chart.

“She’s good,” you replied, your voice soft. “Excited, mostly. She keeps talking about how nice it is to have the shop involved in something so big.”

You paused, your hand hovering over one of the name tags.

“She’s just happy to see you and Jayce so… settled, I guess.”

Mel tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful look in her eyes. “And you? How are you holding up?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the seating chart. For a moment, you considered giving her the same polite, surface-level answer you gave everyone else. But this was Mel—your best friend, the one person who’d known you through every high and low.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt heavier than they should have. “Really.”

Mel’s gaze softened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached over and placed a reassuring hand on yours, her smile warm and understanding. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know I’m here.”

The phone rings before you can reply. You instinctively reach for it, the receiver cool against your hand as you press it to your ear. “Lane Florals, how can I help you?”

“Oh, hey! It’s Jayce,” a familiar voice greets you cheerfully on the other end. “Just checking in to see if Mel’s still holding you hostage over there.”

You laugh softly. “Hostage is a strong word, but yes, we’re almost done.”

Mel perks up at the sound of his name and reaches for the phone.

“Give me that,” she says playfully, taking it from you. “Jayce, we’ve been over this—your input doesn’t count unless you actually help with something.”

As Mel steps into the back to argue with her fiancé, you sit back in the chair, momentarily tuning out the sound of her voice. Your eyes wander around the shop, landing on the bundles of flowers waiting to be arranged, the sunlight filtering in through the windows, and the stillness of this place.

You absently twirl the pen in your hand, your mind drifting for a moment. It’s easy to stay busy here, to focus on what’s in front of you instead of the ache you don’t like to name.

“Jayce insists we keep his cousins together,” Mel said with a playful roll of her eyes as she returned to you. “I love him, but the man doesn’t understand how chaotic that side of the family is.”

“Maybe put them near the bar. That way they won’t bother anyone too much,” you suggested, earning a grateful laugh from Mel.

“Alright, I think we’ve almost got it,” she said, standing up to pour herself a glass of water.

Left alone for a moment, you leaned over the chart, eyes scanning the names to double-check the placements. Your gaze moved quickly at first, recognizing some familiar names and skimming unfamiliar ones, until it landed on something—towards the end of the list—that made your breath hitch.

Violet Lanes.

It was there, clear as day—her name printed neatly on a delicate little card, tucked beside a few other names at one of the smaller tables. Your hands stilled, hovering over the paper as a wave of something sharp and overwhelming crashed over you.

“Hey, you okay?” Mel’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I just—” You glanced down at the name again, your fingers brushing against the edge of the paper. “I’m fine.”

Mel’s eyes softened as she walked over, leaning over your shoulder. She followed your gaze to the card and let out a quiet sigh.

“I was going to tell you,” she said gently. “Jayce invited her. You know how they’ve been since high school. They’ve been in touch for a while, I guess. He didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

You nodded again, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Mel reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“If it’s too much, I can figure something out,” she offered. “She hasn’t even confirmed with us yet… She’s probably so busy anyway.”

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “No, it’s… it’s your wedding. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Mel, really. It’s okay,” you threw on one of the best fake smiles you could give. “It just caught me off guard, is all.”

Mel studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering on your face. “If you don’t want her there, I can tell Jayce—”

You cut her off with a quick shake of your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but you push through it. The last thing you want is for Mel to feel guilty, or worse, pitying you.

She doesn’t seem convinced, but she nods anyway, going back to arranging the seating chart. You know she’s trying to keep things light, to keep you from feeling weighed down by whatever’s hanging in the air. And maybe you’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re not still carrying it.

But the truth is, you don’t know what to do with the ghost of her, or your love for her, lingering between everything you do.

“Hey,” Mel says after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Want to grab a coffee after we finish here? We could use a break.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction. “That sounds good.”

Glancing at the seating chart again, your finger rests on the name that’s still too familiar.

series masterlist | next chapter

taglist: @norwayromanoff @killuomi @wicked-laugh @bunnyrose01 @jupitism @sawaagyapong @trulyzizi @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @mk-a-1 @pornoangelz @savedforlaterr @catrapplesauces @ishamyshaylaaa @baylegend6 @auraclus @theapollochronicles @jivimatcha @chobssss @mystar-girl57 @narislvr @danonered @mikellie @xxyourlocaledgelordxx @thalchmy

if you would like to be added to the taglist please leave a comment on the series masterlist post (its easier for me to track that way!)

[jaitunapie]

My Lover

//Kang Haerin x 6thMember!Reader//Short Oneshot//

SYPNOSIS ♡︎ Haerin isn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what she tells herself—until she starts seeing clips of you and Minji all over the internet.

WARNINGS ♡︎ Jealousy, Possessiveness (soft and non-toxic), Brief Miscommunication, Shipping culture, Hidden Relationship(the members know lol)

WORDCOUNT ♡︎ 1.7k

TAGS ♡︎ Jealous!Haerin, Established Relationship, fluff, FLUFF(was literally kicking my feet while writing this), Light Angst??

A/N:This is a little 1am brain fart so If I cringe at it tomorrow, I’ll probably end up deleting it lol

"MINY/N SUPREMACY!!"

"Their chemistry is insane, are we SURE they’re just best friends??"

"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."

Haerin scrolls through the comments under the latest clip of you and Minji’s interactions. The video itself is nothing special, just you laughing at one of Minji’s jokes, leaning into her like it’s second nature. But the fans eat it up.

The video loops again.

Your eyes crinkle when you smile at Minji. She reaches out instinctively when you stumble, her hand lingering just a second too long. And it’s not just one clip, there are dozens of them now. Edits spliced together, set to soft love songs, moments slowed down to exaggerate the way you two look at each other.

You aren’t Minji’s girlfriend.

You’re Haerin’s. Only hers.

But no one ever ships Haerin and Y/N. No one ever slows down the moments where she is the one next to you.

The thought settles in her chest, foreign and unfamiliar.

Jealousy.

But Haerin doesn’t get jealous.

…Right?

"They’re reaching." Haerin mutters under her breath.

She locks her phone and tosses it onto the bed. It’s just fan edits. Just harmless shipping. She’s known for a long time that people see what they want to see.

"Don’t let them get in your head.” 

But then why does her chest feel so tight?

Because one comment keeps repeating in her mind.

"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."

And it’s true.

Lately, you’ve been stuck to Minji like glue. On stage. In the waiting room. During interviews. Even in practice.

And Haerin remembers—earlier, while filming behind-the-scenes content, you had shoved your phone in Minji’s face, barely able to contain your laughter.

"Min, look! "Minji looking at Y/N like she's the love of her life" oh my god, the heart eyes emoji is killing me! They're reaching so muchhh."

You wheezed, whispering the last part, playfully smacking Minji’s shoulder over and over as she groaned in embarrassment.

The members had laughed. Even the staff chuckled.

Haerin hadn’t.

She had been standing by the water station, fingers curling a little too tightly around a flimsy paper cup, watching as you laughed with Minji like it was the easiest thing in the world.

‘You’re not Minji’s girlfriend.’

She let the water run down her throat, but it did nothing to wash away the strange, unsettled feeling gnawing at her chest.

‘You’re mine.’

Before she even realized it, she was walking back toward the group.

She didn’t say anything, but you noticed immediately.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" You stepped in front of her, voice soft, concern evident in your eyes.

Haerin barely nodded.

You frowned, about to press further—

"Alright, break’s over!" the choreographer called.

You hesitated, eyes scanning her face, but eventually sighed and gave her hand a light squeeze before stepping back into position.

Haerin watched you go.

She told herself it didn’t bother her.

But that was a lie.

And now, before she even realizes it, she’s standing in front of your door.

Her jealousy isn’t loud. It never is.

But when she pushes the door open, stepping into the dim glow of your room, you feel it instantly—heavy in the air, simmering just beneath the surface.

The kind of jealousy that doesn’t need words to be known.

You barely register the sound of the door creaking open before a familiar presence fills the room.

“Rinnie?” Your voice is soft, questioning, as you sit up in bed. There’s only one person who wouldn’t bother knocking.

Your girlfriend.

Sure enough, Haerin steps inside, her small frame swallowed by an oversized pink hoodie, the hood pulled up with little bear ears perched on top. On any other night, you’d tease her about how ridiculously cute she looks.

But something feels off.

Despite the cozy hoodie, her posture is rigid, her expression unreadable. Haerin has always been hard to read, but this, this is different.

You frown slightly, setting your phone aside. “Rinnie?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a slow step forward, then another, her gaze locked onto yours. And for some reason, the air between you shifts, thicker, heavier.

You swallow.

Something is definitely wrong.

You frown slightly. “Is something wrong, love?”

The second the word love leaves your lips, Haerin stiffens. Then, as if short-circuiting, she speed-walks toward you, her ears turning the faintest shade of pink.

Before you can react, she climbs onto the bed, quietly straddling your lap. Her arms snake around your waist as she buries her face into your neck, pressing impossibly close.

Warmth instantly floods your chest.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her in return. "You’re clingy tonight" you tease lightly, rubbing slow circles against her back.

Haerin hums in response, but doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she tightens her grip, nuzzling further into you, her soft hair tickling your skin.

Gently, you murmur, “Seriously Though, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. A few beats pass, filled only by the quiet sound of your breathing. Then, finally, she mumbles against your skin, her voice barely above a whisper—

“Do you like seeing those videos?”

Your fingers still against her back.

Oh.

So that’s what this is about.

Smiling softly, you shift slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her hood. “Rinnie…”

She doesn’t lift her head, but you feel the way she tenses ever so slightly, waiting for your answer.

You sigh, pulling back just enough to cup her cheeks to meet your eyes. She resists at first, gaze flickering away, but you don’t let up. Your thumbs brush over the warmth of her skin, and slowly, reluctantly, her eyes find yours.

Her lips are pressed into a pout, her usual neutral expression betraying just the faintest hint of something vulnerable. It’s almost too cute to handle.

“The edits are kind of funny,” you admit, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “But they don’t mean anything.”

Haerin’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t respond.

A small pause.

“You’re always with Minji when we film,” she mutters.

You blink, momentarily taken aback by the shift in her tone.

“Minji isn’t your girlfriend,” she says, quieter this time. “I am.”

Your chest tightens at how small her voice sounds.

A soft laugh escapes you before you can stop it—not out of mockery, but out of sheer disbelief that this is what’s been eating at her. That your Haerin, quiet and composed, is sulking over some fan edits.

“Wait, are you jealous?” you tease, poking her cheek playfully.

Haerin doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently takes your wrist, her fingers curling around it, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. 

“…You don’t act like that with me.”

Your teasing smile fades.

“On camera, no,” you clarify, voice softer now. “You know how careful we have to be, Rinnie. I didn’t want to make things harder for you, so I thought keeping some distance was the best thing.”

Haerin stays quiet, her gaze locked onto where her fingers are still brushing against yours.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I don’t like it,” she murmurs.

You exhale, squeezing her hand. “Then tell me what you do want.”

“I don’t want you getting shipped with Minji.”

“I don’t want you to distance yourself from me on camera.”

You hold her gaze for a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

You don’t break your promise.

The next time the cameras are rolling, you make sure Haerin feels it.

During a phoning live, when Minji passes you a snack, you thank her without much thought—but instead of eating it right away, you turn to Haerin, holding it up to her lips first. She blinks, startled, but opens her mouth after a small hesitation. The chat explodes instantly.

📌@stayrkieeiiw

"Did I miss an update?? Since when were they like THIS???"

💬 @ynhaerinupdate

"WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED???"

🔁 @haerinno111

"Haerin’s little hesitation before eating lmao she was definitely malfunctioning."

During a music show, while the members are waiting backstage, you casually walk up behind Haerin and rest your chin on her shoulder. The cameras catch the moment as she flinches slightly in surprise before relaxing against you. You don’t move, just standing there with your arms loosely draped around her. The staff members barely react, too used to your antics, but the fans? They lose their minds.

�� @gay4haerin

"WAIT, Y/N AND HAERIN?? HELLO???"

💬 @haerinsoftie

"They act like a married couple and expect us to be normal about it"

🔁@kpopfangirl24

“Y/N and Haerin have been so touchy lately???”

During a variety show game, you and Haerin end up on the same team. Every time she gets an answer right, you don’t just cheer, you grab her hands and shake them excitedly, or wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in celebration. At one point, you’re so excited that you practically tackle her into a hug. She stumbles slightly, laughing, and the members tease you, but you don’t let go.

📌 @ynhaerin4life

“The way Y/N is all over her I CAN’T.”

💬 @njzrawr

“golden retriever x black cat energy”

🔁 @idkwhotostan

“Y/N and Haerin are so clingy In here, I need them to explain themselves IMMEDIATELY.”

On a phoning live, you’re seated next to Haerin, and for some reason, you can’t stop messing with her hoodie strings. You keep tugging them playfully, leaning in close whenever she tries to bat your hands away. Eventually, you give up on the strings and just rest your head on her shoulder instead. She freezes for a second, then lets out the softest sigh before tilting her head slightly so your temple rests against hers. The moment is short, but fans catch it instantly.

📌 @ynhaerin4life

"Haerin’s little smile when Y/N leans on her 😭.”

🔁 @multistan010

"Omg...do they know we can see them..?"

💬 @fuckhybeomg

"ARE WE ALL SEEING THIS?? IS THIS REAL??"

After a long day of promotions, the group films a short vlog in their practice room. You’re exhausted, so you naturally gravitate toward Haerin, flopping down beside her and resting your head against her lap. She stiffens at first, her hands hovering awkwardly over you before she hesitantly starts running her fingers through your hair. The fans don’t miss the way she tries to hide her smile, but the cameras catch it anyway.

📌 @haerinupdates

"SHE TRIED TO HIDE IT BUT WE SAW IT. WE ALL SAW IT."

💬 @idkiwannasleepsb

"DID YOU SEE THAT. DID YOU GUYS SEE HER SMILE!?"

🔁 @Y/nupdates

“Theyre not even trying to hide it atp. #YNsold”

🔁 @haerinwinning

"Y/N used to keep her distance from Haerin, now she’s acting like a lovesick puppy… what CHANGED???? 🤨"

📌 @ynhaerin_cult

"THEM. THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE TWEET. #YNSold #Theyremarriedsir"

💬 @minjynomg

"Miny/n shippers are in shambles rn"

Later that night, you scroll through the comments with a smug smile. Next to you, Haerin peeks at your phone screen, then flicks your forehead.

“Stop looking at those,” she mutters, trying to act indifferent.

You just grin, nudging her gently. “You like it, don’t lie.”

She huffs but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she shifts closer, intertwining her fingers with yours under the covers.

————

OG MY GODO I CANNOT WRITE PET NAMES WITHOUT CRINGING OFMG KILL ME NOW😭🙏

Taglist: haha I'm lazy

[lipglossanon]

Sweets to the Sweet

Vergil x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dilf Vergil (need I say more 😉), au, I’m sure OOC Vergil (😞 i tried), kissing, teasing, dirty talk, praise, biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie(s), multiple orgasms, squirting, mirror sex, cum eating, slight breeding kink

over 7k worth of pwp lol

not proofread ✍️ enjoy!

editing to add: big thanks and shoutout to @ashlinxsloves and 💀 anon 💜 thanks to you two, i had the inspo to finish this fic 😭

Summer break could not arrive any faster. Your finals sucked the life and joy from you, but now it’s over and done. Nothing left except to empty your brain of concepts, formulas, and essays—and finally relax.

Nero, who you randomly met in the library trying to cram for an anatomy exam at the beginning of the semester, has invited you to hang out with him for a few weeks. I promise my dad isn’t going to care, a crooked grin in place, hell that's if he’s even at home. And I want you to meet Kyrie. Here, a dreamy look comes over his face. She’s the best.

So, you pack up and head out with Nero as soon as the last final’s finished (it’s yours, and it’s history). Then, after a short road trip—made easier by trading off driving until late the next night—Nero pulls up in front of a modest two story house. After parking, you both climb out of the car, stretching to work out the kinks of sitting in one spot for hours. You grab your bags while Nero grabs his and leads you up the pebbled foot path to the front door. 

Before he can stick the key in the lock, the door swings open into a warmly lit foyer. The hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life stands there, cool gaze flicking from Nero to you back to Nero. He’s well dressed to be at home, a dark blue cable knit sweater paired with soft grey joggers ending on bare feet; his spiked hair looks messy, like he’s run his hands through it, with several fallen strands highlighting his face. A strong jaw offset by a soft mouth draws in your eyes. 

“Son,” his raspy voice sends chills dancing down your spine. “Who is our lovely guest?”

Nero brushes his thumb against his nose, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him. “Ah, well, surprise,” he hunches his shoulders, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

His dad’s glacial eyes snap to you. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Nero hurriedly introduces everyone, making you grin over at him once he says his dad’s name is Vergil. 

“You guys like to keep it classic, huh?”

Vergil’s mouth twitches, the hint of a smile trying to appear.  “Yes, quaint, isn’t it?”

You laugh outright and Nero scratches the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, Well.. we’re kinda beat.”

His dad nods, smoothly stepping forward to clasp your bags in his hands. “Follow me to your rooms.”

You sputter out a protest that is quickly shot down—“A lady never carries her own luggage”—Vergil’s raised eyebrow and dismissive tone makes your heart flutter. He leads the two of you further into the house and upstairs. Once you get settled in, you fall asleep in no time.

The next few days are filled with Nero showing you around his house and neighborhood. 

Oddly enough, whenever you and Nero hang out around his home, his dad is nearby. Nero offhandedly mentions a few times that that’s not his norm.

“He must be on vacation this week,” he complains to you under his breath, watching Vergil make his way through the living room to the kitchen. “I swear he’s never around when I’m on break.”

“Is he never around or are you always out with Kyrie?” You tease good naturedly. 

“Shut up,” he laughs, tossing a throw pillow at you before slumping back on the couch. ”It just feels like he’s hovering.”

You shrug, attention going back to the television. You’d never say it out loud, especially to Nero, but you definitely don’t mind seeing his dad hanging around.

Nero eventually introduces you to his neighbor and childhood friend, Nico—a rowdy young woman who you click with almost instantly. She razzes Nero about everything, and it never fails to make you laugh. The last person he brings around is the infamous Kyrie. She’s so kind and pretty, you understand why Nero is so smitten.

The four of you hang out a few times and it’s fun, but you're glad when you have a free day to yourself. Craving homemade scones, Nero is nice enough to run out to the store to grab some ingredients. It’s only until he’s back that you realize a few items are still missing, and he promises to run out and grab those, too. 

Alone once more in the kitchen, you decide to get a head start on the recipe. 

Humming, your brows pinch together, immersed in looking over the recipe you have saved in your phone. You’re ninety-nine percent sure you have everything added to the bowl, but you just want to double check before you start mixing. Too busy cataloging ingredients, you don’t notice Vergil standing near the kitchen entryway.

“Okay,” you say to yourself out loud, pushing the phone further up the counter so you can pull the bowl and whisk to you. “Beat by hand for two minutes.”

“What are you making?”

An embarrassingly high pitched squeal escapes you before you can stop it. Spinning around, you see Nero’s dad gazing at you in amusement although his face remains stoic.

“Oh my gosh,” you hold your hand over your heart. “I-I didn’t hear you come in. You scared me to death.”

“Apologies,” he lets his lips quirk up, a shadow of a grin. “It was not my intention.”

Blowing out a short breath, you shake your head. “No, I mean I know you didn’t mean to. And, uh, I’m just baking lemon scones. Nero picked up some ingredients for me earlier, but he’s off getting the rest right now.”

He steps closer, eyes dragging down your body before flicking up to your mixing bowl. “And do you require any assistance?”

His low tone has you biting your bottom lip, watching when his eyes catch on the movement. “Uh, s-sure, I mean if you don’t mind.”

He graces you with a half smile, “I would not have offered otherwise. Tell me how you need me.”

Your skin feels hot and a nervous sweat breaks out across your hairline. Aside from a few stuttered words, you’re able to explain to Vergil and in no time you both are working side by side in quiet harmony.

His hands catch your eyes; pianist hands, you think. Long dexterous fingers offset by pale skin with blue veins snaking their way from his knuckles up his forearms. You want to sink your teeth into his skin. It’s unfair how good he looks. 

You’ve only spent a little bit of time with Nero’s father; it’s mostly been with his friends and girlfriend. Vergil, you’ve noticed, is quiet—more prone to reading in the soft lamplight of the living room than loud conversation. Nico says Nero is much more like his uncle (“A loud mouthed braggart to paraphrase Vergil,“ Nico snickered). So lost in thought, you almost miss him speaking.

“This is nice,” he murmurs at you, side-eying you before glancing back at his hands.

Smiling down at the mixing bowl, you nod. “It is.”

“I am..” his mouth purses, like he’s tasting out the word he’s searching for, “glad Nero invited you.”

At his admission, you turn to fully look at his side profile. A straight nose with strong cheekbones—he notices you looking and turns to face you, shifting your view onto his sharp eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth.

His thumb comes up to brush against your cheek, hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp. Heart tripping over itself in your chest, you feel rooted to the spot, trapped by indecision and nerves. The heat from his hand draws you in, head angling toward his palm. 

“You have a streak of flour,” his low voice sends butterflies fluttering in your chest.

Your lips part and his eyes flick from your gaze down to your mouth. Before anything else happens, the side door of the kitchen swings open with a bang, Nero cursing under his breath as he steps through. Vergil easily slips away from you, turning back to the kitchen counter. Hands clenching at your sides, you try to calm your nerves, pulling in a deep breath before shakily letting it out. 

Nero drops a small paper bag on the counter next to Vergil. “Did she rope you into it, too?”

He grins at you and you flip him off. 

“Nooo,” you roll your eyes with a sigh. “He volunteered.” 

“More like volun-told,” Nero laughs, holding up his hands as you reach over to push his arm.

“Why don’t you make like a tree and beat it?” You grouse.

A soft chuckle meets your ears, and you shoot a quick look at Vergil and catch his amused expression.

Nero sighs, “Well, I know when I’m not wanted. I just came to drop off the rest of it, gotta meet up with Nico to look over some project.”

Nodding, you watch as Nero heads out the way he came in. “Tell her hi from me.”

“Will do!” He waves without looking, shutting the door behind him.

A slightly awkward silence rings out after Nero’s departure. Clearing your throat, you turn back to the work space. 

“Okay, so where were we?”

Vergil tilts his head at you, “I believe you were waiting on Nero’s delivery in order to continue.”

“Right,” you smile, embarrassment warming your chest.

You try to reach over Vergil to grab the bag Nero left when he shifts out of the way; nearly losing your balance, he braces your hips and twists the same time you step forward, leaving you pinned between his firm body and the counter. Nervous excitement has your palms sweating as you grip the countertop. 

“Apologies,” you can feel the rumble of his voice from where your back presses against his chest. 

A warm, woodsy smell encompasses you; the scent of bergamot and birch with an undertone of cloves. It sends a pulse of need through your core. Your fingertips tingle, arousal thrumming heavily in your veins. Belatedly, you realize he now has both hands on your hips. Where Vergil presses against you, he’s warm, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and keeps you.

His lips brush across the side of your neck, as faint as butterfly wings, sending chills to race down your spine.

Lips touch the shell of your ear. “Is this.. okay?”

“More than,” you breathe out in reply. 

In one fluid motion, he turns you around and lifts you up, seating you on the kitchen counter. The gain in height only makes you a few inches taller than the older man in front of you. Running your fingers up across his chest, your hands come to rest on his shoulders. His lips quirk into a half smile and it makes your heart thud heavily in anticipation. 

His hands slide from your hips down to your thighs, palms a hot brand against the skin. Attempting to squeeze them closed, he clicks his tongue, thumbs digging into the dough of your thighs. 

“Relax,” he breathes out, stepping even closer—his clothes rasp against your bare legs and makes you shiver.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and he leans forward with a soft groan. 

“Tempting me with this sinful little mouth,” his words send a pulsing throb to your clit. “Shall I sample a taste?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, eyes dilating, fingers curling into his sweater to anchor yourself. 

Molten heat, like sun warmed honey, drips down your throat. Hungrily, he parts your lips, tongue slipping inside to taste you. Eyes fluttering closed, the dark may hide your sight but the feel of him surrounds you. His hands grip onto your thighs more tightly, a delicious bite of pain that makes your cunt clench around nothing. 

He whispers something against your lips when he pulls away, but kisses you again before you can ask what. Vergil’s tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. He kisses slow and deep, taking his time to map out your mouth. You're swept up, unable to think outside of the litany of more more more drumming inside your skull. 

Hands slipping across the back of his neck, your fingers run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp earning you a low groan. You greedily swallow it down along with the saliva from his insistent mouth. Rocking forward, you seek out more pleasure for yourself. The zipper on his slacks press against your cunt perfectly, clit swollen and questing for more.

Pulling you closer to the edge, he chuckles against your mouth. His lips drag across your jaw, lightly nipping the skin where it hinges. His tongue and teeth slowly map a trail across your neck. Slick saturates the gusset of your panties, pussy feeling hot. Your hand blindly reaches down and gropes him through his slacks and he grunts, fingers squeezing the fat of your thighs. 

“Let me take you to bed,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping a small kiss to your skin. 

“Okay,” you whisper against his hair. Lifting his head, he kisses you again, soft and wet. 

It seems like you only blink, and you find yourself in his bedroom. You don’t really take much in except for the bed, a large mahogany centered against the wall. Feeling him at your back, your trembling legs take you over the mattress. Laying down, a whiff of cloves and bergamot steals into your nose.

Recognizing the smell from earlier in the kitchen, his sheets are saturated with it, making you bury your face into them. Breathing in makes you dizzy with want. 

“Let me see your face, lovely one,” he coos, strong hands gripping your waist to flip you onto your back. “Such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Vergil,” you whimper, legs parting, allowing him to slot himself between your thighs.

He kisses you, rough and heated, tongue slipping into your mouth before coaxing your own past his lips. Sucking the wet muscle, his canines press down gently, sending a pulsing want through your clit. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug on the light strands. Whining, your hips roll up, grinding along the bulge pressing against the apex of your thighs. 

Vergil sits back, hands dragging down your body. The knuckles of one his hands rubs across the seam of your lounge shorts, rubbing soft circles against the material, pressing it into your clit. 

“I can feel how hot and needy you are,” he murmurs, blue eyes blown out in arousal. “May I?”

At your nod, his fingers slip into the band of your shorts and underwear, tugging them both down and off at the same time. Strings of slick cling to the gusset of your panties before snapping when he pulls them away. 

“Look at you,” he groans. “Such a slick little cunt.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, thighs twitching with the effort to keep them open.

Kneeling between your thighs, he drops a kiss at the bend of your right knee before slowly trailing kisses with the soft hint of teeth up your thigh. Skipping over your soaked slit, he presses kisses into your left thigh, leaving off with a gentle bite to your leg. 

Hands grasping at his sheets, you writhe and whimper, hips jumping up to tempt his plush mouth to kiss your dripping pussy. He smirks up at you, mouth nipping at the junction of your thigh and cunt. 

“Please, Vergil,” you pant, letting go of the sheets to run your hands through his hair. 

“So sweet.” His fingers wrap around your wrist and tugs your hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of your wrist.

His teeth sink into soft skin, lips and tongue roughly sucking a mark onto your wrist. Clit throbbing with the dull pain from his mouth, your free hand claws at his shoulder, head tilting back with a whine. Letting go with an audible pop, his tongue laps at the teeth indentations left on your skin. 

“Now, to taste that hot little cunt,” he murmurs, kissing the mark one more time before dropping his head back down to your thighs.

The breath leaves your lungs in a gusty moan. Vergil’s tongue glides along your slit, ending with a soft kiss to your clit. With a groan, he buries his face into your cunt, tongue parting your slick folds to lick into your drippy hole. His hands frame your pussy, thumbs pulling your lips apart, allowing him to lick into you deeper. You clench down on his hot tongue, eyes rolling back when he chuckles against your sensitive cunt. 

Pulling away with an obscene slurp, his tongue laps upward until he can circle your pudgy clit. Shifting one hand, he softly pulls back the hood of your clit, kitten licking the swollen bud until you’re scratching his shoulders and keening loudly. Humming, his blue eyes gaze up your body, and it makes your core burn hot. Flattening his tongue, he licks a broad stripe across your clit, and it sends more slick leaking from your pussy.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, nails sinking into his soft sweater. Tears clump your lashes together. 

“You taste good,” he mumbles against your pussy. “Like ambrosia.”

His tongue presses back inside, hungrily tasting your cunt, strong nose rubbing across your fat clit. Moaning, your toes curl from the pleasure humming through your body.

“Please, I need you,” you keen, “I need you inside me.”

“You need what inside you?” He pulls away with a suckling kiss to your clit. 

Blinking the wetness from your eyes, you tighten your grip onto his shoulders, lightly pulling him upward. 

“Your cock,” you whimper, lips parting when he presses his mouth to your jaw. You can feel his lips curve into a grin.

“Good girl,” his low voice washes over you as he kisses the apple of your cheek.

He sits back on his haunches, hands stretching behind his head to grasp his sweater. Tugging it off in one fluid motion, strands of hair messily falling around his face while he drops the sweater into the floor. Biting your lip, your eyes greedily take in his toned chest and stomach. Your hands unconsciously reach out to drag down his sternum. Eyes following your hand, they drop down to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Flushed with heat, you bite your bottom lip, blown out gaze meeting his own. Palm pressing flat to his abdomen, you slide down to cup him through his slacks. A low sound escapes him from deep in his throat; it makes your clit throb. His hands quickly undo his pants, tugging them down his muscled thighs. Your mouth waters, a whine slipping out to see him bare before you since he’s not wearing anything underneath. 

“The way you look at me drives me crazy,” his raspy tone sends chills across your skin. 

He fists his cock with one hand while the other one moves up to your face, brushing a thumb across your bottom lip. Pressing forward, the digit slips into your mouth, pinning your tongue down as he cups your chin with his forefinger. Whimpering, you hollow your cheeks, sucking on his thumb softly, inner thighs trying to close but stopped by his body centered between your legs.

Letting go of your face, he swipes his wet thumb across his leaking tip before popping it back into your mouth. Salty musk floods your mouth and you moan, eyelashes fluttering as you run your tongue all around his thumb, lapping the precum up greedily. Tugging the digit free from your mouth, he smears your spit all across your lips. 

“I’m very eager to be inside you, to stretch you open until you cry,” his eyes are nearly black, pupils swallowing up the blue until it’s a thin ring.

Reaching down, you grasp the hemline of your shirt and tug it up. Vergil joins you in removing your clothing, nimble fingers undoing your bra and slipping it away from your body. His hands grope your tits, thumbs brushing over your stiff nipples and making you cry out pitifully.

“So sensitive, too,” he murmurs, more to himself; his eyes take in your naked body before snapping up to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweet treat?”

A shadow of a smile flits across his face; if you had blinked you would’ve missed it. His head dips down and he drops a kiss to your sternum. Breath hitching in your chest, your hands drop to the sheets to grip them tightly. His lips trail across your breasts, taking his time to kiss and lick each one. Sinking his teeth into the underside of your left breast, you keen softly, thighs falling open even further. 

Suckling at your nipples, Vergil reaches down and grasps his cock, rubbing it across your soaked slit. The slick dripping from your pussy costs his dick, letting him easily grind against you. Fingers circling the base, he grips his cock and slaps it down onto your cunt, aiming the tip to graze at your swollen clit.

“Oh, please,” you gasp, hole clenching around nothing. 

Ghosting his teeth against your hard nubs, he continues to suck on your nipples. His wet lips grail from one stiff peak to the next, blue eyes slitted in pleasure. Using his thumb, he presses the head of his cock against your hole. 

“I can feel you trying to suck me in already,” his lips brush against the soft skin of your breasts.

Notching his cock at your fluttering pussy, he slowly pushes inside with a low groan. He buries his face into your neck, strands of hair tickling your jaw. 

“I-it’s too big,” you pant, hands moving to claw at his shoulders. “Oh, god, it’s so good.”

He growls at your words, hips rocking into you harder than before. Your breath slips from you, the total feeling of fullness overtaking your senses—cunt stuffed with Vergil’s thick length.   

He laces your fingers together, palm to palm, heart line to heart line; you can’t stop yourself from kissing him, helplessly, irrevocably ruined on his cock. 

“Doing so well, taking me so deep.” He licks the shell of your ear, and you shudder, clenching down on his dick. “Snug little pussy feels like she was made for me.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from babbling, “Please, please, feels so good, you’re so big, please, I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Hush,” he coos, kissing the corner of your eye, tasting the salt from your tears. “I won’t leave you wanting, my sweet.”

The heat is suffocating; the heat pulsing through your veins, the heat buried in your cunt, the heat from his body pressing you down down down into his bedding. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” His grip tightens around your hands. “I can feel this needy hole suckling at my cock.”

Whine smothered by his tongue licking into your mouth, your eyes roll back, climax washing over your body like a slow rolling wave. He keeps up the smooth rocking thrusts that have his pelvis grinding perfectly into your swollen clit.

“Good girl,” he drops kisses across your cheekbones and the corner of your lips. “Milking my cock so perfectly.”

Nails digging into the backs of his hands, your legs squeeze his waist, pussy clamping down on his dick, post climax tremors racking your body. He bites down on your neck, and you rock your hips, grinding his cock deeper into your pussy.

“I shouldn’t cum inside you,” Vergil whispers against your neck, voice wrecked. “It's not responsible.”

“Don’t care,” you plead with him. “Want it, want you to cum inside me.”

He groans, hips thrusting harder, cock easily slipping in and out of your sopping wet pussy.

“I’ll spill so deep inside you.” He drags one set of your clasped hands down your body to press into your abdomen. “You’ll feel it, so hot and thick.. my cum breeding your needy cunt.”

Your pussy walls flutter and squeeze down on his cock, slick coating his cock as his words fan your arousal from smoldering embers to a blazing flame. 

“Vergil, please.” Sounding like a broken record, you beg him for more. “You can cum in me as much as you want.”

He growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder. 

“Yes, fuck,” you choke out, tears beading your lash line. “Mark me up, do whatever you want.”

“You must stop offering me such delightful gifts,” he groans. “I’ll keep you full all night.”

He presses your hands more tightly against your lower abdomen.

“You’ll be dripping for days.”

With a low grunt that makes your cunt pulse, he flips you two over without pulling out. Now, his back is to the mattress with you sitting atop his lap. Your cunt flutters wildly around his dick, clit throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“Look at you,” his eyes are dark, drawing you in easily. “So lovely.”

Moaning, you eagerly bounce on his cock; Vergil laces your hands together again, helping you brace yourself. Biting your bottom lip, you roll your hips faster, grinding his cock along your g-spot and making your pussy gush so much slick it drips down his balls. 

You want to cum; you want to cum so bad. He feels so good inside you, you think you might go crazy. He’s thick, stretching you open on that perfect edge of almost too much and just enough. His fat tip keeps knocking into your womb, the pleasurepain skittering down your spine and making your eyes water. He has to cum inside you. 

You think you say as much out loud since he gives you one of those hidden smiles, wicked eyes promising you pleasure. He thrusts upward, cock rutting into your squelching cunt with deep, steady strokes. He bunches your hands together so he can clasp them in one of his, using the other to loosely grasp your neck and pull you down. Your noses bump before he nips your bottom lip. 

“Are you going to cum for me, dear heart? Squeeze me until I spill all sticky, sweet inside your perfect cunt?” He whispers against your lips, the words stealing into your mouth and settling deep into your core.

Pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, his tongue slides into your mouth, flicking against yours. You whine, pussy clamping down on his cock, climax beginning to crest inside you once again.

“That’s it, let me feel you,” Vergil coaxes, voice low and silky. “Cum for me.”

His hand moves from your neck down between your bodies to lightly rub across your clit. Pussy clenching, your grind down onto his cock and whimper. A few more soft circles against your pudgy bud and you’re cumming again. Moaning his name, your body flinches and shudders, orgasm buzzing through your senses until all you can feel is him.

“Do you still want me to fill you?” He asks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, tugging it slightly before letting go.

“Yes, yes, please, Vergil.” You nod, body still trembling. He groans and kisses you with fervor, hands gripping your hips so tightly it stings. 

Cunt dripping your cum and slick, Vergil’s cock fills you over and over until he buries himself inside your soft, fluttering walls. Groaning, his head falls back to the mattress, eyes clenched shut, his balls pumping rope after rope of cum deep inside your pussy.

Slumping forward, your nose presses uncomfortably against his collarbone. His hands loosen their grip and he runs his fingertips across your back and side, raising chillbumps in their wake. Humming, you tilt your head and kiss his neck.

“Such a sweet girl,” he rumbles in your ear.

Your eyes drift closed, and it’s not until you feel movement that you realize you have even fallen asleep. 

“I did not mean to wake you.” Vergil shifts you in his arms. You can feel his spend oozing from your puffy cunt sending a frisson of heat through your clit. 

Shaking your head, you ease yourself up onto your feet. “I need to go clean up.”

His eyes drag down your naked body to see the mess he left between your thighs. His cock flexes, but stays soft. 

“Shall I accompany you to the bath?” 

Feeling shy and a little intimidated, you nod. “That would be nice.”

He ushers you into his en suite bathroom, fussing over the towels and water temperature before finally settling you both under the shower spray. Vergil lathers you in his body wash, being careful to wash every inch of your skin. You hum, eyes closed and totally relaxed. Soft kisses are pressed into your shoulders and neck. Between the warmth of his body and the drumming heat of the water, you think to yourself it’s quite easy to fall for someone like Vergil.

Once he finishes with you, he sets to cleaning  himself. Vergil bats your hands away from helping him wash off. He keeps it perfunctory, just a quick and thorough cleaning before he’s pressing back against you in the water, lips seeking yours out. You look up at him, his hair beaten down by the water and making him look younger. Fingers running through his wet strands, you slick it back. 

“You’re really handsome,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed and juvenile once the words escape you.

He grasps the wrist marked by his teeth and drops a soft kiss to your palm. 

“And you are unequivocally lovely.” His blue eyes never waver from your gaze. “You have bewitched me quite easily.”

His hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing across your cheek bones. “Would it be forward of me to ask for a courtship?”

You laugh, blinking the water from your eyes. “Kind of did things a bit backwards, huh?”

His lips tic into a half smile. “Yes, a bit backwards.”

Smiling, you slip your arms around his shoulders. “I’d love to go out with you.” Pausing, your eyes dart to the side, a frown pinching your brow. “You don’t think it’s weird I’m Nero’s friend?”

“As long as you do not find it odd that I’m his father,” he jokes, and it makes you smile up at him again.

“Then, it’s settled,” you stretch up on your toes to kiss his nose.

A huff of laughter escapes him before he kisses you sweetly. His hands still cup your jaw, keeping your head angled perfectly for him to deepen the kiss into something hot and heavy. After a few minutes of making out under the shower spray, you both begin to feel the water cooling off. 

“Let’s get out.” He kisses you one last time, a quick peck to your lips, before shutting the water off and stepping out of the shower.

Returning quickly, he wraps a towel around you and gently dries you off. Once you’re ready, he drops the towel and has you put on one of his bathrobes. It’s too long in the sleeves and the hem touches the floor, but it’s soft and comfortable. He towels off quickly, eyes never straying too far from you. You watch him, with a dopey smile on your face you’re sure. 

After cinching the towel around his waist, Vergil runs a hand through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face except for a few strands that stubbornly refuse to move. 

“Let’s find you something to wear.” He tugs the end of the robe’s sleeve. “But it seems like my clothes may wear a bit long on you.”

You shrug, following him back into the bedroom. “I can head back to my room and—”

“Nonsense,” he cuts you off. “Especially since you’ll be sleeping in here, there is no reason to leave the room for tonight.”

“Oh!” Surprise suffuses your features.

“Did you think I would have you leave?” A nonplussed look combined with an eyebrow raise leaves you feeling sheepish. 

“I didn’t think about it honestly,” you smile awkwardly. “But I’m more than happy to stay.”

“Good,” he tugs you in for a kiss before guiding you over to his closet. “I have a few items you can wear comfortably.”

Walking into the closet, he moves over to a built in wardrobe, leaving you to look around the space. You wander over to a tall mirror seated into the wall. Vergil turns with a shirt in hand and sees you admiring the ornate frame.

“It was a gift from my mother,” he says conversationally, stepping behind you.

“It’s gorgeous,” you smile at him through the reflected surface.

“Thank you,” he nods, then holds up the shirt. “May I?”

“Oh, sure,” you go to turn and he stops you.

One hand undoes your robe and lets it fall to the floor; his nostrils flare, eyes dragging down your naked body. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do anything more than help slip the shirt over your head. The fabric is soft and it smells like him, making your heart beat fast. He smoothes it down your body, hands resting on your hips.

Vergil pushes up against you and you bite your lip to feel his cock rutting against your thigh. 

“Like what you see?” You tease, lifting the hem of the shirt from where it falls against your upper thighs, barely concealing your naked cunt.

“Always,” he nips your earlobe, hands drifting under your shirt to pull it up over your breasts.

He pinches your nipples and your head falls against his chest. Mewling, you rock back against his chubbed cock. One hand groping your tits, he slips the other away to undo his robe. Vergil’s hand then grasps your hip, thumb digging into your lower back. Notching his cock at your pussy, he swipes through the slick leaking from your hole. 

“So eager,” his svelte voice fills your ears the same time he sinks inside your wet pussy.  

He pins you to the mirror, the cool glass almost too much for your hard nipples. He pistons his cock harder into you, smushing your tits into the reflected glass. Face turned to the side, your breath fogs the mirror with each gasping pant. Your reedy moans and his soft grunts fill the closet space; long deep strokes of his cock send pleasure surging through your body. You’re still so sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take long to push you to the edge.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Spread open and perfect. Taking me so well.”

“Vergil,” you whimper, eyes fluttering with every bump against your cervix.

“Do you know how delectable it is that you can cum like this?” He rumbles, raspy tone making you clench down on him. “I don’t even need to touch your pretty clit, just fill this slick cunt with my cock until you’re cumming around me.”

“Oh, god, I’m so close, please,” you babble, spit smearing against the mirror from your parted lips. 

He shifts his grip from your hips to your ass, squeezing hard enough for fat to dimple between his fingers. Grunting, he fucks into you even harder, cock splitting you open with every deep stroke. His drippy tip bumps into the opening of your womb and sends pleasure careening through your veins. Pressure builds up in your core and you twist your hips, trying to change the angle of Vergil’s dick. 

“W-wait, I’m—I think I’m gonna pee,” embarrassment makes your voice squeaky. “Vergil, please, I don’t wanna make a mess.”

He grunts, hips thrusting harder. “Let yourself go. I promise it will be fine. Your sweet cunt is just feeling good.”

Hands pushing at the mirror, you raise up but the angle only drives his cock in deeper, the head nailing your cervix and making your legs tremble. Clit pulsing, the tight band of arousal centered in your core finally snaps. Slick gushes around Vergil’s cock, nearly pushing him out of your pussy. Pussy walls flutter and pulse around his thick length, sucking him further into your soaked cunt.

“Perfect girl,” he groans, leaning forward to bite and kiss your neck. “Look at you squirting for me.”

Your watery eyes turn to your reflection and you take in your fucked out expression. Eyes moving from yours to Vergil, you watch him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours and he smirks.

“Didn’t that feel good?” He coos. “Now, rub that sweet, swollen clit. Let’s make you feel even better.”

Feeling wrung out, you sluggishly do as he says. Your fingers rub your clit in soft circles and your pussy flutters around his cock.

“Perfect,” he whispers, burying his face against your shoulder, teeth biting into the muscle. “So lovely.”

You whimper and whine, pussy swollen and sensitive and yet you still want to cum for Vergil, let him feel you squeeze down on his cock. He continues biting into your shoulders, breath hot on your neck when he finally raises his head to stare at you in the mirror.

“I’m close,” he murmurs. “Are you ready for my seed? Ready for me to spill inside you.. right here?” One hand slides up to press his palm flat to your lower abdomen. “Cum inside you so deep, you’ll be dripping for days.”

“Please, please,” you beg, tears clumping your lashes together. “I want you to cum inside me. Please, Vergil, please.”

“How can I deny such a sweet request?” He hums.

His hand joins yours, fingertips strumming across your clit and sending electricity zinging through your brain. He kisses a sensitive spot on your neck that leaves you shuddering, and he latches onto the skin, teeth and tongue working to leave a mark. Cock brushing against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt paired with his fingers playing with your pudgy clit sends you spiraling into another orgasm. 

“Utterly perfect,” he growls, letting your walls milk his cock as you slump into the mirror, climax wiping out your muscles. 

Reaching under your thighs, Vergil hooks your legs over his forearms and lifts you up. Too tired to care, he spreads you open, showing you both where he’s splitting you open. Grunting, he fucks you, cock barely pulling out before filling you once more. It doesn’t take long for him to drop you down onto his dick as he thrusts up, stilling with a low groan. Hot spurts of cum coat your pussy walls, making you gasp and clench down on his cock. 

“Such a good girl,” he moans in your ear and your hole clamps down on him even harder.

Grunting, he pumps his cock slowly in and out, spurting the rest of his thick, sticky load into your cunt. There’s so much, you can see some of it bubble out from around his cock. When Vergil finally pulls out, his dick is coated in your slick and his spend; a quick glance at your hole shows it completely stuffed with his cum.

Feeling self conscious, you squirm in his hold. “Y-you can put me down now.”

He chuckles and it sends butterflies through your chest.

“I rather like this view,” he noses against your ear before kissing the shell.

His half hard cock rubs against your ass and you whimper.

“Maybe we should call it a night, hmm?”

You nod, watching as Vergil continues to nuzzle against your ear. He turns his attention back to you, eyes locking on yours in the mirror. 

“So much for that shower,” you mumble, surprising him enough he barks out a laugh.

“Apologies,” he kisses your cheek. “Should we have another?”

Shaking your head, you turn your head to kiss his temple. “No sense. I have a feeling we’d only end up this way again.”

“I fear you are right,” he kisses you before slowly lowering your legs down to the floor. Clicking your tongue, you wince at the thick glob of cum oozing from your pussy. 

“Bend over,” he suddenly orders and you have no reason to resist. 

He spreads your cunt and slides his tongue into your messy hole.

“Vergil,” you squeal. 

“Hush,” he pats your ass and you bite your lip. “I’m cleaning up my mess.”

Overly sensitive, you moan quietly, feeling every swipe of his probing tongue as he licks his cum out of your pussy. Once he can’t taste any more dripping out of you, Vergil pulls away, dropping one last kiss to your lower back before standing up. 

Once more, he smoothes down the shirt he picked out for you to wear to bed, eyes warm in and otherwise stoic expression. 

“Now shall we head to bed?”

You laugh, legs shaky enough that Vergil wraps a hand around your waist to let you lean against him.

“Are we going to bed? Or are we going to bed?” You raise your eyebrows at him, amusement coloring your voice.

“Both,” he deadpans, and you snort before covering your mouth. 

“How is that funny?” He murmurs, grabbing your waist and manhandling you down onto the bed.

His hands brush your thighs and your hips, seeking out any ticklish spots. Laughing, you sink your hands into his hair and guide him up to your mouth for a kiss. He sighs against your lips, and you whimper to taste yourself on his tongue.

Pulling away, he glances down at your bare thighs. “Shall I procure undergarments?”

“No, thank you.” You run your hands down his neck to his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll need any.”

His shoulders twitch under your hands as he breathes out a soft laugh.

“Are you suggesting that I cannot keep my hands to myself?”

“I’m suggesting,” you whisper against his mouth, “that I don’t mind if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He licks into your mouth, groans muffled against your tongue. Hot, open mouthed kisses simmer down to sweet, soft presses of his lips until he finally pulls back.

“As delightful as another round would be, we should attempt to sleep,” he sighs, forehead pressing against your temple.

“Mmm hmm,” you agree readily, your body starting to feel how tired you truly are. “No complaints from me.”

He hums, the sound tickling your face and making you giggle. Tossing the covers back, he helps you get comfortable before tugging the sheets back over your bodies. Sighing happily, you snuggle into Vergil’s chest, letting his scent and body heat lull you to sleep.

[withleeknow]

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead. 

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.” 

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here.  “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.07.2024]

[glamourscat]

Some general hcs about the blue lock guys? Maybe if they are a girl or boy dad? Idk, anything of the sort thx 🙏🏻

Girls dads vs boys dads BLLK BOYS EDITION

GIRL'S DAD

⁃ REO MF MIKAGE. He is the N1 girl’s dad. So much that he *will* accidentally spoil her to the moon and back (literally). And he will hit you with “but look at her and her puppy eyes? How can you resist her? Is not my fault if she asked to own a star in her name for her birthday. It’s the least I could do for my own little star “

⁃ ISAGI: I don’t think I need to elaborate on him. But I will, because i love to yap. It's canon (or i think? i am pretty sure i have read it in the egoist bible but i cannot find the link i had saved for the life of me) that he would have loved a younger sister growing up. So it just makes sense.

⁃ BAROU : he has two younger sisters to which it's canon he cares and loves them for his dear life. Barou pretty much is already wired in husband and father mode ⁃ YUKIMIYA: purely out of personal vibes.

HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE:

⁃ SHIDOU: In the eventual future where this little gremlin fixes whatever he has going on, he would make such a good girl dad. Why? vibes. He just fits the girl's dad vibes i can't explain to you why, you either see it or don't.

At the same time tho, I also see him as the unhinged, fun uncle who is everywhere at once. Living his life the most weirdly, yet oddly free, way.

BOY'S DAD (this is all about pure vibes honestly)

⁃ KUNIGAMI

⁃ CHIGIRI

⁃ GAGAMARU

BOTH

⁃ BACHIRA: My favourite Bee. He just wants a child honestly, in a very far future. He would be such a great dad. The fun, loving and just an absolute gem. He just want at least 2 kids, boy or girl doesn't matter as long as he can shower them with love.

⁃ NIKO

NONE

⁃ NAGI: I mean lmao.. self explanatory. He thinks everything is an hassle. Definitely doesn’t want kids

⁃ ARYU: I can’t personally see him having kids, he lives a stress free life and kids are definetly no stress free— he is the cool aunt that travels the world, has always some crazy stories up his sleeve and loves expensive wine and clothes.

⁃ KAISER: his childhood was everything but good. And the scars he suffered are a life time reminder of the neglect and abuse he faced. The amount of trauma cannot be healed over the course of a month nor a few years, it's a constant learning curve that will follow him until his last breath. Honestly speaking, just like Rin-- but in a more complicated way here, it would be extremely hard to get into a relationship with him alone. I cannot image how dating/ married and having a kid would work with his twisted way of seeing life and relationships.

⁃ SAE: emotional range of a tea spoon. I can’t see him settling down in a marriage, much less having a kid.

⁃ RIN: this is complicated, because I think he could settle in the “both” category and here. The thing is, objectively speaking, he is very selfish. His football career will come before anything, and like we see, he is not thinking twice before cutting people off if needed. Thus, if he doesn’t change his mindset/grow up.. if he wants a long, standing football career, I cannot see him settling any time soon. Not to mention his struggle to make friends, let alone being in a relationship. But, in the case he does change, I think he would like two kids for sure.

[littlexdeaths]

𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 - 𝐚.𝐚.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞

abby anderson x plus size reader

part one | masterlist

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ only, gay pining ofc, brief mention of overeating, light smut, some cheesy goodness, a literal wet dream, manny and nora are a meddling duo we hate love to see coming

a/n: i just want to say thank you so much for all the love on the first part of this fic! genuinely wasn’t sure on the kind of reception it would receive. also a huge thank you to my bestie @undead-supernova for beta reading and helping me edit. i do plan on making this a into little series, so i hope you all enjoy xx.

“Late again,” Nora says in a sing-song-like tone as you burst through the flaps of the medical tent. 

There’d been a lull in patients since this morning and thankfully it’s still just the two of you. Nora has seen you in worse shape than this since you became roommates over a year ago, so it’s not nearly as embarrassing when you hunch over, bracing your hands on your knees to steady your ragged breathing. 

“Jesus, did you sprint all the way here?” she asks, tone bordering on playful concern. 

“Y-Yeah, just…need a minute. I’m fine,” you wheeze, giving her a thumbs up. 

She just shakes her head with a fond grin but continues to sterilize her tools while you take a seat on one of the empty cots and allow your breathing to return to normal. 

“So, ya gonna tell me why you came sprinting in here like a bat out of hell?” she eventually asks once you’ve calmed down, a knowing look on her face.

You simply shrug, unable to meet her gaze as you return to your feet. 

“Just realized how late I was,” you lie, continuing across the tent. “Didn’t want to leave you stranded.”

You cringe inwardly when your voice raises an octave, something she clearly catches. 

“Uh, huh, okay,” she snorts, unconvinced. “If you say so…”

She thankfully drops the subject for now, but knowing Nora, she wouldn’t give up so easily. You just hope you can come up with a better explanation by the time your shift ends. The last thing you want to do is own up to your own cowardice. So you try to keep yourself busy by organizing the supply shelf, compiling a list of items that are getting low. 

The both of you settle into a comfortable silence as you work, but that calm doesn’t last for long—it never seems to. 

Another group of recruits comes stumbling in from their first patrol, and the chaos of the morning resumes. You're just thankful she doesn’t have the chance to bring up your flustered state the rest of your shift. You’re exhausted by the time Mel comes to relieve you a few hours later, giving you stern orders to go eat something and get some well deserved rest. 

But you inevitably find your way to the library, wanting to bury your nose in a book after the day you just had. It definitely wasn’t an excuse to avoid your friends that were enjoying dinner in the mess hall.

The library is practically empty when you arrive, which is unsurprising. Majority of the soldiers in the WLF don’t seem to have much of an interest in literature, even if it would do them some good. You begin to wander the makeshift stacks in a daze, your fingers lightly trailing over the worn spines. The aroma of frayed paper and oak welcoming you back like an old friend. 

While you weren’t always able to find comfort in food, you still had books. You’d willingly lose yourself in tales of romance and make believe for hours, anything to make the horrors of your day to day reality a little less daunting. So you peruse the aisles with intent, pulling book after book off the shelves. But nothing seems to capture your interest like you’d hoped. 

You’d skimmed through the pages of multiple books, but knew you didn't have the mental wherewithal to endure a story about cancer ridden teenagers falling in love or a woman faking her own disappearance to get back at her shitty, cheating husband. You didn’t need any more tragedy plaguing your thoughts. 

You’re about ready to abandon your search altogether, feelings of frustration beginning to bubble up inside you when you pass one of the many reading nooks. There’s a thick novel that’s been left behind discarded on one of the chairs but it’s the picture on the cover that stops you in your tracks, causing a warm flush to creep up the back of your neck. 

You’d seen books like these over the years during patrols, spicy novellas as Manny had so lovingly referred to them—but you’d never taken an interest in one before. 

A couple is sprawled out on a deserted beach, their bodies entangled in a passionate embrace while the raging sea continues to crash around them. The woman is devastatingly pretty, a sheer nightgown clinging to her unmistakably curvy figure. Her head is thrown back, a look of complete bliss ingrained on her soft features. But it’s the male that you are unable to tear your gaze away from. 

His face is obscured, buried completely in the woman’s bosom as he ravishes her. His dark blonde hair is long and luscious, cascading over his broad shoulders. And his body, while toned in all the right places, has a feminine quality to it that makes your breath catch. 

Why does he remind you of her? 

But before you can decide to overthink it, you quickly snatch the novel off the table, keeping it tucked securely under your arm as you rush back to your room. Nora is miraculously absent when you slip inside your shared space, but you’re grateful for the solitude as you speed through your bedtime routine. 

You feel so much more relaxed after washing your face and brushing your teeth, slipping on an oversized t-shirt before crawling into bed. You pull the covers up and over your bare legs, clicking on your bedside lamp before rolling onto your stomach and flipping open the book. 

The premise is…incredibly cheesy to say the least, a damsel being taken aboard an enemy vessel and held captive while out at sea. And yet somehow it’s still entertaining enough to hold your interest. But once you are introduced to the captain of the ship (and the eventual love interest) you almost toss the book aside, because of course his name is Gabriel… 

The universe has to be playing some cruel joke on you. 

You don’t remember exactly when you dozed off, the worn romance novel left dangling between your nimble fingers.

But you awake to a pair of strong hands grazing over the dip in your hips, the sound of waves crashing around you. You can taste the salt in the air when your lips part, a soft sigh tumbling from them. 

A gentle drawl of your name has your eyes fluttering open and the sight before you sets your pulse racing. 

Abby, always Abby. 

She’s breathtaking. Her blonde hair is down, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves as she hovers above you. Her freckled cheeks are flushed from the harsh wind, her look of initial concern melting away when your lips curve up into a warm smile. 

“There she is,” she murmurs, her calloused fingers cradling your jaw. “Thought I lost you for a minute there, pretty girl.” 

Blurry images of the sea overtake you, water filling your mouth and lungs before a pair of strong hands pull you out of the treacherous waters and onto the sandy shore where she breathed life back into your lungs. 

A biting gust of wind has a small shiver wracking through your body, your nightgown entirely soaked through. The thin material clings to each dip of your curves, leaving very little to the imagination. But she isn’t faring much better as the waves continue to crash against the shore, washing up and drenching your entangled bodies. 

Salty mist clings to your lashes, a few droplets wetting your lips when she leans closer but the warmth of her breath stops them from trembling. Another forceful wave has her hips rocking forward, pulling a needy moan from your throat. 

“Touch me,” you breathe. 

And the dam breaks. 

Her lips are soft but urgent when they collide with yours, kissing you with a kind of desperation that makes you dizzy. Your hands slip around her waist, swallowing her throaty moans when you nip at her lower lip. You only pull away when your lungs are begging for oxygen, but her mouth never leaves your skin. They trail along your jaw and down your throat, sucking on a spot behind your ear that has your toes curling in the sand. 

“Abby, please,” you plead when her fingers dip between your parted thighs, the blonde hushing you with another firm kiss. 

Her fingers slide easily through your slick folds, the pad of her fingers barely brushing over your clit before they continue their descent. She curses softly when she feels the full extent of your desire, gathering more of your wetness on her fingers. Your hands slide up her back, nails digging into the broad expanse of her shoulders when she slowly guides one of her thick digits inside—

A loud knock on your door startles you awake, your body jolting upright in bed. Your body is flushed, chest heaving as you try to come back down to reality. The red light from your alarm clock blinks, reading 4:45 am, and you let out a frustrated groan before collapsing back against your mattress. You weren’t supposed to be back at the medical bay until much later in the afternoon, so someone must have been dead or dying if they were pulling you this early. 

The throbbing ache between your thighs continues to mock you as you glare up at the crack in your ceiling, and you honestly want to throttle whoever is on the other side of the door. They couldn’t have given you fifteen more minutes? 

Another knock sounds again, but this time they’ve grown more impatient as they bang their entire fist against the solid wood. 

“Okay, I’m coming!” you shout, unable to stop your annoyance from bubbling to the surface. 

Well, you certainly would have by now… 

You slide the blankets off your bare thighs, swinging your legs over the side of the mattress. You hiss when your feet touch the cold tile, blindly searching for your bunny slippers that you keep tucked under your bed. But you end up finding that cheesy romance novel first, the cover an almost carbon copy of your dream. 

There she is… thought I lost you for a minute there, pretty girl. 

You unintentionally press your thighs together, further damping the fabric between them. But you quickly shove the book under your pillow before you allow your mind to wander again, reaching back under to find your slippers. Your arms stretch above your head as you stand, rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes while you pad over to the door. 

You pull it open without a second thought, not exactly caring about your disheveled appearance until you see who is waiting for you on the other side of the door…

and your heart just about falls into your ass. 

Abby is casually leaning against your door jam, her eyes immediately dropping to skim over the bare skin of your thighs before they flick back up to meet your startled expression. Her hair is still damp but pulled back into her signature neat braid. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it’s really unfair. She’s wearing her normal patrol clothes, a gun strapped to her upper thigh and her pack draped across her back. 

“Nice slippers,” she remarks and you suddenly wish the stadium would crumple apart and swallow you whole. 

It’s then that you finally notice Manny, who is also in patrol attire, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall. He lets out a low wolf whistle, raising his brows in a suggestive manner as you try to tug your sleep shirt a little further down your thighs. 

“Ay dios mío, princesa, gonna give a guy a heart palpitations lookin’ like that.” 

You scoff softly, rolling your eyes before tucking your legs safely behind your door. Abby looks between you both for a moment, a deep frown settling onto her features when she crosses her arms over her chest. 

“How long will it take you to get ready?” she asks, her tone strictly business. 

But it still makes your stomach flutter. 

“Ready for…” you trail off, your confusion evident. 

Abby sighs. “So Nora didn’t tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“We’re doing a supply run today, outside the city. She told Manny you were switching with her, because Issac wants her at the hospital for the next couple of days,” she explains. 

You immediately notice the smug expression on Manny’s face, now understanding the reason for Nora’s unexplained absence after work. Oh, you were going to kill them both. 

“She absolutely neglected to mention that,” you mutter, trying to keep the full irritation out of your voice. “Just…give me, like, 20 minutes and I’ll be ready.”

Abby nods, shrugging away from the wall and you can’t help but notice how her muscles flex beneath her shirt. Heat pools in your middle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as your traitorous thoughts begin to wander back to your dream…

And how her muscles felt when they tensed under your fingertips, her warm breath lingering against your neck, and her fingers, oh god, her fingers, when they slid in between the plush skin of your thighs…

“We’ll meet you down at the mess hall, chica,” Manny’s voice instantly snaps you back to reality, the male shooting you a playful wink before he guides them down the hallway. “Grab ya something on the way.” 

You don’t have a chance to answer before they turn the corner, Abby sparing you one last glance over her shoulder. You practically slam the door shut in a panic once they’ve disappeared from view, your body collapsing back against it. 

You are so, totally fucked. 

⇢ part three.

[melrodrigo]

on your knees - c.s.

Cairo Sweet x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day and Cairo really needs a date.

Word Count: idk i’ll fill it later

A/N: Hiii, here to feed my babies. Beware the last few parts because i did nawt proofread this. Will come back to edit it eventually! Thanks for all the love

“Come onnnnn, go on a date with me?” The girl in front of you practically begs, leaning forward till her whole body is pressed up to the front of your desk.

“Very funny.” You tell her, dryly.

Cairo’s been whining all week about not having a valentine’s date, but you don’t know why she specifically chooses to whine to you about it. After all, you had heard from around school she had a crush on Mr.Miller.

Your nose crinkles in disgust at the thought. Their coupling would be wild at best, and illegal (not to mention boring) at worst. It would be like seeing Einstein and an Instagram model holding hands. Except Mr. Miller wasn’t Einstein, he was Henry Miller. A spectacularly boring middle aged white guy.

To be completely transparent, you wouldn’t have minded going on a date with Cairo. Since, truth be told, you might’ve had a (tiny) crush on her.

You let your mind wander, think of what it would be like to take her out. The perfect date.

She loves nature, so it would be outdoors for sure. She doesn’t love extravagant gestures, you’d probably make her a little picnic. Your train of thought is cut short by the evil voice that tells you she could be fantasizing about a certain professor on your imaginary date.

Cairo breaks your daydreaming by falling to her knees beside your chair, hitting the carpet with a loud thud.

Your eyes widen, and you quickly grab her shoulders and try to push her up, but she refuses. For such a small girl, she sure had a lot of strength.

“What do you want me to do, beg? I can beg.” She tells you, still on her knees, dress pooling atop the rug.

You’re ashamed to admit the position has a bit of an effect on you. But who could blame you? Anyone would be flustered if Cairo Sweet was looking up at them like that…

It’s a little awe inspiring, seeing Cairo so, desperate. You’re not sure what’s brought this all on, but the cold cut Cairo you once knew has disappeared completely from the equation.

“Cairo.” You hiss, eyes darting between the door and the girl in front of you, praying that no one comes in.

“What’s it gonna take for you to go on a date with me?” She whines again, reaching for your shirt cuffs for something to hang onto.

There’s a swoosh and a quiet “oh!” that brings your attention back to the door.

Mr. Miller.

He stands somewhat awkwardly, smiling the type of smile that somehow indicates he’s unhappy. His eyes narrow when he notices it’s Cairo on the floor, his beloved teacher’s pet.

Okay, now you really need Cairo to get up. You support (force) her up and onto half of your chair, reprimanding her quietly as Miller walks past, coughing.

She straightens only slightly before settling once again on your lap, claiming it’s more comfortable and “a more suitable place for her to focus on her studies”.

“Why don’t you just sit at your desk, hm?” You point at the table, a single chair, smack dab in the middle of the classroom, in front of Mr.Miller. She was such a nerd.

She stares back at you blankly, big brown eyes making you a little distracted.

“That’s not mine.” She says, and you breathe out a laugh. The tension breaks. Her eyes crinkle lightly at the sound.

“You’re so weird.” You mumble, but allow her to sit further into your lap, no doubt much more comfy than her previous position.

“Can I sit here the rest of the class?” She asks, a little bashfully. You give her a pointed look, but nod nonetheless.

“Whatever you want.” You tell her, and she seems happy with that, taking her laptop and notebook out, ready to learn.

You see her lock eyes with Mr. Miller, who looks very confused. She smiles shyly and breaks the contact by nudging herself into the crook of your neck.

Oh.

Maybe all this was just to make Mr.Miller jealous.

You frown at the disturbing thought. Cairo’s breath tingles your skin as she tilts her head up so her lips are right beside your ear. The sensation makes you shiver, quite unwillingly.

“Now will you go on a date with me?” She whispers, huskily. Her confidence has returned, cocky like the Cairo you know so well.

You weigh your options.

You do really want her to get away from Mr.Miller…it might be a good time to slap some sense into the young girl.

“Alright.” You say curtly, already regretting your decision.

Cairo removes herself from your neck, smiling wide. For a second it quells your anxieties, her milky white pearls blinding.

She turns back as more students start filing in, ready yet again to learn.

You can’t focus for the duration of the class, mind wandering. Valentine’s day was tomorrow, what were you going to say? What were you going to do?

You stay quiet until class ends and all the way while you walk her back to her home. Cairo pokes at you a couple times to try and get you out of your head.

“Don’t forget flowers!” Cairo teasingly yells from ahead of you, already one foot into her house. You straighten up, dumbly answer with a “You got it!” and a face palm once she’s out of sight.

-

Okay. This was it. Last night was spent toiling on your bed, writing a script of what you’ll tell Cairo, prepared lillies- her favorite flowers, and a batch of the best things you could possibly find in your fridge.

Bread, butter, freshly sliced tomatoes, lettuce, and two slices of turkey left, you’re all ready and set.

The script is tucked away into the back pocket of your jeans, snug and cozy. It radiates warmth that makes you think it’d be terribly rude to ever take it out.

You sit down onto the grass, arms on both sides straightened, palms rubbing uncomfortably with the tablecloth.

“I shouldn’t be this nervous.” You remind yourself, but it does almost nothing to quell your worries.

You can’t keep lying to yourself, the truth swims in your head and you’re afraid it’s going to leave your lips the second Cairo arrives. You aren’t nervous about the letter, or anything to do with Mr.Miller. In fact, you’re nervous about the date.

A tiny part of you, no matter how much you try and shun it away, hopes that, maybe, just maybe, if Cairo liked this date, she might start liking you.

The minutes count themselves down too fast, and it’s almost time. You sit straighter, checking your shirt for any wrinkles.

You see a tiny figure make it’s way onto the lawn, and you have to bite back a smile when you realize it’s Cairo.

She looks almost shy as she walks up to you, twiddling with her thumbs.

It’s like a wave washes over you when you finally see her up close. She’s wearing a gray turtleneck, with a denim jacket over it, hair all nice and wavy. She looks unbelievably good.

It takes a second for you to grab your bearings and act like you weren’t just blatantly staring at her.

“You look beautiful.” You say, as casual as you can muster, and Cairo breaks out into a smile. You notice she’s wearing water liner, and it makes your knees feel like jelly. She’s only ever done makeup like this once, during your school dance, and it had all but made you swoon.

“Yeah?” She muses, mindlessly. Bending down and sitting on your makeshift picnic cloth.

“Yeah.” You breathe, even though you can tell she didn’t really need an answer to that. She reaches for your face, pushing a stray hair back.

“You look good too.” Is what she comments, all soft like.

You’re a little ashamed to admit you dressed up particularly for this occasion. Some rosy pink blush, your favorite lipstick just for her.

You cough awkwardly, and it breaks you both out of your trance. You reach for the food and serve her her plate.

You get a good while into talking and laughing that you bring up Mr. Miller.

“So…do you have your eye on anybody right now?” You ask nonchalantly, pretending like you haven’t mapped this whole conversation out in your head a million times.

Something flashes in her eyes but it disappears so quick you can’t tell what it is.

“You know you can tell me anything,right?” You tell her, and you mean it. Whatever or whoever it was, you’d be fine with it. You wouldn’t just stop being friends with her because of complicated feelings. She mattered more to you than that.

She bites her lip, then speaks quick, like she has to get it out before she overthinks too much.

“Yeah I am interested in someone. In this school, actually.” She says.

You feel your heart drop to your ass, you’d hoped against hope that the rumor wasn’t true- but with this new information, it had to be.

So much for ‘being okay with anything.’ That’s it. It’s over for me.

“Oh?” You try and ask, but it comes out as a little squeak. Cairo shoots you a weird look, but continues telling you about it.

“Yeah…I really like her. I just, I don’t know if I should pursue it.” She purses her lips.

Now it’s really time for your heart to flip. Her? Did she say ‘her?’

“Yeah, I did.” She confirms, small smirk playing on her crimson lips.

“Shit, did I say that out loud?” You ask her, cheeks heating up immediately. She gives you a quick nod.

Oh god.

“You like a girl?” You ask again, disbelieving.

This time she huffs, sounding almost impatient.

“Yes, I like a girl.” She says, exasperated, with a bit of bite in her tone. Something defensive and possibly jealous stirs up in you fast and quick. Why does she look annoyed?

You can’t help but answer in the same way.

“Okay, so who is it that you like so much?” You ask pointedly. The fire in her eyes that was there just moments before simmers, and just like that, she reverts back to her normal self. It’s almost concerning how she does it so quick, like the flip of a switch.

She suddenly looks nervous again. You give her a small encouraging nod, take her hand in yours as support. They tremble slightly.

“I like you. And I know you probably-” She continues but all you can hear are the echos of her first statement.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

I like you.

You retract from her hands, surprised beyond belief. You regret it immediately when her smile drops.

Her mouth is moving rapidly, and you use the best of your abilities to try and hear what she’s saying.

“I mean why do you think I even begged you on this date? I swear your head is so thick-“ Her words pass through your ears in intervals, and finally, after she’s done, and looking at you expectedly, all you can do is croak out a weak, “You don’t have a crush on Mr. Miller?”

Cairo blinks once, twice.

“What?” But there’s no fear or judgement or any hint of any emotion except disbelief.

Huh, so she didn’t know about the rumor.

“Who said I have a crush on Mr.Miller?” She asks, nose scrunching in disgust. You sigh, looking up to the sky and thanking god.

At this revelation, you’re elated. You scooch just a tad closer and tell her about the rumor. When you’re done, you expect someone shocked, or weirded out, but all she does is letout a hefty laugh.

“God, just because I like a class doesn’t mean I want to fuck the teacher.” She smiles, and you marvel in the way she’s able to shake it off so easy. She’s always been like that, carefree.

You let your mind wander to what she said before. She turns her head to look at the scenery, allowing you guys to sit in comfortable silence.

You say her name, a simple sound, but it makes her look up into your eyes, curious.

“Did you really mean what you said? You like me?” You ask, soft.

She gives an adamant nod, assuring she really does. God, you could not focus right now. She looks so pretty.

“I like you too. Like, a lot.” You breathe, and watch as her eyes sparkle.

“Really?” She blinks, in a state of vulnerability you’ve never seen. You can’t believe that she wouldn’t believe it. You give her the same nod, grin breaking out on your face.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your lips.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted- you can’t even speak.

Her kiss isn’t what you’ve always imagined. Something soft, something gentle. That’s how it always was with the first kiss. You should’ve guessed long ago Cairo wasn’t just anyone.

She surges in, grabbing your face tight like if she lets go you’ll disintegrate. She’s so rough, and you can’t get enough of it. She climbs over your body and settles in your lap, grabbing the collar of your shirt to deepen the kiss.

You break away when it gets too much, both of you panting. Her cheeks are now another shade of pink you can be proud of causing; her hair messed up in a way that makes you want to grab her and kiss her again. And so you do.

You guys stay like that, laughing and talking and kissing till it’s dark out.

“It’s a good thing I forced you on this date, isn’t it?” She muses, rolling in your arms.

You giggle, high from the endorphins.

“You didn’t force me, it was a two person thing.” You try and justify, hoping she doesn’t think you didn’t want the date.

“It’s sweet of you to say that, but we both know you would’ve never asked me out.” She tells you, booping her nose against yours.

“Oh shut up.” And you take her lips in another kiss before she can retort.

[httpdwaekki]

movie night | s.c. ft b.c.

summary: after a rough day all you wanted was a movie night with your favorite boys, but when they forget it feels like you’re world is crumbling.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: hurt/comfort, fem!reader, gendered terms of endearment (sweet girl, baby girl, etc.), crying, meltdown.

a/n: i kinda got lost in the sauce w this one but week three wooo!!! don’t forget to check out @straykeedz versions!!! i hope you guys enjoy and as always, drink water, eat something, and take ur meds. <3

(i tense switch alot during this, i wrote it half asleep most of the time, i’ll edit it eventually lmao)

my library | bee’s vers | bee | binnie month | fundraiser

(pictures not mine! credit to owners!)

you were having a terrible day, nothing was going right and the only thing keeping you from completely breaking down was the movie night you had planned with your boyfriends.

8 o’clock came and you were all set up in your living room with snacks, blankets and of course wolf chan and dwaekki. you were sat on the couch, barely containing your excitement for the night ahead.

but then 8:15 came and you were still sat there alone, and then 8:20 you decided to send them a gentle reminder.

from sweet girl <3:

hi my loves, i’m all set up for movie night whenever you guys are ready 🖤

but 8:30 rolled around and then 9:00 and by that point you had sent several texts

from sweet girl <3:

i’m assuming you guys are still at the studio, just let me know when you’re on your way! love you guys 🖤

it’s getting kinda late, i hope everything’s okay, love you both very much 🖤🖤

i hope everything’s okay, but it’s getting late so i’m heading to bed, we can do movie night another night, goodnight my loves

now it’s 10:00, you had a terrible day and now the one thing you were looking forward to fell through, you were defeated. at your last texts you moped into your room needing nothing more than your warm bed and comfort movie.

luckily you had already put the snacks away after an hour of waiting realizing they probably forgot. once cozy in bed, you put monsters inc on your tv and pulled the two stuffies to your chest.

it was at this point the realization of what happened hit and you couldn’t stop the breakdown that followed. tears streaming down your face, breathing terribly uneven, and incoherent words falling from your mouth.

“they- they forgot about me.” you whimpered, hugging the plushies impossibly closer to you. the hoodie from changbin that usually helps calm you down, was now just a painful reminder of the two missing people.

you ripped the article of clothing off in an attempt to calm yourself, throwing it across the room. you settled back into the soft mattress, placing the gray and pink plushes to the side, opting for your soft blanket to calm yourself.

luckily after a few minutes your comfort movie had worked it’s magic and you felt yourself relax enough to finally fall into dreamland, tears drying against your skin as you slept.

unbeknownst to you, your boys were scrambling 15 minutes away in the studio. the producers had a habit of locking up their phones during their working hours to limit distractions but unfortunately that caused them to also forget about the plans they made with their favorite girl.

“oh fuck, hyung we gotta go, like now.” changbin shot up out of his chair once he realized the time. they were supposed to be at your apartment 2 hours ago to start movie night. “huh? what, what happened, what’s wrong?” trying to figure out what could’ve pulled such a reaction from the younger boy.

“look at the time,” he points to the time to emphasize his statement. “oh fuck,” the older of the two’s eyes goes as wide a saucers, whipping his head to the former. “we were supposed to be there 2 hours ago.” bin nods his head before moving to shut everything down.

“okay, okay, relax bin, let me save everything, you pack everything up then we can leave, okay?” changbin nods, realizing he’s right, this will all be completely in vain if they lost everything they were working on.

in the midst of gathering their items, changbin finally looks at his phone where he finds all the messages you sent, the last one being sent 15 minutes ago. he quickly texts out a response, hoping you hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

from binbin <3:

princess we’re so so sorry, we got caught up in work, we’re packing and heading to you now. we love you so so much baby. 🩷🩷

he puts his nail in his mouth, gnawing on it anxiously as his leg shakes. after saving all the files and shutting everything down, chan turns back to find a very anxious changbin staring at his phone.

he makes his way next to him, placing his hand on the shaking leg. “hey, what’s going on?” he asks gently. changbin looks up, unshed tears line his soft eyes. “she texted us 11 times.” his breathes, shaking his head, showing him the phone screen.

“and we ignored every single one of them. what if she was hurt? what if something happened? we would’ve never known” he rambles, sending himself further into a spiral.

“hey, hey,” he gently grabs the younger’s cheek, “she’s safe, she’s home in bed asleep,” his thumb slowly stroking his cheek, soothing the anxious man. “we’re going to her now, everything will be okay, okay?” bin nods his head, closing his eyes, letting a stray tear or two run down his cheek.

chan wipes the tears before placing a soft, loving kiss to his temple. “okay, let’s go see our girl.” chan smiles, grabbing his hand pulling him up with him.

once they made it to your apartment (not without breaking a few traffic laws), they let themselves in with the spare key you made them. quickly discarding their shoes, practically running to your room but not without missing the wrapped up snacks in your kitchen or the discarded blanket pile on your couch.

changbin pauses, guilt clutching his heart as he sees your discarded preparations. “come on.” chan quietly ushers, pointing to your room with a quick movement of his head. bin is quick to follow, needing to see you as soon as possible.

chan opens your door, finding a sleeping lump in the middle of your bed and none other than monsters inc playing softly on the screen. that alone told them everything they needed to know but then the thrown hoodie on the floor and two plushies laying next to you instead of clutched to your chest?

they knew they messed up, big time. bin went to rush to you, to wake you up and apologize profusely but chan stops him. “hold on, you might scare her.” bin nods understanding that even though he means well, you were in a very fragile mental state.

the older man carefully sits on the side of your bed, placing a hand to your shoulder. it was only then did he catch a glimpse of the tears stains dried to your chubby cheeks. his breath hitches, causing changbin to look after, catching sight of the same thing, his eyes filling with tears once more.

chan holds out his hand to give him a quick squeeze and a kiss before turning back to the problem at hand. he lays his chin on your shoulder, softly rubbing your arm to coax you awake.

“sweet girl,” he whispers, placing kisses to your shoulder, trying to wake you up as softly as possible. “wake up baby girl.” you slowly come back to consciousness, realizing that there was someone touching you.

you would have been scared if you didn’t recognize the familiar aussie voice. chan sits back as he feels you stir, bin coming to sit beside him, placing a hand to your thigh.. you turn to find your boys looking at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

you feel the familiar sting behind your eyes but you quickly rub your eyes, masking your tears. “hi” your voice quiet, sleep lacing your voice. “hi sweetheart.” the aussie coos, “hi bunny.” bin whispers, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs soothing him you.

“we’re sorry baby, we completely lost track of time, and we put our phones away so we didn’t see you texted, we’re just- really sorry bubba.” you nod, willing your tears away before you spoke.

“it’s okay, i understand.” you say lowly, fidgeting with the soft material to keep your composure. but try as you might the two boys knew you all too well.

“no it’s not,” bin finally speaks, causing you to catch a glimpse of him. two streaks shine on his soft cheeks against the glow of the tv, caught your eye. you sit up, moving chan, attempting to reach changbin.

“it’s not okay, we knew we had plans with you today, and not only did we miss it, we ignored you-” you cut him off with a kiss, your hand coming to wipe the wet streaks away. you pull away, your own tears making their way down your chubby cheeks.

“i am upset, but i’m not mad. i just had a bad day and this was the one thing i was looking forward to and it was just the final straw.” pause, sniffling as chan grabs the hand still in your lap.

“i was inconsolable and your hoodie and the stuffies just felt like a reminder of my bad day.” you look down, your hand falling from the soft man’s cheek to your lap, where he grabs your hand. you hear a sniffle, cause your head to shoot up where you find them both with wet streaks on their cheeks.

your lip wobbles as you see your boys upset, you shake your head frantically. before you can even open your mouth, chan shakes his head before moving behind you, pulling you to his chest. binnie moves to sit in chan’s previous position, placing a soothing hand on your thigh.

“do not apologize, you did nothing wrong, us being upset or missing movie night is not your fault, nor is it your problem to fix.” he whispers in your ear, rubbing your soft tummy. your lip wobbles again, dropping your head into your hands as you sob.

bin moves to wrap his arms around you, bringing you to him as best he could with you against chan. they knew you were upset and the best thing for you was to let you cry it out as heart wrenching as your sobs are.

they just hold you as you calm down, binnie rubbing your back, placing kisses to your temple. chan rubbing your tummy, placing kisses to your shoulder.

you pull away once you feel calm enough, wiping your tears as you sniffle. “thank you, both of you, i love you both more than you know.” you give bin a kiss first before turning around as best you could, doing the same to chan.

“come on, let’s get you to sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning, sweet girl, okay?” he pats your tummy, waiting for you to nod your head before moving the blankets to give you space in the middle of the bed. you carefully move over, shivering as you land on the cold side of the mattress.

both boys get up, chan rounding the bed to get to the other side while binnie goes to grab his discarded hoodie. he makes it back to your side as chan sits on the edge of the bed.

“sit it up for me quick bunny. “ he says, kneeling on the bed, scrunching the fabric. you sit up, lifting your arms so he can slip the familiar fabric over your head. once you slide your hands through the sleeves, the hood covering a part of your face.

you give him a cheesy smile before shooting out to wrap your arms around him. he wraps his arms around your shoulders, placing a big kiss to your hood covered head. “mwah!” he plops down next to me, getting comfy under the blankets.

you adjust the hoodie a bit before leaning against the plush pillows. chan lifts up the two stuffies, placing them to your chest, wrapping your arm around them. you smile once again, rolling over to place a big kiss on his cheek.

once you settle back into the bed, they both wrap their arms around you, making you feel safe and secure. “good night bubba, we love you,” chan whispers in your ear before placing a loving kiss to your soft cheek. “so so much bunny.” binnie finishes, placing a kiss to your other cheek.

you melt right into their arms. you get comfortable, turning on your side to face binnie, laying your head on his chest, grabbing chan’s arm to stay around you. “i love you both too, more than you know.” you mumble, placing a kiss to bin’s pec and chan’s hand.

you all melt into each other, relaxing slowly as sleep welcomes you, the soft sounds of monsters inc playing as you all lay peacefully in each other’s arms.

[writing-mlm]

Something angsty with Abbot

They had something going on in the army (they didn't label it) and it was pretty serious,robby knew about (they were an inseparable trio) and thought they would last forever

Until something happend and the reader didn't leave with them and continued to advace in ranks

They (all 3) meet again in the pitt to find out reader got married and had a child (the reason for the hospital visit ) and treats abbot and robby as just friends like nothing is wrong

You can continue it how you like cause this is getting long

The wounds of our parents (that I refuse to carry over)

Summary: You couldn’t be strong enough for yourself, but you’d be damned if you let your daughter feel the way you did. Pairing: Jack Abbot x Male reader Word Count: 3.4k Tags/warning: reader is married to a woman, sort of implied religious trauma, homophobia, medical talk, sick child, I headcanon Jack was in the Marines, italics is a flashback, wounds physical and emotional, not terribly angsty but still hurt/comfort imo A/n: I changed the prompt a little bc I don’t think Robby was in the military, also. while editing I learned its Abbot not Abbott...

Stolen kisses and secret glances, if that’s how Jack could remember his time in the Marines, he would’ve been a happy man. He’s reminded of you every day, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. 

He remembers you when he ties his laces in the quick way you taught him, he remembers you when the sun warms his face, he remembers you when the silence of his apartment is so loud against his ears he can't think. He can’t breathe and— fuck he can’t even see anything. Then his phone lights up, a call. 

It reminds him of you again. You would sneak out from your barracks to meet him, a flashlight placed on the floor so you could at least see him a little. It was never much, but it was always enough. 

“My arms are killing me,” You grumble, climbing into his bed. He welcomes you, arms outstretched and a lopsided grin. It’s well past any normal guest time in the barracks, but neither of you cared. 

“No one told you to carry everyone’s bags up the hill,” He laughs as you drop into his open embrace. Immediately, he starts massaging your arms, loving the way you relax instantly. Your head drops onto his chest, sure you’re about to be lulled into a nice sleep.

“I was being nice,” You murmur. “And I was showing off,” 

“For who?” He teases. Cracking an eye open, you laugh into his shirt. Leaning forward, you kiss the underside of his jaw. 

“You,” 

His hands trail up from his neck, settling on his ears as he tries to fill the silence. His phone rings again, and he pulls himself from the memory before answering it. It’s Robby. It’s never you. 

—

Abbot’s driving into work, annoyed that he’d accidentally taken the long route, and now he’s fighting the morning traffic. It’s one of those rare occasions when he was needed for the morning shift. And he couldn’t say no. He’s about ten minutes out, waiting at a red light, when the next song starts up. The guitar strings start, and he inhales slowly, his eyes closing. 

The squad was inside of a tent, passing the time until there was something to do. Thankfully, someone had brought along a speaker, and everyone was taking turns playing music. It eventually turned into a lip-syncing competition and you were up. 

It didn’t take long before the song could start up, two of the guys laugh as they know the song, while Jack leans back. You step into the middle of the tent, using a water bottle as a microphone. You rock with the beat, each guitar string pluck is a new rock. 

“I used to think that I wasn’t fine enough, and I used to think that I wasn’t wild enough. But I won’t waste my time tryna figure out why you playing games, what’s this all about?” Everyone catches as your eyes drift to Jack’s. You continue, fake singing your heart out until you look at Jack again. 

“Oh, love! Never knew what I was missing. But I knew once we start kissin’ I found… love!” Your eyes meet, and you point at him before desperately clutching your chest. 

“Abbot’s blushin’!” One of the men laughs, smacking his arm. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t look away from you, still lip-singing. 

A car honks and he opens his eyes, the light is now green. Another honk. Smacking the wheel, he pushes forward, trying to push the memories backwards. 

It was never a relationship, at least in concrete boyfriend-boyfriend terms. But it was. It fucking was. You’d both said I love you, you both had imagined lives together, you were each other's person, and you were his and he was yours. 

And then Abbot got discharged, and you didn’t. You stayed in the Marines, something had scared you. He knows it. He knows it in his bones. He knows it like he knows the human body. 

“Hey, brother!” Robby gives Abbot a high five as he walks into the ED. Abbot blinked, his body moving on autopilot, he hadn’t realized he was at work already. “Thank you so much,” He’s almost desperate, the ED is more packed than usual. Apparently, an entire school grade had come down with random spouts of dizziness, weird vision, and vomiting. 

“Where am I needed?” He asks, glancing around the room. There are a lot of parents talking outside the on-call rooms with doctors. 

“Uh, room eleven.” Abbot nods and gets himself ready, grabbing Mohan on his way to the room. Mohan has the kids' chart and tells him the basics while he nods, still looking around. She has to leave, though— everyone has one patient. There’s not enough doctors to double up today. 

He glances at the patient's chart and stops for a small laugh, pushing into the on-call room. Jackie Maria (L/n). 

“Is your full name Jack or Jackson?” You asked, it’s the first thing you’d ever said to him. First day at boot camp and that’s what his barrack roommates says to him.

“Jack,” He responds and you nod, carefully setting your bag on your bed. 

“That’s crazy, cause I’ve always wanted to name my kid Jackie. What do you think, would he get bullied?” Jack laughs, shaking his head. He’d never been bullied for the name, and he relays as much to you. “That’s good to know.” Your smile reaches your eyes and you scan him up and down. Your heart flutters a bit and you force yourself to look away. 

You stare at him, your hand in a woman's— your wife’s hand while holding your daughter's head. Jackie. Your daughter, Jackie. She’s clutching a bucket that already has bile inside of it. She’s about twelve. Abbot checks the chart and licks the inside of his mouth. Thirteen. 

You’re in civvies, which checks out because you always hated the uniform. Hated the attention it brought when you were off base. He looks down at your wedding band, it’s simple, a thin silver ring nestled on your finger. It’s old and worn, Abbot guesses it’s older than ten years old. You preferred gold, or at least a darker silver than that. And you always wanted something a little different than the basic silver band. 

For a moment, you relax and smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since he left the Marines. The first time in fourteen years that you’ve honestly felt at peace. Well, mostly. Jackie throws up again and you move to rub her back. 

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” He stiffly says, closing the door behind him. He needs to be professional, there’s a sick child he needs to attend to. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” You admit, your voice is more mature than the last time he heard it. There’s a bigger bass to it and he just knows if Jackie was in Little League your voice was drowning out the crowds. He wonders if his voice would’ve done the same. 

“He usually doesn’t like doctors,” Your wife says, a little confused, and Jack nods. He knows this. He’s known this long before she was ever in the picture. 

“Jack,” You whimper, clutching his hand as you hold your bleeding leg. “It’s too high for a tourniquet.” There’s a shudder to your voice that he doesn’t like, a sort of finality that puts his stomach through the ringer. Which is odd, considering you’re on an active battlefield and something explodes in the background. 

“I got you, sweetheart,” He grunts, pulling you into a more covered area. “This is gonna hurt but do you trust me?”

“Hmm,” You nod, eyes closed tight and lips tucked into your mouth. “With my fuckin’ life, baby.”

“We were in the Marines together,” You softly explain and she hums. She’s not delighted to hear that, but she doesn’t show any outward distaste in it either. There’s some history behind that, he has a sneaking suspicion he knows what it’s about. 

“Can you give me a rundown of your symptoms, Jackie?” Abbot asks while putting on a pair of gloves on. Jackie just groans, looking for relief and finds it in you. You smile, rubbing her sweat-soaked forehead. 

“She texted me, she was in science class and was feeling lightheaded. You know diabetes runs in my family so I assumed she was starting to show signs. I told her to eat some of the snacks and drink something. She said it didn’t help. Then she said she was having trouble breathing but she felt better after class. I knew she was having a test, so I assumed it was anxiety.” You hurriedly explain, recounting her day. “And then she had lunch, she called me. She was throwing up and seeing spots. Apparently, other kids were, too.” 

“Were these kids in your science class?” 

“Some,” Jackie croaks. Abbot nods, considering most students have a similar experience, it’s probably something in the science room. 

“I want to have your blood sent in for a tox screen. It could possibly be something in the classroom. It’s sounding a bit like the flu, maybe someone was sick and spread it around the school and then maybe some food poisoning. Did you eat the school lunch?” Jackie nods but she looks at you for support. 

“It’s pizza Friday. She loves it,” You add, watching as Jackie throws up again. “Once you’re done, sit up, bud. Dr. Abbot needs you to be steady.” 

“The mess hall is serving us the good food,” You whisper, staring down at your lobster, mac and cheese, and the good mashed potatoes. “We’re getting shipped off, ain’t we?” 

“Sure are,” Jack laughs. The two of you sit side by side, not even a millimeter of space between the two of you. You drop your head, ready to succumb to your inevitable fate. 

“I would’ve preferred pizza as my final meal.”

Abbot finishes drawing Jackie’s blood and leaves the room for a moment. You watch as the doors close and sigh, knowing what’s about to come and just continue to rub the top of your daughter's head. 

“You never mentioned an Abbot before,” Your wife carefully says, messing with her nails. 

“No, Katy. I didn’t.” You agree. “I also never mentioned Tasso, or Navarro, or Dukarea. Or half of my squad before.” 

“You haven’t,” She stresses. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Looking at her, you lace your fingers together before letting your hands hang between your legs. She shrugs and looks at the door. 

“Your mother did.” She said after a beat had passed. 

“Don't bring her up,” You glare over at her. “Not now, Katy.” 

“She said something about an Abbot who was tempting—“ She doesn’t get to finish before you stop her. 

“Jackie is sick. We are not going to talk about whatever she told you, Katherine.” She pauses but eventually nods. You look at Jackie as she looks between the two of you, you hate being tense around him. You hate having fights around her, or even being slightly angry around her. It’s not a part of you that you want her to experience. 

“I’m going for a smoke,” She pushes herself from the wall as the door opens again and Abbot walks inside. 

“Okay,” You reply, not sparing her a glance. She leaves using the opposite doors, snatching her purse from the chair with an exaggerated huff. 

“I’ve sent your blood for testing. We should know within an hour,” Abbot explains and you nod, looking between him and Jackie. Your stomach twists as you imagine that this was your family. The three of you. 

“Is there something she can have for the pain?” You ask, looking between the two of them. “She’s not good with pain and I know this is a ten for her.” Weakly, Jackie nods. 

“Alright, I’m going to give you an ibuprofen. It’ll help with the nausea and the pain. If, after an hour, you’re still in pain, I’ll switch it up. Does that sound good?”

“Mhmm,” Jackie winces and then starts gagging. You help her sit up, wincing as she throws up again. 

“What if she can’t keep the pill down?” You ask, looking up at him with worry clearly written all over your face. His chest tightens, and he inhales, looking between you and Jackie. As much as he’d hate to admit it, his mind runs blank for a moment. 

“An IV drip is always an option.” Abbot explains once he composes himself. “Would you be okay with that, Jackie?” Your daughter nods and Abbot nods in response. “We’ll get that started as soon as possible.”

“Would you be a step-dad?” Robby whispers, pulling Jack to the side. They’re about to do a shift change and this is how Robby is planning on spending their small overlap together. 

“Depends,” Jack responds, crossing his arms. “Is the kid bad? Is there an affair that causes the step-parent-ness?”

“No, and no,” Robby squints. “I didn’t— I wouldn’t help someone cheat. But this woman I’m seeing has a son, we haven’t met but she wants us to. I wanted your opinion,” Jack nods, imagining himself as a step-parent. It’s hard because he keeps placing his partner as you and not some random person. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “See if you can handle that dynamic. Every step family is different,” In turn, Robby nods before leaving in a rush. Apparently soon meant tonight. 

“Has there been an update with the others?” You ask. “Jackie’s friend, Charlie. She’s here too,” 

“I can certainly ask, what’s her last name?” Turning to Jackie, she inhales. It’s shaky and it looks like it hurts her but she still tries. 

“Hunt.” She replies. 

“Charlie Hunt, got it.” He leaves again and it’s just the two of you now. 

“It’s not drugs, right?” You whisper, looking up from the door. Jackie feverishly shakes her head and you nod, trusting her. Looking back at the door, you inhale. 

A part of you hates that out of all the places you could’ve settled after the Marines, you picked the one place Jack lived and then out of all of the hospitals, this is the one your daughter is being treated at. But another, bigger, part of yourself loves that. Loves that you’re still connected to him after all these years. It’s like a sign. 

The door opens and you see Abbot return with Charlie. Her parents are not there yet, their jobs are hard to leave from what you remember. 

“How you feeling, Char?” You ask, a small smile on your face. 

“Not horrible, Mr. (L/n),” She replies, looking at you before her eyes lock on Jackie. “How’s Jackie?”

“Could be better,” Jackie croaks and Charlie takes the seat you’d been in. She has a small oxygen mask around her neck but it doesn’t seem like she needs it anymore. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” You tell them to which they nod. Looking Abbot up and down, he calmly follows you into the hallway. 

“A wife,” He whispers. “How long?”

“Um,” Scratching your eyebrow, you shrug. “About fourteen years. Are you… have you gotten married?” For a moment, you look at his hand. Barren, no tan lines to indicate a ring either. 

“No.” He confirms what you already know. “Are you happy?” The pause that follows the silence is all he needs to know. Although he could’ve guessed that already, he’s seen happily married people but you and Katy? That wasn’t a happy marriage. 

“I always said you’d make a great doctor,” 

“You did,” He nods, a breathless chuckle passing by his lips. “I always said you’d be a girl dad.”

“Light of my life,” You smile. “She had a small interest in medicine, which is crazy cause she’s—“ You pause, stopping yourself. Katy walks back in from her smoke break and you blink. “She gets woozy at the sight of blood.” You finish. 

“Has anyone seen Charlie Hunt?”  A doctor calls, standing in front of an empty on-call room. “I have her lab work,”

“She’s in here, Robby!” Abbot calls. “Is (L/n)’s also done?”

“Uh,” He checks his tablet. “Yes- yup,” 

“Alright, let’s go!” That special request to speed up Jackie’s tox screen worked. Which is a first. The four of you head back to the on-call room and Katy enters without knocking. 

“What the fuck?” She shouts and you see Charlie stand up to her full height. Jackie looks between the two of you, shocked, and her heart monitor is beeping faster. She looks at you, and you know, you just know what Katy saw. “Did you know?” She spins to you, finger pointing. But you don’t see her, you don’t hear her. 

You hear the rapid beeping, you see your daughter's fear, and it’s like you’re her. It’s like you’re your father and Katy is your mother and you’re about to repeat a cycle you could never break. 

“Breathe,” Jack forces you out of the rec room and into the dark outside. The party continues inside but you can feel yourself dying. Your life is in the hands of the letter dropped off earlier in the week that you’d refused to open. “What’s wrong?” Your free hand touches the dewy grass as you sit. 

“Sweetheart,” His hand covers yours, blocking the letter from your vision. 

“Someone told my parents,” You manage out. “My mom she’s asking about why her church is whispering about her ‘faggot’ son. They know us-- they know you.” 

“I thought they knew?” 

“No,” Holding both of his hands, you kiss them softly, grounding yourself. “I never told them. That's why I left.”

You never understood why your parents were such a big part of your life, why you let their hate infect you so much. That your fear wasn’t strong enough to stop you from going to the Marines, but it was for telling your parents no. But it’s not stronger than your love for Jackie. 

“Get out,” You tell Katy. 

“Let’s see what your mother has to say about this.” She hums, digging into her purse for her phone. She’s used that line so many times and so many times you’ve given in at the expense of your peace and sanity. 

“Let’s see what Vincent has to say,” She pauses at the door, her eyes filled with pure hatred. She says fine, along with some colorful words and you sigh, joining the now crying Jackie’s side. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Doctor Robby takes Charlie back to her room while Abbot stands there, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry,” Her cries turn to gagging and you sit her up, letting her vomit into the bowl. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for not doing better,” Holding her tight, you shudder, wishing so desperately you’d been your father all those years ago. “Let’s focus on your health first, honey. And then everything else after.” 

“Alright, your tox screen does show levels of carbon monoxide and it is showing signs of food poisoning,” He turns the screen and points to an assortment of letters and numbers that only he understands. 

“Good news is-“ He turns the screen back to him. “It looks like you won’t have any long-term side effects and the nausea should lessen with time. For now, I’m going to start your IV drip and give you an oxygen mask. That’s to help your body filter out the carbon monoxide faster.” She nods, holding your hand tightly. He gently puts the oxygen mask over her and you watch as she takes a deep breath in. 

He nods to the door and you stand up. Jackie reaches for your hand, shaking her hand but you reassure her that you’ll just be outside the door. She lets go and you meet Abbot in the hallway. 

“We have social workers available,” He starts. “If you or Jackie want to talk to someone.”

“I’m definitely getting a therapist for us,” You huff a laugh. “I know divorces can be rough on kids.”

“Divorce?” He asks. 

“That’s who Vincent is. He’s my friend and a divorce lawyer. I can’t let her grow up the way I did,” 

“That’s good,” He smiles an honest smile. 

“I don’t know if you’d be up to it again, but, could I get your number?” You carefully ask. “I know Pittsburgh has that year waiting period but,” You laugh, looking away from him. “It’s been fourteen years and I’ve missed you like a motherfucker.”

[koiiiji]

new year's eve cuddles

summary ; batboys edition!! this is the first part of new year headcanons, gonna add more with lookism boys soon🕯️💌

author's note ; i haven't read/watch DC comics for a while so it maybe a little too ooc😔🥀

JASON TODD

Jason acts like he doesn’t care about new year’s eve but secretly goes out of his way to make the night special. he would never tell you about his plans because he wanted to make it a surprise, but because of his 'work' he of course forgot, and so all the preparations are made at the last minute. generally domestic life with Red Hood is chaotic, but preparation for new year is another level.

literally nothing is prepared. the apartment is in complete chaos - shell casings and guns are lying on the kitchen table, Jason's endless junk is scattered on the shelves, your things are stacked on a chair instead of a closet, unwashed dishes from previous times are in the sink, and a pile of other junk is scattered around the apartment of an ordinary young couple.

but Jason's sudden will to set new year mood is helping, he calls you on the way home and asks you to start cleaning the apartment while he buys the last little things (liar, he didn't have anything ready and it was a big shopping for about EVERYTHING) btw did he help cleaning? no, he got stuck at the moment when he needed to remove the cartridges and guns... but don't worry, he was your moral support!!

at least he might have a movie marathon ready, a bottles of beer (or cider, depending on your preference), and a cozy blanket fort in the living room.

Jason is the type who would want to spend at least one peaceful night at home, with you, to let you lay on his chest while he wraps an arm protectively around you. he’ll make sarcastic comments about the movies you’re watching but also unconsciously stroke your hair or rub your back.

as the countdown begins, Jason pulls you closer, his voice softening as he teases you about how cliche the moment feels. but when the clock strikes twelve, he kisses you deeply and mumbles something gruff about how much he loves you, his ears tinged red.

after midnight, Jason keeps holding you close, either discussing plans for the upcoming year or sharing quiet moments of contentment. he’ll eventually fall asleep with his head resting on top of yours, and his grip on you unrelenting even in his dreams.

DICK GRAYSON

Richard loves the energy of new year’s eve, so he might take you to Wayne manor to celebrate holiday with his family and have a great view of the city’s fireworks after midnight. but if you’d rather stay at your shared apartments, he’s all about cooking dinner together and dancing around the kitchen with you!

Dick really loves holidays so everything was set up, bought and prepared months ago!! he is super excited about gifts, about your reaction and what you prepared for him!

when dinner is prepared, gifts are opened and it’s time to settle down, Dick is the ultimate cuddler. he’ll have you tucked into his side, one arm around your shoulders, your legs tangled together as you both lounge on the couch or bed. he’s always running his fingers over your skin absentmindedly, either tracing patterns or giving little squeezes.

Dick is so into the little rituals!! he will ask you to sit under the table to eat that 12 grapes and make a wish as the clock strikes midnight. spoiler : you have no excuse to say no to this! giggling like a kid, almost choking on last grape, he makes sure you’re looking at him when the clock strike twelve and gives you the most tender, heartfelt kiss. he’ll then whisper something about how this year is going to be amazing as long as he has you.

Dick’s the kind of guy who suggests staying up late to watch the sunrise or talk about your hopes for the new year (or gossiping about batfamily). he’ll hold you close under a blanket, sharing quiet giggles and soft kisses until you both drift off to sleep.

DAMIAN WAYNE

Damian approaches new year’s eve with almost awful sense of formality. he insists on sticking to traditions, whether it’s preparing a specific meal or writing down resolutions.

it's his habit to wake up early, but on 31 of december its insanely early. Damian acts like old man, mumbling about mess, starting spring cleaning, food preparation and adding final decoration(i mean you wanted it, not him, and if Damian start to do something it needs to be perfect!!) however, he secretly loves when you convince him to relax and enjoy the night in a more carefree way (ofc all animals included!!)

Damian’s cuddles start a little stiff — he’s not the most physically affectionate at first — but once you’re settled, he melts. he’ll keep his arms securely around you, one hand resting on your back or waist while his head leans against yours.

as the countdown starts, Damian pretends not to be fazed, but he keeps stealing glances at you, his expression softening. when the clock hits twelve, he kisses you gently, almost shyly, and murmurs a quiet “happy new year” before tightening his hold on you.

after midnight, Damian might surprise you by asking about your goals or sharing his own hopes for the year ahead. he values the quiet intimacy of the moment and makes it clear that, whatever happens, you’re an essential part of his future.

[pupslimes]

cock warming charlie while hes editing and he tells you to get up because he needs to use the bathroom but you dont let him so he just. yknow. muehehahehaheuhahahehha

-totally not red definitely absolutely 100 percent not red yeah not me i mean red not red at all its not red im not red uhhmm anyways pisses everywhere

everyone say yippee for piss porn! i can't call this baby's first piss porn but it is baby's first charlie piss porn. so. wrote this in like an hour because the prompt went crazyyyyy thank you definitely not red. cw for like. the lightest dubcon. otherwise u know what ur getting urself into

the rules of liquid and containers don't apply when the container is horny

You were roused from your half asleep state as Charlie groaned, his head knocking against the desk several times. "Babe. Holy fucking shit. I can't do this right now. I literally can't."

"Can you take a break?" You stretched your arms over your head, groaning quietly.

He sighed, slipping his head from his desk into his hands, groaning. "Noooooo. I have to stick to my stupid fucking upload schedule,"

"You made the upload schedule yourself right? Can't you just change the schedule?"

"This is my two million subscriber special, I have to put it out on time,"

"Can I help you? Is there anything I can do for you?" Charlie's eyes glinted slightly as they met yours.

"There is… uh… something you could do for me?" He gestured to his lap, cheeks flushing red. Charlie loved when you sat on his lap.

You smiled at him, sliding off the bed across the room and padding over to him, before slipping a leg over the chair, straddling his lap. You curled into his chest, burying your face in his neck. Your arms twined around his neck, and you cuddled into him. "Love you so much, baby,"

"Love you too, babe," he hummed into your ear. Soon enough, the clicking and occasional typing lulled you back into a drowsy, floaty space. Eventually, you felt his hips stirring beneath you, once, twice, three times.

"Char?" Your voice was thick with sleep.

"Sorry baby… ah…fuck," His hips snapped up against you, and you felt his hard cock graze against your clit.

"Ah!" You ground back down against him. When you were all hazy and tired like this, it was so much easier for him to turn you on, and he took advantage of it often. Especially on nights like these.

"Please? " He begged you, voice high and reedy. You untangled your fingers from around his neck, sliding your hands down his chest. He pressed a kiss into your forehead as your hands made his way to his waistband. Slipping down his boxers was easy, since he never wore anything else around the apartment when it was just the two of you.

He shifted his hips to help you pull them down, which only halfway helped. Making room for you to slip down his boxers was great, sure, but the fact that he basically rolled his hips into you as you were consistently getting more soaked? Not optimal. You fell into his chest after, a choked moan echoing in the small room. He let out a breathy laugh. "Sorry, darling,"

You groaned lightly, tapping the side of your fist against his collarbone like you were beating on him, before settling back into the warmth of your boy. "Wanna go back to sleep, honey?" His voice was silky smooth, wrapping into your already tired consciousness. You nodded slowly. Moving felt sticky now. He laughed again, just a tiny exhale against you. "Okay hun, lift your hips real quick," You made a confused noise, but complied easily. His hands immediately shot to your ass, helping lift you slightly. If he copped a feel while he did it, fingers massaging into your ass while gently spreading it open, it was something you could ignore.

What you couldn't ignore, though, was when the head of his cock pressed up against your hole. "Nnngh?" You were too tired to even form words at this point.

"Shhh, love," he began to press into you. "It's all going to be okay. Just let me… uhhh, ah!!… get inside and you can go back to sleep, yeah?" At your next sleepy nod, he pushed in further, slipping in with ease. "Fuck, you're wet. Sure you don't want me to just fuck you?" You giggled, shifting to get comfy, and he yelped before sighing down at you. A gentle slap landed on your ass as he settled back in. "Tease,"

It wasn't too often you cockwarmed Charlie. It had basically become a last resort for him when video editing was going awfully, and he used the privilege of it sparingly. It was important to him you knew he wasn't just using you as a sex toy, not that you really would have minded. But Charlie loved and cared about you enough that you let him get flushed and nervous about it every time he asked, reassured him through it that you loved him. Which was why today was so unique. As much as you wanted to be there for him, your exhausted mind just couldn't stay up this time. The warmth of his skin through his shirt felt like it seeped into your bones, and your fingers slowly stopped tracing patterns on his back and shoulders, and you slipped into the rest of your nap from earlier.

You awoke to uncomfortable shifting and the bounce of a leg, not enough to move the cock inside you, but enough to shake you. It wouldn't have mattered if he was moving anyways. Charlie had gone soft in the time it took him to edit the video. Your eyes fluttered open as you took in all the sensations flooding you as you made your way out from dreamland. "Mmmmmm," was all you could manage.

His eyes flicked down. "Oh! Hi baby," He seemed distracted and uncomfortable, and you immediately tried to rectify it with a kiss to his jawline. He relaxed a tiny fraction, but it didn't seem to be enough.

"You finish editing, Char?"

"Almost baby. But uh… I have to go,"

"Go where?" The confusion overtook you, bringing with it a light panic at the thought of moving from where you were. You were far too comfortable to move, and still so, so sleepy.

"Oh, no baby it's okay!" His hands rushed to your sides, petting gently. "I just mean to the bathroom,"

Oh. Okay. Well, that was better than whatever you were imagining. But still, you just felt so nice…

"No," You wrapped your arms back around his neck.

"Sweetheart, what do you mean no?" His voice held a stressed lilt.

"Too comfy," You wiggled your hips, settling in again.

Charlie groaned at the pressure you were now putting on his bladder. "Baby. I really gotta go,"

"Ten more minutes?" you pleaded.

"Baby, I'm not gonna make it ten minutes. I'm not gonna make it ten… ah! fuck!!…"

And that's when you felt it, a spurt of boiling hot liquid splashing inside of you. Oh shit.

"Sorry! Fuck I'm so sorry I'm so so sorry," Charlie groaned out. You felt every muscle in his body tense, and he leaned over you. It didn't stop though. In fact, it only seemed to make it worse. Piss flowed into you, feeling like Charlie was cumming, filling you up, but it didn't stop. You felt yourself filling up further and further, stomach starting to gently distend with the sheer amount. Fuck… how long had be been holding it? You found yourself not particularly…disliking the experience.

Soon, of course, you reached full. But that didn't mean that Charlie was done. Absolutely not. His stuttered apologies turned into gasps and groans, his hands digging into where they lay at your sides. It seemed like he was still trying to push out apologies, to push you off almost, although that wouldn't have helped anyone here. You pushed back into him. And that's when you felt something else.

The piss dripped out of you, running first directly onto Charlie's lap where you were sitting, soaking into his boxers. You were sitting in what was basically a puddle of Charlie's piss. The thin, flimsy fabric though, could only keep up for so long. The puddle grew underneath you, liquid pushing up against you. Piss ran over your clit, over your ass, over every sensitive spot between, and you couldn't help but moan at the sensation. You couldn't contain it any longer. It spilled out between the two of you, and you could hear it fucking dripping onto Charlie's desk mat below you. The sound made you clench, which only, obviously, squeezed out more piss.

Lost in the feelings, and Charlie's whimpered half apologies fading into the background, you lifted your hips, the result exactly what you were looking for. The piss inside you flowed out faster, and the drops on the mat turned into splashes. You felt the blood drain out of your head with excitement, cunt pounding with your pulse, clenching around Charlie's still soft cock. Settling back down, you tried to pull yourself together, chest heaving. It was hard, trying to calm yourself while looking down at the man under you. He was bright red and panting, piss having crept its way from your pussy to his shirt, staining the hem of it dark.

"Baby?" he called. Your hands played with the wet hem, unable to meet his eyes. "Baby, I'm so fucking sorry," His cock twitched in you. Fucking caught. You met his eyes.

"I don't think you are,"

Charlie somehow blushed redder, stammering out disjointed sentences while you felt him getting harder inside you. You took a huge chance and covered his mouth, dragging the edge of his shirt into your own. You closed your lips over the fabric and sucked, the unmistakable flavor of Charlie flooding your mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his cock basically sprang to life inside you. Best chance you ever took.

Ripping the shirt out and twisting it in your hand to pull him in, you took your hand off his mouth. Your gazes met again as he choked off a moan. "Charlie,"

"Yeah?"

"If you don't fuck me right now, I'll kill you,"

[allisluv]

saved by the bell.

summary: finnick helps reader during a sensory overload (based off a request i can't find in my inbox </3)

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: post-rebellion, implied neurodivergent!reader, sensory overload + overstimulation, mention of finnick's mutt attack and as a result finnicks scars, reader has hair long enough to tie back, reader accidentally snaps at finnick but it isnt intentional and she does apologise and finnick forgives, fluff, mention of noise-cancelling headphones, comfort, teasing, fluff, not edited (what a surprise)

a/n: been a while since i posted on here, life was hectic i'm sorry! this is based off my own experience during a sensory overload, but not all are the same!

To mark the one year anniversary of the war ending and to commemerate the lives lost during the rebellion, you and Finnick send out invites asking all of the surviving victors to visit District Four for a small get-together. Its nothing fancy, just finger food and conversation. A celebration of life, Finnick calls it.

Everyone RSVP’s to let the two of you know that they will be attending, and it doesnt take long for Finnick to start planning activites and dragging you along for weekly trips to the farmer’s market to buy supplies for the party.

On the morning of the party, you realise that it’s going to be rough from the get go. Finnick is up with the sun, as he so usually is, and you wake not long after him. The bed is empty without your husband by your side, and it makes your heart ache with loneliness.

You turn onto your side and wince when a stream of sunlight drifts in through a gap in the curtain. Your head feels like it’s going to explode at the brightness, and you’re quick to bury your face into Finnicks pillow. You breathe in his scent in an effort to ground yourself, but all it does it send your senses into overdrive.

A sad, pitiful whine gets caught in the back of your throat as you roll onto your back, glaring at the specks of paint on the ceiling. “Why today?” You grumble, burying your face in your hands as you will yourself to hold it together, if not for yourself, for Finnick and the others.

It takes a while, but eventually, you gather the courage to stand. The floorboards feel cool beneath your feet, and it is such a stark contrast from the sweat pouring out of your pores that all it does it make you want to rip your skin clean off your body.

Sucking in a deep breath, you shuffle towards your closet and begin rooting through it in search of something light to wear. Finnick and you had went shopping for new outfits specifically for today, but the prospect of wearing that particular fabric right now makes you want to claw your eyes out of their sockets, so you settle on a sundress that you have previously deemed as safe to wear when you’re in the midst of a sensory overload.

Once you’re dressed, you tie your hair back out of your face so it doesn’t stick to the back of your neck. Your skin is clammy and damp, and realistically, you really should have taken a shower, but even thinking about it makes your frame hum with irritation.

You flap your hands in an effort to rid yourself of the nervous energy that has taken refuge in your body. When it does little to soothe your weary mind, you plant your hands on your hips and let out a frustrated huff.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by your husband’s voice calling you from the kitchen. “I’m coming!” You call, smoothing out the creases in your sundress before steeling yourself for today, and slipping out of your bedroom. You’re still in your bare feet when you stomp down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Finnick is balancing on a kitchen chair by the entranceway, a roll of triangular-shaped bunting in one hand and a box of thumb tacks in the other. He arches an eyebrow at your foul mood, and your stomping. “Everything okay, angel?”

You brush him off with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’m fine. What did you need?”

Finnick doesn’t miss the edge to your voice, but he decides not to push it. “Could you hold these thumb tacks and hand them to me when I need them? Or were you busy?” He asks, giving you an out if you need it.

“No, I can help,” You insist, already moving to stand beside him. “Just be careful on that chair. Its decades old.” You warn as you take the thumb tacks. Finnick starts stringing the bunting up along the wall of the archway, and you let out a sigh. “Why do we need bunting, anyway? Dont you think it’s somewhat over the top?”

“Look, I didn’t survive those mutts not to celebrate today.” He teases. “After all those god-damn physio sessions, I deserve bunting if I want bunting.” He pauses. “And Jo’s gonna ask the question you just asked, so you better have my back when she does.”

You roll your eyes fondly and relent. “Alright, alright. If you want bunting, we can have bunting.” You hand him a thumb tack and roll your shoulders back uncomfortably. Chicken curry is stewing in the slow-cooker, and it’s making the kitchen stuffy with heat.

Finnick’s always been observant, and he catches the small movement of your shoulders almost instantly. “Are you sure you’re okay, angel?”

“Mhm.” You shrug non-comitedly and pass him one more thumb tack.

He doesn’t seem convinced, and the second the bunting is secured, he hops off the chair and has a hand on your shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Come on, angel. Talk to me.”

As if on cue, the doorbell goes and you let out a relieved sigh— you would have likely cracked and admitted the truth if he kept pushing.

Saved by the bell.

“I’ll get it,” You say, pecking his cheek and moving quickly to answer the front door with Finnick hot on your heels.

The door swings open and Johanna struts inside, shooting a smug look over her shoulder at Annie and Katniss. “See? Told you it would be open.” She brushes past both of you into the kitchen. “Oo. Something smells nice.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, and Peeta nudges her in the ribcage, prompting her to say hello. Haymitch, Annie and Enobraia all exchange greetings with the two of you as you usher them inside.

“You know, you should really keep that door locked,” Beetee says as he envelopes you in his arms. “Did you know there are approximately three thousand burgarlies a day? Thats two every minute. And I bet you more than half of them are due to people leaving their doors unlocked.” He explains nonchalantly as he follows the others into the kitchen.

You rub the back of your neck anxiously, feeling your skin crawl at all of the physical contact you had just endured in the last thirty seconds.

Finnicks eyes land on you and he inches closer to you, but doesn’t touch. “What’s going on with you, angel?” He asks gently. You open your mouth to brush him off but he cuts you off. “And don’t feed me another lie about you being fine. I’m able to read you like an open book. Just tell me whats going on in that pretty little head of yours, okay?”

You grit your teeth in an effort to stay calm. You’re not angry at him, you’re just overwhelmed. Its all too much; the noise from the kitchen, the lights, the heat, Johanna calling out into the hallway about the bunting, the smells of the different food. Which is why you don’t mean to snap, but you do. “Just get off my back, alright? I said I was fine.” You snap, brushing past him into the eye of the storm— the kitchen.

Finnick blinks, momentarily stunned by your outburst, until it dawns on him and he follows after you. He pulls you to one side from where you’re pretending to listen to Enobaria. “Excuse me. We need to talk.”

“What—”

“Now.” Finnick says firmly, but not unkindly, as he steers you by the elbow back into your shared bedroom. He closes the door once you’re both inside, and leads you to sit down on the edge of the bed. He crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on his knees, and asks, “Are you having a sensory overload?” You avert your gaze and that’s all the answer he needs. “Do you need space or do you want me to hold you?”

Your bottom lip trembles and you clamp your teeth into it to stop it from wobbling. “Can you hold me?”

Thats all the confirmation your husband needs. He sits cross legged on the floor and tugs you into his lap. “Loosely or tightly?” He murmurs into your hairline.

“Tightly.” You answer. “Please.”

Finnick tightens his hold on you and presses a kiss to your forehead as your breathing starts to even out and you begin to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble.

“For what?” Finnick asks, kissing your temple once more.

“For snapping at you. It wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Finnick agrees. “But you were overwhelmed, and you were stressed. I forgive you. No hard feelings, alright?”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Do you want to come back outside? We can get you your noise cancelling headphones, that way it might be easier to deal with the noise. How does that sound, hm?”

You hesitate. “Johanna’ll make fun of me.”

“Johanna makes fun of everyone,” Finnick points out.

“Fair point, well made.”

“But if she says anything, I’ll fight her.” He cradles your face in his scarred hands and giving your nose a playful tap.

“Will you win, though?” You tease.

“You know it, angel.”